Slingshot

Spencer came home from a new case. His sleek suit was only slightly rumpled. He stubbed out his cigarette in a coffee mug in the kitchen, toeing off his shoes. He wanted tea, very badly. He never drank in the clubs. Alcohol dulled the senses, ruined his edge.

The kettle was flicked on with a finger.

He loosened a second button on his shirt.

Never ties, Father said. Constricting and a potential weakness in a fight.

Abby's socked feet padded over the worn floors. She looked at him with wary eyes, leaning on the door frame. "Home late. You alright?"

Spencer's curls were falling out of their gelled prison.

"Hmm? Yeah," he said, reaching for a second cup. "Difficult case. Sister of an MP's wife is worried about her. Moving in certain circles takes a very, very delicate hand. You?"

"Oh, yeah. Quiet. The um, other one took off somewhere earlier this mornin' and he ain't been back since," Abby replied softly.

Spencer poured the tea, turning on a silk socked heel. He pursed his lips as he drew close.

"That was about Brandon," he murmured. "I asked about you. I know where my wretched pet is off at. What are you doing with your time, Abby?"

Abby blinked at him, leaning back. She tilted her chin up, soft purple hair falling down her back. "Cleaned up a bit. Made the bed. Sawr some friends earlier this afternoon, came back. Nothin' really goin' on."

"I think it's time you changed that," Spencer said softly. "I haven't minded your expenses, but I dislike idleness. Idleness breeds idiocy."

Abby set her teeth, clenching them tight. She shook her head. "I ain't asked you to pay nothin'. I 'ave more'n enough if you want payback."

"Did I ask for money?" Spencer replied. "Mmm, no. I want information. Friends. What friends? You don't have friends."

"Sure, I've got friends. You just ain't ever met them yet," Abby said, curling her shoulders down. She shook her head. "What sor' of information?"

"About your friends. Who are they? What do they do?" Spencer said, voice going quickly. "Who are their people? Did they follow you?"

Abby shook her head again and she turned away from him, padding back towards the bedroom. "I'm no' talkin' to you when you're like this."

Spencer growled, flinty eyes following her. He drank hot, black tea as he shucked his jacket, tugging his shirt out of his trousers. He left the jacket on the back of a chair, slid the silk across the old scored wood. He slipped the supple leather belt off, and dunked his head beneath the sink water to rinse out some of the gel.

He used a tea towel to dry, feeling the Nobody mask slip away. The towel hung around his neck as he headed for their shared room. His shoulders had lost their tension and his expression was softer.

"Sorry, it was a bad night," he sighed. "And Brandon's off schmoozing with my mother and Finch, so I'm a bit on edge. A bit wired."

"I don't understan' how you can just compartmentalize your head like that," Abby whispered. She was perched on the edge of the bed, having slipped into some soft blue jeans with holes at the knees. Her skinny legs peeked through the ragged fabric, her soft sleep shirt a pale shroud. "You worry me sometimes."

Spencer rolled his shoulder, and his tattoo peeked out from his trousers. "Trick my dad taught me. I can remember practically anything," he said. "And face anything without reacting emotionally. Emotions mess up the work."

"Yeah," Abby breathed, looking down at her hands. Her arm had scarred up, ink twisting in ways it was never meant to. "I guess that's true. About emotions."

Spencer moved slowly, reaching out to stroke her arm.

"A part of that," he tossed his head back to the kitchen. "That's me. I'm sorry if it worries you, or frightens you. But there's always got to be a kernel of truth in a lie to make it believable. Abby - I'm dangerous." He ran his thumb over the worst of the scar.

"Who ain't dangerous, these days," Abby sighed, eyes glancing back up at him. She blinked, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. "Thad thinks you hit me. Bran lets you sock him around. I- I don't know where the line is sometimes, an' that's a sin because I know you're a great man. Just-" Abby let out a loud huff of air. leaning forward to put her forehead on his stomach. "Tell me. What you need."

Spencer closed his eyes in pain as he raised his hand to cup Abby's soft head to him.

"Abby, love. Do you believe I want to strike you?"

"No. I think you know I'd cut your blinkin' hands off," Abby said.

"Which is a reaction to the idea that I would even consider it," Spencer shuddered. "The idea- it's repulsive. Harming you."

Abby let her hand stroke over his stomach, closing her eyes. "I believe you."

