Sherlock watched as his younger big brother (and that was really taking some getting used to) sat at the table eating Sugar Puffs and reading his own obituary in The Times. Naturally Mycroft had taken to being dead quite well. Sherlock had made a remark about how little effort being dead took and how that would appeal to Mycroft's lazy nature. The lanky teenager had given Sherlock a contemptuous look and a "Yeah Whatever." Beside him, on his fourth bowl of Frosties, Nick was snorting at the glaring inaccuracies contained in the short resume of Mycroft's life. Under the headline : Minor Government Official Dies Aged 87.

Mycroft Wellington Fortinbras Holmes has died at the age of 87 after a short illness...

"Your middle name is Fortinbras? What the hell were your parents smoking?" Nick had just inhaled his cereal and was spluttering milk everywhere. Mycroft looked at him coolly.

"Why don't you ask them yourself? They're coming for a visit later. And if you think mine's bad, Sherlock's middle name is..."

"Don't you dare. Or you can just... go to your room." Sherlock was not having that.

"You can't send me to my room. I'm 87! "

"Not from where I'm standing. You haven't even finished puberty."

"Did you ever start it? Sherlock Caligula N..."

"Room. Now. Mister! You're grounded. For the rest of your life."

"You can't ground me for the rest of my life, I'm dead. And also I am your elder brother."

"Says who?" Teenage Mycroft was rather trying Sherlock's patience.

"I read it in The Times. It must be true."

"Were you always this much of a smart arse?"

"Yes, but no one noticed. Your smart-arsery eclipsed anything I could ever do." Mycroft scowled at the newspaper. Just as John put in an appearance, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Morning! How are we all?"

"Still dead." Mycroft didn't look up.

"Still babysitting my big brother. Am I going to have to do this for the rest of eternity? Is this hell? Am I being punished? "

"Yes. It's God's revenge for the absolute turd you were to me for 79 years."

"So you are finally acknowledging that there is a higher power than you?"

"Right. Nick, why don't you go and show Mycroft the orchard? And Sherlock and I will have a little talk." John seemed to be far better at parenting than Sherlock. Nick nodded happily and dragged a reluctant Mycroft outside. It seemed he'd missed the arguments with his brother.

"How come they do what you say? And why is Mycroft still 16? And if he has all his adult memories why is he acting as though he's 16?"

"Give the poor boy a chance."

"He's not a boy. Up until 7.38 am yesterday he was a fat grumpy old man with arthritic knees. And I don't see why I should have sympathy. Did you hear those two last night? It's obscene. Although I must say I find it remarkable that Mycroft had a functioning pair of testicles at that age."

"Sherlock. Enough. They got to pick up where they left off. That's what this is about. I know it was different for us. But think about it. When I was waiting for you to get off of the train I was expecting an old man. And then you got off looking just like you did the day I met you. And it was perfect. So maybe this is perfect for them?"

"I wonder what Marcus is going to say about all this?"

"Well he made his choice. And I know it was a hard one. But it all turned out okay. Hey, why don't we invite him and Matthew for tea?"

"Won't that be weird?"

"More weird than Kevin and Perry out there?" Through the window John could see Mycroft and Nick., now joined by a large fluffy black dog who was bouncing excitedly around their knees.

"I do see your point John. " Sherlock gazed out of the window. Watching as his brother threw his head back laughing at something Nick said. Sherlock knew it was how it should be. That Mycroft had chosen to be with Nick. The only choice really. But still Sherlock was a little jealous that Mycroft hadn't chosen him.