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Frenchposie's Drabble Thread (Mystrade, Les Mis, Master & Commander)

frolicking periwinkle

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With school taking all of my brains, I can't seem to write a full fanfic, even though I have the thoughts.  So, I'm starting a drabble thread.  It'll be slow going, but I hope you enjoy them. 




Lestrade sniffed as he left the yard.  The air was thick with a cool humidity that foretold of an incoming storm. He didn’t care a wit for the weather however.  He nearly called Mycroft to pick him up, but that took far too many thoughts and he could barely put one foot in front of the other, he felt so run down. 

“Heh-Ka-CHUFF!  Huh-Eh-Ka-CHHUMP!  Hesshhhaaa-OO!” he sneezed wetly into a handkerchief that he held out, ready to catch the heady sneezes that ha d plagued him all day..  For a moment, he felt as though he had lost his hearing, and his head swam with fever.

He knew that he looked like a mess, which was why he decided to leave early.  His pallor was pale, but the redness of his nose had spread to his cheeks and the area above his upper lip was nearly raw.  He considered which would cost less energy, sniffling, which would make his ears sore, or blowing his nose – a concept which made him tired just thinking about it. 

Sniffling, he let out a little whine at the soreness in his ears. 

Walking up to his car, he hit the automatic unlock and frowned when it didn’t work.  He felt another sneeze tingling through his sinuses.  His nostrils gaped wide, and his breath hitched as he brought his handkerchief up to his face again. “Heh-huh-huh-uh-KEFFFSCHHH!  Ah-Cheefffshhh!  Heh-SSSCCHHOO!”  He coughed weakly and tried to unlock his car again. 

He heard a car pull into the spot behind him, but was trying to figure out when he had put a steering wheel cover on his car.  He knew he was unwell, but that seemed like something he should remember.

“Get in the car, Gregory,” Mycroft’s disembodied voice said.

“I’m trying, but it’s not workig,” Gregory responded thickly. 

A frustrated sigh.  And then, “Turn around and get into my car Gregory, “ Mycroft directly succinctly. 

Gregory turned around slowly, and looked surprised to see Mycroft’s car with the door opened.   “Oh, you’re here,” he said, getting into the car.

“Yes. I told you to stay home,” Mycroft chastised lightly.

“Shouldda too,” Gregory responded, with a sniff before an explosive, “Heh-KUSSSCCCFFF!” which tossed him quite unceremoniously forward.

Mycroft softened as he watched his ailing partner.  “Bless you,” he said softly.  Directly the driver to take them straight home, he pointed out the window.  That’s your car, Gregory,” he pointed out.  “You are in no condition to drive home, and shame on you for trying.” 

When he didn’t receive a response, he looked over at Gregory, who had already fallen asleep, his head back, a slight snore passing his lips. 

Mycroft smiled lightly, and turned his attention to his phone as the car took them home.

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Awww. Poor Greg. Mycroft to the rescue!

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  • 4 weeks later...

I had a thought... and now it's gone.  Here's where the thought was going.  Almost a H/C Mystrade.

Gifts from Mycroft often came at a price. Which was why when he offered to get Rosie into one of the finest private schools in England, Sherlock and John took pause and discussed it at length.  In the end, Mycroft had convinced them that a lifetime of his sort of work had earned him a favor or two.  With some trepidation, and after Mycroft made the promise that the price had been paid long ago, they took him up on the offer. 

Despite the fact that her fathers were of the working class, Rosie had carved out a space for herself.  She loved being the weird kid, and encouraged other kids to find their true selves, not just the people that their parents were raising them to be.  While not a popular girl, she had a small group of trusted friends, got good grades, took part in after school programs, and earned a scholarship to the associated private high school.

Sherlock and John could not have been more proud.  Neither could Mycroft.

Greg initially laughed when Mycroft insisted on finishing classes, John went along with it.  While she certainly got her brains from her mum and da, her school would only afford her the best opportunities if she knew how to act in different circles.  Three hours every week were spent taking private etiquette lessons, also paid for by a favor from Mycroft.  

These favors had several results.  First, John and Sherlock had more tolerance for Mycroft.  They invited him to family gatherings, although he only attended with Gregory or when Rosie requested his presence directly.  Second, Mycroft interfered less in Sherlock’s life, although he only stepped on behalf of Rosie if John directly requested it, or if he was unavailable for any reason.  Third, they got to see a side of Mycroft that many would claim did not exist – his human side.  While he didn’t tend to smile very often, he did when it came to her.  Although he was painfully disinterested in the loud, bright cartoons that she preferred, he would still ask her about the plots of each episode.  And, finally, John and Sherlock learned to trust that Mycroft was part of their family. 

As their trust grew, Mycroft stopped seeming nervous when he came around.  After a few  years, he started coming around without Gregory being at his side.  After he was disowned by his parents in favor of their newfound daughter, Mycroft exuded more confidence – except around Rosie.  His patience and gentleness with her made others realize that he – like Sherlock – had more depth than he would willingly let on. 

Even with all of these changes, John was more than a little taken aback when Mycroft gave him the business card for his Country Club during a discussion about where to hold Rosie’s sixteenth birthday.  As far as he had known, the only club that Mycroft was part of was the Diogenes, and that was certainly not a place for teenagers, no matter how well behaved they were.  Although he doubted that he could afford such a birthday, no matter how small Rosie’s group of friends was, he made the call.

“Mycroft, it’s too much,” John said, on a phone call to the older man.  He didn’t tend to call Sherlock’s brother, especially not during work hours.  But, the more he thought about the confirmation that he had received, the more he was uncomfortable with it.

“Nonsense, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft’s cultured voice responded.  “Reserving the back gardens and patio is a benefit of my membership.  It’s a good reason to use it, and you just happen to be lucky that they didn’t have anything else that weekend.”  What he did not say was that he had reserved the entire month two years prior in order to make certain that it would be available.  Plus, he paid the deposit, understanding that he may lose it if his younger brother and the good doctor decided to do something more mundane. 

“Thank you, Mycroft.  I… I don’t know how to repay you,” John said, softly.  He scratched the side of his neck, truly at a loss. 

A sigh.  “Normally, I wouldn’t accept such a statement.  But, politicking demands that you have Rosamund invite the children that she does not get along with.  And you and Sherlock must be decent to their parents.   Can that be arranged?”

John nodded, realizing that Mycroft could not see it. “Yes, of course,” he responded somewhat testily. 

