Caring For Your Government - BBC!Sherlock (Mystrade)

[Seniorstatus14]

Ahhh!! I love it! I can't believe I missed the last two parts! But that's okay! It just gave me more to read

[Spoo]

This is all so wonderful! Now that Greg's involved it's even better. Him brushing his thumb over Mycroft's temple was the sweetest thing.

[cally]

“Oh, lovey, bless you,” Greg frowned and took a seat next to Mycroft on the sofa and offered his own handkerchief. It was crumpled and white, though it was steadily fading to grey with washing. “It’s clean,” he added quickly.

Oh lovey. That just ended me, right there. So, so sweet and adorable.

[AngelEyes]

Greg smiled to himself. Mycroft was surrounded by people who cared about him. He was never really without someone. He just didn’t see it.

This pretty much sums it all up.

Eventually, he slept too, having made a mental note to buy whoever had been landed with Sherlock a doughnut by way of apology.

This! LOL

Can't wait to see what John has to say...What's going on?

[ID2006]

So so so wonderful, yays, glad Greg is in on it now.

[bangbang]

Aw, this is the sweetest thing! Mycroft struggling quietly and Greg feeling all guilty and worried that he hadn't noticed. And the falling asleep at the desk, and three colds in a month - the poor thing is just so run down it makes me ache.

[AdrianMarx]

Ahhh!! I love it! I can't believe I missed the last two parts! But that's okay! It just gave me more to read

Ahh thank you!!

This is all so wonderful! Now that Greg's involved it's even better. Him brushing his thumb over Mycroft's temple was the sweetest thing.

Gosh thank you.

I'm flattered that you actually like it omg.

Oh lovey. That just ended me, right there. So, so sweet and adorable.

It's my favourite little pet name, haha.

Can't wait to see what John has to say...What's going on?

If things are going on, John will find out ^-^

So so so wonderful, yays, glad Greg is in on it now.

Ah, me too. Thank you!

Aw, this is the sweetest thing! Mycroft struggling quietly and Greg feeling all guilty and worried that he hadn't noticed. And the falling asleep at the desk, and three colds in a month - the poor thing is just so run down it makes me ache.

Aw, he is just miserable, poor lamb. I wanna squeeze him.

[AdrianMarx]

This part is decidedly longer. Sorry. It just sort of happened.

-

Mycroft slept in.

Poor thing must have been exhausted, Greg thought. Mycroft’s internal body clock was incredibly accurate. The alarm clock by their bedside was really for Greg but Mycroft would occasionally use it as a precaution if he had somewhere very important to be early in the morning. He didn’t sleep in. It just didn’t happen.

Greg texted Anthea to let her know. She said everything he was thinking and Greg was glad he'd called John last night.

By the time it reached midday, Greg had nearly chewed right through his lower lip with worry. Mycroft showed no signs of waking so Greg rubbed the top of his arm with on hand and stroked his hair from his face with the other, all the while murmuring that it ws time to wake up. When Mycroft did eventually stir, Greg regretted waking him when he started curling into himself in a fit of damp coughs.

Greg tutted sympathetically and helped Mycroft to sit before fetching him a glass of water. Mycroft took several small sips and Greg couldn't help but notice that his hand shook when he raised the glass to his lips. He ran a hand through his silver hair absently.

"Better?" Greg asked once the coughing had subsided.

Mycroft nodded. "Mbuch," he muttered, wrinkling his nose in distaste when he heard the congestion in his own voice. "Apologies."

"No need," Greg insisted like he did every time. "We'd better get dressed. I'm taking you to Baker Street so John can have a look at you."

Mycroft's face fell. "Gregory, it really is undecessary..."

"Don't give me that!" Greg caught himself before he started shouting and brought his voice down to a whisper. "I'm sorry. It's just- I worry about you."

Mycroft didn't respond and instead reached for a handful of tissues from the box on Greg's other side. He held them in front of his face in preparation, tipping his head back while the tickle played with him. When the sneezes finally did force their way out, they were congested and lazy - two things Greg did not naturally associate with Mycroft Holmes.

"Huh...hhhh...hih'ESHHnghkx! ESHHnghkx!"

