The following morning came too quickly.

There was barely any time for breakfast or a shower before Mycroft's limousine pulled up to Sherlock's dorm.

Mycroft had wanted to discuss Sherlock's and John's arrangements with them face to face.

Kidnapping them was the easiest thing to do, according to the elder Holmes. He didn't care for arranged meetings and things of the sort. They were too dull, as he liked to put it.

John wasn't yet used to the Holmes's kidnapping tendencies. He was a little wary of the car that had pulled up in front of the door, but after a few reassuring looks from Sherlock, he had agreed to go inside.

"Brother dear," Mycroft greeted Sherlock as he got in. "and John. How are you?"

Sherlock shrugged, and took a seat. He looked at Mycroft up and down and a small smirk grew on his face. "Looks like someone lost a bit of weight."

"5 pounds."

"No cupcakes then?"

Mycroft shook his head and opened the small cabinet in front of him, pulling out a few papers.

"No bonbons? Chocolate sundaes? Cotton candy, banana pancakes...nothing?"

"No, I assure you, I've stuck to my diet plan. Sit back."

Sherlock scoffed but sat back in his seat anyway, crossing his arms defiantly.

"How do you do, John?" Mycroft politely asked, offering the teacher a glass of wine.

John took the glass, careful not to spill anything as the car jolted from left to right, and smiled back at Mycroft. "Good, thank you."

"I hope this little meeting of ours isn't a disadvantage to you. I know you must be very busy."

"Yes, seeing as it's almost exam season again. But I've got my work done already. I just wish you could have informed us before you decided to...kidnap us, I should say."

The perplexed look on Mycroft's face almost had John laughing.

"What would you have preferred me to do? This is my most reliable way of getting people to talk to me."

"Well, maybe calling up the person and arranging a date and time for you to meet them would be nice."

Sherlock and Mycroft simultaneously scoffed and rolled their eyes. "Dull."

Great, John thought as he sipped his drink. Not only do I have to deal with Sherlock, but now his brother as well. I wonder if this is how they act around each other at home.

"Of course this is how we act at home. Don't be so insipid, this isn't like your usual self."

"How did you—"

"Your face gives away what you think, John."

Mycroft nodded and turned to Sherlock. "Have you noticed—"

"—How he licks his lips when he's thinking? Of course I have, he does that all the time. Partially when he's telling a lie, too."

"I do not!" John said, trying to defend himself. He unconsciously licked his lips and instantly realized that when Sherlock and his brother shared an all knowing look.

"Let's just get down to business, alright?"

"Of course."

"I understand that you and Sherlock have decided to live together for a while—"

Sherlock cleared his throat and glared at his brother. "Not for just a while. We've decided to live together. End of story."

"Right. Now, John, pardon me but I don't see why you would want to live with Sherlock. He's rude and messy, absolutely arrogant and a big pain in the arse, pardon my French."

"Yes, I know," John smiled. "He's a bit of a jerk as well. But I really do love him...I can't explain it. He completes me."

"Don't get all lovey dovey with me, Dr. Watson."

"I don't know why you don't understand, Mycroft," John retorted. "Aren't you dating someone?"

Mycroft's eyebrows rose up. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Sherlock has told me about a certain D.I."

Mycroft turned a lovely color of red and turned to Sherlock. "I've told you to shut up about Lestrade and me!"

"Ah," Sherlock mused. "So there is something going on between you two. Is that why you've enlisted him to become my personal...instructor, shall I put it?"

"No. He's just a really good person and I was hoping his wonderful manners would rub off on you," the elder Holmes explained in a rush. "That's all. I don't even know him personally."

The young detective turned to John and smirked. "Now who's the one telling a lie, John?"

"Surely there's something going on between the two of them. I'd like to meet him, this detective inspector," John said as he took another sip of wine. "He sounds endearing."

"Oh, wait till you see pictures of him," Sherlock laughed as he ignored Mycroft's threatening looks. "Mycroft has got some on his cellphone. He seems the type of guy he would go after."

"I don't go after guys!"

"Sure you don't," Sherlock reassured him. "I'm sure you have a beautiful girlfriend waiting for you every day at home."

"Well," Mycroft started to say, turning up his nose haughtily. "Maybe I do."

"Oh? Who is she then?"

"Her name's Anthea."

"Oh don't be stupid, Mycroft. I know very well that Anthea's your assistant secretary. Or something of the sort, I can never be sure. I'm not even able to deduce anything about her, can you believe that? Her head is always bent down as she focuses on that phone of hers. And—"

"Enough. I didn't kidnap you two to talk about my 'love life' and my secretary's obsession with her phone."

