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365 Days of Mystrade

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The first thing that assaulted Greg the moment he woke up was an intense headache. He groaned, shutting his eyes tight even though he’d never opened them, and tried assessing the situation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d celebrated the New Year like last night. It had meant to be a simple office party, but they all got drunk way too fast. He was trying to gather himself, figure everything out, and…

The sheets he was laying in did not feel familiar. His brow furrowed, and finally he forced his eyes open to very unfamiliar surroundings. Oh shit, who the fuck had he ended up going home with? You would think he was a teenager again. He glanced down at his bare torso, and caught sight of his clothes strewn across the floor, and then the umbrella in the corner.

The…umbrella?

That was Mycroft Holmes’ umbrella.

His brown eyes widened and his mouth dropped. He had invited Mycroft to the party, sure, and he had been insanely surprised when the posh man had actually shown up. He’d been having really attached, intimate thoughts of the politician for a while, but had been resigned that it would never get anywhere. Except, it seemed that it had. He’d gone home with Mycroft. How much had they both had??

He was startled out of his thoughts as the man in question walked into the bedroom, holding two steaming mugs. He was wearing a dark blue robe tied tightly around his waist, and his usual perfect hair was messy with sleep, and what Greg recalled other, more fun activities. His fine eyebrows rose as they made eye contact.

“Ah, Inspector,” Mycroft started, his voice smooth and yet, uncertain. “Coffee?”

Greg sat up slowly, a grin sliding onto his face. He reached out to take the drink, and shifted over as he was joined back on the bed.

“I think we’re past such formalities now, don’t you?” he questioned. “Please. Greg.”

“Fair enough, Gregory.”

Greg rolled his eyes and chuckled. He took a few sips of his coffee before setting it aside and turning to face the younger man.

“So, last night…” he started, a bit awkwardly.

“Can be as much or as little as you prefer.” Mycroft had taken on his normal, guarded tone. One he used when they discussed cases or Sherlock. He was almost noticeably rigid, and he wasn’t looking at him.

“Yes,” the older of the two said slowly, softly. His tone was enough to make Mycroft look at him, his eyes strangely curious. “As much as I’d prefer…”

Before Mycroft had the chance to say anything more, Greg leaned in and captured his thin lips in a gentle, passionate kiss that spoke volumes for them both.

Chapter Text

Greg Lestrade always went to sleep with company, but he almost always woke up alone.

It was a strange thing. One he wasn’t used to. You think he’d be used to it by now, but he still wasn’t. When he’d been previously married, they either got up together or he was up first, making coffee or grabbing a quick bite or a shower before having to go in on a case. Now, however, he was the one waking up second.

Mycroft Holmes worked for the British government. Even after them being in a serious relationship for over two years, Greg still did not know exactly what he was responsible for. He probably would never know. He was okay with that. As a Detective Inspector, he was well aware of the need for secrets and discretion. Unfortunately, those secrets ran plenty with Mycroft. They could never converse about each other’s day fully. The biggest problem was the hours, however.

Many times, Mycroft would have to go out of country, and not be back for a week or two at a time. When he was home, most of the time they would curl up together and fall asleep cozily, or collapse after a satisfying bout of sex and pass out. They would sleep in each other’s arms, exchange soft kisses and cuddles, and Greg would sleep soundly.

Without fail, he would not wake up the same way. If he were lucky, Mycroft would still be in the house. There were times where he would even catch him in a half state of dress, having just been roused by his mobile not too long before with the news of having to go in. His partner would always smile sweetly at him in the dark, shush him softly, and request for him to go back to sleep with a kiss. Greg, drowsy as he was, would comply.

Greg would never complain. Not to Mycroft, anyway. He would complain to Sally over coffee on a particularly grumpy morning, or to John after a pint or two, but never to Mycroft. Not that it mattered. The man knew anyway. He always knew; he was a Holmes. He refused to complain regardless. As frustrating as it could be, he wouldn’t trade his relationship with Mycroft for anything in the world.

This frustration, however, made mornings like the current one the most amazing gift on the face of the planet. When Greg woke and found himself warmer than normal, he couldn’t help but smile and shift, turning into the warmth of his lover’s body. Mycroft was still asleep, one pale arm slung over his waist, his face buried in his pillow. It was rare that Greg ever woke before Mycroft, and it was something he took full advantage of. Turning slowly onto his side, he gazed at the serene face next to him.

Unable to resist, he reached up and ran his fingers through Mycroft’s soft, ginger hair. While it was a brief, light action, it woke the younger man up regardless. He was a light sleeper; though Greg supposed it made sense with his job and with having grown up with Sherlock as a brother. Pale, blue eyes shifted to look at him, still full of sleep, but he smiled.

“G’morning Gregory,” he mumbled, his articulation not as its best while still half asleep. It was adorable, and it made Greg’s own smile widen.

“Mornin’,” Greg returned, scooting closer and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t have any worlds to save this morning?”

“Thankfully no,” the elder Holmes chuckled, tightening his grip around Greg’s waist and pulling them against one another.

“Yes, very thankfully.” Greg didn’t get the chance to laze around in bed with Mycroft much. He would take what he could get.

“I apologize, Gregory, I-“

“It’s fine,” Greg interrupted. He knew what Mycroft was going to apologize for, and he wasn’t going to hear it. They never talked about never waking up together. They never needed to. It was part of his job, and he did good work (whatever it was), so Greg would have none of it. “Let’s just enjoy it, yeah?”

“Yes. Yes, let’s do just that.”

Curling together, they kissed sleepily; soft, gentle, and unhurried kisses. Mycroft ran his hand up and down Greg’s bare back as they kissed, before laying their heads together on the pillow and dozing in and out together.

Greg almost always woke up alone. But when he didn’t, they were the best mornings he could have ever asked for.

Chapter Text

It was bloody freezing. It was 2 in the morning, and it was so cold the rain was starting to turn into sleet. How Sherlock Holmes could be flitting around the crime scene as enthusiastically as he was, Greg would never know. He stood there, hands shoved in his coat pockets, head down to try and keep his face somewhat dry, his breath coming out in puffs. John stood nearby, looking even less pleased to be out. Why did the best murders have to happen in the worst conditions, he had been asked. Greg just rolled his eyes.

His scarf was tugged tightly around his neck, but it wouldn’t stave off the chill enough on its own. He was bracing himself for the illness that would follow. Unfortunately, this was his job, and he was here, so he just needed to make the best of it.

Sherlock was in the middle of a lightning fast deduction, waving his hands around and pacing as he usually did, when he stopped mid-sentence and made a noise of irritated disgust. Greg looked up, brow furrowed, confused as to what had happened. He looked at Sherlock, and then twisted to follow his line of sight. Off in the distance stood a slender form under an umbrella, a drink in hand. Greg could feel his chest tighten in excitement.

“Be right back,” he muttered, and made his way out of the taped off area. Back at the body, John raised an eyebrow, confused.

“What on earth?” he asked, looking to Sherlock, who rolled his eyes and crouched back down in front of the corpse.

“They’re shagging, obviously. It’s awful.” John made a surprised noise in his throat and gaped at the two older men, who were now standing together under the large, black umbrella.

“I always tell you to get an umbrella,” Mycroft fussed at Greg, holding out the coffee he’d brought. “Coffee?”

“You’re a life saver,” Greg sighed, taking the hot drink and bringing it up to his lips. The relieved sigh that followed was a sinful noise, to be sure.

“You’re going to be sick,” the elder Holmes pointed out, raising a single eyebrow and giving him that knowing stare.

“I’ll be fine,” Greg waved off, even though he knew he wouldn’t be.

“Come to mine tonight.” It wasn’t a request, not really. Mycroft Holmes hardly ever asked. Not that he ever minded.

“No idea when I’ll be done…” Greg started, but he was smiling.

“Come back to mine, Gregory.”

“I’d love to.”

And then Mycroft did something he rarely did. Leaning in, he reached out and took hold of Greg’s waist, and kissed him gently. In public. After a shocked, delayed moment, Greg returned the kiss, wrapping the arm not holding his coffee around the taller man’s slender neck. In the distance he could hear Sherlock groaning dramatically, but he could care less. Kissing Mycroft was a heady sensation, and he wondered if he’d ever grow tired of it. They parted too soon for his preference, and Mycroft smiled at him.

“See you later,” he said softly, squeezing his waist before departing. Rain started falling on Greg again, and he started to make his way back into the scene. Now, however, he was warm all over. And it wasn’t just because of the coffee.

Chapter Text

Mycroft was bent over his desk, chin propped up in his hand, as he read through most documents related to the business in Korea he’d been trying to clean up all week. A half-drunk cup of tea sat next to him, his mobile next to it, which he then reached for to send out a new series of emails for their next course of action. He’d barely been home in four days. Normally, he would send Anthea to fetch him a change of clothes, but to have recently had a certain Detective Inspector move in with him, it gave him incentive to swing by the house himself.

They’d barely seen each other, and Gregory had been half asleep for when they had, since Mycroft had only been able to steal away in the middle of the night to change and refresh himself with a shower. His work was important, and they both knew of his long hours, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

A soft knock on his door pulled his attention, and he raised his head before calling out entrance. Anthea poked her head in, and he wondered if she was bringing more tea or papers, but the smirk on her face instantly told him otherwise. Leaning back in his chair, Mycroft arched an eyebrow curiously.

“Delivery for you, sir,” she said, before turning her attention right back to the Blackberry she was never seen without. She pushed the door open further and a man in a suit walked into the office. Mycroft’s sharp eyes widened as he took in the sight of the vase in the man’s hand, not straying from it even as it was placed on an empty spot on his desk. The man left immediately, and Anthea remained a moment longer to look on in amusement before leaving as well.

Mycroft continued to stare. What on Earth…? Leaning forward, he shifted papers to the side so he could pull it closer. It was a mixture of red and white roses, with Queen Anne’s Lace put in throughout. It was an…impressive bouquet, to be sure. He’d never gotten anything like this before in his life. His keen nose picked up the scent immediately; fresh, of course. Of course, he could tell by the look alone, but the smell confirmed it. He admired it for a moment before reaching out to pluck the card off it’s plastic stand. He knew exactly who sent it, but he wanted to see the message regardless.

‘Miss you. Come home to me soon. –GL’

A simple message, but one that made an uncharacteristically wide grin slide onto Mycroft’s face. He regarded the assortment a moment longer before reaching for his mobile and dialing the only number he used more than his little brother’s.

“Hello?” came that rough voice on the other end.

“Gregory Lestrade,” he began, unable to keep the amusement out of his smooth voice. “What an elaborate way to request my presence.”

“Thought you’d appreciate it,” the older man returned, equally amused. “Wanted to get your attention.”

“Oh believe me, you’ve had my attention since the day we met, Gregory.”

A hum from his partner. It was true, and Mycroft had no problem admitting it to him.

“So…. Will you be home soon?” came the next question, almost more timidly. Mycroft regarded his work, letting his smile fall away. He peered at the papers in front of him before gazing back at the roses.

“I will. Tonight, if everything goes well.”

“I hope so.”

“Me as well, my darling. After all, I need to properly thank you for such a lovely, romantic gesture.”

“Promise?” The amused tone was back, mixed with something more intimate. It sent a chill down Mycroft’s spine.

“Promise,” he returned, his voice lowering seductively.

Chapter Text

The only sound that filled the room was the pounding of Mycroft’s feet on the rubber belt beneath him, and his soft pants echoing in the small room. He ran to think. He ran to distract himself. Hands balled in loose fists, his arms swung at his sides as he ran, a soft sheen of sweat having formed across his forehead and the back of his neck.

You’re fat. Been gaining the pounds back again, I see. One too many cakes after tea, Mycroft?

His little brother’s words echoed in his head, taunting him. It was ridiculous. Mycroft had so many other things to concern himself with in his life; his body image was low on the list. For the most part, anyway. Every now and again the insecurity would resurface itself, and while he kept it well hidden to everyone else, he’d be lying to himself to say it didn’t bother him.

And so he ran.

He was unsure how much time had passed, but as a low ache began to settle into his thighs and his breathing became harsher, he began to wonder just how long he’d been running for. Across the room, his mobile chirped with a new email, so he decided it would be best to call it quits. Walking across the room, he grabbed a towel and wiped his face, and then draped it across his neck as he read the correspondence.

He was in the middle of typing a reply and coordinating with Anthea when he heard his front door open and close. He stiffened, immediately on the alert, but the telling footsteps reminded him it was just Gregory Lestrade. He’d given the man a key to his place after a particularly intimate weekend, though he rarely dropped by unannounced. His initial excitement gave way to quick panic as he realized the state he was in. There was no time to disguise it, however, so he decided against trying and headed out to meet him.

“Gregory,” he greeted as soon as he saw the older man. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Instead of a response, he got a curious look from those deep brown eyes the Detective Inspector had. He opened his mouth to say something about his appearance, but realized he didn’t quite have anything to say.

“Are you…” he finally started, his rough voice intrigued. “Are you working out?”

The track pants, trainers, and workout shirt made the answer to that question a dead giveaway, so Mycroft didn’t think it was worth an actual response. He huffed, glancing back at his phone again, strangely embarrassed and frustrated that the other man was seeing him like this. When he looked up, however, Gregory was standing right in front of him, his eyes a soft expression.

“Gregory?” he started to ask.

“You look fine, Mycroft,” the older man pointed out. Mycroft rolled his eyes and let out a huff through his nose. This, in turn, caused Gregory to reach up and cup his cheek, pulling his face back so that they were looking at one another again. He had a mischievous grin on his face that sent a spark of heat through the politician.

“Let me give you a better reason to be covered in sweat,” Gregory whispered deeply, having pressed flush against Mycroft’s taller body and whispering into his ear. A soft sound escaped Mycroft’s throat in the split second he decided to take the Inspector up on his offer. Grabbing the older man’s wrist, he tugged him out of the foyer and up towards his bedroom, smirking the entire way.

Chapter Text

Walking away from the smiling bride – because really, Mary was smiling way too much, wedding day or not – Sherlock pulled his mobile out of his pocket and began wandering down the reception area. His sharp eyes were on everybody, all the time, and the lingered for a moment longer on Inspector Lestrade. While everyone around him was mingling and moving, he was sitting with a beer in his hand, looking at no one in particular. Interesting. Sticking his other hand in his pocket, he dialed the number (almost reluctantly), and waited.

“Yes, what, Sherlock?” came the voice on the other end, panting softly.

“Why are you out of breath?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he slid in and out of bodies.

“Filing,” came Mycroft’s snarky remark.

“You’ve been working out again,” Sherlock continued, ignoring his brother’s attempts to dodge the conversation. He grimaced dramatically at no one in particular. That, corresponding with Lestrade’s current state, suddenly made all the sense in the world. The final piece clicked into place, forming the solution to his puzzle.

“What do you want?” Mycroft sounded more irritated than normal, and already Sherlock could see the crease in his brow at his frown. Sherlock began pacing back and fourth at the edge of the room.

“I need your answer Mycroft. It’s a matter of urgency.”

“Answer?”

“Even at the eleventh hour, it’s not too late, you know.” His voice was hinting, knowing at what was going on. There was silence, followed by a sigh at the other end.

“Oh lord,” Mycroft groaned. “Today. It’s today, isn’t it?” Sherlock hummed during his brother’s pause, before he could continue. “No, Sherlock. I will not be coming to the night do, as you so poetically put it.”

“What a shame.” Turning, his sharp pale eyes landed on John and Mary at the head of the room, before migrating back to the form of Lestrade sitting at the table. The man was on his second – no, third – beer of the afternoon, and the reception had barely begun.

“John and Mary will be delighted to find I am not hanging around,” Mycroft said after a moment. Sherlock made a knowing snort, and he just knew the older Holmes was rolling his eyes at the sound of it.

“John and Mary weren’t quite who I had in mind,” Sherlock said finally. He was met with silence. It was a different kind of silence; not Mycroft’s usual, all-knowing, mocking silence. He thought it intriguing how they could read each other’s silences, when most people could barely read each other as they spoke, but such was the life of the Holmes men, he supposed.

“It’s none of your business.” Defensive. Definitely an argument, then.

“He’s on his third beer already.”

Why Sherlock cared, he couldn’t quite explain. It stemmed from that same train of thought that caused him to mention the fact that Mycroft was lonely. Except… he wasn’t all that alone. At least, not for now. He was walking on thin ice with his “goldfish”, as it were, and for some reason Sherlock didn’t want that happening. He thought of the parallels between him and his brother (much as he loathe to admit it most of the time), and he thought of the parallels between John and Lestrade. Sure, things were changing between him and John. John was getting married. That, however, was a whole other scale of emotions he was desperately not trying to focus on right now. John had been good for him. He had the feeling Lestrade would be good for Mycroft; if Mycroft didn’t muck it all up as he was currently doing.

“The eleventh hour is not too late,” he repeated, continuing once he registered that Mycroft was not going to be the one to break this current silence. “However, once it hits 12:01, things change.”

“What is it with your sudden obsession with my personal life, Sherlock?” his older brother asked, his voice snappish and just a bit sorrowful.

“Just… He’s your John. Do not jump off this building, Mycroft. You might not like what you find when you return two years later.”

He hung up the phone before Mycroft could get out another word. He was annoyed with himself for voicing the comparison, for showing his brother the weakness he would no doubt pick up on. Sighing through his nose, he began to make his way back towards the front, where he would no doubt be forced into his speech before long.

*

Mycroft sighed, his head falling back against his chair as his arm fell limp at his side. He turned his mobile over in contemplation at what was said. As usual, Sherlock knew too much without knowing anything at all. That didn’t make him wrong. Amazing how two years away could make him so much more perceptive to this kind of thing.

Gregory had wanted him there. He’d asked him to go. Mycroft had refused. They’d been involved with one another for three months now, and yet it seemed neither of them truly knew how to classify it. Something about an official date at a social gathering such as a wedding caused him to seclude into himself and immediately refuse the older man. They hadn’t spoken since then. They’d not even shared so much as a single text in four days.

He sat there for a moment more, before glancing at his mobile again. The eleventh hour wasn’t too late. Should he? He chewed at his bottom lip, a bad habit that was his only tell when something bothered him, before forcing himself out of the chair and towards the shower. Perhaps, if he planned things out the right way and executed it precisely, he could salvage this. He wanted to salvage this. He only hoped, in his insecurities, that Gregory would forgive him.

Chapter Text

Sighing with what had to be a stupid grin on his face, Greg rolled over on the large bed, bumping into the tall man lying next to him. Mycroft was on his stomach, arms crossed underneath his head, eyes closed. They were relaxing in post-coital bliss, and hadn’t gotten out of bed all day. It had been quite a feat convincing the politician to stay in bed and not get dressed, but he was very pleased with the results. Luckily, his big brown eyes came into play and made it a lot more convincing. It was a dangerous weapon that he knew how to wield well.

Their sudden contact had Mycroft opening one pale eye, a smile sliding onto his face. He was beautiful. Reaching over, Greg slid a hand down the smooth canvas of his back, from shoulder blade to hip, before stopping and just gazing. How had he gotten so lucky? He couldn’t quite sort out how someone plain and rough like him could attract the eye of the smartest, most elegant man he had ever known to exist. Mycroft could have anyone, and yet he chose him.

Pushing himself up with an elbow, he slid one of his legs in between the other man’s and leaned close, kissing him on the back. A soft hum emitted from him in response. Lifting his head, his eyes ran across the expanse of bare back, up on his shoulders, where he paid close attention to the decoration of freckles all across the pale skin. Practically crawling on top of him, Greg began to kiss the spots on Mycroft’s shoulders, moving from one to the other.

“Gregory, what are you doing?” the younger man asked, an amused hint in his voice. Greg grinned in between kisses.

“Kissing your freckles, of course,” he mumbled, his lips brushing across skin as he spoke.

“Gregory…”

Greg lifted his head at the sound in his lover’s voice, blinking. He moved enough so that they were looking at each other, and there was an odd expression on Mycroft’s face. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it, though. It reminded him of the expression he would adopt after being goaded by Sherlock, usually about his weight. His eyebrows rose.

“Myc?” he questioned. He got a soft sigh in return.

“Honestly Gregory, out of all the things about me, you cannot possibly like those.”

Greg blinked the statement. Was Mycroft self conscious about his freckles? It certainly seemed so… Without another word, he crawled back to his previous position and leaned down to start kissing the freckles again, moving to the center of his back and down a little. Mycroft made a small noise in his throat, but said nothing.

“I… love your freckles…” he said in between kisses, continuing to make his way across and down his back. “And to prove it to you… I’m going to kiss… Every. Single. One.”

“An impossible task, to be certain,” the younger man snorted. Greg shook his head in response and continued to kiss. He’d shifted down on the bed, down at the small of his back now. His hands moved as well, now holding onto the outside of Mycroft’s thighs. He made it to his waist, and while the freckles were scarce here, continued to kiss. His tongue slipped out to drag along the very top of his arse, earning a very delicious groan from Mycroft.

“Gregory,” he said again, his voice different. Almost… needy?

“While I’m down here…?” he asked suggestively. Mycroft’s hips rose ever so slightly.

“Yes. Please.”

Greg grinned widely, feeling a bit mischievous. “Well,” he spoke softly. “How could I resist such good manners?”

Chapter Text

“Goddamnit!” Greg shouted, kicking the edge of his desk forcefully, causing the furniture to shift and things on the desk to fall over. Including his coffee mug. Which still had coffee in it. That promptly fell onto the floor where it would no doubt stain. The Detective Inspector could care less, however, and began pacing the floor in irritation.

“Sir-“ Sally Donovan attempted to start, but he was having none of it.

“We almost had them. We had bloody evidence, for Christ’s sake! How is this still happening?!” he continued to scream, waving his hands up in the air in annoyance. He was getting reamed by his superior for not nailing down this case yet, and his last resort could be bothered, because it wasn’t above a six. He was to the point of begging and still could not convince Sherlock to help. He paced again before stopping to kick at his desk, causing Donovan to jump and sigh.

“Go home, Greg,” she started to fuss. He glared at her, and she put her hands up defensively. “Go home, take a breather, and get your head sorted. Then you can come back.”

“We’re still missing something,” he said through clenched teeth. Walking back to his side of the desk, he threw open the case file and began looking through things again. “There’s something… Something that can tie everything together. The missing piece. We just need to fucking find it.”

“You won’t find it if you continue being pissed off,” Donovan finally snapped. “Go home. Calm down. Come back. Maybe even try convincing the freak again.”

Greg glared at her again at calling Sherlock a freak. Names like that had never gotten them anywhere. Apart from that, however, she was right. He couldn’t sort evidence with the hot head he was sporting. It was a poor trait of his that he’d always had. When he got mad, he got mad quick. Sighing, he snatched his mobile and car keys.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He was aware the truth of that statement was a bit rare. He was aware of it as he sat in the kitchen a few hours later with a scotch in his hand. It wasn’t his first scotch either, so going back to the Yard this evening was getting slimmer and slimmer. Besides, he was still angry. To say his career was riding on this case was boarding on the dramatic; after all, he highly doubted he would actually lose his job if they didn’t nail these guys. Still… It was a big deal. Greg was under so much pressure.

And Sherlock bloody Holmes couldn’t be bothered to help.

He was stewing in all these thoughts, drinking his scotch, so he didn’t happen to hear the front door opening and closing nearby. Anger flared up in him again and, after downing the last of his drink, slammed the glass down. If it weren’t for the instant stinging in his hand, accompanied by moisture, he barely would have realized that he’d slammed the glass down a bit too hard. Wide brown eyes went down to the counter and he hissed, turning his hand to better see where broken glass had cut into his skin.

“Gregory?” came a smooth voice, alert and full of concern. Swift steps echoed down the hallway and soon Mycroft came into view, still holding his coat and umbrella. Greg blinked, looked up at his lover, and then back down at his bleeding hand.

“I-“ he started, but already the sharp-eyed politician was in action. He dropped his coat and umbrella with a carelessness that was immensely uncommon for him and strode over to the sink to wet a cloth. Then, he was immediately at his side, gently grabbing his injured hand, and pressing the cloth against it. Greg flinched, feeling another sting moving through him, and looked up at Mycroft’s questioning gaze.

“It’s this case,” he sighed bitterly, holding his forehead in his unhurt hand.

“They were sent free again.” It wasn’t a question. It never was. Greg nodded. “Was it worth breaking a glass for?”

“If your fucking brother would help, I wouldn’t still be dealing with the damn thing,” he snapped heatedly. When he looked up again, the previously concerned look had turned stern. Mycroft was all but glaring at him.

“Gregory, you need to stop shouting,” he said, his voice crisp and borderline cold. Greg frowned and stared down at their joined hands, watching the younger man still tending to his wound even as they almost began fussing at each other. He sighed again.

“This case is driving me mental,” he frowned. So much so, he was about to get into a fight with his partner. He really did need to calm down. He looked back up after a moment. “Sorry Myc, I-“

“It’s alright, Gregory.” The voice was affectionate again. Bending his head, Mycroft leaned in for a soft kiss. “Let me tend to your wound and we can retire to the bedroom, okay? And you can talk me through it. Let me help, if my tedious brother will not.”

Greg managed his first smile of the day, and nodded.

“What would I do without you?” he sighed as they walked together through the house. Mycroft chuckled.

“Probably would’ve killed yourself by now, darling.”

Chapter Text

The warm breeze that brushed by was calming, and a rather nice contrast to the normal cold London air. Mycroft reclined back on the blanket that had been spread out, sighing happily, and crossing his ankles. He was not one to spend time at a beach – it was not as if his complexion really allowed for it anyway – but it was the first vacation he and Gregory had been able to take together, so there was nothing unpleasant about it. So long as the sunscreen remained on and he stayed under the shadows of the umbrella he was laying under, his skin wouldn’t suffer too bad.

Grinning, his partner made his way over to him across the sand. He propped himself up on his elbows and removed his sunglasses, gazing up at the older man. Gregory had become quite sun-soaked, tanning his already lovely skin.

“Shall we head back?” he prompted, as the other man got onto his knees in front of him, relaxing. They would have a delicious dinner awaiting them, or even just some time relaxing in their room, after showering off the remains of sand and lotion and ocean water.

Gregory shook his head, his grin changing feeling, and Mycroft raised his eyebrows. The older man all but crawled on top of him, leaning in for a heated kiss. He responded instantly, returning the kiss in kind, and reached up to thread his fingers through soft, silver hair. His partner’s tongue slid against his lips, requesting entrance that Mycroft quickly granted, and he gasped into his mouth as their crotches rubbed against one another.

“Gregory…” he started against his lips, breathlessly. The older man was beginning to tug at his shorts and stroke his skin, which felt amazing, but sent a small alarm off in his head. “Gregory, we’re in public,” he weakly protested, panting slightly, face flushed.

“Private beach,” he was reminded, Gregory’s words deep and rough. It sent shivers down his spine to hear his voice in such a state. He gripped tighter at the back of his head as a hand slipped inside of his shorts and deft fingers began stroking his erection. He shuddered.

“Yes, but,” he started again, trying to think of a good reason. Unfortunately, his brain wasn’t functioning at its highest capacity currently, and the fact that they were on a beach sent a thrill through him. Private, yes, so there was no one around that could see them. But still technically public. There was something so… naughty about it. Almost risky.

“Trust me, Myc,” Gregory breathed, gazing down at him affectionately. Mycroft knew he wouldn’t press it if he truly didn’t want him to. Thing was, though, he did want him to. So he nodded slightly, and in that moment, their clothing was shifted and that hand that was teasing him was immediately wrapped around both of them. Mycroft shouted out, and then yanked Gregory down to muffle the shout with a desperate kiss, rocking and panting until they reached release together.

“That was… insane….” Mycroft panted afterwards, as they lay sprawled on the blanket together. Next to him, Gregory chuckled, nuzzling his jaw gently.

“Best vacation ever,” the older man whispered, grinning. Mycroft couldn’t help but nod. Yes, it truly was.

Chapter Text

“You should wear shorts more often.”

Mycroft opened an eye and looked beside him where Gregory lay with an adorable, contagious grin on his face. He let out of a huff of a chuckle, eyeing him curiously.

“And what reason would that be for, Gregory?” he asked softly, curling a bit closer to the warm body next to him. His lover really did say some of the strangest things while he was still recovering from their intimate activities. He watched as the older man propped himself up on his elbows and gaze over at him.

“Your legs, Myc,” he prompted, his brown eyes shifting down to stare at them. Mycroft felt a self-conscious pang and his cheeks flushed with embarrassed heat.

“Honestly, Gregory. Not in my line of work.” There’s no way he would be caught dead wearing anything other than his tailored suits. Even his ‘casual wear’ was dressier than most people’s formal wear.

“Around here, then,” he said, his voice almost a whine.

“I don’t understand why-“ he started, but faded off as he was suddenly lying on his own. He watched as Gregory moved down the bed and got in between his legs. Instantly, he moved to prop himself up, his eyebrows shooting up.

Instead of going for what he assumed the older man was wanting to jump back into (which would normally be ridiculous but for two older men they had rather active libidos it seemed), Gregory grabbed onto one of his legs gently and pulled it up to sit his ankle on his shoulder. Turning his head, he began pressing kisses to his calf. The kisses were slow and affectionate, and he was clearly taking his time. He could feel every curve of those wonderful lips on his skin. Why, Mycroft couldn’t quite figure out. He watched, trying to figure out the obsession. His legs were nothing special. In fact, they were rather scrawny, pale, and twiggy. Mycroft honestly almost hated them more than he did his midsection. Yet the other man seemed enthralled by them.

“They’re gorgeous,” Gregory whispered against his skin, running his hand along the outside, over his ankle, and up his thigh. Mycroft couldn’t hold back the content sigh that escaped him, and he rested back into the mattress. It was all very soothing; he had to admit. “You’ve no idea, Myc. No idea how lovely they are.”

“Mmmm… I’m beginning to get the idea,” he muttered in return, feeling a flutter in his chest. “But feel free to continue showing me.” Only Gregory had ever had him feel like this. He felt cared for, and loved, with the Detective Inspector. There were no ulterior motives here, no end game, and no lies.

He almost let out a soft noise of protest when his leg was lowered back onto the bed, but it turned into a smile when all Gregory did was shift to his other leg. He started the same, slow kissing routine as he’d done on the first, and Mycroft sighed happily. Yes, he would let Gregory praise his legs all he desired if he got to feel like this.

The kisses made their way up to his knee, straying further than he had done on the other leg, causing the comforting feeling to get a little more heated. Mycroft opened his piercing blue eyes and gazed down at the man in front of him. Their eyes locked in silent communication, and that infectious, mischievous grin returned to Gregory’s face. Mycroft mirrored it.

“What?” he asked, almost lightheartedly, his heart rate escalating. Gregory chuckled.

“Nothing, love.” Straightening his back again, he continued his kissing routine, as well as massaging his calves gently. Mycroft let his eyes flutter closed, and he just enjoyed the sensations. If he desired to put a name to it, he would say that Gregory seemed to be worshipping his legs a bit. It was… nice. He prayed he would never want to stop.

Chapter Text

It still felt strange having a key to Gregory’s flat. Not that Mycroft had ever been kept out before that, but nonetheless, having a copy of the key carried a different weight to it. It shouldn’t, and it was irrational to think that way. But it was. He was currently putting that key to good use, to surprise the older man. He’d gotten back three days early from his business trip to Korea, and had purposely not told him in the hopes to see the way his face lit up in shock and excitement.

Quietly, he shut the door behind him, but paused in the front room, furrowing his brow. It immediately felt different. He listened to the noises within the flat, and found he heard two voices. One, the deep rasp of Gregory’s, and the other… A woman. He blinked, pressing him lips together in a thin line, and took a cautious step forward, listening.

“Greg, it’s been really hard this past year,” the woman was sighing. Her voice had a particularly mournful quality to it that was, frankly, overdramatic and insincere.

“Christina…” he heard Gregory sigh in return. Mycroft’s eyes widened and he froze. His ex wife? Why was she here, of all places? He heard a shift, and through a slant of sight in the walls, saw the woman leaning very much into Gregory’s personal space. Her hands were on his legs, face angling towards his, as if to-

Mycroft backed up. His mind had gone blank, which left him uncomfortable and almost panicked. Spinning on his heel, he started to make a quick exit, only to realize he’d made noise and there was a pair of footsteps behind him.

“Myc?!” Gregory’s voice came, definitely surprised, and almost horrified. Mycroft froze and shut his eyes, sighing, before craning his neck to look back at him.

“I got back early,” he said, his voice frigid. It had to be. He had to be in control. “But I see my presence is no longer desired. Good day, Inspector.”

He couldn’t bear to say his name. He left immediately, ignoring the beginnings of protest from the other man. He ducked into his car and ordered to be driven home promptly. He needed a scotch.

He had been fooling himself, thinking a relationship between them would work. Of course Gregory would want her back; they had so much history together. What was he? A secretive, intelligent individual that couldn’t stand people. There was no contest. He tried ignoring his phone as it rang in his pocket, knowing who it was. By the time he’d arrived home and poured his scotch, his phone had rang twice and beeped with new text messages five times.

Sitting in his chair and sipping the drink, he finally pulled it out to read them.

Please answer your phone. –GL

Come back. Please. –GL

Mycroft please, let me explain. Answer your phone. –GL

It’s not what you think it is, really. I swear to you. –GL

I love you. Please talk to me. Call me. Please. –GL

Mycroft sighed, scrolling through the messages more than once. Part of him wanted to. He wanted to be rational about this, and hear all the facts, like he always did. However, he was feeling very… irrational. Upset. How could he have thought that their relationship could have seriously lasted? It was a ridiculous notion.

He gazed at the words on his bright screen for what had to be way too long. Without replying, he finally set his phone down and put his attention back to his scotch. He was certainly not on the verge of tears. Old words of his had never been proven more correct.

Caring was definitely not an advantage.

Chapter Text

Mycroft wasn’t answering his phone. Not since… Greg sighed in frustration. His damn ex-wife was still managing to fuck things up in his life. She had come over, begging to be taken back, getting all up in his personal space and trying to make a move. It was desperate, annoying, and most of all, he saw right through it. She had no intention of salvaging their relationship, not really. No doubt he was just a comfort zone for her that she would continue to cheat around with other people, as long as she could come home to Mr. Dependable.

He wasn’t having it. He’d kicked her out the minute his boyfriend left, and he wished he’d done so the moment she had weaseled her way into his flat. Now things were royally screwed. He didn’t know anymore exactly how many text messages he’d left Mycroft over the past 24 hours, and he knew he was bordering on desperate, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let Christina ruin this too. She’d ruined too much in his life, and just now was he putting the pieces back together successfully.

Pacing back and fourth, Greg lingered outside of Mycroft’s front door. What was he waiting for? There was a chance the younger man wasn’t home, sure, but it was a chance he needed to take. He needed to see him, needed to explain… Finally, with a deep breath, he walked up and rang the doorbell.

Nothing. Greg shifted his weight from one foot to the other and waited a moment. Still nothing. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his hand to ring the bell again, just as he heard a lock being undone from the inside. His heart leapt up in his chest, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. The door opened, and he was looking at his boyfriend now. He was dressed in one of his dark, pinstripe suits, all but the jacket and his shoes on. Surprise showed on Mycroft’s face before fading away to his politician’s mask.

“Gregory,” he commented rigidly. Greg tried not to wince at the tone, and he took a step forward. He didn’t force himself inside the house, though Mycroft did not take any steps back like he was preparing for.

