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

[cally]

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

Well, he did hope to get Greg to agree.

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

Thank you.

There are some veiled references to "No Good Goodbyes" in this, but you don't need to have read it to understand what's going on.

Chapter 7

Greg was sobbing uncontrollably now; there was no point in holding back the tears now that both he and Mycroft were aware of them. His head was spinning and he felt emotionally out of control. He hadn’t felt this way since his father died.

The younger man tried to console Greg with soothing touches and wiped away his tears. Mycroft soon realised that Greg was not going to stop crying any time soon. He quickly reached for the handkerchief that was in his partner’s pocket to wipe away the tears.

Mycroft gently wiped the corners of Greg’s eyes and then tried to keep up with the tears that were running down Greg’s face. The caring gesture broke the older man and he continued to sob in earnest, his tears soaking Mycroft’s trousers.

Greg sniffled damply and hiccupped out a broken sounding sob. He went to rub his nose with the back of his hand, but Mycroft was there first carefully dabbing at Greg’s now dripping nose.

Greg’s sobbing only served to make his nose and sinus passages more inflamed and irritated. Everything felt gummy and ticklish at the same time. Before he was even aware of it he was gasping out a heady sneeze; luckily Mycroft was cognisant of the fact and was holding the handkerchief at the ready.

Huh…heh’DZSCHOOOOO!

He hardly had time to grumble from the pain in his side before a second thick, congested sneeze burst forth.

HRDSCHHhhhh!

Mycroft was once again at the ready with the handkerchief and he quickly covered and then wiped Greg’s nose gently.

“God bless you my dear,” Mycroft murmured softly, squeezing Greg’s arm reassuringly.

“Thadks,” Greg said thickly as he forced himself to sit up with Mycroft’s assistance. His head swam; he was lightheaded and dizzy and he sneezed viciously once again.

Huh’HRRDDSHHOOOO!

Mycroft pressed the handkerchief into Greg’s hands, giving him a moment to tend to his nose. “God bless you again, Gregory.”

“Ugh,” Greg said finally, wiping his eyes as he tried to control his breathing. He snuffled into the cloth. He felt miserable and congested and he idly wondered if he disgusted Mycroft.

“I’b sorry,” he mumbled after a moment.

“There is no reason for you to apologise. It is quite alright,” Mycroft replied.

Mycroft frowned, rubbing Greg’s arm in comfort. He knew there was still about an hour until he could offer Greg more painkillers. He hoped that his lover would be amenable to it as he knew that Greg tended to try to avoid medication whenever necessary. In this case he would need to be more forceful in order to make sure that Greg received adequate pain relief. He did so worry.

Taking a deep breath, Greg tried to calm himself. Mycroft’s soothing gestures were helping, but he still felt very unsettled and emotionally unhinged. It didn’t help that his head was aching, probably a combination of the congestion and crying. He blew his nose, but this had the unpleasant side effect of making him sneeze once again.

Huh’huhrahhhSHHooo!

“Goodness! God bless you, my dear.” Mycroft removed a clean handkerchief from his trouser pocket. “Here, Gregory. That one has certainly seen enough use,” he said.

“Thanks,” Greg said accepting it, clearing his throat. He wiped his nose carefully. After a moment, he reached out and took Mycroft’s hand and squeezed it. He knew Mycroft was worried about him and wanted to know what was troubling him.

“I was dreaming, well more a nightmare really,” Greg began quietly. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, favouring his injured side. Mycroft began to rub soothing circles on his back.

Greg continued. “It was the same dream, only different.” He paused and took a breath, trying to control his emotions.

Mycroft knew exactly which dream he was speaking of. For years now the older man had been plagued by nightmares of the cases he couldn’t solve. Most of the time they involved children. When he was suffering from undue stress, the dreams changed. When his father died, he became the one that Greg was unable to save. Mycroft was woken many times while Greg mourned and it broke his heart to see his lover so shaken and so torn up.

“This time it was you I couldn’t reach, Myc,” Greg said sadly, his voice barely audible. He worried his lower lip with his teeth.

“Oh Gregory,” Mycroft began, but the look on Greg’s face told him that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t change how heartbroken he felt. So Mycroft pulled him close and held him tight, rubbing his back and murmuring comforting sounds.

Greg relaxed into the touch. He was so worn down and miserable at this point, that even if he wanted to protest, he couldn’t. He felt safe in Mycroft’s arms, and finally the veil of the dream began to lift from the corners of his mind. While he was still unsettled, he intellectually knew he was safe and warm, as was his partner.

They reluctantly separated and Mycroft dashed away a tear from the corner of Greg’s eye. “There now. Feeling better?” Mycroft asked soothingly.

Greg sniffled and nodded. He reached over and squeezed Mycroft’s hand. “Sorry about your trousers,” he said. There was the hint of a smile on his face, which they both took as a good sign.

Mycroft looked down and chuckled. “No bother, my dear,” he remarked. “Can I get you something to eat? Anthea brought in soup and sandwiches while you were sleeping.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” Greg said. He sounded tired. He knew he should eat so he could take another painkiller, as his side was awfully sore. He leaned back onto the sofa with a sigh.

Mycroft fretted. There was nothing he could do to eradicate the nightmare and the emotions that it dredged up, and he never felt so powerless. So he did the only things that he could, which was to continue to cater to every need that his lover may have in hopes that it would be enough.

Mycroft rose from the sofa. “I will be right back then, my dear.”

[AngelEyes]

Poor love. He needs lots of love and cuddles. Which Mycroft can amply supply. Yay.

