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

[AngelEyes]

Fantastic. I love the relationship between 12 and Missy.

1 hour ago, matilda3948 said:

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

You got Nardole down perfect!

 

1 hour ago, matilda3948 said:

“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.

This is perfect banter between the two.

 

1 hour ago, matilda3948 said:

“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.

I love the Dr being all kind and patient with her which kind of just pisses her off more.

 

1 hour ago, matilda3948 said:

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?

I can totally see this.

[PropertyofCora]

OMG I absolutely adore these 12/Missy drabbles.  Well done!  I'm so pleased you decided to write them, and you did it so nicely.  I love seeing her more vulnerable side.

[matilda3948]

Hi all! Been a while since I've added anything but real life has been a bit crazy. One short Sherlock drabble and a couple 12/Missy drabbles because I love them.

Induce—87 (This is based my experience with an eye injury I've been dealing with for the last two weeks. While I didn't sneeze every time I put the drops in, there was a 50/50 chance I would. It was the same prickly feeling I get when plucking my eyebrows so I'm assuming it's some kind of reflex).

“Just get it over with,” John said when he came into the sitting room and found Sherlock glaring at the small bottle of eye drops on the table.

“I hate it.”

“I know,” John said. “But it’s really important. You can’t afford to skip those drops. That was a nasty infection.” Sherlock sighed dramatically and threw his head back.

“But the sneezing just adds insult to injury. It’s completely ridiculous,” he said.

“It’s the pupil dilating when you put the drops in—it’s a reflex you can’t control.”

“I know the physiology. Doesn’t make it any less annoying,” Sherlock mumbled as he shook the bottle and got a couple tissues out of the box for the inevitable sneezes that would be induced from using the eye drops. John stood at the end of the sofa.

“Here. Tilt your head back and let me try,” he said. Sherlock nodded and handed to bottle over to his friend. John gently pulled down on the skin of Sherlock’s lower eyelid, putting two quick drops in towards the bottom of the eye instead of right in the center. “Blink a few times,” John said. Just as John was ready to ask if it worked, Sherlock gasped suddenly and brought the tissues to his face.

HUHGNZSSCHHHoo! huhNGZSHH! ehhNGTzschhhoo!

“Bless you,” John said. “Was worth a try.”

“Only three this time,” Sherlock noted.

“Well look at the bright side. You only have to do this five times a day for the next ten days and then you’re done.”

“Shut up.”

 

Flu—57

"Sir? I think you need to see this," Nardole said, turning one of the screens on the console. The Doctor had been half-reading, half-dozing in one of the upholstered chairs on the second level, a cup of tea on his left and a blanket pulled up nearly to his chin. He watched the screen for a moment before a sudden rattling cough forced him to close his eyes.

"How long's that been going on?" he asked.

"Over an hour," Nardole said. "I thought she'd tucker herself out—you know how kids can be, but she shows no sign of slowing down. Do you want me to—"

"No, I'll do it. I don't want you in there with her when she's like this."

"No offense sir, but you look like a good gust of wind could knock you over today. Sure you don't want to just leave her alone?"

"She's going to hurt herself," he said. "I need to talk to her and figure out what's making her so upset."

"I have a few theories," Nardole mumbled.

The Doctor shook his head and stood up slowly, as if every muscle resented being asked to function. He gripped the back of the chair and took a wrinkled handkerchief from his pocket.

huh Huh…his breath stuttered several times before the sneeze finally blossomed. huhhIHNGSHHH! huhGNTSHHoo!

“Bless you, sir.

“Thag you.” The Doctor frowned as how congested he sounded and he gave his nose a forceful blow. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Nardole, I can hear you worrying from all the way over here,” he said.

“I don’t like you going in there when you’re not 100%.”

"We're supposed to be helping her," the Doctor reminded him. Nardole grumbled something unintelligible and the Doctor exited the TARDIS.

When he opened the vault door he found an absolutely seething Missy destroying everything she could get her hands on. The main room looked like a tornado had spun through and it seemed the only thing she hadn't tried to demolish was her piano. He stood near the door and watched her scream and tear a picture off the wall, breaking it in half and throwing it behind her. When Missy finally noticed he was behind her she turned on him.

"You've left me alone for days!" she yelled. "You promised you wouldn't leave me alone and as soon as you get a new toy you're off gallivanting around the universe while I'm imprisoned in this—"

HuhIHHGTSCHHHoo!

He sneezed and it cut her off immediately. She was panting and her face was flushed with rage but she finally calmed down long enough to really observe the Doctor. 

Huh uhh…huhIHHngtshhh! HuhhGNSCHHoo!

"You're actually ill?" she asked. He made a noncommittal noise and she stepped closer. "I thought the egg with glasses was lying when he said you were ill. That you were off with your pet but now that I look at you..."

Doctor—17 (continued)

She righted the two chairs she'd tipped over and motioned towards the one he traditionally sat in during his visits. The Doctor was happy to get off his feet, even happier that Missy was no longer having a meltdown. 

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"Fresher's Flu," he mumbled, pulling his handkerchief from his coat pocket. When he saw her confused expression he clarified. "It's a catchall term for the rampant outbreak of disease that happens shortly after the students all come back for a new term."

"Can't remember the last time I saw you sick," she said.

"Not a regular occurrence, thankfully."

Missy was quiet for a moment and her eyes had that faraway look they got when she was trying to make sense of something.

"So that's why you haven't been to see me?" she finally asked.

"Barely been out of bed for the last few days to be honest."

"I thought the little one was lying to me."

