Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Hey everyone! Here's another chapter for you – this one is a bit different. I wanted to try and do something from Sherlock's childhood and I came up with this idea. Hope you enjoy and as always, thanks for all the encouragement! Oh, and the answer to the challenge from the last chapter is posted at the bottom =)

Sherlock was lost in a fevered dream. This entire occurrence was like reliving a nightmare that had actually happened.


Sherlock was nine years old and was an enthusiastic youth, full of questions. He had already begun observing, but not yet at the point where it drove people mad. The boys at school thought it was neat how Sherlock could tell them all sorts of things without having been told them. It was a sort of magic trick, a novelty that didn't wear out, one Sherlock loved being at the center of.

He was spending his holiday at a boys' summer camp. It would have been any boys' dream come true except for one tiny detail: Mycroft, at sixteen, was senior staff. Not his counsellor, but at the same camp and that was enough to drive Sherlock up the wall. He firmly believed he didn't need his brother staying with him anymore. Mycroft had tried to pass off his summer position as a ploy to ease their mothers' worries of her son going away but Sherlock knew better. Mycroft, he was convinced, did it just to annoy him. Mycroft didn't even like being out of doors. He much preferred the academic setting, in a dark, cool library with a thick textbook.

It was the middle of July and the campers had spent a lazy afternoon floating down the nearby river in tubes. It had been good fun, the boys splashing and laughing. They had returned to a warm dinner and were all sleeping before the lights were out, skipping the usual jokes in the dark. The next morning, Sherlock woke up feeling groggy but quickly passed it off as being slightly tired. He had been at camp for almost a month now and was busy all day, running around and playing. Although he had adapted to the routine, yesterday's events had been out of the ordinary. A little tiredness was to be expected.

However, by the supper, Sherlock felt awful. He forced down as much food as he could, which wasn't a lot considering it was his favourite meal, and then asked to be excused from the dining hall. His counsellor had been sympathetic and told him to go lie down on his bunk for awhile. Sherlock has retreated to the cabin, which smelled strongly of pine, and kicked off his shoes, not bothering to straighten them. He curled up on his bed, pulling the blanket up around his chin, and fell asleep.

The next thing Sherlock knew, it was early morning. He sat up slowly, feeling stiff and grimy from sleeping in his clothes. A pale sunlight was streaming through the windows and all around him were boys, asleep in their beds. Sherlock laid down again, surprised that he still felt tired. He had slept for several hours, many more than he normal and yet he still felt ill.

After what felt like just minutes later, the alarm went off in the cabin and boys started getting out of bed, pulling clothes from suitcases and making their beds. Their counsellor, a boy a little younger than Mycroft named Rick, came to check on him. He sat on the bed next to Sherlock.

"How are you feeling?" Rick asked. "We didn't want to wake you up last night."

"I'm fine." Sherlock said, a sense of stubbornness already well developed at that age.

"You look kinda pale." Rick observed. "And your cheeks are flushed. I think you'd better get dressed and go see the nurse."

"Do I have to?" Sherlock said, on the verge of whining. Rick stood up.

"Yes."

Sherlock got dressed slowly, and without bothering to make his bed, told Rick where he was going and walked across the camp. Normally, any time he left a building, he'd keep an eye out for Mycroft but he knew that at this hour, Mycroft would be in the shower so he took his time. He climbed the steps of the nurses' cabin and opened the screen door. An elderly woman peered from behind a wall when she heard the hinges squeak.

"I'll be with you in a minute, dear." she said, her voice kind and motherly. She scurried out and Sherlock was face to face with a rather plump, nice looking woman. Her name tag said Cora. Cora took one look at Sherlock and clucked her tongue.

"Oh my," she said, leading Sherlock around the corner and sitting him down on the bed. "I can see that you're not in tip-top shape this morning. Why don't you lie down?"

Sherlock had barely let his head touch the pillow before the woman was leaning over him with a thermometer.

"Tsk, tsk." she said, removing the device a few moments later. "You've got a fever. When did you start feeling ill?"

"Last night." Sherlock answered.

"Before or after supper?"

"Before."

"And how's your appetite? Did you eat supper last night? Are you hungry now?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"I ate a little bit at supper last night, though."

"Have you been drinking water?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"I'm going to give you some paracetamol to help with the fever and I want you to stay here for a while so I can keep an eye on you."

Sherlock was feeling too sick to even complain. He knew it would do no good so he merely swallowed the pills Cora gave to him and closed his eyes. He woke up when he heard the screen door squeak. He opened his eyes lazily but he couldn't see anyone. He heard Cora speaking softly with a boy – staff member undoubtedly, due to the deeper tone of his voice. The hinges squeaked again and Sherlock noticed that less than five minutes later, the door opened again and this time, Rick came into Sherlock's eye line.

"Cora told me you're having a rough go." Rick said sympathetically. Sherlock merely nodded.

"I brought you a change of clothes." Rick held up a bag, containing Sherlock's pyjama pants and a fresh t-shirt. Sherlock mumbled his thanks as Rick stood up to leave. Cora told him to change and he slid in between the freshly laundered sheets, breathing in the smell of lemon-fresh detergent. A breakfast tray was brought a little later, and ignored, as Sherlock drifted off to sleep.