[cally]

I'd love to quote the replies above, but for some reason that's not quite working out for me.

@scw- Yes, not a very good day for Greg. It's not looking much brighter.

@AngelEyes- Well yes, yes he does. But you see, it's not always that easy when you're married to the British government.

Much thanks to scw for her suggestions on how to finally wrap this up. It's already longer than the chapter I've just submitted for supervision!

Chapter 8

Mycroft returned in short time with a tray. Sniffling, Greg made his best attempt at a smile towards his lover. Mycroft returned the smile, although it didn’t reach his eyes. He was far too anxious over the incident, as he now referred to it in his mind, and he once again was regretting the ingestion of the Sudafed, no matter how much it improved the airflow within his nasal passages.

He handed over a bowl of soup to Greg and then poured out tea for each of them. There were a few sandwiches on the tray and Greg looked from the plate to Mycroft and back again. Mycroft rolled his eyes, but he took one and nibbled at it anyways.

While he pretended to nibble, he watched Greg out of the corner of his eye. The older man was relishing his soup, the matter of the nightmare and what it represented all but a distant memory, it seemed. Not for the first time, Mycroft cursed his eidetic memory in addition to the anxiety that often plagued him. His stomach lurched and he put the sandwich back down, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.

He had a difficult time compartmentalising his emotions when it came to Gregory and he knew he was going to need to take some time to sort through these feelings and do his best to pack them away. The technique was not unlike Sherlock’s mind palace, and it normally served him well. However, in the past he had not watched his lover, his husband, nearly take a fatal bullet.

Greg’s intake of breath brought Mycroft out of his reverie. Mycroft quickly took the bowl from his partner’s hand, as Greg gasped out another hitching breath, his eyes fluttering closed as he gave into the ticklish sneeze.

Ahhh . . . .Heh . . . . . . HRDSCHHhhhh!

“God bless you, Gregory,” Mycroft said quietly. He reached for the tissues and handed a few over.

Greg nodded and swiped at his nose. “Thanks,” he murmured. He took a moment to compose himself.

“Are you certain that you are alright?” Mycroft asked.

Reaching for a sandwich, Greg nodded again. He was starting to get annoyed with Mycroft’s coddling, but pushed off his annoyance. The pain was making him edgy and he knew he had to work even harder to keep his temper in check. The sooner he finished eating, the sooner he could take a painkiller and a nap.

Mycroft reached for his tea and took a small sip. His own nose was starting to prickle intensely again and he wondered if either he or Greg had left a window open somewhere within. There was otherwise no reason for him to be feeling this itchy, this allergic, when he had only been outside for a barely a moment today. Putting his tea down, he quickly reached for his handkerchief.

Ahhhh . . . . .hehhhhh . . . .Mmmmmmpfx! Tish! Heh’tish! Heh’tishoooo! Hih . . . .heh . . . Hng’ISSH! Ahhh hehhhhh . . . . Hng’ISSH-OOO!

“Oh, dear me,” Mycroft murmured in the aftermath.

“Christ, Myc. Bless you!”

“Thank you, my dear. My apologies.” Mycroft sniffed and then turned away in order to blow his nose.

Greg rolled his eyes good-naturedly and returned to his sandwich.

Mycroft made a face of distaste. He was going to need another handkerchief soon, he thought. He sighed inwardly and tucked the cloth back into the pocket of his trousers and returned his attention to his partner.

Greg finished his sandwich and reached for a napkin and wiped his hands and mouth. He then reached for his tea and swallowed down a mouthful. He noticed that Mycroft had left the painkillers out for him, and as much has he detested having to take them, he knew that he was still sore enough to require them. He reached for the packet, removed one, and swallowed it down with the rest of his tea. As he sat there, he could feel Mycroft watching him intently and it unnerved him. He debated going upstairs, but was far too tired and achy to bother. He settled back on the couch and made himself as comfortable as he could.

“Thanks, love,” Greg whispered.

“It was no problem, Gregory,” Mycroft said, pausing a moment. “I will leave you to rest.”

Mycroft cleared his throat softly and began to gather up the remains of lunch, placing everything back on the tray. He risked a look at Greg; he was laying still, his eyes closed. Mycroft could see the stubble on his cheeks and the faint dark circles under his eyes and it wrenched his heart. Quietly as he was able, he picked up the tray and rose, carrying it into the kitchen.

Mycroft set about tidying things away and put the kettle on to make himself another cup of tea. Once he was done, he carried the tea through to his office and set about the mental task of ordering his emotions.

In the end, Mycroft found he was unable to lock away these feelings. He hated being held hostage to these emotions, to sentiment, but he had never been able to deny Gregory anything, not since the very beginning. Not even his heart.

~~~

The remainder of the day was as it normally was. Mycroft unfortunately was called on to work, and while he was able to do it from the comfort of his home office, he was unable to give as much attention to Greg as he desired. He was able to take a break to prepare them both some dinner, which he reluctantly ate, but for the remainder of the day he was otherwise engaged.

Greg, on the other hand, was partially glad Mycroft was engrossed in his work for once. The coddling and fussing over him was starting to get under his skin and he just wanted to be left on his own. His side wasn’t nearly as sore as it had been, but he was overall grumpy, most likely a side effect of the painkillers. He wasn’t as emotionally distraught as he had been earlier in the day either. He assumed that it was due to the fact that he opened up to Mycroft and was able to put it all into context for the most part. It also helped that it was the same nightmare he always had, albeit with a slight deviation. He spent the evening watching crap telly and relishing the lack of attention.

