Finally another chapter. Stella's come to hang out. Let's hope it goes better than the tuxedo fitting. Please review! :)


"Mycroft, I'll be heading out for the weekend. Mind your brother!" The door shut behind Lady Holmes as she drifted out the door. Sherlock grinned across the foyer at Mycroft, who had slumped over the railing. 'Thank goodness. At least now she won't embarrass me in front of Stella,' he thought with relief.

"Mycroft, I'll be in my room, so leave me alone," yelled Sherlock. A few moments later, he heard the sound of a door slamming shut. Then he smiled. 'Can this get any better?' He hummed quietly as he went to tidy up his room. As he shifted a book for the fifth time, he realized he was just stalling. He changed from his pullover into a button-up and then went downstairs to wait. Mere minutes after he sat down, the doorbell rang. He flew to answer the door and gulped nervously. He peeked through the peephole but saw only darkness. Then he saw Stella pull away from the peephole and wave happily. He pulled the door open and she darted inside. Unlike him, she had gone a more casual route with a pair of jean shorts and a tank top. He noted that her hair was back to its natural wildness.

"Hey there," she said, looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Hello." They stared at each other awkwardly in silence.

"You've never done this before, have you?" she finally asked. He blushed and shook his head. She grabbed his arm and started walking up the stairs. "Well, then I'll just lead, shall I? Now we're going to walk around and talk about boring stuff like furniture while you brag about fancy paintings and show me every room. Actually since we're ignoring the rule book, let's skip the boring talk. But still, show me around." She grinned at him and he smiled back sheepishly.

"Alright then, this is the main hallway. Lots of boring stuff happened here."


Eventually they made it out to the pool and sat down around one of the little tables to have some tea. By then, Mycroft had unbuttoned the top button and pulled up his sleeves. Stella's hair seemed to have expanded in volume since she'd arrived and she was fiddling with it when the cook came over.

"Here you go little ones," said the cook cheerfully. "This is Mycroft's favorite. Always gobbles up my fruitcake right quick. Such a good boy." She set the tray down between them and strode off happily, not catching the glare Mycroft sent her. Stella watched as his face turned deep red and she plucked a slice from the platter.

"Mmmmm this is amazing!" she exclaimed around a mouthful of fruit. "Your cook is way better than mine. Well, I think. Mum usually pokes her nose in when she knows Cookie's baking and she tries to learn and then they usually turn out pretty similar to cricket bats, in terms of texture." Mycroft laughed quietly, but didn't take any as her fingers stretched eagerly for a second slice.

"Your mother goes in the kitchen?" he asked. "I'm not sure mine knows where ours is." Stella gaped.

"Really? I thought all mothers cook. Grandmum cooks too, and she's ancient. But she's better at sweets than mum. But mum makes this amazing shepherd's pie. I think she mixes meats cause I've had it at restaurants but theirs tastes funny. Do you like shepherd's pie? Oh, and Cookie is what I call our cook cause her name is Bethina but I couldn't say that when I was little, so I just called her Cookie and it stuck." Stella smiled and took another bite of the fruitcake. Mycroft had his eyebrows raised and he chuckled.

"I wasn't aware that humans could go so long without oxygen. Yet somehow you seem to manage, much to the detriment of my ears. And yes, I rather enjoy shepherd's pie." Stella flicked a fruit at his face, and it hit him square on the cheek.

"Might I inquire why my face how has the remotes of fruitcake on it?" he asked calmly and wiped his cheek with his napkin.

"You like that I talk a lot or you would have yelled at me to shut up, like father does, so don't lie. Also, do you always talk so posh?" She aimed another piece and awaited his reply. Mycroft reached for the kettle and poured himself an ample serving of tea, then stirred in a drop of milk before replying.

"You're not boring at least. And I have no idea what you're talking about. I speak perfectly adequately."

"'I speak perfectly adequately', who says that? You talk posh." She reached for a third slice and took a small bite. "If you don't take a piece, I'm going to end up eating the whole thing and feel bad." She nudged the plate at him and saw that he'd gone rather pale and busied himself with straightening his napkin. 'Was it something I said?' she thought. 'Goodness he looks like someone slapped him.' She shifted forward in her chair. "Are you alright? You look dreadful all of a sudden." He looked up sharply and she saw, for a brief second, some emotion shining in his eyes. Then he blinked and a calmness washed over his face, obliterating any evidence of his previous mood.

"Of course I am. That fruitcake must be addling your mind," he replied. 'Yeah, cause fruitcake is totally capable of that,' she thought. 'You're hiding something. And you still haven't eaten any fruitcake. You don't look like the skipping meals type, so why are you avoiding it?' She shifted her chair over until it was right next to his and before he could ask what she was doing, she hugged him tightly. He gasped and stiffened. "What in the world are you doing that for?"

She replied with a smile, "Must be the fruitcake." She hugged tighter and felt him relax in her arms. His head tilted to rest fleetingly on top of hers, before he seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled away. She let him and they both went back to their tea cups, drinking quietly. Stella smiled into her cup when she saw him reach for the last piece of fruitcake. They both munched happily in comfortable silence until Sherlock ran past them, his curls windswept. Stella laughed.

"He's like a tornado. I don't think I've ever seen him stand still."

"I'm not sure I've ever had the pleasure either," replied Mycroft.

"How old is he anyway? Nine?"

"Six, actually." Stella choked on her tea.

"Pardon?" Mycroft smirked and very slowly replied,

"The number that comes after five and before seven." He enunciated every syllable clearly. Stella stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed. "He's tall for his age and reads extensively."

"Were you like that too? Or were you always so…" she trailed off, trying to think of a word that wouldn't be offensive, but still get her point across. Mycroft happily supplied a few.

"Obnoxious? Cold? Robotic? Posh?" he said the last with a higher pitch, in imitation of her girlish voice. She frowned in response.

"Actually I was going to say 'restrained' or 'reserved'. You aren't obnoxious, you're funny. And you don't seem like a robot, too cuddly. Posh though definitely." He raised one ginger eyebrow as she spoke.

"Cuddly? I fail to see where that assumption could have come from. Perhaps there is in fact something in the fruitcake." He looked at his empty plate with a exaggerated horrified expression.

"No, you were cuddly when I hugged you. Most people are." He rolled his eyes and she giggled. "But you never answered my question."

"No, luckily for everyone involve in raising us, Sherlock is the only energetic one." She had to strain to hear his next words. "I prefer reading to running around like a monkey."

"I like reading too. Science fiction is the best, obviously. Although I'd peg you as more of a nonfiction kind of guy." He nodded.

"I've read almost every biography in our library."

"Oh could I see it? Although it would only be fair to warn you, I may swoon. But you're all proper, so I'm sure you'd catch me." He chuckled and rose to his feet. Stella followed and they chatted about the weather and types of plants that grew on the property until they reached a set of mahogany doors. Mycroft gave an exaggerated bow and opened the doors.

"After you, my lady." She gasped and practically flew inside, running quickly between the shelves, occasionally stopping to run a delicate finger down a spine or two. He shut the doors carefully and strode to his preferred reading spot, The Prince still waiting where he left it.

Stella perused her favorite section before finding a book she had not yet read. After some searching, she found Mycroft curled up on a plush armchair, reading from a thick book. She took a moment to study him. His curly bangs had fallen forward over his face, which had a look of pure contentedness. His legs were curled under him, and he propped his hand up on his elbow. His grey eyes flew across the page, thin lips set in concentration. And he finally looked relaxed. She crept up next to him and slid onto the nearby sofa. The rest of the afternoon flew by as they read together in companionable silence.