Mystrade's Shorts by scw (BBC Sherlock)

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

On April 26, 2016 at 4:54 AM, Juto said:

OH MY GOSH THIS WAS SO ADORABLE!!!! 

Thanks @Juto! 

On April 26, 2016 at 5:20 AM, cally said:

 Perhaps Greg should be seconded to him when he has to go out of the country? Ok, that's really quite silly, now that I've read what I've written.

Yes it is a little silly, but I don't think that would stop Greg from suggesting it. 

 

This one is not from the Blessings series. I have several stories written that I just hadn't gotten around to posting. This is one of them. I thought I'd mix them in among the Blessings for varieties sake. I hope you enjoy it. Leave me comments if you love it, or not. It's all good.  

Mummy

 

            Mycroft opened the door and looked down at the elderly woman standing outside his flat. Her gray hair was put up in a messy bun and her eyes sparkled with warmth. She frowned. “Myc, you look terrible.”

            “Thank you, Mummy. How lovely of you to stop by and state the obvious. Now go away.” Mycroft spoke without heat.

            “Nonsense.” She gently pushed him aside and entered. “John said you needed me.” She went straight to the closet and hung up her coat. Mycroft watched her biting his lip.

            “I sincerely doubt Dr. Watson said any such thing,” he replied.

            “Well, not in so many words. But I know what he meant.” She closed the closet door and smiled at Mycroft. “I do hope you have something in the larder for me to work with.” She started down the hallway to the kitchen. Mycroft opened the closet and rehung his mother’s coat.

            “Bless you, Mikey,” she called over her shoulder.

            As if waiting for her cue, the ever-present tickle in his sinuses flared. Scowling, Mycroft pulled his handkerchief from his dressing gown pocket. His brows crashed together. “Hih’tish, ish, ish… hih…hih’TSHOO!” He blew his nose and followed his mother to the kitchen. Mycroft sat at the table and watched his mother busy herself making a pot of tea.

She knew where everything was from previous visits when Mycroft was ill, before Greg moved in. She smiled at the cupboard with the mismatched mugs on one shelf and Mycroft’s tea set on the other. She served the tea she made in the tea set and seated herself across from her son. Mrs. Holmes sipped and waited. Silence stretched between them. It was not uncomfortable, but there was tension. Mycroft sniffed lightly and sighed.

“It’s delightful to see you, Mummy. How are you and father faring?”

“Very well, thank you. We would like to see more of you and your brother, naturally. How are you and Greg?”

“Unfortunately, we have been unwell with a rather nasty upper respiratory infection, but I believe you knew that. I am sure you understand that I cannot be more hospitable.”

“Myc, you are recovered, aside from a few sniffles and sneezes. Greg, I understand, is still under the weather.” Mrs. Holmes gave her son a steely look, letting her son know she was done pussyfooting around. Mycroft met her stare and then looked away.

“Yes, Mummy. Gregory is still quite ill.” Mycroft bit his lip again.

It was not lost on his mother that Mycroft’s lower lip had become quite ragged. “Tell me, dear,” her tone was mild, but Mycroft dared not disobey.

 

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

One day earlier

 

            Greg tried to keep his face impassive as he swallowed his tea past the knives in his throat. He really didn’t want Mycroft to notice he wasn’t feeling well. His partner had been ill all this week and Greg was sure Mycroft would blame himself for Greg being sick. To compensate, fussing would occur. 

            Mycroft was picking at his lunch and making a show of eating. He had separated all the parts of his pasta salad into distinct piles on his plate and taking a small piece from each pile on his fork so that each bite had a little of everything. As a delaying tactic for eating Greg had to give the younger man credit for inventiveness.

            Greg’s throat began to tickle and burn. He let out a slight cough. Mycroft’s eyes shot up from his plate and he stared at Greg.

            “You aren’t eating, My.” Greg said tiredly.

            “You do not feel well.” Mycroft countered.

            Greg sighed. “No, I don’t.” There was no point in denying it once Mycroft stated the fact. He rubbed his head where the beginnings of a headache were forming.

            Mycroft put down his fork. “Gregory, I am sorry…”

            Greg shook his head. “No, don’t start. Shit happens, love.” He got up and went to the cabinet where the medications were kept. He took a couple of paracetamol out and went back to the table. Pausing, he kissed the top of Mycroft’s head. He sat back down and swallowed the tablets. Greg figured a little preemptive medicating would mollify Mycroft.

 

            Mycroft watched Greg with dismay. It wasn’t like the older man to immediately give in to illness. It usually took him several days, and a little badgering from Mycroft, before he admitted anything. Either Greg had been feeling unwell for several days, and Mycroft missed the signs, or he was feeling very poorly indeed.

            “At least we have a quiet afternoon ahead of us,” Mycroft offered. Greg nodded and sipped his tea. Now that Mycroft was looking he could see the signs that had probably been there all along. Greg was a little pale and the corners of his mouth would tighten as he swallowed. He sniffed occasionally and rubbed at his face. “How long?”

            “Since yesterday morning.” Mycroft winced. “Love, your fever didn’t break until the day before and you’ve been exhausted. Please, don’t beat yourself up. I need you to get better.” Greg gave Mycroft a little smile of encouragement.

            Mycroft looked down at his plate and braced himself. He pushed the piles of food together and began to eat. Each bite was tasteless and felt like rubber in his mouth. He would be damned though if he was going to give his partner anything more to fret about.

            Greg’s eyes widened as he watched Mycroft steadily clean his plate. Finally, Mycroft washed it all down with a gulp of his tea. Without looking at Greg, he stood and cleared his dishes. Returning to the table, Mycroft stood by Greg and held out his hand. Unthinking Greg took the younger man’s hand and allowed himself to be tugged to his feet.

            “We are going to bed, dear.”

 

            As the afternoon and evening progressed, Greg’s condition steadily worsened. Normally Greg resisted fussing, but this time he complied with every suggestion and took every pill or treatment offered. Mycroft was feeling better, but watching his partner’s decline and uncomplaining acquiescence made him exceedingly apprehensive. Greg’s temperature climbed causing him to alternate between shivers and sweats. A persistent wheeze followed each breath and Greg seemed to be having trouble finishing his sentences, without coughing and gasping. As they lay in bed with Greg curled against his partner, Mycroft’s long fingers gently massaged Greg’s scalp trying to offer some comfort. Greg suddenly sat up, his breath hitching and Mycroft handed over tissues.

            “Heh…heh…HehhRRDZSHOO!”  Greg blew his nose and lay back. A cough started to bubble up in his chest forcing him to sit back up. It was a tight, wheezy cough that left Greg red in the face and panting.

            “Bless you, dear.” Mycroft rubbed the older man’s back. He had given Greg a dose of every medication he had on hand that fit the older man’s symptoms. None of the treatments seemed to touch the cough.

            “Steam,” Mycroft murmured. Speaking louder, “I am going to turn on the shower and steam up the bathroom. Do you think that might help?” Greg shrugged, but didn’t try to speak.

Mycroft bit his lip and went to the en suite. He turned on the hot water taps in the shower, sink and tub. He leaned against the counter and took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm his rising panic. He did not want Greg to see how close to an anxiety attack he was.

Soon steam filled the room and Mycroft felt his sinuses tingle. Still sensitive from his illness he found himself on the precipice of a sneezing fit. “Hnncchx, hhnchx, hihnnchoo, hihshOO!” Mycroft grabbed a tissue and blew his tender nose.

