It was very early on a Sunday morning and Mycroft Holmes was worried. This was not terribly unusual, as Mycroft had quite a few things about which to worry. Arab uprisings. Incipient revolutions in Africa. New political alignments in the third world. Whether Prince Harry can keep his clothes on this weekend, at least on camera. But the main thing he worried about was his younger brother Sherlock.

Mycroft had been keeping an eye on his sibling for most of his adult life, and all of his childhood. Sherlock was almost as intelligent as Mycroft, but his disposition was entirely different. He did not have his brother's ability to center himself, to retreat from his thoughts, to disengage. Consequently, when he was unoccupied, he became too easily bored, and this boredom often led to trouble. Bullet holes in the wall kind of trouble. And, much worse, drugs. Sherlock had sworn all that was a thing of the past, but lately Mycroft had become suspicious once again. There were no overt, obvious signs, but something was definitely off about Sherlock.

John Watson was just rising that morning when his mobile rang

"Dr. Watson, I would like to discuss my brother, if you have a moment to spare."

"Sure, Mycroft, what's up?"

"Have you noticed any change in his behavior, John? His attitude?"

"Well, perhaps, now that you mention it. He has seemed a little…"

"Content?"

"Perhaps, and maybe…"

"Cheerful?"

"Maybe…"

"Mellow?"

"What are you getting at, Mycroft?"

"Would you have ever thought to have used any of these words in describing my brother at any time in the past?"

"Well…"

"Of course not, John! And this worries me profoundly. Mrs Hudson has informed me that he spends many evenings away from his flat. There have been multiple visits from one Billy Wiggins. Do you know him?"

"Yes. Mary and I made his acquaintance when we went looking for a neighbor in a …"

"Drug den. Yes, I know. And you found Sherlock there as well! I am concerned, and I propose an intervention as soon as possible. This very day, if we can arrange it!"

"If you think it's really necessary, Mycroft, but I have my doubts. Maybe he's just happy."

"Happy, John? You have met my brother, haven't you?"

"Point taken. What do you want me to do?"

"Mrs Hudson will call me as soon as he arrives home from his latest night on the prowl, and we will beard the dragon in his den, so to speak. So much easier than getting him to St. Bart's, don't you agree?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"I shall get in touch with Inspector Lestrade, as a friend, not a policeman. After all, Sherlock thought highly enough of him to play dead for two years to save his life, as well as yours and Mrs. Hudson's. Would you be so kind as to call Dr. Hooper and arrange for her to meet us there with testing supplies?"

"Do we really need to involve Molly? She was so hurt, and angry, the last time…"

"Exactly! My brother thinks very highly of Dr. Hooper. He respects her. And he needs access to her lab for his work. He won't want to risk that. And I hear see packs a mean wallop!"

"Fine, fine. I'll call her. Give me a call when you want us to descend on Baker Street."

"Thank you, John. I greatly appreciate your help. And your concern."

Molly Hooper disentangled herself from the man in her bed, and, not wishing to wake him, took the call from John Watson in her sitting room.

"Molly, Mycroft has some concerns about Sherlock's behavior."

"What concerns, John"

"Look, Molly, I don't want to upset you, but Mycroft thinks he may be using again…"

"No, John! He promised me!"

"But you must admit there have been some changes in his behavior, his attitude…"

"What are you talking about?"

"You must have noticed that he has been considerably less… er...'Sherlocky' of late."

"Yes, maybe. But have you noticed any physical signs, John?"

"Nooooo…. but maybe it's early days. Maybe we've caught it early?"

Molly sighed a heavy sigh, and finally said, "What do you need me to do, John?"

John Watson hated to ask her. He hated the thought she would have to witness the evidence of Sherlock's downfall. She had loved the man for years, and had trusted him with her life on more than a few occasions. He did not want to be there to see that faith weakened, but he knew that her presence would be an added impetus for Sherlock to address his drug issues once again. "We need to have Sherlock Holmes pee in a cup. Again. Can you get some testing materials from your lab, and meet me at our place? Mycroft will call as soon as Sherlock returns from his travels."

