"Dinner? With my brother? Here? In our flat? With my brother? John, have you finally lost your mind?" Sherlock's voice floated out of their bathroom, a tone of surprise leaking through the annoyance in his voice. John sighed, running his hand through his hair as he sat on their bed. It was difficult to have a decent conversation with the detective about his brother when he was in the same room as him, and now communicating through a wooden door was even worse.

"Yes. I've invited him and Lestrade for dinner tonight and you better behave." John had to use his authoritative Captain voice in this situation, knowing that Sherlock would put up any resistance when it came to interacting with his sibling for a significant amount of time.

"Mycroft? Mycroft Holmes? The same Mycroft Holmes with an umbrella fetish? The Mycroft Holmes who revealed my whole personal life to an insane criminal mastermind? THE SAME Mycroft Holmes who strapped you to enough explosive to start a small nuclear war JUST because I forgot his birthday?" Sherlock would never forget that particular incident in a hurry.

It had taken John a lot to forgive Mycroft for that, but now, since that very interesting phone call he received a week ago, it seemed like he had no choice but to accept the eldest Holmes' profound apology.

"Yes, that Mycroft Holmes. Your only brother, unless you've got one squirrelled away in Nepal or something being a terror suspect." The bathroom door opened and Sherlock marched out, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, and gave John a withering look.

"That was a poor example of a joke, John. Humphrey is actually in Florida." Now it was Sherlock's turn to return banter, making John smile at his boyfriend's serious face as he told it.

"Anyway -" he reached forward, pulling Sherlock close by the fold on his towel and running his hand up his partner's still slightly damp back. "- I thought it would be fun. We barely have anytime off just to entertain guests and I want to get to know Lestrade better. I hardly see him anymore." John pressed a tiny kiss against Sherlock's stomach, glancing up at the amused detective.

Sherlock sighed, slowly stroking John's hair affectionately. As their business lives were so busy, with John dashing off to that damned clinic at any hour and Sherlock investigating cases for days on end, it was these times of them just being a proper couple together that made Sherlock at his most comfortable and happiest. They couldn't act like this whilst on crime scenes and Sherlock didn't like disappointing John when they were together.

"I don't know why you're so insistent about this. World War Holmes will take off approximately twenty minutes into the dinner and I don't want you to waste all that time cooking." Sherlock was trying to be as considerate as he could in order to get his own way, and providing good enough reasons for John not to engage in this dinner was the main target.

"We'll order something in. We haven't even seen your brother since he announced he's dating Lestrade, and I think it's our responsibility as a more experienced couple to give them some advice".

What he really meant was he wanted to give Lestrade some good advice on how to date a Holmes brother and not get the impulse to punch him.

Sherlock sighed, knowing he was beaten now. He couldn't resist the pleading look that John was shooting him now. That's one of the reasons he had fallen so heavily for the doctor's love. John was so human, with real emotions and needs. It was completely different from what he was used to.

However, Sherlock did spend a lot of his time before John with dead bodies, so any human contact was bound to make an impact.

"Okay," he finally caved in, grinning as John's happy smile radiated up at him. The doctor moved up to give the detective a long kiss, pulling him close as they fell on the bed together. Sherlock sat up, kneeling over John, his towel nearly dropping from his hips.

"But as long as you can get one of those ridiculously fatty Chinese meals and let me make comments about Mycroft's expanding waistline for the entire evening." John sighed, bringing the detective back to his lips and he accepted his terms and conditions for the meal ahead.

A meal they'd never forget.

"How's the diet going Mycroft?"

Twenty-two seconds.

It had taken Sherlock Holmes precisely twenty-two seconds to start the attack on Mycroft's figure. The oldest sibling froze half-out of his coat as his younger brother grinned cockily at him. Lestrade wasn't even in the flat yet, as Mycroft had stilled right at the door.

John groaned silently, and pushing the detective out of the way, he helped the now-glaring elder Holmes brother out of his coat.

"Raining out?" John questioned, trying in vain to get Mycroft into a decent conversation without his partner's involvement.

"No… Lestrade bought me this new umbrella and I haven't used it yet." Mycroft turned away from his brother, gesturing with the long sleek accessory in his hand. It had a beautifully carved handle and Mycroft was beaming as he gently let John take it from him.

"It's divine isn't it?" Mycroft looked tenderly back at Lestrade, he gently kissed his cheek.

A snort of derisive laughter came from the consulting detective. "What thrilling lives you lead," Sherlock drawled, smirking at his brother

John flicked a glance at Sherlock, who winked back.

"Shall we adjourn into the living room?" John pushed their guests towards the living room, leaving him and his partner behind. Shooting him an annoyed look, Sherlock sighed, wrapping his arms around the doctor, resting his chin on the doctor's head.

