THUD!

Greg let his head fall against his desk, moaning. "I blody hate bein' sick," he rasps, his throat scratchy and raw from his coughing. He tried to sniff again but no air could pass through his swollen sinuses. "AUGH!" he yelled, slamming his fist into his desktop, causing his pencil holder to clatter.

"Boss?" Donovan's voice inquired from the doorway to Greg's office.

"WOT?" Greg snapped, lifting his head to glare.

Donovan shook her head. "Just go home, Greg. You are gonna get the rest of us sick." She shrugged. "Plus, we can handle anything else."

Greg sat back and took a tissue to his nose and tried to blow. Again, no air passed so he just ended up popping his ears, grimacing. He looked up to Donovan, sheepishly. "Are ya sure?"

She nodded and walked away, closing the door. Greg sighed a gurgly sigh and pulled out his mobile.

"Mych," Greg tried when Mycroft answered. "Can you combe pich me up fromb work?

"Are you alright, Gregory? You sound congested."

"Yeh, no, I'mb berfectly okay."

Mycroft sighed. "There's no need to be sarcastic. It was a simple inquiry."

Greg ran his free hand through his hair. "Yeh, I know, I'mb sorry. I'mb just sorely congested..."

There was an audible sigh and a light chuckle from the other line. "Would you like me to pick you up for work?"

Greg tried to laugh but it almost immediately turned into a coughing fit. That was answer enough for Mycroft. "I will be there shortly," and he hung up.

Greg locked his phone and put his head back down. His temples had started to throb after that hacking episode and now he just had one more thing to endure.

The sleek black Jag pulls up to the curb in front of the Yard and Mycroft steps out into the rain, his umbrella immediately going up to shield the gentleman from the downpour. He instructed the driver to park close by and wait for his call.

Walking into the building, he made a beeline to the lift and stabbed the button with the tip of his umbrella. Mycroft strode into the office space with his head up and shoulders back, his trust umbrella unfurled but unopened in his hand. The space went completely silent and a few of the younger members compulsively stood up straighter, at attention. Former soldiers, from the way they held themselves and their cropped haircuts. He could see their right hands itching to salute. He loved it when they saluted him. It was not necessarily warranted but his air of command was quite powerful, so the urge was quite natural.

Standing outside Greg's office was Donovan, arms crossed over her chest. "Here to take him home?"

"Naturally," Mycroft smiled somewhat genuinely. "He is terribly ill and has requested my attention."

Stepping aside, Donovan cracked open the door for Mycroft, who dismissed her with a nod.

Greg was nowhere to be seen. "Gregory, dear?"

"On the floor," came the reply form behind the desk. Mycroft peeked around and found his partner lying face up on the carpet, suit jacket bundled under his head and a box of tissues just in reach of his left hand. Greg cracked his eye open and grinned blearily at the Holmes in front of him. "Hullo, love."

Mycroft laughed. "For what reason are you on the floor?" He offered his hand and knelt to help Greg to sitting.

Stretching his arms over his head, Greg groaned loudly, the fluid in his throat crackling with the effort. "Stretches out by back. I can breive betta."

"You look dreadful," Mycroft needlessly observed. Greg's eyes shifted to glare.

"Thank yaAACCHHEHH!" Greg sneezed into the crook of his elbow. His face felt as if it had been pushed outwards. "Aauuhhh dammit!" He hated sneezing when he already had so much pressure in his face because it just added to it. He glowered sadly at Mycroft. "Please. Take mbe hombe."

Mycroft sympathetically smiled and helped Greg to his feet, the older man swaying slightly. Greg slipped on his coat, leaving his jacket crumpled on the floor. It would stay there for a few days but he didn't care. He had a cold to recover from.

"Lemon?" Greg made a face and tried handing the steaming teacup Mycroft had handed him back but Mycroft just gently pushed it back towards the sick man's face.

"Drink it, Gregory," Mycroft commanded simply. He was not going to put up with 'no' for an answer. He sat down in the armchair facing the couch and stared at the defiant grey-haired man.

Greg just glared at the cup in his hand, cringing. He was more a coffee person, favouring the bitter brew to the lighter alternative. Glancing up, he noticed Mycroft's insistent staring and sighed, a small round of coughing accompanying it. He raised the small cup to his mouth and gingerly took a sip. The sweetness of the honey and bit of sugar hit his tongue first, coating it in sweetness before the tartness of the lemon mixed in, making it taste like warm lemonade. Greg's eyes widened in pleasant surprise and he took another sip.

"I hate to say I tol-" Mycroft started.

"Oiii, shut it," Greg interrupted, taking another long sip from his cup. The hot tea steamed in his face, clearing a bit of the congestion in his sinuses. The honey soothed his sore throat, making the urge to cough disappear.

"Don't drink it too fast, dear. Savour it," Mycroft shook his head and smiled at Greg. The man had coughed the entire ride home. Mycroft did his best to calm him but there wasn't much he could do aside from holding him. "Any better?"

Greg nodded, his eyelids getting heavy. He was exhausted, from the constant coughing and just being sick. It drained him. His head drooped a bit but shot back up when he noticed. Mycroft was smirking at him the second time it happened. "Wot?" Greg sniffled.

"Shall we go to bed, then?" Mycroft asked, getting up and offering Greg his hand. Greg just nodded and took it, letting the taller man help him stand. They made their way to the bedroom. Greg just flopped face down on top of the duvet, not caring about getting underneath at the moment. The smell of the fabric softener was barely scented but it was a good sign, him being able to smell it at all. Greg felt Mycroft trying to roll him over but he was just so tired.

"I need to get you in your pyjamas, Gregory."

Greg groaned and swung his feet back off of the bed and lifted his arms over his head. Mycroft unbuttoned the first three buttons at the top, untucked it from Greg's trousers and pulled it over the sick man's head. Greg's arms flopped to his sides as Mycroft unbuckled his belt and unfastened the button on Greg's trousers. He eased Greg to stand and let he trousers fall, leaving Greg standing there in just his pants. Mycroft gently pushed Greg back down after moving the duvet and sheets to the side. He covered Greg up, who'd instantly fallen asleep. "I love you, my dear," Mycroft murmured into Greg's ear before kissing the slumbering man's forehead. Greg just smiled a bit and turned over.