The only saving grace about the whole situation was, as far as Sherlock was concerned, the look of stunned horror on Mycroft's face when Anthea opened the door to his office and let Mummy, Sherlock and John in. Apparently, in this case, Mummy's idea of 'meeting' Mycroft and Lestrade for dinner involved a sneak attack. Sherlock had to approve. There weren't many people in the world with the ability to surprise Mycroft. That it meant that at least he would not be alone in his suffering was only a bonus. He tried not to smirk too widely as Mycroft stood up to greet them.

"Mummy," he said weakly, eyes flicking over to first John and then Sherlock. His mouth tightened when he noticed his younger brother's glee. "I was not aware you were coming to town so soon."

"Yes, well, when I heard about Sherlock's news I just had to come and meet John." Mummy smiled over her shoulder at John. "After how long it took you to bring Gregory home I knew I would have to act if I wanted the opportunity before the year was up."

Mycroft tried hard not to wince but it was there. He stepped around the desk and leaned down, dutifully dropping a kiss onto her cheek. There was nothing he could say in response, Sherlock knew, if only because it was the truth. Mycroft hadn't been too accepting of having found his soul mate, not at first. The progression of the relationship between him and Greg had been slower than most, developing over the course of two years whenever either one had enough spare time, and he'd kept the news from Mummy for months until she'd gotten tired of waiting for him to admit the truth and shown up unexpectedly one morning at Scotland Yard. What had followed was possibly the fastest vacation ever planned as both Mycroft and Greg promptly took a few weeks at the estate to help smooth things over.

Mummy just gave him a slightly smug smile. "Where is my son-in-law?" she asked.

"At work, I imagine," said Mycroft. "Since Sherlock refused to help him with this case it's been causing him some trouble."

"Sherlock!" Mummy said reprovingly.

Sherlock glowered at his brother. "It was a boring case," he said sulkily, ignoring John's surprised look. He'd received the call that morning while John was still asleep - victim found on the bank of the Thames with no visible cause of death and a bottle of nail polish inserted in a most unusual orifice. Normally it was the sort of case he might have considered accepting but John's shoulder had been wrenched a bit during their last case and he knew from the occasional phantom flash in his own shoulder that the injury was still not fully healed. He realized he was staring at John when John lifted a hand to touch his wounded shoulder thoughtfully and looked away quickly.

"That doesn't matter. You should know better than to leave your brother-in-law out in the cold," she scolded. Sherlock looked a bit ill at that but she ignored him. "Mycroft, do you think there's a chance that Gregory could come join us for dinner? I'd love to see the poor dear."

"I'll check, Mummy." Mycroft turned away, already drawing his phone out of his pocket. There would be no question about whether or not he would be joining them: nothing short of a world war would lessen Mummy's ire if either of her sons didn't show up for dinner on the few occasions that she made it to London. He began speaking quietly into the phone.

"I'm going to visit with that lovely assistant of yours. Sherlock, you and I will be having a conversation later about family," she warned.

Pouting, he watched his mother glide out of the room, moving with a grace that he had been fortunate enough to inherit. Thanks to bloody Mycroft he would be in for a long lecture about how it wasn't right that he denied 'dear Gregory' help when Lestrade came to him. Mummy adored Lestrade and he wouldn't hear the end of it until he promised to help next time - and Lestrade would no doubt hold him to it. Damn the man! He was about to start plotting a way to drop Mycroft's new diet into the conversation when John took his arm. Sherlock glanced at him, startled, but allowed John to pull him out of the room.

"Bloody Mycroft," he raged as soon as they were out in the hallway. "I don't know why he always insists on trying to get Mummy in his favour." Well, actually he did, they'd always fought over Mummy's attention in their own specific little areas, ever since it became evident that she doted on Sherlock for things like music and being precocious and praised Mycroft for things like excellent grades and diplomacy.

"God." John shook his head in wonder. "You two really are like a couple of children sometimes." He sounded remarkably fond as he said that. "You remind me of Harry and me when we were young."

Sherlock stilled, curiosity inflamed. How so?

We used to fight all the time for Mum's attention when she was sick, said John. It didn't seem to bother him, remembering this, if anything he was feeling a bit nostalgic and content. Course that stopped after she got really ill, but still. I think it's cute.

Cute? Sherlock repeated with all the indignity of a wet cat. He didn't even want to think the word, which why he spoke out loud. "I am not, nor have I ever been, cute."

John chuckled and reached out, sliding his fingers into Sherlock's belt loops. A couple of steps closer and he had Sherlock backed up against the wall, the two of them pressed together in a shocking but pleasant way. "Yes you are. Most of the time you're a right bastard but once in a while… yeah." His eyes went all soft and warm and he leaned up, coaxing Sherlock into a kiss. It was sweet and slow, a gentle give and take, and Sherlock had never felt anything like this before. He had no idea what to do with his hands and finally he settled them, awkwardly, on John's lower back, thumbs loosely curled over John's hips.

By the time John pulled away he was smiling and Sherlock's head felt a little fuzzy. John reached up and smoothed a hand down his cheek. "Definitely cute."

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