Fever

ailing

Gregory woke up, and he didn't know what happened. Outside it was still pitch dark, and the alarm clock hadn't rung either, after all it was Saturday and he was off duty.
And he heard panting and wheezing beside him. Immediately afterwards a cough.
His hand felt for the bedside lamp. As the subtle light lit up the bedroom a little, he saw that Mycroft was not in good condition.
He was covered in sweat. His hair clung to his skin. His nose seemed blocked, or at least he sniffed as if he couldn't breathe.
"Lord dear," Greg said startled and carefully touched his friend's forehead.
"Good heavens, Myke, you're burning up."

Myke next to him didn't notice. But he was trembling.
Gregory swung his legs out of bed.
He went into the kitchen to get a bottle of water. He looked to see if there were any of those pills that John had prescribed for him a few weeks ago. No, he'd emptied the box. Well, maybe it was better not to go play doctor on his own anyway.
There were still lozenges for his throat, cold ointment and tea.
He took a blanket from the living room and brought the water and the blanket to Myke. He was still asleep, but he rolled restlessly back and forth, coughing and sneezing in his sleep.

Greg began to worry. That didn't look good. Myke felt hot and seemed to be freezing at the same time.
He put the blanket over him and put the water on the bedside table. Then he went back and prepared a thermos of herbal tea. Put some honey in it and went back to the bedroom. What time was it? Five thirty.
Greg set his alarm for 8:00, then he was going to call John. Eight o'clock was a decent time, and the doctor would certainly be awake, or at least responsive.

He tried to sleep again. But he couldn't. He worried too much about the obviously sick man at his side. A few weeks ago, he had been taking such loving care of him, Greg. Greg smiled. If it weren't for his cold, they probably still wouldn't have gotten together.
Well, it seamed Myke had gotten it himself.
Well, he could give him all that loving care back now.
He was dozing a little bit.
The next time he looked at the clock, it was a quarter past seven.
Anyway, he thought John wasn't going to tear my head off. So he picked up his cell phone and dialed the doctor's number.

It rang.
"Watson," his good friend's sleepy voice came out of the phone.
"Hello, John. Sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, Greg. Sherlock kicked me out of bed about an hour ago because he was ... Oh, you don't want to know."
Greg smiled. No, he probably didn't, actually.
"Greg, what can I do for you... Sherlock! No! Stop it! Give me back my phone. Give me my phone back"
"Greg heard Sherlock's voice on his phone. "Have you finally slept with my brother yet?"
"Sherlock..."
Greg heard noises like a scuffle.
Finally, John was back on the phone.
"I'm sorry, Greg. Sherlock just took my phone. but I'm sure he'll live to regret it."
There's a giggle in the background.
A "Well, I hope so, dear Doctor..."
"Sherlock!" John shouted, but he didn't sound very mad.
Greg was smiling. Those two.

"So, Greg, why are you calling me at this time of day? Has something happened?"
"Well," Greg said, slightly embarrassed, even though John and Sherlock now knew that he and Myke...
"Mycroft's with me. And it looks like he's caught it now. He's all sweaty and coughing and sneezing and, most importantly, he seems to have a pretty high fever. Can you please come and check on him?"
John was in doctor mode immediately.
"If he's asleep, let him sleep. If he wakes up, make sure he drinks enough. Keep him warm, but not too warm. I still have to shower and get dressed. I'll be with you in an hour."
"Thanks, John."

Greg was checking on Mycroft. He was still asleep.
Warm but not too warm, John had said. So he took the second blanket off again.
And that was when Mycroft awoke. His eyelids fluttered and then he looked at Greg with glassy eyes.
"Gregory," he croaked.
"Shhh..." Greg did.
"It seems, Myke, you are now lovesick." He smiled.
Mycroft tried to smile back. It ended in a coughing fit.
Greg held him down until he could breathe again.
"Thirsty," Myke moaned.
Greg nodded.
He poured a glass of water. He helped Mycroft to sit up and held it out to him. He drank a few sips.
"Thank you."

"John will be here soon," Gregory said.
"He will look after you, and if he prescribes anything, I will go to the drugstore and get it for you."
Mycroft shook his head.
"My driver can bring it," he croaked.
"Your driver?"
Greg didn't understand.
"If... ...he comes for me... give me my phone, please, so I can..."
Now Greg understood.
"That's not gonna happen. You are not going to cruise trough half of London in this condition. As long as you're in that state, you're staying with me. I'll take care of you. Do you understand?"

Mycroft looked at him with a warm look.
"You'll do this for me?
"Of course I do. When I tell you I love you, I don't just mean the sunshine. Then that's part of it, too. Besides, I wouldn't have a moment's peace. I worry about you when you're not feeling well, you know?"
Mycroft let himself sink back into the pillow.
"Thank you," he croaked.

Yes, Gregory was a stroke of luck.