As loathe as John was to ask favors from Mycroft Holmes, and knowing full well it would infuriate Sherlock, he knew that Sherlock was so multi-focused and erratic during cases he was nearly impossible to find, and the older Holmes brother was his best bet to locating him in time. Over the years, the brothers had developed their own sort of game, with Sherlock locating and shucking Mycroft's GPS trackers in the most imaginative ways he could think of, and Mycroft showing him up and proving that there was still one left, obviously, if Sherlock could actually "use his brain and find it".

So off to Diogenes Club John went, on a snowy, supposed-to-be-with-his-family, Christmas morning to make a deal with the proverbial Devil.

John stood inside the ever silent room, nearly empty today, looking up into the camera, knowing that Mycroft could see him, wherever he was.

"Mycroft, we need to talk, it's about Sherlock."

Silence. Starting to feel a bit silly talking to an inanimate object without a response, and angry that this was what his life had become, on today of all days, his voice rose.

"Mycroft, if you don't answer me in the next minute, I swear to God, I will start busting up your precious little club. I'm willing to bet that more than a few of these fine constituents are your direct superiors, and it would be a real pain in the ass to have one of your brother's friends harassing your bosses. That, or I could just kick the door in. That works too."

The people reading their papers around the fire seemed to finally take note of John warily, and no more than 30 seconds later, a door opened and the customary security team escorted him into Mycroft's office, where the older Holmes brother sat, eyeing him like a particularly irritating species of insect.

"John, pleasant to see you. Happy Christmas, or whatever it is that they say. What can I do for you today?" he drawled with his customary faux pleasantness.

"I need you to help me find Sherlock," he answered, point-blank, deciding it was probably best to be as straightforward as possible with Mycroft. John had longed since learned that trying to hide things from the 'low level government man' was an exercise in futility.

"And why would I know where my idiot brother is? I'm not his keeper," Mycroft said, with his customary snark, apparently deciding to play innocent.

Unfortunately, John was in no mood to play his game; he could feel the time meant for his family slipping between his fingers in every moment he was not with them. John pulled himself up to his full, if diminutive, height, and met Mycroft's eyes with steely resolve.

"Let's not pretend you don't know Sherlock's location at any given moment, Mycroft. I really don't have to time to play along with this stupid little feud of yours, and neither does Sherlock. Irene's gone into labor, and if he's not there by the time she delivers, I can't say what she might do."

Mycroft raised a single eyebrow, showing no outward sign of worry for his only brother, and met John's fierce glare with a derisive laugh.

"What reason do I have to help my brother out of a situation he knowingly made for himself? I warned him about this idiotic enterprise, but as always, he ran headfirst into something he was unprepared for. Children are nothing but a nuisance, and should be left to the rabble. As soon as the little parasites are born, even the greatest minds will lose focus and be distracted from what is of real importance in this world. As far as I'm concerned, Sherlock can clean up his own messes from now on."

John looked across the desk at Mycroft with indignant disbelief. He had never seen him like this before, he was usually logical to the enth degree, or at least liked to pretend to be. But now, his feelings were showing plainly on his face, the same petulant expression John always saw on his son when he hadn't gotten what he wanted.

"Mycroft, I don't know what your problem is, and honestly, I couldn't give a shit. You and Sherlock have been fighting like children ever since you found out about the babies, and it needs to stop now."

"They are not people, they are parasites." Mycroft interrupted sharply.

"What?"

"They're not 'babies', they're parasites. Everyone is acting like this is such a lovely thing to have happened, but once they are born, they will consume all of my brother's time, energy, and talent, until he's become one of them." he answered bitterly.

"One of who?" John asked, utterly baffled, as always when it came to dealing with the thought process of the either of the Holmses.

"A goldfish. A regular person." Mycroft said, so quietly, John had to strain to hear it.

John rolled his eyes in disbelief; for two people with genius level intellect, the Holmes brothers acted just like 3 year olds most of the time; it was really no wonder he had adapted to fatherhood as quickly as he had. Adopting a much softer tone, John stowed his irritation, deciding to adopt a different approach.

"Mycroft, if you think anything can make Sherlock Holmes normal, then you're not nearly as smart as you pretend to be. Becoming a father is going to stop him from solving murders or getting himself into trouble, it'll just give him two more people to get himself out of it for."

"You're not losing your brother Mycroft, you're just gaining two more pains in your arse," John finished, expecting some indication of relief or assuagement from the older Holmes brother after his comforting speech.

But instead, looked up to find Mycroft working on his computer, apparently ignoring him entirely.

"Did you get that speech from one of those maudlin soap shows you people are so fond of watching? Entirely insipid if you ask me," Mycroft taunted lazily, scribbling on a scrap of paper, and sliding it over to him. On it was written the address to a bank in East London, not far from where he was. He could get there in another 15 minutes easily, John thought triumphantly, finally something was going his way!

"There you are, you have what you came for, now go pester someone else," Mycroft said, indicating where the door was with his hand, returning to his work.

"I'd recommend getting to him before the assassins do, my information tells me they should be closing in on him within the hour. And John? Nobody is my superior, do remember that." Mycroft said clearly, his last words accompanied by a cold stare.

"I'm making a mental note of it now." John snarked sarcastically, absentmindedly heading for the door, when the first part of his sentence finally registered in his mind.

"Wait, what do you mean ASSASSINS!"

Author's Note: Sorry guys, I know its been a while since we updated the story, but we've both been swamped with classes. Luckily, we should be able to write a bit more over Thanksgiving break, so we should be posting again in November.