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ALLONS-Y!

I don't own anything owned by anyone else (i.e. Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, Sir Arther Conan Doyle, ect)

John sat in a huge, padded armchair. His brows furrowed in concentration, and underneath them eyes gazed at the paper he had been trying to read earlier that day. But as his mind continued to wander, he set down his paper on his lap and leaned back, deep in thought.

On a good day, Sherlock Holmes was a hard man to live with. His typical snarky remarks were enough to drive the retired army doctor to his wit's end. And the detective's irritating habit of experimenting with decidedly garish objects continually kept him on his toes (with a broom nearby). Immature, childish, impatient, and rude. This was Sherlock Holmes. But he was also alone. Terribly alone. Even when surrounded by hundreds of others, the detective still seemed 'set apart'. Perhaps this was the only reason John Watson stayed.

So how would this play out in the younger version? Assuming he hadn't found out yet, suddenly finding out that you've been...changed...

John frowned. How was he to be told, anyway? Perhaps Mycroft would know.

Almost as if on cue, Mycroft Holmes strode into the room. He was decked head to toe in a black suit, and carrying a matching black umbrella. A smug expression took over his features as he nodded in acknowledgement of John's presence. Immediately John shot up, all calmness aside.

"Mycroft, thank goodness-"

"Yes, yes, pleasantries and all that. What is the matter, I'm rather in a hurry."

John frowned. Mycroft's interruption took him aback for a moment. But he quickly recovered and motioned for him to follow him into Sherlock's room.

Sherlock was asleep when they entered. He lay on his side with his knees against his chest, matted curls framing his now young face. Mycroft's mouth dropped open in shock(a thing that John could not help but laugh at later on) He strode over to the edge of the bed to examine his younger brother's face. It was like being thrown back in time, and it took Mycroft a moment to take it in. Then he stood up and turned to John with a smile. "

"Well...this is an interesting turn of events, isn't it? But you didn't have to wait for me to tell him. I won't do any better of a job than you would have done."

Before John could ask how he had known, Mycroft turned and shook his sleeping brother. Despite the fact that his brother had shaken him none too gently, it took the boy a moment to wake up, leaving John to wonder if his cold had evolved into something worse.

Upon seeing his brother, Sherlock frowned and began to sit up.

"Mycroft. Go away, I don't want to talk to you."

Mycroft simply shrugged and knelt down, gently pushing the boy back against the pillows in the process.

"Then I'll be brief. John, do you have a handheld mirror?"

"Uhm...uh...yes, I think so. But why-"

"Go get it for me, will you? This will be much less drawn out and painful if he is just shown."

John shrugged and left the room, returning a few seconds later with a blue handheld mirror. He gave it to Mycroft from the other side of the bed. Mycroft nodded, and with a look of 'look-what-you-did-now', flipped it over to face Sherlock. The reaction was immediate. The boy snatched the mirror from his brother's grasp, touching his face to make sure it was he who was being shown in the glass. His alarmingly glazed eyes opened wide, and so did the boy's in the mirror.

Although it was undoubtedly far quicker than verbally telling him, John was still a bit hesitant to believe that showing him had been the best way to inform the consulting detective of his new status. Sherlock's horrified expression was unnerving to say the least, as it wasn't a feature often seen on his face. Adding to this uncomfortable situation was a newfound silence that seemed to weigh on the two older men. Even Mycroft seemed a bit lost for what to do or say.

Finally, taking the responsibility as the doctor in the room, John leaned over and put a hand on the boys shoulder. He gently pried the mirror out of the boys hands, placing it upside down at the foot of the bed. His face was a mask over a concerned countenance as he got down on his knees so as not to be taller than the boy (he wasn't quite sure how that would help, but seeing as how Sherlock had always been the taller of the two he thought it might do something to help).

"Are you alright?"

Stupid question. Of course he wasn't. But it was the only question that seemed mildly appropriate, thinking as a doctor.

Sherlock continued to stare straight ahead, his hands clenched in his lap. His face transitioned from shock and horror to determination, with jaw set and brows furrowed.

"Yes."

Lying. The word popped into Mycroft's head as the word left his brother's mouth. He rolled his eyes. This was something he had been infamous for in their youth, denying when he was sick or hurt. As if it were a weakness. And it was, in Mycroft's mind, but not as much as being a liar. He did care for his brother, though, even if he had an odd way of showing it. But that didn't mean he was going to leave his brother's fate to chance...even if that meant embarrassment on the younger's part.

"He can't help you if you lie to him."

Sherlock turned to his older brother with a scowl most unfitting for his 'age'. And it wasn't fearsome at all, it was almost cute in a way (of course if he were asked, Mycroft would have denied it). But there was something in it that suggested not anger, but overwhelming fear simply kept in check through the sheer willpower shared by both of the Holmes boys.

"I don't need help. I'm fine."

"Lying."

"Shut up, Mycroft."

Mycroft simply shrugged with a slightly amused expression on his face. But a bit of his amusement went away when Sherlock's eyes began to fill with tears. Much to the boy's displeasure, and he inwardly cursed himself for not being able to control it. And he cursed himself even more as his stomach began to churn, causing his mouth to salivate.

John, only truly observant in medical terms, frowned in noticing the boy's dilemma.

"Sherlock-"

"Go. I'm tired."

The sharpness in the boys voice took John aback for a moment. He gave an unnoticeable glance to Mycroft, who gave a small nod and moved to stand up. John followed suit, and closed the door softly behind him.

As soon as the pair left, Sherlock bit his lip and frantically ran his fingers through his hair. Then he curled up onto his side, holding his stomach and fighting back the wave of nausea that threatened to break into something nasty.

The room was pitch black, save for the numerous computer monitors computer moniters that covered one wall. They gave off an eery, iridescent blueish colour, bathing the figure in front of them in their ghostly light. Suddenly, the colour changed to a dank, brownish orange. The man cocked his head in surprise. Then he rolled over (he was sitting in a wheely chair) to the screen on the far left of the wall. To anyone else, it was simply a sleeping child. But he wasn't 'just anyone else'. Oh no. He was much more than that. And as a smile began to tip the corner of his lips, a low chuckle began to eminate off the walls...

I hope you enjoyed it! =D Thank you so much for reading and I hope to update you soon =)

Reviews:

Anna: Hey, thanks =D And oh, don't worry, I won't abandon the other one ;) I hate that too, and plus I really love writing Setting Fire =)