Hey guys. I PROMISE I will continue the other stories. But my inspiration comes and goes, so I don't know when that will be. This is a short 3 chapter Johnlock fluff story. It has hints of Mystrade though, and I know that's not everyone's favorite, but I couldn't resist. This is rated T for alcohol and language. And severe hangovers.

Chapter 1:

John and Sherlock were at the crime scene, Greg and John admiring Sherlock as he deduced where the detective inspector had gotten his new socks, when a shiny black car pulled up to the curb.

"I can see the indents left on your upper ankle. The marks are criss-crossed. There's only three stores that sell…." Sherlock trailed off as the elegant man stepped out of the car, and Lestrade literally froze.

After a flip of his umbrella, the man strolled up to the group. Greg acknowledged him with a nod of his head and a gruff "Mycroft," without making eye contact.

"Gregory," Mycroft replied stiffly, then turned to John, "Dr. Watson," and then turning to greet Sherlock with a "brother," that was so venomous the group was surprised no one dropped dead.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock's icy stare threw daggers at Mycroft with his eyes.

Mycroft focused his attention back onto his umbrella, "I thought I might by you all…." he matched Sherlock's gaze, "a drink."

"A-A drink?" John stuttered, looking over at Sherlock, "A drink for…" he looked back at Mycroft, "what?"

"Well, considering it's the first anniversary of you and my brother working together, I thought a celebration was in order," Mycroft smirked; his gaze had never left Sherlock.

John glared at Sherlock, "It was the anniversary, and you didn't tell me?!"

Sherlock scoffed, avoiding eye contact with anyone, "I thought you had remembered. And if you had wanted to celebrate, you needed only ask."

John shook his head and turned back to Mycroft, "Yes, that would be lovely. Um…" He spotted the sleek black car, "Do you mind if we…catch a ride with you?"

"Not at all," Mycroft started walking away, and without turning back he beckoned to Greg, "Come along, Gregory."

"Who…me?" Greg glanced up to see that Mycroft had turned to face him beside the car. "Nah, you don't want me at your party. I'll just be a problem, and…."

Greg stopped when he realized Mycroft's gaze hadn't faltered from his face.

Greg sighed, "Oh, bloody hell, alright." Greg started walking toward the car, not looking at Mycroft.

Mycroft allowed himself a small smile of triumph.