My son can't be this cute

"Of course I know he is my brother. I also know that he has gained three pounds. I went to consult about hair growth hormone the day before yesterday."

"It's three pounds lost." Mycroft retorted with a slight pulsating vein on his forehead, but he still looked at his younger brother with a smile.

Sherlock snorted and raised his eyebrows, "You originally lost six pounds, but too many snacks and lack of exercise obviously made you gain another three pounds."

"You've always been so naughty, Ciel." Mycroft smirked and said the nickname softly.

"Damn it, Mycroft, what the hell are you doing!" Hearing that girlish nickname, Sherlock almost jumped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"Hmm, just as a good brother who loves his younger brother, I came here to understand your life."

Is there anyone in the world who would deflate that viper mean cohabitant?If it was just a moment ago, Watson would not have thought so, but since meeting Mycroft, the man whom Sherlock called the devil in his life, Watson believed it, and the hell it was the former brother, Biologically, they have a common mommy.

His cohabitant, who was always full of confidence and even mean, was staring at those beautiful eyes at this moment, gritted his teeth and looked at his brother.

"Mycroft, you are the devil in my life."

"My honor, Charles, if you don't rely on me as a dear brother, it seems like a good choice to be the devil in your life, at least you can always remember me."

"...that's really nasty." Sherlock looked at his brother and spit out the words expressionlessly.

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders, and he turned to look at Mr. Scottish Inspector, who was left aside in the cold, with a smile on his lips.

"Then I have to go too. Dear Mr. Inspector. If Sherlock has made any mistakes, please forgive him. You have seen him. He just grew up, but his mind is still a child. He is always awkward." Ken admits his dependence on me."

"Mycroft!"

After the man who claimed to be just a small employee of the British government walked out of the door, there was a roar at the 221B Baker Street apartment, and the perpetrator turned around and smirked after walking to the door.

"My dear brother, don't be so ashamed to admit your love for me." After speaking, he raised the black umbrella in his hand, twirling it like a juggler with superb skills and left.

Little Teddy raised his hand and poked his father's face, "Dad, would you like some chocolate cake?"

"I would be very happy if it was called Mycroft." Sherlock looked at his son expressionlessly.

"That's a bit scary." The furious father stopped making trouble, and the obedient little Teddy retracted and hugged Watson, muttering, "Daddy, he's very angry."

"His nickname is really Shire?"

"Well, yes, at that time he was very dependent on Micky, and he often hugged his teddy bear and followed Micky's ass around." Little Teddy nodded, these words were told to him by Mycroft, In those bad times, that man warmed him up in this way.

"It's hard to imagine." Watson glanced at his cohabitant and said with difficulty.

"John, I'm sure there's nothing wrong with my hearing, so you can stop talking so quietly." Sherlock said with his hands in his pockets, pursing his lips. He really wanted to pack all those memories into his pockets. Inside Mycroft's belly, that was the safest place, because the thick fat hadn't changed much in decades.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Watson said with a smile, although this is very unkind, but when you are bluffed by a wild cat and think it is a tiger, the other party suddenly tilts his head cutely " "Meow", because everyone will be surprised and want to tease it, the cat pretending to be a tiger is the cutest, and the nickname of the cohabitant is also very interesting, Charles, what a nickname of Sherlock Holmes.

Little Teddy rubbed his father's curly hair as an apology, but everyone felt that it was more like the teasing behavior of the owner stroking the top of the pet's head and saying "be good, be good".

"Well, Sherlock, although I really don't want to interrupt, I still have to say something." Lestrade cleared his throat and said.

The family of three turned their heads to look at the Scottish Inspector. The latter suddenly felt a lot of pressure, especially when the two Holmes who looked very similar looked at him together, as if they had been scanned by radar.

"Sherlock, although there are no drugs in the house, can you explain this box? I remember you said that this thing is with the murderer." Lestrade pointed to the small pink suitcase in Anderson's hand , the latter looked at the curly-haired man triumphantly, and it was rare for him not to speak, because he knew that even Sherlock Holmes would not be able to deny it when the evidence was overwhelming. The gentleman did not expect that the mean and unreasonable detective would roll his eyes at him and openly provoke him, although he had been doing this all the time, and he kept provoking his own bottom line.

"I thought the IQ of the Scotland Yard officers went up by at least a percentage point."

"Sherlock, explain, now is not the time to be provocative and bickering, I need your explanation." Lestrade said seriously, he is now [-]% sure that this guy is a genius in IQ, but EQ... Well, maybe Sherlock There was nothing of that in Holmes's whirling brain.

Sherlock ignored Mr. Detective, he just pursed his lips and looked at the former military doctor and said, "John, I don't like repetition, so you speak for me."

For the willful request, Watson sighed, and stuffed the little Teddy into the opponent's arms. Well, it is obviously not suitable to be a witness when holding something cute, especially when the opponent is facing being accused of being a murderer.

Watson raised his head and looked at Lestrade and explained: "Sherlock found the box from the garbage dump. You know that women sometimes have serious obsessive-compulsive disorder. Pink coats, pink skirts, pink suitcases, etc. , We just sent a text message to the deceased’s mobile phone, and the other party replied quickly, and Sherlock said that only a murderer would care so much about a stranger’s text message.”

"You sent text messages to the murderer?" Lestrade frowned, and his eyes fell on the detective who was chatting with his son, "Sherlock, I remember I said it was just to let you participate in this case." It's not about giving you the right to act alone."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, like a confident child, "Because you need me."

Lestrade choked on this sentence, he scratched his hair and stared at the other party, "Be honest, you are not a cat, you really have nine lives."