Goosebumps rose along Spencer's skin. "Brandon cannot accept my physical.. interest in him unless he's drunk and given the idea that he's not the one making the decision," he murmured softly. "I love him, Abby, and it- He freely cuddles, kisses, and touches my sister. It's childly foolish of me to be so jealous of them both, but, my love, there were so many times when they were away from me. When Finch took him away from me."

"You must have been lonely," Abby replied, looking up at him. She felt so small when he stood over her that way. It sent a shiver up her spine. "Do you hate her?"

"Truth?"

She gave him a solemn nod. "Always."

"I love her. It makes me sick," Spencer laughed dryly. "I dreamt once I was kissing her. Neither one of us had even been touched, but the dream-? It was strange and cruel, and haunts my thoughts sometimes, fearing that it was real. She dotes on Brandon, so I punish him for straying." He stroked Abby's cheek, moving to tip her chin back. "I was always very lonely, my dear. Dangers of being the youngest child. Gave me a complex." He tossed his damp hair like a young stallion.

Abby felt sick, and tired, but also morbidly fascinated. The whole family- cousins and brothers fantasizing about each other and their sisters. It was like a soap opera.

A train wreck. She just couldn't stop staring. "Did that affect us? Did I, I dunno. Remind you of her?"

Spencer moved, sliding to sit beside Abby. He curled an arm around her.

"Yes?" he said. "No." He smiled slyly. "You had something my sister did not have - passion." He turned to stroke her other cheek. "You had fire and potential. More importantly, you hated me, you picked me apart like a bug."

"Just as long as you're no' thinkin' of her when we're," Abby's lips twisted to the side and she gave a meaningful glance at his hip-area. "Doin' that. Then we're square."

Spencer tossed his head back and laughed. His face colored. "God no!" he said, wrinkling his nose. "I just want her to keep her hands off my..." He paused.

"Can't 'elp you with that," Abby sighed. She stood, bending down to kiss his forehead. "I've got somewhere I'm meant to be. Your pet comin' home soon?"

"Soon, enough," he said, hands going to circle Abby's wrists. "Where are you going? It's so late." He leaned up just a bit to kiss her. "I only just got home. Lonely, remember?"

"Yeah, but I told a friend I'd 'elp them move. I was gettin' dressed when you came in," Abby said. She bent to kiss him again, lingering, clearly not wanting to go. "Could stay, maybe. Until you fall asleep."

"Mmm, don't want to be asleep when Bran gets home," Spencer said, arching up, getting her lips again. "Abs, swear to me you're being safe."

"I'm bein' as safe as is possible," Abby dodged, feeling like half of a magnet, touching their lips together over and over. "Don' you worry abou' nothin'."

Spencer dragged his fingers through her hair, over and over. He crushed their mouths together, lips and tongues tangling. Nothing like his wretched teenage dreams. Very real, warm and precious. He pulled her into his lap. She let out a soft 'mph' sound, arms wrapped around his neck, their slender bodies slotting together as sweetly as their mouths.

"Spence," Abby breathed.

"Abby," Spencer purred. He had his fingers tangled at the base of her neck. "I don't want you to move."

"I know," she said, tipping her head back to expose her slender pale throat. "Don't want to move."

Spencer's lips were on her pulse point in seconds, tonguing the rapid beat of blood beneath her veins, suckling at beautiful pale skin as her stroked her everywhere. His hands slid up her shirt, feeling for her small breasts as he nibbled at her. He had never compared them intentionally, but he mentally ticked off another win for Abby as he palmed her small tits. He unlatched her bra in seconds.

"Oh, you're going to make me very late," Abby giggled, rubbing her crotch teasingly over his. He was so good, so... solid. Her mouth found it's way to his earlobe, nipping gently.

Spencer ground up, cupping her bum.

"Your fault for havin' friends," he teased, rolling her over quickly to push up her shirt, kissing and biting and sucking at inked skin. She was a work of art under his fingers.

The door downstairs slammed, footsteps thundering up one stair case, and after a brief pause the second as well. Spencer groaned against Abby's skin.

"Fuckin' cockblock," he muttered. He crawled up Abby's body to kiss her. "That pattern of stomps mean something happened. Mind if I..?"

"Nah, go on. I know you'll want to hear about you're family, too," Abby said with a goodnatured smile. She had matters of her own to attend to, anyway. She licked her lip. "Rain check?"