"Nardole doesn't lie. It's against his moral fiber. One of the things that makes him simultaneously brilliant and annoying….eh excuse be…huh…uhhGNSCHHoo! HutschhhOO!"

“You sound terrible,” she said.

“M’fide,” he mumbled.

“Do you want tea? I could make tea.” He shook his head. “Why don’t you sleep then? You never were much for resting but you’re quite pale, Doctor. Perhaps you should close your eyes for a bit.”

“You’re suggesting I trust you enough to fall asleep?” He sniffled wetly and rubbed his nose in the cloth clutched in his left hand. Missy nodded.

“Of course. I’d never hurt you while you’re ill and resting. When I kill you I want you at your best, staring me in the eye as the life bleeds out of you.”

He stared at her—it didn’t seem to be a threat as much as it was a simple statement of fact. The Doctor couldn’t help himself and he laughed. Missy joined him and for just a moment it felt like old times. Unfortunately, the Doctor’s throat wasn’t up for much laughing and he soon was doubled over coughing into his fist. When the spasm halted, he leaned back and looked at Missy.

“Are you alright?” he asked. She shrugged and looked around the ruin in her vault.

“Better now. Needed to get that out of my system,” she said.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long between visits. I should have come to see you myself instead of sending Nardole.”

“Might have still torn the place up. Felt quite good.”

These were the kinds of comments that still made him worry but he felt too poorly to challenge her at the moment. As if she could read his mind, Missy continued,

“Oh don’t worry. Not backsliding or anything. I’m still trying to be ‘good.’ Just looking for some attention I guess. Worked, didn’t it?”

Huh…huhhIHNGSHHH! huhGNTSHHoo! uhh…Huhh HUH huhhIHGSHHHOOO!

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Missy said as she stood up. “If you’re not going to rest here get back to the TARDIS and let your lapdog fuss over you.” The Doctor got up and shivered—he really was feeling poorly.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I’m fine. Go on now. I expect you well in a few days.”

“Thank you, Missy.”

“And I want some new books!” she shouted as the door closed. “And you still owe me a pony!”

[Shamaël]

16 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“I know the physiology. Doesn’t make it any less annoying,”

Ah, Sherlock. Accepting reality isn't exactly your strong spot, is it?

Thank you for this drabble, it was really enjoyable! (I've read the other ones as well, but I don't know the fandom, so I didn't enjoy them as much as Sherlock)

[PropertyofCora]

Yay!  These 12/Missy ones were so lovely, I just adored them.  I really need to get back to writing mine, you've reminded me just how much I love them in these compromising situations.

[AngelEyes]

Poor Sherlock. He really must be more careful. And I love Missy's tantrums.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

These were lovely. I like the Doctor Who ones. I've finally caught up to 12 and Missy so reading these are a treat. Trying to be ready for the Christmas special. All that snow...  

And what did the Doctor say the last time? He either has a cold or an alien invasion for Christmas. 

 

[matilda3948]

 Couple linked Sherlock drabbles before I got to bed. 

Clinic—80

John frowned when he got home from work and found Sherlock in the same position he’d been in for the better part of a week—curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, sniffling into a handful of tissues. John didn’t say anything but walked over and put a hand on Sherlock’s forehead. No fever. That was good, but whatever this bug was it had sapped Sherlock’s normally boundless energy. John stood back when he saw his friend’s nostrils flare and his eyes drift shut. Sherlock brought the tissues to his nose and released a tired, wheezy trio of sneezes.

huhhIhhshhh! HihhSHHHH! huh IhhSHHHoo!

“Bless you.” Sherlock nodded and wiped his nose. “Hungry?” John asked.

“Not really.”

“Moved off that sofa at all today?”

“Twice.” He paused to clear his throat. “Once to use the loo and once to get a fresh box of tissues.”

The lack of complaining, moaning, and general rude behavior added to John’s concern. Normally Sherlock was unbearable after 24 hours with a cold, but he’d been listless and pliable and even grateful for John’s efforts to help him feel better.

huhhIhhshhhoo! Hihh…uhhSHHHH! huh IhhSHHHoo!

“Bless you, Sherlock.”

“Thag you. My voice seems to be going.”

“Not surprised,” John said. “This cold’s been hanging on for too long. If you don’t start feeling better soon I want to draw some blood and test it at the clinic.”

“It’s not mono.”

“Sherlock—”

“It’s not mono.”

“All your years of medical training lead you to that conclusion?”

huhh—huhIhhshhhoo! HihhSHHHHoo! hihhhIHSHHHoo!

“Bless you.”

Sore—60

“I told you it wasn’t mono,” Sherlock whispered. Whispering was all he was capable of by this point.

“I had to rule it out,” John said. He did what he’d done every day for the last week: hang up his coat, check Sherlock’s forehead for fever, and turn the kettle on.

huhhSHHHH! huh huhIHHSHHHoo!

“Bless—”

huhhIhhshhh! HihhSHHHHoo! huh IhhSHHHoo!

John raised an eyebrow in question and Sherlock shook his head.

HihhSHHHH! IHHshhh! HihhSHHHHoo! huh IhhSHHHoo! huh IhhSHHHoo!

Sherlock winced and rubbed his throat. The sneezes scraped at his throat which was already sore and scratched from a seemingly endless parade of cold symptoms. His eyes were still closed when he felt the sofa dip and the unmistakable weight of John’s hand on the nape of his neck.

“Bless. What am I going to do with you?” John asked. Sherlock gave a noncommittal hum and kept his eyes closed as John kneaded the tight muscles at the base of his skull.

