Mycroft hadn't actually seen their brother since the drug abuse. There had been a lot of insults that night; but Mycroft was happy, and ever so slightly proud, that slurs against their gender fluidity – they now knew what it was called – were not made.

Now, they were standing at the edges of a crime scene on a freezing night wanting desperately to get home and out of his boy clothes. (Juvenile name, of course; but it served its purpose).

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer... and you know how it always upset Mummy," Mycroft was talking about the petty arguments they had before their parents… well.

"I upset her? Me?" Mycroft heard what Sherlock may or may not be implying and it rested like a lead weight in their stomach, "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft." They can definitely hear it now... or Sherlock's right and they're paranoid.

"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's Mummy?" John Watson asked. Mycroft barely registered it.

"Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft," Sherlock stated. It made Mycroft grimace internally, even if it isn't meant maliciously.

The rest of the conversation is spent on autopilot, really. Only thoughts in their head screaming wrong, horrible, skin crawling, get home.

They came back into proper awareness when John turned to them, "Okay, good night."

"Good night, Doctor Watson," Mycroft bid as the doctor caught up with their brother.

They were considering their brother's new friend when Anthea, keeping to her professional manner, asked, "Sir, shall we go?" She knew Mycroft felt feminine today, but if she said nothing but 'shall we go?' it would look very unprofessional, and if she said madam… well, that was obvious. The best thing she could do is help them home soon.

"Interesting, that soldier fellow," Mycroft remarked, "He could be the making of my brother – or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active."

"Sorry, sir. Whose status?"

"Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson."

…

Mycroft was about to get into their chauffeured car when that detective inspector decided to make his presence known. "Uh… Hello; couldn't help noticing you were talking to Sherlock and, well, he looked a bit… well, pissed… Uh, I mean upset! Apologies… Well – his problems are my problems, you know – so, uh… what were you talking about?"

"Just some very old business. Mycroft Holmes; Sherlock's mortal enemy and brother," They didn't want to say brother, but saying sibling would raise suspicion.

What was his name…? Geoff…? George…? No. Well, who-ever-it-was laughed a quick, nervous sort of laughter. "Yeah, he's a bit dramatic, isn't he?"

Not nearly as dramatic as you think… "Well… Little brothers will be little brothers. Apologies, I seem to have missed your name…"

"Oh! Uh, sorry. It's Greg, Greg Lestrade…" Greg shuffled awkwardly, "This may seem a little strange, but… wouldyouliketogetacoffeesometime?"

"Pardon?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow as Greg took a breath.

"Sorry, I'm not usually like this; would you like to get a coffee sometime?"

Mycroft considered this. It was a lovely idea in theory, and it didn't have to escalate into a relationship. DI Lestrade was also very dishy… "I'd love to. Here's my card. I have to get going, but you can call me anytime you like. If I'm not busy, I would be glad for the invitation."

Mycroft handed their card to Greg, slipped elegantly into the car and was driven away from the crime scene.

The green dress and heels, they decided; their favourite as a reward for getting a date with someone so gorgeous.

…

Lounging in the living room of their flat, wearing their favourite dress and heels, Mycroft relaxed with a glass of wine.

Their phone buzzed on the side table with a simple message, but important meaning. 'Sorry I said brother. It's not like I could say 'sister', is it? (For clarification: this is not an attempt at mocking your gender identity. Just an apology – I know it's an unusual occurrence) – SH'.

Mycroft laughed as they typed a reply; texting was certainly easier than face-to-face interaction. 'Quite alright. I'm more upset you didn't mention that dishy Detective Inspector Lestrade – saving him for yourself? ;) – MH'

Mycroft considered deleting the emoticon, but hit send anyway. The reply was instant. 'You have my blessing; I have someone else to do tonight ;) ;) – SH'

Oh dear God. 'Don't hurt the poor man; don't want to start him limping again ;) ;) ;) – MH'

'Are you trying to compete with me with emoticons? :O _ :D ;) I think you'll find I win. – SH'

'Oh, really? XD ;) :) :D : BD 3:) – MH'

'Oh no, you didn't! Right! :) ;) 3:) BD XD :D :* _ - SH'

They continued for hours until Sherlock finally gave in. 'I should go. I haven't slept in 48 hours. You win, I suppose, by default. – SH'

Mycroft smiled. 'Goodnight, brother mine. – MH'.