AngelEyes Posted November 2, 2016 Share Posted November 2, 2016 On 10/31/2016 at 9:25 PM, 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.” LOL! That rarely seems to apply! Love it! Link to comment
ichixshiro14 Posted November 2, 2016 Share Posted November 2, 2016 I did wonder what was by the goldfish, but then I was further distracted by sneezy My lol. I am loving this!!! Here's another for you, you've earned it!!! Link to comment
TheCakeIsAlive Posted November 2, 2016 Share Posted November 2, 2016 Poor Mycroft. And well done Greg for putting up with it. This was perfect for a sleepless early morning before a stressful day. Thank you so much! My head is now filled with a poorly British Government. I can absolutely imagine him getting all whiny when ill. Link to comment
Kaze Wo Hiku Posted November 3, 2016 Share Posted November 3, 2016 Oh my god Im with Juto this is my new headcanon for these two!! Whiny demanding Mycroft is the best! The texts he sends oh I feel for Greg "my tea" "my pillow" (His Lordship omg). Seriously loving this scw!! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted November 5, 2016 Author Share Posted November 5, 2016 (edited) Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your wonderful comments. @cally Yes, I agree orange juice does hurt on a sore throat, but he asked for it. @Aliena H. You are right. Anthea deserves more love. I'll have to put that on my list. Or you could. @AngelEyes Thank you. "less sneezy" Never going to happen, my friend. @ichixshiro14 Ah, the goldfish. Well, it is a reference to Mycroft describing the people around him as goldfish and Sherlock saying he would have thought Mycroft would have gotten himself one, so as not to be lonely. I believe season 3, episode 1. I'm so pleased to have earned another exploding emoji. I hope this next installment meets with your approval. @TheCakeIsAlive So glad I was able to put a bright spot in your day. I hope the visions a whiny, ill British Government sustained you throughout the day. @Kaze wo Hiku Hi there! Welcome to the party. Whiny!Mycroft is really fun. I am sure he will turn up again. Edited November 5, 2016 by Sinister Cries + Wails Because the @ thing stopped working in the middle my post. I hate that! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted November 5, 2016 Author Share Posted November 5, 2016 So the morning continues and Greg is beginning to feel a bit frayed around the edges... Part 6: Greg sighed as he poured out the fourth cup of tea he had made Mycroft in the last hour. “Too sweet, not sweet enough, too much lemon, not enough lemon,” muttered Greg. He started to make another cup of tea. If it had been anyone else he might have thrown the last cup at the person. But it was Mycroft and it was very difficult to stay aggravated with him when in the midst of his complaint he would start to sneeze so desperately. He just looked and sounded too pitiful. His nose and upper lip were beginning to look chapped and his voice was hoarse and congested. Greg could feel a snarky comment or a retort forming and then his boyfriend would turn those blue eyes on him. The next thing Greg knew he was saying, “S’alright love.” or “Poor lamb.” The older man sighed; God help him, he was besotted. Greg set the timer on the stove as he started steeping yet another cup of tea. He rolled his eyes when his mobile chimed. * Well? –AB * * Well, what? –GL * * Temperature? I’ve been waiting. –AB * Greg hung his head and took a calming breath. * Right, 98.9 F –GL * * Voice? –AB * * Still an English Harvey Fierstein –GL * * Sexy –AB * * You know, that’s what I said. –GL * * Sarcasm. Sneezing? –AB * * Plenty of it. Need some? Not sarcasm. –GL * * No. Sent home my second and his nibs’ driver called off. –AB * * Sorry –GL * * I’m sending a courier with documents to review. –AB * * I’ll let him know. –GL * The timer went off and Greg strained the tealeaves. He studied the color of the liquid and was satisfied. Okay, he thought, two lemon wedges were too much and one lemon wedge was too little. Greg carefully cut a lemon into sixths rather than eighths and prayed. Next came the honey. Two spoonfuls were too much and one was too little. Greg pondered the teaspoon he had been using and then went looking for a soupspoon. Sending a plea to the Almighty Tea God he stirred the honey and squeezed the lemon wedge into the cup of tea. Greg trudged up the stairs to the bedroom. As he entered the room, Mycroft emerged