Whining (BBC Sherlock) 7/7 Complete 11/9/16

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

WAIT! Before you turn away and say "another Mystrade fic, whatever" this (I hope) is a bit different.

The general head cannon around here is that Mycroft Holmes is allergy ridden and cold prone. He is terribly embarrassed by all of it and is very stoic about the whole thing. Yeah, I generally write him that way too. However, in thinking about the Mycroft Holmes actually presented in the show, that Mycroft strikes me as likely being, well, a whiner if ill or hurt or generally uncomfortable. One need only think back to that fateful Christmas Day (season 3, episode 3) and Mycroft sitting in his mother's kitchen bemoaning the slow passage of time. "How can it only be 2 o'clock? I'm in agony." So, in an attempt to try something a little different, I give you this Mystrade story, with a sick!Mycroft who doesn't hide away in his office sniffling and sneezing, working himself into pneumonia. Instead he is demanding and whiny and quixotic and, of course, sneezy. Poor Greg... 

I hope you like it. Please comment. I own nothing, except the mistakes are all mine. Special thanks to @cally for helping me with some of the details. 

There isn't much sneezing in this first part, but trust me, there is more to come, as well as other lovely aspects of a bad cold. 

Whining

          Greg was at a crime scene so he didn’t immediately look at the text he received. He was too busy listening to Sherlock detail the importance of the victim’s footwear. When the consulting detective dragged John off to the next room to search the closets for shoes, Greg looked at his mobile.

            * Warning: He has the sniffles. –AB *

            Greg frowned and replied.

            * He who? –GL *

            * MH –AB *

            Greg went looking for Sherlock. “Sherlock, why would Anthea send me a text warning me that Mycroft has ‘the sniffles’?” He dodged back as Sherlock, head buried in the closet, tossed a sandal over his shoulder.

            Sherlock emerged from the closet. “What did you say?”

            “Why would Anthea text me ‘Warning: He has the sniffles’?”

            “John!”

            “What, Sherlock?” Came a muffled response. John crawled out from under the bed; dust bunnies clung to his clothes. “Did you find it?” John rubbed the side of his nose then ducked his head into his elbow. “Hah’ksh.”

            “Bless you,” Greg offered.

            “Mycroft is ill.” Sherlock announced.

            John looked at Sherlock and then at Greg. “Oh well, that’s …”

            “Not our problem!” crowed Sherlock. Greg looked at Sherlock and John confused.

            “I don’t understand,” said Greg.

            Sherlock saw that John was holding a ladies pump in his hand. “Ah, you found it.” He snatched the shoe.

            “What’s going on?” Greg asked befuddled.

            John shrugged. Sherlock turned the shoe in his hands examining it. He then tossed the pump to Greg. “It was her lover, not her husband.”

            Greg caught the shoe and looked at it puzzled. “Her lover? Who the hell is that?”

            “Not my problem,” Sherlock replied as he swept out of the room.

            John clapped Greg on the shoulder. “Call if you need help with Mycroft.” He followed Sherlock out of the room.

            Greg stood alone in the room, his phone in one hand and a ladies shoe in the other. “I still don’t understand.”

 

 

 

             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

            By the time Greg got home that evening he had forgotten all about Anthea’s text. He wasn’t surprised to find the house empty. Greg quickly learned Mycroft’s hours varied not long after he moved in with the elder Holmes.  They were still learning to live together, but overall they were compatible roommates. He changed into comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, and then went about fixing a light supper for himself and his partner. Greg heard the front door open and close as he was putting the finishing touches on the meal.

            “Perfect timing, love!” Greg called out. “I’ve just finished making dinner.”

            Mycroft came into the kitchen still wearing his coat and flung himself into one of the chairs at the table. He propped his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. Greg stared, taken aback.

            “My, do you feel okay?”

            “No. I feel utterly wretched,” he said stuffily.

            Memory of Anthea’s warning came flooding back to the DI. “I’m sorry, love,” he offered. Mycroft sniffled. “Let me get you some tissues.” Greg retrieved a box from the pantry, opened it and put it on the table near Mycroft. He dropped a kiss atop his partner’s head. “Do you want to take off your coat and stay?”

            Mycroft had pulled a tissue and gently blew his nose. “M’cold,” he mumbled behind the tissue.

            Greg placed his hand on the ailing man’s forehead. “No, I think you’re warm. Let me get the thermometer.”

            He returned shortly with paracetamol as well as a thermometer. “Okay, open up.” Mycroft lifted his head and complied. As they waited, Greg gently ran his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair.

            The instrument beeped; Greg took a look. “Well, you win. 100.3 F.” Mycroft nodded glumly. Greg got the younger man a glass of water and two paracetamol tabs. “How about a bite to eat and then bed?”

            “M’not hungry.”

            Greg looked at the salad he had made. Not exactly invalid food. “How about some tea then?”

            “Lemon? With honey?” Mycroft sounded so pitiful. His voice was husky with congestion.

            “Anything you want love.”

            “Mummy always made me lemon tea with honey.”

            Greg smiled. “Did she?” Mycroft nodded and sniffled. “How ‘bout I make you tea and you get ready for bed? I’ll bring it up to you.”

            Mycroft nodded again and left the kitchen taking the box of tissues with him. Greg heard a flurry of muffled sneezes from the hallway. “Bless you love!” he called out.

            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

            Upon entering the bedroom, Greg found Mycroft sitting on the edge of their bed still fully clothed, including his overcoat.

            “My? I thought you’re going to get ready for bed.”

            Mycroft scowled. “I am unable to find my blue pajamas.” Greg set down the tea and went to his partner’s dresser.

            “I assume you don’t mean these.” Greg held out a pair of blue pajamas.

            Mycroft glanced at them and shook his head. “No, not that pair. I want the ones with the umbrellas.”

            “I think they’re in the laundry. How ‘bout you wear these tonight and I’ll wash the others.” Really? Did the British Government just pout at him, Greg thought. “C’mon love, take off your coat and clothes.”

            “No. I will wait.” Mycroft pulled his coat tight and shivered.

            Greg raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Mycroft shrugged and looked stubbornly at his boyfriend. Greg thought hard.  “I could put these in the dryer and make them warm and toasty.”

            Mycroft’s expression softened. “Fine.” Greg inwardly sighed with relief.

            “I’ll be right back.” Greg collected all the pajamas in question—ones to wash and ones to warm. He thought he was beginning to understand why Anthea sent the warning.

            When he returned with the warm pajamas, Mycroft had taken off his coat, finally, and was trying to unbutton his waistcoat. He was shivering and his fingers were having a hard time gripping the buttons.

            “Here, love, let me help.” Greg started to reach for the fastenings.

            “I can do it.” Mycroft swatted the helping hands away.

            “Okay, okay.” Greg watched as Mycroft slowly got his buttons undone and slipped off the waistcoat and jacket. Chilled, Mycroft looked down at the buttons of his shirt. Greg took the jacket and waistcoat to the cleaner’s bag. “Can I at least take off your shoes and socks?” he asked. The younger man sniffled and nodded. Mycroft started on his cuffs as Greg knelt at his partner’s feet removing the footwear.

            Mycroft was half way through the buttons when the sniffles turned to hitching. Greg looked up to see his boyfriend’s eyes close and nose wrinkle. Mycroft turned his head, sneezing into his elbow.

            “Hiih’Tish, Hiih’ish, ish, ish…. Hih’TEhSCHOO!”

            Greg took advantage of Mycroft’s distracted state to quickly finish unbuttoning the shirt and managed to get a start on the trousers before Mycroft recovered from his fit.

            “Bless you, My.”

            “How did you do that so fast?” Mycroft asked dazedly.

            “Practice.” Greg winked. Mycroft huffed and sniffled. Nonetheless he stopped fighting Greg’s assistance and soon he was in warm nightclothes, tucked into bed with a cup of tea. Not much later Greg left their bedroom carrying an empty tea mug and an overcoat. Mycroft was asleep.

Edited November 9, 2016 by Sinister Cries + Wails

[cally]

Anytime! I'm so glad to see that you've posted this!  

