The Art of Making Compromises

They were never going to share nicely.

Lestrade had known that from the beginning, but he had allowed them to indulge in the pretence of setting up a series of ground rules and a timetable and what were they thinking?

He had enjoyed their negotiations with the amusement and detachment of someone only marginally involved while he sipped the fine tea Mycroft had brewed for them. It was so good it would have been a waste to let it cool in its cup like the other two were doing.

He studied the overtly hostile way Sherlock was staring at his brother, then took in the apparent calm Mycroft manifested as he proposed alternate Wednesdays.

Could this situation become any more complicated? A ridiculous question, the answer was 'of course'. As soon as Sherlock decided he didn't agree on one of the points, or when Mycroft lost his patience with them. Perhaps even before that, when Lestrade decided to follow his egoistical whims, for a change.

Lestrade rolled his eyes at the arguing duo, put down his cup and saucer and got to his feet. He undid the cuffs of his shirt and left the room, undressing as he went upstairs.

When Sherlock and Mycroft noticed his absence they stopped quarrelling and followed him upstairs.

Their perfect compromise waited in the bedroom.