“Can I come in?” he asked, praying for an affirmative answer. Silence. Mycroft shut his eyes for a moment before letting out a curt nod, and finally turned to the side to allow him entry.

They made their way to the kitchen, Mycroft going over to his stovetop and boiling some water for tea. He was always a good host, no matter the situation. Or maybe he was just trying to busy himself and avoid him. Greg walked over to the island counter and leaned on it a bit.

“Look, I need to-“

“There’s no need, Gregory. She was your wife. No matter her deceptions, the two of you had a connection for many years that I couldn’t begin to compete with. It would’ve never worked for us. I only wish I would have seen so earlier to allow us to avoid this tense situation.”

Greg ran a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration.

“For being the smartest man I’ve ever met, you are rather bloody dense,” he muttered with a frown. Mycroft turned, an eyebrow raised.

“Pardon?” He was asking for clarification. That was certainly rare. Greg pushed off the island and walked over to Mycroft. This time, the younger man did take a step back, but it pressed his back against the counter behind him. Greg looked up at him stubbornly.

“She was trying to weasel her way back in. It was obvious, even to me. How did you not pick up on it?” he asked, genuinely confused. That caused an unsettling expression to show on Mycroft’s face, one of confusion on his end as well.

“I saw…”

“Her trying to come on to me, yes. You didn’t stick around enough to see my actual reaction. Myc…” He reached out and pressed a hand flat to his chest. Icy eyes darted down to the contact, and then back up to his face. “Myc, I love you. I would never throw this away for that crazy woman.”

“Gregory…”

He got no further. Greg closed the space between them and leaned up, pressing their lips together in a tender, incredibly honest kiss. It wasn’t reciprocated, not at first. But after a moment, two slender hands reached up and grasped at his biceps, their lips finally molding into each other in an almost desperation. They kissed until neither of them could breathe, and only then did they part.

“I didn’t think…”

“Clearly not,” Greg chuckled, a bit breathless. He glanced at the stovetop for a second, and then up at Mycroft again. “Sod the tea,” he almost growled. “I need to take you to bed now.”

“Christ, Gregory, yes.”

Chapter Text

“Oh behave, Myc,” Mummy Holmes fussed in exhaustion as the two of them exchanged oddly tense words with one another. Tense on Mycroft’s part, anyway.

“Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end,” the man snapped, a sarcastic smile plastered on his face. His mum didn’t look particularly offended, more exasperated and disapproving, but she left it at that. Greg watched the exchange in silence, and as Mummy Holmes went to carry a basket into the living room, he stood as well. His movement caught the younger man’s eye and he raised an eyebrow. “Gregory?”

“Outside?” he requested softly. He didn’t wait for an answer before heading outside, pulling out his cigarettes, and lighting one up. After a moment, Mycroft joined him, and Greg fished out another cigarette to give him. His boyfriend hummed in appreciation and lit up as well.

“Dun need to be so rough on her,” Greg said after a moment. “Your mum is a lovely lady.”

The Holmes parents had been nothing that he had expected when meeting them, and he was still a bit flabbergasted. It was with amusement that he had no idea how Mycroft and Sherlock turned out the way they were with parents just as ordinary as his own.

“She’s insufferable,” Mycroft sighed, taking a long drag of the smoke he’d been given. Greg rolled his eyes and smiled. Parents always were, he supposed.

“If you hate Myc so much, why do you always let me call you that?” he asked curiously. With the way he’d snapped at his mother, it started to make it a bit clearer why he insisted on calling him Gregory. Given names and all. It took a little bit before he was given a response.

“You’re different.”

Also not what he expected. Greg looked at him in amusement.

“Different, am I?”

“Of course you are, Gregory, honestly.” Now he was awarded with the long-suffering Mycroft Holmes gaze. “You’re different. You’re my exception. It sounds rubbish, but you are.”

“It doesn’t sound rubbish,” Greg replied softly, his eyes glowing with affection. He shifted closer to wrap an arm around Mycroft’s waist and rest his head on his shoulder as they smoked in silence. He truly was Mycroft’s exception, and he was fine with that. More than fine, actually. He was the exception to everything the politician had carved out for himself in life. Otherwise, they would not be as they were.

“So you really don’t mind me calling you Myc?” he asked again after a moment. Mycroft dropped his cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with the heel of his shoe and chuckled.

“It’s just a name, Gregory,” he sighed, smiling softly.

“But it’s your name,” Greg countered, lifting his head again. He looked up at the younger man. “And it’s important to me, yeah?”

Mycroft said nothing. Instead, he cupped Greg’s cheek with a slender hand and leaned in, kissing him gently. They both tasted of menthol, and Greg nuzzled closer in the kiss, wrapping both arms around his body now. Time slipped away when they kissed, and his head pounded in ways it never had before him.

“Boys, it’s almost time for lunch!” they heard Mummy Holmes call from inside the house. “You’d do well to stop giving the neighbors a free show, you know!”

They broke apart, Greg beet red at the comment. He cleared his throat and Mycroft just looked amused.

“Well, ah…” he started, glancing around to see if anyone had in fact been watching. It didn’t seem so. Though, other houses home didn’t really surround the Holmes family, so the chance was rather slim. Mycroft reached out and drug his nails gently across Greg’s scalp.

“She’s messing with you, darling. I told you, she’s insufferable.”

“Well, I think she’s lovely, Myc.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but the smile did not leave his face. “I am aware.”

Chapter Text

“C’mere,” Greg nodded, reaching out and grabbing Mycroft’s hand as they were walking back up to their home. They’d just gotten done with a fabulous dinner, over which it had started to snow, and he was feeling much like a small child. He was bubbling with excitement and he could tell that Mycroft had no idea why.

“Alright,” the younger man said softly, with a hint of amusement, as he took the offered hand. Grinning, Greg turned away from where they were heading to the door and started to lead them around to the backyard. He got close to breaking out in a run, grinning, and finally let go of his lover so he could reach down and scoop up a ball of snow.

“Gregory, what are you-“ Mycroft started, but came to a halt as a cold ball of snow slammed into his chest. He arched an eyebrow as Greg started giggling.

“Come on Myc,” he giggled, scooping down to grab more snow. “Never played in the snow before?”

He reared his arm back and chucked the second snowball, getting him in the shoulder. Some of the snow got on his neck and slipped inside his suit, causing him to shiver a bit.

“No Gregory, I have not. And why would I want to, it’s cold,” the politician said, trying to brush the wetness off.

“Just give it a try, eh?” Greg giggled, moving to get more snow. Sighing, Mycroft gave in, reaching down to get some himself. He darted forward, chucking it as he moved, and hit Greg in the face. “Oyyyy!!” came the shouted response.

Suddenly, they were both moving. Colliding into each other, they fell into the snow, laughing and rolling and grabbing snow to shove in each other’s faces. It got in their hair, in their coats, up the legs of their trousers. Finally, Greg had Mycroft on his back, pinning him down and straddling his waist lightly. They were both still laughing, until within seconds of each other, they faded off and just stared at each other.

Mycroft’s face was flushed and his eyes were shining, his hair wet and messy. He was beautiful. Had anyone ever seen him like this, or was Greg alone? He hoped that he was. This was an honored privilege that he would treasure forever. Reaching up, Mycroft was running a gloved hand through Greg’s hair, brushing some snow out of it. Suddenly giving into the urge that was nagging at him, he leaned down and started kissing Mycroft sweetly. The grip on the back of his head tightened and the kiss deepened.

“Gregory, perhaps we should…” Mycroft started against his lips, but was cut off again as he reinitiated the intense kiss. Soon, they were panting and gripping at each other’s clothing, and Greg started to move his kisses down to the younger man’s jaw and neck. His pale skin was a mixture of hot and cold; cold from the snow with heat right underneath. It was a comforting warmth that Greg sought out often, going into overdrive because of the snow and because both men were becoming quite aroused. Mycroft made a tiny noise in the back of his throat that intensified when Greg rocked his hips down against him.

“Gregory!” Mycroft gasped. That sound made Greg’s blood boil. How was it they could be soaking wet and covered in snow on a cold night in London, and for him to be burning up so much? The shiver that went through his body was definitely not due to their surroundings, and he gripped at Mycroft’s shoulders almost desperately.

“Y-yeah, Myc,” he panted, pulling back slightly.

“Let’s go inside,” he all but growled. The noise sent a more intense shiver through Greg. “We need to get in front of the fire and…and out of these clothes. B-before we catch cold.”

“Is that the only reason you want to get out of these clothes?” Greg asked, his voice deep. He arched an eyebrow curiously, and found himself yanked down into another heated kiss. This time, Mycroft was the one to rock his hips, and Greg whimpered slightly.

“No,” he whispered against Greg’s lips. “Definitely not.”

Chapter Text

Mycroft smiled politely as he stepped into Gregory’s office, causing the older man to glance up from the paperwork that was undoubtedly driving him insane. The look of pleased surprise was enough to cause the politician to grin in a way hardly anyone got the privilege of experiencing.

“Mycroft!” Gregory greeted, standing and walking over to him. Mycroft reached out his hand on instinct, but was instead pulled into a brief hug that made his stomach flip. It really was insane the amount of care he felt for the older man. “What brings you by?”

“Well,” he started, shifting his umbrella from one hand to the other. “You’ve been holed up in here all day. I thought some fresh air would be good for you. And some lunch. So, please allow me to treat you, Gregory.”

The man agreed almost instantly, which Mycroft had been hoping for. The two of them hadn’t been able to see each other much the past week, due to obligations both of their occupations required. Gregory went to grab his mobile and jacket, and then walked back over and pulled Mycroft in for a kiss. He returned it happily, his free hand coming up to rest on his bicep, before pulling away.

“Come,” he requested, and they left the room together. They strode through Scotland Yard and finally outside, where his car was waiting. The drive was short, and out they were again, heading for a small bakery that excelled in their lunch menu. Their timing was perfect, as Mycroft had managed to ensure, and it wasn’t long before they were sitting and eating.

“Man, this is hitting the spot. How do you do that, Myc?” Gregory asked. Mycroft blinked, looking up from the sandwich he had ordered.

“Do what?” he questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

“Know exactly what I need.”

Mycroft smirked, setting the sandwich down and drinking from his tea.

“Gregory, it is my business to know these things,” he said with an amused tone in his voice. The other man just grinned, and returned to his fish and chips for a moment. He hummed again, signaling another question he had thought of, but thankfully finished chewing before attempting it.

“Also, I’ve been wondering. Why do you have your umbrella? It’s shockingly sunny out today.”

Gregory was correct. The weather was pleasantly wonderful today, as it would apparently be tomorrow. Too often they dealt with cloudy, rainy days, so it was always nice to get a little sunshine. Regardless, Mycroft always had his umbrella. The weather did not make a difference.

“I never go anywhere without it,” he pointed out, as if that was a sufficient answer. The look Gregory gave him proved immediately that it was not.

“I know. Why?”

Mycroft fell silent. Ever since he was a teenager… He sighed, thinking to himself. The reason behind it, he had never admitted to anyone. Only he and Sherlock knew, and they did not speak of it. Not that they spoke of much these days. Gregory’s mood sobered a bit and he straightened, as if sensing the deepness to his thoughts.

“You don’t have to tell me, Myc,” he said after a moment. “It’s no big.”

“No, it’s alright Gregory.” Mycroft drank more of his tea. If he could tell anyone, it was Gregory. They were becoming quite serious, the two of them, and he needed to get used to the fact that he could confide in the other man without fear of judgment or unnecessary sympathy. He nodded before speaking.

“Sherlock was young. He must have been… no more than six years old. He was put in my care for the day, and he had wanted to go outside and gather up soil samples.” The look Gregory got was almost amusing. “Yes, even at that age, he was persistent with those types of things. Well, we ended up wandering a good deal away from the house, neither of us really thinking about it. It had been cloudy, but not too bad. However, we ended up getting caught in the rain. It was very sudden, very heavy rain, and we had no quick way home.”

Mycroft shut his eyes, remembering the incident. He sighed and adjusted his napkin needlessly before continuing.

“Sherlock got very sick that evening. We had not been properly dressed to deal with the rain and he was so young. He ended up having to get admitted to hospital. It was a rather terrifying weekend, and I vowed then that I would never go anywhere again without an umbrella.”

And he never had. Reaching for his tea, he finished it off, not looking up at the older man. It was rare for him to discuss his childhood, especially concerning Sherlock; at a time where they were just brothers, and things weren’t as tense as they were now. Catching movement, he finally looked up to see Gregory standing. He planted his hands on the table and leaned over it, tilting his head and kissing Mycroft sweetly. In public. Mycroft froze in surprise, but relinquished and returned the kiss. His brown eyes were so full of affection as he sat back down at it made his heart ache in a way that was wonderful.

“Thank for you telling me.” And that was all Gregory said. He didn’t ask for more details, didn’t focus on in, and didn’t try to comfort him over something that was so long ago. Mycroft smiled. This was one of the many reasons he felt he was falling in love with this man. He just… knew.

“You’re very welcome, Gregory,” he whispered softly, smiling. He returned to his sandwich as the conversation shifted, moving on to Gregory talking about going out with his daughter. And things were perfect.

Chapter Text

Greg slammed his front door shut behind him, frowning at the absolute shit day he’d had. His perp got away, Sherlock hadn’t answered his mobile, his bloody ex-wife storming into the Yard and waving papers around, tossing shit in his face and accusing him of ridiculous things that weren’t true. The divorce was bad enough on its own, and she was doing her best to make it worse.

And then there was Mycroft fucking Holmes.

The man had come into the office, barely twenty minutes after Sally Donovan had thrown his ex out, taking cases away from him and sweeping shit under the rug. Once again he was dismissed like a lowly dog, never mind the Detective Inspector title attached to his name. How was it that the man always managed to appear at the worst possible time and throw his position around? It was infuriating.

The worst thing about it was the way his heart leaped and his chest clenched at the sight of the posh, three-piece suited man. How was it that he could have feelings for the man? He supposed they knew each other, sure, and had for almost six years now. He’d made his presence known shortly after his association with his younger brother began. Sometimes they met over tea in a small café, but it was always strictly business. If it wasn’t case he was working on, it was Sherlock. Always Sherlock.

So why was he so bloody smitten with him?

Scowling, he threw his jacket on a chair and walked into the kitchen to fish a beer out of his fridge. He cracked it open and took a generous drink, before heading into the main room and falling onto the couch. There was some sort of football match on, and he turned the volume up to try and distract his thoughts. His head fell back against the couch and he sighed, shutting his eyes.

Maybe it was the divorce. It was messing with his feelings and making him vulnerable. He’d been with Christina for thirteen years, and he’d been blind for almost half of it, at least. Something like that left a hole in a man. And it left him pining for Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft was untouchable. Maybe that was half the problem. Greg found himself thinking about the man more than he probably should, in more situations than he had physically been a part of in years. He gripped the slick bottle tighter, only setting it on the coffee table when it was empty. He ran a hand through his growingly gray hair and sighed.

Mycroft didn’t really seem one to be in a relationship. He had a wedding band on his hand, though it was on the right hand instead of the left. Still, a ring didn’t necessarily mean anything. Greg still wore his own wedding band, more to stave off questions or people that he just didn’t want to deal with. It’s possible it was the same for Mycroft. Not that it mattered.

His mobile beeped, pulling him from his thoughts. Upon reading the text, though, it did nothing to further distract him.

Apologies for earlier. I am aware you have a lot on your plate. Were it not a matter of national importance, it could have waited. –MH

Greg resisted the urge to throw his phone. This wasn’t helping. He sighed, covering his eyes with his hand and falling sideways onto the couch, stretching out. He doubted he’d sleep in his bed tonight. He hardly did, it seemed. There was no point. It was too large for him, and more often than he liked to admit, his thoughts strayed to it being occupied with another body besides his own. Specifically, the body of the man in question.

Mycroft was untouchable. Greg was falling for a symbol, a thought, one that would end in pain and disappointment. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Chapter Text

In the span of time they had been dating, Gregory and Mycroft tended to have dinner out at a nice restaurant that never presented them with a bill at the end of the night. Neither had ever complained about this, so it was a bit of a surprise when Mycroft suggested dinner on Friday, that Gregory shook his head at going out again. With his infectious, almost childlike grin, he had instead suggested dinner at his flat, with him cooking. Mycroft knew he had a bit of a culinary background, but it still wasn’t something he had expected.

What was even more confounding, and a bit frustrating, was Gregory’s refusal to say what they were going to be eating. All he’d done was make it a bit of a challenge.

“Pick a type of wine,” he’d said. “I don’t need specifics on it, just the general kind, and I’ll cook to match.”

Mycroft had done so. Now, come Friday night, he stood at his boyfriend’s doorstep, with a bottle of white wine in his hand, intrigued as to what was in store. He wasn’t one to not have control of a situation, or know what was going to happen and when. It was something that made him feel rather strange. It was Gregory, however, and he knew he could trust the older man in whatever he had planned.

“Perfect timing,” came his greeting as Gregory put a hand on the small of his back and they walked inside together. The smells inside his flat were heavenly, and Mycroft was immensely excited for whatever it was the older man had prepared. He didn’t doubt his cooking skills, and he was looking forward to whatever he had chosen to go along with his vague description of beverage for the evening.

Speaking of which, the bottle was removed from his hand so he could remove his coat. He hung it up and then moved to join Gregory in the kitchen.

“Never seen this label before,” Gregory was calling to him, as he made his way closer. “What is it?”

“A French white,” Mycroft explained, moving to lean against a nearby counter. He wanted to be in close proximity to his boyfriend, but he also didn’t want to get in the way. The man’s eyebrow raised in interest as the wine was placed in the fridge to chill until dinner was ready. “2010 Meursault, Jean-Michel Gaunoux.”

“Interesting…” Gregory hummed, moving back over to his stovetop and stirring things in pots. Mycroft was immensely curious, but decided to let his nose deduce it for him.

“Shrimp?” he questioned, though he knew the answer. Gregory nodded in affirmation. “And pasta. Yes, that will be delightful with the wine.”

“Told ya,” he grinned cheekily. They made small, comfortable conversation as dinner was put together; anything from Gregory’s daughter to Sherlock’s most recent annoyances, to where they were going to go once they finally got a vacation. They shared soft touches and unhurried, yet somewhat distracting kisses, and finally food was ready. Mycroft went about pouring the wine as Gregory fixed their plates, and they sat down together with a final kiss before starting to eat.

The meal was a pasta dish; shrimp with peanut sauce, mixed with cilantro, ginger, bell peppers, and a hint of onion. On the side were slices of garlic bread. Paired with the wine he’d chosen, with its honeyed smell and nutty flavor, was delectable. He made a noise of appreciation that should have been downright sinful, letting the array of flavors settle on his tongue. Across from him, Gregory was rather impressed with the wine, and Mycroft smiled fondly.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, glancing at the glass in his hand. Mycroft crossed his legs under the table and smirked.

“Imported from France,” he said, the ‘obviously’ hanging unspoken in the air.

“Imported? Myc, how expensive was this?”

“Not too bad, darling. Around 80 pounds.”

Those lovely brown eyes widened in shock, and Gregory stared at him, then down at the wine, and back at him.

“For a bottle of wine?!” he asked in disbelief. Mycroft shrugged.

“It’s not a big deal, Gregory.” It really wasn’t. “Besides, it’s worth it, no?”

“Yeah, just… Yeah. Wow.”

Mycroft chuckled affectionately and returned to his dish. Silence fell in the kitchen as they just enjoyed the meal and each other’s calm company. When they were done, Mycroft helped with the cleaning up, ignoring Gregory’s protests that he could do it later, and with everything tidied up and their stomachs full, he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him close.

“My compliments to the chef,” he mumbled softly, smirking. Gregory returned his grin and leaned in to kiss him. It was a long kiss, their lips molding together expertly, and Gregory nibbled on Mycroft’s bottle lip gently before they pulled away from one another.

“What kind of compliments, hmm?” he asked roughly, his grin widening mischievously. Mycroft chuckled, taking his wrist and tugging him towards the main room where they could make themselves much more comfortable.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mumbled in return.

Chapter Text

Mycroft could simply not understand his little brother’s sudden fascination with his personal life. It was absurd and extremely annoying. Sherlock had not shown even a fraction of an interest in anything dealing with him since… Well, he would say since he was younger and the still had what you could call a functioning brotherly relationship, but even back then there hadn’t been much interest in these kinds of things.

He had honestly been a bit grateful for the deduction battle that had been initiated shortly after, if only for a distraction from that particular conversation. There was no reason for Sherlock to sit there and start showing concern for his loneliness. It was beyond irritating, and something Mycroft had refused to stay and listen to any longer than was necessary.

Of course, the most irritating thing about it was that Sherlock wasn’t wrong. Mycroft was actually lonely. It wasn’t a sentiment he was often familiar with, and it had been something he’d chosen to ignore as long as he was able. However, it was getting more and more harder to do so. Because in the sea of ridiculously slow and incompetent people, there was one person that had started to stand out. One that… for reasons part of him could still not discern was vastly more complex than the rest.

Maybe it was his performance as a Detective Inspector that had impressed him. Or the way he handled Sherlock (especially when they’d first met and his dear younger brother was a mess of a drug addict). It really had nothing to do with his family or his background, which was all rather ordinary. The puzzle of Gregory Lestrade was one that even Mycroft Holmes hadn’t pieced together entirely.

The worst part about it, he thought to himself as he sat in front of the fire in his large, eerily quiet home, nursing a scotch, was how intense the sentiment for the older man already seemed to run. It was getting to a point where he was almost making up reasons to check on the Detective Inspector in person. Their last meeting in his office had been a mere smoke screen Mycroft had concocted on the ride over. CCTV had clued him in to the most recent complications Gregory’s ex-wife was giving, and he felt a pang of concern. This was why he went to the office himself, instead of just checking footage.

He did not know why he did it. It wasn’t like there would ever be any chance of a relationship between the two of them. One usually needed chemistry for that. There was sex, of course, which never completely required a deeper emotional connection, but Mycroft found no desire to seek out such a companionship from Gregory. Plus, one cannot build a relationship on something that was one-sided.

The Detective Inspector was not fond of him. That much was certain. Not that Mycroft ever gave him a reason to be otherwise. All of their correspondences were of a professional nature. Most of the time, this was required, but sometimes… Truth be told, he wasn’t one to give people any reason to like him. Which was fine. He could care less what people thought of him. But with Gregory… He cared.

Sighing, Mycroft held his head in his hand, setting his glass to the side. This was ridiculous. He did not pine. Surely this was just an annoying passing fancy. It was utter nonsense. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not deny the feelings he had developed for Gregory. It was why he checked up on him in person. It was why he would continue to do so.

Nothing would ever happen. On the outside, Mycroft was okay with this. He had to be. It didn’t matter that on the inside was utter chaos. It didn’t matter that on the inside he was at war with himself and he couldn’t tell yet which side was losing. It didn’t matter, because no one would see. Not even his little brother.

Mycroft would remain on the sidelines, doing what he did best. Stepping in and disappearing just as quickly, an aggravating but necessary presence in Gregory Lestrade’s life. It would be enough for him. Even if he spent most of his nights decidedly not pining.

Chapter Text

“Just…will you please come ‘round?” Greg was asking, practically at the end of his rope. The case was getting more and more difficult with each passing day, and even though Sherlock was starting to gather some kind of interest, he was still standing in the flat of 221B having to beg him to get off the couch and actually come to the scene. His irritation was running high, and he was close to either screaming at the detective or pulling his own hair out. In the kitchen, John was making tea, and while Greg appreciated the effort he didn’t think he could stomach any of it right now.

“Maybe,” came the very bored sounding response from Sherlock. Greg groaned, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Bloody hell Sherlock, how is it you get off pestering me for cases day in and day out and finally I’ve got one for you and you won’t just come?” He was baffled. He would’ve already said sod it and left if he weren’t so desperate. And tired… He was so very tired.

“It’s not the case that has you so tightly wound…” Sherlock mused, finally turning his piercing eyes on the Detective Inspector. Greg raised an eyebrow, frozen in spot, and sighed.

“What are you on about?” he groaned. He was in no mood to be deduced down to every fiber of his clothing today. But if it had any chance of helping to get him to the crime scene, he’d endure.

“You need release. Of a sexual nature, most likely. Something to keep you from going home to your dingy flat alone every night.”

“Oy!” Greg yelled, crossing his arms tightly. He was starting to fume now. Out of anyone imaginable, he absolutely did not need relationship advice from Sherlock Holmes.

“Sherlock,” he heard John fuss next to him. The doctor had entered the room, and handed Greg a steaming mug of tea. He accepted automatically, but made no motion to drink it just yet.

“Not a random encounter at the pub, though. No…” Sherlock continued, completely ignoring the two older men in the room. Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a migraine coming on. Fantastic. He opened them again as he could feel that all-knowing stare practically burning a hole through him.

“Sherlock, please, I really need you to come take a look, it’s getting…”

“No, there’s someone specific that’s caught your interest,” the young Holmes continued, completely ignoring what Greg was trying to say. “Not someone you see every day, but someone you know enough to develop some kind of attachment to. You haven’t made a move, however, which is why you’re so tightly wound. No, this person is someone you don’t feel you have a chance with whatsoever, so you sit by making yourself miserable.”

Greg gaped. He turned to stare at John, as if looking for answers, and just got a shrug in return. How was it that Sherlock was suddenly so interested in things of this nature? He could never have been bothered with sentimental things before… Before he was supposedly dead for two years. It was strange seeing this side of him. Almost as strange as the looks he’d noticed between the two flatmates. He knew those looks all too well. He hoped it was something he and John could share a conversation about sometime soon at the pub. Until then, he said nothing.

“Why do you-“

“The ring’s a ruse, you know,” Sherlock interrupted again. Greg blinked. The…ring? Who’s ring?

“Um.”

“A ruse, yes. Don’t be tedious, Lestrade, I despise repeating myself. It was passed down to him from our grandfather in his will. I hardly knew him but apparently they were close. And so he wears it.”

He. Oh Christ, Sherlock was talking about his brother. Greg could feel the back of his neck getting hot, and quickly he turned his attention to the tea in his hands. Of course Sherlock would notice that he was pining after Mycroft bloody Holmes. This was awful. He wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

Sherlock, why are you bringing up Mycoft?” John asked, brow furrowed. His mouth opened in a silent oh upon taking in the change in Greg’s features. Gotta love that clarity. Great.

Vaguely, he heard a door open and shut. Sherlock got an eerie grin on his face, and was immediately off the couch. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, evenly spaced, and Sherlock stood there expectantly while Greg stood there confused and horrified.

“Ah, perfect. We were just talking about you,” Sherlock said, eyes locked on the front door. Greg froze, shutting his eyes and exhaling through his nose. This was not happening. He was imagining this.

“Oh dear lord, that’s never a good sign,” a smooth voice sighed. A voice that caused Greg’s chest to clench as he forgot how to breathe. He gripped his mug tighter before finally forcing himself to turn and see Mycroft Holmes standing there, umbrella in hand, looking as dashing as ever in a three-piece suit he’d never seen. An involuntary noise escaped him, causing all eyes to lock on his person.

No… Now he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“Mycroft, I do believe we have found you a goldfish,” Sherlock said, his voice perked with delight. The genuine surprise that came onto the elder Holmes features made Greg’s eyes widen, and after a moment, their eyes locked. Sherlock looked between them, a grin turning into a smirk, and those slender violinist hands waved between them.

“Mycroft, Detective Inspector Lestrade. Both of your rings are ruses. Both of you are having personal issues, and both of you can’t stop thinking about the other. That last tidbit had been rather aggravating for me. Why don’t you step into the kitchen and share a cup of tea, yes?”

Chapter Text

What started out as a good date – no, a fantastic date – did a fine job of screwing up royally. Greg was silently fuming as he and Mycroft left the restaurant, and the drive back home was equally silent. Beside him, his partner was patient, saying nothing, just reaching out and taking his hand supportively.

The two men hadn’t seen each other in almost a week, due to Mycroft’s work taking him to somewhere near Bolivia, he’d said. This had been his first night home, and they decided to celebrate by going out to one of their favorite restaurants for a nice dinner, and then back home for what was bound to be a massive amount of sex.

That was when Greg’s old partner from his early days at the Yard had seen him and decided to come over and chat. By chat, he was trying to brush everything under the rug and pretend like they were still old buddies, while trying to get his forgiveness and insist things were different.

Greg all but stormed into his and Mycroft’s shared home, the politician striding in gracefully behind him.

“Gregory,” the younger man finally spoke, causing him to halt in place and glance over his shoulder. Mycroft was hanging his coat and umbrella up, before walking over and tugging him into a hug. “Calm down, Gregory. We are home now. He is gone.”

Greg pressed his face into Mycroft’s neck and breathed deeply, letting some of the stress melt away from him. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Sorry, Myc. He just… He came out of no where,” Greg mumbled, his voice muffled by Mycroft’s skin slightly. “I haven’t seen him in over ten years, and we didn’t part on nice terms.”

Mycroft rubbed his other half’s back gently, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Tea?” he asked, stepping away. Greg nodded, even though he didn’t really want it. He walked into the kitchen with him, leaning on the counter with a sigh.

“He was crooked. Got in with such a bad crowd. It was all about the money, and the ranks. He didn’t… He didn’t care about honest police work anymore,” Greg found himself saying, pouring the story out to the love of his life. He scrubbed his face with a hand and sighed. The younger man said nothing, going about their tea preparation while listening attentively.

“Got me shot, in the end. Not on purpose, of course, but still. I almost didn’t survive surgery. And my little girl… She was barely a year old.” Greg frowned at the bad memories. He’d just barely become a father and the damn man had almost gotten him killed. Over a gang. And drugs. And he dared to come up to him tonight and beg forgiveness; acting like what happened was no big deal.

He was staring down at his hands, frowning hard, until slender fingers were under his chin and lifting his face up. Brown eyes locked with pale blue, and it made Greg’s heart skip a beat. Mycroft gazed at him affectionately, stroking his cheek.

“You are the finest Detective Inspector that Scotland Yard could have ever asked for. You are an upstanding, intelligent, honest cop. You got where you are because you worked hard, you overcame ridiculous obstacles, and you put up with so much. Myself and Sherlock included.” Greg huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. Mycroft immediately commanded his attention again with a slight nudge. “You are the love of my life, Gregory Lestrade, and right where you need to be. Do not concern yourself with a low-life crooked cop from your past who was unable to embrace the concepts and values you hold above all others.”

They stared at each other for a long while. Greg could feel his anger fading away, and his eyes reflected it. Mycroft gave him a soft smile and leaned in, kissing him gently. They kissed for ages, until the need for air and the kettle caused them to pull away.

“Thank you Myc,” Greg whispered softly, pressing their foreheads together.

“Always, my dear Gregory. Now, tea?”

Chapter Text

The last time Greg was so eager for something, he had been ready to propose to the love of his life. Maybe, in comparison to something as huge as getting engaged to the man he was spending the rest of his life with, this was peanuts, but regardless. He could barely contain his excitement (and quite frankly, his arousal), throughout the day. As he tried focusing on paperwork, his eyes kept glancing at the fancy black box he’d set beside his desk, and thinking about the contents inside…

It took every ounce of self-control not to leap off the couch later that night when Mycroft got home from work. Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, he strode through to the front door with a smile, pulling the younger man into a hug and kiss, as he did rather often.

“Welcome home, love,” he whispered, gazing up at his other half’s eyes. He got a warm smile in return, and another kiss.

“I am glad to be so,” Mycroft said sincerely, before hanging up his umbrella and heavy coat. Before his partner could make his way towards the kitchen for tea, Greg grabbed his hand and tugged him upstairs toward their bedroom.

“Gregory?” Mycroft started to question, blinking in confusion as he was pulled to the edge of the bed and made to sit down.

“I have something for you,” Greg grinned, eyes shining with excitement. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, watching as the older man went to retrieve the box he’d kept looking at all day long. His stomach was fluttering as he knelt back down in front of his partner. He did not open the box, though. Not yet.

Slowly, Greg began to run his hands down Mycroft’s leg, starting up at the knee and making his way down to the ankle. Mycroft hummed softly, enjoying the sensation, even if he was still terribly confused as to what was going on. Then, Greg began untying his dress shoe, pulling the laces apart slowly, before slipping it off and setting it to the side. He repeated this entire motion on his other leg. Then, he slipped his hands up the leg opening, pushing his trousers up as far as they would allow. Leaning in, he began to press soft, slow kisses to Mycroft’s shin as his hands moved to tug off his socks, where they were set with his shoes. Only after Mycroft’s feet were bare and his legs exposed up to the knee did Greg look up at his husband.

“Gregory?” Mycroft questioned again slowly, blinking at the look in those dark brown orbs he loved so much. He could pick up the hints of arousal easily, and it caused a slow burning to start in the pit of his own stomach. All Greg did was smile, before leaning back to resume his kissing. His hands rested against Mycroft’s leg, slowly kneading the muscles in a massage. It pulled a happy noise from the politician’s throat, his eyes fluttering closed. Greg continued this for a moment before letting go and opening the box.

The heels that he pulled out had been quite a difficult choice to make. He ended up choosing a pair that was black satin with an open toe and a strap that wrapped around the ankle. Climbing up the heel was a golden creeping flower design, and the ankle strap had a royal blue ribbon threaded through it that ended in a noticeable, but not overbearingly large bow (the same blue that, conveniently, Mycroft had chosen for a tie earlier that morning). Licking his lips, his heart pounding, Greg slipped the heel onto Mycroft’s foot, gazing at the way it slid on rather perfectly. Then, he moved up to fasten the strap, gazing at the little muscles on the other man’s ankle as it adjusted.

Mycroft’s eyes flew open wide, and he looked down at what was going on. His mouth dropped open in surprise, Greg looking up just in time to catch the reaction. His grin widened.

“You remember our conversation about how much I worship your legs?” Greg asked deeply, which was the only explanation that was needed. The older man watched as his husband’s blue eyes grew a little darker as his pupils dilated. Yes, he definitely caught his drift. Heart rate escalating a bit, Greg broke their locked gaze and went back to the task, getting the other heel on as well. Then, he rested back on his haunches and gazed up at Mycroft.

Who, as Greg reached out to grasp his knees, lifted one of his legs and pressed his now heel-clad foot square against Greg’s chest. Greg blinked, glancing down, and then with no hesitation, was shoved to the floor. He fell back onto his elbows and his head jerked up. It was his turn to have surprise written all over his face. Mycroft stood, now towering over his husband, a smirk starting to spread onto his face. It was an expression that shot heat straight down to Greg’s groin.

“Well now, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft finally spoke again, his voice having dropped a fair amount as well. “Seems to me you’ve been up to no good.”

Chapter Text

Greg wasn’t completely sure how he’d ended up the way he had, but it was sending such intense excitement through him. Mycroft had a rather intimidating presence as he stood over him, hands on his hips, having shoved the older man down onto the floor with a possessive gleam in his eyes. Biting his lip, he broke the gaze they had held to slide down his body.

The heels he had slipped onto his husband’s feet had been a lovelier choice than he’d been prepared for. Dark brown eyes looked up and down his legs, gazing at the way his calves stood out more prominently in the elevated state. The shape and curve became so much more exaggerated, and Greg wanted to touch and kiss and stroke it.

“Get up, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft said deeply after a moment. Greg managed to pull his eyes away from the man’s legs and back up at him, before nodding and pushing himself up. He took a step forward with the intention of pulling him into a rough kiss, but a hand on his chest stopped him.

