Mycroft stood from John's armchair as he prepared himself to leave, confident that he had Sherlock's assistance. As a final gratuity for cooperation, he reached into his coat pocket and slid out a glossy piece of paper, holding a gentle crease down its middle as he handed it out to his younger brother.
"It's a voucher for two," he explained, "It covers three courses plus drinks, but expires before I'll have an opening to use it." He smiled grimly as Sherlock gingerly plucked it from his grasp. "Now that you and John are running on nearly the same schedule, I'm sure you'll find time to make a visit."
Sherlock examined the voucher, unfamiliar with the address. "What sort of cuisine," he sighed, tired of Mycroft's bribery.
"Oh, the finest, a wonderful selection of French and German. We enjoyed it immensely, and the dessert choices were exquisite." Mycroft almost seemed to relax his guard, lost in the fond memory of a perfectly-moist black forest cake.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "We?" He smirked, "Don't tell me you've taken to using the royal we, who were you with?"
Mycroft turned with a near-imperceptible flush and started down the stairs. "The company I keep no longer concerns you," he lied. Sherlock didn't need to know that Greg had enjoyed the cake as well.