Walking back into the bedroom, he found Greg sitting on the edge of the bed, bent over with his elbows on his knees. Mycroft could hear him wheezing across the room. “The bathroom is re-heh-ready.” Mycroft turned away, sneezing into his elbow. “Hih…hih’tish, ish, ish …Heh…heh’ETCHOO! Bugger.”

“Bless you,” croaked Greg.

“Save your breath, dear,” Mycroft said, not unkindly. Mycroft helped his partner to stand and wrapped an arm around Greg’s waist as they walked to the en suite. Mycroft eased Greg onto the lid of the commode.

The moist heat was making them both sweat and Mycroft unbuttoned his pajama shirt. Greg looked up at him and winked. A rueful smile crossed Mycroft’s lips. “Really? You can’t speak a full sentence and you are trying to be lewd?” Mycroft shook his head in disbelief.

Small coughs forced their way past Greg’s lips and Mycroft stood close rubbing circles on Greg’s back. His nose started to itch and drip and Greg began to sniffle too. Mycroft got the tissue box, handing a few to the older man and keeping a few for himself.

Greg tried to take a breath to blow his nose but his irritated airways didn’t tolerate the inhalation. Greg coughed helplessly, a thick, whistling sound that made Mycroft want to cry.

“Do you think the steam is helping, dear?” Mycroft asked anxiously.

Greg looked at his partner and saw how worried the man was. “Bedside table… Bottom drawer… Inhaler.” Greg gasped and wheezed between words.

Mycroft looked confused briefly, and then shot Greg a look that could have curdled milk. He left the en suite. The abrupt change in temperature caused a brief bout of sneezing, but Mycroft didn’t pause. ”Hih’tish, issh, issh… Ishoo…Hih’TISHOO!” Mycroft swiped at his nose with the soggy tissues in his hand. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he muttered. Opening the drawer, he scrabbled around finally finding the object. He returned to the bathroom, finding his partner weakly coughing with each exhalation, and handed Greg the inhaler.

Greg shook it before raising it to his mouth. Blowing out triggered more coughing, but he managed to activate the puffer and inhale the medication four times, struggling to hold his breath each time. Mycroft watched seemingly impassive, except for the teeth sunk in his lower lip. In truth, he was equal parts relieved and angry. Greg hacked and Mycroft hovered, with a hand on Greg’s shoulder. A minute or so passed and the improvement in the older man’s breathing was evident even to Mycroft. Exhausted Greg leaned his head against Mycroft’s hip.

Running his fingers through his own hair, making the damp curls stand every which way, the younger man asked, “Do you think you would like to go back to bed?” He bit back the words he really wanted to say.

Greg looked up at his partner, his expression full of contrition. “Yeh.” Slowly, he rose and Mycroft slipped his arm around Greg’s waist. Together they made their way back to the bed. Once again Mycroft’s sinuses protested the temperature change from the warm en suite to the relative cool of the bedroom. Mycroft held the inevitable sneezes back until Greg was settled in bed. Rolling his eyes, he turned away to stifle a triple against his wrist and sighed.

“My?” Greg’s voice was raspy.

Mycroft turned back to his partner with a stern, but fond look. “Not now. We will speak of it later. I a-hah…  Hah’SHOO! … Heh’TSCHOO!” Wearily, Greg handed Mycroft some tissues. “I assure you.”

Greg nodded. “Bless you,” he offered. He looked pale and fatigued. The skin around his eyes appeared bruised. His dark chocolate eyes were dull and mirthless.

Mycroft wiped his nose and binned the tissues. He climbed into bed and pulled the older man in close. Kissing the silvered top of his lover’s head, Mycroft whispered, “Be grateful I love you or I would be choosing between the sixteen different ways I know to dispose of a body.” He felt Greg’s smile against his heart. Mycroft listened to Greg’s breathing even out and held him as he finally drifted to sleep. The rest of the night passed more peacefully. Mycroft slept lightly, waking frequently to check Greg’s breathing. He woke Greg once to have him use the inhaler when the wheezing began again.

As soon as Mycroft deemed it was a reasonable hour, he arose and called John. He felt reassured after their conversation, in which he got the particulars on Greg’s inhaler. Mycroft then went through the flat and purged it of any and all cigarettes and smoking apparatus. He went so far as to call Sgt. Donovan with instructions to go through Greg’s office, promising her he would take full responsibility for any repercussions. He planned to have his staff tackle Greg’s car later in the day. He considered having Anthea contact all shops that sold tobacco products in a five mile radius from their flat and New Scotland Yard, but decided to wait for now. He was not surprised to hear the flat doorbell ring not long after sunrise.

 

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mrs. Holmes reached across the table and laid her hand over her son’s. Mycroft stared dully at his tea. “Myc, dear…”

“I know Mummy.”

“It’s not like you haven’t kept secrets from him about your own health.”

Mycroft grimaced. “I know Mummy.”

“You’ve been ill yourself.”

Mycroft sighed. “I know Mummy.”

“This is what comes of caring,” she said kindly.

Mycroft looked up and saw his mother’s soft smile and the pride in her eyes. Mycroft smiled back. “I know Mummy.” A more comfortable silence fell between them as they drank their tea.

“HuH’RRDZSCHH! HehRRRUSCHOO!” Greg’s sneezes thundered through the flat.

Mrs. Holmes let out a startled gasp and Mycroft flinched. His mother gave a bemused chuckle. “Good heavens, Myc.”

Mycroft shook his head. “I know Mummy.”

Mrs. Holmes patted Mycroft’s hand. “Go see to him and be gentle.” She stood and cleared the tea things. “I’ll have your breakfast ready in a tick.”

Mycroft stood and brushed a kiss on his mother’s cheek as he passed. “Thank you,” he whispered. Mrs. Holmes flushed with pleasure and smiled to herself.

 

FIN

[cally]

I was really confused for a moment b/c I thought you had already posted this.  And then I remembered that I had already had advanced knowledge of this piece!   Poor, poor Greg.  Not being able to breathe like that is the worst.   I hope Mycroft is gentle on him.  

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

Ive been awful about commenting lately but I died a bit inside when Mycroft said "mummy"

 

[Juto]

Gosh! I was awww'ing with sympathy all through this piece. Poor Mycroft doing everything he can not to make his ailing partner worry. And poor Greg  Having to fight for a good breath is never fun. I wonder just how long he'd kept the inhaler secret from Mycroft. 

This though:

Be grateful I love you or I would be choosing between the sixteen different ways I know to dispose of a body.

Had me giggling   Angsty piece or not  

[AngelEyes]

I loved your Russian piece! I love that Greg has Mycroft all figured out down to the hours and Mycroft is all like, Not true, but can't hide the truth and is finally like, ok you're right this time but but it's still not true. LOL

And this. I love Mummy Holmes. I love her calling him Mikey, and being the only one allowed to even think it I'm sure. LOL. I can see her just bustling in to handle things. Awwww. My favorite part though, 

On May 1, 2016 at 6:58 AM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

“Bless you, Mikey,” she called over her shoulder.

 

            As if waiting for her cue, the ever-present tickle in his sinuses flared. Scowling, Mycroft pulled his handkerchief from his dressing gown pocket. His brows crashed together. “Hih’tish, ish, ish… hih…hih’TSHOO!”

So that's where the boys got it from!!!! LOL!

Also this,

On May 1, 2016 at 6:58 AM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

“HuH’RRDZSCHH! HehRRRUSCHOO!” Greg’s sneezes thundered through the flat.

