As the cab pulled over to the side of the street in front of his and Sherlock's flat, John thought they'd have to carry Mycroft inside. However, as soon as the vehicle stopped, Mycroft's eyes fluttered open.
"I said to take me to my estate!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It was too far and I didn't have the money."
"Um, no, actually, we just figured it'd be best to keep an eye on you here at home." John corrected, ignoring Sherlock's sarcasm.
"Hmmph." Mycroft wrestled with the door handle before finally getting it open.
"Can you walk?" John asked, clambering out of the small car.
"He can, but it pains him." Sherlock answered for his brother. "It's in his knees and ankles."
As they all trekked up the stairs, Mycroft's thoughts wandered. 'It's in his knees and ankles,' Sherlock had said. But Sherlock couldn't remember when Mycroft had first had it? Surely, he didn't recall every memory.
The three walked into the flat and Mycroft nearly collapsed onto the couch.
"Do you feel at all hot?" John inquired, placing his hand on the man's forehead. "Wow. Okay. Sherlock, where's the—"
"Here." Sherlock was always one step ahead of him, holding out the thermometer.
"Perfect, thanks." John stuck the thermometer under Mycroft's tongue as the grown man pouted.
"Thith ith'n nethethary."
"When an object is lodged under the tongue, speech is directly affected." A tiny Sherlock was standing as tall as he could, being nine years old. Mycroft glared at him.
"Yes, thehnk yo', Sher'k." Mycroft was glaring at him from the couch.
"Well, I'm just saying. Frankly, you sound absolutely—"
The doctor entered the room and removed the thermometer from Mycroft's mouth. He scribbled a few notes on his clipboard. "We're going to have to take some B-L-O-O-D." The man spelled to the Holmes' mother. Sherlock rolled his eyes and Mycroft was incredulous.
"You realise we both speak English?" Mycroft asked, trying to sit up.
"Myc," his mother interjected, horrified, "manners!"
The doctor laughed it off. "I just meant we're going to need to do a blood test."
Mrs. Holmes nodded. "Okay, that's fine."
Sherlock stared at his brother, whose mouth was in a thin line. He stared at his older brother and carefully studied his face. He was definitely nervous, but trying to conceal it.
"Fine."
"Would you like to ride in a wheelchair or can you walk?"
Mycroft hesitated.
"Wheelchair it is, then."
AN - I had so many fantastic reviews and suggestions; thanks guys! Your support helps a lot! Hope you guys are having a great week. It's supposed to snow hardcore, so stay warm! Next chapter up soon :) Also, the poll is still open on my profile page. Which ship would you rather me to a drabble challenge with? Either leave your answers in the comments or submit your votes to the poll on my profile. Thanks, all!