~~~

Yawning, Greg turned down the duvet and slipped into bed. While he had napped a considerable portion of the day, he was still exhausted. He was just about to turn the light off when he was suddenly thrown forward, taken by surprise by a vicious sneeze.

Huh…heh’DZSCHOOOOO!

“Goodness! God bless you, Gregory!” Mycroft said, coming into the room. He was in the process of removing his tie, his waistcoat already unbuttoned.

Greg looked up from beneath his cupped hands, but said nothing, his eyes drifting shut, and his breath heaving.

Heh. . . . .hih . . . . .ah . . . Huh’HRRDDSHHOOOO!

Mycroft reached for the tissues and handed a handful over to Greg. “God bless you again,” he murmured. He worried his lower lip, fretting. He hated to see Greg unwell.

Greg accepted the tissues with a nod, and blew his nose with a gurgling blow. He made a face at the sound. He made quick work of the tissues, and Mycroft was soon handing him out some more.

“Thanks,” he croaked out thickly.

“You’re welcome.” Mycroft moved the tissue box closer to Greg and resumed his disrobing.

When Mycroft finally emerged from the en-suite, Greg had amassed a pile of tissues. His heart tugged at seeing his lover so miserable. He quickly cleared the tissues away and then hovered at the end of the bed apprehensively.

“Can I get you anything, my dear?”

“I’m fine, Mycroft,” Greg said, sniffling. His voice sounded snippy. He carefully reached over and turned off his light before settling under the duvet.

“G’night,” Greg added after a moment.

Mycroft stood there a moment and then removed his dressing gown, placing it on the chair nearest his side of the bed. He then slipped under the duvet, doing his best not to jostle the bed or touch Greg’s injured side. Once he was settled, he turned off his own light.

“Good night, my dear,” Mycroft whispered into the dark.

There was no reply. There was no hand reaching out to him in the darkness. There was only silence.