“M’tired. How can I still be so tired? I’ve done nothing but sleep for days.”

“I know,” John said sympathetically. “I wish I could speed this up for you.” John often felt frustrated by viral infections, knowing full well that all he could do was manage symptoms. “How about something nice and spicy for dinner? Try and clear out your sinuses a bit? I bought some ginger lemon tea that might help your throat too.”

“Lost without my blogger.”

Control—15

“Sure you’re ready to be out here?” Lestrade asked when he got a look at the consulting detective. “You still look a bit peaky if you ask me.”

“No one asked you,” Sherlock snapped. Greg had to repress a laugh—if Sherlock was hurling insults than he was ready to be out of the house for a while. John had told him nothing higher than a 4 and a maximum of three hours outdoors.

He really was feeling better…mostly. Still a bit hoarse, slight runny nose, an occasional sneeze here or there, but Sherlock had spent nearly two weeks holed up at Baker Street and he finally had some energy back. This, of course, resulted in him climbing the walls and driving John crazy.

“This is barely a three,” Sherlock said, crouching down next to the deceased man.

“All I had to offer,” Lestrade said.  Sherlock sniffed and the DI wasn’t sure if it was a sign of derision or a runny nose. He stood by and let the younger man study the corpse; Greg already had a pretty good working theory but he felt bad that Sherlock had been laid up with a cold for so long. Fresh air and a little trouble might do him some good. Sherlock stood up and straightened his coat, preparing to school Lestrade on his case.

“This isn’t a homicide; it’s an accidental death,” he said.

“Convince me,” Greg said, folding his arms across his chest. He liked this bit.

“Scuff marks on the right lapehhh…lapel...” He hastily raised and arm and muffled a sneeze against the heavy fabric. huhhIhhmfshhhoo! huhhhmfSHHHH!

“Gesundheit,” Leastrade said. He reached for his handkerchief but Sherlock waved him off, taking a few tissues from his coat pocket.

“Scuff marks on the lapel. Cuts and scrapes on both hands—huh Hihh—consistent with HihhSHHHH! IHHshhh! HihhSHHHHoo!”

“Bless you. Alright?”

“Fide. Cuts and scrapes consistent with him trying to hang on to the railing of the huh Huhh…”

Greg watched him try and hold the sneeze back, forcefully pressing a curled index finger against his septum. Sherlock closed his eyes and seemed frozen, his breath coming in quiet little stutters. The first was a painful sounding squelched sneeze before Sherlock admitted defeat and grabbed more tissues from his pocket.

hgnTSHH! huhhihhSHHHHoo! IHHSHHHoo!

“Bless you,” Greg said. He was starting to doubt the collective wisdom of letting Sherlock out of the house. John would not be pleased if he backslid just because he was impatient to get back to work. As if reading his mind, Sherlock said,

“It’s nothing, Lestrade. Just a lingering annoyance from this cold.” He blew his nose in the hopes that it might curtail the fit. He took an experimental sniff and was pleased that it didn’t trigger another sneeze. He looked at Lestrade and narrowed his eyes as he deduced something he’d missed before. “You’ve already solved this case, haven’t you?”

“Got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

“Hmm. Just trying to get me out of the house then.”

“John said you were climbing the walls. Which was a relief to tell you the truth, because you’ve been under the weather for so long. Thought it might do you good to get out for a bit.” The smile came and went across Sherlock’s face quickly, but Greg still saw it.

“Yes, well, since you seem to have the matter well in hand and…” he reached for more tissues. “And since my nose seems unable or huh…hih unwilling to get under control, I’m—huhhTSHHHH! huh huhKIHHSTHHHoo!” He shook his head slightly. “I’b going home.”

[silentdreamer789]

So awesome!

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

 

[AngelEyes]

On 10/28/2017 at 9:41 PM, matilda3948 said:

The lack of complaining, moaning, and general rude behavior added to John’s concern.

Definitely worrying.

 

On 10/28/2017 at 9:41 PM, matilda3948 said:

“Lost without my blogger.”

Awww!

 

On 10/28/2017 at 9:41 PM, matilda3948 said:

He looked at Lestrade and narrowed his eyes as he deduced something he’d missed before. “You’ve already solved this case, haven’t you?”

“Got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

“Hmm. Just trying to get me out of the house then.”

Poor baby.

Always love some Sherlock drabbles!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Those were cute. Poor Sherlock stuck with a lingering cold. I love that Greg came up with a little busy work to help speed along Sherlock's recovery. 

[Shamaël]

Those three drabbles were awsome. Poor Sherlock, I feel bad for him.

On 29/10/2017 at 3:41 AM, matilda3948 said:

The lack of complaining, moaning, and general rude behavior added to John’s concern. Normally Sherlock was unbearable after 24 hours with a cold, but he’d been listless and pliable and even grateful for John’s efforts to help him feel better.

Oh, that's so... sweet, somehow.

On 29/10/2017 at 3:41 AM, matilda3948 said:

He did what he’d done every day for the last week: hang up his coat, check Sherlock’s forehead for fever, and turn the kettle on

This was really cute. I totally picture their new "routine"... (A week? It's a bit too long for a cold, isn't it?)

On 29/10/2017 at 3:41 AM, matilda3948 said:

“Lost without my blogger.”

That was the best line. Great, great, great. Indeed, what would Sherlock do without John?

