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“I know all about removing stains,” Sherlock answered, now toying with a tendril of yellow hair. “Coal smudges, wine, blood, and also the most persistent of all which is…” Staring at Mycroft he brought his lush mouth close to Victor’s ear and whispered.
Victor flushed – scandalised – and giggled. “Oh, Sherrinford. Oh, you shouldn’t say such things.” A possessive hand landed on Sherlock’s thigh, claiming him and Victor looked daggers at Mycroft, clearly considering his presence superfluous.