Greg blinked in surprise while Mycroft's cheeks flushed a deep red. In all the years they'd been married, living together, seeing each other, Greg had never heard such a loss of control on Mycroft's part. But he chose not to mention it. Mycroft was embarrassed enough as it was. Before he could launch into an apology, Greg kissed his temple and blessed him quietly.

"Come on," he murmured while he pulled Mycroft to his feet. He seemed unstable to Greg tucked an arm around his waist. "Clothes."

Greg insisted Mycroft stay put on the bed while he rummaged through his drawers. There was no point in looking through Mycroft's half of the wardrobe for civvies and Greg would hardly think it comfortable for him to wear his usual three-piece suit. He offered a plain t-shirt but one look at Mycroft's expression told him he might have Greg beheaded just for suggesting it. (And Greg wouldn't be surprised if he did actually possess such a power.)

When Greg offered up one of his casual checked shirts, Mycroft didn't even have time to comment before he ducked his head sharply.

"Hh'nnnnngh!"

Greg chuckled. "Hey, it's nothing to sneeze at."

Mycroft made an attempt to glare at him but his eyes closed without his consent and he sneezed again.

"Hh'NNnngkh! Hh'NNnngkh! Hih'NNnnngkssh!

"God bless," Greg said, squeezing Mycroft's shoulder. He held up the shirt again. "Will this do? It's nice and soft at the very least."

Mycroft's agreement seemed like a hollow victory for Greg when he felt so miserable but it would still be nice to see him out of the house in something other than formalwear. Mycroft kept the shirt nestled in his lap but didn't make any move to get changed.

Greg shook his head. "I've seen you shirtless before, y'know."

This didn't seem to change anything so Greg left him to it all the same, not wanting to antagonise him when he was ill. That was probably it. His mind was probably just a little bit fuzzy from the cold. Greg listened to Mycroft's stifled sneezes from the other side of the door and had to fight the almost overwhelming urge to scoop him up in a hug. He did hate when Mycroft was unhappy.

When he finally emerged clad in the shirt and a pair of Greg's jeans, he had to bite back a smile. He looked so different and it was obvious from the way he held himself that different made him very uncomfortable. Greg offered him a reassuring smile.

Armed with tissues and Ibuprofen, they set off for Baker Street.

~

Greg knew Mrs Hudson was the definition of a mother hen but he’d forgotten until the precise second she opened the door to find him practically holding Mycroft up.

“Are you alright, dear? I’ve never seen you so pale,” she fussed while she stepped aside to let them pass. Greg felt Mycroft draw himself up to stand properly and rolled his eyes.

“I assure you, Mrs Hudson, I am fine,” he managed though his scratchy throat and stuffy voice screamed the contrary. “A mild respihhh- respiratory ailment is ahh all.”

Mrs Husdon smiled a knowing smile and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “You and your brother are more alike that you know. Go right on up, dear. John said he was expecting you.”

Greg thanked her politely while Mycroft tried to distract himself from the itch in his sinuses by digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand. He didn’t let go of either Greg or the bannister the whole way up though he had to stop to stifle some sneezes into his shoulder one step from the top.

“Hh’nnngch! Hh’nnnnngsh! Hh’nnnnngsh!”

“Bless you,” John’s voice came from the doorway. He sported a concerned look. “God, Mycroft, you look awful.”

“Thank you, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said half-heartedly.

As expected, Sherlock didn’t even attempt to contain his laughter when he saw Mycroft’s sickwear.

“You’re wearing jeans?” He spluttered, casting his gaze over Mycroft’s body while Greg settled them on the sofa. Mycroft scowled. “Even I don’t wear jeans, Mycroft!”

John shot Sherlock a warning look which silenced him but the mischief still lingered in his expression. Mycroft knew his brother better than to hope he’d get off so lightly. When John returned with his first aid kid, Sherlock was still giggling to himself in his armchair so John took the liberty of banning him from the sitting room until he could compose himself.

Sherlock grumbled but removed himself as far as the kitchen where we went about his experiments noisily to bother Mycroft’s festering headache.

Mycroft lifted his gaze to the ceiling and took a moment to notice the peeling paint in one corner before he succumbed to the building tickle.

“Hh’nnnngshhh! Hh’NNnnngshhh”

“God bless,” John murmured quietly. Mycroft sniffled into the tissue Greg pressed into his hand in humiliated silence. John held up a thermometer and Mycroft grimaced. “I know, I know. But I really do have to take your temperature.”

