The next morning, Sherlock arrived at his brother's doorstep, a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a small jewelry box in the other. He'd known Alice for many years, and she had taught him much about the seemingly nonexistent connections between the heart and the mind. She'd been there for him through everything - the addiction, the recovery... she'd even offered him a room in the mansion to stay in while he was in a transitionary period, unbeknownst to Mycroft. He felt as if he... owed her something. And he had a feeling that she would like the gifts he had bought her.

He knocked on the door once, waited. Then, he knocked again. There was a shuffling sound, like bare feet - no, socks - like socks sliding on hardwood floor. Before he could consider this further, however, the door swung open and Sherlock was assaulted with a breath of warm air and the sweet scent of cinnamon. Alice was making her infamous muffins, then. Saliva flooded his mouth and he swallowed hard, pretending to appear nervous. The maid, a considerate woman of fifty or so years, regarded him in her compassionate, moderately condescending way.

"Good morning, Mrs. Humphrey." He put on his best grin, hoping to appear more disarming than dubious. "I'm here for Mrs. Mycroft Holmes. Is she in?" Her look morphed into one of distinct interest - the twinkle in her eye and the curve of her lip betrayed her, the old gossip.

"Why yes, Mrs. Holmes is in. It's only eight o' clock in the morning. Poor thing was barely out of bed come seven-thirty!" She tucked a strand of graying hair behind her ear. "Came downstairs to start the breakfast - muffins, she said - then disappeared back into her room."

Ah, so that explained the undeniable scent of cinnamon swirling through the first-floor. Sherlock cocked his head to the side, "Is she feeling quite alright?" He could not hide the note of real concern that bled into his voice.

"Yes, I believe so. She hasn't complained, if that's what you mean." Mrs. Humphrey almost seemed affronted by the idea.

Sherlock raised his hand innocently. "I did not mean to make such accusations, ma'am. I'm just concerned for my dear sister-in-law."

That mysterious glint returned to Mrs. Humphrey's eyes, and Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if she knew more than she let on. Finally, she whispered, "I'm not supposed to be telling you this, but..." she looked around, "...there's been some trouble in paradise."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" He had not heard about this.

The old woman sighed. Beckoning the taller man inside, she shut the door, trapping the heat inside of the house once more. "This goes no further, or it could be my head, but..." she looked around once more, seeming all the more nervous, "...I've seen her with a man."

"A man?" Sherlock choked. Quickly, he corrected himself, "I'm sure it was nothing, Mrs. Humphrey. A business arrangement, perhaps?"

"She kissed him, sir. I do not see the elder Mr. Holmes kissing the women that walk through his office with 'business arrangements'."

As if summoned by the sound of his name, Mycroft took it upon himself to come downstairs mere seconds after Mrs. Humphrey's made her damning declaration. He was dressed to the nines in a finely tailored suit - black pinstripes, it seemed, with a handsome crimson tie and a neatly pressed white button-down shirt. The man looked perfectly pristine, aside from a few wisps of still-wet hair that dangled messily in front of his face. The skin of his chin gleamed, slightly wet, and Sherlock deduced that his brother had recently finished a shower and a shave. After several seconds, their eyes met. Mycroft smirked.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from my dear baby brother?" Mrs. Humphrey politely excused herself to attend to the muffins.

"Actually, I am here for your wife." He inclined his head toward the kitchen at the receding form of the maid. "I understand that she is not well?"

Mycroft frowned. "Alice is quite well... she is upstairs, showering in the master suite. You're more than welcome to wait for her in there." And then, Mycroft took in the gifts that Sherlock had brought for Alice. Smirking, he said, "I should hope that you're not attempting to woo her from me, baby brother."

Sherlock's eyes glinted mischievously. "I have never seen two people more perfect for one another. Honestly. I never imagined that a woman would come around that could re-shape you into less of an ass." He forced out a tight, clipped chuckle. "These are merely... thank-yous, that is all."

But Mycroft was already moving on, not bothering to listen to his brother's explanation. "Like I said, you can wait upstairs. Make yourself at home."


"Mikey, my love, is that you?" A sweet, syrup-thick voice floated out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where Sherlock waited.

Sherlock swallowed hard. The door to the bathroom was open, allowing the steam from the shower to pour out into the bedroom before it dissipated. It smelled of coconut, cinnamon, and something distinctly... Alice. Clearing his throat, he answered, "No, it's Sherlock."

Laughter trickled out of the bathroom and it made him flush. "Ah, Sherlock, my sweet. Even better!" More laughter, "Be a dear and come hand me my shampoo." A few moments of silence, then, "Come now, don't be shy. I promise I won't bite..."