Spencer kissed her three times. "Plan on it," he panted. "Text me if you need me. I'll keep my mobile nearby,"

"Will do. Go on, go catch your stray," Abby said, reaching for her shirt.

Spencer stole two more kisses before heading for the stairs. Having two lovers was difficult. He steeled himself for an inebriated Brandon as he took the stairs. He didn't knock or call out Brandon's name. He simply let himself in.

Brandon was caught, mid-shirt lift, getting ready for bed. He looked over with sober yet reddened eyes, withdrawal taking it's toll. "Thought you was shaggin'."

Spencer licked his swollen lips.

"She's got plans," he shrugged. "Heard you come in. Wanted to make sure all was fine."

"Yeah," Brandon said with an all-too-careless shrug. He threw his shirt into the bin, continuing to shuck off his jeans. "Got beat about a bit by your sister's new boyfriend. That wasn't fun at all, but hey, we got your mum out of bed and that's all that matters."

Spencer's temper flared, uncertain where to start first.

"Where?" he demanded, crossing to pull Brandon back to him, looking him over.

"Just shoved me about," Brandon sighed, letting Spencer paw at him. "Hit me on the head a time or two. He's an arse. Abby's old mate, you know."

"That cad," Spencer swore. "I can have him killed. Bend down, let me check your head for bumps."

"Don't overreact," Brandon hissed, tipping his head down. "I've been in worse fights than that."

Spencer's fingers drew through Brandon's hair, undoing his ponytail. "I hope you hit him back, hard. I'm the only one meant to touch you. You said boyfriend. Vance is out of town. I'm assuming Finch is pulling on the side then? Didn't think she had it in her."

"Seems dear old blindside gave the wanker a bloody key," Brandon whinged, scrunching up his nose. "Said she needed protection. Meanwhile, the fuckin' arse is kissin' on her in front of your parents and suckin' up to my mother."

"Your mum'll shag anything that attractive," Spencer said calmly. "What about my mother?" he said, moving from Brandon's hair to his shoulders and collarbone. Much too sharp.

"She liked her present and she got out of bed, that's all I can do," Brandon replied with a heavy sigh. "She isn't looking well. You should visit her."

"Yes, yes, I will. It's hardly any matter. Finch all up the duff and all," he snorted. "Mostly gay son isn't giving Mummy any future brats after all."

Brandon's features turned sharp, like for once he was getting serious. He took Spencer's face between his hands, mouth turning down. "Shut up and go visit your mum. Finch is not her whole bleedin' world, and one day when you're through followin' perverts home from night clubs and she's six feet under, you'll want to remember her. Remember how one afternoon visit probably made her whole year, cause let me tell you, she'd get out of bed if you asked her."

Spencer jerked. He shook his head.

"Maybe if I were my father," he spat. "I said I'll see her."

Brandon looked disgusted. "You're an idiot. You're not this stupid when I'm plastered."

Spencer's face twisted. He grasped a handful of Brandon's hair, pulling him down to Spencer's face. He sniffed. Confused.

"Ah, not so clever after all," Brandon sneered, jerking his head away. "Go back to your girlfriend. I have an early shift."

"She's gone off," Spencer scowled. "I've not got anything on tomorrow. I'll see Mum then, if she's having visitors. Something happened today."

"Things happen every day," Brandon muttered, hands on his hips. His painfully thin hips, clad only in ratty boxers.

"Something with you," Spencer said. "How long's it been?"

"Since yesterday or the day before. Shut up, it's not important. I never party before seein' my mum," Brandon replied. He sat down on the bed, the ridges of his spine sticking up like a marble sculpture of a dinosaur. Pointy.

Spencer's skin felt tight, warm again. Uncomfortable with the feelings under his skin.

"I have something that could help. Least tonight," he coughed. "Cold turkey is rough no matter what you're going off. You've got a long shift tomorrow."

"It's not the first time," Brandon sighed, giving a shake of his head. He rolled his shoulders. Likely it wouldn't be the last time, either, but he didn't say that. This cycle was getting dull. "I can sleep most of it off. Ha! That arse said sober hours don't count if I'm sleeping during them. Wanker. I hope she kills him in his sleep."

Spencer was uncertain. They didn't usually - not when Brandon was this sober. He reached out to stroke those knobbly bones along the pale back.

