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A Little Mischief

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“Thanks, Mycroft. I really didn't want to go to a hotel while the flat was decontaminated.” John shot Sherlock a warning look. The detective could be polite to his brother for a change. Especially since Mycroft was going out of his way to be nice.

“Not a problem, John, it's not like Sherlock doesn't own this place too.”

The doctor spun on his boyfriend.

“What?” Sherlock asked innocently.

“You could have told me!”

“What?” The detective asked again, just as innocently.

Mycroft smiled. “You were at the meeting, little brother, our parents left us this place when they moved north.”

The detective waved his hand dismissively. “Hmm. Must have deleted it.”

John rolled his eyes. “Is Greg here? Only, I could do with some sanity right about now.”

“He's at work. It's obvious.” Sherlock made a face at John's questioning look. “Look how he's standing. He's all uptight and looking down his nose whilst he talks. If Lestrade were here, he'd be more relaxed.”

Mycroft just shook his head and walked out of their bedroom. “The decontamination will be about a month,” he said over his shoulder.

Sherlock watched after him confused.

“Why do you always put your foot in it?” John growled, going through their cases for his laptop.

The detective worked his mouth a few times, then shrugged. “It's a gift.”

“Do you even know what put your foot in it means?”

With a sniff, Sherlock took his coat off and concentrated his attention on hanging it up.

John snorted a fond/exasperated laugh. “Git.”

The doctor pretended not to notice when Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and began tapping away at the keyboard.

“Oh,” he said quietly when he found the definition of the phrase. Sherlock turned a cute shade of red. “Not so much a compliment, then.”

John reached up and tousled the other man's dark curls.

“I don't mean to do it, John.”

“I know you don't, Love. I guess nothing can stop your deductions.” He looked at his boyfriend seriously. “But do try to be nice to your brother while they get the Anthrax out of the flat.”

“But he said I own this place too. He can't kick us out.”

“That's not why you need to be nice to him, 'Lock,” John sighed. “You just… your brother does a lot for you.”

Sherlock frowned, but didn't argue the point. He did have a question for John, however. “You're not putting that on the blog, are you? That I didn't know what it meant.”

“I think I already covered that with my, 'he's spectacularly ignorant in some areas' post, so no.” John ducked the incoming cushion without missing a beat. “Oh come on, you don't think I didn't notice you commenting.”

The detective looked awkward for a moment. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Luckycatt79. It was fairly obvious it was you, 'Lock.”

Sherlock sniffed. “You recognised it was me because it was the only intelligent comment on your blog.”

“No, I figured out it was you because you said, 'Even someone with your tiny little brain should recognise Sherlock's brilliance at not wasting cranial space on such trivialities.' Yes, I remember it word for word, thank you very much.”


“Because you say it a lot.”

“No, I don't.” He glared at the blond. “I want food,” he said and then turned on his heel to find Mycroft as well as the food.

“Hello, Mycie.” Sherlock sauntered into the kitchen where his brother was eating his breakfast. “It's good to see you.”

Mycroft looked at him with a small, disgruntled smile. “Ah, so we're starting our visit over are we? John's idea, I assume.”

“I'm sorry about before.” The detective shifted from foot to foot. “But you have to admit, our boyfriends make us better people.”

Mycroft's gaze softened. “That they do, brother-mine.”

Sherlock returned the soft smile and snatched Mycroft's waffle.

“You little shit.”

The younger brother raised an eyebrow, it wasn't unheard of, Mycroft swearing, but it was rare.

“You should watch your language, Mycie. You know what Mummy always says about profanity and inferior minds.” He took a bite of the waffle and made a face. “It needs chocolate sauce.”

Mycroft grabbed his little brother detective around the neck in a headlock. He ruffled his curls like a dog. “Slight problem there, baby brother.”

“What's that, old man?” Sherlock croaked out.

“Our parents moved away a long time ago.”

“Myc! Let me go.”

The government official re-appropriated his waffle. “Go make your own breakfast, 'Lock.” He let Sherlock go. “I've got to be at work soon.”

“Does this mean no brotherly bonding over crap telly today?”

Mycroft stared at the younger man once he'd let him go. When Sherlock looked up it was to see his doctor in the doorway, also staring at them.

“Did I put my foot in it again?” Sherlock looked from man to man. “If I did, I have no idea how.”

Mycroft raised one eyebrow towards his ever retreating hairline. “I don't believe you did. You were teasing, were you not?”

Sherlock shook his head. “About what?”

Mycroft shot a look over his shoulder at John then turned back to his brother. “I'll take the day off if that's what you want, baby brother.”

