Disclaimer: I own only my original story, and make no profit from this

"You will NOT send your minions into my flat ever again Mycroft, do I make myself clear?"

Fortunately for Mycroft his office was soundproofed, and the waiting dignitaries could not hear the vitriolic rant.

"Your flat, Sherlock, was a fire hazard. I merely had my people tidy up your paperwork."

"If by tidy up you mean…."

"Sherlock." John stepped in.

"Thank you, John." Mycroft smiled his small, thin-lipped smiled.

"Don't, Mycroft. Your over-zealous army of Mrs Mops have indiscriminately thrown the ordered piles of notes into boxes," his voice was calm, but his eyes flashed angrily, "And now we are going to have to sort them all over again."

"And somewhere in the middle of it all," Sherlock added petulantly, "is my book list; 400 books that I need to read."

"Well maybe in future you'll keep your book list on your laptop." Dismissing his visitors with a wave of his hand, he pressed the intercom and asked Anthea to bring in the waiting guests.

John hustled Sherlock out, silently warning him to stay quiet.

"I could kill him" Sherlock hissed.

Looking up at him John grinned, waited a minute or two, then popped his head back around the door, staring at the assembled high-ranking ambassadors before looking Mycroft in the eye and winking broadly. "Like your suggestion, good thinking, Batman!"