After the life-threatening symptoms had abated, Sherlock was released early after making his nurses cry and the rest of the staff to throw their hands up in frustration. He would be going to Mycroft's until he was stronger and could return to 221B.

Trying to refuse the wheelchair, Sherlock agreed only after a raised eyebrow from his brother who had come to pick him up. "Get into the wheelchair, little brother."

Huffing, "I can walk," he stood, shaking off Mycroft's offered hands, but quickly almost fell from his bedside into the chair hissing in pain. As he righted himself while getting the pain under control, he saw the grin on Mycroft's face. "Not funny. I'm in the chair, aren't I?"

"Yes, you managed to get yourself into the chair, however, if you had accepted my help it would've caused much less pain," Mycroft chuckled causing his brother to glare at him. "Let's get you into the car and home to bed."

"Hoping for a little fun in bed?"

"I was in the room when t the doctor's informed you about sexual activity," Mycroft reminded him.

"But I'm not tired," the detective insisted.

"Then maybe we could eat before you rest," Mycroft suggested receiving another glare causing him to chuckle again. "Let's just get you home."

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft's house as they pulled in. "I want to sit downstairs for a while. I'm so tired of laying in beds."

After allowing Mycroft to help him into the house, Sherlock sipped the tea that Cook had brought in along with a plate of his favorite biscuits that Mrs. Hudson had dropped by specifically for him.

"That's not really what I had it mind when I suggested eating," Mycroft said as Sherlock grabbed a four biscuit.

"I'm eating aren't I," Sherlock place the fourth one into his mouth while Mycroft shook his head and grinned. Then after sitting in silence for a bit before Sherlock asked, "Mycie, about John."

Mycroft sighed. He knew this was coming but had hoped that Sherlock would be stronger before they had to discuss this. "Yes?"

"I want to go back to Baker Street," the detective began. Seeing his brother's disapproving face, he quickly added. "Not until I'm able to get my strength back. But I want John to be there too."

Trying to discourage him, Mycroft argued, "Sherlock, he savagely beat you for the third time. He was vicious with both his comments and fists. You aren't safe around him."

"I know, but he was drunk and upset. I triggered him with my smart mouth."

That was all Mycroft could take. "I never want to hear you say that again. Yes, you can be frustrating and disturbing, but never, and I do mean never, does that give anyone the right to do what he did to you or caused you to do to yourself. You know how I feel about you living with him, but I will accept your decision. But let me tell you now, if he ever lays another hand on you, he will disappear, permanently."

"But…"

"No buts about it. You're not responsible for his actions, he is." Mycroft was red in the face with anger. "I never want to hear you blame yourself for his behavior. I hate when you are hurt by criminals, but your 'best friend' will never abuse you again, Sherlock."

The outburst lapsed into silence. A few minutes later, Sherlock spoke up. "Can you help me to bed, Mikey? I'm getting uncomfortable and tired."

Getting up, Mycroft helped his brother up the stairs. Once in the room, Sherlock sat and changed his clothing with a little help. Then allowed his brother to help him under the covers. After tucking him in, Mycroft turned to leave.

Sherlock grabbed his hand, "Stay with me?"

Mycroft rushed to remove his clothes down to his vest and pants. Sliding into bed, he carefully allowed Sherlock to make the first move. It wasn't long before the detective was wrapping himself around his brother. He briefly hissed when his rib touched Mycroft.

"I missed you little brother and was so afraid I lost you forever."

"I missed you too, Mikey," Sherlock whispered into his brother's chest before raising his head.

Hesitantly Mycroft gently kissed his brother's lips but as he pulled away, Sherlock reached around to turn it into a demanding one. When they came up for air, Mycroft smiled, "Now that's what I really missed."

"I'm sorry that I made you worry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. However, you were very immovable at times when you get an idea about something." Teasing, Mycroft gave him another breathtaking kiss until he heard Sherlock's moan of pain. Pulling back, his eyes asked what was wrong.

"Seems my ribs don't like me pressing against you," Sherlock explained but was interrupted by his stomach growling. "Shh, you." He ordered, but it growled again. "Damn transport."

"Seems like your transport wishes to eat. You stay there, and I'll ask Cook to make us dinner and bring it up."

"I'm not…."

"Don't even say it. Your stomach says differently, and I tend to believe it over you. So, relax until I come back." Mycroft headed to the door, "And no getting out of bed."

A grin from the detective contradicted his decoration of, "Not hungry."

Cook already had dinner prepared per Anthea instructions and was bringing it up the stairs when Mycroft met her. Thanking her, he continued carrying it up.

"What did you do? Fly it in," Sherlock complained when he saw the tray. "I'm not eating all of that."

"It's for both of us. Cook went out of her way to make all the foods you like so don't insult her by not eating it," Mycroft climbed back into bed and leaned against the pillows Sherlock had propped for him.

Looking at his brother, Mycroft smiled. "Open up, here comes the airplane," as he brought a spoonful of soup toward Sherlock's mouth.

"Oh, give me that," the detective snapped. "I am perfectly capable of feeding myself." And to prove it, he ate more than half of his soup then began on his Cottage Pie. Although he wanted to stop, the food was so good he kept eating until all of it was gone. "Happy! I'm stuffed now."

Not answering immediately, Mycroft lifted the cover off the strawberry Roly-Polys. "I guess I'll have to eat these all by myself since you're full."

Sherlock grabbed some of the jelled puddings wrapped in a soft baked dough.

After dinner was finished, the brothers remained in bed relaxing, wrapped in each other's arms. Softly kissing, they idly chatted about what they wanted for the future. With Sherlock recovering from the beating and the overdose, sex was off the table, but cuddling and kissing satisfied them at this time. Before long, they both fell asleep.

Mycroft was enjoying his dream. In it, Sherlock was caressing and kissing his body and slowly moving down to his penis where he peppered it with kisses. Although asleep and dreaming, he began to move his body in answer to the simulation. The shock of someone swallowing his penis woke him.

"Sherlock, you're supposed to be resting and reducing stress on your body. I specifically remember the doctor saying no intimacy for two more weeks at least."

Popping off this Mycroft's penis, Sherlock grinned up at him. "He said no anal sex when I asked him to qualify his statement. So, relax and enjoy", he smiled as he returned to doing what he was.

Before long Mycroft felt the familiar tightening of his stomach. "Sherlock, I'm going to come."

That grin once more let Mycroft know that his brother knew and didn't care. Soon he climaxed, dropping back on the pillow weak but fulfilled. Next thing he was aware of, Sherlock was cuddling close to him. Looking down at Sherlock's hardened member, "Give me few minutes and I'll take care of that."

"Can't. The ribs hurt too much right now and orgasm would cause me too much discomfort. But I wouldn't mind a kiss or two." It wasn't long before the two fell asleep in each other's arms.