Just A Game [Teenlock]

Chapter Six: Hangover Galore

Just A Game [Teenlock]

Chapter Six: Hangovers Galore

A/N: This is a story. Anything said does not reflect my views on characters created by the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

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Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap.

Sherlock knocks on his own front door with a wide grin, glancing again briefly at the sliver Ford in his Jeep's parking spot. He had a key, but it was just so fun to mess with his brother that he couldn't pass up this opportunity.

They hear footsteps pad down the stairs and to the door, pausing momentarily before opening said door.

Mycroft stands in just a grey t-shirt and a pair of soft grey jogging bottoms, clearly just out of bed. His hair is pointing in all directions but despite his appearance, his eyes are cold and annoyed as he stares.

"You got drunk, on a Thursday night..." Mycroft trails off, crossing his arms and giving the three, obviously hungover, students on the front doorstep a stern look.

Sherlock slyly high fives Jim behind their backs, offering his brother a grin.

"Yes, we did" He answers at normal volume, despite his throbbing headache.

"And now, you're ditching college to recover" The older Holmes mutters in a tired voice, stepping back to let them in the house.

Jim and Irene enter first, easily moving to the living room and laying over the furniture like it was their second home. Which, in a way, it was. Jim woke up here as many morning as he did his own home, if not more and Irene was like the daughter that Mrs. Holmes never had.

Sherlock steps in but doesn't follow them just yet. Instead he turns to face his brother.

"While we're here, let's discuss why you're ditching college" The smirk on his face is completely victorious and arrogant.

Just as Mycroft started to turn red, a door is opened upstairs and there's a whining shout of "Myc!"

Now completely red faced, in both anger at his brother and embarrassment, Mycroft glares and turns to the stairs.

"Stay out of our way, brother" Mycroft hisses the words before he jogs up the stairs  and into his bedroom.

Laughing to himself, Sherlock enters the living room. Irene was already passed out on one sofa and Jim was barely awake, laying on the other.

Sherlock lifts his friend's legs before sitting and replacing the legs on his lap.

Jim doesn't protest, just gives a sleepy smile. Before long all three of them are asleep, spread over Sherlock's furniture

~

"One hundred?" Jim mumbles around a mouthful of cereal as the recently awoken Sherlock shuffles into the kitchen, hair a state and his clothes a crumpled mess.