“One oh two point seven- no. Point eight degrees Fahrenheit. Approximately thirty nine point three degrees Celsius,” Sherlock said from the kitchen doorway with a smirk. John took a deep breath before he turned to face him.

“Can’t you leave your brother alone for ten minutes?”

Sherlock threw John a glare and stalked back into the kitchen again where he proceeded to make even more noise than before. John sighed and rolled his eyes at Greg by way of apology and tucked the thermometer under Mycroft’s tongue all the same. While it registered his temperature, he felt his glands – swollen – and took his pulse – elevated – and pressed two fingers against Mycroft's forehead, receiving a wince in return.

He flashed Mycroft a sympathetic glance when the thermometer found Sherlock to be correct.

John put on his stethoscope and said, “Tell me if you need to cough or sneeze. Don’t wanna bust my eardrums.”

Mycroft smiled gratefully at John’s attempt to make light of the situation. It was much more his style. Gregory was taking the whole thing far too seriously, in his opinion. John tucked the end of the stethoscope under Mycroft’s shirt and listened. After a moment, Mycroft pressed a finger under his nose and let his eyes fall shut, concentrating on holding back.

"Hih...hhh..."

Giving in, he tapped John's shoulder and turned away, curling his tissue around his nose.

"Hh'nnnngshh! Hh'nnngSHH!"

"God bless you," said John and Greg together.

Mycroft sniffled and managed a breathless, "Thank you," before the tickle came back with a sudden vengeance and he had to bury his nose in the sodden tissue again.

"Heh'nnnnGSH! Heh'nnnnGSHH! Heh'nnnnGSHH!"

"God bless you, Mycroft!" John plucked a tissue from the box in Greg's lap and held it out to his sniffling patient who took it with a quick nod of his head. "Well, you've certainly gotten yourself one hell of a cold. But I think there's something more going on here."

Mycroft looked surprised. John wanted to be defensive and state for possibly the hundredth time that he wasn't actually completely thick but decided against it. He'd save it for when Mycroft was at least capable of defending himself.

"Greg said you've been falling asleep at work," John lowered his voice so Sherlock would at least have a hard time hearing him. "Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Plenty," Mycroft said honestly. "I've just been under stress, is all."

Greg frowned. "Anthea said you'd had three colds in the past month."

Mycroft didn't seem fazed. "A result of the ahhh stress I'm s-sure-" He curled forward again.

"Hh'nnngch! Hh'nnngch! Hh'NNgshh! Hh'nnngSH! Heh'nnnnGSH!"

"No wonder you've got a sinus headache," John commented. "Those sound pretty forceful."

Mycroft blew his nose gently and chose not to respond. Greg began to run his fingers through his hair and Mycroft sighed softly at the feeling. John's concerned look didn't slip from his face while he stood up to grab his jacket from where he'd tossed it over the back of his armchair.

"With the fatigue and your immune system having taken a nosedive, I want to do a blood test," John said. "Are you up to it, do you think?"

Mycroft hesistated for a moment before nodding and carefully pushing himself to stand with greg's assistance. Sherlock poked his head round the door.

"Where are you all going?" He asked accusingly.

John sighed and sat down to pull on his shoes. "Clinic. Coming?"

"Can't," Sherlock pouted. "I'm very busy with the bomber case, I can't spare the-"

"Fine," John interrupted impatiently. "I'll get Mrs Hudson to keep an eye on you."

Sherlock frowned. "I'm not a child, John."

John didn't grace that with an answer and instead stood up again with a worried look at Mycroft whose head was tipped back and nose twitching.

"Heh'nnnngSH!"

"Bless you, lovey," Greg sighed, wrapping an arm around Mycroft's shoulders. John had to admit, it was sweet the way he worried. But Mycroft had given him every reason to. That was one area which he and Greg could bond over - they both had a Holmes to take care of and often found it bloody impossible.

"I'll hail a cab," John muttered and jogged downstairs, leaving Greg and Mycroft to follow along behind. "Off out, Mrs Hudson," he called over his shoulder just to let her know.

By the time she emerged from her flat, John was already outside and Greg was helping an exhausted Mycroft downstairs.

