No Good Goodbyes (Mystrade: BBC Sherlock) Ch. 11/11

[cally]

I've been reading a fan fic (not on here) and was inspired to write this. It's based on my own personal experiences, like some of my other stories. In this first chapter, there is a lot of scene setting, so not too much sneezing.

Chapter 1

Gregory sat in the study that he shared with Mycroft, mobile in hand. He sat staring into space, having just ended a call. He was completely and utterly numb.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do right now. Besides the numbness, he was completely and utterly exhausted and probably coming down with a cold for that matter. He had been working himself to the bone lately, case after case coming across his desk at Scotland Yard.

He had no idea how long he sat like that, practically unmoving, like a statue. He had never been more grateful for Mycroft and his ability to read him than he was when the politician arrived home.

“Gregory?” Mycroft said, as he entered the study. He could see Gregory sitting, motionless on the sofa. Immediately alarmed, he approached his lover, and sat down beside him. “Gregory?” He asked, softly this time. He put a hand on his partner’s arm.

Gregory turned to face Mycroft, tears swimming in his eyes. Mycroft read all of this and deduced most of what happened; not the absolute details of course, but enough that he knew to pull Gregory into his arms and not let go.

It was some time before Mycroft felt he could pull away from his partner. He knew something terrible had happened, and he wanted Gregory to feel loved and cared for before he asked what happened.

Gregory pulled back slightly with a wet, liquid sniffle. Mycroft pulled a crisp handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into his lover’s hand. Gregory accepted it with a grateful nod and wiped his nose.

He took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I hadn’t heard from Caroline in a few days about dad, so I figured I would give her a call you know? And when I asked to talk to him, she said, she said that he wasn’t able to talk anymore.” Gregory paused, and took a deep breath, trying to keep in control and from breaking down.

“So, she said she’d put the phone down next to him so I could talk to him. She said he could still hear, you know. So I talked to him.” He paused to sniffle. “I don’t even know what I said, really. I told him I loved him, and missed him and stuff. I don’t even know.” Gregory swiped at his eyes with the handkerchief; it was getting harder for him to continue. Both his voice and hands were shaky, and the cloth fluttered to the floor.

Mycroft squeezed his hand. Gregory continued: “After I hung up with them, I went into the kitchen to get a drink and I left my phone in here. When I came back in I had a missed call from Caroline. So, I called her back.”

Gregory was crying in earnest now. He gave a choked sob. “And she said he was gone. That he was waiting to hear from me before he died, and now he’s gone.” Gregory put his head in his hands and sobbed; shaking, heaving sobs.

Mycroft put an arm around his partner. “Oh Gregory. Dearest, I am so sorry for your loss.” Mycroft rubbed Gregory’s back as he cried, soft, gentle circles meant for comfort. He could hear the sobs starting to subside after a few long moments.

As Gregory pulled himself together, Mycroft noticed a change in the breathing patterns of his lover. He reached down to where the cloth had fallen to the floor, picked it up, and placed it into the DI’s hands. “My dear, I believe you will be needing this shortly,” he said quietly.

Gregory glanced at him quickly before he buried his nose into the handkerchief.

Huh’HNGXtishhooo! Huh’HrahhhSHHhooo!

“Goodness! God bless you, Gregory,” Mycroft said, concerned.

Gregory made some snuffling sounds from within the confines of the soft handkerchief. “Thank you, love. S’cuse be,” he said quietly and with an undercurrent of congestion. Mycroft wasn’t sure if it was from the bout of crying or the cold that Gregory had been fighting off for some time now (or both).

Gregory sat up fully, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He sniffled wetly and gave a weak smile toward his lover. “I think I need a drink, love,” he said, running his hand across his face.

Mycroft nodded and stood up to pour Gregory and himself a much-needed scotch. It was going to be a long few days, he thought. He hoped he would be able to be what Gregory needed.

Edited March 8, 2015 by cally

[Spoo]

Oh my gosh, how sad. This genuinely hurt my heart. Poor Greg! To have so much piled on top of him like that... I don't think 'I'm excited to see where this goes' is appropriate, given the content, but I am looking forward to seeing how Greg heals from this (with Mycroft's help, of course).

[cally]

Oh my gosh, how sad. This genuinely hurt my heart. Poor Greg! To have so much piled on top of him like that... I don't think 'I'm excited to see where this goes' is appropriate, given the content, but I am looking forward to seeing how Greg heals from this (with Mycroft's help, of course).

Minus the cold and Mycroft (obviously), that was exactly how it all went down when my dad died. I'm a dork and tend to write from personal experience.