The next time Sherlock woke up, he knew exactly who had come through the door. He closed his eyes, trying in vain to fall back asleep before his visitor rounded the corner.

"I know you're not asleep." a voice said. "You can open your eyes."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he saw Mycroft standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked. "Don't you have something to do?"

"Not anymore. I spoke with the camp director and she said I could take the day off to look after you."

"Cora's looking after me."

"Cora doesn't know what you're like when you're ill."

"Mycroft, I'm not in the mood. Just go away."

Mycroft sighed.

"Sherlock, you need to stay hydrated. What's your temperature at?"

Mycroft moved towards the bed, pulling the thermometer from the cup on the bedside table.

"Ask Cora." Sherlock said, pulling the sheet just below his nose.

"Sherlock, please stop being difficult." Mycroft said in a very annoying tone of voice. "It will just take a moment. Just think of what Mother would say if I told her you were behaving like this."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Mycroft had pulled the parent card early in the day, a sign that the day was going to be impossibly long. However, he did not want their mother to get involved so with eyes shooting fire at his older brother, he lowered the sheet.

"Thank you." Mycroft said, placing the thermometer in Sherlock's mouth. While waiting, Mycroft laid a heavy hand on Sherlock's brow and then his cheek, Sherlock flinching away under his touch.

"Oh dear, Sherlock." Mycroft sighed, reading the thermometer. "You're burning up."

He put the thermometer on the table again and went into the small bathroom attached to the nurses' cabin. He returned with a folded cloth, which he attempted to place on Sherlock's forehead.

"For goodness sake, Sherlock. It'll help you feel better." Mycroft exclaimed as he blocked Sherlock's hand from reaching up and removing it.

"No, it won't." Sherlock said indignantly. "It won't do anything but annoy me and keep me awake. Please just go away and let me sleep."

Mycroft sighed again and forced it onto Sherlock's brow.

"Leave it there." Mycroft said in an authoritative voice. "I'll be back in a few minutes and I expect it to be there."

Mycroft left the cabin, letting the screen door slam behind him. The moment his brother was out of the cabin, Sherlock flung the cloth onto the floor and turned onto his side. Mycroft came in and leaned over him, picking up the cloth from the floor.

"Sherlock, what did I tell you?"

"Leave me alone, Mycroft." Sherlock said, almost in a moan. His head hurt and Mycroft's voice seemed to amplify the pressure behind his eyes exponentially.


"Leave me alone, Mycroft." Sherlock moaned in his sleep. John heard it from the living room and entered his friend's bedroom.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?"

"Mycroft, go away." Sherlock was tossing violently in his sleep. "Leave me alone, I can take care of myself."

John leaned over Sherlock, seeing his face was covered with beads of sweat.

"Goodness, Sherlock." John said. He found the compress in the covers and re-wet it in the bathroom before coming back. He sat on the edge of the bed and began sponging Sherlock's face firmly, trying to lower the fever.

"Sherlock, calm down." John said, trying to sound soothing as Sherlock continued to thrash around his covers.

"What's happening?" Sherlock's eyes flew open unexpectedly, his breathing hard. His eyes searched around frantically before landing on John.

"What's going on?"

John sighed.

"You're ill, Sherlock. Quite ill and you, well, I think you were dreaming."

"What was I saying?"

"Something about Mycroft leaving you alone. What happened?"

Sherlock's breathing had calmed down a bit and his eyes were searching the ceiling.

"Mycroft and I were at a summer camp together. I was nine and I had a touch of heat exhaustion. Nothing drastic, just a bit of fever and after a day of rest, I was fine but Mycroft wouldn't leave me alone. He stood watch over me the entire time I was in the nurses' cabin. It was annoying."

John smiled.

"I'm sure it was. Can you sit up for me a bit?"

John left the room and returned with a glass of orange juice. Sherlock had shimmied up in his bed and accepted the glass from the doctor. He drank it slowly, using the last gulp to swallow more antibiotics.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" John asked as Sherlock lay down again. Sherlock mumbled something John interpreted as no. Turning the light off, he left the room as Sherlock fell into a deep sleep once again.

So what do you think? This was inspired by two different things … first, the line from Scandal in Belgravia, "I'll be Mother", and second, this actually happened to me this summer at the camp I was working at. We took the kids tubing down the river and virtually all of the girls in my cabin, myself included, got heat exhaustion. A rather miserable couple of days … it was so bad my cabin was re-named the Infirmary.

Also, I have the answers to the challenge from the last chapter. There were six little connections hidden in it:

1) "I am on fire!" is a line from The Great Game.

2) Frankenstein is a reference to one of Benedict's role in the theatre.

3) Mrs. Hudson's clashing afghan, received as a Christmas present, was a tie to the Christmas sweater in the Hound of Baskervilles, although I had a reviewer suggest that it was related to how Connie Prince taught Mrs. Hudson how to match her colours.

4/5) Ladder and Comic Book, both references to cases we hear about in the episodes.

6) 39.4 was the temperature Benedict was running when he was first diagnosed with pneumonia. Also, I had a reviewer mention that Benedict said he "slept and slept and slept" when ill, which is another tie to Benedict's illness.

Anyways. Reviews always appreciated =)