“I, of course, will be there with Gregory to help you navigate some of the more aggressive personalities.  And, I have the highest confidence that Rosamund will already know how to handle the situation.  I know you did not originally agree with the idea of her being in finishing school, but needs must, and I am certain that she will make you quite proud at how she is able to manage such an event.”

John was about to retort that he was always proud of his daughter, when Mycroft cut him off.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Dr. Watson, I have a few issues that require my immediate attention.  If that will be all?”

John agreed  and hung up.  He was nearly dizzy with the downright acceptance that had come between him and Mycroft.  For as much as the man rather seemed to like the ‘Ice Man’ nickname given to him by Miss Adler around two decades previously, it was times like these when John was reminded of precisely how human Mycroft really was.


Despite Mycroft’s insistence that he was doing nothing else to facilitate the birthday party of his niece Gregory wasn’t buying into it.  After retiring from the police force, Gregory had decided to spend his time a kept man.  He did lunches with the other retirees of their social circle, and headed up a neighborhood watch.  Truth be known, he had never seen an area that needed a neighborhood watch as little as theirs, but it made the community feel safer and gave him some purpose, so he was happy to do so.

He was also happy that his extra time allowed him to take care of Mycroft.  The man had finally found a medication regimen that allowed for his OCD, ADD, anxiety, and depression to stay in line without affecting his job.  He had found a blood pressure medication that did not trigger one of the other chemical imbalances as a side effect.  He was still physically fit, and Gregory made sure that he ate well and got at least five hours of sleep a night.  While some seemed to resent taking care of their still working partners, Gregory adored it.  He saw it as a privilege, and worked hard to stay on top of Mycroft’s health, since the man was often so busy that he could not be bothered to do so himself.

Which was why, he became nervous when Mycroft started randomly clearing his throat and coughing three days before Rosamund’s birthday party.  He listened for hints of congestion, but there did not appear to be any.  Simply a “tickle” in Mycroft’s throat, as the younger man had tersely explained. 

Even still, Gregory supplied him with tea and a small cup of cough medicine, which he later noticed that Mycroft did not take.   He fretted a bit, but reminded himself that Mycroft was a grown man and he knew what was best for him.

However, on the day of the party, Greg couldn’t help but wish that he had stayed on Mycroft about his health a bit more.   Mycroft had groaned as they woke up and complained about feeling as though he had been hit by a train. 

“Maybe you should stay home, love,” Greg had urged, planting a fever testing kiss on forehead.  It seemed slightly elevated, but nothing that he felt the need to be concerned over.

Mycroft pried his eyes open and made a face of distaste.  “I will not abandon her to the wolves that I sent there.  I need to make my presence known in her life.” He coughed lightly as he forced himself to sit up.  His arms and back felt as though the very thought of usage was draining the energy out of them. 

“Love, she knows you’re there.  And she’ll understand if you’re not well.  She’s got her father’s caring streak, that one.” 

Mycroft smiled at the statement.  But, it wasn’t John whom he felt Rosamund emulated with her caring personality.  Rather, it was Gregory. The two of them were quite giving, sometimes to their own detriment.  While this may not be a noticeable trait in most families, with comparison points like him and Sherlock, it was quite noticeable.   “It’s not thah… thahhh…” He turned away and snatched a handkerchief out of his bedside drawer.  “Heh-Hah-ESSSH!  Tissh!  Tisssh!  Esschhh!”  He pardoned himself as he blew his nose thickly, ignoring Gregory’s blessing.  “It’s not that.  I requested that she invite all of her classmates and their families, so that they could see how fond I am of her. “

“It’s a powerplay,” Gregory whispered.

Mycroft nodded.  “She’s not as well liked as I would have hoped – her fathers have made quite a name for themselves, as you well know, and she is being considered average.  I will not have such falsehoods being told about her.  The rumors will stop as soon as they see me there, and that will provide her the leverage for whatever she wants to do in the way of school, career, or travel.”

Gregory nodded.  He didn’t think that it was necessary for Mycroft to be so assertive with Rosie.  But, the fact was that he had surprised the family with how fond of her he was, and no one wanted to test his ire or how quickly it could turn.  “I’ll get you some cold medicine,” he stated, patting Mycroft’s leg before getting out of bed with a groan.  He popped several joints before making his way into the en-suite. 


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Awww. This is sweet.

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Dear me Greg! If Mycroft stays home, you should stay home. 

Poor Mycroft. He's a good uncle not to abandon his niece to "the wolves" and Greg is a good partner. I'm sure he'll end up taking care of everybody. 

Lovely drabbles. :) 

Edited by Subtly Clashing Wishes
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A continuation of the previous Mystrade:

Mycroft sniffed thickly, making a face of distaste as he and Gregory came up to the country club.  Luckily, he was unable to breathe, for the most part.  The cold medication had made the headache dissipate for the most part.  And the allergy medication had allowed him to stop sneezing as though he was a walking infectious disease.  The combination of medicine left him feeling unfocused and disjointed, but he had been through worse.

“Rosie just texted me,” Gregory said, quietly.  “They’re in the back, and looking forward to seeing you.  Are you all right love?”

Mycroft cleared his throat and gave a single nod before walking into the club.  He had to be on point, and couldn’t give anyone any chance to think something was wrong with him.  He had made a lifestyle of being perfect, and Rosie may have been one of the best reasons to do so. 

Walking into the gardens, he was taken aback.  It was all done up in skulls and skeletons and some weird medical oddities. The color scheme was gray, burgundy, black, and dark green. 

“Uncle Mycroft!” Rosie called, waving at the older man.  She traipsed over to him, and threw her arms around his thin frame, hugging him close.  She knew that he didn’t let everyone touch him, but he had special dispensation to do such things.

He hugged her firmly, feeling the outpouring of love.  It felt odd that his brother could help raise such an affectionate child.  And, he knew that had it not been for Gregory, he would never have the coping skills to deal with it and to reciprocate. 

He sniffed a bit as they released and tended to his nose discretely as she hugged Gregory.

“My dear, you simply must explain the décor.  I do not believe that the club has ever seen something quite so…”

“Foreboding?  I understand, uncle,” she said, taking his arm and leading him towards the main area, which also happened to be near the fully blooming rose bushes.  Gregory gave the pair a wary look, but since Mycroft leaned towards the shorter girl, he let them go and went off to get a drink for both of them.

