03-07-13: Yay editing! -vomits with disgust even though I can't really complain-
"Mum, I'm going out," Mycroft said about an hour later, roughly fifteen minutes after Greg had been unceremoniously shoved out of their door. He was dressed in a burgundy jumper over a white dress shirt and plain trousers. He was slipping on his shoes when he received a distracted hum somewhere from the other end of the house. Mycroft proceeded to thank his lucky stars that none of them had been caught and pulled on his coat, only to have Sherlock suddenly appear in front of him.
Despite himself, he jumped. Sherlock didn't react, but a certain smug aura seemed to surround him.
"Oh, Sherlock," he said, then dropped his tone just above a whisper. "Thanks by the way for this morning." Sherlock shrugged, and Mycroft smiled. Sure, his brother could be a little shit, but he knew when to be a loyal sibling. "Um, Lestrade and I are going to meander around town. Do you want to come along?"
At Sherlock's skeptical expression (why would he want to hang around with his older brother and his friend?), he added, "We could see if his mum could spare John for today…"
That seemed to do the trick.
After Sherlock confirmed that it was fine for both of them to leave for the remainder of the day (it was going on two in the afternoon), the little one pulled on a decently warm coat and followed his brother out onto the pavement.
Just down the street in the late November air was Greg, waiting patiently in the coat Mycroft gave him. He grinned nice and big when he caught sight of the Holmeses, walking up to meet them. "I see you brought Sherlock," he said, smiling at the boy. Sherlock smiled politely back before Mycroft asked Greg if it was alright for Sherlock and John to tag along. Greg, of course, said it was fine, and off they went.
"So if you wouldn't mind Mrs Watson," Mycroft said politely. Sherlock was standing beside him, eyes unintentionally wide and pleading, gazing expectantly up at the woman.
She was short, only about a head taller than Sherlock, give or take, and a tad plump, but not overly so. The laugh lines and crows feet were prominent on her face, making her seem extremely friendly, though there was some tiredness and stress there as well. Her eyes were brown, unlike John's, Sherlock noticed, but her curled hair was the same blond. All in all, she seemed to be a very amicable woman, which she proved with her next sentence.
"Oh please, you can call me Molly dear," she said with a smile, glancing at Greg's repressed chuckle, his thoughts flying to a much different Molly. Sherlock was about to open his mouth to ask about John again, the impatient bastard as always, when she cast that smile down on him. "You must be Sherlock. Oh, the things I've heard about you…"
"All good I hope?" Mycroft asked as Sherlock swallowed nervously, obviously wondering what John had been saying.
Molly raised a brow. "If you consider 'the most brilliant bloke', 'genius', and 'a bit callous, but really nice on the inside' good, then yes. I certainly do." The same smile curled her lips as she turned. "John! Visitor!"
It was only a few seconds before the blond rounded the corner, face curious at first, then immediately brightening. "Oh, hello Sherlock!"
Sherlock smirked shyly back. "Hello." His eyes seemed to focus first on John's face, run down his beige jumper and jeans, and then slide back up again.
Mycroft couldn't help but grin, he had actually never seen his brother like this. "So, then it's alright?"
Molly looked to her son. "John, Sherlock wants to know if you want to spend the day with him." At this, Sherlock blushed a deep pink and John nodded vigorously.
"Yes please Mum," he said.
"Then it's all fine."
Sherlock seemed to relax finally, and waited patiently for John to find some shoes and something warm to wear over his cable-knit jumper. As the blond walked out of the door, Molly kissed his head, wished him a good time, and told him to be home before it was too late. John smirked and waved as the group came to the pavement and started walking towards town.
"Your mum's really nice," Sherlock mentioned as they followed Mycroft and Greg, who were talking about nothing - well, Greg was talking, Mycroft was listening intently.
John shrugged, eyes on the ground in front of him, counting cracks. "Yeah," he smiled, looking just like Molly Watson.
