New Matilda Drabble Thread: updated Mar. 7 (Sherlock)

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

That was a very sweet reminiscence from Mycroft. I like that he kidnapped his brother to his home because the sofa hurts his back.  

[matilda3948]

Hi all  All Sherlock drabbles today. A couple that run as a connected series and a one-shot or two.

Lonely—51

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked. He way lying on the sofa in his pajamas (never mind that it was only 6pm) and hadn’t bothered to open his eyes.

“Promised John I’d check in on you while he was on his honeymoon,” Lestrade said, putting down the paper bag of take away and hanging up his coat.

“Why?”

“Because we knew you’d be lonely and you have a track record of making pretty terrible decisions when you’re lonely.”

“I don’t get lonely.”

“Like hell you don’t,” Lestrade said. “Why are you in your pajamas if you’re not moping and feeling sad for yourself?” Sherlock paused for a moment considering which reason he’d rather admit to.

“I’m sick,” he said. Sick was better than lonely. Lestrade frowned and came over and sat on the edge of the sofa near Sherlock’s head. He put a hand on the younger man’s forehead. Up close he could also see a red tinge to Sherlock’s nose as well as a bunch of tissues peeking out from the pocket of his robe.

“You are a little warm,” Greg said. “How long have been under the weather?” Sherlock shrugged.

“Two, maybe three days.”

“You could have called,” Lestrade said, ruffling Sherlock’s hair and earning himself an irritated eye roll in the process.

“M’not lonely,” he said with a sniffle, rubbing at his nose.

“I know. You don’t get lonely, right?”

heh…ehh…Sherlock turned his head away from Lestrade and fumbled to get a couple tissues from his pocket. huhNGZSHH! ehhNGTzschhhoo!

“Bless—”

HUHGNZSSCHHHoo!

Greg winced—that sneeze sounded nasty. Of course Sherlock would manage to fall ill not four days after John and Mary left.

huhNGZSHHoo!

“Bless you. C’mon. Sit up. Let’s get some food into you and we can work on cold cases until you fall asleep.

***

Humiliated—74

Humiliated didn’t even begin to describe how Molly was feeling. It had all been explained of course—by Sherlock, by John, by Mycroft, by that mysterious woman that works for Mycroft. It made sense and they’d all apologized. She’d even forgiven them; it wasn’t really anyone’s fault and holding a grudge never helped anyone…but the hurt lingered.

She’d taken some sick leave from work. Technically she had a cold but under normal circumstances she’d have pushed through, but she didn’t have it in her this week and figured she’d earned some time off. A hot shower had helped ease the congestion but now her nose was running. Molly wrapped her hair up in a towel, threw on some sweats and took the whole box of tissues off her bathroom counter. Pausing when she entered the living room, she pulled a tissue from the box and sneezed.

ahh AhhTishhhew! KTshhew! ahhTSHHHeew!

Phone Call—58 (continued)

There was a sharp knock on the door and Molly kept the tissues pressed to her nose hoping that if she looked horribly ill and contagious whoever was bothering her would quickly go away. She blinked in surprise when she opened the door to find Sherlock standing there.

“You look awful,” he said with all his usual tact.

“What are you doing here? And since when do you knock?”

“I went to Barts and they said you were out sick and…well, since…since the phone call I thought I shouldn’t break into your house for a while.”

Ugh. Molly was feeling worse by the second. She left the door open and shuffled over to her sofa, flopping down with a wet sniffle.

“Tea?”

“I’m not making you tea, Sherlock,” she snapped. He shifted from one foot to the other and fumbled with his scarf.

“No. I meant, would you like tea. If I made you some?”

Tishhew! Kitsschhew! ahhTSHHew! Tsshhew! ahh Ahh…

The last sneeze teased her and made her eyes water. Sherlock frowned and assumed that was as good as a yes and he went into her kitchen to switch on the kettle.

ahh AH…hah…ahhTISHHHEEW!

“Bless you,” he called into the living room.

Nervous—41 (continued)

“Thags,” she said before blowing her nose.

Sherlock came in with a cup of tea and put it down on the coffee table, then sat at the other end of the sofa.

“You’re not having any?” she asked, taking a sip.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to stay that long.” He kept his eyes downcast until he heard her call his name. He glanced up and was surprised to find he was nervous—that he was genuinely afraid Molly would ask him to leave and their friendship would suffer another blow.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Stay. Things aren’t going to get any easier by avoiding each other.” He nodded and went to the kitchen to make himself tea as well. When he sat back down the tension was gone from his posture and even Molly seemed a little more at ease. “Why were you at Bart’s today?” she asked.

“Was hoping you had a liver or, at the very least, a kidney for me. I’m working on a theory that—”

KTshhew! ahhTSHHHeew! ahh AhhTishhhew! AHHktsshhew!

“Bless you. A theory that liver enzymes will still show signs of glycol poisoning up to three weeks after ingestion and—”

ahhTSHHew! Tsshhew! Tishhew! Kitsschhew!

“Bless you, Molly. And the kidney was just for fun,” he added, getting a handkerchief out of his pocket just as Molly reached into an empty tissue box. “Here.”

“Thag you.” She wiped her nose and sniffled, trying to avoid triggering another sneeze. “So who was covering at the morgue?”

“Thompson.”

“He usually lets you do your work. Never known him to toss you out before.”

“I came to see you when he told me you were sick.”

“Oh.”

“Can’t remember the last time you took a sick day. Well, I can actually, but the point is—”

ahhtishhew! AhhKitsschhEEW!

“Bless you.”

“Sorry.”

“I decided my time would be better spent coming over here and seeing if you needed anything.” When she raised an eyebrow Sherlock shrugged. “I figure I owe you at least a few trips to the shops, pots of tea, chicken soup—”

“A massage and three weeks in Tahiti,” she added. He smirked.

“Lie down.”

“What?”

“I can’t arrange Tahiti on such short notice, so lie down.”

Hands—7 (continued)

“Oookaay…” Molly said, and stretched out on her stomach, tucking a pillow under her head. Sherlock slid her coffee table out so he was able to kneel comfortably on the floor near her head. “Are you really doing this?” she asked.

“Just relax,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. His fingers kneaded the muscles and even through the thick fabric of her sweatshirt, it felt incredible. He circled his thumbs around the base of her neck and then ran her hands down the length of her back, rolling out the knots using firm but gentle pressure. Except for an occasional sniffle or sigh of happiness, it was quiet and peaceful. A light rain had started and the sound of it tapping against her window further relaxed her. In fact, Molly couldn’t remember the last time she felt this content.

“Thank you,” she whispered and looked up at him. Sherlock took a moment before meeting her eyes. Molly thought he looked a little sad—or maybe just thoughtful.

“Well, I couldn’t just pull Tahiti out of my back pocket.” His smile was soft and she finally figured out what that look in his eyes was: guilt. It was still guilt. He stretched his arm behind him and snagged the tissues off the table, handing her a couple.

ahhTSHHew! AhhTsshhew! Tishhew! AHHKitsschhew!

“Bless you, Molly.”

After she blew her nose he went back to a tight spot between her shoulders, digging his knuckles in a little deeper and earning a happy sigh. Her eyes closed and her breathing evened out. Once Sherlock was sure she was asleep, he got up and went to take stock of her kitchen. He still owed her a trip to the shops.

