Author's Note: This is just a cute little ficlet based from the moment where Sherlock has to adjust the doorknob back to being ill-faced because he claims 'Mycroft has OCD, he doesn't even know he's doing it' about how Mycroft always feels the need to put things in perfect order. It is also slightly based on a headcanon from Tumblr on the idea that I will list below.
Headcanon: when Sherlock feels that Mycroft is being particularly annoying, he breaks into his house and moves all the furniture just slightly out of alignment.
G. Lestrade is a simple man. Leads a simple life, does a job that he feels is exceedingly complex yet simply in defining concepts of good versus evil. However, there are things about being simple that just don't come to benefit. Things like your boyfriend's younger brother throwing fits.
It's not noticeable to Lestrade when he's kissing Mycroft into oblivion. They've pushed the door open with the sheer force of their bodies and are ready to head to the bedroom when Mycroft tries to throw his keys on the table. When he does so, there is a slightest difference in sound that draws Mycroft to pull away from his boyfriend with a sudden jolt.
"Something isn't right," Mycroft exclaims as he pulls his whole body away from Lestrade, earning a groan from the DI.
"What – what could possibly be wrong? All you did was throw down your," Lestrade's sentence isn't even finished before Mycroft's hands start moving to adjust the furniture, cursing under his breath. "I'm going to kill him, I swear, I don't care if he's such an asset. He's got to stop doing this."
"When have you known my dearest brother Sherlock to ever not find a way to retaliate when he's throwing a tantrum and I intervene," Mycroft answers as his OCD pings against him stronger and stronger, making him move faster to try and get all the things back into place that just weren't the same as they should have been.
Lestrade pouts and tries to remember where things usually are in the Queen of the Government's apartment, only resulting in Mycroft having to go back and redo more movements to get them into the fractions of motions where they match right. Lestrade sighs and steps away, letting the expert do his work. "Did he have to pick our anniversary though?"
"He's only deduced our relationship recently, not so much the length or span of its incarnation," Mycroft says as he does the last adjustment before readjusting himself into Lestrade's arms.
"How was it he figured it out again?" Lestrade asks, knowing already but liking to hear the story.
Mycroft sighs but accepts the question again. "I said I live in a world of goldfish, meaning I was acknowledging intelligent life around me. What caught his attention was that I said I wasn't lonely, and he only knew he was lonely when he started to fall in love with John Watson."
Author's Question: Should I continue this piece?