Notes: Haha so I followed up on my promise of a happier installment! Anyways…this one is BBC Sherlock inspired. It kind of follows and kind of not some of the stuff in Sherlock. I tried to find a sort of balance between the two series's characters. Hopefully it was alright.

Warning: BBC Sherlock spoilers through S3 (although it might not be anything if you don't know what to look for, but it's at your own risk!)

Elementary

"Vasectomy."

"…huh?" Nice blinked, curious but unsurprised by the eccentric burst of a single word of seemingly entire irrelevance to the topic at hand, which—as of four hours ago—was absolute silence.

Skill suddenly sprung up from his place in the armchair, in which he'd been sitting with one leg hanging over an arm of the chair and the other dragging lazily on the ground. "The lady—the middle-aged lady that came in here the other day. She had a vasectomy," Skill stated and appeared to await some sort of response.

Nice sighed and scratched his head. "Uh…ok. Not following, Skill. Normal, remember?" he smiled and tapped his head.

Skill groaned and plopped back down in the chair. "Nice, you have the Sonic Minimum, you're not normal."

Nice nodded and sipped some soda. "True, but my Sonic Minimum doesn't conveniently enhance my intelligence, unlike your freaky Mind Palace minimum," he points out for what must have been the three hundredth time.

"Two-hundred and forty seven," Skill said offhandedly, tapping away with his fingers.

"Huh?" Nice echoed his earlier—yet unanswered—question to, well, basically everything that is Skill.

"It's the two-hundred and forty seventh time you've pointed out that fact to me," Skill notes.

"Ugh," Nice groaned. "And you never listen because…?"

"…only five percent of what you say is worth listening to?" Skill shot him a feral grin.

Nice glared.

"You know, I do have a cell phone," Nice grumbled when he stepped foot into the office, speaking to the occupant that he couldn't yet see but knew was present. As he turned back around to look at the door, footsteps from behind him and the sliding sound of a chair pulling out caused him to turn around and see an impeccably dressed man with pale-violet hair and a gentle smile.

"I know," Art said simply upon sitting down, interweaving his fingers and leaning forward on them.

"Of course you do," the Sonic Minimum holder sighed. "And? What is it today? Skill is the same as usual. He's all good. Devoured a book on vasectomies the other day…I learned by proxy some things I never wanted to know…" Nice shuddered while managing to find a seat at one of the plush sofas to the side of the room.

Art raised his eyebrows. "What makes you so sure I'm going to ask about Skill?" he questioned amusedly.

Nice rolled his eyes. "Are you not?" For a moment, something churned inside him, and for reasons he couldn't explain, his pulse quickened ever so slightly.

Art looked at him thoughtfully before answering. "I am."

"Hm," Nice made a noncommittal noise, appearing satisfied and bored, though that earlier feeling had now turned sour. "And? What else did you want to know? Or you want me to get him to take on a new case? I can't make any promises, just so you know."

"…I'm also going to ask about you, though," Art said airily, as if he was just waving by an idle thought, although it was one that happened to stop Nice in his tracks.

"What?"

"Or, I suppose, about the two of you," Art amended.

"Huh?" Nice really needed to strike 'huh' from his vocabulary of buffering terminologies, lest Skill thinks he's even more of an idiot than he already did.

"Are you having sexual relations with my brother?" Art asked innocently.

"…what?" Nice all but screeched, gaping in shock. "Excuse me? Uhh…no, not that that would be any of your business, brother or not," Nice ranted angrily, conveniently forgetting that that wasn't entirely true. He might have recalled one certain night. With lots of booze. And not very clear heads. Clearly giving head. He smacked away the mental image. "You know what…I should leave…"

"Hmm….pity. I was hoping we could talk about this over dinner," Art commented, looking a trifle disappointed, though it seemed to be more for show than anything.

"…about your brother's lack of sex life?" Nice asked incredulously, grimacing at the idea of having to talk to Art about his brother in that context—

"More like yours, and how we might remedy that situation," Art said lightly, and in such an aristocratic manner that Nice nearly missed the underlying tone of seduction, and—was Art seducing him? From across the room? Who does that?