The theme was apparently called The Nightmare Before Christmas, and was Rosie’s current favorite movie.  He didn’t quite understand the attraction, but it was her birthday and he would not ruin it for her. 

As the afternoon wore on, however, he found himself becoming less able to resist the exhaustion.  We waned and lost control with a yawn, which was noticed by Rosie.  Furrowing her brow in a look that was traditionally her father’s, she made her way over to Mycroft, who was feigning interest in Madame Butterei and her quite boring daughter.  She gave the older man credit for being able to feign interest, even though she knew that it was a skill of his employ and the polite thing to do. 

“Uncle, will you walk with me please?” she interrupted, as she heard him sniffle lightly.  Of course, she thought as she realized how close to the rose bushes he had been seated.  She adored the scent, but it had escaped her mind that he had violent allergic reactions to various flowers and she wasn’t certain if Roses were one of them. 

At her interruption, he smiled.  His mind was set on controlling the sneeze that was assaulting his sinuses and had been for so long that he felt as though his face was buzzing.  “Do excuse me, Madame.  Miss,” he said with a nod to each.

“Do forgive me, uncle. But, you could have told me that the seating was insufficient,” she said, as he snuffled into a handkerchief. 

“It was sufficient.  If I was unable to sit their comfortably, I would have moved,” he assured her with a gentleness seldom seen.  He let her lead them inside.  The change in air and pressure was too much for his sinuses to take, his nostrils quivering desperately as he withdrew his handkerchief from his inner breast pocket.  “Ehh-KeSSH!  EsSSESSH!  EH-HepKTSHH!” he sneezed wetly, nose wrinkled in ticklish peril. 

“Bless you, uncle,” she said, steering him up the stairs and into the room that the tea and cake would be in.  “We’re going to move the party in here in about an hour.  Why don’t you make certain that it’s safe for us?”

Still struggling to catch his breath, he coughed, feeling it scrape his suddenly dry coat.  “Ehp-ESSH!  ESHH! TiGHN’TSHOO!”  He blew his nose again.  “My apologies my dear,” he said, blushing after such a display. 

She sighed.  “Bless you, uncle.  Do rest here.  I’ll get Uncle Greg,” she said.   She waited until he took a seat in one of the white wing backed chairs. On her way out, she told the concierge to bring him a  cup of tea, one sugar and a slice of lemon on the side. 

Surveying the guests as she stepped back outside, she felt a surge of protectiveness over the man who had insisted on this party to protect her.  She would be everything he ever expected over.  And more, if she could figure out how.

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On 6/2/2018 at 6:35 PM, frenchposie said:

Walking into the gardens, he was taken aback.  It was all done up in skulls and skeletons and some weird medical oddities. The color scheme was gray, burgundy, black, and dark green. 



On 6/2/2018 at 6:35 PM, frenchposie said:

“It was sufficient.  If I was unable to sit their comfortably, I would have moved,” he assured her with a gentleness seldom seen. 

Yeah right.


On 6/2/2018 at 6:35 PM, frenchposie said:

“We’re going to move the party in here in about an hour.  Why don’t you make certain that it’s safe for us?”

Awww. Good cover!

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I really like how you introduce the characters, and the skillful way you weave together the introduction to their characters, and describe their relationship with one another.   

On 5/25/2018 at 10:38 PM, frenchposie said:

They invited him to family gatherings, although he only attended with Gregory or when Rosie requested his presence directly.  Second, Mycroft interfered less in Sherlock’s life, although he only stepped on behalf of Rosie if John directly requested it, or if he was unavailable for any reason. 

This couple of lines is just beautiful!  Simple, yet so descriptive of how the family relationships have developed!


On 6/2/2018 at 6:35 PM, frenchposie said:

It felt odd that his brother could help raise such an affectionate child.  And, he knew that had it not been for Gregory, he would never have the coping skills to deal with it and to reciprocate. 

Yep, your skill with painting these relationships is just lovely!


On 6/2/2018 at 6:35 PM, frenchposie said:

On her way out, she told the concierge to bring him a  cup of tea, one sugar and a slice of lemon on the side. 

Thoughtful young lady!  These men have managed to do well!

Honestly, I'm sometimes hesitant to dive into fanfic where I don't know the characters well.   I've watched Sherlock, but haven't explored Mycroft/LeStrade at all, and thought I'd be out of my depth here. Nope, you make it easy to learn who the characters are.

I like the story set up, here, the way you humanize Mycroft, and the way Rosie's affection for her uncle is just evident.  It's as if he lets just a few very special people in to know exactly how human he is.  He's ill and vulnerable, and focused entirely doing something special for Rosie.  Just really lovely!

You do a wonderful job of describing your characters in a way that makes it easy to get to know them, who they are and what quirks they have.  My favorite kind of story!  I'll definitely be watching for more of your stories.

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Oh lovely story. I’m wondering when Rosie is going to cotton on that her beloved uncle is really not well. ;) I’m not sure if Greg will keep covering for Mycroft or if he’ll let the cat out of the bag. 

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  • 4 weeks later...

#3 Disassociate (This is not related to the previous two)

Gregory was as sick as he had ever been.  Deeply flushed with fever, he was dressed in his warmest track suit, and thick wool socks, swaddled in his comforter, and still shivering.  His chest heaved with a wheezing breath as he plucked two tissues out of the box.  “Heh-ehhh… HURRSSHHHFFFF!” he sneezed violently, his head pounding in protest.  The tissues were instantly soaked, and he pulled another two tissues out just in time to catch, “HurSSSCHHHFFF!!”  The congestion got caught in his throat and he started to cough heavily.

He heard his door open and shut, and he called from the living room.  “Dod’t!” he sniffed thickly, trying to clear the congestion, only resulting in causing him to cough more.  “Mycrofd… I’m serious.  Dond’t,” he gasped as his breath came back.

Mycroft stood at the edge of the couch, taking in the sick lump of flesh that was typically his boyfriend.  He was not the most caring of people, and he didn’t know what Gregory needed.  He had people for this.  In fact, he was considering leaving and hiring a nurse to take care of him.  “What would you have me do?” he asked, already feeling himself disassociate from the situation. 

“Go. The free world is more important than this.  This will go away in a week or so, and then you can have my flat disen…dis-en,” he pulled a few more tissues out before nearly folding in half with a “HURSSZZZCCFFF!” He closed his eyes against pounding in his skull, sickened to the point of nausea.  He swallowed against it and pulled his eyes opened, not surprised to see Mycroft’s upper lip pulled back in thinly veiled disgust. 