"Sure, John, just let me get dressed, and, uh, take care of something. I'll see you soon." Molly ended the call, and went back to her room to tell the man, still sleeping in her bed, that it was time for him to leave.

It wasn't long before Mycroft Holmes heard from Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock had returned to his flat, looking a bit grumpy and quite tired. He was currently in the shower, as she could hear the water running upstairs. Mycroft called his troops, and they all headed to Baker Street.

Sherlock was sitting in his customary chair when his brother arrived. Although Mycroft usually visited during the week, the detective did not seem considerably nonplussed by the Sunday morning social call.

"Ah, Mycroft, good morning. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Sherlock, I hardly think you will find this a pleasure when everyone else arrives."

"Everyone else? Are you throwing a party, brother? What's the occasion?" Sherlock asked as Greg Lestrade entered. "Ah, Graham, I didn't realize you actually knew that Sunday morning existed! Have an early Saturday night for a change?"

"This better go good, Mycroft. Or bad. I don't want it to be bad news, but I hate the thought of getting dragged out off bed for nothing." The DI spoke in a grumpy voice.

"Don't worry, Gavin. Mycroft's parties never last very long. I'm sure the young blond woman will still be there when you return to bed!"

"How did you…? Never mind! Of course you knew, you git!" Having said that, Lestrade slumped down on the couch and glared at the detective, who, unconcerned, smiled in return.

"Are we waiting for something, brother? Or someone else, perhaps?" Sherlock leaned back in his chair, threw a leg over the arm, and whistled.

"Are you attempting to imitate a tea kettle, Sherlock?"

"No, I'm just whistling. Been getting back in practice. I used to be quite good as a child, remember? I could whistle the minute waltz in 56 seconds flat…"

"Sherlock, are you high?"

Just as this question escaped his lips, Mycroft heard the rest of the intervention party enter the flat. Sherlock winked at them.

"Do I seem high, Mycroft?"

"You seem different."

"How so, brother?"

"You smile too much, Sherlock. It's very disconcerting. And you offered me tea the last time I visited…"

"You always have tea when you visit, Mycroft…"

"But you actually made it yourself, instead of bellowing for Mrs. Hudson! You bought fairy cakes, Sherlock! Fairy cakes! With not a single joke…"

"Perhaps I was being polite. Being a good host…"

"You are not polite, brother. And you are an abominable host! You once served John a cup of coffee which you had been using for an experiment on tooth enamel discoloration…"

"It was an excellent blend, Mycroft!"

"You forgot to remove the teeth, brother. You had to perform the Heimlich maneuver lest he choke on them!"

Molly Hooper and Mary Watson giggled, while John shook his head at the memory, and Greg muttered, "I could use some coffee about now. Hold the teeth, though."

"You haven't answered my question, brother. Are you high?"

"I am not, Mycroft." Sherlock snickered a reply. "Perhaps I am high on life! Haven't you ever heard the term?"

"Really, Sherlock, I wasn't born yesterday…"

"That, dear brother, is made patently obvious by your receding hairline and the tell tale wrinkles on your forehead."

"Believe me when I say, Sherlock, that a goodly portion of that hair loss and wrinkling is due to you!"

Sherlock actually sounded somewhat sincere when he replied, "I know that, Mycroft, and I have come to regret any concern that I may have caused you through the years…"

"You see what I mean?" Mycroft addressed everyone in the room. "Does that sound like Sherlock Holmes? I think not!" He then turned back to the consulting detective. "And what the bloody hell is with all the smiling? You haven't smiled this much in years! Not since your teens, about the time you discovered drugs and women!"

Now everyone's ears perked up. While the entire audience was absolutely certain that Sherlock Holmes had, indeed, discovered drug, to his everlasting detriment, there were several of them who had never been entirely sure that he had discovered women!

"Please, brother, you know that there are people in this room who harbor the impression that I am a virgin. You don't want to spoil the illusion!"