Oh, poor Mycroft.  And that's all I will say because I wouldn't want to spoil anyone.  

[SneezyHolmes]

Oh my goodness! How cute! I think I adore a whiney Mycroft way more than I should! I just love how he was determined to have those pajamas! Excellent writing as always~

Edited October 22, 2016 by 2spooky4u

[ID2006]

Excellent concept

[AngelEyes]

LOL! This is adorable! 

23 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

“Mycroft is ill.” Sherlock announced.

            John looked at Sherlock and then at Greg. “Oh well, that’s …”

            “Not our problem!” crowed Sherlock.

Oh Sherlock!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Thank you for the comments @2spooky4u, @ickydog2006 and @AngelEyes! I'm glad you like my idea for a sick, whiny Mycroft. Let's see how the next day goes. I know Cally knows what happens next.  

 

 Part 2:

 

            Greg wished he could say they slept well that night, but they didn’t. Mycroft was restless and fitful. He mumbled in his sleep and would snore periodically. One moment he was hot and had thrown off the covers. Minutes later his shivering form would gravitate toward his bedmate and drape itself atop of Greg and snuffle in the older man’s ear. Greg remembered his girls’ sleep being similar when they were little and ill, but they didn’t weigh as much or were as big as Mycroft.

            He was so relieved when his phone rang at dawn with a call to a scene. As he left their bed, Greg could see Mycroft scowl and heard him whimper.  The younger man sniffled and reached for his now absent partner. Pressing his lips to Mycroft’s flushed cheek, Greg whispered reassurances. He left a note asking Mycroft to call or text when he woke up.

            A few hours later, Greg was still at the crime scene when Mycroft called.

            “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

            “Miserable. Anthea won’t let me go into the office.”

            “Really? She can do that?”

            “She can deactivate my security card. I can still get in but it requires three checkpoints and a pat down.” Mycroft sniffed and then coughed harshly.

            “Mmm, sounds like you’re better off in bed.”

            “I thought it would be better if I was in my office preventing North Korea from doing something asinine with their missiles, but if you and Anthea say otherwise who am I to argue?”

            Greg rolled his eyes. “I’m sure one day in bed won’t lead to the end of the world.”

            “We can only hope.” Mycroft sniffed again.

            “This should cheer you up; your pajamas are clean. I hung them in the bath. I thought you could change into them after your shower.”

            “Th-ah-thank… Heh’Tsh, tish, tish, …  Hehh’tschoo, Heh’tSCHOO!”

            “Bless you!”

            “Apologies,” Mycroft sniffled. “Thank you.”

            “I’ll be home in a few hours. Have a bath and a cup of tea.”

            “Alright,” Mycroft sighed irritably.

            “You want me to pick up anything?”

            “No I’m fine.”

            “Well, text or call if you change your mind.” With that, Greg rang off.

            Less than an hour later, as they were wrapping up, Greg received a text.

            * I am almost out of tea. –MH *

            * There was plenty of the lemon last night. –GL *

            * No, my tea. –MH *

            * The special blend from the posh shop? –GL *

            * Yes –MH *

            * You asking me to get more? –GL *

            * Yes, you are in the area. –MH *

            Greg looked around. There were no CCTV cameras.

            * How do you know that? –GL *

            * By tracking your mobile. I’m sending the address. –MH *

            * Fine. Get off the computer and go back to bed. –GL *

            His phone chimed with a message containing just the address. “Donovan, can you catch a ride back with someone else? I’ve got to run an errand.”

 

 

 

           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

            An hour later Greg made it back to his office. He had to wait at the shop while they prepared Mycroft’s special blend of tea. The smells in the place made him feel sniffly and itchy. Dropping the package on his desk he grabbed a few tissues from the box and blew his nose. The itch simply intensified and he held the tissues in place.

            “HuhruhRRDSCH! HehRDZSCHOO!”

            “Bless you.” Greg looked up to see John standing in his doorway. “You’re not coming down with Mycroft’s cold, are you?” John asked.

            “Thanks. No, not so far. Just been to his fancy teashop. The place always makes me sneeze.” Greg threw away the tissues. “What brings you by?”

            “Just dropping off some cold cases Sherlock finished. I would normally make him do it, but I wanted to see how you were faring.”

            Greg shook his head. “Demanding bastard,” he commented.

            John laughed. “He’s all yours.”

            Greg’s mobile rang and he looked down at it. “Speak of the devil,” he sighed. “There was a time I’d go days without a call or a text. Today I hear from him every couple of hours.”

            John waved goodbye and signaled for Greg to call him if needed. Greg nodded his understanding and answered his phone.

            “Hello, love. How are you? …My?” Greg heard a few quick uneven breaths.

            “Hihh’Etsh, Heh’ETsch, Eh’TSch…”

            “Bless you.”

            “A-hah-apologies. Hah’TSCHOO! Heh’SCHOO!”

            “Bless...” Greg couldn’t help the smile that started to form.

            “Heh’tETSCH! Heh… EhTSCH! Haht’CHSCHOO! Mycroft sniffed and sighed. I am sorry. I thought I-hih-HihESCH! Heh’TSHCH! Heht’CHOO!”

            “Bless you. You thought you were done?”

            “Yes, but apparently not.” Mycroft’s breath was still hitching slightly. “You can stop smirking.”

            “I’m not smirking.” Greg wiped the grin off his face.

            “Hmmpf. I called to ask you to pick up more…” There was a pause. “Heh’TSCH, tsch, tsch, tsch, Hih’ETSCHOO!”

            “Bless you, love. More tissues?” Greg waited as Mycroft blew his nose.

            “No, antihistamines, but now that you mention it more ti-hih-ti-Hih’Shoo! TiSHOO! T’SCHOO! Ugh! More tissues would be welcome.” Mycroft sniffed and cleared his throat. “Particularly the kind with lotion.”

            “Bless you, again. Do you need them right away?” Greg eyed the stack of forms on his desk.

            “No, I suppose not.”

            “I’ve got an hour, maybe two, of paperwork here and then I’ll come home.”

            “Alright.” Mycroft sounded a little despondent.

            “I’ll bring you antihistamines, tissues and tea.”

            “Better than chocolates, flowers and cologne.”

            Greg chuckled. “I’ll remember that the next time we have a fight.”

            “See that you do,” Mycroft replied tartly and then rung off. Greg could tell that his boyfriend was actually amused by the exchange. He imagined Mycroft was getting quite bored.

            It wasn’t long before Greg was positive Mycroft was bored. As he tried to finish his work, he was getting texts every few minutes.

            * The quality of children’s programming is abysmal. –MH *

            * There is an entire program devoted to people who buy log cabins. Ridiculous. –MH *

            * I did not fully appreciate what a messy process childbirth is. –MH *

            * Perhaps we should renovate our kitchen. –MH *

            * Turn off the telly now! Go read a book. –GL *

            That gave Greg about a fifteen-minute reprieve.

            * Boring. I have read all of these. –MH *

            Greg rolled his eyes.

            * Listen to music. Take a nap. Reorganize your closet. –GL *

            There was a thirty-minute lull in the messages. Greg worked furiously knowing his time was borrowed.

            * Your tie selection is atrocious. –MH *

            * There are only two ties that are worth keeping. –MH *

            * Let me guess. The two ties you bought me. Why are you in my closet? –GL *

            * My closet is in perfect order. Yours on the other hand…--MH *

            * Get out of my closet! –GL *

            * We will go shopping once I am recovered. –MH *

            * Fine. Next week. –GL *

            Greg started filing reports and sorting cases to turf to his sergeant.

            * As long as you are not ill. –MH *

            * Obviously. –GL *

            * You could use a new suit or two. –MH *

            Greg rested his head in his hands for a moment before replying.

            * How about you download Words With Friends. –GL *

            * Is that a game? –MH *

            * Yes, on your mobile. It’s like Scrabble. –GL *

            Greg waited with baited breath. His phone was silent. He rapidly finished his last report and headed out of his office, stopping only to drop a stack of files on Donovan’s desk.

            “Oi! What’s all this?” she exclaimed.

            “Do these or there will be a homicide at my home.” Greg replied as he walked off the floor and headed to the lift.

