How to care for your Gregory 10/10 (Mystrade: BBC Sherlock) updated 9 February

[cally]

Oh, yes, I have all the time in the world to devote to a new fic. Really I don't. But my brain has other ideas. This was meant to be a drabble, but by the time I actually got to the good stuff, I was already several hundred words in and it seemed silly to try to break it down or change it. So this shall be a stand-alone piece. And given now that it's over 1700 words, that just seems awfully long for a drabble (not that I've not done it before!)


Chapter 1


Gregory placed yet another call to Mycroft’s mobile. No answer. He sighed wearily as he urgently dialled a second number and waited. Anthea picked up on the second ring.

“Is he there?” Gregory’s voice sounded strained, distant.

“He’s unavailable,” Anthea replied.

Gregory sighed again, hissing in pain as the ambulance took a tight corner. “Well, you’ll have to be the one to let him know I’ve been shot.”

“What?” Anthea’s normally calm voice went a bit shrill.

“It’s just a graze. I’m fine, really.” Gregory’s voice seemed to get smaller and further away.

“I will alert him. Where are they taking you?”

“Royal London. We’re just there now. Stress the grazed part, eh?” He tried to laugh, but it came out an odd sound before he rang off.

At that moment, another member of Mycroft’s staff came running in, handfuls of paper in her hands to alert Anthea of the news.

Steeling herself, Anthea knocked on the door and let herself in.

“Mr. Holmes?” She made every attempt to keep an air of calm about her. Despite the DI’s attempt at humour, she was worried.

Mycroft looked up at his PA and instantly knew something was amiss. He scanned her; not Sherlock then. Oh. Oh no, he thought. His blood ran cold as he endeavoured to quell the rising panic within.

He rose quickly, excusing himself, keeping himself composed apart from his hands held in tightly clenched fists.

Once outside, Mycroft levelled his gaze at Anthea, tension coming off him in waves.

“Is he ok?”

“Yes, sir. He’s been shot, but he insists it was just a graze.”

“Why didn’t he call. . .“ He cut himself off and pulled his mobile out. There were five missed calls from Gregory.

“Was Sherlock involved?” He hated to have to ask the question, but his brother did tend to attract trouble.

“No, Sherlock is at Baker Street. At last check he was playing his violin. Both your parents are home and are fine.” Anthea knew that Mycroft would want to assure himself that everyone he cared for was safe and secure.

Mycroft nodded, as he put on his Crombie coat, and picking up his umbrella, he headed toward the door.

“The car is waiting to take you to hospital, sir.” Anthea handed him all the information on the incident that they had been able to gather. “The CCTV footage will be sent to you shortly,” she added.

“Thank you, Anthea. Please make my apologies,” he said, gesturing at the room he had come from.

On the drive over he reviewed the paperwork that Anthea had passed along. There was nothing out of the ordinary with the arrest; it just appeared that the information that Gregory and his division had been given was woefully inadequate.

Mycroft wondered if he should arrange a promotion for Gregory, but he knew even if the older man was made Chief Constable, he would still be out working cases. Not to mention that his husband would resent any meddling on his part.

His mobile vibrated with a text; it was the CCTV footage.

Mycroft forced himself to watch. He clenched and unclenched his fist, enraged. He hoped he never had to view something like that again. It was painful, and his heart clenched when he saw the bullet graze his lover.




Gregory sat in the exam room. He was sore and chilled to the bone. His jacket, what was left of it, was on the table next to him along with the bloodied shirt they had cut off of him, soaked with blood. He gave a fleeting thought as to why they hadn’t binned it.

He shivered. The exam room was overly cooled; hospitals were always too hot or too cold, he had found. He shuddered again and felt gooseflesh rise on his skin; with the blood loss and subsequent shock, they could have at least left him a blanket.

He had been given a rather alarming amount of painkillers prior to cleaning and suturing the wound, which had taken place immediately upon his arrival. He was curious how much had to do with the fact that he was a police officer, or rather how much influence the British Government had bestowed.

Bandages had been wrapped around him; his right arm bandaged to his side. His arm had apparently been grazed as well, he had been told. He hadn’t felt it at all. Looking down, he could see a small amount of blood had seeped through the bandages and he sighed softly.

A nurse came in and helped him into a gown, given the state of his shirt. She told him that the doctor would be in shortly with his prescriptions.

He nodded, unable to formulate words at that moment. She headed out and he was left to his thoughts; which even in his mentally altered state focused on how pissed off Mycroft was going to be. He felt his eyes drooping and he swayed a bit as he fought gravity to stay upright. Carefully leaning back against the wall, he waited.




When Mycroft arrived, he flashed his identification and asked to speak to the doctor in charge of Detective Inspector Lestrade. The nurse didn’t look impressed, but brought him all the same.

Initially the doctor was reluctant to say anything to Mycroft. Mycroft showed him his credentials, along with a look that ensured he’d be practicing medicine in the middle of the Sahara if he didn’t comply.

“If you had not made note of this before, doctor, my name is listed as Gregory’s point of contact and next of kin,” he stated icily, as he put his identification away.

The doctor immediately reassured Mycroft that everything was perfectly fine; Gregory would be perfectly fine. The wound was nothing more than a deep cut. He would need to remain bandaged as he was now overnight, but after that, a simple dressing would suffice. He allowed the doctor’s words to echo through his mind as he was given Gregory’s discharge papers and prescriptions, and was led down the hall to the exam room and to his waiting husband.




Mycroft stood outside the room watching Gregory for a moment. He was feeling a bit overwhelmed and needed the distance to calm his nerves. It was clear that Gregory was out of his mind from the injection he had received. Having taken a deep breath, Mycroft set his jaw and opened the door.

Gregory didn’t react; he was staring off into space, his body angled just enough away from the door. As Mycroft moved closer, he could see that his partner had an odd look on his face. Gregory suddenly turned, ducking his head into the shoulder of his non-bandaged arm, attempting to muffle the sound of a harsh, loud sneeze. His face twisted as he winced from the pain of the injury.

HuhhrahhhSHHhgnxt!

Mycroft frowned. “God bless you, Gregory,” he said quietly. He fought to keep the emotion out of his voice and off his face.

Gregory looked up, startled, a look of recognition crossing his features before his face slackened and he ducked his head down once again.

Huh’Hhhshhngxt!

Gregory hissed in pain, louder this time.

Mycroft crossed the distance between them, so he was standing close to Gregory. “God bless you again,” he said, pulling out his pristine, pressed handkerchief and handing it over.

“Thanks. You could have just pushed the tissues closer,” he replied, nodding towards the box on the table.

Mycroft made a disgusted face. The tissues in question wouldn’t be of use to a gnat, let alone his Gregory.

Awkwardly, due to only having one free hand, Gregory snuffled into the luxurious cloth, swiping at his nose when he was done.

Mycroft moved even closer, invading his personal space, categorising and deducing everything. Gregory let him; it was easier that way. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he knew that Mycroft needed this. He was in no condition to try and make sense of anything; combined the pain medication and blood loss had made his head rather fuzzy. He watched Mycroft in silence.

