Sometimes the British government is just tired. Mycroft Holmes sank down into his chair with a sigh, closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and thought of nothing for a while. He was home early and had skipped his usual midday meal, but he wasn't sick. He really was just tired. He feared, however, that his deviation from his routine would arouse concern, and he was not surprised to find he was right.
The knock on his door came almost an hour exactly after he arrived home, but it wasn't his brother. The doctor? He thought it might be, and called for him to come through.
"Mr. Holmes?" Watson asked as he entered, "did you call for a doctor?"
The man looked harried; he'd evidently been up since the early morning calling on patients, and his day had not gone well.
"No," he drawled.
"Oh. Sherlock…"
"Yes, yes," Mycroft said, waving his hand through the air dismissively, "Sherlock heard, likely from one of my subordinates, that I did not follow my usual routine, and sent for you to call on me. I assure you, doctor, I am not ill. I am not too prideful a man not to go to my own doctor if I need one. I am simply tired. As are you, I perceive. Please, have a seat."
Watson smiled slightly. "Would you mind if I checked regardless?" he asked.
"May I assume my brother is the one who will receive the bill if you do?" Mycroft asked. "After all, you've come so far out of your way, but I suppose you are the kind of man who is far too gracious to charge for the visit if you don't provide a service."
Watson laughed. "I suppose I'd give it to your brother, for you're correct that he's the one who called."
"Very well, then, doctor. Do your worst, this shouldn't take long."
It didn't, Watson quickly confirming that Mycroft had no fever, no swollen lymph nodes, and no symptoms besides exhaustion.
"I would tell you to take a break," Watson said, "but, well, here I am, the one who is interrupting exactly that."
"And since you are here, Doctor, why don't you join me? Take a break."
"I wish I could," Watson sighed, "but there are plenty of others who actually are ill and who I need to get to."
"Half an hour," Mycroft said. "After all, your time is being paid for by my brother until you leave."
The doctor hesitated for just a moment and looked just tired enough that Mycroft decided to push his luck. "It will keep me awake and anxious," he said, "if I think that you are out there treating patients while exhausted and perhaps making mistakes."
Watson finally grinned. "Half an hour, then, though I have a feeling you are much more missing the experience of sitting in complete silence with others in the room more than you are worried for me."
Mycroft did not reply, settling further down into his chair as Watson took a seat, too. It was less than ten minutes when Mycroft's breathing evened out and his head lolled further to the side.
John Watson opened his eyes, smiling slightly to himself as the suspicions he'd voiced aloud were confirmed. The Holmes brothers might be the best logical reasoners in England, but there were some ways in which good old experience was better. He stood and stretched, exiting quietly. Mycroft hadn't been wrong when he'd deduced Watson was tired, but those ten minutes would have to suffice; he'd been distracted long enough, and now there was work to be done.
For the prompt "Sometimes the British government..." from YoughaltheJust. Wait a minute...
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