The medical examination was tedious and invasive. Holmes pursed his lips, arms held out as the doctor looked him over, commenting on his weight (it had been a while since he'd had anything proper to eat anyway) and the healing puncture wounds in his arms. The consistent use of drugs probably should have disqualified him on its own, but it was clear that the military was beginning to care less and less about what shape their soldiers were in when they came in. It was difficult to keep up high standards when the war was raging on.

After going through the examination and being approved, he was sent to have his measurements taken. Holmes bit back whatever snide remarks brewed up with his irritation, pushing on through the necessary arrangement until he was finally allowed to go home for the day. He had four days to back out of his enlistment if he so chose to. Instead, he used the time to make his own arrangement.

When he told Mycroft of his plans, he was pleased by brief look of utter shock he caught on the elder's face. "The military? Really Sherlock, that seems a mite… drastic, don't you think? Honestly, you and your tantrums-"

"It is not a tantrum, brother." Holmes sipped his tea, lifting an eyebrow. "If you will not loan me the money I need to start my work, then I will gain it through my own means."

"By getting yourself shot?" Mycroft released a soft snort. "Honestly, I could easily acquire you a position here; the pay is infinitely better and-"

"And get myself tangled up in the government? Ha!" Standing, the younger of the two set his cup aside. "The moment I start using my mind as you do, they will decide I simply cannot leave. No, Mycroft, I will stay true to my decision." He turned on his heel and started out the door, pausing only long enough to glance back and ask, "My belongings… I can trust you to hold them for me until I return?"

"If you return," Mycroft corrected, and for a moment, Holmes was almost sure he spotted a glimmer of true concern in his eyes. He lifted an eyebrow and the older sighed, waving a hand. "Yes, yes. I'm sure I can find a place for it."

Nodding his head, Sherlock took a step out the door before he was stopped.

"Sherlock."

Looking back again, he bit back a laugh, seeing his brother putting no small amount of effort into standing from his seat. "Please, do not strain yourself on my account."

Mycroft sent him a wry look before approaching him. He looked his younger brother over and nodded his head to himself, as if coming to a decision. A large hand came to rest on Sherlock's shoulder and he looked up warily.

"Take care of yourself, Sherlock."

"I…" he blinked slowly and nodded his head. "I will."

They parted awkwardly, neither accustomed to the warm interactions between most brothers. Holmes left quickly, heading to his tiny flat. He had to pack up his belongings before he left for training, knowing he would not have time afterward.

Soon, he would go to war.