"Oh, leaving already, dears?" She asked, tittering sympathetically at Mycroft. "Oh, dear, you're white as a sheet. I remember when my husband came down with the flu over the summer one year. Oh, the fuss he made. You'd have thought he was dying, the way he went on."

Mycroft interrupted with a stifled sneeze against his wrist. "Hh'nnngSHH!"

"Oh, bless you, dear," she fussed. Mycroft just stood still, looking a bit startled. Greg had to stifle a giggle when she put her hands on Mycroft’s cheeks briefly. "And you're all flushed. I hope you're going home to rest, young man, because-"

"Cab's here," John called from the front and Greg smiled at Mrs Hudson apologetically.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson. Must dash," he said quickly, guiding Mycroft outside.

"Take good care of him, now," she called after him, starting when Sherlock came pounding down the stairs after them with the surliest expression on his face. "Someone's got a bee in his bonnet," she chuckled.

Sherlock pointedly ignored her while he swept past. She followed him out.

"I know you and your brother don't get on," she went on while Sherlock waited for John to get into the cab so he could climb in after. "But family is all we have in this world, Sherlock, and he is pleased to see you even-"

Sherlock pulled the door shut behind him and the cab pulled away. Mrs Hudson muttered a breathless, "oh," before she hurried back inside.

[cally]

This is utter perfection and don't apologise for the length! I can not wait to read the next instalment. Seriously. Can. Not. Wait.

[squealofapproval]

I enjoyed every last bit of it- everything, EVERYONE. It was PERFECT.

[Spoo]

Your story is SO good, Adrian! The characterization is spot-on, and your details are absolutely lovely. This is probably my favorite installment yet! Omg, when Sherlock was laughing/giggling at Mycroft, all I could hear was that scene from the third season, where Sherlock is laughing at John in the train compartment.

I must say, though. I'm genuinely concerned about Mycroft. I hope he's okay!

[AngelEyes]

That was one area which he and Greg could bond over - they both had a Holmes to take care of and often found it bloody impossible.

This! So true!!!!

And OMG! This is so wonderful! It's just perfect. And lovely. And the suspense...Is it bad that I'm kind of scared to see what's wrong? Poor dear Mycroft! I hope he's ok... But he has lots of support. And I love Sherlock refusing to come out of spite and then being all like, wait for me, I have to be in on it!

[matilda3948]

I just...wow. So so soooo good!!!!

[ID2006]

Dying in anticipation. And Sherlock's response to the jeans... priceless.

[AdrianMarx]

This is utter perfection and don't apologise for the length! I can not wait to read the next instalment. Seriously. Can. Not. Wait.

Thank you!

I enjoyed every last bit of it- everything, EVERYONE. It was PERFECT.

I'm blushing a little bit. Thank you c:

Your story is SO good, Adrian! The characterization is spot-on, and your details are absolutely lovely. This is probably my favorite installment yet! Omg, when Sherlock was laughing/giggling at Mycroft, all I could hear was that scene from the third season, where Sherlock is laughing at John in the train compartment.

I must say, though. I'm genuinely concerned about Mycroft. I hope he's okay!

It was my favourite to write I'm honestly really glad you like it. Well, I guess you're about to find out.

And OMG! This is so wonderful! It's just perfect. And lovely. And the suspense...Is it bad that I'm kind of scared to see what's wrong? Poor dear Mycroft! I hope he's ok... But he has lots of support. And I love Sherlock refusing to come out of spite and then being all like, wait for me, I have to be in on it!

That's just Sherlock, isn't it. "No, I will not be involved with my brother's inconvenience...don't leave me, John."

I just...wow. So so soooo good!!!!

<3

Dying in anticipation. And Sherlock's response to the jeans... priceless.

I'd really like to see Mycroft in jeans. Sighs.

[AdrianMarx]

I finished my last exam today *celebrates* so I have 2-3 weeks left of study leave to finish this story. I think there's only one part left, possibly two. But, yes, I hope this isn't too disappointing. I did try D: I promise. Sorry. Rambling.

-

The second John set foot through the front door, the receptionist’s eyes widened.

“John,” she said in surprise. “What are you doing here? I thought it was your day off.”

John sighed. “Family emergency,” he said quickly. She nodded.

“Your room’s free,” she added. “I’ll let Marie know.”

“You’re a star,” John grinned and hugged her quickly which earned a disgruntled harrumph from Sherlock which John pointedly ignored.

