The number 221B in Baker Street had had a few dull days. After a strange case that was solved by Sherlock Holmes with the help of the loyal Dr. John Watson and Sherlock's sister, Dylan Holmes, peace was back to the flat in London. Or at least that's what it seemed to the passers on the street. Inside, there was a small revolution. Sherlock was lying on the couch while Dylan and John were trying to rearrange the furniture in order to provide the space a little more room.

"No, not like this. It will cover the view from the window." Dylan said, and John helped her drag the shelf to the other corner. Piles of books were lying on the floor, unorganized and abandoned for the moment.

"You know what?" John said, sitting on his chair, which was facing a completely different place than it was before. "I don't think this is a good idea. It just doesn't feel right."

Sherlock got up, his robe on over the shirt. He messed up his own air. Dylan looked at him and leaned against the couch, tired. This had been all Sherlock's idea. He had said the apartment was troubling him for some reason and he couldn't think. Then he had decided that they needed to rearrange the furniture. That or they would have to put up with his bad mood forever. Dylan and John didn't think there was an option.

"Aren't you going to help? It was your idea after all." Dylan asked, sitting down.

That whole scenario seemed unnecessary, but she was also so bored that she agreed with him. Now, it just seemed stupid.

"Put it all back in place." Sherlock said, pointing at the things.

"Is this a joke?" John asked, getting up.

"No. I just thought better." He picked up a book that was on top of a table and went to his own bedroom leaving John and Dylan looking at each other.

"Now, really, can you understand him?" John asked. "Says he is having trouble thinking because the house is too crowded and now this. And, for someone who was bored, he didn't do much to help."

"That bastard." She said, after seeing him leaving the room and close the door behind him.

"What?" John asked.

"Did you see him pick the book? He has been looking for that book everywhere for a week and couldn't find it."

John kept looking at her, trying to understand her point. She explained.

"He wanted us to search the bloody book for him, so he set up this whole… thing! And we had all the trouble to take the books out of the shelf, the ones who were behind it, and we found the book for him. I swear I'll kill him someday."

John shrugged his shoulders. That seemed so like Sherlock.

"Okay, let's put things back in place." That was all they could do.

They dragged the shelf back to its original place and then started to put the books back in place. Sherlock came out of the room, reading the book.

"So," Dylan said, looking at him. "you didn't ask us to rearrange the furniture so that we could find that book for you, did you?"

"Hum?" asked Sherlock, pretending not to understand. "Oh, this book? Yeah, I couldn't find it. And I wouldn't, it was behind the shelf anyway. Not its usual place."

John and Dylan took their hands to their heads. He didn't even try to deny it. Then they looked at each other and shrugged again, shaking their heads. There was no use with that one.

"So, any new cases?" asked John, when they finished putting the books in place.

Dylan came back from the kitchen with cups of tea for everyone. She passed one to John who thanked her and one to Sherlock, who was too immersed on his reading.

"No." Sherlock answered, still submersed in the book. It was a book about spells and curses.

"Interesting reading?" asked John, pointing at it.

"Quite right." That was all Sherlock answered.

There was a knock on the door downstairs.

"Mycroft." Both Sherlock and Dylan affirmed. Sherlock put the book down and got up, picking his cup of tea up and sipping a bit.

"How do you know it's Mycroft?" John asked.

"He always knocks the same way." Dylan answered, sitting on a chair.

And as it is, a few seconds later Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs calling for Sherlock, with Mycroft on her heels.

"Sherlock," she said, entering the room and knocking on the open door slightly. "your brother is here to see you."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." He said.

Mycroft entered the room and took a good look at the three of them. Sherlock standing next to the couch, drinking tea. John sitting on a chair with the newspaper on his lap, drinking tea. And Dylan sat on the other chair, looking right back at him, warming her hands on a mug he would guess was filled with tea.

"I see you've been taking good care of him." Mycroft said, turning to Dylan. "You could have stayed at my place, you know? There are plenty of rooms there."

Dylan got up and answered.

"I have my own apartment, so I am not staying with Sherlock, Mycroft, not really. Don't be jealous. I do appreciate your offer, though. I might had fun with your son. He's a sweet and clever child. But I don't think I would be okay living with your wife and daughter." She looked at Mycroft again and added. "Speaking of which… Seriously, already? They have been dating for what, three whole months?" Dylan asked, pointing at the small envelope on Mycroft's hands.

He looked at the envelope and smiled, but not entirely.

"Four, actually." He answered. "At least she commits, which is something I can't really say about you, isn't it, my dear sister?"

John observed as the scene developed in front of his eyes, not really understanding what was going on. Both Dylan and Sherlock looked at Mycroft with hard, cold stares. Dylan got herself together and answered.

"Don't call me dear sister right after punching me in the face with words, Mycroft. And what you said was not nice."

Mycroft seemed a bit ashamed. She was his younger sister and unlike Sherlock, words had an impact on her. He sometimes forgot that.

"I apologise. I did not intend to be unpleasant to you."

"It's okay." Dylan said. She got out of the living room and came back, passing him a cup of tea as well. Mycroft smiled and thanked.

Sherlock spoke.

"So, you come to invite us for her wedding?"

Mycroft passed him the envelope he was holding and Sherlock examined it.

"There's no clue hidden in that simple invitation, brother. And for now, that one is just for the engagement party."

"It's a very good quality envelope, expensive ink. Whoever ordered this is wealthy and has a certain position to maintain towards the community. I assume it was not your daughter who chose it, as this is too formal and God knows how she loves pink and glittery. So, the groom's choice. A powerful man, I assume."