Finally, Mycroft stepped back, satisfied as he could be.

“I did try to call,” Gregory finally said. His voice was soft, like it was difficult to form the words. He gave a breathy inhale and pressed the cloth to his nose.

Mycroft moved quickly to brace him on his good side, giving him the support he needed.

Huh’hrahhhshhhfff!

“God bless you!” Mycroft frowned, not liking the sound of that last sneeze. Gregory did seem to have the propensity to fall ill when injured; whether or not it was a coincidence, he was unsure.

Gregory grunted loudly, his sutures had pulled alarmingly as he attempted to stifle the outburst. “Thanks,” he murmured. “S’freezing in here,” he said, shivering, as if trying to explain the trio of sneezes.

Mycroft made a move to remove his coat, but Gregory stopped him. “Just help me get my jacket around me, alright? No sense in ruining your nice coat.” Gregory patted Mycroft as if he were a cat and grinned.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his lover’s action, but helped him into the ruined jacket all the same. With a sound of disgust, Mycroft tossed the remnants of Gregory’s ruined shirt in the bin, trying to ignore the amount of blood on the shirt, and the images of Gregory being grazed by the bullet that were already imprinted upon his mind.

"Let's get you home," Mycroft said quietly, running his hands over him, smoothing down Gregory's jacket. Neither of them said anything about the fact that the jacket was long since ruined.

Sniffling softly, Gregory looked over at his husband, confused. "What about the doctor? He was supposed to come in, I thought."

"It has all been taken care of, my dear." Carefully, he helped Gregory down off the table and the two made their way outside. In the time they had been inside, the grey London day had broken, and pale sunshine filtered through the clouds.

With a brief hitching breath, Gregory sneezed more audibly than he had previously. Mycroft could see that the violent paroxysms cost him dearly, as his face was lined with pain.

Huh’hrahhhshhhh! HRDSCHHhhhh!

“Goodness! God bless you, my dear,” Mycroft said, as he gently assisted Gregory into the car.

“Mmmm. Thanks,” Gregory murmured after another half-hearted attempt at blowing his nose. He was too exhausted and medication delirious to bother caring at this point. Once they were settled, Gregory put his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and dozed, as the car drove them through damp city streets to their home.

Edited February 9, 2016 by cally

[thegreatpretender]

This is ADORABLE! I can't even... GAH! Can't wait for the next part!

[stargazer]

I am not a fan of Mystrade at all, but I truly enjoyed this.

[AngelEyes]

Oooh! A whole story! Yay! And I love it so far! I love how Mycroft always thinks of him as His Gregory. And needing to be right there and deduce everything about his condition. And Gregory all loopy but knowing it was what Mycroft needed and just going with it. Awwww. Adorable!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Big smiles wreathed my face when I saw this posted! I am eager for more.

What a way to begin, Anthea having to tell Mycroft Greg's been shot. No one wants to do that. I'm betting Greg was secretly relieved. It fits that Greg would get sick when injured. It's like his body just can't take any more strain. Mycroft is going to have his hands full with a groggy, dopey, sneezy Greg, isn't he?

[cally]

This is ADORABLE! I can't even... GAH! Can't wait for the next part!

Thank you! And I am sorry that it took so long to get the second chapter up!

I am not a fan of Mystrade at all, but I truly enjoyed this.

It is my aim in life to get everyone to love Mystrade. *evil laugh*

Oooh! A whole story! Yay! And I love it so far! I love how Mycroft always thinks of him as His Gregory. And needing to be right there and deduce everything about his condition. And Gregory all loopy but knowing it was what Mycroft needed and just going with it. Awwww. Adorable!

Mycroft's deducing is key in all of this, imo.

Big smiles wreathed my face when I saw this posted! I am eager for more.

What a way to begin, Anthea having to tell Mycroft Greg's been shot. No one wants to do that. I'm betting Greg was secretly relieved. It fits that Greg would get sick when injured. It's like his body just can't take any more strain. Mycroft is going to have his hands full with a groggy, dopey, sneezy Greg, isn't he?

Mycroft is going to annoy the crap out of Gregory by deducing his needs, rather than asking him what he needs.

I'm so sorry it took me forever to get this second chapter up. I've actually been working on it for like 2 months on and off, and I was just struggling with it for some reason. Hopefully I can get it done and dusted.

Chapter 2

Gregory wanted nothing more than a hot shower, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. Still shivering, he allowed himself to be led inside and slowly up the stairs to their bedroom.

He was still a bit unsteady on his feet and he swayed slightly, while Mycroft unbuckled his trousers and eased them down. Only then, did the younger man help him get seated on the bed. Mycroft knelt down and untied Gregory’s shoes and then removed his shoes, socks, and trousers. Mycroft unwound the jacket from Gregory’s shoulders, and put the lot to the side before slipping into the ensuite.

Shuddering, Gregory waited, his eyes heavy. A moment later, Mycroft returned with a warm flannel and a towel. He then proceeded to gently wipe away the remnants of the blood that had dried to his skin. While the cloth was warm and soothing, Gregory was chilled to the bone and continued to tremble.

As Mycroft began to dry him with a soft towel, Gregory did his best to muffle a pair of sneezes with the back of his free hand, groaning in pain in the aftermath.

Huh’Hhhshhngxt! Heh’rahhhNGHTshh!

Mycroft pulled back. “God bless you, my dear,” he said worriedly.

“Thanks,” Gregory said, sniffling and rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

Pulling a face, Mycroft rose and fetched a few tissues for his lover. Gregory nodded his thanks, and made an attempt to blow his nose; he found it difficult with only one hand. He made a series of strangled snuffling sounds, and then, sighing, settled for swiping at his nose.

Cleaner than he had been, Gregory was glad to be helped into a pair of pyjamas. He just wanted to be warm. Mycroft then helped him into bed and under the duvet, doing his best to not jostle Gregory’s injury.

Gregory found a position that was relatively comfortable and that wasn’t pulling on his stitches. Sniffling, he nuzzled down into the pillows.

Mycroft had been quiet as he helped Gregory get settled, trying to keep his anxieties at bay, not wanting to overwhelm or upset Gregory anymore than he already was. He sat down next to him on the bed, and ran a hand through Gregory’s soft silver hair.

Gregory let out a soft sigh at the touch. He reached out and found Mycroft’s other hand and squeezed it. “Thank you,” he mumbled sleepily.

Mycroft gave him a tender smile. “Will you be alright on your own for a few minutes, Gregory?” Fighting to keep his eyes open, Gregory nodded.

Mycroft rose to his feet, and pressed a kiss into the top of Gregory’s head. The older man was asleep before he left the room.

Mycroft softly closed the door to their bedroom and leaned heavily against it. He covered his hands with his face and took a deep breath as he fought to keep his emotions under control. After a moment, he felt he was able to attend to the most immediate tasks. He placed a call to Anthea, arranging for her to fetch the prescriptions and anything else she could think that would be helpful for Gregory’s convalescence.