 

Mrs. Holmes let out a startled gasp and Mycroft flinched. His mother gave a bemused chuckle. “Good heavens, Myc.”

 

Mycroft shook his head. “I know Mummy.”

Totally cracked me up!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Thank you @cally! 

On May 1, 2016 at 10:52 AM, cally said:

I hope Mycroft is gentle on him.

I'm pretty sure he was. Mummy told him to be. 

@Juto You know me. I can't sustain angst. I have to throw in some humor. 

@Kaze wo Hiku Hey there! I'm so happy to know you are still reading my little stories.  I thought for sure you'd stopped. 

@AngelEyes Once again you pick out some of my favorite bits. Yes, Mycroft had to have learned his preemptive blessing trick from someone. Also who else would possibly know you were going to sneeze before you do? It would have to be your mother! 

 

Here is another installment of my Blessings. My only warning is a blatant movie reference. Enjoy! 

Blessings: Italian

 

            “Did I ever tell you when my sister was a teenager, she and my Aunt Charlotte came to Florence on holiday?”

            “Mmm?” Mycroft hummed from the bed. Greg was sitting on the window seat staring out at the Arno.

            “My Aunt Charlotte drove my sister nuts with her complaining about how their room didn’t have a proper view.” Greg sighed. “This room has a proper view.” He looked over at his boyfriend, who appeared to be asleep.  Greg smiled indulgently. “My? My-y?”

            Mycroft started awake. “Apologies. I must have dozed off.” He sat up, rubbed his face and sniffed.

            “Are you okay?”

            “Yes, fine. Just a little fatigued from the trip”

            Greg smiled. “Oh good. I’d hate for you to be coming down with something on our holiday.”

            “Quite.” Mycroft sniffed again.

            Greg turned back to the view. “Come see this.”

            Mycroft stood and crossed over to his partner. He seated himself behind the older man, slipping his arms around Greg’s waist and resting his chin on Greg’s shoulder. “It is lovely.”

            “Innit.”

            Mycroft started to pull away, but Greg held tight to the arms around his waist. Twisting his head, Mycroft stifled into his own shoulder.

            “Hihhchnnx, hhnnchx, hihnnchnx.”

            “Saluté.”¹ Greg patted Mycroft’s arm.

            “Grazie”² Mycroft sniffled.

            “You know I think we will have a fantastic view of the sunset from here,” Greg commented.

            Mycroft contemplated the sky. “I believe you are hih correct.” He ducked his face into his shoulder again.

            “Hihhchnnx, hihnnchx, hhhnnchoo!”

            “Saluté.”³ Greg released his hold and Mycroft grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket.

            “Che ne se va,”⁴ he muttered as he wiped his nose.

            Greg turned and studied his lover. “How about we order room service and have dinner while watching the sunset? We’ll have a quiet night in.”

            “That sounds perfect.”

 

TBC…

 

^1,3Health

²Thank you

⁴Which is going away.

[cally]

Awwww.  Poor Mycroft.  He can't even go on a mini break without feeling under the weather.  

Is subscript #4 the response for the blessing?  I am not sure why, perhaps it's the heat here, but I can't seem to understand how that makes sense!   Maybe it loses something in the translation?  

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

5 hours ago, cally said:

Awwww.  Poor Mycroft.  He can't even go on a mini break without feeling under the weather.  

Is subscript #4 the response for the blessing?  I am not sure why, perhaps it's the heat here, but I can't seem to understand how that makes sense!   Maybe it loses something in the translation?  

I know, right? Well, maybe he won't be too ill.  

Yes, subscript #4 is the response to the blessing. It makes sense if you remember the direct translation of the blessing is "health", not "bless you." My source indicates it is used after multiple sneezes. The response to the sneezes in this case is "Health". To which the sneezer responds, "Which is going away." Does that make more sense? 

The Russian response after sneezes that interupt the speaker is something like, "I'm telling the truth." I think it is interesting that some cultures have varied response depending on number of sneezes or the timing of the sneezes.  

[cally]

Oh, I get it now.    I totally missed the nuance and took it very literally!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

So taking a break from the Blessings, this is another story I wrote awhile ago. @Juto had mentioned she would like another story from the AU I started in my Halloween fic. So for anyone who hasn't read Halloween, the idea is they are much younger and grew up together in the same town. Sherlock is about 11, Mycroft 18 and Greg 21. Greg used to sit for Sherlock. He and Mycroft didn't start dating until they met back up at home after starting college. Go read Halloween (page 5) if you are really interested in the details.

Thanks for reading. I own nothing and love to hear from you!

 

Redbeard

 

            Greg dropped his bag in the hall as he came in the front door. “Mum! I’m here” He pulled his phone out of his jacket as he walked toward the kitchen.

            “In the kitchen, Greg.” His mother called out. Greg found her elbow deep in flour, baking. “I would have come and picked you up from the station.” She stopped kneading and wiped her hands. Greg looked up from the text he was writing and gave her a kiss.

            “The bus was right there and I don’t have much with me since it’s only the weekend.”

            “Are we going to see you at all?” Her eyes glinted as she asked the question. Greg flushed. “I don’t mind sharing you with Myc, but sharing implies I get some time with you.” Greg looked down at his phone. “Let me guess you’re texting him now.”

            “Just checking if he’s in town yet.” Greg said a little defensively as he sent his text.

 

            * Just got in. Are you in town? –GL *

 

            Mrs. Lestrade laughed. “Oh Greg. Why don’t you invite him over for dinner tonight? Then I’ll get to see you and you two can spend the rest of the evening as you like.”

Greg examined his mother carefully. “No ulterior motive?”

“Other than to spend some time with my only son? No.” She added nonchalantly, “I’m making cake for dessert.” Greg’s phone chimed.

 

* Arrived last night. Come get me, please. –MH *

 

“Can Myc spend the night?” Greg asked the question suddenly, as soon as it popped in his head, before he could worry about the answer.

Mrs. Lestrade considered the question before answering. “Yes, I suppose so. You’re both adults, in a manner of speaking. I assume you’re being safe.” She paused briefly. “You are being safe, aren’t you?

Greg left off his happy dance to give his mother a vaguely shocked look and blurt an appalled, “Mum!”

“Can’t help it. I worry.” She turned back to her baking.

Greg rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes, we are being safe. We…”

“No details necessary,” his mother quickly interrupted. “I know you understand what ‘being safe’ means.”

Greg kissed his mother again on the cheek. “I love you Mum.”

“Yes, yes. Go on and collect your boyfriend.” She shooed her son.

Greg left the room texting.

 

            * Mum invited you to dinner and you can stay the night! –GL *

* Lovely. Come and get me now! –MH *

* Hang on, Princess. Your knight is on his way. –GL *

 

Greg smiled. He wasn’t sure what had Mycroft in such a tizzy to leave, but he could bet it had something to do with Sherlock.

Twenty minutes later Greg pulled into the Holmes’s driveway and motored up to the front door. He could see Mycroft sitting on the stoop with his backpack and messenger bag. Greg turned his motorbike so it faced down the drive and switched off the motor. Dismounting he pulled off his helmet and ran his hands through his dark hair. Mycroft started over to the bike carrying his things.

Greg grinned at his boyfriend and greeted him, “Hello, gorgeous.”

