Prompt: 'Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes - it approaches to coldbloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself with the same readiness.' -Use your imagination - need I elaborate?
A/N: I got this idea when my dad mentioned how hard it must have been to have Holmes as a younger brother. I imagined him to be somewhere in his teens in the first part of this. It's sort of a meh-ish story, but it's what my muse produced...
Mycroft Holmes wanted to die.
He'd never been so ill in all his life. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd vomited, and had given up on moving for the time being, choosing instead to remain kneeling next to the basin. It was a most undignified position, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
His brother returned, bringing him a cool cloth and a glass of water. "Can you get this down?" he asked, kneeling next to Mycroft.
"Why should I be able to? I haven't been able to keep anything down for the past two hours! Sherlock, I'm never going to forgive you for this."
"I'm sorry, Mycroft. I merely wished to observe the effects--"
"You wished to observe the effects? What if it had been deadly?"
"I knew it wasn't deadly. I just didn't know what it did do."
"Hah! You knew it would most likely be unpleasant! I'm still not entirely sure it wasn't deadly--I've never felt so miserable in all my life."
"I really am sorry."
Mycroft sighed, leaning heavily on his hands. The cool stone beneath his fingers was reassuringly solid, a pleasant contrast to the way the rest of him felt. "Sherlock... Next time you desire to test the effects of a vegetable alkaloid... You can bloody well test it on yourself." Another wave of nausea overcame him, and he quickly positioned himself over the basin.
Watson laid a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder. "How are you feeling, old man?"
"Like the very devil himself is intent upon yanking my insides out through my throat." Holmes was beginning to think he knew just what Mycroft had been going through all those years ago. "I wish I would just die and be done with it."
Watson reached over and poured Holmes a glass of water. "I'd prefer it if you kept your dying to a minimum, Holmes. See if you can drink this."
"There's no point, Watson. I'm dying. At least I hope I'm dying."
"Holmes, what on earth possessed you to try that dreadful stuff on yourself in the first place?"
"I wanted to observe the effects."
"Observe the effects? Well, you've certainly achieved that, but there must be a better way to observe the effects than to swallow some yourself and see what happens."
"I always test things out on myself, if I need a precise observation of the effects."
"In heaven's name, why?"
"Slipping it to others seems to cause some ill will." He felt the effects coming over him again. "Although I daresay I shan't be trying this again anytime soon..." he muttered as he bent over the basin again.
"Watson... I don't suppose you'd like to give me a hand with this experiment?"
"Certainly." A pause. "Unless it involves observing the effects of a certain substance on a human."
"As it happens..."
"Forget it, Holmes."
A/N: Meh...