"Then what did you bring us here for? Because if we're done talking, I was thinking maybe John and I could go eat breakfast at that bakery not too far from here."

"No. We're going to visit some flats today, and I'd like it if you both are here to decide on one. You two have been absolutely senseless to decide to live in a small dingy flat instead of a nice house, or maybe a good mansion—only if you'd let me buy it for you."

"That won't be necessary brother dear," Sherlock murmured. "I'm actually quite eager to go visit this flat. Have you seen it yet? Tell me about it."

"I won't need to, we've just arrived. See for yourself."

The three men had only just knocked on the door once, and a charismatic lady appeared at the door. She introduced herself as Mrs. Hudson and started to show them around the small flat.

Mycroft took a seat on one of the chairs and waiting quite impatiently for the tour to be over.

"This is a charming place for two young people to live," she reassured them. "It's very quiet and spacious as well. I live in the building too, so I'm just a few steps away if anyone needs anything."

She barely paused to take a breath before she continued eagerly, showing Sherlock and John the bedroom.

"This one right here's the master bedroom. I'm guessing you'll only need one?"

"One what?"

John coughed awkwardly. "One bedroom, she meant."

"Well, of course we'll be needing only one bedroom. There's only John and me."

Mrs. Hudson looked confused for a second before her face broke out into a soft smile. "Aah, I see. Pardon me; I thought a lady would be joining you."

John flushed and turned to Sherlock. "There's no—I mean, there isn't—it's just Sherlock and—see, we're actually—"

"No no, I get it dear. I apologize for assuming the wrong thing. I don't mind at any rate. It'll be nice to have you two young'uns around the place, anyway."

Turning swiftly around and almost hitting John square in the face, Sherlock leaned over and whispered in his partner's ears.

"How do you like it?"

"It's really nice. I like that it's not too far from the tube and shops, and getting to St. Bart's every morning won't be a problem for me."

"Hmm," Sherlock agreed, a gleam starting to form in his eyes. "And the morgue isn't too far as well. This is perfect."

"What about school? Will you be taking the tube everyday too?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "You will never catch me in the tube, I can guarantee you that. No, I'm sure Mycroft would arrange something for me. Perhaps a driver would be picking me up from now on."

John nodded.

"So?" Mycroft barged in. "What's your decision?"

"Oh, we'll take it," John settled. "It's decided."

Sherlock smiled at Mrs. Hudson and started to wrap his scarf around his neck. "Good. I'll call you with the information."

"Sure thing, dear."

They made it out of the door a few minutes later after accepting a few scones and tea from the landlady, and hopped back into the car once more. Mycroft glanced at his watch and turned to his brother.

"We still have enough time to meet Lestrade. I have called him and we will be meeting him at Scotland Yard in about 10 minutes."

Sherlock wriggled his eyebrows.

"Stop that," Mycroft hissed through clenched teeth, his cheeks becoming a soft shade of pink. "I want you to meet him before you start working as a detective. He will fortify your detective skills further."

"I don't need any fortifying."

"It won't hurt. Everyone has a bit of space for improvement, you know that, Sherlock," John reassured him, patting his back.

"I'm not everyone," he whined back. "I'm sure Mycroft only wants me to meet him so he can drool over him at a safe distance."

Not even bothering to answer, Mycroft pulled out his phone and started typing a few things.

"Be polite when you meet him, Sherlock," Mycroft mumbled under his breath. "Don't try to deduce him all in one go. It's more fun to do it gradually, otherwise you'll get bored."

John frowned. "Wait—so Mycroft can do that deducing thing too?"

"Of course he can, who do you think taught me?"

Mycroft smiled genuinely at Sherlock, and John almost said something about it, but as soon as the smile appeared, it was gone.

"What about your father?" John asked. "Could he do that as well? And what about your mum?"

"Our father could do it too. He did it in a more cruel way than Miss, though," Sherlock explained. "That's why Mycroft learned it from mum, and I from my brother. I would have been a hell of a lot worse if I learned it from our father."

"Who's Miss?"

Mycroft coughed uncomfortably and Sherlock averted his eyes.

"I meant our mum."

"You call your mummy Miss?"

"Sherlock, have you not explained this to him yet?" Mycroft asked in a hushed tone, so that the driver couldn't hear. "You ought to tell him about our childhood."

"There's a time for everything, Mycroft," Sherlock hissed back. "John, I promise I'll tell you about our childhood and growing up in the Estate and father and Miss one day. This just isn't the right time, and I feel bad because she's still sick and worsening."

"I know, and I understand. I didn't mean to bring it up. Don't feel pressured to tell me about this yet," said John. "Let's just focus on the present time, alright?"