He had known that Mycroft was not the most tactile man, and that he didn’t know how to show outright caring.  Mycroft was more the caring from afar, in ways one may not notice type.  And that was fine.  Except when it wasn’t.  Like now, when Greg’s skin nearly screamed to be touched by the younger man. 

“Bless you,” Mycroft said without an ounce of warmth or concern.  He noticed that Gregory still had the spoon that he had used to take his medicine out, and a smudge on his lip, so it couldn’t have been taken long ago.  A syrup rather than a pill, so it was likely that the man had a sore throat in addition to the obvious fever, headache, and sneezing.  He had a glass of water, a half drunk cup of tea, and tissues.  Unable to think of anything else that the older man could want, Mycroft sat in the chair against the far wall and pulled out his reading.  Drawing his head back to a point, he sighed as he pulled his reading glasses out of his inner breast pocket.  “You don’t mind if I read here, do you?” he asked politely.

Greg shook his head, surprised that Mycroft was staying at all.  “Do you mind if I put the telly on?” he asked, hoping to doze off to it. 

“Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll just block it out,” Mycroft answered bluntly, barely looking up from the notes he was reading. 

Just as Greg turned the telly on, he rocked forward with another, “HURUFFSSHOOO!” which turned into a long gurgling blow.  His head was splitting and he wished for nothing more than to be held by his stand-offish boyfriend.  While he knew that Mycroft would never do so without Greg implicitly asking, he also couldn’t bring himself to ask.  He couldn’t blame Mycroft for not wanting to get sick. 

His emotions running a little too close to the surface, he closed his eyes as he felt his sinuses open a bit, causing him to sniff wetly as a few tears leaked down his fever flushed cheeks.  He was glad that Mycroft didn’t notice this.  He wouldn’t know what to do or what to tell him if he did.

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4 hours ago, frenchposie said:

Mycroft stood at the edge of the couch, taking in the sick lump of flesh that was typically his boyfriend. 

Love this line!


4 hours ago, frenchposie said:

He had people for this. 

LOL. Indeed!


4 hours ago, frenchposie said:

His emotions running a little too close to the surface, he closed his eyes as he felt his sinuses open a bit, causing him to sniff wetly as a few tears leaked down his fever flushed cheeks.  He was glad that Mycroft didn’t notice this.  He wouldn’t know what to do or what to tell him if he did.


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  • 2 months later...

Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Snape/Remus working relationship

Getting old was hell, and Severus had been feeling his age lately.  After a day of working in the garden, he grunted as he came into the house that he had been sharing with Remus.  With the war still brewing and after the unfortunate and terrify attack on the Weasley's peculiar house, the Order had decided to split up and hide in separate cottages throughout the UK.  Putting Remus with Severus felt like punishment to both of them, but there was some underlying reasoning about Severus brewing the wolfsbane potion for Remus.  

Stretching as he came inside, he went to the cupboard and pulled out a vial of a light blue potion.  Downing it quickly, he barely tasted it until he burped up a floral taste.  "No..." he groaned, as the pain in his lower back did not dissipate.  Rather a teeny itch like a itsy bitsy spider started to move through his nasal passages.  

"How was your day?" Remus asked, a large leather tomb resting on his arm, as he leafed through the thick parchment pages.  He knew that Severus' time in the garden was as good as work.  Much like the research that he had been doing.  

"Fine until I came in here.  The starre-flower is budding and we'll be able to harvest the leaves soon," Severus drawled, trying to keep the itch at bay.  His hands went into the pockets of his robes and then his breast pocket and pants.  

Mistaking the reasoning, Remus simply sighed and raised his eyebrows slightly.  "Certainly, my presence isn't that repulsive," Remus said moving towards the same cupboard.  Brows furrowing in confusion, he moved a few potions around.  "Severus, have you seen my wolfsbane?" he asked, pulling out a light blue potion that was a shade darker than the other had been.  "Here's a muscle relaxer.  It should help with your back. Neither of us are kids anymore, and you need to be in your finest form in case he-who-must-not-be-named calls for you."

"He has a name, and you should... sh-ould use..."  The single tickle suddenly exploded into many different tickles and errant itching throughout Severus' nose, nasal passages, ears and throat. "Her-ESSH!" he sneezed violently, bringing up his sleeve to catch the spray.  Looking at it distastefully, he snorted fully and reached for a napkin from the table.  "Har-uh-ESSH!" Blowing his nose with an undignified honk. 

"Bless you," Remus stated only once.  He knew that neither he nor Severus particularly liked having attention drawn to them when they were vulnerable.  "You drank the wolfsbane didn't you?" he asked, although it wasn't really a question.  The wolfsbane potion was brewed specifically for werewolves and the potion would have adverse affects on someone who did not have the correct physiology.  He put the tomb down on the table and fished out his own, clean if not a little careworn, handkerchief.  "It'll be softer than the napkins," he stated. 

Taking the handkerchief just in time, Severus gave him a polite nod before his face crashed into the handkerchief.  "Har-ESSH!  Ettcccssshh!  Har-TCHOO!" The last sneeze released a fair amount of congestion and Severus wavered with wooziness.  

"Come, sit down and I'll let you know what I found today.  I think I found an arcane ward that will travel with communication between the Order locations.  Sort of like a patronus, but more direct and without the animal tells."  He made his way back to the living room and waited until Severus followed him to sit down.  

Settling into his armchair, Severus held up his pointer finger to indicate that Remus should wait.  His breath hitched erratically until finally the pressure released with a thunderous, "HarTCHOO!" The sneeze scraped his throat and made his ears burn.  "Excuse be," he said, his voice strained and tired.  "Do continue." 

"Bless you, as I was saying..." Remus began, doing his best to ignore the increasing symptoms of his temporary housemate.  

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  • 1 month later...

Drabble # 5

After a long day of having his skin prickling with anxiety as an undertone of stress, Greg finally arrived home.  Locking the door behind him, he quickly walked through the house looking for his husband.  Mycroft had been missing in action – his phone number turned off since that morning.  He knew sometimes Mycroft had to leave at a moment’s notice, but then he would at least hear from Anthea.  

Without a call from her, or being able to find his husband, Greg could hardly keep his mind on his job.