 

 

 

            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

            Greg finally hit pay dirt at the third Boots he tried. Who knew it was so difficult to find tissues with lotion in London? He bought every box they had. He hadn’t heard from Mycroft and thought a trip to the market for dinner ingredients could be risked. He had just started to shop when he received a text.

            * Heezed! Have you ever heard of such a word? –MH *

            * No. –GL *

            * Of course not. –MH *

            * Sounds like a cross between a hiccup and a sneeze. –GL *

            * It is 114 points! –MH *

            Greg decided to change the subject. He couldn’t imagine this topic going anywhere good.

            * I’m at the market. I’ll be home soon. Anything you want? –GL *

            * Sorbet. My throat hurts. –MH *

            * As you wish. –GL *

            Greg worked fast to get through the store, but it still took longer than he would have liked. The house was quiet when he arrived home. Greg took a few moments to put away the groceries he had picked up. Carrying the Boots bag upstairs he went to their bedroom.

            Mycroft lay asleep on the bed. He was curled on his side, propped up on half a dozen pillows. Snoring softly, he clutched a handful of tissues. Greg noted his partner’s pale complexion and reddened nose. Mycroft’s laptop lay open on the bed next to him; the screen gone to sleep like its owner. Greg put down the bag and found a blanket to drape over his darling and carefully tucked it around him. He moved the laptop and the screen flared to life. Greg was surprised that Mycroft hadn’t logged out. Greg glanced at the email that was being written and winced.  It was a scathing letter regarding the validity of certain words in Words With Friends. Greg closed the computer and set it on Mycroft’s dresser. He left a fresh box of tissues and the antihistamines on the bedside table. Then he headed back downstairs to pour himself a drink.

            About an hour later Greg went up to check on Mycroft. Dinner was sitting on the stove, keeping warm and the Inspector was feeling a little more relaxed. He quietly entered their bedroom. His lanky partner was still curled up under the blanket sleeping. Greg sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook Mycroft’s shoulder.

            “Hey, sleepyhead, dinner’s ready.” Mycroft sniffled and coughed as he stirred. Greg rubbed the ailing man’s back and Mycroft groaned. “Does that mean stop or keep going?” Greg queried.

            Mycroft rolled onto his stomach. “Feels good,” he mumbled into the pillows and snuffled. Greg chuckled and kept working on the kinks in his lover’s back.

            “Poor lamb. Lying around all day too stressful for you?”

            “Yes. It is so boring. You have no idea,” Mycroft whined.

            Greg rolled his eyes. “You’re right. I’ve never been as bored as you.” There was silence and the silver haired man kept massaging Mycroft’s back. The younger man started to move and Greg moved back as his partner rolled over and sat up.

            “I apologize. That did not come out as I meant it.”

            “That’s okay, love.” Greg smiled fondly at his lover. Normally Mycroft was so perfectly dressed and composed, with not a hair out of place. Today he was wearing rumpled PJs and his dark auburn curls were tumbled from being clean but not styled. Pillow creases marked one cheek and Greg found himself leaning in to kiss them. He felt Mycroft’s hand on his chest firmly push him away. Opening his eyes in time, Greg saw Mycroft turn his head into his elbow, lips parting and eyes closing.

            “Heh’ETschoo, etsch, etsch, etsch… Hih’TSCHOO!”

            “Bless you, love.” Greg reached over to the nightstand and pulled a few tissues from the box he’d placed there earlier. “Here,” he said offering the tissues.

            Mycroft sniffled. “Thank you.” He blew his nose carefully and whimpered a little. “Dear God, my nose hurts.”

            Greg rubbed Mycroft’s knee sympathetically. “Would you like some dinner? I made soup.”

            Mycroft nodded; his long nose wrinkled as his eyes fluttered shut. “Heh’TESCH! Heh’TESCH! Tish, tish, tish, tish… “ Mycroft managed to take a breath before letting out a violent sneeze. “Heh…EH’TSHCHOO!” Tissues clamped to his tender nose, he pitched forward with the force of the last sneeze. Greg caught him afraid Mycroft might fall out of the bed.

            “God bless you, My.” The spent man lay in Greg’s arms. “I can see why your nose hurts if you have been sneezing like that all day.”

            Mycroft mumbled, “There was a reason I was te-heh-xting. Heh’ETCH, etcsh, etsch, etsch… Heh’TSCHOO!” He had made a feeble attempt to sit up as he started to sneeze again, but Greg just held him tight. Mycroft sniffled. “Gregory, I need more tissues.”

            “Oh, sorry love. Bless you again.” Greg loosened his hold. Mycroft sat up and swapped the soggy tissues for dry ones. “Better?” he asked as his partner gingerly tended to his inflamed nose.

            “No,” Mycroft groused. “Still hurts.” His brows knitted and his lower lip ever so slightly pouted.

            “Aw, now I got the kind with lotion.” Greg pointed out to his boyfriend. Mycroft examined the box as he dabbed at his nose.

            “These are not an improvement.” He looked like a little boy who had dropped his ice cream cone in the dirt.

            “I bought you antihistamines, as well.” Greg showed Mycroft the medication he left on the bedside table.  “You want to take this with dinner?”

            “Hih’TSCH! Tsch, tsch, tsch…Heh…Hih’TSCHOO!” Wearily, Mycroft pulled another handful of tissues.

            “Bless you. I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” The older man eyed the box of tissues and began to calculate how long before he’d be sent back out for more.

            “Yes. Anything so I’ll stop sn… snee… Heh’ETSCHOO! Hih’TSCHOO!” Mycroft blew his nose and whined.

            “Bless you, again. C’mon love, we’re going downstairs and have dinner.” Greg stood and held out his hand.

            “I’m too dizzy.” Mycroft lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

            Once again, Greg was struck by the similarities between his boyfriend and a small, willful child. “You want me to carry you? I don’t think my back will take it.”

            “Can’t you bring it up he-heh…Heh’TSCH, Tsch, tsch… Heh’ETSCHOO!”  The fit forced the younger man to sit up.

            “Aw, bless, love. I’m afraid you’d spill your dinner if you tried to eat in bed at the rate you’re going.” Greg remarked gently.

            Mycroft scowled. “Fine, but I will hold you responsible if I fall.”

            “I won’t let you fall, My.” Greg promised as he pocketed the antihistamines and bent to slip an arm around Mycroft’s waist. “Upsy-Daisy.” He helped Mycroft to his feet and assisted him into his robe. The two made their way to the kitchen with Mycroft snuffling and clutching his tissue box as if it was a favorite toy and Greg keeping a steadying hand at the small of his boyfriend’s back.

Edited October 23, 2016 by Sinister Cries + Wails

[SneezyHolmes]

Oh my goodness! This just gets better and better! Truly an adorable bit of fluff~  

[katy693]

This is great. Mycroft is such a sook. I sometimes wonder what it would be like if things changed from the canon on this forum. Like if Mycroft had huge sneezes like Greg and vice versa. I always love seeing new Mystrade. 

[cally]

6 hours ago, katy693 said:

 

This is great. Mycroft is such a sook. I sometimes wonder what it would be like if things changed from the canon on this forum. Like if Mycroft had huge sneezes like Greg and vice versa. I always love seeing new Mystrade. 

 

I believe that @Sinister Cries + Wails and I have had this very conversation, well part of it at the very least.  Perhaps that is something worth pursuing. . . . 

13 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

The two made their way to the kitchen with Mycroft snuffling and clutching his tissue box as if it was a favorite toy and Greg keeping a steadying hand at the small of his boyfriend’s back.

He needs a stuffed goldfish toy for times like these!  (Too bad I didn't think of this earlier!)

[AngelEyes]

Awww. Poor Mycroft. I admit to enjoying his abject misery. And I love how much pleasure John and Sherlock are taking in it being Greg's problem now. LOL

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

On October 23, 2016 at 5:38 PM, 2spooky4u said:

Oh my goodness! This just gets better and better! Truly an adorable bit of fluff~  

Aww... Thanks! I think you will find it just gets fluffier (and whinier) 

On October 23, 2016 at 11:19 PM, katy693 said:

This is great. Mycroft is such a sook. I sometimes wonder what it would be like if things changed from the canon on this forum. Like if Mycroft had huge sneezes like Greg and vice versa. I always love seeing new Mystrade. 