Sherlock was a bit taken aback, as he expected John to explode and demand answers on the spot. He smiled and ran a hand through his partner's thick blond hair. "Thank you,"

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he watched his cold stone brother soften under John's touch. "You've really softened him up, John."

"He's a softy, deep inside. He isn't just sharp angles and high cheekbones and all."

Sherlock huffed and turned away. "I'm not a softy."

"Are too."

"Are not!"

"Are too,"

"Not!"

"If you two are done arguing like a couple of three year olds," Mycroft interrupted. "I'd like to get out of the car now and get this meeting over with."

Sherlock snorted again and unenthusiastically followed John and Mycroft out of the car. They walked through a couple of buildings, where Mycroft haughtily flashed his VIP badge, before they came to a small office. Mycroft stopped there and knocked on the door.

"Detective Inspector?"

There was a small rustling of paper and they could hear someone standing up. The door before them opened, and a face looked back at them.

"Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock crossed his arms and looked the man over. He was probably around 35 years old; unmarried, just stopped smoking. His hair was a mess of salt and pepper (undoubtedly due to stress), and he was a man about Mycroft's height, if not a little taller. He was a good looking person, and Sherlock could see why Mycroft fancied him. A quick look to his left confirmed his suspicion; Mycroft was looking quite intently at the detective inspector. John glanced at Sherlock and smirked.

There was an awkward silence before the D.I coughed. "Uh, hi. I'm Lestrade."

"Is that your first name or is that what you want people to call you?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the sharp jab he received from John's elbow as he asked this question.

"It's what I want people to call me," he responded. "But my first name is Greg."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"I suppose you're Sherlock," Lestrade said, extending his hand for a handshake. "I've heard a bit about you."

Sherlock gingerly shook his hand and nodded. "So how long has it been since you've stopped smoking? You're doing a good job, by the way."

Lestrade looked baffled for a second before he regained his wits. "Uh, four weeks. It's a bad habit I've been trying to break."

"You'll get to it. I've been clean for 5 months myself."

Mycroft snorted and muttered under his breath, "Let's just hope you're clean of everything."

After hearing that, Sherlock sharply turned around and glared at him. "I assure you, dear brother, that my body has been clean of any recreational substances that I may have injected or smoked in the past 3 years. I haven't done anything since the beginning of uni."

"Either way, you know Lestrade will have to be doing frequent drug checks. It's only part of his job."

"You don't trust me," accused Sherlock. "You'll have to, one day."

"Today is not that day," Mycroft chuckled.

Lestrade smiled awkwardly and glanced at John.

"You must be Watson," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

"Just John is fine, thank you. And it's a pleasure to meet you as well."

"I'm guessing I'll be seeing a lot of you as well?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure you will be. Sherlock likes to drag me everywhere he goes."

"So, are you two, uh—" Lestrade made a suggestive indication with his hands. "You know."

"Wait—what?!" John exclaimed. "No—I mean, yes—Sherlock and I, we're dating."

The D.I nodded and managed a smile. "Okay. I just didn't want to get in between of what's happening with you two."

Sherlock sighed and flopped down on one of the chairs. "So, are there any other people that I'll be seeing a lot of?"

"Uh, yes. Let me just call them over."

Lestrade excused himself and walked out of the office, only to return a few moments later with a lady and a man in tow.

"This is Sally Donovan and James Anderson.* They work on the same team as I do, so you will be seeing them often. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to—"

There was a sharp intake of breath as someone gasped.

"...Sherlock?"

Everyone's heads whipped around to see who had spoken. The man Lestrade had introduced as Anderson was now staring intently at Sherlock, his mouth open in a slight gape as he took in the sight before him.

"Bloody hell, is that you, James?"

"Wait—you two know each other?"

The D.I's question was left unanswered as Sherlock now stared at the man standing before him. The memories came crashing down and he remembered everything; this person; this man standing before him was none other than James Anderson.

James Anderson, who had kissed Sherlock and run off, leaving the detective flustered and confused out of his mind.

The same man who was now standing right in front of Sherlock, sporting the same damn hair style that has driven the detective absolutely crazy just a few years ago, wearing the same kind of clothes and having the same figure and face and every single feature that Sherlock had fallen for 5 years ago.

"Well," Sherlock said awkwardly. "It's a pleasure to see you again, James."

I hope you all enjoyed this update! Review please, and thank you (as always) for the lovely comments! I read every single one of them! :)

*Anderson's first name was never revealed in Sherlock BBC, so I took the opportunity and named him James. How do you think he'll affect John's and Sherlock's relationship? How do you think this will turn out?

...A bit not good, yeah? You'll just have to wait and see.

-Lissa