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Sherlock comes through the door, so engrossed in his book that he doesn't even notice he's no longer in Baker Street.

That's he's barefoot and in his dressing gown and pajamas and no longer in Baker Street.

He just finds the likeliest armchair and curls himself into it. Somehow a six-foot-tall man compacts himself down into its space quite comfortably.

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'It'd better be a good book.'

Jim is amused at the sight. Also glad Sherlock wears PJs while he's at home. He taps his knee.

'Let me sit.'

Sherlock looks up, blinks a few times, and then smiles and moves so he has a lap for Jim to make himself comfortable in.

"It's a necessary book, at the moment."

'Oh? Work?'

Jim makes himself very comfortable in that lap, thank you. And puts his arms around Sherlock's neck, and rests his head on his shoulder. He's tired. He didn't sleep in the cells. But this is better.

Sherlock puts an arm around Jim to hold him close, and holds the book so Jim can see the title: How to write an UNFORGETTABLE best man's speech.

"Shut up," he adds, preemptively.

Jim is not going to say anything! Mainly because he's laughing. And laughing and laughing, the sort of silent mirth that's all the funnier because it steals all your breath.

'...oh, please God, let someone record it.'

"I don't think they're hiring a videographer, just a photographer."

Which is not a no. It's not a yes, exactly, either.

'People have phones.'

Someone had better bloody have a phone. He's not missing this for the world. Jim traces his finger down Sherlock's jaw, then lifts his chin so he can give him a kiss.

'And I'm surprised you don't know for sure. Are they not letting you help plan it?'

Sherlock clears his throat and opens the book again.

"immostlyplanningit."

...yeah, Jim's just going to be laughing more. A lot more. Oh God, he's never wanted to go to a wedding so badly in his life.

"Shut up," Sherlock says again, though no less affectionately, and he pulls Jim closer to him so that at least if Jim's going to laugh at him, Sherlock can feel him laughing.

'Nope.'

There are many, many jokes he could make here. Some of them would freak Sherlock out to the ends of the earth and back, he reckons. So no, maybe not today. He just wraps around him again, and kisses his cheek.

'I'm sure it'll be your dream wedding, darling.'

"As long as it's John and Mary's dream wedding, that's all that matters."

He leans his cheek on Jim's hair. They've sort-of joked about getting married, but... well. The less he thinks about it, the better.

'Oh yes, of course. John and Mary.'

Mary Morstan. That's never not going to be funny. Of all the people.

He smiles a little as Sherlock leans on him, and is content to just let things be quiet for a minute or two. Plenty of time for teasing later.

Eventually; 'how long have you been gone?'

Jim may have news to impart.

"Not very long. Less than a week." He runs his fingers through Jim's hair. "How are you, now that we've got my news out of the way?"

'Mm. Just got out an hour ago.'

They're going to be coming back to Sherlock's news. Jim wants details. Sherlock planning a wedding? Best. Thing. Ever.

'm'tired.'

And sad. But he's still smiling, because a brilliant thing has happened and Sherlock needs to know about it. Jim turns his face up so he's murmuring against Sherlock's ear.

'Guess who showed their face today?'

"Zeus," Sherlock guesses, trembling a little because Jim's voice in his ear is a trembly-making thing. "Complete with lightning. Perhaps shaped like a swan."

'Better.'

Worse? Jim chuckles, and closes his teeth on the lobe, tugging ever so slightly before gentling it with his lips.

'Your. Big. Brother.'

:D?

Sherlock inhales at the tug -- and then turns a glare to Jim.

"Don't even joke about that."

Jim licks his ear, and shakes his head. He wears an expression that is both amused, and vaguely sorrowful. Because it is a bit of a pain in the arse, even if it's funny. They might actually have to behave on occasion.

But, no. Not joking.

Sherlock growls. He'd dump Jim off his lap if he didn't like having Jim i his lap so much.

Which is part of the problem.

"Is he still here? Did you see him leave? Because if he sees us cuddling it may break his brain into tiny pieces and I refuse to be responsible for the British government falling apart just because my brother disdains human relationships."

'...well, that didn't take long to fuck everything up.'

Jim sighs, and takes his arms from around his neck.

'What do you care about whether the British government breaks down, or not?'

Beat.

'Shall I move?'

"I dislike general chaos. It's bad for traffic."

His arms go around Jim. "No. Stay."

That's a relief. He was dangerously close to having his feelings hurt, there. His arms go back around Sherlock's neck, and he breathes out.

'He'll get used to it. He doesn't have a choice.'

He's not modifying his lifestyle for anyone, let alone Mycroft fucking Holmes.

Sherlock kisses Jim fiercely.

Mycroft will have to get used to it, like he got used to John and Sherlock's other friends--to Sherlock having friends, even if he disapproves.

All hearts are broken, Mycroft said once, but Sherlock suspects his heart will remain whole for a while longer.

A long while yet. Always, if Jim has his way.

It's a fierce kiss from both sides, yep. It turned into a difficult few days, and he's missed him. And this is the best response Sherlock could give to the news.