Thank you! Yes, there is no reason why stories can't be written with a Mycroft with huge sneezes or a seriously allergic Greg or whatever... Let's have at it!  

On October 24, 2016 at 6:16 AM, cally said:

He needs a stuffed goldfish toy for times like these!  (Too bad I didn't think of this earlier!)

Gahh! I love it and It's not too late. You give me ideas...

23 hours ago, AngelEyes said:

Awww. Poor Mycroft. I admit to enjoying his abject misery.

And I enjoy making him miserable. But I'm not totally heartless. He has Greg to provide TLC. 

 

Now, let's see how the evening goes for Mycroft and Greg...

Part 3:

            “Why is the kitchen so far from the bedroom? Who thought that was a good idea?” Mycroft grumbled as he made his way to the table. Greg pulled out a chair for his grumpy partner and made sure the younger man was seated with his tissues in easy reach. 

            “I’m sure most days it doesn’t seem so far.” Greg brought Mycroft a glass of water and gave him the package of antihistamines. “Do you need paracetamol?” Greg asked.

            “No, I took some a few hours ago.” Mycroft picked up the antihistamines. “Oh.”

            “Is something wrong?”

            “These are more for allergies.” Mycroft sniffled.

            “So? Isn’t it still an antihistamine?” Greg began filling bowls with soup.

            “Well, ye-heh-yes. Heh’Sch, esch, esch, esch… Hehz’Schoo! Heh’TSHOO!”

Greg turned back to the table. Mycroft sat with his hands cupped over his face. “It should still help stop the…”

“Heh’TSCHOO! Heh’TSCHOO!”

“Stop the sneezing.” Greg walked over to the table and pulled a handful of tissues, offering them to the sniffling man. Mycroft took them looking pointedly at Greg. “Bless you.”

Mycroft snuffled and blew his nose. “I’ve already taken this kind and it-hih-it is not heh-helping. Hih’TISH! Hih’TSCHOO!”

“God bless you.” Greg went back to fetch the soup bowls and brought them over. “Do you want me to go back out?”

“If it-hih isn’t… Hih’TSCH, tish, tish, tish… Hih’TISHOO!” A small whimper escaped as Mycroft tended his nose. “If it isn’t too much trouble.” He finally finished.

“Bless you again.” Greg brought the utensils to the table. “No, it’s not. Let’s eat first.” Greg sat down and started on his soup.

Mycroft nodded and stirred his soup. He took a spoonful and blew on it, then poured it back into his bowl. Greg watched Mycroft play with his food.

“Is something wrong with dinner?”

“Mm? No, it’s fine.” Mycroft sniffled and took a tissue to dab at his nose.

“I don’t know how you can say that since you’ve not even tasted it yet.” Mycroft flushed. “My, are you not hungry?” Greg asked gently.

“I am, but … it’s just… “ Mycroft sniffed again and then his breath hitched. “Hih’TSCH, TSH, TSH, TSH… Heh’ETSHCHOO!”

“Bless, love.” Greg waited as Mycroft blew his nose. “You were saying?” The younger man mumbled behind the tissue. “I’m sorry?” Greg didn’t catch what had been said.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “I like those fish shaped crackers in my soup, the ones from the States.” His eyes unfocused and he twisted away. “Hah’TESH! ETSCH, ETSCH, ETSCH… Heh’ETSCHOO!”

Greg felt a smile begin. “Really? You want Goldfish in your soup?”

Mycroft patted at his tender nose. “I am sorry. Is it not traditional to offer a blessing?”

“Bless you.” Greg would not be distracted. “Are they better than a simple cracker or crouton?” Mycroft scowled.

“Yes, they add a lovely contrast in texture,” Mycroft replied frostily.

“I’ll check the specialty shops in the morning,” Greg promised.

“There are some in the pantry, uppermost shelf.” Mycroft spoke softly and studied his soup as he stirred it.

“Ah. Would you like me to get them?” Greg smirked.

“Ple-heh-ease.” He grabbed another tissue and pressed it to his nose. “Heh’TSHOO! Heh’ETSCHOO!”

“Bless you, love.” Greg got up and went to the pantry. He returned with the desired crackers and a huge grin. “You know what else I found up there?”

“We will not speak of it.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Shut up.”

Still smirking, Greg sprinkled Goldfish into Mycroft’s soup.

 

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

 

After dinner, Greg set Mycroft up in the drawing room with a pot of tea, box of tissues and a fire in the fireplace. “Is there anything else you can think of?” Greg asked. A list had developed and Greg was hoping to forestall any more trips to the Boots or Tesco before tomorrow evening.

“No.” Mycroft coughed harshly. Greg added cough drops and suppressant to the list that now included a specific type of antihistamines; more boxes of tissues (so Mycroft wouldn’t have to carry a box with him from room to room); ibuprofen (because Mycroft’s throat hurt and his head hurt and his back hurt); and orange juice (as Mycroft was convinced he would recover more quickly if he was taking in a natural source of Vitamin C.)

“Okay. Then I’m going to go.” Greg leaned in and gave Mycroft a quick kiss on the cheek.

He had barely gotten out the front door when the text alert went off on his mobile. Sighing Greg looked at his phone and was surprised to see it was from Sherlock.

* Did he ask for orange juice yet? –SH *

* Yes. How’d you know? –GL *

* Please –SH *

Greg could imagine the eye roll that accompanied that text.

* What about it? –GL *

* Don’t buy orange juice. Buy oranges for juicing. It will save you a step. –SH *

* Are you kidding me? –GL *

* No –SH *

* You’re having me on. This isn’t funny. –GL *

* Suit yourself. John said I should tell you and I have. –SH *

* I suppose they need to be organic oranges. –GL *

* That would be best. If you can’t find organic, just lie. He can’t taste the difference as congested as he likely is. –SH *

* Good point. Thanks for the heads up. –GL *

Greg returned home about an hour later with all the items on his list plus juicing oranges. He was greeted by the sound of Mycroft sneezing. “Bless you, love,” Greg called from the kitchen. He finished putting away the food he’d bought and headed to the drawing room.

There he found his partner pulling the last of the tissues from the box. He had a hazy look in his eyes and his nose was swollen and tomato red. Greg noted the poor man had a pile of used tissues in his lap and quite a few had fallen to the floor.

“Oh, My…” Greg sighed sympathetically.

Mycroft looked over at Greg, his eyes bright and teary before they crashed shut. “Hehh’tsch, Heh’tsch… tish, tish, tish, tish… “

“God bless you, love.”

“Heh’ETSCHoo! Heh’ETSHCHoo!”

“Bless. Have you been sneezing like this the whole time I was gone?”

Mycroft nodded, his last tissues clamped to his face. He had his best “pity me” eyes going reminding Greg of his youngest daughter at the age of four. “More or le-eh-less Hihz’SCHoo… Hih’tscHOO!”

“Bless you, love. I’m so sorry.”

“Please tell me you got the right anti-hih-histamines. Hih…Hih’TISCHOO!”

“Bless you, again. Yes, I did. Let me get them for you and another box of tissues.” Greg went back to the kitchen and retrieved a bag with tissues and the medication. He also remembered a glass of water and paracetamol.

“Hih’tssh, tish, tish, tish…” Mycroft was sneezing again.

“Bless…” Greg set down the water and the medications.

“Hih…Hih’TSHOO!”

“You…” He opened the tissue box. Mycroft balled up the last tissue he had and pulled a few from the new box. His breath hitched again. Greg glimpsed his partner’s inflamed nose and inwardly cringed. It was nearly raw around the nostrils and philtrum. Mycroft whimpered as his nostrils flared.

“Hehh…Ah… Hah’TSHOO! Hehz’CHOO!”