After about an hour of meandering, the seventeen and eighteen year olds getting along with the seven and eight year olds surprisingly well, Lestrade suggested lunch at the café they passed a little while back. They all agreed, and turned 'round.
Mycroft got a coffee, as did John ("don't tell my mum, okay?"). Sherlock gazed skeptically at the menu, and eventually decided on tea, as did Greg. They all ordered various sweets. Lestrade said that counted as lunch.
When they had finished everything but their drinks, they heard an exasperated "Oh no" from across the room. They all turned, cups in hand, to see a woman just walking in, staring in disbelief at her wrist.
John, ever the little gentleman, called over to her. "Ma'am, is everything alright?"
She glanced up, green eyes concerned. "Oh, everything's fine, I've just lost my bracelet… I know I put it on this morning…" She was extremely flustered, and Mycroft set down his coffee and walked over.
"Did it have a clasp? Could it have broken? Maybe it fell off."
She tsked. "Maybe. It was always loose. It's not valuable, really. But it was my great-grandmother's…"
Mycroft frowned. "When did you last notice it was on?"
The woman thought for a second. By this time, Lestrade, John, and Sherlock were all gathered in a half circle around Mycroft and the woman, watching intently. Sherlock seemed especially keen, wondering if his brother was going to use his powers for good. "I believe before that young man bumped me before I walked in."
Sherlock glanced up to see Mycroft suppressing a groan, though the red-head decided to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. "Oh?"
"Yes, he accidentally bumped into me, grabbed my hand to steady me and then apologized before leaving. He seemed very sweet."
Oh no, this woman was just as stupid as he thought, and the young man was just as much of a thief. "I'll look for it, Miss. You get yourself a drink. I'll be right back."
Five minutes later, Mycroft was back with the bracelet. The woman, called Catherine, thanked him to no end. When he finally pried himself away to sit down by Lestrade, they all looked at him expectantly. John seemed especially interested.
He sighed, then proceeded to tell them all about it.
"Obviously the man bumped into her to steal the bracelet, which looked to be of considerable value - only it wasn't. It wasn't hard to find him either. He couldn't have been more than a two minute walk away, since he wouldn't be in much of a hurry. He's stolen before, and he's an expert at looking casual by now. Too casual actually…"
Sherlock listened intently to his brother's reasonings, and noted, with much annoyance, John's awed expression as Mycroft continued talking.
Mycroft noticed and quickly shut his mouth, saying that anyone could have done it.
It only made Sherlock more annoyed, but he let it pass.
"Your brother's really smart," John mentioned on the way back to Sherlock's house.
Sherlock shrugged, still bothered, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. This didn't go unnoticed by his friend, who bumped into him casually. Sherlock smirked briefly, then sighed, looking (and sounding) exactly like Mycroft Holmes.
After some discussions, and asking John whether or not he was going to church in the morning - for the Holmeses certainly weren't, and neither was Lestrade - and some begging on Sherlock and Mycroft's part, it was decided, by Lucie at least, that her boys could have an overnight with their friends. Mycroft figured that then was a good time to tell her about Greg's situation. Lucie agreed it would do no good to send him home to a locked house (and after a few moment's thought, she looked suspiciously at her son, obviously wondering where Greg had stayed the previous night. Mycroft swallowed, but she said nothing more about the subject). John she consented to, because the way she saw it it wasn't fair to say yes to one son, and no to the other.
Sherlock and John, then, were sent to the blond's house to ask permission from Mrs Watson, and in the case she would say yes, gather clothes. John said he owned a few board games they could play, and he could bring them if Sherlock wanted. Sherlock, generally, didn't play games, but resigned to John's enthusiasm.
It didn't take them obscenely long to arrive at the quaint little house. John knocked twice to announce his arrival back home, gesturing for Sherlock to follow him inside, which he did.
"Mum!" John called. He found her in the kitchen, washing dishes, humming to herself.