Relief—44

Sherlock opened the door to 221B and let his eyes fall closed in relief. It was warm, quiet, and smelled like home. It hadn’t taken long to rebuild the apartment, but every moment he didn’t have his home made him more and more disoriented. He needed his home and needed the people who were currently inside it—especially spending a long day with his sister at Sherrinford. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and muffled a sneeze into it.

huhIHHMFSHH!

“Sherlock, is that you?” John poked his head around the corner. “Thought I heard you. How’d it go today?”

“It was a…difficult day,” Sherlock said with a liquid sniffle.

“It shows,” John said with a frown. “How are you feeling—cold getting worse?”

“About the same,” he admitted. “I took some cold pills on the drive back. I’m just…” he ducked his head so John couldn’t catch his eyes. “I’m tired.” John squeezed his shoulder. It was always difficult to figure out exactly what Sherlock needed after these trips. It varied depending on how the visit to the prison went. Today it was also complicated by his friend’s shaky health.

“Greg’s here but I can ask him to—”

“No. It’s fine.” Sherlock waved off the offer. He hung up his coat and went into the sitting room, lowering himself onto the sofa with a yawn. Greg brought him a cup of tea.

“Hey mate. You okay?” he asked. While he admired the hell out of Sherlock, Greg didn’t love the prospect of the younger man venturing out to that prison every couple of weeks. He nodded but the way the cup rattled on the saucer showed how much the day had impacted him. Just as Greg was about to ask, John caught his eye and shook his head. The time to talk about it came later; right now it was about getting Sherlock centered and calm again. Greg deferred to John and went and sat down in Sherlock’s normal chair.

“Where’s Rosie?” Sherlock asked, putting his empty cup on the table.

“She’s napping. You need her?” Sherlock nodded and John went upstairs.

Pillow—39 (continued)

By the time he came back down with the sleeping baby, Sherlock had stretched out on the sofa with a pillow behind his head. “Here you go,” John whispered. He settled Rosie on Sherlock’s chest. She shifted around getting comfortable again but settled back down after a few seconds. John covered him up with a blanket, stopping just at Rosie’s shoulders. Sherlock closed his eyes and rested one hand on the baby’s back, the other one slowly brushing over her arm. He could feel the anxiety start to ebb almost instantly, his muscles relaxing as he listened to the steady rhythm of the baby’s breathing. John sat down in his chair and answered Greg’s unasked question when the older man finally tore his eyes away from the sofa.

“Helps calm him down,” John said. “We discovered it sort of by accident a couple months ago, but it’s become his go-to when he’s feeling anxious.”

“That’s downright adorable,” Greg said.

“Shut up,” Sherlock mumbled from the sofa. “At least have the decency to talk about me behind my back.” He silently stifled three back-to-back sneezes by pinching his nose. The baby stirred and he rubbed the back of her head. “Shh…go back to sleep. Your daddy and Uncle Greg were just being morons. Sadly, it’s something you’ll have to get used to.”

This time John and Lestrade laughed openly.

Sherlock sneezed another three times, each one barely indicated by a sharp bob of his head and a thick sniffle afterwards.  John got up and tucked a box of tissues into the space between Sherlock’s side and the back of the sofa.

Sherlock wasn’t awake for long. The warm weight on his chest combined with the stress of the day was enough to overwhelm him. Soon his breathing deepened and the nervous twitching of feet stilled. While they kept their voices low, Greg and John continued to talk.

“You think it’s a good idea for him to keep going out there?” Greg asked. John sighed and seemed to consider his answer.

“I’m not sure. On the one hand, he needs to sort out and put together all the missing and forgotten pieces of his early life. And I think it’s extraordinary that he tries to reach out to her. I just don’t want him to get his hopes up thinking that he’s going to change her. Eurus is not going to change.”

“I don’t like it,” Greg confessed. “I don’t like him spending that much time with her. She’s dangerous and manipulative. She could really hurt him.”

“I know,” John said. “But he’s already hurt. Everything he thought he knew about himself has been wrong—either repressed from trauma or outright lies from his family. Maybe connecting with Eurus will help him.”

“Eurus isn’t able to connect to people, John. If that’s what he’s going for it won’t work.”

“You’re right. I know, you’re right but I don’t know what the alternative is. He needs to sort this out his own way. All we can do is be there for him while he figures this out. I don’t know what the right answer is but there’s no going back—just forward.”

Attack—69 (continued)

Greg nodded but it still didn’t sit well with him. Conversation shifted towards work and sports and Rosie (of course). They were in the middle of talking about a football match coming up that weekend when Sherlock’s voice cut through the room.

“John!”

There was something in the tone that startled both men. Three steps and John was at his side.

“Take Rosie now,” Sherlock said. The minute John picked her up Sherlock sat straight up.

“What happened?” John asked. Sherlock shook his head and clenched his eyes shut. He was shaking so hard it was no wonder he wanted someone to take the baby from him. John glanced at Greg and the older man nodded in understanding: panic attack. John went upstairs to put the baby back down. Lestrade came and sat next to Sherlock putting a hand on the back of his neck. Sherlock’s hair was damp with sweat but his actual skin was cold and clammy.

“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

“Can’t.”

“Sure you can. Just—”

“No, Lestrade. I literally cannot breathe through my nose.”

“Right—you’ve got a cold. Sorry. Alright then. Just nice slow breaths,” Greg said. Sherlock did his best but the first breath caught in his throat and coughed until his eyes watered. He felt Greg’s hand on his back—firm and steady and he had a little more luck on his second attempt. “Good. Now another,” Lestrade prompted. Sherlock reached behind him and grabbed the tissues.

HUHGNZSSCHHHoo! huhNGZSHH! ehhNGTzschhhoo!

“Bless you.”

Sherlock nodded and blew his nose and then leaned forward and rested his head in his hands with a sigh. He heard John’s steps coming down the stairs.

“You calming down?” John asked when he came back in. Sherlock nodded and John looked to Lestrade for confirmation.

“I think he’s alright now,” Greg said.

“My answer wasn’t good en—ehh…huh enough? HuhIGNZSSSHHoo!”

“Bless you. You’ve been known to be less than 100% truthful about how you feel,” John said. He leaned against the desk and Greg stayed at Sherlock’s side.

 “Start talking,” John said, gently. Sherlock took a shaky breath and opened his mouth but no words came out. He tried again and had the same result. He dropped his head into his hands and tugged at his hair.

“Sherlock, you’re okay,” Greg said. He felt a tremor run through Sherlock’s body and rubbed his back. John turned the heat up a degree and came back with a blanket for his friend. He wrapped it around Sherlock’s shoulders and looked in his eyes.

“She said something that really upset you today, didn’t she?” John asked. Sherlock nodded and coughed into his fist. John squeezed his shoulder. “Start talking.”

[Leafeon78]

Nice drabbles thanks for sharing. 

[PropertyofCora]

That Amy Pond drabble just made me so very happy!  I love when you write DW, you always capture them so nicely.

[Red]

Aww, I love the whole after-Eurus-plot! Sick John and caring, guilt-ridden Sherlock as well as sick and anxious Sherlock and caring John/Lestrade! (uhh, I'd also love some caring Mycroft ) And it's beautifully written. Can't have enough. 

 

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Lovely run of Sherlock drabbles. Nice to see Molly get a little TLC. 

 

[matilda3948]

Thanks so much for the comments! Glad you're enjoying them   Just a little thing from my new fandom I'm loving: Craig era James Bond.

