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John enjoyed the addition of Greg into his and Sherlock’s relationship. All John needed to snap Sherlock out of an antsy mood was call Greg over for cuddles and slow kisses on the couch; within minutes Sherlock would be crawling over them and guiding them into heavier groping. Sherlock didn’t enjoy intercourse, but he loved watching Greg make John squirm, and he more than adored holding his friends and giving brief, chaste kisses. Despite the DI still having his own apartment, the man spent most nights curled up in John’s bed with him, joined occasionally by Sherlock when he wasn’t muddling through books and experiments. However, the last few nights Sherlock refused to eat or even leave the table.
“Are you sure it took less than three days?” Sherlock kept asking Greg.
“You know it did Sherlock. You infected yourself and John early Tuesday morning and Mycroft gave me the pills Thursday evening,” Greg repeated his story once more from where he was lying on the couch.
John, who was currently lounging between Greg’s legs and typing at his blog, stopped to join the conversation, “I don’t see why you’re so upset over it.”
“Of course you don’t understand you’re used to being bested by men like Mycroft. It is impossible that he created a cure in three days if I haven’t been able to do the same!” Sherlock waved his arms for emphasis.
John snorted and resumed his blogging and Greg closed his eyes, hoping he might get a nap on his rare day off. His nap was short lived when Sherlock jumped up in frustration, knocking a beaker onto the petri dish he was growing cultures in, and pacing around the living room.
“There’s nothing about the tablets that even suggest they’d create de-aging. Mycroft couldn’t have discovered and created an antidote in three days. How did he do it? I stole everything from that store unit and none of them are the antidote either… How then?” he ranted to himself.
“Sherlock!” John yelled leaping to his feet, “what’s that?”
Sherlock’s eyes followed John’s outstretched finger to see the contents in the petri dish sizzling as a faint white mist was being formed. Mrs. Hudson heard the DI yell, followed by the three men shouting and then silence. When the silence had drawn on for more than five minutes, no whispers or footsteps to be heard, she made her way up the stairs.
“Boys, I’m coming in,” She called as her hand grabbed the doorknob.
When she opened the door, she was greeted by the sight of two little boys passed out on the floor and one passed out on the couch.
Mycroft Holmes had pressed the bridge of his nose between two fingers and was glaring at one of the boys that were laying on the floor, “Good lord. I already had to raise him once and now I’ve got his two partners to tend to as well.”
“You can’t watch them here. There are too many things they can hurt themselves with,” Anthea answered, never looking up from her phone.
“Quite correct. You, of course, will have time off to watch them while I’m at work. However, I’ll track down Doctor Keaton for the antidote this time,” Mycroft told her as he reached for his phone, “the clothing for Sherlock and Doctor Watson are in storage, if you can pick some up for the Detective Inspector while you retrieve the others, I’d appreciate it.”
For once her eyes darted up and she stared openly the other man, “I can’t watch them! I haven’t a maternal instinct in my body.”
Her employer didn’t respond as he was making arrangements on his phone for security to take the boys to his house. He merely pursed his lips at her and tilted his head. With a sigh she left for the store.
By the time Anthea reached Mycroft’s house, the three boys were awake. Sherlock and John were sitting on the floor in front of a bookshelf leafing through what looked like an encyclopedia while Greg was thoroughly questioning Mycroft.
“If my Pa said you could watch me, how come he’s never mentioned you?” the young boy glared up while he stood in front of the man with his arms crossed.
“I assure you it was a very last moment occurrence and your father could only find me and Anthea available.”
Greg didn’t believe the story, “Who’s Anthea? I’ve never heard of her either. Are you kidnappers?”
Anthea couldn’t withhold her laugh as she answered, “I’m Anthea and no we aren’t kidnappers, merely babysitters.”
“Hello again! You look even more prettier than I ‘membered,” John had all but run over when he heard her voice. He gave her a huge smile before turning to Greg, “they’re not kidnappers I promise. Last time they let Greg watch us and he’s our best friend now.”
“My name’s Greg too!” the miniature DI pointed at his own chest, “but my Pa is my best friend, not you. He’s a cop y’know.”
“Well my mum always says you can never have too many best friends,” the blond boy countered.
Sherlock had come over to see what the commotion was and scowled at Greg while grabbing John’s hand, “John you don’t need more than me and our Greg.”
Anthea, sensing a fight about to start, motioned to the bags she’d left by the door, “who wants to see the new toys I picked up?”
