Disclaimer: One can wish for anything. Did you know that? But just because you wish doesn't mean it'll come true. So, the characters are still not mine and no matter how hard you wish you can't win the lottery if you don't play and as I disapprove of gambling I'm still poor.

A/N: Taking a short break from storytime in order for me to generate some more ideas. Do you have any? Please tell me if you do. I'll dedicate the chapter with your idea to you, promise. Right I've made my plea and now it's time to continue with the story.

Week Two: Wednesday: The Visitors

John and Mycroft brought the plates for food from the kitchen and handed one to each of their respective husbands. Sherlock scowled but took the plate and silverware handed to him. He knew better than to argue. He'd just eat a few bites and push the rest around on his plate until the others finished.

"You're not on a case," John told him with a hard look. "Eat it all or else."

Sherlock looked up interested. "Or else what? I really dislike open ended threats, John and you know it."

John rolled his eyes. "If you don't clean your plate then I shall be forced to hide your violin bow…again. If I recall correctly it took you a week to find it the last time."

Sherlock swallowed hard. John was annoyingly inventive when he wanted to torture Sherlock. The last time he'd taken his bow he'd wrapped in in cellophane and taped it under Lestrade's desk at the Yard without the DI knowing. If he didn't know it was there then he couldn't give away the bow's location. It had taken a week for Sherlock to figure out where it had been hidden and then it had only been because Mycroft had come by and he'd been to see Lestrade first and had felt the cellophane wrapped bow. Sherlock didn't even want to think about why his brother would be feeling around under Lestrade's desk.

"Fine," Sherlock finally muttered and stabbed viciously at his plate with his fork. He picked up a piece of the chicken and stuffed it whole in his mouth so that his cheeks bulged like a chipmunk's.

John pointed his own fork at Sherlock menacingly. "If you choke, I swear to God I will have Mycroft preform mouth-to-mouth while I call 999."

Sherlock found it difficult to scowl with his mouth so full and so settled for rolling his eyes and nodding reluctantly. Greg laughed helplessly at him and Mycroft smirked. "How do you know that I know how to preform mouth-to-mouth, John?"

John turned his attention from monitoring Sherlock's food intake to eye Mycroft with a considering eye. Suddenly he smirked. "Does it matter if you don't?"

This comment set Greg off again and by the time he'd calmed down enough to finish eating the doorbell was ringing and Mycroft was rising to answer the door. Greg couldn't hear who it was but Mycroft's face as he entered the room again had Greg quickly swallowing the bite of food he'd been chewing. "Myc?" He asked in concern.

"You have visitors, Gregory," Mycroft answered with a grimace. He moved away from the doorway and returned to his seat. "Please do come in," he said blandly to the two figures standing just outside the door. "I promise I won't let Sherlock bite you and if he does then John can give you rabies shots."

Sherlock contemplated tossing a brussel sprout in his brother's face but ultimately decided not to. It was no longer just family in the room after all. While he didn't really care how the visitors thought of him he would rather not show that he could be human to idiots.

"The Freak has rabies?" Sgt. Sally Donovan's voice screeched out as she took a step backwards and nearly knocked Anderson over in her haste to put space between herself and Sherlock.

Anderson steadied her with one hand, lightly pushed her to the side and then boldly stepped into the room. "Oh, yes, Psychopath is foaming at the mouth, can't you see it?" He told Sally sarcastically. He crossed the room and stood in front of Sherlock for a moment before offering a large file of folders to him. "Cold cases. They'll give you something to do so that you don't drive the DI into another head injury."

Sherlock just stared at him for a moment before taking the offered file with a silent nod. He gave a half thought to making a scathing comment but the man had just done him a favor.

Anderson allowed himself a smirk and then turned to Greg. "Glad you're out of the hospital, Lestrade. You look loads better than you did a few days ago."

Greg sat up a bit straighter and smiled at the forensics technician. "I'm awake," he told him. "Thanks for that by the way," he nodded towards where Sherlock was already deeply immersed in the files. "It'll keep him busy and stop him driving the rest of us nuts. Tea?"