Sniff—85

“You’re late. Three days late, 007. I was supposed to have logged this equipment back in on Monday,” Q said.

“Something came up,” Bond said gruffly.

“Doesn’t it always?” Q mumbled. “So, let’s see the damages.”

Bond put a GPS tracker, a laptop, something that might have once been a mobile phone, and a set of car keys on the table.

“I suppose that’s not too bad,” Q said, grabbing a new mobile and plugging it into his computer to set it up for the agent. “Where'd you park the car?” he asked. When he was met with nothing but silence, he stopped typing and looked up. “007, where is the car?”

“There was an incident.”

Q pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to leave him with a headache, he just knew it.

“Explain,” he said. But Bond didn’t say a word. In fact, it seemed as if he’d set his jaw and appeared to be unwilling to open his mouth. Q sighed. “If I’m going to have to write up the loss of a half million dollar piece of equipment the least you could do is—”

hh’ISHH! NG’ISHHH!

“Bless you?” Q couldn’t help but make it sound like a question. Even though he’d watched Bond bring a fist to his nose at the last moment and tilt his head away from him, it just seemed so bizarre to see him do something as mundane as sneeze. And is if that wasn’t strange enough, the agent followed with a damp sniff and rubbed his nose with his knuckles like there was an itch he was trying to punish. His efforts failed however, and Bond pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it over his nose and mouth, muffling the next sneezes.

hehMFshhh! hh’MFSHH!

“Bless you again,” Q said with a frown. His hand itched to reach out for the bottle of hand sanitizer in his desk drawer as he watched Bond blot his nose and put the cloth back in his pocket.

“Excuse me,” he said. Q could hear an undercurrent of congestion in his voice and it occurred to him that what he had categorized as gruffness earlier may, in fact, have been indication of a sore throat.

“Caught a cold?” Q asked. Bond waved off his concern.

“It’s nothing.”

Handkerchief—25 (continued)

“Good to hear.” Q turned back to the computer and verified that the new phone was ready to go. “So, where is the car?”

“Somewhere at the bottom of the River Affric.”

“You’re telling me you sunk it in a river in northern Scotland?”

“Unless you’re aware of another Affric,” Bond said.

“How the hell did you manage that?”

“I told you there was an in—ehh—an incident.” His voice rose sharply at the end of the sentence and he pulled our his handkerchief again.

heh ehMFshhh! hh’MFSHHoo! HehGNFSHHoo!

“Bless you. I don’t suppose it’s related to this head cold you’re pretending you don’t have?” Q asked.

huhEHHMFSSHHHooo!

Q winced. That one sounded bad and based on how long Bond kept his eyes closed, he guessed it didn’t feel too great either. The older man looked like he could use a long holiday and Q wondered if he’d started feeling worse since coming to his office or if he was just letting the pretense of wellness fall away since it was just the two of them. In either case, Q opted for a little finesse.

“Sit down, 007. I’ll just be a moment,” he said. “Your new mobile’s ready.” He handed the agent his phone and went into the small break room around the corner to fix them both a cup of tea. He heard his agent sneeze at least two more times while he waited for the water to boil and he put a liberal spoonful of honey in Bond’s cup. “Now then,” Q said, coming back into the room and putting a cup of tea in front of Bond. “Let’s see if we can’t find a way to phrase the loss of the car that doesn’t make you sound like a loose cannon.”

“I have a reputation to uphold,” Bond said. He took a sip of the tea and made a face.

“Not good?” Q asked. “I have a reputation too you know—make the best tea in all of Q Branch.”

“Needs more bourbon,” Bond said.

“It doesn’t have a drop of bourbon in it.”

“Exactly.”

“Shut up.”

“Killjoy.”

“Boozehound.”

Bond’s laugh dissolved into a cough and he at least had the good sense to cover his mouth, though it took longer than Q would have liked for the coughing to subside. He must have looked concerned because Bond shook his head.

“It’s nothing," he said again.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing but then I’m just a genius so what would I know about it.” That earned him a smirk and Q pulled up a “lost asset” report form on his computer. “So. The car.”

“I drove it off a bridge,” Bond said. Q typed a sentence then paused, waiting for the agent to explain.

“And?” Q prompted him.

“And into the river.”

“Well I assumed as much.”

“So why did you ask?”

“I’m going to kill you myself,” Q sighed.

hehMFshhh! hNG’FSHHoo! hh’MFSHHoo!

Oh good. More sneezing.

huhMFSSHHHooo! heh Ehh…hehMNFSHHHHOO!

If Q hadn’t been sitting less than five feet away from the other man he wouldn’t have heard the tight, constrained noise he made. He might not have noticed how he gingerly swallowed or how clearing his throat seemed to hurt. He might not have noticed the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes or the pink tinge to his nose. But Q was close enough and so he did notice. He also noticed the slump in Bond’s shoulders and the way he sipped his tea like it might actually be making him feel a fraction better. Q made a decision.

“Alright, you need to go home, 007. I’ll figure out something to explain the car. Should know better than to give you something like that in the first place.” Bond didn’t need to be told twice—he hated paperwork even when he was well. He stood and put the chair back where it had come from and buttoned his jacket. A thought suddenly occurred to Q. “You do have a bed at your house, right? You seem like the sort to just sleep on army cot or something.”

“I assure you I have a bed.”

“Do you have any kind of medicine?”

“Bourbon,” he said. Q wouldn’t even be surprised. He opened his top desk drawer and looked through his personal supplies. He took out a small bottle of pain relievers and opened a fresh box of cold medicine, tearing off several packets. Finally, he grabbed a half dozen cough drops. “Are you running a pharmacy on the side?” Bond asked.

“Your lucky day,” Q said, holding out his hand. Bond pocketed the pills and put a cough drop in his mouth.

“All this and a new mobile? I suppose it really is my lucky day.”

“Get out, 007 and take your germs with you. Some of us have work to do.”

“Thanks, Q.”

[Shamaël]

Matilda, you are the best. First because of those last Sherlock drabbles.

On 14/08/2017 at 2:16 AM, matilda3948 said:

“Start talking.”

OH MY GOD. This is the best Sherlock drabble ever. So much angst, and H/C! You're amazing.

And then James Bond? With Q? Oh, it's Christmas.

9 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Bless you?” Q couldn’t help but make it sound like a question. Even though he’d watched Bond bring a fist to his nose at the last moment and tilt his head away from him, it just seemed so bizarre to see him do something as mundane as sneeze. And is if that wasn’t strange enough, the agent followed with a damp sniff and rubbed his nose with his knuckles like there was an itch he was trying to punish. His efforts failed however, and Bond pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it over his nose and mouth, muffling the next sneezes.

 I can't write any sensible comment here because, you know, my brain just exploded.

9 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“You do have a bed at your house, right? You seem like the sort to just sleep on army cot or something.”

“I assure you I have a bed.”

“Do you have any kind of medicine?”

“Bourbon,” he said. Q wouldn’t even be surprised. He opened his top desk drawer and looked through his personal supplies. He took out a small bottle of pain relievers and opened a fresh box of cold medicine, tearing off several packets. Finally, he grabbed a half dozen cough drops. “Are you running a pharmacy on the side?” Bond asked.

“Your lucky day,” Q said, holding out his hand.

Q and Bond's interaction is perfect. I'm so glad you started to write in this fandom!!!