“Again. Poor lamb.” Greg murmured as he began to gather the used tissues from the floor. His fastidious partner made a noise of protest behind his current wad. “Oh hush. I know to wash up.” He dumped them in the bag he brought in. Greg also managed to clear the tissues from Mycroft’s lap dodging the ailing man’s half-hearted attempts to swat him away between yet more sneezes. Greg disposed of the used paper, washed his hands and joined Mycroft on the couch.

“You were not present to bless me.” His boyfriend pouted. Greg watched Mycroft’s expression change from petulant to hazy. “Hih’TSH, TSH, TSH… Hih’TSHOO!”

“So sorry love. Bless you a thousand times.” Greg offered with no trace of mockery.

“I am not sure that covers it.” Mycroft huffed.

Checking his lover’s forehead, Greg remarked, “I think your fever is back.”

Mycroft nodded miserably. “I feel chilled.” His pulled his robe close around him. Greg reached behind them and pulled the chenille blanket off the back of the sofa and draped over Mycroft’s shoulders. He got out the antihistamines and paracetamol and handed the tabs over.

The younger man started to put them in his mouth, but stopped and abruptly ducked his head. “Hihz’SCHOO! Heh’ETSCHOO!” Mycroft had sneezed into his lap. He sniffled the damp back and quickly downed the pills.

Greg handed over yet more tissues. “Bless you, love. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone sneeze as much as you with this cold.”

Mycroft dabbed at his nose. “It is not a cold. It is a mutant virus released by the Chechnians.”

“I don’t think the Chechnians have that kind of technology.”

“Of course not, the virus is Soviet in origin. But they are incapable of keeping anything se-heh-secure. Hehz’Schoo, etsch, etsch, etsch… Heht’ETSHOO!”

“Bless. Your fever is definitely spiking.” Greg smiled at his boyfriend. “C’mere. Let me give you a proper cuddle. You could use it.”

Mycroft groaned as he leaned against the older man, allowing Greg to tuck the blanket around him. “I am not well. I think I am dying.” He gingerly wiped his nose.

“I’m fairly sure no one has ever sneezed themselves to death.”

“If this keeps up I will be seriously put out if I am not dead by morning,” Mycroft groused.

“Let’s see if the antihistamine works before we start making funeral arrangements, yeah?”

The younger man huffed, then snuffled. The snuffles turned to hitches and Mycroft struggled to sit back up. “Hih… Hih… Ah… Hah… “ Greg rubbed his partner’s shoulders and back. “Haht’CHOO! AHSCHOO! Tisch, tisch, tisch… Hah… AHschOO… EtsCHOO! Ugh!” Mycroft pulled more tissues from the box and blew his nose. “They aren’t working,” he groaned.

“The tissues or the antihistamines?” Greg teased. Mycroft glared at his cheeky partner. “Okay, okay… Bless you. It’s going to take at least half an hour for them to get into your system.” Greg tugged his boyfriend back towards him. “Come back here. I don’t care if you sneeze while I hold you.”

“You are going to catch this from me.” Mycroft fussed.

“If I do, I’m sure you’ll take good care of me.” Greg was amused and kissed Mycroft’s hair as he rested against the older man’s chest.

“I will be dead, but I will leave instructions in my will for your care.”

Greg chuckled. “I thought you were planning to die in the night. When will you be making this change in your will?”

“Hmm… Good point. I may have to try to live through the ni-hih…Hih’TSH, tish, tish, tish… Hih’TSHOO!” Bugger! Night.”

“Bless you. I’d prefer if you did.” Greg loosened his hold so Mycroft could tend to his nose, and then pulled the younger man back into his embrace.

[AngelEyes]

Poor piteous Mycroft. You are taking this to the next level of misery! Epic! I approve! 

13 minutes ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

* Did he ask for orange juice yet? –SH *

 

 

* Yes. How’d you know? –GL *

 

 

* Please –SH *

LOL! This continues to make me laugh!

 

14 minutes ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

Mycroft dabbed at his nose. “It is not a cold. It is a mutant virus released by the Chechnians.”

 

 

“I don’t think the Chechnians have that kind of technology.”

 

 

“Of course not, the virus is Soviet in origin. But they are incapable of keeping anything se-heh-secure. Hehz’Schoo, etsch, etsch, etsch… Heht’ETSHOO!”

Too funny!

 

14 minutes ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

“Let’s see if the antihistamine works before we start making funeral arrangements, yeah?”

 

 

 

I can totally hear Greg's reassuring voice!

This is awesome!

[Shamaël]

On 22/10/2016 at 6:45 AM, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

However, in thinking about the Mycroft Holmes actually presented in the show, that Mycroft strikes me as likely being, well, a whiner if ill or hurt or generally uncomfortable. One need only think back to that fateful Christmas Day (season 3, episode 3) and Mycroft sitting in his mother's kitchen bemoaning the slow passage of time. "How can it only be 2 o'clock? I'm in agony."

I had never thought about it, but you are right, oh my God!!! For me, he was always in control...

On 22/10/2016 at 6:45 AM, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

“Mycroft is ill.” Sherlock announced.

            John looked at Sherlock and then at Greg. “Oh well, that’s …”

            “Not our problem!” crowed Sherlock. Greg looked at Sherlock and John confused.

 ---> Me, laughing hysterically.

On 23/10/2016 at 11:13 PM, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

* The quality of children’s programming is abysmal. –MH *

            * There is an entire program devoted to people who buy log cabins. Ridiculous. –MH *

            * I did not fully appreciate what a messy process childbirth is. –MH *

            * Perhaps we should renovate our kitchen. –MH *

This is SO Mycroft!!! Texts fics are my favorite(s?).

16 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

 “Why is the kitchen so far from the bedroom? Who thought that was a good idea?”

That's what I wonder every time I'm sick...

This is really funny to read, as I imagine it was to write. Lestrade is being really, really, really patient... And I don't feel entierly sorry for Mycroft, because he's a real nuisance when sick. Great job!!! Thank you for sharing...

[Do you think you could write something with Sherlock (even if it's just texts)? I love the interactions between the two brothers.]

[SneezyHolmes]

Can I just..bask in this story's glory for a little bit? Here I go..remember me fondly! RIP Holmes  

[ichixshiro14]

Oh goodness, you've melted me into a puddle of goo!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Oh wow! Thank you for all the wonderful comments! You spoil me... 

@AngelEyes--It is always a pleasure to make you laugh. 

@Aliena H.--I did actually giggle as I wrote it. There are a few of my drabbles with short Sherlock/Mycroft interactions. In my first longer fan fiction A Charity Event there is a brief interaction between the two brothers. But I will certainly consider writing a story with more brotherly interaction. 

@2spooky4u--Bask away! But don't die on me yet. There is still more. 

@ichixshiro14--You posted an exploding emoji, for me! I always wanted one. Thank you! 

I am a little surprised no one asked or speculated what was in the pantry with the Goldfish crackers. Oh well...

So the night continues. There is less sneezing as the antihistamines do finally work, but there is still plenty of misery. @cally thought Mycroft needed a stuffed toy, so...

 

Part 4:

 

Eventually the sneezing slowed and Greg was able to lead his partner up to bed. One last cup of tea and fresh pajamas, so the ones with umbrellas could be washed for tomorrow, were provided. Greg made a mental note to buy his man another pair of umbrella pajamas.

“Okay, anything else you need?” Greg stood at the foot of the bed with Mycroft’s precious pajamas over his arm. Mycroft sipped his tea and shook his head. “Then I’ll be back as soon as I get these started,” he lifted the pajamas. “And the kitchen cleaned up.”

“Perhaps one thing.”

“Oh?” Greg really couldn’t imagine what it could be, but he waited patiently.

“I would like my pillow.”

Greg looked at Mycroft confused. “You have six pillows now. What do you mean my pillow?” The ill man looked into his tea cup and Greg thought he saw a bit of blush come over his cheeks. It was difficult to tell since Mycroft was already flushed.

“It’s just something… Never mind.” He sniffled and coughed.

“No, go on.”

The younger man hesitated. “In the closet, on the shelf in a zippered pillow case,” he finally said.

“See, that wasn’t hard.” Greg wondered what the big fuss was all about. He put down the pajamas at the end of the bed and went to Mycroft’s closet. “Is this it?” Greg asked when he emerged holding a non-descript white zippered pillowcase with an odd shaped pillow inside.

