"Ah, what brings you four here?" Mycroft asked as Lestrade, John, Donavan, and Anderson walked into his very large office at the Diogenes Club. They had gotten most of the green slop off of themselves, but there were still bits and pieces in their hair.
"On account of your brother," Lestrade spat, still fuming that Sherlock had pranked all of them at once. Mycroft smirked at them each.
"Oh, yes, I take it all of you have been sucked in by one his little pranks too," he stated.
"Wait, you've been pranked too?" Anderson asked, staring at Mycroft in surprise. Mycroft rolled his eyes, clearly understanding why Sherlock hated the idiot so much.
"Yes, just this morning I was informed that five hundred pastry trucks were sent to my office, claiming that I had ordered every Boston Cream Pie In the city," Mycroft mumbled. John laughed at this, but quickly covered his mouth when the elder Holmes glared at him with his dark eyes.
"Sorry, Mycroft, umm…since you're his brother do you have any ideas for us so we can get him back?" John asked. Mycroft smirked.
"As much as I would like to humiliate my baby brother I'm afraid that I cannot assist you," Mycroft stated, turning his back on them. That's when Anthea came rushing into the room with a panicked expression on her face.
"Sir-"she stopped and stared at the four people crowded into the office.
"Yes, what is it, Anthea?" Mycroft sighed, turning his attention to her. Anthea took in a deep breath and stated in almost a whisper,
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes has sold your umbrella on eBay for a pricy penny." Mycroft's body instantly tensed and both she and John decided to take a few steps back.
"Where is my brother now?" Mycroft said in a calm but also stressed voice. Anthea swallowed nervously and whispered,
"Back at 221B Baker Street." Mycroft whirled around facing the four once again and asked in a dark voice,
"What prank did you have in mind?"
John and Lestrade dashed around outside the flat, making sure everything was in order before they set their plan into motion.
"Ready?" John whispered to Lestrade. The DI nodded and took in a few breaths. Once he was ready he raised a hand to his face and began crying. John felt a jolt of excitement rush up him. This was going to be perfect. They both ascended the steps until they finally were in the flat. Sherlock was sitting on the couch, staring at his laptop when they walked in.
"What am I going to do, John?" Lestrade sobbed into John's shoulder. John let out a shaky breath.
"I don't know, Lestrade, we'll think of something," John sighed sadly.
"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, glancing at the two. Lestrade pulled away from John, whipping at his tear stained cheeks and shook his head saying,
"Don't worry about it, Sherlock." Sherlock then looked expectantly to John, who instantly gave way.
"The Yard is being shut down," John informed him. Sherlock's lips turned up into a smile.
"Really?" Sherlock asked, not falling for it at all. John nodded, clicking on the television. BBC was on instantly and a short haired reporter stated quickly,
"New Scotland Yard has been shut down due to lack of effort by its officers. It has been described that none of the officers are capable and constantly fumble up crime scenes by mistake. Cases will be restricted from all officers and detectives who worked at the yard." John quickly shut off the television as Lestrade broke down in tears again.
"No cases?" Sherlock asked. John looked up at him to see that he was now white as a sheet. Their plan was working.
"Well yeah, Sherlock, most of our cases are from Scotland Yard so what we get is going to be less than usual. Sherlock shook his head in disbelief.
"But wouldn't crime grow because of the lack of officers?"
"Oh there will still be officers, but not from the Yard. The officers at Pentonville Prison are taking over," Lestrade sniffled. Sherlock's face crinkled in discussed.
"But…they-"
"There's no arguing on it, Sherlock, it's been decided," Lestrade snapped. Sherlock turned another shade paler.
"No cases?" he gasped. They nodded sadly. Sherlock backed up, tripping over the coffee table behind him and falling to the floor.
"Sherlock!" John and Lestrade screamed as the detective's head smacked hard against the fish tank. They rushed to his side, holding the bleeding wound in the back of his head.
"Can you hear me, Sherlock?" John called, shaking his friend gently. There was no answer. The door swung open and in walked Donavan, Anderson, and Mycroft, looking rather irritated.
"What are you two doing? We've been waiting for the signal for-" Sally stopped and stared at Sherlock with her mouth agape. "Oh God, what happened?!" she yelped. Everyone stared at Sherlock's pale form, hearts beating rapidly.
"I'm calling an ambulance," Anderson stated, pulling out his phone.
"No need, Anderson," Sherlock sighed, sitting up and brushing the fake blood off his head. John and Lestrade jumped from his side, staring at them in shock. Sherlock smiled at them, winking casually and stated merrily,
"April Fools." Everyone in the room frowned at the detective.
"That was a dirty trick, Sherlock," John hissed. Sherlock pointed an accusing finger at his flat mate.
"So was yours!"
"At least we didn't pose like we just got killed!" John shouted. Sherlock simply shrugged and walked over to his violin.
"It was a nice attempt, but I'm afraid it will take far more to fool me," Sherlock stated, lifting the violin from its place, not even noticing the string attached to it. As soon as the string was pulled a bucket of green slime fell over top of Sherlock, drenching his curls and purple shirt in slime. "What the-"
Mycroft pulled out a camera that he had been hiding and smirked at him brother wickedly and the others had smiles growing to the point where their faces may burst. Sherlock let out a long sigh and flipped his curls out of his eyes.
"Well played." He growled. Everyone laughed heartily at him and shouted all at one,
"April Fools!"