"We're not staying very long," Sally said as she finally entered the room. "We just wanted to check and make sure they were taking care of you." She sniffed and refused to look at either of the Holmes brothers or John.

Anderson sighed and then nodded. "We really weren't intending on staying very long," he agreed. "Though I wouldn't mind a cuppa I guess it can wait until we get back to the Yard. We're over on our lunch break anyway."

"What happened to the barrista who shot me anyway?" Lestrade asked. "No one's told me yet."

"An unidentified sniper shot him in the hand," Sally griped. "He's still in hospital. They're trying to reconstruct his nerves or something." She turned her head a bit to glare at Mycroft. "Wonder where that sniper came from." She said snidely.

Mycroft gave her a tight little smile and popped the last bit of chicken into his mouth without answering her veiled accusation. Anderson put a hand on her shoulder. "Does it matter where the sniper came from or who it was, Sally? That barrista was trying to kill Lestrade and the rest of us. I, for one, would rather shake his hand." Behind Sally's back he gave John a nod that the other man returned with a blank look. Anderson only smiled. "Anyway, we should probably go. Lestrade looks a bit tired."

"Whatever," Sally waved a hand through the air. "I don't think it would be such a great loss if he never remembers that one," she thrust her chin at Mycroft. "It's not like he actually loves Lestrade or anything is it? Not like he even knows how to love someone else."

"Out," Greg ordered before either of the Holmes brother's had a chance. "Whether I remember or not, this is my house and he's my husband. It's his home too and I won't tolerate you insulting him or the rest of my family in my own home." Greg's voice was ice cold and his glare was even colder.

Anderson grabbed Sally's elbow and towed her towards the door. "See you next week, Lestrade," Anderson called out. "Enjoy the time off."

The door closed of Sally squawking and the four men simply stared at each other in silence before John shrugged and collected the empty plates. "You should tell him about the time the two of you were snowed in at the country house for a week," John suggested.

Greg grinned and settled back to lie down on the sofa again and then he frowned and stood up. "I need another cuppa," he announced. "And the loo."

"I'll get the tea," Mycroft offered. "Sherlock, walk with him."

"I can make it to the bloody loo all by myself," Greg protested. "I'm not an invalid."

Mycroft eyed him and then sighed and nodded. "Just be careful, Gregory," he said in a voice that was not begging. It wasn't, really.

Greg nodded and made his way from the room. Mycroft slunk into the kitchen and prepared Greg's tea. When he came back out Greg was just headed back toward the sofa. "Thanks, Myc," he said and swept the tea from Mycroft's hands. As he walked past Mycroft's chair he stumbled a bit and the tea flew from his hand as he steadied himself against the back of the chair. The mug of tea landed gently on the cushion of Mycroft's chair, splattering it with milky tea. "Christ, sorry, Myc."

"Forget the chair," Mycroft exclaimed as he grasped Greg's waist. "Are you all right? What happened?" He gently lowered the silver-haired Detective Inspector to lie on the sofa.

"Just got…really dizzy…for a moment," Greg managed to say between deep breaths. He blinked a few times and then stared up at Mycroft. "Guess, you'll have…to sit with me, now."

"Good idea," John approved as he threw a damp towel over the cushion of the chair. "Mycroft, put Greg's head in your lap. It'll help with the dizziness."

Mycroft followed the orders with alacrity. He'd been hoping that he'd be allowed to sit with Gregory all morning but was too unsure of his welcome to ask. He smoothed a hand through the short hair on the top of Gregory's head and smiled down at him. "Comfortable now?"

"Yeah, now tell me about being snowed in." Greg closed his eyes to hide the fact that there had been no dizziness in the first place.

A/N: I know, a nice Anderson. Or semi nice anyway. I think I'm a bit disgusted with myself. And an overly mean Sally. Seriously though, I just wanted to try it out. What did you think?