Mycroft's Tie

The snow was falling so thickly that Lestrade couldn't see five feet in front of him. At his feet was a fridged body with skin that was just turning an eerie shade of blue, and it was decorated with tiny icicles.

"Freak's here." Donovan called out dutifully from the swirling white curtain and Lestrade saw a dancing pinpoint of light eminating from Donovan's powerful flashlight as she navigated Sherlock and John to the crime scene.

"Evening." Lestrade sighed when he could finally see their faces clearly.

"Lovely Christmas this year." John griped sarcastically.

"Isn't it?" Sherlock grinned back elatedly. "So boring, staying inside on a beautiful day like this."

"Bloody cold out here!" John and Lestrade chorused, rolling their eyes. But Sherlock was already stooping over the body eagerly and ignored them.

"Oh, why do we even bother?" John groaned. "Sherlock's just happy because Mycroft's CCTV surveilence is practically useless due to this wretched snow!"

Lestrade chuckled, watching, with a slight fascination, as his breath vaporized and billowed from his lips. "Well, that's Sherlock for you."

"Indeed, as unfortunate as that conclusion is." Lestrade and John whirled around to find Mycroft standing casually by the crime scene tape, watching them, his beloved umbrella arching over his head for protection against the snow. Mycroft smiled politely at them and greeted them cordially.

"Evening, Mycroft." Lestrade nodded at the man, John noticed the DI's eyes were widened by a fraction and his lips were pressed together hard. John had seen this expression many times when the DI was tempted to say something to Sherlock but thought better of it. John shrugged it off.

"Evening..." John echoed distractedly, deciding to go haunt Sherlock.

Seeing the consulting detective and his faithful assistant effectively distracted, Lestrade sidled over to Mycroft. "Might I ask what brings you here?" he asked.

Mycroft merely inclined his head and shifted his umbrella to cover Lestrade as well. "Ah, the same old 'constantly worrying about Sherlock' excuse, is it?" Lestrade smiled gratefully, brushing a few white flakes off his lapel.

Mycroft grimaced. "Unless you prefer the 'I was just on my way back from a top secret meeting with a sensitivity level that warrents the licence to kill, and decided to pop in on the crime scene and tell you all about it.'?"

Lestrade blinked and deadpanned. "Nope, I sincerely believe that you are the world's most paranoid older brother." He lifted his hands in a 'stopping' motion. "And let's leave it at that."

"Lovely, the first good idea I've heard today." Mycroft smiled slightly, then he shifted to watch Sherlock hovering like an agitated bee over the body. "You'd think that people would prefer to stay in on cold, miserable days like this. I doubt most people would get up on a day like this and think 'Oh, I think I'll kill someone today'."

Lestrade snorted. "This must be a conspiracy cooked up by the criminals of London to try and take down as many officers as possible before the year gives out."

Mycroft smiled back amusedly at the notion. "Would that, then, constitute as assult on a police officer?"

"I wish." Lestrade sighed. "One tiny inch of silver lining, though." Mycroft raised his eyebrow curiously. "Unlike in summer, most trace evidence would remain on, or, around the body, perfectly intact."

"You, DI Lestrade, are a very positive man." Mycroft deadpanned. Then he caught Lestrade's look and observed the man biting subtly on his bottom lip to keep from smiling or laughing. But the corner of his mouth twitched with the effort. Mycroft sighed. "Alright, just say it. Get it out of your system."

A sharp explosion of air was forced out of Lestrade's lungs but he stopped himself before it could evolve into a fullblown laugh. "That... that's..." Mycroft raised an eyebrow patiently. "...That's a very nice tie." Lestrade schooled his features into that of utter seriousness. "It's a very nice tie." he repeated, just for good measure.

Mycroft smiled at him in a very controlled manner. "Well, it beats wearing the knitted sweaters Grandmother makes for Sherlock and I."

Lestrade's mouth fell open an inch. "Knitted..." Lestrade stopped himself just in time, but he could feel the corner of his mouth curling upward again. "Right... knitted sweaters... who doesn't have some of those locked up in the dark corners of their..." His rambling sentence was abruptly cut off by a snort and a bout of quiet giggles. Lestrade covered his mouth with his hands. "Sorry, it's..." Mycroft watched bemusedly as the man's shoulders shook with silent tremors. "It's too good."

"What is?" Lestrade near jumped out of his skin at Sherlock's sudden intrusion to their conversation. Sherlock took one look at his older brother and laughed... loudly. "What in the name of God are you wearing?" he asked incredulously when his giggles subsided.

"Right!" Lestrade chuckled. Sherlock shook his head and snapped a photo on his phone.

"A word of advice, Mycroft." Sherlock said, voice still full of mirth. "Don't try to look normal. Wear a santa hat with it next year." And then he was sweeping out of the crime scene and calling out for a cab.

John's bewildered look betrayed his ignorance to what had Lestrade and Sherlock tickled pink but he trudged after his flatmate anyway.

"A santa hat... huh?" Lestrade bounced on the balls of his feet in an attempt to appear casual. "I think Donovan's got one. Should I go ask her for it?" He blinked at Mycroft innocently.

Mycroft rolled his eyes a little at Lestrade. "I appreaciate your kind gesture, but I will save you the trouble." Then he backed off from the scene with a muttered "Good evening, and the merriest of Christmases to you."

"Merry Christmas Mycroft." Lestrade called after him with a smile.

"So, are you going to tell me what that was about?" John asked finally when they had returned to the flat and had a raging fire going in the fireplace.

"What was what about?" Sherlock asked distractedly, musing still on the case.

"What's got you and Lestrade laughing at Mycroft about, are you two crazy! He could have you killed, or worse!" John flailed his arms for emphasis.

A smile once again crept slyly into Sherlock's sharp features. "It was the tie." he murmured.

"Sorry, what about his tie?" John asked nonplussed.

"Oh, come on! Please tell me you saw it!" Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

"Sorry, I wasn't exactly studying his tie!" John defended himself. Sherlock tossed his phone to his flatmate and John found the incriminating picture. "What- but..." John gaped.

Now, Sherlock grinned outright. "It's red... and green... and it's got little snowmen printed on it." He fell into another fit of laughter. "Mycroft, of all people! The last time he wore anything similar was when he was twelve and Grandmother kitted us sweaters." He rolled his eyes dramatically at John. "Thank God, I was at boarding school so I didn't have to wear it for her. Mycroft, however, wasn't so lucky."

John shook his head in amazement. Then a thought occured to him. "But, if the last time he dared to wear something obnoxiously Christmassy was when he was twelve... what made him wear the tie now?"

Sherlock folded his hands and smirked at John with a mischevious twinkle in his eye. "Lestrade dared me to give it to him on April Fools."

The End