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I would like to thank my dear friend - apaperrose - for Beta'ing this for me.

"Now, listen to me. Behave," John hissed as they stood outside the embossed glass doors of the tailors. Sherlock sighed beside him, one hand jammed deep in his pocket whilst the other was held tightly by John.

"I alwaysbehave," Sherlock countered, grinning slightly as John dug him in the ribs. Behind the glass he could see the slightly balding figure of Mycroft engaging in a conversation with a sales person. Mycroft was still wearing his customary waistcoat and suit trousers ensemble whilst John was only kitted out in his stripy jumper and jeans. He felt underdressed for this particular brand of shopping. Lestrade wasn't anywhere to be seen, but the drawn curtain behind the older Holmes gave a slight indication to where the Detective Inspector was.

"You behave when it suits you, and the legendary Holmes courtesy is famed for its low appearance level." John sighed as he scanned the suits in the window. Shopping was always difficult when Sherlock was involved, and suit shopping for their nuptials in two weeks was going to be no different.

Especially since Lestrade and John had come up with the brainwave of having a joint wedding. There had been arguments, shouting, silence and fury from both of the Holmes siblings over having to share their wedding day with their 'arch enemy'.

"John, don't try and be clever, it doesn't suit you, love." How Sherlock could end a scathing remark with an endearment and still make John's heart flutter was beyond him. He tugged the doctor into the boutique, the door giving a delightful jingle as they entered. Mycroft turned slightly, nodding at his brother and his fiancé. John smiled weakly back and tugged Sherlock down slightly, whispering in his ear before they could approach.

"Sherlock, I mean it! Just... If you 'deduce' that if any of the staff are having affairs, in the middle of a divorce, have a relative who recently died or going through a psychotic episode, I beg of you… Please don't reveal it. For me?" John desperately wanted the next few hours to go perfectly.

Or relatively smooth without any massive bumps.

It was the Holmes brothers after all.

"Ah… My dear brother and Doctor Watson. I feel blessed that you've taken your time out for this. Greg's getting changed at the moment." Mycroft drawled, waving away the pale sales assistant behind him. He leaned in, lowering his voice.

"I don't recommend you using that silly girl. She's in the throes of a pregnancy which didn't come from her husband." At that specific moment, the young sales assistant appeared at his elbow, her eyes wide with horror and her smile dropping when she realized that Mycroft had somehow found out her secret. She dumped the load of shirts she was carrying into Sherlock's slightly outstretched arms, tears already flowing from her eyes.

"…Excuse me." She bolted to the back room, John watching her worriedly. However Mycroft and Sherlock both looked unconcerned as they watched the woman flee.

"Well, that's solved that" Sherlock smirked, turning to drop the load of cotton and silk shirts on John.

"And how are you, Mycroft? The diet going well?" Mycroft's jaw tightened slightly but he nodded fixedly.

"Very, thank you. Soon I'll be as spidery as you." The oldest Holmes looked down his brother's form briefly. It had always been a sore spot in Mycroft's life that he always considered the 'large' brother. It wasn't his fault that Sherlock was so freakishly thin.

"I wouldn't bet on it, Mycroft. One bad day and you'll go through a pack of iced doughnuts like a dehydrated man given water."

"One bad day for me is when we find inter-ballistic missiles from the terror camps trained on the Docklands, not when they don't stock pumpkin seeded rolls in the canteen."

"Should you really be eating carbohydrates, Mycroft? It'll ruin your trim-" Sherlock emphasised the word with a coating of sarcasm, "-figure."

"Boys? Can we -?" Sherlock turned in puzzlement. John's voice sounded oddly muffled by the large cargo of dress shirts that John was carrying – they nearly reached the top of his head – so Sherlock gratefully unloaded the majority of them, swooping down to give John a tiny kiss.

"You're utterly adorable." John grinned, nuzzling up to Sherlock's side. The coat was definitely one of his favourites out of the accessories Sherlock had. It was large enough that on a cold night, they could tuck each other in it, their bodies pressed flush against each other.

John peered around Sherlock's side, nodding at the figure emerging from the dressing room. Lestrade was clothed in a close-cut double breasted dove-grey suit, his face flushed with embarrassment. Mycroft nodded approvingly, stepping behind his partner and sweeping his hands down his shoulders and sides.

"Very. Very. Nice." Mycroft crooned, pressing a small kiss in Lestrade's salt-and-pepper hair with each word.

John smiled at the red-faced DI. "I agree; very debonair."

Sherlock only raised his eyebrow at Lestrade. John wasn't sure if he could disassociate their work together with the fact he was marrying Mycroft. He didn't think any of them could believe the marriage was actually coming so swiftly.

"Yes, lovely, Lestrade. Have you captured the gardener yet? You did get my text message, didn't you?" Sherlock peered at the Inspector, ignoring the fact that Mycroft's hands had stilled on his shoulder and his face was pinched with annoyance.

"Yes, Sherlock... I did," Lestrade admitted nervously, gently removing Mycroft's painful grip on his shoulders.

"Well, you didn't text me back," Sherlock sighed, looking around the shop floor. There were at least ten assistants around the edges, all staring at the group fearfully.

"What did you do, Mycroft? They all resemble Molly Hooper when I pay her a compliment." John looked down, biting his cheek to stop himself from laughing. But Sherlock was right. The wide-eyes, slight trembling and disbelief were uncanny like the young woman.

"I just informed them I didn't want to be served by three alcoholics, four adulterers, two who couldn't spell 'cat' let alone 'wedding' and a stuck up manageress who got her money from marrying a decrepit elderly earl," Mycroft announced loudly, his voice making the assistants cringe slightly. The smarter dressed woman standing near the till opened and closed her mouth in shock.