Greg’s eyes perked up and he pursued after her. Sherlock joined them only because John wanted to see the contents and together the four of them unpacked her purchases. Mycroft gave her a brusque nod and snuck out the door while the boys were occupied. John and Greg instantly lit up at the race car track and insisted on building it in Mycroft’s grand living room. Sherlock declared loudly that all the toys were dull and proceeded to rifle through the drawers of Mycroft’s desk, only to find all but one locked. He pouted, picked up the encyclopedia and pretended to read. Anthea could tell he was pretended by the way his eyes kept narrowing each time Greg spoke to John.
“There are enough pieces to warp all the way around the couch!” John exclaimed as they finished dumping out the box.
“Let’s use these to build a jump at the end,” Greg was proudly holding up Mycroft’s crystal coaster set, “and then we can see whose car flies farther!”
A knock at the door drew Anthea’s attention, which she knew would be the groceries she ordered on the drive over. She took the bags and busied herself unpacking them as she placed phone calls trying to locate the doctor who created the drug affecting the boys. After being transferred through several agencies, she left a message when the fourth was an answering machine. By the time she returned to the living room John was crying, Greg was staring at the wall facing away from John and Sherlock was nowhere to be found.
“John, what happened?” Anthea felt hesitant with how to proceed.
The blond boy tried to answer but she couldn’t understand him through his sniffs and hiccups. She rubbed his shoulder awkwardly and turned to Greg. He refused to look over at John, his fisted clenched tight at his sides. Finally Anthea had to sit beside the boy and insist that he answer.
“Well,” he gritted out, “that Sherlock bloke told John they couldn’t be best friends if he was going to be bought off with cheap cars and then John got all upset. My Pa says big boys don’t cry though.”
John rubbed at his cheeks with his sweater sleeve and gave a wet snuffle as he answered, “I’m a big boy!”
The other boy still wouldn’t look over and Anthea couldn’t help notice the tears built up at the bottom of his eyes, but refusing to fall, “Do you know where Sherlock went then?”
Both boys shook their heads and as she went to find the troublemaker she heard Greg whisper to John, “I’m sorry he’s a prat and I won’t tell anyone you cried.”
She found Sherlock sitting cross legged in the center of Mycroft’s bed with his fingers crossed in front of his nose.
“I didn’t mean to make John cry,” he declared when he heard her enter, “but that boy is dull. Why does John like him more?”
She sat beside him on the bed, feeling comfortable around him knowing he thought the same way Mycroft does, “When you get a new book the first thing you do is read it right away and learn as much as you can, right? It’s exciting to learn things but it doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten about the old books you’ve read, or that you think the latest knowledge is cooler. All that it means is that you want to expand your thinking. You believe there is no such thing as having too much knowledge; John believes there is no such thing as having too many friends.”
Sherlock hung his head low, giving her a view of the messy mop of curls, and muttered, “But now John hates me.”
A quiet voice from the door interrupted their conversation, “No I don’t. I could never hate my best friend.”
“I’m sorry John,” Sherlock mumbled as the two boys hugged tightly.
Mycroft arrived home earlier than he ever had before and found Anthea making supper while Greg was telling Sherlock and John about how he was going to be an astronaut when he was older. He and Anthea exchanged smiles upon hearing that. Mycroft hung his coat up and rolled his sleeves, allowing Anthea to instruct him into helping with dinner.
“Sherlock’s going to be a pirate,” John chimed in at the end of Greg’s story, “and I’m going to be a doctor. We could have the first ever Pirate Space ship!”
“That’d be totally cool! I wonder what it’d look like.”
John enthusiastically suggested they should draw it, “Sherlock’s the best colourer I’ve ever seen.”
Mycroft watched his brother glow under John’s attention, wondering how Sherlock would be different if John had been around during the boy’s childhood. He felt sullen when he remembered a young Sherlock hiding in the tool shed refusing to go to school because the other kids were ‘tyrants’.
“I think the ship should be blue,” Greg instructed as the three boys were huddled around the table, “and give it rocket launchers.”
By the time dinner was finished so was the drawing. It featured the three boys wearing space helmets, riding a bright blue pirate ship. Mycroft was stunned when Sherlock asked him to hang it on the fridge since his younger brother always hid his drawing when they were growing up. He’d found one once by fluke, it portrayed Mycroft sitting in the gardens reading through his physics texts. When he found it he had remembered that warm afternoon clearly, but couldn’t remember seeing Sherlock once, wondering how the boy could have drawn it. He still has the picture sitting in a box filled with their childhood photographs, tucked away in his fireproof safe.