He lay there for a long time, listening to Greg’s slightly stuffed up breathing. He knew he had been a bit more attentive to Greg than he normally would have been, despite the knowledge that his husband found it irritating. He tried to control it, but every time he tried to pull back, the CCTV footage played over and over in his mind. Finally, at some point in the wee hours of the morning, Mycroft fell asleep.

~~~

Mycroft woke with a start, bolting upright. His shirt was drenched in sweat, as was the hair at the nape of his neck. He took several deep, shuddering breaths, trying to pull himself fully out of the nightmare. He looked over at Greg, who was still blissfully asleep. He then looked at the time; 4:27 am. He knew he would not be able to sleep again.

Careful not to disturb his sleeping lover, Mycroft slipped out of bed. He made his way into the en suite. Once finished, he gathered up his running clothes and headed downstairs to his treadmill.

Four miles in and Mycroft was feeling slightly less out of sorts. The vestiges of the nightmare had faded and he was soaked in sweat and panting. He had stripped down to his vest, and picked up his shirt and wiped his face with it. He wasn’t feeling particularly winded, so he increased the speed and carried on.

Two additional miles and Mycroft had slowed down to a brisk walk as he began his cooldown. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sniffed. His nose was starting to drip and he exhaled in annoyance. He rubbed at his nose, but this just increased the irritation further. He just managed to stop the treadmill before he succumbed to a steady stream of ticklish sneezes, his nose quickly buried into the only thing he had available, his discarded shirt.

Huh’ING’SHHHHH! Tish! Heh! --Ah-hehhhh Aah! Heh’INGHtighsh! Heh’TSSSCHH! Hng’ISSH-OOO! Ahhh-hent’ISH! Heh’NGISH! NGISHOOO!

He caught his breath for barely a second, before sneezing again.

Huh’mffTSChhh! Heh . . huh’ING’SHHHHH! Heh’TSSSCHH! Heh’TISHoooo!

“God bless you!”

Greg’s voice started Mycroft, and he had he not been flushed red from his workout, he was now, embarrassed to have been caught in such a pedestrian position.

“Jesus, Mycroft. Are you ok?” Greg moved out of the shadows of the doorway and approached the treadmill, as Mycroft quickly moved off of it, heading toward the tissues on the side table.

Mycroft grabbed a fair handful of tissues and blew his nose as carefully as he could. This took several handfuls of tissues and a few moments, but Greg was patient.

Finally, Mycroft was left gently pressing a balled up tissue up to his nose. “Thank you, Gregory. My apologies. I trust I do not need to say that you did not witness anything.” He raised an eyebrow in Greg’s direction.

Greg snorted and rolled his eyes. Heaven forbid Mycroft had a moment of human weakness.

“Did I wake you?” Mycroft asked, worriedly. He carefully scrutinised his husband; dark circles under his eyes, faint lines on his cheek from cases in the pillowcase, clothes and hair rumpled with sleep, still favouring his right side but less so. No, he had not woken Greg. Something else had, however. His deducing was cut short when Greg spoke again.

Greg shook his head. “It’s after six,” he said, as if this answered why he was awake.

Mycroft sniffed. There was no reason for Greg to be up, he should be resting and recovering. New Scotland Yard would not expect to see him until the end of the week, and that was at the earliest.

Mycroft gave Greg a carefully measured look. “You should be resting,” he finally said.

Greg gave a heavy sigh and threw up his hands, ignoring the slight pull of his stitches. “I should think about getting back to work. I’ve got a pile of paperwork a mile high to get through.”

Mycroft absorbed the words. He reached for the bottle of water on the side table and took a long pull as he gathered his thoughts.

“I do not think so, Gregory.”

“Excuse me?” Greg stared at Mycroft in disbelief.

“It has only been two days since you were shot at. You are not going to work,” Mycroft said, working to keep his emotions in check. He was getting angry, and it was increasingly easy for him to take on his Iceman persona.

“And if I try?” Greg asked. He could feel his pulse thundering, hammering along with his heart. He was sure it was visible to Mycroft, if the pounding in his neck was any indication.

“You will be stopped at the door,” Mycroft said coolly. He didn’t say by whom, but it was implied that either he or his security would do so.

“So, I’m a prisoner in my own home?” Greg was incredulous at this point, his face flushed with anger.

“Not a prisoner, no. It is in your best interest to remain at home until you have recuperated.” Mycroft drained the bottle of water, attempting to keep his own temper in check.

Greg stared at him for a moment, the muscles in his jaw tense. Then, he sniffed and ran a hand across his face.

“Right,” he said. And then he turned and strode out of the room, slamming the heavy door behind him. The sound echoed in the silence.

Mycroft let out a breath he was not aware he had been holding. That had definitely not gone very well.

“Bugger,” he said to the empty room.

[AngelEyes]

My selective quote button is missing! So I'm doing this manually.

"In the end, Mycroft found he was unable to lock away these feelings. He hated being held hostage to these emotions, to sentiment, but he had never been able to deny Gregory anything, not since the very beginning. Not even his heart."

Awww! My heart!!!

"Four miles in and Mycroft was feeling slightly less out of sorts. The vestiges of the nightmare had faded and he was soaked in sweat and panting."

I love that Mycroft runs to escape his anxiety. I've done this myself.

"Finally, Mycroft was left gently pressing a balled up tissue up to his nose. “Thank you, Gregory. My apologies. I trust I do not need to say that you did not witness anything.” He raised an eyebrow in Greg’s direction."

LOL! Oh Mycroft.

"Mycroft let out a breath he was not aware he had been holding. That had definitely not gone very well.

“Bugger,” he said to the empty room."

Definitely not good. Uh oh.

I love this story!

Edited February 8, 2016 by AngelEyes DevilHorns

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Okay ladies, ya'll didn't read the forum announcements. There will be a big upgrade soon in the software and the selective quote button had to be disabled for now.

Still I like AngelEyes's perseverance in the matter. Kudos to you!

Now back to the matter at hand...Awesome up date. I've been chanting "fight" at these two since the last up date and now it is coming. Why would I want them to fight, you ask? Because I want make up fun to happen and you have to have a fight first. This one could be a real humdinger too. Don't hold back, Cally!

