AN: Hey! I'm kinda nervous, cos I have a welcome day at my college today and the nervousness is manifesting itself as a chapter, yay! This was prompted by trakrat and I just thought it was so cute I had to do it.

And at this vital time, we must remember, never in the field of human writing, was so much, owed by so many, to reviews.

Lily

From the look on Mycroft's face when he walked into our flat, the little tableau was one of the weirdest things he'd ever seen, and to be honest, I didn't blame him.

Sherlock was curled up on the sofa next to me with his arms around my waist and his head in my lap. If I had not myself been extremely uncomfortable, the look on Sherlock's brother's face would have been priceless. But as it was, all I could do was furiously whisper

'Your brother is an idiot.'

He wrinkled his nose and snapped back 'That is a highly simplistic way of putting things John, I am disappointed.'

I growled through my teeth 'Seriously Mycroft, I have no time for the condescending shit bag routine, I have been looking after your stupid brother for three days and I am not going to be able to do it for much longer. You are his brother so you need to pull some of the weight!'

I don't think he appreciated being described as a 'condescending shit bag' but, to his credit, he did come over and take a look at his sleepy little brother 'John, it is not productive to project all the anger over this situation on to me.'

I glowered 'Condescending shit bag Mycroft.' And then a thought struck me 'YOU have had chicken pox haven't you?'

He rolled his eyes and said 'Of course, John, do you think I would be here if I hadn't? One of the reason Sherlock didn't get chicken pox as a child is because I did.'

'What?'

'Whenever one of us got ill our mother would imprison us in one wing of the house with a maid until she was certain we were no longer contagious.'

I stared. It had been fairly obvious that neither Sherlock nor Mycroft had had a happy childhood when I met their mother, but I hadn't expected them to be actively separated by their parents.

'Aside from the fact that you came to the realization that Sherlock is an idiot, what happened?' he said

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed 'Sherlock had a case.' There was silence for a bit before Mycroft said

'Much as I know that should be a sufficient explanation, John, it isn't.'

'Sherlock thought that the daughter had done it and she is a primary school teacher. So obviously, he decided that we needed to pose as school inspectors, despite the fact that thirteen children had been taken home with chicken pox, and because he's an idiot he decided not to tell me that he hadn't had chicken pox. Anyway, he's got it now and is running a temperature of a hundred and three, because he is an idiot.'

Mycroft rolled his eyes again 'That's some excellent bedside manner you have Doctor. Anyway, why are we whispering?'

I gave him a pitying look. 'Mycroft, I realise that you spent a large part of your childhood away from your dear brother but you really must have realised at some point that he is not good at tolerance.'

'So?' he sneered

'Do you want to be the one to wake him up?'

Mycroft rolled his eyes 'Oh for heaven's sake...' and he reached out to touch Sherlock's shoulder.

I slapped his hand away 'Don't you dare Mycroft! I have just gotten him to sleep and I am not going to do it again!' I whispered furiously. Too late.

'John...' I heard

I glared at Mycroft

'What's going ooooon?' I heard Sherlock slur from my lap

'Nothing Sherlock, go back to sleep.'

'Why am I sitting down here?' he said looking around in confusion, with slightly glazed eyes

'It's where you wanted to sit.' I said, avoiding Mycroft's gaze

'..'m itchy all over.' He mumbled 'Can I have some more of that injection stuff?' hopefully burying his face into my lap. I bit my tongue and became very interested in the coffee table, in order to avoid Mycroft's gaze.

'In a bit Sherlock, just go back to sleep for now.'

'Okay.' He said happily, his face far too rosy and his eyes far too bright. We waited for the heavy breathing to resume before Mycroft, with a face, as Lestrade would say, like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle, said 'Injection stuff?' in a voice like January frost.

I felt the tips of my ears redden as I became intensely interested in a gas bill 'Yeah, you know... just something to help him sleep... won't do... much... harm...' I mumbled.

I risked a glance upwards and met with a gaze like a brick wall 'Much, harm?' he asked, his voice somehow contriving to get even icier.

I picked at a thread on the sofa 'Morphia doesn't... significantly... shorten his life... very often...'

Mycroft sat there in silence before glaring at me, appearing to make a decision, before he stood up and started to walk out.

'Wait, where are you going?' I said desperately 'I asked you here to help me!'

He turned to me with an almost reflection of his brother's evil grin and indicated the sleeping young man in my lap.

'Well, John' he began, increasing the amount of teeth I could see marginally 'Since you seem to be coping so very well,' the condescending shit bag was back 'I think I'm going to be leaving Sherlock's care to you.' I ground my teeth

'Mycroft I have had no sleep in four days, and he is your brother, I therefore think...' I felt Sherlock stir in my lap, whimpering slightly 'Shhh...' I said gently to him.

I looked up to see Mycroft smirking at me, he brushed off the legs of his trousers and silkily said 'John, taking into account your current situation, I honestly don't think Sherlock would be nearly as happy with me as he... appears to be with you.' He nodded to my lap, where I found my hand buried in Sherlock's thick hair. I quickly retracted my hand and blushed furiously.

'Mycroft please, I'm begging you...' I began in a desperate tone of voice (quite unintentional of course) he turned wearily at the top of the stairs

'You have been living with my brother for over two years now, and to be honest, when he is ill, he is far easier to deal with than when he is not. Having been dealing with him for that long, you can deal with him when he has chicken pox. Particularly since you've been drugging him.' He said sharply 'Piece of cake for a man like you.'

I stared after his retreating figure. Bastard.

AN: again, have no idea where that chapter came from. I did drug my sister once when she was annoyingly ill ( I have amazing bedside manner) but only cocodamol, not morphine. Anyway, express some sort of opinion and review!