Ok, so I started this story because I saw a prompt on Facebook and just couldn't resist. I apologise that the chapter is so short, I just want to see people's reactions, if they like it or not and then I'll carry it on from there. If people like the idea and the way this story is going, then I'll be writing longer chapters and continuing this story, so please don't forget to review too to tell me your thoughts :)

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mycroft." Sherlock states, the slight widen of his eyes showing his lack of attention on the subject. Obviously Sherlock knew what his brother was scolding him about. Having no cases to solve for so many weeks, which was slowly shifting into months, have given boredom the chance to chip away at his intellectual mind. It was no secret he kept a nicotine patch on him all the time when boredom came acros like this, but this time it was different. Nicotine wasn't giving him the same hype and release it used to. So, keeping it confidential, he would give himself a short taste of another drug. There were several actually, like a collection of fine wines in a wine cellar... but he didn't drink wine. So opium and selected other drugs were his consolation. By the sounds of things, Mycroft has discovered his stash and isn't bothering with the investigation, jumping straight to the punishment.

"You still pull the same faces and have that nervous disposition you did when you were a child, I know when you're lying Sherlock. I'm sending you to rehab." Mycroft replies, looking down at his younger brother. Sherlock continues to act uninterested at the conversation and begins to do up his sleeve cuff buttons.

"You won't send me to rehab Mycroft," He retaliates, certainty running strongly with his voice, "Your little brother being exposed as a drug addict is a scandal you want to avoid."

"Surprisingly, Sherlock, my reputation is not more important than you." Mycroft inputs, his face shifting from a hard stare to one emitting from, a form, of care.

"Don't tell me you care about me." Sherlock sneers, clearly not wanting the brotherly affection and any kind words that it will entail.

"Sherlock, you're my brother. It's not like I want to care about you, it's human nature. We protect our family on instinct." Mycroft explains, an almost assuring tone tinting his voice. Sherlock simply hums a response whilst continuing to sort out his clothing.

"There's a car waiting outside. You are going to rehab." Mycroft repeats, the care in his voice extinguished and stern demand in its place.

The care journey was fairly silent. Sherlock was in a sulk, as his brother put it, for being forced into the vehicle. The occasional cab containing a photographer from one of the hundreds of stalking magazines would discover them and attempt to take a snap of a member of the British Goverment taking his younger brother to rehab. Whether they got the shot or not would be discovered with tomorrow's issue.

"This is causing so much fuss already." Sherlock mutters, keeping his head bolt forward, looking out of the window shield, the window wipers never once catching his eye as they swipe of the heavy rain. Mycroft doesn't bother to retaliate, he just simply rolls his eyes and restrains the sighs and tuts.

When the care, eventually, arrived at the rehab centre, Sherlock looks at it in disgust. Like one touch on its grounds would give him a disease. In reality it was a clean, spotless even, facility that seemed like a rather uplifting place. However, to Sherlock, it was the equivalent to prison, maybe worse.

"It's too bright and... cheerful. I thought this place was supposed to cure people from their problems, not cause them." He complains, wincing at the yellow walls that just refelcted happiness.

"If you carry out even one experiment here, I'll whack you round the head with my umbrella." Mycroft threatens, leading his brother over to the welcome desk, keeping his voice low, already knowing what Sherlocks brain is scanning for.

"They're not experiments, they're scientific explorations." He corrects, still looking at the first this he can dissolve or possibly even blow up. Suddenly, the metal ferrule of Mycrofts said umbrella stabs into Sherlocks left foot. He winces in pain, holding back any noises that his body is urging to release.

"I don't care what you call them. You follow the rules here and be nice. I know that might be a little impossible for you, but it's only for three months." Mycroft hisses, twisting the ferrule from Sherlocks foot. The pair are interrupted when a man, a little shorter than Sherlock rushes into the room. His blonde, short hair swept back slightly and his white coat flaring out behind him as he quickly approaches the two. The name tag shows his employment at the centre and his pinned neatly to the white coat.

"I can't tell if you're deducting facts or if you seemed to be forming an early affection with this man." Mycroft muses, catching the transfixed eyes of Sherlocks stuck in the approaching man, as if the stethoscope around his neck had hypnotised him as it swung with the pace of the mans walk.

"Mr Holmes? My name is Doctor Watson, I'll be overseeing your treatment," he introduces, quickly glacing at the clipboard in his hand, "if you'll follow me, I'll show you where you be staying for the time you are here." He finishes, beginning to walk off again.

"Affection isn't my area, Mycroft." Sherlock states, walking after Doctor Watson.

"Oh, you'll be suprised Sherly." Mycroft chuckles, walking back toward the entrance doors, his umbrella swinging with the flick of his wrist with his walk.

Thanks for reading :) Again I apologise for the short chapter. Please R&R, It's much appreciated