He then headed downstairs, checking his messages and attending to only the most critical. He poured himself a small glass of Scotch and then went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. He knew that Gregory probably would not sleep long; he tended to sleep poorly after incidents like these and he would probably appreciate a hot cup of tea and something to eat.

He focused on filling the kettle, and getting the teapot ready, working to keep his breathing even. He refused to give into the anxiety that was humming in his bloodstream. He watched the steam rising from the kettle, and nearly jumped when there was a footfall behind him.

Anthea stood there, focused on her mobile as usual. She looked up at him, and tried not to show how surprised she was to see the worry written all over the British Government’s face.

“How is the detective inspector?” She asked quietly.

“Resting as comfortably as he can, thank you,” Mycroft said in clipped tones, as if being brusque would keep everything in control.

Mycroft handed over the prescriptions and Anthea accepted them with a nod. She gave them a cursory look. “This shouldn’t take too long. Is there anything else you would like me to take care of, sir?”

“Could you arrange for some soup and sandwiches to be delivered?”

“I’ll handle it, Mr. Holmes.” Anthea reached out and squeezed Mycroft’s arm, and then returning to her mobile, slipped back out the door. Taking a deep breath, Mycroft drained his Scotch, and returned to the soothing act of tea making.

A few minutes later, Mycroft was back upstairs watching Gregory sleep. He couldn’t help the action as he yet again had come far too close to losing his beloved husband. As he reached over for his cup of tea, Gregory stirred. As he woke up, he looked momentarily panicked and confused until realising he was safe and at home. Seconds later, he blinked frantically, and then gasped out a harsh sneeze, his face contorting in pain.

Heh’rahhhNGHTshhooo!

“God bless you, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly. He moved closer, sitting down next to Gregory on the bed. He reached out and put a comforting hand on his free arm, stroking the warm skin gently.

“Thanks,” the older man murmured, sniffling damply.

Mycroft frowned and reached over for the tissues, pressing a few into Gregory’s hand. The inspector carefully sat up, wincing slightly. He swiped at his nose, not bothering with an attempt to blow; he knew he couldn’t manage with just one hand for some reason. He then balled up the tissues and dabbing at his nostrils, he looked up to find Mycroft scrutinising him.

Mycroft reached over again for a few tissues and then moved closer to Gregory, so he was sitting in front of him. He folded the tissues over and gently placed them around Gregory’s nose.

“Love, I’m fine. You don’t have to,” Gregory said, a bit more nasal than before.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Dearest, please allow me to help you.”

Gregory sighed, but gave in; it was easier that way. Mycroft was gentle and careful of his injury, and after a moment or two Gregory was able to breathe a bit better.

“Thanks, love,” he said, squeezing Mycroft’s hand.

“It was no trouble, my dear,” Mycroft said, rising to his feet. He tossed the tissues away and then headed into the ensuite to wash his hands. When he came back in, he found Gregory trying to get out of bed, his faced lined with pain.

“Where on earth do you think you’re going?”

Gregory sighed and ran his free hand across his face. “I’d thought I’d go run the London Marathon,” he quipped.

The ginger-haired man looked down at him disapprovingly.

“I need to pee, love. If that’s ok with you.” He grinned despite himself.

Mycroft at least took a moment to look embarrassed. “Oh. Of course. Let me help you up.”

About fifteen minutes later, after Anthea had popped in with Gregory’s pills, they were both sitting comfortably with their tea. Gregory had eaten the biscuits that Mycroft had brought up, mostly so he could take the pain medication. He wasn’t particularly hungry, the pain and subsequent exhaustion had seen to that. He was aware that Mycroft was watching him, noting, categorising every breath and move he made. He sniffled and he could feel his husband’s eyes on him.

Gregory was momentarily confused when Mycroft took his teacup from his hands and put it to the side. He figured out why seconds later when he gasped softly, nostrils flaring. He quickly turned his head away, ducking it down into his shoulder, trying to keep the rest of his body steady.

Huh……..HuhASHHHHhhooo!

“God bless you, my dear.” Mycroft gave him a soft smile and handed him a few tissues. He was starting to worry; Gregory was sounding more congested than he had previously.

“Thanks, love,” Gregory said, sniffling. The pain in his side wasn’t as bad as before, probably due to the fact that the pain medication was kicking in. He dabbed at his nose and yawned. Blasted pain medication always made him drowsy.

Mycroft observed all of this, of course. He knew that rest was the best thing for his beloved husband right now. “You should rest, dearest,” he said, trying to ignore the ticklish sensation in his sinuses. He had hoped he had longer before having to succumb to the inevitable dependence on antihistamines. He wanted to focus on Gregory right now, not his seasonal affliction.

The irritation increased and Mycroft quickly cupped his hands around his nose, knowing he’d not be able to reach the tissues in time. He stifled the expulsions, not wanting to jostle the bed or Gregory.

Mmmmpftighx! Mmmmpftx!

Gregory frowned. “God bless you!”

“Thank you, my dear. My apologies,” Mycroft murmured.

“Nothing to apologise for, love,” Gregory said, yawning.

“You should get some more rest, Gregory,” Mycroft said gently.

“Mmmmm,” Gregory agreed, carefully sliding back under the duvet. He felt Mycroft carding his fingers through his hair as he drifted off to sleep.

[matilda3948]

Somehow I missed this!! I LOVE it! Injured and/or sick Greg is one of my favorite things. And poor worried Mycroft.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Yea! Another chapter! Hang in there Mycroft. No falling apart allowed, yet. Love that Greg needs help to blow his nose. Darn that injured arm.

[AngelEyes]

Awww. Poor dears. Gregory all injured and unwell, and Mycroft all worried and anxious.

[Juto]

These are so cute... Sick and sneezy Greg is absolutely adorable and Mycroft being so worried is just awwwwwwwwwwwwwww.....

I've never heard of the Mystrade connection before, but I'm in love. You've won me over!! Please do more :-)

[cally]

Somehow I missed this!! I LOVE it! Injured and/or sick Greg is one of my favorite things. And poor worried Mycroft.

Hopefully the next chapter will have more grumpy!Greg. He sadly slept a lot of this chapter.

Yea! Another chapter! Hang in there Mycroft. No falling apart allowed, yet. Love that Greg needs help to blow his nose. Darn that injured arm.

Mycroft is having a bit of a wobble right now.

Awww. Poor dears. Gregory all injured and unwell, and Mycroft all worried and anxious.

Mycroft is very worried right now, the poor thing.

These are so cute... Sick and sneezy Greg is absolutely adorable and Mycroft being so worried is just awwwwwwwwwwwwwww.....

I've never heard of the Mystrade connection before, but I'm in love. You've won me over!! Please do more :-)

Thank you so much! I hope you continue to enjoy!

I hope to try to finish this ASAP, otherwise there will be a longer break while I try to get my thesis back in order.

Chapter 3

Gregory slept. Mycroft was still incredibly on edge and he decided that he would go for a run to see if he could burn off some of the anxiety on the treadmill. He quickly changed and headed downstairs.

