When Mycroft Holmes heard of his brother's leg injury, he trekked back home immediately.

"No need to be worried, just took a fall down the stairs. His poor leg is broken though, the dear…"

Mycroft barely registered what she was saying. Although he hated to admit it, Sherlock sick or hurt caused him great anxiety. After all it was his brother.

"It would be helpful if you could come home. He's a little lonely." Mrs. Holmes hinted lightly.

Mycroft pursed his lips. "I'm on my way, Mother."

"Mycroft, thank God!" Sherlock was lounging on his bed, broken leg elevated on a couple pillows. A pair of crutches earned up against the bedframe.

"Brother mine, how are you?" Mycroft crooned in a mocking tone. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I've been better. The snapping of one's tibia hurts a great deal more than one would think."

"Are you on medication?"

"No. I haven't been taking them."

"Sherlock."

"Paracetamol? Really?" The younger Holmes' brother shrugged. "I doubt it would improve my condition. Ahh!" He winced as Mycroft sat on his bed.

"Sorry." He apologised dryly and gave Sherlock a sympathetic smile.

"Dear God, Mycroft, what have you been dining on at uni?"

"I'll force you to take your meds if you don't watch it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Like you could actually get me to take my—"

"Oh, Mother!" Mycroft called in a sing-song voice. "Sherlock is in great need of some—"

"Orange juice!" Sherlock announced, smiling pleasantly as his mum entered the room.

"Orange juice?"

"Yes please, Mummy." Sherlock could be such an angel when he wanted to be.

"Back in a jiffy!"

"See, I told you." Mycroft patted his brother's arm and got up.

"Ahhh! Jesus, Mycroft!" Sherlock yelped. The slightest movements caused his little brother pain and Mycroft could barely stand it. Come to think of it, Sherlock was looking rather pasty and his normally bouncy hair was plastered to his sweating forehead.

"Right, sorry."

"Juice!" Mrs. Holmes called, poking her head into the room. Mycroft took the glass from her and expertly added a few painkillers into the citrus juice while their mum fussed over the youngest.

"Drink up, Sherlock." Mycroft advised, handing him the glass of orange juice, a barely noticeable twinkle in his eye.

AN - Okay, don't kill me. I know that drabble was particularly short, so I'll try to make up for it in the next chapter! Special thanks to the guest (I will include your request; thanks!) and DarylDixon'sgirl1985 who reviewed. Much appreciated guys, you have no idea. Requests for this one are now closed unfortunately, but if you have requests for another story, feel free to contact me!