A husky sneeze from Mycroft’s office made Greg breathe a sign of relief.  Leaning against the door, he took in the bruising around his husband’s eyes and the color of fever high on his cheeks.  “Bless you, love,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest.  

Mycroft looked up, his normally pristine hair askew as though he had been running his hands through it.  “Gregory…” he breathed, before his top lip curled as though he was going to sneer.  Instead, his head snapped forward with a congested, “Huckshoo!” the sneeze caught deftly as though he had been doing that all day.

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you…” Greg started, but Mycroft held up a hand to silence him.  

“I sneezed when I went out to get a cup of coffee and a pain au chocolat and I dropped my phone down a sewer grate.” 

Greg’s jaw dropped.  “So the rats have secrets of national security?” he joked. 

Mycroft’s chest expanded and he gasped once, twice, before, “Huck-T’choo!” More vocal than the others, he gave a slight groan.  “It’s been wiped,” he said, as he ran his handkerchief under his nose. 

“I’ll get dinner started,” Greg said, choosing not to tease or press the issue.  “You almost done?”

Mycroft nodded and looked back at his paperwork, glad that Gregory wasn’t more annoyed with him.  He couldn’t take it if he had been and smiled to himself as he read over the rest of his briefings.

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Sweet 16 - Part 2

When Rosie returned with a cup of tea in a delicate bone china cup, she was shocked to see how poorly her uncle was looking now that he allowed himself to relax a bit.  She had told her Uncle Greg and dad where she had stashed the elder Holmes, neglecting to give her father a reason to heckle his brother.  This was not the time, nor the place.

Sitting in a chair, looking out a latticed window that had the perfect view of the festivities, she watched as Mycroft pulled out a nearly useless handkerchief and folded in half with a wet “Heh-Kessffhh!” A congested sniffle, and then a few restrained, “Tissh! Tiss! Hisssh! Ek-ke…huh… uh… Efffssshh’HOO!” His face remained resting in his handkerchief for a few seconds longer than Rosie thought was appropriate. 

“Bless you, Uncle Mycroft,” she said quietly. 

Looking over his shoulder, his eyes were wide with surprise, which let her know that his ears were blocked because he had not heard her.  His eyes were red and watery and redness spread over his nose, connecting the apples of his cheeks.  This would not do. 

Placing her tea down, she reached a hand at him to help him up. 

“Where are we going?” he asked, using her head to leverage himself up. 

She said nothing, but walked out, leaving an intrigued Mycroft to follow her.  Straightening his jacket and cuffs, he walking as stately as his compromised equilibrium would allow, following her up a side stairwell and into a dressing room.  Normally for women, he was amused as she put a chair under the doorknob, preventing anyone from walking in on them. 

The room was done in a Victorian style, with light pastel colors and heavily shaded windows.  The room smelled faintly of baby powder which tickled at his senses, causing him to sniffle.  He clamped his lips together as he tried not to sneeze again.  This was his niece’s sixteenth birthday.  He was supposed to be attending to her, not the other way around. 

“Here,” she said quietly, pressing something into his palm and turning the vanity light on. 

Opening the item in his hand, he smiled at a small white flannel handkerchief. 

“Just sneeze, Uncle Mycroft.  It’ll be worse if you don’t and besides, it’ll be best that you don’t undo all of my hard work.”  She wasn’t looking at him, rather pulling items out of her … make up bag?

He put her handkerchief to his nose, immediately feeling the tingling of menthol.  “Ehh-KESSSH!!  Hesshh-HOO!  Esshhh!” He felt the soothing effects of eucalyptus filling his senses as he blew his abused nose. 

“Bless you,” she said, turning to him.  “Come sit down.”

“I do not think that cosmetics will fix the unfortunateness of my DNA,” he said.

She was not distracted by his self-depreciating jab.  “You need concealer.  I’ll put it on so it doesn’t come off when you use your handkerchief.”

He felt shamed to be cared for in such a way, but knew that she was correct.  Sitting in the chair next to the vanity, he held his temper while she covered the unseemly redness.  Despite her gentle touch, he felt his sinuses quivering under her gentle ministrations.  “Heh…”  he withdrew his head and caught her wrist. 

Rosie leaned back and diverted her eyes slightly while he restrained two sneezes, turning away from her as he caught the sneezes in the cuff of his sleeve.  He snurped and sniffle and was surprised when she held a tissue towards him. 

“Blow, but hold it around your nose gently,” she guided. 

He did so, but all it did was cause another quick sneeze, sounding more like a cat than a human.  Hot allergic tears streamed down his cheeks. 

“Oh, Uncle Mycroft,” she cooed, sympathetically.  She bit her bottom lip lightly.  She sighed.  “What can I do to make this better for you?” she asked, gently patting the tears away before continuing to blend the concealer and a bit of foundation. 

Mycroft had decided to breath through his mouth.  “You’ve done more than enough, my dear.  Tell me what you’ve observed today.”

“Later,” she said, snapping her compact closed.  “Cake and tea is in about ten minutes.  Then you and Uncle Greg can go.  I’ll come over this weekend and we’ll discuss those who we can help and those we can hunt.”  She winked at the end; a teasing reminder to her favorite game: watching her uncle identify the weaknesses of those around them and if they needed to be managed or assisted. 

He smiled and looked at himself in the mirror.  There was no disguising his irritated eyes, but his face no longer drew the eye of disgust more than it may generally.  “Thank you, Rosemond,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.  He felt his cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment at his show of affection.  But, the smile she granted him with, every bit her mum’s, was enough for him to know that he had done the right thing.  Drawing himself up to his full height, he offered her his arm, and the two of them joined the guests in the drawing room.  

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  • 3 weeks later...

Sweet 16 - Epilogue

Three days after Rosie’s party, Mycroft felt simply wretched.  The cold and allergies that he had been suffering from at the party evolved into a horrific cold that laid him up for two days.  Despite Greg’s insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Rosie had called every night asking after the other man.  It warmed Greg’s heart to see how taken she was with her Uncle Mycroft, and despite the exasperated grumbling that Mycroft had each time she rang off, Greg could tell that Mycroft enjoyed the attention.

“You looked so dapper bringing her into her party.  She was so proud to be seen with you.” Greg said, putting another blanket over his husband’s shivering form. 

“Proud to have done my make-ub, is more like it,” Mycroft replied stuffily.  Even just the simple vibrations from speaking caused his sinuses to twitch.  “Huh-Gfffggxx!” he sneeze-coughed. 

