With reluctance Mycroft left for Christmas dinner with Mummy. Before he pulled his pants up they gave him two well-placed love bites.
One on each buttock.
Something to remember them by.
(As they would remember him every time they tried to sit.)
The boys had a much needed bath and some tea for sore throats before settling in on the hearth rug and opening their presents from each other.
They took one gift at a time, savouring the other's reaction.
When John started peeling off the paper from his box, Sherlock was already dressed in his gift. It was a black satin corset, trimmed with lace. John had always fancied himself a man who liked breasts, but now he really couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock's protruding bum.
The pale cheeks looked so pretty framed by deepest black.
John's gift was also black.
It was something like 12 inches long and had an end that was nothing but bulbous.
It had a remote control. He licked his lips. His eyes bulged, as did his boxers.
John risked a glance at Sherlock. The detective smiled as the cat who had just swallowed the budgie.
"I knew Santa was going to give you something large", Sherlock said and leaned in to whisper in John's ear, "But I wanted to give you something bigger..."