Mycroft Holmes, the "Ice Man" of some repute, looked like he was about to lose his cool. He took a deep breath to compose himself, but was interrupted by his younger brother before he could continue. "Bring on the cup, Mycroft. I can only assume that you want me to pee in one, after all!"

Mycroft glanced in Molly Hooper's direction, and his brother followed his gaze. "Ah, Dr. Hooper, no need to look so concerned. I assure you that you will not be required to assault my face yet again! The last time was quite enough for one lifetime."

Mrs. Hudson had just now appeared with a tea service. "Have I missed anything?"

John Watson was the one to answer her. "Well, it appears that Sherlock Holmes is not gay, not a virgin, can whistle like an expert, cares for his brother, despite all evidence to the contrary, and is high on life. He is also about to pee in a cup. Hopefully, only life will turn up in said cup!"

"Oh, well, at least I didn't miss the grand finale!" the elderly woman said as she started to serve tea.

The detective accepted the cup from a visibly blushing Molly, and headed toward the bathroom, stopping before he got there. "Would anyone like to accompany me? Or am I to be allowed privacy?"

Lestrade rose from his seat. "I'll go with him. If he tries anything I'll throw the cuffs on him."

"That could make it very difficult to hit the cup, Gareth. I'm not sure my aim is that precise!"

Lestrade rolled his eyes, and followed him into the bathroom. A few moments later, they returned, and Sherlock presented the cup to Dr. Hooper with a great flourish. "Ah, Molly, I wish it could have been something better…"

Molly once again giggled as she set to work on the urine sample. There was silence for a moment or two as she completed the test. "He's clean!"

"Of course I am. I just showered!" Sherlock made an inane joke, and smiled as if it were the funniest thing in the world. All tension in the room vanished immediately, as the people who cared about him most in the world heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. Their worry gone, each slowly made an exit, to return to their usual Sunday morning routine.

"Well, I'm going back to bed," Greg murmured as he made a bolt for it.

"My regards to the blonde!" John shouted at his back.

Mary was soon rushing her husband to the door, explaining that they had left their infant with a babysitter, promising to return as soon as possible.

Mycroft was still sitting on the couch when Sherlock made his way over to sit next to him. "I'm very relieved, brother. And very happy."

"So am I, Mycroft. You're just not used to seeing me that way." Sherlock looked him in the eyes. "I know that I have not been the easiest person to care for. And I that you do care. I appreciate it, and will try not to cause your further concern."

"What do I tell Mummy, Sherlock? She is concerned. She said it was very unlike you to actually phone her, and inquire about her health. She now believes she is dying. Or you are."

"What a bastard I must be when my own mother thinks I would have to be dying before I would call her! I'd send her flowers to apologize, but that may push her over the edge!" Sherlock laughed, and Mycroft joined in.

"I shall explain all. But now that you have set a precedent, you will have to continue to call her, or she will think you have expired!"

The brothers may have been tempted to actually hug, but this temptation was promptly overcome, and they settled on a handshake as Mycroft left, taking his leave of Dr. Molly Hooper as she packed up her testing supplies.

Sherlock joined her as soon as he heard his brother shut the downstairs door.

"We shall have to tell them eventually, Sherlock. We can't have them believing them you've returned to your addiction, after all…"

"What shall I tell them? That I've traded one addiction for another, Molly? One that doesn't show up in a urine sample?" Sherlock snickered a bit as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "You really should have given me a heads up this morning, though. That was sneaky."

"I wanted to get the point across about what a git you can be, Sherlock. People actually think you have to be high to be nice! Way to go!"

"Point taken. But I am finding it a bit more difficult to be short-tempered. Or difficult. Or mean…"

"Not to worry, love. You've still got your arrogance, ego, and downright disdain working for you!"

"Now, about my addiction," he pulled Molly in closer as he whispered in her ear. "I definitely think I'm in need of a fix. Right now!"

And Molly giggled quite loudly as he practically dragged her off toward the bedroom.