A/N: A hideously short chapter, sorry.
It's just... The idea made me giggle a little...
Also, I'm thinking of writing a one shot based around Sherrinford Holmes (It will be sad, like Burning Grief, I'm afraid) but I'm not sure about it...
Let me know if you think it's a good idea!
And as usual, please review!
"Oh sweet Jes- are you really having a fencing match?" John gaped, not believing his eyes. Neither Holmes' brother looked at John, simply continuing to strike, parry and lunge.
"It's one thing we have in common, John. A rather extensive knowledge of the sport." Mycroft explained, swooping out of the way of Sherlock's violent strike.
"Oh, come off it." John scoffed.
"Shut up, John." Sherlock muttered, parrying a particularly sneaky lunge by Mycroft.
"Just mind Mrs Hudson's table." John tutted, collapsing into a chair and picking up a book. It wasn't too difficult to read with the sounds of foils colliding.
"Oh, come now, Sherlock. Where has your technique gone?"
"Wherever your waistline went."
"Touché. Honestly, though. There is no wrist work th-"
"Ha!"
"This suit cost five hundred pounds, Sherlock."
"For all the materials needed to fit around your-"
"Ah, revenge is sweet."
"Mycroft! John bought me this jacket! You utter-"
John put down his book and looked up. Mycroft's suit had the seams of the right arm sliced open and Sherlock's jacket had a lovely tear in the lapels.
"Sorry, John. I'll replace it." Mycroft called.
"I should bloody hope so!" Sherlock growled, lunging.
John sighed.
Oh bloody hell.
A/N: So, did you like it? And do you like the idea of the new one shot?
