A/N: Hi! Another fill from me, I have a long list of the one's I still want to do, so watch out, there's a lot more brotherly love to come ;) I hope the OP of this prompt sees this story and approves. I loved this prompt!

Reviews are dearly appreciated :)

Thanks for reading! xx

John was slightly disconcerted when he came downstairs one morning to a peaceful kitchen and an empty living room. There were no alarming bangs as some dubious looking experiment went horribly wrong on the table, or frantic tapping of keys on a laptop, or even the frustrated plucking of the strings of a violin. There was nothing but blissful silence; and quite honestly John found it quite unnerving.

Sherlock was nearly always up before John unless he hadn't slept for days on end due to a case, but the detective - much to his dismay - hadn't had a case all week. Curious at the lack of his roommate's usually overbearing presence, John decided to exert some deductions of his own.

He noted Sherlock's coat was still slung across his chair – so he hadn't gone out then, the detective wouldn't go anywhere without it even if it was the middle of the summer. Sherlock's bedroom door was still shut – not unusual – however the bathroom one was wide open and John's nose wrinkled slightly at the distinct whiff of vomit when he walked past; doctor or not, there were some things he'd never get used to.

John knocked on the door cautiously and pressed his ear slightly to the wood as he waited for a reply. There were some incoherent mumbles from within and he took this as his permission to enter – although it was probably nothing of the sort.

Sherlock was in bed rolled up in his duvet, looking paler than ever and shivering like he had no protection from the cold at all. He also appeared to be sweating, though, and John immediately grew concerned for his friend.

"Leave me" Sherlock insisted weakly. "Tell any clients I may have I'm incapacitated, and tell Lestrade he might have to actually put effort into his job for once as I won't be able to assist him."

John's sympathy soon subdued and he rolled his eyes. "You really are a drama queen, you know that?"

"You don't know how I feel, John" Sherlock continued to groan and then dramatically buried his head in the pillow.

John sighed with disappear. "Yes, because you're roommate who is a doctor has no idea how to aid you when you're feeling ill" he chided. "Now I know you've been sick and you clearly have a fever. Tell me have you been coughing, sneezing, headaches?"

"Yes to all of the above" Sherlock responded. "Just leave me to waste away…" he ended with a small coughing fit.

"Yes, I'm afraid you might have the plague" John responded seriously. Sherlock's eyes grew wide for a moment and John shook his head in disbelief. "I'm joking you pillock, you just have a bad case of the flu." He assured him.

"I'm glad you find my ailment so amusing, but you shouldn't joke, I could sue you for medical negligence and misdiagnosis."

John raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't dare" he said with a slightly lopsided smile, and Sherlock clamped his mouth shut. "All you need is some rest, some medicine, and some of Mrs Hudson's soup."

Sherlock groaned at the thought of eating and buried himself back under the covers. John smirked with amusement once more before going to alert Mrs Hudson he would be in need of her much more favourable cooking skills. He then went up to his own room to retrieve the medicine.

When he came back downstairs he nearly jumped at the sudden appearance of Mycroft sat on their sofa, twizzling his ever present umbrella into the floorboards impatiently.

"Ah, good morning, Doctor Watson" the elder Holmes said with a slightly strained smile as he stood to greet the doctor.

"Hello, Mycroft" John replied for politeness' sake. "I'm afraid Sherlock can't help you today. He has a bad case of the flu and prescribing bed rest." He may have missed the way Mycroft's face fell a little if he wasn't use to it being so stoic.

"My brother is ill?" Mycroft repeated and John nodded. "Well then, I promise I shall be quick…"

"I don't think that's a good idea" John said as he stood firmly between the elder Holmes and Sherlock's door. "The last thing he needs is a slanging match with you in this state."

"Dr Watson, I assure you that it is never my intention to come here and start a …slanging match, with my brother. I merely wish to check on him myself, not that I mistrust your judgement."

