"Mycroft."
"Absolutely not!
"Mycroft."
"It's not going to happen!"
"Mycroft Holmes!"
"Gregory, you can't make me."
"It is your mother's birthday! I don't care what is going on between you and your brother, you are going to be there!"
"Under no circumstances will I,"
"There will be cake."
---
"Hello Mike!"
"The name is Mycroft, mother."
"Oh pish posh. Hello Greg, how are you?"
"Good, thank you for asking. Happy Birthday."
"My sons might not be very polite but at least their friends are, come in boys!"
Mycroft and Lastrade walked into the house. Sherlock and John were sitting in the living room, across from the eldest Mr.Holmes. John was making small talk and Sherlock was looking absolutely miserable. Mycroft scanned the kitchen quickly, there was no cake. He should have known, considering his mother was diabetic, but he had still hoped. He walked into the living room and reluctantly took a seat next to Sherlock. The consulting detective turned to the British government,
"So how did Lastrade get you here?"
"He said there would be cake. How did John get you to come?" 
"He said there would be murder."
"Well I guess they both lied."
"We'll see, the night is still young and I tend to shoot things when I get bored."