On 29/10/2017 at 3:41 AM, matilda3948 said:

Greg watched him try and hold the sneeze back, forcefully pressing a curled index finger against his septum. Sherlock closed his eyes and seemed frozen, his breath coming in quiet little stutters. The first was a painful sounding squelched sneeze before Sherlock admitted defeat and grabbed more tissues from his pocket.

 (what else can I say?)

[matilda3948]

Some Sherlock drabbles to finish the weekend.

 

Grass—13

Oh good—it was finally summer. That was Sherlock’s first coherent thought when he woke up. Gonna sn—ehhAHHIHSHHHew! sneeze. That was his second. Thoughts three through eight were concerned with prying his itchy eyes open, the fierce tickle in his nose, his desperate need for tissues, and, of course, the sneezing. hehKTSHH! KTSHHeew! TSSHHew! hehKTSHHeew! ehhTSSHHew! heh Ehh…hehhTSHHHeew!

He sat on the side of his bed sneezing over and over, shoulders jerking forward with the force of each sneeze, then a split-second before the next hit. When the fit tapered off he tilted his head back and sniffled wetly before rubbing the allergic tears from his eyes. He supposed with the cold spring he’d gotten a longer reprieve from the grass pollen than he’d dared for hope for but that wasn’t much consolation at the moment because he swore he could feel the histamines multiplying by the thousands as his nostrils flared with each inhalation. Sensing these were going to be significantly messier than the last ones, Sherlock quickly cupped his hands over his nose and mouth.

hehKTSHHew! ah Hahh…h’KTSSSHHHH! heTSSHHew! KTSSHHH! ahTSSHH’KTSHHew! EhhTSHHHeew!

Tears were now dripping from each eye and he wiped his hands on his pants with a stuffy sigh. He needed a shower, some tea, and John.

Office—92

“Molly, I need a spleen,” Sherlock said by way of greeting as he entered the morgue. He glanced around and frowned when he found himself alone. Molly should have been working; it was past the usual time she went to lunch and he knew she was on duty that day. If she went for coffee she’d be back any minute—he’d have to be quick if he was going to pilfer a couple organs. He looking through drawers to see what (or who) was available when a sound caught his attention. Sherlock rounded the corner to Molly’s small office and found her curled up on the tiny futon she kept in the corner for long nights. She was wearing one lab coat and was covered up with her spare, a couple tissues held in her left hand as she coughed in her sleep. Sherlock looked longingly at the refrigerated drawer that held his coveted internal organs, but the small uncomfortable whimper Molly made him change his mind. He slipped out of his coat and draped it over her.

“Molly?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re sick; you should go home.”

“Too tired,” she mumbled.

“I’m going to take Mrs. Thompson’s spleen.”

That did it. Molly sat up suddenly and then put a hand to her forehead as she was swept up in a wave of dizziness.

“Don’t you touch ahh anythih Hihh anythihh ehTishhew! Kitsschhew! ahhTSHHew! Tsshhew!”

“Bless you. Here.” He held out his handkerchief and Molly pressed it to her nose.  She might have smiled at the self-satisfied little smirk on his face.

“I was just resting my eyes,” she said with a sniffle.

“Obviously. Now go home.”

 

Confess—81

Lestrade needs your help getting a suspect to confess at NSY –MH

If he needs my help let him call me himself –SH

He’s not at his best today –MH

He waited a moment then added the phrase he knew would get his brother moving.

I would consider it a personal favor if you assisted him –MH

It’s going to cost you –SH

Doesn’t it always –MH

“Not at his best” seemed to be an understatement. In fact, the withering insult Sherlock had prepared died on his tongue when he saw the DI. The older man was leaning against the wall outside the interrogation room  coughing a wet, painful sounding hack into the bend of his arm.

“What are—” His voice caught in his throat and Lestrade continued to cough. Sherlock tugged his arm and pulled him around the corner to a small table and chair used to observe interrogations on the other side of the two-way mirror. As Greg recovered his breath, Sherlock glanced at the man in cuffs on the inside already making observations.

“Have you seen a doctor?” Sherlock asked once Lestrade finally recovered.

“Not yet.”

“You need to.”

“Just a cold.” Sherlock made a noise that clearly indicated he did not agree. “What are you doing here?” Greg asked. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Greg huffed. “God, does he have the entire building monitored?”

“Probably. File,” Sherlock said like a surgeon asking for a scalpel. Greg handed it over with a wet sniffle. Sherlock began scanning the information and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, holding it out towards Greg without looking up.

huhhRahhhDGSHHoo! huhAHHRGSHHOOO!

“Bless.”

huh uhh…huhAHHRGSHHHHHooo!

This time Sherlock did glance up from his reading, keeping an eye on the detective as he struggled with another sneeze that seemed just out of reach. Finally Lestrade settled for a thick sniffle and lowered the cloth from his nose. Sherlock stood and straightened his collar.

“This should take a maximum of seven minutes. While I’m in with your suspect decide if you want John to see you at the clinic or at your house—not optional, Lestrade,” he added when he saw the man prepare to object.

Asleep—52 (continued)

Greg was asleep on the sofa when John arrived at his flat so Sherlock let him in. The doctor frowned when he saw their friend.

“He looks awful,” John said.

“Sounds worse,” Sherlock added, sitting back down in the chair he’d been sitting in for the better part of two hours. John sat on the edge of the sofa and put a hand on Greg’s forehead. Unfortunately, that was about all he could do without waking him up and so he gently shook the man’s shoulder.

“Sorry, mate, but I need you to wake up for a few minutes.”

He sneezed before he even opened his eyes, ducking his head into the blanket he had wrapped around him.