The waiting room was relatively quiet which Mycroft seemed pleased about though he relaxed obviously once John had gotten him seated in his room next to Greg with the door firmly shut. Sherlock immediately hopped up onto the bed at the back and swung his legs, letting them clatter noisily against the metal framework underneath. From the way Mycroft tried to discreetly rub his temple, it was definitely irritating his headache but everybody knew asking Sherlock to stop would have the exact opposite effect.

“I won’t patronise you,” John said, organising everything he needed on his desk and stacking some papers haphazardly to make room. Mycroft visibly winced at the untidiness. “You know how this works. But I feel like I’m doing it wrong if I don’t keep up the usual mantra so I’ll go ahead and ask you some general questions, yeah?”

While John took blood, Greg kept their hands linked together and resting in Mycroft’s lap. And if he felt a minute squeeze when the needle went in, he didn’t say anything. The questions were relatively straightforward – sleep, stress, cigarettes – and John had sent the samples off down the hall with a request to have them tested and returned ASAP. (Mycroft didn’t really see the need for the fuss but he flashed his ID card all the same after a stern look from Gregory.)

Mycroft’s breath hitched and John just had time to thrust a handful of tissues into his hand before he pitched forward involuntarily.

“Hhh’nnngshh! Hhh’nnntshh!”

“God bless you,” chimed John and Greg together. Sherlock gave a huff of disapproval and was ignored.

“Thank you. I do apologise,” Mycroft said quietly.

Greg wrestled his hand from Mycroft’s and wrapped it around his shoulders instead, something warm twisting in the pit of his stomach when Mycroft rested his head on Greg’s shoulder. In public. Voluntarily. The peace was interrupted, however, by a crash from behind them.

“Sherlock!” John groaned in exasperation. “Put that down!”

Greg turned just in time to see John wrestling some contraption or other from Sherlock’s grip. It was quite comical, actually, how a tiny man like John could have such influence over Sherlock Holmes. Though Greg had come to realise that John was only tiny in his physicality.

Even Mycroft managed a weak smile at the sight.

“If you can’t behave, you can go get yourself a taxi back to Baker Street,” John said firmly, interrupting with a sharp, “Ah!” whenever Sherlock opened his mouth. Eventually, he fell silent and chose instead to wrap himself up in his coat with his knees drawn into his chest and sulk silently. While he and John continued to have their lovers tiff with only eyebrow raises and pointed glares, Greg rubbed Mycroft’s back soothingly.

“Soon as we’re out of here, we’ll get you tucked up in bed, yeah?” He muttered, voice low. Mycroft nodded, swiping at his runny nose with the bundle of tissues and risking a sniffle. There was a sneeze brewing at the back of his nose but he couldn’t quite coax it out. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to. He’d had enough sneezing to last a lifetime. “I’ll make soup. We can watch rubbish telly or a comedy film. Anthea can keep you updated on the current affairs in Uzbekistan. A quiet evening in.”

Mycroft snickered which quickly descended into a painful cough. Greg bit his lip and kept up his back-rubbing, unsure of what else there really was to do. Even John simply winced in sympathy and offered Mycroft a plastic cup of water from the tank by the door. Mycroft took a shaky sip from the cup and Greg hoped he’d get a chance to get his breath back but he couldn’t seem to catch a break.

“Hhh’nnntish! Hhh’nnntshh! Hheh’nnnngkhshh! Hih’nnnnGHKSHHH! Hih’nnntISHooo!”

“Jesus, Mycroft, bless you,” John murmured, tangling a hand in his blond hair without thinking. He sighed. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Mycroft shot John an accusing glare, one which said, what’s that supposed to mean? But John had been living with Sherlock long enough to recognise the typical Holmes façade. There was definitely something. Greg’s arm around Mycroft tightened minutely.

“Love?” He asked, placing his other hand on Mycroft’s knee and tracing circles with his thumb. Mycroft closed his eyes but maintained his silence. They’d hit a dead end. Well, almost.

“Weigh him, John,” Sherlock said suddenly. When John looked back at him, he was no longer sulking but instead leaning forward with an unreadable expression on his face. John started to ask why but Sherlock interrupted. “Weigh him.”

Mycroft tried to laugh it off. “There’s really no need Doctor Watso- ehhh Doctor Watson,” he managed before the tickle had its way with him.