You can be excited to see where it goes. I'm excited to see where I go with it!

[Seniorstatus14]

So beautiful!!! Poor Greg, so glad he has someone as great as Mycroft to look after him. Can't wait to see how he recovers from this devastating blow.

[Wildwood]

Ahh... I was all like "MYSTRADE OMG" and then I was all sad... Poor little sweetheart! I just wanna give the dear a hug

[bangbang]

Oh no, this is so sad. I hope Mycroft manages to help Greg through this. (And I'm sorry for your loss, and I hope that you'll be OK writing this.)

[cally]

So beautiful!!! Poor Greg, so glad he has someone as great as Mycroft to look after him. Can't wait to see how he recovers from this devastating blow.

Thank you. I definitely could have used a Mycroft then. (Or hell, even a Sherlock.)

Ahh... I was all like "MYSTRADE OMG" and then I was all sad... Poor little sweetheart! I just wanna give the dear a hug

Oh, sorry about that. Once we get past the initial angst, it will be mostly hurt/comforting and whatnot. Which doesn't sound any better, but really, it will be fine.

Oh no, this is so sad. I hope Mycroft manages to help Greg through this. (And I'm sorry for your loss, and I hope that you'll be OK writing this.)

He will, I am sure, in his own Mycrofty way. I will be fine. I did the same thing (after an appropriate period of time) after my mum died and even made the requisite lupus jokes (she had lupus, it was always funny since she had it long before House was on- not that lupus is funny, but I hope you know what I mean.)

edited b/c I don't know the difference between submit and quote

Edited July 18, 2014 by cally

[cally]

Thank you all for the lovely comments and support. Chapter 2 features two smaller sub-chapters allowing for a brief segue to Baker Street. Gregory is feeling worse, but is trying to ignore and avoid it, and Mycroft is well, Mycroft.

Chapter 2

While Mycroft poured their drinks, Gregory attempted to blow his nose again. He had become rapidly congested, thanks to the bout of crying and was desperate to be able to breathe once again. He did his best, but ended up rendering the handkerchief useless. With a disgusted face, he shoved it into his trouser pocket.

Setting the drinks down, Mycroft gave his partner a careful once over. He was clearly distraught, and while Gregory himself may not be able to tell, Mycroft could see that he was definitely coming down with a cold. He sat back down on the sofa and prepared himself to ask some difficult questions.

“Gregory? Are there any arrangements you wish me to make?” Mycroft asked cautiously. This was an area that the two had not really discussed. Gregory tended to be distant on this front, especially after the death of his mother. While he knew Gregory’s father had been ill for some time, he was unaware that death was going to be so immediate.

“I regret to say that because of the distance involved I would not be able to travel with you,” Mycroft added in a resigned tone.

Gregory picked up his drink and took a long sip. He put the glass down and ran a hand across his face. “What I’m about to tell you no one else knew other than myself and my dad, until I told my sister just now. When they immigrated to Australia, my dad made me promise that if and when anything happened to him that I wouldn’t travel there because he would be gone and it wouldn’t matter if I was there or not.” He sniffled wetly, rubbing his now ticklish nose.

Mycroft frowned at this. Granted, sentiment was not one of his strong suits, but even to him this seemed wrong. He was about to reply but paused, seeing that Gregory’s eyes had fluttered shut and his nostrils were flaring. The older man quickly cupped his hands around his nose.

Huh’hhhuhhraGHNTshhoo! Huh’HNGXtishhooo!

“God bless you, my dear,” Mycroft said, concerned.

Gregory removed the useless cloth from his pocket and swiped at his nose. “’Scuse be. Ad thag you, love,” Gregory said, frowning at the sound of his voice. He sniffled a harsh, liquid sniffle and cleared his throat.

Mycroft turned to face his lover, putting a hand on his arm. “Are you sure that you do not want me to make any arrangements for you? It would be no trouble at all to arrange for a flight.”

Gregory ran a hand across his face, wearily, and nodded. “Let me think about it love,” he said. “It’s all a bit much to take in right now.”

Mycroft nodded his understanding. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a hot bath? I will bring you up a cup of tea in a few minutes,” he said.

“Will you be joining me?” Gregory asked hopefully, despite sounding increasingly congested.

“I will, my dear. I need to make a call and prepare the tea. I will be up shortly.” Mycroft replied, getting to his feet.

Gregory also stood and kissed his lover on the cheek, before heading upstairs. As Mycroft walked into the kitchen, he could hear his partner sneeze as he headed toward their bedroom. Frowning, he called after Gregory. “God bless you!” Well, one issue at a time, he thought as he placed a call to Anthea.