"Or something to that effect. There were a few more insults if I can recall, Mycroft," Lestrade interjected, brushing down his suit in the mirror.

"Yes… This will do very nicely." Lestrade turned back to his fiancé, grinning smugly. "Time to get your clothes on".

Mycroft sighed, turning to one of the shaking assistants and beckoning her over irritably. She rushed up to him, her voice just above a squeak.

"C-Can I be of any assistance, M-Mr Holmes?" Mycroft fixed a steely gaze on her.

"Yes, we'd like to purchase the suit Mr Lestrade is wearing. And I'll need a selection of suits from black to a light grey. These-" he reached into his pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper, "-are my measurements".

"Yes, I would be embarrassed by my size if I was you. Good thinking there, Mycroft, writing it down," Sherlock called from where he was sitting next to John on one of the luxury settees that had been placed around the shop floor.

Mycroft shot a furious glare at Sherlock, before leaning closer to the still-shaking assistant. "Also, can you make sure he -" Mycroft pointed at his brother. "- doesn't lay his greedy hands on them?"

"I'mthe greedy one? I'll be needing a suit as well, but one at least half of my dear brother's measurements," Sherlock scoffed, addressing the assistant. As she bustled off, the consulting detective turned to his partner, smiling at him. The doctor glowered back, making Sherlock sigh.

"Okay, what have I done now?" Sherlock leaned back, folding his arms as he took in the doctor's surly expression.

"One day. One day, that's all I asked for" John muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Sherlock to catch.

"Correction. You asked that I wouldn't ridicule the staff by discussing their personal lives out-loud. My brother already did this, quite sufficiently may I add, and you don't let me indulge myself in annoying the bane of my sibling's life which is his morbidly obese waistline? Frankly, I'm shocked you're still angry at me," Sherlock shot back. John closed his eyes, counted slowly to ten before opening them. It was a technique he had perfected to deal with his Holmes-related anger.

"Okay… You're right. Don't do the face -" Sherlock had to catch himself before he did the traditional 'I'm-Always-So-Right-And-Everybody-Is-Ten-Times-Stupider-Than-Me' smug smile.

"- and just go and find some gorgeous suit for me to swoon over and say you look the second best I've ever seen you."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at this. Only second best?

John smirked and pressed a tender kiss against Sherlock's mouth. "Remember that I've seen you naked. Sorry, but a suit can't beat that." Sherlock shook his head fondly before getting up slowly.

The assistant came back, tugging a heavy rail of suits, all in different cuts, colours and lengths.

"What about you, Mr Watson? Where are you getting fitted?" Mycroft turned to the still-seated doctor, half-unbuttoning his waistcoat.

"Sherlock and I have decided it would be fitting if I wear my army uniform." John smiled back at Mycroft who nodded in approval.

"Yes, we thought it would be a good reflection on John's honour. Here's a good idea Mycroft, why don't we see if we can get Lestrade one of those police outfits? I know the luminous green safety jackets would go deliciouslywith your suit." Sherlock said sweetly, tossing his own jacket to John.

"How about no," Mycroft retorted, and grabbing a suit he stormed into one of the changing rooms. Sherlock winked at John and walked into his own separate changing room.

John shook his head, catching Lestrade's eye in the mirror. The Inspector sighed, but both of them had ridiculous grins on their faces similar to those worn by parents when comparing the antics of their children.

"What are they like?" John questioned, leaning back and listening to the hushed voices of the other customers around them, all secluded in their own booths.

"Terrifyingly intelligent children who only find solace in comparing each other's Star Treks goodies and riling the other when they can't quote direct Spock monologues?" Lestrade offered, straightening his tie.

"I was going to say complete idiots, but yours sound better," John laughed.

"But we love them right?" Lestrade's voice was almost drowned out a female squeal coming from the next booth. An excited chatter came from another woman with her and John turned to shake his head in the direction of the noise.

"We'd have to if we're putting up with this nonsense."

Lestrade grinned pleasantly and John shrugged in mutual agreement as the sound of movement came from the excited woman's changing room. Two women's voice swooped down at them.

"…Oh, you've got to walk in it, Bex!…"

"What does the back look like?"

"Oh my God! So beautiful!"

Hold on… John recognized that first voice. It stirred a familiar stirring in his chest. Something he associated with antiseptic, a waft of fresh circus sawdust and a light dusting of lavender perfume.

…It couldn't be, could it? Lestrade didn't want to believe it. He wasn't hearing it. Not that voice that brought back memories of screaming, sobbing, tender kisses and tight embraces.

They turned to face as two women barged into their area. One was clutching hold of the other's arm, grinning at her friend's obvious delight. She had shoulder-length brown hair, a thin face and light blue eyes and was dressed casually. Her friend was smaller than her, her dark red hair in a curled style on her shoulder. She had a wide red mouth and her incredibly curvy body was encased in a strapless white glittery dress with a mermaid train.

The bride looked up, her eyes focusing on Lestrade with horror. She almost stumbled, nearly toppling off her tall stilettos as her face paled to an unnatural white.

Her friend looked at John, blinking in surprise as she realised that was what 'his weekend plans' involved.

The two men gazed back, Lestrade almost as pale as her. He swore he would never see that cheating harlot again. Not after the divorce had cleared him flat-out.

"Rebecca."

"Sarah."

Like always - please review. Flamers aren't really welcome.

*Disclaimer!*

I don't own any of the characters - everything belongs to the BBC.