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Sherlock lay on the couch reading a book on Mythology that Mycroft had given him when he found out it was one of Sherlock’s passions. It always interested him how the punishment or protection of Gods or Goddesses was to turn people into plants, trees, or animals. He had just reached the story of SYKEUS (Syceus), who was one of the Gigantes (Giants) or Titanes who waged war on the gods. Zeus pursued him to Kilikia (Cilicia), where his mother Gaia (the Earth) hid him in her bosom and transformed him into the first fig tree. So engrossed in the book that he missed John entering the room.
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," John screamed as he entered the apartment to find it filled with plants from one end to the other, and the putrid smell was so strong, he was having problems breathing. "What in god's name are you doing?"
Looking up from his book, "Conducting an experiment to find out which of these plants will grow to enormous size with my new formula. I've been reading this book about the societies that suddenly turned people into plants, and I figure it was nature mutating into their environment. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do." Sherlock headed back into the kitchen, where he had a beaker of fluid bubbling and boiling. The green fumes that were sent out caused his eyes to burn as it was obnoxious.
John glanced once before declaring, "I’m going to stay by Mike’s house tonight as the smell in this house is horrendous. It’s going to cost one of us horrible nightmares, and it’s not going to be me. Let me know when I can breathe in here again,” he said as he grabbed his coat and stomped down the stairs.
Sherlock ignored John as the man slammed the door. He mixed this and that into the fluid, working on his formula for the rest of the day and most of the night. Occasionally, he thought he heard a crackle and the word finally faintly.
It came to the point where he couldn’t stay awake any longer, so he headed to bed. Grumbling that he didn’t understand what was going on as he was used to spending multiple nights and days without being tired. Sherlock's eyes closed against his will while the crackling increased and the word finally was etched in his mind. His last thought as he could no longer keep himself awake was something was very, very wrong.
Sherlock dreamed that he was being undressed and felt gentle touches all over his body. It felt good until whatever was touching him wrapped itself around him, squeezing tighter and tighter. The smell surrounding him was making him sick. It was putrid, the smell of the dead.
Attempting to open his eyes, he found something preventing them from opening even a crack to see what was happening. When opening his mouth to demand an explanation, something jammed itself almost down his throat. Frightened, he began to fight, pulling and yanking at anything in his restricted reach.
Managing to get the obstruction from his throat and the covering off his eyes, he found his body covered in leaves and branches. He looked around and noticed what appeared to be a man sitting next to him staring enthusiastically.
“Mr. Holmes, I see you’re awake. Don’t worry, soon you will be joining my little garden. Thanks to you and your formula, it’s growing in leaps and bounds,” he explained while pressing and squeezing Sherlock’s arms.
The man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place him. “Get your hands off me, and remove these obstructions! Who are you?” Sherlock demanded.
Belting out an evil laugh, the man said, “Come now, Mr. Holmes, surely you recognize me?”
“I know you are trying to pretend to be Syceus, who is just a character in Mythology to fool me.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Holmes, I am real. Yes, my mother tried to protect me by turning me into a fig tree man, but Zeus punished me when he found out what she did. He placed a spell on me, preventing me from dying and living in this horrible form. The centuries he condemned me to as half a man and tree made me this ugly thing that you see before you.”
“You’re mad if you think I believe the rubbish you're trying to feed me,” Sherlock huffed.
“And wouldn’t you be if you were stuck like this for eons?”
“Why come to me?” the detective questioned, ignoring the branches and leaves that began to tighten around him once more.
“I believed you would like to see the results of your experiment. You’re a genius, Mr. Holmes.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I would prefer to look over the experiment myself, not someone’s who stole it from me.” As the greenery tightened, it made the detective’s breathing difficult. Struggling again, he tried to remove them, “Leave me out of here!” Sherlock ordered. His body began to feel as if it was starting to burn as the foliage around him pressed in on him.
“You should know that you don’t abandon an experiment when you see success. I’ve been waiting for centuries to see if someone could create a formula that could turn people into plants or a tree, as my mother did to me. You were experimenting with a new method that I’ve been waiting to be discovered,” Sherlock glared at him.
“Look, see what I have created with your discovery,” Syceus said, pointing to the room full of giant plants. “You should be happy that I’ve been able to prove that your formula worked. I’ve killed many others in my life who failed me when attempting to create success to do what you managed.”
Sherlock turned his head. Before him, he saw an enormous flowering plant taking over the apartment. As each flower opened slowly, the face of someone he knew or cared for was revealed. Sherlock’s glared turned murderous. “You have no right to use it to harm others.”