“Myc?” he asked, his voice deep. Mycroft looked very pointedly at him.

“I don’t believe you gained the right to call me that tonight,” he growled. Greg shivered. Leaning close, Mycroft pressed his lips right up against his ear, his voice barely above a whisper, hot breath hitting the older man’s skin. “No, Detective, that won’t do at all. Something more appropriate, such as Your Highness.”

“Oh JesusfuckingChrist,” Greg groaned. Something that he’d randomly thought about was quickly turning into a full-blown kink, and it seemed that his other half was more than happy to indulge him. His trousers were terribly tight and something needed to be done about it soon. Mycroft chuckled, pulling Greg back into the now.

“Not quite,” he commented, his smirk widening, “Take your jacket off.”

Greg did so instantly. He found himself ready to do anything he was told. Mycroft seemed ready to take control, ready to command, and Greg was more than happy with that situation. He tugged the jacket off and dropped it to the ground. Reaching forward, Mycroft unfastened the buttons of his shirt expertly, and ran his manicured nails down his shortly exposed chest.

Greg groaned. Unable to stop himself, he reached forward and grasped Mycroft’s tie, tugging them together and kissing him hard. There was sucking and biting, full of raw desire, the kind of kiss that could leave marks. Mycroft let it happen for a moment before breaking the kiss and almost glaring.

“Did I say you could kiss me, Detective Inspector?” he asked roughly.

“N-no… Your Highness,” Greg whimpered.

“Then why did you?”

“Because…”

“Because why, Detective Inspector?”

“Because I’ve been up to no good.” Greg felt breathless. His husband had a domineering presence that was taking over every fiber of him. He was aching for Mycroft, head spinning, and he wanted to clutch at him again so badly. He yearned for his touch, his kiss, and even more. He wasn’t one to beg, but he would gladly do so.

“Precisely. I believe a punishment is in order.” Mycroft grabbed Greg’s arm and dove in, kissing him again heatedly and moving them a bit, so he could shove the older man down onto the bed. He bounced on the mattress, moving to sit up, before yet again a heel collided with his chest. This time, however, it remained for a moment. Greg took this opportunity to dive forward and start running his hands along the curve of his calf, feeling the hardened muscle. He began kissing Mycroft’s ankle, nuzzling the dip behind it, massaging his shin. The politician allowed a soft noise of pleasure to escape, and Greg was able to continue this for a moment before he was pushing to lie on the bed. Mycroft climbed on his knees, straddling the older man but not quite touching him, staring down at him heatedly.

“You are at my mercy tonight, Detective Inspector. You will do as I wish you to. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes Your Highness.”

Greg’s heart was racing. Yes. He understood, and he was ready and willing for anything. He was craving it. Mycroft began to get closer, a possessive look in his eyes as he scraped his nails through silvery hair.

“Good,” Mycroft growled, leaning in for another rough kiss. “If you behave and follow instructions properly, I’ll make it very worth your while.”

Chapter Text

“Gregory? What are you reading?”

Greg glanced up from the book he had in his hand to gaze at Mycroft, who had just walked into the living room. The younger man had been holed up in his study for almost three hours, after having to take a phone call and interrupting their cuddle session. He bookmarked his spot and sat it down.

“Abarat,” he said, glancing at the front cover. Mycroft’s gaze followed, arching an eyebrow.

“Interesting…” Mycroft said, getting an amused look on his face. Then, he noticed the large stack of books sitting on the table next to his partner and tilted his head to better see the spines. He got gradually more amused with each one he saw. “Looking for Alaska, Harry Potter, Redwall… Stardust, The Hobbit…?”

“Oh shut up Myc,” Greg frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m reading them along with Abby, okay? She wanted us to start a little Skype Book Club thing.”

Abby was Greg’s eleven-year-old daughter, and the little firecracker took after her father in many ways. She was a bit of a tomboy, had been playing football on an actual team for three years now, and thanks to the custody agreement with his ex-wife, she only got to stay with them one week a month. Granted, that was better than one weekend, but still. So, in their position, Abby had decided that they should start up a book club that they video chatted about through Skype.

“Yes, but… The Princess Diaries?” Mycroft asked, picking up the book on the top of the stack and smirking. He turned the book over to show the older man the cover; bright pink with a shiny crown on it.

“It’s actually pretty good. You can hush up and go read your Shakespeare and Dickens and…whoever wrote Beowulf,” Greg said all defensively. Mycroft returned the book to the stack and chuckled as he moved to sit down next to him on the couch.

“No need to get upset, darling,” he sighed, grin still on his face, as he wrapped an arm around Greg’s shoulders. “It’s just an amusing selection, is all.”

“Your face is amusing.”

“Oh come on now, Gregory, those books are making you act childish.”

“They’re good books,” Greg stressed again, though he put up no fight when he was pulled to lean against his partner’s side. He pressed his cheek against Mycroft’s shoulder and sighed softly.

“Apologies, darling. It was not my intention to insult you, or dear Abigail’s choice of reading. I think it’s wonderful the two of you are doing something like this. It’s a good way to bond,” Mycroft spoke soothingly, running his hand up and down Greg’s bicep. After a moment, Greg lifted his head and leaned in to kiss the younger man gently, smiling as he pulled back.

“Apology accepted,” he whispered, kissing him again before straightening himself and reaching for the copy of Abarat he’d been reading. “Now if you’re really good, I can read aloud to you.”

“I’ll pass, Gregory, thank you.”

“Chapter twelve,” Greg said, ignoring his boyfriend with a shit-eating grin on his face. “It was a bizarre journey for Candy. For John Mischief too, she suspected.”

“Oh good lord. I’m going to make some tea.” Mycroft stood, walking briskly out of the room. Greg laughed and shouted the next sentence out loud after his retreating form.

Chapter Text

“This is awful,” Mycroft groaned as he was very reluctantly dragged along the sidewalk. His highly amused partner, Gregory, was walking along beside him with a grin on his face. It was most certainly not funny.

“Well, Myc, you are the one that sent John and Sherlock to Paris for a case. So… you kinda dug this grave,” the older man responded, snorting in amusement as very eager bulldog tried running down the path of the park, causing Mycroft to grunt as he gripped tightly at the leash that was somehow still attached.

“I still do not understand why they decided to get this ridiculous creature,” Mycroft continued to fuss, trying to reign the pup in. He’d hoped for a calm stroll through the park while it did its business, but apparently that was not going to happen.

“Because Gladstone is adorable,” Greg said, motioning towards the dog. Mycroft looked at him pointedly. Adorable was not the word he was leaning towards to describe it. “And John loves him. Besides, you said yourself Sherlock had a dog when he was younger. It just makes sense.”

Mycroft huffed. Making sense or not, it was still a rather ridiculous inconvenience for them. What was going to be a quiet week of relaxation, as the two men had gotten the majority of their time off from both their jobs for once, had turn into a dog sitting week. Yes, he had sent his brother and the good doctor off on a case, but he had been under the impression that Mrs. Hudson would watch Gladstone. He firmly believed this was Sherlock’s revenge for giving him the case to begin with.

“Here, love, let me take over,” his partner said after a moment, reaching over to take the leash from his grip. Mycroft sighed in relief as the tugging stopped, and gave his aching shoulder a rest. Gregory was much better with the dog than he was. Though, Mycroft had never been good with dogs. Redbeard had been Sherlock’s dog, and his little brother had been at the age that he was very possessive over his canine companion. Mycroft’s experience with the animal was very slim.

They wandered over to the grass as Gladstone caught scent of something he apparently found extremely fascinating. Adjusting his waistcoat, Mycroft trailed behind Gregory a little bit, watching the older man with the dog. He seemed to be a natural with Gladstone. If Mycroft weren’t so turned off by the hyperactive nature of most dogs he’d ever come in contact with, he would almost consider getting them one. It was rather adorable watching the two of them play, and listening to Gregory’s laughter. It would, however, be rather impossible for them to keep such an animal in their home, so it wasn’t something he considered, really. In all honesty, a cat would be better suited for them.

Mycroft walked over to a bench and sat down, crossing his legs and focusing on getting his breath back. The little pup was feisty, that was for sure. He felt like he’d sufficiently gotten his workout for the day. Looking over, he sighed with affection as he saw Gregory sitting on the ground, wrestling with Gladstone, who was eager for the attention. As he’d said, adorable.

“Wanna join us, Myc?” Gregory asked, turning his head to look at him. The grin on his face was wide, and the shine in his eyes was mischievous. Mycroft gave him and pointed look and raised his hand in a polite decline.

“Don’t be foolish, Gregory. I am not getting on the ground.”

Gregory chuckled a bit, turning his attention back to Gladstone.

“I know,” he said, not taking his eyes off the animal jumping into his arms and barking. “Just teasing.”

Mycroft smirked slightly, keeping his attention on the expressions of delight on his other half’s face. He supposed it wasn’t too bad of a day at the park, after all.

Chapter Text

Mycroft so enjoyed his Saturday mornings as of late. It had come to his attention that Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade enjoyed to take his team out and all play football in a park near the Yard. In his curiosity, the politician drove by one day and became entranced.

He had, a while ago, accepted his attraction for the older man that his younger brother pestered so frequently. Watching him play football, however… It became something he came to watch more and more often. He never made his presence known, of course, because he imagined that would be rather embarrassing.

Today, unfortunately, he no longer had to imagine. As usual, he sat near the edge of the field in the back of one of his black vehicles, admiring the way he saw Gregory bending and stretching in between plays. It really was sinful watching the way his legs bent in those shorts, or when he bent over… Mycroft didn’t usually pause and admire an individual’s backside, but Gregory Lestrade’s definitely deserved admiring. When the man straightened and poured water over his face, though, Mycroft’s mouth gaped.

“Good lord…” he muttered to himself, eyes widening at the sight. How was such a simple act so utterly arousing? He cleared his throat, resting his elbow on the window, and glanced away momentarily. As he looked back up, however, he noticed Gregory looking… right over at him. Staring and grinning. And walking over. Mycroft immediately felt mortified. The two of them had known each other long enough that he could recognize Mycroft’s forms of transportation, and here he was, walking across the field and over to him. He considered telling the driver to leave immediately. However, his window of opportunity passed. So, accepting his fate, he sighed and stepped out onto the grass.

“Mycroft Holmes, to what do I owe the pleasure this morning?” Gregory asked, jogging over and stopping in front of him. He was breathless from the intense physical activities he’d just been participating in, and there was a sheen of sweat along his forehead and neck. Mycroft stared. His eyes flicked to the heaving of his chest, and immediately his mind took them to a different location. A more intimate location, with both of them wearing far less clothing. Oh dear. This was not an ideal situation at all.

“Just… checking in on the results of your case,” Mycroft managed to get out; a complete lie, of course. What was it about the Detective Inspector that put his mind on a blank slate? He eyed the man again, observing the way his hands rested on his hips, and found himself longing to replace those hands with his own. He cleared his throat and managed a tight smile. Gregory looked at him in a way that led him to believe the older man wasn’t buying that whatsoever.

“Ah. And you… Didn’t just swing by the office?” he asked, his grin widening. He had to know. Mycroft was usually so good at not giving himself away, but it seemed that it was not working to his favor today. He was feeling more and more mortified as the seconds ticked away.

“Yes, well. I, um,” Mycroft found himself stammering. He did not stammer, he needed to get a hold of himself. Whatever train of thought he was attempting to come up with, however, was cut short as he heard a shout on the field behind them.

“Hey, heads up!!” Phillip Anderson shouted. Mycroft turned to look and see what was going on, and happened to see a ball flying through the air. Right. At. Him. He didn’t have time to react before a body collided with him, pushing him to the side as the ball whipped past. He could feel the brush of wind in his face where it just barely missed him, and let out a surprised noise as it bounced to the ground.

Only then did he realize how he got out of the way. Gregory was suddenly much closer to him. Closer as in their bodies were pressed against each other. He could feel the warmth of the older man’s body sinking into him, and could actually feel the way his panting chest pressed against his own. A mixture of scents surrounded his nose: deodorant, cologne, and sweat… It was an unspeakably Gregory smell. Again his mind went to his more intimate location, and he had to try his hardest not to let out a groan in the back of his throat. Their eyes connected, and Mycroft could practically feel his heart leap up into his throat.

It was Gregory who stepped back first, squeezing Mycroft’s bicep gently and exhaling.

“That was close,” he commented, running a hand through his hair, which caused the silvery strands to spike up a bit. “Sorry, Mycroft. Anderson is absolute rubbish at football. He can’t kick it straight to save his life.”

“It’s…alright,” Mycroft commented, clearing his throat again. He gripped his umbrella a little tighter than normal, attempting to curb the intense heat flooding through him now. This was embarrassing.

“Listen,” Gregory continued after a moment. “How about we meet up for lunch, okay? We can talk about the…case then. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do, being the British Government and all.”

With that, the Detective Inspector jogged over to grab the stray ball and started to make his way back to the field, turning his head to look at Mycroft and grin. And wink. Mycroft could definitely feel himself blushing at that. He nodded, trying to keep himself composed as he climbed back into his car to try and avoid the fact that he was crawling back to privacy. Once the door was shut, he let out a sigh mixed with a groan mixed with a whimper. That was ridiculous. He couldn’t remember the last time his mind had gone straight to sex so intensely. Never mind the fact that he already fantasized about the two of them doing very inappropriate things together. This latest encounter was sure to heighten those fantasies.

Lunch would be interesting. There was no case for them to really discuss. His most recent one had been of no significance to his position. Which meant…

Lunch would definitely be interesting.

Chapter Text

It was a muffled sound of contentment that drew Mycroft's focus away from the screen of his mobile to the head that laid on his lap. He and Gregory were sat on the sofa - well, he was sat on the sofa; Gregory was lounging - and his lover had taken it upon himself to use Mycroft's thighs as a makeshift pillow.

A smile upturned the younger man's lips as he walked two nimble fingers down the bumpy slope of Gregory's nose. "Cozy?" he asked, amused.

"Mmmn," came the thoroughly satisfied response.

Mycroft chuckled softly and then relocated his long digits to reside in Gregory's hair; he stroked the salt-and-pepper strands affectionately, which encouraged yet another deep groan of pleasure from his lap.

"If you keep at that, I'll f-fall…" Gregory broke off, yawning massively. "…I'll fall asleep."

"Then perhaps I should stop at the risk of compromising your sleep schedule," Mycroft teased, pausing in his soothing actions.

"I'll beg, Myc. You know I will."

"How very tempting…"

Mycroft's hand hovered as Gregory turned his head to gaze up at him. His brows were furrowed and his dark eyes gleamed with a level of pitifulness so tremendous that it predated his age by at least four decades. Of course, it also didn't help that his bottom lip had protruded itself slightly, creating what was undeniably the most pathetic pout Mycroft had ever witnessed (and that said a lot when one's younger brother was Sherlock "petulant child" Holmes).

"Really, Gregory," he sighed, resuming his methodic strokes.

His other half seemed immensely pleased with himself, and it reflected in the way his vulnerable expression transformed into one of unmistakable triumph: He grinned, his large central incisors white and beautiful in his lovely mouth.

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Mycroft stated: "I rather like your hair at this length."

"Yeah?" Gregory asked, retaking his previous position with his cheek pressed against the comfortable pair of thighs.

"Indeed. I ask that you reconsider your monthly grooming and grant me another week or so of admiring these marvelous silver locks."

It was Gregory's turn to chuckle. "Christ. Where were you when I started graying at thirty? I would've loved to hear that."

Mycroft's fingers raked over the crown of his partner's head now, straight over the field of black follicles that had yet to lose their pigment. He repeated the gesture in that particular area for a minute and then moved to the one temple that was exposed to him; it was here that he used a single manicured fingernail to scratch over Gregory's sideburn.

"My sincerest apologies for not having found you sooner, darling, but do believe me when I say that I fully intend to offer continuous amounts of unabashed flattery as I see it fit," he finally replied, ever the eloquent embellisher.

Unfortunately, his elaborate praise fell upon deaf ears for a soft stream of snores very quickly informed Mycroft that Gregory had - just as he'd forewarned - fallen asleep. Nevertheless, the stroking of the older man's hair continued as fluidly and gracefully as it had been, even when Mycroft's attention eventually returned to his mobile some moments later.

Chapter Text

Mycroft held back a groan of relief as he stepped through the threshold of his home. He set his suitcase to the side and hung up his jacket and umbrella in silence. He’d just gotten home from a business trip that had taken a week, and things had gotten rather hectic. The politician hadn’t slept a wink in over 36 hours. There had been too much to do. And while he had been able to push back any fatigue to get his work done, now that he was home it was all crashing down on him.

Gregory hadn’t gotten home yet, so the house was empty apart from him. He had assumed as much. With a small frown, he made his way to the bedroom to put up the contents of his suitcase, and to change into a comfortable set of pajamas. Everything was hung up and put in the clothes bin properly, as needed, before he would allow himself a moment’s pause. Pulling on his house robe, he headed back to the kitchen to make some tea.

As he was finishing his cup, the front door opened and closed again, announcing his partner’s arrival. Mycroft covered his mouth as a particularly intense yawn assaulted him, and he made his way to greet the older man.

“Myc, welcome home,” Gregory smiled sweetly, pulling him into a hug. “How was everything?”

“Exhausted,” Mycroft huffed irritably. Those wonderful brown eyes he loved so much softened greatly, and he heaved a sigh, which melted into another large yawn.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” he had prompted, without asking when the last he’d slept was. Mycroft just nodded, following his partner wordlessly back to the bedroom. He went ahead and crawled in bed as Gregory changed into his own pajamas, before he was joined.

One would assume that laying in one’s own bed, with the warmth of your boyfriend next to you, without the urgency of any kind of work floating overhead, that one could fall asleep fairly easily. Yet, Mycroft lay there, just staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open. He was beyond exhausted, and he couldn’t get to sleep. He sighed. Next to him, the bed shifted as Gregory turned onto his side and gazed over at him.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked. Mycroft huffed another sigh and eyed the older man.

“That should be fairly obvious,” he said a little more harshly than he had meant. It had to have been the fatigue, causing him to get irritable. Gregory didn’t seem fazed by it, however. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the younger man and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his temple. Mycroft curled into him, pressing his face into the crook of his neck.

Gregory began running his fingers through Mycroft’s ginger hair, moving down to his neck, and repeating. Then, after a few moments of silence, he began humming. Mycroft didn’t recognize the tune. Arching an eyebrow, he pulled back enough to look up at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly, staring at the man with tired eyes.

“Used to sing to the girls when they couldn’t sleep, when they were young,” Gregory responded by way of explanation. Mycroft blinked.

“I am not a child, Gregory,” he muttered, his brow furrowing slightly.

“I am aware. Just trust me, Myc.”

Mycroft didn’t respond, but after a second he nodded, and nuzzled close again. His partner resumed his humming. In the dimly lit room, Mycroft focused on those sounds, and the feeling of arms wrapped around him, and calm breaths. He allowed his eyes to shut as he enjoyed the sensations.

He couldn’t say when it was he fell asleep. It was definitely not more than ten minutes after the humming had started. The sleep he fell into was deep and peaceful, rid of all worries. Just he and Gregory. The way it was meant to be.

Chapter Text

“Myc, I am absolutely freaking out,” Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair and practically collapsing on his boyfriend’s bed. He covered his eyes with his arm, wanting to will it all away. No exams, no grades, just…none of it.

“They’re not that bad Gregory, honestly. Shall I quiz you?” the posh younger boy asked from where he was sitting at his desk. He was technically a grade younger than Greg, but he was taking last level classes, so they shared a majority of them. It was how the two teenagers met. They’d never expected their meeting to end up with them dating, as had no one else in the entire school, but that’s what happened. Somehow, the rough, almost punky Greg Lestrade had wormed his way into the heart of Mycroft Holmes, who only associated with people on a professional level (students and teachers alike).

“I don’t know…” Greg groaned, uncovering his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows. He gazed over at Mycroft with another sigh, frowning. It wasn’t that he had bad grades. He was pretty smart, considering. But a few of these classes were just intensely difficult. He’d been studying his arse off for days and he still didn’t feel ready.

“The key is to remain calm,” Mycroft spoke again after a moment, standing and moving to join his boyfriend on the bed. He remained sitting upright however, not relining like Greg was, and glanced over at him. “You’ve retained more than you believe, of this I am sure.”

“How can you be?” Greg asked, arching an eyebrow. Mycroft smirked at him.

“Because you are more intelligent than you give yourself credit for. You retain more when you have a clear mind. So stop stressing about it, and quit trying to cram the material. Study, take a break, and then study a bit more. And don’t think for a moment that I’m going to let you sit up the night before and try to jam things in, because your mind doesn’t work that way.”

Greg sighed, but nodded. He supposed a break was warranted. He’d been studying in Mycroft’s room for a while, and the longer it got, the more stressed he found himself. He knew his boyfriend was right, because he usually always was. Of course he knew Greg’s brain better than Greg did himself. He couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You know my mind so well,” he voiced the thought aloud, glancing over at him. Mycroft nodded.

“Of course I do. If I did not, or your mind was not worth knowing, we would not be quite in the position we are now,” he said. To other people, a sentence like that might come across as cold or harsh, but not to Greg. It just made him smile.

“I know another position I’d like us to be in,” Greg said, his grin widening.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Gregory,” Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Well, you said I should take a break…” Greg shifted his weight suggestively, eyes locking with the younger boy’s. Even though Mycroft sighed again, he did roll to lie almost right on top of the older boy. The tips of their noses touched, and Greg slid his arms around Mycroft’s torso.

“I suppose something stimulating wouldn’t be a bad thing…” Mycroft grinned, leaning down to kiss Greg. They kissed for a good while, slow and unhurried, just enjoying the feeling of being together. As Mycroft shifted to get on top of the older boy a bit more directly, however, the kiss started to change. It began to get more intense, and more suggestive.

Greg slid his hands down and slipped them under his boyfriend’s shirt, sliding them up his bare back. Slender hands returned the gesture by running through black hair, and Greg nibbled on Mycroft’s bottom lip a bit. Finally, they had to break away so they could breathe. Both boys panted softly, pupils wider and making both their eyes darker. Greg’s previous grin grew more seductive, and his brushed their noses together again lightly.

“Much better to focus on than the exams,” he muttered breathlessly, going in to start kissing and biting at Mycroft’s neck. The younger boy groaned softly, clutching at him and tilting his head back for a bit more access. Yes… A break had been a good idea for them both.

Chapter Text

“Alright Boss, come on. Up,” Sally Donovan fussed, hands on her hips with that extremely serious look on her face. Greg, who had been slumped over paperwork and frowning at nothing in particular, lifted his head from his hand with a confused look on his face.

“What, Donovan?” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. He just wanted to finish this bloody paperwork and go home. Maybe get some sleep. Not that it mattered.

“Get. Up. Follow me. This is not up for negotiation,” Sally sighed, opening his office door wide and gesturing out. Greg sighed in irritation and rubbed his face with a groan.

“I don’t have time for this, Donovan,” he groaned, but pushed his chair back and stood anyway. He really hoped this wouldn’t take took long. Snatching his mobile, he stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket and followed his sergeant through the Yard and out onto the street. They stopped in front of a black car and Sally turned, handing Greg a bag. He arched an eyebrow.

“In the car, Boss,” she said in a tone that wasn’t a request. Greg opened his mouth to say something, but her look became more pointed, so he sighed and just decided to do what she said. That was easier than tempting her wrath. So, he opened the door and ducked in, sitting down and shutting the door behind him.

His mouth dropped open as he realized he was not alone in the car. Sitting on the other side was Mycroft Holmes, a man he hadn’t seen in over a month.

“Hello Gregory,” the politician smiled politely. Greg couldn’t decide whether to yell, grin, or kiss his boyfriend stupid. He’d been out of the country for longer than Greg cared to think about, and then when he’d gotten back Greg had been so buried in a serial killer case that he’d been practically sleeping at the Yard. He’d barely seen his own flat, let alone the younger man’s.

“Myc?” he questioned, but sighed in relief. Then, he glanced at the other bag in the car, assuming it was his. He looked back up curiously. “What’s happening?”

“I assure you, for once, I have no idea,” Mycroft sighed, crossing his legs. He picked up an envelope and held it out. “Though, I was instructed we opened this once we were both in the vehicle. Would you like to do the honors?”

Greg nodded, reaching over to take the envelope. Their fingers touched, and their lingered for a moment as the touch caused his heart to leap up in his throat. Christ, he had missed Mycroft. Finally, though, he cleared his throat, took the envelope, and pulled it open. He glanced at what was written and his eyebrows practically shot up into his hairline. Mycroft waited patiently, and he cleared his throat before reading it out.

“The two of you have been pains in our arse all month. You both get irritable, overbearing, and annoying when you don’t see each other. So, we are sending you on a vacation. You will go on this vacation, and you will not return before the allotted time is up. In the trunk of the car is the entire luggage you will require. The driver is taking you to the airport, where he will give you the proper paperwork and your plane tickets. So go, shag each other senseless, and be happy. No work. Both of your schedules have been properly rearranged. Yours, A and S.”

Silence fell in the car. Greg stared at the paper, rereading the message, before handing it to Mycroft, who did the same. Then, as he was finished, he folded the paper back up and glanced over at Greg.

“Anthea and Sally, huh?” Greg asked.

“It would seem so,” Mycroft nodded. There were a few more moments of silence, before Greg shifted closer to the younger man. Their hands touched on the seat of the car, and after a moment, they threaded their fingers together.

“A vacation,” Greg whispered.

“Indeed.”

“Shag each other senseless.”

“Those were the words used.”

Both men started laughing after a heartbeat. Their grip one each other tightened, and Greg turned so that his body was more directly facing his boyfriend. It was amazing how easily he gravitated towards Mycroft without really thinking about it.

“It’s a dangerous thing, those two working together,” he all but giggled. “They might just take over the world if we’re not careful, Myc.”

Mycroft’s smile was genuine now, his eyes bright with laughter. He was stunning. It caused Greg’s breath to hitch in his throat briefly. Their laughter began to die off, and Greg reached over to stroke the younger man’s smooth cheek.

“Think we have to wait to reach out destination before I ‘shag you senseless’, as they say?” he whispered. Mycroft’s eyes widened, shifting down to Greg’s mouth, chest, and then back to his eyes. He seemed to shiver slightly, his pupils widening. While Greg had no complete plan to actually have sex in the back of the car, but it didn’t stop him from lifting up and climbing onto Mycroft’s lap, leaning down to initiate a heated kiss. Mycroft returned the kiss eagerly, gripping Greg’s waist and pulling him close.

One of them groaned, both panting softly as they finally broke apart.

“God I’ve missed you,” Greg said breathlessly, leaning back in to nip at Mycroft’s bottom lip. The grip on his waist tightened.

“And I you,” he retuned, just as breathless. His usually smooth voice wavered slightly as Greg leaned down and began kissing his neck. “Gregory, if you don’t stop, I won’t be able to wait until we reach out destination.”

A mischievous grin slid onto Greg’s face, and the kisses increased in their intensity. He also took a moment to rock their hips together, causing Mycroft to yelp.

“Perhaps that’s the point,” he said seductively, sucking on Mycroft’s collarbone. The politician arched up, pressing their bodies together.

“Yes, perhaps.”

Chapter Text

Mycroft wasn’t sure at first what time he woke up. However, upon doing so, he reached over to find the area next to him empty. Confused, he lifted his head and blinked, waking almost immediately. Gregory had been called into the Yard, but he assumed the older man would’ve been back home by now. It had been a few hours, and his mobile had no messages…

After a few moments, he got a call from Doctor Watson. Who breathlessly informed him that Gregory and Sherlock had been ambushed and injured while chasing a perp. What started out as exhausted irritation grew into concern as John began talking about how they wouldn’t let him see either man, or even tell him if they were alright.

He was out of bed immediately, and within minutes he was out of his pajamas and into one of his suits. He shot off a text at lightning speed, summoning one of his cars, and was out the door and on the way to the hospital right after. His exterior was its usual calm, smooth, collected self, but his mind was racing. If they didn’t let John, a doctor, see either man, how bad off were they? He was certain that they would allow him in, if they knew what was good for them, and for once he wished he had just as much control over the traffic as Gregory teased him to have.

Finally, he made it to Barts, and strode in quickly. He picked out John’s sandy blonde hair amongst those in the waiting room and made his way over.

“Doctor Watson?” he prompted, shifting his umbrella from one hand to the other. John looked up, startled, but nodded and stood.

“They’re both somewhere back there…” he mumbled, waving his hand towards a hallway. “I have no idea what’s happening.”

“I’ll find out, I ensure you. Remain here.”

Turning, Mycroft made his way over to the reception desk, leaning over slightly and clearing his throat to gain attention of the attending nurse. She was sitting at a computer and chewing gum at an obnoxious rate, which practically made him cringe. He sighed through his nose as he was, not surprisingly, ignored.

“Pardon me,” he said in a clipped tone, causing her head to jerk up. “Gregory Lestrade’s room, if you would be so kind.”

The woman glanced at her sheets, reading the names and notes on it.

“I’m sorry, are you family?” she asked. “Because if not-“

“Gregory. Lestrade’s. Room. Please. I will not ask again.” He gave her a pointed look, one that had her almost squirming in her seat, and she nodded, muttering the number and proceeding to cower behind the computer monitor.

Turning, he made his way through the double doors and down the hall without the briefest glance back behind him. His long legs still couldn’t seem to take him fast enough, but he finally found the room and all but stormed in. Gregory, who was sitting on the bed in the room, looked up in surprise and blinked.

“Oh, Myc,” he breathed, visibly relaxing. Mycroft, however, was not so easily appeased. He strode over and reached out, grasping the older man’s cheeks with his slender hands, and let his pale eyes roam along his form. Checking for any abnormalities, any injuries, anything at all… Gregory seemed to pick up on that after a moment and reached up, putting his hands on top of Mycroft’s, brown eyes softening immensely.

“I’m okay,” he said softly after a moment of silence between them. “Really. Minor concussion and a cut along my arm, but it’s not deep. It’s wrapped up already, and it didn’t even need stitches. So stop looking for something that’s not there.”

Mycroft could feel an intensity uncurling inside of him. It might not have been a physical thing, but even still, it seemed like Gregory could just tell. How that man could read him so well, Mycroft would never know.

“When John called me,” he said, his voice smooth as it always was, but almost strained. “Said he couldn’t see either of you. I feared the worst. You put me out of my right mind, Gregory Lestrade.”

“I’m aware,” he nodded, grinning brightly. Slowly, he stood, pressing against the taller man and kissing him sweetly. Mycroft made a soft whimper of relief in the back of his throat. “It’s called love, Mycroft dear.”

“Love is irrational,” he huffed against Gregory’s lips. They shared a breathless laugh with each other.

“I know. I’m your irrationality.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, my darling Gregory.”

Chapter Text

Greg felt… strange. He was surrounded by people: friends, family, the community, but as he stood in front of the glossy coffin containing his father, he’d never felt so alone. He’d just been with him last month, and the old man had been lively as ever. They ran the kitchen together, like old times, a synchronization they’d always had with one another. Now here he was. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest as a chill went through his body.

Someone was speaking, though he didn’t know whom. He could barely register the words that were being said either. It was all a dull ringing in his ears. He wasn’t crying, and he honestly didn’t think he had at all since hearing the news a few days earlier. Next to him, however, his mother had a handkerchief up to her face, wiping away tears as they emerged. He remained a solid force next to her, because that’s what he had to do. She needed him now more than ever, and he had to be there.

After a while, people began to stop by in front of him and his mum to pay their respects, provide hugs and offers of support, all of which they both thanked automatically. Greg was on autopilot. He didn’t really care about any of these people’s support, because nothing they could do would actually help. He just wanted to go home and sleep for days. He was only half looking at the people stepping in front of him, nodding and returning hugs as they were given to him, though his eyes tended to lock on the grass at his feet more than the people walking by.

After a moment, as the last of the people were filtering out, the air around him changed. Someone stood in front of him, and he recognized those shoes, and…umbrella. For a second, Greg couldn’t breathe, and he forced himself to look up, which put him face to face with Mycroft. His brown eyes widened. Mycroft was silent, but his eyes were so expressive. There was affection and sorrow in those blue orbs, and if they didn’t stop looking at each other, Greg feared he would break down on the spot. He hadn’t introduced Mycroft to his parents yet. They knew he was dating someone, and that he was dating a man, but nothing else. They had planned a trip a bit closer to Christmas, but now Mycroft would never meet his father.

Yet here he was. His mom continued to stand patiently next to him, but he could feel her eyes on him, as he stood frozen, staring.

“Mycroft…” he practically gasped, his eyes shimmering with tears that threatened to fall any moment. “How did you…?”

“My meeting was concluded early,” came the smooth answer. “I can only apologize for not being here sooner.”

He reached out as if to clasp their hands together, but Greg found he no longer gave a rat’s ass. Stepping forward, he pulled his boyfriend into a tight hug, burying his face into the younger man’s slender neck and gripping his suit jacket tightly. Mycroft went stiff in his arms and his breath hitched, as if unsure about the public display in front of his mother. After a second, however, he wrapped his slender arms around Greg’s torso and returned the hug with equal fervor.

“Thank you,” he said, his words muffled by Mycroft’s skin. His body began to shake with silent sobs, as he could no longer hold back the tears anymore. Mycroft pressed his nose into silvery hair, kissing the top of his head.

“Forgive me for not being here earlier, Gregory,” Mycroft whispered sincerely. “You needed me and I could not…”

“Shut up, you’re here now.”

Finally, Greg forced himself to pull away. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed at his eyes and gazed up at the man he loved so goddamn much. He cleared his throat, biting back a sob, and turned to his mother.

“Mum,” he started, his voice still wavering with emotion. “This is Mycroft. He’s my-“

“I believe I’m quite aware of who he is,” she smiled sweetly. “Thank you for coming, dear. It is wonderful to finally meet you.”

“My deepest sympathies that it was not under the more preferred circumstances we had attempted to plan,” Mycroft responded, stepping over and leaning in to kiss her cheek respectfully.

“Better poor circumstances than never,” she responded, reaching out and clasping his hand. “Now, why don’t you come back with us so we can have a proper chat, yes?”

She nodded at her son, smiling, before turning to walk away. Greg reached for Mycroft and got up on his toes so he could kiss him deeply. Mycroft gripped at his biceps, returning the kiss with equal intensity, and once again Greg had to force back tears.

“I’m so glad,” he said. “I needed you here.”

“I will remain by your side as long as you’ll have me, Gregory.”

“How about for always?”

They shared another intense kiss. Neither man moved to deepen the kiss more than it was, because it wasn’t the right time. But there was desperation there, a need that showed Greg’s emotional state. They remained there alone for a moment, before finally breaking away with soft gasps. They threaded their fingers together and walking through the cemetery to join back up with the rest of the family.

Chapter Text

There was a short knock on the office door of the Diogenes Club before it opened, Anthea peeking her head in. Sitting at his desk, Mycroft stiffened and sucked in a breath, before staring at the door. The woman arched an eyebrow.

“Meeting in half an hour sir,” she said, before looking down at her Blackberry.

“Y-yes Anthea, thank you,” the politician said, voice shaking a bit before he cleared his throat.

“Alright sir?” she asked, glancing up for half a second. “You look a bit flush.”

“Just warm in here. I’m fine. Thank you, Anthea.”