RahhhGNDTSCHHHoo!

John winced and put a box of tissues within Greg’s reach. He managed to grab a fistful before catching seven identical, throat scraping sneezes into his hands. He was breathless by the time he finished.

“Jesus, Greg! Bless you!” John said. He nodded and finally was able to sit up. The blanket slipped off of him as he got more tissues to blow his nose and he shivered in a way that made John’s concern spike. The doctor pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and glanced at Sherlock. As suspected, Sherlock looked worried as well. While he certainly fell victim to his share of head colds, Lestrade generally didn’t catch something that seemed to so thoroughly knock him out. “Well, I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I’ve got a pretty good idea,” John said.

“Thought it was just a cold,” Greg rasped.

“I’d say you’ve upgraded to something more serious,” John said as he got his stethoscope out.

“I feel bloody awful.” John gave him a sympathetic smile and slipped a hand underneath Greg’s shirt.

“Deep breaths for me,” he instructed.

Pressure—71 (continued)

John didn’t love what he heard and moved on the examine Lestrade’s throat and sinuses. Greg winced at even the slightest pressure along his cheek bones.

“You should have called sooner,” Sherlock said. Much to Greg’s surprise, John agreed.

“He’s right,” he said, putting away his supplies and getting his mobile out. “I’m calling in some high dose antibiotics and steroids. You’ve got walking pneumonia and a sinus infection.” John walked a few paces away to call in the prescriptions.

huh uhh…huhAHHRGSHHHHHooo!

“Bless you,” Sherlock said.

huhAHHRGSHHOOO! huhhRahhhDGSHHoo!

Lestrade immediate broke down into a coughing fit, curling in on himself. Sherlock got up and got a glass of water from the kitchen before sitting down on the sofa next to his ailing friend. He gave a couple firm pats between Lestrade’s shoulder blades to try and ease the congestion. It took a moment, but finally he was able to lean back and take the glass of water from Sherlock.

“Slowly,” he reminded the older man, a hand still on his back. “Mycroft should have called me days ago,” he said with a sigh. “What good is it being literal ‘Big Brother’ if he misses something this obvious?”

“It’s not Mycroft’s job to force me to see a doctor,” Lestrade said, his voice hitching rapidly.

huh uhh Huhh RahhhGNDTSCHHHoo! huhhRahhhDGSHHoo!

“Bless you, Greg,” Sherlock said, handing over more tissues.

“Thags.” He turned his head and blew his nose, careful not to trigger more coughing. “You don’t need to worry, you know,” he added.

“Who says I’m worried?” Sherlock asked.

“Few days on these meds and I’ll be good as new.”

“You’re going to need more than a few days,” John said, coming back into the room. “But yeah, you’ll be fine.”

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Wonderful as usual. Poor, poor Greg.  At least he has friends looking after him. 

53 minutes ago, matilda3948 said:

“It’s not Mycroft’s job to force me to see a doctor,” Lestrade said, his voice hitching rapidly.

Umm.... Yeah, I think it is. 

[frolicking periwinkle]

1 hour ago, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said:

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

It’s not Mycroft’s job to force me to see a doctor,” Lestrade said, his voice hitching rapidly.

Umm.... Yeah, I think it is. 

Seconded. And i love an ailing Greg. Mmmm

[AngelEyes]

These are amazing! 

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“I’m going to take Mrs. Thompson’s spleen.”

That did it. Molly sat up suddenly and then put a hand to her forehead as she was swept up in a wave of dizziness.

LOL!

 

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“This should take a maximum of seven minutes. While I’m in with your suspect decide if you want John to see you at the clinic or at your house—not optional, Lestrade,” he added when he saw the man prepare to object.

Go Sherlock.

 

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“I’d say you’ve upgraded to something more serious,” John said as he got his stethoscope out.

“I feel bloody awful.”

Poor baby!

 

2 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Mycroft should have called me days ago,” he said with a sigh. “What good is it being literal ‘Big Brother’ if he misses something this obvious?”

LOL. Shame on him!

[Shamaël]

The three drabbles featuring a (very) sick Lestrade are absolutely fabulous!!!

[matilda3948]

Thanks all! I did a couple drabbles that center on the new Thor movie (which was amazing and hilarious). I'm not sure I've ever written a story with Thor and Loki before. Hope it's in character(ish)

 

Spoilers for Thor Ragnarok

 

Proceed at  your own risk  

 

Apologize—59

“I’m here,” Loki said after snatching the decanter stopper that Thor had thrown at him. The look of shock on Thor’s face was priceless. It wasn’t often he was speechless or indecisive, but Loki’s presence in his room had rendered him both. “Cat got your tongue?” Loki teased, trying to break the tension. He’d been unsure about his decision to stay and his brother’s lengthy silence was making him nervous. Finally, Thor shook off his surprise and came to stand in front of his brother. Loki cleared his throat and fought the urge to take a step back but was surprised when Thor wrapped his arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace. Loki was horrified when he heard the other man let out a shaky breath and he awkwardly patted his brother on the shoulder. “You’re cutting off my circulation,” he said when the shoulder pat failed to work. Thor loosened his grip but made no move to pull away.

“I knew you would be there when it mattered most,” he said. “I apologize for ever doubting you. Deep down I knew you would not let the people of Asgard fall.” Loki bit back a number of sharply worded retorts and let Thor have his moment. Finally he pulled away and put both hands on Loki’s shoulders. “Thank you, my brother,” he said. “You did well, as I always knew you could.” When he finally released him, Loki took a deep breath and smoothed out his clothing. Thor sunk down onto his bed as through the last five minutes had taken what remained of his strength. Loki knew this particular pattern: not that he would every admit it, but Thor was prone to extreme exhaustion after intense fighting. “The glory of battle certainly takes a toll,” Loki said, taking a chair and sitting near the bed. Thor gave a half-hearted laugh.