Mycroft flashed Greg a tight smile and gave him a quick kiss. “Hello yourself. Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute. I need a proper kiss.” Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist and pulled him in closer. “It’s been weeks,” Greg murmured. He reached up and kissed his boyfriend tenderly. Mycroft relaxed in his arms and began to return the kiss. Greg’s blood was humming in his veins, when Mycroft abruptly ended the kiss twisting his upper body away. Greg reflexively tightened his grip around Mycroft.

“Heh’ETSHOO! Heh’ETSCH!” Mycroft sneezed against his wrist.

“Bless you!” Greg was surprised.

Mycroft shook his head. He stood still for a moment, wrist still pressed to his face, sniffling. “Heh…heh…Heh’TSCHAAH!” Greg loosened his hold and Mycroft dug a well-used handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his nose. “Apologies,” he murmured.

“S’okay. Bless you again. Are you coming down with your spring cold?” Greg laid a hand gently on Mycroft’s brow and then drew it down his cheek, caressing.

“No, it’s too early for my spring cold. It’s allergies.”

Greg looked around. The trees and bushes had taken on that fuzzy, light green look, but nothing was blooming. “Uh, Myc… If it’s too early for your spring cold, then isn’t it too early for hay fever?” Mycroft gave Greg a dark look. “Just asking.”

“Can we leave?” Mycroft’s tone was snippy.

“No, if I don’t say hello to your mum and Sherlock I’ll never hear the end of it from my mum.” Mycroft sighed and dropped his bags by Greg’s motorcycle. His boyfriend was already knocking on the front door and Mycroft hurried to join him. A dog started barking from within. Greg turned around and looked questioningly at Mycroft. Before anything could be said the door opened. Sherlock stood in the doorway holding the collar of an Irish Setter puppy.

“Lestrade, why haven’t you left yet? You found Mycroft, obviously, not that you could have missed him.”

“Hullo, Sherlock, nice to see you too. What do you have here?” Greg was unfazed by Sherlock’s offensive manner.

“Redbeard.” Sherlock looked fondly at the puppy. “You can’t have him too.”

“No worries. You can keep him, though he is beautiful.”

“And he’s smart. Smarter than you.”

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Holmes admonished as she came to the door. “Hello Greg, so lovely of your mother to invite Mycroft to dinner and to stay the night. He will be  much better off with you.”

“Mummy…” Mycroft rested his face in the palm of his hand.

Greg quickly put two and two together.  Ah, allergies, he thought. “It’s no problem Mrs. H.”

“We’ll figure something out, Mycroft, before your next break.” Mrs. Holmes looked anxiously at her older son. She reached and Mycroft allowed himself to be pulled into a quick, tight hug. There was a beeping noise coming from the back of the house.

“Mummy, your pies.” Mycroft retreated back from the door.

“Oh yes. Have a safe trip back to school tomorrow. Call when you arrive?” Mycroft nodded and his mother dashed off to rescue her baking.

“Yes, have a safe trip,” sneered Sherlock.

Mycroft looked pained. “Sherlock, I am sorry.”

“For what, Fatty McSneezy? Possibly ruining the best birthday present ever?”

“Oi! Don’t call your brother that!” Greg was incensed. Mycroft just looked sad. Greg knelt down next to Sherlock and stroked Redbeard, who wriggled with pleasure. He spoke in a gentler tone to the boy. “Hey, your brother is not fat and he’s not…”

“Heh’ETSH! Heht’SCHOO!” Came from behind Greg. Sherlock looked at his former sitter and raised his eyebrows.

“Well, he can’t help it if he’s allergic to dogs.”

“They are going to make me give him away.” Sherlock looked as if he might cry.

“Sherlock, I will not let them give Redbeard away.” Mycroft said as he sniffed and rubbed his nose. “We will find a solution that allows him to stay.” Sherlock looked at his brother appraisingly and then nodded.

Greg ruffled Sherlock’s unruly hair and gave Redbeard a final pat. He stood and walked back to his bike with Mycroft. Greg got out his extra helmet. Mycroft slung his backpack on his back and together they stowed his messenger bag.

“So…allergic to dogs.”

“Apparently.” Mycroft took out his handkerchief, found a dry corner and blew his nose. “I really hope I don’t have to sneeze while wearing this thing,” taking the helmet.

Greg grimaced. “Yeh, that won’t be nice.” He straddled the bike.

“You know, I hate motorcycles.” Mycroft slipped onto the motorbike easily. Greg started the motor.

“I know.” Greg grinned over his shoulder at his boyfriend. “That’s why I love taking you for a ride on it.” He put his helmet on. Rolling his eyes, Mycroft put his helmet on as well.

He turned to look over his shoulder as Greg slowly motored down the drive. Sherlock and Redbeard were playing in the yard. Sherlock looked up and waved. Mycroft returned the gesture. Greg picked up speed and Mycroft quickly wrapped his arms around the older boy’s waist and pressed himself tightly against Greg’s back.

It wasn’t long into the ride that Mycroft began to feel that itch build again. He knew he would have to sneeze and the longer he put it off the worse it would be. Not feeling he had much choice with the helmet on Mycroft did everything he could to hold back the inevitable. He sniffled and wriggled his nose. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He tried to breathe only through his mouth. His eyes had started to water and his nose began to run.

Greg was enjoying the ride. He loved feeling Mycroft pressed close to his back and clinging to his waist. They were almost at their destination when he felt Mycroft clutch his waist and shudder against his back. Greg correctly surmised his boyfriend was in desperate need to get the helmet off. He gave Mycroft’s arm a quick pat and increased his speed.

They had barely stopped outside Greg’s house when Mycroft ripped the helmet off his head. Twisting to the side, he sneezed openly as his hands were full motorcycle helmet.

“Heh’ETSHOO! Heh’ETSH!  ETSH! ETSH! Heht’SHAAH! Heh…ehh…Heh’ETSCHOO!” The bike wobbled a little as Mycroft sneezed. Greg kept his feet firm on the ground and turned off the motor. “Fuck!” Mycroft exclaimed angrily.

“Bless you, love.” Greg had pulled off his helmet and started to turn around.

“Don’t look!” Greg froze.

“Seriously, Myc. It can’t be that bad.” Greg didn’t get a reply. Mycroft sniffed. He was unable to get to his handkerchief while still on the bike. Greg reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a packet of tissues. He held them up without turning around. “I’ll trade you. Helmet for tissues.” Greg waited, listening to Mycroft sniffle.

“Fine, but under no circumstances do you turn around.” Mycroft thrust the helmet around to Greg and snatched the tissues. Greg looked down at the helmet and shrugged. He’d seen worse.

“Heh’TSHCHAAH! Heht’CHOO! ETSHCH!” Mycroft snuffled and cursed.

Greg patted his boyfriend’s leg. “Bless you, Myc.”

Mycroft rested his forehead on Greg’s back. “I am sorry for ruining the helmet.”

“Can I you look at you now?”

“May you? Yes.”

Greg rolled his eyes and swung his leg over the front of his cycle and dismounted holding both helmets. He hung his on the handle bar and kept Mycroft’s cradled under one arm. He finally looked at his embarrassed boyfriend. Mycroft’s eyes were downcast, his cheeks and ears were bright red. Greg reached with his free hand and tilted Mycroft’s chin up. Mycroft’s blue eyes were bright with tears and his prominent nose, pink. Greg gave him a reassuring smile.

“Hey, it’s all good.” Greg spoke softly. “The helmet isn’t ruined. I’ve seen worse.”

