Title: A Slight Chance of Thunderstorms or also known as It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Rating: K+

Spoilers: None to speak of. Post S1E3. Pre-slashy around the edges.

Disclaimer: I do not own the current incarnation of Sherlock or work for the BBC or PBS. I have nothing of value to sue for, unless you count the car, the house, the bank accounts, the stocks, the...er...never mind...nothing, it was the shock talking. See, I've got this blanket!

The invitation read...

You are cordially invited to attend

a garden party to be held at Ashwood Hall

on the occasion of the 65th birthday of

Alexandrine S. Holmes

given in honor by her sons

Mycroft & Sherlock

The day had been miserably hot and John frequently pulled at the collar of his button down shirt as he made small talk with the local landed gentry. As he stared up into the blazing sun, he could see the clouds stacking up on the horizon. He silently wished for the rain that was predicted on the telly that morning. The weather forecaster had said it would be humid that day with possible rain in the evening with a slight chance of thunderstorms.

You know what the say about being careful what you wish for.

John rested his forehead on the rapidly cooling glass of the double paned window and looked out at the expanse of back lawn at the Holmes family manor and winced as a bolt of lightening lit up the sky, followed only a second later by a powerful thunderclap. He closed his eyes and slowly breathed in and out, trying to calm his heartbeat. The creak at the threshold of his door told him that any hope he had of not disturbing the household with the scream that he had woken himself up with was dashed to bits.

Without even a knock on the door Sherlock came in and in his hushed baritone inquired, "John, are you alright?"

John heard the concerned voice of Mrs. Holmes from the hallway behind Sherlock. "Has something happened to Dr. Watson? Sherlock...move! Let me see to him!"

John didn't turn from the window, now frowning with embarrassment. "I'm fine. I'm sorry I woke you."

"John." Sherlock had moved across the bedroom and rested his hand on John's good shoulder.

Another voice spoke from the doorway. "Nonsense Dr. Watson, you are our guest. Your comfort is tantamount. There is no need to apologize." Mycroft stood tying the belt of his dressing gown and then tried to smooth his sleep ruffled hair.

"No, but really..." John turned to face them, trying to apologize again.

Alexandrine gathered John's hands in her own and smiley softly at him. "I'll have none of that Dr. Watson."

"Please Mrs. Holmes, it's just John."

"Well, just John, you can stop with the 'Mrs. Holmes', and call me Alexandrine or Lexi, or if you would like, even Mummy. I think it's more than appropriate, now that we've all seen each other in our nightclothes." She winked at John and grinned mischievously at Sherlock, who had not left John's side.

Sherlock rubbed his long fingered hand across his face. "Mummy...stop flirting!"

John suddenly felt self conscious as he was wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms, as he had stripped off his t-shirt as it had become drenched with sweat as the result of his nightmare.

Alexandrine put on a mock pout for only a moment before turning to the task at hand. "Let's get you settled back in bed."

John looked back and forth between all the Holmes' and then sheepishly at the floor. He started to apologize again. "I'm sorry...it's just.." He ran his hand down his sweat slicked chest.

"Ah, I see." Alexandrine said quietly and turned to her youngest. "Sherlock, get some fresh linens from the cupboard. Mycroft?"

Mycroft had remained dutifully standing in the doorway, waiting to be needed for a task. "Yes Mummy?"

"A glass of warm milk, don't you agree?"

With a slight upturn tick of his lips, Mycroft darted off down to the kitchen, glad to have something useful to do.

"John, why don't you splash some cool water on your face, while Sherlock and I get the room sorted." Alexandrine pulled John along towards the en-suite bathroom.

John protested. "No, I can change the bedding."

"John. It is always wise to do as Mummy says." Sherlock had his eyebrows raised in amusement as he helped steer John towards the door.

John gave a tired smile that did not reach all the way to his eyes as he turned to look up at his flatmate before shutting the bathroom door between them.

Alexandrine efficiently stripped the bed while Sherlock went to fetch the fresh linens. As each took a side of the bed to put on the fitted sheet, Alexandrine cleared her throat and her son looked up to meet her gaze. A silent conversation began between them.

She cocked her right eyebrow. 'Will he be alright?'

Sherlock pursed his lips. 'He will be fine.'

They billowed out the top sheet between them, then smoothed and tucked in the top sheet at the bottom and the sides.

Mummy looked questioningly at him. 'Are you sure? Perhaps you should remain here with him?'

Sherlock looked in shock at her. 'He's fine...he's too proud...' a slight frown line appeared on his forehead '...he wouldn't want me here.'

They each took a pillow and a case.

Mummy smiled knowingly at her youngest son. 'I think he will make an exception for you.'

Sherlock's eyes lit with something akin to hope as he dragged the duvet up the bed. 'How can you be so sure?'

Alexadrine's eyes left his momentarily to follow the movement of the bathroom door slowly opening behind him. 'I'm you mother. When have you ever known me to be wrong?'

John looked more his old self. More confident and less shell shocked. "Thank you Alexandrine...Sherlock. I..."

Sherlock interrupted him. It's fine John...it's all fine."

Mycroft reappeared silently at the bedroom door and proffered the warm glass of milk to John. "Are you feeling better Dr. Watson?"

"You really don't have to go to all this fuss over me." John took a sip of the milk and sighed. "It was only a nightmare."

Alexandrine tutted and herded John to the bed and all but tucked him in as she would a small child. "I am a mother, I am allowed to fuss." She smiled down at him. "Goodnight John."

A genuine smile broke across John's features. "Goodnight...Mummy."

Alexandrine walked towards her eldest and pushed him back out into the hall. She looked back over her shoulder as they left the room. "Goodnight Sherlock." She shut the door behind her with a soft click.

" 'night Mummy." Sherlock replied as he made for the other side of the bed from John.

"Sherlock?" John questioned as the man himself threw back the covers and clamored into the bed and shut the bedside lamp off.

"Yes John?"

John rolled his eyes up to the ceiling that was still being lit up in bas-relief by the storm that was still raging outside. "Care to explain?"

Sherlock evaded. "Explain what John?"

"Hello...Sherlock!" John waved his hands back and forth in the air between them. "You...me...why are you in my bed? What will your mother think?"

John could hear the smirk in Sherlock's voice as he answered. "She's probably picking out china patterns as we speak."

Two can play at that game thought John. "Lenox or Wedgwood, do you think?"

"Oh, definitely Wedgwood, and some nice cut crystal. Waterford I should imagine."

The tension that had been in John's body since he startled awake started to ease gently away from him. "And will we be staying in London, or settling somewhere in the country?"

"London of course...for the culture. The children will need a proper upbringing." Sherlock mock seriously intoned.

John tipped his head on the pillow to look at Sherlock. "Your mother has quite an imagination, doesn't she?"

"Quite." Sherlock answered with a small nod of his head.

And John, being John, prodded for more. Because, well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "And where did these hypothetical children spring from?"

Sherlock sighed his 'John you're being an idiot sigh'. "A surrogate of course. Do you really think any agency would let me adopt a child?"

John chuckled but couldn't stop himself from asking. "Any pets?"

"A dog." Sherlock answered matter-of-factly. "A spaniel." He smiled a the image forming in his mind of a black and white Springer.

John clucked his tongue in disagreement. "I'm sorry that just won't do. I can't stand spaniels, and if you insist on getting one...I'm afraid we'll have to get a divorce."

"A divorce?" Sherlock turned and propped himself on one elbow and looked down at John who was trying not to giggle. "Who says we're married?"

John averted his eyes to anywhere but meeting Sherlock's, wondering how this conversation even started. Blushing ten shades of scarlet, John answered. "Your mother really has a vivid imagination, of course we're married!"

Sherlock smirked and rolled off his elbow down onto his back. "Yes she does...very vivid."

Both men lay facing the ceiling, musing over the night's happenings and their conversation. Neither one willing to push any further and question the subtle and almost imperceptible shift that just occurred in their relationship. Another bright flash lit the whole room as if it was daylight, followed by an almighty crash and boom as if heaven itself was falling from the sky.

Sherlock felt the bed next to him start to shake violently. "John? John? It's only lightening. Everything will be alright. I will make it alright!" Sherlock was suddenly up and looming into John's personal space.

"No...no. It's just..." A loud guffaw followed by the giggles John had tried in vain to hold back burst forth from his prone body, causing the bed to start shaking again. "I've only just realized."

"What is that John?" Sherlock smiled down at his friend.

"My-Mycroft!" He gasped between giggles.

Sherlock frowned at the mention of his brother's name. "What about him?"

"I just...I just realized." Followed by more of John's laughter. "He was wearing...he was wearing bunny slippers!"

Sherlock dropped down on his side right next to John and began to laugh in earnest as well. "Yes, Mycroft and his bit of whimsy."

"Mr. British Government wears bunny slippers! It's just too rich!" John laughed so hard, tears leaked from the corner of his eyes.

Their laughter died down to chuckles and snorts, and finally to sighs. And when sleep finally drew back upon them, there were no dreams of deserts or swimming pools and explosions, only of umbrellas, chases through cobbled streets, and somewhere the tinkling laughter of children and the soft drone of bees in the distance.

A/N: I just think Mycroft must be secretly whimsical. He probably has hearts or smiley faces all over his silk boxers.