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It was four in the morning and, frankly, Albert was losing it.
He had been sleeping soundly in his room when he heard Louis' voice on the other side of the door. Albert opened it, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but saw not his brother, but the elder Holmes' secretary dressed fully in formal attire.
He shut the door on his face, scrambling to put on something underneath his robe. He found a pair of trousers, unwashed, but still better than the robe Albert slept in that barely left anything to imagination.
When he opened the door again, Louis was gone and the secretary was holding the lantern that was previously in Louis' hands. He spoke, the mask of professionalism hiding his actual reaction to the fact that Albert was almost naked a few moments ago.
'Due to certain misconceptions, a very important meeting had been delayed for longer than it should have. I regret to inform you that it is necessary for us to hold the meeting right now. The carriage to the destined location is waiting outside, please change into your professional garments. Refreshments will be provided in the carriage by the courtesy of Mr. Holmes.'
He had repeated the secretary's words in his head about twelve times on the way here, to digest the fact that he was actually going to the House of Lords hours before daybreak.
The meeting was, surprising absolutely no one, dull as rain. Thankfully, there were beddings laid out for each of them, so none would have to bear the suffering of sitting on a chair after a disturbed sleep.
Albert's brain blocked out the voices of everyone in the room fifteen minutes after entering it. He was too tired to listen to falsely polite apologies and sleep deprived people pretending they weren't sleep deprived. What was it with politicians anyway? Why did they pretend to like each other when everyone knew that each person in this room would absolutely destroy the rest for a better position in the parliament.
Not that he wouldn't do the same, but it was still a chore to smile at everyone you make eye contact with.
The only comfort was that every few moments, his dear Lord Holmes would proffer a new way of looking at the situation at hand. His voice soothed Albert's sleepless jittering. Whatever he said, Albert understood none of it, simply letting the words enter from one ear and leave from the other.
He focused on Mycroft's voice and thought of how he'd much rather hear his name grunted in his ear by it than parliamentary problems. Quickly, he shook his head and pushed the thoughts away. It would not prove well to think such thoughts where they could cause more than just parliamentary problems.
Mycroft met his gaze, obviously seeing how zoned out he was. His lips curled into a small smile. It would look polite to anyone else, but Albert knew the glint of sadism in his eyes better than anyone.
"What do you think, Lord Moriarty ?" he questioned, knowing damn well the man had no idea what the meeting was even about.
Now, Albert could swear it was the lack of sleep messing with his brain, because he didn't even know what he had said before he had said it. "I think, Lord Holmes, that you deserve a blow to the head."
Before Mycroft could even process his words, Albert grasped the pillow behind him and threw it towards the elder Holmes.
Several people gasped; a cup of tea shattered on the floor. In front of every member in the House of Lords, the pillow hit Mycroft squarely in the face.
When the pillow fell from his face to his hands, his expression was murderous. He clutched the pillow hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. And then, wildly misjudging his aim just like the last time he and Albert were alone in his office, he threw the pillow pathetically far from Albert.
Luckily for him, and unluckily for Lord Morrison, the pillow hit the person beside him. Lord Morrison tried to dodge it but only succeeded in being hit even harder. The pillow smacked him right across his face, earning a yelp even more pathetic than Mycroft's throw from him.
Enraged, he grabbed the pillow and threw it blindly across the room, hitting Lord Francis. The poor man spit out his tea in surprise, and granted his anger issues, all hell broke loose.
Right before his eyes, the governmental room consisting of mature, totally not childish, grown men turned into the world's most expensive game of pillow fight. Yells, pillows, and then what was definitely an ancient vase were being thrown around the room.
In the cotton carnage, someone grabbed his hand. He looked behind him to see the stoic Lord Holmes grinning ear to ear. "Come with me," he ordered, hair wild and unruly from Albert's pillow.
He followed him through the door, barely out of the room when they heard a sickening crack followed by a scream and a shatter.
Their heads whipped around at the same time to see the expensive vase on the floor and Lord Morrison curled up beside it. He sobbed, hands shaking as he tried to stop another Lord from touching his jaw. One finger on the bone and he choked back another wail, two fingers and he cried out.
Albert looked at Mycroft with his mouth hanging open. From the look on his face, he too knew what had just happened. Poor Lord Morrison had broken his jaw.
Well…
Oops?
He grabbed Mycroft's arm, pulling him through the hall. They broke into a run and climbed two sets of stairs. Laughter bubbled in Albert's chest. This was… the worst idea he has had in a long while. And knowing Mycroft, he couldn't say he wouldn't enjoy the consequences.
They broke into a balcony and locked it from outside. Albert walked two steps, letting out a snicker when Mycroft pinned him to the balustrade.
"Do you," he rasped, "have any idea how long it will take to fix that?"
Albert looked at him, his now unruly hair and dangerous glare, and all the blood that wasn't pumping in his heart at inhumane speed went straight to his lower abdomen. "Well, it would take longer than tonight, wouldn't it? I might have had different plans for tonight."
"You better have," Mycroft leered, "I don't plan on going back to that room before morning."