“Let it out, love,” Greg said, running a hand over Mycroft’s hair. 

“Heh-Geffchh-HOO!” the man shouted more than sneezed, causing Greg to raise an eyebrow and wonder if a sinus infection was setting in. 

“Blessings.  Do you want to go to bed?” he asked.

Mycroft shook his head.  “I won’t make it.” His head was pounding and his skin jangled with pain.  He felt like it took everything in him to stay sitting up, let alone stand, walk, get up the stairs.  No… he couldn’t do much more than melt into the couch.  He felt his body go slack as consciousness drifted away from him. 

He awoke to voices; low murmurs that he couldn’t quite make out.  The deduction part of his brain attempted to suss it out, but all it did was end up exhausting him further. He allowed himself to continue feeling safe in his own home and let his consciousness drift. 

“I’m telling you Rosie, he’s not well.  Truly, you’re best off waiting until he’s feeling better before visiting,” Greg insisted.  He hadn’t let the young lady in beyond the foyer; he wasn’t certain what he was more concerned about, the girl being infected or Mycroft being embarrassed by her presence.  Either way, their home was certainly not fit for company at this time. 

“I don’t wish to tax him, Uncle Greg,” she said, adjusting her arm so that the tote bag in her hand swung gently above the floor.  “But, we both know that even if you take off tomorrow, you’re likely to be called in.  And father says your case is mostly wrapped up, but there are a few loose ends he’s not convinced of, so you know he’s going to call you tomorrow.  Please, Uncle Greg.  I’ll stay out of the way. You’ll hardly know I’m here.”

There was something about her plea that plucked his heartstrings just right.  She didn’t seem to be in any distress, but what if the day came when she was?  What would happen the day when things go poorly at home, which he knew happened during the teenage years?  Or, when something went sideways at a party and she needed to get out without calling her fathers?  If she did feel like she fit in with their lives, she wouldn’t call him or Mycroft, and then who would she call?

“You’re overthinking,” she said, breaking through his thoughts.  She knew that of all of the men in her life, her Uncle Greg wore his heart on his sleeve much like her Aunt Molly.  Their emotions were easy to read, although she wasn’t as good at deductions as her father or Uncle Mycroft.  “If it’s really a bad time, I’ll just go and come back when you get called out.”  She looked at him knowingly and shifted her weight as though she may actually turn around.

Wrapping his hand around her shoulders, he pulled her in for a hug and dropped a kiss on her head.  “You’re an angel, you know that?” he asked, carefully taking her bag from her. 

“Clothes?” he asked, surprised that it didn’t contain the ingredients for some sort of special food that she thought Mycroft might enjoy. 

She nodded.  “I thought about bringing the ingredients for a spicy ginger soup that I make dad when he’s not feeling well.  But, I figured that I should let Uncle Mycroft dictate the kind of help he needs.  You know, keep him in control and all that.”

Greg couldn’t be more proud of her response than if she were his own daughter.  “You’ll keep, kid,” he said, walking her upstairs to the bedroom that she all but took over as a child.  Decorated with an early Victorian flair, she had slowly made the room her own over the years.  And, now, even when Mycroft had old friends in from out of town, they rarely used that room.  As far as anyone was concerned, it was Rosie’s room.


His head was pounding as though his brain had swollen and was pushing against his skull.  Of course he knew that wasn’t the case, but his chest constricted as he tried to take a deep breath and his found himself coughing just to get a breath of air.  Hands that were not Gregory’s grasped his shoulders and his instinctively, grappled the person, twisting so that they lost their balance and fell to the ground.  He was about to roll over on top of them, in order to pin the intruder down when he heard a female voice call out, “Uncle Mycroft!”

Prying his eyes open, he sat up although his muscles jangled with pain so heavy it threated to drag him back down to the couch.  “Rosemond?” he huffed.

“My apologies, Uncle.  I didn’t think that you had enough wherewithal to do that.  I should have know better.”

“My God, my dear.” Anxious dread pooled in his stomach as though it were being poured from a pitcher.  “It is I who should apologize.  I … I wasn’t expecting you.”  He looked around.  “Where is Gregory?”

“Uncle Greg got called in to deal with father last night.  It’s early morning yet.  I came over to check in on you.”  She shrugged.

He sniffled as he forced himself into a sitting position.  A sigh as he looked her over.  Something was wrong, but his head ached too much to deduce anything.  She didn’t come over to check in; she came over to stay.  She looked as though she wanted to tell him why, but if she didn’t offer the information, he wasn’t going to pry.  He rubbed his head a bit, and startled when he felt her sit next to him on the couch. 

His look turned incredulous when she pat her lap.  “It’s not appropriate.”

“Oh come on.  Father taught me to do it for dad.  You’ve got a headache and I’m going to work out some of the myofascial knots.  Trust me, Uncle Mycroft.”

He turned so that he was sheltering her with his shoulder and stifled a harsh, “Hep-PTSSHH!” He couldn’t find his handkerchief, and hand attempted to sneeze with his mouth closed, causing his head to pound as though he had done it a personal wrong and his ears threaten revenge.  The tickle not relieved he held his breath, desperately trying not to sneeze again.

“That’s not healthy.  Here,” Rosie said, putting a handkerchief on his lap. 

Snatching it up he sneezed violently, “HRRRCHHH!!”  Coughing congestedly he gave his nose a stuffy blow and sighed.  Looking at her, his lips slightly parted, he gave her a nod, and let his propriety waver for a moment as he laid down. 

“Bless you,” she murmured politely.  She was under no illusion how rare this moment was.  Ever so gently, she began to give him a head and neck massage.  As she ended with his sinuses, she smiled a bit when she heard him start to snore.  She wasn’t certain if it was because he was feeling that ill, or because he trusted her that much.  But, either way, she was happy to watch over him for a few hours and repay a modicum of the care that he had shown her over the course of her life.


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  • 2 months later...

Chapter 27 from Day by Day
Sick: Mycroft

As another dinner of vast importance came into view, Mycroft knew that he wanted to take Molly.  She had done well on her own, but he knew that it wasn’t fair to not train her and leave her to the wolves.  So, he set her up for Thursday night charm classes, which he hoped would give her some confidence about how she was expected to act.  He assured her that she didn’t need to change who she was all the time, but could already see her starting to emulate his more refined actions.  He rather enjoyed her this way and began prepping her to meet his mentee, Chaz, as well as gave her a bit of the information relating to the politics of the evening.  She didn’t need to know everything, but a road map would help her find her way out of any difficult situations that she found herself in.