from the en suite carrying toilet roll. “Are you out of tissues?” Greg asked. Mycroft sniffled, “Yes.” His voice was still rough and creaky. “I’ll get you more, love.” Greg watched Mycroft climb back into bed, coughing. “Here you go. Please tell me I got it right this time.” Greg handed over the tea as Mycroft set down the toilet roll. Not bearing to watch, Greg went about cleaning up all the tissues scattered over the bed and disposed of them in a nearly full waste bin. Greg hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he heard Mycroft make an appreciative noise. “This is perfect,” his partner rasped. “Thank God,” Greg mumbled. “What, dear?” “Oh good.” Greg made a mental note to write down how he made that cuppa. “Anthea wants to send over some documents by courier if you’re up for it.” Mycroft nodded and continued to sip his tea. Greg slipped into the en suite to wash his hands. He checked under the sink, sure enough no tissues. “Heh’schUH! Ehsch, ehsch, ehsch … HuhShUh! HehSCHUH!” “Bless you!” Greg called out from the bathroom. He heard a hoarse curse and hurried out. Mycroft was looking woefully down at his soaked pajama top and ineffectually brushing at the damp spots, his almost empty teacup in the other hand. “Oh, love.” Greg ducked back into the en suite and returned with a towel. Coming to his ailing partner’s side Greg took the teacup and started blotting the spilled tea. Mycroft sniffled and whined, “Of all the ridiculous…” His face suddenly went slack. Greg leaned back as the younger man pitched forward pressing his arm to his nose. “HehShUH! Ehsch, ehsch, ehsch… HehScHUH! HehSCHUUH!” “Bless you, My.” Greg chuckled. “You’re a hot mess.” Mycroft glared over his arm at his sassy partner. “Emphasis on ‘hot’.” The older man grinned. Mycroft gestured toward the toilet roll. “Please,” he mumbled. “Just wipe your nose on your sleeve,” Greg suggested. “It’ll have to be washed anyway.” Mycroft looked horrified by the idea. “It’ll be softer on your poor nose.” Mycroft closed his eyes and hesitantly rubbed his nose along his sleeve. “Atta boy,” Greg encouraged. “You’d think you were never seven.” Mycroft sniffed and slowly lowered his arm with a look of disgust. “Mummy always made sure I had a handkerchief.” Greg snapped his fingers. “So smart your mum.” He got up and went to his partner’s dresser. He pulled out a stack of handkerchiefs and set them on the bedside table. Mycroft snatched one and finished tending his nose. “Do you want to get dressed?” “Well, I am not wearing this,” the British Government huffed looking woefully down at his rather soiled pajamas. Greg pulled the tea stained blanket off the bed. “Strip it off and I’ll put it all in the wash.” Mycroft slowly started to remove his umbrella pajamas. “What My?” Greg correctly read the hesitation as his partner being unsure. “I am uncertain what to wear. I do not want to put on my usual attire.” Greg looked at Mycroft confused. “Why would you put on a suit? You’ve barely made it out of bed in the past two days.” “Gregory, I do not have much in the way of…” Mycroft broke off, coughing. He picked up his nearly empty cup and drank the last of the tea. “Let’s see what we can do.” Greg went to his lover’s closet. “Hmm… Three tuxes, four dark pinstripe suits…” Greg continued to push his way through Mycroft’s double hung closet. “I think I need to take you shopping,” he called from the back of the closet. He returned holding a pair of fawn corduroy trousers. “What about these?” Mycroft pulled a face. “Mummy gave me those to wear in the country.” “I’m thinking it’s these or your running tights.” “Fine.” Mycroft grumbled and cleared his throat. Greg shot him a look. After a bit more negotiation, Mycroft was finally dressed in the corduroy trousers, a blue button down shirt topped with one of Greg’s thick jumpers. The sleeves on the jumper were a little short, but Greg convinced his boyfriend to roll his shirt cuffs over and push the sleeves up. “There.” Greg stepped back to look at the casual version of the British Government he helped create. “Are you comfortable?” Mycroft nodded. “Surprisingly, yes.” He tucked a handkerchief into his trouser pocket. “You look comfortable and kissable.” Greg moved back in to kiss his partner on his lips and then a quick peck on his nose. “Gregory!” came the hoarse cry. “What?” Greg asked as Mycroft pulled away. “Tha-hah-that was most unwi-hih-wise.” Fumbling for his handkerchief, the younger man turned