Author's Note: Have you ever read something that a character does and have gotten irrationally angry at that fictional-character? As it turns out, you can also do that even when you're the one writing exactly what that character is doing. In these next two chapters, Mycroft is that character. But don't worry. In the end, Mycroft realizes how much he messed up. Common sense smacks him and leaves a mark. Or was that a lobster? Alright this makes no sense unless you read the next two chapters. So…Geronimo!

Chapter Twelve

It's amazing how many times the world could come close to ending, without you even knowing about it.

Mycroft set Journey's End on his bedside table and glanced over at his brother. Sherlock was sound asleep. Like Mycroft, his brother had no idea that Daleks had stolen Earth. Mycroft glanced up at the clock. They had been traveling with the Doctor for three months. Three months. It was unbelievable. Mycroft had sprouted up several inches. Sherlock had a birthday coming up.

"Oh no," Mycroft whispered as he suddenly realized something.

Sherlock wasn't the only one who had a birthday coming up.

He settled back, hating himself for what he was going to do tomorrow. Hopefully his brother and the Doctor would understand. After all, it wasn't like it was the end of the world.

They spent most of the next day riding dolphin-like aliens across a salty sea. Upon returning to the Tardis, Sherlock retrieved his violin and performed a song. His eyes glazed over while doing so, and only focused when the Doctor and Mycroft enthusiastically clapped.

Sherlock proudly smiled before noticing the look on his brother's face.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock suspiciously asked.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, "I hate to say this but…I think that we need to go home."

"What?"

As it turns out, Sherlock and the Doctor didn't take it well. The latter jumped up, looking horrified. Sherlock's violin tumbled to the ground.

"Hang on," Mycroft quickly said, "I meant for the weekend. That's all."

They both relaxed though Sherlock pouted and whined, "Why?"

"Tomorrow's Father's birthday."

"So?"

"It's his fortieth birthday."

"So?"

"He might appreciate it if we show up."

"Why?"

"We're his sons."

"So?"

"Sherlock!"

"Mycroft!"

The Doctor laughed and gently said, "Sherlock, I think that your brother may be right."

Sherlock crossed his arms and snapped, "After everything that Father's done…"

"He's still your father," the Doctor reminded him.

Sherlock gave such a dramatic sigh that Mycroft laughed and said, "It's just for the weekend, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed once more before turning to the Doctor and slowly saying, "One weekend. I will go for one weekend. Today's Friday. You'll come and get us on Sunday?"

"Alright."

"Promise?"

"I promise," the Doctor sincerely said.

"Fine," Sherlock muttered.

The Doctor laughed and hit a button, excitedly exclaiming, "That's the spirit!"

() () ()

Mycroft wasn't sure what he had been expecting. The Holmes family was never one for mushy reunions but he thought that his father would be a bit more excited to see them.

The Doctor parked the Tardis in the park across the road. Sherlock and Mycroft bracingly entered the flat, only to find that their father was elbow-deep in forms and files.

"Hello," Mr. Holmes coldly said.

"Hello, Father," Mycroft politely said.

Sherlock curtly nodded.

Mr. Holmes glanced up and grunted, "How nice of my sons to take time from their fantasy in order to come back to reality."

"Good to see you too," Sherlock sardonically said.

Mycroft nudged him and tried to sound cheerful as he remarked, "We wanted to celebrate your birthday. We know that it's tomorrow."

"We don't celebrate birthdays."

"Right," Mycroft slowly said, "Well…we thought that we would come anyway."

"This weekend is going to be dreadful," Sherlock hissed.

As usual, Sherlock was right. Their father barely said two words to them for the rest of the night. He made cabbage soup for dinner. Sherlock slept in the nursery and Mycroft slept in his dreadful bedroom. They both barely got any sleep.

On Saturday morning, the two brothers were dismayed when their father announced that he had to spend the day at work. He left without another word.

Mycroft sighed and went to get the post.

"Hi, Mycroft."

Mycroft glanced up and saw that a girl was standing near his doorstep. She looked around his age; perhaps a little older. Her golden hair was pulled back into a long braid and her blue eyes were sparkling.

"Oh," Mycroft said, his ears reddening, "Hi. I'm sorry. Who are…?"

"Alyssa," Alyssa immediately gushed, "I'm a year ahead of you. At…at school, that is. I live down the street and…I was…I was just wondering…wondering if you would like to accompany me to dinner? Tonight?"

Mycroft gave a start. Was he being asked out? He managed to intelligently say, "Err…"

Alyssa looked disappointed and softly said, "Oh. Well, thanks anyway."

"I'm sorry," Mycroft apologized, "I'm not allowed to date."

Very smooth, Mycroft thought.

Alyssa laughed and gently said, "It's just dinner."

"I…I'm really not…I can't…I'm sorry…" Mycroft quietly said.

She flushed and said, "No, no. I'm sorry…I…I've been wanting to ask you out for a few months but it was foolish. I'll just go."

She turned and walked away. A few months? Really? Mycroft couldn't even remember her and now he had hurt her feelings.

The Doctor had said that he wasn't allowed to date. It was Rule Four. But it's not like the rules were meant to be taken seriously. The Doctor had even skipped over Rule Five! And it's not like the Doctor would know. One dinner and he'd return to the flat and the Doctor would come tomorrow and everything would be back to normal. Well, not normal. Traveling across the universe was not normal. But maybe that's why he needed to go to dinner. To have a single night of normalcy.

() () ()

"It's only a few hours," Mycroft pressed.

"Where do you need to go?" Sherlock pressed.