The woman nodded, eyed him for a second more, and then shut the door. Mycroft was gripping his chair tightly, and exhaled in relief once he was alone again. Well, not quite alone… Glancing under the desk, he glared at the man crouching between his legs.

“Gregory, this is not the time,” he hissed, biting his lip and forcing back a whimper as the older man ignored him and leaned forward, running his tongue along his very stiff erection. The two of them hadn’t seen each other in a few days, and hadn’t had time for any intimate activity for even longer than that, and it had apparently caught up with the Detective Inspector. When Gregory had shown up at his office on his lunch break and all but climbed onto his lap, Mycroft knew there was no stopping it. But in the Diogenes, of all places.

“I suppose I could go…” Gregory teased, leaning back on his feet slightly, grinning. Mycroft’s glare hardened.

“Don’t you dare,” he scolded. “You’re going to finish what you’ve started now.”

Gregory leaned forward again, continuing his teasing blowjob, and Mycroft bit his lip as his head fell back against his chair. His back arched slightly, his breath picking up quicker. He could feel the heat pooling deep in his belly as his arousal grew. Right when he thought everything would hit, the warmth of his lover’s mouth was gone and he whimpered at the loss.

The older man put his hands on the chair and rolled it back so he could climb out from under the desk. He pulled Mycroft to his feet and shoved them together, their mouths clashing in a heated kiss full of want. The politician could feel Gregory’s erection though his trousers, and the friction the two of them created as they arched against one another. Mycroft growled into the kiss, and he got his bottom lip sucked on in return. Then, after breaking the kiss, Mycroft found himself being turned around and shoved down against his desk. His chest and hands pressed flat against the wood, shifting papers out of the way, and behind he could hear Gregory unfastening his trousers.

Both men’s trousers and pants were tugged down to their ankles, and Gregory opened a drawer to Mycroft’s desk and rummaged around until he found the small bottle of lube they’d stored in here a while ago. Mycroft groaned at the pressure of his boyfriend’s fingers pressing into him, and shifted his hips back to meet them more eagerly than he cared to admit. The lack of sexual activity was catching up on him now, and good lord he wanted it.

Gregory’s fingers were replaced with something much more desired after a moment, and Mycroft sucked in a deep breath. His hand curled into a fist and flew to his mouth, forcing down a loud moan that threatened to come out. Of course he had to be in the middle of some of the best sex he’d had in a while in a building where silence was mandatory.

“Bite down on your tie, love,” Gregory grunted roughly, gripping Mycroft’s hips so tightly he wouldn’t be surprised if there were light bruises there later. The suggestion was the best thing he could think of right now, though, so after a second Mycroft’s silk tie was between his teeth.

“G-gregory…” he panted, his usually smooth voice shaking. As their hips rocked together, Gregory leaned down to start pressing hot kisses along his back and shoulders.

“Yes?” he asked against Mycroft’s heated skin.

“H-harder…” His request turned into a moan, all muffled by the tie that was stuffed in his mouth.

“Fuck yes,” came the breathless reply, and Gregory complied. The older man would receive a stern scolding for this later. But now… Mycroft didn’t want it to stop.

Chapter Text

“Good lord Gregory, what are you watching?” Mycroft sighed, arching a thin eyebrow at the telly. Greg was reclined on the sofa, slumped over with his legs stretched out in front of him. He let his head fall back to glance at the politician, who had just made his way home, and shrugged with a casual grin.

“House Hunters,” he responded casually. “Nothing else on.”

Mycroft regarded the show, remaining quiet for a few moments as he watched the couple on the screen walking through a house and talking about what they liked about it, what they were looking for, so on and so fourth. House number 2, they called it. If it were possible, his eyebrow went up even higher.

“So you…watch a show…about people picking out dream houses?” he asked slowly, staring at his partner in disbelief. “How old are you, Gregory?”

“Oy. You hush. It’s great background noise. Come, sit.”

Greg patted the sofa cushion next to him invitingly, but the older man continued to stand and stare warily. It wasn’t until Greg glanced back at him with those large brown eyes that his boyfriend complied with his request, and he grinned triumphantly, curling their legs together, as Mycroft settled in next to him.

What Greg hadn’t realized at the time, unfortunately, was how this was going to change their viewing habits in the future. It was no big deal starting out. The two of them would cuddle up with each other on the sofa after dinner, talking softly, kissing, and putting something random on the telly as they did so. Every now and again they’d pay attention, depending what kind of programme was put on, and then after a while they would go to bed.

It wasn’t until Greg came home from a long day at the Yard, hearing Mycroft muttering and the telly on, that he realized just what had happened. Hanging up his coat, he slowly made his way to where the younger man was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, with irritation painted on his face.

“Myc?” he started curiously, glancing from his lover to the telly and back.

“This is so irritating. This Candice woman clearly doesn’t understand the correct concept of that color scheme. I mean honestly. She claims to be a leading interior designer and then she puts out stuff like that? My left pinky could do better.”

Greg blinked as Mycroft ranted, staring at the show and waving his hand around in its direction. The only way Greg was acknowledged was when he started directing questions at him and telling him to look at that awful layout.

“Are…you watching Divine Design?” he asked warily, glancing at the telly again. It wasn’t a show they’d ever watched, but it aired on the same channel as House Hunters and he recognized the logo on the bottom corner.

“I am, but it is clearly a poor decision because she is out of her mind and should be fired.”

Greg stared. Oh good lord. Mycroft was getting addicted to shitty television. What had he done? Shaking his head, he turned and headed to their shared bedroom, pulling out his mobile and texting his best mate as he walked.

Mycroft is watching awful telly on the Home and Garden Network. Currently Divine Design. And scolding the woman running it. Help. –Greg

He was down to his trousers when he got the return text, and he walked across the room to fetch his mobile and read it.

Keep him away from those crass tabloid talk shows. He’ll start screaming about how obvious it is the man is or isn’t the father. –JW

Greg shook his head, sighing. So it wasn’t just Mycroft…

What is it with the Holmes boys and crap American telly? -Greg

If you find out, mate, please tell me. –JW

Greg laughed. He and John had grown close over the years, and even more so with the two of them dating Mycroft and Sherlock. They were able to keep each other grounded and sane, for the most part. He finished changing into sweatpants and a baggy football kit jersey, and dared to make his way back to where Mycroft was still sitting.

“I should’ve watched Property Brothers,” Mycroft muttered as Greg sat down next to him.

“Oh? And why’s that?” Greg asked, deciding to humor him. For the first time since he’d gotten home, Mycroft turned to look at him.

“Because at least the twins are rather nice on the eyes.”

“Oy!” Greg fussed, puffing up. Mycroft smiled, tugging him close and wrapping his slender arms around his waist. Greg hummed as they started kissing, the telly becoming background noise. All was as it should be.

“No worries, darling. I’d rather have one of you than two of them any day,” Mycroft cooed against his lips, pulling him in for another deep kiss.

Chapter Text

Mycroft came home to an incredibly quiet house. It was peculiar and not at all what he had expected, because Gregory’s vehicle had been sitting in their garage as he’d arrived home. Quietly, he took off his coat and hung it and his umbrella up, as he did daily, and began to make his way through the house in search of his husband.

“Gregory?” he called out, to no response. He peeked into the kitchen with no luck, and made his way into the living room. Still no sign of the older man. Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he glanced around the room. Nothing on the sofa was disturbed after their cuddles the other evening, so he hadn’t even sat down. Normally Gregory relaxed in here with a football match or the news when he came home from work.

Sighing, Mycroft shook his head and turned back to head up to their bedroom. He glanced in the washroom as he passed, in case he’d been in the shower and he hadn’t picked up on the sound of running water (which he hadn’t, as expected). Their bedroom had been visited, he noted, as he bent down to pick up the tie that had been haphazardly dropped in the middle of the floor. So he had come home and changed out of his clothes, as he usually did. The duvet on their bed had shifted some, so he had clearly sat down for a little while. Yet, like the other rooms in the house he’d checked, he was not present here either.

“Gregory?” he called out again, and still no response. His brow furrowing, he tutted to himself and strode out of the bedroom again. Walking down the hall, he noticed a light on in the older man’s office. Ah. He smiled in satisfaction to himself as he’d finally located his partner, and made his way in. He opened his mouth to speak as he pushed open the door, but fell immediately silent at the sight before him.

Gregory was slumped over his desk, arms crossed and cheek resting on his hand. His lips were parted slightly, and he was very clearly fast asleep. There were papers scattered all across his desk, and a pen next to him that had obviously slipped out of his grip as sleep had overtaken him. Mycroft’s pale eyes softened and a small smile slid onto his face. His darling Gregory had been working himself to the bone over his current case; a serial killer that Sherlock had undoubtedly been very excited about, but one that was slipping out of their grasps more often than they preferred to admit.

Slowly, he made his way over to the sleeping man and leaned forward, placing his slender hands on Gregory’s shoulders and shaking gently. He leaned down, his breath ghosting against his husband’s ear as he spoke.

“Gregory, darling, do wake up,” he requested. The older man stirred after a moment, his brow furrowing in half-asleep confusion and blinked himself awake with a questioning groan. Mycroft chuckled and kissed the outside curve of his ear. “Come on love, to bed with you.”

“Myc?” the Detective Inspector asked groggily, turning to see him with sleepy eyes. Mycroft’s smile just widened.

“Yes, love. Come on now, to bed.”

Gregory rubbed at his eyes but complied, standing wobbly and allowing himself to be led through the hall by the younger man. Mycroft slid an arm around his waist as he guided him, until finally they reached their bed and both sat down.

“S’not late, is it?” Gregory asked sleepily, as he moved to curl up on his side with his head on the pillow.

“It is not.”

“What about dinner?”

“I assure you, I will take care of my own dinner tonight. You need rest, Gregory.” Mycroft stayed where he was, watching as his husband nodded and shut his eyes. After a moment, his breath began to even out again, in what he assumed was sleep. Adjusting the duvet, he moved to stand.

“Dun go,” came the rather pitiful request. Mycroft had been halfway standing, and he turned to look over his shoulder. Gregory had opened his eyes again, a sleepy pout stuck on his face, his arm extended across the empty side of the bed. “Please?”

He couldn’t resist. Mycroft nodded and toed his shoes off, pushing them aside and climbing into bed. He remained in more of a sitting position, of course, because he was nowhere near ready for bed himself. Gregory curled up against him, draping his arm around Mycroft’s waist and nuzzling his arm.

“Missed you,” he mumbled, voice slurring with the sleep that was already taking him back over.

“I missed you as well, Gregory,” Mycroft whispered back. His husband was already fast asleep.

Chapter Text

“Bollocks, I’m going to be so late,” Greg groaned, darting back and fourth across the room and picking up articles of clothing that had been strewn all around the room. He was still half naked, John’s wedding was in less than an hour, and he couldn’t find his bloody tie. Mycroft apparently found him hilarious. The younger man was stretched out on his bed, still completely naked, with a smug smirk on his face, while the older ran in and out of the room like a chicken with his head cut off.

“You could just be late. The reception is usually more important than the ceremony anyway,” the politician called after him as he left the bedroom for the umpteenth time, buttoning up his dress shirt. Where was the damn tie?

“Or you could come with me,” Greg huffed for what wasn’t the first time in the past week. Mycroft refused to go, and he couldn’t understand why. His company would have been pleasant.

“Gregory, I am not. Everyone will be better off for it,” came the same reply every other time he’d mentioned it.

“I won’t,” he mumbled to himself. Mycroft arched an eyebrow. Greg sighed. “Have you seen my tie?”

Mycroft shook his head, and Greg’s shoulders slumped. Of course not. He supposed he could go without, but it just wouldn’t look right. Just as he was starting to convince himself to not worry about it, Mycroft finally climbed off the bed. With flawless grace, he strode over to his closet. Greg watched curiously.

“Here,” he prompted as he walked over, holding a dark blue tie with silver dots decorating it. The older man looked at him curiously. “Wear one of mine.”

Before Greg could reach out to take it, Mycroft was wrapping it around his neck and tying it with expert efficiency. Greg just gazed up at him, reaching out to place a hand on his bare hip. Once it was in place, they looked at each other, breathing together. Then, without warning, Mycroft grabbed the tie and pulled, jerking Greg forward into a heated kiss.

Every piece of clothing he’d thrown on in a rush was removed again just as quickly. Only the tie remained, for a while, as they fell on the bed together, kissing and writhing and groaning. The tie was eventually removed, and re-tied around Greg’s wrists. Not a way he’d thought to use it before, but as they had aggressive, mind-blowing sex, he changed his tune on the idea of it.

He gasped Mycroft’s name, but the words were lost in his mouth. They both cried out as they came, sweaty and panting and perfect.

And Greg was still definitely late for the wedding.

Sherlock called it to attention, of course, as he took one look at the tie and knew exactly where it came from.

“Oh good lord, you’re wearing his ties now?” he asked in a clipped voice. Greg blushed and gaped, freezing and holding up the receiving line on the way into the reception.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, glaring and trying to force down his embarrassment. Congratulate the newly weds, he told himself. Then get in there and have a bloody drink.

If Sherlock looked at him more than once while on the phone a little while later, Greg pretended not to notice.

Chapter Text

It was their third interruption in the past two hours. Greg sat alone on the couch; movie paused, sighing as Mycroft paced back and fourth in the next room, on his mobile. Greg sighed, scrubbing his face in irritation. They both had tons invested in their jobs, and had known that long before getting into a relationship, but this was their first night of quality time in over a week, and he was on the bleeding phone.

Greg’s leg bounced up and down, until finally, twenty minutes later, Mycroft was walking back into the room. He had a thoughtful look on his face, the mask of the British government thoroughly in place. Greg stood, frowning, and went to go into the kitchen.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, voice short, as he carried empty tea mugs in to be rinsed. Mycroft arched an eyebrow and sighed, following.

“Gregory, the movie is still on,” he said, crossing his arms and watching his boyfriend from the doorway.

“Forget it. It’s a stupid bloody movie and you clearly have a lot of work to do.” Great, he was snapping. Now he was getting more irritated with himself than Mycroft.

“Dear lord, Gregory, I had to take the call. You know I would ignore it if I could.” Annoyance had settled into Mycroft’s voice as well. Greg could feel a row coming on, but he found he couldn’t stop himself.

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen you in- You know, forget it. I’m going to bed, so you can go run the fucking country.” He dropped the mug a little harder than he’d planned and stormed out in the direction of their bedroom.

“Stop being a child, Gregory,” Mycroft snapped. Greg froze, halfway up the stairs. Finally, he turned to face the younger man, who was glaring at him in annoyance.

“Seriously?” he yelled. Shaking his head, he stormed up the steps, went into the washroom, and slammed the door shut behind him. Glaring at everything in there, because suddenly everything was offending him, Greg turned the shower on and started to tug off his clothes. He threw them in a pile and leaned on the sink, glancing at himself in a mirror. Absently, he grabbed his toothbrush and started chewing on the bottom of it. Only upon noticing this did he yank it out and slam it down, groaning to himself, and turned to get into the shower.

He was so focused on the hot water beating down on his head that he didn’t notice the door to the washroom opening. Tilting his head up, he let the water splash onto his face, eyes shut tight. Then, there were slender arms wrapping around his waist, causing him to jump. Turning, he glanced at the very naked body of his boyfriend, who had apparently snuck in and decided to join him in the shower.

“I’m sorry,” Greg sighed, breaking the silence after a moment. Mycroft was resting his chin on his tan shoulder, and turned to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I am as well,” Mycroft murmured, brushing his pointed nose along Greg’s damp skin. “I do believe we picked a poor time to try and stop smoking together.”

Greg couldn’t help but chuckle. Maybe it had been a bad idea that they tried to stop smoking at the same time to begin with. They were both going through withdrawals, making their emotions very high. They rarely snapped at each other. It was most definitely the lack of nicotine in both their systems.

“Why did we decide to do this again?” he asked, raising his eyebrows curiously. He turned in Mycroft’s arms so that they were facing one another, their chests pressed against each other. Greg gazed up at his partner with affection.

“Because it’s for our health,” came Mycroft’s response, repeating the words Greg had said a few weeks ago. Glaring, Greg reached out to smack him with no force.

“Stop mocking me,” he sighed. Mycroft shook his head and leaned down to kiss Greg gently. The kiss started slow, and picked up after a moment. They both hummed, gripping at each other’s slick skin.

“Let us focus on much more pleasurable things, yes?” Mycroft whispered against Greg’s lips. Greg managed to nod, nipping at the younger man’s bottom lip gently.

“Sounds good to me, Myc.” And they proceeded to have a wonderful shower, followed by an even more wonderful evening in bed.

Chapter Text

It was sunny and warm and wonderful out; a perfect setting for the day. Greg was enjoying his and Mycroft’s time in Milan. He’d never been to Milan. What better way to experience it than on one’s honeymoon?

Currently, they were stretched out on a boat, rocking lazily in the water. Mycroft was leaning with one arm propped on the edge, a book in his lap and his umbrella open and propped up behind him. His poor partner – not just partner, husband now – burned so easily in the sun that he couldn’t go with out. His chest and feet were bare, but he still wore a nice pair of black trousers. Greg, on the other hand, was wearing nothing more than swim trunks and a pair of sunglasses. He sighed, grinning widely, and glanced over at the other man.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked lightheartedly, craning his neck to peer over at the younger man.

“Mmm?” Mycroft glanced up over the pages of his book. “Oh, it’s an old Italian piece of literature; fables and the like. It was sitting in our suite.”

“I bet I could give you something a lot more interesting to think about…” the older man said, leaning forward a bit. He had long since stopped wondering how Mycroft could do certain things, like reading fluent Italian. His husband was just a genius, and it was glorious..

“Is that so?” Mycroft asked, bookmarking his spot and shutting the book.

“Oh yeah. These lips,” he nodded, pointing at his mouth. Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

“Yours lips, Gregory?” he asked, smirking.

“Naturally. I can kiss you so well you’ll forget all about those Italian fables. About everything.”

“How confident you are. Perhaps you should prove it to me,” Mycroft said silkily, sitting up a bit straighter. He gazed at his husband with a challenging, sassy expression. Standing, Greg took the few careful steps over, closing the space between them on the boat. He was never one to back down from a challenge, especially when it involved anything intimate with Mycroft. He gazed down at the younger man, before bending at the waist and leaning down.

Mycroft tilted his head as if to meet the man’s lips, practically batting his eyes at him, but the smirk he had previously worn grew even wider and he leaned to the side. Greg continued moving. His brown eyes flew open in surprise as he lost balance, yelping, and the next thing he knew he was in the water. Kicking his feet, he resurfaced and spun around to face the boat. Mycroft, still in the boat, was laughing, moving to lean back in his original position. Greg spit water out of his mouth and pouted a bit.

“Not cool, Myc,” he said, reaching to grasp the edge of the boat a bit. Mycroft gazed down at him; pale eyes alight with amusement and love.

“Oh poor darling,” the younger man cooed, with no sincerity at all. Greg poked his tongue out at him. He wasn’t the least bit sorry, that was for sure.

“I am. I must be spoiled now. I could’ve drowned,” Greg pretended to wail dramatically, throwing his head back and looking up at the sky. Mycroft shook his head and rolled his eyes at the older man’s hysterics. Leaning forward slightly, he reached out with a slender hand and cupped Greg’s cheek, stroking his wet, sun-kissed skin with his thumb.

“Oh husband mine,” Mycroft said with much more care now. He smirked again. “Why don’t you show me now?”

Mycroft leaned forward a bit more, and Greg pulled himself up a bit. Their lips connected in a gentle, meaningful kiss. Mycroft slid his fingers through Greg’s damp, silvery hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss a bit. Reaching out with his other hand, Greg cupped the back of the younger man’s neck to hold him in place. The kiss slowed, and Greg’s lips curled into a grin against his husband’s. Mycroft could sense something had changed, and an alarm went off in his head. Before he could react, though, Greg tugged, grinning brightly as they pulled away from each other.

There was another loud yelp, followed by a splash, as Mycroft Holmes was tugged out of the boat and into the water as well. Payback was glorious, no matter what consequences were sure to follow.

Chapter Text

It was an unusually hot day in London. It was uncomfortable enough that Greg was wearing a tanktop, and even Mycroft wasn’t dressed in his normal three-piece suits. He was still dressed much more properly than the majority of the other people they’d seen throughout the day, clad in black trousers and a button up dress shirt. Though, as they’d gone out, he had since rolled the sleeves of the shirt up to his elbows.

Currently, they were in a small pastry shoppe near their house, sitting at one of the smaller tables over in the corner. It was usually a lot less busy than it was today, though, along with pastries, they also sold ice cream, so he supposed it made sense. It was the reason they were here as well. They’d had to run a couple of errands and get some shopping done, so he had suggested swinging by as they made their way back. Mycroft had agreed fairly easily.

Greg had decided to go with a milkshake, while his partner had chosen the traditional ice cream cone. They sat in general, comfortable silence, though partially because Greg was a bit too distracted for much conversation.

The way Mycroft was eating that cone was utterly sinful. Watching his tongue slipping out and sliding along the curve of the ice cream was sending an all too familiar heat through the older man’s gut. It was slow, moving from one side to the other, before retreating back into his mouth. Occasionally, some of the treat would get on his lips, requiring his tongue to slip back out and run along his lips to clean it up. Greg shivered.

“Gregory, did you hear me?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow curiously. Greg blinked and forced his eyes up to meet his partner’s.

“Huh?” he said, a bit stupidly. He could feel a blush creeping into his cheeks slowly.

“I was asking when dear Elizabeth was going to come stay with us again?” Mycroft repeated, looking amused.

“Ah, yes,” Greg nodded, clearing his throat. His daughter was young enough to still deal with custody switching visits between himself and his ex-wife. “Probably next weekend.”

Brown eyes slid back to the younger man’s mouth as he ate more of his ice cream cone. Where it had started to melt, some of the residue melted onto his fingers. Mycroft switched hands and proceeded to lick it off. Greg groaned.

“Gregory?” he asked, raising both eyebrows now.

“You are driving me crazy, Myc,” he sighed, trying to focus on his milkshake and not his growing erection. Mycroft started smirking.

“Is that so?” he asked silkily. Turning back to his ice cream, he consumed it again, even more slowly than before. Okay, now he was being deliberate. It was cruel. Reaching out over the table, Greg grabbed the hand in question and tugged it over. Brown eyes darkened in color as his pupils widened, letting his own tongue dart out to lick vanilla-flavored ice cream off him. Pale eyes widened across the table, his mouth parting a bit. It was Greg’s turn to smirk, taking the entire digit into his mouth and sucking on it gently. As his tongue moved to drag across the pad of his finger, a soft noise escaped Mycroft.

“Let’s go home,” Greg whispered huskily, releasing his partner’s hand and sitting back. Mycroft cleared his throat and nodded curtly.

“Yes. Let’s.”

Chapter Text

“Where are you going?” Greg groaned as Sherlock was attempting to scamper off from him. It was very unlike the consulting detective to stop mid-deduction and get distracted like he just had.

“I just need to…talk about…rent,” he was saying, clearly an excuse to get out of the conversation. Greg wasn’t quite so stupid.

“I’ve still got questions for you,” he started to complain, following Sherlock as he tried to walk away.

“Oh what now? I-I’m in shock, look. I’ve got a blanket.” The young man held up a corner of the insanely orange blanket for emphasis.

“Sherlock!!” Greg groaned, crossing his arms and getting more fed up by the minute. What was supposed to be a great night had turned to shit pretty fast and the damn detective was not helping his mood in the least.

“AND. I just caught you a serial killer,” Sherlock continued to protest. He paused briefly, glancing to the side. “More or less.”

Greg was silent for a moment, tilting his chin up as he regarded Sherlock. He was keeping something from him, that much was obvious. He’d been around the detective long enough to know when he was skirting around an issue. He regarded him, taking in the fact that his stance was 100%, before finally nodding.

“Okay. We’ll pull you in tomorrow; off you go,” he sighed in defeat. After years of working with Sherlock, he knew when to pick his battles, after all. He watched him duck under the police tape and wander over to that John Watson that had apparently been brave enough to become his flatmate, and sighed as an officer came over to him and started informing him of the situation.

He only half listened to what was going on, responding as he needed to. This was not the way he’d wanted to spend his night. He had plans. He was supposed to have gone on his first date with Mycroft Holmes tonight. They’d had it set up for over a week now. Finally, a night and a dinner where Sherlock was not the topic of conversation, or the reason for them meeting. It was supposed to be a night of their own, getting to know each other, seeing if the attraction they carried for one another might end up going to something more. A wonderful date, which got interrupted by Sherlock… Like most things in Greg’s life, it seemed.

He got deep into conversation with Sally Donovan, trying not to sulk too obviously, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he practically gaped at the sight on the other side of the taped off scene. Sherlock and John Watson had been stopped by an all too familiar black car, and… Mycroft. His breath got caught in his throat, and he stopped bothering to pay attention to whatever his Sergeant was saying. He raised a hand and grasped her bicep gently, finally turning back to her.

“I’ll be back, yeah? Take care of some of this cleanup.”

He jogged away before Sally could raise any concerns or protests, ducking under the tape and making his way across the pavement. He picked up the pace, trying to get closer before the politician ducked back into his car.

“Mycroft!” he finally called out, causing the man to stop in his tracks and turn to face him. Greg broke out into a grin, finally catching up, and he slowed to stand in front of him.

“Good evening Detective Inspector,” he was greeted as professionally as ever.

“Greg, please. Didn’t expect to see you here. I’m…sorry about having to cancel. Sherlock…”

“It is quite alright. I am aware of the challenges my dear brother can cause to anyone close enough to him.”

Greg ran a hand through his hair, shifting his weight.

“You came to check on him?” he asked, raising his eyebrows curiously. He assumed so, though he secretly hoped he showed up with a drive of theirs as well. Mycroft hummed, smiling softly.

“Of course. John Watson is a curious individual, staying so close to him,” the taller man said, moving his umbrella from one hand to the other.

“Would you be opposed to getting some coffee?” Greg finally asked, working up the courage after a few silent moments. It was too late for the dinner they’d planned, but if they could still spend some time together, he could classify that as a victory.

“Yes, I do believe that is a good idea,” Mycroft agreed with a nod, smiling a bit more…genuinely, if Greg could put a word to it. He motioned at the open door to the black car next to him. “After you, Gregory.”

Chapter Text

When Mycroft woke, all he knew was pain. His brow furrowed, but he refrained from grunting as he started to come to. Everything that had occurred came back to him tremendously fast. While he’d been aware of the hazards of his job, even though he hardly did fieldwork, no amount of training can truly prepare an individual for the moment they are kidnapped and held hostage. However, he knew to remain calm, and he excelled at doing so, no matter the situation.

He was not blindfolded, which surprised him slightly. Either his kidnappers weren’t very bright, or they were confident enough that he would not survive to the endgame. One option was a bit more comforting than the other. Taking in a deep breath through his nose, he glanced around the room with assessing eyes. There were two more men tied to chairs as he was, suits crumpled and bloodied. They both still seemed to be unconscious. A look down confirmed that he was crumpled as well, but he didn’t find blood. Interesting.

A hefty man stormed in, carrying a large knife in his hand. He noticed Mycroft was awake and strode over, speaking to him angrily in Russian. Mycroft watched him, understanding every word of course, but said nothing. Even as the man started waving the knife and demanding intel, threatening his life, Mycroft did not speak.

He made no noise until the blade was drug across his skin, causing him to cry out at the hot pain.

His interrogation/torture went on for what felt like hours. He kept everything in until the pain became too much to bear, and only then did he cry out again. As the man finally stepped back, Mycroft was panting, covered in his own blood, sweat, and tears. His head was swimming, and it was a bit more difficult to concentrate. He wasn’t able to accurately assess the damage, though he had clearly already started to lose a lot of blood.

Hours turned into what he assumed were days. He would continuously be interrogated, and then tortured when he did not confess any of their desired information. They really were amateurs if they thought he would give up valuable information so easily. Unfortunately, he could not see a way out. He began to doubt a better outcome, thinking that the only way he’d be getting out of here was in a body bag. However, he refused to let himself dwell on such thoughts for too long. No matter what, no matter how bad things got or how much pain he was in, one thought cut through everything else like a hot knife through butter.

Gregory would save him.

His beloved partner was intelligent, and the best Detective Inspector that New Scotland Yard could hope to have. While he always got pushed aside by the ridiculous light his dear little brother gave off, Gregory was not someone to be shrugged at. No one would work harder or longer or better to find this location than he would. Even if they had not been romantically and intimately involved for almost two years now, it would be no different. Luckily, the only change to be had was that if anything, Gregory would work even harder and faster to get him back home and in his comforting arms.

One day, an undetermined amount of time later, consciousness was getting more and more difficult to maintain. The blood loss was significant, and even if he didn’t die at the hands of his kidnappers, he surely would because of that. Every inch of him ached, and what no longer ached he couldn’t feel at all. Even though he still continued to remind himself that Gregory was coming for him, a piece of him was starting to accept that fact that he was most likely going to die here. All the facts were lining up, and he supposed it was inevitable.

Just as those thoughts were creeping in, he heard a strange commotion from up above. His brow furrowed in confusion. There was a crash, and some yelling. What was…

The door to the room burst open. Mycroft jumped, on instinct. He tried to force his eyes open, but his vision was really blurry as he looked around. Someone was coming into the room. Thinner than his kidnapper. Coming to him. Touching his face. Talking? He attempted to concentrate even more, and finally things began to register.

“G-gregory…” he rasped weakly, trying to reach out. He could barely move, but he wanted to touch his lover so bad.

“I’ve got you Myc,” he heard that gruff voice saying. “I’m getting you out of here. Taking you home. It’s all okay now.”

He knew this. He didn’t need to hear those words to know he was okay. Gregory was here. Yet, hearing the words still made him feel a bit better. His partner was untying his restraints and pulling him into his arms. Mycroft turned into him, burying his face in his familiar, tanned neck. Smelled so good… He sighed, telling himself he’d apologize later for getting blood all over him.

He found himself not able to maintain consciousness any longer. He was exhausted. But it was okay. Gregory had found him. He was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

Greg was nervous. This was the first birthday of Mycroft’s that the two of them had been involved with each other, and he had wanted to do something for him. Granted, Mycroft didn’t seem one to care for the event. Apparently that ran in the family, which made him wonder if they ever celebrated birthdays. That, or they were over celebrated and the two intelligent Holmes boys couldn’t stand it. He had yet to find out which.

He didn’t have a big production in mind for this very reason, but he had still wanted to do something for him. He loved him, after all, and this was one of the ways to show this every year. So he stood at Mycroft’s flat, a small box in his hand, shifting and taking deep breaths.

He wasn’t sure what he was nervous about. Of course Mycroft would enjoy whatever he had planned. He always did, no matter how unorthodox it was for the younger man. It was one of the ways he loved him back. So finally, huffing softly, he raised a hand to knock on the door just as it opened.

“Ah, Gregory,” his partner smiled, pretending to be pleasantly surprised to see him. Greg couldn’t help but grin. Mycroft probably knew he was there the whole time, and how long he’d been out. So, nodding, he held the box out in front of him. Mycroft’s eyebrows raised in more genuine surprise this time, staring at the box as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Well? You gonna take it?” he asked, laughing softly. He jostled the box for emphasis. “It is for you, you know.”

Mycroft’s mouth parted in an ‘oh’ and he nodded, reaching out to finally take it. He took a step back, gesturing for Greg to enter, and together they walked into the living room and settled down on the sofa. Greg curled his legs under him, turning towards the younger man, and waiting patiently for him to open it.

“Should I wait?” Mycroft asked somewhat hesitantly. Greg shook his head.

“Nah, go ahead!” he urged, waving his hand.

Nodding, Mycroft went about opening the box, a curious fascination on his face. The first thing he pulled out was a tube of lube, to which he gave Greg an exasperated glance. Greg laughed; poking his tongue out and muttering that they were almost out, but never mind that and keep going. The next thing he pulled out of the box was another box, small and slender. Upon opening it, there was a sleek fountain pen. Mycroft’s eyes widened.

“Gregory…” he muttered, uncapping it to look at the tip. “This is lovely. It’s the exact brand I prefer. How did you-?”

“Hey. A boyfriend’s supposed to know these things,” Greg smiled.

There were a few other things in the box: a silver tie clip, some nice polish for the handle of his umbrella, and an ID that Sherlock had somehow stolen from him a while back. Mycroft burst out laughing at that last one, which made Gregory light up excitedly. Reaching over, the younger man cupped his partner’s cheek and pulled him close to kiss him sweetly.

“Thank you,” he spoke against Greg’s lips. Greg hummed. “It’s all so lovely. And surprisingly practical.”

“Did you expect me to get you something ridiculous that you’d put somewhere and never look at again?” he asked in amusement. Mycroft smirked.

“No, I suppose not.” He leaned in and initiated another kiss. “Really, Gregory, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling,” Greg smiled, running a hand through his hair affectionately. He brushed the tips of their noses together before pulling back and patting his knee. “Now. Dinner. And then after, some rather amazing birthday sex.”

“Oh my, that all sounds wonderful,” Mycroft said, smirk widening. They stood, threading their fingers together and departing the flat to head on to dinner.

Chapter Text

Come to mine tonight. It’s been to long, much to both our desires.

Those words kept echoing in Greg’s head. How was he supposed to concentrate on his work when Mycroft had given him THAT kind of invitation? He groaned, leg bouncing up and down almost consistently, staring at the paperwork in front of him without reading anything written on it.

Mycroft had been out of the country for almost an entire month, and it had basically driving the DI insane. It was the longest the two of them had been apart since they had started officially dating. He’d missed him horribly, and while they talked on the phone at least every other night, it wasn’t the same. So tonight he was going over for dinner, and he knew he would be sleeping over. Honestly, dinner was the last thing he cared about. He sat there, chewing on the tip of his pen, trying to ignoring the erection he was sporting as he kept thinking about what all they would do later tonight.

He… couldn’t wait until later tonight. Unfortunately, there was no way he’d be able to get out of the office and pay his lover a visit. Sally had come down with a nasty virus and had been unable to come in, so he’d gotten buried under her duties as well as his own. He was swamped, and he would be stuck here at his desk until he could finally leave later that evening. Huffing, he stood, and walked to shut the blinds and lock the door to his office, getting an idea. As he sat back down, he reached for his mobile and fired off a text.

/What are you wearing right now?/

He leaned back in his chair, knees falling open as he waited for a reply. His free hand rested on his stomach, fiddling absently with the button of his trousers.

/A suit, Gregory. Why? -MH/

/I can’t wait until tonight. I need you. Call me?/

/I’m in a meeting. –MH/

Greg huffed, and being shameless as he was, snapped a picture of his clothed crotch and his obvious hard-on.

/This is your fault, you know. Help me take care of it. Please./

He smirked triumphantly as, after a moment, his phone began to ring with his partner’s name on the caller ID. He lifted the phone up to his ear while popping open the trouser button.

“Glad you called,” he whispered deeply. There was a small inhale come from the other line before he spoke.

“Goodness, Gregory,” Mycroft said in his normal, silky voice. “Seems you’ve got quite the problem on your hands.”

“Mmmm, I do. Help me?” he begged.

“Are you requesting phone sex, darling?” came the return question, though Mycroft had lowered his voice in that dangerous, sexy way that proved he intended to help after all.

“Yes,” Greg sighed. “I’m lowering my zipper.”

