Mycroft Holmes considered himself to be very sneaky indeed. After months and months of preparation involving nearly all of the British secret service he had successfully carried out his plan: stealing cake from his younger brother.
Sherlock was significantly smarter than Mycroft gave him credit for being. Of course Mycroft was vastly more intelligent, but Sherlock did have his moments of brightness. Consistency, focus, and drugs tended to be his issues, and Mycroft could always predict when Sherlock's moments of stupidity, (usually brought on by cocaine), would occur and turn them to his advantage. However, even when Sherlock was having intelligence... issues, he was simply impossible to steal from. Sherlock could smell trouble from miles away no matter how drugged or busy he was, so tricking him took months of planning. Most of the time, it just wasn't worth the trouble, but this time was the exception. It was vital that Mycroft have that cake.
Mycroft was technically on a diet. He needed the Serbian government to believe he was losing weight so that the Russian government wouldn't inform the Czech government that his weight could potentially be a pressure point. Then the Czech government would inform the German government, which would, in turn, inform the Danish government. The Danish government's archives would then be hacked by Charles Augustus Magnussen, who would have another juicy tidbit to blackmail the British government with. Mycroft knew that the Serbian government was keeping a close watch on his credit card records, and that the Czech and German governments had people following him to ensure that he followed his diet... but Mycroft needed cake.
Ever since he was a young boy, Mycroft had always held a certain fascination with cake. He had always loved poking sponge cakes with his finger and watching the golden, spongy marvel spring back into place. He loved looking at cake, decorating cake and thinking about cake, but the one thing that Mycroft loved more than anything else in the world was eating cake.
Sadly, his complicated balancing act with almost every country in Europe had left him cake-deprived as he fought to appear strong and capable to other countries. As the months passed, Mycroft grew more and more desperate for just one bite of cake. In fact, the prime minister had to warn him on several occasions that several German spies had seen him gazing longingly into the windows of cake shops. Getting rid of the spies before they could report back to their countries had been a tedious and unnecessary process that the prime minister claimed, "...could have been easily averted if [Mycroft] had been able to control [his] facial features."
This was truly a last resort. Mycroft knew that there was no way he could purchase any cake himself, and no way that he could be seen eating it at any sort of gathering, but Mycroft's love for cake was so strong, he hatched a devious plan to procure some.
First, he deviously discovered John's birthday (and his middle name) by looking at his birth certificate. Next, he waited until about two weeks before John's birthday, and called Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. During a long, drawn-out phone conversation, (during which, Mycroft had to remind himself what he was subjecting himself to the torture of small talk for), he guilted Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson into throwing John a rather extravagant birthday party. Mycroft sent several of his MI-6 agents into the party, so that they could drug Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson's drinks. Finally, once the guests had gone home, and the three he had drugged had fallen onto the floor in their temporary comas, Mycroft slid in through the window, (he could have used the door, but the window just seemed so much more sneaky), took the half-eaten birthday cake out of the refrigerator, and ran off with it.
Mycroft kicked everybody out of the Diogenes Club 15 minutes earlier than usual, closed all of the curtains, lit a single lamp on his desk, grabbed the fork he had run off with when he took the cake, sat down, and prepared to feast upon the magnificent delicacy that he had worked so hard to procure. He was just about to take the first bite, when he heard a rustling sound. Mycroft froze, slowly lowering his fork back down onto his plate. He slid back his chair, stood up as quietly as he could, and stood frozen in place, waiting for a German to come running out of his closet, yelling something along the lines of, "Ich habe dich erwischt, du Kuchenesser!"
It was at least 30 seconds before Mycroft heard the sound again. It was a low-pitched rustling coming from the darkened corner of the room. He reached for the secret ninja sword concealed in his umbrella, but to his surprise, Mycroft found that his umbrella had vanished. Mycroft allowed himself precisely 10.25 seconds of panic before calming himself down again. His assailant had his umbrella. Nobody touched Mycroft's umbrella. The rustling sound came again, from the same corner, and Mycroft watched intently as his potential attacker slowly crept into the light.
Mycroft nearly screamed. His attacker had not taken his umbrella. Mycroft's attacker was his umbrella. "NO!" yelled Mycroft, stumbling backwards, as his trusty pal came at him with it's own hidden ninja sword. "The entire world has turned against me, but I thought I could trust you! YOU WERE MY FRIEND!" Mycroft tripped over his chair and fell flat on his back as more umbrellas swarmed out of the shadows, engulfing him. "NOOOOOOO!" yelled Mycroft, as a hundred or so umbrellas beat him senseless.
The umbrellas picked up Mycroft's unconscious body and carried it off into the night.
Author's Note: Yes, I know. It's absolute crack. :) I promise I'll have the next chapter written A.S.A.P, but in the meantime, please tell me what you think.