“That it does, brother.” His breath hitched suddenly and Loki rolled his eyes. He knew what was coming next. Thor’s chest expanded widely with deep, stuttering inhalations as he brought both hands up in front of his face. It seemed as through the building sneeze would be strong enough to rattle the walls based on the intensity of the buildup. Thor’s face was wrinkled with irritation, his breath wild and unsteady. Finally he pitched forward with a soft but intensely wrenching sneeze.

HuhhtSSHHHHoo!

It was immediately followed by three more, each losing strength until the last one was barely audible.

huhhtsshhoooo! Tsshhhoo! sshhhhoo!

“Bless,” Loki said. “God of Thunder indeed. You always have sneezed like a field mouse.” He shoved a handkerchief towards his bleary-eyed, sniffling bother.

“Thank you,” he said. “And shut up,” he added. Loki smirked.

“Allow me to examine you,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“You forget who you’re talking to.”

“I know exactly who I’m talking to.”

“Hm. Then you know, no doubt, that I can sense how uncomfortable you are. Your eye is excruciating and you’re battling an illness.”

“It’s not illness, it’s just a bit of…” He didn’t know how to explain it—this physical crash he often experienced after a period of intense fighting. He preferred not to acknowledge this particular weakness of his. He could usually cover it up by drinking too much and then falling asleep for days but their current accommodations did not allow for that.

“I know what it is,” Loki said. “Allow me to help.”

“I saw healers earlier.”

“Amateurs.”

Thor half-laughed, half-coughed as his nose began to itch again. He repeated the long, tortuous process of building up for a small fit of surprisingly quiet sneezes. What they lacked in sound they made up for in intensity—a deep shuddering sneeze that shook his entire body.

HUH huhh…huhhTSCHHoo! huhSHHHoo! uhhSHHHoo! huh—huh…uhh Huhhtsschhhh! Tsshhhhoo!

“Bless. Ribs?” Loki asked when he saw Thor wince and instinctively press a hand to his right side. Thor nodded and Loki felt emboldened enough to place a hand over his brother’s. He closed his eyes and focused on assessing the injury. “Lay down,” Loki said. “You’ll be more comfortable and it will make my job easier.”

Disproportionate—75 (Continued)

Thor obliged and slid up on the bed, folding a pillow in half and placing it under head. When had he last allowed Loki to use his skills as a healer?

“I can’t remember the last time either,” Loki said as though he’d read Thor’s mind. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, drawing his attention to his brother’s injuries. It was easier to catalogue the parts of his body that weren’t in pain. Thor watched Loki with his good eye. This was the version of his brother that he chose to hold onto—deep in concentration casting spells that dulled the pain and would speed recovery. “I can feel you staring at me,” Loki said without opening his eyes. “Stop it.”

“It does me good to see you using your powers like this, brother,” Thor said.

“For someone so exhausted it’s astonishing that you’re still awake and talking.”

“I’m feeling better by the—HUH uhh…”

Loki drew back with an annoyed sigh while his brother went through a production that, frankly, seemed disproportionate for the payoff. Thor hovered just on the edge of sneezing, his nose twitching and reddened. Loki rolled his eyes and leaned over, placing two fingers on the bridge of Thor’s nose.

HUHTSCHHoo! UHSHHHoo! uhhSHHHoo! Huhhtsschhhh! Tsshhhhoo! uh Huh… HUH huhhSSHHoo! huhSHHHoo! uhhSHHHoo! UHHSHHHHOO!

He ended with an uncharacteristically strong sneeze and shook his head like a wet dog trying to clear the last of the irritation.

“Yes, very impressive. May I get back to work now?”

“A moment, please,” Thor said with a thick sniffle. He blew his nose into the handkerchief and Loki flicked his hand and the cloth was instantly clean and pressed again. Thor smiled. “A useful trick.”

“Sleep, brother. Every inch of you is bruised or worse—stop distracting me from my work.”

“It’s hardly my fault I needed to sneeze.”

“Ugh! I forgot what a difficult patient you are.”

“Yes, but you love a challe—”

Loki dropped a hand on his brother’s forehead and instantly sent him into a deep, and more importantly, quiet sleep. He smiled.

“Much better.”

[queenie]

You really nailed the banter! 

[AngelEyes]

Thor and Loki! Adorable!

[Dusty15]

Just got home from seeing Ragnarok and I loved this, Matilda! 

[lifelove1]

This is quite belated but I loved your Thor: Ragnarok story! Queenie is right; you nailed the brotherly banter - that mix of annoyance and tenderness. Loki telling Thor that he sneezes like a field mouse... XD

Also, I've never watched any Sherlock but I have to say I love your stories featuring Molly & Sherlock...seems like a really sweet relationship!

[matilda3948]

Thanks all! I've been away from the drabble thread while I was Secret Santa-ing but I'm back with Sherlock drabbles tonight. 

90—Interrupt

hihhITSHH! Tishhew! kitschhew!

“Bless you,” Sherlock mumbled, readjusting the focus on his microscope. Molly sniffled.

“Thanks. Sorry I keep interrupting you. I know it’s annoying,” she said.

