Author's Note: Yes, I guess I should clarify: As far as the Doctor-spy-guy thing, I imagined that the Doctor would want to be the stealthy, sexy, spy-guy and would probably think that he is very good at being the spy-guy but would miserably fail. And Sexy would be nice enough to provide him with all of this equipment. And I imagine that, even when he was sticking to the shadows, he was still tripping over his own feet and talking way too loudly to both and using tools and gadgets that are just completely unnecessary and loud and he would probably overturn a few exhibits and honestly cause more trouble than naught. Meanwhile, Sherlock would be right beside him, eager for yet another adventure, while Mycroft is stuck racing around the surveillance room, adjusting the cameras and trapping the security guards so that nobody sees the drunk giraffe try to steal his Sonic Screwdriver. And at the end of the day, the Doctor would proudly smile at how stealthy he was but we know that it was all Mycroft.

Chapter Twenty Four

The sound of the violin filled the console room. Normally, it would have been tranquil and soothing. Tonight, however, it was making Mycroft's head pound.

"Sherlock, can you give it a rest?" Mycroft snapped.

Sherlock glared at him and Mycroft gently added, "It's wonderful, really. But I'm getting a headache."

Sherlock harshly and quickly scraped the bow across the strings. It made a retched hiss.

Mycroft covered his ears and the Doctor fell to the ground, in complete agony as he shouted, "Blimey! Are you trying to kill me, Sherlock?"

"Sorry," Sherlock sheepishly said, though he still threw a smirk towards Mycroft.

Mycroft shook his head and muttered, "I'm going to bed. Thanks for the scuba-diving lessons, Doctor."

"Anytime," the Doctor cheerfully said, still twitching on the ground, "I'm still sorry about the sharks!"

"Oh, it's alright," Mycroft yawned, "I half-expected them. Goodnight."

"Night, Mycroft!"

Sherlock scraped the strings once more. The Doctor gave him a reprimanding look and the youngest Holmes brother innocently said, "What? It slipped."

Mycroft trudged into the bedroom and burrowed beneath the blankets, not bothering to change into pajamas. He couldn't get warm, not even when he asked the Doctor for a second quilt. The Time Lord looked slightly worried but Mycroft assured him that he was fine.

By the next morning, Mycroft's entire body was laced with pain. From the sounds of the coughs on the other side of the room, it was safe to say that Sherlock wasn't feeling much better.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock whined, "My head hurts!"

Mycroft spotted Sherlock's violin case. If he had less of a heart, and less of a headache, he would scrape the strings just to get back at his brother. As it was, he could barely sit up.

They heard a knock on the door and the Doctor poked his head in, "Rise and shine! We better get a move on if we want to reach Atlantis!"

"Doctor, I don't feel well," Mycroft croaked.

The Doctor was immediately at his bedside with a thermometer.

"Where'd you get the thermometer?" Mycroft chuckled.

"It's not just a thermometer," the Doctor explained, "It's a Sonic thermometer."

He scanned Mycroft's forehead and glanced at it, looking slightly worried, "102.2."

Mycroft let out a rough cough. His entire chest tightened, until he needed to cough but it came out as a hoarse gasp.

"Sorry," he managed.

"Hey, hey," the Doctor gently said, "It's okay…"

"Do you have any medicine?" Sherlock rasped, also letting out a harsh cough.

"Yes," the Doctor admitted, "But, I don't know why you're sick. I don't want to give you the wrong thing."

"Do you have any sugar?"

"Sugar?"

"To put in the medicine," Sherlock said, as if it was obvious.

The Doctor glanced at Mycroft, silently asking for an explanation.

"Have you ever seen the movie Mary Poppins?" Mycroft sheepishly asked.

"Yes, of course," the Doctor cheerfully said, "Julie Andrews borrowed my bag. It was bigger on the inside."

Mycroft chuckled and continued, "Mum used to always sing the song: A Spoonful of Sugar Helps the Medicine Go Down. She would even give us a spoonful of sugar."

Sherlock nodded and shivered, his knees curled up to his chest.

The Doctor tenderly brought over another blanket and tucked it around him.

He then reproachfully said, "Mycroft, you're not going to feel better if you stay in your wetsuit from yesterday. Here…"

He pulled a pair of pajamas from the wardrobe along with a fluffy, white, bathrobe. He pulled the same for Sherlock and modestly left while the boys changed. Mycroft had to admit; it was comfortable. Still, the mere movement of changing his clothes caused him to collapse back onto his bed. Sherlock's bathrobe was backwards but he didn't care. He also fell back onto his bed and burrowed his head beneath the pillow. The Doctor whisked back into the room, holding a stack of toast, a pot of tea, and a large pot of chicken noodle soup.