Anthea was dishing up the lasagne onto small plastic plates, dinosaurs decorating their edges, while telling the boys to clear room on the table to eat. For someone who claimed to have no maternal instincts, she sure adopted quickly to children. The five of them sat at the table, Sherlock and John reciting the order of planets that Greg had just taught them.
“You know,” Mycroft spoke as he sipped at his wine, “the planetarium opened a new interactive exhibit as well as remodelled their laser show last month.”
Three sets of wide eyes turned to his assistant.
“Please can you take us?” John asked, his blue eyes gleaming with hope.
Anthea shot her boss a dirty look before succumbing to the complete charm of John’s face, “If you boys go to bed tonight without any fuss then I will take you.”
Greg and John high fived while Sherlock shot Mycroft sneaky looks. The former two chatted animatedly about the day to follow when Sherlock finally leaned forward and asked Mycroft who he was.
“I beg your pardon?” the man almost stuttered in shock.
“Well you’ve got the same eyes and nose as my dad and talk like a right git,” the boy replied.
Mycroft narrowed his eyes before answering, “Git is a bad word and only stupid people need to use those as-”
“-they can’t think of anything smarter to say,” Sherlock finished for him, “so you are a Holmes. Are you Sherrinford? Mummy says he’s off abroad and dad used to say he’s a disgrace.”
“You’re a smart boy, surely you can make your own deductions,” Mycroft answered, glad his estranged and now deceased older brother had given an easy explanation.
With a look of deep deliberation Sherlock leaned back before giving a quick smile, “Good that you are then, because I need a brother that’s not annoying like Mycroft.”
Anthea snorted when she heard that and Mycroft felt suddenly uncomfortable when he realized how adorable he thought that action was. Her ears turned pink with embarrassment and his affection for her rose. Luckily Sherlock had joined in the conversation with the other boys and knocked his juice over while waving his arms. Mycroft was able to jump up and clean the spill to distract himself from thoughts of Anthea being there for dinner every night. Sherlock ate almost three full servings of lasagne while John and Greg went to the den to pick a movie to watch on the telly.
Once dishes were done the three boys drug Anthea to the couch to watch Finding Nemo with them. Mycroft sat at his desk to work, though he found himself staring at the couch more than his computer. John had curled around Anthea while Sherlock used his head as a pillow and let John play with his hair. Greg had Sherlock’s feet in his lap while he leaned on John’s shoulder. Eventually Mycroft gave up on accomplishing anything and placed himself on Anthea’s other side, watching the film and ignoring how domestic he felt.
When the movie was over John and Sherlock were sound asleep. Mycroft carried his younger brother to the first guest room and changed him into his pajamas while Anthea did the same with John in the second guest room. Greg was brushing his teeth in the bathroom when Mycroft emerged and the two of them pulled out the sofa bed in the den for him. Anthea offered to read him a story, remembering how Greg had done that for Sherlock and John, but the younger boy refused asking only for a glass of water instead. By the time she brought one, he was fast asleep and clutching a stuffed bear Anthea had bought him.
“You should stay here tonight,” Mycroft found him telling his assistant as she left the den, “Sherlock is aware I’m his brother, albeit the wrong one, but I can sleep in his bed while you take mine.”
Her ears turned pink as they had at dinner, “Sir I couldn’t impose on you like that.”
“Nonsense. You are acting above and beyond by caring for the boys while I’m at work and it would only make things worse if you have to get up earlier than necessary to return here.”
She nodded quickly and left to pack a bag from home, promising she’d be back within an hour. Mycroft sat at his desk in the living room, finally getting work done, feeling at ease knowing Anthea would be returning. When she did return she sat in one of the chairs across from him and they laughed as he filled her in on the political rubbish he’d been forced to endure that day. Without either of them realizing, the clock made its way past eleven before they finally retreated to their respected rooms.
Mycroft awoke to an empty bed and giggles from his kitchen. He slipped into the bathroom, showering and putting on a fresh suit, before exploring the cause of the commotion. When he entered the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon hit his nose causing his mouth to water. Anthea was flipping bread in a skillet while John was helping Sherlock to climb his china cabinet.
“Sherlock if you break any of those I will be highly upset,” Mycroft chided.
He’d forgotten how persuasive his brother was at a young age and the look he gave, lip stuck out just slightly and eyes batting innocently while promising to be careful, was enough to make Mycroft wave a hand for them to carry on. A striking impulse to press a kiss to Anthea’s cheek hit Mycroft as he sat at the counter and watched her make French toast.