"Yes love?"
"Can I stay the night at Sherlock's?"
There were a few moments of consideration. Molly stepped away from the sink, shaking her hands to get rid of the soap bubbles. She rubbed her knuckles as she thought. "I don't see a problem with it. Just make sure you ask your father."
John nodded, thanked her, and headed towards a hallway. Sherlock followed close behind, offering a hello and his own thanks to Mrs Watson. She offered him a smile in return.
"Dad?" John asked, peering into a dark doorway at the end of the hall. A grunt came from the inside. "I'm staying at a friend's tonight. Is that okay?" Another tired grunt. It didn't sound negative, so John took it as a yes. "Thanks Dad, I'll see you tomorrow."
John smirked at Sherlock, and opened another door, revealing his room.
John's room was small, with a twin bed in one corner, a chest of drawers in the other, and a small book shelf that held mainly games or small model cars. There were a few assorted army men as well.
Sherlock waited patiently while John grabbed a pair of pyjamas and a pair of jeans, as well as another jumper. After going back and forth for five minutes, the blond decided that Cluedo would be the best game to play. In another five minutes, John (and Sherlock) received a hug from Molly Watson, who sent them on their way. A half an hour later - they took their time - and they were back at Sherlock's.
"Well, let's see what fun we can have, shall we?" Greg chuckled when they arrived through the front door.
First and foremost, snacks were made and hauled up to Mycroft's room, his having more floor space than Sherlock's. Next, Greg suggested that they play charades. John heartily agreed, while the Holmeses were more reluctant. They couldn't remember ever playing charades, though they knew the general concept.
Just to be evil, Greg decided that two older boys being on one team wouldn't be fair. John, deciding to let out his inner little shit, agreed. And so began the battle.
"What the hell are you even doing?" Greg asked despite himself, clutching his sides. They were about twenty minutes in, and John and Lestrade were ahead.
Mycroft frowned. "Something he'll be able to guess." He proceeded to walk about like a Neanderthal, making this horrible scrunched-up face that made him seem rat-like…
"Anderson!" Sherlock suddenly shouted.
"It only took you ten minutes," Mycroft joked as he sat down next to his brother. "Christ."
After much excitement - and a lot of beginners luck - the Holmeses won. Greg and John gave them credit, and congratulated them with enthusiasm.
Next, John brought up Cluedo.
And that was where the war began.
"I say it was… Reverend Green, in the library, with the spanner," Mycroft finally guessed, to everyone's disappointment.
John opened the envelope. He was right.
Sherlock granted him that one.
The next game, it was neck and neck between Greg and Mycroft, but once again, Mycroft arrived at the cellar first.
"Miss Scarlett, billiard room, candlestick."
"Right again."
Sherlock would have quit the next game, but Mycroft was wrong on one tiny detail. John gladly corrected him.
"Sorry Mycroft, it was Mrs White in the study with the pipe."
The next one, however, Mycroft hit it on the nose again, before anyone even had a clue.
"Mrs White again, kitchen, revolver."
Sherlock sighed heavily at this. "Impossible!"
Mycroft raised a brow. "Oh really. Are we getting frustrated?"
With a pout, Sherlock turned away. "No. It's just impossible for her to have done it."
"How so?"
How so indeed, Greg and John were curious as well.
"Mrs White is the old maid, yes?" They nodded. "Then how did she fire that revolver if she's so old? And when she had the pipe earlier, she can't possibly have the force needed to-"
"Sherlock, it's just a game," Mycroft chuckled. "But if it wasn't Mrs White, who did it?"
Sherlock frowned heavily now. "Obviously it was Dr Black."
John spoke up now. "Um, Sherlock, it's impossible for the victim to have done it."
"Why?"
"Because it's in the rules…"
"Well then the rules are wrong!"
Needless to say, Cluedo was put away.
A/N: I'm probably going to come up with posting days for my things, so look out for that whenever I come up with it.