"He's the son of a Mycroft's co-worker." Dylan said, before Mycroft could answer. "Like his father, he has a position in the government. A minor one, though. He is not yet as important as Mycroft, but I am sure he will get there eventually. Camille is taking care of her future very well, Mycroft is assuring it." She left the living room and went down the stairs to her apartment.

Mycroft turned to Sherlock, without denying what Dylan had just said.

"If you paid attention, Sherlock, you wouldn't be asking those unnecessary questions. I have told you before who Camille was dating. I believe you met his father at that little encounter in Buckingham Palace. You might remember it. You were wearing solely a sheet."

A look of understanding crossed John's face. Yes, he remembered that day. And the men who had spoken to them. One was Mycroft. The other an employee of the Queen. So, Mycroft's daughter was going to marry. And with a man who might not yet be important but would be, in time. That sounded like Mycroft.

"Ah, yes. I do recall it." Said Sherlock, no embarrassment in his affirmation.

"Well," Mycroft continued. "I would like to invite the three of you to the engagement party, two days from now at our country house. It's not going to be a very big thing but I will have some important people there. You know how you should dress. You have all the other information on the invitation."

He paused for a while. Dylan came in the flat again.

"Here." she said, giving him a card. It was from her university but it had her phone number on it. "Give this to Camille. If she ever needs to talk to someone or if she needs any help to prepare the wedding or… I don't know, she can call me anyway."

"Camille may be young – hardly twenty – but she knows what she's doing and what she wants for her future. She has an old soul. She's got it all figured out." Said Mycroft.

"Or maybe she thinks she does and in the end she may realise that someone else has been figuring things out for her." That's all Dylan added.

Mycroft did not answer. His sister seemed a bit moody, which was normal considering the matter that had brought him there. It always made her go back to what had happened. And it was hard for her to believe that someone may want to settle down at the age of twenty. He had settled down early and he was happy with the family he had created. They might not be the most affectionate of all families, but they were certainly convenient, and they did work well as a team. What bothered Dylan the most was the fact that her and Camille used to be so close when younger. His daughter was born when Dylan was six and it was her who taught Camille to read and write, to see things through another perspective. But then Dylan left to the United States and his daughter had become someone else. Had developed her own personality. When Dylan came back to visit four years ago and had seen what Camille had become, the awkwardness around her, as if Dylan was not worthy to be among her friends because she did not like glamour and showing off, she had created a wall. She hardly asked about his daughter anymore. Once she had said to Mycroft that Camille had become a non-thinking Barbie, all about looks and surface-based first impressions. She was clever, Dylan admitted, but she lost what she was to become what everyone expected of her. "She will be miserable." And it was his fault as well, she used to add. Sometimes Mycroft wondered, when he saw her daughter going out with her friends, if Dylan was not right. Still, despite everything, Camille had met someone she liked – "Or does she? Or did someone tell her it was just convenient?" Asked Dylan when he had told her. – and she was going to make a good wedding with a good man. Mycroft new what Dylan meant with her words. He had tried himself to set Dylan's path, with no result. She was a force of nature and had a too straight forward mind to let someone think for herself. He did not think her choices were the best, but he couldn't help but respect her. She had made her own path. And a brilliant one, he had to admit. And she didn't even need to close herself to others. She had friends, people who really liked her, with no other reason apart from Dylan being Dylan. That was an achievement neither Mycroft nor Sherlock would ever know. People got close to them because they wanted something. Mycroft looked at John. Well, maybe he himself was the only one who hadn't achieved that yet. Unless you counted his wife, he didn't know anyone who enjoyed being with him just for the sake of his company. Well, there are sacrifices that have to be made in life. That was his sacrifice.

He picked the card from her hand and put it in his pocket.

"Thank you." He said. "But you shouldn't worry about Camille. She will be fine. She's very excited with everything and has it all under control."

Dylan nodded.

"Are you coming as well?" Mycroft asked, this time to Sherlock. "It's an important day to Camille and she would like to have you all there."

"I will think about it." Sherlock said.

"We're going." Dylan assured. "Both for the engagement party and the wedding. Tell that to Camille."

Sherlock did not contradict her, noticed John. Mycroft put the cup of tea on top of a cabinet and smiled. He looked Dylan in the eye.

"Thank you." Then he looked at Sherlock and John and nodded. "Have a rest of a good day."

He grabbed his umbrella that was leaning against the door but before he could leave the apartment John got up and called him.

"Mycroft?"

He turned around.

"Is… Is Anthea going to be there as well?"

Sherlock, who was back at his books smirked, Dylan looked at him.

"Yes, she is." Mycroft answered. "You might want to change your choice in jumpers, though, Dr. Watson."

He then turned around and left the building.

"Who's Anthea?" Dylan asked, smiling.

"Mycroft's secretary." Sherlock answered, still smirking.

John sat down at a chair, Dylan looking at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, you got a crush on her!"

"I… well, she's pretty. She was not interested the last time I asked her out, but I have been in a few cases, showed up in some newspapers and became a small celebrity since then so, who knows?"

The three of them looked at each other and even Sherlock laughed. Then he pointed out.

"You better go shopping for jumpers then."

"Yeah, Mycroft said that. What's wrong with this one?" he looked at himself, frowning.

"It's ridiculous." Stated Sherlock.

Dylan put her eyes on a book, pretending to be interested in the story. John's jumpers was a debate she really didn't want to be a part of.