I DONT OWN ANYTHING (APART FROM MY UNHEALTHY OBSESSION WITH ALL THINGS SHERLOCK) AND NO PROFIT IS BEING MADE OUT OF THIS. PROPERTY OF MARK, STEPHEN AND OBVIOUSLY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. :D RATED T FOR A FEW NAUGHTY WORDS :P

Mycroft Holmes calmly walked into the living room of 221b Baker Street to find John still in the same position he had left him in ten minutes ago. Kneeling on the floor, one hand outstretched and intertwined with that of his brother's, the other gripping the cup of tea Mrs Hudson had made for him hours ago. The fact that the tea was by now most probably so cold it was growing little icebergs of its own was hardly worthy of being called a deduction. This would not do.

"I think you need to stop worrying over my hopeless little brother and pay attention to your needs now John" he said in a berating tone that somehow made John feel like he was back in primary school and was being told off by his headmaster again.

John huffed. "Im fine, Mycroft, don't worry about me... I'm -"

"You are certainly not, fine, John. The tremor in the lower half of your left leg and the position of your right hand tell me that not only are you very uncomfortable, and have been for some time, but also that you have developed an irrational fear that if you move, breathe, or take your eyes off dear little brother for even one second then he will spontaneously combust in front of your very eyes. Am I right?" John opened his mouth to respond but the elder Holmes carried on with his lecture regardless. "I can also deduce that due to the fact that you haven't drank your tea - and that is disturbing in itself - and that you have yet to notice that it is currently precisely 37 seconds from falling from your grip and spilling all over the quite frankly vile carpet that you and Sherlock insist on keeping that you are more than a little... pre-occupied?"

"You done?" John's eyebrow had been steadily rising throughout Mycroft's little speech and the look on his face by now was one of pure exasperation.

"I am merely saying" Mycroft continued "That you look like you need, oh how can I put this...refreshing perhaps? Maybe consider a shower? Or a – "

"It's been five and a half hours Mycroft! Five and a half hours since I gave him that antidote. And so far? Nothing, he's just lying there, the stubborn bastard, he doesn't even have the common decency to wake the hell up and let us know he's going to be fine!"

"Now, now John, do calm down. I don't think you having a little breakdown will help matters will they?"

"You arrogant sod!" John exploded. "You weren't here when he stumbled in half alive! You weren't here when he stopped breathing! He... he scared me to death Mycroft! He is scaring me to death right now! I want to know who gave him that poison! I want to know how it got into his system! I want to know who is actually responsible for this because I actually care Mycroft Holmes, do you? Cause so far you haven't given me any reason to believe that you give a damn about your little brother. All you have done since you've been here is talk on that bloody phone of yours! Aren't you even the least bit interested as to what happened? Do you even care Mycroft?" John stood up sharply, reluctantly wrenching his hand from his flatmate's. Taking his frustration out on the poor teacup he threw it across the room where it landed with a resounding smash on the mantelpiece, a piece of the cup flying through one the eyeholes of Sherlock's beloved skull, the tea flying everywhere. Ever steady John Watson was shaking slightly from all the trauma of the last few hours, not to mention all the pent up emotion caused by a number of things. Most prominently the feeling of uselessness at not being able to do anything to help his friend, who was clearly very ill, and the overwhelming urge to punch his elder brother square in the face.

"Oh stop being so ridiculously childish John, of course I care... I care more than you will ever know." The last part of the sentence was uttered calmly but very quietly, causing John to sigh and shake his head for the millionth time at the unwillingness of the two brothers to admit their obvious affection for each other. Mycroft seemed quite unaffected by John's angry outburst, standing there in the doorway, impeccably dressed, incredibly composed, which only served to make John even angrier. He didn't get the chance to follow through with his anger however, as Sherlock Holmes chose that exact moment to let out a loud, deep groan, signalling another violent fit.

Sorry for the cliffhanger ending, forgive me please people! I have another chapter or two in the works which will be uploaded within the next few days. I now have a plan for this story, which I think is much better than just writing each chapter off the top of my head, which is precisely what I have been doing up to now. Anyway, I won't ramble, please let me know what you think! Reviews are like chocolate, they make me VERY happy! :D Earenniel xx