John had to take a seat when he saw Sherlock's face light up.

“Really, Mycie?”

“Yes, 'Lock. I haven't taken a day off in... Actually, I've never taken a day off.”

“You did once. When you had that apprenticeship.”

“But that's different,” Mycroft said with conviction.

“How is it?” Sherlock questioned. “It was a day off. In fact, it was a week off.”

“You were sick, 'Lock, and our parents were working. I couldn't leave you home alone.”

“I was 10.” He said it like that was a suitable age for him to be left alone.


“I would have been fine on my own.”

Mycroft snorted. “Right up until you caught the house on fire. Don't look at me like that. Even when you were sick, you were a handful.”

“What do you mean were?” John finally found something from somewhere to be able to open his mouth. “He still is.”

Just then the front door opened and shut and a very tired looking Greg slunk in. “Hey,” he offered collapsing into one of the chairs at the breakfast bar.

“Nice night shift?” Mycroft asked.

“Thought you would have left by now,” he pointed out when the government official leant over to kiss him.

Sherlock made a gagging sound.

“Oi! Shut it you. I've had to watch the pair of you snog often enough.” Greg grinned at the detective. “Yeah, I've seen what you get up to at the Yard when you think no one is looking.”

John blushed a bright shade of red. “Is there more coffee, Mycroft?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“Sure. In the pot.” He dropped down onto the DI's lap, making the younger man groan.

“You're meant to be big and strong, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft whispered, kissing him once again, he didn't let go, though, even with his baby brother watching.

Sherlock groaned. “John, pass me a spoon. I need to gouge my eyes out.”

The doctor returned to the table and sat on Sherlock's lap. “Nope, they're too pretty. I would miss them. But we could do this.” He kissed the detective, making a show of it.

When the others pulled apart for air, Greg grinned. “I can see this month is going to be fun.”

“Who said anything about a month?” Sherlock asked. “I own this place just as much as Myc.”

The DI looked between the brothers. “Is he kidding? We have to put up with him for forever?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, grinning.

John bit his lip to keep from laughing. He knew Sherlock would never leave Baker Street. Well, maybe when they were both old and grey and tottering around, using each other as walking sticks and when Sherlock insisted that bees were the most wonderful creatures but actually found the time and effort to keep them.

Greg shrugged. He knew Sherlock was kidding too. “I've always wanted a little brother to boss about.”

“Mycroft is bossy enough, Lestrade. He doesn't need help telling me what to do.”

“I beg to differ, little brother. My Gregory would make a wonderful big brother.”

“Bleurgh!” Sherlock stuck his fingers down his throat and John smacked his hand away.

“Stop it!”

“And when will you get it into your almighty brain that it's Greg?!”

Mycroft laughed.

“You too, Myc!”

“You know, there's hope, Greg. Mycroft called me Doctor Watson for the longest time. I've only got him to call me John recently.”

“Yeah, I know,” Greg acknowledged. “But I've known him for years longer and I'm dating the git.”

“You're hardly dating me, Gregory.”

“Fair point. We haven't dated in about 4 years,” Greg laughed.

Sherlock's brow tightened, following the conversation between lovers. “Why did you change your name from Geoff anyway?”

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at the detective.

“My name's always been Greg, you great arse.”

The detective blinked. “No, it hasn't. I've called you Geoff for years.”

“John, punch him for me,” Greg demanded.

“That will not be a problem.” John punched him on the arm and then clipped him on the back of the head, consecutively. “Just because you do something for years does not mean it's right.”

“Like calling yourself a sociopath,” Mycroft said quietly, not meeting his brother's eye.

Sherlock ducked his head, not daring to argue.

The doctor kissed the dark curls on the top of Sherlock's head. “He doesn't say that anymore. He knows better.”

“Good,” Mycroft said with approval. “Now I was under the impression my baby brother wanted waffles. Who am I to argue with feeding him up like a little turkey?”

“I am not a turkey!”

Mycroft smiled, but John and Greg burst out laughing.

Sherlock tried to push his boyfriend off his lap, but John wouldn't be budged. He stamped his feet as much as he could manage and huffed, pushing John out of the way slightly so he could fold his arms in a proper sulk.

“Don't be that way, babe.” John dropped a kiss on the tip of Sherlock's nose, his chin, his forehead and each cheek. Eventually, the detective was forced to relent and wrapped his arms around John. “Hehe, I win.”

Sherlock met John's lips for a kiss, but got his revenge by biting his tongue.

“Rude!” John mumbled.

Greg stood and got a cup of coffee. He sipped it and made a face. “This stuff is positively crispy. How old is it?”