While the kettle boiled, he was able to rework his schedule for the next two days, with Anthea’s assistance of course. He also had her look into flights to Australia for Gregory, should he choose to go.

While he was concerned with Gregory’s budding cold, despite that he did think his lover should go to the funeral. He knew that Gregory harboured a terrible amount of guilt for not being there when his mother was ill, and of course now, more recently with his father. These thoughts caused a wave of sentiment to crash over him, something that he normally was able to hold off and withstand. He didn’t have time to make a phone call to his parents (who would only worry since he never called) but he did take a moment to text Sherlock as he prepared a cup of tea.

If at all possible, brother mine, please do not bother Lestrade with any trivial matters on cases for the foreseeable future. –MH

The response was almost immediate.

What’s happened? Is he unwell? –SH

His father has passed away. –MH

There was a few minutes delay in response.

Chapter 2A

Meanwhile, at 221B . . .

Sherlock had been playing his violin when the text message came in. Annoyed at his brother for meddling, he replied quickly. However, when the next message arrived he paused, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He walked into the kitchen where John was making them both some tea.

John looked up with a smile, but his expression changed when he saw the look on Sherlock’s face. “What’s wrong?” He asked, concerned.

Sherlock passed over his mobile and allowed John to read the last few texts. Frowning, John passed the mobile back. He sighed. “Greg told me his dad was sick; asked me some questions about chemo and radiation a while back. I didn’t realise it was this serious.” He paused a moment and thought. “Just tell Mycroft to tell Greg that you’re sorry; we’re both sorry. There isn’t anything you can do right now,” he said, in answer to the unasked question.

Sherlock nodded and composed a text.

Please pass along condolences from both John and I. –SH

Immediately after, he sent a second one, knowing Mycroft would understand the brief moment of sentiment.

I am sorry, Mycroft. –SH

John passed Sherlock his tea. Both men were quiet, lost in their thoughts.

Chapter 2B

Mycroft allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips upon reading Sherlock’s text. Sentiment had never been their strong suit, but he understood Sherlock’s meaning.

Carrying Gregory’s tea, he headed upstairs. He found Gregory soaking in the bath. He saw dried tear tracks on the face of his lover, evident of recent crying. Mycroft’s heart went out to him and all the words he couldn’t say, all the feelings he had went into the kiss he gave him.

Gregory responded fully to the kiss, reaching up to caress Mycroft’s cheek. “Please allow me to undress. I won’t be a moment,” Mycroft said.

He quickly returned to their bedroom and undressed, leaving his suit on the bed to attend to later. Grabbing a box of tissues from the counter, he placed them closer to the tub. Mycroft then re-joined his partner, slipping behind him in the bath.

Gregory turned enough so he could face Mycroft. He took his face in his hands and kissed him hard. Mycroft responded to the embrace, allowing Gregory to deal with his emotions however he deemed necessary. After the kiss, Gregory reclined back against his partner, allowing the heat of the water and the warmth of his partner to relax him.

He became so relaxed that he was unprepared for the sneezes that seemingly snuck up on him, some moments later.

Huh’etcssSHHhhoo! Huh’rahhhSHHhooo!

“God bless you, Gregory,” Mycroft said. He reached over the side of the tub and grabbed a handful of tissues, placing them into Gregory’s hands.

“Thag you, love,” he replied, blowing his nose gently as possible. He was starting to feel rather unwell. Blowing his nose had the opposite effect and he rapidly gasped as his breath hitched. Mycroft braced him in the tub as he surrendered, burying his nose in the tissues.

Huh’huhhraGHNTshhoo! Huh’rahhhSHHhooo! Huh’shHNGXtishh! Huh’etcssSHHhhoo!

“Goodness! God bless you again, my dearest heart!” Mycroft kissed the back of Gregory’s neck, trying to be as comforting as possible.

“Thag you, love,” Gregory said, sniffling. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of the bath, wrapping himself in a large towel. He plucked a handful of tissues from the box and blew his nose again, in an attempt to clear his sinuses. He had hoped he wasn’t getting sick, but it was clear that his body had other ideas. With another resigned sigh, he picked up his tea and headed into the bedroom.

[Seniorstatus14]

Please pass along condolences from both John and I. –SH

Immediately after, he sent a second one, knowing Mycroft would understand the brief moment of sentiment.

I am sorry, Mycroft. –SH

Aww that is too sweet of Sherlock! Thanks for the wonderful update!

[AngelEyes]

So much feels so few words. Just sending love.