“You are just saying that.” Mycroft muttered, not meeting Greg’s eyes.

“No, really. Lesley threw up in my spare last summer. I think that qualifies as worse.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened and he stared at Greg. “You let me put that on my head!”

“Myc…”

“I cannot believe…”

“My…”

“… It’s disgusting!”

Greg grabbed the back of Mycroft’s neck and pulled him in kissing him deeply, stopping his rant. Mycroft allowed himself to be distracted and relaxed into the kiss.

Slowly the kiss ended. “It’s a different helmet.” Greg breathlessly informed Mycroft.

“Oh.”

“All okay?”

Mycroft nodded but turned his head. His lips, a little kiss-swollen, parted and his eyelids fluttered. Raising his arm, he sneezed heavily into his elbow.

“Heh’ETSHAAH! Heh’ETSCH! HehTSCHOO!”

Mycroft sat for a moment his arm still covering his face. Greg found the nearly empty pack of tissues on the seat and offered them to Mycroft. “Bless you.” Mycroft sniffled and lowered his arm to take the offered tissues. He slipped off the bike to tend his nose. Greg busied himself by getting out Mycroft’s messenger bag and stowing the clean helmet.

“Apologies. I am afraid it is going to be like that for the next few hours, at least.” He shoved the used tissues in his pocket to be disposed of later.

“I’m sure Mum has plenty of tissues. C’mon, let’s go in.” Carrying Mycroft’s messenger bag, Greg led the way into the house.

“Mum! I’m back with Mycroft!” Greg called.

“Greg, might I use the facilities?” Mycroft asked.

“Oh yeh. Right down there.” Greg pointed the way. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” nodding in the other direction. Leaving Mycroft’s bags in the hall, they parted ways.

Greg was cleaning out the helmet when his mother came in.

“Hello, dear. Where is Myc?”

“He’s in the loo.” Greg didn’t look up from his task.

“Would you like some tea and biscuits?” Mrs. Lestrade looked at Greg curiously and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Mmm? Yeh, tea sounds grand.” He ignored his mother’s second question. She busied herself with the kettle and tea things. The sound of Mycroft sneezing in the other room could be heard.

Mrs. Lestrade glanced over at Greg. “Goodness, is he alright?”

Greg sighed and stopped cleaning the helmet. “Yeh. As I figure it Sherlock got a puppy for his birthday a couple of months ago. This was Myc’s first visit back since Redbeard’s arrival. Unfortunately, it turns out Myc is …”

“Allergic to dogs.” Greg’s mother finished.

“Yeh,” Greg examined the helmet and decided he was done.

“Poor lamb,” Mrs. Lestrade murmured.

“Hullo, Myc, Mum’s making tea. Fancy some?” Greg cheerily greeted his boyfriend as he entered the kitchen.

“Yes. Thank you Mrs. Lestrade. And thank you for letting me stay the night. I appreciate it very much.” Mycroft directed at Greg’s mother.

“Come here, Myc.” Mrs. Lestrade beckoned the young man over to her as she stood by the cooker.

Mycroft glanced questioningly at Greg, but obeyed the request. Pursing her lips, Mrs. Lestrade studied him for a few moments. “Did you take an antihistamine yet?”

“Yes, M’am. Earlier this morning,” Mycroft answered. “I assume Greg told you about Redbeard.” Mycroft flushed slightly, making his already pink nose rosier.

“If by ‘Redbeard’ you mean Sherlock’s new puppy, then yes. I am sorry, dear. That can’t be nice to feel unwelcome in your own home.” She handed him a plate of biscuits, shooing him to the table where Greg was sitting.

“It really is of no matter. I am not home much anymore. It is more important that Sherlock have a companion of some kind.” Mycroft placed the plate on the table and returned for more tea items.

Mrs. Lestrade smiled at Mycroft. “That is very generous of you.” She handed him the milk and sugar. Mycroft took them to the table and sat down. Greg, smirking, showed his boyfriend the clean helmet. Mycroft glanced at the helmet before hiding his face in his hands. Greg nudged him playfully. Mrs Lestrade brought over the teapot and mugs, joining the young men at the table. She poured the tea into the mugs and handed them around. She shook her head at their snickering and nudging each other. “You two…” She took a sip of her tea.

Mycroft suddenly turned away from the table, his breath hitching. His eyes and nose wrinkled up and he ducked his head into the crook of his elbow. “Hih…heh…aahh….Heh’ETSH…Heh’TSHOO…Heh’ETSHHAA!”

Greg handed over a napkin. “Bless you.” Under the table he rubbed his boyfriend’s knee.

Mycroft nodded and took the napkin. He cupped it over his nose and mouth as his breath caught again. “Hih…hih’TSH, ETSH, ETSH…Heh’TSHAAH! ETSHOO! Heht’CHOO!”

“Gracious, God bless you,” Mrs. Lestrade exclaimed. She got up and went to the pantry, returning with a box of tissues. “Here you go, dear.”

“Apologies,” Mycroft murmured stuffily. He gratefully opened the box and took a few to wipe his nose.

Mrs. Lestrade sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Myc, if you don’t mind me making a suggestion, I believe you might feel better after a shower and fresh change of clothes.”

“Brilliant Mum! What do you think, Myc?” Greg was happy for any idea that might make his boyfriend feel better.

“It is certainly worth a try.” Mycroft rubbed one of his eyes.

“C’mon.” Greg jumped up and was tugging Mycroft out of his seat.

“Take his things to the guest room, Greg.” Mrs. Lestrade instructed. Greg looked at his mother ready to protest, when she added, “I thought you both would be more comfortable there. The bed is bigger than yours, Greg.” Greg’s eyes widened and Mycroft gulped. She grinned cheekily at the two young men and winked.

They both blushed bright red nearly simultaneously. “Yes, Mum,” Greg mumbled, as they scrambled to leave the kitchen, abandoning their tea.

Mrs. Lestrade laughed quietly to herself as she heard Mycroft say, “Your mother…”

“I know,” interrupted her son. “She probably put condoms in the bedside drawer."

 

FIN

 

 

Edited May 15, 2016 by Seeking Clarity + Wisdom

[cally]

Oh, poor, poor Mycroft.  He sounds like he is suffering something terrible.  I hope that Greg takes good care of him now that he's away from the cause of his suffering.

 

[AngelEyes]

On May 10, 2016 at 9:40 PM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

“Saluté.”³ Greg released his hold and Mycroft grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket.

 

            “Che ne se va,”⁴ he muttered as he wiped his nose.

Sad! Poor baby!

On May 15, 2016 at 4:16 PM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

* Mum invited you to dinner and you can stay the night! –GL *

* Lovely. Come and get me now! –MH *

* Hang on, Princess. Your knight is on his way. –GL *

LOL!

On May 15, 2016 at 4:16 PM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

“So…allergic to dogs.”

“Apparently.”

Well, of course.

On May 15, 2016 at 4:16 PM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

Greg grabbed the back of Mycroft’s neck and pulled him in kissing him deeply, stopping his rant. Mycroft allowed himself to be distracted and relaxed into the kiss.

Slowly the kiss ended. “It’s a different helmet.” Greg breathlessly informed Mycroft.

Mycroft horrified! Of course Greg wouldn't make you wear that!

On May 15, 2016 at 4:16 PM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

Mrs. Lestrade laughed quietly to herself as she heard Mycroft say, “Your mother…”

“I know,” interrupted her son. “She probably put condoms in the bedside drawer."

