A/N no warnings except this is a Very Short Chapter. Next one should be up in two days to make up for this Very Short Chapter.

Chapter 13

Mycoft was out of bed but still very sore. He wore silk pajamas and a matching silk dressing gown, both in a lovely shade of aubergine. The silk slid gently, soothingly over his bruises.

"Gregory, why did you stop?" asked the plaintive British Government, when his lover ceased nuzzling Mycroft's neck.

"Because he is a surprisingly compassionate man, who did not wish to condemn me to a life of blindness should I suffer the ultimate torture of seeing you and him…"

"Shut it, Sherlock!" snapped Detective Inspector Lestrade, practically blocking him from Mycroft. "Your brother just got out of bed for the first time today, and you could show a little bit of consideration for him. He's a hero, a wounded hero, who nearly sacrificed his life to catch that bastard Irishman."

"Calm yourself, Gregory. You should be used to my little brother's ways by now," said Mycroft imperiously. He sat in the comfy chair as if it were a throne. The tall, seated ginger grasped his partner's hand and pulled it close. "Besides, I won't allow you to get upset over his nonsense and drive up your blood pressure again."

He and Greg exchanged affectionate looks while Sherlock rolled his eyes, wondering if it would be inappropriate to text John Watson about the nauseating scene in front of him.

"Sherlock, instead of insulting me and my partner, why don't you share your information concerning the Irishman," said the true Leader of the Free World. "Clearly, you are here to dazzle us with your brilliance yet again."

"It's obvious," continued Mycroft, answering Lestrade's unvoiced question. "He's cheerful, well, cheerful for Sherlock, meaning he's made progress on a case, and since he came here, it concerns both of us, Greg. Therefore, it's about the Irishman, although I strictly forbade both of you to become involved in it. I assume that I was disobeyed before the sniper even locked me in his sights."

Lestrade crossed his arms looking defiant, but Mycroft smiled his forgiveness. Sherlock felt severe nausea watching the pair of them. And who is Mycroft to tell Sherlock what cases to work on. No one does that.

"If I choose to take a case, Mycroft, then I will, your wishes not withstanding," said Sherlock flopping into a chair, withdrawing a small, red gift bag from his coat pocket and swinging it loosely in his fingers.

The gift bag effectively mesmerized both Greg and Mycroft. "Problem?" asked the consulting detective smugly. "Don't get yourselves too worked up, of course, the gift is not from me. I don't do gifts," he said disdainfully. "It's from John Watson. A get well present, apparently."

He tossed it to the detective inspector and leaned back, dying of boredom. Mycroft dug into the bag eagerly.

"Well, that's a very nice card, and the cakes look lovely," said Mycroft appreciatively. "The cream is supposed to soothe bruises, apparently."

"Yes, but, we'll have to have it all tested. I'm not sure we should trust…" began the graying Yarder.

"Lestrade, why do you insist on being an idiot? What do you see in the detective inspector, Mycroft? No, don't tell me. I'm sure it's dull and possibly sickening," said Sherlock.

"If John wanted Mycroft dead, he would have shot him," continued Sherlock, "Nonetheless, I anticipated your petty suspicions and had a cake and the cream tested. The cakes may kill you by contributing to your obesity, Mycroft, and accidental ingestion of the cream will undoubtedly make you ill. Other than that, the gifts are perfectly safe. But do be careful not to let the card give you a paper cut. Now, can we get back to discussing Mor-whatever, as I have several leads that are so simple, even your minions might be able to handle them."

Sherlock tolerated his brother's presence for nearly thirty minutes in order to exchange data with Lestrade, arrange for timed test drives through London and obtain authorization to research government files.

In order to prevent permanent brain damage, the consulting detective had to turn his back when Lestrade insisted on applying Dr. Watson's topical ointment to his brother's rather lurid contusions.

"Damn, the calls never end," complained Lestrade, when he heard his phone's ring tone.

"Sherlock, be nice to Mycroft," Greg hissed as he stepped out into the hall.

The brothers studied each other in silence. Mycroft began to frown as his brother smirked. "The crease in your trousers is off. Your sleeves are not perfectly symmetric, and you nearly smiled twice. You are smirking now. You are positively gleeful and distracted. You have only the one case on, and it is progressing slowly. It does not account for your exuberance. Unless you have discovered a long-lost violin concerto, the only other explanation for your giddiness is that you have, to use the vernacular, fallen for someone. I must warn you again, that sentiments are a liability," said Mycroft.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you, playing pat-a-cake with another grown man," sneered Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I worry, constantly. You always seem to invest too much of yourself in these liaisons. Remember Victor."

