Sherlock's eyebrows raised as his brother descended the stairs for his first day at work.
Mycroft looked pleased as punch with himself, dressed in a well-tailored three piece pinstripe suit, swinging a new umbrella in one hand and clutching a briefcase in the other.
Sherlock bit down on his bottom lip in an effort not to laugh but failed miserably.
"Sherlock!" Father reproached. "Don't be so disrespectful to your brother. When you start working with us, you will be wearing just the same."
Sherlock spun round to where his father was standing, still taking some considerable effort to prevent the giggles that threatened to get him into more trouble.
"I am not going to work with you, Father," he began, wondering, in the split second after he said it, whether he should have, "and I shall certainly never be seen dead wearing that!" He indicated back towards Mycroft who was now standing with his mother at the foot of the stairs. Mummy was scowling at the fourteen-year-old while fussing with Mycroft's hair.
Mycroft just gave his brother a practised look of indignation.
"Good luck with your first day at work, Mycroft!" Sherlock said, struggling to maintain his composure as he passed his brother to head back upstairs again, "You look utterly ridiculous. You will fit right in."