A few miles later, the British government was still filled with a sense of dread and unease, only now he was sweaty. He returned upstairs; Gregory was still sleeping. After undressing, he stood under the shower, the water running over him. He felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin; the image of his lover being shot was on constant replay within his mind. Mycroft let out a choked sob, barely audible over the sound of the water falling heavily from the showerhead.

After his shower, despite the relative early hour, Mycroft put his pyjamas and dressing gown on and brought some relatively unclassified work into the bedroom with him. He focused more on Gregory’s sleeping form, watching the rise and fall of his chest, rather than the file opened in front of him. Watching Gregory’s breathing calmed him somewhat, but the undercurrent of anxiety still buzzed through his veins. Mycroft finally stood, wandered over to the window and stared out into the dark early spring evening.

Gregory yawned and stirred. He saw that the light was on and realised he had slept for a few hours this time. Mindful of his stitches, he sat up slightly and ran his free hand through his hair. He could see Mycroft standing at the window, looking worried. Lestrade was going to call out for him, when he became distinctly aware of an irritating, buzzing sensation in his sinuses. He braced himself, ducked his head into his shoulder, muffling the sound of the pair of harsh sneezes.

Huh’hrahhhshhhgnxt! Huh’hrahhhshhhfff!

Mycroft whirled around and crossed over to him, apprehensive. “God bless you, Gregory!”

Gregory sneezed again in response, hissing in the aftermath.

Huh’etcssSHHhhoo!

“And again, my dearest heart,” Mycroft said, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to his ailing partner.

Thanking him, Gregory sniffed wetly, frowning at the damp patch he had made on his shirt. His face was lined with pain, although it was not has bad as it had been a few hours ago, he thought to himself. He sat up fully, against the headboard, giving Mycroft more room. He watched as his lover scrutinised him fully, and seemingly satisfied, moved over and reached for the tissues.

Mycroft plucked a few, folded them over, and then pressed them gently to Gregory’s nose. The ailing man opened his mouth to argue, but the look on Mycroft’s face stopped him before he started. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Mycroft was gentle and careful. Gregory wondered if it had something to do with his own horrific hayfever. His thoughts continued to wander while Mycroft plucked another handful and repeated the process, still taking care. He wondered if Mycroft had done this for a young Sherlock; it would explain the patience, he thought.

When Mycroft pulled his hand away again, Gregory sniffled experimentally and rubbed his nose. He was able to breathe a bit better now. “Thanks, love,” he said feeling embarrassed. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way; Mycroft was his husband for heavens sake. It was just last weekend he had his tongue . . .

Mycroft softly cleared his throat, interrupting Gregory’s train of thought. The raised eyebrow indicated that he definitely knew where Gregory’s thoughts were. Gregory gave him a wink and a leer and moved closer to his lover.

“Gregory you are incorrigible!” Mycroft rose from the bed and headed into the ensuite. Gregory could hear water running for a moment, and then Mycroft was standing next to him by the bed again. In that moment he was unguarded, and the detective inspector could read the worry on his face.

Gregory carefully reached out and intertwined their fingers. “I’m fine, love. Really.”

Mycroft nodded once, and then became unreadable once again. “Are you hungry, Gregory?”

“Yeah, I suppose I am,” he said, squeezing Mycroft’s hand. He began to move slowly off the bed.

Mycroft gave him a confused look. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Dinner?”

The look that Gregory was given was priceless and he had to make a concentrated effort to keep from laughing.

“There is no reason for you to get out of bed. I shall bring dinner upstairs for us both.” Mycroft helped Gregory get settled, fluffing up the pillows behind him and pulling up the duvet to his waist. Gregory watched this with a bemused look on his face, and despite the pain, quickly leaned up to press a soft kiss on Mycroft’s cheek before he left and went downstairs.

About ten minutes later Mycroft came back upstairs with a tray laden with soup, sandwiches and tea. He set the tray down carefully on the dresser and brought over a bowl of soup and a half of a sandwich for Gregory, who immediately began to tuck in.

In hindsight, Mycroft should have waited to get his own bowl of soup. As he turned back around with his own meal, he saw that Gregory had an odd look on his face that quickly turned into a rather violent sneeze.

HuhhrahhhNGHTshhhooo!

“Good heavens, Gregory! God bless you!”

“Thanks, love,” he chuckled, trying to keep from shouting out in pain. “I think the steam got me there,” he added, sniffling. He was just glad he hadn’t spilled the soup all over the duvet. Lestrade knew that Mycroft loathed eating in bed. It was only because he was injured that the younger man had even considered it.

Mycroft carefully sat down with his own soup and began to eat. It was a hearty soup, perfect for the kind of day that they had both had. Unfortunately, it was also rather spicy. He sniffed carefully, hoping it would keep his nose from dripping in a rather unsightly manner. Instead, his nostrils burned furiously and he quickly put his soup to the side before he was overcome with a fit of ticklish sneezes. He was able to stifle the first few, but the irritation became too much to handle; the last four uncharacteristic and harsh.

Hehhhh…….Mmpfx! Mmmphx! Mmmpftish! MmmmINGHtighsh! Ahhhh……hehhhhh…….ING’SHHHHH! ING’MMFPTIGHshhhh! Heh’TISSSSHH! Gn’TNSGH’SHHHH!

“Christ, love. God bless you!” Gregory managed to awkwardly grab a handful of tissues to hand to Mycroft.

“Thank you, my dear. My sincerest apologies.” Mycroft accepted the tissues and blew his nose, which reignited the burning prickliness, and he gasped out another pair of sneezes.

INGISHHHHH! Gn’TNSGH’SHHHH!

“Oh love. God bless you again!”

“Thank you, Gregory. I am terribly sorry for that interruption,” he said as he rose from the bed and retrieved a handkerchief from the bureau. He quickly tended to his nose and took a moment to study his partner. Other than the obvious discomfort from his injury, Gregory seemed to be no worse for the wear, nor was he bothered by the inopportune outburst. But then, he never seemed to be bothered by it; Mycroft knew that he himself was the one that was embarrassed.

“Love?” Gregory asked, worriedly. Mycroft realised he had been lost in his thoughts and hadn’t heard his husband speaking to him.

“Again, my apologies Gregory. I was lost in my thoughts,” he said, dabbing at his nose. “Can I get you something else to eat? Some tea perhaps?”

Gregory smiled. “I’d love another sandwich and some tea.”

Mycroft busied himself at the task, pouring them both a cup. He placed the tea on the bedside table and gave Gregory another sandwich. He then gave Gregory his pain medication and antibiotics before settling on the bed with his own cup of tea.

Gregory frowned. “You’re not eating?”

Mycroft shook his head and then took a sip of tea. “I had a sandwich while you slept,” he lied easily. He couldn’t eat any more than the soup he had consumed. His stomach was still in knots; the anxiety was still rather overwhelming. Right now he needed to concentrate on making sure his husband had proper nutrition and his medication to ensure his quick return to health and hoped that Gregory was none the wiser.