"I remember Victor perfectly, Mycroft," snapped the thin brunet. Since this morning, his hair and eye color had returned to normal. "Shall I remind you about Kevin? Or Esther? Or…"

"Enough, Sherlock. All relationships end, however, most people do not resort to suicidal levels of drug use when love burns itself out. I am only trying to avoid another…ah, relapse, shall we say?" suggested the British Government.

"I am an adult, Mycroft. I am in my thirties. I was younger then, and you never understood me anyway. Besides what will you do when your relationship ends, as you assure me it must. Hmm? Can we expect world-wide Armageddon when that happens? I must remember to stock up on rosin and my favorite cigarettes now." Sherlock sniffed with contempt.

"This is not about me and Gregory. I am only concerned for your welfare," said Mycroft stiffly.

'I do not require your intervention in my personal affairs," consulting detective snapped back.

"Who is it this time? Please tell me that he doesn't sell drugs or consort with criminals," sighed Mycroft. Really his baby brother caused him more distress than all the situations in North Africa.

"I can assure you that he has no dealings with drugs, not that it's any of your concern," said Sherlock.

"So he consorts with criminals. Oh God," drawled Mycroft with a frown, "Sherlock you have surpassed yourself. Surely, even you would not be so foolish as to associate with a disabled, emotionally unstable Special Forces veteran who has managed to attract the attentions of a murderous criminal kingpin. I fail to see the attraction. Other than his marksmanship he's so… ordinary." Mycroft looked as if he had bitten into a lemon.

"Leave it Mycroft. You wouldn't understand."

"If you won't use common sense to protect yourself, Sherlock, think about your new toy," said Mycroft patronizingly. "Given his mental instability, he will not react well when you abandon him for your next case or experiment."

"You will stay out of my private affairs, Mycroft," demanded Sherlock loudly, his neck corded and strained with anger.

"The affair, as you so aptly call it," said Mycroft, his lip curled contemptuously, "can not be private when it involves the man who I hired to do clandestine work…"

The brotherly discussion ended when Lestrade burst through the door.

"God help me. I can't leave you two alone for five minutes," said Lestrade, grabbing his jacket from the end of Mycroft's bed.

"Gregory, our Sherlock has decided to give dating another try," said Mycroft.

"Well, good for him. Look I have to go…"

"With John Watson, the sniper," continued Mycroft.

"Well it figures. He intelligent, for a non-super genius; he's dangerous and heck he's a soldier. On top of that he's a cute, little guy with big, blue eyes," said Lestrade, checking his wallet.

Death rays from the eyes of both Holmes brothers shot out at the hapless detective inspector. Somehow, he survived the onslaught.

"What? Was it something I said?" asked Greg Lestrade.

"I had no idea that Dr. Watson was so irresistible," said Mycroft with deceptive calm. "Why don't you have a crack at him, Gregory?"

"Whoa. Hold on, I only meant that I could see the attraction for Sherlock. I don't think Watson's attractive at all. He's short and showed a very bad temper the other night and, erm, and he's unemployed and he walks with a limp."

"Shut up, Lestrade," said Sherlock angrily. "And, since you find him so repulsive, I can only hope that you will not accost John Watson with your unwelcome attentions." Sherlock got up to pace, "I presume that there's been a murder that requires your immediate attention. Or... could it possibly be a suicide? There's been a fourth. Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't be rushing away from my brother and his teacakes unless something's different."

"You know how they never leave a note?"

'Yes," replied Sherlock.

"This one did. Why don't you come?" asked the detective inspector

"Not in a police care," said Sherlock calmly, "I'll be right behind."

"Thank you," said Lestrade. He bent over to kiss the British Government on his temple, since the British Government was giving the detective inspector the proverbial cold shoulder. Lestrade ruffled his lover's hair and then rushed out the door, ignoring his partner's persistent glare.

"Brilliant! Yes!" exclaimed Sherlock, as soon as Lestrade was out earshot. The tall brunet leapt up into the air. "Four serial suicides and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas. Mycroft, enjoy your cakes! Don't get too fat!" said Sherlock, as he flew out the door, his coat billowing behind him.

Mycroft looked up as his beautiful and very competent PA entered the room, communing with her Blackberry.

"Sir?" she inquired, looking back up at her boss for two seconds, before locking her gaze back onto her mobile.

"We'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade 3. Active," decided Mycroft.

"Sorry, sir. Whose status?"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," replied the British Government.

A/N Chapter 14 in two days. Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your comments, critiques or suggestions.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter 12 including, Wicked WInter, Blooming Nightshade, Sweetlover1230, Darkkira1, Lady Allen, lasrber (actually chapter 1), EJ12212012, Quiet Time, ruvy91, anyrei1, Kyuubigurl74, AiLoveS, power0girl, foxeeflame, ticklethedragon1, InuChimera7410, Blue-hairedDevil,SamuelE8688.

Disclaimer It's sad but true; I still do not own any rights to Sherlock.