A/N: Apologies for the delay, I had an unexpected hospital stay but am feeling much better now! I wanted to do the Lestrade and Sherlock meeting for the first time story next but I want to get that one to be the best it can be so I have done a little hospital story instead to get me writing again (and to get my stay out of my system!). Enjoy!

Sherlock sat up in the half raised hospital bed and did his best to flex his feet, anything to attempt to relieve the aching pain in his legs and lumbar area from being made to lie there in the same uncomfortable position for an extended period of time. His back hurt, his legs hurt as did his stomach muscles and chest. He wanted to sleep but he'd been doing a lot of that here so more rest wasn't going to happen. He wanted to get up and move around but the staff kept stopping him. His transport was demanding he move to get rid of the frustration that seemed to have deeply seeped into his bones but it was the very thing stopping him from achieving it!

He'd been in St. Bart's for the last two days and it was apparent he wasn't going home any time soon no matter how much he requested it. He'd woken up here and noted a mask on his face and a drip in his arm before he'd attempted to rip the damn things off. With the oxygen he couldn't breathe, it was too hot, he was coughing violently again and no matter how hard he tried the air wouldn't go in. It was like trying to draw breath in a sauna or a room filled only with smoke. It wasn't the sort of thing that was pleasant to come around to when you didn't know where you were in the first place.

For the last week he'd been slowing down and seemingly hacking up his lungs every few minutes. The doctor here had mentioned something about pneumonia. Sounded boring at any rate. He'd been on the end of his third case with Lestrade who was suggesting annoying things like 'rest', 'slowing down', 'giving up the smokes for a week' and asked 'if there is someone who can look after you at the moment?'. Really, he was fine. He just needed to finish the case, which he did, then he could sit down and let his transport recharge if that was what it was demanding. It could wait though, his mind was busy.

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Holmes?". He snapped back into reality as his nurse for the morning ripped off the blood pressure band around his arm and finished making some notes on his chart. "I'll be back in an hour to take your blood pressure again but can I get you anything for now?". She had been nothing but polite as he'd glared at her in silence any time she checked his obs and saline IV.

"You can get me out of here?" he all but whispered, hating the fact that his voice wasn't doing what he wanted it to do. He followed this up by coughing again.

"Careful there" she sympathised, raising an arm to rub at his back which was quickly swotted away. "Well the buzzer is there like I said, and the telly works, you know". It seemed an obsession with these women that he waste his time watching the idiot box. They fussed over his paleness, his weight and kept asking him if there was a girlfriend, friend or family member that could come in and talk with him. There seemed to be two types of them: either smiley and kind or overbearing and pushy.

At this there was a noise at the door: leather shoes, familiar tread pattern, metal tip of something handheld touching the floor with a slight delay. Stride indicating a height of just over six foot, walking slower than usual as if worried about what he is about to step into. "You have a visitor!" the medical staffer announced brightly and left them to it.

Sherlock didn't need to look over to see who it was and pointedly looked out the window in the opposite direction. There was the sound of the vinyl depressing in the only seat in the room to his left. Two minutes passed in silence, only broken by a round of shuddering hacks by the younger man who ten minutes ago thought he couldn't feel any more miserable. Apparently he was wrong about some things when unwell.

"I was in Salzburg when the call came" the lofty voice of the government worker began. "Pneumonia. They said not to rush, that you wouldn't be going anywhere for a few days". There was no acknowledgement of his words. Mycroft sighed. "I understand we haven't seen each other face to face much of late, four months if memory serves-"

A noise then another unhealthy sounding bark.

"Pardon?"

"Five" the pale one repeated a little more audibly, drawing it out in exasperation that was directed towards his own useless system.

"Ah" the elder one conceded, fiddling with his pocket watch chain to hide his slight discomfort at the correction. He had been busy and didn't realise it had been that long. "Yes, well, the situation recently in-"

"-wasn't complaining" the patient shifted, arching his back and groaning as he finally released some of the tension. "You're not needed" he informed his brother with a wave in his general direction. He still hadn't looked over.

"Well someone was" Mycroft counted, gaining some strength in his restrained anger. "You collapsed at the top of your staircase after checking the mailbox. I wonder how long it would have been if you had instead lost consciousness in your apartment?

The ill one made the best frustrated snarl that he could in his circumstances and switched the television on.

Mycroft's face soured at this childish act. In response his tone lightened to that of someone believing they are taking the higher ground. "I'll be here for half an hour, I don't mind if we converse or not. I doubt you feel up to it in your condition".

Sherlock merely pulled a face and stayed quiet, directing his gaze to the black box.