"Unlikely, she's only killed on accident," he hummed. Goosebumps rose under his finger.

"Pity. No one would miss him." Bran arched, and then shook his loose hair. "Tired. I think the meds make me tired. Could do with some rest."

"I could do it," Spencer said. "But then you'd go off to babysit the pregnant sister. I swear those meds only make you worse."

"Yeah, feels like," Brandon said. He reached up and caught Spencer's hand. "Stay tonight?"

"You sure?" Spencer said, squeezing Brandon's hand.

Bran's eyes were so bloodshot, they made his usual color look all the more bright. He nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure."

Spencer stood up long enough to shimmy out of his trousers. "Right then," he breathed. "Bit chilly up here."

"It's why God made blankets," Brandon muttered sarcastically. His joints seemed to ache as he moved under the quilts, holding them open for Spencer to get in. Spencer slithered in, wrapping his limbs around the bony body of his lover.

"Remember when Mum would make us blanket forts?" Spencer whispered into Brandon's ear.

The blond boy snickered and nodded. "Yeah. Your mum was the best sometimes. When she wasn't busy bein' the worst."

"Brandon," Spencer whispered again.

"Spencer."

"Kiss me," Spencer demanded softly. Brandon licked his cheek. Spencer growled, pushing Brandon over. "Jerkface," he said before pressing his lips against Brandon's. Bran's response was warm, affectionate. Gentle. Their lips lingered together, sweet and afraid.

"Monster," Brandon chided softly.

"Yes," Spencer agreed. He leaned in, slowly bringing their mouths together in the darkness. Wet, warm, soft. His heart was racing. Heat was spreading between their bodies, making the younger boy dizzy. He leaned forward on his elbows, deepening the kiss.

Brandon felt both blissfully breathless and frightened he was drowning. His brows knit together, eyes closed, his face a picture of frustration. "Spence-"

"Yeah?" he asked, tucking his burning face in the crook of Brandon's neck. "Bit um, much?"

Brandon nodded. His throat ached inside from some sort of emotion he couldn't understand. "A little. Alright?"

Spencer kissed the side of Brandon's neck. "Yeah, alright," he said, moving off to the side. He curled around Brandon anyway, nuzzling under his jaw. "You smell good," he sighed.

Brandon snorted. "I smell like your mum."

"Hmmm," Spencer hummed again, snuggling closer. "Sleep, wanker."

"G'night, Spencer," Brandon replied, hugging Spencer to him like an over-sized teddy bear. Spencer smiled in the darkness. The lack of liquor smell, masculine, mixed with his mother's scent had Spencer dozing off quickly. It was warm and.. a bit bony, but he was happy right where he was.

***

Until he wasn't. It was drizzling rain by the time Spencer made it to the cottage. He cursed and swore as he ran from the car to the house. It certainly wasn't Brandon's warm bed. He sighed, reaching for the door - unlocked.

"Mum? Dad?" he called out.

"In here, Spencer," John replied from the kitchen. He was trying to enjoy a nice morning cuppa except someone was behind the island pelting him with things from a hot-pink sling shot. He hated to think what she'd do if she ever ran out of marshmallows.

Spencer hurried in. He took off his coat, shaking it out.

"Ruddy rain," he said. "I thought it only rained in London."

"My heart," Mary said, grinning at him. If she slouched down in her chair, just so, her head was only barely sticking up, which shielded her from any return fire from John. "You look lovely today."

"Mum!" Spencer said, hurrying around the island to hug her. "You look beautiful as always." He kissed her cheek. "Bet I can get two behind his ear," he whispered.

"Oh, I should like to see that," Mary grinned, handing over her weapon. "Make it good, I'm limited on ammunition."

"For Chrissakes, I can hear you," John replied.

Spencer put his tongue between his lips and fired, pfftpfft.

"Hah!" he crowed.

"You're children. You are all children," John huffed, and shifted so his paper blocked their sugary bullets.

"And somehow, we're having more fun than you, old man," Mary called with a giggle.

"Oh leave him," Spencer laughed. "I need a Mum's shoulder anyway."

Mary arched a brow, and popped back up over the counter to fire one more hard shot directly through the middle of John's paper, making a clear hole. He growled and went into the sitting room, away from the two of them. The older woman turned back to her son with a worried expression. "What's going on that you need a mummy, my love? I'm here for you."