Unfortunately, the day before the dinner, Mycroft woke up with what could only be classified as a filthy cold.  His nose practically vibrated with tickles, causing him to suffer from paroxysms of violent sneezing which caused his eyes to water and his breathing to remain erratic.

Molly was beside herself.  She had offered to take him to hospital more than once, St. Barts – even.  But, he wouldn’t have it.  So, she wrapped him up in his warmest pajamas, his dressing gown, put socks on his cold feet and insisted that he use slippers whenever he got out of bed.

The two of them sat on the couch, which Mycroft snuggled into her side, an afghan draped over him and yet he still shook from chills.  She had placed her arm around him, pulling him close every time he shivered or shook from another fit of sneezing. 

“KESShhhHOO! ESSSH-HOO!  Heh…eheh… ehhh… ahhah-ETTCHOO!”  The sneezes practically detonated out of him, and he was unable to even contemplate keeping them muffled.  Pressing his soaking wet handkerchief to his nose, he gave a thick blow and winced, shivering again and another chill raced through his body. 

“You can’t go tomorrow.  You know that, right?” Molly said, after given him a quiet blessing and handing him a clean handkerchief. 

His nose practically honked as he tried to clear some of the congestion and then gave a bone weary sigh.  “Ads mudch as I’d like to call you out of impertinence, I know you’re correctd,” he responded, his nose all full of cold. 

She snickered at the statement, knowing that he was unlikely to really get angry at her for being straight forward with him.  In fact, he seemed to appreciate it, although she always tried to be kind when she spoke to him.  To her mind, it helped break away from the demands of those he worked with.  He hadn’t been raised to appreciate emotional consideration.  But, she wanted to show him that he was worthy of kindness, and he seemed to be responding well to it overall. 

She ran her fingers through his soft hair, frowning at the amount of heat radiating off of him.  She pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his head and was not offended when he pulled away slightly with a quiet, “Don’t.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, grasping him a little tighter when he shuddered through another chill. 

“Come on,” she said, helping him sit up.  “You need to get into a warm bath to help chase that chill out of you.  Otherwise, it’s going to settle into your bones and you’ll never get warm tonight.”

He sniffed thickly and winced as a shot of pain spiked through his head. 

“Paracetamol?” she asked, licking her bottom lip.

He nodded and drew in a shuddering breath.  It hitched once, causing him to open his mouth; twice, as his head reared backward; three times and his handkerchief was most of the way to his face when, “Heh-CHUFF! EsshKESSGGHT!!  EssFRAH-CHOO!”  He grunted and rubbed behind his ear.  Opening his eyes after a rough blow he realized that Molly had gotten up and held her hand out to him.  Knowing that he outweighed her by a bit, even if his was hiding in lean muscle, he grasped her forearm and pulled himself up, surprised by how much she was able to support him.  In another situation, he may have thought about it, but as he was it was taking him a few moments longer than usual to keep his balance. 

He was grateful that she was behind him, feeling her hand splayed at the small of his back as they ascended the stairs.  He sat down on the bed with a grunt, feeling the need to fall over onto his side in sheer exhaustion as she ran his bath.  Halfway down to his pillow, he felt the tell-tale prickles in his sinuses.  “For goodness saaakesss,” he hissed out, pulling his handkerchief out of his robe pocket.  “Heh-KESS’CHOO!  ESSFESSH!”  The sneezing set off a few chesty coughs. 

“Bless you,” Molly said, coming back into the room.  “Are you ready?” she asked, offering her arm again. 

He nodded, and mumbled a congested thanks.  He was rarely knocked about so thoroughly by a virus and wondered if this was going to devolve into the flu.  Leaning on Molly, he was grateful that she permitted him to shuffle slowly into the bathroom.  He sat on the edge of the tub while she carefully divested him of his garments and helped him ease into the tub. 

“You’re all right,” she muttered as he gasped out a shiver. 

“Get in behind me?” he asked, looking up at her with large, vulnerable eyes. 

“Um, I can,” she said, shocked by the request. 

With great effort, he scooted forward, sniffling as the heat of the bath water started to affect his tortured sinuses.

She was touched and quickly settled in behind him, allowing him to lean back against her.  Wrapping her arms around him, she was honored that a man such as he felt so comfortable with her that he allowed her to care for him at a time when he was so vulnerable.  She figured he could probably count on one hand the number of people who had been given such trust. 

After mere minutes, she pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his head when she heard him start to snore.  Despite the fact that she should have gotten him into bed as soon as possible, she waited until the water cooled slightly to push him forward and rouse him. 

He was nearly as unbalanced as a puppet as she wrapped him in fresh pajamas and socks, and tucked him into bed, settling next to him.  “Goodnight,” she whispered, kissing him on the cheek and snuggling up behind him.


The next day, Mycroft was feeling no better.  If he were to be honest with himself, he may have actually been feeling worse.  Molly was a dear, however, having let him sleep until he woke up naturally and then bringing up a tray of tea and crackers so that he could eat as he wished.

“Can you brief me on tonight?” she asked, sitting cross legged on the bed, careful not to touch him. 

“I meant to bring a file on Chaz, but I didn’t go into the office yesterday. He’s a decent enough fellow.  Portly, likes a good scotch.  Very good at his job.  He’ll be there in my stead, and you can just attend to him.”

“I can stay home if you need me Mycroft,” she offered, running her hand down his arm and touching the back of his hand lightly.

He turned his hand and grasped hers.  “I appreciate that.  But, I know you’ve been looking forward to this and Chaz was looking forward to meeting you.”  Letting go suddenly, he snatched up his handkerchief and sneezed tightly.  “Tssh’GHUH’Tsshhtt!  Eheh-Essshh’HOO!”  Barking coughs gave way to another wet, “Hessshhttt!”

“Oh, bless you,” she hummed, averting her eyes while he blew his nose fully. 

“Thank you,” he replied, exhausted.  He swallowed and winced, clearing his throat.  “My apologies.  But, Chaz has a background in finance, but his attention to detail has been quite helpful in our current goals.  He was unable to get a date and as you know, they are rather expected.  So, it would be as much a favor to me as a boon to you that you get to enjoy this time with him.”

She nodded.  “Will it be easier now that I know some people?”