away. “HihShUH! HihShUH! Ehsh, ehsh, ehsh…” “Bless you, love.” “Heh…HehSHUUH! HehSHUUH!” Mycroft sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “Bless. Sorry. I’ll relegate my kisses to your forehead and cheeks for the duration of your cold.” Mycroft sniffed and rubbed his nose with the handkerchief. “Now my throat hurts even worse,” he croaked. “And my nose will not stop it-hih-it-hih… HihSHUH! HihSHUH! Ow!” “Bless you again.” “Heh…HehhSCHUUH! I do not know what you were thi-hih-thinking. HihSHCH! Ehsch, ehsch, ehsch… Heh… HihSCHUUH!” He blew his nose firmly. “Ugh. Now I need another handkerchief.” “Bless you.” Greg reached over and snagged a clean cloth from the stack beside the bed. “I was thinking that I love you.” Greg offered the handkerchief to his irritated partner. “Hmmpff.” Mycroft huffed and took the cloth. Greg offered his arm. “C’mon. Downstairs?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mycroft was still in a strop when they got downstairs. He had sneezed at least a dozen times as they moved from the bedroom and down the stairs. Greg gritted his teeth and blessed his partner as the man complained repeatedly about being kissed on the nose. “Okay. Fine. I’m sorry. I won’t kiss you at all, until you’re recovered.” Greg snapped as they settled Mycroft in the drawing room to await the courier. Mycroft was a bit startled. “You needn’t go to such extremes,” he retorted. Greg rolled his eyes. “I’m going to make you more tea.” “Please and I’ll need more tissues. This box is now empty as well.” Mycroft pulled the last ones from the box and nudged the empty container towards Greg. “Right.” Greg picked up the box and left for the kitchen, leaving Mycroft with his laptop and mobile. As he made more tea (a sixth of a medium lemon and a soupspoon for the honey) Greg contacted his sergeant. * Please tell me we have a case. –GL * * Nope. –SD * * Any breaks on our open cases? –GL * * Nope. –SD * Greg sighed. * Bored or run ragged? –SD * * When is it ever boring with a Holmes? –GL * Greg finished up Mycroft’s tea and found the last box of unopened tissues. The box in the kitchen was half full, so they hadn’t reached critical yet. Greg thought there might be a box in Mycroft’s study as well. He gathered the unopened box and the tea and took them to his partner in the drawing room. “Here you are, love. Anything else I can get you?” Greg set the tea and tissues on the coffee table. “No, I… “ Mycroft ducked his head into the few tissues he still held. “HehTSChuh! TSChuh! …HehTSCHuh!” “Bless you.” Greg sat down and opened the tissue box for his sneezy boyfriend. “HehETchuh! Ehsh, ehsh… Heh…heh’ETSHUUH!” Mycroft tossed the used tissues on the coffee table and grabbed a few fresh ones. He blew his nose and coughed. “Bless you, love.” “Thank you. No, I cannot think of anything. You have been a dear to put up with me, Gregory.” Mycroft smiled softly at the older man and gazed at him with wide eyes. Greg found himself saying, “It’s no trouble, My, really.” For the moment he had forgotten the laundry piling up, the umpteen cups of tea, the interrupted sleep, the multiple trips to the store. “You can’t think of anything?” He rested his hand on the ailing man’s back and began to rub small circles. “Well… Perhaps…” “What is it My?” Greg was amused. He suspected Mycroft knew exactly what he wanted. “I was hoping you could see your way to making Shepherd’s Pie.” “Ah.” “With ground beef and lamb and your marvelous mashed potatoes.” “Hmm…” Greg was mentally going through the pantry cataloguing what ingredients he had on hand and the ones he would need to obtain. “I am sure it would help my throat.” Mycroft coughed slightly. “Are you?” “Along with some of those petit fours from that lovely bakery in…” Mycroft broke off coughing harshly. With every intake of breath the coughing would flare leaving him short of breath. Greg rubbed his partner’s back and murmured sympathetic sweet nothings. The younger man was red in the face and panting by the end of the fit. Greg handed him the tea and Mycroft took a fortifying drink. He was still barely able to croak out a thank you his throat was so irritated. He took another handful of tissues to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. “Would you like some cough syrup?” Greg asked worriedly. “Yes, please,” Mycroft managed to choke out between soft little hacks. Greg leaned in and pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s temple. “I’ll be right back.” He moved off the sofa. Mycroft smirked. “You said you were not going to kiss me until I was well.” Greg shrugged. “I can’t help it. You’re irresistible when you’re full up with cold.” Link to comment