Biting was the least of Sherlock's current concerns. Ranked at the top was Mycroft returning to the bedroom to find his little brother in the bathroom with his wife. The chances were near seventy-seven percent, considering that Mycroft had yet to gel his hair. There was also a fifty-three percent chance that his body would betray him under the flimsy shield of the steam and the luscious, intoxicating mixture of aromas. But he entered into the battle zone anyhow. He couldn't very well disappoint her, now could he? Nobody disappointed the gorgeous Alice Holmes and lived to tell the tale.

He entered inside, bare feet connecting with cool tile - he'd abandoned his shoes downstairs - skin prickling as the steam danced over his limbs. The bottle of shampoo was easy enough to locate. It was tall and thin, purple with thick ridges going down either side. The scent was acacia berry. Grabbing it with a shaky hand, he took off the protective plastic wrap, before warily pressing it toward the translucent white curtain. And then, all of a sudden, the curtain pulled aside and a long, thin, dripping arm snuck out, snatched the bottle, and quickly disappeared. Laughter quickly followed.

"You look as if you've just seen a ghost, my sweet. Tell me - did I give you a fright?" She chuckled.

For the first time, Sherlock's eloquent tongue was failing him. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, before offering, "No... I just... I didn't..." He swallowed hard, silently cursing the way that she could make him so tongue-tied, like a foolish secondary school boy. "Mycroft could come by at any moment."

She poked her head out, brown locks glistening with freshly-applied shampoo. "Are you worried that he'll see us together?"

Sherlock was looking around nervously, trying to ensure that nothing was out of place. "Mycroft is incredibly observant. Sometimes... too observant."

"You act as if we have something to hide." She teased. She did not realize that Sherlock did, in fact, have something to hide. Something huge.

Instead of pursuing that dangerous thread any further, he chose to pursue something a little bit different. "I came to ask something of you." She hummed to show that she was listening. "Would you come with me to brunch? It would be a double, of sorts. John and Mary will be there, also. In fact, that's why you have to come."

Her shadow shifted along the curtain, and Sherlock found his eyes following her every movement. She was rinsing the lather out of her hair now. "Oh, that sounds fun. You always were a fantastic date." He could almost see her smirk. Sarcasm, it was a beautiful thing. "Alright. I'll do it."

"I didn't honestly expect you to say no." Sherlock bit back, returning the sarcasm two-fold. "I also didn't expect to ask you in the bathroom."

"Yes, well, life is full of surprises." There was that laughter again. "Be a sweet and hand me that towel, hmm?" Her hand poked out again as the water cut off, and he stuffed the towel into it. "You've given me such a task - I'll have to decide what to wear... Why don't you be a sweet and pick something for me?"

She stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around her, and Sherlock was thankful for the steam. Alice had always been the only woman capable of making him blush. It was her delicate sexuality, he supposed. Unlike The Woman, Alice wasn't forward with the way that she used her body to her advantage. She didn't strut around her flat, naked, in order to manipulate men to do her will. She simply asked for her brother-in-law to bring her the shampoo in the bathroom. A sweet, innocent request, that would be his undoing. What made it worse? Alice hadn't a clue what she was doing to him.

They made their way back into the bedroom and Alice meandered over to her bureau. Sherlock watched her for only a moment, reveling in the way the murky water droplets cascaded down her neck, over her strong shoulder blades, and eventually met their end in the fluffy white towel. She started to pull underclothes out of the drawers and toss them onto the bed, and that's when Sherlock turned away. Turning his attention to her closet, it took him a moment to find her cocktail dresses. His brother certainly spared no expense when it came to spoiling his precious, perfect wife.

The dress that he chose was a handsome number, circa 2013. It was sleeveless, with a deep V-neck that went almost the full length of the sternum. The breast of the dress was black with white detail work, with a black spine leading down the white body of the dress. Sherlock had no doubt that it would look beautiful stretched across that healthy, caramel skin. He had no doubt that his little 'gift' would go well with it, also. To top it off, he grabbed a pair of silver two-and-a-half inch heels. They complimented the dress well, and would elongate her legs just enough to perhaps catch John's attention...

"Oh, my sweet, are these for me?" She had the flowers and was smelling them, a wistful and appreciative look on her face.

"Yes, as is the box." She grabbed it and opened the box, gasping at the one-karat diamond studs, with drop-down black spinel accents. And, as she looked closer, there was a speaker buried in the cluster of black spinel. "Wired earrings. For today's brunch."

"Oh, Sherlock, you shouldn't have." She smiled. As much as he hated to admit it - he missed 'my sweet'.

"I'll just... leave you to dress, then." Her nude underwear-set was making him nervous, even as she gave the dress he had selected an approving eye. "I'll be back in three hours for our date, then."

She nodded, slowly unzipping the back of the dress. "We have a date."