[AngelEyes]

These are great. I especially like the Sherlock one. Sweet caring Mycroft. Awww.

[AngelEyes]

I love that Rosie is what calms Sherlock down. So cute!

[matilda3948]

Thanks all! I appreciate the comments  

On 8/15/2017 at 11:33 PM, AngelEyes said:

I love that Rosie is what calms Sherlock down. So cute!

Oh, sleeping babies are the best tranquilizers! Snuggling with my niece instantly makes my blood pressure drop 20 points. They're so warm and smushy and smell good. 

Tonight is some post TFP brotherly angst and caring.

Bed—21

Sherlock paused at the door to his brother’s hospital room and crossed his arms. Mycroft looked up.

“You look awful,” Mycroft said. Sherlock smirked.

“That hospital gown is quite becoming, brother,” he said.

“Yes well, Detective Inspector Lestrade threatened to handcuff me to the bed if I didn’t comply with the hospital staff. Apparently that included the apparel.”

Sherlock came into the room and picked up the chart at the foot of Mycroft’s bed. He knew his older brother was studying him as he read through the notes from the doctors. Nothing terribly unexpected: dehydration, headache and dizziness from the drug Eurus gave him, borderline shock when he was admitted, anemic (clearly Mycroft had been neglecting his health leading up to the disaster at the prison), slightly elevated temperature—that was unusual given what they’d been through. Perhaps there was something working on Mycroft before they—

huhptshhew! HuhTSHHeew!

“Bless you.” That answered that question. Sherlock put the file down and sat down in the chair next to the head of the bed.

“Excuse me,” Mycroft mumbled as he pulled a couple tissues from the box on the bedside table and rubbed his nose.  A tense silence filled the room, neither brother knowing how to approach discussing the events that had transpired in the last few days.

“I’m glad Greg brought you here,” Sherlock finally said. “I knew you’d want to go home.”

“I’m not convinced it was necessary.”

“It was,” Sherlock said. Mycroft sighed and frowned when it made him cough. Sherlock raised an eyebrow but resisted a full fledged “I told you so” which Mycroft certainly appreciated. His ego was under serious repair and Sherlock seemed to respect that.

huhntshhhew! HuhNTsshhew!

“Bless you.”

“I’m sorry.” Mycroft kept his eyes downcast. “I don’t suppose you could get me out of here early?” he asked.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“Surely I’ve earned at least one early hospital discharge after many years of springing you early.”

“You didn’t always,” Sherlock reminded him. “Not when I really needed to stay.”

“I’m fine. A slight head cold, but nothing that requires continued hospitalization.”

“And the shock?”

“Mild when I was first admitted. I’m fine now.”

“The dehydration?”

“I’ve been on IV fluids for nearly 10 hours. Much more and I’ll float away.”

“The anemia?”

Mycroft heard the shift in tone—a touch concerned and possibly angry. Had the situation been reversed, he certainly would have been angry with his little brother if he’d been neglecting his basic health.

“I will do better,” Mycroft said.

“Yes you will.” Sherlock sighed and rubbed his forehead. There was too much going on in his brain. “If the doctor agrees that you’re rehydrated and what you claim is a cold is actually a cold, I’ll vouch for your release,” he said. Mycroft nodded. He supposed that was fair.

“May I take a look at your hands?” Mycroft asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes but put his hands down on the bed. Mycroft unwound the bandage and frowned when he saw the skin underneath. He probed the swollen knuckles and the numerous cuts, some of which had to be closed with a stitch or two. “Dr. Watson does good work.”

“Oh this isn’t John’s work; it’s Molly’s.” Mycroft’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I went and saw her immediately. I had to try and explain.”

“And?”

“And as usual, she took it in stride—hurt, embarrassed, but endlessly forgiving. Too forgiving,” Sherlock added quietly. He let Mycroft rewrap his hands but his leg bounced nervously. “I’ll go get a doctor to discharge you,” he said.

Sherlock was concerned when Mycroft didn’t put up a fuss about being taken to the front of the hospital in a wheel chair. Hospital policy or not, he’d expected at least token exasperation. The elder Holmes was surprised to find Gregory Lestrade waiting next to his car at the patient pick up area.

“What are you doing back?” Mycroft asked.

“Holmes family taxi service,” Lestrade said.

Of course—when Lestrade left the hospital he went to get Sherlock and had been waiting downstairs for the both of them.

“I could have called a car,” Mycroft said.

“Oh, I’m keeping an eye on the both of you,” Greg said, opening the back door. Mycroft coughed into his fist as he settled into the back of the car. Lestrade caught Sherlock’s eye after he shut the door.

“He’s alright,” Sherlock said.

“Sure? He doesn’t sound or look alright.”

“Doctor said it’s just a cold.”

“Sherlock, we both know there’s a lot more going on here than just a cold—for both of you. Are you sure this is smart?” Greg asked. Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. When was the last time he slept? He was nearing the end of his ability to function rationally; he was going to shut down soon.

“He doesn’t like hospitals. He needs to be at home, Lestrade. And I need…” He took a deep breath. “I need sleep and I need to be nearby. And we’re not doing that here.” Greg nodded.

“Okay then. Let’s go.”

Sherlock was too tired to question why that answer satisfied Lestrade. He just got into the front passenger seat and glanced at Mycroft in the rear view mirror. He had a knuckle pressed hard against the underside of his nose, clearly fighting off a sneeze. As Greg pulled out of the hospital parking lot Sherlock opened the glove compartment and found a travel pack of tissues. He tossed it over his head to his brother.

“Thag you,” Mycroft said, sounding incredibly nasal and congested. He got a tissue out of the pack and held it to his nose. It took very little time for the tickle in his sinuses to move down the length of his nose.

huh huhNGshhhew! HuhihGNSHHew!

“Bless you,” both men said.

“Excuse me,” he said hoarsely. Mycroft leaned his head against the window and was asleep before they’d even made it to the main road.

Frustrated—67 (continued)

Sherlock felt a pang of guilt when he opened the door to Mycroft’s house; the cleaning staff had obviously taken care of the mess his practical joke (seemed like a bit of an understatement knowing what he did now) had made. If he knew then the extent of what Mycroft was hiding, he would have opted for a less traumatic method of confrontation. His brother came into the house, moving slowly and with Greg a few paces behind.

“Get settled upstairs. I’ll make you both tea and something to eat,” Lestrade said. “Don’t argue,” he added when both brothers opened their mouths to claim they didn’t need food.

Mycroft started up the stairs, not bothering to try and hide how exhausted he felt. He was five steps from the top when he paused suddenly and took one of the crumpled tissues out of his pocket.

hehngtSHH! huhNTSHHew!

He gripped the banister, his breath shuddering deeply.

huhIHntshhhew! hehNTsshhew!

“Oh for huh Ehh…goodness sa—hehIHGSHHHew! hehTSHHeew!” He gave a frustrated huff. huh huhNGshhhew! HuhihGNSHHew!

He pinched his nose in the damp tissue and felt the urge to sneeze die down. Sherlock kept quiet but stayed much closer as Mycroft climbed the final stairs and made it to his bedroom. Sherlock continued to his room where he knew he would find clean pajamas. He glanced at the bed, feeling an almost physical draw to curl up in the blankets for the next 24 hours, but he needed to check on Mycroft first. He doubled back and took the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders—that seemed like a reasonable compromise. Sherlock could feel the buzzing in his brain that meant he’d pushed himself too far, his synapses felt like they were crackling from stress. He could hear Lestrade’s voice as he approached Mycroft’s room.