[Juto]

Awwwww this was great! I love how they bless each other. It's so Sincere and slightly over the top, but it fits this couple perfectly!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

You can't end this here! Mycroft is still all verklempt! I can see Greg is going to be okay. Don't leave Mycroft all tied up in emotional knots. Please.

[AngelEyes]

He didn’t know why he was feeling this way; Mycroft was his husband for heavens sake. It was just last weekend he had his tongue . . .

Mycroft softly cleared his throat, interrupting Gregory’s train of thought. The raised eyebrow indicated that he definitely knew where Gregory’s thoughts were. Gregory gave him a wink and a leer and moved closer to his lover.

“Gregory you are incorrigible!”

I love naughty!Greg. He cracks me up!

Poor Mycroft though. All strung out. Everything will be ok.

[cally]

Awwwww this was great! I love how they bless each other. It's so Sincere and slightly over the top, but it fits this couple perfectly!

Oh, I know. I just feel like they are emphatic in their blessing to one another. Gregory to Mycroft as he feels badly when he's suffering from his horrific hay fever, and Mycroft to Gregory because he's so unrestrained and Mycroft envies him in that. That plus their love for each other. . . and that's where I get it.

You can't end this here! Mycroft is still all verklempt! I can see Greg is going to be okay. Don't leave Mycroft all tied up in emotional knots. Please.

He's still a mess, he's just trying to hide it now.

I love naughty!Greg. He cracks me up!

Even injured, he's still a naughty boy.

Ummm I suppose I should give a general warning for a brief discussion of Gregory's injury. Not in real detail but I mention the stitching and whatnot. I'm not squeamish, but in case you are, I'd thought I'd put it out there.

Chapter 4

When Gregory awoke he was vaguely aware of the nightmares he had experienced and Mycroft comforting him in the night. The second thought he had was that there was someone speaking, and it wasn’t his husband.

“ . . .why you needed me to be here in the first place! He’s fine. He’s unlikely to get himself shot again whilst in your bed, Mycroft!” There was a loud thud after, something that sounded like a mobile being tossed onto a chair.

Lestrade opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. Why in the hell was Sherlock in his bedroom? He sniffled damply and cleared his throat. “Sherlock?”

“Oh. You’re awake.” Sherlock crossed the room and peered at him intently.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse from sleep (and probably from calling out in the heat of his nightmares).

“Apparently keeping an eye on you because my brother is too self important to delegate to his many subordinates.” Sherlock continued to stare at him, scrutinising him.

Gregory forced himself into a sitting position, wincing in pain. He was utterly uncomfortable and desperately wanted his arm freed.

“Well, as long as you are here, you can be of some use. Help me get this shirt off so I can get this bandage off and have both my bloody arms free.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but helped him remove his pyjama top, careful not to aggravate the injury. Once the top was removed, Sherlock carefully unwound the bandage that had kept Lestrade’s arm immobilised. Once freed, Gregory took a few moments to carefully stretch his arm, getting the blood flowing once again. He checked the wound; it was nothing more than a scratch, for which he was thankful.

He was quickly chilled without his shirt on and involuntarily shivered. Sherlock made note of that, but was far more interested in seeing the wound on Lestrade’s abdomen. He raised an eyebrow in Gregory’s direction and he nodded his assent. He figured that Sherlock would just wait until he was asleep again or break in to inspect his injury; it was easier for him to allow it now.

Sherlock carefully pulled the bandage down so that the wound was visible. It had been carefully and well stitched, the edges were clean and there was no evidence of swelling or redness. He wondered if Lestrade would allow him to measure it, catalogue it as part of an experiment of course.

“It looks fine. Does it hurt?”

Lestrade nodded. “Yeah, a bit.”

Sherlock covered the wound back up and stepped away from the detective inspector, frowning. He was missing something. There was always something.

Lestrade shivered again and sneezed.

Heh’HRDSCHHhhhh! Huh’huhrahhhSHHooo!

Sherlock made a face and flung himself into a chair, fiddling with his mobile once again.

Sniffling, Lestrade carefully stood up and headed into the ensuite muttering about rude consulting detectives. He used the toilet and then rummaged around a bit until he found the supplies he needed to cover his wound so he could shower.

Thirty minutes later the detective inspector was warm and clean. He rubbed his silver hair with a towel and then wrapped it around his waist. It was only then was he aware of the raised voices coming from within his bedroom. Being a nosy police inspector, he paused to listen at the door.

“You couldn’t have stopped him, Sherlock?” Mycroft huffed in annoyance.

“He’s a grown man, Mycroft. What did you expect me to do, hold him down? I checked his wound and he wasn’t in an unreasonable amount of pain.”

“Well, at least that is something,” Mycroft said. His voice sounded muffled and there was the sound of the bed creaking slightly.

“For heaven’s sake Mycroft. It’s been what three days since you’ve eaten?” Sherlock actually sounded worried, Lestrade thought.

“It . . . it is not important, brother mine.” Mycroft exhaled noisily. “Thank you for staying with him while I went into the office. It was most appreciated.”

There was the sound of fabric rustling as Sherlock put his Belstaff on. “Next time you have a minor crisis, Mycroft, try delegation,” he said as he flounced out the door.

Gregory ran a hand through his hair and exited the en suite. He found Mycroft sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. As he approached, the younger man looked up; he looked exhausted. He obviously hadn’t slept much, if at all. And if Sherlock was correct, which he always was, the lack of sleep was contributing to the lack of appetite. Lestrade realised he was going to have to get Mycroft to both eat and sleep and make it look like it was the British Government’s idea to do so.

“Hi love,” Gregory said softly.

“Good morning, Gregory. How are you feeling?”

“A bit sore, but that’s to be expected.” Lestrade sat down on the bed beside his husband. “How are you, love? I missed you this morning.”

“I do apologise for leaving you with Sherlock. I did think I would be back before you awoke.” He studied Gregory intently, checking for any other wounds and injuries he might have missed the day before.

Gregory observed this. He gave Mycroft a gentle smile. “I’m fine. I’m right here and I’m fine.” He reached over and squeezed the younger man’s hand.

Mycroft worried his lower lip, his eyes continuing to travel down the inspector’s body. “May I?” He gestured to the bandage covering the wound. He knew that Sherlock had deemed it fine; he would know having had his fair share of injuries over the years, but he wanted, he needed to see for himself.

Gregory nodded.

With careful fingers Mycroft pulled the tape holding the bandage back so he could see the careful, neat stitches. The wound itself was clean, there was no blood or anything else seeping thorough, and luckily bruising was at a minimum. Pleased as he could be in the current situation, Mycroft cautiously covered the wound back up. He then tenderly pulled Gregory into a kiss, delicately licking at his lips. They continued to kiss until the angle was far too uncomfortable for Lestrade. He reluctantly pulled back, wisely taking a moment to take his pain medication.