[bangbang]

Noooo poor Greg! I love the Sherlock bit - it's kind and thoughtful while still remaining in character. I'm excited to see how you handle Mycroft handling Greg - he's so Mycroft, kind of standing back and making arrangements rather than delving into the nitty-gritty realms of urgh, feelings.

But I'm pretty confident that he'll rise to the challenge and comfort Greg emotionally. And let's hope that nasty cold doesn't get passed along as a reward for his efforts!

[Wildwood]

The poor sweetheart... My mom went through cancer this year and is in the last stages of getting it out; I would be destroyed beyond belief if I lost her and so I greatly sympathize with dear Greg.

[cally]

Aww that is too sweet of Sherlock! Thanks for the wonderful update!

Even Sherlock knows when not to be a cock.

So much feels so few words. Just sending love.

My apologies for all the feels.

Noooo poor Greg! I love the Sherlock bit - it's kind and thoughtful while still remaining in character. I'm excited to see how you handle Mycroft handling Greg - he's so Mycroft, kind of standing back and making arrangements rather than delving into the nitty-gritty realms of urgh, feelings.

This really is out of his area. His parents are alive, so he doesn't really know what Gregory is going through, besides intellectually. He would rather Gregory go to the funeral than stay; he's that uncomfortable. But he is going to have to come up with a plan. Or *gasp* ask someone for assistance.

The poor sweetheart... My mom went through cancer this year and is in the last stages of getting it out; I would be destroyed beyond belief if I lost her and so I greatly sympathize with dear Greg.

I hope she is doing well. As you've commented on it, you've read my "processing my mum's death fic through Sherlock fanfic," Sentiment. While it may seem a bit odd to some people, the writing did help a lot.

Poor dear Gregory will be just fine.

[cally]

Thank you all for the lovely comments. Chapter 3 has Gregory just feeling miserable with this no longer a budding cold. Gregory + the start of a cold =self!depreciating Gregory. Mycroft is still awkward and worried, but is being as comforting as he possibly can.

Chapter 3

It took Mycroft a few minutes to dry himself off and dress before joining him in the bedroom. He could hear several squelched, wet sneezes coming from his partner, and frowned. Before heading into the bedroom he retrieved cold medicine, painkillers as well as the tissues and brought them with him.

He found Gregory sitting on the bed, seemingly staring off into space. Then, his eyes fluttered shut as he ducked his head into his elbow.

Huh’hhhuhhraGHNTshhoo! Hhhshhngxtishhooo! Huh’hrahhhshhhooo! Huh’hrahhhSHHhooo!

“God bless,” Mycroft said softly. He handed Gregory a handful of fresh tissues. He then put the pills and the tissues on the bedside table, and sat next to his lover.

Gregory nodded his thanks and gave his nose a forceful blow. He could not believe how little time it had taken him to feel considerably worse. He hated being sick, not just because of how terrible he ended up feeling, but because he always felt like he was putting Mycroft out; he always ended up taking care of him. It was unfair, and as the British government he clearly had better things to do than to take care of an ailing, aging, and now orphaned police detective inspector.

He sniffled wetly. He balled up the tissues and threw them in the bin next to the bed. He then reached for another handful so he could blow his nose again. His sinuses were clogged and aching; blowing his nose wasn’t doing much to alleviate the congestion. His throat was starting to hurt as well, and he reached for the mug of tea again and drained it.

Mycroft frowned. He wished there was something that he could do to alleviate his partner’s obvious discomfort and as well as his sadness. He reached over and squeezed Gregory’s hand. This elicited a smile from the ill man.

Not knowing what else to do, Mycroft squeezed his hand again. “Allow me to get you a glass of water, Gregory. You really should take something before you are feeling any worse,” he said knowingly as he stood up. He returned with the water and a stack of handkerchiefs.

Gregory nodded before frantically reaching for the tissues again. He sneezed harshly into the tissues, and wondered for how long Mycroft had known he was feeling unwell.

HhhhhuhhraGHNTshh! Hhhshhngxtishh!

“God bless you, my dear,” Mycroft said. He placed the water down next to the pills.

“Thag you, love,” he said. Once he finished blowing his nose, he took the pills, downing them with the water. “How long have you known?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “A few days. You tend to have trouble sleeping as the congestion increases gradually,” he said.

Gregory gave a weak smile; he knew Mycroft couldn’t exactly “turn it off.” He sniffled and moved to get under the duvet. He really was starting to feel miserable. That combined with the stresses and emotional turmoil of the day had made him exhausted.

Mycroft removed his dressing gown and joined his lover in bed, moving to hold him from behind. He wanted to do everything in his power to offer Gregory as much comfort as possible. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my dearest heart?”

