Dark Side (Secret Santa for Cally--BBC Sherlock/Mystrade)

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

When I joined the forum a little over a year ago, one of the first posts I made was a comment to Cally's "After Serbia". From that short comment came more comments and PM's and emails. She has really become a great friend. When Junia sent me the PM saying Cally was my recipient for SS I was excited and nervous. (OK, still excited and nervous.) One of the things that I really love about Cally is she encouraged me to post what I wrote and supported my little quirks about this couple. There is a formidable fanfic cannon out there, but Cally rather liked, some of the stuff I came up with. One of my head cannons is that Greg Lestrade knew Sherlock wasn't dead. He wasn't in on the conspiracy of the faked death at the time, but figured it out later. (As he says, he's not stupid.) That in mind I wanted to write, as a homage to Cally, a slightly different version of her "After Serbia" events.

I'll be posting this in several parts. I hope everyone, but especially Cally, enjoys it!

Secret Santa for Cally--Part 1

Dark Side

“Mycroft!” Greg bellowed as he entered their flat. He barely took the time to close the door and drop his keys in the dish by the door. “My!” Greg raced down the hall, glancing in the kitchen. “Mycroft?” Greg headed for the drawing room.

Mycroft hurried from his study and down the stairs. “Gregory? What is…unhhff!” Mycroft stumbled as he suddenly found himself with an armful of detective inspector. He felt familiar arms wrap tight around him. Mycroft smiled as Greg's face buried itself into his neck.

“Yer safe. Home safe,” Greg mumbled.

“I take it you saw Sherlock.” Mycroft held onto Greg, who seemed to have no intention of letting go. “I sent you a message when we left Serbia. Did you not get it?”

“Not the same. I had t’see ya.” Greg shook a little and a sniffle escaped.

“Gregory Lestrade, are you crying?” Mycroft pulled back a bit trying to see his partner’s face.

“No…maybe” Greg loosened his grip and took half a step back. He wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. Placing both hands on Mycroft’s shoulders, Greg held him at arm’s length. Looking his partner up and down anxiously, Greg commanded, “Wiggle your toes.” Mycroft, in his stocking feet, rolled his eyes and complied. Greg nodded satisfied to see Mycroft’s toes move. Greg slid his hands up and down the younger man’s arms, patting and squeezing. He then picked up Mycroft’s hands and examined them carefully. He kissed the back of each hand then reached up to cup Mycroft’s cheeks. “Open your mouth. I need to check your teeth.” Mycroft sighed and submitted to the inspection. Greg hummed pleased to see every molar intact. His thumbs gently traced his partner’s cheekbones. Greg noted the pallor of his lover’s skin and the dark circles under his eyes. Something flickered in those blue orbs. Worry? Fear? Then it was gone. “You’ve lost weight.” Greg observed. “And more hair.”

“Not enough to matter,” Mycroft replied dismissively.

Greg leaned up and kissed his lover, pulling him close again. As the kiss ended, Greg sighed contentedly. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

Mycroft shook his head, “No.”

“Good, then we can go on to the in depth examination.” Greg pulled Mycroft back up the stairs. Chuckling, Mycroft allowed himself to be led off to the bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Greg woke up in the early morning hours alone in their bed. At first he wondered if he has hallucinated Mycroft’s homecoming. However, a certain soreness convinced him otherwise. He got up, found his robe and went in search of his partner. The light coming from under Mycroft’s study door indicated to Greg where the younger man might be. The sneezes coming from behind said door confirmed Mycroft’s presence. Greg smiled to himself. He had missed hearing Mycroft sneeze. Such a ubiquitous and mundane sound, but when it was absent Greg felt it keenly. Greg tapped softly on the door before opening it. He found Mycroft much as he expected: sitting at his desk; typing furiously on his computer; handkerchief positioned nearby.

“Bless you, love.”

“Oh Gregory, I am sorry. Did I wake you?” Mycroft asked.

“No. I missed you in the bed and came looking for you. Can’t you sleep?” Greg entered the study and went over to Mycroft’s side.

Mycroft looked up at the older man. Greg could have sworn he saw a flash of uncertainty and fear in Mycroft’s gaze. “You would not believe the paperwork involved in bringing someone back to life.”

“Surely, it can wait.” Greg knew when paperwork could wait and when it couldn’t wait. No one was chomping at the bit for forms at 3am.

Mycroft looked back at the screen. “I will finish this part and then be along.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, dear,” he replied absently.

Greg returned to the lonely bed without further comment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Greg was beginning to worry as they were getting ready for work. Mycroft didn’t sleep much before he was up and in the shower. His morning sniffles and sneezes were sounding more congested by the minute.

“Are you okay, love?” Greg asked as Mycroft went to get his third handkerchief of the morning. He noticed the younger man shove yet another two handkerchiefs in his trouser pocket.

“Perhaps a little congested. It is likely the wea…heh…hih’tsh, tsh, tsh! Hih’TSCHOO! Excuse me. The weather.”

Greg frowned. “Bless you. You sure?”

“I am fine.” Mycroft’s tone was snippy. He turned back to his dresser top to put the finishing touches to his outfit.

“Uh-huh.” Greg picked up his jacket. “I’m going down to make tea. You will have some and a bite.” Greg headed out of the bedroom.

“Just the tea, thank you, I am not hungry.” Mycroft replied as Greg left the room.

Greg put his head back around the door. “You’ll eat toast. We didn’t have dinner last night. You didn’t get much sleep and I think you are coming down with a cold.” He didn’t wait for what would likely be a scathing retort and quickly retreated to the kitchen. Mycroft sighed.

Mycroft entered the kitchen a few minutes later to see Greg pouring hot water in the teapot. Greg had made toast and set out a bowl of grapes and a plate of soft cheese.

“Gregory, I am not hungry.”

“Well, it’s not all for you, is it? You’re not the only one who didn’t have dinner last night.” Greg smiled at his lover, taking the sting out of his reply. “Sit down, love. The tea will be ready in a tick.”

Mycroft reluctantly sat down. He put a piece of toast on his plate and picked out one grape. Greg put the pot on the table along with the strainer. He squeezed Mycroft’s shoulder as he passed by to get the milk and sugar. He returned to the table with both and sat down. Greg grabbed a handful of grapes and a piece of toast.

“Shall I be mother?” Mycroft asked.

“I’d much rather you be Mycroft,” Greg returned cheekily. He spread cheese on his toast.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and poured the tea. They were quiet as Greg ate and Mycroft picked. Sipping his tea, Mycroft scrolled through emails on his phone. The steam from the tea was making him sniffly.

“You’ll be working late, I assume.” Greg stated.

“Yes. There are quite a few loose ends to be tied up. I ima…hah…imagine I will be home late the rest of the wee…hih…k.” Mycroft finished hurriedly, fishing his handkerchief out. He turned aside and held the cloth near his face. Taking two deep hitching breaths, he sneezed forcefully. “Hah…Ah…Hah’TCHOO! Hih’tish! Hih’tch!” Mycroft sat still handkerchief pressed to his face. Greg waited even more convinced that his partner was coming down with a post travel cold. “Hih’tisch! tisch! TISHOO!” Mycroft blew his nose gently.

“Christ My, bless you.”

“Apologies.”

Greg shrugged. “It reminds me.” He got up and went to the cabinet where they kept the medications. He sorted through the medicine bottles and boxes and came back with a selection.

“Gregory, I am not ill.” Mycroft protested.

“Bollocks. We’ve lived together for two years and I’ve been listening to you sneeze for longer. I know your morning sneezes; your shower sneezes; your allergy sneezes—spring, autumn and dog; your newspaper sneezes…”

“Newspapers do not make me sneeze,” Mycroft interrupted.

Greg raised an eyebrow and continued, “…your sinus sneezes; your cold sneezes; your changing weather sneezes; your wine sneezes; your just being Mycroft sneezes. Those are either your cold sneezes or your sinus sneezes, and well I know one can turn into the other quick enough. There is no need to deny to me how you feel and not take what you need to feel better.”

Mycroft stared at the bottles. He picked up his teacup and finished the contents, then stood to face Greg. “Gregory, I do not feel unwell; I am not hungry; I do not need any of these medications you so kindly arrayed; I do not need to be mollycoddled.” Mycroft’s gaze was cold and his tone dismissive. Greg could feel his blood pressure start to rise and his face start to turn red.

Mycroft continued, “I am going to the office. I will not return until late. Please do not wait up for me.” Mycroft pushed his chair in and started to leave the room. As he reached the doorway, he turned back toward Greg. “And do not call, text, or otherwise contact Anthea. If I find out you have, I will fire her.”

Greg gaped. “You wouldn’t!”

“Gregory Lestrade, you have no idea as to what I would or would not do,” Mycroft replied harshly.

There it was again. It was now the third time it appeared and Greg knew what he saw. It was a flicker of fear, doubt, and anxiety shifting through Mycroft’s eyes before they became flat and unreadable. Greg watched Mycroft walk out the door, not really sure what to say or do.

[cally]

For me?