“Yes,” Mycroft sighed with some relief. Greg unzipped the case and started to pull out the object inside. “No…” Greg held up a bright orange crocheted fish pillow. The yarn was a bit nubby and it had a small stain on the body.  The shape was a tad distorted, as it clearly it had been around a while, but overall the pillow looked well cared for.

“Here you go, love.” Greg didn’t crack a smile or bat an eyelash. He carefully handed the goldfish pillow over to his partner. Mycroft took the pillow, watching Greg closely. Greg folded the pillowcase and set it on Mycroft’s dresser. “Does it have a name?” he asked casually.

“Lord Carassius Auratus,” Mycroft murmured as he absently stroked the pillow.

Greg couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped. “That’s brilliant,” he said as he smiled fondly at his lover. The anxious look on Mycroft’s face faded and Greg walked over and kissed his boyfriend’s forehead. “Hmm… Still warm. Try to go to sleep.”

“I want to go to work tomorrow.” Mycroft stated.

“I thought you were planning to be dead by morning.”

“That was before I stopped… Hih’tish, Tish, Tish…. Hih’TSHOO!”

“Bless you.” Greg’s eyes twinkled. “You were saying?” Mycroft looked mulish as he carefully wiped his nose. “I’ll check with Anthea.” Greg promised as he picked up the pajamas.

“Why does she get to decide?” Mycroft complained.

“I don’t know, love. I’m not the one who gave her power to deactivate your credentials.” The older man raised his eyebrows at Mycroft. The British Government sniffled and pulled a face. Greg just chuckled and left the room.

 

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

Greg had just finished cleaning up from dinner when he got a text.

* Is it safe to talk? –AB *

Greg rolled his eyes.

* Yes –GL *

His phone immediately rang and Greg answered.

“How is he?” Anthea didn’t bother with any niceties.

“Let’s see… grumpy, whiney, sneezy and feverish. I’m well, thanks for asking. Yourself?”

“Don’t sass me. I sent three analysts home today with this plague. I’ve had to cancel a dozen meetings, at least, and all of the parties insist on being the first to being rescheduled when he returns.” Anthea was obviously at the end of her rope.

“Hey, sorry.” Greg hastily apologized.

“No, I’m sorry for snapping. I know your day wasn’t easy.”

“Nor my evening. I’ve been to four different Boots today.” Greg grumbled.

“Did he ask for orange juice?”

“Yes.”

“Well that answers that.” Anthea sighed.

“Answers what?”

“He is not going to be well enough to come in tomorrow.”

“He told me he wanted to go in tomorrow.”

“Has he declared he would be dead by morning?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Greg smiled. “Sounds like you’ve been through this before.”

“Brazil 2014. Please keep him home if he’s still feverish. He can be impulsive when he is febrile.” Greg heard typing over the line.

“Is that why you’re able to revoke his credentials?” Greg asked. Anthea huffed, but wisely didn’t respond to the question.

“Thankfully, he doesn’t get sick that often.” She replied. Greg heard footsteps on the stairs and coughing.

“He’s up. I’ve got to go.” Greg hung up as Mycroft entered the kitchen.

“Gregory with whom were you speaking?” Mycroft asked between coughs.

“Anthea. She called to check on you.” Greg leaned back against the kitchen counter.

“Did you tell her I wanted to return to work tomorrow?” Mycroft seated himself at the table and reached for the tissue box.

“Yeah, she nixed that.” Mycroft blew his nose and sighed. “You need something? I thought you were settled in for the night.” Greg started opening cabinets, searching.

Mycroft sniffled. “I haven’t had my sorbet.” He watched Greg. “What are you looking for?”

“Hmm? Oh, a juicer. You have every other kitchen gadget.” Greg moved on to the next bank of cabinets.

“Lower right, bottom shelf.” Greg easily found it after Mycroft’s directions. He pulled it out and started unpacking it. “Gregory?”

“Yeah, love?” Greg was examining the instructions.

“My sorbet?” Mycroft prompted.

Greg looked over at his boyfriend momentarily confused. “Oh, right.” Greg moved to the freezer. “Let’s see lemon, raspberry or mango?”

“Lemon. Mango is disgusting. Not that I could taste it now.” Mycroft added as an after thought. Greg snorted a laugh. He dished up two bowls of the lemon and sat down with Mycroft. Greg brought the juicer instructions with him.

“Are you planning on using the juicer?” The younger man asked.

“If you want orange juice, then, yes.”

“Oh, Gregory.  You are going to make me fresh squeezed orange juice? You spoil me.” Mycroft sounded inordinately pleased.

Greg looked over at his partner, taking in the animated and joyful light in those blue eyes. He had a sinking feeling that Sherlock had tricked him into something, but the look on Mycroft’s face negated any and all irritation that might of followed.

“Anything for you, love.” Greg leaned over and kissed Mycroft’s flushed cheek. “I just want you to feel better.” Greg frowned. “You’re still warm. I would have thought the paracetamol would have brought your temperature down by now. Hang on.” Greg stopped Mycroft from taking a bite of his sorbet. “Before you start on that let’s check another temperature.”

“I don’t know why it matters.” Mycroft complained as Greg went to get the thermometer.

“Humor me.” Greg returned with the thermometer. Mycroft rolled his eyes as he opened his mouth to accept the instrument. Moments later it beeped. Mycroft gasped as Greg removed it and checked the reading.

“I could not breathe at all. I am not doing that again.”

“99.8 F. A little better.” Greg fixed Mycroft with a stern eye. “You’ll do it again if I say so.”

Mycroft scowled and took a bite of sorbet. After a few bites, he pushed the bowl away. “I am unable taste anything.” He snuffled and turned away to cough. It sounded thick and hacking. Greg finished his own sorbet and cleared the bowls.

“Come along love. Back to bed with you.”

Mycroft pushed back from the table, and then paused as his face slackened. Greg, having become all too familiar with the look, grabbed a few tissues and quickly pressed them into his partner’s hand. Mycroft’s breath hitched, eyes squeezed shut and his nostrils flared wide as he pitched forward into the tissues in his hand.

“Hahh…AH’TSCHOO! Hah’ShchOO! Heht’ESCHOO!” The sneezes were violent and tore painfully at Mycroft’s throat. He moaned and slowly sat back up.

“God bless you!” Greg stroked Mycroft’s back and his partner leaned into the touch. Greg moved closer to his dazed lover allowing Mycroft to rest his head against the older man’s side. They stayed that way for a moment, as Mycroft snuffled. “C’mon love,” Greg said finally. Mycroft stood and the couple headed to bed.

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

 

Greg finally crawled into bed after getting the umbrella pajamas in the dryer, fetching a glass of ice water and finding yet another pillow. He was exhausted; it had been an early start to a long day. Mycroft was dozing fitfully, clutching Lord Carassius Auratus, and Greg spooned up against his boyfriend’s warm body.

It felt like he’d only been asleep for a few minutes when he felt himself being shaken awake.

“Gregory? Gregory?” Mycroft’s congested voice broke through the sleep-induced fog in Greg’s brain.

“Wha? What’s wrong My?”

“I can’t breathe and my head hurts, Gregory.” Mycroft whispered urgently.

“Huh?”

“I am unable to breathe.” Mycroft sniffed hard producing a tight, thick snuffle. “It is keeping me awake.”

Greg sat up and shook his head, blinking. “Okay.”

“Help me.”

“What do you need, love?”

“I need to breathe,” Mycroft whined impatiently.

“Of course… right.” The fog was lifting and Greg’s brain cleared. “Do you want a decongestant?” He was grateful the chemist suggested he pick some up when he had to ask for the antihistamines.

“Yes, that should help. Do we have some?”

“Luckily, your boyfriend was thinking ahead.” Greg got out of bed and went to fetch the medication. He returned with not only the decongestant, but also the thermometer and ibuprofen. He figured he would hedge his bets.

Mycroft spotted the thermometer. “No. I am too congested.”

“It takes fifteen seconds.”

“I can not breathe.”