Sherlock looked at the DI like he had lost his mind. “Coffee can't be crispy, Greg.”

The detective attempted to push the doctor off his lap again and this time succeeded. John caught himself before he fell to the floor though.

“Need more waffles,” he stated stepping towards the waffle iron.

John caught the look on Greg's face. “Yeah, he eats now. Well, if the food is sweet and completely without nutritional value.”

“What and he ate completely healthily before?”

“Good point.”

Sherlock turned to the older men. “I don't care about nutritional value or whatever, it's not important. Waffles are good.”

John walked over and looked down at the waffle iron. “Maybe I could cook some broccoli on this thing and get you to eat it.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Why not, you might like it?”

“And pigs may fly. Trees are disgusting.”

“I hate to agree with my brother, but he is right.” Mycroft was in the middle of pouring another coffee for Greg.

“Next you'll be trying to make me eat a stick salad,” the detective groused.

John patted Sherlock on the bum. “A salad, yes, but sticks, 'Lock. Really?”

“Bored!” Sherlock declared, walking out of the room without even waiting for his food to finish. He was so easily distracted, John was surprised how he managed to keep up with him. The three remaining men watched him go, confused to say the least.

“My brother never ceases to surprise me,” Mycroft said, smiling as he placed the DI's coffee on the side for him.

John pulled out a jar of peanut butter and made a waffle sandwich. He followed after his boyfriend, determined to get him to eat something, even if it was only waffles.

Mycroft watched the doctor go, smiling fondly. “He's good for Sherlock.”

“Hmm,” Greg agreed, sipping at his coffee. “That's better.”

Mycroft returned to his lap. “Much like you're good for me. Too good, even.”

“You're being ridiculous.” Greg snaked his arm around Mycroft's waist. “We're good for each other.”

John's voice rang throughout the house, “Sherlock!”

Mycroft couldn't help but laugh.

Greg covered the older man's mouth with his hand. “Don't worry about your brother. John'll deal with him.” He tightened his grip around his waist. “And I am fully qualified to deal with you.”

John hunted for what felt like forever before he opened a door to what he was sure was Greg and Mycroft's room.

There Sherlock was laid out on the bed. Naked as the day he was born.

John knew he should turn and walk away. He should drag Sherlock along with him. He should do anything but walk into the room, close the door behind him and fall on top of the gorgeous detective in front of him.

John didn't do any of the things he should have done.

“Hey, babe.”

Sherlock grinned. “I've always wanted to do this in Mycroft's bed.” He reached beneath the doctor's pants and grasped his length.

Greg and Mycroft enjoyed the remainder of their time together before the government official had to leave for work.

The DI held Mycroft's hand. “I hate it when our days get crossed like this. I'm going to miss you.”

Sherlock appeared at the door looking oddly smug, but when he saw his brother sipping into his suit jacket his face fell. “I thought you were staying home today.”

“I was, but you ran off.”

Sherlock ran over and wrapped his arms around his brother. “I don't want you to leave. I don't care that John and I could shag in your bed all day.”

“You did what?”

Sherlock smiled guiltily, not letting him go. “I couldn't resist. I'm sorry.”

“Was that an apology? An actual apology? Okay, you are forgiven merely because you apologised and it sounded sincere.”

“Excuse me,” Greg tapped his boyfriend on the shoulder. “Sherlock just confessed to that and you're alright with it?”

“No. I'm not alright with it. He is going to clean the sheets as I doubt it was John's idea. But, Gregory, have you ever heard my brother make an apology?”

The DI opened his mouth and nothing came out for a very long moment. “Fair point,” he finally said with a chuckle.

John walked into the kitchen. “Oh, God, you told them, didn't you?” His face was bright red with an embarrassed blush. “I've already changed the sheets.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck and looked anywhere but at the other couple.

Greg burst out laughing, the whole thing suddenly seemed very funny.

“I don't understand…” John trailed off.

“Your boyfriend did tell us, yes,” Greg agreed.

“But then he also apologised, without me throwing him into the wall in some awkward position first,” Mycroft finished.

“Really?” John took Sherlock's hand in his. “You must be going soft.” The detective tried to pull away, but John pulled him into an embrace. “I'm just teasing, Babe.”

“Is that why you told them?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Just couldn't resist.”

John pulled back, giving him a swat on the shoulder. “Git.” That earned him a cheeky grin from the detective.

Sherlock began trying to tug the government official's jacket off.

“Erm… Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“He doesn't need it on. He's not going to work.”

Greg chuckled. “I guess I'll get to see you today, after all. You can be my pillow while I get a nap.”