“Touch yourself,” Mycroft commanded, and Greg eagerly complied. He sighed as he wrapped his hand around himself and began moving in small, slow strokes. He let his head fall back against his chair with a soft thud, being greatly encouraged by the smooth words being spoken to him on the other side of the line.

Mycroft began describing very inappropriate things, which heightened the heated arousal that was pooling deep in his gut. He began panting softly, stroking and teasing himself and picturing how his hand would be replaced with his partner’s later in the evening.

“You’re close,” Mycroft purred after a few minutes. Greg’s breath hitched, his pace stuttering slightly before he tried to regain control.

“Yes,” he breathed, biting his lip.

“Come for me, Gregory.”

Greg’s eyes shot open wide, and he released his phone to cradle on his shoulder. Reaching out, he hurriedly grabbed at the small stack of napkins that he had brought with him from the coffee shoppe that morning, knocking over his empty mug and some papers falling to the floor. Hearing Mycroft speak those words sent him over the edge, and he just barely pulled the napkins close as his release crashed through him. He groaned softly, twitching and panting harshly, swallowing as he came down from his orgasm. Glancing down, he saw proudly that none of his mess got on his suit, so no one would know the wiser.

“Mmmmm, Myc,” he sighed, his muscles relaxing. Mycroft chuckled softly.

“See you tonight, Gregory.”

There was a click before either of them could attempt a proper goodbye, but Greg couldn’t be bothered by it. He dropped his mobile on his desk, closing his eyes again and slumping down in his chair with the biggest grin on his face.

“Can’t wait,” he muttered to himself, already feeling tons better.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until after Mycroft had stormed out of 221B in a huff and gotten into his car that he’d noticed the pain. He hissed through his teeth and furrowed his brow, glancing down at his aching arm with a sigh. If the feeling and the lack of movement had him deducing correctly… It seemed that his dear, extremely high brother, had just broken his arm.

Fantastic.

Daily life was exceedingly difficult when one’s arm was in a cast and sling. Mycroft had been stubborn at first, refusing assistance from anyone who offered or started to get that pitying look on their face as he tried to continue working normally. The icy stare the received in return usually made them look the other way, and he attempted to keep going about his daily routine.

It was difficult. He was getting things done a lot slower not having full use of both arms. However, he was Mycroft Holmes, and still managed to achieve all the correct tasks on any given day. Even if he slept less because he needed the extra time. Even if his broken arm continued to throb tremendously as he pushed the boundaries of what all it could do.

“Christ Myc, stop,” his partner, Gregory, sighed one morning as Mycroft was going through the motions of getting dressed. It was the worst start to the day, that was for sure. Getting on his waistcoat and ties were by far one of the most difficult things he could have imagined. He blinked in surprise, freezing with his waistcoat in his good hand, and glanced over to the older man, who was still lying in bed.

“Apologies Gregory. Go back to sleep.” His grunts must have woken him up… Mycroft frowned at himself over it. Gregory shook his head, sliding out of bed and walking over to where he was standing (quite naked, as he decidedly never slept in pajamas like the politician did).

“No. I’m helping you, and you will bloody accept it,” he challenged, his deep voice rough with sleep. His brown eyes were very attentive as he took his waistcoat and moved around his body, gently nudging his arms as he put it on. Then, he picked up his tie and wrapped it around his neck, stepping close as his tan hands worked on tying it properly.

“You shouldn’t have to…” Mycroft huffed softly, lips pursed together as he stood by helplessly. He couldn’t even dress himself normally, and it was ridiculous. Gregory just shook his head again, before kissing him and patting his chest once he was clothed.

“Myc, darling. How good of a boyfriend would I be if I let you keep struggling?” he asked, gazing up into his eyes with a soft smile. “Besides, if you keep straining it like this, it’ll take longer to heal. Please. Let me help you, okay?”

Mycroft hadn’t want to, of course. He’d never needed help, even when he was a young boy. However, he’d seen the point about his arm refusing to heal, so he reluctantly agreed. Naturally, he had continued about his work as best as possible, but when he got home, his boyfriend had taken away all responsibility from him. The older man basically shooed him into the living room and onto the sofa, which had made Mycroft a bit disgruntled for a while.

“Honestly, Gregory. I have one broken arm, I’m not an invalid,” he snapped one evening. He wasn’t so much irritated with his boyfriend as he was with his situation, and how long it was taking for the cast to be able to get taken off. He tried glaring when tea was brought to him, but took it anyway.

“Mycroft,” Gregory said softly, gazing down at him with those lovely brown eyes. Mycroft blinked. “I realize this, but it gives me a chance to dote on you. Something I’m not able to do often. I know how much it hurts – I’ve had enough broken arms in my life to know – and I just want to make you comfortable, okay?”

Mycroft blinked, frowning down at his tea. He sighed softly and nodded. He supposed he could see his boyfriend’s stance on that. It was much the same kind of mentality when he was sick and Mycroft insisted on taking care of him.

“Forgive me. I’m just exhausted dealing with it,” he admitted, sipping the hot liquid. Smiling, his darling Gregory sat down on the sofa next to him and pulled them into a very comfortable cuddle. Mycroft sighed, his muscles relaxing as his body sank back into his other half’s. Gregory began pressing soft kisses to the top of his head.

“I know, love,” he whispered, laying his cheek on the top of Mycroft’s head. The politician closed his eyes and sighed again. “It’s okay. Just drink your tea, okay? Then I’ll finish up your laundry and draw you a bath, how’s that sound?”

Mycroft sighed.

“It’s sounds lovely, Gregory. Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Mycroft always slept in pajamas. It wasn’t an unusual thing, sure; Greg knew plenty of people that slept in pajamas. He just wasn’t one of them. At the most he would sleep in his pants, though he slept nude quite frequently. He was just comfortable that way. So living with a partner who was by far quite the opposite had been an interesting adjustment.

When Mycroft changed from one set of clothing to another, he never did it in front of Greg. He always either went to the washroom connected to their bedroom, or stepped behind a Japanese dressing screen he had in the corner. Mycroft Holmes was a man of his habits, of course, so he hadn’t said anything at first. But the two of them were sexually intimate, so it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen the younger man naked. Even after their sexual acts, Mycroft hardly stuck around for cuddling before stepping into the washroom and then getting dressed.

Finally, one night as he was sprawled out on the bed in post-coital bliss, he couldn’t resist from bringing it up. He watched lazily as Mycroft climbed out of bed and began making his way to the toilet.

“Why don’t you ever stay?” he called after him softly, causing the politician to hesitate and glance over his shoulder. Greg wasn’t hurt, of course. Nothing about it offended him or made him think that there was an issue between the two of them. He was just genuinely confused.

“I… Apologies, Gregory. I hope that you are not insulted, because that is not my intention,” Mycroft said, instead of answering the question. He turned back towards the bed a bit and held his clothes closer to his body.

“Don’t apologize, Myc,” he smiled, pushing himself up on his shoulders and shaking his head. “I’m just curious.”

“I am unused to being nude for longer than is necessary.”

There was a hesitance in him, something that made Greg want to uncover whatever it is. He’d never really seen Mycroft feel uncomfortable about something, and yet he was in this moment. Greg reached his hand out.

“Come here,” he requested affectionately. Pale eyes shifted down to the offered hand, but Mycroft didn’t move. Greg wiggled his fingers. “Please?”

It took a second, but Mycroft finally agreed and made his way back over to the bed. He got on it and sat down, setting his clothes on the floor next to him. Grinning, Greg reached up to pull him back down and wrap his arms around him. He kissed the younger man’s forehead softly and breathed deeply.

“After-sex cuddles are some of the best cuddles,” he mumbled against Mycroft’s skin. “You should try it sometime.”

“Should I?” Mycroft asked, his voice light in mock question, and Greg didn’t need to see it to know he was smirking. His body was less tense, however, so he called it a victory. Moving his head to the side, he ran a hand slowly down his partner’s long back and kissed his pale shoulder. He sighed softly, before his brown eyes were drawn to something he hadn’t really noticed before. Mycroft’s shoulders, neck, and back were covered in freckles. He stared, blinking, utterly fascinated.

“How…how have I never noticed these before?” he whispered, bringing his hand back up to trace along the large array of spots going across his skin. Mycroft instantly went rigid against him and attempted to pull away. Greg’s brow furrowed. “Myc?”

He tried looking at his lover’s face, but Mycroft seemed to be avoiding that at all costs. Why was the most confident man in all of England avoiding his gaze? He shifted, putting his hand gently under his chin and lifting so they were looking at each other. Mycroft’s cheeks were flush. Was he embarrassed?

“Myc, what is it? They’re just freckles, love. I’ve even got a few.”

“That’s just it, Gregory. You have a few. Mine are ridiculous.” In a huff, Mycroft pushed himself to sit back up and face away from Greg. The older man just stared at his back, admiring the freckles in question again, and at Mycroft’s hunched up shoulders. It was truly baffling how he could be so insecure about his body image. Greg had never known a sexier man in his entire life. So, shifting, he sat up as well and wrapped his arms around Mycroft, propping his chin up on his shoulder.

“They are certainly not ridiculous,” he countered. “They’re wonderful. And they’re you, Mycroft. I love them.”

Mycroft scoffed, rolling his eyes. Smiling, Greg began pressing soft kisses along his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked softly.

“Kissing your freckles, of course,” he said, the ‘duh’ a silent implication. “I told you I loved them. And I want to spend the rest of our lives kissing them, so I’m starting now. Don’t be embarrassed, Myc. There’s no need.”

Slowly, Mycroft began to relax again. The kisses helped. Then, finally, he asked a question that made Greg’s heart sing.

“Would you…like to accompany me in the shower, Gregory?”

They had never showered together. Greg had been fantasizing about it for ages.

“God yes,” he breathed, eagerly getting out of bed and following the younger man into the washroom.

Chapter Text

When Greg Lestrade did something, he never did it halfway. It was part of his charm, or so he told himself. Though, it had continuously gotten good results over the years, so why change now? He thought about that as he went through his mental checklist, wandering about Mycroft’s kitchen with purpose.

It was their first Valentine’s Day together. He wanted it to be special. His partner, of course, had said nothing about the day, and Greg hadn’t really planned on him to. He had the sneaking suspicion every other Valentine’s Day that had occurred in the lifetime of Mycroft Holmes had been just another day. This was why Greg wanted it to be special. While he didn’t necessarily buy into all the mass consumerist view of the holiday, he still felt it was a good day to make your other half feel really fucking loved.

Mycroft would be home from the office soon, and if Greg timed it correctly, dinner would be just about finishing up when he walked in the door. He hoped. So as food cooked, he set out the flower arrangement he’d gotten, thumbed through potential music options, set out candles in the dining room and bedroom, and got out the bath supplies he’d picked up earlier in the week. Most of it was a bit cliché, he supposed, but he didn’t care.

Just as he’d planned, he heard Mycroft’s front door open as the timer counted down from ten minutes. Grinning, he pulled off the apron he’d been wearing (mainly to keep his nice clothes from getting messed up with food), and went to greet him at the door.

“Welcome home, Myc,” he grinned, holding his hands out and snaking them around the younger man’s waist, pulling him close for a slow kiss. He could practically feel Mycroft’s eyebrows rise in surprise, even as he kissed back, his arms going around Greg’s shoulders.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company right as I got home?” Mycroft asked after they pulled away, smiling. Then, his head tilted slightly and he sniffed. “Are you cooking?”

“I am,” Greg confirmed with a nod, leaning in and kissing him again. “I’m spoiling you tonight. Come on.”

Threading their fingers together, they walked into the dining room, where Mycroft’s eyes immediately went to the flowers on the middle of the table.

“What is…” he started, trailing off as he glanced at them. “What is all this?”

“Valentine’s Day, love,” Greg smiled. “Hence, spoiling. Now sit. Dinner’s almost done.”

He kissed Mycroft on the forehead as the man sat, and went to get their food onto plates. They sat in comfortable silence for the majority of their meal, sharing a lovely glass of wine and eating their fill, as well as dessert (to which Mycroft had started to protest, but Greg was very convincing, and the satisfying noises the politician made while eating it were just sinful).

After dinner, there was some cuddling on the sofa, which turned into lazy snogging. Greg didn’t let them stay there too long, though, because he wasn’t quite done. So he finally pulled away, heading to the washroom to draw up a bath. With bubbles. And candles. And more wine. As he led Mycroft in, the younger man glanced at everything and couldn’t help but sigh.

“Honestly, darling, you didn’t need to…” he started to protest, though he was smiling. Greg grinned while unbuttoning his dress shirt, placing kisses to his pale chest as it was revealed.

“Spoiling. Get in.”

After both undressing, the men climbed into the bath together, Greg sitting behind and Mycroft leaning against him with a happy sigh. There was more cuddling, more snogging, and some more intense foreplay (because really, it was difficult not to when they bathed together). They actually played in the bubbles, making shapes on each other’s faces and shoulders and laughing at each other gleefully. It was almost hard to believe both men were in their forties. Greg also couldn’t help but stop and gaze when Mycroft was laughing at him, because to see him laughing so wonderfully and genuine was breathtaking. The way his face lit up, the way the bridge of his long nose and the corners of his piercing eyes crinkled with laughter lines… Gorgeous. And Greg was lucky enough to be able to witness it.

To say they made love that night was a vast understatement. Greg worshipped every inch of Mycroft’s body. Sure, the man stared at him blankly over more candles and rose petals on the bed (so sue him, he was going all out for Christ sakes), but he could tell that Mycroft secretly enjoyed every second of it. They made love, and it was slow, and it was glorious, and together they peaked and collapsed on the bed, panting harshly and gripping one another like their lives depended on it.

Greg was in love. Not like he didn’t know before, but as they continued to lie there, holding one another and kissing sweetly, whispering nothing important to each other, and laughing some more, Greg knew. He was going to spend the rest of his life with this man. He just knew.

“Happy first Valentine’s Day,” he whispered as sleep was starting to creep him. Mycroft hummed sweetly, turning his head to brush the tips of their vastly different noses.

“The first of many,” he said in return, leaning in to kiss Gregory as he fell asleep in his arms.

Chapter Text

Mycroft Holmes’ interests laid with his little brother. They always had, and they always would. He cared about him deeply, after all. Even in their later years, with a relationship as strained as theirs was now, those interests never wavered. He was always looking out for Sherlock, always making sure he eased his way as best he could. No matter the methods, no matter the cause, it was important to him that Sherlock was cared for.

So as John Watson had moved out of 221B, found himself a female companion, and tied the knot (as it were), plans needed to be set into motion. Sherlock had found a lifeline in John, something Mycroft could see on occasion, yet had been completely baffled by. Now, that lifeline had been severed. Sure, the good doctor did his best to keep their relations up, but they all knew it wouldn’t be the same. Anyone who believed such was fooling himself.

The plan was easy enough. Through a string of events and crimes (none of which actually done by anyone in his employ, but crimes were easy enough to come across in London), Mycroft set in motion for Sherlock to begin working very closely again with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. The older man had been an obvious choice, being that he had such a history with the Holmes family. Lestrade had known Sherlock, and Mycroft by extension, so much longer than John Watson ever had. On top of that, he had already experienced Sherlock at his worst. AND helped kick the destructive drug habit. Yes, it was the most logical pathway.

It worked. To an extent. However, it didn’t progress to the level it had with John. They did not go to dinner together. They didn’t move in together, though Mycroft hadn’t expected anything that drastic. Though, in working on cases, they did spend a little more time together. Usually at Baker Street. As if Sherlock would work anywhere else.

It was moving slowly, however. That should have been frustrating for the elder Holmes, who was used to getting results at much quicker speeds, but… it wasn’t. He found that it was actually more of a relief. In his plans to get them closer together, and observe them spending more time with one another, he began to feel something a bit unusual for him. He was jealous. He had scoffed at the idea at first, but no, he definitely was.

The jealousy was not over Lestrade, however. No, it was over Sherlock. Here he was, trying to push his brother and the Detective Inspector closer together, when in reality he wanted the chance to be closer with said Detective Inspector. Mycroft had always acknowledged the man’s attractiveness and had even been impressed with some of his methods and results, but he never expected this kind of emotional attachment.

Of course, when Mycroft Holmes set his mind to something, he got it done. That’s how he found himself standing at Baker Street, leaning on his umbrella, before entering and starting to make his way up the stairs. In his other hand was a file, a reason he gave himself to show up while the two men were inside working. Sherlock would see right through it immediately. That, however, was not the goal.

Two heads looked up as he entered the flat and cleared his throat. Lestrade gave him a look of surprise, mixed with something else he always tended to look at him with. It was an expression Mycroft hadn’t had the time to deduce yet, which was infuriating. It never lasted long enough, and it only seemed to occur when directed towards him. Sherlock was neutral as ever. Sharp blue eyes saw the file, and the younger brother sighed in exhaustion and stood.

“No need to even bring that up,” he drawled, waving a hand lazily. “I’m going to work on an experiment.”

Sherlock turned, heading for his bedroom.

“Sherlock, what about-“ Lestrade had started to say, but was silenced with a slamming door. Mycroft smirked a bit. He would have to think of a way to thank his dear brother later.

“Detective Inspector,” he greeted. The older man’s attention turned back to him, where it rightfully should be. Yes, he should have been trying to do this from the beginning.

“Mr. Holmes,” he returned, standing. The two of them always seemed to slip back and fourth from formal to first name basis. Mycroft set the folder down and stepped forward. He was tired of postponing things. These months of trying to get Sherlock closer with Lestrade took away his patience, leaving him ready to get the proper results.

“Come to dinner with me,” he said, reaching up and placing a slender finger under Lestrade’s scruffy chin. Brown eyes widened and full lips parted, and Mycroft found himself staring, wanting to take that bottom lip in between his teeth and bite possessively.

“I, um…” Lestrade turned back towards the bedroom door. Mycroft directed his gaze back to him.

“It wasn’t so much an invitation, Gregory. You will come to dinner. I do believe you’ve been wanting to for a while, as have I. I would very much like to treat you to a meal. For starters.”

His voice was smooth, sultry, and inviting. Lestrade’s pupils dilated in response. Mycroft smiled. Victory.

“Well,” the Detective Inspector said, clearing his throat and reaching out to grasp Mycroft’s silk tie loosely. “What are you waiting for then?”

Chapter Text

“Come on Arsenal, bloody score already!” Greg shouted, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. He collapsed back into the sofa, sighing in aggravation, and ran a hand through his silvery hair. He remained silent for a moment, eyes glued to the screen, before groaning at something else that had occurred.

“They can’t hear you, darling,” Mycroft commented after a moment. The politician was stretched out across the length of the sofa, his long legs curled around his partner and on his lap. In his own lap sat his laptop, which he had been typing away on. Neither man had to leave the house for work today, so they resolved to spend the day together (something they unfortunately never got to do). Of course, Greg’s favorite football team was playing in a tournament that very same day, and he’d wanted so badly to watch it. Mycroft, who could care less about the sport, resolved to remain in the room so they could still be in each other’s company. Even if his boyfriend’s rowdy behavior was almost causing him to rethink that decision.

“They’re making stupid mistakes,” Greg groaned, letting his head fall back in frustration. He loved Arsenal, he truly did. But it was hard being an Arsenal fan. They lost… a lot. This season had been exciting because they’d been doing so well, apart from a couple of poorly scored games against Liverpool, and here they were at a Cup game and not doing so great. Greg was decked out in his gear too: a team kit, red socks, and a red and white scarf hanging loosely around his neck. “They can so easily win this, so it’s infuriating seeing them botch it up so damn badly.”

Mycroft was half listening. He cared about the older man, though he didn’t care about the hobby. So he hummed where appropriate, going back to his typing. Since it was a relaxing day, he had chosen not to wear a three-piece suit. Instead, he was dressed down in just his trousers and a white button up, with the top three buttons undone. This had, of course, been something done by Greg during a rather mischievous make out session earlier that morning. Something Mycroft was want to repeat currently, if only to distract him from an apparently distressing match.

The rest of the quarter was spent with Greg feeling frustrated and irritated. Half time was called and he extracted himself to get a beer. He decided to make a quick cup of tea while he was in there, and brought it back into the living room to hand to Mycroft, who abandoned his laptop briefly to take it.

“Thank you, Gregory,” the younger man smiled genuinely, before taking a sip and humming at the taste. Greg smiled in adoration as he drank his beer. The moment he sat down, Mycroft’s legs returned to their state on his lap. With his free hand, Greg began lightly massaging one of them.

“I’m glad you’re in here with me. Thank you. I know you don’t care for football,” Greg smiled, squeezing Mycroft’s shin affectionately.

“Yes, but I care for you, and your company, which I am determined to keep on a day that will actually allow us to.”

“I could teach you.”

“I am well aware of the mechanics behind the game,” Mycroft commented, arching an eyebrow. “I just don’t care for it to hold my attention.”

Piercing pale eyes swept over Greg’s form, causing the older man to blush a bit at the attention. A smirk started to appear on Mycroft’s face, one Greg knew all too well, and he blinked.

“Something else, however, would hold my attention quite nicely,” he said, putting his laptop and teacup on the floor. Sitting up straight, he shifted and crawled onto Greg’s lap, straddling him. Leaning in, he kissed his boyfriend heatedly. The kiss was returned, even if it was slightly delayed due to Greg’s surprise. His free hand gripped at the material of his shirt tightly. Then, after a moment, Mycroft rolled his hips, creating friction between them that made Greg break the kiss with a gasp.

“Christ,” he groaned, letting his head fall back against the sofa again (though for a much nicer reason this time). Mycroft took this as an invitation to start kissing his exposed neck. Greg yelped a bit as he received a small bite, causing him to chew on his own lip.

After a few moments more, the game started back up. Mycroft straightened, gazing down at Greg, before climbing off him and returning to how he was normally sitting. He picked his laptop up again and resumed working, as if they hadn’t just been making out and rutting against each other like teenagers. It took Greg a few shaky minutes to curb his arousal, taking time to glare at the naughty man that he was so in love with, before finally his attention was back on the game.

He cursed and cheered and drank. And Mycroft sat next to him, a permanent small, satisfied smile on his lips for the rest of the match.

Chapter Text

“I just don’t understand how you can eat that stuff,” Mycroft sighed, eyeing Greg’s plate warily. The older man glanced up, a chip in his hand, and he shrugged.

“Fish and chips are delicious, Myc. You’d get it if you’d actually try it,” he countered, pointing at the politician with the chip in his hand before popping it in his mouth and chewing. Mycroft shook his head, picking up his cup of tea and sipping on it gently. The two of them had both been able to step away from their offices to get lunch together. They’d gone to a small shoppe near New Scotland Yard that had seriously the best fish and chips near here. Greg ordered them every time he came by. Mycroft, unsurprisingly, had gotten tea and nothing else.

“I keep telling you that you don’t have to diet,” Greg said after a moment, sitting back in his chair. “You’re not eating.”

“I am not,” Mycroft responded, turning the teacup around in his hands, watching it absently. He released a soft sigh. “I merely wanted to enjoy your company. I am not hungry.”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to eat. You Holmes boys, I swear. Food is not an enemy to your bodies, you know.”

“I am not quite as extreme as Sherlock,” Mycroft chuckled. “I am just not hungry.”

Greg shook his head and sighed. He ate a few more chips and then a piece of fish, the two of them enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence. It was something they were able to do quite often with each other, whether it was when they were eating somewhere, or if they were home lying on the sofa. After a little bit, though, Greg decided to revisit the topic at hand.

“I’m seriously about to order you some,” he said, motioning to his food. Mycroft sighed.

“Even if I were hungry, Gregory darling, I have no desire to eat fish and chips,” he said, giving him that pointed look. Greg, however, was a very stubborn man. Getting up, he did just as he threatened, ordering another plate of fish and chips for his partner. Never before had he gotten Mycroft to eat the food, but it wasn’t quite as disgustingly bad as the posh man tended to think. Greg had been eating it his whole life and turned out just fine. Today was the day, he was determined. He was going to get him to eat it.

Sitting back down, he dropped the plate in front of Mycroft, who eyed its contents warily.

“Go on then,” Greg said, waving at the plate the younger man was still staring at the plate as if it was going to poison him. He crossed his arms and tilted his chin stubbornly. “Not gonna let you leave until you try it, Myc. Come on. For me? It’s really not as bad as you’re letting yourself believe.”

Mycroft glanced at his partner, only to be staring into those large brown eyes that he always found difficult to say no to. It was an evil tactic, most certainly. With a sigh, Mycroft’s shoulders sagged and he nodded. Greg grinned in victory, watching as the politician reached for the silverware sitting next to him. His grin twitched a bit, and he blinked.

“What are you…doing?” he asked as Mycroft picked up a fork.

“As you requested, of course,” Mycroft said, staring at him.

“With that?” Greg continued, staring at the fork in his hand. Mycroft looked at it as well.

“Naturally,” he said hesitantly. “With what else would I eat?”

Greg raised a hand to cover his mouth. After a moment, though, he couldn’t hold back, and started laughing. Mycroft sighed, clearly irritated at the older man, and set the fork down forcefully.

“Myc, honey, no. It’s meant to be eaten with your hands, love,” he said in between laughter.

“My hands? Oh good lord, no. Not this greasy stuff.”

“I’m telling you, it’s not that bad. Especially not here. Now please put the fork down and just eat.”

Mycroft was clearly irritated. Were the man a cat, he’d be fluffed up as he glared at the whole circumstance. However, he did end up setting the fork down and resting his wrists on the table in front of him as he stared at the food again. Greg controlled his laughing and waited patiently.

Finally, Mycroft reached forward and grabbed a piece of fish. He lifted it, continuing to examine it with sharp eyes, before finally taking a bite. His face was blank and he made no noise as he chewed, took another bite, and then set it down. He then did the same with a chip.

“Well?” Greg asked after a beat. Mycroft reached for a napkin and wiped his hand on it, sighing.

“It’s… not horrible,” he admitted, pursing his lips in a thin line. Greg grinned.

“Told ya.”

Chapter Text

Usually, whenever Greg was done for the day, he’d head home and either curl up on the sofa with Mycroft, or wait for Mycroft to get home so they could curl up on the sofa. Point being, he was always eager to get home. It was something that had come back to him upon dating Mycroft, and moving in together after a year of said dating. He got out of his dingy, depressing, empty bachelor’s flat, and moved in with a man he was head over heels in love with.

Greg did not go straight home from the Met that day. Instead, he went to his usual pub. He sat down at the bar, silenced his mobile, and ordered a pint. In silence, he drank said pint. The telly above the bar had a match on, but his eyes never rose to it. They remained glued on the bar top, and the sweating glass in between his hands. He had a second, and then a third, before calling it quits and paying. He was still in a weird mood, and still shaken up, but he knew he should go home now. If he stayed, he’d continue drinking, and then he’d be drunk and trying to get a cab home.

He sighed; his whole body sluggish and exhausted and he stepped inside his and Mycroft’s shared home. He practically dumped his coat onto the rack instead of hanging it normally, tripped out of his shoes, and headed down the hall. Instead of going to the sitting room, he turned and made his way up the steps to the bedroom. Wordlessly, he tugged off his suit jacket, shirt, and trousers. In just his pants, he collapsed onto the bed and buried his face into Mycroft’s pillow.

“Gregory?” came a calming, curious voice. Greg stirred, realizing in that moment that he’d fallen asleep. What time was it? Sighing, he moved to sit up, rubbing his eyes and staring at the duvet on the bed. A moment later, he heard precise footsteps enter the bedroom. “Gregory, what’s wrong?”

The smile Greg gave was half-hearted. Of course Mycroft could tell right away that something was the matter. His boyfriend was brilliant like that. He’d never been able to hide anything from him. Not that he’d ever wanted to. As he looked up at his partner, though, everything that he’d held back up until now came crashing forward. His resolve was gone. Mortified as he was inwardly, he could feel the hot, prickly sensation coming in around his eyes, and his vision blurred a bit with tears that didn’t quite want to fall.

Mycroft was on the bed and at Greg’s side in an instant. Slender arms shot out and wrapped around his form, tugging him into a tight kiss. The younger man’s pointed nose buried itself in silvery strands, the same strands that were getting stroked lovingly. Greg trembled, clutching onto the man for dear life.

“Your case,” Mycroft said, not a question. Even if he didn’t always know the intimate details, he was always aware of what the nature of the emotion was from. Hell, for all Greg knew, he did know the details, and just allowed him to talk about it anyway so he could feel better. Greg was quiet for a beat before he nodded.

“Y-yeah,” he sighed, sniffing and nuzzling into his lover’s neck. Finally, he pulled away and allowed himself to sit up. He scrubbed his face with a hand and sighed again, before running the hand through his hair. “I always keep my emotions separate from the crime scenes, you know.”

Mycroft was patient and silent, nodding and humming where appropriate. It was clear he wanted to let Greg get everything off his chest on his own terms. Glancing down at the duvet, he began fiddling with it absently.

“The body was… She was thirteen, Mycroft,” he continued after a moment, his voice trembling. “She’d been beaten, raped… It was…”

He shut his eyes, sighing. It had been awful. He’d almost not been able to handle staying on the scene at first.

“And then I had to tell her parents. That was just as bad. It was… She looked so much like Elizabeth, Myc. And I kept thinking, what if it had been her? What if I was the father getting that kind of news? That my little girl, my precious baby, had such horrible things done to her. Had been dropped in a ditch for three days before she was found. Christ, I just…”

He broke off, voice trembling, as a few tears escaped. He didn’t realize they had until he felt slender fingers rubbing against his cheek and brushing them away. Mycroft was gazing at him with soft, compassionate eyes. Then, leaning in, he brushed their lips together gently.

“Elizabeth is home safe, is she not?” he asked evenly, his voice soft. Greg nodded.

“Yeah. Called her shortly after, just to… Didn’t tell her why. She doesn’t need to know that kinda thing.”

Leaning forward, he buried his face into Mycroft’s neck again and breathed deeply, letting his scent wrap around him. He was still shaken, could still see her… but he was starting to feel a little better. Mycroft held him, allowing him time to calm down, stroking his hair and the back of his neck repeatedly.

“Come, darling. I’ll make you some tea. Then perhaps a hot bath is in order, yes?”

Greg smiled, gazing up at Mycroft. His boyfriend. One of the kindest men he’d ever known. He nodded.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you.”

“Always.” And before they got up, Mycroft leaned in for another sweet, lingering kiss. One that said nothing and everything all at the same time.

Chapter Text

Mycroft was aware of the mechanics of sexual intercourse. He was a genius, of course he was aware of them. In being aware, not once had he ever had a burning desire to participate in such an activity. Even in university, where the majority of his peers finally experimented with one another, he didn’t participate. Not that anyone had been lined up outside his door to try, anyway.

This was something he had been perfectly content with. He was in no rush to go out and writhe around all sweaty and panting with another person. People were awful. He much preferred his silent life, behind the scenes, bending things the way they needed to be. But that was all before Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had come into his life.

Through a run-in with his extremely drugged up younger brother, Gregory Lestrade became slotted into the goings on of the Holmes boys. It had been irritating at first, frustrating and worrying when it came to he and Sherlock’s relationship. Theirs was, however, strictly business, with the older man seemingly taking on a fatherly role in Sherlock’s life above everything. Plus, when he was the root cause of Sherlock kicking his drug habit, Mycroft realized this was no ordinary DI.

What became interest turned into much more. He hadn’t realized it at the time, maybe, but as it turned out, he had fallen in love with that man. Over the years, as their correspondence become more regular, it seemed that those feels had been returned just as quickly and just as strong. So Mycroft found himself in a position he’d never imagined he’d be in; first figuratively, and then literally.

They became intimately involved, kisses turning into touches, which turned into pants and gropes and even rutting, for gods sake. It was a ridiculously primal act that the logical part of Mycroft’s brain made him want to wrinkle his extremely pointed nose at, but the spark of heat that shot through his gut as he rocked his hips against Gregory’s thigh shut that part down. This was not the first time they’d ended up in this position, and as Mycroft had his head tilted back with Greg’s lips on his neck, the realization finally hit him.

He wanted this. He was ready.

Reaching up, he gripped silvery hair and pulled the older man back, who gazed up at him with slight confusion and full-blown lust. A man who cared deeply for him, who had never once pressed the situation to go farther than he was comfortable with. A man he’d been in love with for a lot longer than he’d ever realized. Swallowing, he licked his lips and moved to cup Greg’s cheek.

“I’m ready,” he voiced, his normally smooth voice roughened with arousal. He watched as those brown eyes grew dark, almost black, in response, and Greg gripped his waist securely.

“You’re sure?” came his deep questioning response. It made Mycroft shiver. His voice was rough enough normally, but adding these elements to it practically made the man’s voice sex enough on its own. He nodded.

“Yes, Gregory. Please.” Mycroft could feel heat in his cheeks. He was flushed with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. Here he was, practically pleading like the little virgin he supposed he technically was. Naturally, it wasn’t that dramatic, but it still felt ridiculous.

Their touches became much more purposeful after this. Lube and condoms were produced, and before long they had both been shed of all their clothing. Greg worked at it slow, preparing him properly with his fingers. It felt like torture, and Mycroft was practically writhing, wanting, needing more. He was becoming impatient, but still his lover went slowly. Of course, it was logical. But his brain had begun throwing logic out the window. He just wanted to feel.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Greg removed his fingers and began preparing himself with the condom and then more lube. But instead of climbing over him, or moving him onto his stomach like Mycroft was expecting, he took his hand and pulled him to straddle his lap. Mycroft blinked down at the older man curiously.

“This way, you can control our pace. It’ll be easier for you,” he said in explanation, leaning forward to nuzzle at Mycroft’s pale collarbone. Ah. That made sense. Mycroft lifted himself up onto his knees and licked his lips nervously, and underneath Greg positioned himself properly.

“Just remember to relax,” came Greg’s soft, deep voice again. “Take it slow. I’ve got you.”

Mycroft exhaled, closing his eyes briefly at the feeling of his tip brushing against him. He gripped onto Greg’s tan shoulders, taking a deep breath, and then exhaling as he lowered himself. Pain immediately shot through him, causing him to suck in a breath and dig his manicured nails into the shoulders he was gripping. Relax, he told himself. He needed to relax. His heart was pounding and a soft noise escaped him involuntarily, but he forced himself to relax and then continued. It still hurt, and he whimpered again, but finally Greg had been taken all the way inside him.

The older man cradled his face and kissed him gently, helping to take his mind off the pain and he settled in and tried getting used to the odd feeling inside him. It was painful, but it was also… nice. It was a strange combination, to be sure. They kissed, and caressed, and it all felt so wonderful that he started to forget about the pain as arousal took back over. As it had, Mycroft began moving.

The pace was slow and uneven. No doubt it was a sloppy performance. But Greg never let that show. Instead he elicited the sweetest of moans, his hands resting on Mycroft’s waist, shifting with him to allow the movement to continue. Mycroft was throbbing, sweat starting to trickle down his neck, but he paid attention to none of it. He picked up pace, hips rocking more eagerly as the pain practically became nonexistent, being completely overtaken by pleasure. His thin lips parted as he panted, eyes closed tight, the two of them starting to move in more fluid motion with one another.

His eyes flew open as a sharper pleasure shot right through his gut, white-hot vibrating through him, and he cried out despite himself. Now that was something he’d never experienced before. The feeling became repeated, every time Greg thrust into him, and he found himself bending forward and burying his face in the crook of his lover’s neck to muffle himself. He was becoming embarrassingly loud. This must be what it felt like to have one’s prostate stimulated. He never wanted it to end.