Ten minutes later another nurse entered the room, taking the silence to be a gap in conversation. The suited one was answering emails on his mobile device and Sherlock was watching a children's show. They were singing an irritating tune about a teddy bear which goes round and round a garden, inane, but better to commit that to memory than his stupid brother's presence. "I have a phone message for you, you didn't answer before so" she read the top of the note "Greg, left a few words"

"Greg?" the brunet spat, turning his head to the woman as though she was playing a practical joke on him or was instead incredibly dim.

"Oh, it says Greg Lestrade?" she then relaxed a little as acknowledgement flashed across his features. She then ran her eyes over the words and summarised. "He dropped by your flat and your neighbour let him know where you are. He hopes you're feeling better soon and that whenever you're better he's looking forward to working with you. But not before. You need to" she stopped and seemed to reread the next part a few times as though it could be wrong but then continued "you need to not be an idiot and take the time to get well properly or no more...cases. He won't be interested".

As she read it out Mycroft listened intently, he wasn't aware the DS had been in touch. He also seemed to be pushing for better, more healthy behaviour. His brother had asked him not to contact Lestrade when he was told of the agreement the two had struck. He had so far kept to his word by doing a full background check on the Detective Sergeant, receiving regular reports on the man and had a few of his 'people' have discussions with him. The time was coming though where he himself would have to speak with the policeman face to face. He seemed to be very familiar with his kin which indicated either something good or something very bad.

Sherlock instead huffed and looked out the window again, this was annoying, he wanted to get straight back out there but now it would be a couple of weeks before he could get into it. He'd have to rely on a private case instead in the meantime.

"Thank you" the elder Holmes said curtly when it was clear the other wouldn't and the lady departed with a small smile. He again spoke to his sibling who was feeling more and more like this was a form of torture or some sort of conspiracy. "I was sceptical about his reasons for contacting you, but with the last piece of advice that could only be from someone who actually knows you"

"Oh, shut up, Mycroft!" the bitter man snapped, finally losing his temper at the whole situation. He ignoring the pain in his throat even though he was hissing his venom rather than yelling. "Don't you have an election to be rigging?". At this he finally turned to his visitor and instantly saw that many things had happened since they had last seen each other five months ago. He'd obviously been under a lot of stress and there were many, many late nights. Much travelling, nationally and internationally. His hair had receded a little but the main thing was that he'd lost around around 20 pounds, quite a lot for that amount of time. His eyes travelled up and down: stress, dieting and being overworked were the three main factors.

The man before him had been chubby as a teen, put on more weight at university before dropping down to a trimmer frame as he started his first full time role. He didn't have a problem with body image but food was just something he had to watch as he did indulge and 'legwork' was almost non-existent. For the last couple of years he hadn't been seeing to it as carefully as he should have been and the pounds had been piling on again. Sherlock realised his mouth had been hanging open but after taking this all in in around five seconds he closed it again and maintained eye contact. "You look different" he admitted quietly, his anger had been lost for now as he was distracted with this new data.

He wasn't as thin as Sherlock but this lack of weight emphasised his nose and chin. Made him look hawk like and more dangerous as he tightly snapped "I'm fine" in the same way Sherlock did whenever Mycroft would ask how his 'unnecessary problem' was going. At least the older one now understood Sherlock wasn't a junkie, it was just something he did to stop the dull dreariness of existence when there wasn't anything better to occupy his mind. At least he thought his brother now understood that, he'd explained it enough times. At this the taller one stood which only emphasised his weight loss as his recently altered suit hung off him. "I'll leave, you obviously don't need the company. Mummy passes on her best wishes. She'll ring later tonight, I suggest you take that call even if you are ignoring all others".

The younger man nodded, he was a little disappointed that he wouldn't be able to gleam more details from this new puzzle once it left. "Mycroft, I meant what I said about not taking to Lestrade. He's mine, you'll just scare him off, leave him alone". His voice was softer now, more pleading.

"I wouldn't dream of it". The consulting detective knew he wasn't getting the whole truth, the pressed thin line of his lips told him that. "Now do rest up, Sherlock. I don't want any more calls from hospitals for a while". At this he stepped out before waiting for a reply, umbrella tucked up high on his elbow.

Sherlock continued to watch the door for a few minutes, deciding to himself that he'd take them up on their offer of jelly next time the nurse came around. That and the TV could stay on for now, the next show was now going through different types of minerals found in the soil in England and he supposed it would help pass the time.

A/N: If you have the time a quick review it would help make me feel a bit better as I am stuck at home recovering and it's incredibly boring :)

Also, my thoughts are with those in America at this time. Stay safe everyone.