A/N: This is a very very cracky one-shot that I wrote for starsinjars! She convinced me to post it. I hope it's ok! Feel better from the dentist, stars :3

'Oh, Sheeeeeeerrrlock!'

Oh, no. Sherlock sighed to himself resignedly. The medication Mycroft was taking for his ear infection was making him act… oddly.

All right, that is an understatement. Mycroft was completely loopy.

'Ah! Hello there, little brother!' Mycroft said brightly as he entered the kitchen.

'Hello, Mycroft.'

'What are you doing, my dear?'

Sherlock stared at him. It was perfectly obvious what he was doing. Why was Mycroft even asking?

Now, now. He is on medication. It's not his fault he's all… stupid. Be kind.

That's what John had said. So Sherlock supposed that he must do it, since he was still trying to make up for blowing up the microwave.

'I am making breakfast.'

'I see! Toast!' Mycroft loomed over Sherlock's shoulder, watching him apply butter to the toast.

'Yes,' Sherlock said, gritting his teeth. 'Toast.' The irony is that this is the least contentious conversation they've had in years.

Mycroft suddenly wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso, hugging him tightly. Sherlock jumped in shock, nearly dropping his knife.

'Mycroft! What!'

'Oh, little brother. I cared for you since you were small and yet you think it's strange for me to embrace you?'

'Well. Because it's you, yes. Yes, I do find it strange.'

'I am wounded! How could you even-?'

Sherlock felt perhaps a little bit bad, since Mycroft sounded genuinely hurt, even if he was expressing it in such an odd manner.

'Look,' Sherlock said begrudgingly. 'I. Sorry.' Mycroft was going to pay for this. Oh, he was going to pay for this.

Mycroft pouted and rested his chin on Sherlock's shoulder. 'I suppose I forgive you, dear.'

'Good,' Sherlock seethed, going back to his toast-making. When he was finished, he picked up the plate and tried to move away from his brother to go sit at the table.

Unfortunately Mycroft had other ideas.

'Mycroft, let go of me!'

'Hmmm… no.'

'Let go!'

'I shan't.'

Sherlock growled in the back of his throat in frustration.

'Mycroft. Please.'

'Mm, all right. I will let you go, if…'

Really? He was doing this? Fine. How bad could it be?

'If?'

'I will let you go,' Mycroft said, arching his brow, 'If you give me a kiss.'

Sherlock recants the above statement.

'Wha- NO! Mycroft! No!'

'Ah, well then, I suppose you'll be standing here for a while.'

Exhaling harshly through his nose, Sherlock stood there for a few moments, hoping that Mycroft would get bored and go away.

He did not.

'Mycroft,' Sherlock tried very hard to sound kind. 'Please let me go now so I can eat my toast.'

'My terms for release still stand.'

'That's a bit much, even from you.'

'Hush. Now. The price is only one kiss.'

'No.'

'No?'

'Incestuous undertones are one thing. This is blatantly ridiculous.'

'I am not asking for a romantic kiss, stupid. I am your brother, what on earth is wrong with you?'

'I will not even dignify that with an answer.'

'Oh dear, has your toast gone cold? That could've been avoided if you had just given big brother a kiss, baby doll,' Mycroft taunted in a sing-song-y voice.

'No.'

'Come now, just a peck from my pretty chicken…'

'No.'

'Will my turtle dove fly away without showing me any affection?'

'Oh for god's sake, Mycroft!' Sherlock turned around and kissed Mycroft. 'There, are you happy?' He resisted the urge to spit.

Mycroft seemed unaware of Sherlock's ire. He smiled cheerfully and relinquished his hold on Sherlock.

'All right, you are free to go, little lamb. The wolf is sated and will not harm you.'

Sherlock dropped the plate and ran from the room, shouting for John.

Mycroft watched him, bewildered. 'What an odd boy,' he said to himself. 'He really shouldn't use his out-door voice inside the house!'