Motions became more urgent, more animalistic. Mycroft even found himself biting and sucking the skin of Greg’s shoulder, the two men arching and moaning together. Finally, the build up became too much, and when Greg wrapped a confident hand around his erection, he knew it was over. Trembling, Mycroft froze as his orgasm ripped through him, spilling sticky moisture in between their bodies. Greg yelped and moaned, stilling just moments after as his own arrived just moments after. Together they sat, panting and twitching, riding out the aftershocks, until they finally looked back in each other’s eyes.

Mycroft leaned in and they began kissing again. It was full of emotion and intense, but it was less urgent. More was being said in this kiss than they could have hoped to say currently with words. He clutched Greg tightly, before finally dislodging them from one another, where they moved to settling into each other’s arms.

As they were lying there, Mycroft knew he would have to get up and take a shower. There was no way he would fall asleep a sticky mess. But for now, he allowed them this moment. This blissful moment, nuzzling and kissing and stroking, where they basked in the beauty of what they had done.

Mycroft had never believed sex to be more than a primal act, which is partially why he’d never had any interest. How wrong he had been. He would readily admit that to himself (even if he never did to any other). While previously, he had arched an eyebrow at those who seemed to focus on the act, he now understood as he found himself wondering when they will have recovered and would be able to go at one another again.

He supposed it partially had to do with the wonderfulness that was Greg. That man… Well, Mycroft didn’t think he would ever get over that man. He never wanted to. He craved him in a way he’d never done for anyone or anything, and it was perfect.

Chapter Text

Mycroft was pacing back and fourth on the other side of the room. Greg watched him quietly from where he was sitting in a chair. Mycroft never paced like this. He needed to go home. Sighing, he pushed himself to stand, and glanced over at the bed containing a much thinner and much paler Sherlock, asleep, before walking over to his partner. He came up behind him and reached out to grasp his biceps gently, coaxing him to halt.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered. Mycroft sighed through his nose, turning to face him.

“I’m fine,” came a clipped response. The politician’s face was the picture of emotionless; the mask he wore when he couldn’t afford to be open. Greg knew it all too well. He gazed up at the taller man empathetically. He was not so easy to fool.

“Let’s go home,” he repeated, tugging him towards the door. “He’ll be asleep for hours, and John’s coming back. Come on.”

Mycroft said nothing, but he allowed himself to be led through the hospital and down to where a black car was waiting for them. As always. Opening the door, Greg made Mycroft climb in first, before joining him, and they were driven home.

The ride was quiet. Mycroft stared out the window for the majority of it, back rigid, hands plastered at his sides. Greg remained a constant presence next to him, reaching out to place a hand on his knee and squeezing gently. Mycroft made no motion to acknowledge the touch. Getting out of the vehicle and inside their home was very much the same. Though, instead of allowing Mycroft to vanish somewhere in the house after hanging up his jacket, Greg caught his hand and threaded their fingers together, tugging him into the sitting room and onto the sofa.

“He’ll be okay, Myc,” Greg finally said after a moment, wrapping his arm around slender shoulders. He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

“Sherlock hasn’t been this bad off since…” the younger man started, but faded off. It was uncharacteristic, but when it came to Sherlock, Mycroft tended to be. At least, in a way he allowed Greg to see after their years together.

“Since the last time he overdosed,” Greg finished for him. “I know. I was there.”

“I know you were,” Mycroft nodded, closing his eyes. His brow was furrowed, yet he said nothing else.

“C’mere,” Greg beckoned, nudging Mycroft to lean against him. He started stroking his hair gently, in attempts to soothe him. After a moment, he could feel some of the tension seeping out of his figure. “It’s okay to be scared, you know.”

“I am not,” Mycroft huffed stubbornly. Greg just smiled.

“I’m just saying,” he commented. He purposefully did not bring up the fact that he knew otherwise, or that there was no use lying to him. But he kept his mouth shut. There was no need to voice it when they both knew it. Mycroft sighed.

“It… It’s uncomfortable. Seeing him in such a state. Besides, the doctors are all rather incompetent, and he would honestly be better off in this house, in my care.”

Greg continued to stroke his hair, nuzzling the top of his head gently, letting Mycroft get this off his chest. It was the way he showed how much he cared. He could see through the front he was still putting up, and see that he was absolutely horrified. This was out of his control, and Mycroft didn’t do well when things were out of his control.

“We’ve gotten through just as bad,” he said. “In the early days, this kind of situation was more normal than not. And look how it turned out. John came along and he understood what it meant to be happy. He’ll push through this. He has reasons to.”

Silence. Both men were still, letting the words that had been spoken sink in. Eventually, after what had to be at least half an hour of not speaking, Mycroft lifted his head and turned to look at Greg. Those sharp blue eyes were filled with worry. His face was smooth as ever, but he could see the panic in his partner’s features. However, it was mixed with slight comfort.

“You are right, I’m sure,” he said softly, sighing.

“Of course I am,” Greg smiled, leaning in to kiss Mycroft sweetly. He cupped his cheek, stroking the skin, and brushed the tips of their noses together before parting. “We’ll go back tomorrow, okay?”

Mycroft nodded, and leaned in for another comforting kiss.

Chapter Text

“God, I could stay here forever,” Greg sighed, stretching his legs out in front of his and his arms up behind his head. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, enjoying the warmth from the sun up above, mixed with a calm wind that kept it from getting too hot. Mycroft hummed in agreement next to him, legs crossed and a book in his hand.

It was amazing how getting away from London could land them such beautiful weather. The two men were currently taking a mini vacation at a small Holmes family estate up in Sussex. Small for a Holmes standard, anyway. The place was still bloody huge in Greg’s opinion. It really seemed to suit Mycroft though, in the way it was kept up and decorated. It was clear he used it much more than Sherlock (if the detective used it at all).

“We could, you know,” Mycroft spoke after a moment. Enough time had gone by that Greg had to blink for a second, before he realized.

“Oh?” he asked, taking off his sunglasses so he could gaze at his partner better. Mycroft turned away from his book to return the gaze, smiling softly.

“Indeed. This is my estate, Gregory. In turn, that makes it yours. To come here whenever you wish.”

Greg was silent, blinking. He broke their gaze so he could look out along the backyard again, where they were sitting. They’d been resting on the patio, which was complete with a full set of outdoor furniture and a hot tub. The trees in the backyard had to be so old, and gave off the perfect shadow. He could even see his girls climbing the huge branches, if they visited. The house was large, but not vast or empty feeling. There was an entertainment room, a workout room, a few bedrooms apart from the master, and plenty others that could be studies or libraries, or anything they wanted it to be. The kitchen was glorious, something that made the chef inside of him want to drool with glee. Sighing, Greg ran a hand through his hair and grinned.

“Don’t tease me, Myc. Are you serious?”

“Naturally. Why would I jest about something like this?” Mycroft asked, arching his eyebrow in its trademark fashion.

Greg felt himself get a bit giddy. He had always been one to envision the two of them throughout their lives, over the course of their relationship, but it was never really something they talked about. To have this kind of conversation, even if it came across as seemingly meaningless, was a big deal to him. Suddenly needing some movement, he hopped up out of his chair and paced leisurely around the patio.

“We could retire here,” he commented absently, his mind racing with the possibilities. They were endless. “Once I left the force, and your position becomes less office-based. We could retire up here. Get out of London. You could take up gardening, maybe…”

“It’s always been something I’ve been curious to do in my spare time,” Mycroft chimed in. Closing his book, the politician stood and joined the older man, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on Greg’s shoulder.

“You do have that bonsai tree,” Greg pointed out, turning to kiss Mycroft’s temple. He smiled.

“Of course, and I still would. But the potential of this backyard is almost a bit staggering, Gregory.”

He’d been so surprised of Mycroft’s seemingly green thumb when he’d found out a few months prior, but Greg loved it. It suited him. Just as it would suit him to spend time out here in a truly developed garden. Greg grinned brightly, feeling much younger than he really was.

“It would be…” he started, pressing their heads together and closing his eyes. “It would be lovely.”

“It will be,” Mycroft corrected surely. “There’s no use in talking figuratively over something that is so easily reality, darling. Now come, let’s go in. I’d rather enjoy drawing up a bath for us.”

Greg nodded, letting the younger man take his hand and lead him back toward the house. He threaded their fingers together, staring at Mycroft’s back, before taking a final look at the backyard before they went inside. Yes… He truly did love this place.

Chapter Text

Determination was key. That was what Greg told himself as he stood in the backyard of the Holmes manor, staring up at the balcony that he knew led to Mycroft’s room. How did he know it led to the boy’s room? He couldn’t quite say. But it did, and he was about to scale the wall. Hell, he was eighteen, he was a nimble climber.

So scale the wall he did. He all but fell over onto the balcony and moved to knock quietly on the closed sliding door. There was no response for a moment, so he knocked again. Finally, the younger boy he was so eager to see peeked out and slid the door open, pale eyes wide with shock.

“What are you doing here?” Mycroft hissed, looking over at the other teen like he’d grown a second head.

“I missed you,” Greg shrugged casually. His boyfriend had been pulled out of London on a family business trip and had been gone for two weeks, having only gotten back last night. They talked on the phone every night while he was away, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him in person. “Can I come in?”

“If my parents find you here, they will kill me,” Mycroft sighed, but he opened the door wider anyway and stepped back. This was the invitation Greg had needed, and he slipped into the room and shut the door behind him.

Without another word, he strode right up to Mycroft and wrapped his arms around his waist, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. His boyfriend responded instantly, lifting his arms to reach around his neck and press the two of them close. His hand slid into Greg’s black hair, gripping securely.

“How was your trip?” Greg asked against Mycroft’s lips once they broke apart slightly.

“Boring. Father brought me along to see how the meetings and such worked, but… I just did a lot of sitting around. Very tedious. I would have much rather been here, where I could’ve seen you.”

Pulling apart, Mycroft threaded their fingers together and tugged Greg over to his large bed. They climbed onto it and moved to lie down, curling up against each other. Mycroft nuzzled into Greg’s tan neck, who smiled softly.

“How was it back here?” he asked, his breath hitting Greg’s skin. It felt good. Comforting.

“Same old same. School was not excited, as always. The band’s been practicing; we’ve got a gig coming up. I hope you can come?” Greg asked, running his hands through the younger boy’s dark, slightly ginger hair.

“I hope so as well. Be sure to give me the information.”

Greg smiled and nodded. Sure, his band didn’t play the type of music Mycroft normally listened to, but the Holmes boy had started to listen to it a bit more once the two of them had begun dating. He’d been wanting to get him to one of their gigs for a while, as small and unimportant as they really were, and it seemed it would finally happen.

They continued to lie on the bed, kissing and talking softly, completely relaxed in each other’s presence. That is, until there was a knock on the door. Freezing, Mycroft’s eyes widened and he started shoving at Greg.

“Get under the covers and lie flat Gregory,” he hissed, practically scrambling to get the older teen hidden before the door opened.

“Mycroft, dear, dinner will be ready soon,” an older woman said as she poked her head in the room. Mycroft had sat up, moving in front of where Greg was attempting to stay hidden. He nodded.

“Yes, thank you mummy. I shall be down shortly.”

“And fetch your brother.”

“Of course, mummy.”

Silence for a moment, as the two exchanged smiles, and then Mummy Holmes left and shut the door. Mycroft exhaled and slumped his shoulders as Greg tugged the duvet down and poked his head out.

“Whew, that was close,” he huffed, laughing and grinning. Mycroft glared at him over his shoulder and proceeded to smack him with a pillow.

Chapter Text

When Greg got to Scotland Yard that morning and got into his office, there was a fresh coffee and a brown paper bag sitting square in the middle of his desk. Blinking curiously, he set his briefcase down on the floor and walked over, peeking in the bag to find a piece of coffee cake. Licking his lips, he walked around and sat, taking a sip of the coffee and groaning. Goddamn was it some of the best he’d ever had. It was then that he saw the small note attached to the bag.

A little pick-me up for the start of what is sure to be a long day. Lunch later? -MH

Greg smiled over his coffee cup, reaching out and running his thumb across the delicately scrawled words. It was a small gesture, sure, but it carried heavy meaning behind it. Humming softly, he pulled out the coffee cake and tore off a piece, chewing happily. His day would be decidedly better now.

The next time a gesture had come through like this, Greg had been stuck at the Yard for almost 36 hours straight. It was one of the most grueling cases of his career, even with Sherlock and John working it as well, and he was currently staring at the results of the victim’s autopsy for what had to be at least the fourth time. His vision was blurring, and he scrubbed at his face, deciding he needed to go on a coffee run.

A knock sounded on his door, and Sally popped her head in, holding up a sack. Greg’s brow furrowed as she brought it over and dumped it on his desk.

“For you, sir,” she prompted, nodding at it with a soft smile, and was gone before he could respond. Blinking, he opened the sack, pulling out a container of food from the nearby Chinese place that he loved. It was still hot and fresh, and it was some of his favorite stuff. Another note was attached, in that gorgeous handwriting.

Don’t forget to eat. You neglect yourself needlessly during a particularly rough case. –MH

So he ate. If he hadn’t received that food, he doubted he would’ve made it out to eat that night. Mycroft knew him too well. It made Greg start to wonder where he’d be without his relationship with the politician.

The gifts were always simple, always practical. But Greg still considered them gifts. There was a hint of romance behind them, something most capable with a Holmes. It suited Mycroft very well, and it was something that made Greg feel special. He felt thought of, looked after. Not to mention that they always showed up when he needed it the most.

As he all but dragged himself into his office one morning and collapsed into his chair, another token was revealed. He opened his briefcase on his desk, sniffing deeply and trying to ignore the miserable throbbing in his head. He blinked at what was revealed among his files. A pack of paracetamol, some of his favorite tea (that he could combine with hot water at some point during the day), and one of Mycroft’s own handkerchiefs (a silky dark blue cloth that had a white crisscross pattern going across it). As he unfolded the handkerchief, a note fell out.

This will be more pleasant for your nose than the tissues kept at the Yard. Try to keep your strength up, darling. I can care for you properly later this evening. –MH

There were also the small series of quirky gifts that was on more of a playful, joking side. Two of the more recent ones being an apple with a note that read: They say an apple a day will keep the doctor away, but it is also rather effective when thrown in the direction of the doctor’s flatmate. –MH, and a set of earplugs with the following note: I understand that a visit from Sherlock is imminent later. This should prove useful when he starts talking just for the sake of talking. –MH

No matter the context or the meaning behind them, Greg adored them. He got them at least once a week, no matter what. It made no difference if the two men had seen each other earlier that morning, or if Mycroft was in another country all together. He received them without fail.

He kept every note. They were stored away in a small compartment in the top drawer of his desk, so when he needed a moment to breathe and relax, he pulled them out and read them. They never failed to bring a smile to his face.

Chapter Text

There were many things over the course of Mycroft’s relationship with Greg that surprised him. He knew so much, about the concept of love and intimacy (and the practice, of course, he wasn’t born yesterday), and he knew more about the inner workings of the older man before they’d ever gotten together, but even still, he surprised him. That was part of the draw, he supposed. The fascination that emerged from it is what inevitably ended them up where they were now, as an actual couple.

One night, as he was relaxing in the sitting room and reading, one of those surprises came about. There was no reason for the surprise, but in looking back on it later, was one of the most pleasant ones he’d experienced. His other half was pacing back and fourth in irritation, having just receiving a phone call from New Scotland Yard in regards to a case that he’d been involved in, but not as the head detective. Mycroft wasn’t completely aware of the situation, but he didn’t need to be.

“Personne ne m'écoute et c'est ce qui arrive. C'est pourquoi je dois tout faire moi-même. On pourrait penser qu'un jour ils seraient simplement écouter [1],” he was grumbling hotly, texting lightning speed on his mobile. It was no surprise or secret that Greg was fluent in French; his father had grown up there, after all. He still had strong family ties to the country. French was also nothing new to Mycroft. He spoke six languages completely fluently, and French had been the second one he’d learned.

So why was it that as he listened to Greg fussing away in French, did Mycroft start finding it much more difficult to concentrate on the pages in front of him?

He waited patiently, however, for a convenient moment to interrupt. Closing his book, he stood and strode over to where his other half was, unable to ignore the small heat growing in his belly.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked softly, eyebrow arched as he reached out to gently grasp the older man’s bicep. He knew the answer, or he wouldn’t have bothered actually walking over, but it was something one did sometimes when initiating a conversation. Greg stopped and opened his mouth to respond, but noticed the dark look in his eyes and stopped short.

“No, not-“ he started, but Mycroft shushed him by pressing a slender finger to his lips.

“En français,” he practically growled. Greg blinked, realization dawning on him, and his growing pupils reflected his bodily reaction to the command. Oh. Slowly, he began smirking, taking a step forward to close some of the distance between the two of them.

“Je pense que je peux faire un peu de temps [2],” he whispered, leaning in to brush the tip of his nose along Mycroft’s jaw. Mycroft tilted his chin instantly, giving his partner more access to the expanse of skin there and shivering slightly. His grip on Greg’s bicep tightened slightly. Goodness, the things his body was doing in response to the older man speaking French… It was beneficial that he had such good self-control.

“Vous me voulez [3]?” Greg asked deeply, nipping at the pulse point of Mycroft’s neck. The politician swallowed, licking his lips.

“Yes,” he sighed, pressing his slender body against the strong one of his partner.

“Je vais vous prendre [4],” he continued, lowering down and sucking on Mycroft’s collarbone. Mycroft let out a soft noise, a whimper, feeling his knees start to tingle as arousal was taking over his body.

“Tell me,” he commanded. He wanted to hear more. He needed to hear.

“Vous méchant homme. Je vais arracher vos vêtements et vous jeter sur notre matelas. Je vais vous laisser se tordant et en redemande. Et c'est seulement quand vous êtes hors de votre esprit avec l'excitation que je donnerai vous relâchez [5].” Greg’s hands had started to roam, teasing touches that slipped under neatly placed articles of clothing. He gripped at Mycroft’s waist and shoved them together, rocking his hips and creating sweet friction that caused them both to almost groan.

Desperately, Mycroft grabbed Greg’s head and forced him up to kiss him. The kiss was rough, all teeth and tongue and need, and they only broke apart when neither man could breathe.

“Then do it,” Mycroft snarled, shoving them both in the direction of the bedroom.

 

[1] No one listens to me and this is what happens. This is why I have to do everything myself. You would think that one day they would just listen.

[2] I think I can make some time.

[3] Do you want me?

[4] I'm going to take you.

[5] You naughty man. I'm going to tear off your clothes and throw you down on our mattress. I'm going to leave you writhing and begging for more. And only when you're out of your mind with arousal will I give you release.

Chapter Text

Everything sucked. Work was awful, the perp got away, and Greg sprained his ankle in the process. On top of that, Sherlock was being more of a frustrating brat than he normally was, and after everything, he was coming home to an empty flat. Sighing in resignation, he hung up his soaked coat (because it was also pouring rain, as if it wasn’t aggravating enough) and trudged through to the bedroom to change into comfortable, baggy clothing.

Mycroft was out of the country. He’d been out of the country for going on three weeks now. What was supposed to be a one-week business trip turned into two, and then three, and it was looking as if it would be going on a full month with the way the politician had been talking. Whatever they were attempting wasn’t getting anywhere, and as they talked over the phone almost nightly, Mycroft seemed to be getting more and more fed up. Unfortunately, he was too important a party involved to leave everything and come home. So he remained there. And Greg remained alone.

Grumpily, he padded into the kitchen once he’d pulled on some old sweatpants and a football kit shirt to make some coffee. He also hadn’t been sleeping well, and even with as much exhaustion and pain that he was in, tonight would most likely be much of the same. He made his drink and then headed into the room that had been turned into his study when they’d moved in together. Powering up his laptop, he browsed his emails briefly and then started digging through case files to try and keep his mind occupied.

Some time later, as he was pouring over some of his most recent notes and only half reading what he’d written down, he heard a noise emitting from his laptop. Blinking, he turned his head, seeing his new Skype notification bouncing up and down. He immediately abandoned everything he’d been holding to turn to the screen. Mycroft was calling. He suddenly felt like a kid on Christmas morning, and he settled into his seat more comfortably before answering.

The call loaded for a moment, before the screen revealed the wonderful face of his partner. The younger man was still in a suit (sort of; the jacket was gone and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone), looking as professional and put together as always. His calm face turned happy, a small smile sliding onto his features, as they became face to face with each other.

“Good evening, Gregory,” he prompted, speaking first. Greg ran a hand through his hair and smiled.

“Hey Myc,” he returned, leaning forward a bit to prop up his elbow on the edge of his desk. “How’d today go?”

“Much like yesterday,” Mycroft responded, annoyance and exhaustion passing onto his face briefly. “I would very much like for things to get put on track so they can be wrapped up. It’s getting tedious and unnecessary.”

“And I miss you,” Greg said, voicing the thought that was constantly running through his head.

“I know Gregory. I apologize. Had I thought-“

“You didn’t know,” Greg stopped him, putting up a hand. “Besides, whatever it is, it’s important that you’re there. I can’t keep you from that.”

No matter how much he wanted to.

A moment of comfortable silence fell between them as Mycroft had to type out a quick text on his mobile. Greg just watched for the majority of the time, drinking in the sight of the man he missed more than anything, though he did take a sideways glance at the floor after a moment.

“You’ve had a bad day,” came the politician’s ever-correct deduction. It pulled Greg’s attention back to the computer screen. He sighed through his nose, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“The worst,” he confirmed, and proceeded to talk about as much as he could without diving into the finer points of the case. His job came with their own confidences, even if 90% of the time they weren’t necessary when talking to Mycroft. He usually knew anyway. By the end he felt frazzled and fed up again, and he huffed. “And I just wanted to come home, and relax and…”

“And see me,” Mycroft finished quietly, eyes soft. “Gregory, I am sorry.”

Greg shook his head and waved a hand in front of his face. He took a deep breath, trying to fight back the prickly feeling that was coming in around his eyes. This was ridiculous. He was so stressed he was about to start crying, and there was no reason for it. He needed to pull himself together.

“Just hurry and come home, yeah?” he asked, his voice cracking some. He did, however, manage a smile. Mycroft nodded.

“Of course.” Leaning forward slightly, Mycroft reached out his hand and pressed it up to the camera, palm out. Greg returned the gesture, their hands pressed together digitally (something they did every time they video chatted). “I love you, Gregory.”

Greg blinked. Mycroft wasn’t one to speak the infamous three words very often. He showed how much he loved him in so many other ways. So many ways that was more elegant and did their feelings for each other justice. It seemed, however, that the younger man knew he needed to hear the words. Tears welled up in his eyes again, and leaning in, Greg pressed a kiss to the camera.

“I love you too, Myc.”

Chapter Text

“I can go to the office for the evening. There’s always work to be done,” Mycroft said softly, standing in front of a window in the bedroom and staring out at the sky. Behind him and half dressed, Greg sighed softly. He walked up behind the younger man and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing close and resting his forehead against the back of his shoulder.

“You could, yes. But the point is that I don’t want you to, Myc,” Greg said pointedly. “You’re extremely important to me. Just as they are. You’re a part of my life now.”

Mycroft sighed through his nose. Never before had he felt the way he was feeling currently: nervous. He had the urge of flight and it was a strange one. Greg’s two daughters were coming over for dinner later that evening, and it was going to be the first time they were meeting him. Dad’s new boyfriend. Mycroft also had no experience with children in his adult life. Sure, he basically raised Sherlock as they were growing up, but that was long ago and a different time.

Mycroft was not an impressionable guy. He’d never desired to be. He was settled in his life and the way things were run. Children, however… They were immensely unpredictable beings. It wasn’t just that, though. These were his partner’s children. Greg was a brilliant father, and those two girls were his world, so there was a lot riding on this meeting. It had to go well or it would prove difficult. But to have a ten- and sixteen-year-old coming by…

“Come on, love. They’ll be here soon.” Greg patted his bicep gently, breaking him from his trance. Mycroft’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he almost reluctantly turned to follow the older man to the kitchen. He had a strong urge to pour himself a glass of scotch. Perhaps he could retreat to his study and do so.

“Myc?” came Greg’s deep voice after a moment, pulling Mycroft from his thoughts. He blinked and turned to face him, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Yes Gregory?” he asked calmly. Greg was looking at him curiously, in that way he looked at Mycroft when he could tell something was up. It was almost frustrating. Mycroft had made his life out of not being able to be read by anyone, apart from Sherlock (and even that was spotty at times, he was the smarter one after all). Yet here he was, practically an open book with Greg. Of course, the detective inspector knew him in ways no other individual ever would, so he supposed that was something that came with it as well.

“You’re real out of it,” he pointed out, annoyingly accurate. Mycroft just sighed, because really, there was no point in denying it. The other man walked over to him, gazing up at his face with all the adoration and patience in the world. “They’re going to love you, I know it. Stop freaking out. Just be yourself, and you will charm the pants off of them. Just like you did me.”

“If I’m recalling, there was little charming,” Mycroft countered. “You were rather angry.”

“Because you kidnapped me in the middle of a case,” Greg laughed softly. “But you charmed the hell out of me later. Besides, there’s no kidnapping tonight. Just Elizabeth and Abby coming over to meet the love of their da’s life. They’re excited to finally meet you. I don’t see how it could go wrong.”

“There are many ways it could go wrong, Gregory-“ Mycroft started, huffing. He was silenced, however, as Greg lifted himself up and crashed their lips together in a passionate kiss. It took a second before the younger man responded, but he did, a slender hand going up and running through the silvery hair of his lover. They pressed close, kissing until they were out of breath, and when they parted Greg beamed up at him in a way that made his insides melt.

“Now come on. Need to get dinner started. They should be there in…”

There was a rapid knock at the front door. Mycroft stiffened, and Greg smiled.

“Now, it seems.”

“Oh dear lord,” Mycroft sighed, feeling extremely nervous and hating every second of it.

“You. Will be. Fine,” Greg said pointedly. “Now come on. There are two girls on the other side of this door that are dying to fall in love with you too.”

Mycroft huffed, straightening his waistcoat and squaring his shoulders. No turning back, he supposed. It was time.

Chapter Text

Greg shifted in his seat nervously, attempting to pointedly not look out the window near him. Maybe he shouldn’t have sat near the window in the first place. After all, he and Mycroft did have full reign of the seating that was around them. That was the beauty of a private plane, after all. It was a very relaxed, intimate atmosphere, with sofas instead of lines of seats and reclining chairs. And a bar. That was a lovely addition. He could really use a drink.

Even though the atmosphere was relaxed, he was far from it. Not that Greg was intensely afraid of heights or anything, because he wasn’t. There was something about being in a plane, though, that made him immensely uneasy. Flying thousands of miles up in the air was an altitude man really shouldn’t be allowed to be at. They didn’t have wings and shit for a reason. Greg was just fine being on the ground, but his partner had insisted they take the plane for their vacation because it would be much quicker and easier than driving. He wasn’t denying that truth, of course, and it was how they ended up here.

Clenching the arm rests of his seat tightly, Greg tilted his head down and shut his eyes. As long as he didn’t think about it, didn’t look outside… But then there was the turbulence, and it jolted him a bit. He sighed, frowning.

“Gregory?” came the questioning, smooth voice of his other half. Reluctantly, he turned to look at Mycroft, knowing he’d see right through him. And of course he did. “Darling, it’s perfectly safe.”

“I know it is,” he huffed, crossing his arms tightly in front of him. “But still, it…”

Freaks me out. He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t really need to. Before anything else could be said, Mycroft stood up and was walking over to him. Greg felt a surge of panic watching him move around the contraption so freely. Should he really be walking around?? It didn’t seem safe. Then, a slender arm was reaching out for him, requesting him to take his hand. Seriously? Greg did NOT want to get out of his seat. Nope. Not while this plane was moving. He stared at the offered hand, feeling a bit paralyzed.

“It’s alright, Gregory. Come here,” Mycroft said smoothly, reaching the rest of the way since the older man didn’t take his hand. He wrapped his slender fingers around Greg’s wrist and tugged gently, coaxing him reluctantly out of his seat. He all but clutched to Mycroft’s biceps once they’d stood, brown eyes wide. The politician just looked amused. “Come on.”

He turned and tugged Greg across the way, leading him over to one of the huge sofas that were sitting closer to the bar. Greg’s legs felt wobbly. He supposed that with as much travelling as Mycroft did for work, this was nothing to him. But he couldn’t stop from freaking out still. Eventually, though, he was gently pushed down onto the sofa, and Mycroft proceeded to climb onto his lap. Greg blinked, gazing up at him curiously.

“It seems what is required is something to take your mind off the travelling,” Mycroft said softly. His voice had changed; slipping into a deeper, smoother tone that Greg had become familiar with. He knew exactly what the younger man was doing.

“Trying to seduce me?” he asked with a grin. In response, Mycroft began slowly unbuttoning the front of his shirt. The smirk that got onto his face was one of confidence, and his pale eyes flashed.

“Oh, my dear Gregory, there is no trying involved,” he murmured, leaning and all but attacking Greg’s neck. He kissed and nipped the tan skin there, paying particular attention to his pulse point and collarbone. Greg’s weak points. He whimpered, gripping Mycroft’s sides and arching up against him.

He was right, there was no trying. Greg became Mycroft’s instantly, like he always did. The younger man was so good at doing that to him, and it was bloody glorious. Quickly, he became all too aware of the heat between them, and the way their hips grinded together and created glorious friction. He couldn’t get enough. Needed more.

Needless to say, he completely forgot they were flying.

Chapter Text

It was fascinating the things one could develop in the later years of their lives. If, by fascinating, you meant that it sucked. Close to fifty, and Greg’s body had chosen now to give him hay fever. It was awful. For someone who had no seasonal allergies and a nose of steel for almost his entire life, getting hay fever was not something Greg was excited about at all.

It had been a confusing thing, when he first started exhibiting the symptoms. He thought he had been coming down with something, but none of what he was exhibiting lined up with any specific illness. His quick visit to the doctor proved negative on the realm of a virus or fever of any kind. One look at him, however, and his partner Mycroft knew exactly what was plaguing him.

“Welcome to the club,” the younger man had said sarcastically. Greg had just groaned. It was a noise he was prone to a lot here the past few days. He groaned, and whined, and couldn’t breathe, and felt over all awful and miserable and gross. He’d been unable to concentrate earlier that morning, while standing a crime scene, so he had bit the bullet and stopped by a Tesco on his lunch break before heading back to the Yard to pick up some medicine.

He’d taken the capsules while he ate his lunch, smiling at the reminder text he had received: Do not forget to take medicine. It will help to clear your head some. –MH. Now, he was just waiting for it to kick in, as he leaned over his desk and poured over case notes and paperwork scattered across the desk in front of him. He had his head propped up in his hand, pen held loosely in his other, lips parted slightly as he was having to breathe through his mouth and not his nose. He still couldn’t concentrate. He was hoping the meds would kick in soon…

After a little while, Sally Donovan returned from the crime scene they had been working that morning. She dropped a packet off at her desk without pausing, and then made her way over to her boss’s office. Swinging the door open, she popped her head in and glanced over at his desk.

“Sir, we need-“ she started, ready to get the next stage of the investigation under way, when the sight in front of her caused her to pause. Greg was slumped over his desk, head resting on his arms, mouth parted, and completely asleep. She blinked, remaining silent for a second, before taking a slow step into the office.

“Sir?” she asked. Greg didn’t stir. In fact, in response, he let out a rather audible snore. She blinked again, the snore causing her to jump a little bit, and she glanced over the desk. Near his coffee cup, she saw a medicine box sitting there, open. Walking over, she peered down at it, and then sighed and shook her head. It seemed that the Detective Inspector hadn’t paid attention to the kind of medicine he’d picked up for the hay fever he was fighting, and had definitely not gotten something that specified non-drowsy. No wonder he was passed out and practically drooling. Smiling softly, she shook her head again and turned to leave. In that exact moment, the door to his office opened again and the elder Holmes was walking in, umbrella and jacket draped across his arm. She froze and blinked, before opening her mouth to speak, but his sharp eyes shifted past her immediately to look at the man at the desk.

“Oh dear,” he said, striding into the room and over to the desk, glancing down at his snoring partner. “It seems I should have gotten the medication for him. I had rather hoped he would have paid attention and gotten the correct kind.”

Sally nodded politely at him, smiling, and walked past him to leave and take care of a follow up for the case, shutting the door behind her. Now alone in the office, Mycroft walked around to the back of the desk, moving to stand beside the sleeping man. Leaning over slightly, he reached out to place slender hands on Greg’s shoulders, and shake slightly.

“Come on Gregory, wake up. We’re going home.” His first response had been a snore. Smiling patiently, he leaned in closer to kiss the man’s cheek, before speaking softly again. Finally, Greg began to stir, and ended up blinking up at him with unfocused, sleepy eyes.

“Myc?” he asked groggily, brow furrowing in confusion. He sniffed, winkling his nose and blinking, before scrubbing at his face with one hand.

“We’re going home, darling. You need proper rest. In our bed. Come on.”

Slowly, Greg allowed Mycroft to guide him out of his chair. The next thing he knew, they were riding in a car, and Greg was stretched out with his head on the younger man’s lap. Slender fingers were running through his hair, soothing him back to sleep instantly. Then, he was in bed. It was nice, but also frustrating. How people dealt with hay fever their whole lives he’d never know.

At least he had a wonderful boyfriend who was one of those people who’d dealt with it his whole life. He proved to be of great assistance, and Greg remained mostly quiet as he let himself be looked after.

Chapter Text

Mycroft couldn’t recall the last time he and Gregory had experienced such a relaxing day. Neither man had anything pressing at hand in their respective jobs, so for the first time in a while, they decided to have a Date Day (Gregory’s words, not his). They had stayed in bed a few hours later than they were used to, which Mycroft had to admit, had felt rather bizarre and made him a bit restless. Their resting had taken a more intimate turn, however, so it was soon forgotten about.

After their joint shower and a light breakfast, the two of them got dressed and took the car down to the main shopping center in London. They had nowhere they needed to be, no goals for their trip, so they spent a majority of their time just leisurely walking down the roads and gazing into shoppes. Occasionally, they would wander inside one that caught one of their eyes curiously, and in a few they had made some small purchases, but they would never remain for long.

Hunger got the better of them after a while, and they stepped into a small bakery to take a rest and satisfy their need for food. They talked softly over sandwiches and tea, and halfway through Gregory reached out to thread their fingers together loosely. Public affection was scarce between them; professional appearances and all. It seemed that Mycroft had decided, as their relationship progressed, that he was becoming more relaxed on that front, so he squeezed Gregory’s hand gently and remained there the rest of the time they sat and ate.

After lunch, they wandered around some more, making their way to a park. As they walked, they grew closer to one another, shoulders brushing together lightly. It was truly a perfect day to be out and about. The sun was out, and it was warm, but a gentle breeze kept it from getting too warm. Gregory stared fondly at the families that were out playing, at the children laughing and running around, and Mycroft through to himself. Gregory was an amazing father, as he’d had the pleasure to see with his two daughters that he shared with his ex wife. Daughters that, due to divorce agreements, he was unable to see very often.

“You miss it,” he said softly in observation, drawing the older man’s attention. Together, they made their way over to a bench and sat, thighs touching. Gregory glanced back at the children before nodding slightly.