“Oh, I have every right. But there is no reason to be upset, Mr. Holmes, soon you will be joining the other blooming flowers. After I ensure it works, I’ll release it on the world to punish the offspring of those who allowed Zeus to do this to me,” Syceus pointed to himself.
Sherlock’s body began to burn up, causing him to struggle more violently to get to the flowers before they bloomed and revealed more of the people he cared for. As the first two opened, they were proceeded with a horrible smell. A poisonous yellow Jimsonweed showed Sally’s face while the foul-smelling brown starfish had Anderson’s. The next to open was a blood-red gladiolus with Mary's angry face. Molly’s sad face appeared on a purple touch-me-not, while his friend Greg emerged as a blue tulip for loyalty.
He stopped struggling as more buds appeared. The next was a yellow chrysanthemum with his best friend John’s face. A small white daisy that came from the chrysanthemum with little Rosie’s face. A dark red carnation symbolizes Mrs. Hudson, giving him the love and affection his mother never did. Each of the other flowers made him sadder as they appeared. With tears in his eyes, he thought of the language of flowers and how each flower was an accurate representation of the people in his life.
Sherlock held his breath as a large bud appeared in the middle of the others. He shut his eyes in pain, not wanting to see but knowing it would be Mycroft, the love of his life. The flower slowly opened, confirming his fears. Tears began to fall heavily. Trying to remove the leaves and branches, he began to scream, “Mycroft, Mycroft. No, not him. I can’t live without him.”
After not hearing from Sherlock all night, the following morning after he had stayed by Mike’s, John decided to check on his flatmate. He had found Sherlock tightly wrapped in a blanket, burning up with fever. When the detective started to call the names of people Sherlock knew, it confused John. However, when the detective hysterically began screaming his brother’s name, he knew something was seriously wrong.
John called down the stairs, “Mrs. Hudson, call his brother and tell that nosy git, Sherlock needs him now.”
Mycroft was surprised to see Mrs. Hudson's number come up, “And what has my brother done this time?”
“You need to come immediately. We can’t wake him up, and he’s been burning up with a fever. He’s screaming your name and hasn’t stopped in over an hour.”
“Do you know what happened to him to cause him to be in this state?”
“All I know is that he was working on an experiment with plants, and the concoction he was messing with caused a horrendous odor.”
Suddenly, the screams of ‘Mycroft’ rose to a terrifying level.
“I’ll be there in 15 minutes,” Hearing the desperation in his brother’s voice, Mycroft hung up and ordered his driver to meet him outside. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he called to Anthea as he left.
Arriving downstairs, the government official could hear his brother’s thick, crying voice, screaming for him. The earsplitting sound had him hurrying upstairs, where he found John and Mrs. Hudson in Sherlock’s bedroom. John was trying to cool him off with wet towels, but the fever wasn’t coming down.
Meanwhile, Sherlock believed he was being watered to help him grow and was fighting to remove the watering can. He could feel the leaves crushing him and the branches entering his sides. “Mycie help me, please,” he screamed.
Mycroft lifted his brother onto his lap, “Shh, little brother, I have you. Wake up for me.”
Silence enveloped the room as Sherlock tucked himself in Mycroft’s arms. In a small voice, he pleaded, “Don’t wilt away, please Mycie.”
Mycroft glanced at the other two in the room. If they disapproved of how he and Sherlock felt about each other, he didn’t care. Sherlock’s health and sanity had to come first. “Darling, I’m fine, and so are you. It was only the fumes that were causing your nightmare. Come on, dear, wake up for me.”
Opening his eyes, Sherlock whispered. “Mycie, is that really you?”
“Who else would be willing to have you on their lap? You know that you need to stop with these putrid-smelling experiences. You’re lucky Dr. Watson found you in time, cleared out the plants, and opened the windows. Dear, I love you too much to let you go before me. Promise me, you’ll be more careful.”
Lestrade asked, surprised, pointing between the two of them, “How long?”
“Does it really matter?” Mycroft answered.
“No, just never expected it.”
Mrs. Hudson smiled while glaring at Mycroft, “I knew he found someone. You’re welcome here as long as you don’t hurt him.”
“But…” Greg began. Mrs. Hudson grabbed his arm and motioned for John to follow them.
After the door closed, Mycroft climbed behind his brother and cuddled him, “I’ll be here when you wake up. You’re safe.”
Sherlock snuggled into his brother's arms, “Don’t leave me, please.”
“Never, my love. Now go to sleep.”
As Sherlock started to fall asleep, a crackling voice whispered in his ears, “I’ll be waiting for your next experience. Maybe I can steal that one too.” The crackling faded away slowly as the detective’s eyes slid close while he shivered in his sleep.