“I can do one better than that.” He scooped Greg out of his chair and carried him through to the sitting room.

John and Sherlock followed sitting on their own sofa.

Mycroft settled on a chair and positioned the DI on his lap. “Come on then 'Lock. Get the trivial pursuit or something.”

The detective had placed his head in John's lap. “Can't. I'm too comfy.”

With a shake of his head, Greg stood. “I don't know why I'm doing this.” He went and fetched the game.

“You're supposed to be sleeping,” Mycroft called after him.

He returned with the box. “Suddenly not tired.”

Mycroft reached out and snagged Greg's hand, pulling him back down to the sofa. “That doesn't mean you can't use me for a pillow whilst we play.”

The DI smiled. “That is an absolutely brilliant idea.”

“Me too,” Sherlock demanded.

The older brother let out a sigh. “You might as well tug that couch over here, John. It'll keep him quiet.”

The doctor stood and pulled the sofa over. Sherlock didn't even offer to get up. “Spoiled brat detective,” John muttered as he collapsed back into his spot. Sherlock immediately started punching John's leg as if it was a pillow.


“Your leg is too uncomfortable,” the younger man complained.

“Doesn't mean you can treat me like a cushion.”

Sherlock huffed, then flopped around. He turned himself in the opposite direction and bridged the gap between the two sofas with his body. His feet ended up in John's lap and his head in Mycroft's. He looked Greg in the eyes, their faces nearly touching. “Hi.”

The DI laughed. “You are insufferable.”

“Believe me, Greg,” John responded. “This isn't the half of it.”

“Yeah, I remember you telling me about the head in the fridge.”

“And the eyeballs, finger, ears, spleen...”

“Oh, Sherlock, when will you grow up?” Mycroft asked, rearranging all the pieces on the board.

Sherlock twisted so he could look up at his brother. “I am a grown up!”

“That's so cute, babe.” John giggled as he took off his boyfriend's shoes. He tickled his toes just for good measure.

The others watched with fond smiles.

The result for John: a kick in the bollocks when Sherlock jerked his foot away. John grabbed the offending foot in a vice like grip as he doubled over in pain. Sherlock tried to pull free so he could go to the doctor's side, but he couldn't.

“John,” he said in a panicky voice, “are you okay?”

He groaned in response, but all Sherlock could manage was to sit up.

“I didn't… I mean… it was an accident.”

John held up a hand. “I... fuck... I know that.” He finally let Sherlock's foot go.

The detective was instantly at his side, smoothing his hands over John's back and making soothing sounds.

“Wow, and now my little brother is actually feeling guilty.”

“It was an accident!” Sherlock repeated over his shoulder.

John caught his breath and sat up, gingerly. Sherlock wrapped himself around him. “S'ok, 'Lock.”

The detective sniffled. “No, it's not.”

“No. My balls aren't. But I am.”

Sherlock managed a weak smile. “Do you want tea?”

At the doctor's nod, Sherlock got up and hurried out of the room.

John tipped his head back. “Remind me to tie that boy down before I tickle him.”

Greg snorted. “What you two get up to in the bedroom is your affair.” He had to duck the pillow that was chucked his way.

John raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment. “What are you suggesting, Inspector?”

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Greg stood. “I'm going to go help Sherlock with the tea.”

When he had left, he glanced over at a very red Mycroft. John chuckled. “I suppose it's too early in the day for something stronger than tea.”

“You supposed right, doctor.” Mycroft paused for a moment. “I don't… what are you supposed to do on a day off?” He asked. “Gregory's always at work so I never have a day off, let alone with him…”

“You do what you want to do. Watch crap telly. Read - for fun, Mycroft, not for work. Go for a walk with Greg. Tease Sherlock.” John shrugged. “Just about anything.”

“This is what you do?”

“Heck, I very rarely get a day off myself. If I'm not at the surgery or Barts I'm with trouble through there,” he nodded through to the kitchen. “A day with him never classes as a day off even if we aren't running off on a case. He never stops, never pauses to see the finer things in life, but I wouldn't have it any other way. And neither would you. So yes, this is what you do because despite enjoying life at full pelt it is nice just to appreciate the small things every now and then.”

Mycroft blinked at him. “Do you... I haven't done that, not even with Gregory.” He looked towards the kitchen. “That's not very fair to him, is it?”

“No, I suppose it's not. And when you can, spare some of your time for your brother as well. I think he needs it.”

“I really don't-” Mycroft shook his head and cut off at the doctor's raised finger.

“Oh, he does. He definitely does. The more he fights it the worse it gets, the worse he gets.”