Despite the heated kiss he was chilled again, and Gregory quickly dressed in an old t-shirt and pair of track pants. As he did so, his nostrils prickled and his breath began to audibly hitch. Mycroft looked over at the sound and frowned at the expression on the face of his lover.

Nose scrunched up, the detective inspector turned his head and gasped out a harsh pair of sneezes, the second coming without giving him a chance to take a breath in between.

Heh’rahhhNGHTshh! ASHHHHhhooo!

“Goodness! God bless you, my dear.”

Gregory winced; sneezing had caused his stitches to pull uncomfortably. He sniffed, and was about to head over to where the tissues were, when Mycroft reached out and handed him his handkerchief.

“Thanks,” he murmured, blowing his nose. Lestrade thought for a moment, knowing he needed to choose his words wisely.

“Have you eaten? I’m starved. Come down with me while I fix something to eat?”

Mycroft rose from the bed and nodded. “I will do the fixing, Gregory. There is no need for you to risk additional injury or soreness.”

Gregory smiled and the two headed downstairs to the kitchen.

[Ignis]

AGHH BABIES THEY'RE TOO PERFECT. Glad to see you're back with more!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Ah Sherlock makes an appearance, demonstrating that he does care about his brother and friends. I'm totally convinced Greg is going to survive. Mycroft is still very angst ridden. I want to know how Greg tricks him into eating. I really shouldn't love anxious Mycroft, but I do.

[Juto]

He's a smart one that detective. He knows the brothers so well and he understands how to play them. This was great. Overly-concerned Mycroft needs to be in bed where Greg can cuddle him to his hearts content.

[cally]

AGHH BABIES THEY'RE TOO PERFECT. Glad to see you're back with more!

Thank you.

Ah Sherlock makes an appearance, demonstrating that he does care about his brother and friends. I'm totally convinced Greg is going to survive. Mycroft is still very angst ridden. I want to know how Greg tricks him into eating. I really shouldn't love anxious Mycroft, but I do.

Never underestimate bribery.

He's a smart one that detective. He knows the brothers so well and he understands how to play them. This was great. Overly-concerned Mycroft needs to be in bed where Greg can cuddle him to his hearts content.

I shall endeavour to have them cuddle.

Wow, it's been 6 months since I've posted on this. I had an actual aim for this, and somewhere I lost the plot. It's been sitting on the back burner and occasionally I take it out to see where I am or if I've been able to make any additional headway on this. I think I've finally come to a point where I can conclude this in 2 chapters or so, because I don't like leaving things unfinished and I made it one of resolutions to not start anything new until I've finished what I've already started. I'm not terribly pleased with this, to be honest, but hopefully someone can find some redeeming quality in it.

Chapter 5

Mycroft soon found himself scrambling eggs for them both. He put the kettle on and Greg got the bread out for toast. Mycroft gave him a side-eyed glare, and Greg put his hands up in resignation and sat down at the table.

He quietly watched his partner cook. It wasn’t often he got to do such a thing; Greg was normally the cook in the relationship, but Mycroft was more than capable of preparing a simple breakfast. He sniffled damply and rubbed his nose on his sleeve. Mycroft must have had eyes in the back of his head, because he stopped scrambling and walked over to him and handed over his handkerchief.

“Honestly, Gregory,” he said, but there was no malice in his voice.

Greg chuckled softly and swiped at his nose while Mycroft served out the meal. Greg immediately dug in; he was starving. He was halfway through when he realised Mycroft was merely pushing his eggs around his plate.

“Love?” Greg questioned.

“I apologize Gregory. I find I am not terribly hungry.” Mycroft resumed picking at his eggs with all the tenacity of a 3 year old.

Greg stopped eating and regarded his lover. “Myc, you need to eat.”

Mycroft sighed softly. He had hoped that the conversation with his dear brother had gone unnoticed. “You overheard my conversation with Sherlock.”

“Yeah, I did.” Greg ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry I’ve worried you so much.” He sighed and looked down at his plate, trying to keep the feelings of guilt from overwhelming him.

Mycroft reached out to him and placed a hand on his arm. Greg squeezed it in return. They sat there quietly for a moment, feeling each other out, not needing to speak. Mycroft knew Greg felt guilty for getting injured, something that was entirely not his fault. Greg knew that Mycroft was worried and anxious and that it would take him some time to decompress. They held on to each other until Greg spoke.

“The food’s getting cold,” Greg finally said. “Please, will you eat something? For me?”

Mycroft nodded and picked up his fork.

A short time later Greg was in the sitting room flicking through channels on the television. His side ached and his throat was starting to hurt. He sniffled and settled back into the cushions doing his best to ignore the limitations of his body. He finally settled on a historical documentary, but he was only partially paying attention. He was feeling pretty rough and was finding it hard to focus. His side was throbbing; a veritable pulsing staccato that unnerved him.

Greg sniffed again and felt his sinuses prickling. He fumbled about for the handkerchief Mycroft had given him, burying his nose into it as he sneezed harshly, barely having time to brace himself as best as he could against the couch.

Hehhhh . . . hehhhh . . . .Huh…heh’DZSCHOOOOO! HRDSCHHhhhh!

Greg hissed in pain; he had pulled his stitches to the point he thought he may have ripped them apart.

“Goodness, God bless you Gregory,” Mycroft exclaimed as he came into the room with a pot of tea. He frowned when he saw Greg’s face contorted in pain.

“Are you alright?” Mycroft sat down next to his partner, scrutinizing him in detail. He placed a gentle hand on Greg’s leg, rubbing his thumb over the soft, worn fabric.

Greg nodded, but his face was white with pain. “I think I pulled the stitches,” he hissed.

Mycroft carefully unzipped Greg’s sweatshirt and then pulled up his t-shirt where a tiny spec of blood had seeped through. He frowned, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. “You have pulled one, but it does not appear to be cause for alarm. I think if we tape your arm to your side again for a while it should help.”

Greg nodded again as he breathed through the pain.

“I will be right back with a bandage for you, my dear.” Mycroft ran a hand through Gregory’s fringe, wiping the faint sheen of sweat off his brow at the same time. He rose from the couch and headed down the hall.

Greg carefully blew his nose, willing himself not to sneeze again. He couldn’t risk pulling any additional stitches. He ran a hand across his face and sighed while he waited for Mycroft to return.

Mycroft was back quickly. He had a first aid kit along with a bandage to wrap Greg’s arm to his side again and the pain pills that had been prescribed. Mycroft popped two pills from the foil packet and handed them to Greg before pouring him a cup of tea. He worked diligently to keep the worry from showing across his features.

Greg swallowed the pills down. “Thanks, love.”

Mycroft gave him a fond smile. “Can you get your sweatshirt off?”

Greg gave him a lascivious look and winked. “Why, Mr. Holmes,” he teased. His voice was slightly nasal and stuffy, to his dismay, but he couldn’t help the barb.

Mycroft rolled his eyes as Greg carefully removed the sweatshirt, taking care to not to do any additional damage. He then began to wrap Greg’s nicked arm to his side, binding it, as it had been the evening before. He worked slowly, careful not to put to much pressure on the wound or cut off circulation. He was just about done when he felt Greg tense. He paused in his ministrations and looked up.