“My, you’re talking. You can breathe. You can hold your breath for fifteen seconds.”

“I want a faster thermometer.”

“Okay, I’ll pick one up in the morning. Right now you take a deep breath, through your mouth.” Greg amended, as Mycroft started to protest. Mycroft huffed and complied. “101.1 F,” Greg announced, as the instrument beeped. “I think we should try the ibuprofen for this.”

“I just want to breathe,” Mycroft whimpered.

“Yes, love, I know,” Greg said soothingly. He opened both packages and gave Mycroft a dose of each. The fretful man washed down the pills with the water at the bedside. “Would you like a cool cloth for your head?”

“That sounds nice.” Mycroft pulled a tissue and tried to blow his nose.  “Why do I bother?” he muttered, when nothing came of it.

Greg chuckled and went to the en suite to get a flannel. Mycroft was lying back against his pile of pillows, eyes closed and his goldfish tucked against him, when Greg returned. The older man sat down on the edge of his partner’s side of the bed. He laid the damp cloth over Mycroft’s forehead and eyes.

“Mmm… That does feel good.” Greg smiled fondly at the younger man and gently stroked the hair out from under the flannel. “How do you know what to do?” Mycroft murmured.

“Oh, years of practice with my girls and Sherlock. And, I admit, I’ve had a little help from our friends.”

“I do not have friends,” came the reply.

“Well, you have me, love.” Greg was still carding his fingers through soft ginger hair.

“I am a lucky man.”

“Yeh, you are.” Greg teased.

Mycroft cracked a smile. “You are incorrigible.” Greg started to hum softly and continued to stroke his darling’s head. Soon Mycroft was snoring and Greg took the flannel back to the bathroom. Sliding back into bed, Greg curled protectively around his boyfriend. 

[SneezyHolmes]

Another simply fantastic update! Brilliant writing as always!

[cally]

4 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

“Here you go, love.” Greg didn’t crack a smile or bat an eyelash. He carefully handed the goldfish pillow over to his partner. Mycroft took the pillow, watching Greg closely. Greg folded the pillowcase and set it on Mycroft’s dresser. “Does it have a name?” he asked casually.

 

 

“Lord Carassius Auratus,” Mycroft murmured as he absently stroked the pillow.

Why do I have a feeling I know what I'm getting for Christmas?

I can't believe that you went back and added this in.  But it's perfect, all the same.  

[Juto]

Omg  sorry I'm late to this party!! 

I gotta say, I'm all for the new headcanon  whiny Mycroft is absolutely adorable and I like that you kept part of his deductive talents but mixed it with a bit of misery and pouting  it absolutely melts my ovaries. And poor Greg getting slight warnings from Sherlock and has no idea what he's gotten himself in to!!!!  

This is already a wonderful and cute story in so many ways. 

[Shamaël]

13 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

the umbrella pajamas

I know you mentioned them before, but... when I pictured the scene I almost choked on my tea...

Anthea is great. Really really great. It must be difficult for her to handle a sick/allergic Mycroft repeatedly... The fact that her boss is now with Greg must be a relief for her!

This headcanon is really interesting, I hope you will go on with it!!! Funny and cute at the same time.

[Masking]

"I haven't had my sorbet." I can hear that in a very sniffy Mycroft voice. And by sniffy, I mean attitude.

Poor Mycroft - well, demanding Mycroft, but I can see why. Colds like that are absolutely miserable. The last time I had one, I nearly destroyed my upper lip and nose, they were so chapped.

[AngelEyes]

Poor Mycroft. And poor Greg. What a trooper. I love it! And Anthea, priceless!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

It has been so much fun to write this.  All the comments are so amazing. 

@2spooky4u Thank you! 

@cally If not for Christmas then maybe for your birthday next year.  

@Ju-OOooo-To Hey better late than never! There is still plenty to come.  

@Aliena H. Yes, the umbrella pajamas have made an impression haven't they? I'm sure I will bring whiny!Mycroft back in other stories, since he has quite the fan club. 

@Masking Well now he only wants what he is due. Sorbet was promised. 

@AngelEyes Greg is a trooper, but a few cracks might start to show...

 

Let's see what the next morning brings, shall we? 

Part 5:

Greg awoke early the next morning feeling clammy and damp. It took him a moment to figure out why. His Lordship had been tossed to the floor as Mycroft found more comfort in his partner. The ailing man had draped himself on the older man’s chest in the night and he was soaked. Greg felt his boyfriend’s cheek, relieved to find it was cool to the touch. Surmising Mycroft’s fever had broken in the night, Greg knew the sheets would need to be changed and they both needed showers.

He lay there trying to decide if he should wake up his ill lover or let sleeping Mycrofts lie. The desire to get out of the puddle in which he was laying was winning when Mycroft started to stir, or at least his nose did. The younger man’s face was turned away from Greg as he lay on the inspector’s chest, but Greg could hear Mycroft’s breathing change. Greg rubbed his bedmate’s shoulder. “Hey, love. Are you awake?” he asked softly.

Mycroft took a breath and sneezed, shuddering against Greg’s chest. He scrambled to sit up and Greg grunted as Mycroft levered himself up. “Heh’etsch… heh’etsch…”

“Bless you.”

“Etsch, etsch, etsch…” Mycroft reached blindly for the tissue box unable to keep his eyes open long enough to locate it. One hand cupped over his nose and mouth, the other scrabbled around the bedside table knocking the water glass over on to the bed.

“I’ll get it.” Greg sat up and snagged the box, dropping it in his partner’s lap.

“Heh’tesch... Etschuh!”

“Bless you again.” Mycroft having pulled a handful of tissues blew his nose long and hard. “Better, love?” Greg asked as Mycroft wiped his nose and hands. Mycroft nodded and opened his mouth to speak. He paused and then twisted away bringing the tissues to his nose.

“Heh’TSCH…tish, tish, tish… Heh’ETSCHUH!” Mycroft groaned hoarsely and gave his nose another firm blow.

            “Bless you, My.”

            The younger man flopped back against his pillows, then sat back up with a look of disgust. He patted the sweaty bedding confused.

            Greg grinned at his partner. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

            “What…” Mycroft stopped. His voice was only a harsh croak and barely as audible as a whisper. He cleared his throat and coughed, bringing up a fair amount of phlegm. Spitting discretely into a tissue, he tried again. “What good news could you possibly have?” His normally smooth voice crackled and squeaked alarmingly. Mycroft frowned and looked for his water glass only to find it upset on the duvet. “Oh for pity’s sake,” he grumbled.

            Greg picked up the glass. “It doesn’t matter. I was going to say the good news is your fever broke in the night. The bad news is we are soaked.” Mycroft plucked at his soggy pajamas and whimpered.  “I know you hate being wet.” Greg sympathized.

            “Yes…” Mycroft halted, rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. When he tried to speak again it was just a squawk. He pounded his fist on the bed and started fumbling with the buttons on his pajama top.

            “In worse news, you’ve lost your voice,” observed Greg.

The younger man gave him an evil glare and shivered as the air cooled on his moist skin. He sniffled as his nose inevitably began to run.

“Let’s see if a hot shower loosens it up.” Greg got up, stripped off his wet nightclothes and donned a robe. He went to the en suite and turned on the shower. Returning to the bedroom he found Mycroft standing shirtless in the middle of the room. Progress halted by what appeared to be a very itchy, tickly, reluctant sneeze (or more likely, thought Greg, sneezes). Face slack, nostrils flared, Mycroft’s gasps were nearly soundless. “Oi! You daft man.” Greg snagged his partner’s robe from its hook on the door and dropped it over his boyfriend’s shoulders. Greg’s actions startled Mycroft and chased the sneezes away.

“Bugger.” Mycroft rasped and scrubbed at his nose with the tissues he had in hand.

“I have no doubt it will be back.” With friends, he added silently. Greg led Mycroft into the en suite. “Hop in the shower. I’ll strip the bedding and get your clean jammies.”

Mycroft tested the water. “Too hot,” he croaked.