Shamaël Posted November 5, 2016 Share Posted November 5, 2016 Yes, Anthea is amazing. Well, you have to be amazing to work with a Holmes. 20 minutes ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Too sweet, not sweet enough, too much lemon, not enough lemon,” muttered Greg. He started to make another cup of tea. If it had been anyone else he might have thrown the last cup at the person. But it was Mycroft and it was very difficult to stay aggravated with him when in the midst of his complaint he would start to sneeze so desperately. So, so, so true. 22 minutes ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Just wipe your nose on your sleeve,” Greg suggested. “It’ll have to be washed anyway.” Mycroft looked horrified by the idea. “It’ll be softer on your poor nose.” Mycroft closed his eyes and hesitantly rubbed his nose along his sleeve. Oh my God, HE DID IT!!! I don't believe it, but I like it. 23 minutes ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Tha-hah-that was most unwi-hih-wise.” On the contraty, Mycroft. You have no idea. 24 minutes ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: * Bored or run ragged? –SD * * When is it ever boring with a Holmes? –GL * Sally, you should know better!!! To sum up, it was a really great update! Link to comment
cally Posted November 5, 2016 Share Posted November 5, 2016 I've read this over so many times I think I can pick out what you've added in. Oh the poor lamb. I'm sure Greg will never live down kissing Mycroft on his poor, beleaguered nose. I do understand about the running out of tissues. It's a rough life when you're unwell. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted November 5, 2016 Share Posted November 5, 2016 The trials of the perfect tea. Oh dear. 9 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: The older man sighed; God help him, he was besotted. Awwww. (Also I love the word besotted) 9 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: Mycroft was looking woefully down at his soaked pajama top and ineffectually brushing at the damp spots, his almost empty teacup in the other hand. Oh, poor dear. 9 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Bless you, My.” Greg chuckled. “You’re a hot mess.” Mycroft glared over his arm at his sassy partner. “Emphasis on ‘hot’.” The older man grinned. Indeed! 9 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: * When is it ever boring with a Holmes? –GL * Definitely never! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted November 9, 2016 Author Share Posted November 9, 2016 Thank you @Aliena H., @cally and @AngelEyes! Your comments are well appreciated. On November 5, 2016 at 10:10 AM, Aliena H. said: On November 5, 2016 at 9:45 AM, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Just wipe your nose on your sleeve,” Greg suggested. “It’ll have to be washed anyway.” Mycroft looked horrified by the idea. “It’ll be softer on your poor nose.” Mycroft closed his eyes and hesitantly rubbed his nose along his sleeve. Oh my God, HE DID IT!!! I don't believe it, but I like it. See that little bit and the rest up to Greg getting the handkerchiefs, it just wrote itself in my head. I could hardly believe it myself. On November 5, 2016 at 0:54 PM, cally said: I've read this over so many times I think I can pick out what you've added in. Aww... See if you can pick out what I added in this last installment. On November 5, 2016 at 7:15 PM, AngelEyes said: On November 5, 2016 at 9:45 AM, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Bless you, My.” Greg chuckled. “You’re a hot mess.” Mycroft glared over his arm at his sassy partner. “Emphasis on ‘hot’.” The older man grinned. Indeed! Oh yes indeedy! Okay, this is the last installment. I am so pleased by how well received this piece was. Thank you to everyone who has read and commented. I'm sure whiny!Mycroft will show up in my drabble thread so be sure to check there from time to time. If you haven't commented and enjoyed it, it's not too late. Part 7: Having dosed Mycroft up with every appropriate medication on hand, Greg left him in the drawing room to go sort out the supplies for Shepherd’s Pie. Ground lamb, ground beef, potatoes, carrots, peas, tissues and a faster thermometer topped the