Disclaimer: I do not own Mycroft, his umbrella's or his cake. Or BBC's Sherlock for that matter.

That is IT! This is the FINAL straw. Mycroft, you are going down big time. Sherlock was fuming! He strode down from his bedroom, anger radiating off him in waves, fists clenching and unclenching as he plotted his brother's doom. He marched past the kitchen with only one thing on his mind. Destination: Mycroft's room. "MYCROFT!" he yelled, arriving at the room. He shoved his older brother's bedroom door open forcefully, "MYCROFT! What have I told you about messing with my experiments! Even Mummy told you… not to…" he trailed off, eyes widening. The sight that was before Sherlock would haunt him for years to come. Mycroft was sat in the middle of his room on the floor… surrounded by dozens and dozens of umbrellas. The older brother looked up in alarm and started thrashing about the room as if he was trying to cover up evidence.

"Mycroft..." Sherlock said, partly in horror, partly in sick fascination, "What is this?"

"Nothing, it's nothing!" he replied back, shoving umbrellas into random places, trying to hide them away from Sherlock's keen eyes. The curly haired younger brother bent down to pick up one of the brolly's, but his hand was slapped away by an almost feral looking Mycroft. "Don't. Touch." He growled out.

"Mycroft, I think you've got a problem." Sherlock said, honestly, his lip curling in a smirk.

"NO I HAVE NOT!" Mycroft screeched, going red in the face, clutching a maroon coloured brolly.

"Yes Mycroft, you do."

"I... I..." the older teen plonked down on a conveniently placed chair, dropping an unusual tortoise shell handled umbrella down next to him. He put his head into his hands, "I can't help it... it all started when you got me that... umbrella... for my birthday last year. I... I thought it was a terrible present. But then, I looked at it a few months later and it was like I saw it in a whole new light!" Mycroft looked up from his hands, his eyes burning with worship and continued.

"It was just sitting there staring at me, willing me to use it. It was a rainy day so I took it out of the holder and held it up. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. The smooth, silky wood of the handle, perfectly sized and curved to fit my hand... and the oaky tan of the handle contrasted beautifully with the soft, dark tones of the waterproof fabric. It was just so... so mind boggling. And the end... the end of the umbrella! God, it was marvellous – so flawlessly proportioned to the rest of it, and shiny like the purest diamond. I... gosh... I went outside and undid the spectacular clip... and it just... flew open! It was faultless, no other worldly possession I owned could match up to this... this splendour... this magnificence."

"The diameter of the open umbrella was supreme, it fit with my body like we were one being. I spent the rest of that day outside in the rain. We were meant to be. I put her on show every day, even during the hot summer days. We went everywhere together. And one day, I was just walking along my normal route when I saw something... something so wonderful, I nearly forgot entirely about Pooky..."

"Sorry, who's Pooky?" Sherlock shot in.

"My...my umbrella" Mycroft turned beet red. Sherlock bit his lip, trying to hold back a leering smile.

"Continue" he struggled out. Mycroft's eyes narrowed at his brother's tone; he looked down at the umbrella he was holding and fingered the fabric fondly.

"So I saw something amazing. It was a shop... which was full of umbrellas! It was heaven! I went in… My God it was astounding…the scent of wood, alongside the distinct aroma of sweet, musky rain… I nearly couldn't handle it. I had some money on me at the time, so I bought one. This one was similar to Pooky, but the handle was a darker chestnut blush, and it wasn't curved but straight. I felt… a power flowing through me at just one touch; it was electrifying. After that... I couldn't help myself. 2 umbrellas weren't enough. So I bought another. And another. Every day I went to that shop, and whenever I had saved up enough pocket money, I bought one." Mycroft looked around the room at the various shaped, sized and coloured umbrellas in awe. "Since I was visiting a lot, the shopkeeper and I became quite good friends and he offered me a job. The pay was not brilliant, but I didn't care. Since then the buying escalated... it's got a bit out of control..."