Ok, enough with the emojis. I am so excited for this and very curious to see where this goes and how long will it take for Greg to wear down Mycroft? Will he defy him and contact Anthea? Will he follow him to work and sneak in with tissues and cold medicine? Will he resort to calling Sherlock to run interference? I have so many questions. SO MANY!

I'll try to be patient.

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

Eeeeeeee Mystrade from scw!!!

Mycroft looked up at the older man. Greg could have sworn he saw a flash of uncertainty and fear in Mycroft’s gaze. “You would not believe the paperwork involved in bringing someone back to life.”

This phrase is so in character it's unreal XDDD

“Apologies.”

Yeah so it's probably no secret this is one of my favorite words ever.... hehehehheheee

Lovely start, as cally said I can't wait to see where this goes

[supernaturalfragalistic]

i love it it's so perfect!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

So I am such a space cadet! I forgot to thank Juto for reading over my fic and helping me keep it fluffy. Thank you Juto!

I have so many questions. SO MANY!

I'll try to be patient.

Yes, you'll need to be patient. All will be revealed, in good time. So glad you seem to like it so far.

Eeeeeeee Mystrade from scw!!!

Lovely start, as cally said I can't wait to see where this goes

Aww...thanks Kaze.

i love it it's so perfect!

Yikes! Pressure's on...

Nah, I'm good. Thank you!

[Juto]

fic and helping me keep it fluffy. Thank you Juto!

Awww thank you! And what do I do? I take days before placing a comment! #horriblesupporter

But I'm here now

Mycroft hurried from his study and down the stairs. “Gregory? What is…unhhff!” Mycroft stumbled as he suddenly found himself with an armful of detective inspector. He felt familiar arms wrap tight around him. Mycroft smiled as Greg's face buried itself into his neck.

Picturing this made my heart do a weird little jig! I WANT AN ARMFUL OF CUTE DI !!!!! such a sweet description.

“No…maybe” Greg loosened his grip and took half a step back. He wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. Placing both hands on Mycroft’s shoulders, Greg held him at arm’s length. Looking his partner up and down anxiously, Greg commanded, “Wiggle your toes.” Mycroft, in his stocking feet, rolled his eyes and complied. Greg nodded satisfied to see Mycroft’s toes move. Greg slid his hands up and down the younger man’s arms, patting and squeezing. He then picked up Mycroft’s hands and examined them carefully. He kissed the back of each hand then reached up to cup Mycroft’s cheeks. “Open your mouth. I need to check your teeth.” Mycroft sighed and submitted to the inspection. Greg hummed pleased to see every molar intact. His

Hahahaha that's right Greg! Do a quick check up before you pull the British government to the more private chambers for a more *ahem* in depth checkup!

Newspapers do not make me sneeze,” Mycroft interrupted.

HAHAHAHAHAHA I loved how this got a cameo I feel spoiled even though this lovely gift isn't for me.

This is so wonderful! I adored cally's piece and all its angst (thanks Cally! You're amazing!) but I adore the underlying humour that you're bringing to Greg! He's such a wonderful and quite light character compared to Mycroft and Sherlock and it's so wonderful to see that surface in this tribute.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Awww thank you! And what do I do? I take days before placing a comment! #horriblesupporter

But I'm here now

No worries!

I WANT AN ARMFUL OF CUTE DI !!!!! such a sweet description.

Thank you! I was trying to portray the version of a welcoming hug Mycroft would get from Greg, based on the one Sherlock got.

I am posting part 2 a little sooner than I might, but Cally has had a hard day and I wanted to cheer her up a bit.

Dark Side--The second part

Greg’s day at the Yard was hectic. All hell had broken loose with the reappearance of Sherlock. Greg spent hours in meetings being grilled by his higher ups. No one came close to uncovering how deep Greg’s involvement was. It had all been after the fact and the questions mostly centered on the actual event. Sgt Donovan was suspicious of Greg and just generally furious. Anderson crowed to anyone who would listen. He even climbed on Greg’s desk and did a little jig.

Greg was grateful for the distraction. He still had no idea what to make of Mycroft’s behavior that morning. They had come to an understanding in their years together as to what was acceptable caregiving. Greg didn’t think he had crossed any lines. He hadn’t insisted Mycroft stay home. He didn’t try to shove a full meal down his throat. He offered meds, rather than slipping them in the tea. In the moments he had to spare Greg became certain the problem was not directly related to him. Something must have happened in Serbia, or wherever Mycroft had gone to find Sherlock.

He didn’t dare ask Anthea. Mycroft was right; at some level Greg really didn’t know what Mycroft would or would not do. The man had a dark side that Greg only rarely had seen. Greg tried to call Sherlock, but he wasn’t answering his mobile and was ignoring Greg’s texts. At the end of the long day Greg was still flummoxed.

It was an empty flat he returned to that evening. Greg made himself a sandwich and took it and a beer to the drawing room, where he watched telly while eating. Sadly, the same ritual he established over the past few weeks. Eventually, he felt numb enough to sleep. As he got ready for bed he realized he couldn’t bring himself to get into their large empty bed. He grabbed his pillow and a blanket and headed to his home office where the spare bed was kept.

Greg awoke silently cursing beer and his aging prostate. He shuffled into their bedroom on his way to the en suite. In the dim light he could see Mycroft huddled under the duvet. He hadn’t been there the first time Greg made his way to the toilet. Greg’s bladder forced him to keep moving.

As Greg finished up in the bathroom, he could hear Mycroft mumbling in his sleep. On his way out Greg crept closer to the bed. Whatever Mycroft was saying it wasn’t in English. Greg had no idea what Mycroft was dreaming about, but he determined it wasn’t pleasant. His partner’s tone was sharp and his forehead was creased. Greg laid a gentle hand on Mycroft’s shoulder and the younger man quieted. Greg started to retreat, but before he got to the door Mycroft began to grumble and started to toss. Greg decided they would both sleep better if he would just return to their bed. He wondered briefly if Mycroft had remembered to take his anxiety medication.

Greg slid under the duvet and tentatively reached out to Mycroft. “Shh, love. Sleep.” At the sound of Greg’s voice, Mycroft moved closer to him and muttered something unintelligible. Greg tugged his partner gently into an embrace. He brushed his lips over Mycroft’s forehead testing for fever. Mycroft whined and snuffled. “Yer okay,” Greg whispered. Mycroft settled and soon began to snore. A few moments later Greg followed his partner’s lead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple hours later, at 5 am promptly, Mycroft opened his eyes. They felt gummy and his mouth felt dry. He tried to swallow but his throat was parched as well and his head was completely stuffed. The only thing that did feel good was Greg’s warm body pressed close to Mycroft’s back and the arm resting protectively around his waist. Mycroft had memories of unsettling dreams and Greg’s soft touch. He propped up on his elbow and leaned over to the bedside table where his water glass sat. Taking a drink only marginally soothed his throat and mouth. Greg grunted and rolled away.

Mycroft sat up further and leaned back against the headboard, hoping the change in position might allow him to breathe a bit easier. He had not felt this ill in a long time. It wasn’t just the head cold, which was a particularly heavy one. He felt ill in his soul as well. The trip to Serbia had pushed at the limits of his physical as well as mental health. The noise and the people grated on his nerves. Being undercover meant he could not take his usual anxiety medications and he had felt their absence as the operation had come to a close. He knew he would recover from the cold. However the damage that made him so heart sore was another matter.

Mycroft felt a hand on his leg and looked over. Greg was awake and watching him with a somber expression. “Morning, My. You looked lost in thought.” Greg’s voice was rough from sleep, but the tone was gentle, as if he might frighten Mycroft.

“Good morning, Gregory. I was thinking.” Mycroft’s voice was hoarse and he tried to clear his throat.

“Care to share?”

Mycroft shook his head, avoiding Greg’s gaze. “No, however, I do want to apologize for yesterday morning.”

Greg sat up next to Mycroft. “Thanks. I was a bit stunned. I didn’t think I had done anything that irritating.”

“Well, perhaps listing all the ways I sneeze.”

“Okay, I admit that was a bit much.” Greg smiled at his partner. Mycroft tentatively returned the smile, then sniffed and rubbed at his nose.

“Speaking of which, you seem overdue.” Greg reached across Mycroft and snagged the tissue box. He put it in Mycroft’s lap.

Mycroft sniffed again. “It is this cold,” he complained. “I am so congested. Nothing is getting through.”

Greg refrained from telling Mycroft he sounded like he had a clothespin on his nose. “So you admit it. You’re ill.”

“Yes, Gregory. I am spectacularly under the weather, if it satisfies you to hear it.” Mycroft tried again to breathe through his nose.

“Oh, poor lamb.” Greg planted a kiss on his lover’s cheek.

Mycroft pulled a handful of tissues. His breath hitched.

“Oh, here they come…”

But nothing came of it. Mycroft rolled his eyes and attempted to blow his nose.

“False alarm, then?”

Mycroft rested his head back and closed his eyes, breathing from his mouth. The pressure in his head and sinuses was starting to make his eyes water. The usual tickle felt more like a burn. It would be a wonder if he didn’t end up with a sinus infection, Mycroft thought.

Greg got up. “I’m heading to the loo. Can I get you anything while I am up?” Greg asked while pulling on his robe.