“It’s just toast. I’m glad you drank the water, but you have to put something of substance in your system, Mycroft,” the Detective Inspector said.

As much as he didn’t relish the idea of eating either, Sherlock came into the bedroom and immediately snatched up his own plate of toast and took a large bite.

“See?  Not that hard,” he said to his brother. In fact, the toast felt like sawdust in his mouth but Lestrade’s point was well taken and Mycroft wouldn’t like being shown up—recent traumas notwithstanding, he was still Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock sat on the bed next to his brother and they both forced themselves to eat. The tea was most welcome however and they made short work of that. Greg stood by and took their empty plates and cups when they were done.

“What else do you two need?” Lestrade asked.

“Nothing,” Sherlock said, drawing the blanket tighter around himself with a shiver. Greg frowned.

“You coming down with something too?” he asked. Sherlock shook his head. “Just shutting down, then?” Lestrade knew Sherlock’s tendency to crash hard after a stressful case.

“Yeah,” Sherlock sighed. “There’s cold medicine in the bathroom cabinet. He needs a dose.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Mycroft said.

“Got it,” Lestrade said. He refilled Mycroft’s glass of water and brought him the pills. Sherlock could feel himself drifting—an odd disconnected feeling where his mind and his body seemed to be miles apart. He slid up in the bed and curled up in a ball, pulling the blanket up over his head. The sound of Mycroft and Lestrade talking drifted over him. His brother sneezed seven times, each wetter and more exhausted than the last. There was coughing, nose blowing, and more conversation but Sherlock couldn’t make it out. The lights were turned down and the bed shifted as Mycroft laid down. He felt a hand rest on his head—Lestrade. Sherlock tried to focus on the words.

“Are you okay, Sherlock?”

“Mm.”

“I’m really glad you’re safe. Take it easy alright? I’m going to be downstairs working if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Greg,” he managed to say. That earned him a pat on the head. He might have smiled.

All was quiet except for Mycroft’s occasional sneeze or sniffle. While Sherlock was content to let his mind shut down on his journey towards sleep, Mycroft was edgy and restless despite being exhausted. It took an extraordinary amount of focus and energy, but Sherlock extended a hand from underneath his blanket and reach across until he found Mycroft. He placed his palm on his older brother’s chest and felt the fidgeting stop almost immediately. A moment later he finally felt Mycroft take a deep breath. Only then did he let himself fall asleep.

[AngelEyes]

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Yes well, Detective Inspector Lestrade threatened to handcuff me to the bed if I didn’t comply with the hospital staff. Apparently that included the apparel.”

 

LOL!

 

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Surely I’ve earned at least one early hospital discharge after many years of springing you early.”

 

I'm sure.

 

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Holmes family taxi service,” Lestrade said.

Funny!

 

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

Sherlock felt a pang of guilt when he opened the door to Mycroft’s house; the cleaning staff had obviously taken care of the mess his practical joke (seemed like a bit of an understatement knowing what he did now) had made. If he knew then the extent of what Mycroft was hiding, he would have opted for a less traumatic method of confrontation.

Oh dear. It was a bit dramatic.

 

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“See?  Not that hard,” he said to his brother. In fact, the toast felt like sawdust in his mouth but Lestrade’s point was well taken and Mycroft wouldn’t like being shown up—recent traumas notwithstanding, he was still Mycroft Holmes.

Sneaky!

 

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

While Sherlock was content to let his mind shut down on his journey towards sleep, Mycroft was edgy and restless despite being exhausted. It took an extraordinary amount of focus and energy, but Sherlock extended a hand from underneath his blanket and reach across until he found Mycroft. He placed his palm on his older brother’s chest and felt the fidgeting stop almost immediately. A moment later he finally felt Mycroft take a deep breath. Only then did he let himself fall asleep.

Awwww!

[frolicking periwinkle]

I love sick Mycroft. Well written!!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

These two are beautiful. Wonderful interaction between Mycroft and Sherlock. Greg is a perfect fit with these two, not at all awkward or a third wheel. There's a rhythm to writing these three together and you had it down. 

[Leafeon78]

beautifully written such good drabbles.

[bangbang]

Just when I think I'm done with this fandom completely, I find a super cute/melancholy/fantastic set of drabbles to hook me right back in. All of your characters are always perfectly in character - I love how we can see the Softening Of Sherlock in the last drabbles. 

And I really loved your Bond drabble! Of course Bond would be macho about a cold. He makes me laugh. Your Q is lovely and again, perfectly in character. 

Thanks for writing such lovely pieces! I enjoyed reading them a lot. 

[Spoo]

Where there's a bangbang, there's a Spoo!   Honestly, I have to agree with being hooked back in and Soft!Sherlock. I also feel like (at least on a personal level) that you capture the Holmes brothers' insecurities and vulnerabilities really well (anemic!Mycroft is my new headcanon, btw ).

All in all, however, well done!  

[Red]

Oh how lovely these are! Couldn't stop reading and I'm looking forward for more! 

[matilda3948]

On 8/25/2017 at 8:19 AM, Spoo said:

Where there's a bangbang, there's a Spoo!   Honestly, I have to agree with being hooked back in and Soft!Sherlock. I also feel like (at least on a personal level) that you capture the Holmes brothers' insecurities and vulnerabilities really well (anemic!Mycroft is my new headcanon, btw ).

All in all, however, well done!  

 

On 8/25/2017 at 8:03 AM, bangbang said:

Just when I think I'm done with this fandom completely, I find a super cute/melancholy/fantastic set of drabbles to hook me right back in. All of your characters are always perfectly in character - I love how we can see the Softening Of Sherlock in the last drabbles. 

And I really loved your Bond drabble! Of course Bond would be macho about a cold. He makes me laugh. Your Q is lovely and again, perfectly in character. 

Thanks for writing such lovely pieces! I enjoyed reading them a lot. 

There's no escaping Sherlock!   Never. Ever. Glad you both liked them though. Season 4 was so rushed there are all these missing scenes that can be written (as today's story shows).

Thank you everyone for your comments    You give me warm and fuzzy feelings. Today is a Sherlock story featuring Molly and Mycroft (a super tricky pair to write since they never really interact on screen). Post TFP as usual  

Cat—3

Molly had to admit, when the Holmes brothers screwed up they did their best to make up for it in high style. Since her house was being searched for cameras and bombs and other potential traps, Molly was put up in a luxurious hotel in central London. Mycroft had even arranged for her to bring Toby.

heptSHHew! Tschhew!

The cat crawled up on the bed as Molly sneezed. Her head cold seemed to be of little consequence given the last 24 hours—part of a day she didn’t think could get much worse before the phone call from Sherlock. He came by her hotel room as soon as he was back in the city to apologize, explain, and talk through what had happened. He was as shaken as she’d ever seen him, understandable given the trauma he’d just endured. She forgave him (of course) and they had an awkward, tearful conversation but by the time he left, Molly felt like their friendship could be salvaged.

ehTishhew! Kitsschhew! ahhTSHHew! Tsshhew!

She groaned and blew her nose, snuggling down under the thick comforter. Sleep had been elusive since she was rushed out of her house by a specialized team of government officials but her friends were safe, the bed was comfy, and she had her cat and room service so it certainly could be worse.