“Yeah, I suppose I do,” he admitted after a moment. Stretching his arms around, he rested them on the back of the bench and brushed his fingers along Mycroft’s shoulder gently. In response, Mycroft smiled and shifted a bit closer so they were leaning against one another.

“Being a father, having a family, suits you. Always has,” Mycroft continued. It had been something he’d been thinking about for a while. He had been thinking…

“What’s brought this on?” Gregory asked softly, turning to give his partner his full attention. Mycroft felt a fluster of nervousness as their eyes locked, and he licked his bottom lip as he decided how to go about it. Mycroft was never one to express his own desires. How does one word himself without sounding selfish?

“I was thinking,” he started turning his pale gaze away from those brown eyes for a moment and glancing at the children. He thought of Elizabeth and Abby, Gregory’s daughters. He thought about the times they had when they came over and stayed at their house. “We have been together for a few years now. I would like… I would like to consider our options for starting a family of our own.”

Gregory stared. He stared and he was quiet. Mycroft started to get a bit nervous, found that he was second guessing himself, and he shifted where he was sitting. Not good? Sure, he was much better at social cues than his ridiculous younger brother, but he found that when it came to his other half, he wasn’t so sure.

“You want…to have a kid?” he finally asked after a moment, still blinking. Mycroft pressed his lips in a thin line and looked away.

“We don’t have to, I just thought…” he started, huffing slightly. He was cut short, however, as Gregory cupped under his chin and forced his gaze back on him. Their lips connected instantly in a loving kiss, and Mycroft let out a soft noise of surprise at the action before returning the kiss.

“I’d love to,” Gregory whispered after breaking the kiss. His eyes were wide and shining, and Mycroft felt his heart skip a beat. “We can… We can ask my sis, yeah? See if she wouldn’t mind helping, maybe carry ‘im for us.”

“I was thinking adoption, but,” Mycroft started, pausing and considering those words. How he hadn’t thought of that before made him feel foolish. It was the most logical option and it would ensure that the child still had the genes of them both. If dear Emily would agree to carry the child, of course. He smiled. “But that would be lovely.”

They shared another kiss, and Mycroft found himself getting excited over the prospect. After a while they left the park and continued the rest of their relaxing day, wandering through more of London before making their way back home. Their conversations, however, had turned to a very specific topic. They were to have a child together. Mycroft had no experience with real small children outside of his life growing up with Sherlock, but he still found himself eager for the opportunity. It was bound to change their lives in an amazing way.

He couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

Mycroft never believed that he would become a father. He had been a large part in raising Sherlock when he was younger, but that was an entirely different situation. But a father… It was something that didn’t seem conceivable until he and Greg had sat down in the park one day, and the conversation had happened.

They had decided to ask Greg’s little sister, Emily, to be their surrogate. This gave the two men the opportunity to have a child that had both Lestrade and Holmes DNA. It was an opportunity that was more rare in same sex couples, in Mycroft’s experience, and it was something they had been lucky to take advantage of. Emily had, of course, been more than eager to assist them in this task.

Time had flown by throughout the duration of Emily’s pregnancy, and before Mycroft and Greg knew it, they were gifted with a son. Oliver Lucas Lestrade-Holmes was brought into the world, and soon became the center of both of theirs. Greg had two daughters from his previous marriage, so having an infant in his life was nothing new. To Mycroft, however, it had frankly been terrifying. For weeks he hadn’t wanted to even hold his son; not for any cruel or distant reason, but frankly because he was immensely nervous handling a human being that was that small. The night Greg had passed him over, though, and helped to guide his arms and hands in the proper direction to cradle Oliver, it was all over.

Oliver grew fast. Greg had dropped his workload considerably (much to Sherlock’s constant chagrin), and stayed home with him the majority of the time. Mycroft had lessened his responsibilities as well, and Anthea had played a huge part in that, but he still had to go to the office a lot more than the other man. The British Government, even in a position as minor as his, was not so easy to find replacements for his type of job. No longer did he have to go out of the country for extended periods of time, however, and apart from the occasional weekend, he was home Saturdays and Sundays. It had been an amazing shift in not only their family, but he and Greg’s intimate life as well. Everything was working out for the better.

As he came home that evening from a long day of exhaustive meetings, he was surprised to find the house…quiet. Their home was never quiet anymore, and it made him pause at the coat rack curiously. Greg usually told him when they were going out anywhere, and his vehicle was home, so they had to be here… Across in the sitting room, he could hear something on the telly, though it was turned down rather low. It was a good place to start, at the very least. Hanging up his coat and setting down his briefcase, he strode down the hall in that direction.

The sight he walked in on in the sitting room made him stop short and stare. The two men in his life he adored more than anything were on the sofa, and they were both… completely passed out. Greg was lying on his back, legs crossed loosely as he stretched across the entire length of the sofa. He had on black slacks and no shirt, with one arm hanging off the sofa, hand resting on the floor. His other hand was up on Oliver’s back, who was sprawled out on his father’s chest. The eight-month-old was on his stomach, cheek pressed against Greg’s bare chest and small mouth parted slightly. One of his little hands was balled in a fist and glistened with the drool it was covered in. It was clear the child had fallen asleep with his fist in his mouth, and it had slipped out as he fell deeper asleep.

Mycroft smiled, utterly smitten with the sight. He was unable to resist pulling out his mobile and taking a picture, before quietly making his way over towards them. Dear Oliver had begun teething a month prior, so he had been doing quite a good job at keeping both his fathers up all night with him. The poor boy had been restless, refusing sleep and food, because he just hurt. It seemed that the exhaustion had caught up with them both today.

Crouching down, he reached out and ran his slender fingers through Greg’s silvery hair. The older man stirred slightly, brow furrowing in confusion and brown eyes fluttering open sleepily. He smiled as he registered Mycroft beside him, biting back a yawn and shifting very carefully.

“Hey,” he whispered groggily. Mycroft smiled in adoration at him. “Ollie finally got tuckered out.”

“I see that,” he responded in kind, eyes shifting to glance at their sleeping son without stopping the soothing strokes to Greg’s hair.

“Got ‘im to eat a bit around lunch time,” Greg reported, splaying out his hand along Oliver’s back securely as the boy shifted in his sleep. He sighed, letting out a little noise that shot right into both men’s hearts. Mycroft had never known a more adorable baby, and it didn’t matter that he was slightly biased.

“Good. We’ll try for dinner in a while. Perhaps he’ll get a full night’s rest this evening.”

“One can hope,” Greg snorted, yawning. The movement caused Oliver to shift again, his little brow furrowing a bit as he unclenched and clenched his fist again. Mycroft reached down to gently brush a strand of jet-black hair out of his face, and then rubbed his thumb across a chubby cheek.

“For now, we’ll let him sleep a bit longer.” Normally they would want him awake so he could actually sleep that night, but with as little sleep as he was getting during the teething process, any sleep was good sleep. Leaning in, he pressed a loving kiss to Greg’s forehead, who smiled and hummed softly.

“Have a good day?” the older man asked. Mycroft sighed.

“It was to be expected. It is better now that I’m home, with you and Oliver. I’m going to go make some tea. Then we’ll see about his dinner.” He pressed another kiss to Greg’s forehead before standing, gazing fondly at their sleeping child, and heading towards the kitchen for his tea.

Chapter Text

This was rather embarrassing. Greg had been torn about even approaching Sherlock about this, and once he’d decided he was going to, he dreaded actually going over to Baker Street and having the conversation. He started to put it off for as long as he could, but finally, he had to bite the bullet and go for it.

This was how he ended up in the sitting room of Baker Street in the middle of the day, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as Sherlock was moving around furniture to give them a more open space. John was at the clinic, so they were alone, thankfully. This was going to be bizarre enough on its own.

“I still don’t quite understand,” Sherlock was admitting, glancing over at him curiously. “You’ve been married before, how is it you don’t know how to dance?”

“It was… not that great of a dance,” Greg huffed, crossing his arms defensively over his chest and staring at the skull hanging on the wall. He’d been absolutely rubbish at it and his wife had led the entire time. He knew people had only been nice about it because it was his wedding day.

“Well, it’s honestly not that difficult,” Sherlock said, finishing his adjustments with the coffee table and then walking over to where he had an iPod dock set up on his desk. Greg was a little surprised he wasn’t giving him more shit about the entire situation. But he knew the detective really loved dancing, so… Perhaps that was why. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d appreciated John’s tipsy admissions more. “Take your shoes off and get over here.”

Greg nodded, toeing his shoes off and walking over to where Sherlock was standing. He squared his shoulders and allowed the younger man to grab his arms and position them appropriately, one wrapped around his torso and the other in his hand. Behind them, slow music began playing, and Sherlock nodded slightly before starting to move.

They stepped, and Greg stumbled a few times, but overall it wasn’t a huge disaster. Sherlock was muttering through it almost constantly, instructing him this way and that. They did this throughout the length of the song until it faded out.

“Now this time, you’re going to lead,” Sherlock commented, moving to restart the song. “It is most likely my brother will lead, because he’s a control freak like that, but just in case, we need to get you at least sub par.”

Greg opened his mouth to complain at the casual Sherlockian insult, but he knew he was right so he remained quiet. Instead, he just nodded. This time, his hand was shifted down to rest along Sherlock’s waist, and their joined hands shifted some before joining again. The music started. Sherlock muttered to him to take the first step, and after a moment of hesitation, he did so.

They switched back and fourth a few times, and after a while, Greg started to feel a lot better about the entire situation. He was getting more comfortable with the movements, taking a few liberties (some that were agreeable, others that got him Sherlock’s normal ‘you can’t honestly be serious’ face), and trying a few new things at the younger man’s suggestion. It was surprisingly fun. It was also a fascinating side of Sherlock he was seeing. John had been right when he said the detective liked dancing. They were actually laughing together, and it was rare to see Sherlock so jovial when John wasn’t around (and even then it was still rare).

It was in that moment that Sherlock heard footsteps on the stairs. He glanced over Greg’s shoulder and his smile faded almost instantly, halting them. Greg blinked in confusion and turned to look over to see Mycroft standing behind them, an envelope in his hand. The politician was standing straight, face practically blank, but there was something there Greg could read that caused him to let his mouth drop open to talk and step away from the younger Holmes.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Mycroft said icily. “I was stopping by to bring you information on this case, Sherlock. I’ll just leave it in the kitchen and be on my way.”

Mycroft spun on his heel and moved to walk into the kitchen, dropping the file loudly and then leaving. Sherlock snorted, turning off the music and dropping into his chair. Greg sighed.

“Mycroft,” he called out, going after him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have shoes on, as he started to make his way down the stairs. Just barely did he catch the other man’s elbow before he’d walked out onto the street and tugged him back.

“Gregory, I need to get back to work. Do let go,” he commanded without turning around. Greg sighed and stepped forward to press against him, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist.

“Stop being ridiculous,” he whispered, hugging him tightly. “What you saw was absolutely nothing.”

“What I saw was you dancing with my brother.”

Sighing, Greg grabbed Mycroft and turned him around so they were facing each other. He reached up to cup his cheek, gazing into his eyes.

“He was teaching me,” he admitted, feeling heat rising in his cheeks. Mycroft blinked, beginning to follow his train of thought. Greg could see the slight realization dawning in his eyes.

“Yes,” Greg nodded, smiling. “I’m a doofus who doesn’t know how to dance. I wanted to learn, before we… Well. I wanted to be good at something.”

“You are good at many things,” Mycroft whispered, his voice loosing its ice and growing very affectionate. Leaning in, he connected their lips in a brief kiss. “My apologies for creating a scene.”

“You didn’t create a scene,” Greg huffed a laugh against his lips. He reached and took Mycroft’s hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing. “You have time for lunch before you have to go back to the office?”

“Yes, I suppose we can squeeze something in,” Mycroft smiled, kissing him again. Greg ran back to get his shoes, and together they walked out onto the pavement.

Chapter Text

Greg relaxed in the back of the car that was currently taking him from the Yard, to what appeared to be Buckingham Palace. Yes, that thought was confirmed a little bit later as they pulled up in front of the palace and the door was opened for him to step out. He did so, straightening his coat and sighing to himself, before wandering inside behind a silent escort.

He hadn’t gotten a notice about a new security check, but those did tend to crop up out of nowhere sometimes. That was kind of the point about security checks, really. If there was no time to prepare for them, there was no time to fabricate anything. He was grateful to get pulled away from the paperwork, anyway.

He was led to a room with two couches and four chairs surrounding a large coffee table. The quiet man gestured to the seating, and he nodded and sat on one side of the couch. The man left without another word, leaving him alone in the eerily quiet room. Shifting he glanced around warily. This was not normally the kind of setting these checks took place in, nor was he ever made to wait on his own like this. It was… kind of bizarre.

He was alone in the room for about ten minutes or so, before a different man walked in. He blinked, glancing over at him and taking in his crisp suit, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second,” the man announced, stepping to the side of the doorway. Greg froze. What?? He wasn’t lying, however, because moments later the Queen herself was walking into the room. Greg was up on his feet faster than he thought he could move anymore, and tilting his torso in a respected bow. His heart was pounding. This was definitely no ordinary security check. What was happening?

“Please, do sir Detective Inspector,” she addressed him politely, making her way over to him and sitting in one of the chairs. He nodded dumbly, moving to sit back down and trying not to let his jaw drop. He was in the presence of the Queen. Sitting right next to her. He watched, dead silent, as she requested the man to bring them tea. It was also the fastest prepared tea he’d ever witnessed. That, or he was still so dumbfounded that everything was blurring together. Before he knew what was happening, there was a cup and saucer in his hand, and he was having tea with the Queen.

The thought didn’t sound right, no matter how often he thought it. He was having tea with the Queen.

“Do you know why I have brought you here today, Inspector?” she asked civilly after a few moments. Greg blinked, setting his cup down, and shaking his head.

“I have to admit, ma’am, I do not. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. His heart was beating so fast he thought he was going to forget how to breathe.

“I wanted to discuss the nature of your relationship with Mycroft Holmes,” the royal woman began to explain. Greg had to force his jaw to remain closed again. He also had to keep himself from chuckling at the statement. It sounded ridiculously like Mycroft had the first time he had basically kidnapped and interrogated him about his involvement with Sherlock. It was kind of hilarious.

“Our relationship, ma’am?” he inquired, making sure he understood her correctly. So his partner did know the Queen personally. How else could this conversation be explained?

“Indeed. It has come to my attention the two of you are going to be getting married in a matter of weeks,” she explained, sipping on her tea elegantly. Greg blinked, but said nothing. He nodded, which prompted her to continue her thought. “While I am aware of the good work you do for this city, we have never met in person. I wanted to make sure that you were the right man for him.”

Wait. Was the Queen really interrogating him? Yeah. She was most definitely examining him before he and Mycroft got married. It was such… a motherly thing to do. He had no idea the two of them were this close. After all, the Queen wouldn’t just have this conversation with the soon-to-be-spouse of anyone in the British Government. He couldn’t imagine so, anyway.

“I love Mycroft very much, Your Majesty,” he said, smiling. “He has changed my life very much for the better, and I am reminded every day just how lucky I am to have him.”

As he spoke, he saw her begin to smile over her teacup. That was a good sign. It eased his nerves slightly. With momentary pauses, and a refill on both their teas, they continued to talk about Mycroft, and their relationship. Then, she moved on to discuss some things with their wedding. It ended up becoming quite a comfortable, lovely visit.

It was also one of the most bizarre days Greg had ever had in his life.

Chapter Text

“This one’s from the man who kidnapped Sherlock, right?” Mycroft asked softly one night. Greg was lying on his back, eyes closed as they relaxed in bed together. They were relaxing post-sex, letting the soothing high of it all wash over them.

“Hmm?” he hummed, lifting his head a bit. He could feel Mycroft’s fingertips running lightly across his ribs, and realization dawned on him. “Oh, yeah. The knife he carried.”

Mycroft didn’t respond. Instead, his fingers kept running back and fourth over the scar that had marked his tan skin. Greg could still remember that night rather vividly. Sherlock’s kidnapped had been light on his feet, getting into Greg’s personal space quicker than he could react, brandishing a jagged knife and stabbing him. It had put him in the hospital for almost a week and given him stiches, and had marked him very permanently. Not a fun experience.

After a moment, Mycroft was nudging his shoulder. Complying, Greg shifted, rolling to lie on his back instead. He watched as the younger man’s sharp eyes gazed over his torso, fingers following, to a scar on his bicep.

“And this was a bullet wound,” he muttered. Greg nodded, glancing as his lover traced it as well. That had happened on one of his first intense cases, ending in chasing a perp they didn’t know was concealing a gun. He’d caught sight of it at the last second, diving out of the way enough that it just scraped his bicep instead of almost hitting him square in the chest. Mycroft moved on.

“This one?” he asked, brow furrowing, as he traced a line right above his eyebrow. Greg couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Rugby match when I was seventeen. My best mate was rubbish at aiming, and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He rolled his eyes. That was definitely the most ridiculous of the markings he carried with him.

Mycroft examined and lightly touched two more scars that were results of bullet wounds: one on his thigh and the other on his stomach. Next was one on his palm from where anger had gotten the better of him and he’d shattered a drinking glass by slamming it down too hard on his desk. He remained quiet, apart from the small conversations that came along with each marking, intently observing the younger man’s face during it all.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked, tilting his head sideways. Mycroft sighed through his nose.

“The human body is terribly fragile,” he commented, not quite answering the question. Stroking Greg’s chest, he lowered his head onto the pillow with a soft frown on his face. Greg shifted his body a bit so they were facing each other more, wrapping his arms around him.

“Perhaps. But I’m incredibly lucky, too,” he commented, throwing on a smile. It surprised him how bothered he seemed to be by Greg’s scarring.

“Naturally, and for that I am grateful,” Mycroft said. “However, that doesn’t change the fact that these are indications of more than one time that I could have lost you, some before I ever got the chance to know you.”

Greg’s brown eyes softened immensely. So that was what was really bothering him. He rubbed Mycroft’s back soothingly, leaning to kiss his forehead.

“But they didn’t,” he whispered. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mycroft shut his eyes, letting his long arm snake around Greg’s waist as he curled into his side.

“It is a foolish train of thought, and pointless. Because you are, as you say. You are right here. My apologies if I killed the mood.”

Greg hugged his lover tightly, nuzzling into his hair and smiling.

“You didn’t,” he reassured Mycroft. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I’d be the same if they were on your body. It happens when you’re in love.”

“I would very much appreciate it if you did not acquire any more, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly, almost fragile. Very uncharacteristic of him, and something that only ever happened in privacy like this.

“I would as well,” Greg agreed, reaching up to stroke Mycroft’s hair. “And don’t worry. I’ll do my best not to.”

He couldn’t promise he never would again. Being a Detective Inspector had the chance to be dangerous. At least now he had even more of a drive not to get injured.

Chapter Text

When Greg arrived at the restaurant Mycroft had sent him the address to, he stood there and gaped. He stood there and gaped while a bloody valet boy drove his car to be parked. When he finally forced himself to move and got inside the restaurant, he gaped again. Christ the place was gorgeous. It was huge, and intimidating, and it felt expensive just standing at the entrance. Never in his entire life had Greg stepped foot in a place like this, and his instinct told him to turn right around and leave again.

Greg was not a poor man. He had never grown up in a poor lifestyle. His home life had been comfortable, and sensible. He had been much luckier than many other kids he’d grown up with. But he wasn’t rich. Standing in this place that he was now… It didn’t feel like he belonged. Nervously, he glanced around. He was meeting Mycroft here, but he had no idea where his partner was in the establishment. It was huge, and lord knows he couldn’t be seen wandering around.

“Mr. Lestrade?” came a voice to his left. Blinking, Greg turned to see who had addressed him. It looked to be a waiter, who was waiting expectantly for him. He tried not to feel super embarrassed. Was he really that obvious?

“Yes?” he asked, shifting slightly.

“Please allow me to show you to your table. Mr. Holmes is waiting. May I take your coat?”

With a soft nod, Greg let his coat slip off his shoulders and pulled his mobile out of it before handing it over to the boy. Said boy bowed his head briefly before turning, and motioning for Greg to follow. He did, keeping his eyes forward to wander through the tables, listening to the calm chatter of other people that were dining. Finally, they came to a stop and he blinked, glancing around the boy to see his wonderful husband seated at a table. He smiled politely, and Greg’s seat was pulled out for him. He sat, nodding his thanks.

“Thank you, Jeremy,” Mycroft was saying. The boy bowed, handed Greg a menu, and departed. Greg let himself slump slightly, glancing down at the menu.

“I trust your day was alright, darling?” Mycroft was asking. Greg was briefly distracted by the fact that the menu had no prices on it. Good lord that wasn’t a good sign. He blinked, before glancing up at the younger man.

“Uh, yeah,” he smiled, setting the menu down and turning his attention to him. “Jeremy?”

“I am well acquainted with all members of the staff here,” Mycroft smirked. Of course he was. Greg was convinced there was no one in London his husband wasn’t acquainted with in some form.

“How was your day?” Greg asked in response, moving on.

“It was as to be expected.”

Greg reached and picked up a glass of wine, swirling it slightly and taking a sip. It was good. Mycroft was looking at him in an extremely amused way, his blue eyes shining.

“What?” he asked, feeling self-conscious. Mycroft chuckled.

“Do relax, darling. You belong here just as much as I,” he said knowingly, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

“There’s no prices on this menu,” Greg pointed out, taking another drink. Mycroft nodded.

“There is not. Don’t worry about price, dear. Just find something that sounds delicious.”

“Don’t worry about price?” Greg blinked. “Myc, I bet a dinner here costs more than my paycheck.”

“Of course, don’t worry. This is my treat.”

“Oh no. No, I can’t let you do that…” Greg sighed, waving a hand in front of him.

“Nonsense, Gregory,” Mycroft said dismissively. He gave the older man that pointed look that let him know he was losing this one. “It is our anniversary, dear. This is one of my gifts to you.”

Greg blushed, glancing down at his wine. It was true, he hadn’t expected their first wedding anniversary to be spent at a place like this. He couldn’t help but feel a bit doted on, though, and in a way… It was nice. He smiled, taking another drink, before leaning over and taking another look at his menu again.

“So. What’s good here?” he asked, grinning.

Chapter Text

Greg couldn’t get in a better mindset. Christ. Never in his life would he have figured Sherlock Holmes to commit suicide. But there they were… He had jumped off St. Bart’s, pronounced dead an hour later, and there was a funeral service being arranged. He was floored. He was having an immensely difficult time to adjust to the chain of events, which was being even more difficult because the press wasn’t leaving him alone about it.

He’d barely seen John. Oh John. He couldn’t even imagine how the doctor was handling it. He’d been there. He’d seen him… Greg couldn’t begin to imagine how something like that must have felt. Had the roles been reversed, and he had witnessed something like that with Mycroft… The mere thought of it made it difficult for him to breathe.

Speaking of, he was on his way over to Mycroft’s currently. He’d barely had a chance to see his boyfriend since it had happened, with everything he’d been swarmed with. He knew Mycroft was arranging the funeral, because who else could?

“Mycroft?” he called out as he entered the politician’s home. No response. Greg sighed through his nose and stepped inside, hanging up his coat and beginning to walk though in search of him. Finally, he found the man in his study. He was staring over papers with a cup of tea in his hands. Greg’s brown eyes softened as he made his way over.

“Hey,” he whispered, reaching out to squeeze Mycroft’s shoulder gently. It was only then that pale blue eyes were raised to meet his. Greg had expected something different than what he saw. Mycroft might not be an over emotional person, but he let his guard down around Greg. He knew how much the older Holmes really did love his brother. Yet… he seemed perfectly fine.

“Gregory, what brings you by?” he asked, voice even. He set his teacup down and turned in his chair so they were better facing each other. On the desk was a series of newspapers reporting Sherlock’s suicide, and more documents that he spotted both Sherlock and Moriarty’s names on. Greg blinked.

“Coming to check on you. With everything that’s happened… You okay?” he asked leaning down to press a kiss to Mycroft’s forehead. The younger man hummed and shut his eyes briefly, before nodding.

“I am fine. Really,” he added as Greg gave him a slightly skeptical look.

“I just… I know with everything with Sherlock…” he started, shifting his weight. It was still difficult for him to actually speak about it. He sighed and glanced down, shutting his eyes for a moment.

Mycroft said nothing, but instead reached out with slender arms and tugged Greg close, pulling him down on his lap. Greg opened his eyes again in shock, but moved to wrap his arms around his partner’s neck and lean close.

“Everything will be fine,” Mycroft said, rubbing Greg’s back. Licking his lips, Greg pressed his face in the crook of his pale, slender neck, shutting his eyes again. What felt like an unsettling, raging war inside of him (anger, sorrow, grief, blame), began to calm. Before long, his body was slumped against Mycroft’s taller one.

“How is it,” Greg said finally, voice cracking. “That I come here to comfort you and end up getting comforted myself?”

“It is just the way things occur,” Mycroft said, a slight tone of amusement in his voice. Greg lifted his head and they shared a gentle kiss, pressing closer to each other. He hummed into it, running his fingers through the younger man’s silky hair.

“Would you be able to stay tonight?” Mycroft asked, brushing the tips of their noses together. Greg nodded.

“Yeah. I don’t need to go home for anything.”

“There are a few things I need to set up for the funeral, and then perhaps we can have dinner.”

Greg nodded. Dinner sounded great. Staying with Mycroft would make him feel better. It already was. And perhaps, if the occasion rose, he’d be able to finally offer the same comfort and companionship he had planned on offering as he’d first stepped into the door. Mycroft was an enigma that Greg was still trying to sort through, but no matter what, he would be there for the older Holmes through this difficult time.

Chapter Text

The first time Mycroft had received a call that his baby brother had been arrested, he had been far from surprised. Sherlock, in his infinite boredom, had decided that cocaine was the only fascinating thing in his life, and to say he had become an addict was a kind way of putting it. So he excused himself from a not-so-important meeting and made his way down to New Scotland Yard to bail him out.

The arresting officer had been Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Apparently, Sherlock had wandered onto his crime scene high as a kite (the Inspector’s words, not Mycroft’s own), and had deduced everything about him, his Sergeant, and the body. Unsurprising. Mycroft kept up his formalities, bailed his addict of a brother, and took him home.

“You like him,” Sherlock said after almost an entire car ride of silence. Mycroft turned and regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

“I am sure I have no idea what you mean,” he said smoothly, making sure to look extremely uninterested. Sherlock snorted.

“You. Like. Him.”

“And you, brother mine, are high.”

The next time the good Detective Inspector called him, it was because Sherlock had been caught breaking and entering. Unlike other times where he very much broke the law, Lestrade had not been the first on the scene. As the politician stood in front of the DI, he pinched the bridge of his nose in his irritation, politely apologizing for his infuriating little brother taking up so much of his valuable time. The older man seemed to shrug it off, which in Mycroft’s opinion was much too forgiving, but… It was also endearing. Bowing his head again, he turned and practically drug Sherlock out by his ear.

“You like him so much, it’s ridiculous,” Sherlock was saying in the car. “It’s as clear as the nose on your face.”

“Dear lord, are you still high?”

“No,” Sherlock sniffed, tilting his chin up and crossing his arms. “I’ve been clean for months, Mycroft.”

That made him pause. Sherlock was…clean? He hadn’t heard of any transgressions in a while, but he hadn’t thought much of it. It all made sense now, though.

“Get bored with cocaine, finally?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“No, but Lestrade refuses to let me help with crime scenes if I’m using…” the younger Holmes mumbled, staring out of the window. Mycroft had to consciously think in order to not let his jaw drop. The Detective Inspector was the reason Sherlock was no longer using. That man was a lot more of an enigma than he had originally anticipated. Interesting.

It continued like this. Sherlock continued to get himself arrested, and Mycroft continued to show up and post his bail. It was exhausting. However, as irritating as it was, Sherlock was right. Mycroft did like DI Lestrade. The man was fascinating, and while he looked up a bit and could look up more, he found he didn’t want to. For once in his life, he wanted to find out from the other man, not from his files.

So each time he came to bail Sherlock out, he and Lestrade talked. None of the conversations were usually anything of import, but that didn’t matter. Whether Mycroft already knew what the other man was going to talk about or not, he let him talk. His brown eyes were bright and sincere, and his grin was practically infectious. While he always kept a cool exterior, Mycroft felt giddy inside. It was ridiculous, but he did. Each time, Sherlock watched him smugly as they left, and each time, Mycroft pointedly ignored him.

“Look, I’m done. You bail him out,” came a phone call from a very irritated John Watson one day. Rolling his eyes at his ridiculous brother, but feeling a fluttering excitement inside of him, Mycroft made his way to the Yard.

“Ah, Mycroft,” came Lestrade’s warm greeting. “Wondered when you’d get here. How’s the chess game?”

“It is fine,” Mycroft smiled, leaning his elbows on the counter to fill out the bail forms he was all too acquainted with by this point. “What is he in for now?”

“Pissed off a copper who was already having a bad day,” the DI shrugged, leaning sideways on the counter next to him. Mycroft didn’t miss the way his hip jutted out slightly.

“Why am I not surprised…” Mycroft sighed. He paused in the paperwork, before glancing over at the older man and feeling a brave streak running through him. “You know, I have half a mind to leave him in there for a while.”

“Yeah?” Lestrade asked, raising his eyebrows in curious shock. “And do what?”

“Take you to lunch, perhaps?” he invited nonchalantly. The DI blinked, before breaking out in that huge grin that made Mycroft’s knees want to melt.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“Where would you like to go, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked, abandoning the paperwork and pushing off the counter.

“Please. Call me Greg,” he said, before shrugging. “I’m up for wherever.”

“Very well, Gregory. Follow me.”

Chapter Text

Eton was exactly what Mycroft had expected it to be. He was taking the most advanced courses available to him, even though he was just in his first year, and he spent his evenings studying even though it wasn’t actually necessary. Half a year had gone by and he had already made essential connections and was assisting professors in building lesson plans and study guides.

The biggest issue, with as busy as he had become, was that he barely had time to leave the campus. He had no social life to speak of, which was of course fine because it was something he had never cared for to begin with. More than that, however, was that he didn’t have time to go home. He was unable to visit with Sherlock. He was unable to see Gregory.

He missed his boyfriend dearly. They talked fairly frequently, of course, but he hadn’t seen the other teen since before Christmas, and even then, it had only been for a few days. Gregory was doing his own schooling in London; working on the beginnings of what he hoped became a fruitful career in police work. On top of that, he was working full time at a bar, which took a lot of his evenings. They both knew the distance would be frustrating when Mycroft was preparing to move away, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to deal with.

Done with his work for the evening, Mycroft changed out of his uniform, gathered up pajamas, and stepped in to take a quick shower. Clean and dressed, he headed over to his bed and sat down, glancing at the floor. Some days he missed his boyfriend more than others. Tonight was one of the more difficult ones. With a sigh, he pushed himself up again and went across the room to his dresser. He tugged open the top drawer and pulled out an oversized hoodie. He held it for a moment, rubbing the cotton material with his thumbs, before tugging it on over his head.

It was oversized. It wasn’t his, of course. Never in his life had he owned or worn a hoodie. This article of clothing belonged to Gregory. It was black and had the logo of a band he’d never heard before. It was something he had first worn when the two of them had been out on a date and got caught in the rain. They’d spent the evening at Gregory’s flat, up in his room to warm up. It had also been the first night they had made love. Mycroft ended up going home with the hoodie the following morning without even realizing it, and he proceeded to bring it with him to Eton.

He went back over to his bed and curled up, burrowing into the hoodie as much as he could. He tugged the hood on over his wet hair and shoved his nose in the opening, breathing deeply. It wasn’t as much as it was originally, but it still smelled like the punky teen he was so in love with. It warmed his heart, making it skip a beat and tingling his skin. He sighed in content.

It helped. He still missed Gregory dearly, but being surrounding in the warmth of his clothing (especially when it held such sentimental value, something he had started to understand) eased the hole inside him. After a few moments, he reached over to pick up his mobile and send the boy in question a text.

I do hope your evening is going well. –MH

He closed his eyes as he waited, and a moment later, he got a return text.

Working the bar, so as good as it can be. Miss you. –G

Mycroft smiled, gazing at the words on the screen. He ran his thumb over the singular initial it was signed with. His thumb then flew across the keyboard quickly to reply.

I miss you as well. You should come visit soon, perhaps stay the weekend. –MH

That sounds fantastic, Myc. You can count on it. :) -G

Mycroft continued to smile, rereading the words a few times before saying his good nights. Plugging his mobile up to charge, he burrowed back into the hoodie and fell back into his thoughts of his boyfriend before letting sleep take him over.

Chapter Text

Lord, that punch smarted. Greg sighed as he got back to his flat. His head (and more specifically, his eye) was throbbing like crazy. Good thing he had stuff in his freezer he could lay on it, because it was most definitely going to bruise if it hadn’t started to already.

Amazing how a calm night at the pub watching an Arsenal game could turn so crazy. Pub brawls happened all the time, of course. He’d broken up many before, and had been an on duty cop for them in the past, so he was no stranger to them at all. He couldn’t say, though, that he’d been one of the brawlers in quite a long time. He must’ve been no more than twenty the last time he’d been involved. He was getting too old for this shit.

He winced as he turned his kitchen light on. The brightness was sensitive on his pained eye. He sighed, closing them to give himself a moment to readjust, before heading over to his fridge. He dug around in the freezer until he found a bag of frozen corn that was just about perfect for the wound. Tugging it out, he made his way to the living room and collapsed on his sofa. Leaning his head back, he held the bag over his eye, closing them and letting the chill wash over him and start to numb the pain.

He had a date tomorrow, too, to top everything off. Bloody brilliant. He was a DI, sure, but this wasn’t work related and it was a bit ridiculous. Plus, the man he was going on a date with the most observant man in all of England, so there was no avoiding his piercing gaze or trying to fabricate a scenario. He sighed. Lovely.

What had started as a small bruise got very major the following day. He gaped at himself in the mirror in the morning as he’d gone to take a shower, staring at the dark red, purple, and black spot surrounding his left eye. The swelling had gone down some overnight, but it looked absolutely awful. Sighing, he shook his head and went about his day.

He found himself staring again later that evening as he waited for the black car to come pick him up. The swelling was completely gone by this point, after another dose of holding frozen stuff to his face, but the discoloration hadn’t lessened any. In a moment of panic, he began rummaging around his bathroom cabinets to try and find something, ANYTHING that might help make it look not so bad.

Finally, he found something. He was really desperate to be doing this, but… With a sigh, he pulled out the bottle of liquid foundation his oldest daughter had left over at his flat the last time she’d stayed over. He doubted there was any way he could get it completely covered, but if it helped any, he’d take it.

By the time the car arrived, he’d applied a good dose of foundation gently around his eye. It… sort of made a difference. The blacks and dark reds didn’t show up quite as brightly as they had before. It was the best he could do. Squaring his shoulders, he headed down and climbed in the car, moving to sit next to the man he was going on his date with and smiling sweetly.

“Hey Myc,” he greeted, his heart throbbing at the sight of him. Regardless of everything, he was excited to see the younger man. His smile was returned momentarily, before shock slipped onto Mycroft’s face.

“Good lord, Gregory, what happened to your face?” he asked, leaning over and reaching up to touch his cheek under the bruise. Pale eyes gazed at him, no doubt deducing everything.

“It’s, uh, it’s nothing,” he tried to evade, glancing down a bit. “It’ll be gone soon anyway.”