I really like how you took the time to show Mycroft's weakness regarding Greg and why Greg is able to let things go a little easier. That was great!

The last scene was excellent. The two alpha males squaring off. And Mycroft with his, "You did not just witness me sneezing my head off." Oh for Pete's sake this is your husband whose nose you've just been wiping the last 2 days. Ridiculous man!

Love this so much!

[AngelEyes]

Seeking Clarity + Wisdom

"I've been chanting "fight" at these two since the last up date and now it is coming. Why would I want them to fight, you ask? Because I want make up fun to happen and you have to have a fight first. This one could be a real humdinger too. Don't hold back, Cally!"

Ok. I am sooooo on board with this! Bring it on!

[cally]

@AngelEyes, yeah the whole thing is just a bit not good. I feel like I want to knock both their heads together right now. But maybe that's my crappy writing.

@scw- Yes, I did read the announcement, I just forgot all about it when I was replying. Ok, so there is a fight. If you can call it that. It's more like a severe disagreement. I hate arguments, so I didn't go too heavy handed in it.

At any rate, after this there will be a very short epilogue. And then that's it on the longer pieces from me (I'm sure there are people who are rejoicing) until well, I don't know. I have 7 months to finish my thesis, and that's where my time will be spent.

Thank you everyone for the kind words on this, even though it took me such a terribly long time to finish.

Chapter 9

Mycroft stood there for a few moments until he realised he was shivering; the sweat had cooled on his body and he was now thoroughly chilled. With a heavy sigh, he headed to the bedroom.

He made his way upstairs and found their bedroom empty. He wanted nothing more than to go to Greg, but he knew that his partner would need a few minutes to cool his temper. He undressed quickly and showered, relishing the hot water on his muscles, which were now once again tense with stress and anxiety.

Mycroft then dressed quickly, choosing the cashmere jumper that Greg had bought for him on purpose. He planned to work from home today, so there was no need for his armour, at least at the moment. He wanted to show he was as open, as vulnerable as he could be, and not wearing his normal suit hopefully would prove that point. After a quick stop at his bureau, he headed downstairs.

He found Greg in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee. He noticed that a pot had not been made. This certainly was worse than he thought, Mycroft fretted. He filled the kettle and clicked it on. He was about to speak, but something in Greg’s body language had him snapping his mouth shut.

Greg was standing with his back to Mycroft, his head down. Mycroft noticed that Greg had at least retrieved a sweatshirt and socks since he had seen him. The kitchen was rather cool, Mycroft thought and he did not wish Greg to catch a chill. He could feel the tension radiating from his lover and he longed to put his arms around him.

Greg sighed heavily and sniffed. He turned to Mycroft, running a hand through his thick silver hair as he did. His words were clipped but measured; as if he had put a great deal of thought into what he was going to say.

“What exactly gives you the right to dictate my every move, Mycroft? I mean, for fuck’s sake. Demanding that I stay here? You can’t keep me in a box! Where the hell do you get off,” Greg continued, but he was cut off by a vicious sneeze.

Huh…heh’DZSCHOOOOO!

Greg flinched a bit, but if he was in any sort of pain, his face didn’t register it.

“God bless you,” Mycroft said. He wanted to ask how his partner was, inquire after his health, as he didn’t like how congested that sneeze had sounded, but he wisely kept silent. Instead, he took a step closer and offered Greg a handkerchief, knowing that there were no tissues in the kitchen.

Greg accepted it, somewhat reluctantly, Mycroft thought. His thought was lost in Greg’s second punishing sneeze that sounded as if it tore at the older man’s throat.

Ahhh . . . .Heh . . . . . . HRDSCHHhhhhuh!

“God bless you again,” Mycroft said softly. He bit down on his lower lip.

When Greg looked up from the depths of the proffered cloth, Mycroft had a hard time reading him for once. Greg wasn’t giving much away, other than his obvious displeasure with Mycroft. That was still evident from his body language and the way he was angled away from the younger man. But when Greg sneezed again, a thick and heady sound, he realised the reason for at least part of his actions.

Heh . . . . . .Huh’huhrahhhSHHooo! “Christ,” he mumbled stuffily.

“And again, Gregory.” Mycroft fretted.

“Thanks,” Greg finally croaked out after blowing his nose.

Mycroft nearly jumped out of his skin when the kettle clicked off and he turned away as he prepared a pot of tea for them both. Mycroft could feel Greg’s eyes on him as he went through the ritual motions.

Mycroft finally carried the lot over to the table. Neither commented on the fact that the items were rattling together. Mycroft sat down first and poured himself a cup, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He was not doing an exemplary job.

Greg finally gave in and sat down. He gave a hard look at Mycroft, waiting for his husband to defend his position.

Hands still trembling, Mycroft took a sip of tea, and then quickly put the cup down. It clattered on the table. He looked down and tried to gather his thoughts.

“I do apologise Gregory. It was not my intent to imprison you against your will. I . . . .,” Mycroft’s voice broke, and a small sob escaped. He bit down on his lip again, willing to keep himself in control. He cleared his throat as he made an effort to reign in his emotions.

He took a deep breath and decided to go all in. “I have never been so scared in my entire life as I was when Anthea informed me of what happened. And after I saw the CCTV footage,” Mycroft swallowed hard, and clenched his hands into fists.

There was a long pause until Mycroft cleared his throat again. “After I saw the CCTV footage, I was terrified. Terrified at how close I had come to losing you,” Mycroft whispered. He sniffed damply, his control all but lost.

Here he was, his very soul laid bare for Greg to see. “I have never managed well with sentiment, as you know. Since we have been together, that has changed. I have tried, I do hope you know.” Mycroft took a breath before continuing on.

“I have not been able to eat or sleep through the night since the incident. My thoughts are consumed by this primal fear of what would happen if I were to lose you.” Choking off another sob, he buried his head in his hands.