"A bit?" Sherlock scoffed. Mycroft glared at his younger brother. "How many do you own, Mycroft." Sherlock demanded. Mycroft looked down and waited a while before he answered.

"...It's in… the low forties."

There was a slight choking sound, Mycroft looked up. Tears of laughter were streaming down his younger brother's face, Sherlock couldn't hold it in any longer. He laughed, and he laughed and he laughed. He laughed until he could laugh no longer. And then he looked at Mycroft's livid face, and started all over again. It took Sherlock a whole 10 minutes to calm himself down, during that time Mycroft had slowly turned redder and redder in embarrassment and anger.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft" Sherlock hiccupped, "but this is just..."

"Get out." Mycroft said, face like stone. Sherlock's lip curled again.

"Oh God" Sherlock burst out, mirth over taking him once more. Mycroft had had enough. He shot up and strode over to his nearly hysterical younger brother, grabbing his collar and holding him up to his face, so close their noses were almost touching.

"One word, Sherlock. One word about this and so help me God, you will understand the meaning of pain." He said, as menacingly as he could. Sherlock's face was serious, staring at Mycroft's shining cheeks and the malice in his eyes. The younger Holmes brother lowered his eyes to Mycroft's chest, trying to stop the laugh that was bubbling up inside him, Oh God… is that what I think it is?

"M...Mycroft" Sherlock sniggered out, "are those umbrella's on your tie?" Sherlock exploded with hysterical laughter whilst his older brother turned an interesting shade of purple. "They are, aren't they!" Sherlock barked out, his body shaking from laughter. Mycroft couldn't bear it. He grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and shoved him out of the room hard, slamming the door behind him. The older teen leant back heavily on the door, his eyes wandering the umbrella scattered room. Maybe he had been just a little bit over the top on that part. But God, he was angry! And a little bit upset. Stupid Sherlock! Always has to stick his pointy nose into everybody else's business! He gritted his teeth, sounds of muffled childish laughter still reaching ears.

"FOR GOD'S SAKE SHERLOCK, GO TO YOUR ROOM BEFORE I TELL MUMMY IT WAS YOU WHO BROKE THE GREENHOUSE WINDOW YESTERDAY!" He bellowed out. The hallway went silent. Suddenly there was a small scuffle of feet as Sherlock bolted for his own room. Mycroft smirked, I think that brings the tally up to 18 Sherlock, 19 Mycroft. Hmm… I win this week. Sherlock will never live it down. This is brilliant! Mycroft pushed himself from the door and walked to his desk, sitting down in the leather chair. Pooky was on the desk in front of him, he stroked a long finger down the length of the exquisite umbrella. "We win this time, we win!" he cooed quietly.

All of a sudden, Mycroft remembered the most brilliant thing. "Yes… Yes! 20 – 18 to Mycroft!" he exclaimed in quiet exhilaration. He yanked open the draw in his desk and took out an item covered in foil. Oh Mycroft, you naughty thing, you. Sherlock will not be happy, it's the last bit. He slowly unwrapped the foil to reveal a large mass of cake. But it wasn't just any cake; it was chocolate fudge cake. The scent was so strong, that the whole room was filled with its fudgy aroma; Mycroft inhaled the scent, before taking a rather large bite out of it and nearly weeping in happiness. The filling was creamy and smooth, chocolate flavours bursting into his mouth; the sponge was moist, but not overly so – it had just the right amount of air beaten into it, and the flavour! The flavour was intense; so beautifully baked, that he expected heaven itself to call any minute demanding their cake back. Mycroft leaned backwards on the chair, cradling the chocolatey wedge. He sighed in contentment, relishing in the taste of sweet, fudgy satisfaction.

This was originally written for a Sherlock competition on Facebook where we had to write a short story about the word 'umbrella'.

Hope you enjoyed the fluff, the humour and the umbrellaness of this fic! Please review! :D Peace out, Holmies.