Thinking back to the kitchen and the way his brother had clung to him, Mycroft slowly nodded. “I've always tried to keep an eye on him because I do care about him, but that's not the same thing.” He sighed. “You're right, of course. I don't know how you and Gregory do it, but you're both always right about these things.”

“Oi!” John successful caught Mycroft's full attention. “Greg and I are right about everything.”

“Damn straight,” Greg agreed as he walked back into the room with Sherlock. “We're the unsung geniuses in these relationships.”

John glared at his detective, daring him to argue. He was still surprised when Sherlock didn't, however. He handed him his tea and settled next to him rather than on him and his now bruised parts. He leant over and placed a gentle kiss to John's temple. “I've always known you were a genius, John. At least when it comes to sentiment.”

“What about me!” Greg objected.

The detective looked at him. “You're not a complete idiot at it, despite choosing to date my brother.”

“Hey! And anyway, I thought I made it quite clear, we don't date.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Big difference.”

“Actually, it is quite different.” Mycroft gave his boyfriend a considering look. “Would you like to go on a date later tonight, Gregory?”

The DI almost spat out his coffee. “What?! You don't have to woo me, Mycroft.”

“I know that, Gregory, but I thought it might be nice. We could go to dinner and the cinema afterwards.” He risked a glance at John when Greg wasn't looking and saw him nod just perceptibly. “It means we get away from my little brother.”

Sherlock looked indignant. “Not if we go on a double date.”

“Sherlock...” John began.

“It would be fun,” Sherlock interjected.

The doctor shook his head emphatically. “We are not crashing your brother's date.”

Sherlock folded his arms. “Fine. We'll go on our own.”

“Why can't we stay in?”

Sherlock didn't answer so Mycroft did. “Is this about the ghost 'Lock?”

He refused to answer again.

John looked puzzled.

“The house is supposed to be haunted,” Greg explained.

“There's no such thing as ghosts,” Sherlock said, sounding anything but convincing.

“And that's why my baby brother always slept with a night light when he had to come home for the holidays.”

“I did not!”

“Well, only when you didn't sneak into my room and climb into my bed.”

Sherlock refused to even move this time.

“Little bugger would get into bed, fall asleep and yet I always woke up with him enveloping me the following morning.”

John chuckled. “He still does that. Wraps around me like a limpet.” He looked at Sherlock with a twinkle in his eyes. “Though I imagine that we get up to something quite different than you ever did as a result.”

“That's quite enough of that conversation,” Sherlock interrupted, finally daring to open his mouth again, he spun the board around for no reason and decided he'd go first.

Sherlock chuckled with glee as he landed on the science category.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” John rolled his eyes. “Let's just assume he got it right and go on.”


“Yep.” The doctor leant forward and grabbed his hands, not letting him do anything to benefit the progression of the game.

When Greg landed on sports and leisure later, the detective spoke up. “If it's fair for me, it's fair for Lestrade. Let's just assume he got it right.”

The DI grinned. “I'm just that good, I am.”

“This is completely skipping the whole point of the game,” Mycroft couldn't help but point out.

John barked a laugh. “Fair point. Read him the question, 'Lock.”

Greg did a great imitation of the consulting detective, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. “That's not fair.”

“Why isn't it fair?” Mycroft reached out and took his hand.

“Because the little boy got to cheat, but I don't.”

“Little boy!” Sherlock exclaimed

John grabbed his toddler's hand. “You're a cute little boy, if that helps.”

“Maybe a little.” Sherlock leant towards John, clearly seeking out a kiss.

The doctor gave him one. “Better?”


Greg couldn't quite believe how this had turned so dramatically around.

“Why are you the one feeling hard done by? You got to cheat!”

Sherlock put on a haughty face. “I was denied the opportunity to show off my superior intellect. Of course, I'm the one hard done by.”

It was actually quite amusing watching his little brother lose against the rest of them, the only questions he could actually answer were the science ones. Whereas Mycroft aced them all apart from the sport. He even managed to correctly answer the arts & literature question successfully.

Greg yawned, his long night at work finally getting to him. “If we want to go on that date, Myc, I need to get some sleep.”

Mycroft took his hand. “I'll come with you.”

“You can't possibly be tired, Babe.”

“I just want to be with you. I'll read or something whilst you sleep.”

Greg kissed him. “That sounds lovely.”

The two men slipped from the room with a nod to the other couple.

“Bored!” Sherlock declared.

“It's been 30 seconds… for Christ's sake,” he pushed the younger man back into the sofa kissing him as passionately as he could manage.

Sherlock smiled against John's lips. He wasn't bored now. Not one bit.