list. Mycroft had whined mightily again about the slowness of their current thermometer when he had his temperature taken before the last round of medication. Greg wanted to make sure the British Government didn’t have a fever before he let the man at his work. No way he was going to be responsible for an international incident. As he added honey and lemons to the list the buzzer sounded. “I’ll get it,” he called, unnecessarily, as he went to the door. A young man in a dark suit holding a briefcase was on the other side. “Hello Harold. Those the papers for Mycroft?” “Yes, these are the documents for Mr. Holmes.” Harold responded stiffly. Greg held out his hand for the briefcase. “Ta mate, I’ll take them to him.” “I am sorry, but I will need to give this directly to Mr. Holmes and wait for his reply.” Greg sighed. “Really? What? Is it handcuffed to your wrist?” “Yes.” Harold answered humorlessly. “Fine.” Greg ushered the young man in. “This way.” Greg led him down the hallway to the drawing room where Mycroft was ensconced. From the other side of the door coughing could be heard. “Just a moment,” Greg slipped inside. Mycroft looked up as he closed his laptop. His complexion was pale and his freckles stood out. The skin around his eyes was bruised and the combination gave his face an almost wasted appearance. The bright redness of his long nose saved him from looking completely skeletal. “Yes, Gregory?” he croaked. “Harold’s here.” “Well, did he give you the documents?” “No, they are in a case cuffed to him.” Mycroft shook his head. “I should have known.” He looked down at his attire. “I will at least need to change my clothes.” “Whatever for?” Greg saw this coming. He was going to need to be at his most persuasive and reassuring. “I will not be seen like this, in country clothes and …” “You look fine.” Mycroft gave Greg an incredulous look. “For someone with a bad cold working from home.” Greg amended. “But I did not think I would have to see anyone from the office.” Mycroft sounded vaguely panicked. “That is why I stayed home.” Greg thought he could hear a quaver in Mycroft’s roughened voice. Was his darling really that worried about being seen less than his most presentable? Greg went to sit next to his boyfriend. “No one expects you to look perfect or sound perfect all the time and least of all when you are ill.” Mycroft did not appear convinced. Greg tried a different tack. “Anthea sent Harold. Would she send anyone who she wasn’t absolutely sure would be appropriately discreet?” “No.” Mycroft answered slowly. “I promise to kick his arse from here to New Zealand if he says anything or even looks funny at you.” Mycroft’s mouth twitched at the corners. “I’d like to see you try. He is well trained in hand to hand combat and several weapons.” “Yes, well, I’d be fighting for your honor, I think I’d have an edge.” Greg replied stoutly. Mycroft chuckled briefly before scrambling for tissues as his nose betrayed him. “Hih’SHuhh, hih’shhuh, hih’zCHuh… Hih’TSCHUH!” “Bless you.” Mycroft blew his nose and sighed. “You might as well send him in.” “I thought I’d go to the shops while he’s here. That okay?” “Yes, yes.” Mycroft shooed Greg away and began to open his laptop. Greg went back to the hallway and to Harold. The courier had been leaning against the wall and righted when Greg emerged. Greg studied the young man closely. “You do understand he is not well?” Harold looked puzzled. “I mean he is not looking his best.” Harold continued to look confused. “I am afraid I don’t take your meaning. I know he is ill. That is why I brought these documents here.” Greg heard the British Government sneeze and then blow his nose. He looked the courier in the eye. “I mean if I hear any remarks from you or second hand, I will have your head on a platter,” he said cheerfully. Harold stiffened. The look he was getting from the Detective Inspector was not to be trifled with. “I understand perfectly.” Greg relaxed a bit. “Now, a few tips for you. First, he is quite hoarse. Try to not to let him talk too much. Second, he’s rather peevish. If you can avoid irritating him, do so. And, third, please, bless him if he sneezes. (When, Greg mentally amended.) It annoys him if you don’t.” Harold nodded. “Yes, sir.” Greg smiled. “Good.” He clapped the courier on the shoulder. “Since you’re sticking around for a bit, I’m going to run some errands. Tea things are laid out in the kitchen. Use one sixth of a lemon and a soupspoon of honey.” With that Greg opened the door to the drawing room. “Master Harold and his briefcase to see you,” he intoned. Mycroft glanced up from his laptop. He had put on his reading glasses, Greg noted. Smiling at his cheeky partner, he replied, “Thank you, Gregory. That will be all.” Greg winked at Mycroft as Harold entered, and closed the door behind them. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When Greg returned he found Harold sitting in the kitchen, the case attached to his wrist was on the table. He looked up from his mobile as Greg entered the room. For his part Greg was a bit surprised the courier was still present. “Hello. I thought you would’ve left when Mycroft was finished.” “I might have except as we finished Mr. Holmes complained of a headache. You nominally left me in charge, so I didn’t want to leave without reporting back to you.” Greg chuckled, “I guess I did rope you into ‘baby sitting’. Thank you for staying. Did he take anything for the headache?” Harold stood and picked up the case. “No, I offered to get what he needed, but Mr. Holmes refused.” “Stubborn.” Harold hummed in agreement. Greg ushered him out thanking him again. Greg peeked in the drawing room. The lights were off and curtains drawn. Mycroft looked to be asleep, or at least resting, on the couch. The older man slipped away to put away the shopping. He made a strong cup of tea and fetched ibuprofen and decongestant tabs. “My, love?” Greg spoke softly as he entered the room. Mycroft whined but didn’t move. “Harold said you have a headache.” Another whimper came from the sofa. “Do you want something?” “I want it to go away.” The younger man rasped and then coughed sharply. “Of course you do,” Greg said soothingly. “I want it to go away too.” He moved toward the couch and sat on the edge. “C’mon, sit up. I’ve got tea and medication.” “Oh, thank God. Harold couldn’t make tea to save Queen and country.” Mycroft slowly raised himself up. His hair mussed on one side. Greg smiled. “At least I know I’m good for something.” He handed over the tea to his boyfriend and then the tablets. Mycroft blew across the teacup before taking the tablets. He returned the tea to his caregiver. “You don’t want any more?” Mycroft shook his head slightly. “Not now, my stomach is upset.” He coughed, turning his head away, and groaned. Greg set the cup on the coffee table. “C’mere, love.” He pulled on the ill man’s shoulders. Mycroft resisted. “No, I need huh to sne hih sneeze. Heh…Heh’ETSHuh! ETSHuh! EhSHuh! …Heh’TSCHuh!“ His face had crumpled in pain behind his hands. “Bless you.” Greg pushed the tissues toward the ailing man. “Buh-huh-bugger. Huh’TSCH! Heh’TSCH! …Heh’TSCHUH!” He whimpered. “Bless you, again.” Greg rubbed small circles on Mycroft’s back. The tissues piled up on the table as his boyfriend blew his nose multiple times. “Apologies,” he mumbled behind a wad of tissues. His eyes squeezed shut as he was hit with another round of sneezing. “Hih’zSHuh, hih’shhch, hih’schch, hih’shchch…Heh’TSHuh!” “Bless,” Greg replied simply, then observed. “Better out than in.” Mycroft sighed heavily and continued to tend to his nose. Greg eyed the growing mass of tissues on the table. “If this is you with a cold, I’d hate to see you with a sinus infection.” “Dear Lord, perish the thought,” muttered the younger man as he tossed a final tissue into the mountain. He leaned back against the couch cushion, eyes closed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Greg studied his partner and laid his hand on Mycroft’s forehead. “You don’t feel feverish, do you?” “No. The coughing and sneezing is making my head ache and spin. I feel nauseated from it and the drainage.” “Try a little more tea.” Mycroft obediently took a few more sips before setting the beverage aside. “Now lay your head here.” Greg patted his lap. His boyfriend shifted on the sofa to lay his head where indicated and drew his legs up onto the furniture. Greg began to tenderly and slowly massage the younger man’s scalp and temples. He ran his fingers through Mycroft’s soft hair. “That feels good.” Mycroft said softly and after a moment, “Will you sing to me?” “What?” “Last night when you did this you were humming. What was it?” “Oh.” Greg thought for a few seconds. “Calico Skies.” “Sing it.” Mycroft insisted quietly. His eyes locked on Greg’s eyes. Greg rolled his eyes. “It will just make your head hurt even more.” “No, it will not.” “I don’t remember all the words.” “Hum then and sing the parts you know.” “It’s not my key.” “Please.” Greg heaved a sigh and began to hum. Mycroft smiled slightly and closed his eyes. Greg continued to card his fingers through his demanding lover’s hair. When he got to the chorus he attempted to sing the words that he knew, voice cracking at the high note. “I’ll hold you for as long as you like.” “I’ll hold you for the rest of my life.”