"Mummy?" Hamish croaked.

"Right here, Sweetie." Irene touched his forehead again. His temperature still hadn't gone down. "How do you feel?"

"Tired and achy."

"Does your head hurt?"

Hamish nodded.

"Daddy should be heading home from the pharmacy. Just go to sleep, sweetie."

"I'm cold."

"I'll get some more blankets for you. Just sleep for now, okay?"

Irene retreated from Hamish's room and was greeted by Mrs. Hudson.

"How is he?" she whispered.

"Tired and achy." Irene repeated her son's words.

"You think some warm milk and biscuits will do the trick?"

"I'm sure he'd like that," Irene said, touching her shoulder gratefully.

Irene took Hamish's favorite blue blanket from the cupboard and brought it back to him.

"Here you are, sweetie," she said, adding another layer of blanket to the heap covering him.

"Head hurts, Mummy."

"I know, but Daddy will be back any minute with some medicine."

"And some soup!" Sherlock's baritone voice called from the doorway.

"Did you buy some paracetamol?" Irene questioned.

"Yes dear, and some children's ibuprofen as well." Sherlock held up the bag for Irene to see. "Look Mish, chicken noodle soup. Your favourite."

"Head hurts."

"We have to get food into you first before we give you medicine."

Sherlock moved towards the bedside chair and opened the container.

"Open wide." Sherlock spoonfed his son while Irene sat at his bedside brushing the locks of hair away from Hamish's eyes.

"Warm milk and cookies for Hamish," Mrs. Hudson said, entering the room with a tray.

"I'm sick, Mrs. Hudson," Hamish announced and faked a cough for emphasis.

"I know dear, but your mum and dad are working hard to make sure you feel better." She set the tray on the table. "Sherlock, there's a thermometer here. Check his temperature in an hour."

"Okay."

"Isn't he supposed to rest?" A regal-looking man suddenly appeared in the doorway "He is ill."

Sherlock shut his eyes, "Oh for heaven's sake, Mycroft, what on earth are you doing here?"

"Just visiting my sick nephew." He laid his coat and a life-sized teddy bear on the nearest chair.

"I'm going to help Mrs. Hudson with dinner." Irene kissed Hamish's forehead and

retreated from the room.

"Get that stuffed animal away. It has fur. It might accumulate dust and germs." Sherlock continued to feed Hamish. "He's already ill. There's no need to exacerbate it."

"It's hypoallergenic."

"Who told you he was sick, anyway?" Sherlock asked, still not looking at his brother.

"John."

Damn that man. He couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

"I wanna see the teddy, Daddy." Hamish eyed the stuffed bear with delight.

"You're not going anywhere near it while you're still sick. The germs might attach themselves to the fur and you might get sick all over again." Sherlock looked at Mycroft "Get that bear out of here."

"Have you taken your medicine yet, Hamish?" Mycroft asked, ignoring Sherlock.

He shook his head, "Daddy said I need to eat first, but my head is already hurting."

"Well, then your daddy should have let you eat a couple of spoonfuls then let you take your medicine." He looked pointedly at his brother "Honestly, Sherlock, the boy's head was aching and you still let him endure it."

"Stop trying to be a father, Mycroft. We both know that you're not good at it."

"I'm not being a father, I'm being an uncle. Being there for my nephew when his father is doing less than a marvelous job"

"I wanna play with the bear, Uncle Mycroft."

Mycroft was about to get the bear for his nephew when Sherlock cut in:

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mish. You're still sick and the germs might-"

"Oh hush, Sherlock, let the boy play with-"

"Oh none of that, you two," Mrs. Hudson scolded as she entered the room. "Go and fight outside if you want to, but not in front of Hamish. You'll traumatize the poor boy."

"I assure you, Mrs. Hudson, I'm certain Sherlock already has." Mycroft rolled his eyes at his younger brother, "Taking the boy with him to crime scenes and double murders. Such horrifying parenting skills."

"Please," Sherlock scoffed in return "You know as well as everyone else that he is no ordinary child, and therefore not a bit startled by it."

Mycroft couldn't argue with that.

"What are you doing here, Mrs. Hudson?" he sighed in defeat.

"Making both of you leave this room. Hamish needs his rest." Mrs. Hudson shooed both of them away and proceeded to feed Hamish.

"See what you've done?" Sherlock said to Mycroft.

Mycroft held his head high and walked out of the flat.

"Tell Hamish that I needed to go. I have some more business to attend to."

"If you think that I would be happy to tell my son that his uncle has better things to do than be with him while he's ill, then you must already be very delusional, Mycroft."

"I'll send him more gifts later," Mycroft said

There was a light knock on the door.

"Hello?" John Watson's head peeked around it.

"If you'll excuse me." Mycroft walked out of the room

His brother having departed, Sherlock faced the perpetrator of the dreadful crime of bringing Mycroft into the flat.

"You have got a lot of explaining to do, John."