A short piece of fun dedicated to Lucy36
Disclaimer: Don't own...
Trying to control his facial muscles was causing John a bit of a problem. Going from slack-jawed shock at being delivered by helicopter to Buckingham Palace, to finding himself sitting next to his mad and naked-but-for-a-sheet flatmate, the grin he was attempting to smother made his cheeks ache.
"We here to see the Queen?" he smothered the wobble in his voice, but it was all in vain as his friend looked up, saw his brother approaching, and responded
"Apparently, yes."
Their sniggers echoed around the high-ceilinged room as Mycroft stared down at them, unimpressed.
"Sherlock, this is Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation, and you choose to arrive wearing nothing but a sheet."
Almost instantly, the smile fell from the younger man's face, and getting to his feet he stalked past John to stand nose to nose with his sibling.
"I don't appreciate being kidnapped by your minions, or being told what I should and shouldn't wear."
John, in preparation for preventing a full blown fight between them, also stood up, but it appeared Sherlock had said his piece and was ready to go.
"Come on John, we're leaving." Looking as regal as a Roman emperor, the consulting detective turned and started to walk away.
A highly polished black shoe stepped purposefully onto a trailing edge of the sheet, and only swift reactions prevented Sherlock from transforming from Caesar to Michelangelo's David.
"Get off my sheet!" he hissed.
"Put you clothes on, Sherlock. I would hate to have to force you."
Two sets of eyebrows rose simultaneously, incredulity forcing them up into their respective hairlines.
"You think you could?"
"Oh, I know I can." Mycroft smirked, unbuttoning his jacket and slipping it off.
Draping it neatly over the back of the couch, he removed his tie, and folded it into his trouser pocket. Seconds later the waistcoat was gone too.
John and Sherlock exchanged a puzzled glance as the British Government delicately unclipped and removed his cufflinks, the gold chinking slightly as he laid them on the table.
Next his hands moved unerringly to the buttons on his starched white shirt, his ice blue gaze never wavering.
John swallowed hard, not entirely sure he could believe what he thought he was seeing.
"Um…Mycroft….?"
"Yes John?" the shirt followed the jacket onto the couch, and his hands moved straight to the waistband of his trousers, swiftly unbuttoning and unzipping the fly.
Sherlock and John both stared with a kind of morbid fascination as the trousers were removed, fastidiously folded and laid next to the jacket and waistcoat.
"I suppose you think that you, standing there in your St Georges Cross boxer shorts and very little else, is going to persuade me to get dressed." Sherlock snorted.
"Not at all Sherlock," Mycroft smiled sweetly at him. "But this might." With one smooth movement, the older Holmes brother slipped his thumbs into the waistband of the boxers, and slid them downwards, stepping delicately out of them and dropping them onto the arm of a chair.
As he stood there in just his shoes and socks, Mycroft could read the shock on his companion's faces. From behind him he could hear the measured tread of an approaching member of staff, yet he waited, unabashed.
Entering on the far side of the room, Queen's Equerry Harry Dunstan's face broke into a smile as he walked up behind his friend.
"Mycroft!" he said jovially. "How good to see you again." He looked the naked man in the eye, and his smile widened as he added "Nice tattoo!"
A/N: As children we always referred to Buckingham Palace as 'Buck House'