Gregory relaxed into Mycroft’s warmth. He wanted to tell him about his father, he wanted to tell him how miserable he was feeling. He wanted to cry. He knew if he started down any of these roads he wouldn’t get enough sleep, sleep that his body desperately needed right now.

“Not right ahhhhh hehhhhh now, love,” he gasped out. Mycroft reached over for one of the handkerchiefs that he had brought in, and placed it into Gregory’s awaiting, outstretched hand.

Hehhhhh . . . . . .Huh’hhHNGXtishh! Huh’hRAHRhhshh!

“God bless. . . .“ Mycroft began, but was cut off as Gregory continued to sneeze, more unrestrained than the first pair; he was obviously too tired to care about how he sounded.

Heh’rahhhshhngxtishhoo! Huh’hhhuhhraGHNTshhooo! Huh’hrahhhSHHhooo! Huh’hhhuhhraGHNTshhooo!

“Good heavens, Gregory. God bless you!” The British government sounded worried.

“Thag you, love,” Gregory said before blowing his nose. He made a disgusted face at the gurgling blows. Drained, he snuggled back into Mycroft’s warm embrace. He reached for his lover’s hand, squeezing it, and then kissed the palm. “I’b sure I will be fide in the morning,” he said drowsily.

Mycroft returned the squeeze, and with his other hand, began to slowly card his fingers through Gregory’s hair. The older man had let it grow out a bit and Mycroft loved to do this; especially as he knew it helped relax his partner. “Good night, my dearest heart,” he whispered, as he listened to Gregory’s congested breathing slow down until he was deeply asleep.

[Seniorstatus14]

It was unfair, and as the British government he clearly had better things to do than to take care of an ailing, aging, and now orphaned police detective inspector.

That part. Right there. So amazing! Such a sad, but wonderful story. Glad the writing is helping you and thanks for the update!

[Wildwood]

I'm also glad that the writing is helping you feel better, cally I hope you and Greg get well soon

[cally]

Again, thank you all for the lovely comments.

This chapter is a bit shorter (as it comes in the middle of the night).

Chapter 4

Mycroft wasn’t sure when he fell asleep; he must have been lulled off by Gregory’s steady breathing. He was surprised that he had fallen asleep so quickly himself; he had a lot on his mind right now and he wanted and needed to maintain a clear and level head for himself and for Gregory.

Gregory thrashing and calling out in his sleep woke him some hours later. He sat up quickly, and took Gregory by the arm. “Gregory,” he said firmly. “Gregory, wake up.”

Gregory woke with a startled gasp; breathing heavily, sweat on his brow. “Mycroft,” he whispered hoarsely.

Mycroft switched on the bedside lamp, illuminating their bedroom. Reacting to the light, Gregory gasped and sneezed unrestrained, barely awake enough to think to turn his face away from Mycroft.

Heh…….hhhhngxissshhooo! Rahhhshhngxtishh! Huh’hhhuhhraGHNTshh! Huh’hshhngxtishh!

Huh’hhhuhhraGHNTshhoooo! Huh’hhrahhhshhhooo!

Now awake and completely embarrassed, Gregory fumbled for his handkerchief and blew his nose. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

Mycroft frowned. “God bless you, my dear,” he said, his tone worried. He reached out to brush Gregory’s damp fringe from his forehead, which also allowed him to check to see if he was fevered. (He wasn’t.)

“Thag you. I’b sorry I woke you, love,” Gregory said, sniffling.

“It is no bother, Gregory.” Mycroft paused a moment, reaching over and taking Gregory’s hand. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked gently. This wasn’t the first time that his lover had been plagued with nightmares. Mycroft often hoped that he would talk about it, if only to alleviate the burden he must be carrying.

Gregory rubbed his nose with the hand that wasn’t being held. He thought for a moment, and finally nodded. Mycroft leaned over and turned off the light and Gregory repositioned himself so that he had his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and was being held protectively in Mycroft’s arms. He began to speak, stumbling over his words, his voice still rough with sleep.

“One of the first cases I ever had, that I ran myself, there was this kid, and I wasn’t in time. I couldn’t save him. I have these recurring dreams where I get so, so close to saving him. This time I got closer than I ever have before, but it wasn’t the kid. It was my da.” Gregory’s voice caught and he coughed to keep his voice from breaking.

“Oh, my dearest heart,” Mycroft said. He held Gregory tighter in lieu of not quite knowing what to say; not a situation that the British government found himself in frequently. He spent a moment intertwining their hands.

