“Lestrade,” Sherlock says bursting into Greg’s flat. “It was…. Mycroft? What are you doing here? And what the hell are you two doing?”
“We’re playing checkers,” Mycroft replies, still somehow looking smug as he sits in only his boxers.
“You mean strip checkers,” supplies a partially undressed Greg.
“If you don’t like it, brother mine, you’re encouraged to leave.”
“And I’ve just jumped you. Off they come,” Greg says with a smile and eyebrow wiggle.
Mycroft stands and moves his hands to the waistband of his boxers.
“No!” Sherlock yells while running from the flat, slamming the door behind him.
“I’ve still more pieces on the board,” Mycroft says as he sits back down nude.
Greg grins, “Oh I’m sure we can think something to do.”
Mystrade-Lecroft 