This part turned out more angsty then I planned... (Someone might want to request something cute ;D)
Sherlock: 17
Mycroft:24
Mr. Holmes, unsurprisingly, misses the ceremony and barely makes it to the reception. It's not like it absence was really noticed, Madame Holmes catching up with her sister and other various relatives. Sherlock was bored out of his mind, the non family attendees where either old or lacked any sort of taste. That's including the brides maids who kept shooting him curious glances, Sherlock assuming she was starring at Mycroft due to his obliviousness.
"That pink tart is starring at you," Sherlock whispers to his brother in the church pew.
"You mean lady," he corrects following his brother's gaze, "Which one, they're all pink."
"The one starring obviously."
"Obviously, she's starring at you," Mycroft shoots back, "Are you really that oblivious?"
"Shut up," Sherlock snaps, "It's hard to tell from here."
"Hardly…"
"Shh…" Madame Holmes hisses at them.
There was some downtime in between the service and the reception, the boys back in their hotel room to change and prepare for the festivities. Their father already napping in Mummy's room making them wonder if he just skipped the church part. Sherlock flops on the bed, disregarding his nice clothes and the glare from Mycroft.
"I'm to remind you to not make trouble tonight," the eldest states.
"I don't make trouble..."
"Of course not."
"Besides it's mummy you should be worried about," Sherlock informs him.
"Oh?"
"I heard her talking to Aunt Larine, apparently the Maid of Honor is single and a lawyer or something…" he states flippantly.
"How does that pertain to me?"
"Who's oblivious now," he huffs, "They're playing match maker."
Mycroft frowns at the implications of this new knowledge, "Don't they have anything better to do then marry us off…" He sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Apparently not, I attribute it to wanting to have children again… but since they can't grandchildren are the only options."
"I'm only twenty- four; honestly… it will happen at some point."
"You know how mummy worries…." Sherlock states still sounding bored, "Thinks you're going to work yourself to death and stick to a familiar routine instead of coupling."
"Well her worry is premature," Mycroft huffs indignantly, "It's not like I don't want it."
"Really?" the younger man sits up, to inquire. "What changed your mind?"
"Nothing changed my mind, Sherly," he starts incredulously, "It would be nice to have someone to come home to…" he offers instead of explaining himself.
"Get a dog," Sherlock quips at the unsatisfactory reply.
The reception was a bit better; there was an open bar that Sherlock took full use of. It was really a terrible habit to play the idiocy drinking game, but it was the only way for him to hold his tongue. He positioned himself at the bar, gaining full view of the large ball room. Mycroft was currently dancing with the Maid of Honor, looking down right irate whenever she was distracted. It would be quite hilarious if Sherlock didn't know that, in that respect, they shared similar fates.
"Salut," a voice greets him.
"Oui?" Sherlock questions haughtily, turning to find the brides maid from earlier.
"Vous etes du cote mariees ne sont pas vous?"
"Defaut de pertinence, et je n'ai pas envie de danser ou de continuer a parler francais.
"Pourguoi pas?" She enquires.
"C'est fastidieux," Sherlock takes a long sip of his drink, "Your accent is a bit off, where are you from?"
"Ah," she chuckles, "You caught me, I grew up in Brussels, and we traveled a lot."
"You speak Dutch as well then?"
"Hardly," She smiles, "I'm Lotte," she introduces herself, holding out a hand which he eyes with disinterest.
"There you are Sherlock," Mycroft calls, stepping up to the bar and ordering a scotch and downing half of it quickly, "That woman is all hands," he breathes forgetting himself around his brother, until he realizes they aren't alone.
"I noticed," Sherlock intones with disinterest, "Your expressions said it all."
"My apologies, I didn't realize you where conversing with Miss…"
"Lotte… Mycroft," the younger man shrugs, motioning an introduction.
"Do not worry, I know how Zoe can be," She chuckles warmly as they shake hands.
"Charmed to meet you Lotte," he nods charmingly.
"You too are…." She questions motioning between the men.
"Brothers," Mycroft answers with a smile.
"Unfortunately," Sherlock intones under his breath.
"Ah," Lotte nods, "I was trying to convince your brother to dance with me."
"He said no?" He feigns shock, knowing full well that was hardly a surprise.
"I cannot believe it either," Lotte smiles, "Though perhaps I should have gone after the charming one…" She flirts, Mycroft smiling as Sherlock raises a brow in distress.
"Are you sure you're not interested brother?" Mycroft prods, already forgetting his drink on the bar.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Sherlock breathes aside as he rolls his at the grotesque display, "No, go ahead…brother…" He takes Mycroft's left over beverage. "I'm sure you prevented me from something quite naughty," he divulges with a wink, striding away as Lotte turns bright red and Mycroft fumbles through an apology.