 

Too funny! I can imagine Greg's mum doing that.

[Juto]

A ahh YES ANOTHER MYSTRADE AU!! 

First of all, Lestrade on a motor bike?  yes please! 

Awww and allergic Mycroft because Sherlock got a puppy. So sweet, and also gives the Holmes boys another issue to fight over  

hehe, I loved the subtle way you made Mycroft improve Greg's politeness by saying "May you? Yes." How very Mycroft  

Also. Greg's mother? Instant love  

This was lovely scw! As much as I adore Mystrade as a middle-aged couple, it's wonderful to read them younger and a bit more carefree. 

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

@cally Naturally Greg takes good care of him (with a little help from his mum ).  

@AngelEyes Horrified!Mycroft was one of my favorite moments.  Greg's mum reminds me of my mum, hmm...  

@Juto Thanks! Lestrade on a motorcycle is a thing in Mystrade outside the forum. I just imported it. The whole "Can I/May you" exchange occurred very organically. I wrote "Can I" without thinking, and my inner Mycroft (actually my grandmother the English teacher) immediately responded, "May you?" I almost went back and fixed Greg's grammar, but then decided to leave it in. I'm glad you appreciated it.  

Edited May 22, 2016 by Seeking Clarity + Wisdom
punctuation

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Here is another chapter in the Blessings series. It is very short, really just a drabble. I hope everyone enjoys. I own nothing and I always appreciate comments. 

Blessings: Korean/Japanese

 

            “Thank you for dinner, dear. It is lovely.” Mycroft offered sincerely.

            Greg turned over another crime scene photo. He didn’t look up as he replied. “Oh good. It was better two hours ago.”

            “I am sorry. It really couldn’t be helped.”

            “I know.” Greg’s response was terse.

            “Gregory…”

            “Look,” Greg interrupted. “I understand, but that doesn’t mean I’m not angry or disappointed.” He looked meaningfully at his partner and then went back to his work.

            Mycroft nodded and went back to his meal. A small amount of pepper hit the back of his throat, just so. He coughed slightly and felt his sinuses start to tingle.

            “Heh’estch…etsch…Hih’isshh” Mycroft sneezed into his napkin. “My apologies. I find the dish is a little spicy.

            Greg glanced up and handed over another napkin without comment.

            Mycroft sighed. “Korean?”

            “Yep,” Greg’s eyes didn’t leave the page he was reading.

            “How apropos.”

 

            TBC…

[cally]

(Although I have to admit it took me a second.)  

 

4 hours ago, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

“Oh good. It was better two hours ago.”

Is Greg taking snark lessons from Mycroft and Sherlock?

 

[AngelEyes]

15 hours ago, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

Mycroft sighed. “Korean?”

 

            “Yep,” Greg’s eyes didn’t leave the page he was reading.

 

            “How apropos.”

I totally love this!!!!! Totally perfect! I can't even describe how much perfection. You are brilliant dear one!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Sorry I've not up dated in a bit. I've got the stories, just not the time to post them. *heavy sigh*

On May 22, 2016 at 11:54 AM, cally said:

Is Greg taking snark lessons from Mycroft and Sherlock?

 

You know when you live someone you start to pick up their habits...   

On May 23, 2016 at 10:27 PM, AngelEyes said:

You are brilliant dear one!

Aw, shucks! Thank you! I am so glad you liked it.  

 

I thought I would give Mycroft a bit of a break. He's really borne the brunt of it recently. So here is a little allergic!Greg. 

As always, I own nothing. Comments = 

Good Deeds

 

Mycroft heard it as soon as he stepped off the elevator and, as he crossed the floor heading toward Detective Inspector Lestrade’s office, he heard it again, twice. Mycroft detoured to Sgt. Donovan’s desk and stopped in front of it, staring down at the woman seated behind it. Sgt. Donovan nervously ignored the tall man standing at her desk. An umbrella hung from one arm and a briefcase carried in the other hand. She didn’t appreciate any attempt to intimidate her.

 

“HuhRRDSCH!”

 

The loud sneeze made both Mycroft and Sgt. Donovan jump. Mycroft closed his eyes briefly. “Sgt. Donovan do you know why Detective Inspector Lestrade is experiencing such nasal disquietude? He was in perfect health this… when I last saw him.”

 

“Oh, I know.” Sgt. Donovan snickered.

 

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her laughter. “Would you kindly enlighten me? Please.” He managed to say politely.

 

“Yes, since you have better manners than your brother. In a word, cats.”

 

“Ah,” Mycroft looked at Detective Inspector Lestrade’s office door, half expecting it to be hanging from its hinges.

 

Sgt. Donovan examined the formal man in front of her desk and made a deduction. “You’ve come to take one of our cases,” she stated boldly.

 

Mycroft gave her a tight smile. “Thank you, Sgt. Donovan. You have been most helpful.” He steeled himself and made his way to Lestrade’s door. Mycroft knocked firmly and entered without waiting for an invitation.

 

Greg glared as the door opened. “I thought I…” His face quickly lit up when he realized who had just entered. Just as quickly he turned away, sheltering his face in his elbow. “HuhRRDSCHCH,” He sniffed and sneezed again. “HhhRRUSCHCHOO!”

 

“God bless you.” Mycroft offered.

 

“Ugh. Thanks.” Greg pulled tissues from the box on his desk and wiped his nose. Finally, he was able to smile at his boyfriend. “I didn’t expect to see you again today.”

 

Returning the smile, Mycroft seated himself. “Unfortunately, it is work that…” Mycroft paused seeing the hazy expression on his partner’s face.

 

“Heh’DZSCHOO!” Greg binned the tissues.

 

“Bless you. Brings me to your door.”

 

Greg regarded Mycroft warily. “Oh?”

 

“I am afraid I will need all your…”

 

Greg held up a finger and snatched another handful of tissues. “Heh…HuhRRUSCHHOO!”

 

“Bless you, again. Files on the Randolph…”

 

“HuhRRRDSHSH!”

 

“Bless you, dear. The Randolph case.”

 

            “The Randolph case? Why…heh why… Heh’DZSCHOO! That one? It’s just a domestic murder-suicide.” Greg blew his reddened nose and threw away the used paper. He grabbed another handful, emptying the box.

 

            “Gregory…”

 

            “HuhRRDSCHOO!”

 

            Mycroft twitched minutely. “Goodness, bless you, dear.”

 

            “Thanks. I am just waiting on the ballistics reports as a formality. “ Greg wiped his nose and got up from his desk.  Opening the door he leaned out and called to his sergeant. “Donovan! Bring me the files on the…heh…hehrrddmmpf.” He tried to muffle the sneeze in his tissues. “Randolph case. And are the ballistics reports in?”

 

            “Yeah, just came in, boss.”

 

            “HahRRushhmmpf!” Greg sniffed. “Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself. “Bring it all and another box of tissues,” he ordered Sgt. Donovan. Greg shut the door and went back to his desk, rubbing at his itchy nose as he sat down.

 

            “Bless you, Gregory.” Mycroft spoke quietly.

 

            “Hmm? Oh, thanks.” Greg wiped his nose yet again, giving it an extra scrub. He appeared to contemplate throwing away his last handful of tissues, but chose to keep them.

 

            “Gregory, have you taken an antihistamine, yet?” Mycroft asked pointedly.

 

            “No, they make me too…heh too drowsy…heh to work. HahDRRSCHCH!” Greg cupped his hands around his nose and rocked forward.

 

            Mycroft gripped the handle of his umbrella. “It is not clear to me you are…”

 

            “HahDRRSCHHOO!” Greg sat back up dazed.

 

            “Again, bless you. You are achieving any meaningful amount of work.” Mycroft raised his eyebrows questioning as Greg lowered his hands and now useless tissues. Greg was saved from replying as Sgt. Donovan knocked, then entered carrying the requested file, reports and box of tissues.

 

            “Thanks, Donovan.” Greg threw away the wad in his hands.

 

            “I knew it,” she muttered as she passed Mycroft. The reserved gentleman raised a hand stopping her. She looked down at the man and suddenly felt out of her depth.

 

            His cool gaze never leaving Greg’s face, Mycroft asked, “What did you know, Sgt. Donovan?”

 

            She briefly glanced at Greg, who nodded at her. “You came to take a case. You brought your briefcase with the locks.” She bravely replied, regarding Mycroft where he sat.

 

            Mycroft continued to look steadily at Greg and a small smile played on his lips. Greg bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking back at the younger man. “Did you think it would be the Randolph case?” He held his hand out for the file.

 

            “No.” Mycroft turned an icy stare on her.  She swallowed. “Not until I looked at the ballistics reports.” Greg sighed and gestured for her to hand over the files. He drew a large breath as if about to speak and then turned away, raising his forearm to his face.

 

            “HehDTSCHH!… HehDZCHOO!”

 

            “Bless you.” Mycroft and Sgt. Donovan started and then spoke in unison. Sgt. Donovan set the box of tissues on the desk. Mycroft extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and laid it on the box.

 

            Greg grabbed the handkerchief, his breath already hitching again. “Heh…Heh’DSHCHZOO!”

 

            “God bl…” Sgt. Donovan started.

 

            “HuhdDZSHCHOO!”

            “God bless you,” Mycroft finished. Greg sighed. “Sgt. Donovan,” Mycroft addressed Greg’s coworker. “You have been very observant today. Tell me, has Detective Inspector Lestrade been productive recently, with respect to his current duties?”

 

            “Nope. Not since we returned from our last call.” She replied, quickly catching on.

 

            “Not fair ganging up on me.” Greg scowled at both his partners. He kept the handkerchief at the ready.

 

            “Indeed. What transpired at your last call?” Mycroft asked curiously. Greg groaned. The younger man gave Greg an amused look.

 

            “It was actually very straight forward. An elderly woman was found dead in her flat. It was a fall, but there was a lot of blood.”

 

            “HuhdRRSHCH!”  Greg interrupted her with a harsh sneeze.

 

            “Bless you,” Mycroft said sympathetically. “Do go on Sgt. Donovan.”

 

            “The neighbors were concerned there had been a break in or the like.” Sgt. Donovan shrugged. “There was no…”

 

            “Heh’DSHCHOO!” Greg interjected. Mycroft flinched. Sgt. Donovan chose to ignore this sneeze.

 

            “Evidence of that.” She continued. “Likely she tripped over one of her cats.”

 

            “Bless you, Detective Inspector. Cats, Sgt.?”

 

            “Yes, if she had one, she had a dozen.”

 

            “Well, that would explain the allergy attack.” Mycroft concluded.

 

            “No, what I think explains the allergy attack…”

 

            “Donovan…” Greg growled in warning. Then his face crumpled. “HehDRRSCH!” He sniffed and, frustrated, chafed at his nose with the handkerchief. “You can leave Sgt.,” he ordered.

 

            Sgt. Donovan headed for the door, but paused as she opened it. “Ask him about the kittens,” she offered as swiftly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

 

            Mycroft inclined his head and raised his eyebrows. “Kittens, my dear?”

 

            Greg huffed. “Animal Control needed he…heh…help…HuhRRddSHCHOO!” S…heh…s…sorry.” Mycroft watched Greg struggle as another sneeze worked its way through his sinuses. “Huh…hah…HahhhrrrRDSHH!”

 

            “God bless you, dear. You were saying?”

 

            Greg worried at his eyes. “So damn itchy,” he mumbled. Mycroft hummed in understanding and waited. Greg heaved a sigh. “Fine. I went under the couch to get the kittens. They were brand new and mummy cat looked a bit like your Mary.” He finished in a rush as another sneeze overtook his features. “Heh’DSHOO!” He dazedly wiped his nose with the well-used handkerchief.

 

            Mycroft smiled fondly at his boyfriend. “Bless you, Gregory and your sentimental heart.”

 

Greg blushed and shrugged. He looked as if he might say something else, but instead he turned away, nose wrinkling and eye squeezing shut. “Heh…Heh’DRRUSCH! HuhRRUSCHOO!” Greg shook with the force of this pair. He sniffed and blew his nose. “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry.”

 

            Mycroft’s expression was now compassionate. “There is no need to apologize. I have had too much of my own experience with allergy attacks to sit in judgment.” He unlocked the briefcase and slid the files he had come for inside. Greg nodded miserably. A faraway look in his eyes heralded yet another sneeze.

 

            “HuhrrDSHCHCH! Bugger!” Greg scrubbed at his nose.

 

            “Bless you, again.” Mycroft examined his boyfriend carefully noting the irritated eyes and twitching nose. “They say no good deed goes unpunished.” He stood and stepped over to Greg as he sat behind his desk. “Come, I will take you back to your flat.” Mycroft absently brushed at the cat hair on Greg’s jacket.

 

            Greg gestured to the paperwork strewn across his desk. “I have…heh…Heh’DRZSCH!” He had twisted away at the last minute. Mycroft gently laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder.  Greg snuffled into the handkerchief. “Sod it! Who am I kidding? Alright, take me home.”

 

Standing he collected his things and headed for the door.  With his hand on the knob, he turned to Mycroft. “No good deed goes unpunished, right?” Greg lifted his eyebrows. “What’s your punishment for this?”

 

Mycroft smiled slightly. “Oh, I am sure you will think of something suitable.”

 

Greg smirked. “Mmm… I like that idea.”

[cally]

Oh poor, poor Greg.  He sounds absolutely miserable.  I'm glad Mycroft was there to take care of him.  (Of course all I can think of is how our "other" Mycroft would have fared in this situation.)

7 hours ago, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

Mycroft smiled slightly. “Oh, I am sure you will think of something suitable.”

Oh I'm sure Greg will.

 

[AngelEyes]

Oh my god. Pretty sure I just died!!! You have killed me with this. Poor Greg. So utterly miserable.

On June 8, 2016 at 6:58 AM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

“HahRRushhmmpf!” Greg sniffed. “Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself. “Bring it all and another box of tissues,” he ordered Sgt. Donovan.

Oh dear.

On June 8, 2016 at 6:58 AM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

“You have been very observant today. Tell me, has Detective Inspector Lestrade been productive recently, with respect to his current duties?”

 

 

 

            “Nope. Not since we returned from our last call.” She replied, quickly catching on.

 

 

 

            “Not fair ganging up on me.” Greg scowled at both his partners. He kept the handkerchief at the ready.

LOL, poor dear.

On June 8, 2016 at 6:58 AM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

Mycroft inclined his head and raised his eyebrows. “Kittens, my dear?”

I can just picture this look!

On June 8, 2016 at 6:58 AM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

Mycroft’s expression was now compassionate. “There is no need to apologize. I have had too much of my own experience with allergy attacks to sit in judgment.”

Yes indeed.