“Hh’ISHhhoo! hh’HHISHOO!”

John’s blessing was more automatic then sincere. He glanced down at Mycroft with a new worry in the pit of his stomach.

“Do I need to weigh you?” He asked quietly. “Or can you tell me yourself?”

Mycroft scowled. Weighing it would be, then. It took some time to persuade Mycroft to stand on the scales and, even then, it came with its usual snide remarks. Sherlock’s instinct – “Deduction,” he would later snarl – had been spot on. He’d lost much more than John could possibly deem healthy. Though he tried not to watch, Mycroft could pinpoint the exact moment Greg realised he had been dieting a bit too rigorously again. Again. That was the clincher. There should never have been a first time.

Greg texted Anthea.

He’s lost weight. Too much. –GL

Her response came not thirty seconds later.

Two brands of diet pills retrieved from his desk. Confiscated indefinitely. –A

~

The results of Mycroft’s blood test came back a few hours later, during which time Sherlock had been uncharacteristically quiet. John didn’t voice it but he put it down to instinctual concern. Sherlock might possibly poison him in his sleep if he even pointed an elbow in the general direction of such a suggestion.

“Iron deficiency,” John said, sounding very much like he’d expected exactly that. “Would explain the exhaustion.”

“And his immune system?” Greg asked. He’d been worrying his lower lip for too long.

John shrugged. “I suspect that’s not been helped by overworking himself.”

“Contrary to popular belief,” Mycroft mumbled tiredly. “I do have functioning ears.”

On a good day, Greg would have laughed.

“Well, Mycroft, you’ll be fine,” John said though it was more for Greg’s benefit. Mycroft probably already knew the implications of a low iron count and likely had a whole stash of knowledge outlining how to fix it. “Keep up this diet of yours, however, and you’re going to land yourself a prescription for iron pills. I’d advise against it. They taste nasty.”

Mycroft simply sniffled into his tissues in response. (He’d gone through rather a lot since they’d arrived. John’s wastepaper bin was almost spilling over.) Greg tried not to be worried. Useless. He was worried. So he settled from trying not to show it.

“I’ll make you up a list of foods with high iron,” John said, scrawling down everything he could think of off the top of his head and ripping out the paper to give to Greg. He looked to Mycroft again and his voice was softer. “If you’re not improving within a few weeks off the diet, let me know. Don’t bother making an appointment. Not that you would but I like to pretend I have a normal life, sometimes.”

Sherlock snorted and John could have sworn he head him mutter, “rude,” but he could never prove it.

Mycroft flashed John an exhausted smile which seemed to require more energy than he had to give. He really did look dead on his feet. Rest was what he needed. Greg’s phone buzzed in his pocket while he was thanking John on their way out, leaving him to deal with a petulant Sherlock alone. He couldn’t say he envied him. He’d much rather have a sniffly Mycroft than a grumpy Sherlock any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

A car is waiting for you outside Doctor Watson’s clinic. –A

Cheers, Anthea. You’re a star. –GL

Not a problem. –A

Greg would never have any proof of course but he imagined she was smiling as he herded Mycroft into the car and allowed him to fall asleep, lulled by the steady drive home.

[cally]

You mean you can't continue this forever and ever? Please?

The results of Mycroft’s blood test came back a few hours later, during which time Sherlock had been uncharacteristically quiet. John didn’t voice it but he put it down to instinctual concern. Sherlock might possibly poison him in his sleep if he even pointed an elbow in the general direction of such a suggestion.

Someone's feeling guilty.

[AngelEyes]

Awww. Poor sweet thing. I have to admit to being relieved that it was something easily fixable. Shame on you Mycroft Holmes! You should know better! You had us all very worried!

Love this story!

[AdrianMarx]

You mean you can't continue this forever and ever? Please?

Haha, I'm sure there will be many more like it ^-^

Awww. Poor sweet thing. I have to admit to being relieved that it was something easily fixable. Shame on you Mycroft Holmes! You should know better! You had us all very worried!

Love this story!

He really should know better. I'm sure Greg will set him straight.

[AdrianMarx]

Okay, definitely one more part after this.

-

The silence which settled between them was tense to say the least. Greg couldn't think of a single thing to say and Mycroft really wasn't up to making small talk. But this was far more important than small talk. And it really couldn't wait until Mycroft was better because he'd never be better if he kept on like this and-

"hh'HHISHhhh! hh'HHISHhhh!"