Sherlock sneaks off to the terrace after snagging a couple fags and lighter from a drunken ladies purse. The lighter's quite sharp, silver and etched with a spindly design that prevents it from slipping. He thought he was alone until he heard a noise from the other side of the doors.
"Petite, es que vous?" the familiar voice enquires.
"Tata?" Sherlock asks, with a mild panic at what he's doing.
"I thought so," she smirks triumphantly, walking towards him. "Don't worry, I won't tell your mother," she adds as she takes a drag from her own cigarette. "Hiding as well?"
"Weddings are dull."
"Oui…" Vie nods in commiseration, "Why do you think I've refrained from having one?"
"Because no one is good enough and your sister married a prat," he answers the rhetorical question.
"Mon dieu," she shakes her head, "You would not be here if your mama didn't marry that prat, as you say."
"Minor detail," Sherlock sighs, exhaling smoke.
"You don't mean that, cher," Vie corrects gently, earning another shrug. The pair smoke in silence, finishing up there tobacco products. "Come on," she leads, "I think cake is in order," she puts her arm around the younger man fondly as they head back in.
After a spot of cake, that he took one bite of, Sherlock resumes his plan of drinking; mostly champagne. It was terrible mistake that lead him to not only dance, but stumble about in a fog. He'd be embarrassed if he knew what he was doing.
"Mycroft dear," Madame Holmes shows up at the table he's sitting at talking to a girl, "Sorry to interrupt, but I could you collect your brother," She implies, Mycroft following her gaze to his brother leaning heavily against a pillar. "I believe he's a bit tired," she covers.
"Sure thing, mummy," he offers, frowning as he excuses himself. Striding across the room, he takes hold of Sherlock's arm, "Come Sherly, bed," he instructs.
"I'm not tired, stop playing mother," he tries to shrug off the older man's grip.
"You don't have to sleep, we'll just go up to the room," he pulls him off the pillar to head out of the ball room. "I take it you drank on an empty stomach," he takes a cookie off the table and hands it to his brother.
"Not hungry," Sherlock mumbles taking a bite of the cookie and making a face and tossing the sweet on a nearby table. "Is this over yet, 'Croft?" he whines.
"Yes, we're going up stairs," Mycroft soothes, as they exit going straight to the lifts. He steadies Sherlock against the wall as they wait, the drunk boys head lulling forward to rest on his brother's shoulder.
"You smell like a girl," Sherlock giggles into his brother.
"No thanks to Zoe I'm sure," he sighs, the lift dinging as the doors open. "Alright come along," he pulls him off the wall.
"My head hurts," he pouts loudly. "I'm talking loud…" he chuckles.
"You're drunk," Mycroft remind him, hitting the button for their floor.
"You should be drunk too…Why aren't you?"
"I didn't drink as much as you Sherlock and I actually ate something."
"Meh," Sherlock waves him off, leaning heavily against the wall with his eyes squeezed shut.
"You all right there Sherly?" Mycroft asks with concern.
"M'fine…"
Finally they get to the room, Mycroft closing the door glad they made it without incident. "Toilet or bed?"
"Bed," Sherlock murmurs steadying himself against the wall before flinging himself to the loo.
Mycroft follows, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed as Sherlock spits into the toilet.
"I think I'm going to be sick…"
"Serves you right," Mycroft shrugs, idly wondering what he would have been doing if he hadn't been forced to leave.
"Sorry, 'Croft," he sniffs wetly before being sick.
The older boys face twisting in disgust as he looks on, "Next time maybe not drink as much or eat something…" he suggests.
"I never drink again," Sherlock pouts tearfully before being sick again.
"You say that now," Mycroft smirks, handing his brother a glass of water and flushing the toilet.
"'Croft," he calls after spitting out some of the water.
"Yes Sherlock," he sighs in exacerbation, wetting a flannel to cool the boy down.
"Kill me," he sniffs, his stomach still twisting even though there's nothing left to expel. "Please…"
"You'll feel better in the morning," he soothes, crouching to place the flannel on his brother's brow until Sherlock takes it from him.
"No I won't," he hiccoughs, not seeming to notice he's crying.
"Sherlock…"
"Go away," Sherlock orders, lying on the cold tiled floor, "Leave me alone."
"I'm afraid I can't, now if you're quite finished let's get you to bed."
"Why not?" he curls up, "You've done it before."
"I see you're a depressed drunk…" Mycroft shakes his head, "What are you on about?"
"Nothing," Sherlock replies quietly, tracing the grooves of the tiles. "You're so old…"
The eldest studies his brother for a beat, trying to discern what was meant and not liking what he was coming up with. Sherlock starting to doze on the floor. "You can't sleep here," he chides gently, maneuvering his brother up get him to bed.
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!)
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