"Where to start?" Spencer said, sitting on the floor to lay his head in his mother's lap. "Abby's got friends."

Mary threaded her fingers through his silky curls, smoothing them back over his head. "Those sorts of girls always come with friends. As I can personally attest, when you live a certain way, things always manage to drag you back in. No matter how hard you try to run away."

"Bran's meds are making him sicker more than well," Spencer whinged.

"He did look terrible when I saw him. I'll have a word with Freya. Perhaps she can talk him into asking the doctor if there was anything they can adjust," Mary replied softly. Soothingly. "I know he's not trying as hard as he should."

"He was sober last night," he murmured. "He's never.."

"Never what, angel?" Mary hummed, playing with his hair.

"Sober when I kiss him," he mumbled into Mary's leg. He looked up with sad eyes. "I'm not sure who I'm more scared of losing first, Mum."

"You poor thing," Mary said, and she leaned in to pull him into a hug. "Unfortunately, we both know I'm not an expert on trying to live. People die, Spencer. That's the horrible truth of things."

"It's not fair," Spencer said. "You haven't even seen your first grandbaby yet." The familiar smell was back. It was the scent of his mother.

"Hmm, yes, grandbabies make me feel wretchedly old. I remember when you were a baby. Ugh, you had the most adorable little frown," Mary sighed, squeezing him tight. "Precious little thing."

"Please- Finch is still a baby," Spencer snorted. "I also came to ask a favor."

Mary pulled back to look at him with an indulgent yet cautious smile playing on her lips. "What can I do for you, my darling?"

"Well, sometimes there's something needing doing and the law - well they can't take care of it, right?" Spencer said, shrugging. "I just need to.. take care of someone."

"Ah, and who are we taking care of?" Mary asked, her eyes tense.

"You know who, Mother," Spencer said. "Neither of them are going to take care of him. I don't know why, but there's a snake in our midst, too close to the source and Bran said he was kissing my sister."

Mary rolled her eyes. "That creature. Sebastian is behind this treachery. Unfortunately, my hands are tied. Especially since your sister let him kiss her. I had really hoped Vance would be the one. Now I'm worried I've trained him up for nothing."

"I could've handled it, Mother," Spencer groused. "I can handle this at least. She's spawned with your golden boy, so he's got to stay, own up to her, and make things right. That.. thing is not like Uncle Jack. The ties, Mum." He sneered.

"That's part of the problem, love. I can't make a move against the grandson without them knowing exactly who did it. I'm getting clumsy. It's why I had to cut back," Mary agreed. She touched his cheek. "You're such a clever boy. You'll be careful, won't you?"

"I'm always careful," Spencer puffed. He laid his head back on her leg. "They'd assume it was one of us. They'd make a move on the cottage or worse, on Finch or Abby. Glad Bran's gay, y'know?"

Mary snorted. "Yes, yes. Very glad Brandon turned out to favor gentlemen. Especially ones so charming as you. Now, about your little trip to the dungeon."

Spencer sat up straight. "Oi!" His face was beet-red. "That has nothin' to do with Bran!"

"You had no plans to take your collared boyfriend down to Mad Mary's?" Mary shook her head. "Try again, darling. I know you weren't considering taking that sweet little criminal girl down there-"

"He only wore it once, and no - For God's sakes, no," Spencer said. "I went alone. All right? And don't call Bran that. He's not." He waved his hand. The word just didn't sound right coming from his mother. "I went alone and watched. Made my face known a bit."

Mary grinned, looking devious. "Oh, I've heard all about your face, darling. Have a care, especially if you're going to use Abigail as your date. Whispers about the girl with the lilac hair went 'round the forums for weeks. Of course, you know already, you're a genius, you always know. But I'm your mother and I worry."

"She was a pretty date," Spencer said. "There always are exceptions, Mum. She helped me a lot that night. The girl called me. The sub. She was m'first case of that sort. Wait- you follow the forums?"

"I follow you, I think there is a difference," Mary said, and she slouched in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. "And it's dull here. Sherlock found all the cherubs."

Spencer covered his face. "Please tell me you haven't seen the photos!"

Mary snickered. "Sweetheart, you should really never put into print things you don't want others to read."

"Uuuggghh, Mum!" Spencer said. "I swear I'm dead. Dead of embarrassment. That's my work." He shot her a grin though. "We should meet for lunch. On Fridays. Noon."