"Thanks, Doctor," Mycroft croaked, nibbling on a piece of toast.

"Sherlock," the Doctor brightly said, "Would you like something to eat?"

"No."

The grunt came from beneath the pillow.

"Come on, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, trying to sit up, "You need to eat."

"NO!"

The Doctor amusedly raised an eyebrow and Mycroft sighed, "I'm sorry. He gets extremely cranky when he gets sick."

"I'm not cranky!"

"Of course not," the Doctor gently agreed, "Now, why don't you eat some toast and have some nice soup and tea? Mmmm…"

"Don't treat me like I'm a child," Sherlock angrily croaked.

"My apologies," the Doctor smoothly said, "You're absolutely right. You should be treated like an adult. Would you mind helping me fill out some tax-forms?"

Sherlock pulled his head from beneath the pillow just to glare at him. Mycroft tried to pass off a chuckle as a cough.

The Doctor used the opportunity to scan Sherlock's forehead.

"102.8."

"Sherlock," Mycroft gently said, "Please eat."

"Fine," Sherlock snapped, grabbing the bowl of soup.

The Doctor grinned and said, "That's the spirit! You two should feel much better!"

Five minutes later, the brothers were racing to different bathrooms. Mycroft launched over the toilet and his breakfast promptly resurfaced. The Doctor was by his side in an instant, gently rubbing his back.

"I'm fine," Mycroft croaked, "Can you check on Sherlock?"

He did so and Mycroft weakly leaned against the wall. He felt absolutely horrible.

He must have dozed off for several minutes. When he opened his eyes, he realized that he actually did feel better. He stumbled into the console room and saw that Sherlock, River, Jack, and the Doctor were brightly sitting around the console.

"What are you guys doing here? What's going on?" Mycroft asked.

"Well, Mycroft…" the Doctor cheerfully said, "When trying to express oneself, it's frankly quite absurd, to leaf through lengthy lexicons to find the perfect word."

"What?" Mycroft spluttered, his head spinning.

The Doctor continued, "A little spontaneity keeps conversation keen, you need to find a way to say, precisely what you mean..."

Mycroft tried to find a sensible answer and could only come up with, "What?"

The Doctor took a deep breath and cried, "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious! Even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious! If you say it loud enough, you'll always sound precocious…"

"What?"

"Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!" Sherlock, Jack, and River chorused, "Um-diddle-diddle-um-diddleye! Um-diddle-diddle-um-diddleye!"

The four excitedly danced around while Mycroft stared.

"Okay," Mycroft slowly said, "I'm…I'm seriously rethinking this companion thing…"

"Mycroft," the Doctor cried, shocked, "Mycroft! MYCROFT!"

Mycroft gave a start. The Doctor was kneeling next to him, looking worried.

"W…what happened?" Mycroft croaked.

He realized that he was still leaning against the wall of the bathroom.

"You dozed off," the Doctor gently said, "Come along. Back to bed."

He scanned Mycroft's forehead and worriedly said, "Your fever is spiking."

"That would explain the weird dream," Mycroft muttered.

He stumbled back to the bedroom, stopping to check on his brother. Sherlock was asleep, though it was a very restless sleep. Unbeknownst to Mycroft, he was having a horrible dream about Weeping Angels, clowns, Daleks, and scuba diving.

"Sherlock," Mycroft whispered.

Sherlock awoke with a gasp and mumbled something incoherent.

"Ssh," Mycroft cried, "It's alright! It's just me."

"You're not going to dress up as a clown, are you?" Sherlock sleepily asked.

"Only if you promise not to sing," Mycroft remarked.

"Deal."

The Doctor glanced back and forth, looking slightly confused, before deciding that it was best not to ask. Mycroft trudged back to his own bed and quickly fell asleep. He and his brother spent the day dozing on and off, making frequent trips to the bathroom or the rubbish bin. Time whirled by in a way that they couldn't determine. The Doctor frequently checked on them; in fact, he only left to make sure that the Tardis wasn't going to crash into something.

At one point, Sherlock whispered, "Mycroft?"

"Yeah?" Mycroft weakly answered.

"Can you read me a story?"

Whenever Sherlock had been sick in the past, Mycroft would read him a story until he felt better. Today, however, Mycroft could barely lift his head.

"Not today, Sherlock."

"I'll tell you guys a story," the Doctor gently said.

Sherlock and Mycroft eagerly listened as the Doctor launched into a story about how the stars were born.

"Do pay attention, Mycroft," the Doctor reprimanded after several minutes, "You don't want to black out just yet. We're getting into the good part…"

Mycroft blinked and suddenly a woman was standing in front of him. She looked vaguely familiar.

"It's okay," the woman quickly said, "I'm a doctor."

"M…Martha?" Mycroft spluttered, recognizing her, "Martha Jones?"