“Tea and a decongestant, please.” Mycroft didn’t open his eyes, so he missed the face Greg made when he mentioned the decongestant. “And, yes, I am sure. I know what you are thinking; it will make my anxiety worse. However, so will not being able to breathe.”

“Touché,” conceded Greg as he headed to the en suite.

Mycroft wiped his nose as it had started to run. The brush of the tissues against his nostrils triggered another tormenting false start. Greg came back out of the en suite. “Nothing?” He walked over and sat down on the bed next to his partner.

“No…it…keeps…hih…tea…heh…teasing me.”

“Now that’s not right,” Greg sympathized. “That’s my job.”

Mycroft huffed in amusement, his eyes still shut. Greg studied his partner’s twitching nose. He raised one finger.

“Heh…No…hih”

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Greg gently traced his finger down the bridge of Mycroft’s nose and then around the tip. He brushed it against Mycroft’s flaring nostrils.

Mycroft batted Greg’s hand away and took a deep breath. His face contorting, he twisted to the side and pitched forward into the crumpled tissues in his hand.

“Ahhh…Heh’TSCHOO!, Heh’tsh, heh’tsh…”

Greg pulled a few tissues from the box on Mycroft’s lap and held them out. Mycroft snatched them as a new barrage of ticklish sneezes assailed him.

“Hih’etsh, etsh, etsh, Heh’Etschoo…”

Greg studied the tip of his finger and blew across it as it were a smoking gun. “I believe my work here is done.”

“Heh’tsh, heh’Tsh, Ish, ISH, ISH, TISHOO!”

“Bless you, love.”

Mycroft gingerly wiped his nose and took a few more tissues. The prickly need to sneeze would not leave his sinuses.

“Not…d,d,d…heh…Heh’Tsh, heh’etsch, Etsch, ETSCH, Heh’ETSCHOO!”

Greg watched helplessly as Mycroft continued to sneeze. He rubbed Mycroft’s leg and handed over fresh tissues between fits. There were occasional pauses and poor Mycroft could catch his breath.

“Dear God…heh…it j-hih-just…hihnnchx, hihnnchx, hihhnnchoo…will not…hih…st-hih-stop. Heh’TSHOO! Heh’TCHOO!”

“Bless you, love.” Greg winced as another fit started up. After several minutes the sneezing slowed. Mycroft wiped his eyes and red nose.

“Oh, poor nose.” Greg got up and retrieved a soft handkerchief for Mycroft.

“You stay away from my nose,” growled Mycroft, accepting the handkerchief.

“Sorry.” Greg smiled sheepishly. “That was spectacular, even for you.”

Mycroft sniffed carefully and got up, heading for the en suite. “I believe I am owed tea and a decongestant.” He wobbled a little as he stood and Greg put a hand on Mycroft’s back to steady him.

“You’ll be okay?” Greg nodded toward the bathroom.

“Yes, yes.” Mycroft replied irritably. He felt mortified. Gregory was right; the amount of sneezing was unprecedented.

Greg didn’t comment further. He could tell his boyfriend was feeling self conscious from all the sneezing. “Do you want me to bring the tea up here?” He asked anyway, though he knew the answer was likely to be no.

“No. I will…Hih’Tish, Tish, TISHHOO!” Mycroft waited, cloth pressed to his face. With no more forthcoming, he wiped his tender nose.

“Bless you,” Greg offered automatically.

“Thank you. I will come down.” Mycroft disappeared into the en suite. Greg finished dressing and headed downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mycroft appeared in the kitchen about 20 minutes later as Greg was plating the eggs and toast. Tea was already on the table, waiting to be poured. Once again an array of medication bottles sat on the table near Mycroft’s place.

“How are you feeling now?” Greg noticed Mycroft was dressed, though not necessarily to go into the office. He was wearing suit trousers and a starched shirt, but no tie or waistcoat. Instead he had on a soft cashmere cardigan that Greg had bought him.

“I feel…” Mycroft paused and turned away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. “Hhhnnchmpff, hhnnchmpff, hhnnchmpff.” He emerged from the cloth, dabbing his very red nose. “Apologies.”

“Bless you, love. You know I don’t mind.”

“Yes, I know.” Mycroft sat down and sighed. Greg put the plates on the table and sat down as well. Mycroft stared at his plate.

“Just a few bites. I know what being ill does to your appetite, but if you want to take any medication it’ll be better if you eat.” Greg spoke calmly as he poured the tea.

“You are too good for me, Gregory.” Mycroft murmured quietly as he picked at his eggs. He was a little surprised by the responding silence. He had thought Greg would rejoin with a cheeky comment.

“My?”

Mycroft looked up to see Greg’s concerned gaze from across the table.

“What happened in Serbia?”

Bugger. How could he have underestimated Gregory’s intuitive nature? Mycroft felt a frisson of fear and doubt. Looking back down at his plate gave him time to school his features. Taking a small bite of his breakfast gave him more time to formulate an answer that was not an answer.

“I recovered Sherlock and returned home with him.”

“You make it sound like a trip to the impound lot. I know it was more than that.” Greg pressed gently.

“Yes, well, there are details I may not divulge.” Mycroft felt some of his control returning.

“I’ll be ready to hear them when you can, sorry, may, share them.” Greg eased back. He knew to tread lightly with the Holmes boys if there was something you wanted them to reveal. Greg tucked into his breakfast, though he hadn’t much appetite now.

Mycroft nibbled at his toast and started organizing the bottles and boxes of medications on the table. After a few moments of companionable silence, Greg decided to ask the obvious.

“So, are you not going into work?”

“No, even I concede that going to the office sounding like an adenoidal five year old boy in need of a tonsillectomy would be a poor choice.” Greg snickered softly. Mycroft shot him a glare.

“What? That was funny.” Greg looked innocently at his partner.

Mycroft huffed and continued, “That coupled with the need to sneeze every fifteen to twenty minutes has convinced me to stay here and work. Anthea will be by in half an hour with whatever work cannot be securely sent electronically.” Mycroft sniffled and rubbed his nose lightly. He chose a decongestant and a pain reliever from the pill selection.

“How about an antihistamine, too?” Greg suggested. Mycroft nodded and opened another bottle. He washed the pills down with his tea and finished half a piece of toast before laying his utensils at 3 o’clock indicating he was done. Greg frowned but withheld any comment.

Greg, having finished his breakfast, cleared the plates. “Can I leave the dishes to you?” he asked as he returned to the table to finish his tea.

“Certainly,” Mycroft replied, refilling their cups.

“You are going to let the maids do ‘em, aren’t you?” Greg folded his arms across his chest.

Mycroft smiled. “They’ve had enough of a vacation. You spoil them when I am gone.”

“Posh tosser,” Greg accused affectionately, shaking his head.

[cally]

Oh the poor, poor lamb. He sounds so miserable. (It goes without saying that I'm terribly jealous of his delicious fit!) I hope Greg can get him to open up, or at the very least feel better.

I await the next instalment.

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

Mycroft Holmes you do weird things to my heart Greg soothing Mycroft while he slept just melted me.

[Juto]

Late again! Sorry! I blame Christmas!

Scw this is so wonderful! Truly! The way to seem to tangle these two in each other's problems and solutions adding a generous squirt of angst and a sprinkle of humour finishing off with a sugar spoon of CUTE is just mind Blowing! (And slightly mouthwatering! ) as always, I do have some favourite parts.

Greg slid under the duvet and tentatively reached out to Mycroft. “Shh, love. Sleep.” At the sound of Greg’s voice, Mycroft moved closer to him and muttered something unintelligible. Greg tugged his partner gently into an embrace. He brushed his lips over Mycroft’s forehead testing for fever. Mycroft whined and snuffled. “Yer okay,” Greg whispered. Mycroft settled and soon began to snore. A few moments later Greg followed his partner’s lead.

The tenderness here is just nnnnggghghhgghg even asleep Mycroft Homes can be soothed by his Gregory. God... Melt!

Mycroft sniffed again. “It is this cold,” he complained. “I am so congested. Nothing is getting through.”

Greg refrained from telling Mycroft he sounded like he had a clothespin on his nose. “So you admit it. You’re ill.”

“Yes, Gregory. I am spectacularly under the weather, if it satisfies you to hear it.” Mycroft tried again to breathe through his nose.

“Oh, poor lamb.” Greg planted a kiss on his lover’s cheek.

First of all DDAAAHHH Mycroft admitting to being sick!! Second, omg I may have squealed a little bit at "oh, poor lamb". It was too cute

Oh, poor nose.” Greg got up and retrieved a soft handkerchief for Mycroft.

“You stay away from my nose,” growled Mycroft, accepting the handkerchief.

“Sorry.” Greg smiled sheepishly. “That was spectacular, even for you.”

Omg that fit!!!

Posh tosser,” Greg accused affectionately, shaking his head.

