"A BBQ? At Mycroft's?" John repeated with a bemused look, "Since when do you go to BBQs?"
"I always go to BBQs." Sherlock replied with a wave of his hand.
"Right..." John said with a chuckle, "And you and Mycroft are getting along now?"
"My brother and I have always been very close." Sherlock replied with fake shock at John's tone.
"You're still working on your 'case', aren't you?" John asked.
"Yes." Sherlock replied, seeing no reason to lie.
Since learning of Mycroft's lifestyle, John had been dragged along to the townhouse numerous times by Sherlock. The two of them were determined to get John to crack and to win whatever bet they'd placed. Each time he'd seen Mycroft at home; he was amazed that this playboy was the same serious government official that he was used to. Sherlock hailed a cab and they soon arrived at Mycroft's.
"You're early." Anthea said with a smile as she opened the door, "We've just got home from work." she added, almost as an excuse for wearing more clothes than just lingerie.
"Where's Mycroft?" John asked, seeing the man's coat and umbrella in the hallway.
"He's upstairs having his physiotherapy." Anthea replied, "Come on up." she added. She began up the stairs and Sherlock followed. John considered staying downstairs but he didn't want to appear awkward and uncomfortable, despite how he felt inside. They made their way through the house and to Mycroft's home gym.
"Put some clothes on, brother, my eyes are burning." Sherlock teased when he saw his brother wearing shorts and a vest.
"Be quiet, Sherlock." Mycroft muttered, his eyes closed. He was lying on his back on a mat on the floor, while his physiotherapist worked the tense muscles in his right leg. John took the opportunity to examine Mycroft while the politician's guard was down. It was strange to see him as an ordinary human man, rather than some immortal figure.
"What happened to your leg?" John asked, taking in all of the scars beneath the physiotherapist's hands.
"A mission." Mycroft replied simply, "Past injuries require further attention as middle age takes hold."
"Middle age, brother? Don't you mean old age?" Sherlock teased.
"I'm only seven years older than you, Sherlock. Middle age will grab you soon enough." Mycroft chuckled. He sat up and got to his feet once the physiotherapist had finished her work. He handed her a wad of cash and she quickly left. Aside from his severely scarred right leg, Mycroft was fit and healthy. He was slim and toned which John hadn't expected after Sherlock constantly went on about his brother's diet.
"Will you help me back to my bedroom, John? My balance is always a little off after such intense muscle stimulation." Mycroft said, his eyes focusing on John like he was the man's prey.
"Sure." John said, moving forward and helping Mycroft into the bedroom nearby. He paused a little when he saw Mycroft's 'entourage' in the bedroom. They were all in various states of undress, doing their hair and make-up for the BBQ.
"I hope you'll reconsider my offer, John." Mycroft said with a wink, "There's plenty of space in the house for you. The girls would love a handsome soldier, wouldn't you ladies?"
"Yes, Daddy." came five voices in reply.
"They call you Daddy?" John laughed, his nerves dissipating as amusement took over, "Seriously? Daddy?"
Mycroft frowned, "What? I think it's rather fitting. I am older than them." he replied in mock hurt.
"Mycroft Holmes, you never cease to amaze me." John laughed.
"I hope you'll be amazed at the BBQ. The swimming pool is filled with Moet champagne." Mycroft chuckled.
"See you downstairs, Mycroft." John said, patting the man's shoulder before he walked away.