"…Moral, get out of my office," came a voice near the doorway. Nice whipped his head around to find another Art—a very irked Art—standing there holding a cup of tea in hand. Extremely confused, he turned to the original—or imposter?—Art, who pouted uncharacteristically—come to think of it, Art had been entirely uncharacteristic throughout their session—before waving a hand in front of his face and shifting into a man with long silver hair and sharp razor-like teeth.

"Aww, Art, I was just trying to help," he cackled.

Art glared. "Help who, exactly? Your twisted sense of humor?"

Moral faked hurt by placing one hand dramatically over his chest. "That is hurtful, my dear Art. People tell me I have a wonderful sense of humor."

"If by people, you mean the collection of skulls you have at your home, I believe you," Art countered dryly, walking over and setting down his tea and closing the various files open on his desk, forcing Moral to hold up his hands in mock surrender as to not get his hands slammed on.

"Tut tut, Art. I actually was recruited by your brother dearest. Hmm…something about getting you off his case and getting Nice-kun on you…I mean, yours…?" Moral grinned, showing all his teeth.

Art fought a blush, while Nice blinked.

"Damn that Skill…" Art palmed his face in frustration and embarrassment.

Moral cackled once more before standing up. "Well, my part is done for the day. I've fulfilled my end of the bargain. Don't worry, my dear inspector, Nice-kun certainly has taken some fancy to you. And as for your brother, hmm…I'll be taking good care of him! Ta-ta!"

"Moral!"

"Really? Why does no one tell me these things?" Nice threw up his hands in exasperation.

Skill grimaced. "Sorry, Nice. But—"

"Uh huh. So my best friend of three years who I thought was dead turned out to be not dead, and his brother, whom I've been in a relationship with for the past five years, on and off during one of them thanks to his brother dying, is actually an assassin?" Nice more shouted out of disbelief than actual confirmation.

"Uh…isn't it great I'm not dead?" Skill shrugged with a weak grin. Nice glared at him while missing the subtle wince by Art.

"…and you're saying that not only are you an assassin, you actually are a Minimum Holder?" Nice clarified, turning his attention now to Art, who couldn't quite meet his gaze.

Art closed his eyes and nodded once. "…I'm sorry I couldn't tell—"

Nice shook his head. "Ahh—!" he let out frustrated while messing with his hair.

After a few moments of silence passed, Nice sighed and cast a glance at Art. "And? What's your Minimum? You can tell me now, can't you?" he added on the last part a little annoyed and bitter, though hurt was present in his tone as well, causing Art to slump forward in exhaustion and guilt.

"…my Minimum is the Regeneration Minimum. It was decided by Facultas that no one would know of my abilities, since it would be one most useful to Her Majesty…" Art admitted softly, trailing off towards the end.

Nice scoffed, which surprised both Art and Skill, as they'd expected some sort of outburst of disbelief from Nice. "How convenient," he said sarcastically. "A Minimum that allows you to cheat death. You could just come back from the grave time and time ag—" A sudden thought occurred to him. He whipped around, eyes wide with realization. "You— that was you!" he shouted at Art. "You jumped from—Skill—"

Art's eyes widened as he caught onto what Nice had realized, while Skill was gradually shrinking backwards while laughing nervously. "Ahh….hahaha… uh…"

Nice, fairly certain of his assumptions now, turned fully towards Skill. "You had your brother jump from a fifty foot building to fake your death? You had my boyfriend, dress up as you, and jump off a fifty foot building, so you could have me believe you were dead for three years? Which took him a month to fully recover from? Regenerative abilities be damned and car accident my ass!"

"Uh…Nice…you have to admit it was a good plan! Just because you didn't get any action for a month—"

"Skill!" Art groaned.

"I'm going to kill you," Nice promised with a murderous grin on his face.

End notes: Well that's that! Uh I hope I didn't mess up their characterizations too bad. I thought about making Art Sherlock but...didn't seem to fit. And Moral!Cameo! :D Hope you enjoyed.