=PURE LOVE OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is so so great scw, you amaze me with this couple. I absolutely adore them.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Ok Christmas is over *whew*, so now I can get back to working on this. A shout out to Juto for helping me with this part. Heartfelt thanks to all who have been reading and enjoying this. I don't know if I mentioned this, but I own nothing. As always comments =

Dark SideThird of the Parts

A work day at home for Mycroft Holmes wasnt any less stressful or busy. It was simply more private. Anthea arrived with an armful of documents shortly after Greg departed for his day. She left with marching orders for more than a dozen people. Sadly, no significant progress on the terror threat to London, but Mycroft had his best man on the case.

Mycroft was getting frequent texts from Greg asking him how he was feeling. This led Mycroft to believe Greg was once again spending the majority of his day stuck in meetings. After the thirtieth text in four hours (which had degenerated to a masked emoji and a question mark), Mycroft sent an email to Anthea. Ten minutes later he received another text.

* Thanks, love! GL*

Smiling Mycroft replied.

* I have no idea to what you are referring, but you are most welcome. MH *

Never let it be said his Gregory didnt know how to use his resources wisely, thought Mycroft.

Anthea returned around midday with another armful of documents, hot soup and cold sorbet. She fussed over Mycroft as much as he would let her. Eventually, he sent her away when she started to hint he should take a nap.

"Leave, and take your impertinence with you," Mycroft snapped. Frowning, Anthea headed for the door with her new list of instructions and the documents from the morning. She pulled out her mobile and began texting. Mycroft sighed; he just knew she was contacting Gregory. He rubbed his nose, feeling it start to prickle, again.

"Hhnnchx, hhnnchx, hhnnchx." Mycroft stifled against his wrist as his other hand groped around the desk. He finally found his handkerchief amongst his papers. "HihTCHmmpffHihTCHmmppff!"

"Bless you, sir!" Anthea called from the hallway as she left.

As the afternoon wore on Mycroft was not feeling better. His head throbbed and he felt feverish at times. Rather than stop, he just took more pain relievers and decongestants. He was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. His physical ailments were distracting, but in addition, his thoughts would scatter requiring a higher level of concentration than usual to keep everything in line.

When the front door closed loudly signaling Gregs return, Mycroft jumped. He was jittery and his heart was racing. He checked the time; his partner was home early. Scowling at the clock, Mycroft fumed. There was more to do and Greg would make him stop working. He had counted on the DI staying at work a bit longer.

There was a soft knock on the door and Mycroft was tempted to say, go away. Instead he bit his tongue. Greg stuck his head around the door.

"Alright to come in?"

"Yes, come in," Mycroft replied reluctantly.

Greg was dismayed by his lovers appearance. Mycrofts face was pale except for his red nose and flushed cheeks. His eyes were sunken and a little glassy. His gaze kept darting from Greg to the stacks of papers on his desk and he bit absently on his lower lip.

Greg stayed back not wanting to upset Mycroft. He could tell Mycroft was on the verge of a panic attack. The signs were there if you knew what you were looking for. The set of Mycrofts mouth, the tightness around his eyes and his jumpy manner clued Greg. Adopting a passive posture, Greg put his hands in his pockets and stood by the door.

"I don't know what you told my boss, but whatever it was I owe you dinner. I didn't think theyd ever stop grilling me."

Mycroft smiled briefly. "I didn't say anything to anyone, dear."

"No, of course not. Anthea did the talking." Greg chuckled.

"You are home early". Mycroft observed. He chewed more on his lip and once again glanced at a stack on his desk, touching it briefly.

"A bit, yeh. I wanted to check on you. I brought some paperwork home, though." Greg studied Mycroft. He couldn't hold Mycrofts regard. It kept skipping around and his breathing was a little rapid. "You look like you could use a break. How about a cuppa?"

Mycroft sighed. "I am fine. I have a lot of work left."

Greg nodded. "Then well make it a quick cup." Of decaf, he added to himself.

"Fine, fine." Mycroft made a little shooing gesture. Gregs eyes narrowed, but he refrained from snapping at Mycroft. God, he hated being dismissed like a minion. He left without comment and returned ten minutes later with the tea tray.

He sat the tray down on the table by the couch in Mycrofts study and had a seat. He watched as Mycroft put down his pen and pinch the bridge of his nose. Standing, Mycroft swayed slightly and stabilized himself by leaning on the desk.

"Are you okay?" Greg stood as well.

"Yes, I am fi-heh-fine. Hhnnchx, hhnnchx, hhnnchoo!" Mycroft fumbled for his handkerchief and wobbled. Finding the cloth in time for the next round, Mycroft doubled forward. "HihTSCHHihTSCH! HihTSCHOO!" He felt Gregs hand steady him.

"Bless you, love. Come sit." Greg gently guided Mycroft to the sofa.

"Thank you," sniffled Mycroft.

Once Mycroft was done tending his nose, Greg passed him a mug. Mycroft took his tea and sipped the hot liquid gratefully. His throat was sore from the drainage and the sneezing. There was a tightness in his chest forming. He knew he would likely develop a nasty cough by morning. He should rest. He knew he should rest, but there was so much to do. Sleep didn't appeal; his dreams were full of pain.

The steam from the tea wafted up from the cup tickling Mycrofts nose and making it want to drip. Sniffing, he put down his tea down hurriedly. He thought he had more time to get his handkerchief, but the sneezes just came tumbling out. Mycroft found himself forced to catch them in cupped hands. "HehetschEtsch.,.Etsch, EtschHehETSCHOO! HehTSHOO!"

"God bless you, My." Greg looked around and located the tissue box in the room. Mycroft didn't move as Greg retrieved the tissues and handed a few over. Mycroft carefully took the offering and turned away to tidy himself up.

"Apologies," he murmured stuffily. Greg rubbed his partners back. Mycroft blew his nose softly, wincing at the tenderness. He turned back to find Greg scrutinizing him sympathetically. Feeling a wave of doubt and anxiety wash over him, Mycroft shivered slightly and glanced down at the tea mug.

The fretful look in Mycrofts eyes had not gone unnoticed and neither had the shiver. Greg reached out and laid a hand on Mycrofts brow. "You have a fever, love." Pulling back, Mycroft shrugged and picked up his tea taking a long drink. Greg let out a frustrated sigh and gathered his own mug. "When did you last take anything?"

Mycroft looked at his watch. "About two hours ago I took some paracetamol and a decongestant." He set his empty cup down. "Thank you for the tea. I must return to work." His tone was cool as he tried to cover up his increasing unease.

"My..."

"Gregory, I. Am. Fine." Mycroft spoke slowly and distinctly.

"You keep saying that, like if you say it enough times it'll be true." Greg retorted. He ran a hand through his silver hair, trying to stay patient.

Mycroft stood and wavered. He was surprised as to how unsteady he was. Feeling Gregs hand on his hip aiding his balance, he wanted nothing more than to collapse into Gregs arms, but he was afraid of what might happen if he did. He knew Greg would hold him and comfort him. He wasn't sure, though, if he deserved such care.

"Love, sit back down." Mycroft let Greg tug him back down to sit on the sofa. He leaned against Greg and sniffled. He felt so drained.

"I need to complete these forms." Mycroft coughed harshly into his arm.

"Can't they wait a bit? You've been working all day. I can see you are exhausted and ill." And anxious, Greg added internally. His arm curled around Mycrofts narrow frame and he rubbed his hand up and down the younger mans arm.

After a moment Mycroft nodded. He started to stand and Greg stood with him providing balance and support. Together they made their way down the hall to the master bedroom. Mycroft sat on the bed feeling strangely disconnected. He wondered if his temperature was higher than he had realized. Greg went to Mycrofts dresser a got a clean pair of pajamas. Mycroft began to undress. Greg assisted and together they got Mycroft ready for bed. Mycroft headed for the en suite and Greg stayed by the door listening for any sounds of distress. Mycroft emerged and Greg followed him to the bed, pulling back the duvet and tucking in his ailing partner. Mycroft lay on his side, watching Greg fetch fresh water and check the tissue box.

Greg sat on the edge of the bed next to Mycroft. "Is there anything else you need?" he asked softly. Mycroft rubbed his nose and his eyelids began to flutter. Greg quickly handed him a tissue.

"Hihtsh, tsh, tshHihTSCHOO!"

"Bless you, love." Greg took the used tissue and dropped it in the nearby bin.

Mycroft stared up at the older man. There was something niggling at the corner of his brain. He had felt so irritable and nervy just a short time ago. He had piles of work, but now he rather didn't care. He was still congested and feverish and his head ached. Greg rested a cool hand on Mycrofts forehead and brushed an errant curl back. Mycroft closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Greg sat there for a few minutes observing his lover as Mycroft slipped into a more peaceful state. Mycroft was flushed, his nose bright red and a bit chapped. His sinuses were so clogged, he was breathing with his mouth open. Greg heaved a sigh. There would be hell to pay in the morning. However, at this moment, he believed it would be worth it.

Edited December 26, 2015 by Seeking Clarity + Wisdom

[cally]

Oh Greg, right out of the Holmes playbook! I'm not sure who I feel worse for right now, Greg or Mycroft.

I particularly liked this because it's a clear indication of many, many things.

He should rest. He knew he should rest, but there was so much to do. Sleep didn't appeal; his dreams were full of pain.

This just made me fell rather sad.