“It’s supposed to be hot. The steam will be good for your throat, your chest and your head.” Greg lifted the robe off of Mycroft’s shoulders. “In you go.” Mycroft immediately sneezed six times. “Bless you. See, they came back. Now get in before you catch your death.” Greg winked at Mycroft and gave him a cheeky smile. Thwarted by his laryngitis, Mycroft had to settle for scowling and throwing his used tissues at Greg, who easily dodged them with a chuckle. Before Mycroft could find something more substantial to throw at him, Greg left the bathroom.

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

 

Mycroft hacked and wheezed and snuffled and sneezed as Greg changed the bed. Mycroft’s precious goldfish pillow, having been tossed on the floor during the night, appeared to have avoided being sweated on. When he returned from the laundry room with the umbrella pajamas things were quieter in the en suite. Greg figured he could venture in.

“How are you doing, My?” The water turned off and Greg grabbed a towel as Mycroft opened the shower door.

“Why am I not dead?” grumbled Mycroft as began to dry himself with the towel Greg offered.

“My love kept you alive through the night?” The younger man only coughed in response. “But, hey, your voice is improved.” Greg handed over the pajamas.

“I sound like Harvey Fierstein.”

“But with an English accent, much sexier.”

“You are a nightmare. I am going back to bed,” growled Mycroft.

“What? No protestations about how the world will end without you?” Greg teased as he turned the water back on.

Mycroft snorted, rather effectively, and opened the bathroom door. The relatively cooler air assaulted his sinuses causing him to sneeze unexpectedly. “Hehh’SHUH! Ehsh, ehsh, ehsh, ehsh… Heh’SHUH!

“Bless you. Go tuck up in bed. If you’re good, when I’m done in here, I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

Mycroft sniffled and nodded. He shuffled back to bed, coughing hoarsely.

When Greg emerged from his shower and dressed he found the younger man had fallen back asleep, one hand gripping the tail of his goldfish. Greg tucked the blankets around him and headed downstairs to call his sergeant, squeeze orange juice and make breakfast.

Sgt. Donovan reported having a lead on “the lover” from the case they picked up two days ago. Was it only two days, Greg thought? They had a confession already for the case from yesterday morning. Greg was relieved there was no pressing reason for him to head in to the Yard. He had a feeling Mycroft was going to require a lot of attention today. He promised to be available by phone and email and would come in if absolutely needed.

Next up was orange juice. Greg put the kettle on for tea that he knew would be wanted as well and began making fresh squeezed orange juice. He was grateful Mycroft had a juicer or he could have spent all morning squeezing oranges. As it was he soon had a quart of fresh juice. He was hopeful it would last a day, maybe two.

Greg made himself a bowl of Muesli and logged into his work account with his laptop. He caught up on his email and exchanged a few IMs with his team. He was fixing his second cup of tea, when his phone chimed.

* I believe I was promised breakfast in bed. –MH * Greg smiled.

* Indeed you were. Is there anything you want? –GL*

* Something easy on my throat. –MH *

* Of course –GL *

* Orange juice –MH *

* Already made –GL *

* Tea –MH *

* Naturally –GL *

* With lemon and honey –MH *

* Anything else? –GL *

* No –MH *

It didn’t take long for Greg to put together Mycroft’s breakfast. When he entered the bedroom carrying the tray, the British Government was sitting up in bed texting.

“Here you go, love.” Greg set up the bed tray on Mycroft’s lap. “Who are you texting?” Mycroft cleared his throat. “Now, you know shouldn’t do that. It just makes it worse.”

Mycroft took a sip of the orange juice and grimaced. He set it down quickly and coughed. “That burns,” he croaked.

“Does it? I thought it tasted very sweet when I tried it.”

Mycroft sighed and looked at his plate. He raised his eyebrows and gave Greg a questioning look.

“Yeh, that’s what you think it is, Eggs and Soldiers. If you can handle this, then I might let you handle real soldiers later.” Greg grinned at his terrible joke.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and began to dip his toast soldiers in the gooey egg. Greg’s mobile rang. He looked down at the screen and then at Mycroft.

“You know who this is, don’t you?”

Mycroft studied his plate and shrugged. Shaking his head Greg sat at the end of the bed as he answered the call. He kept his eyes on his partner, who made steady progress on his breakfast.

“Hello, Anthea.”

“I got a text from Mr. Holmes stating he was ready to return to work.”

“Did you, now?” Greg eyed his partner. Mycroft sniffled and continued to eat.

“Well, is he? Because, I’ve got the Home Secretary breathing down my neck.”

“His fever seems to be gone, but I’ve not officially checked his temperature this morning.”

“No predictions of eminent demise?” She asked hopefully.

“No, merely regret he has not passed on.”

“That’s promising.”

 “But he has lost his voice.” Greg responded. Anthea sighed.

“That explains the texting. It was either that or you were in the room.”

“He seems less…”

“Hehh…SHUH… HehSHUH… HehSHUH!” Mycroft managed to catch his sneezes in his napkin. The bed tray jostled and his tea sloshed alarmingly, but stayed in the cup.

“Bless you!” Greg moved off the end of the bed. “Sorry, Anthea. I was going to say ‘less sneezy’, but I think the jury is still out on that.” Greg removed the bed tray from his partner’s lap, as he cradled the phone to his ear.

“Ehsh, ehsh, ehsh… HehhSHCHUH!”

“Bless you.”

“You sound busy.”

“HehschUH! HehschUH! HehschUH!”

“Mm-hmm” Greg was handing tissues to the British Government, who had started to whimper as he wiped his nose with the coarse napkins.

“Call me when you get a temp.” Anthea paused. “Tell him I said ‘Bless you.’” Then the line went dead.

Greg rolled his eyes and muttered, “I’m really glad I don’t work with her everyday.” He looked at Mycroft. “She says, bless you.”

Mycroft smirked a little as he tended his nose with great care.

Greg looked at the tray. “Oh good, you finished your Eggs and Soldiers. Now drink your juice. “ He handed the glass to the younger man. Mycroft refused, shaking his head. “C’mon My. You asked for orange juice and I made you fresh squeezed.” Greg cajoled.

“Burns.” Mycroft rasped.

“You need the fluids and you wanted the vitamin C.” The younger man accepted the glass hesitantly. “It’s only a cup.” Mycroft looked into the glass scowling. Greg waited patiently as his partner took a drink and then gasped and coughed. “Oh now, it isn’t poison.” Mycroft glared at the older man and drank off the rest, clutching his throat. He thrust the glass back a Greg wincing and whining. Greg tried not to smile at his boyfriend’s antics.

“Alright, alright. Have some tea. I put plenty of honey in it.” Greg set the empty juice glass on the tray and offered the teacup. Mycroft took a long drink and then gagged. “What now?”

“Too sweet,” came the hoarse reply.

“No pleasing you this morning.”

Mycroft looked a bit contrite. “The eggs were very good,” he offered, his voice grating. Greg huffed, though he did feel mollified. Mycroft finished the tea, managing only to grimace slightly.

“Thank you, love.” Greg kissed his lover’s forehead. “I’ll make up a fresh cup with less honey.”

 

[cally]

6 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

If not for Christmas then maybe for your birthday next year.  

That's about how long it would take me to thread a needle. 

In Mycroft's defence, orange juice does burn when your throat is sore.  Poor lamb.  And poor Greg, as his day is only just beginning.

 

[Shamaël]

12 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

Progress halted by what appeared to be a very itchy, tickly, reluctant sneeze (or more likely, thought Greg, sneezes).

This is the kind of things I LOVE.

13 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

“No predictions of eminent demise?” She asked hopefully.

“No, merely regret he has not passed on.”

“That’s promising.”

Mwahahahahaha!!!!! I really like Anthea. And I agree with Greg, I wouldn't like to work with her...

13 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said:

“He seems less…”

“Hehh…SHUH… HehSHUH… HehSHUH!” Mycroft managed to catch his sneezes in his napkin. The bed tray jostled and his tea sloshed alarmingly, but stayed in the cup.

“Bless you!” Greg moved off the end of the bed. “Sorry, Anthea. I was going to say ‘less sneezy’, but I think the jury is still out on that.”

At this mooment I just melted.

Thank you!!!