Mycroft Holmes stood posh as ever outside the hospital room where his brother was being stitched up, and from which came a steady stream of curses. John was inside holding his hand, and Mycroft smirked at the pair.

This was how Detective Inspector Lestrade met him; standing perfectly straight, smirking proudly in a handsome three piece suit, and, as always, holding his trusty umbrella.

Handsome . . . much like his brother, only not boyish and sexy like him. Manly, proud, responsible . . .

Greg blushed and cleared his throat, reminding himself that he had a wife. An unfaithful wife, his inner monologue added before being hushed once more. Mycroft turned from smirking at his brother through the door to smile politely at Greg.

"Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade," he greeted. "It's nice to finally put a name to the face."

"Likewise," Greg replied, shaking his hand.

"I do appreciate you dragging my brother here, I'd rather not have him attempt to stitch himself up again."

"Again?" Greg inquired, not at all surprised. Mycroft let out a condescending huff directed at his brother.

"Somehow he never grasped the concept of sanitation. Lead to some rather serious infections when he found it suitable to substitute proper stitches with a dirty needle and thread from Mummy's sewing box."