Mycroft seemed to collect himself, although, if Greg was any judge he was seething. “Pardon my manners, Stephen. This is Gregory Lestrade...”

“Detective Chief Inspector, no less,” the anonymous man said, an oily and somewhat insincere smile in place. He proffered a hand, and Greg reached to shake, noting a slightly limp hold, most likely calculated to misdirect. 

“Gregory, I would...not ‘like to’ exactly...but I will tolerate presenting my brother to you, on this occasion. This is Stephen, my twin.”

“Your twin? You...have a twin?”

“Alas, yes,” Mycroft admitted.

“Alas, true,” Stephen said, simultaneously. The two men shared a glance, then turned their attention back to Greg. Their twin gazes were unsettling.

“When were you going to tell me you had a twin, Mycroft?” Greg said, his voice dangerously low.

“Probably never,” both men spoke in unison again. Greg glared, flummoxed and somewhat upset. Even on their wedding day, Mycroft had to go and prove that he still didn’t trust his partner. 

“Oh dear, brother mine, I think there is trouble in paradise already,” Stephen observed, mildly. 

“You, whoever you are, this has nothing whatever to do with you,” Greg growled. “Really, I should have expected this, shouldn’t I? You and your idiot brother, with a crazy sister who tries to murder the both of you, and now...him! What else have you got? A mad husband locked in an attic? Oh, no, perhaps that position is reserved for me, because frankly, you’re driving me nuts!” 

“Gregory...you cannot possibly understand...”

“Oh, I think he understands too well, brother dear,” came the sarcastic reply. 

“Too bloody right, I do. This is our wedding day, Mycroft. How could you not tell me about your twin brother?”

“Easily, believe me. Has it done any good finding out about him? No. It has not. You might have continued in blissful ignorance of his existence, had he had the common decency to stay in his retreat, to hibernate like the snake he is,” Mycroft growled.

“Snakes do not actually hibernate, Mycroft. They go into a state known as brumation where they become less active and their metabolism slows down tremendously...”

“Oh, shut up!” Mycroft snapped. “Always trying to prove yourself the clever one. Why couldn’t you just stay away? You always spoil things...”

“Spoil things? Like you didn’t queer my pitch with the Brazilian Ambassador...”

“Are you still bringing that up? That was thirty years ago. He was never going to be attrac...”

“Thanks to you, I never found out!”

“Stephen, you utter Prick, just...go home!”