Greg sat there, almost in disbelief. He was still pissed off, but the anger was dissipating rapidly. Everything finally clicked in place; why exactly Mycroft didn’t want him returning to work, at least right away. To which, he was probably right. It had only been two days. He was just fed up with the coddling and the fussing over him. But he had missed the bigger picture; why Mycroft wasn’t eating, why he looked so pale and drawn. He was scared. And Greg should have known; after all the things they had been through, and especially after Serbia. He should have known that Mycroft would internalise all of this and lock it away inside him.

Greg moved his chair closer to Mycroft, so that their legs were touching. Mycroft idly rubbed at his eye as he tried to ignore the increased prickling within his sinus passages. Mycroft made a muffled strangled sound and suddenly turned from Greg, bringing his wrist up in front of his nose.

Huh’mffTSChhh! Heh’Tish! Hng’ISSH! Heh’tishooo!

Fumbling, Mycroft fished for his handkerchief. “Apologies,” he murmured. He carefully blew his nose. It was barely seven in the morning and he was ready to scratch his eyes out. It was then he realised he had failed to take his antihistamine.

“Bless you, love,” Greg said softly. And then he reached for Mycroft’s hand.

Mycroft managed a shaky exhale. “Thank you.”

Greg ran his thumb over the back of Mycroft’s hand. He felt Mycroft press his thigh closer to his. “Myc, I wish you had just talked to me, told me what you were feeling. You know I wouldn’t have thought any less of you.”

“I did not want to trouble you while you were recovering.” Mycroft looked away from Greg’s scrutiny.

“I’d rather have that, than you trying to lock me away like a fair maiden,” Greg said.

They were both quiet for several moments.

Finally, Mycroft cleared his throat. He reached for his tea and took a sip. “I do apologise. If you wish to go into work, Gregory, I will not stop you. I would prefer that you remain at home and recover for a few days at the very least. However, if you are that desperate for paperwork, I can arrange to have it brought here,” Mycroft said.

Greg chuckled. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said pausing to sniffle and rub at his nose. “I think it’ll keep, because, to be hon-heh-honest . . .,” Greg stopped mid-sentence, breath hitching, before he ducked his head into his shoulder and sneezed.

Huh’hhhhuhhraGHNTshhooo!

“God bless you,” Mycroft said worriedly.

“Thanks. Sorry,” Greg said. He pulled the handkerchief from where he had stuffed it into the pocket of his sweatshirt and blew his nose.

“You were saying?” Mycroft asked.

Greg gave him a wry smile. “I was going to say that I’m feeling pretty rough, but you probably already figured that out.” He sniffled again, and rubbed his nose with the dampened handkerchief.

“If you don’t mind, I can get you some cold medicine. I do need to return upstairs for a moment.” Mycroft was careful in his words, not wanting to push Greg away or anger him again in any way.

Greg sniffed. “Yeah, that’d probably be good,” he agreed, albeit a bit reluctantly.

Mycroft nodded and rose from the table. His sinuses swam and he pitched forward, sneezing into his hastily cupped hands around his nose.

Mmmmmpfx! Mmmmpfch! Mmmmmpfx! Heh’TISSSHH-ooo!

He flushed crimson, completely embarrassed at being so overcome. His hands and nose were damp and he felt absolutely disgusting.

“Bless you,” Greg exclaimed as he stood up next to Mycroft, and slipped his hand into his partner’s pocket. Mycroft quickly grabbed the handkerchief from his lover and turned away.

“Please do excuse me, my dear,” Mycroft said once he had thoroughly blown his nose. He moved toward the sink to wash his hands.

Greg wasn’t sure, but he felt like Mycroft was still keeping something from him. He couldn’t place it, whatever it was.

“I will be return in a moment,” Mycroft said. “Can I get you anything else?”

Greg shook his head and Mycroft turned and headed out of the room. The older man turned back to the table, and found that the tea had gone cold. He dumped everything out and set out making a new pot. Hopefully, they could enjoy this one properly, he thought, as he got out some bread for toast.

When Mycroft returned, Greg had a pot of tea re-made and a plate of toast for each of them. He took a good look at his husband; it was clear to even him that Mycroft had probably been sneezing since had left the room. His eyes were rheumy and his nostrils were tinged pink.

“Bless you?” He asked gently.

Mycroft nodded. “Thank you, Gregory. I seem to be . . .,” Mycroft paused a moment.

“Sneezy?” Greg inquired with a grin.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Well, yes. However, I was going to go with . . . extremely reactive,” he said, handing over the cold pills to Greg. He absently rubbed at his eye.

“Thanks, love. I made some more tea and toast,” he said, gesturing to the spread. He removed the pills and downed them with a mouthful of tea.

They ate in companionable silence, (Greg was glad to see that Mycroft was eating), until Greg turned away from the table with a pair of vicious sneezes. This time he did wince.

Huh…heh’DZSCHOOOOO! Huh’RUHSHOOOO!

“Goodness! God bless you, my dear.”

Greg snatched a napkin from the table and wiped his nose. “Thank you,” he said sniffling. He cleared his throat and winced again.

Mycroft frowned. While he would like to do nothing more than to wrap Greg in a protective bubble, he knew that was unrealistic. Instead, he rose from the table and cleared away the detritus from their meal.

When he turned back, he found Greg yawning broadly. Mycroft couldn’t help but give him a fond smile.

Greg sniffed and ran a hand over his face. He was feeling congested, and the last pair of sneezes had pulled at his stitches uncomfortably. He knew he should rest for a little while longer, at least. “I might crash back out for a while, maybe read or something,” he said.

Mycroft tried not to look worried at the statement. He nodded; unsure whatever he said would not be misconstrued. “I will be working from home today, so please let me know if you need anything at all, dearest.”

“Cheers, love,” Greg said. He stood and walked over to Mycroft, and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before heading upstairs.

Mycroft stood in the kitchen for several moments while he gathered himself. He knew he needed to work on his control issues, not to mention the anxiety. Perhaps, he should have voiced his concerns sooner. He sighed heavily and headed out of the kitchen and down the hall to his office, once again lost in his thoughts.

[AngelEyes]

Poor sweet babies! Sometimes they forget how much the other cares. Yay for making up!

For some reason this phrasing totally got me! It's very ambiguous, yet suggestive. Sexy.

"Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Well, yes. However, I was going to go with . . . extremely reactive,” he said,"

And I love that when Mycroft comes back in Greg looks him over and is just like, Bless you? Adorable!

I so don't want this to end, but yay for an epilogue. Also kudos to finishing the thesis.

[cally]

@AngelEyes: Thank you for reading. Even Greg could see how miserable Mycroft was at that point. He was an absolute mess, the poor thing.

And we've come to the end.

Epilogue: How to take care of your Mycroft

While the argument was behind them, Greg knew that he and Mycroft needed to have a talk (or something) about what had happened. The older man was fairly sure that Mycroft wouldn’t feel the need to be so controlling if he didn’t get so worked up about situations out of his control when it came to his personal relationships. Of course, this was easier said than done. Mycroft had spent so many years alone and only worrying about Sherlock. And while that came with its own set of experiences, it didn’t really carry over to a romantic partnership very well at all. Greg wasn’t really sure how to approach it, and it took him a good two days of consideration to figure it out.

Greg also finally figured out what Mycroft had been keeping from him. Well, to be fair, it was entirely unintentional on Mycroft’s part. In the end, it wasn’t just early season hayfever that was rendering the younger man miserable; it was the head cold on top of the hayfever that was making him miserable.

Luckily for Greg, he recovered quickly from his cold and every day he was able to move about more easily. His wound was healing nicely, and he was looking forward to having the stitches out the following week, as they were very itchy and uncomfortable.

So, feeling much healthier, Greg decided the best way to help Mycroft was to show him. When Mycroft was under the weather, he fought to keep working, ignoring common sense and did pretty much the opposite of what he would have asked of his husband.

So, Greg made him cups of tea when he was home and offered medication every now and again, but mostly he treated him the way he always did. He showed him love and care but didn’t coddle him or arrange for Anthea to do his work for him, or have him sent home from a meeting with the PM. He hoped that Mycroft could see the difference, as it was only a cold, and Mycroft was a grown man and knew how to take care of himself, at least that was what Greg thought.

That was until Mycroft arrived home in the middle of the day, practically carried in by Anthea. Greg had been sitting at the kitchen table, working on some of his paperwork, when he heard the front door slam. Confused, he went out into the hallway, where he found a flushed Mycroft being held up by a tired-looking Anthea.

“What’s going on?” Greg asked, confused. He looked between the two of them waiting for an answer.

“It is nothing, Gregory.” Mycroft said, his voice hoarse.

Anthea sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, it is perfectly normal to faint after standing up from doing paperwork,” she said wryly.

Mycroft gave her a glare that would have frozen the Antarctic Circle.

Greg stepped closer and took a better look at his husband. Mycroft's colour was high and his eyes were glassy. “You have a fever,” he said.

Mycroft sighed. “It is of no matter. I am fine.”

“Right then,” Greg said, crossing his arms. “Stand up on your own and show us how fine you are.”

Mycroft struggled out of Anthea’s grasp and then promptly collapsed against the wall.

Greg huffed out a breath. “Ok, upstairs with you,” he said, coming and putting an arm around Mycroft.

“Gregory, your injury,” he protested.

“It’s ok,” Greg said. “Come on.” He gave Anthea a meaningful look and she nodded to him, her Blackberry already out.

Carefully, the two navigated the stairs and into the bedroom. Greg sat Mycroft down on the bed. He could feel the fevered heat radiating off his partner. He then began to undress Mycroft, removing the layers of armour, of silk and wool, and got him into a pair of soft pyjamas and under the duvet.

Greg sat down next to Mycroft and put his hand on his lover’s forehead. He was burning up. “I’ll be back in a minute,” Greg said.

Mycroft merely nodded. He felt like he was boiling from the inside.

Greg returned with a damp flannel, a glass of water, and some ibuprofen. “Take these,” he said.

Mycroft swallowed the pills down with a wince and then fell back against the pillows. Greg began to gently press the flannel against Mycroft’s forehead.

The temperature change was too much for the younger man and he pitched forward, sneezing.

Huh’mffTSChhh! Heh . . huh ING’SHHHHH! Gn’ingxxishhh! Huh’ngtshhhooo!

Greg quickly reached for the tissues and pressed a handful into Mycroft’s hands. “Oh, bless you love.”

Mycroft nodded his thanks and gave his nose a squelching blow. He was feeling too feverish and unwell to care what he looked or sounded like.

Greg noticed the lack of apology and frowned. Mycroft had to be feeling absolutely wretched to not apologise. He settled his husband back again, with the flannel firmly on his forehead before rising and going to Mycroft’s bureau. He pulled out a few handkerchiefs and returned to his place beside his ailing lover.

Greg removed the tissues from Mycroft’s hand and replaced them with a soft cloth. Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, but all he could do was cough harshly instead. Greg rubbed his back, and when the spasm ended, he handed Mycroft the glass of water.

Exhausted, Mycroft laid back again, wiping at a stray tear. “Thank you,” he whispered croakily.

Greg smiled. There was the Mycroft he knew and loved. “Why don’t you try and sleep for a bit, love?”

Sniffling damply, Mycroft nodded, his eyes already closed.

Mycroft was soon asleep, although he appeared to be restless. Probably from the fever, Greg thought. He was reluctant to leave him, but he was fairly sure that the younger man would not sleep long. He quickly headed downstairs and put the kettle on, gathering his paperwork up while he waited for it to boil.

He wasn’t gone for more than twenty minutes, but when he returned to the bedroom, he found Mycroft tossing and turning and crying out in his sleep. Greg quickly put the tray down and moved to Mycroft’s side. The flannel had fallen to the floor and he reached for it. It was still cool, so he began to gently wipe Mycroft’s still hot forehead with it again.

Mycroft woke with a shout. “Gregory!” He sounded absolutely terrified. His eyes darted around the room, as if he needed to make sure they were alone.

“It’s ok, love. “I’m right here. It’s ok,” Greg said soothingly. He rubbed Mycroft’s arm.