Greg’s eyes were unfocused and his nostrils were flaring. Mycroft braced him, holding him steady. “I have you,” he said softly.

Greg had no idea what had happened to the handkerchief he had, so he had no choice to duck down behind his wrist.

Huh’hrahhhshhhgnxt!

He hissed briefly before gasping out another partially stifled sneeze.

Huh’hrahhhshhhfff!

“God bless you,” Mycroft said. “My dear, what is it that you are always saying to me?” Mycroft’s voice light, but the worry was still there.

Heh. . . .Huh’Hhhshhngxt!

Greg winced and rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist, sniffling damply.

“God bless you again! Gregory, I must insist. You are going to keep on sneezing if you do not stop stifling,” Mycroft said worriedly.

Greg gave him an exasperated look as he attempted to fight off another sneeze. He knew Mycroft was right, but sneezing hurt an incredible amount and he was just trying to keep from doing any additional damage. He failed at holding back his fourth sneeze, his head bobbing from the force of it.

Huh…heh’DZSCHOOOOO!

“Shit,” Greg hissed. Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead and he grimaced in pain. He took a few deep breaths, breathing through the worst of it.

“God bless you, my dearest heart,” Mycroft murmured. He was rubbing circles on Greg’s back, hoping that his partner was finished with this bout of sneezing.

“Thanks, love,” Greg finally said. He sniffled again, wetly and cringed at the sound.

Mycroft quickly finished wrapping the bandage around his partner. Before getting him back into his sweatshirt, he pulled a few tissues from the nearby box. “Please, allow me,” he said softly.

Greg flushed in embarrassment. “You don’t have to.”

Mycroft gave him an unreadable look. “Gregory, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I merely wish to help.”

Greg sighed and nodded, relenting. Mycroft was as careful and tender as he had been the evening before. He gently placed the tissues to Greg’s nose and moments later he was able to breathe that much easier.

“Thanks,” Greg said. He was suddenly very tired; his eyes felt heavy.

“My pleasure. Let me help you get back into your sweatshirt, and then you should rest. Do you want to go back upstairs?”

Greg shook his head as they both managed to get him back into the sweatshirt without any additional wear and tear. “I’m ok here, the couch is big enough,” he said, settling back on his uninjured side.

Mycroft helped him get comfortable and then draped a blanket over him. “Are you warm enough?”

Greg nodded again, his eyes drooping. He had to use considerable effort to keep them open a fraction.

“Please rest my dear. I will be right here with you.” Mycroft placed a light kiss on the Greg’s forehead.

Greg’s lips twitched in a smile as he drifted off to sleep.

Mycroft watched him for a few moments before he headed into his office. He returned with his briefcase and settled down on the chair next to his sleeping lover. He watched as Greg’s breathing evened out and he began to snore softly, most likely due to the congestion that was plaguing his beloved.

Mycroft exhaled. He knew he needed to use his time wisely and get some work accomplished while Greg slept. Yet, he couldn’t keep from watching over his partner. He was pleased to see that his face had relaxed in sleep, the pain lines diminished.

Removing a file folder from his briefcase, he paused to rub his nose. He was grateful that for once his hayfever was not causing him much bother; he had more important things and people to worry about right now. Turning his attention to his paperwork, he compartmentalised, pushing his anxieties over Gregory to a place within his mind to be dealt with at a later date and began focus on the work in front of him.

[darkness-is-the-light]

I don't know why you wouldn't believe this is good. This is absolutely adorable, Cally. You never fail to make me fall in love with this ship pair over and over again. I definitely enjoyed this section of the story and will patiently wait for the next installment.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

I am so happy you are back to this story.

Greg had no idea what had happened to the handkerchief he had, so he had no choice to duck down behind his wrist.

Huh’hrahhhshhhgnxt!

He hissed briefly before gasping out another partially stifled sneeze.

Huh’hrahhhshhhfff!

“God bless you,” Mycroft said. “My dear, what is it that you are always saying to me?” Mycroft’s voice light, but the worry was still there.

Heh. . . .Huh’Hhhshhngxt!

Greg winced and rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist, sniffling damply.

“God bless you again! Gregory, I must insist. You are going to keep on sneezing if you do not stop stifling,” Mycroft said worriedly.

Greg gave him an exasperated look as he attempted to fight off another sneeze. He knew Mycroft was right,

This is too cute! How many times has Greg told Mycroft to stop stifling? I can't count. LOL! What is good for the goose is good for the gander.

He was grateful that for once his hayfever was not causing him much bother; he had more important things and people to worry about right now.

Ok...I guess I can live with a less sneezy Mycroft.

Turning his attention to his paperwork, he compartmentalised, pushing his anxieties over Gregory to a place within his mind to be dealt with at a later date and began focus on the work in front of him.

That's Mycroft, the king (or queen) of compartmentalizing.

[AngelEyes]

Awwww! Poor baby!!! I just want to cuddle him myself! Mycroft is doing a pretty good job though.

“God bless you again! Gregory, I must insist. You are going to keep on sneezing if you do not stop stifling,” Mycroft said worriedly.

Greg gave him an exasperated look as he attempted to fight off another sneeze. He knew Mycroft was right, but sneezing hurt an incredible amount and he was just trying to keep from doing any additional damage.

That's right Mycroft, you tell him! Also, this is like one of my favorite things, stifling just causing you to sneeze more.

“Please rest my dear. I will be right here with you.” Mycroft placed a light kiss on the Greg’s forehead.

Greg’s lips twitched in a smile as he drifted off to sleep.

Awwww.

[cally]

I don't know why you wouldn't believe this is good. This is absolutely adorable, Cally. You never fail to make me fall in love with this ship pair over and over again. I definitely enjoyed this section of the story and will patiently wait for the next installment.

Thank you so much. That really, really means a lot to hear.

Ok...I guess I can live with a less sneezy Mycroft.

Well, I say less. I should have said less, then at the moment for him. Of course that's subject to change. I know this is a story about Greg, but I couldn't help myself.

That's right Mycroft, you tell him! Also, this is like one of my favorite things, stifling just causing you to sneeze more.

Awwww. I am glad you've enjoyed.

Chapter 6

Mycroft worked steadily while Greg slept, pausing every now and again to check on his beloved. He felt increasingly anxious and partially regretted taking the decongestant earlier. He could breathe easier, which was of course the intended outcome, but he hated how it ratcheted up his anxiety level. He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. His nostrils twitched and he reached for his handkerchief.

Mmmmpfx! Ngtsh!

Mycroft softly blew his nose. He sighed softly and rubbed at his irritated eye as he read over the file in his hand. A strangled moan came from the couch and he could see that Greg was dreaming, probably something unpleasant. He watched and waited to see if the older man would settle on his own, but he did not. Greg moaned louder and Mycroft could see that there was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.

