Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock or any of the characters based off of Sir Conan Doyle's most excellent work. I make absolutely no money off of this.

Warnings: A little drama, but nothing really hardcore. Boys can like boys or girls, again. And I fancy John's a bit bi-sexual. It's not uncommon for siblings in the same family to have similar sexual orientations. I have a friend whose sister is gay, while he is pansexual.

Thirty minutes later the situation was only marginally better. He'd hauled the idiot to the toilet, and Sherlock had been sick (thankfully without any extraneous help on John's part). Fifteen minutes after that he'd convinced the fool to brush his teeth and drink about a quart of water. The worst of the drunkenness was over, but Holmes still babbled about anything and everything that caught his fancy. Endearing, but not conducive to passing out any time soon.

And here Watson was, stirring a cup of ginger-lemon tea at the request of his flat mate still holed up in the man's bed chamber. He was going to have to ask Sherlock what he was thinking. He'd never consumed that quantity of alcohol before in all the duration of their friendship. He'd done some crazy things for his experiments, but tonight took the cake. This kind of behaviour was not safe, whatever the reason, and Sherlock was just going to have to give it up before it became a habit. He was lucky to have a doctor as a flatmate, and one that gave two shits about him. John more than anyone knew what it was like to wake up from a bender all alone.

John walked the distance between the kitchen and Sherlock's room with a trudging step. He was tired, and very worried. Mildly overworked too, if he thought about it. It apparently took a great deal of energy to deal with both Holmes brothers in one day. It'd been so long he'd forgotten.

"Sherlock, can you sit up at all?" He asked the lumpy figure underneath some tatty blankets. For a man who dressed so well, Sherlock certainly didn't give a damn about the state of his blankets. Expensive taste in clothing and food didn't translate into expensive taste in bedding. That duvet must be at least forty years old.

"No...yes... it's what, Tuesday now? What time?" Sherlock grumbled sliding up the length of his bed to flop onto a miniature hill of pillows. He adjusted his position a bit, refolding his housecoat about him as best he could. Then the man stretched his hands out, gesturing for the cup of tea. John was hesitant to give it to him, but conceded when Sherlock shot him a withering look.

"It's three forty-five in the morning on Tuesday You are correct, why?" he inquired, sitting on a chair he'd dragged into the cluttered bedroom. He could count on his hands how many times he'd been in here, but he promised himself to visit more if only to help clean up the mess more regularly. Knowing Sherlock, his insistence would somehow throw off the balance the man had established. If he just cleaned the damn room without Sherlock's knowledge he was sure he'd get an earful about not being able to find anything anymore. That was the usual excuse with the living room.

"I merely needed to calculate the time I require to burn through the effects of the alcohol before going back on this serial killer's trail. I feel I'll make a breakthrough soon. This fool left too many hints at this last crime scene. Plus, what with the murder of that old woman, I now have a legitimate reason to hound Scotland Yard for access to files. Not that I needed their permission, but it's far easier for them if I follow a trifle of their procedures so they can actually use whatever I uncover as evidence," Sherlock drawled on, his cadence still slurred a bit but otherwise entirely back to normal.

He took a deep swig of the tea before continuing his thought process, "I can get back to it post haste once these annoying symptoms wear off. I thought to be kind to Lestrade and wait until six o'clock to-"

"No."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock shot over at his flatmate cum assistant with an incredulous look, "What was that?"

"I said no.It's a no, Sherlock. You won't be going anywhere for the next eight hours at least..."

"But-"

"There are no 'but's about it. Do you realize how much alcohol you imbibed in the last five hours? Do you know what that can do to your body, to your brain for God's sake? You're lucky you didn't get poisoning! You're a waif, a tall bloody waif, but your mass is still too little to properly process that amount of liquor without some serious consequences. I'm assuming you didn't eat anything before you drank, or while you drank either, judging by the puke that flushed down in the loo," John had to keep himself from shouting. He was so angry, but only because it was easier to react that way as opposed to any other.

A dawning realization seemed hit Sherlock suddenly and he spoke before really thinking of what he was saying, as drunk people are want to do, "I reminded you of your sister, didn't I? That's why you're being so adamant about this..."

"This has nothing to do with my sister-"

"I'm pretty sure it does. The circumstances and variables all add up to a significant psychological reaction, with a bank of emotive memories fuelling such an intense response-"

"Sherlock! This has nothing to do with my sister or any reaction I have to her alcoholism! This has everything to do with my reaction of you showing up at home filled up to your eyeballs with liquor. Enough liquor, I might add, to knock out a sixteen stone American linebacker! You aren't going anywhere if I have anything to say about it, not when I have to monitor you just in case you go into bloody shock..."

Holmes went quiet with the conclusion of his outburst. He stared down at the tea sloshing against the rim of his mug before saying anything again. And when he did, it was with a voice far more controlled than he'd had all night,

"I'm sorry for bringing up things that are not within my place to be commenting on. I've made you angry, probably furious, and I shall have to do better to refrain from repeating such a faux pas. I am sorry, John," he intoned, his blue eyes searching John's own.