* He resumed humming and Mycroft rolled onto his side, burying his face in Greg’s belly. A long arm snaked around the singing man holding him tight and a contented sigh warmed Greg’s skin through his shirt. Looking fondly at the man cuddled in his lap, Greg thought he wouldn’t mind being held for the rest of My’s life. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Mycroft! Are you ready?” Greg called up the stairs. “I am coming.” Mycroft appeared on the steps in his usual attire and met Greg at the door. “Cripes, My. It’s a bit of shopping not a state funereal.” Greg commented. “I am well aware Gregory.” Mycroft paused and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He stood with the cloth held to his face as the hazy expression morphed into a grimace. “Heh’Tschoo, hih’tish, tish, tish… Heh’TSCHOO!” “Bless you.” “For pity’s sake, I can not believe I am still sniffling and sneezing ten days later and you have had nary a cough.” Mycroft grumbled around the cloth. “Oi, I had a sore throat for a day.” Greg protested cheerily. “So you say.” Mycroft wiped his nose and refolded his handkerchief. “I sneezed three times at work two days ago.” Greg offered. “Oh, well then, bless you.” The younger man snapped with exaggerated irritation. “Meanwhile, I have had this cold since 1978.”1 He stopped the process of putting away the handkerchief and raised it again. “Hih’zSCHOO! Hih’tSCHOO! …Heh’TCHOO!” Blowing his nose vigorously, Mycroft was able to clear his sinuses a bit. “I think I am composed of almost ninety percent mucus,”2 he griped, as he set aside the spent cloth. Greg chuckled unfazed by his partner’s petulant tone, having heard plenty of it the last week and a half, and pulled the man into a brief, affectionate hug. “Bless you, love. We don’t have to go shopping if you aren’t up for it.” “No.” Mycroft sniffed and checked his pocket confirming he had another handkerchief. “You need ties and a suit that does not offend the eyes.” “And you need something to wear on off days that doesn’t look like you’re heading to a wake.” Greg retorted eyeing Mycroft’s somber suit, as his boyfriend tucked his handkerchief away. “I thought you liked my suits.” “I do. I’d like you in tight blue jeans too, but I don’t think that is going to happen.” “Ah, no,” the proper gentleman confirmed as he opened the door. “There go my fantasies right out the door.” The older man bemoaned as Mycroft indeed walked out the door. “Perhaps a compromise,” the younger man suggested as his partner followed him. “Oh?” Greg questioned hopefully. “What are you thinking? A tight blue suit?” FIN *Calico Skies, by Paul McCartney 1,2 I couldn’t help it. I had to paraphrase Mark’s recent comments about his cold from his tweet on November 1, 2016. They were too apropos. Link to comment
cally Posted November 9, 2016 Share Posted November 9, 2016 I'm very sad that this has come to an end. As I've been reading it for such a long time (before it was even posted) I'm just a bit sad for it. 16 minutes ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: Aww... See if you can pick out what I added in this last installment. Of course I can! 16 minutes ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “I do. I’d like you in tight blue jeans too, but I don’t think that is going to happen.” Doesn't Mycroft know he can get bespoke denim? Or at the very least high end designer denim? 16 minutes ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Oh?” Greg questioned hopefully. “What are you thinking? A tight blue suit?” I see what you did there. And I loved the use of the footnotes and Mark's tweet references. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted November 9, 2016 Share Posted November 9, 2016 3 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Now, a few tips for you. First, he is quite hoarse. Try to not to let him talk too much. Second, he’s rather peevish. If you can avoid irritating him, do so. And, third, please, bless him if he sneezes. (When, Greg mentally amended.) It annoys him if you don’t.” Hihihihihi, this lightens my day. hanks, really, because I've been reading and watching informations all day long and THIS is just what I needed to cheer up! 3 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Meanwhile, I have had this cold since 1978.”1 He stopped the process of putting away the handkerchief and raised it again. “Hih’zSCHOO! Hih’tSCHOO! …Heh’TCHOO!” Blowing his nose vigorously, Mycroft was able to clear his sinuses a bit. “I think I am composed of almost ninety percent mucus,”2 he griped, as he set aside the spent cloth. Ooohhh Mark! The whole story was really cute and well done. The characterization worked perfectly (now I can't get off my mind the "how can it be only 2 o'clock" from S3E3) and if you go on with this in your drabble thread, I'll be really, really pleased to read it! Thank you! Link to comment
Kaze Wo Hiku Posted November 9, 2016 Share Posted November 9, 2016 4 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Meanwhile, I have had this cold since 1978. 4 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “I think I am composed of almost ninety percent mucus, AHHHHHHH I squealed!!!!! Seriously I just ADORED this I'll take more of the whining British Government ANY day of the week Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted November 9, 2016 Share Posted November 9, 2016 5 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: Greg sighed. “Really? What? Is it handcuffed to your wrist?” “Yes.” Harold answered humorlessly. LOL! 5 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “I want it to go away.” The younger man rasped and then coughed sharply. Poor baby. 5 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “I do. I’d like you in tight blue jeans too, but I don’t think that is going to happen.” “Ah, no,” the proper gentleman confirmed as he opened the door. Bummer. 5 hours ago, Sinister Cries + Wails said: “Meanwhile, I have had this cold since 1978.”1 He stopped the process of putting away the handkerchief and raised it again. “Hih’zSCHOO! Hih’tSCHOO! …Heh’TCHOO!” Blowing his nose vigorously, Mycroft was able to clear his sinuses a bit. “I think I am composed of almost ninety percent mucus,”2 he griped, as he set aside the spent cloth. Poor Mycroft and poor Mark! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted November 18, 2016 Author Share Posted November 18, 2016 I am really flattered and thrilled how many of you enjoyed this. Thank you everyone who read and more thanks to everyone who commented. I'm particularly happy people enjoyed my incorporation of RL into the last bit. @cally I'm sad too that this has come to an end. I guess I'll just have to come up with another story with whiny!Mycroft, in his Blue Suit of Sex. @Aliena H. Thank you. I am glad this helped brighten your day. Posting this story helped brighten my day. I will certainly try to incorporate whiny!Mycroft stories in my drabble thread. @Kaze wo Hiku I'll be sure to let you know if I post more whiny!Mycroft in the future. @AngelEyes Thank you for all your comments and support. They mean so much to me. Link to comment
Juto Posted November 18, 2016 Share Posted November 18, 2016 SO YAY I FINISHED (which should be "oh no" because it was sooooo sweeeeet!!!!!). No honestly, you should definitely return to this headcanon later in your fanfiction-writing career because it was adorable and original and at the same time it had your signature Mycroft and Gregory hidden between the lines. What I love about ANYTHING you write is your incredible attention to the details. The umbrella PJ's = brilliant. You mixing your fiction with RL Mark Gatiss tweets = UTTERLY brilliant. As always, your sneezy and miserable Mycroft is a fetishy delight, but I honestly come here for your writing, not the fetish content. Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted November 20, 2016 Author Share Posted November 20, 2016 On November 18, 2016 at 4:31 PM, Ju-OOooo-To said: As always, your sneezy and miserable Mycroft is a fetishy delight, but I honestly come here for your writing, not the fetish content. Aw Juto, thank you! Link to comment
frolicking periwinkle Posted October 4, 2017 Share Posted October 4, 2017 On 11/5/2016 at 9:45 AM, Slithery Creepy Wyrm said: “Okay. Fine. I’m sorry. I won’t kiss you at all, until you’re recovered.” Greg snapped as they settled Mycroft in the drawing room to await the courier. Love this! Also loved the sideways apology Link to comment
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