When Greg began to toss and turn, Mycroft quickly moved to his side and placed his hand on his arm. “Gregory. Gregory, please wake up,” he said insistently. He was glad when he could see his lover coming out of the unsettling dream.

He tried to keep his focus on Greg, but of course at this moment, his nose chose to betray him again. Sinuses prickling, he quickly turned away, ducking his head into his shoulder. He quickly fumbled for his handkerchief.

Mmmmmpfch! Gn’ingxxishhh!

Greg woke up sore, stuffy, with a full bladder, and to a familiar sound. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked over at Mycroft. “G’bless,” he murmured. He took a deep breath and willed the images from his nightmare away. He didn’t want to burden Mycroft with the images resident in his subconscious.

Mycroft, handkerchief pressed to his nose, looked up and gave a brief nod of thanks. He then took a sharp intake of breath and gasped out a steady stream of ticklish sneezes; grateful that his partner had woken up, as he was unsure he could hold back the expulsions any longer.

Mmmmpfx’gkt! Mmmpfx’ish! Mmmpftish----ish!-Tish!-Ish!- Heh’TISSSSHH! Heh . . .heh . . . Hng’ISSH-OOO!

“Oh love, bless you!” Greg frowned and carefully pushed himself up to a sitting position.

Mycroft sniffed liquidly and desperately tried to pull himself together, but the ticklish irritation was far to great for him to will away.

Heh’TSSSCHH! TNSGH’SHHHH! Heh’NGISH! Huh’ngtshhhooo!

“Christ, Myc. Bless you again!” He shuffled himself closer to Mycroft and careful not to pull his stitches, he squeezed his partner’s knee in a gesture of comfort.

“Thank you. My apologies,” Mycroft said finally, clearing this throat. He blew his nose, frowning at the congestion present.

“Are you alright?” Mycroft asked gently.

Greg nodded, but didn’t quite meet Mycroft’s eyes.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow from behind his handkerchief. He tried another tactic. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit sore, my bladder's full, and my arm’s gone to sleep. It’s all pins and needles. Can you unwrap me?”

“Of course, my dear.” Mycroft tucked his handkerchief back into his trouser pocket before he unzipped Greg’s hoodie and then carefully unwound the bandage.

Greg immediately felt the pins and needles in his arm dissipate and he rubbed and shook his arm out carefully. “Thanks,” he smiled at Mycroft and gently kissed his lover’s cheek before he rose from the couch and slowly made his way to the bathroom.

Mycroft watched him go and tried to shake the unease away from the recesses of his mind. He knew he had to stop worrying; Greg was safe and relatively unscathed. He needed to remember that. With a damp sniffle, he then rose from the couch and quickly headed upstairs.

When Greg returned, after using the toilet and splashing some cold water on his face, he found Mycroft organising his paperwork away. There was a tall glass of orange juice waiting for him, and he smiled. Sometimes it was nice having a partner who anticipated his needs.

“Thanks, love,” Greg said and took a long swallow, relishing the cool liquid on his sore, dry throat. He sniffled and rubbed at his nose. He desperately hoped to avoid sneezing again, but was unsure if he could sniff the irritation away. He sat back down and yawned, rubbing his hand across his face.

Mycroft knew that Greg hated to be coddled, but he also knew that while his partner had played off what had happened to him, he had undergone a traumatic event. And on top of that, he definitely was not feeling well, even if he wouldn’t admit it aloud. So, he certainly hoped that the coddling he was about to receive was going to be taken with the best intentions in which it was delivered. As a bonus, it would also help in alleviating Mycroft’s own anxieties.

He watched Greg carefully for a moment and then joined him on the couch. He placed a soft handkerchief in his lover’s hands, and then put a bracing arm around him.

Greg looked at Mycroft in confusion for a fleeting second, but the increasing irritation in his sinus passages answered his question. He braced himself as best as he could.

Huh…heh’DZSCHOOOOO!

He winced, but the pain was not nearly as bad as before.

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

“Thanks, love,” Greg sniffed, rubbing his nose with the soft cloth.

They sat there closely pressed together for a moment, Mycroft running his hand back and forth over the soft material of Greg’s sweatshirt. “How are you feeling, honestly, Gregory? Is there anything I can get you? A decongestant perhaps?” Mycroft spoke cautiously.

Greg sniffled softly, thinking. He supposed that it couldn’t hurt. Maybe, if he could breathe better, he wouldn’t have to sneeze. He nodded. “Ok.”

Mycroft removed a foil packet of pills from his trousers and popped one out of the foil and handed it to Greg. Greg swallowed it down with the rest of the juice. “Would you like some more?” Mycroft asked, willing to fetch anything that his lover needed.

“No, I’m alright for now.” Greg paused a moment. He hated to be needy, but he was shaken from recent events, not to mention the nightmare that was lingering in his mind. “Can we just sit here awhile, watch something mindless on telly?”

“Of course, my dear,” Mycroft said. He reached for the remote and clicked on the television. He flicked through the stations until he found a documentary on Everest to watch. Greg made himself comfortable, with his head in Mycroft’s lap. Mycroft immediately gravitated to Greg’s soft grey hair and began to card his finger through it reverently.

They sat quietly together, although neither man was really paying much attention to the television. The sounds of the documentary were punctuated occasionally by sniffles from each of them, and Mycroft had to keep from worryingly demanding a list of symptoms from Greg. At least he knew the cause of his own irritated nose.

Greg paid little attention the documentary. Instead, he was focused on the remnants of his nightmare that was on the forefront of his mind. He didn’t realise he was crying until Mycroft began to gently brush the tears off his face.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Yay! An up date!

Now for my favorite bits:

“How are you feeling, honestly, Gregory? Is there anything I can get you? A decongestant perhaps?” Mycroft spoke cautiously.

Greg sniffled softly, thinking. He supposed that it couldn’t hurt. Maybe, if he could breathe better, he wouldn’t have to sneeze. He nodded. “Ok.”

Mycroft removed a foil packet of pills from his trousers and popped one out of the foil and handed it to Greg.

Of course, he had them in his trousers pocket. Always prepared is Mycroft.

The sounds of the documentary were punctuated occasionally by sniffles from each of them

Just really love this image. It makes me...

Greg paid little attention the documentary. Instead, he was focused on the remnants of his nightmare that was on the forefront of his mind. He didn’t realise he was crying until Mycroft began to gently brush the tears off his face.

Aww... Poor baby! Need to chose more distracting telly, like a silly cooking show or a ridiculous DIY show. Maybe it is time to break out a Bond flick!

Ok...I guess I can live with a less sneezy Mycroft.

Well, I say less. I should have said less, then at the moment for him. Of course that's subject to change. I know this is a story about Greg, but I couldn't help myself.

[matilda3948]

I'm so glad you've picked up this story again! I absolutely love it.

Greg paid little attention the documentary. Instead, he was focused on the remnants of his nightmare that was on the forefront of his mind. He didn’t realise he was crying until Mycroft began to gently brush the tears off his face.

Ohh...this This all day long. The slow breakdown just makes me all warm and fuzzy.