Gregory was quiet for a few beats as he composed himself. He cleared his throat. “It’s not like I could save my da, I know that. None of this was exactly a surprise, you know? You don’t smoke two packs of cigarettes a day for decades and come out unscathed.” He sniffled again, and Mycroft could see him rubbing at his nose in the faint light that filtered through the curtains into the bedroom from the streetlights outside.

Mycroft reached for the tissues, plucked a few from the box, and pressed them into Gregory’s hand. Gregory was momentarily confused, until he gave a rapid and sharp intake of breath as he built up to a pair of harsh sneezes.

Heh………Rahhhshhngxtishh! Huh’hhhuhhraGHNTshh!

“God bless,” Mycroft said, quietly his mouth close to Gregory’s ear. He pressed a kiss to his lover’s temple.

“Thag you, Gregory said, sniffling and wiping his nose. He gave a resigned sigh. “I thought I had more time,” he said softly.

“We are always going to want just a little bit longer, Gregory,” Mycroft replied, yawning inaudibly.

“I know,” Gregory whispered before falling back to sleep, safe and warm in the arms of his partner and lover.

[AngelEyes]

My apologies for all the feels.

No apologies. Feels are good thing.

It was unfair, and as the British government he clearly had better things to do than to take care of an ailing, aging, and now orphaned police detective inspector.

Ohhhh. Dear one.

Gregory gave a weak smile; he knew Mycroft couldn’t exactly “turn it off.”

Cute. True.

“We are always going to want just a little bit longer, Gregory,” Mycroft replied, yawning inaudibly.

How true.

I'm glad writing helps. I've found the same thing.

[cally]

Chapter 5

Gregory was dreaming. He was somehow consciously aware he was dreaming as well; in that space between dreaming and waking. He rose from the depths of sleep and was immediately cognisant of two things; that it was far lighter than his normal waking time and that there were soft, muffled sounds coming from beside him.

Mmmmmpfx! Mmmmpfx! Mmmphmfp! Mmmphmfpx! Mmmpftish! MmmmINGHtighsh!

Oh, he thought. He managed to find his voice, more hoarse than normal. “G’bless,” he croaked out quietly.

“Gregory? Thank you, my dear. My apologies for waking you,” Mycroft said quietly, dabbing at his long nose with a tissue.

Gregory sat up, yawning. He took an inventory as to how he was feeling. Head sore, stuffy and congested, sore throat, general malaise, he thought with a sigh. “You didn’t wake me,” he said sniffling. He rubbed a hand over his day old stubble. “I’b sorry about waking you lasd night, love.”

Mycroft peered over at him and rolled his eyes. “Gregory, there is nothing for you to apologize for. Please do not think for a moment that you are a bother. Now, how are you feeling?” Mycroft asked, staring intently at his lover.

Gregory rubbed at his nose. “Preddy biserable, actually,” he said with a wet sniffle.

Mycroft frowned. He had hoped that Gregory would be feeling better this morning. He reached over to the nightstand and retrieved a handkerchief, which he handed to his partner. If he was reading the signs correctly, he would be needing it sooner than later.

“Would you like some tea, my dearest?” Mycroft asked.

Gregory nodded. “Thags, love,” he said.

Mycroft stood and Gregory realised it must have been much later than he thought, as Mycroft was already fully dressed. He looked up at the British government in confusion. “Should’t you be at ahhhhh hehhhhh work?”

Huh’huhhraGHNTshhoo! Huh’rahhhSHHhooo!

“God bless you, Gregory.” Mycroft said, looking concerned.

“Thags.” Gregory sniffed at swiped at his nose in annoyance.

“I was able to arrange my schedule so that I could remain here at home today,” Mycroft explained.

“You did’t have to do that, you know.”

“I wanted to, my dear.” Mycroft reached across the bed and squeezed Gregory’s hand.

“Thag you,” Gregory replied, overcome with emotion.

Mycroft squeezed his hand again. “I will return in a few minutes, dearest,” he stated, and headed out of the room and down to the kitchen.

Gregory blew his nose and pulled himself together. It wouldn’t do him any good to keep breaking down like this. With a sigh, he stood up and went off to the en-suite.

He washed his face and regarded his appearance in the mirror. He looked as terrible as he felt. His hair was standing on end in places, his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and he had dark circles around his eyes. His nose was tinged pink and he looked pale and haggard despite the stubble on his cheeks.

The inspector felt sticky and uncomfortable, so he quickly removed his pajamas and stepped into the shower. He figured a quick wash couldn’t hurt.