Mycroft stood and wavered. He was surprised as to how unsteady he was. Feeling Gregs hand on his hip aiding his balance, he wanted nothing more than to collapse into Gregs arms, but he was afraid of what might happen if he did. He knew Greg would hold him and comfort him. He wasn't sure, though, if he deserved such care.

The question is, is how pissed off is Mycroft going to be, or is he finally going to accept that it was done with all the best intentions and with love? I will try to contain my anticipation!

Edited December 27, 2015 by cally

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

There would be hell to pay in the morning. However, at this moment, he believed it would be worth it.

This was my fave line. Poor Greg and poor Mycroft.

[AngelEyes]

I am seriously remiss in my commenting. This is lovely and brilliant. I love how you take the time to really let things play out. To build up. The overall tension from Mycroft and Greg wanting to make things better so much. The little truces and compromises they come to along the way. And Cally beat me to quoting my favorite lines from part 3. Heartbreaking! It's beautiful and sad and sweet. And I love it!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

This is lovely and brilliant. I love how you take the time to really let things play out. To build up. The overall tension from Mycroft and Greg wanting to make things better so much. The little truces and compromises they come to along the way. And Cally beat me to quoting my favorite lines from part 3. Heartbreaking! It's beautiful and sad and sweet. And I love it!

Thanks AngelEyes! I won't string it out too much longer. I don't have the patience of Juto or Kaze to string a story along.

I have another couple parts I am readying to post. Thanks to everyone who is reading.

[Juto]

Greg sat on the edge of the bed next to Mycroft. "Is there anything else you need?" he asked softly. Mycroft rubbed his nose and his eyelids began to flutter. Greg quickly handed him a tissue.

"Hihtsh, tsh, tshHihTSCHOO!"

"Bless you, love." Greg took the used tissue and dropped it in the nearby bin.

Mycroft stared up at the older man. There was something niggling at the corner of his brain. He had felt so irritable and nervy just a short time ago. He had piles of work, but now he rather didn't care. He was still congested and feverish and his head ached. Greg rested a cool hand on Mycrofts forehead and brushed an errant curl back. Mycroft closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Greg sat there for a few minutes observing his lover as Mycroft slipped into a more peaceful state. Mycroft was flushed, his nose bright red and a bit chapped. His sinuses were so clogged, he was breathing with his mouth open. Greg heaved a sigh. There would be hell to pay in the morning. However, at this moment, he believed it would be worth it.

As you already know I simply love the delicate balance between Mycroft's angst and Greg's worry which I think really shines through here!

Gosh to read the sheer pain Mycroft is battling, his reluctance to sleep, even rest is just heartbreaking to read! I really WANT Greg to take good care of his Holmes but as the same time want to scold the DI for drugging his partner.

Fabulous instalment!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

The question is, is how pissed off is Mycroft going to be, or is he finally going to accept that it was done with all the best intentions and with love? I will try to contain my anticipation!

Most of you (okay, all) who commented are concerned about how Mycroft is going to deal with Gregory over the spiked tea. Well, here it begins. You know the Holmes boys have excellent memories. So here it will not end.

Thank you everyone who has commented. I love comments. Who doesn't? I own nothing. I love Mystrade more than ever after the recent special. Am I right?

Sorry it took so long to post this next part. It is rather long, so perhaps that will make up for it's tardiness. Thanks to Juto for helping me keep it just dark enough.

Dark Side—Fourth of Five Parts

Greg jerked awake vaguely disoriented. He evidently fell asleep sitting as his desk, while finishing the paperwork he had brought home. He rubbed his face and wiped at his mouth. When he heard the shouting coming from the bedroom, Greg was on his feet and racing down the hall. He could plainly hear Mycroft shouting, “No!” Greg paused at the door and listened for sounds of struggle. There was a thud and more shouting, all from Mycroft. Greg came through the door ready for a fight.

A quick survey revealed no intruder, but Mycroft was thrashing, tangled in the duvet and sheets. The bedside table had been knocked to the floor. Mycroft was groaning and mumbling incoherently. Greg side stepped the debris on the floor and approached the bed cautiously.

“My?” he called softly as he eased next to the bed. “It’s me, love. You’re dreaming. Wake up, darling.” Greg had never seen his partner in the throes of such a nightmare. He carefully reached out, placed a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.

Mycroft’s other arm shot up and he grabbed Greg’s throat. Greg grunted, but didn’t try to move. Mycroft’s grip was firm, but Greg could still breathe. Mycroft opened his eyes; they were unfocused and glazed.

“My, it’s Gregory. You’ve been dreaming.” Greg’s voice was a little strangled, but calm. Mycroft blinked a few times. “Please let go, love.” The fingers around his throat slowly released and Mycroft lowered his arm.

“Gregory?” Mycroft sounded unsure.

“Yes, My.” Greg kept his voice low and soothing.

Mycroft struggled to sit up. Greg helped disentangle him from the bedding. Harsh, congested coughing started as Mycroft came upright. Greg looked around and found Mycroft’s water glass on the floor. He took it to the en suite and refilled it. Mycroft gratefully accepted the glass and was able to take a few small sips to quell the tickling in his throat.

“Hih’tsh…heh’ETSH! ETSCH! ETSCH! ...Heh’TSCHOO!” Mycroft pitched forward. Greg took the glass from the younger man before he could spill the water. Mycroft was desperately trying to cover and search for the tissues.

“Heh’etsch, tsch, tsch… heh…heh’TSCHOO! Hih’TISHOO!”

Greg snagged the tissue box from the floor and put it in Mycroft’s lap. “Bless you, love.” He righted the bedside table and placed the water glass on it.

“Heh’ETSCHOO!... ETCHOO!” Mycroft pulled a handful of tissues and crushed them to his face.

“And again.” Greg finished picking up the rest of the items scattered across the floor and arranged them back where they belonged. He tried not to give too much attention to Mycroft, figuring his partner needed a little space.

“Hih…hih…hih’zchoo, ish, ish, ish…Heh’ETSHOO!”

“Bless.” Greg was gathering the items that had fallen out of the drawer. He picked up a medication bottle. It was full. The light was too dim for Greg to confirm his suspicions. Deciding to follow up later he returned the bottle to the drawer.

“Hih…hih’tsh, tsh, tsh, tsh, …Hih’TISHHOO! Hiht’CHOO!”

Having run out of things to pick up, Greg sat on the edge of the bed. “Oh, love, bless you.” Mycroft sat back and sighed, tissues still pressed to his face. “You okay?” Mycroft looked over the tissues at Greg, sniffed and started to nod. Mid nod his eyes fluttered shut and his nose wrinkled.

“Heh’ETSHOO!...Heh’EFTSCHOO!...Heh’ESHCHOO!” Mycroft shuddered with each sneeze. The fit finally over, he wiped his nose and lowered his hands. He wadded up the tissues and placed them on the table.

“God bless you, My.” Greg reached over and laid his hand on Mycroft’s cheek. “You feel warm, still.” Mycroft leaned his face into Greg’s touch and closed his eyes.

“Oh Gregory, I am so sorry.”

“For what? You had a nightmare.” Greg caressed his lover’s cheek. He leaned up and kissed Mycroft’s forehead, noting the heat against his lips. Greg pulled back and tried to catch Mycroft’s gaze. His partner kept his eyes closed and face downcast. “I’m going to change and get you some more paracetamol.” Mycroft nodded miserably.

Greg returned from the en suite in his pants and t-shirt. He stopped at Mycroft’s dresser and chose a couple of soft handkerchiefs. He brought those and the promised meds over to his ailing partner, who finally looked up. Mycroft swallowed the pills with the water from his glass and accepted the cloths.

“I thought your nose could use a break.” Greg smiled ruefully. Mycroft only nodded again. Greg climbed into bed next to his partner and held his arms out. “C’mere.”

“Let me see your neck.” Mycroft demanded softly. Greg lowered his arms and tilted his chin up. Mycroft turned on the bedside light.

“I don’t think it will bruise,” commented Greg as Mycroft moved closer to inspect the damage. Mycroft hummed in agreement. “You’re getting soft, love,” Greg gently needled. Mycroft huffed.

Greg quickly slipped his arms around Mycroft and tugged him in close. Hugging his partner tight, Greg whispered, “Gotcha.” Mycroft let himself collapse against Greg’s chest. The younger man was trembling, Greg noted as he kissed the top Mycroft’s head. They lay that way for several minutes. Greg hummed softly and rocked slowly. Mycroft sniffled and Greg could feel a damp patch forming on his t-shirt.

“Now, now,” murmured Greg into Mycroft’s hair. “What’s all this? Is the Iceman melting?”

Mycroft shifted and wiped his eyes and nose with his handkerchief. “Apologies.”

“None needed, but I think it’s time you tell me what’s bothering you. And before you say, ‘It is classified.’ Think. I’m sure you can find a way to tell me without revealing anything ‘classified’. You’re smart enough.”

Mycroft sighed and Greg loosened his hold enough to allow his lover to sit up and lean back against him. Mycroft was truly unsure of Greg’s reaction to what he would say. Mycroft was quiet as he marshaled his thoughts. He took a deep breath. Greg waited expectantly, but Mycroft’s nose had other ideas.