"You said I could tease him." Although he couldn't see his face, John could sense a smile behind the words.

"I didn't think you would launch an attack within half a minute of them walking in, though," John retaliated, but leant into Sherlock's embrace. The detective had the curious quality of being constantly warm, always feeling like an open flame when John hugged him. It was exactly how he was different from his brother. The Iceman and the Volcano.

"Next time I'll hold my biting tongue back for 5 minutes then." A compromise. Not a very good one, but one nonetheless. John had learned to be a lot more lenient when it came to the consulting detective.

"That may make all the difference when it comes to signing the peace treaty." World War Holmes was the perfect description for the continuing arguing between the siblings, and John was now determined to get it into every meeting.

Sherlock rolled his eyes before crushing the doctor close, releasing him within a split-second and towing him into the front room. Lestrade and Mycroft were sitting close together on the settee, with the surprising addition of Mrs Hudson hovering over them. Where she had appeared from wasn't completely sure, but she smiled at her tenants affectionately, slightly misty-eyed. It was pretty usual for the landlady to mother the young couple, and now with the addition of the eldest Holmes brother with his significant other, it seemed to be proving too much for the woman.

"Tea, dears?" she questioned. John glanced at Mycroft and Lestrade. Both of them were clutching two large cups of tea if their lives depended on it, and a sizeable amount of biscuits were resting on a plate on the coffee table.

"Nothing for me, Mrs Hudson… I thought you had that programme you wanted to watch tonight?" In a less than cruel way, John wanted her to leave. It was supposed to be a dinner for four, but as it stood, Mrs Hudson was going to be the surprise guest.

"Oh, no dear, it's quite alright. I'm recording it on Sky. Wondrous technology. Do you have it, Chief Inspector?" Lestrade jumped slightly, smiling at the elderly woman who was gazing at him with interest.

"Uh, yes. We have it at home. And please call me Greg." Lestrade smiled charmingly at the woman. Sherlock frowned, sitting down in his usual chair and grabbing a large mug of tea.

"Why would she call you Greg?" John inwardly groaned. Trust Sherlock to forget the simplest etiquette of remembering his guest's names.

"That's his name, Sherlock. I don't forget your boyfriend's name, so please try and do the same," Mycroft snarled, making Sherlock raise his eyebrows at the usually cool exterior of his brother cracking slightly.

"What have you been doing to him, Lestrade? He's not usually this defensive -" Sherlock reached out to pull John closer, making him fall on top of his lap. His arms wrapped around the struggling doctor like some sort of snare.

"- Has he finally fallen in love with you? Or have you rationed his calorie intake to some small amount in the tens of thousands? The diet's not working Mycroft." John could see now why inviting the two Holmes brothers into his house was a mistake. He glanced over to the mantelpiece. There were plenty of delicate objects strewn across the various shelves, all possible targets for the first battle of World War Holmes.

He would have to intervene, becoming the metaphorical Christmas truce in the Battle of the Somme.

"Mycroft? Can I interest you in a selection of cupcakes in the kitchen? Sherlock and Lestrade probably want to talk about the last case." John shot Mycroft a look, hoping the oldest Holmes would prefer his company to that of his brother's.

Plus, there was a reason he had invited Mycroft and Lestrade to this dinner, and it wasn't just for the polite conversation.

"I don't want to talk about the las-" John cut Sherlock off with a deep kiss, making the taller man blush as he pulled away.

"C'mon, Mycroft." He clambered off Sherlock's lap and with the oldest Holmes brother on his heels, they walked into the kitchen.

"John... As much as I appreciate the offer of cake, I really am trying with my diet," Mycroft said earnestly. John reached into one of the cupboards, grabbing one of the incriminating snacks and shoving it into Mycroft's outstretched hand.

"Do you have it?" John's voice had dropped to a whisper and realization dawned in Mycroft's eyes. That's why he wanted him alone.

That's why he had invited him over for this god-awful dinner. The phone call between them hadn't been the most comfortable thing in the world, and Mycroft being Mycroft had put the topic out of his mind for the time being, just enjoying being fussed over by Greg Lestrade.

However, just before they had come over that night, something made Mycroft bring it along with him. Tuck it in his suit pocket for safekeeping.

Mycroft nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. The enormity of the situation came over him now, making him tremble like a leaf.

"Yes." he patted his pocket, letting his fingers curl over the shape inside. It was precious, so precious. And he hoped it would be received with the same amount of love as it had promised all those years ago.

"Mine's upstairs," John whispered, gesturing with his thumb to the ceiling. "Can you provide a big-enough distraction so I can pop up and get it?" He couldn't believe he was going to do this. It made him want to jump for joy and be violently ill at the same time.

