Undercover Lover

'You're my undercover lover
You get your kicks for free
And you won't ever find another
Who's even half as good as me
You're my undercover lover
You get your kicks for free
Now get away cause this is killing me'

Kids in Glass Houses.

Undercover Lover

Mycroft Holmes strolled along the bustling pavements that were Baker Street, the crowd parting before him like the Red Sea for Moses. His eyes glanced up at his brother's humble residence, 221b. Surprisingly, when he looked up at the flat's grimy window, Sherlock's usual towering presence was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was caught up in another of those damn experiments of his. Or maybe it was that new flatmate he had acquired. Who was that chap again? James? Jim? John, that was him. Ex-Army doctor if he recalled correctly. He must be a pretty resilient fellow to put up with my brother. Mycroft certainly couldn't.

He approached the weathered, black door, knocked, and then that annoying old land lady ushered him in, chattering to him all the way. He tried to block it out.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to see your brother then, Mycroft dearie?"

Why did she call him dearie? He was not a two year old imbecile for god sake! "Yes," he stated curtly.

She showed him up the narrow wooden staircase, and he tutted in disgust at the peeling paint and mouldy ceilings. Really, Sherlock should move to better accommodation than this hovel. Opening the door he observed Sherlock dipping a human eyeball into what appeared to be hydrochloric acid, and Jame- John grimacing with disgust over his cup of coffee. He almost felt pity for him. Almost.

"Good morning Mycroft. What can I do you on this fine day? Thanks for knocking," Sherlock muttered sarcastically, before he could even get a word in. John looked up in surprise; he hadn't noticed he had entered.

"Another very important case has been brought to my interest."

"And I thought you just wanted the company of your dear old brother," Sherlock retorted sarcastically.

"Don't be so childish, Sherlock."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Mycroft sighed, bemused. He was always so frustrating.

"Last night a senior secret service government official was stabbed 37 times in the back outside a bar in East London. His body was found in the garbage bins this morning."

"And who might that be?"

"It doesn't matter. You just need to find his murderer."

"Why should I be so interested in this case?

"You will be paid a large sum of money."

"I don't need money."

"I can't involve the police. If this goes public, the whole government is screwed."

"I can't do anything without facts."

"I took the liberty of bringing a full report with me."

"You assumed I would take it."

"Naturally. There's a taxi waiting outside."

Sherlock turned to John and asked "John? Would you like to join me? It won't take very long, promise!"

"When do I never!" John grinned. They both laughed at some secret joke.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft said. "Did I mention that it's a gay bar?

John choked on his coffee and spluttered. Sherlock stared at him for a few agonizing seconds before stating calmly,

"A senior government official at a gay bar. How very embarrassing for you. Cancel the taxi, I've just realised I have to finish a crucial experiment of mine which cannot be left alone for several hours. I'll come later. Are you still available John?"

John still looked perturbed, but nodded slightly.

"Excellent! I shall see you two gentlemen tomorrow for a full report. This is much appreciated Sherlock."

Sherlock was already back at his experiment, replying without even looking up,

"Of course it is."

"For now then. Cheerio fellows!" he said cheerfully.

Closing the door behind him, he chuckled.