“Hah…ah… ETSCHOO!” Mycroft rocked forward out of Greg’s arms, handkerchief clasped to his nose. The uncharacteristically violent sneeze startled Greg.

“God bless you, My!”

“Hih’tsh, ish, ish, ish…Hih’Tishmmppff…Heh’Etschmmpff!” Mycroft’s sneezes devolved to their usual fittish pattern. “Hih’tshmmppff…hih’tshmmppff!”

“Bless you, love.” Greg rubbed the younger man’s back. Mycroft blew his nose. “Those are new sneezes to add to the list, ‘avoiding conversation sneezes’.” Greg quipped. Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Now c’mere and tell Uncle Greg all about it.” Mycroft cracked a small smile.

“You are ridiculous.” Mycroft wiped his nose a final time and fiddled with his handkerchief.

“Yep.” Greg waited patiently. Mycroft sat back against his lover, who wrapped his arms around Mycroft.

“I am afraid if I tell you, you will not care for me anymore.” Mycroft confessed.

“My, I really can’t imagine what you could possibly tell me that would make me stop loving you.” Greg’s teasing tone was gone.

Mycroft made a non-committal sound and then began. “You know I went to Serbia to retrieve Sherlock.”

“Yes.”

“I did not send a team and supervise them. I went under cover and infiltrated the Serbian cell that was holding Sherlock captive.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Serbian.” Greg interrupted.

“It has Slavic roots. It did not take long to learn.” Mycroft wanted to get back to his story.

“What, a day?” Greg joked.

“Three hours.” Mycroft replied shortly.

“Oh my God.” Greg paused. “That’s so hot,” he breathed.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Greg. “Sherlock said I was slipping.”

“Sherlock’s a berk. Now go on.”

Mycroft bit his lip and turned his head away. He didn’t want to see Greg’s face as he admitted his sins. “They tortured Sherlock.” Greg’s hold on Mycroft tightened, but he stayed quiet. “In order to maintain my cover I had to participate.” Mycroft’s voice was flat and distant. Greg made a small noise of compassion.

Mycroft was trying to separate himself from his memories. He trembled with the effort. He had done many difficult things in his life. Careers and lives had been destroyed by his orders as well as by his own hand. Always before he could see the greater good to push through the horror of what he had done. Now, when he closed his eyes, he could only see the dank, dark cell and Sherlock’s battered and bruised body hanging from the chains. Mycroft’s heart began to race and his respirations started to pick up speed.

Greg bent his head and pressed his lips to Mycroft’s crown. He hummed in sympathy. “Oh, love.”

Mycroft found his voice and rushed on. “Watching was hard enough, but I remember each turn with the whip vividly.” He swallowed down the nausea that had rose up. “I tried not to leave marks, but it took three turns for Sherlock to pick up on my tell and learn to arch away at the right moment.”

“And Sherlock thinks you are slipping,” Greg huffed.

“Gregory, how can you trivialize this?” Mycroft was puzzled and a little incensed that Greg wasn’t more upset.

“I guess it is my turn to apologize. I don’t mean to make light of your feelings.” Greg shifted down in the bed and turned Mycroft to face him. “My, I get this mission was difficult for you, for a variety of reasons.” Greg searched Mycroft’s face seeing worry, fear and doubt. He wondered what he could do to bring back confidence and security to the powerful man he loved. He only knew to speak from his heart and hope it would be enough. “You’re behaving as if there was more you could have done to protect him. I know you, Mycroft Holmes. There is nothing else you could have done. A lesser man wouldn’t have been able to do what you had to do.” Mycroft’s gaze skittered away from Greg’s eyes. “Look at me, Mycroft,” commanded Greg; he hoped actions would break through to his lover.

Mycroft steeled himself and looked straight at Greg. He did not expect the warm, gentle kiss that poured through him soothing his hurt. He read the love and the passion Greg had for him in that kiss. More than any words that kiss reassured Mycroft. He returned the kiss trying to convey his own love and passion and gratitude to be accepted as who he was.

The kiss deepened and became sloppy. Stubbled cheeks rubbed and noses bumped. Tongues licked and lips nibbled. Mycroft didn’t want the kiss to ever end; he felt finally some peace. But his nose began to tingle and prickle. He pulled away, gasping and grateful he had held on to his handkerchief.

“Hih…Hih’tsch, isch, isch, isch…Hih’TSH!...Hih’TSHmmppff…Hih’TSHmmppff!”

“Kissing sneezes! I can’t believe I forgot those.” Greg smacked his forehead. “Bless you, love.”

“Apologies.” Mycroft tended to his nose.

Greg rolled his eyes. “I really don’t care if sneeze, My.”

“I know. I am actually apologizing because you are unlikely to avoid catching this cold from me.” Mycroft refolded his handkerchief and wiped his nose. He rested his head against Greg’s breast.

Greg shrugged. “I don’t mind, as long as I am helping you feel better now.” Mycroft was quiet. He folded his handkerchief again. Greg tried to catch his lover’s eye. “My?”

“Hmm?” Mycroft lifted up to meet Greg’s gaze.

“Love, there is something else bothering you.”

Mycroft bit his lower lip. “Sherlock said I enjoyed it.” Greg snickered. “Why are you laughing?”

“Well, you did a little. For a moment, didn’t you?” Greg tried to stop the smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Mycroft opened his mouth meaning to protest. Instead he sagged, resting his head back on Greg’s chest. “Yes, a little…for a moment.”

Greg hugged Mycroft. “Of course you did. He knows you really didn’t enjoy it. As I said before, he’s a berk.” Greg stroked Mycroft’s arm. “You know, John punched him in the face no less than three times. One might have been a head butt,” Greg added considering.

“I tried to tell Sherlock things would not be the same.”

“Look, the important thing is you brought yourself and him home safely.” Greg’s voice was confident and sure. Mycroft sniffled and rubbed his nose. “And mostly in one piece.” Mycroft chuckled. “Only you could’ve done it,” Greg said stoutly. They lay quietly in the dark just enjoying holding each other.

Mycroft eventually spoke. “Are you going to be able to sleep?”

“Nope. That nap I took over my paperwork has wrecked it for me. You?”

“No. I was considering returning to my office.”

“I propose a movie and a hot toddy. Would that tempt you away from the siren call of paperwork?” Greg’s lively tone had reappeared.

Mycroft sat up and looked hard at Greg. “Only if you are not planning to drug my tea again.”

Greg squirmed under Mycroft’s baleful stare. “No. Sorry, I could see you were heading for a panic attack.”

Mycroft considered Greg’s statement. “Yes, I probably was. But I do not appreciate being drugged by my partner, someone I am supposed to trust.”

“Of course you don’t. However, you’ve been off your anxiety medication. I picked up the bottle earlier and it was full.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Mycroft nodded. “I was unable to take it while I was under cover. I did not expect to be off of it so long.” He bit his lower lip, that fearful, anxious look crossed his features.

Greg watched Mycroft concerned. “We are going to have a rough couple of weeks, aren’t we?”

“Most likely,” Mycroft agreed regretfully.

“Well then, don’t be surprised if I drug your tea again,” Greg said lightly. With a more serious tone and a loving expression, Greg continued. “You aren’t the only one that feels forced to do things they don’t like. But I won’t do it again tonight.” He climbed out of bed and fetched their robes.

Mycroft stood to don his robe. The position change caught his sinuses off guard. “Heh…hhhnnchx, hhnncchx, hhnnchhoo!” Mycroft stifled as he fumbled for his handkerchief.

“Bless you. Don’t stifle.” Greg’s response was automatic. He looked over from Mycroft’s dresser.

“Thank you.” Having found his handkerchief, Mycroft wiped his nose, yet again. “What are you doing in my sock drawer?”

“Hah! Found them.” Greg pulled a pair of thick, ugly socks from the drawer.

“No.” Mycroft shook his head.

“Yes.” Greg was grinning.

“No.” Mycroft shuddered.

“You know it helps.” Greg stuffed the socks in his robe pocket and disappeared into the en suite.

“I know noth…hih…nothing of the s…Hih’Tschmmppff! Heht’Chmmppff! Heh’TSHmmpff!”

“Bless you, again.” Greg reappeared carrying a small jar. “Don’t deny it. Gram’s foot rub clears your head.”

“It makes me sneeze,” Mycroft’s voice was muffled by the handkerchief he held to his face. He was staring warily at the jar in Greg’s hand.

“I don’t know why you say that.” Greg moved to the doorway.

“Because it does,” whined Mycroft. He had finally lowered his handkerchief.

“Love, we only use it when you have a cold. You’re already sneezing non stop.” Mycroft glowered at Greg. “C’mon. Hot toddy.” Greg stood by the door smiling and gesturing with his head. “We’ll watch a ridiculous Bond film. Roger Moore is always good for a chuckle.” Mycroft slowly moved toward Greg. Greg slipped an arm around Mycroft’s waist and shepherded him out of the room.

[cally]

“Three hours.” Mycroft replied shortly.