The hot water felt heavenly on his body and he relaxed under the spray. After a few minutes, he could feel the steam and heat loosening the congestion in his sinuses. He sniffled, attempting to hold off the inevitable sneezes, but it did little to alleviate the tickle.

Hehhhh……Huh……..Huh’ASHHHHhhooo! Huh’hrahhhshhhfff! Huh’hrahhhNGHTshhhooo! Huh’etcssSHHhhoo! Huh’ahhkishoo! Huh’hrahhhSHHhooo!

The loud, harsh sneezes echoed off the tile walls of the shower. Mycroft fretted as he came in with the tea. Placing it down, he walked the short distance to the en-suite, as Gregory was turning off the taps.

“My goodness, Gregory. God bless you!” He said, holding out a soft towel for his partner.

Gregory sniffled. “Thag you, love.” He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked over to the sink where there was a box of tissues. Plucking a handful, he blew his nose again, clearing out some of the present congestion that had been loosened by the steam.

Clearing his throat, Gregory dried himself off as he headed back into the bedroom. He found his old, comfortable track pants and an Arsenal hoodie and got dressed. Mycroft’s lips may have twitched slightly as he watched his lover dress in his most comfortable clothing. He found it very endearing.

Once Gregory was dressed, the two settled down with their tea. Mycroft also passed over two pills; cold medicine for Gregory. They sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping.

Mycroft was hesitant to bring the situation up, but he was dealing in an area he was rather unaccustomed to. Like his brother, he thrived on data, and he needed more. He was just unsure as to how to go about this; the Internet had given him mixed messages. Mycroft was well aware that he might need some assistance in this matter. As much as he was normally unwilling to accept help and assistance from others, other than Gregory, this situation concerned Gregory himself. He was not going to let his pride stand in the way of making sure he was doing everything possible to help his lover through this time.

[Seniorstatus14]

Awwww poor Greg!!! An amazing update as always!!

[matilda3948]

He found his old, comfortable track pants and an Arsenal hoodie and got dressed. Mycroft’s lips may have twitched slightly as he watched his lover dress in his most comfortable clothing. He found it very endearing.

Goodness! This is just too tender and sad and sweet. I love it so much.

[AngelEyes]

I love how hard Mycroft is trying to figure out what to do to help.

the Internet had given him mixed messages.

LOL. Gregory is lucky to have him.

[cally]

Awwww poor Greg!!! An amazing update as always!!

Thank you! And definitely yes, poor Gregory!

Goodness! This is just too tender and sad and sweet. I love it so much.

Thank you! I am glad you're enjoying.

I love how hard Mycroft is trying to figure out what to do to help.

It doesn't really come in to play when one is the British government. In my head canon, Anthea has no family, so it was never an issue for the two of them. Both his parents are still living, and it's just not something Mycroft tends to think about. Now he has to, and while it is "common sense" pretty much, when one is a Holmes and spent most of his time avoiding the ordinary "goldfish" in life, these kinds of situations can throw them for a loop. He's going to have to ask for help, which is a big thing for Mycroft. But Gregory will definitely appreciate the trouble and the gesture.

Not sure when the next chapter is up. I have a real life chapter due before I go away next week, so it might be in a few days? It depends on how much I get done IRL, sadly. However, if nothing else, I will have a few days away in London to inspire me!

[Lietome]

Perfect as always!!

[cally]

I'm embarrassed to say that I had actually forgot about this. Maybe because when I started writing this, my own grief was so raw, it was hard to keep going with it. I also had other ideas and stories I wanted to write; it is far easier to write "fluff" pieces, not emotionally taxing bits. I'm not even sure of where I was going with this 5 months ago, but I'm not one to quit on a story, so I am hoping that I can finish it up, if for no other reason than sick!Gregory and awkwardlycaring!Mycroft.

Chapter 6

Once Mycroft got Gregory settled with a cup of tea, he glanced at his mobile and feigned reading a text. Apologising profusely, he excused himself to deal with a sensitive matter. Gregory waved him off, understanding as ever, and settled back against the pillows with his tea and his thoughts.

Mycroft headed down to his private study, and from there he placed a call.

John Watson picked up his ringing mobile and sighed when he saw who was calling. Bracing himself, he answered it.

“Good morning, Doctor Watson. I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time.”

John instinctively rolled his eyes. Inconvenience didn’t really matter when it came to the British government. “What can I do for you?”

“This is a sensitive matter. I trust that you will keep this conversation between the two of us.”

The subtext of excluding Sherlock was blatant and John wasn’t sure how he felt about it, until he heard the rest of Mycroft’s request.

“I trust you have been informed about Gregory’s father,” Mycroft continued.