The man in question sighed deeply, forgetting his own mug of tea huddled in his lap as he rubbed his face with his only free hand. Damn Sherlock for that expression of his. It was impossible to really be irritated with the guy when he did things like this. Not only that, but he'd just gotten done talking with the man's brother about social norms and how the Holmes had to work at it or give up entirely. He'd be a hypocrite to be offended.

"I'm not furious, Sherlock. It's not that at all. I was worried... still am honestly. Why'd you do it? What drove you to imbibing so much? You're too intelligent to want to damage that brain of your's with depressants," he asked, feeling more tired every time he breathed in.

Those blue eyes searched him a little longer before pointedly turning away. Sherlock sunk further into his pillows looking very much like a child with those auburn curls and his ratty house coat. He was in thought, John knew, debating with himself how much he was willing to say. It was alright to give the man time to collect his thoughts. It wasn't like John was being any better, asking such a personal question to the man before him.

"...I was upset..." the consultant said, but that was all that could be understood from what Sherlock was mumbling, looking into his upturned hands.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear that," John said, trying to encourage him to speak up.

Sherlock groaned loudly, startling his flatmate, and chugged the rest of the contents of his mug before thumping the ceramic on the beside table. The movement jarred the only light source in the whole of the room. The strange-looking lamp shuddered a bit with the force of his movement, hreatening to blinker out on them both.

"I was upset about... Mycroft... he's sick, ill, maybe even dying. I've read of countless diseases you can get that waste you away from the inside out. I also know five of the doctors he's seen. I know the length at which they'd go to discover what's ailing my arch-enemy," Sherlock began, crossing his arms and curling in on himself,

"Don't you understand, John? Arch-enemies are not supposed to die from disease...! They're supposed to be defeated by their opponent... me... I, Sherlock Holmes,... and then they're supposed to retire to the country or some such other silly thing to spend the rest of their days in isolation, forever shamed by their utter demise!"

John smiled to himself, trying to hide it behind his mug. Sherlock was being rather adorable. That was the only word that fit in his head to describe the man-child before him. For all his great intelligence, Sherlock Holmes was prone to the most juvenile of explanations for his feelings.

"...They're not supposed to get a disease from some stupid remote part of the world they probably visited without the correct vaccines. What if it was one of those bloody dignitaries bringing something to a party? There is no such thing as perfection... especially with arch-enemies... they, they're not supposed to go off and disappear for a month and then show up again only to tell me he's sick and wasting away with no way of fixing it..."

"Sherlock..."

"...and what am I supposed to do now? Bloody inconvenient bastard ruining my thought process, throwing off my Zen. It's impossible to work under these conditions! He did it on purpose!"

"Sherlock!"

"What?!"

"Your brother's alright. He's fine. He's just a bit over stressed. He doesn't eat enough and he works out too much. It's a simple imbalance. I can fix that. He's not diseased. Mycroft. Isn't.Dying," John explained after shaking his flatmate out of his tirade. He grasped the man's thin shoulders, trying to force him to cease flailing about in the sheets.

Strong hands held onto John's bare forearms, and a jolt of electricity shot up to his own shoulders. The skin-on-skin contact was entirely too distracting, but John prevailed in keeping his thoughts centred. Sherlock was still staring at his face, looking for an honesty that the doctor only half felt. Watson stared straight on, not at all flinching when blue met blue. He really didn't want Sherlock to catch the tiny fib of those statements.

It was true that there was nothing physically wrong with Mycroft. That wasn't a lie. He didn't have a disease and he wasn't going to keel over any time soon. The greater challenge would be next week when Mycroft's feelings and inner thoughts were going to come into play. That was were things got a bit hairy.

Whatever the younger man saw must have been enough, however, because he calmed down and laid back against his headboard full of pillows. John could have danced a jig right about now.

"Do I really have to stay in bed for a whole eight hours?" Holmes asked, a soured look upon his face for the inconvenience of the whole lot of it.

"I wouldn't say stay in bed the whole time, but you're not leaving my sight for that length. Besides, when you finally pop off to sleep you'll wake up with a banging headache that I'll get to take advantage of. Take heart, Sherlock, I ama doctor. I've got the best headache remedy that I came up with during my service. You'll just love the taste of it, I promise," John stated, cheeky grin and all.

Sherlock's expression became something rather like a cross between exasperation and terror. Maybe the consultant should have thought about what it meant to have a doctor move in with him when the man hated hospitals the most, even more than the apparently incompetent Scotland Yard.

AN: Day one is finally done! Sorry for the late uploads again. I really had some crazy stuff go on this week that I wasn't planning on having to deal with. The updates should continue to be rather close together. But this IS my fun fic. I'm writing this because I needed something to take my mind off of my HPAU fic. That thing is a monster, and this is not that hard to write in comparison. I hope everyone has enjoyed this so far. PLEASE~ Feel free to tell me about it in reviews. What do you like?

As always, please, READ and REVIEW~! They make me feel all giddy inside to get your comments. If anyone has any suggestions, I'll also love to hear those too! Thank you!