"I have to know, John." Sherlock said aggressively, as they were travelling back to 221b from the latest crime scene. They had been sitting in comfortable silence in the back of the cab, and so his partner's sudden exclamation had piqued John's interest.

"Know what? I thought you said it was the mistress. The Spanish one, not the one from Woking." He replied, trying to keep up with the detective's mental leaps.

"Not that." Sherlock growled, clearly rather wound up over whatever he was thinking about.

"What, then?" John prompted, when Sherlock failed to elaborate.

"Oh, can't you see? No, of course you can't." He began. "Mycroft!"

John sighed when Sherlock yet again didn't explain. "What about him, Sherlock?"

Sherlock raked his hands through his hair in frustration. "He has found himself somebody. A boyfriend, partner, fuckbuddy, whatever he wishes to call it, that much is obvious, but I can't figure out who!"

"Oh." John said, trying to get his head round the fact that Mycroft, Mr 'Caring Is Not An Advantage,' had gone and got himself a bloke. "Well...good for him." He mused, surprised that the elder Holmes could even find time for somebody special in his life, what with his work and all.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure the British Nation will benefit greatly now that my brother is regularly getting it." Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock," John almost scolded, "calm down. It's not that important, and I'm sure he'll tell you when he feels ready. God knows he won't want you messing things up for him."

Sherlock turned to John, frowning petulantly. "I can't wait that long. I'll have to just figure it out myself."

"And how are you going to do that? You haven't been able to so far." John pointed out.

"I have my ways." Sherlock muttered.

"Right, get to it then, mysterious." John laughed.

"I don't believe that it's any of your business, Mr. Holmes." Anthea replied coolly, at Sherlock's third attempt to weed the information out of her.

"Of course it's my business, whom else's business would it be?" He narrowed his eyes at the woman in front of him, folding his arms across his chest. "Fine. If you shan't tell me, then I shall have to simply ask him myself."

"I'm afraid Mr. Holmes is rather busy at the moment, but if you would like me to pass on a message I can-" She cut herself off with a sigh as Sherlock barged past her, and into Mycroft's office.

"Ah, brother dear, how are you on this fine morning?" Sherlock asked, with a sardonic smile. He knew Mycroft had been stuck working in his office for almost twenty eight hours straight, judging by the tension in his shoulders, the amount of empty tea cups on his desk, and the evident tiredness in his complexion. Perfect, he thought.

"Is it morning already?" Mycroft said drowsily, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. "Oh dear, I must take a walk outside before I entirely cramp up. Care to join me?" He said, as he put on his suit jacket, seeming somewhat in a haze of exhaustion. As Mycroft turned to pick up his umbrella that hung neatly from the stand by his desk, Sherlock slid his hand across the polished wood, slipping his brother's mobile up into his sleeve.

"No, I don't think I will." Sherlock replied nonchalantly. "Far too busy. Just popped in to say hi, and also that your new better half will not appreciate the four pounds you gained since you started seeing him."

Mycroft glared at him through fatigued eyes, and watched in annoyance as Sherlock left his office with an all too self-satisfied grin.

"Password protected." Sherlock scoffed sarcastically, as he sat down in his armchair, bringing his knees up to his chest and draping his great coat around his folded limbs. "I bet he hasn't even noticed it's missing yet. Though, realistically, he will be dead to the world for a good twelve hours after he's run himself into the ground, again." He reasoned to himself.

"Sherlock, what are you up to?" John asked dubiously, as she approached Sherlock from the kitchen. "Who's phone is that?" He sat himself down in his chair opposite the consulting detective, curious as to what had caught his attention this time.

"Mycroft's. I'll have, if you're making." Sherlock commented in reply.

"I wasn't, actually, but fine. What are you doing with Mycroft's phone? He'll probably need that, you know." John said.

"Not until tomorrow, don't worry." He said, as he scrolled through Mycroft's contact list, scanning it rapidly. No names seemed to cause too much of an alarm, and it only served to frustrate Sherlock further. All of his brother's call and text history was deleted, for security reasons, obviously. Why didn't I think of that? He growled to himself.

Sherlock tossed the Blackberry onto the coffee table, huffing in irritation and curling in on himself. He really didn't possess the effort to hack into the device right now, and besides, it was probably riddled with all kinds of self-destructive software, and that would certainly help him none.

"Aw, don't be like that." John said, referring to Sherlock's sulky demeanour. "You'll get there sooner or later." He stood up from his chair and headed back into the kitchen, ruffling his petulant partner's messy black curls along the way.

*Ping!*

Sherlock shot up in his chair in an instant, and scrambled over to snatch the phone from atop the coffee table. He read the words written on the screen in his hands, before dropping the phone abruptly and crying out in horror and disgust.

"Sooner, then." John said from the kitchen, where he was making Sherlock's requested tea. He wandered back over to the sitting room, where Sherlock was crouched in his chair like a cornered animal, his sharp blue eyes glaring daggers at the offending mobile phone, which lay inconspicuously on the floor in front of him.

John rolled his eyes at his fear-stricken partner, and picked up the phone from the floor, reading the text that had gotten Sherlock in such a state of shock.

Message Received at 11:26 am,

From: Gregory Lestrade

Hey sexy. ;) -GL