Dead Nerve (BBC Sherlock, Mycroft + Sherlock)

[fatima]

Still a part of Blood and Water, a masterlist of which is contained here.

Title: Dead Nerve
Characters: Mycroft, Sherlock
Rating: G
Summary: Dentists are not therapists.
Note: Beta read and Britpicked by the lovely krazykoodles, as usual.

Update. –M

Beep.
Mr. Solas is en route. ETA: 70 minutes. –A

Reschedule him for 1430. –M

Beep beep.
Ouch. Complications? –A

That would be the surgical term for it. –M

"You're just like Sherlock, my old boy," the bespectacled man in white said mildly while preparing the syringe. "Never a moment's rest with those texts."

Mycroft arched both eyebrows but did not protest, mainly because he already couldn't feel the left half of his mouth. He generally saved his sarcasm for people who didn't drill holes in his bones with very expensive and very sharp instruments.

"Three. Two. One. Deep breath."

Then it was the needle. Mycroft frowned and tried to focus on the pictures and plaques on the office desk. Dr. James Kincaid, British Society of Periodontology Outstanding Member of the Year from 1993 onwards, with a British Indian daughter-in-law named Dimple plus two grandsons with actual dimples. The man had always been personally pleasant ever since Father walked him into this office nearly thirty years ago, yet Mycroft never grew comfortable around him. It could have had something to do with the fact that he intensely disliked the feeling of being on the other side of the magnifier.

"So how is Sherlock, by the way? I haven't seen him in quite a while. Wasn't in the office for his last two cleanings."

Difficult. Mycroft typed on his phone without looking and waved the screen in front of the doctor, who nodded in apparent sympathy. Mycroft wondered if the gesture was for the procedure or for having Sherlock in his life. Dentists made terrible therapists, not that he had any use for the latter.

"Ah, that I know," said Kincaid as the third shot went in with an unmatched precision, one which made him the Holmes family dentist for the past three decades. "My front desk tends to take the day off when he has an appointment. But Sherlock's a good boy, I'm sure it'll all work out in the end—I remember how he always made a big fuss whenever you had a procedure, waiting for you right outside the door and all. Gina said it was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen."

He certainly did not grimace at that, but the good doctor stopped all the same.

"Everything okay, Mycroft?"

Mycroft relaxed his hold over the chair rest and nodded with his eyes. He really had nothing to worry about. The nerves in that tooth were already dead, or he would have been in this chair a lot sooner. These were phantom pains, past and future.

Fin

Comments

[snowlight.livejournal.com]

Ooops, thanks so much. I total had a brain barf this morning. -_-