AN: Hellooo! I'm back again. Sorry for the long wait, but I was away this weekend and I was teaching juvenile delinquents first aid all day yesterday. Honestly a teenager in a uniform with a red sash across your chest teaching knifers how to put on a bandage? I may as well have written BEAT ME UP across my back. But it was a fairly good day. I was only called a 'F-ing posh c-word' once.

If you or anyone you know are ever in a situation like this, please do not hesitate to say 'POSH?!' and flip them the rod. Confuses the hell out of them.

Anyway this is a prompt from fantasybean that I have twisted a little, hope you like it :s thanks to all who reviewed on the last chapter. And GOOD LUCK to BoxerBee and all others awaiting exam results.

Please review. And prompt (I've run out)

Lily

I believe, dear reader, that in a previous chapter, I made a reference to the weirdest greeting I had ever received. I seem to remember that it was from an obnoxious Harley street plastic surgeon and was regarding my new nose.

Whilst, at the time, it was an extremely odd comment to have made, it has been demoted to second. Yes, the weirdest greeting I have ever had in my life came just over a week ago from on Mycroft Holmes.

It was about three in the morning when my phone went off. The first time it happened, Sherlock rolled out of bed, hit it with his microscope and fell back to sleep.

But the insistent shrill ringing continued until, in exasperation, I picked it up.

'Hello?'

'Ah. Dr Watson. If you would be so good, please come over to my flat and as soon as possible please. We are having rather a… situation.'

The sound of girlish screams filled my headset and 'Oh God Mycroft, it's getting closer, help me, please help me!'

Immediately, I sat bolt upright in bed, much to Sherlock's annoyance, my head filled with a thousand images of Greg and Mycroft being murdered in their beds (or bed. That fact hadn't been established yet.) And I found myself assuring Mycroft that I'd be there pronto and attempting to put my trousers on both upside down and back to front.

As I flicked on the light in desperation, my six-foot-four of consulting detective surfaced and sleepily asked me what was wrong. I spent the next few minutes transfixed by the little ringlet that had fallen into his eyes and then shook my head to rid myself of what I call the 'Oh my god my boyfriend is so pretty, how on earth did I even get him to agree to sleep with me syndrome.'

Before replying 'Your brother says that Greg is in trouble.'

He snorted and dove back into the depths of his bed 'Is that it? Come back to bed John, forget all about it. I'll even help.'

Another twist of OMGMBISPHOEDIEGHTSWMS hit me hard, but I resisted and said 'No. but you're going to come with me, so that's sort of the same.'

He gaped at me in disbelief for a moment before simply falling backwards.

'If your brother is ill or injured in any way, I will let you laugh at him for a whole twenty minutes unhindered.'

He scowled at me, rolled over and picked up his trousers.

'Come on then. No doubt Mycroft will have called one of his little lackey-army members to come and pick us up.'

I smiled 'Good boy. And when we get home, you can have a treat!'

'I don't want a…'

'Think it through Sherlock.'

'…Oh.'

Two minutes later, Sherlock's deduction turned out to be right and we were bundled into the back of a black Daimler with all due solemnity and respect. When we reached Mycroft's Kensington flat, I jumped from the back, ran up the stairs and leant on the buzzer. Sherlock followed at a rather more leisurely pace. We were shown upstairs by a black uniformed maid and given the all clear by Mycroft to enter.

I don't know what I was expecting as I walked through the door, possibly ripped up furniture and pools of blood, possibly bloody handprints on the phone and Greg and Mycroft strung up in the middle of the room, possibly even a gun wielding maniac with my two friends bound and gagged in the middle of the floor.

But what I certainly did not expect was Mycroft to be sat on his sofa, with Greg cradled like a baby in his lap, sobbing pitifully, while Mycroft sang 'Rock-a-bye-baby.'

And that dear reader, is the moment that beat 'I'm going to take out of your head'.

'Um.' Was the first thing that came into my head.

Mycroft held up one pale finger and finished crooning the nursery rhyme. Meanwhile, Sherlock had joined me. I heard a strangled giggle and something being pulled out of a pocket.

'Sherlock, are you filming this?' I hissed

'Yes.' He mumbled back

'Well don't.'

'But we agreed…'

'There was no mention of filming Sherlock, put the damn camera away.' He grumbled but complied.

As Mycroft came "tunefully" to the last note, I cleared my throat and said what first came into my head 'What appears to be the problem, sir?'

A dry sob escaped from Lestrade 'It was there John! Right in front of me!'

Mycroft hugged him closer and stroked his hair 'I think you'd better go and see for yourself' he said in a low voice 'He is…fragile at the moment. In the bedroom.'

Just that simple little phrase made me definitely not want to go and see for myself, but Mycroft gave the patented Holmes 'I know what you're thinking and it sickens me, you prude' look and I scurried away as fast as I could.

I emerged a minute later I re-emerged and said timidly 'The only thing in there is a little spider…'

'It's sodding enormous!' wailed Greg 'It was going to crawl on me and… and… oh God Mycroft!'

'Oh Mycroft isn't God.' Said Sherlock cheerfully 'He just likes to think he is.'

The next four and a half hours were spent trying to calm Greg down. In the end we resorted to valium.

'Thank you, Dr Watson.' Mycroft sighed as he saw us to the door. 'I'm afraid he is… delicate about certain matters.'

I gave a wan smile, dragging Sherlock along to the taxi-rank. 'Oh don't worry. It was a piece of cake.'

AN: YAAAAY! I'm not really happy with this chapter… ah well. If you have an opinion review. If not, review anyway. I love you all deeply, keep reading!