A knock on her door forced her to vacate that comfy bed and she wrapped herself up in a plush bathrobe before opening the door.

“Mycroft?”

“Good evening, Doctor Hooper.”

Molly stared at him. She’d never seen him look so…haggard. She stood aside and held the door open for him.

“Thank you. I’m sorry to intrude on your evening but I wanted to speak with you now that I’m back in the city.”

“Of course.” She blushed when she remembered that she was in her pajamas and a hotel-issued robe (not to mention overtired and sick). There was a small sitting area and they took opposing armchairs so they could talk face to face. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit under the weather,” she said. He waved off her comment.

“All the more reason to apologize for having to drag you from your home,” he said with a sigh.

“Yes and put me in these appalling conditions,” she teased.

“The very least I could do,” he mumbled. He seemed a bit lost for words which Molly had never seen before. He rubbed his eyes as if he had a headache and then crossed one leg over the other and took a steadying breath. “I wanted to apologize, in person, for what you went through on account of my sister,” he said. “I understand that Anthea briefed you and Sherlock has already been by, but you may have questions that neither of them are in a position to answer.”

AHHTsshhew! Tishhew! Kitsschhew!

“God bless you.”

“Thags. Sorry,” she said, getting up and grabbing the box of tissues from off her bed. She kept her back turned to Mycroft and blew her nose. When she turned back she saw the elder Holmes leaning forward and running his hand over Toby’s face and back, the cat’s tail twitching happily.

“I also have surveillance video that you may choose to view if you’d like,” he said quietly. Molly felt her stomach drop. “It’s entirely your decision,” he added. “I merely thought that being able to view the whole scene might provide insight. For security reasons, I cannot leave you alone with the recording however.” He pulled a small tablet from his briefcase and put it on the table. Molly looked him in eye and nodded. Mycroft pulled up the video and plugged in a pair of headphones before handing the tablet to her. As it began to play he walked over to the windows on the opposite side of the room to give her as much privacy as possible. He watched the city moving below him as he mentally tracked where she was in the video. It was thirty seconds before he heard her start to cry. Another thirty before she was forced to get tissues, ten more before he heard a small sob. A minute later she gasped and he knew she’d reached the point where Sherlock tore into the coffin.

Purr—96 (continued)

 “Oh, God,” she whispered. When he heard her place the headphones down on the table Mycroft finally turned around. She was white as a sheet and trembling, tears dripping down her face. He felt a cold rush of doubt run down his spine. Had he just committed another terrible mistake? Had he just hurt her even more by showing her the entire scene?

Molly wiped her eyes, stood up, and walked over to Mycroft. She wrapped her arms around him. Mycroft’s body went rigid and he tried to pull away but she tightened the hug.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I had no idea…I mean, I knew what Anthea and Sherlock told me but…it’s so much worse seeing it.” Much to Mycroft’s relief, she loosened her hold and leaned back so she could look him in the eye. “Are you okay, Mycroft?” He opened his mouth but found himself speechless. “Of course you’re not,” Molly said. “How could you be? How could any of you be okay after that?” She pulled him back over to the chairs and basically forced him to sit back down. Toby jumped up in Mycroft’s lap and he let his hand absentmindedly stroke his fur. Molly gave him a few minutes to let his mind settle; she suspected he didn’t even realize a stray tear had dripped from each eye because he had that disconnected look she sometimes saw from Sherlock when he was overwhelmed. She needed a moment for herself as well—“overwhelmed” seemed wildly inadequate for what she was feeling. Molly felt a throbbing ache at her temples. She glanced longingly at her bed but forced her attention back to the man across from her. Just like Sherlock, Mycroft looked shattered and she had a better understanding of it now. She sniffled and felt a deep prickling sensation between her eyes. She took a few tissues and waited as the sensation slowly swelled and intensified.

ehh…heh..ahhTISSHHew!

“Bless you,” Mycroft said, snapping out of his mental fog. She nodded and sneezed into the tissues again.

ahh hehh…AHHtsshhew!

“Bless you, again.”

“Sorry,” she said with a sniffle. “This is likely to carry on for a—ahh…a few minutes. ahhTISHHew!”

“Bless. An opportune moment to order tea then.” Mycroft set Toby on the floor and walked over to the phone near the bed and dialed the front desk.

Kitsschhew!

“Yes, this is Mycroft Holmes in room 1242. I’d like a full tea service sent up and make sure it’s from my private collection, not that swill they serve in the dining room.”

ahhTSHHew! KTSHHew!

He glanced at Molly before adding, “Two boxes of tissues as well, please. Thank you.”

AhhTSHH! TISHHew!

“Bless you, Molly. Are you alright?” He sat back down. She looked up over the fistful of tissues she had pressed to her nose and nodded.

“I get ahh…hah ahTSHHHew! ‘Scuse me. I get occasional fits like this with a cold. AHHKTSHHHeew! Sorry. I’m almost done.” She smiled when Toby resumed his place on Mycroft’s lap. Why was she not surprised that he was a cat person? heh…ehh ehhAHHtschheew! She exhaled in relief, finally feeling the tickle dissipate.

“My goodness. Bless you,” he said.

“Thank you.” She blew her nose and then leaned back in her chair, exhausted from the last few minutes. The only sound in the room was Toby’s contented purring. “He likes you,” she said. Mycroft smiled.

“I’ve always been fond of cats,” he said.

“Thank you for arranging to let him come with me.”

“Of course.”

When a knock at the door signaled the arrival of their tea, Molly got up.

“Stay there. You both look too comfortable.”

Tissues—48

 “I do have questions,” she said finally. They’d enjoyed their tea in silence for a few minutes but she was ready to press on.

“I’ll do my best to answer them.”

“Thank you. Not tonight though,” she said. “You look dead on your feet and I feel terrible, to be completely honest.”

Mycroft glanced down at his watch, surprised at how much time he had elapsed. He really should get going.

“I do have an early meeting with my parents tomorrow that I should prepare for,” he said.

“How much do they know?” Molly saw Mycroft turn almost grey as he shifted his gaze towards the window.

“They are still under the impression that Eurus died many years ago,” he said.

“Oh, Mycroft. That’s awful.” No wonder he was dreading it.

“Yes, I imagine that will be the consensus.”

“You didn’t have any choice though,” she said. A sad smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“I fear that will very much not be the consensus.”

ahh AH…AHHTsshhew! Tishhew! Kitsschhew!

“God bless you.” Mycroft gave Toby one last scratch behind the ear then placed him on the floor. “I’ve kept you too long,” he said, standing. “Your home should be restored and ready for your return no later than noon tomorrow, though you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like.”

Molly got up and followed Mycroft to the door. He buttoned his jacket and turned back to face her.

“Thank you for your understanding about all of this. I hope your health improves soon.”

“Thank you, Mycroft. I hope tomorrow goes okay.” The look he gave her made Molly’s heart ache a little. His armor was back on—stiffness and formality but she’d just spent hours with the man behind all that bravado. “You’re not a hugging person, are you?” she asked.

“Decidedly not.”

“Pity. You look like you could really use one.”

“Take care, Doctor Hooper. You have my number if you need anything.” He opened the door and didn’t look back. She went back into the room and glanced at Toby.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted after all that,” Molly said, lightly coughing against her wrist. She fixed herself another cup of tea and turned off all the lights except for the one next to her bed. She picked up her mobile and thought about what to say.