Mycroft was wide-eyed, panicked, and breathing heavily. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His eyes were watering and his nose streaming and he sniffled wetly as he tried to control his respirations. The nightmare had unnerved him and he could feel his heart still pounding in his chest. He debated asking Gregory to get out the small packet of pills in the nightstand, but was conscious of the effort he had been making to address the anxiety without the assistance of pharmaceuticals. He found Greg’s hand and squeezed it, taking strength from his presence.

“Shhhh, now. Just breathe slowly,” Greg murmured softly. He reached for a tissue and wiped away the tears that had escaped.

Mycroft closed his eyes and breathed in and out, slowly, as he was told. He felt the panic lessening slowly. He concentrated on even breaths and Greg’s warm hand in his until the tickle within his nostrils became too intense to ignore.

Mycroft shuddered out a breath and then sneezed viciously, quickly burying his nose in the handkerchief that he was still clenching.

huh ING’SHHHHH! Tish! Heh! --Ah-hehhhh Aah! Tish! Heh’INGHtighsh! Heh’TSSSCHH! Hng’ISSH-OOO!

“Oh, God bless you, love!”

“Apologies,” Mycroft mumbled, blowing his nose again.

Greg chuckled lightly. Fever must be a bit down, he thought. “No apologies necessary, you’re sick.”

Mycroft sighed. Long nights filled with insomnia and nightmares had left him exhausted and drained. He didn’t have it in him to protest. He sniffled and rubbed his nose with the handkerchief. He knew he needed to sleep, but the images he saw while dreaming kept him from getting more than thirty minutes at a time.

“Do you want some tea?” Greg asked.

Mycroft nodded, sniffling again. He struggled, but managed to sit up against the headboard.

Greg brought over a cup of tea and Mycroft wrapped his hands around it.

“Thank you, Gregory.” He tried to smile at his lover. It didn’t reach his eyes.

Greg shrugged. “Drink up, and I’ll get you some cold medicine. And then you need to try and sleep, Myc. I know it’s been hard. But I’m here, and I’m fine. It’s ok now,” he said softly. And he meant it. The arguments and everything were really no matter when one of them was this unwell. He would do well to remember this the next time he was injured on the job or had a terrible cold, Greg thought.

Mycroft watched the range of emotions cross Greg’s face. Despite the fever, he was still able to read him, and he saw the moment he was truly forgiven.

Mycroft looked down at the duvet, lips quivering. He bit his lower lip hard as he tried not to well up with emotion. He sighed softly and then took a sip of tea. His eyes got a faraway look for a moment and his pink nostrils flared. Greg saw, and reached out for the tea.

Mycroft quickly ducked his head down into the now damp handkerchief, the wet and heady sneezes wracking his frame.

Hehhhhhh………NNNG’SHHHHH! Gn’TNSGH’SHHHH! TISSSSHH! TNSGH’SHHHH! ING’MMFPTIGHshhhh! Hng’ISSH-OOO!

“Bless you, bless you, bless you!” Greg exclaimed. He waited for Mycroft to finish tending to his nose, and then he swapped out handkerchiefs for him.

“Apo-,” Mycroft began, but Greg shushed him and handed Mycroft back his tea.

With a sniff, Mycroft took several careful sips and sighed wearily.

“I was meant to be taking care of you,” Mycroft whispered.

“And you did,” Greg said, squeezing his hand. “But now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Mycroft had to look away again; eyes prickling with unshed tears, his emotional state fragile. He knew it would do his sinuses a disservice if he started weeping. He sniffed, trying to will away the irritation. Instead, he gasped out another flurry of damp sneezes.

Heh……hhhmmmmpTNSGH’mpff! Huh’mffTSChhh! Gn’TNSGH’SHHHH! Heh’TISSSHH!

“Oh, love. Bless you again!”

Mycroft merely nodded exhaustedly, his nose buried in his handkerchief.

Greg rose from the bed and went into the ensuite, giving Mycroft a moment to clean himself up and recover. He returned with the bottle of Night Nurse. “I know it’s not night-time, but you need to rest.”

Mycroft nodded and downed the capful of medicine. He quickly chased it with a sip of tea, making a face. Greg couldn’t help but smile fondly at him.

Mycroft put the remnants of his tea on the nightstand and looked over at his husband. He reached out and took Greg’s hand again. “Will you stay with me?”

Greg could see the fear and uncertainty in Mycroft’s eyes. He squeezed his hand back. “Of course.” He kicked off his shoes and slipped into bed beside Mycroft. They arranged themselves so that Greg wasn’t resting on his wound, and so that he had his arms wrapped around his ailing lover.

Greg held Mycroft close and placed a tender kiss to the back of his head. Maybe this way Mycroft would get some sleep, Greg thought hopefully.

He finally felt Mycroft relax and his breathing even out, albeit congestedly. Soon, Greg too was lulled to sleep by Mycroft’s warmth in his arms.

[matilda3948]

I loved this story sooooooo much!! Great job Cally!

[AngelEyes]

Awww! Poor baby! So distraught he can't even begin to handle it! Dear sweet Gregory. Always there for him. Picking up the broken pieces and fitting them back together. So much love. Lovely ending!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Well! Good thing that's sorted. Feelings are meant to be talked about Mycroft. That's why everyone likes reality TV so much.

Greg is a dear and so sweet to anxious and ailing Mycroft.

I'd quote things, but... Let me just say I think you wrapped this up splendidly.

[AquaEyes]

Well written Cally. Excellent story. I could picture every bit of it. They were so sweet to each other. I could feel their love.

[cally]

On 10 February 2016 at 0:02 AM, matilda3948 said:

I loved this story sooooooo much!! Great job Cally!

Thank you so much!   

 

On 10 February 2016 at 2:43 AM, AngelEyes said:

Awww! Poor baby! So distraught he can't even begin to handle it! Dear sweet Gregory. Always there for him. Picking up the broken pieces and fitting them back together. So much love. Lovely ending!

I'm glad you enjoyed the ending.

On 10 February 2016 at 4:36 AM, Seeking Clarity + Wisdom said:

Well! Good thing that's sorted. Feelings are meant to be talked about Mycroft. That's why everyone likes reality TV so much.

Greg is a dear and so sweet to anxious and ailing Mycroft.

I'd quote things, but... Let me just say I think you wrapped this up splendidly.

It was as worked out as the two of them were going to work anything out.  For now.  I am glad you enjoyed and felt that it was wrapped up well enough.  As you know, it was difficult to come to an ending with this.

 

On 10 February 2016 at 2:30 PM, Coolauntdeb0317 said:

Well written Cally. Excellent story. I could picture every bit of it. They were so sweet to each other. I could feel their love.

Thanks!  I am glad you enjoyed!