"Of course." Mycroft liked the doctor. He kept his brother grounded and not constantly putting his life at risk. He had watched John getting ripped apart after the 'Reichenbach' episode, and slowly get sewn back together by Sherlock's love in returning, and that was the exact tower of strength that Sherlock needed.

A knock at the door made them both turn. The conversation in the front room, which started up as stilted was now flowing enthusiastically. John could see Sherlock leaning forward in his chair, his fingers interlocked as he rested his arms on his knees. He could tell without even having to look at the man's facethat it would be flushed with excitement, ready to argue any point and debate any possibility.

Mycroft could just make out the profile of Greg stretched back on the settee, using one hand to illustrate with whilst tightly clasping the tea. He had crossed his ankles over and looked a picture of profession. He was laughing, his eyes would be even darker than usual, burning with the passion he had for his job.

They loved their partners so much it was a physical ache in the two men.

"John? Our dinner's at the door. Be a sweetheart and get it for us will you?" Another reason to do what he was about to do.

John glanced at Mycroft. "Get the door," he whispered before darting upstairs to get his purchase.

"Well, John, this is a lovely spread" Lestrade rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. The table was now heaving with different meals on mismatched plates, and from an enthusiastic Mrs Hudson, they had a bottle of wine in the centre of the table and a bunch of dripping candles.

Mycroft surveyed the dinner, nodding as he spread a napkin on his lap. "Very satisfactory, John. Please send my compliments to the Phoenix Palace" he laughed shortly, making Sherlock look at him over the rim of his glass.

"Don't attempt a joke Mycroft, it's not very becoming from somebody your size," Sherlock snickered into his wine.

"I don't see how my humour stems from my weight Sherlock," Mycroft sneered back as everybody dug in, placing steaming amounts of noodles on each other's plate

"I'm surprised you can SEE anything from that gut you've got underneath that jumper." John reached over and placed his hand on Sherlock's mouth, stopping anymore childish insults come from him. Sherlock glared at him before sloppily kissing the man's palm and digging in the chow mein with relish.

"Anyway," Lestrade cut in, reaching over absent-mindedly and wiping a stray piece of sauce away from Mycroft's mouth. "You were filling me in on the latest case, Sherlock".

Sherlock nodded, his mouth full of food. He looked like an over-indulged hamster with the swollen cheeks, a trait that John found so cute in Sherlock.

"It was the local estate manager. Insurance policy. Check out his back records, he's been in prison for over 3 years on a previous burglary notice. Seems like he wanted to strike the, using the colloquial term, 'big bucks' on this one," Sherlock rattled off.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows, but knowing better than attempting to correct or even ask questions about the detective's deductions and nodded.

"He didn't have to drown the poor man in the cesspool did he? Messy business dragging him out." Lestrade shuddered at the memory, remembering how the stench made him want to peel his own skin off and toss it into the washing machine. Safe to say, Mycroft withheld sex until the smell disappeared.

"Yes. Lucky you had Anderson as the eager volunteer. I suspect he was thrilled when he learnt the reason behind the biohazard suit," John smiled, spearing a spring roll heartily. Sherlock grinned at this, loving that John had the exact same contempt for the dinosaur-lover as the detective did.

Mycroft looked over at Lestrade, covering his hand with his. It was the time. He could feel it.

John patted his pocket before he was sure to carry on. Despite having the rest of the table otherwise preoccupied with their food, he wanted to do it now. He wanted to take that leap of faith, the fall that would have a permanent destination.

Mycroft looked at Greg. Lestrade was everything to him. His umbrella. The one that protected him from the storm. It was time for the most magical moment in his life.

John traced his fingers over Sherlock's high cheekbone, making the other man look at him with puzzlement. He had no idea what the doctor was doing. Neither did John Watson.

Mycroft squeezed Greg's hand, making the inspector look up at him. Mycroft cleared his throat.

John opened his mouth to ask that one question. The fateful question.

"Will you marry me?"

The two men looked at each other, shocked that they had said it at the same time, the exact same moment. It wasn't scripted, the love couldn't be faked. They both meant it.

The recipients of the question had very similar expressions as well. Wide eyes, parted mouths, shallow breathing. Utterly shocked, and both utterly beautiful.

It was silence.

There were no words. Only one definite answer came from both of the now-weeping men.

"YES!" they both shouted, clinging onto their new fiancés gleefully.

Mycroft looked over Lestrade's shoulder at his brother who was clinging to John, and for the first time since they were children, they were truly happy for each other.

*Disclaimer*

I don't own any of the character. All respect and beauty goes to the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.