"Yes," Martha crisply said, "Now hold still. I need to administer an antibiotic."

Mycroft winced as he received the shot.

"Sorry," Martha apologized, placing a bandage over the small puncture wound, "But your fever was getting out of hand."

"T…thanks," Mycroft croaked.

"Don't thank me," Martha said with a grin, "Thank the Doctor for whisking me away from my house."

She turned to the Time Lord and added, "And you are going to be paying for the Tardis-shaped hole in my wall."

The Doctor laughed and said, "Martha Jones, if this helps them feel better, I'll buy you and Mickey an entire mansion."

Martha grinned and asked, "What's with the bowtie, anyway?"

"Bowties are cool," Mycroft croaked before the Doctor could say anything.

The Doctor pretended to be shocked and cried, "The fever must have reached his brain."

On the contrary, Mycroft was feeling a lot better. Looking satisfied, Martha crossed the room to Sherlock's bed.

"Whassgoingon?" Sherlock muttered, rubbing his eye.

"Hi, Sherlock," Martha brightly said, "My name's Martha Jones. I'm a doctor. How are you feeling?"

"Horrible," Sherlock groaned.

"I figured. I'm just going to give you a small shot…"

For somebody who ill and feverish, Sherlock had a pretty good reaction time as he leapt away from her and cried, "Nope. Not necessary."

The Doctor glanced back at Mycroft who said, "Yes, perhaps I should have told you…he doesn't do needles."

"It's just a small poke," Martha laughed, "Honestly, it's not that bad."

"No!"

"Sherlock," the Doctor gently said, "It will help you feel better."

Mycroft saw that Sherlock was deducing the situation and deduced it first. He leapt up and sprang across the room, shutting the door just as Sherlock made a dive towards it.

"Traitor," Sherlock crossly muttered.

"I'm not letting you wander around the Tardis with a fever," Mycroft firmly said, "What is his fever anyway?"

"103.9," the Doctor worriedly said.

"Sherlock Holmes," Mycroft ordered, "Take the medicine."

"You can't make me," Sherlock teased.

"Actually, we can," the Doctor spoke up, "But it would be unpleasant for all of us."

"I'm not getting the shot," Sherlock said, stubborn, cranky, and slightly afraid.

"I thought that the Doctor's companions were supposed to be brave," Martha cried, trying a different approach, "But I suppose that times have changed…"

"Oh, no, don't…" Mycroft groaned but it was too late.

Sherlock's glare held fire as he snapped, "Don't try reverse psychology on me. It doesn't work!"

"It doesn't," Mycroft agreed, "He can see right through it."

"Alright," the Doctor gently continued, "You must have gotten shots before. What did you do, then?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, thinking back to it, before saying, "Mummy would sing to us."

"No problem," the Doctor cheerfully said.

Without further ado, he began to sing. Mycroft braced himself for a loud and brash song but instead it was quite the opposite. The Doctor sang so gently and beautifully that an immediate calmness swept through the room. Mycroft, Sherlock, and Martha were rendered speechless by the mere tranquility of it. It wasn't a language that they recognized, but it was the gentlest song that they had ever heard. Martha glanced over and saw that Sherlock looked stunned and thoughtful. She quickly and gently administered the shot. By the time Sherlock realized what she was doing, she was already applying the bandage.

"Wow," Mycroft whispered, as the Doctor's song faded away, "Doctor, what was that?"

"A Gallifreyan lullaby," the Doctor said with a remembering smile.

"That was amazing," Martha slowly said.

"It was incredible," Sherlock agreed.

The Doctor modestly smiled and said, "Well, I'm just glad that you're feeling better. I definitely owe you one, Martha."

"Do you want to come with us to Atlantis?" Sherlock eagerly asked.

Martha thought about it before saying, "I'll pass. But thanks. Anyway, you two still need to rest and regain your strength."

"But we're not tired!" Sherlock argued.

They weren't. The brothers were now at a point between not having enough strength to run around but having just enough to not want to stay in bed all day.

By the time the Doctor got back from taking Martha home, Sherlock was slowly hitting his head against the wall and groaning, "Booooorreeed."

"We'll have an adventure tomorrow," the Doctor promised, tucking him in, "The first thing in the morning."

"I can't believe that we spent the entire day sleeping," Sherlock muttered, as if angry at himself, "And now it's already time for bed."

The Doctor laughed and gently said goodnight.

"Doctor, wait…" Mycroft and Sherlock called.

He stopped, looking surprised, but both brothers were too embarrassed to say what they wanted. Finally, Mycroft was brave enough to ask, "Can you sing again?"

The Doctor smiled and agreed. His song filled the entire Tardis; it could have filled the entire universe. He sang until the brothers were sound asleep.