Are you going to be at the meeting with your parents tomorrow? —MH

Haven’t decided. How are you feeling?” —SH

I’m tired…and tired of sneezing but I’m fine. —MH

You think I should go? —SH

I think you should go and I think you need to be on his side. —MH

He showed you the surveillance video, didn’t he? —SH

Yes. I’m so sorry, Sherlock. —MH

He didn’t respond and she suspected that would be the end of the conversation. After putting her mobile back on the bedside table, she got up and went to get ready for bed. The marble floor in the bathroom made her shiver and she took a dose of nighttime cold medicine in the hopes that it would help her sleep. After switching off the bathroom light Molly felt her nose tickle. She sniffed and pinched her nose shut to try and buy her enough time to get to the tissues on the other side of the room. She nearly made it, partially stifling the first three.

hh’ngtshh! ahxNKT! NGTshh!

She rushed to get a fistful of tissues (silently thanking Mycroft for having the foresight to order more) and sat of the edge of her bed.

AhhTSHH! TISHHew! ahh…hah ahTSHHHew! AHHKTSHHHeew! heh…ehh ehhAHHtschheew!

She groaned and blew her nose repeatedly before switching off the last light and pulling the blankets up to her chin. Her mobile chirped and she reached for it. Much to her surprise, Sherlock had actually responded.

Don’t tell him, but I am on Mycroft’s side. I’ll be there tomorrow. Thank you for whatever you did for him tonight. We don’t deserve you, Molly. I hope you feel better in the morning. If you need anything please let me know. —SH

Thank you, Sherlock. Goodnight. —MH

[AngelEyes]

These are great!

7 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

Molly had to admit, when the Holmes brothers screwed up they did their best to make up for it in high style.

Obviously. They do nothing by halves!

 

7 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Yes and put me in these appalling conditions,” she teased.

LOL!

 

7 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

Mycroft’s body went rigid and he tried to pull away but she tightened the hug.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I had no idea…I mean, I knew what Anthea and Sherlock told me but…it’s so much worse seeing it.” Much to Mycroft’s relief, she loosened her hold and leaned back so she could look him in the eye.

Poor Mycroft. Physical affection. How horrible!

 

7 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Oh, Mycroft. That’s awful.” No wonder he was dreading it.

“Yes, I imagine that will be the consensus.”

“You didn’t have any choice though,” she said. A sad smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“I fear that will very much not be the consensus.”

I just love this exchange. His replies are so perfectly Mycroft!

 

7 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“You’re not a hugging person, are you?” she asked.

“Decidedly not.”

“Pity. You look like you could really use one.”

Awwww!

 

7 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

Don’t tell him, but I am on Mycroft’s side. I’ll be there tomorrow. Thank you for whatever you did for him tonight. We don’t deserve you, Molly. I hope you feel better in the morning. If you need anything please let me know. —SH

Good boy Sherlock. And Yay for Molly!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

On 8/27/2017 at 4:36 PM, matilda3948 said:

“You’re not a hugging person, are you?” she asked.

“Decidedly not.”

“Pity. You look like you could really use one.”

My favorite exchange between Mycroft and Molly.

 

Lovely set of drabbles. I'm glad Mycroft got some cat cuddles. He totally needed them.  

[Shamaël]

Oh sick Mycroft and caring Sherlock is the BEST!!! Thank you for this Matilda! I'm late for the comments but I really enjoyed your last drabbles. I like Molly more and more and these last texts between her and Sherlock... Oh my heart. You are great.

(But, of course, I prefer sick Mycroft. The discussion between the two brothers was just amazing.

On 23/08/2017 at 3:37 AM, matilda3948 said:

“Holmes family taxi service,” Lestrade said.

That was so cute...)

[matilda3948]

Hi all! Just a couple Doctor Who drabbles tonight. 

Rest—56

“You’re never going to get any better if you don’t rest,” Amy said.

“Forget it. I already tried three times,” Rory said. The Doctor popped up from behind an open control panel on the left side of the TARDIS.

“If you two aren’t going to admire my genius why do I even bother to bring you ahh Ahh…” His voice hitched loudly and he scrubbed at his nose in exaggerated circles. It didn’t help though and a moment later he cupped his hands over his nose and nearly doubled over with a violent sneeze.

huhAHHHNDZCHHHoooo!

“Bless you,” Amy and Rory said in tandem.

huhhRAHHKTSCHHHooo!

“Alright, that’s enough,” Amy said, getting up and walking over to the Doctor. She grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. “Rory, make tea. And you,” she said, pointing a finger in the Doctor’s face. “You are going to bed right now.”

“But rest is boring,” he moaned.

“Bed. Now.” He mumbled something as he wandered down the hall. “What was that?” Amy called.

“Nothing.”

“That’s right, nothing.”

55—Frost

Nardole had just stormed off, angry that the Doctor had gone to the Frost Fair with Bill. She pursed her lips to keep from laughing; it was so funny to see the Doctor reprimanded by someone but Nardole seemed to have no qualms. She wasn’t quite ready to change out of her beautiful dress yet and the tea looked awfully appealing after a day out in the cold. Her throat was dry and scratchy but there had been a fair bit of screaming today so she supposed that was reasonable. It wasn’t until she sneezed that she made the connection.

ahhKTCHH! KTCHHoo! AHHKTSCHHOO!

“Bless,” the Doctor said glancing up from the papers on his desk.

“Thahhh AH ahhKTSHH! KTCHHOOO!”

“Alright?” the Doctor asked, a hint of concern on his face. Bill rubbed her nose and sniffled.

“Bit sneezy,” she said. He nodded towards the chair across from his desk and poured them both a cup of tea. Bill felt a twinge of worry. “Um, Doctor? Should I have had like vaccines or something before going to different planets and time periods and things?”

“No. TARDIS looks after your immune system, doesn’t let any alien microbes affect you. For the most part,” he said.

“For the most part?” Yes, she definitely was feeling off, she decided. And worried. 

“Well, I suppose once or twice a thing has happened.”

AHHKTSCHHOO! KTSCHHHoo!

The Doctor got up and came around to Bill’s side of the desk. He gave her his handkerchief and put a hand on her forehead. Then he took out his sonic screwdriver, scanned her, and glanced at the readout.

“Just a cold,” he said. “Nothing alien at work.”

“Came on fast,” she said before coughing into the handkerchief.

“Here,” he said, taking a glass of water out of his pocket. Bill looked at him as though he’d sprouted a second head but took a drink. The Doctor went back to his chair.

“How’d you have water in your pocket?” she asked.

“Skills. Oh! That reminds me! Promise me you’ll never, ever swallow anything I give you unless I specifically tell you it’s medicine and okay to do so.”

“Riiiight…because why exactly would I just swallow something random?”

“You’d be surprised,” the Doctor said. “Accidentally turned a boy into a superhero once.”

“You did not!”

“Just promise me.”

“Yeah. Okay, I promise.”

“Good. Now, next assignment is an essay on the effects of adrenaline on the human immune system, he said.

ahhKTCHH! Ahh…AHHKTCHHoo!

“Bless.”

[AngelEyes]

1 hour ago, matilda3948 said:

“But rest is boring,” he moaned.

“Bed. Now.” He mumbled something as he wandered down the hall. “What was that?” Amy called.

“Nothing.”

“That’s right, nothing.”