“Mm,” he hummed, reaching for another slide. He noticed (of course he noticed) that, based on her sigh and the way she worried her bottom lip, she’d misinterpreted his response as confirmation that she was annoying—or that her sneezing was at the very least. “Molly?”

“Yeah?”

“Your sneezing doesn’t bother me. I’ve worked through much more severe interruptions.” She opened and closed her mouth several times looking a bit like a guppy before finding her voice.

“Oh.  Well…okay that’s um…that’s good.”

“It certainly is since it’s unlikely you’re going to stop anytime soon,” he said, getting up from his work station.

Ihh…hihhITSHHew! KTshhew! heh Ihh…hehIHHtschhew!

“Bless you again,” he said. His voice was much closer this time and when Molly opened her eyes she found Sherlock standing in front of her with his arms crossed and a slight frown. Molly gasped when he put a hand on her forehead and had to fight the urge to run away when he slowly brushed a stray piece of hair away. “You feel worse than you’ve been letting on,” he said.

“My head hurts,” she sighed and, as if he was able to read her mind, Sherlock moved his fingers to the exact places at her temples and the sinus cavities beneath her eyes and circled his fingertips applying light pressure. Her eyes drifted shut and she felt the pain lessen momentarily.

“You should have stayed in bed today,” Sherlock said.

“Just a cold. And besides, I didn’t start feeling bad until this afternoon.” Her voice was sleepy and thick with congestion. Sherlock figured she only had about another thirty seconds.

“I’m going out front and getting a cab. I want you to put Mrs. Green back in her drawer, get your coat, and meet me at the side exit in five minutes,” he said, finally taking his hands away from her face and smirking when she pouted.  Fifteen seconds.

“But—”

“I’m texting Mike right now and letting him know you’re sick and that he needs to call in another pathologist.” Five…four…three…

“Alright. I am heh ehh… ehhIHHTSHH! kitschhew! Excuse mehhh Ehh…hehhIHKTSHHHew!”

“Right on schedule,” he said, stepping around her and getting a box of tissues off her workstation.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Bless you.”

43—Contagious (continued sort of)

“Stob it. I cad feel your guilt frob five feet away,” he said. Sherlock blew his nose and coughed until he was forced to sit up. Molly sat down in the recently vacated space on the sofa. Sherlock was on day 3 of this cold and she knew from experience that day 3 was the worse. That was the day he’d escorted her home from work, tucked her into bed, and stayed the night bringing her tea and medicine at regular intervals. Unfortunately, if predictably, within 48 hours Sherlock was a sneezing, sniffling mess. He was right of course—she was feeling terribly guilty.

huhh huhIhhshhhoo! HihhSHHHHoo! hihhhIHSHHHoo!

“Bless you, Sherlock. I am so, so sorry you caught this cold,” Molly said as she put a cup of tea on the table next to the sofa.

“I knew you were contagious. It was a calculated huh Uhh…calculated risk,” he managed before bringing a wad of tissues up to his reddened nose.

HihhSHHHHoo! IHHshhhoo! HihhSHHHHoo! huh IhhSHHHoo!  uIhhSHHHOO!

“Goodness! Bless you,” Molly said, holding out the tissue box. It certainly sounded as though he needed fresh ones after that nasty, wet sounding fit.

He nodded and took a few sips of his tea. It was made just the way he liked when he was ill—a little weaker than usual but sweeter on account of the extra honey meant to soothe his throat.

“John’s going to be furious when he finds out I’m the reason you’re in this state,” Molly said, sipping her own tea.

“On the contrary, John will be annoyingly pleased.”

“Why on earth would he be pleased?”

Sherlock held up a finger asking her to wait a moment. His eyes had already fluttered shut and he blindly got two tissues from the box on his left and folded them in half, letting them rest a few inches from his face. The prickling feeling in his nose gradually gained intensity and his breath hitched several times as it teased and tickled before finally

Huh…Ehh…huhh huhIhhshhhoo! HihhSHHHHoo!

“Bless—”

IHHshhhoo! HihhSHHHHoo!

His body shivered with another two sneezes and he stayed slightly hunched forward, knowing he wasn’t done. There was a cloying, frantic tickle just inside the edge of his nostrils; his eyes watered from the force of it. At last a final three sneezes tumbled out one on top of the other

huh IhhSHHHoo!SHHHOOO!  uIhhSHHHOO!

“Bless you, Sherlock,” Molly said.

He nodded and got fresh tissues to blow his nose. Molly winced when she was able to see how red and irritated the skin was once he finally threw the crumpled tissues on the floor, but at least near the bin she’d placed next to the sofa for that purpose. When he resumed talking, his voice was a touch deeper and still terribly congested.

“As I was saying. John will be immensely pleased that I adhered to the bare minimum requirements of friendship and looked after you while you were ill. He will view it as a win in his never-ending pursuit to make me a more decent human being. He’ll really be very annoying about it,” Sherlock said.

“Even though it meant exposing yourself and coming down with a nasty head cold?”

“Please. He’s entirely used to me disregarding my own personal well-being. The only thing that will surprise him about it is that it was not in service to a friend rather than a case.”

 

Spices—64

To be honest, Lestrade wasn’t entirely sure of the order of events; it all happened so quickly. What he did know was that one moment he was escorting a suspect toward a waiting police car and then next moment he was doubled over in searing pain and unable to see. Apparently the interim events he had missed were the suspect slipping on the ice, a new officer mistakenly thinking the suspect was bolting, and discharging his pepper spray incorrectly and hitting Lestrade square in the face. Somewhere in there he’d also been helped towards his own vehicle and he was sitting on the rear bumper bent over as his face felt like it had been lit on fire.