“Unfortunately, the people you know won’t be there.  Light conversation only.  And you’ll have to dance with him, but for the most part say very little.  And nothing about my being ill.”  Discussing things like this with her was easy.  She was able to follow instructions and he trusted her to do so.  But, the sad puppy look that she kept giving him … sympathy… it set him on edge.  “Do be a dear and get me more tea,” he requested, laying down and falling asleep as soon as she left the room.  


Anthea picked Molly up in the state car and was pleased with the way that Molly dressed.  “I see you’re getting the hang of this,” she said by way of a compliment. 

Molly smiled and didn’t quite know what to say. 

She followed Anthea’s eyes behind her.  “He’s asleep,” she whispered.

Anthea’s finely manicured eyebrows raised up and she nodded.  “All right then.  We should be on our way.”  When they got into the car, she surprised Molly by starting to speak again.  “Chaz isn’t quite a smooth as Mycroft, but you should be able to maneuver it.  Once he gets his information and I get what I need, we’ll get going.  I’m sure you’ll want to get back to Mycroft soon.”  She couldn’t help but roll her eyes a bit. 

Molly wasn’t certain what to make of the eye roll, so she took a deep breath and asked about it.

“I know how demanding he can be when he gets sick, and fevers always make him worse.”  She looked over Molly.  “Or has he somehow been manageable for you?”

“It hasn’t been terrible,” Molly said.  “He’ll be fine in a few days.”

“And if someone asks where he is,” Anthea continued.  “Did he tell you what to say?”

“Um, no.”

“Just say that he’s indisposed and could not get away.  Do not mention that he’ll ill.  Not even to myself or Chaz.  As far as anyone knows, he’s dealing with terribly important business, and that’s how it should be.”

Molly nodded.  “I understand.”

Anthea’s look made it clear that she wasn’t certain how much Molly really understood, but she had been impressed with her fortitude in other difficult circumstances.  Most recently, she realized that Mycroft really loved her, and she loved him.  Having worked for the man for many years, she knew that he was not an easy man to know, and she could never consider loving him.   She couldn’t keep an eye on Molly, but at least Chaz was part of the team.  She would be safe enough. 


“So, how do you know Mr. Holmes?” Chaz asked, in a rare moment alone.  The two of them had been quickly introduced, and Molly trailed next to him being pleasant enough.  It reminded her of what it was like when she first accompanied Mycroft to that dinner.  It had been nearly six months earlier, but it simultaneously felt longer and shorter.  She worked hard at not biting her bottom lip as she worried about how he was doing. 

“Through his brother,” she answered, giving the most vague of answers.  There was something about Chaz that made her uneasy, although it wasn’t anything that she could put her finger on.  Mycroft trusted him, and she knew that everyone on his team was thoroughly checked out. 

“Ah, yes.  He’s spoken of him.  How do you know his brother?”

She looked at him, brown eyes staring at him intensely.  She didn’t like the questions, even though they had been asked of her before.  Her unease was not logical, and she wasn’t certain if that made her trust it more or less.  “I’ve known him for a long time,” she stated as a non-answer. 

Seeming to take the hint, Chaz stopped that line of questioning and excused himself to go talk with a few people in a private room.  Molly could not have been happier to see him go, and she realized that her enjoyment of these events was due to Mycroft’s involvement, even if they were not together at the time. 

A while later, he came up to her and asked her to dance.  She was unimpressed with his rocking dance steps, which indicated that he didn’t know how to dance properly.  But, she followed his lead, smiling and making sure that he felt comfortable with her.  Even while she smiled and made idle chit-chat with him, her thoughts were with Mycroft.  Despite the ease of the rest of the night, the conversations about growing up in the nineties and what it was like for each of them in university, she was relieved when Anthea finally came to get her and let her know that it was time to go home.


Coming into Mycroft’s home, she shut the door with a soft click, and made her way towards his cinema room.  She was unsurprised to find that the heat was turned up, although she winced at the dry heat that denoted that the space heater was also on.  She came over to his couch, smiling sadly at her pale and drawn boyfriend, who was propped up by throw pillows, covered in a blanket, snoring deeply.  She considered the bonuses and issues that would be brought on by allowing him to stay where he was.

Deciding that the repercussions outweighed the benefits, she gently placed a kiss to his too warm forehead. 

He squirmed a bit and snuffled, sniffling desperately as his eyes pulled opened.  A smile appeared on his face, unbidden, seeing Molly still dressed up, her make up and hair a little matte from a night out, but still quite stunning.  “You’re home,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“Come to bed, sweetheart.  I’ll bring the space heater up, and we’ll make sure that you’re nice and warm,” she said, sweeping her fingers through his silky hair. 

He brought his handkerchief to his nose as a few airy sneezes made their way out, as though he didn’t even have the energy to formulate the sound of a sneeze. 

“Bless you,” she whispered, helping support him by the shoulder as he sat up.  “Can you manage the space heater and I’ll get you a glass of water and some Night Nurse.”

A pause.  “Huff-SHOO!” he sneezed.  It was more heady than the others and she wondered what the illness was deteriorating into.  She wished that she had stayed with him, but she knew for next time.  He nodded and took a deep breath, gathering the energy to actually stand.

“Bless you,” she stated, kissing him on the head and going to get his water and medicine.  She didn’t want to coddle him, confident that he would ask her for help if he needed it. 

It took him a few minutes, beyond her, to make his way to the master bedroom.  She was in the en suite, putting on her pajamas and taking off her make up.  Coming out, he smiled as she looked comfortable.  With him.  Despite how ill he was feeling, knowing that she felt safe… with him… that she – dare he think it – loved him… made him somehow feel just a bit better.

He plugged in the space heater and took the medicine that she left for him.  Tucking himself in, he lifted her side of the blankets.  “Did you have a good time?” he asked.

“It was all right, but I only seem to really have fun when you’re there.”

He smiled.  “You’re sweet.  I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

She smiled.  “You let me in.”

“You earned it,” he whispered, suppressing a few coughs. 

She passed over a few tissues.  “Just cough love,” she said, turning so that she was snuggled into his chest.  “I’ll hold you,” she whispered as sleep easily came to her.

He waited up another few minutes, trying not to cough on her, but loathe to make her let go.  Her body heat was welcome.  She was welcome.  It was still a novel feeling, and he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

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  • 4 years later...

Yes. Mystrade is an amazing pair. Really enjoyed reading this and all the amazing sneeziness! 

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