In the wake of his assignment, Mycroft Holmes dug into the records about Venezuela and found that until recently it had been a dictatorship. The data about the current state of the government had gaping holes. He ordered them in his mind, laying them out on his thought table hoping to see a pattern, but the gaps were too large. No wonder he was being sent to investigate.
The worrisome thing was not that he was going there, but that he was taking his little brother with him into an unknown and possibly dangerous situation. They didn't think that any harm would come to them, but if they did disappear on their visit, they would not be the first.
It was the weekend of Sherlock's Birthday party. When Mother tried her best to shower Sherlock with enough attention to make up for the way that she ignored him the rest of the year.
She stood before him in a dress as yellow as the icing on his cake and said, "Come now, Sherlock. Blow out the candles. Then we can all have a slice of cake."
"But Mother, I told you that I wasn't hungry."
"You'll eat a slice. You're thin as a rake. Besides, it's lemon cake, your favorite."
"Lemon cake is MYCROFT's favorite."
"Yes, it is my favorite, so hurry up and blow out the candles so that I can have a slice."
"But wait," Father said. "We haven't sung to him yet. All together now. For he's a jolly good fellow! ..." Mother joined in, but Mycroft simply stared as they continued, "For he's a jolly good fellow, For he's a jolly good fellow, that nobody can deny."
Sherlock crossed his arms, glaring back at Mycroft and then blowing out the candles as if it were a tiresome chore. Mother blew a party horn.
"Good. Now cut the cake," she said.
"Let Mycroft cut it. He's obviously dying to have a bite."
"I will cut it," Mycroft said taking the knife and cutting a slice for Sherlock and himself. "Because you are too rude to appreciate your mother's commitment in preparing it for you."
"Commitment in picking it up from the store you mean."
"Boys. No fighting at the table."
"Then, might I be excused to fight in the living room?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"No. Now eat your cake," Mother said sternly.
"There, there, Dear. Maybe he just wants to go play his new violin." Father said smiling, "You should let him do what he wants. It is his birthday after all."
"Is it too much for me to ask that the family spend a little time together on Sherlock's birthday?"
"Because we spend so much time together the rest of the year?" Sherlock said.
Mother frowned. "None of that cheek. Eat that cake and then off you go."
"I have something that I want to say," Mycroft interjects.
"Oh?" Father clapped. "Are you bringing someone home to visit?"
"Bringing someone home?" Mother said turning a scornful face to Father. "Why on Earth would he do that. He must think of his career first."
"No, I'm not bringing anyone home. It's about me and Sherlock."
"Sherlock and I?" Mother said.
"Why am I in this conversation?" Sherlock asked.
"We've been invited to dance at an international dance competition."
"A dance competition?" Mother asked surprised. "You're going to start dancing again?"
"No. It's just a demonstration."
"Where?" Sherlock asked, getting to the heart of the problem, as always.
Mycroft took in a breath. "Caracas, Venezuela."
"Where's that?"
"It's in South America, Mother." Sherlock said with a sigh.
"Well that sounds fun!" Father said. "Shall we all go?"
"NO!" Sherlock and Mycroft said together.
"Hmmm... I don't know." Mother said. "Sherlock does have school."
"But it's sure to be educational." Father said. "And with Mycroft around, what could go wrong?"
"I suppose you're right." Mother said. "But I don't want Sherlock to get behind in his studies again. Sherlock, eat your cake."
"Give it to Mycroft. He clearly wants it. He practically inhaled his own."
"I'm only showing a healthy respect for Mother's baking."
"What baking? She only needed to thaw it."
"Sherlock!" Mother said. Sherlock looked up at her and took one bite of the cake before shoving the plate at his brother.
"Satisfied?" he said, and then rushed out of the kitchen.
Mycroft finished his second slice and then wiped his mouth primly. Mother patted Mycroft on the stomach. "Well, you'd better start watching your figure if you're going back to dancing. Can't have a fat Valentino."
Mycroft frowned. "Well, If you will contact the school of the absence. I'll make the arrangements for the trip. Good bye, Mother, Father."
"You're not leaving yet, are you?" Father asked as Mycroft walked out of the kitchen. He passed through the living room and into the hall where Sherlock captured his arm pulling him aside. Picking up their coats with one hand, Sherlock pulled Mycroft out of the front door.
When they were a safe distance away from the house. Sherlock handed his brother his coat. He put his on and then leaned against the front gate.
"What is all this about, Mycroft? Why are we really going out of the country?"
Mycroft put on his coat, a resigned look on his face."I told you, we're going to dance."
"Now tell me the real reason, or I'll tell Mother what you were doing in Soho last weekend."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
Mycroft pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long puff while Sherlock watched with narrowed eyes.
"I didn't know you smoked."
"I don't."
"Give me one."
"Sod off!"
"I'll tell Mother."
"Do you want to know, or don't you?"
Sherlock closed his mouth and glared. Even so, he couldn't hide his obvious excitement.
"I've been sent on a fact-finding mission."
"You mean you'll be spying?"
"I wouldn't go so far as to call it spying."
"Then what would you call it?"
"Information gathering."
"And how is that different from spying?"
"The important point is that this is the first oversees job that I have been given since being employed at the ministry. Finally, I have a chance to show what I can do."
"So that's what you want? To become a spy? Does that mean that I'll be spy too? Will I get to wear an eye-patch and dress in black?."
"We aren't playing pirates!"
"Yes, but will I get to spy?"
"All you will be doing is dancing."
"Boring!"
"Dancing, and staying out of trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"ANY kind of trouble."
"But can I wear black?"
"I can't see why not. We will need costumes."
"Marvelous! Who are we going to be spying on?"
"We are not..."
The door opened then and mother looked out. Mycroft sucked in the smoke and turned toward the door, hiding the cigarette behind his back. "So that's where you boys have got to. Sherlock, your father wants you to come and play your new violin. Mycroft? Are you smoking?"
"No!" Mycroft cried.
"Yes," Sherlock said.
Mother glared at him harshly before walking back into the house.
Mycroft turned and kept smoking. "Tattle-tale."
"Mother-hen," Sherlock countered.
Then Mycroft ground the cigarette under heel, and they walked back inside.