(There will a part 2 to this)
Sherlock: 17
Mycroft:24
The Holmes family found themselves in France for one of Madame Holmes Aunt's kid's weddings, or some such relation. Sherlock had effortlessly tuned out the particular conversation when they received the invitation and when they were en route. On the plus side, it was in Paris and not some small little town; which meant there'd be a proper hotel and actual things to do.
"I know Paris is bright and exciting, Sherlock," Madame Holmes starts at the cab takes them to the hotel. "But you will behave yourself at this function."
"How come Mycroft never gets warnings like this?" He huffs glaring out the window at the passing sights.
"I do not misbehave," Mycroft states haughtily.
"Of course not," Sherlock sighs, "Because you're too fat and lazy."
"Honestly Sherlock, leave your brother alone," Madam Holmes warns, "Besides, You know he's right."
"When will father arrive?" Mycroft inquires pleasantly.
"He's due shortly before the ceremony… unfortunately," she shakes her head.
"If he even comes," Sherlock breathes.
"Hush now," his mother scolds mildly, earning an eye roll.
The cab brings them up to the grand hotel where they're staying and the ceremony will be held. Madame Holmes shoos her boys to wait for her off to the side as she checks into the hotel since her family made all the arrangements for them. Sherlock leaning his thin frame against one of the pillars, his hands in his pockets as he scowls at the people walking by; Mycroft standing straight and proper beside him.
"Bad news I'm afraid," Madame Holmes tells them as she rejoins the boys, room keys and information in hand.
"Someone was caught cheating and the weddings off?" Sherlock questions hopefully.
"Don't say such thing, cher," she snaps, "There was mix up and we didn't get the suite we had booked, you boys are going to have to share a regular room."
"What," the younger brother groans, receiving a wary look from his mother, "Pardon?" he tries again.
"I'm sure it won't be a problem," Mycroft offers cordially, taking the key from their mother.
"We're across the hall, so if there's any trouble…" she warns.
"We haven't killed each other, thus far, a weekend will be fine."
"I knew I should have packed my machete," Sherlock sneers, under his breath. "I'm just waiting for the prime opportunity…"
"Lovely," Madame Holmes sighs in exacerbation at the last comment.
Up in the room, Mycroft sets out unpacking his things as Sherlock flops onto the bed that's closer to the window, claiming it as his own. He lays there for a beat before checking to see if there's anything interesting in the drawers besides bibles and room service menus. Finding nothing of interest he lays back down with an audible sigh, his head hanging off the mattress as he follows his brother's actions upside down.
"You should at least hang up your suit, Sherly," Mycroft instructs, "Don't want your dress clothes rumpled."
"Dull…" he intones. "They were packed expertly, they should be fine." Sherlock shifts his focus up to the ceiling as he listens to his brother shuffle about the room. "Why do care about such trifles?"
"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft questions, hanging up the suit jacket he was just wearing.
"You know what I mean," the younger man huffs, glaring upside as the blood pools in his head and colours his face, "Preventing wrinkles, banal pleasantries, caring about useless things."
"Are you going to be moody this whole weekend?" He shakes his head at the teen, who seems to have become sullen and cynical since the day he hit puberty.
"Depends… Now answer my question."
"Haven't you ever heard that you catch more flies with honey, brother?" Mycroft offers pleasantly as he places his toiletries in the en suite.
"Ever hear that idioms are idiotic?" Sherlock shoots back. "Why stoop to their level, you're better than that."
"I don't expect you to understand Sherlock," He sits on the bed, reclining against the head board which is more relaxed then his brother has seen him in sometime.
"Then explain."
The older boy rolls his eyes and sighs, picking up the papers he brought to go over, "Again you're misreading the data," Mycroft begins knowingly. "I, like you, don't really care about the silly social expectations and such," he continues to peruse the file.
"Why hide it?" Sherlock asks in earnest.
"Because, brother," he enunciates carefully, "No one wants to hire an insolent sod that intellectually lords over his peers, it's best to avoid confrontation."
"That's what you do, though…" he smirks, "Lording over people and such."
"Not blatantly."
"So you put on airs to charm those who are under you or important to a goal… all the while pulling the strings," Sherlock fleshes it out verbally, "You always did like being the puppet master."
"Hmm…" Mycroft hums over the file he's reading, "That does have a nice ring to it... It's not putting on airs, if I naturally possess them. " He thinks for a beat, "It's more necessary subterfuge, I suppose."
"Well it sounds boring," Sherlock states in a fittingly bored tone.
"One man's dull…" Mycroft shrugs distractedly, smirking gently at the altered idiom that annoys his brother.
AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).
Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.) Also feel free to through John in there too if ya want (present day only though for that)
Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)
:)REVIEW(: