Please note, this story takes place some time after my story The Adventure of the Consulting Woman. It has a few references to that story, but I'm sure you could read it as a stand alone if you so wished.
Sherlock had been wearing his well-used put-upon look since he had settled into the armchair in Mycroft's office forty minutes ago, and it had yet to be wiped away. Indeed, if anything, it had deepened and soured into an expression that Mycroft would have dared to describe as mutinous. Evidently he was determined to find nothing of interest in the mystery Mycroft had to offer him, no matter that it was complex and unusual. No matter, even, that it was bloody important!
"Why can't you undertake this yourself?" Sherlock demanded, and Mycroft frowned at him.
"I have already told you, Sherlock. This business in the Sudan simply cannot be left to fester any longer. On top of that, there's some journalist trying to make last month's failed terror attacks public knowledge. And of course, there's always the usual trouble with North Korea and Georgia and-"
Sherlock indicated his lack of interest in Mycroft's problems by making a glottal snorting noise and sliding down further in his seat. He had used that same technique of expression four times in their meeting thus far. Once more and he'd be on the floor, a fact which was of some minor comfort to Mycroft.
"It's no small matter, Sherlock," Mycroft scolded. "These are very sensitive situations that potentially affect the lives of billions of people. I can't simply abandon them in favour of dealing with a problem like this missing briefcase."
"You have minions, get them to take on some of the international stuff for you. It would be good for your mind to do something a bit more challenging than pandering to politicians day in, day out."
Mycroft rubbed his fingers over his forehead and tried to push down his temper. "Sherlock, please do not refer to my staff as 'minions', they are a very capable team. And I know you are aware that my work is far more than a matter of pandering. I have a great deal of information to process and many difficult decisions to guide, and-"
Sherlock interrupted him with a loud sigh, and dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. Mycroft gritted his teeth. Change the subject, he decided. Why not let Sherlock talk about a topic he enjoyed for a bit? It might soften him up.
"How's John?" he asked politely. "I trust he's well?"
Sherlock raised his head incrementally and a slight smile crept onto his lips as he pulled himself up a little in his chair. "He's very well, actually. Full of energy."
"I'm very glad. He's adjusted well to...the change in your relationship, then?"
"Oh yes," Sherlock replied. "Regular sex seems to do John a world of good."
"Hm," Mycroft responded, realising that he'd perhaps made an error.
"Psychologically as well as mentally, I've observed," Sherlock continued. "He sleeps better now, and while he'll always be somewhat hot tempered, he is rarely grumpy any more. He's far more cheerful in the mornings too."
Sherlock stared hard at Mycroft for a moment, then smirked.
"Of course, often on such mornings he's so cheerful because we fuck just before he has to get up for work. It's remarkable how his attitude towards the alarm clock has changed lately."
"Yes, I see." Mycroft replied. "Now about this briefcase, I think-"
"Though I'd be lying if I said it hadn't improved things for me too. You remember what I was like back in my uni days, shagging any bloke who'd stay still long enough. But I've found that sex with John is actually far more satisfying. I don't feel the need to fuck anybody else at all, even though my sex drive has resurrected with considerable strength. Remarkable what a difference an emotional attachment can make, isn't it?"
"I suppose-" Mycroft began, but Sherlock suddenly sat up and leaned forwards in his chair, elbows on knees.
"And he's more imaginative than I'd ever given him credit for. I thought I'd signed myself up for a lifetime of being on the bottom in the missionary position, but not so. He's rather an adventurer. Why, he even managed to introduce me to a few books I'd never heard of. Can you imagine, Mycroft?"
"I don't particularly want to imagine, thank you Sherlock," Mycroft said sternly. He could feel an uncomfortable, prickly heat making its way up his chest. "In fact, I'm not sure John would thank you for divulging this to me."
Sherlock smirked. "Oh, what man wouldn't want his lover bragging about how talented he is in bed? Really Mycroft, you must make time on your schedule to go to bed with a doctor. John has the most deliciously complete knowledge of anatomy, it really is thrilling."
The prickle made its way up Mycroft's face as a no doubt glowing blush.
"And of course, he has a marvellous cock. Good sized, but not so large it needs management, you know? Of course you know, you were as bad as me at one stage, weren't you."
"Sherlock, I really don't appreciate this discussion," Mycroft said decisively, and for a moment or two, there was complete, blessed silence in the office.
Then Sherlock smirked.
"I'm sorry brother dear, how terribly inconsiderate of me," he said in syrupy tones. "Here I am talking about how good my sex life is, and you haven't had one to speak of for...goodness, it must be years, mustn't it?"
"We really have gotten off track here, Sherlock. Now, about this briefcase-"
"There's no need to be embarrassed, Mycroft," Sherlock cooed. "After all, it's simply a natural human need, isn't it. The need for closeness, for pleasure. Look at you, sitting there blushing. You're in a bad way, my dear brother, but I'm sure it's nothing that wouldn't be cured by the elevating sensation of a nice, thick, hot erection sliding forcefully in and out of your rectum-"
"Strong arms around your waist-"
"Teeth scraping against the side of your neck..."
Mycroft gave up. "Alright Sherlock, I'll consider this meeting over. You may leave. One of my assistants will drive you home."
"Thank fuck!" Sherlock exploded, all traces of that previous sweetness gone from his voice. He was already pulling his phone from his pocket as he hauled himself out of his seat, and he paused on his way to the door only to glance over his shoulder at Mycroft and say;
"You know I'm right though. You could do with sorting out."
He slammed the door on the way out of the office, and a few seconds later Mycroft heard him saying something catty to his driver out in the hall. Then he was gone from the building, objective not so much unobtained as gleefully abandoned.
Mycroft sighed and, in his head, took a look at his diary for the week, wondering about shifting some things around to allow himself a look into this briefcase business. After a few minutes, he felt his blush begin to recede and rather awkwardly uncrossed his legs. Damn and blast Sherlock, but he'd been right about some things. He was rather...lonesome, of late.
And damn it all, he would never be able to look John Watson in the eye again!
That was fun, wasn't it :D
I quite like being a bit mean to the secondary characters, so that's pretty much what this whole story is going to be about. I'm also planning a further story in this universe, one that's more like TaotCW, which will be called The Adventure of the Russian Gentleman, though that may be a while coming as there are other things I want to get written first.
I've never written and 5 and 1 before. This is fun!
And please remember; Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe and feedback.
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