"God ble-"

"hhHHISHhhooo!"

Greg frowned. "God bless you," he began again, quickly kissing Mycroft's cheek.

"Thank you," Mycroft sniffled.

Greg wasn't angry with him. Disappointed, yes. Hurt that Mycroft had made no attempt to confide in him, most definitely. But not angry. If anything, he was angry with himself. Yet another incompetence; something else to add to the growing list of things Greg had failed to notice about his husband.

They didn't attempt proper conversation until they had both changed into their night things and were seated at the breakfast bar/table/general purpose island in the kitchen. Greg had made soup just as he'd promised and put the kettle on to boil. Mycroft wrinkled his nose at the smell. While it was typical for him to lose his appetite when under the weather, this was one occasion where Greg felt he was justified in his decision to persist until Mycroft got something down.

"Tomato," Greg said pointlessly, as though there was another red soup he could possibly have made. Mycroft's sarcastic reply never came. Greg sighed, watching Mycroft stir the soup with disinterest. This just wasn't like him.

Mycroft ate a half spoonful. And then another. He glanced at Greg who offered an encouraging smile but said nothing. He had to admit, it was a relief to see him eat. Mycroft had what they'd come to refer to as "a thing" about eating in front of people. Greg had always suspected it had had something to do with his perceived weight problem but it had never been discussed in as many words. With Greg, it was different. Usually. Some days, Mycroft found it just as impossible as if he were a stranger. Greg tried to be understanding. When one was in love with Mycroft Holmes, patience and understanding had to be put into practice at least once daily.

"So," he tried eventually once half the bowl was gone and Mycroft was beginning to droop somewhat. "Diet pills?" He ventured. Mycroft didn't even tense. Greg filled the hot water bottle from the kettle and wrapped it in a tea towel.

"Anthea informed you, no doubt?" Mycroft said, making no attempt to deny it. There was an air of defeat about his words. It unnerved Greg somewhat. "You must understand, my dear, I did not ever intend for this to happen," he gestured to himself apathetically while exhaustion slurred his words. He was in need of a good, long sleep.

But Greg had to go a little deeper first. He set a cold glass of water down in front of Mycroft who took slow, careful sips. Greg pulled his seat round so he could rest a hand on Mycroft's thigh.

"What else?" Greg asked simply. He didn't have to expand. Mycroft knew what he meant.

"The pills were not all, you are correct," he sighed and Greg placed his elbows on the table, dragging his hands through his silver hair. "I- I have been known to skip the occasional meal. I try to go for low calorie options where I can. I do eat-"

"Just not enough," Greg finished for him. "Christ. I should have seen it. I'm so, so sorry, Mycroft."

Greg was horrified to find himself actually fighting back tears. Must be the exhaustion, he thought to himself. He'd been worrying himself sick for most of the day, after all. It took a lot out of a person. Mycroft sniffled and pressed a slender finger beneath his nose, letting his eyes fall shut. His nostrils flared of their own accord and his mouth dropped open only ever so slightly. He only took one audible inhale before the building fit made itself known.

"Hh'HHISHhh! hhH'HHISHhh! hhehISHHOO! ISHOO! hihHSHOO! hh'HISHhoo!"

"God bless you, lovey," Greg sighed, tucking some fresh tissues into Mycroft's hand and dumping the old ones in the bin for him. He looked like he might keel over any second. Greg kissed his cheek. "Bedtime, I think."

Mycroft sniffled again and nodded gratefully. The bowl of soup was abandoned on the breakfast bar/table/general purpose island while they retreated to the bedroom but not before Greg grabbed the cold medicine out of the cabinet which Mycroft took without a fuss. Mycroft settled himself in bed immediately, propped up slightly on the pillows with the hot water bottle clutched to his chest like it was his last source of heat. He shivered. Greg tucked the blankets in around him and pulled him close.

"Gregory, none of this is your fault," Mycroft said quietly. Greg didn't respond. He didn't trust himself to agree. The guilt was already wreaking havoc. No stopping it now.

He felt Mycroft tense against him, the length of his body shuddering when the sneeze almost threw him forward.

"hehhHITISHHHOOO!"