"I would like that," Mary replied with a smile. She kissed his forehead. "I've missed you terribly."

Spencer's cheeks were still pink. "I missed you," he said. "Just cause you're in that throne don't mean you can't come visit me either. I suppose if you're going to stalk me, you might as well hear the dirt from the horse's mouth."

"Mixing metaphors, son?" Sherlock said from the doorway.

"Where have you been?" Mary asked, blinking at him like she'd never seen him before.

"Tending the wounded," Sherlock said. "He's in a right state this morning. Of all the people to pick on."

She rolled her eyes. "He's always such a whinger. Meanwhile I continue to hear him mutter the phrase institution under his breath. Might want to do something about that before I substitute rocks for sweets."

Spencer scowled as Sherlock came around. "He's just worried."

Spencer, however, was feeling hot under the collar at the thought. He slipped out of the kitchen to find his "dad".

"Da?" he called.

"Hello, dear," John said, settled in his chair with a book now instead of a newspaper. "Have a nice chat with your mum?"

"Lovely," Spencer said, serious face in place. "You'll stop that talk about having her locked up. It's making her worse."

John gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, eyes fluttering rapidly. "She said I said that? It's a rehabilitation facility, not a prison."

"You think that's any different for her?" Spencer asked. "For Christ's sake, Dad. You might as well lock Father in a sensory deprivation chamber and watch him go mad! I think she's been punished enough, don't you?"

John sat his book aside, and breathed out through his mouth, trying to steady himself. "She almost killed you. She presents a danger to herself and to others. I'm not sorry for trying to protect you both."

"I made a mistake, and it wasn't Mum's fault. Don't take unknown pills, lesson for the ages," Spencer said, his own stomach still off half the time. "She was scared, Dad. Scared and alone, except that psychopath in her head. She should've been able to trust you above all else to talk to. You're a doctor, Da. A doctor."

John's lips pulled together, practically disappearing. It was clear that this conversation made him uncomfortable. "I am a doctor. But I'm not the sort she needs."

"You should've been," Spencer said. "Don't say anythin' else to her about it. If I have to, I'll move her back to London myself. Psychological warfare is bad enough when it's going on in your own head. She doesn't need it from you neither. I love you, Da. I swear it, but she's in a bloody chair."

"Where does the son get off lecturing the father?" John said gruffly.

"When the father's made his son's mum scared," Spencer replied smartly. "You know who she is. And you, you scare her."

This stunned John. He shook his head, eyes wide. "She's not scared of anything. Least of all me."

"Fucking terrified," Spencer said, frown deep on his face. "Do you not see her, Da?"

John blinked. "Of course I see her."

"Look again," Spencer said, turning to head back to his mother and father. He loved his dad. For several years, Sherlock had been upset over Spencer's preference to John, but Spencer would do anything for his mother.

"Mum?"

Mary turned, and a genuine, soft smile blossomed on her lips, transforming the tired patient into a pretty lady. "Hmm, hello darling." She held out her hand. "You look all cross 'round the eyes. Are you going so soon?"

"Nah. Abby was home late, and Bran's got a long shift. I figured I'd stay through lunch. You can tell me how to figure out where I'm meant to sleep when they're both needin'," Spencer said, pulling some juice out of the fridge. "Like I said, it's a good thing Bran is gay, because there's not a chance he's gonna go falling for Abby. And she's too smart to do likewise."

"I will help you," Mary answered with a solemn nod. "But in return I must ask a favor of you."

"Hmm?" Spencer said, taking a sip of his juice.

"There is a second bag of marshmallows on the top shelf of the cupboard and someone," Mary glared at Sherlock, "put my slingshot on the refrigerator where I couldn't reach it."

"Naughty father," Spencer said, dumping his juice down Sherlock's trousers. "Oops."

"Mary!" Sherlock shouted.

She grinned, an eyebrow raised. "Oh what a shame. You shall have to take your trousers off."

Sherlock stalked off, but not before Spencer grabbed Mary's slingshot and the bag of marshmallows and pelted two in his father's direction. Sherlock yelped and evacuated the kitchen post-haste. Spencer collapsed into giggles at his mother's feet. She laughed, really laughed, and it felt nice.

"You're so much trouble. I adore it," she cooed.

"I know," Spencer grinned. "It's why I'm your favorite."

"Definitely is," Mary agreed, smiling at him fondly.