“Don’t touch your face,” a familiar voice said.  Although he couldn’t open his eyes, he knew it was John. Greg coughed violently as his lungs ached from the potent mix of concentrated pepper spices that made up the spray. He tried to sit upright but John’s hands kept him doubled over. “Stay like this for a few minutes,” the doctor said. Greg swore and clenched his eyes shut even tighter as he registered why John wanted him in that position; to say that his eyes and nose were streaming would be an understatement. That was the point of the pepper spray after all—to incapacitate someone by causing an extreme physical reaction. Every mucous membrane in his head was on overdrive and Greg was basically pouring out onto the pavement. If it hadn’t hurt so damn much he would have been humiliated.

“This was all I could find.” Great. Sherlock—just what he needed.

“Okay Greg, try sitting up and tilting your head back for me,” John said. A few seconds later and Greg felt lukewarm water being poured over his eyes. It took some of the edge off the burning but not much. John poured more water and when he was done Greg tried to open his eyes.

“Bloody hell!” he hissed as they immediate filled with tears again. He wiped his nose and sniffled, immediately realizing that was a mistake. He was doubled over coughing again almost instantly.

“Bake Street is only three miles away,” Sherlock said. He reached inside Lestrade’s coat pocket and pulled out his car keys. “I’ll drive,” Sherlock added. Once again John was guiding him while his eyes and nose overflowed. He settled in the back seat and felt, rather than saw, the car pull out and into traffic.

“Here. Not sure this will help much but it’s better than nothing,” John said as he put a travel pack of tissues in Lestrade’s hands. Greg chose to focus on mopping up his nose since that was more embarrassing than his eyes.

“Christ that burns!” he gasped.

“A shower will help but for the most part you just have to wait it—”

HUHSNGshhhoo! huhAHHK’GTsschhhoo! huhAHHGNSHHHOO! huhhRAHHSHHOOOO! HUHGSHHHOOO!

“Bless you,” John said.

“Oh fuhhAHH Ahhh huhAHHKTsschhhoo! huhAHHNTSHHHOO! huhhRAHHSHHOOOO!”

“Wondered how long before that part started,” Sherlock said from the driver’s seat.

Desperation—2 (continued)

“Sherlock, go get the shower started while we come upstairs,” John said when they arrived at Baker Street. When he did as he was asked, Greg realized he must really be in bad shape. He was able to open his eyes for a second here or there before the tears started again and he and John slowly made their way upstairs. However, it seemed like every time he inhaled it triggered another bout of violent, uncontrollable sneezing. The utter desperation of his body’s reaction was unnerving even though, intellectually, Greg knew it was perfectly normal. Perfectly normal and absolutely wretched.

“Starting to huhAHH…Ahh huhhAHHKTSHHHHoo! RAHHKTSSCHHHooo! think it’s more humane to huh just huh HUHSNGshhhoo! huhAHHK’GTsschhhoo! huhAHHGNSHHHOO! huhhRAHHSHHOOOO! HUHGSHHHOOO! Oh God! To just shoot people.”

John patted him on the back.

“I’m sure it seems that way now but this will only carry on for another hour. Bullet wounds have a much longer recover time.”

“Another hour?!”

“Cheer up. Might only be forty five minutes, Graham,” Sherlock said, coming out of the steamy bathroom. “I’m going to the shop to get milk,” he said. John nodded—milk was one of the few things that could neutralize the burn of the pepper concentrate. He and Greg stepped inside the bathroom and John smiled. There were clean clothes and a new box of tissues on the bathroom counter in addition to the water being turned up as high as it could go. He sat Greg down on the closed lid of the toilet and handed him the tissues.

“Blow your nose as much as you can stand,” John said. Greg pounced on the tissues like a hungry animal and filled one after another.

“Blot your eyes, don’t rub them,” John added when he saw his friend go for his eyes next.

HUHSNGshhhoo! huhAHHK’GTsschhhoo!

“Bless you, mate.”

huhAHHGNSHHHOO! huhhRAHHSHHOOOO! HUHGSHHHOOO!

When he finally could talk, Lestrade unleased a stream of expletives that could even make an army man like John blush. The warm steam was helping a little and he was able to keep his eyes open long enough to catch a glance of himself in the mirror…and then wished he couldn’t. He looked as though he’d been hit in the face with a pillowcase full of ragweed. Every inch of his face was either flushed, bloodshot, swollen, or dripping. He stood on shaky legs and tried to decide if he was steady enough to get undressed and into the shower.

“You gonna be alright?” John asked. Greg nodded. “Get the water directly in your face as much as possible. Stay in there until the hot water runs out but call if you need me, okay?”

“ThaahhRUHHSSCHOOO! Thags John.”

[AngelEyes]

1 hour ago, matilda3948 said:

“As I was saying. John will be immensely pleased that I adhered to the bare minimum requirements of friendship and looked after you while you were ill. He will view it as a win in his never-ending pursuit to make me a more decent human being. He’ll really be very annoying about it,” Sherlock said.

 

LOL

 

1 hour ago, matilda3948 said:

“Starting to huhAHH…Ahh huhhAHHKTSHHHHoo! RAHHKTSSCHHHooo! think it’s more humane to huh just huh HUHSNGshhhoo! huhAHHK’GTsschhhoo! huhAHHGNSHHHOO! huhhRAHHSHHOOOO! HUHGSHHHOOO! Oh God! To just shoot people.”

 

Poor Greg!