John heard the elusive whisper of 'I worry about him. Constantly.' In the back of his mind.

"Alright, five minutes, that's it" he stressed before stepping aside and letting Mycroft walk ahead of him.

To John's surprise Mycroft simply perched himself on the edge of Sherlock's bed, and the younger Holmes rolled over to face him. Sherlock looked immediately more at ease. John watched incredulously as his friend shuffled closer to Mycroft and took his brother's hand.

"I feel awful, Myc" he croaked and pulled Mycroft's hand so it was resting against his forehead.

Mycroft placed his palm against it and looked saddened at the amount of heat radiating off his brother.

"I know, little brother, but do not be vexed; John and I will make sure that you are well again."

John had never heard such gentleness in Mycroft before and it made him feel a little agitated. Mycroft's face was a picture of concern and he didn't at all seem to care that John was observing the whole scene – neither did Sherlock. John wondered if his roommate had been ill often as a child and Mycroft had always fretted over him.

John only realised he'd been staring when Mrs Hudson entered to room carrying a tray with soup and fresh bread rolls. Even she looked a little shocked at the Holmes brother's blatant display of affection, but she soon started fussing over Sherlock herself.

"Now, you make sure you eat that all up, dear, it's good for you" She instructed like any caring mother. "And you do exactly as John tells you" she added more sternly.

"What if John tells me to poison everyone at Scotland Yard?" Sherlock mumbled back. Mycroft gave an amused chuckle. Mrs Hudson and John shared a look.

"Then you'll know I've finally been driven mad" the doctor finally retorted. "Unless…maybe Anderson…"

"John!" Mrs Hudson swatted his arm lightly and the younger man gave her a sheepish grin.

"It would be perfectly alright for the two of you to return to your daily routines." Mycroft said – much more politer than his usual scuttle along speech.

He slipped his shoes off and sat with his back against the headboard, long legs stretched out in front of him. Sherlock moved over so that his head was resting gently in his brother's lap and his whole body was snuggled up against Mycroft. Since being a child when he was ill he had always felt more optimistic and safe when he was right by Mycroft's side. Mycroft would never let anything happen to him despite the fact that they simply fought most of the time now. Sherlock would always be grateful for that.

Mycroft in turn began to delicately stroke his hand through Sherlock's hair and smiled when his brother let out a sound of content.

"Sherlock and I have always been able to care for one another when one of us is ill. I do appreciate your help though. John, you are a marvel of a doctor, and Mrs Hudson, the soup does look delightful. I wonder if I could trouble you for a bowl myself?"

He completely ignored the way both John and Mrs Hudson's mouths seemed to be slightly agape. They were completely boggled – never had they know the Holmes brothers to be so open about their feelings; it was surreal, yet at the same time it was endearing and almost sweet.

"Of course, my dear" Mrs Hudson soon replied with a warm smile after probably too long of a pause. "I'll be back in a moment; you just make sure to take care of him now."

"I have every intention too" Mycroft replied and Mrs Hudson left.

John, however, still seemed frozen with amazement – it crossed his mind he should maybe be filming this to send to Greg, but he didn't think that would go down well with the Holmes' at all.

"Erm, here…" The doctor eventually spoke, feeling nothing but awkwardness now. "Take two spoonfuls of this every three hours and don't get out of bed unless necessary. I have to erm…" What did he have to do exactly? He coughed and then shuffled towards the door. "I have to go to work." He announced and then hurried out the door.

"That was odd" Sherlock commented.

"Indeed" Mycroft pondered and then smiled amusedly. "I do think we gave the doctor and your land lady a bit of a shock."

"They'll get over it" Sherlock said. He didn't care – this was how it had always been when he was ill and this was how it always would be. "Thank you, brother."

"No need to thank me." Mycroft responded. "As I always say; this is what brothers are for."

Sherlock remained snuggled up beside his brother as the rhythmic carding of Mycroft's hand through his hair soon sent him off into a peaceful slumber.