“Oh my God.” Greg paused. “That’s so hot,” he breathed.

I know this is supposed to be serious here, as we're talking about serious issues, but that's pretty much how I feel about this chapter.

Ok, seriously . . . .

Mycroft steeled himself and looked straight at Greg. He did not expect the warm, gentle kiss that poured through him soothing his hurt. He read the love and the passion Greg had for him in that kiss. More than any words that kiss reassured Mycroft. He returned the kiss trying to convey his own love and passion and gratitude to be accepted as who he was.

Excuse me while I sob for a moment.

Oh Mycroft. My heart is breaking for you. I'd say how could you ever doubt how Greg feels for you, but it's not a rational thing, and I obviously can understand that (for more than just the fact that After Serbia was the idea behind this).

I'm glad that you were able to mix some humour into this as I found that that was rather lacking from my piece entirely.

“Thank you.” Having found his handkerchief, Mycroft wiped his nose, yet again. “What are you doing in my sock drawer?”

Let's hope Greg didn't disturb the sock index. I'm not sure how Mycroft would be able to cope with that in such an illness ravaged state.

What ever did I do to deserve such a lovely fic? Both years I've participated I've been so spoiled.

[AngelEyes]

This is so fantastic. First, can I just say, That Fit!!! Good lord! Excuse me while I compose myself.... HehHem...Ok.

“None needed, but I think it’s time you tell me what’s bothering you. And before you say, ‘It is classified.’ Think. I’m sure you can find a way to tell me without revealing anything ‘classified’. You’re smart enough.”

This is just lovely. Greg showing his support and encouragement to Mycroft, while throwing in a reassuring compliment.

“Bless you, love.” Greg rubbed the younger man’s back. Mycroft blew his nose. “Those are new sneezes to add to the list, ‘avoiding conversation sneezes’.” Greg quipped. Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Now c’mere and tell Uncle Greg all about it.” Mycroft cracked a small smile.

“You are ridiculous.” Mycroft wiped his nose a final time and fiddled with his handkerchief.

LOL. Ridiculous indeed.

“Oh my God.” Greg paused. “That’s so hot,” he breathed.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Greg. “Sherlock said I was slipping.”

“Sherlock’s a berk. Now go on.”

Definitely hot. Shame on Sherlock.

He wondered what he could do to bring back confidence and security to the powerful man he loved. He only knew to speak from his heart and hope it would be enough. “You’re behaving as if there was more you could have done to protect him. I know you, Mycroft Holmes. There is nothing else you could have done. A lesser man wouldn’t have been able to do what you had to do.”

Yay Gregory. I like his use of Mycroft's full name. Serious.

“Kissing sneezes! I can’t believe I forgot those.” Greg smacked his forehead. “Bless you, love.”

LOL, Greg!

Greg watched Mycroft concerned. “We are going to have a rough couple of weeks, aren’t we?”

“Most likely,” Mycroft agreed regretfully.

I don't know why, but this just really got me. I think the underlying implication that no matter how rough it is, Greg will be there for him. That's important.

“Bless you, again.” Greg reappeared carrying a small jar. “Don’t deny it. Gram’s foot rub clears your head.”

“It makes me sneeze,” Mycroft’s voice was muffled by the handkerchief he held to his face. He was staring warily at the jar in Greg’s hand.

“I don’t know why you say that.” Greg moved to the doorway.

“Because it does,” whined Mycroft. He had finally lowered his handkerchief.

Ha! The ugly socks! Poor whiny Mycroft. I love him. But dear, everything makes you sneeze!

I love this story. Yay!

[Juto]

Scw! I can't emphasise enough how much I love the interaction between these 2. You write them so well, everything from Mycroft's (absolutely breathtaking) sneeze fits and Greg's wonderful humour! The balance you have created between angst and fluff is perfect

Adding the minor flashback to the cell in Serbia in Mycrofts head really darkened the piece but balancing it out with Greg's wonderful humour means that I can still read this with a smile and not a worried frown on my face! Perfect!

Now for the best parts! (Sorry Mycroft, you're great and all, but ahhhhhhhh Gregory

Hugging his partner tight, Greg whispered, “Gotcha.

Now, now,” murmured Greg into Mycroft’s hair. “What’s all this? Is the Iceman melting?”

Those are new sneezes to add to the list, ‘avoiding conversation sneezes’.” Greg quipped. Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Now c’mere and tell Uncle Greg all about it.” Mycroft cracked a small smile.

“You are ridiculous.” Mycroft wiped his nose a final time and fiddled with his handkerchief.

“Yep.” Greg waited patiently. Mycroft sat back against his lover, who wrapped his arms around Mycroft.

“Oh my God.” Greg paused. “That’s so hot,” he breathed.

You’re behaving as if there was more you could have done to protect him. I know you, Mycroft Holmes. There is nothing else you could have done. A lesser man wouldn’t have been able to do what you had to do.” Mycroft’s gaze skittered away from Greg’s eyes. “Look at me, Mycroft,”

“Kissing sneezes! I can’t believe I forgot those.” Greg smacked his forehead. “Bless you, love.”

Mycroft bit his lower lip. “Sherlock said I enjoyed it.” Greg snickered. “Why are you laughing?”

“Well, you did a little. For a moment, didn’t you?” Greg tried to stop the smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Well then, don’t be surprised if I drug your tea again,” Greg said lightly

Love, we only use it when you have a cold. You’re already sneezing non stop.”

WOMAN!!!!!!!!!

I love your Gregory! It's this classic version of 'can't eat can't sleep, reach for the stars, over the moon, World Series kinda love'

I LOVE LOVE LOVE HIM!!!!! You write him SO AMAZINGLY I can't even....

Everything else is amazing too, but you knew that already. Hehe

[matilda3948]

I'm very late to the party but, WOWZA! I love this story!

“Of course you don’t. However, you’ve been off your anxiety medication. I picked up the bottle earlier and it was full.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Mycroft nodded. “I was unable to take it while I was under cover. I did not expect to be off of it so long.” He bit his lower lip, that fearful, anxious look crossed his features.

Greg watched Mycroft concerned. “We are going to have a rough couple of weeks, aren’t we?”

“Most likely,” Mycroft agreed regretfully.

Ow! My heart! I love this so much. Speaking as someone with fantastic anxiety problems, this really touches my heart. Lovely!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

I'm glad that you were able to mix some humour into this as I found that that was rather lacking from my piece entirely.

Excuse me while I sob for a moment.

You laughed! You cried! Was it better than Cats? LOL! Thank you, Cally. I am thrilled you are enjoying it.

Let's hope Greg didn't disturb the sock index. I'm not sure how Mycroft would be able to cope with that in such an illness ravaged state.

No, Greg knows better than to do that. Sock index remained intact.

What ever did I do to deserve such a lovely fic?

You've been a lovely friend. Thank you.

This is so fantastic. First, can I just say, That Fit!!! Good lord!

Why, thank you. I aim to please.

Ha! The ugly socks! Poor whiny Mycroft. I love him. But dear, everything makes you sneeze!

I am rather fond of whiny!Mycroft as well. The best part is we know he whines, witness Christmas at his parents.

It's this classic version of 'can't eat can't sleep, reach for the stars, over the moon, World Series kinda love'

Cally and I want to know...Do the Red Sox win this World Series?

The balance you have created between angst and fluff is perfect

Aww...thank you! But you've been a big help.

I'm very late to the party but, WOWZA! I love this story!

Hey, welcome to the party! I'm glad you found your way here. Stick around there are a couple more installments coming. If you are hungry check with Juto; she always brings snacks to the party.

Speaking as someone with fantastic anxiety problems, this really touches my heart. Lovely!

Thank you! That means a lot to me.

A new up date will be posted soon. I promise.

Edited January 16, 2016 by Seeking Clarity + Wisdom

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Dark Side—The last of the five parts

Mycroft awoke the next morning much later than he would normally. Greg was already up and out of the room. A little panicked he checked his mobile. There was a text from Anthea saying all was stable and she would wait to hear from him. Mycroft sent a reply instructing her to come to his home in an hour. He sat back against the headboard and ran a hand through his ginger hair.

It occurred to him that he felt a bit better. He leaned over to the bedside table and took a drink from his water glass. His mouth didn’t feel so dry and his throat not as sore. He was still congested, but his head didn’t throb. His fever was gone.

“Bugger,” he muttered. Reaching down under the duvet, Mycroft pulled the hideous socks off his feet. His lover could charm his way out of a snake den with his smile, he thought. Now he would never escape Gregory’s grandmother’s foul foot rub. As he brought the socks out from under the covers the fragrance, heavy with eucalyptus, hit Mycroft. Twisting his head to the side, he wrinkled his long nose as if that would halt the assault on his sinuses. His breath began to hitch and he shook his head slightly.

“Heh…hih…hhnnchx…hhnnchx.” He’d dropped the socks and tried to locate a handkerchief or tissues on his bedside table. “Hhhnnchx…hhnnchoo!” The tissue box was empty. Grateful Greg wasn’t present, Mycroft just gave in and sneezed into his elbow. “Hih’Tsh, Tish, Tish…heh’TCHOO!” He could feel he congestion loosening and knew he needed to find a handkerchief or something soon. Sniffling he opened the bedside table drawer checking for a cloth or a random tissue. Wrist pressed against his nose, another round of sneezes burst forth. “Hih’tshoo…Ishoo…Hih’zshoo!”