“None for you sir, sorry,” she smiled as she placed a plate of eggs and fruit in front of him, “but I did add a dash of cinnamon to your eggs so you don’t feel left out.”
He thanked her and drank his tea while flipping the pages of the paper, reading slowly. Eventually a still sleepy Greg stumbled into the kitchen and made his way to the chair beside Mycroft’s. He leaned his head on the older man’s shoulder in a moment of vulnerability Anthea hadn’t seen the boy display as of yet. He stirred when she put his breakfast in front of him and even then, it was only enough to sluggishly chew on a corner of the toast. Sherlock and John, both active despite the early hour, devoured their food before rushing off to the living area leaving Anthea, Mycroft and Greg to their quiet morning.
Just after lunch, Anthea was sitting in the driver’s seat of Mycroft’s car taking the boys to the planetarium. Greg was vibrating with anticipation while Sherlock riffled through the backpack making sure Anthea packed the good snacks. John was sitting in the middle of the boys and chatting with Anthea. When they arrived, Mycroft’s security was waiting outside and ushered the three of them into the building. She was impressed and slightly pleased to find that the man had arranged for them to be the only visitors; she couldn’t imagine the trouble Sherlock would start if there were other children running about.
Greg was leading the group around and pointing out all his favorite things when they passed the new exhibit The Human Body. The exhibit had a life sized model of a whale heart for the children to climb through, it had a section designated to secretions of the human body (there were jars of mucus and pus lining the walls), and various other interactive parts. John was pulling on a rope that untangled a mess of ropes the same length and shape as the intestines while Sherlock was crawling around through the heart, muttering about ventricles and cardiac arrest. Anthea and Greg left them to it while they finished the space exhibit. When they returned, Sherlock was deducing one of Mycroft’s security men while John watched with starry eyes.
The man, Agent Richards, quirked his lips and whispered to her, “It’s not nearly as obnoxious when he’s does it looking like this.”
He ruffled Sherlock’s hair, must to the boys dismay, before escorting them to the laser auditorium. John and Greg sat at the edge of their seats, gasping and aweing as the laser images depicted the story of Hercules. Sherlock, however, slouched in his seat beside Anthea and she listened to him mutter about Galileo, Rømer, Michelson and the speed of light. She discreetly didn’t draw attention to the way he grabbed her hand when the Hydra almost killed the hero.
That night for dinner Anthea made two pizzas, one with spinach and low fat cheese for her and Mycroft and the other loaded with cheese, pepperoni and sausage for the boys. Sherlock was telling Mycroft about the exhibit while John’s attention was turned to Anthea.
“So do you have a boyfriend?” he asked her carefully.
She smiled, “Not at all. I’m married to my work.”
Mycroft felt his stomach twist in guilt as the little boy answered, “I don’t mind if you work lots. I could be your boyfriend.”
Sherlock stopped midway through his own sentence and grabbed John’s shoulder, “John you can’t be her boyfriend. You’re going to be my boyfriend when we’re older!”
“That’s wrong!” Greg announced, “There are two boyfriends on my street and my Pa says they’re poofers and that they’re gross.”
Watching his little brother’s face turn into a vicious sneer, Mycroft intervened, “Gregory, do you think Sherlock and John are wrong and gross?”
The boy barely had to think of his answer, “Of course not! They’re my mates.”
“Sometimes fathers aren’t always right Gregory. There’s nothing wrong or gross about falling in love,” the older man told him softly.
“Was your Pa ever wrong?” Greg asked, shame visible in his features.
Mycroft never saw the flash of sadness cross his little brother’s face when he answered, “Constantly.”
John placed his hand over Anthea’s and smiled, “See, I can be in love with you and Sherlock. It’s okay to have two people you love.”
The dinner continued as it had before the interruption and soon the three boys were tearing apart Mycroft’s living room as they pushed furniture around to create a prototype of their ‘space pirate ship’. Mycroft and Anthea were in the adjoined den, the latter lounging on Greg’s makeshift bed while rapidly typing on her phone.
“I’ve just made contact with Doctor Keaton,” he told her, “he’s creating more antidote tablets and we should have them by tomorrow night. I was thinking you could take the boys to the amusement park tomorrow; I can reserve it so that it’s empty when you arrive.”
She smiled, eyes never leaving the phone, “That sounds good sir.”