Poor 11. I love when Amy bosses him around. LOL

 

1 hour ago, matilda3948 said:

“No. TARDIS looks after your immune system, doesn’t let any alien microbes affect you. For the most part,” he said.

“For the most part?” Yes, she definitely was feeling off, she decided. And worried. 

“Well, I suppose once or twice a thing has happened.”

This is great, very good 12 and Bill.

 

1 hour ago, matilda3948 said:

“Riiiight…because why exactly would I just swallow something random?”

“You’d be surprised,” the Doctor said. “Accidentally turned a boy into a superhero once.”

“You did not!”

“Just promise me.”

“Yeah. Okay, I promise.”

I can totally see this interaction!

[matilda3948]

@PropertyofCora wrote some 12/Missy drabbles and I loved them so much I wanted to write some too. These are all connected like a continuous story. Also, it's been a loooooong week and it's Friday so I've been drinking--gonna have to overlook tipsy typos  

61—Accent

“I’m telling you it’s a trick,” Nardole said. “I don’t know what she’s up to but mark my words, she is up to something.” The Doctor glanced at the screens around the TARDIS console and shook his head.

“I don’t think so. I think she’s actually ill.” He stood and gathered up the take away he’d ordered for them.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

The Doctor knocked on the vault door and began unlocking it.

“I’m not in the mood for visitors,” Missy said, her unmistakable accent tinged with congestion.

“You’re always in the mood for visitors,” he said. “And I’ve got stories.”

“I said not today.”

By the time he entered she was sulking at the piano, picking out a melancholy tune he hadn’t heard before. She had her back turned to him and the whole vault had an air of sadness; she’d even changed the weather to rain, the programmed noise echoing against the fake windows.

“Bit dreary in here isn’t it?” he asked. Missy slammed her hand down on the piano.

“So what if it is? It’s my prison cell. I can do what I want with it.”

“Never said you couldn’t. Just observing,” he said.

“Well stop,” she snapped.

The Doctor put down the food he’d brought with him and took several steps towards Missy. Going “cold turkey” had certainly taken its toll on her, but she looked particularly ragged today. He felt a wave of sympathy and pride come over him all at once. She was trying but it was a bad day—one of those days when she was tired and furious and restless.

hehhAHHshhhoo!

“Aw, and a cold to boot,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re having a bad day and you’re ill on top of it.”

“No I’m not,” she said.

“Oh save it,” the Doctor said. “I’ve got biometers all throughout the vault. You’ve got a low-grade fever and your viral count is elevated. The TARDIS notified me hours ago.”

heh ahh…ehhAHHtsshhoo!

“Bless.”

70—Listless (continued)

She seemed to deflate, her posture sagging as she slumped onto the piano bench. The Doctor crouched down in front of her and lifted her head to find tears in her eyes. When a drop rolled down her cheek he brushed it away.

“That’s happening a lot these days,” he said gently.

“I hate it,” she sniffled.

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

“I know that too,” he said with a little smirk. Missy rolled her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Headache?” he asked. She nodded. “You need to eat something. I brought soup.” He stood up and went to the set of overstuffed chairs where the two of them usually sat for their little chats. When she didn’t follow, he glanced back and saw her sitting with a finger pressed against her nose. It had been ages since he’d seen his friend ill and had forgotten how hard it was to was to see her listless and miserable. Missy’s breath hitched several times in quick succession before she lost the battle with the sneeze.

ahhh…heh ahh…ahhAHHtsshhoo! hehahhSHHHoo! HehhAHHSSHHOOO!

“Bless you.” The Doctor pulled a box of tissues out the bag and tore the top off. “Brought these as well,” he said. The look she gave him fell somewhere between gratitude and murderous rage and the Doctor had to resist the urge to laugh. Her nose was running and she snatched the tissues before sinking into her chair with a sigh. He handed her a bowl of soup and then leaned back into his own chair. They ate in companionable silence for a while—her periodic sniffling and the clinking of spoons the only noise. The Doctor finished first and made no attempt to hide the fact that he was watching Missy.

“What?” she finally asked. He saw her shiver slightly and decided to see if she was in a truth-telling mood.

“Are you chilled?” he asked. She seemed to consider her answer.

“A bit.”

The Doctor flicked his sonic screwdriver towards the door of the vault and adjusted the heating. Missy looked worn; her face was pale and the tip of her nose was pink and irritated. But it wasn’t just that—she looked unsettled and…

“Why are you sad?” he asked.

“I’m not sad.”

“Yes you are.”

She turned her head away and refused to look at him but he didn’t have to see her to know she was crying again. He leaned forward in his chair.

“Missy, I know this part hurts but I promise it’s good,” he said.

“Good!” She spat the word out like it tasted bad.

20—Anticipation (continued) 

“Just talk to me, Missy.”

“Talk,” she scoffed. “What good is talking going to do? All you ever want to do is talk.”

“Alright then. No talking. How can I make you feel better?” he asked. Tonight wasn’t the night to push her. She was fragile and a fragile Missy wasn’t to be taken lightly. Whether she believed it or not, this whole process really was about making her feel better…even if it meant having to temporarily feel worse in the beginning. But she was sick and, he suspected, feeling worse than she was letting on. They could philosophize next week; tonight he wanted her to rest.

“You said you had stories,” she said. “Something wonderfully dreadful with a high body count.” He raised an eyebrow and sighed but she just pouted. “Come on. I’m sick. Tell me a story.” Hell. Nardole was right—he couldn’t help himself. “Wait a moment,” Missy said. She stood up but a wave of dizziness made her flop back down in her chair.

“What’s wrong?” the Doctor asked.

“Bit dizzy.”

“What did you need?”

“Blanket.”

“Where is it?”

“Second door on the left,” she said. He got up and went to her room. He hadn’t seen her room since setting up the vault in the very beginning. When he opened the door he was surprised to see the room was basically destroyed—tables upended, papers and books all over the floor, a mirror smashed. Was this an isolated fit of anger or a regular occurrence? A question for another day, he reminded himself picking up the blanket off the foot of her bed. When he came back into the main room he saw Missy with both hands full of tissues raised just in front of her face. Her eyes were closed and head tilted back, breath hitching in anticipation. He’d have stayed back and given her some privacy but his shoes echoed on the floor.

ahhh…heh ahh…

He made a little sympathetic noise before he could stop himself and, on the verge of a sneeze or not, it earned him a glare that even the Doctor respected…almost.

Ehh Ahh…

He draped the blanket around her shoulders and took advantage of his proximity to brush his fingers against her forehead. Definitely warmer than before.

ahh AHH! hehahhSHHHoo! ehAHHtsshhoo! HehhAHHSSHHOOO!

“Bless y—”

HehhAHHSSHHoo! AHHtsshhoo! hehahhSHHHOOO!

The sneezes were harsh and violent—her throat would hurt after those.

ehhAHHSSHHooo! KTSCHHHOOO! hehh AHHTSSHHHOOO!

“Bless you.” He was back in his chair and gave her a moment to blow her nose and clear her throat. She shivered and drew the blanket tighter around herself.

“M’fine,” she mumbled.

“Of course you are. Now then, I owe you a story.”

“High body count,” she reminded him.

Yes. High body count. Let’s see.” She sniffled and snuggled down in her chair. The Doctor scrolled through his options. “Did I ever tell you about the time I visited the planet Xelox 7?”