Author's Note: Hullo! Thank you for reviewing, yada yada yada, bla bla bla, you get the idea.
Dear IStalkMyFandoms, Yes Mycroft wiped the memory of them snogging. What a jerk face.
I own nothing.
It was morning, and by the work of some defunct deity Sherlock Holmes was eating his breakfast. I hadn't even made breakfast, he did.
The scenario was so bizarre and unfamiliar I was simply shocked into silence, just sitting there, chewing my toast and sipping tea that the great Consulting Detective had stooped so low to prepare.
"So…" I choked out, "You made breakfast…:
"Yes obviously," he scoffed, taking another bite of toast.
"May I inquire as to the occasion?"
"Does there seem to be an occasion John?" he asked incredulously.
"Well, no, but you never make breakfast!" I reminded, poking at my eggs, which were surprisingly good and contained no detectable chemicals.
"I used to. There was a time before your coddling I hope you understand," he rolled his eyes.
Ouch.
"Even then I suppose you didn't make it every day, because apparently 'it's just transport'," I scoffed, probably more pleased than I should have been to find a hole in his claim.
"It is just transport, but you slept in and I didn't want to wake you," he stated calmly, but the glare he gave me was the 'Shut-Up-Before-I-Kill-You' one.
Unwilling to surrender so easily, I went ahead and pushed a little harder.
"You, you, made breakfast, breakfast, because you didn't want to wake me up?" I questioned, internally smirking at the flustered look on his face.
"Well, I, uh, you… you looked, a bit, er, you looked, so, so peaceful…" he snapped his head up to look at me, "And we all know how you get when not rested. It was purely for my own benefit that I prepare breakfast."
I smiled so wide I almost felt my face crack.
"No no no Mr. Holmes there is no backpedaling now," Sherlock gazed over at me, terrified, "Don't pull any of that 'It was purely for my own benefit' crap on me. You made enough breakfast for the both of us, because you thought that it would be nice if you let me sleep in! And you said I looked peaceful. You are cheekbone deep in blackmail material my friend, cheekbone deep."
Sherlock sighed in exasperation, rubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. I grinned wickedly, greatly enjoying the younger man's discomfort.
"God John, leave it be," he groaned, "I'm going to have a wash." He shuffled from his place at the table, leaving his half eaten food alone on its plate to grow cold.
"Oh, come on Sherlock," I called after him, "You haven't eaten in days!"
"Whatever John, I ate an entire piece of toast," he replied from the bathroom.
"Get back out here, you don't even need to shave! It takes you a week to grow stubble for God's sake finish your breakfast!"
A very agitated and disgruntled looking Sherlock stomped back into the kitchen and dropped into his chair, grumbling inaudibly to himself and taking an overly aggressive bite of toast.
"Happy now?" he growled around his food. I grinned.
"Yes, much thanks."
"Ugh…"
"Quit your whining and fill up, Mycroft want's a word with the two of us today," I said, pushing the salt slightly out of Sherlock's reach. (he has a tendency to go crazy with the stuff)
"About what? I was just with him yesterday!" he whined, "Stupid git doesn't know when to shut up."
"Well sorry, I'm not your older brother."
"No, that would be awkward."
"No kidding," I agreed.
The conversation lulled into a somewhat uncomfortable silence that mostly involved me sneaking glances at the detective.
He really doesn't remember anything.
I guess that should be a good thing, because now I can go live with Mary. I can go live with my wife and daughter without worrying about my attractive (I admit it) flatmate who is in love with me.
But he is still loves me, he just doesn't know he told me.
What a fine, fine mess we have made.
-oO0Oo-
An hour later we were sitting in the heart of the British government, watching it's controller pace the room mumbling to himself.
"Well Mycroft? What did you drag us all the way out here for?" Sherlock inquired, his voice dripping with faux politeness.
"There is a case is in need of your attention," he glanced over at his brother's flat expression, "It is a private case, not government, but it will need your full attention, and I mean it."
"Okay, go on," the younger man urged.
"A rather expensive and rare variety of diamond was reported missing, and we need to find with the utmost haste before a more, distasteful party manages to lay claim to it."
"Is there any other data that would help in our search?" I played along, feigning a look of confusion.
"A very close informant of mine managed to give me a very ambiguous clue as to the diamonds' whereabouts," Mycroft explained.
"And what would that be?" Sherlock groused, glaring up at the taller man.
"It is in the form of a rhyme, along with a very general location."
"How general?"
"The planet it is located on," Mycroft continued carefully.
"I thought that bit would be fairly obvious," he quipped, checking the time on his phone.
"You'd be surprised…" I muttered. Sherlock shot me a confused look, folding his hands in his lap.
"I must agree with Dr. Watson," the Timelord smiled.
"Sorry what? If not Earth then what other planet could it possibly reside on? The moon?" he exclaimed.
"The moon isn't a planet Sherlock," I let a long-suffering sigh hiss between my teeth.
"Whatever, my point is, if the diamond has somehow been shot off the some other celestial body then how in hell am I supposed to retrieve it?"
"I just so happen to have a method…" Mycroft trailed off.
"Dear Lord if this is a joke the both of you will wish you had never been born," Sherlock growled.
"It isn't a joke," I confessed.
"Then what planet is it on?"
"The most insidious disgusting planet to have ever been conceived," Mycroft paused dramatically, "Clom."
Ewwww. That's all this story needs, Abzorbaloffs.