“About earlier,” he paused, eyes staring intently at his computer screen, “when you said you were married to your work” he paused once more to swallow the lump forming in his throat, “I can ensure your hours are shorter if a boyfriend is something you’re looking to pursue.”
He looked up when he felt her warm hand on his cheek, “Sir, I would like to point out that I consider you the largest and most enjoyable aspect of my work. I have no qualms about being married to it.”
Mycroft placed his hand over hers and gave her one of his rare genuine smiles before pulling her hand to his mouth to place a gentle kiss over it, “then please allow me the pleasure of courting you once we’ve sorted the children out.”
Her answering smile made his heart beat a little stronger in his chest. Granted the sound of Sherlock falling off something and the resulting crash may have contributed as well. They both raced to the living room and found Sherlock lying beside one of Mycroft’s antique vases while John and Greg roared with laughter beside him.
“Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Mycroft did it!” he answered, jumping behind a pile of pillows and into the ‘pirate ship’.
That answer only made the other boys laugh even harder and Mycroft felt no pity when Anthea told them they needed to shower and get ready for bed. Greg and John helped the two adults tidy up the room while Sherlock showered first and soon the boys were all tucked into their separate beds. Anthea excused herself shortly after, unused to trailing after rowdy children, and Mycroft followed suit.
When he sank into the bed beside Sherlock, Mycroft felt his brother shift around.
“Sherrinford,” he whispered into the darkness, “is it true that dad wasn’t always right?”
Mycroft rolled onto his side to hug his younger brother, “Dad was almost always wrong.”
“Dad used to tell Mummy I was the biggest mistake they made.”
Squeezing his brother even tighter, Mycroft forced back tears, “Sherlock, you are the best thing that ever happened to our family and I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
His little brother squeezed back, “You’ve never even met me before now.”
“But I have always loved you and always will.”
Sherlock’s tears soaked into Mycroft’s shirt as he replied, “I’m glad I have you.”
Mycroft awoke to an empty bed once more but this time there were no giggles echoing from the kitchen. A glance at the clock told him it was five thirty and a glance in John’s room told him Sherlock had left at some point to cuddle with his friend while they slept. Not wanting to disturb Anthea in his room, Mycroft entered the kitchen in his dressing gown and drank his morning cup of tea. It felt like the most natural thing when Anthea joined him half an hour later and pressed a kiss to his temple before pouring her own tea. The two of them drank in silence, aside from the pages of his paper turning and the clicks of her checking her phone.
“BACON!” Sherlock hollered when he and John materialized, dragging Greg behind them.
Greg looked just as tired as the morning before but this time he nuzzled Sherlock’s boney shoulders while they watched cartoons in the living room. Anthea started to make them breakfast and Mycroft retreated to the shower to get ready for his day. When he was on his way out the door he tousled John and Greg’s hair and pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock’s before the boys scrambled to the table Anthea had just served their breakfast on. She escorted Mycroft to the door and smoothed the lapels of his jacket with a soft look.
“Have a good day sir. We’ll miss you.”
If Mycroft was smiling when he reached the car waiting for him, his driver knew better than to comment.
After a hectic morning of stopping Sherlock from uncovering government secrets in the locked drawers he somehow opened, finger painting and listening to John and Greg argue over who was cooler, Han Solo or Luke Skywalker, Anthea was thankful it was time to head to the amusement park. However, Greg and John’s heated argument continued into the car.
“Luke Skywalker is the best cause he got to be a Jedi!” John insisted.
Greg snorted, “So? Han Solo gets the girl and is best friends with Chewbacca. That’s way cooler!”
“Girls aren’t as cool as lightsabers. What’d you think Sherlock?” John tried to get the boy to back him up.
Sherlock’s answer was to yell DULL and continue ignoring them.
“How about you Anthea?” he tried to change partners.
She glanced at him through the rear view mirror, “Sorry John, but everyone knows Han Solo is the best.”
The boy pouted in defeat and decided he and Greg should play rock, paper, scissors instead.
“How does paper even beat rock?” Sherlock demanded once they explained the game to him, “If I threw a rock at you, you aren’t going to block it with paper!”
He exceeded at the game, claiming to be able to deduce which one the other boys were going to use, and by the time they reached that park he was winning 7-1 with both of them. Anthea was fairly certain he let them each win the one round so the other boys didn’t feel bad. When they parked, Mycroft’s security team was once more present and soon John was deciding which rides to go on. He wanted to do the rollercoaster first.
