Darling, kindly shut up! (ENG. VERSION)

0. The Art Of Stubborness.

"Why do you always have to be like this?"

Said the brunette, exhaling another exasperated sigh as he slided his hands over the wooden surface of the table. The couple had just finished enjoying a delicious home-cooked meal, and right at the end of the last course a problem, or rather a mystery, appeared.

"What do you mean by 'like this', pray tell?"

"Stubborn." Albert replied almost in a whisper, accompanied by a smile that was anything but genuine or friendly. "Petulant, obstinate, persistent-... Do I have to go on listing all the possible synonyms or have you managed to grasp the concept, Mr Holmes?" even his tone left no room for kindness; on the contrary, it was quite irritated.

For a moment, Mycroft Holmes had to stop and consider whether what he had just heard come out from his impatient husband's lips was true or not. "Don't bother, I understood the concept on the first definition." his hand went to the still steaming cup of tea, lifting it up. "You are exaggerating the seriousness of the situation, way too much, I may add."

"Oh Oh Oh-...! This is the funniest thing I have ever heard you say in almost five years of relationship and two years of marriage!" Albert began, narrowing his eyes accusingly. "I'm not exasperating anything at all, Mycroft." Having said that, the man pulled his hands away from the table, walking to the adjacent kitchen and returning with a small silver plate: normally used for serving sweets-... if only there was any in there.

All that was left was a few crumbs.

"Enlighten me Director, tell me if this isn't an irrefutable proof." Albert placed the plate on the table, sliding it with his index finger towards the older man, who examined the empty plate as soon as he finished his milk tea. "It's certainly an evidence but not enough to incriminate me and I repeat, you're jumping to conclusions way too fast." Mycroft then got up from the table, taking the empty cup and coaster with him, walking past the younger man and heading to the kitchen sink.

"Very well then, it seems like we're at a dead end on this mistery: 'Who ate the last slice of Louis' homemade apple pie, which I explicitly stated was mine'? " Albert turned towards the (supposed) culprit, sliding a hand to his own left hip. "It wasn't you and it wasn't even me either, clearly: the only other culprit on the list is Charlie!"

"It might have been him, actually. He is a very intelligent bird after all."

"Mycroft."

Oh, Albert used that tone.

Mycroft took off his jacket, placed it on a nearby chair and rolled up his sleeves before running the water from the tap. "You're right, I can't prove my innocence, but can you prove yours? " he began to rinse the cup, careful not to accidentally chip it. "Perhaps without realising it, you woke up last night and decided to have a quick meal." a long sigh was heard from the next room, followed by a click of tongue.

"We both know that's impossible for two reasons: firstly, being confined in the Tower of London for three years has caused me to develop a certain condition called insomnia, and as much as I can sleep decently with you next to me, I think I would have noticed, and most likely remembered, if I had got up to eat. Secondly, when we sleep, your grip is very similar to that of an octopus, it would have been quite impossible for me to move without you noticing it yourself."

Valid points, mystery still unsolved.

Mycroft turned off the tap and dried the two small dishes with a cloth. "In any case, we haven't caught the culprit yet." he said afterwards, putting them back in the cabinet. "'Actually, we already did: he's standing in front of me right now." Albert began. "Unfortunately, as I said, you're stubborn and don't want to admit when you're wrong, even about such minor matters." Oh, now Mycroft understood: Albert wanted an apology from him.