“Oh good, I didn’t miss it.” Greg entered the room carrying two mugs and a box of tissues tucked under his arm. “God bless you and good morning.” Grinning he set the mugs down and opened the box of tissues. Keeping his one wrist pushed to his drippy nose, Mycroft snatched a handful of tissues with the other hand. He blew his nose and groaned with relief.

“Better?” Greg asked taking a drink from his mug.

Mycroft wiped his nose and promptly started sneezing again. “Heh’Tsch…Heh’Tsch…Heh’ETSCHOO!”

“Bless you, love.”

Mycroft pulled more tissues and blew his nose carefully. “Thank you, much better,” he replied, feeling considerably less stuffy. However, his sinuses still prickled and itched. Sniffling, he glanced down at the socks sitting next to him. “Would you be so willing to …hih…to remove…ah…hih…these so…ah…hih’tish, tish, tish, tish… Heh’TISH! Hih’TISHOO!” Mycroft snapped forward sneezing towards his lap.

“Bless you.” Greg handed over another handful of tissues. Mycroft blew his nose, yet again.

“Please?” Mycroft mumbled from behind the tissues.

Greg looked momentarily puzzled; following Mycroft’s gaze, he realized what was being asked. He smirked, “Certainly, love.” Greg picked up the offending footwear and took them to the hamper.

Greg watched the younger man from across the room. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of affection for his lover. Mycroft was sitting up in bed in rumpled pajamas; his hair mussed, with that silly curl in the middle of his forehead; his prominent nose wrinkled and twitched; his breath was coming in fits and starts as his sneezes teased him.

“Oh for he-heh-heaven’s sa-hih-sake.” Mycroft’s eyes would flutter shut then open.

Greg crossed the room to the bed and sat next to his struggling partner. “You need any help?” He asked mischievously, offering more tissues.

“Do n-neh-not touch my neh-nose.” Mycroft tried to glare at Greg, but couldn’t quite manage it. His eyelids kept twitching shut.

Greg suppressed a smile. “I wasn’t…”

Shuddering, Mycroft released a volley of sneezes. “Heh…Heh’TSCHOO! …Heh’tsh, tsh, tsh… Heh’ETSch! Heh’ETshOO!” Mycroft sighed with relief and rubbed his nose with the tissues.

“Bless you, love.”

“Thank you. I am afraid you will need to wash the duvet cover.” Mycroft was blushing lightly.

“I was going to change the bedding anyway.” Greg was unconcerned. “How about some tea?” Greg presented Mycroft a mug.

Mycroft sniffed. “How can I be sure you did not adulterate it?”

Greg sighed and scratched the back of his head. “I guess you’re going to having to trust me,” he replied.

“And therein lies my quandary,” Mycroft said pointedly.

“My, have I ever lied to you?”

“No, not directly,” Mycroft admitted.

“Then trust me when I say the tea is unadulterated, except for the milk and sugar you so dearly love.” Greg held out the mug again. Mycroft stared hard at Greg, assessing and observing. Greg met his partner’s stare frankly and openly. Mycroft huffed and took the offered mug.

Greg got up and began to dress. Rather than choosing attire for work, he donned a pair of worn, soft jeans that hugged his bum just so. He topped it with a old Clash T-shirt and an All Blacks hoodie. Mycroft watched with a sinking feeling.

“Why are you still here?” Mycroft sipped his tea.

“Where else would I be?” Greg was rummaging for socks.

“The Yard. Fighting crime and entertaining my brother.” Mycroft replied testily.

“Really? You think my job is to entertain your brother?” Greg turned to look at Mycroft arms akimbo.

“No, I do not…” Mycroft blinked rapidly, surprised by the sudden tears in his eyes. He gazed at Greg unsure how he got to this state.

Greg could see the fear and doubt blooming in Mycroft’s eyes. “Oh love,” Greg murmured and returned back to the bed. “I was just taking the Mickey out of you. I didn’t think you were trying to offend me. Don’t cry.” Greg sat next to Mycroft on the bed and took his hand. Mycroft nodded and sniffed, willing the tears to recede. He picked up his mug and hid his face in his tea.

Greg let go of his lover’s hand and opened the bedside table drawer, retrieving the bottle he had found on the floor last night. “How ‘bout we get started back on this, before some minor insult becomes an international incident?” Mycroft looked up to see Greg smiling fondly at him. He took the bottle, opened it and swallowed down a pill with his tea. Greg leaned forward and kissed Mycroft’s forehead.

“Now to answer your question,” Greg sat back and regarded his partner. “I traded shifts with Dimmock. So, I’ll be home today and work his shift on Saturday.”

“It was unnecessary for you to change your schedule on my account.” Mycroft responded. He sniffed again and reached for tissues.

Greg considered the younger man, who appeared to be just this side of pouting. “I think after last night and this morning, I’d like to stay close, at least for today. I won’t get in the way of your working.” Greg reassured Mycroft. “However, I would like to take charge of the medications. I don’t think you need any more decongestants and we’ll be limiting the caffeine.” The older man wasn’t sure how this was going to be received.

Mycroft open his mouth as if he was about to retort, but instead his nostrils flared and his eyes squeezed shut. “Hih’TISHOO! TISHOO! Heh’TSCHOO!” Mycroft pitched into the tissues.

“Bless you, love.”

Mycroft wiped his nose, sat back and crossed his arms. A mulish expression had settled over his features. “Why is it you think I am incapable of managing cold medication? And exactly how do you expect me to breathe?”

“Through your mouth if you need to.” Greg was ready to go to battle over this point. “I don’t think you incapable, but I’m not convinced you’re really giving it any of your attention. Look, you’ve not been taking your anxiety meds and you don’t need anything more to increase your anxiety.”

Mycroft silently conceded Greg’s point. He turned his head and coughed into his upper arm. “What do you suggest?”

“Ah!” Greg had thought about this. “We will employ the traditional home remedies before the invention of pseudoephedrine—steam and menthol.”

“Dear God.” Mycroft rolled his eyes and groaned.

“And don’t forget there’s Gram’s foot rub.” Greg sounded positively gleeful.

“I will not submit to that foul substance, again.” Mycroft scowled at Greg.

“Hmm…we’ll see.” Greg smiled winningly. Mycroft huffed and looked away.

Greg hopped off the bed. “Now, I’m going to draw you a hot, steamy bath. Anthea will be here soon, I’m sure. I’ll make us all breakfast while you soak.” He sauntered off to the en suite.

Mycroft heard the water come on. He sat for another couple of minutes in bed thinking of how he was going to sneak a decongestant or three. Eventually he stood and stripped off his pajamas. Coughing harshly he almost missed hearing it, but just before he entered the en suite he caught it. Mycroft paused by the door listening to Greg sing. He couldn’t help the smile that played across his face. He slipped into the bathroom, ready to start his day and ready to be loved.

Nobody does it better

Makes me feel sad for the rest

Nobody does it half as good as you

Baby, you're the best

I wasn't lookin', but somehow you found me

I tried to hide from your love light

But like Heaven above me, the spy who loved me

Is keeping all my secrets safe tonight

And nobody does it better

Though sometimes I wish someone could

Nobody does it quite the way you do

Why'd you have to be so good? *

FIN…

Well, at least until I post the epilogue…

* ”Nobody Does It Better” by Carly Simon, from The Spy Who Loved Me soundtrack.

[cally]

Mycroft wiped his nose, sat back and crossed his arms. A mulish expression had settled over his features. “Why is it you think I am incapable of managing cold medication? And exactly how do you expect me to breathe?”

Yeah, Greg. How do you expect him to breathe? I'm actually trying to picture Mycroft working in his home office, having to interrupt what he's doing to hang his head over a bowl of steamy water. I just can't see it. I can certainly see him sneaking medication. I bet he has some hidden away, just in case.

I look forward to the epilogue. Is Mycroft all better? Does Anthea make a sneak run for sudafed or is she on Greg's side? Does Greg catch this cold? If so, think of the laundry! Does the PM (Or Sherlock even) ridicule Mycroft for having a stuffy nose? Inquiring minds want to know!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

I'm actually trying to picture Mycroft working in his home office, having to interrupt what he's doing to hang his head over a bowl of steamy water.

If anyone could make Mycroft steam his head it would be Greg, but no, I think Greg set up a humidifier in the office. And, yes, I think Anthea probably snuck Mycroft some decongestants. She may like Greg, but Mycroft is her boss. I'm not going to write about this day. I'd like to let the reader imagine how this day plays out. I won't stop anyone from writing their own story about this day, though.

I look forward to the epilogue. Is Mycroft all better? Does Anthea make a sneak run for sudafed or is she on Greg's side? Does Greg catch this cold? If so, think of the laundry! Does the PM (Or Sherlock even) ridicule Mycroft for having a stuffy nose? Inquiring minds want to know!

Well, you won't have to wait too long, I expect.