Cousin Lizzie's Sixtieth - A Sherlolly Short-Short

Summary: Sherlock and Molly are invited to a family event and Mycroft insists they go. Sherlock resists, naturally! Rated K and written well before Series 3 so no spoilers etc. Ratings for each story will be posted at the top with the summary cause they'll range from K to M!

"Sherlock, have you informed Molly of our family plans for the upcoming week?"

Mycroft Holmes' supercilious tones cut through his brother's attempts at mentally recreating a crime scene with the sharpness of a scalpel – and was just as welcome as a blade across his skin would have been.

Sherlock looked over at the other man with a glare. "Sorry, Mycroft, but I thought she might want to forgo attending a family function when she knows none of the people in question."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, and his brother gave an exaggerated sigh. "All right, fine. She knows of them. But she certainly has no personal knowledge of them. Any of them, especially the more distant cousins and hangers-on and old family retainers sure to turn this entire, tedious process into a three-ring circus."

"These things always devolve into a three-ring circus, as you so colorfully put it," Mycroft replied with a sniff. "However, family obligations of this nature cannot be ignored. It is her sixtieth, you know."

Sherlock threw himself on the sofa with a huff, arms crossed as he returned to glaring at his brother, who had simply entered the flat at 221B Baker Street unanounced, without knocking, and set this entire, tedius discussion in motion. "Molly never makes me attend her family gatherings," he said, changing tactics when it became clear that Mycroft wasn't going to simply let this go.

Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper had been married for less than six months, the wedding having taken place immediately after his triumphant return the world of the living. Moriarty's network was crushed, the last remaining member of the madman's inner circle – one Sebastian Moran, expert marksman and sniper as well as Moriarty's right-hand-man – had been apprehended during a tense, rooftop confrontation at the site of Moriarty's actual – and Sherlock's faux – suicide. John Watson had punched Sherlock in the face, Mrs. Hudson had wept copiously on his shoulder, DI Lestrade had sworn in what sounded like four different languages, and everything had finally settled back to normal – or as normal as Sherlock Holmes could ever manage.

This new normal included marrying his favorite pathologist and partner-in-crime – said crime being the faking of Sherlock's suicide, of course – Molly Elizabeth Kathleen Hooper. Everyone had been stunned at his public marriage proposal, including the bride-to-be, but no one had been surprised when she accepted. Mycroft had done his level best to dissuade his brother from this course of action, but had swiftly backed down when Sherlock threatened to talk Molly into immediately procreating with him. The thought of his younger brother experimenting with parenthood had always been a particular nightmare of Mycroft's, and he was wise enough to know when he'd been beaten.

All of this had taken place far from Molly's radar, of course; all she knew was that Sherlock and his brother were having one of their many, many disagreements about something shortly before the wedding, but resolved it in time for Mycroft to attend the event as one of the few guests. John, his fiancee Mary Morstan, Lestrade and his (for the moment) wife, Mrs Hudson and her baker beau, Molly's brother and his wife made up the rest of the guest list, and the press was decoyed away easily enough once Mycroft put his considerable resources to work.

That had been at the end of April. It was now the beginning of June and here was Mycroft needlessy stirring things up again.

"Sherlock, Molly never makes you attend her family gatherings for the simple reason there haven't been any since your wedding," he pointed out in that put-upon tone he used so often when the two of them were forced to interact. "I'm certain once your sister-in-law's baby is born there will be christenings and showers and events of that nature from which you will not be excused."

Damn, Sherlock hated when Mycroft was right. And in this matter he would undoubtedly turn out to be right; although Molly still tended to put her husband's needs ahead of hers, she also stood up for herself with a great deal more frequency than she did before his fall from the roof of St. Bart's nearly two years earlier. And this was exactly the sort of thing she would insist on dragging him to.

He sighed. Deeply. He could sound just as put-upon as his brother. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll make sure she has the appropriate clothing and etiquette lessons."

"Etiquette lessons for what?"

Molly had entered the flat fresh from her shift at the morgue, smiling politely at her brother-in-law but reserving a brighter, much less forced-looking smile for her husband. She restrained herself from kissing him, which he appreciated, since Mycroft would only find something demeaning to say about public displays of affection – even when said displays were actually in the privacy of a man's own flat, where he could reasonably be expected to kiss his wife whenever he damn well pleased.

"For Cousin Lizzie's sixtieth," he replied before Mycroft could respond, which he was clearly about to do.

"Sherlock, you know she hates it when you call her that," his elder brother began in remonstration, but Sherlock plowed right over him, determined to make the announcement his way.

"It's Cousin Lizzie's sixtieth," he continued defiantly. "An awful fuss will be made, everyone in the family no matter how distant is expected to attend, and that, unfortunately, includes us." He gave her a hopeful look. "We don't have to go if you don't want to."

Molly walked over to where he was sitting on the sofa, placed her handbag on the low table, and sat next to him, a prim six inches away from his body as she cast an uncertain gaze in Mycroft's direction. "It sounds important, Sherlock, surely Mycroft wouldn't have come all the way over here if it wasn't."

Her brother-in-law lowered his head in a brief nod, never removing his gaze from Sherlock's face. "It is important, and Sherlock knows it is. It's not an event that comes around every year, after all."

Molly laughed and leaned back. "Well, they do come around every year, but the noughts and fives are the most important, aren't they? That's what my grandmother always said, anyway."

Her smile dimmed as two sets of blue eyes bored into her suddenly worried brown ones. "What?" she asked, her tone extremely defensive. "Birthdays are important, but she said once you got older it was only the ones ending in noughts and fives that counted."

Mycroft opened his mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut as he rose to his feet, umbrella firmly in hand. "Sherlock, please explain to your wife exactly what event we will be celebrating June 4th, then have her contact my PA to make the appropriate appointments for dress selection, hair and makeup, if you please. Molly, always, a pleasure."

Then he strode out of the flat, contentedly listening as he made his way down the stairs – and smiling broadly at Molly's shriek of dismay as Sherlock told her who "Cousin Lizzie" actually was.

It was time for her to meet that branch of the family, and Queen Elizabeth's sixtieth coronation anniversary was as good an occasion as any.

A/N: Ok, this was prompted by a certain someone's comment in passing that she believed the Holmeses to be related to the British Royal Family. This is the most Mycroft I've ever written, it's entirely unbeta'd and was written in a single go so any mistakes are all mine. Feel free to PM any goofs to me and I will faithfully go bak and fix. :) Nother one coming soon. Oh, and these are going to be completely unrelated to one another. Just one shots jumping all over the place. :)