On June 8, 2016 at 6:58 AM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

Greg snuffled into the handkerchief. “Sod it! Who am I kidding? Alright, take me home.”

 

 

 

Finally giving in.

On June 8, 2016 at 6:58 AM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

With his hand on the knob, he turned to Mycroft. “No good deed goes unpunished, right?” Greg lifted his eyebrows. “What’s your punishment for this?”

 

 

 

Mycroft smiled slightly. “Oh, I am sure you will think of something suitable.”

 

 

 

Greg smirked. “Mmm… I like that idea.”

Always incorrigible. Even while miserable. 

I just can't even handle so much amazing loveliness!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Thanks @cally and @AngelEyes Yes, Greg is always ready and willing to be incorrigible.  

On June 8, 2016 at 3:35 PM, cally said:

Of course all I can think of is how our "other" Mycroft would have fared in this situation. 

Oh My! *George Takei voice*

Back to the Blessings. This is for @Juto. For reasons. I hope everyone enjoys.

Blessings: Danish/Norwegian

 

            Greg surveyed the table feeling rather pleased with himself. He had dressed it with a clean tablecloth and used their best china with the matching tea service. Fruit and yoghurt parfaits sat at each place setting and a platter stacked with Mycroft’s favorite pastries was placed in easy reach. The teapot was filled with hot tea. My would surely eat something, thought Greg.

            He left the dining room in search of his partner. Greg had heard Mycroft moving around after he returned from the bakery. He checked Mycroft’s home office first, but eventually found the younger man in the drawing room staring at the bookshelves.

 

            “Hih’SCHOO!….Heh’TCHOO!”

            “G’morning, love and bless you.” Greg greeted as he approached Mycroft from behind. He wrapped his arms around his lover’s waist.  “You must be feeling better; you got dressed.” Greg pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s neck, rubbing his face in the soft hair.

            “Mmm? Yes, I do feel marginally better.” Mycroft replied after wiping his nose. Greg felt the fremitus in Mycroft’s left lung against his chest. Mycroft coughed harshly into the handkerchief he held in one hand. Greg held his partner just a little tighter. The coughing abated and Mycroft took a shaky breath.

            “I came to tell you breakfast is ready.” Greg let go and moved to stand next to Mycroft keeping one arm loosely around the younger man.

            “You go ahead. I am not hungry.”

            “Now My, you promised.”

            “I will eat later.”

            “It is later.”

            “I need to reorganize these shelves. Sherlock made a complete hash of them.”

            “They will wait.” Greg gently pulled Mycroft away from the bookcases and guided him to the dining room. Mycroft pouted the whole way.

            “I don’t feel like eating,” he said. “The thought nauseates me.”

            “Wait until you see what I have for you.” Having finally tugged Mycroft into the dining room, Greg stood back.

            “Oh Gregory, you went to a lot of trouble.” Mycroft scanned the table set with the fine china and the plate of the breakfast sweets.

            “It’s no trouble if you eat something.” Greg replied.

            Mycroft resigned himself to take his seat and Greg poured their tea. Greg sat down as well and passed down the milk and sugar. “John said you should eat some yoghurt since you’ve been taking all those antibiotics. It will help your digestion.” Mycroft nodded as he stirred the milk and sugar into his tea. “I went to the bakery this morning and picked up your favorite pastries--cinnamon rolls, Berliners, and Danishes. I got cherry and cheese.” Greg sounded very hopeful.

            Mycroft eyed the sweets breads. He could faintly smell the cinnamon and sugar. “Perhaps I could have a little.” Greg grinned, put his napkin in his lap and tucked into his parfait. Mycroft similarly began to eat, taking a few small spoonfuls of the creamy yoghurt. About halfway through, he had to admit the nausea was gone. He glanced at the plate of pastries. Greg watched him trying not to smirk.

            “Go on,” he said. Mycroft shook his head. Greg shrugged and took a cinnamon roll for himself. He took a healthy bite and gave a little groan of pleasure. “Oh, these are good. I can see why this is your favorite bakery.”

            “They are not as good as yours,” Mycroft murmured.

            “Aw, ta love.” Greg took a sip of his tea. “I don’t make Danishes. You want to try one of those?”

            “Perhaps.” Mycroft rubbed at his itchy nose and sniffed.

 

            “Here, I’ve an idea.” Greg took a knife and cut a quarter off a Danish. “Pass your plate.” Mycroft complied not really having the wherewithal to say no, as his nose began to prickle. As Greg took the plate, Mycroft turned away from the table and quickly cupped a hand over his nose and mouth.

            “HihTISH, ish, ish, …Hih’SCHOO!” Mycroft pulled his handkerchief from his pocket with his other hand. Greg looked up from plating the bit of Danish and frowned sympathetically. He didn’t say anything. He could tell Mycroft wasn’t done yet. His partner’s breath was already hitching again and his eyes shut as his body prepared for more intense sneezes. “Hih…heh… heh...ehTSH! Hahtsch, Hahtsch… HahETSHOO! HehETSCHHOO!” Mycroft groaned and coughed weakly.

 

            “Prosit¹, love. I learned that at the bakery.” Greg hoped to distract Mycroft with this story. Mycroft coughed again and wiped his nose. Greg cut a quarter off of his cinnamon roll and put it on Mycroft’s plate as he continued. “When I was in the shop another bloke sneezed and the baker called out, ‘prosit’. The clerk said it meant ‘bless you’.” Greg passed the plate back to Mycroft, who had finished tending his nose.

            “Tak.² It actually means ‘health’. However, I was unaware our baker was Norwegian.” Mycroft began to pick at the pastries with his fork.

            Greg appeared baffled. “Why would you say he’s Norwegian? He’s Danish.”

            “You said, pro-sit.”

            “Yea-eh?”

            “That’s Norwegian.” Mycroft had finished his bit of Danish and reached out for the remainder of the cherry Danish. Greg bit back a smile.

            “Well, what it ‘bless you’ in Danish?”

            “Pro-sit. The accent is on the first syllable.” Mycroft began eating the cherry Danish.

            “They both mean ‘bless you’ though?” Greg put his elbow on the table and leaned his face against his hand. He regarded Mycroft fondly as the younger man began to extol on the various similarities and differences between the Scandinavian languages: which one was easier to speak; which was easier to read; how Finland and Iceland were not actually considered part of Scandinavia, though they were Nordic countries.

            Greg noted Mycroft forgot to not be hungry. The parfait disappeared and soon the plate of pastries was consumed. Mycroft had abandoned his silverware and was licking icing and cherry filling from his fingers. Greg noticed a small dab on the end of his partner’s nose. He licked his thumb, leaned over and gently swiped the sticky residue away.

            “What are you doing?” Mycroft jerked back a moment too late.

            “Getting the Danish off your face, love.”

            Mycroft huffed and rubbed vigorously at his nose with his napkin, too vigorously for his sensitive nostrils. “Heh’ETSHOO! HahAHTSCH!” Mycroft sniffed.

            “Pro-sit. There. Did I say that better?” Greg was smiling. He really didn’t care if he had gotten it right. He was just happy Mycroft was eating again.

 

¹Health

²Thank you

 

TBC…

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

I love the Mycroft "corrected" aka schooled Greg. Adorable.

[Coffee Chicken Barista]

Aw, that's so sweet!

[Juto]

Aww yay the Danish!!!  

Thank you, it was perfect  

[cally]

I love "lecturing"!Mycroft.  He's too adorable.   <3