“I never get to do the rollercoasters,” he explained, “cause the line’s always too long and Harry is afraid.”
They rode it three times before Anthea decided she didn’t like rides and was content to watch them. They did the Ferris wheel next, followed by the spinning cups and then the log ride. Greg wanted a snack at this point so they walked through the park looking for the next ride while licking cotton candy off their fingers.
“That one!” John all but squealed when they came across the Tower of Terror.
It was a close to 200 foot building with doors that opened so they could see the park while their seats plummeted to the ground. Sherlock’s face turned white when he watched John sprint inside.
“You okay Sherlock?” Greg asked as he finished his last bite of the sugary treat.
Sherlock closed his eyes and replied, “Don’t tell John but I’m afraid of falling.”
Anthea was glad Mycroft wasn’t there to hear his brother’s admission. She remembered the stricken look on his face when he genuinely thought his brother had jumped off of St. Bart’s and the way his legs gave out when he saw his brother standing in his office later that evening.
The young DI put his arm around Sherlock’s shoulder, “you can sit in the middle and hold both of our hands. I won’t tell John if you squeeze mine too tight.”
With a nod, Sherlock and Greg went to follow John into the ride. Anthea decided if Sherlock would go on the ride despite his fear, she could withstand discomfort and join them as well. She made an excuse that she needed both John and Sherlock to hold her hand on the ride, so that Sherlock could crush both hers and Greg’s hands if he needed too.
That night as they made dinner, Mycroft asked why she had nail marks on the top of her hand.
“Those are the same pills our Greg gave us,” Sherlock stated when Mycroft handed each of the boys a green pill at bedtime.
John swallowed his before adding, “He’s not our only Greg anymore. We’ve got this Greg too!”
The small DI followed John’s example before questioning, “Does that mean I get to be a best friend too?”
Sherlock was the last to take him pill and put an arm around each of their shoulders, “Yeah. Maybe you can meet our first Greg one day; I can deduce that he’d definitely like you.”
Mycroft let the three of them pile into John’s bed under the strict instructions that they could stay up and talk for half an hour and then they needed to sleep. He let them talk for forty-five minutes before giving a quick knock on the door as a warning. Anthea had packed up her things, as well as the boys, and greeted Mycroft in his den.
“I’m going to drop their things off to the storage unit, goodness knows your brother may do this again, and then I’m heading home,” she informed him, “but I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”
He stood up from his desk and pressed a kiss to her hairline, “Thank you for this week.”
She ran her hand down his face and rubbed her thumb against his lower lip, “I’ve scheduled in our first date on Friday, dinner and the opera.”
Mycroft couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and kissing the corner of her mouth, “Sounds wonderful my dear. Perhaps you can get my assistant to send you flowers as well.”
Anthea smirked and nudged his shoulder, “I was thinking diamonds would be more my style.”
He chuckled and helped carry the bags to the car for her.
Sherlock was perched on the counter, returned to his adult size, when Mycroft entered the kitchen the next morning. The elder brother turned on the kettle and placed a cup in Sherlock’s hands before climbing up and sitting beside him.
“You know that I eat my breakfast where we are currently sitting,” he finally broke the silence.
His brother sipped on his tea and didn’t answer. Mycroft made extra toast and placed a plate beside Sherlock, knowing the man would most likely ignore it. He finished getting ready and it wasn’t until he was at the door that Sherlock appeared behind him and finally spoke.
“I mean what I said Mycroft; I am glad to have you.”
Suddenly Mycroft found himself being hugged by his brother and just as suddenly the man had withdrawn and retreated to the bedroom John and Greg were in. The elder Holmes stared at the doorway his brother had disappeared into for a minute before collecting his wits and leaving for work. Anthea was waiting in the car when he reached it, her fingers dancing on the keypad of her phone but there was a new pair of diamond earrings in her ears.
In the meantime Sherlock had wriggled back into bed with the very adult sized John and Greg who were slowly starting to wake up. He pressed a kiss to Greg’s mouth, slipping his tongue for the briefest moments and then did the same to John.
Greg grumbled, “I better still have a job after disappearing for days.”
Sherlock scoffed as he was rubbed his thumb over John’s hip, “I’m certain Mycroft got you the time off and probably a promotion just because he’s a show off.”
John, who was pressing kisses to Greg’s stubbly jaw murmured, “That’s not the point Sherlock.”
“No you’re correct John,” his partners were stunned into silence hearing what they thought was him admitting wrong.
“The point is that I knew Mycroft didn’t create the cure in three days.”