“Yeah, Sherlock said. Is that what this is about?”

“In a matter of speaking,” Mycroft said, and paused a moment to gather his thoughts.

John rolled his eyes again; he really wished the Holmes brothers could just get to the bloody point some times.

“John, I find myself a bit out of my depth here. As you know both my parents are still among the living and while I have experienced loss, I have never experienced it on this level.” Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose; he was feeling the stirrings of a headache.

“Ah,” John said. This was going to require another cup of tea, he thought as he made his way into the kitchen, glad that Sherlock was still asleep for once. He filled the kettle and clicked it on.

“I know this sounds contrived, but the best thing you can do right now is just be there for him. You don’t need to do any more than that. Don’t pressure him to do anything or talk about his father, he will come around to that in his own time. Is he going to fly out for the funeral?” John asked.

“No, I do not believe so. There was an arrangement,” Mycroft said. He didn’t explain further. “It is probably for the best,” he added. “Gregory is a bit under the weather at the moment and I do not think travel would be the best for his health.” Mycroft left out the fact that he offered to pay for Gregory to fly out to Australia.

“Is he alright?” John frowned as he put a teabag into his mug and poured the boiling water over it.

“I think so, yes. It is just a cold, but he is not feeling his best right now.”

“Well, keep an eye on that. There’s been something pretty miserable going around. I’ve seen a few people knocked for six over it, so let me know if you need me to come ‘round and check him over.” John tossed the teabag into the bin and turned and opened the fridge, sighing when he saw the hands still hadn’t been returned to the morgue.

“Something the matter?” Mycroft asked.

John laughed. “Your bloody brother hasn’t bothered to. . ., you know, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you focus on Greg, yeah?” John didn’t really know what to tell Mycroft. “Everyone grieves in their own way, Mycroft. Spend as much time with him as you can, just be there, you know?” John blew on his tea and took a sip. Giving relationship advice to Mycroft Holmes wasn't really part of his medical training.

“Very well. Thank you, John.”

“No worries,” John said as the line went dead. He shook his head and went took another sip of his tea, lost in his own thoughts about his own parents.

Mycroft sat there for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He still was no closer to knowing what he should be doing. Of course he would be there for Gregory, but a nagging sense of worry and guilt felt that he should be doing something more. He supposed John knew what he was talking about, having more experience than he did, surely. Mycroft sighed and put his head in his hands, wishing that this came easy to him, like it did for Gregory. He really didn’t deserve him; Gregory was such a loving and caring person, and here he was hiding out in a separate room because he didn’t know what to say.

While Mycroft was having his personal existential crisis, Gregory was reading the texts that had come in while he was sleeping. There were only a few; from Sally, Anderson, and John, but he was touched that they had taken the time to reach out to him. He didn’t really know what to say in response, so he decided to leave it for the moment. He finished his tea and took the cold medicine that Mycroft had left for him and was left feeling aimless. Sniffling, he ran a hand through his damp hair and rose from bed. There was no sense in sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

He took his teacup downstairs to the kitchen and put the kettle on for another cup. He then took the bread out of the larder and put 2 slices in to toast. He wasn’t terribly hungry, but he figured he might as well eat something.

He was halfway through his toast when Mycroft appeared in the kitchen. “I would have brought you something to eat, my dear,” he said, kissing Gregory on the cheek.

Gregory shrugged. “It was just toast. I’m not an invalid,” he said sniffling wetly. He rubbed his nose in annoyance.

“I was not suggesting that you are,” Mycroft said gently as he joined him at the table. “That being said, can I get you anything else?”

Gregory shook his head. “Nah, I wasn’t really hungry to begin wi –ahhh hehhh with,” he struggled through the last word, his breath hitching. He grabbed a napkin off the table and sneezed harshly into it.

Huh’rahhhSHHhooo!

“God bless you,” Mycroft said quietly, putting his hand on Gregory’s shoulder.

“Thaa ahhh thanks,” he gasped out again before succumbing to another sneeze.

Huh’huhhrahhhDSCHHH!

“God bless you again.” Mycroft removed his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Gregory.

Gregory nodded his thanks and blew his nose. He was suddenly very tired, as if the enormity of the situation had finally hit him. He sighed as he ran a hand across his face.

Mycroft sat there watching as the different emotions flitted across his partner’s face. He felt helpless; there really was nothing he could do right now. He squeezed Gregory’s shoulder.

Gregory stood and gave him a sad smile as he cleared his place at the table and walked out of the room, his head down in defeat.

Mycroft stared at the retreating figure until he was long gone.