A/N: Something of a companion piece to How Would You Know? and (soon to follow) Deal With the Devil, season 3 inspired short fics featuring Sherlock and Mycroft.

Rarely So Lazy

It was not finding Sherlock quiet and skulking in the parlor that surprised Mycroft; rather, it was earlier than he had expected him, despite the already late hour. The room was quiet, Sherlock's hands clasped in front of him as he sat thinking, though a glass of brandy sat on the table beside the chair.

"Drinking, Sherlock?"

"Hm. Experiment."

No further explanation forthcoming, Mycroft sighed lightly and settled in the chair opposite his younger brother. "And how was the 'night-do'?"

"Good, fine. Yes."

"And the speech?"

"Ehh," Sherlock waffled his hand back and forth, "slow starting. Got well on though. People laughed; people cried," he looked positively perplexed. "And then there was a murder."

A moment of silence stretched between them. "A murder. At John's wedding."

"Hm. Well, when I say murder- killing a man when the groom is a doctor, maybe not the best laid plans."

"Major Sholto, then. Of course, obvious really." He did not miss the grinding of Sherlock's jaw at his quick deduction. "Who else would be so unassailable as to make a wedding the chosen location for such an act?"

"Yes, well, it worked out all right in the end. Of course, did rather ruin the speech, trying to solve a crime in the midst of it without looking like I was solving a crime and raising suspicion." He took a generous sip of brandy, swallowing it down with a grimace. "My fault, really- should have seen it coming from the stag night. Alcohol is rubbish, Mycroft, why do you keep it? All it does is make you fuzzy and forgetful."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes pointedly at Sherlock's glass. "And what is it you'd like to forget, brother dear?"

"The next words I'm about to say."

"Oh? This should be delightf-"

"You were right."

He paused, waiting for a punch line that never came. "Good lord, do mark the time and date."

"S'what people do, isn't it? Get married, and dance, and go on Sex Holiday… like they need any more of that…" he muttered lightly.

Mycroft raised a sardonic brow. "I thought it was a 'new chapter'?"

"Well, they seem to be rushing through the book rather quickly."

It took him just a few seconds to put together his grumblings. "Ah- ah. Is there to be a little Watson? Oh, how positively delightful will that be? The crying, the nappies… dear lord, do you think they'll try to name you godfather?"

"Surely even John's sentimentality has its practical limits." They sat in silence, both considering Mycroft's earlier words- the end of an era. After a minute or two though, Sherlock shook off his brooding stare and turned a curious eye on his brother. "I'm sure you know Lady Elizabeth Smallwood visited me last week."

Mycroft smiled drily and stood, pouring himself a drink and pacing slowly at the end of the room in front of the fireplace. "Naturally. Not a case worth pursuing."

"Strange thing though- Mary's chief bridesmaid, woman named Janin-"

"Yes," Mycroft murmured, cutting him off. "I saw who her employer is. Quite the coincidence, that."

Sherlock opened his mouth, halted, closed it again, and regarded his brother closely through narrowed eyes. "Indeed. Quite the… coincidence."

And he steepled his fingers, closed his eyes, and set to brooding silence once more.

X-X

A/N: Thanks for reading!