Aloysius Holmes had just poured himself a large brandy and was awaiting the arrival of The Earl of Gresham with eager anticipation. It wasn't without a slight pang of envy that he had deposited the tray outside his eldest Nephew's room. He wished he was still sixteen. Free from the burden of responsibility and able to shag like a rabbit all night. Still old age did have some compensations and he had come to appreciate quality over quantity.

The door of the lounge was pushed open. Sherlock stood in the doorway, minus his pyjama trousers, with a look of horror on his tearful features.

"Uncle Ali? I wet the bed. Again." He walked into the room and Uncle Aloysius set his glass down on the side table. Again was Sherlock's word. Never his Uncle's.

"Well it can't be helped can it? Let's get you washed and into some clean pyjamas and everything will be fine."

"But John will find out. And he'll think I'm a baby. And he won't want to be friends with me anymore. And he won't stay for my birthday." This was the first time anyone outside of the family had attended Sherlock's birthday celebrations.

"I don't think John Watson is the sort of chap who runs at the first sign of trouble. Let's get you sorted out."

Sherlock was left to wash himself whilst clean Pyjamas were located and Mrs Hudson left off watching Inspector Morse to quietly change the sheets without waking John. John was sleeping soundly, one arm curled around a cuddly tiger. It was only when Sherlock was returned that John blearily opened his eyes.

"What's the matter?"

"Sherlock had a bad dream John. It's all fine."

"You can have my tiger." John sleepily held out the slightly grubby tiger. "He'll look after you."

Sherlock accepted the tiger, thoughtfully stroking its fur. John fell asleep. Very shortly afterwards, so did Sherlock, cuddling John's tiger.

Aloysius Holmes returned to the lounge and took a large swig of his Brandy.

"Rough night my darling?" Teddy Frobisher spoke from the shadows making him jump.

"Is that a question or a promise?" Aloysius poured a second glass and handed it to his partner of fifty years.

"It could be both if you want." Teddy slipped off his suit jacket, letting the expensive tailoring fall to the floor, and allowed Aloysius to undo his waistcoat buttons. Which if the truth be told, were getting a little tight. Fifty years with Ali had played havoc with his waistline.

"I think I do." And whilst his Nephews and their friends slept soundly. Aloysius Holmes climbed the stairs to his own bedroom to spend some quality time in the arms of the one he loved.

Greg woke up to a stream of sunlight pushing through the hastily drawn curtains of the previous night. He was warm and more than a little sore. There was the slight tang of sweat and other things in the air. He needed a shower. Badly. To his right, Mycroft was still sound asleep, laying face down on the bed, his breathing slow and even. His usually neat hair was messed up into curls, like Sherlock's, and for once Mycroft look relaxed and very young. Greg moved closer, stroking his hand along Mycroft's broad back until he was pressed up against him. Slowly Greg slipped his hardening cock between the fuzzy rounds of Mycroft's buttocks. He stilled for a moment, wondering if Mycroft was going to wake up and tell him to stop. Mycroft squirmed a little, and then pushed back against Greg.

Very carefully Greg pushed deeper into Mycroft's plush cleft, probing in the velvety softness for his opening and thrusting gently against him. Greg slipped his arm around Mycroft's waist, reaching down to find him hard and weeping. He felt Mycroft press further back against him and clenched his buttocks around Greg.

"Nice. So nice." Mycroft murmured, still half asleep. Greg continued to thrust gently whilst stroking the bigger boy's swollen cock. It took a little over two minutes for Mycroft to spill his release over Greg's fist as it worked up and down and a few moments later Greg found himself coming just from the thought that he was now covered in Mycroft.

"Morning!" Greg smiled into Mycroft's shoulder.

"That was a very nice alarm call."

"I think I need a shower." Greg was aware that the smell in the room was partly him.

"I think I need one too." Mycroft slipped out from under the covers, still half hard, his large cock bouncing in front of him. Greg noticed with some satisfaction the marks his nails had made down Mycroft's muscular back and shoulders. His Mycroft. He hoped. "You can use the en-suite, I'll go down the hall." Mycroft grabbed his dressing gown and left the room.

Greg slid out of bed, looking down at the wreck of sheets and duvet. They should probably strip the bed and get everything in the washing machine. He blushed at the thought of Mrs Hudson having to do it.

The en-suite to Mycroft's room, was, like the rest of the house a study in understated opulence. The bathroom was elegantly fitted with pale gray marble fixtures and dark wood cupboards. The taps, Greg suspected might have actually been real gold. He turned on the shower and let it run for a minute or so to warm up and then examined himself in the mirror. He had never considered himself good looking, just average. He was average height, five foot ten. Average build, just over eleven stone. He wasn't especially bulky like Mycroft, or muscular like Paul, but he was lean and well defined. His eyes were a dark chocolaty brown and his hair was dark too. Except that now as he looked in the mirror at his flattened spikes he could see...only it couldn't be...he wasn't even eighteen. But there it was. A few grey hairs. That killed the erection that had been tickling his stomach dead. He was going grey!