"I just need to run a few errands," Mycroft lied and felt a pang of guilt. It was the first time that he had actually lied to his brother in quite a long time.

He had called the restaurant to make reservations, had dressed up in his best suit, and was now trying not to panic. His father had surprisingly been fine with the excuse that he needed to run errands. Sherlock was giving him a harder time.

"Alright," Sherlock suspiciously said, "So…I'll just wait here."

Mycroft adjusted his blazer and sheepishly asked, "Does this look alright?"

"Seems a bit overdressed for running errands."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and said, "Sherlock, please…"

"And what should I tell the Doctor?"

"You don't need to tell him anything," Mycroft assured him.

"What if I want to tell him?"

Mycroft paused, horrified, and sharply asked, "Are you…are you blackmailing me?"

"Not at all," Sherlock said with a coy smile, "I'm merely insinuating that I might tell him how mature you're being by dressing up in a suit and running errands at 6:00 in the evening."

Mycroft nearly laughed and said, "I'll be back later tonight. Just stay here with Father."

"Mycroft," Sherlock called, "You owe me one."

Mycroft nodded and left.

Sherlock frowned, wondering if his brother truly thought that he was that thick. He shook his head and went downstairs. Unfortunately, he couldn't get to the kitchen without passing his father's study. Even more unfortunate, the door was open.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Mr. Holmes barked, "No snacks. You'll ruin your dinner."

Sherlock sighed and asked, "What are we having?"

"Cabbage soup."

"Again?"

"Yes."

"The dinner will ruin my snacks!" Sherlock angrily retorted.

"Not funny, young man. Stay away from the kitchen."

The Doctor would have laughed at his joke.

Sherlock indignantly ignored his father and went into the kitchen. He pulled himself onto the counter, swallowing at the prospect of falling, and reached for the tin of biscuits. It was so much easier when you could simply ask the Tardis to materialize a snack. Or when you had Mycroft's shoulders to sit on. He reached for the tin of biscuits. His foot slipped and before he could understand what was happening, he ended up wobbling and falling backwards.

Fortunately, he fell into the Doctor's arms. The Time Lord grinned and Sherlock enthusiastically cried, "Thanks, Doctor!"

"Don't mention it," the Doctor gently said. Of course, he wasn't about to tell Sherlock that he had nearly had a double heart-attack upon entering the kitchen and seeing that his companion was about to be injured. And the Doctor certainly wasn't about to tell Sherlock that there would come a time when he wasn't going to be there to catch Sherlock when he fell.

Sherlock beamed and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm early," the Doctor beamed as he set Sherlock down, "I was bored."

Sherlock tilted his head and asked, "How can you be bored? You can travel anywhere in time and space!"

"Yes," the Doctor agreed, "That's true. But it gets boring on your own. Grab Mycroft and we can get going!"

He spun around, ready to go.

Sherlock froze and anxiously stammered, "Mycroft's not…here."

"Where is he?" the Doctor lightly asked.

Sherlock swallowed and the Doctor turned around. The Time Lord saw how guilty Sherlock looked and frowned, quietly repeating his question, "Where is he?"

"He's…on a date," Sherlock admitted.

"What!?"

The Doctor closed his eyes, exasperated, and Sherlock immediately cried, "Don't tell him that I told you!"

The Doctor opened his eyes and asked, "With whom?"

"I don't know," Sherlock shrugged, "I know that he was talking to someone on the doorstep earlier."

The two ran outside, careful to creep past the study. Fortunately, Mr. Holmes didn't even look up. The Doctor pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver, scanning the ground. He looked horrified at the readings.

"Doctor, what's wrong?"

"This is not good," the Doctor whispered.

The Doctor pulled Sherlock back inside. This time, Mr. Holmes saw them as they raced past the study. He leapt up and angrily shouted, "What's going on? What are you doing in my house?"

The Doctor paused and Sherlock couldn't tell who was angrier at whom. The Doctor towered over Mr. Holmes as he quietly said, "What's going on? Your son is on a date. That's what's going on. He's on a date with a potentially lethal alien. Did you know that he was on a date? Did you even care?"

"Doctor," Sherlock quietly said. He was not blind to the fact that the Doctor had protectively stepped in front of him, just in case.

The Doctor fiercely continued, "Or are you too preoccupied with your bloody job to care about your sons?"

"Doctor!" Sherlock pointedly cried, "What was that about Mycroft being on a date with a potentially lethal alien?"

The Doctor paused and boomed, "Quite right, Sherlock. Thank you for prioritizing."

Before Mr. Holmes could say one word, the Doctor shut the door in his face and clicked the Sonic so that the lock jammed.

He turned around and urgently asked, "Do you know where they went?"

"I overheard him talking to the restaurant on the phone," Sherlock cried, "He's going to the Delicto Bistro but I don't know where that is."

"Do you have a phonebook?"

"I think so," Sherlock squeaked, opening the cupboard and trying to look through the clutter, "But Scutt is horrible housekeeper. It could be anywhere."

He straightened up and suggested, "We could call the Operator."

"He wouldn't know the coordinates," the Doctor remarked. He leaned against the door of the study and shouted, "Do you know where the Delicto Bistro is?"

He was met with a series of cusses and threats.

"Thanks anyway," the Doctor offered.

The Time Lord then looked up and grinned as he thought of an idea. He stumbled over to the telephone, punched in a number and anxiously cried, "Jack? I need your help. I need you to look up the coordinates for Delicto Bistro. It's an emergency! Mycroft's on a date! Yes, that does constitute as an emergency! Jack! Thanks."

He hung up the phone and took a deep breath before turning to Sherlock and brightly asking, "How would you like to go out for dinner?"