Beautifulfic wanted a pic of BAMF!Holmes brothers. Well, here they are. Wouldn’t want to be one of the guys on the ground …
I saw this yesterday and I had to fic it:
Christmas at the Holmes Estate could rarely be called normal. But this had to take the cake in the annals of family history. Mycroft bolted the door, carefully removing his suit jacket. Outside they could hear breaking things. Sherlock was rather sorry Great-Aunt Margaret wasn’t here for the excitement; she’d have loved it. “Friends of yours, Mycroft?”
“I have told you, I am only a minor official.” He picked up his umbrella, watching the door. “More likely they are some criminal element attracted by your activities.”
Sherlock dropped his own jacket in a chair. “Either way, home invasion on Christmas. Quite rude, isn’t it?”
“Not normally encouraged among polite society, no. I much preferred when Lord Wilford would show up unannounced.”
“At least he always came armed with cherry cordial.” Sherlock watched the door vibrate as something heaving struck it. “Also, given that they have not yet fired at the door, it does appear their goal is capture, not murder.”
“Obviously,” said Mycroft, pushing up his sleeves slightly and holding his umbrella as he moved to one side of the door. Sherlock took the other side. Muffled shouting increased behind the door and more banging until the door gave way and a man stumbled inside.
Mycroft hooked his umbrella around the man’s neck while Sherlock grabbed the second one and delivered a knee to the groin. Neither man had any qualms about fighting as dirty as necessary. Nor were they particularly concerned by the dozen men piling through the door. Sherlock saw the flash of a knife half a moment before Mycroft knocked it from the man’s hand. Mycroft missed the man who’d picked up a candlestick behind him; Sherlock took care of them with a kick.
“I see being behind a desk has not slowed you considerably,” said Sherlock, moving a little closer so he was back to back with him. “Nor your age.”
“I am perfectly capable of handling whatever situation might arise.” There was a grunt and the last opponent dropped to the carpet. Mycroft stepped back to look at his little brother, slight smile tweaking his face.
“I do believe you rumpled your vest,” said Sherlock, looking him over.
“And your shirt is untucked.” Mycroft leaned on his umbrella. “Let’s get this cleaned up before Mummy finds out.”