"G'bless," Greg pecked his temple. "Too exhausted to even stifle. Must be worse than I thought," he teased. It earned him an embarrassed smile. Adorable little shit.

Mycroft blew his nose unabashed. Thankfully, he'd come to realise that Greg couldn't actually care less if he sounded like a strangled goose so long as it made him a little more comfortable in his ailing. Gregory. Always thinking about others, that one. Definitely a keeper, as John had once said. Greg was worth more than he'd ever know.

"You know you're absolutely perfect to me, right?" Greg blurted out.

Mycroft was startled out of his half-sleep by the authority in Greg's voice. And suddenly he felt overwhelmingly insecure in his own skin. He felt young again, but youth brought with it childhood tormentors and Sherlock's oblivious teasing. Making a mockery of Mycroft's feelings, tearing him down without ever really meaning to. For Sherlock, it had always been harmless fun. Mycroft had never let on that it might be something more.

Mycroft sighed. "Gregory-"

"You don't have to change yourself for anyone," Greg interrupted quickly, his train of thought now in full flow. "God, I sound like one of them motivational speakers. But my point still stands. It's cheesy and I know how much you hate clichés but you really are just perfect in my eyes. And who cares what other people think, right?"

Mycroft frowned. "Doesn't it matter what I think?"

"Of course it does," Greg countered immediately. "But I'm not daft enough to believe that this is what it's about. It's about image. If it were about feeling good about yourself, I'd be there supporting you 100% of the way. But it's not. It's about improving yourself for the benefit of other people and at your own expense," Greg paused. "And I cannot agree with that."

Mycroft rested his head on Greg's chest. He said nothing and instead listened to the beating on his husband's heart, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He felt his own hear lift with every inhale and fall again when Greg let go of his breath. Lots of things about this were nice.

What could have been a potentially pleasant train of thought was interrupted by a tickle which became an itch and, with the aid of a liquid sniffle, subsequently became a sneeze.

Well, four sneezes, actually. Four rapid fire sneezes which left him utterly breathless.

"Hh'ESHooo! ESHhoo! ESHhoo! ESHhooo!"

"God bless," Greg whispered, winding his arms around Mycroft's thin frame gently, carefully. He didn't often treat Mycroft as though he was made of glass but sometimes he felt the situation called for it. Like now when he was being ridiculously uncertain and insecure in himself.

Mycroft gave a soft hum of acknowledgement against Greg's chest which he took to be a thank you.

"I really do love you, Mycroft," he murmured but Mycroft was already fast asleep.

[cally]

Awwwwwwwwwwww! *snuggles them both*

While I can't wait to read the last part, I will be sad when it is over.

[Spoo]

I am DROWNING in fluffy feels for these two. Greg loves Mycroft so muuuuch. *Whines* I really loved how you touched on poor Myc's insecurities, because even though he IS the British Government, he's got those self-image issues there. I want to give him lots of affection (but I think Greg's got that covered).

Super excited for the final installment. Aaaaand the potential possibility of Greg either catching what Mycroft has or there being a sequel about that very thing.

[AngelEyes]

I really loved how you touched on poor Myc's insecurities, because even though he IS the British Government, he's got those self-image issues there.

This! Exactly! I love it!

[SneezyRae]

Just read this for the millionth time. Glad Greg has finally got his act together. Hopefully he will pull Mycroft through this

[AdrianMarx]

Awwwwwwwwwwww! *snuggles them both*

While I can't wait to read the last part, I will be sad when it is over.

So will I. Ah well. I can always write another one ^-^

I am DROWNING in fluffy feels for these two. Greg loves Mycroft so muuuuch. *Whines* I really loved how you touched on poor Myc's insecurities, because even though he IS the British Government, he's got those self-image issues there. I want to give him lots of affection (but I think Greg's got that covered).

Super excited for the final installment. Aaaaand the potential possibility of Greg either catching what Mycroft has or there being a sequel about that very thing.

Gosh, fics where Mycroft has body image issues always make me a little lot emotional.

It seems you're tuned into my train of thought

I really loved how you touched on poor Myc's insecurities, because even though he IS the British Government, he's got those self-image issues there.

This! Exactly! I love it!

Just read this for the millionth time. Glad Greg has finally got his act together. Hopefully he will pull Mycroft through this.

Here's hoping.