Sherlock/Mycroft. Ship or Sink? Decided by viewers. Definite sink. 80% of you sink it like the Titanic... Thank god.

I am sorry. I am so sorry. This is absolutely terrible and the thought of this pairing makes me want to vomit... or die.

It was a random plot suggestion from my friend, so it's on her... But I still wrote it. I left pretty much everything to the imagination.

But the fact that I even WROTE something in this ship terrifies me to no end. So I really am sorry...

I'd say enjoy... But there isn't much to enjoy. You've been warned...

"Anderson, you really should learn to shut that abnormally large mouth of yours." I said, bending over the victim's dead body. Lestrade had called me out, asking for my help as usual. And Anderson was here lowering the street's IQ as usual.

However, this time I noticed that Anderson didn't reply with his usual scoff, eye roll, or failed attempt of a comeback. I dismissed it. Most likely it was due to some personal issue that made him unusually quiet. Maybe his wife had finally left him for good. Or maybe his pet fish died. By the looks of it, it was both. But I really couldn't care less, and there was definitely more pressing things at hand.

"John?"

"The cause of death was a major blow to the back of the head. Most likely with a hard, blunt object. Normally I would suggest a baseball bat… But this is a bit different. I'm thinking a shovel." John replied, standing up and pulling off his gloves.

"Very good. Lestrade, you can take notes if you like. This man is a burglar. I'm sure he thought this house was going to be empty for the majority of the evening and so he broke in. However, the owner pulled in early, most likely because he wasn't feeling well, and he saw the lights on when they shouldn't have been. He grabbed the first thing he saw to defend himself with, most likely having been a shovel. He hit the man with one hard blow and didn't mean to kill him, but fled because he was frightened and didn't know what else to do. I'm sure the shovel will be in a dumpster somewhere near here. I imagine it shouldn't be too hard to track down the owner of this home, and this is just a suggestion… but his charges shouldn't be too harsh. The actions he did were in self-defense and it's hard to control one's one adrenaline. Come along, John." I said, walking out of the house.

"That was fantastic!" I heard a voice say behind me.

"Thank you, but that one was pretty obvious." I spun around expecting to see John, but instead, a grinning Anderson. I frowned, "What do you want?"

"Nothing just thought you'd like a coffee." He said, handing me a surprisingly still warm cup in spite of the long, rather chilly morning.

"Um. Right. Thank you." I took a sip and started down the street.

"Do you need a ride?" Anderson asked, following me.

"No. I'm fine. I can uh…" I stumbled slightly. "I can walk."

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Of course." I stumbled again and would have fallen if he wouldn't have caught me.

"I feel funny." I mumbled.

Anderson chuckled, "Just give it a couple of minutes."

"You drugged me?" I slurred.

"That was a wonderful deduction. Please tell me, what was your first clue?"

The ground spun a bit and I bit back the urge to vomit. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to know how you could come up with such a brilliant deduction." Anderson replied sarcastically.

"No, you idiot." I spat out. "Why did you drug me?"

"Oh, right. Well you see, Sherlock. My wife is… out of town and I decided to have a little fun while she was gone. And I decided to start with the great Sherlock Holmes."

I tried to say something back, but my mouth could no longer move.

"Come on, I'll give you a ride." He muttered, helping me to a waiting cab. The last thing I remember was sliding into the backseat of the cab.

I woke up from what I thought was a rather disgusting nightmare. I was in my own bed, although I had no idea of how I got there, or even how I returned to the flat. I groaned and tried to sit up. I was still fully clothed, apart from my shoes. Although my shirt buttons were one button off, and I knew in my right mind I would never manage something as sloppy as that in my favorite shirt.

Trying to slide out of the bed, I let out almost a squeal of pain. God, my arse hurt.

My phone buzzed beside and I picked it up frowning.

I had fun. We should do that more often. –A

I groaned, realizing that none of it had been a dream.

Do you have any idea what you've done? –SH

Well of course. I wasn't the one that was drugged. I fucked the amazing Sherlock Holmes. –A

You're an idiot. –SH

So you've said. However, you're the one that ended up drugged. –A

You realize I'm going to turn you in. That was rape. –SH

It's not rape if the receiving party enjoyed it. –A

What? –SH

The drugged Sherlock is a lot more… agreeable than the sober one. –A

Bull shit. –SH

The next message was a multimedia message and I opened it wearily. I lasted not even a full ten seconds of the rather obscene video before I closed out of it. I tried to breathe normally after the footage I'd just seen.

Fine. No one, I repeat, no one, is to learn about this. –SH

I'll agree to that, for now. –A

I flopped back down on the bed and tried to shake everything off. My phone buzzed one more time.

Dinner? –A

What the hell was he trying to do? I waited a few minutes before replying. What was the worst that could happen? I'd already gotten drugged and raped.

Fine. –SH

What... Like even... What.

Once again, I am so very sorry...

If there's an awful pairing you'd like to see... Let me know.

This one just proved that I'll do anything.

Once again. Let me know if you sink it or ship it... But I might barf if anybody ships it... D=

Watch out for the next one-shot. c: