The American Fire that Melted the Ice Man (Mycroft Holmes x OC - BBC Sherlock)

Chapter 8: Family

"Indeed I am. A stag party," he said with disgust. "It's appalling. I can't believe you're going along with this. Encouraging it, even."

Sophia sighed and, after ensuring the pots and pans on the stove could keep themselves for a few minutes, turned to her fiancée and approached, slipping a hand up to cup his cheek. "Mycroft, love," she said softly. "I said we were going to discuss a compromise. I know for a fact that in your position you have refereed hundreds if not thousands of compromises between officials, entire governments even. You know what a compromise means, and it doesn't mean one party getting their way while the other gets the shaft. I promise you that you will find what I have in mind perfectly acceptable.

"Can you just tell me now? I saw the sealed box sitting in the living room. Does it have something to do with this?"

She glared at him. "No, I will not just tell you. That's cheating. And I swear, Mycroft Holmes, if you dare open that box, I will call off the wedding."

He scowled. "Goodness, you're taking this seriously."

"When you mediate between two warring nations, do you take it seriously?"

"I'd hardly compare Sherlock and myself to warring nations." She raised an eyebrow and said nothing. "Well, not this time at least." She continued to stare. "Very well, I get your point quite clearly, Mrs. Cartwright. You may stop glaring at me now."

She leaned up to her tip toes and kissed him on the tip of his nose and smiled before going back to the stove. "Alright then. You can go get the door, it's Sherlock."

Mycroft frowned. "But the doorbell hasn't—" Just then the doorbell rang. "Oh, you're getting good, my love," he cooed.

She grinned triumphantly as he pushed himself off the counter he'd been leaning on and left the room.

As Mycroft and Sherlock came back through, she heard Mycroft speak to Sherlock. "She's threatened to call off the wedding if I touch the box, so don't you dare do so either. My future hangs in the balance."

"Well, I'll obey," Sherlock was saying as they came into the kitchen/dining area. "But only because not doing so would mean not having Sophia in the family." He then practically skipped over to her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Good evening future-sister-in-law, it smells lovely."

"No schmoozing the negotiator, Sherlock," Mycroft said with a grumble.

Sophia giggled. "You two are terrible. Now both of you—set the table. Dinner is almost ready."

*****

After dinner Sherlock and Mycroft sat at opposite sides of the sofa in the living room of Sophia's flat. She stood on the opposite side of the coffee table with the box in front of her on said table. Both men eyed the box, which she had ensured was totally unmarked. She'd used non-descript brown packing tape to seal the box and had ensured the rubbish that had contained any packaging and receipts for said materials had been taken to the bins earlier in the day.

"What I have in this box is the recipe for the perfect Holmes brother stag party, to include John Watson and Greg Lestrade—the only other two men who would consider either of you friend and be willing to put up with your nonsense."

Sherlock tried to scoff, but Mycroft spoke over him. "She has a point."

"I'm still skeptical. You're trying to say that you've put into that box precisely what's needed to ensure I am able to throw a stag party for my brother, and that he would agree to such stag party."

"Indeed. A sample of said items, you'll want more than what I have in the box. But it's three items."

"Three items?" Mycroft said.