In my headcanon, Anthea was raised by her Jewish grandmother who immigrated from Germany to Italy, which is why Anthea is fluent in Yiddish. Yiddish is the traditional German dialect of the Ashkenazi Jews, and I don't know as Ashkenazi-Italian Jews still use Yiddish phrases. Sorry if this caused any confusion.

Also, Flambards is an old BBC Period Drama and is FANTASTIC. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it.

"I am not sick."

"So you've said, but your temperature says otherwise," Anthea said, hands on her hips. "You look ridiculous, you can't even stand upright, and you've missed four buttons on your waistcoat. Your braces aren't hooked properly, and you're not even wearing matching socks!"

"But I am dressed," Mycroft insisted, pulling out a kerchief to wipe his nose which was red as a cherry.

"That's a matter of opinion," she took his briefcase from his hand and set it down. "Upstairs, now. I've already informed your office that you're taking a sick-day."

"I don't take sick-days!" he protested weakly, trying to resist as she tugged him upstairs.

"You do when your temperature is over one-hundred. Come on. Your sister in-law sent over some of Mrs. Hudson's chicken and dumpling soup, I've got your hot water bottle all ready and waiting. I'll even snuggle with you. We'll watch period dramas and eat biscuits."

"I want tea," he sniffled irritably.

"There will be tea," she promised, gently guiding him to the bench at the end of their bed. In a few moments, she had him out of his suit and button-down. Easing him into his pyjamas, she pressed a kiss to his warm forehead. "You're cute when you're sick, Bubeleh."

"Told you not to call me that," he groused, clumsily falling into bed. She gave his bottom a pat before he rolled over and she threw the blanket back over him.

"Why not? I like calling you 'Bubeleh'."

"Sentiment," he grumbled.

"Hmm, with a good deal of truth to it."

"Depends on which meaning you are referring to," he answered tiredly.

"Right now, the second, because babies pout."

"I am hardly pouting!" he sat up and then groaned, his head swimming and he sank back onto the pillows.

"Most of the time, I am most definitely referring to the first definition," she smiled, and kissed his cheek. "Today is special though." She eased herself onto the mattress, curling up.

"You could do some work," he suggested quietly.

"I could, but you'd want to work as well," she said, grabbing the remote and queuing up Netflix. "What first? Flambards or Pride & Prejudice?"

"Which one doesn't have Colin Firth?" she laughed and selected the first series.

"Anything for you today Bubeleh." She caught the tiniest of smiles beginning to form and she gave a triumphant shout.

"That doesn't mean I like it."

"Of course not, Bubeleh, now shush, watch the show."

Mycroft felt himself drifting off to sleep as the theme-music for the old series began to play, Anthea humming along as she rifled through the tea-tray Mrs. Danvers had brought up for them. He'd never say it out loud, but he supposed Anthea's favorite nickname for him was not as insipid or ridiculous as he once thought it to be. Not that he'd ever say so.