“Oh stop, Gregory. You just got it yesterday,” the politician hushed him, moving to stroke his silvery hair. “Foundation doesn’t cover it up enough for me to miss that.”

Of course it didn’t. Greg couldn’t have expected it to. With a sigh, he slumped against the seat with a shrug.

“It was a stupid bar fight after the game last night,” he admitted, knowing it was pointless to try and lie. He didn’t want to, anyway. Mycroft raised his eyebrow.

“I trust the bruise is the all of it?” he asked, both concerned and already knowing the answer. At this, Greg couldn’t help but break out into a proud grin and puff out his chest a bit.

“Oh yeah. Besides, you should see the other guy.”

Chapter Text

It was snowing. It wasn’t supposed to have started snowing, but there it was. Of course, it was happening on one of the only days Mycroft had elected to go for a stroll as opposed to taking his car after work. Umbrella open and above his head, he walked at a still leisurely pace down the road, passing shoppes and people that were still out and about. There were some children running around, laughing and playing and throwing snow at each other (that he was thankfully able to avoid).

It hadn’t been coincidence that caused him to take a longer route home. Oh no, not when he was walking past New Scotland Yard. He was drawn to that place, because he was drawn to the man who was so often inside of it. He gazed up at the still lit windows, wondering if Gregory Lestrade was still inside. The older man often worked late nights, much like Mycroft did, so it was likely. For a moment, he entertained the idea of slipping inside, perhaps taking him some coffee. He dismissed it easily, though. Sentiment was a dangerous road.

As he continued to walk, he glanced away and ahead of him once again. As he did, his heart skipped a beat as he refocused. He started to second guess himself, wondering if he was seeing things because he was thinking of the older man, but… No. That was definitely Gregory walking along in front of him. His silvery hair was dusted with snow, as was his shoulders and neck. His ears were turning a brighter shade of red. Mycroft smiled to himself and picked up his pace a little bit, and as he approached the Detective Inspector, he pulled his umbrella forward to cover the man.

The both stopped walking around the same time. No longer having snow falling on him, Greg blinked and glanced around in confusion. Tilting his head up, he saw the black umbrella over his head. Before he could turn around to see who it was, though, Mycroft was reaching up and gently brushing flakes of snow out of his hair. His cheeks were beginning to turn a shade of red close to that of his chilled nose, and finally, he turned.

“Mr. Holmes,” he blinked in shock. Mycroft’s hand hovered in the air, a bit flustered that he was caught in his act, but you couldn’t tell by looking at him. Clearing his throat, he lowered his hand and stuck it in the pocket of his coat, remaining to keep the umbrella over both of them.

“Good afternoon Detective Inspector,” he replied, bowing his head slightly. When he raised his eyes again, he saw a grin on Greg’s face that warmed him up inside. The man was ridiculously handsome. It was so frustrating how handsome he was, Mycroft wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Greg continued sticking both of his hands in his own pockets and gazing up at him. “Is there something going on?”

Mycroft blinked. It made sense, of course. Most of their encounters were business related (or more importantly, Sherlock related, most of the time), so of course it was their automatic association. It was the most logical thing of course, but there was something about it that was unsettling to the politician. It’s not the arrangement he desired for them. He wanted… more.

“No, nothing’s going on,” he admitted truthfully after a moment. He had noticed Greg starting to look at him curiously at their silence. “I was just in the neighborhood.”

“Oh, good,” Greg said, his smile widening and getting a bright look in his brown eyes. Mycroft blinked, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Means you have a free afternoon, yeah?”

Mycroft blinked again. A free afternoon… Surely Inspector Lestrade wasn’t thinking what he was insinuating.

“I… suppose,” he said, looking at the older man curiously. He shifted the umbrella, moving it a bit more to center around them as snow continued to fall.

“Which means you could join me for coffee, yeah?”

C-coffee? Why on Earth was Gregory asking him out for coffee. Asking him… out. He could feel heat rising in his cheeks now, and he only hoped he could blame it on the chill if it were brought up.

“Come on, Mr. Holmes. Coffee on me. Let’s hang out without having to talk shop for once,” Greg was asking, a somewhat nervous and shy expression creeping onto his usually certain face. It was endearing. How could one say no?

“Alright,” he agreed, nodding. It would be good to get out of the cold. Would you classify this as a date? No, perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. “Lead the way, Gregory.”

Chapter Text

Greg needed more than a cigarette the night Sherlock bloody Holmes revealed himself in the dark parking garage. Calling him a bastard hadn’t been the half of it, and he was so angry and upset and freaked out at finding the detective was alive after all, but standing in front of him… All he could do was hug him. After all, above all else, he was so happy to see him he couldn’t stand it. It brought tears to his eyes and a grin to his face.

The anger started to emerge and become more prominent later, as he found himself making his way over to see Mycroft. Sherlock hadn’t stood and explained everything to him about what had happened, and Greg honestly didn’t want him to, but he was told enough and was smart enough to draw the lines together properly.

He let himself in, as he’d been given a key (yet they hadn’t moved in together or anything yet), and huffed as he closed the door behind him. Frowning, he made his way through the house until he found the study that the younger man was currently resided in. Mycroft glanced up from the folders he was going through and opened his mouth to say something, but observed the look on Greg’s face and immediately deduced the nature of his mood.

“How dare you not tell me,” Greg all but growled, clenching his hands into tight fists. Hot tears of anger prickled at his eyes, but he controlled them and refused to let them fall. He didn’t need to elaborate, because they both knew exactly what he was talking about.

“It was for your own safety, Gregory,” Mycroft responded calmly, shutting the folder and crossing his legs, leaning back in his chair. He folded his hands together on the table and glanced at his boyfriend coolly.

“For my- Are you serious, Mycroft??” Greg all but shouted. He was trying to remain calm, but it just wasn’t happening. He couldn’t be calm. He was beyond upset. “I mourned so much. You saw how much I mourned. I tried to be there for you, to support you, because your fucking brother killed himself. Or so I thought. Do you realize how idiotic I feel now, trying to comfort you when you weren’t grieving because HE WASN’T DEAD?!”

Mycroft closed his eyes, sighing softly through his long nose. He remained silent throughout Greg’s talking, and let it sit for a beat of silence before opening his eyes to regard him again.

“It was not idiotic,” he commented. “Sherlock being dead or not, having you there for me meant the world to me. As such, I wanted to be there for you, even more so, because it was real for you. It had to be real for you. In order to keep you safe, you had to believe. Sherlock Holmes had to be dead. I apologize for my deceit only for the pain it is now causing you, but it was necessary, and given the circumstances I would do it all over again.”

Greg heard the words Mycroft was saying. He understood the words Mycroft was saying. It didn’t make him a bit less angry. He wasn’t thinking rationally, and it was a terrible trait of his, but there was nothing to be done about it.

“It’s still shitty, Mycroft. I can’t describe how it feels right now, to know that you have been lying to me for practically the entirety of our relationship. How am I supposed to just let this slide?”

“Honestly, Gregory, have you not listened to what I’ve been saying?” Mycroft asked, irritation slipping into his voice. “You’re overreacting, and if you would calm down and listen to me, we could avoid this entire pointless argument.”

“No, you do not get to get angry with me. Don’t you dare get angry with me, you don’t have the right,” Greg snapped, pointing at him. He shut his eyes, frowning, giving himself a moment before looking at the younger man again. Mycroft’s expression hadn’t changed one bit, nor had the man moved a millimeter, and that somehow just made him even angrier.

“You’re being irrational right now, Gregory, and-“

“NO. Stop,” Greg shouted louder, interrupting him. “Fucking stop, Mycroft. I am being just how I need to be right now. I need to go. I can’t… I can’t be in this room with you right now. I can’t even look at you.”

Greg turned on his heel, breathing heavily, and stormed out of the study. He walked towards the front door without hesitation, flung it open, and slammed it shut behind him as he stepped out into the London air. Mycroft hadn’t even called after him. Greg hadn’t really expected him to.

With shaky hands, he dug into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a cigarette. It took him three attempts and a lot of swearing to finally light it, and he took a long drag as he made his way to his car. He was so mad he didn’t know what to do with himself. Maybe once he calmed down, he could think differently and start dealing with the situation. For now, though… The mere thought of Mycroft Holmes made him want to punch a wall.

Chapter Text

“Another round, if you please,” Greg requested, raising a hand to get the bartender’s attention. The young man nodded to acknowledge the request, and went about filling up two more pints. The detective drained the rest of his glass ad set it away from him, before running a rough hand through his silvery hair.

“How is it that you…” he started after a moment, wrapping a hand around his new, cool glass as it was brought to him. “How can everything be okay again?”

“It’s not, though. Not really, not 100%,” came John’s answer, pulling his own new pint over and taking a drink. “You know how it was, Greg. How awful it was. But through all that… It is nice having him back again.”

Greg hummed, nodding a bit. It was nice having Sherlock back, most definitely. There had been tension between the two former flatmates, of course, but now they were working on the case together again and, for the most part, had fallen back into their normal flow. Greg, on the other hand, had barely talked with Mycroft since their fight a few weeks ago. He was still upset. On the other side, he missed the younger man, but… He was still upset. Closing his eyes, he sighed before taking another drink.

“You’re still fighting with Mycroft,” John commented softly. Greg opened his eyes again and glanced over at his mate, his brown eyes somewhat glossy.

“He just… He lied to me. It hurts.”

“I know,” John said seriously. “I know all too well, Greg, believe me. But think about it. Think about those two. They’re Holmeses. Take it from me though, mate. Don’t let too much more time pass. It’s even more important for you, because you’re dating one. Sherlock’s just…”

Greg gazed at John, listening to him, and raised an eyebrow as the doctor trailed off and stared at his drink. Just friends? Greg honestly still couldn’t quite believe that. Of course, he had a girlfriend now, and Mary was a sweet woman, but… That didn’t change what the two of them had been. The Detective and the Doctor; more than flat mates, more than friends, even if neither of them would ever admit it. John cleared his throat abruptly before continuing.

“You need to move on. Be pissed, of course. I’m still pissed as hell. But don’t let it keep you from him anymore, yeah? You’ll regret it later.”

Greg frowned, turning to stare at his pint again and sighed. Then, after a few moments, he pulled out his mobile to compose a new text.

/Hey, if England can spare you for an evening, would you meet me at mine later? -G/

*

Greg was standing out on the small balcony attached to his flat, door open behind him, and smoking a cigarette as he stared up at the darkened London sky. He had been in the kitchen for the better part of an hour making dinner; an authentic French assortment that his father had taught him years ago. It had been one of Mycroft’s favorite meals, and he’d hoped that it would help soothe the rift he had created between them.

John was right. He was still angry, mind, but he couldn’t let it take over their relationship. If they still had a relationship. For all he knew, Mycroft was fed up with him and only coming by to separate them for good. He sighed, focusing on his cigarette, and so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice he was no longer alone until the taller man was standing next to him.

“Hey Myc,” he blinked, straightening as he flicked off the ash that was attached. His heart ached, making him realize just how much he’d missed his boyfriend now that he was next to him again. He wanted to pull him close and kiss him, forget about dinner, and take him to bed.

“Gregory,” Mycroft nodded calmly. His pale eyes glanced at the cigarette in Greg’s hand and then out into the growing night.

“I, uh…” Greg started, trying to figure out what to say.

“You made dinner.”

Greg blinked again. Why was it that the younger man caused him to be so flustered that he would forget anything he’d been thinking and could no longer speak like a normal human being?

“I did,” he said after a moment, upon realizing that Mycroft was staring at him expectedly. “I was hoping that, uh…”

“So we’re alright then,” Mycroft stated. Greg licked his lips, before nodding slightly.

“Yeah… I’m sorry for getting so upset. I’m still mad, don’t get me wrong, but… I should’ve listened to you. I’ve missed you.”

Smiling slightly, Mycroft reached over to run slender fingers through Greg’s silver hair. The older man shut his eyes, focusing on the motion and sighing through his nose. He let himself drift closer to his boyfriend’s taller form, leaning into him as a long arm slid around his shoulders.

“I have missed you as well. I understand your anger. I am just glad to be here.”

“Stay?” Greg didn’t want Mycroft to leave. He wanted him to stay the night. He wanted to fall asleep in his boyfriend’s arms and know that everything would be okay.

“I’ll have Anthea bring some clothes by,” came Mycroft’s agreement, followed by a soft kiss to Greg’s head. He shut his eyes again, smiling and nuzzling the politician’s shoulder. “Now, why don’t we go eat what is bound to be an amazing dinner, before all your hard work goes cold, hmm?”

Chapter Text

Mycroft should have been surprised when he received a text message from Greg Lestrade at almost 2 in the morning. He was not surprised, however, and honestly he was grateful. He knew that the older man had gone to the pub, and it seemed that he was a bit too drunk to drive himself home. For some reason, instead of just hailing a cab, he texted Mycroft instead, asking to be picked up. Being that he was already awake, it wasn’t a difficult request to fulfill.

He blinked, raising an eyebrow as the drunken man all but collapsed in the car next to him with a loud sigh. He was sporting a wide grin that made him look years younger, and Mycroft wondered if he was catching a glimpse of that carefree young man. It was strange, the feelings he had developed for the Detective Inspector. He didn’t make attachments like this, because people were tedious and awful to deal with. Greg, however, was very much the opposite.

“Thank you Mycroft,” the older man said, swaying slightly as he worked on sitting upright. Mycroft could tell how terribly drunk he was, but even still, he wasn’t slurring his words. It was impressive. He smiled softly at him.

“It was no inconvenience, Gregory,” he responded smoothly, folding his hands in his lap. “I am grateful you contacted me as opposed to anything that would end up a more dangerous situation.”

“S’why I called you,” Greg nodded, scooting closer. Mycroft did not miss how their knees were so close they were almost touching. He did not miss the man’s hand resting on the seat between them, fingers twitching slightly. He felt heat enter his cheeks, and glanced away to stare out the window to push that feeling back down.

“I wanted to see you.”

The whispered confession caused Mycroft to snap his head back around and stare at Greg with wide eyes. He wanted… His eyes widened even more as the hand between them slipped to rest on his thigh, slowly inching its’ way up. Mycroft could feel his heart rate increasing immensely, and an alarm went off inside his mind, but he found himself frozen where he sat.

Greg, however, was far from frozen. No, the drunken man leaned in, their bodies now pressing together, hand sliding up onto his stomach. The tip of his nose brushed along Mycroft’s jaw, and he could feel Greg’s warm breath hitting his skin. It sent a slightly foreign surge of arousal through him, heating up his entire body and making him hyper aware to the touches.

This was far from good. It was everything he wanted, and everything he had found himself imagining at the most random and inappropriate of times, but it wasn’t good. Greg was drunk. Alcohol impaired a person’s judgment, and while sometimes it made the person more truthful, it mostly made them more susceptible to their first thoughts and instincts.

It was when Greg started kissing his jaw that Mycroft had to shift back slightly. It was affecting him much more than he wanted to admit, and he tried not to let it show. Greg blinked at him in slight confusion at the sudden distance between them.

“Gregory, you’re drunk,” Mycroft said in way of explanation. Very much stating the obvious, which was something he never did, but he didn’t care in this moment. He wanted nothing more than to have those wonderful, soft lips back on his skin, but he couldn’t. He would rather nothing happen ever than for Greg to initiate something he would regret.

“Yes, but all it’s done was give me the courage I haven’t had for ages,” Greg said slowly, running his hand up Mycroft’s chest. “I want you.”

Mycroft felt even more heat flooding into him. He wanted…

“No, Gregory, that’s just the alcohol talking,” he muttered. He couldn’t entertain this. He couldn’t allow this to happen. He wanted it so bad, but he could not take advantage of the Detective Inspector’s drunken state.

“It’s not,” Greg insisted, leaning in again. The hand that had been running up Mycroft’s chest reached out to touch his face and turn his head so that they were staring at one another. “Now kiss me.”

Mycroft stared into those big brown eyes, and he could feel a bit of his resolve starting to crumble. His pale eyes flicked down to Greg’s lips just in time to sleep his tongue slip out to wet them. The tightening in his trousers was practically embarrassing now.

Greg was pulling him close, and Mycroft found himself unable to stop it anymore. He gave in, and their lips touched, and it was the best feeling in the world.

Chapter Text

Greg was eager; there was no way around it. His darling other half had been away at a huge business convention involving different nations, and it had lasted for almost three whole weeks. It drove him crazy when Mycroft was away for so long. The biggest problem was always the fact that they had limited contact during these meetings. The younger man was so busy that they commonly could only talk every two or three nights, and never for very long. It was frustrating.

The call he’d gotten that morning, however, was one of a much more exciting nature. Mycroft was finally coming home. Right after the call he’d received his boyfriend’s itinerary, and according to everything, he should be arriving at his flat sometime within the hour.

It was a bit too late to actually make dinner, but Greg wanted to have something ready to greet him with. He’d thought about it all day, entertaining the idea of baking some sort of sweet. He’d never decided on something for sure, though, so he tossed the idea back a bit and tried to think of something else. Once it finally dawned on him, it had seemed like quite the no brainer.

In the sitting room, he got a fire started, and pulled out one of their large blankets. It was very fluffy and one they used most often when they relaxed in the sitting room. While he did all this, he had a bottle of wine in the chiller that they could share once he was home. He smiled to himself as he moved around, keeping an eye on the time and on his mobile.

Finally, after almost two hours, Mycroft arrived home. Greg all but rushed to meet him at the door with a big grin on his face; tugging the taller man close and pulling him in for a kiss so quickly he’d barely been able to hang his jacket up. Mycroft made a small noise of surprise, before wrapping his arms around Greg and returning the kiss passionately. It was a kiss that spoke volumes to how much the two men had missed each other, and it did more than words could ever hope to.

“Welcome home,” Greg breathed once they finally parted from one another. Mycroft cupped his cheek gently and smiled, kissing him again softly on the lips, before moving up to kiss his forehead as well.

“Thank you, Gregory. It’s so lovely to see you, I’ve missed you dearly.”

They embraced, clutching to each other tightly for a moment more. Greg finally pulled the two of them apart and tugged at him.

“C’mon. I’ve got a fire going in the sitting room. Shall we?” he asked, tilting his head towards the room in question. Mycroft nodded, and slipped past the older man to head in there. Instead of following right away, however, Greg headed into the kitchen to pour their wine.

Two glasses in hand, he made his way into the sitting room, where he found Mycroft already getting stretched out comfortably on the sofa facing the fireplace. He went to join him, climbing onto the sofa and settling against his slender body, before handing him one of the glasses. Mycroft took a drink and hummed in appreciation to the taste.

“Gregory, this is lovely,” he commented after a few moments of comfortable silence. The two men were reclining together on their comfortable sofa, curled up against each other, wine in hand. Between drinks of the alcoholic beverage, they shared kisses and brushes of noses and fingers against soft skin.

“I’ll greet you like this every time,” Greg mumbled, letting his head fall back against Mycroft’s shoulder. He was rewarded with a quick series of kisses.

“I would not be opposed to that,” Mycroft said with a smile that Greg could feel forming against his temple.

Chapter Text

Greg liked to sing in the shower. He’d always been a very musical person, and while it was something he had done fairly frequently, it increased when he was living alone again after the divorce. He tended to go back and fourth between The Clash, Billy Idol, and the Sex Pistols most often, with smatterings on The Beatles, The Who, so on and so fourth. If either of his daughters played a catchy pop song and it got stuck in his head, he’d catch himself singing it too.

He’d never been one to sing when other people could hear, of course. When he’d been married, he’d barely done it, unless he knew he was alone. He was caught a couple of times, but those times could be counted on one hand. So in living alone, he became comfortable with it again. So comfortable that, when he began having company every now and again, he sort of forgot to stop himself.

The first time Mycroft had heard Greg singing from his bedroom, he’d been surprised and fascinated. In their growing closeness, he’d easily known the older man’s passion for music. He had also been told that Greg had been in a band in his early 20s. That had been the extent of it, though. It had been a rather lovely morning to be lying in the man’s bed, covered by nothing but his bed sheets, and hearing his deep voice singing I Wanna Be Your Man by The Beatles. The politician didn’t move, closing his eyes to just listen, and didn’t realize until he stopped that he’d briefly forgotten to breathe.

Greg never called attention to it, so Mycroft never brought it up either. As their relationship progressed and they stayed over at each other’s places more, Mycroft got chances to hear it more. He never sang when they showered together (though admittedly his mouth was occupied with other tasks most of the time…), and he never said anything. It was possible the older man didn’t realize Mycroft could hear him. Were that the case, the chance of him stopping if anything was said was a bit too high.

Mycroft started taking to sitting outside the bathroom door during these showers. He could hear better, being closer, and always made his way back into the bedroom before Greg finished the shower. The older man was none the wiser. Mycroft adored these moments. There was something secretly intimate about it that he yearned for. Some of the songs he would recognize, but most of them he did not, and it didn’t matter. The song and the lyrics were of little concern when being emitted by that voice. He could sing the bloody ABCs and Mycroft would adore it.

Finally, one day, as Greg was singing Rebel Yell by Billy Idol, Mycroft just couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood from his spot on the floor and slipped into the bathroom quietly, undressing himself as he moved. He dropped his clothes in a small pile next to the sink and slowly made his way across the bathroom. Greg was only alerted to his presence once he was pulling back the curtain and climbing in the tub with him.

“Myc,” Greg said, startled, blinking with wide eyes. Mycroft smiled, noticing the slight embarrassment that came onto his lover’s features as he realized that he’d been caught singing, and there was no denying it. Stepping in, Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg’s body and leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“Keep singing?” he requested softly, speaking against the older man’s wet skin.

“I, uh…” Greg muttered, glancing down slightly. He really was immensely embarrassed. It was a bit surprising, honestly, because the man was so sure about himself in almost every aspect of his life. How could he be so embarrassed about something he was so amazing at?

“Please?” he asked after a beat, moving to gaze down into his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, before finally Greg smiled and nodded.

“But, oh, what a wonderful feeling, just to know that you are near,” he started singing softly, smiling and brushing their noses together. It was a different song than before, with a lot more feeling behind it, and it made Mycroft’s breath catch in his throat. His smile shifted into an even brighter grin as he continued, reaching up to cup his pale cheek. “Sets my heart a-reeling from my toes up to my ears.”

He slipped into humming, leaning in to nuzzle Mycroft gently, as they stood there under the stream of water and held each other. Mycroft thought that it was wonderful hearing him sing before. To hear him sing directly to him made the younger man’s whole body feel warm all over.

Chapter Text

After the strange and hectic events of Baskerville, Greg had found himself getting a bit nervous about his skills with a gun. Granted, they didn’t use them all that often on the job, but his aim had been rather inexcusable that evening in the woods. So, instead of making his way home one evening after work, he decided to go to the gun range attached to the Yard and practice for a few hours.

He spent the better part of an hour or two shooting. His aim wasn’t bad, far from it, but it wasn’t as precise as he would prefer. He was a Detective Inspector, after all. While they didn’t necessarily use guns as much as other police forces did, it was still a skill that was required in their line of work. You never knew when it would be crucial. If John hadn’t been there at Baskerville, could things have turned out differently?

In his concentration, Greg was unaware of the presence that came in with him after a little while. He was concentrating hard on a difficult shot, when the sound of a man clearing his throat behind him spooked him. It was right as he had pulled the trigger, too, so what he’d lined up to be a pretty good shot ended up not even hitting the paper. Blinking, and a bit furious, he spun around to see who the culprit was.

“Mycroft?” he asked incredulously, staring with wide eyes at the politician behind him, umbrella and all. He had a very amused look on his face. Greg didn’t know whether to be relieved to see him, or furious he’d distracted him so. Their conditions were the safest possible, of course, but he was still shooting a gun. There were so many ways that could have still ended up horribly.

“Good afternoon Gregory,” Mycroft smiled, taking a few steps closer to close the distance between them. “I trust your trip to Baskerville was a success?”

“Eventually,” Greg grumbled, setting the gun on the barrier’s counter and stepping close. He let his arms slip around the taller man’s waist and pulled him into a hug that was returned after a slightly hesitant moment. “Missed you.”

The two of them had been dating for a little while now, but nothing they had made official just yet. It was an unspoken relationship between the two of them, and for now, Greg was fine with it. He wouldn’t be forever, and he knew that, but for now, it was fine. Mycroft returned the hug, causing Greg to smile, before taking a step back.

“You are a wonderful shot, you know,” Mycroft pointed out, taking a sideways glance at the paper that he had been using for target practice. “The events at Baskerville have no reason to keep you here so much later than normal.”

“Yeah, but,” Greg started, shrugging a bit. “I need to be a better shot. The situation there showed me that. I can’t afford to slack, or it could be an even worse situation next time.”

Mycroft nodded, and remained silent as he glanced at the gun Greg had been previously using. Greg followed his line of sight, and then glanced back at the younger man, and shortly broke out into a grin. Oh, what an idea.

“Ever shot before?” he asked, his grin getting even wider. Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

“I have,” he confirmed warily. “Though it is not an activity I prefer to indulge in very often.”

With the way he way eyeing the weapon, Greg took a chance to think that by ‘very often’ he meant ‘absolutely never’. It made him want to have his partner shoot even more.

“C’mon,” he urged, reaching to pick the gun up. He stepped over to give Mycroft room in front of the target and held out the gun. “Give it a go. Just once.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow shot up as they gazed at each other, but something in him finally gave in as he and Greg stared at each other. With a sigh, Mycroft stepped forward to stand in the proper spot, and then reached for the offered weapon. He looked at it in his hand warily, before sighing through his nose and focusing on aiming.

What happened next was basically a blur. Mycroft lifted the gun, positioned himself properly, and fired it once. Greg peered curiously at the paper: Dead center bulllseye. Mouth parting slightly, he stared for a moment more before focusing on Mycroft again, who was still holding the gun up. His eyes widened slightly, brown irises being quickly overtaken by black pupils. The heat that surged through him was ridiculous, and it took every bit of self-control in him to not jump him right there. That… had been one of the most attractive fucking displays he’d ever witnessed. Stepping forward, he took the gun from Mycroft’s hand and set it down, before pressing close.

“My car,” he growled in the younger man’s ear, pressing up against him to reveal his very quick, very evident arousal. “Now.”

Chapter Text

It had been Mycroft’s initial idea to pursue the avenue of having a child. Not that Greg wasn’t thinking it also, but it had been Mycroft who had brought it up. He wanted it. He loved Gregory Lestrade more than anything, and the life they had created was perfect, except for the one thing he’d found himself missing from their union. He’d never been particularly drawn to children before, so it had been a surprising revelation, but he wanted.

Now, as he sat on the sofa next to his husband, who was holding their newborn child, Mycroft was terrified. He sat rigid, gazing down at what had to be the smallest human being that existed with wide, pale eyes. Oliver had been home from hospital with them for a few days now, and Mycroft had yet to hold him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was just… He didn’t know how.

The child, their child, was resting in Greg’s arms and staring up at his papa with eyes that hadn’t quite decided on a color, so they remained slightly gray. His lips were parted, and it seemed that Greg was possibly the most fascinating thing in the world to the young boy. He would occasionally hiccup or make a small cooing noise, arms flailing about as he shifted, and he was possibly the cutest thing in the world. Greg would make cooing noises right back, or vibrate his lips in a noise that captured Oliver’s complete attention, and then Greg would grin brightly and laugh.

It was a sight to behold.

“Myc,” Greg spoke, and it took Mycroft a second to register he was being addressed. Blinking, he tore his eyes away from their son to glance at his husband.

“Yes Gregory?” he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Wanna hold him?”

That same fear clutched at Mycroft’s chest in a peculiar way. It wasn’t something he could explain, and he felt a bit foolish, but there was nothing to be done about that.

“I couldn’t possibly…” he started, shifting subconsciously on the sofa. Greg shook his head.

“You’re his father too, you know,” the older man pointed out. “C’mon. It’s not that hard. I’ll teach you.”

Before Mycroft could protest or deter his husband, Greg was standing slowly and moving to stand in front of him. Kneeling down so that he was on his knees, he held Oliver close as he regarded his husband.

“Hold your arms out. Like me, create an area you can rest him on,” Greg started to instruct softly. Blinking, Mycroft began to shift, mimicking his husband’s position the best he could. Greg nodded. “That’s it. Now, remember, you’re gonna want to support his head, okay? Keep your hand flat against him when I hand him off. Your other hand should naturally rest around his butt. Are you ready?”

“N-no,” Mycroft admitted in embarrassment. Greg was smiling affectionately at him.

“Yes you are,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was so sure. How was Greg so sure? It was infuriating. There was no more time to think, however, because the older man was leaning close and the transfer was happening. Mycroft could feel his heart beating so fast as the little bundle that was their son was being moved from Greg’s confident, experienced arms to his awkward ones. Greg was whispering softly, their closeness causing the tip of his rounded nose to brush against Mycroft’s cheek in what was oddly comforting. When he moved away, Mycroft was holding Oliver.

He remembered to support his head as he was told, and it was fascinating just how small the infant’s head truly was against his hand. Oliver had grunted a bit as he was moved around, but now that all that nonsense had come to an end, he was settling into the new pair of arms easily enough. At least one of them was. Mycroft was pretty sure he forgot how to breathe. He stared down at the boy in his arms, lips parted slightly, and he licked his lips nervously. Greg had a hand on Mycroft’s bicep, squeezing gently before pulling back and sitting on his heels.

“Gregory, I-“ he started to whisper, his voice shaking, when Oliver seemed to suddenly pay more attention to the person that was holding him now. The child seemed to realize it was no longer the person that had been holding him, and his little forehead furrowed slightly for a moment, and an arm flailed out a bit.

“You’re doing perfect,” came Greg’s response. His deep voice was shaking slightly, and his brown eyes were glossed with proud tears. Mycroft risked a glance at his husband for half a second before having to look down at their son again. After a few moments of rigid uncertainty, something began to feel… right. This was how it was meant to be. Clarity was coming in, and suddenly it all made sense.

“Hello Oliver,” he managed to say to the small boy, his eyes still wide. “Hello, it’s your father.”

Oliver cooed, much like he had earlier in the evening, and began flailing about again. Mycroft started to smile a bit at how well everything seemed to be going. Then, those flailing arms reached up, and Oliver’s tiny fingers were grabbing onto the tip of Mycroft’s long nose. The younger man could feel tears prickling in his eyes, and what had started as a small smile broke into a full grin, and he laughed shakily.

He was in love. This was his son. This was his and Gregory’s son. Suddenly everything locked in place and made sense, and all he could wonder is why it had taken so long for him to do this. How had he gone almost an entire week without holding the most beautiful baby imaginable? Face bright and full of emotion, he glanced up at Greg, and their eyes locked. Greg broke out into a grin as well.

“Our son,” he said breathlessly. “Gregory-“

He wasn’t able to complete whatever thought was surging through his jumbled mind, because Greg took the opportunity to lean in and kiss him passionately. Mycroft made a soft noise against Greg’s lips, meeting the passion as his heart pounded in his chest and their son cooed between them.

“I love you,” Greg said as he pulled away. Then, he brushed his hand across Oliver’s forehead, leaning in to kiss his chubby cheek. “And I love you too, little Ollie. We both do.”

“God yes,” was all Mycroft managed to breathe, gazing down at Oliver as well. His life was complete, and there was no denying it.

Chapter Text

“I know you’re familiar with the way his naked butt looks now, but take a look at his naked butt way back when,” Annabeth Lestrade said as she all but dropped a photo album into Mycroft’s lap. Next to his partner on the sofa, Greg groaned and covered his face, utterly mortified.

“Mother, please no,” he complained, scrubbing his face as heat covered his cheeks. It was their first holiday being spent in Greg’s childhood home, and his parents utterly adored Mycroft. His mother was doing what she usually called her motherly duty, by embarrassing the hell out of her son. Mycroft, on the other hand, looked disgustingly delighted as he opened the book and began looking at photos.

“Oh Greg, darling, it’s my-“ his mother started tutting.

“Your motherly duty, I know. Still.” He frowned as he looked over at Mycroft. “You don’t have to be having so much fun either, you know.”

“Oh come now Gregory,” Mycroft said, grinning as he held up a page that had him at three years old playing with a tricycle. “Just look how cute you were.”

“Even at that age he wanted to be up on a bike,” Annabeth said with a whimsical sigh. “Should’ve known then that one day it would turn into a motorcycle.”

“I bet you were rotten,” Mycroft muttered to Greg. The older man sighed and ran a hand through his silver hair. He slumped back into the sofa, accepting his fate, and making note to encourage Mummy Holmes to return the favor when they went to visit next.

After a few more moments of Mycroft and his mum sitting and talking over pictures of his youth, Annabeth stood and excused herself to head to the kitchen where his father was working on dinner. Greg sighed, glancing over at his partner, who was still strangely fascinated with the album. Sitting up straighter, he leaned over to glance at where he was at, their shoulders touching as Greg closed the space between them.

“Ah, teenage years,” he commented, seeing the pictures of him with his bike, and out with friends, all of that. What a time that had been. He’d been quite the troublemaker, for sure. He noticed Mycroft run the tips of his fingers down a shot of just him, beaming brightly in front of the Harley he had just gotten, clad in form-fitted jeans and a black and red leather jacket. His dark brown hair was spiked, and he had a piercing in his right ear.

“You were quite the punk,” Mycroft said softly. Greg blinked. The younger man had already known what kind of background he’d had growing up, so this wasn’t all that new to him. He’d never seen photos, though, so…

“Yeah, sure was,” he nodded, smiling softly. “Very full of myself.”

“You had right to be,” Mycroft muttered, still staring. Greg blinked again.

“Myc?”

When their eyes met, Mycroft’s pupils had grown slightly. It was the beginnings to a look Greg was all too familiar with, and it took him by surprise at first. With a quick glance toward the kitchen to check and see that they were still officially alone, Greg leaned in to brush his lips against the curve of Mycroft’s ear.

“I still have that jacket,” he whispered deeply, breathing into his ear. Mycroft sucked in a breath next to him, going rigid. “And the Harley’s out in the garage.”

“But Gregory, your parents…” Mycroft said breathlessly, already knowing what he was suggesting. Smirking, Greg took the younger man’s earlobe in between his teeth and bit gently. The action caused the most delicious noise of surprise and arousal to escape.

“Are making dinner,” he completed for his partner, sliding a hand around to ghost over the bulge in Mycroft’s trousers. That emitted another whimper as Mycroft started to throw decency out the window. “Won’t be done for a while. We have plenty of time.”

“Gregory…”

Greg growled slightly, sucking on Mycroft’s lobe as he cupped his erection and squeezed gently. Mycroft bit his lip to force back the moan that threatened to tumble out.

“C’mon,” he whispered hotly. Mycroft shivered again, but instead of responding, grabbed Greg’s wrist and tugged him off the couch, heading upstairs to Greg’s old bedroom.

Chapter Text

Greg was panicking. He supposed that was the right word. Maybe ashamed and embarrassed were better ones. Regardless, he had to keep his boyfriend away from his flat. He couldn’t let Mycroft see that he was only moving around his home by candlelight.

He’d never been one to grow up in an immensely well off home. He and his mum did alright, sure, even if they never lived fancy. Now he was living on his own, scraping by on a crap job with long hours that were barely doing the job. He was a prideful teen, though, and his mum had enough to deal with to try helping him on top of it. So he worked, he slept, he paid his bills… and he had his boyfriend.

Mycroft was the beacon of light in the stressful time in his life. He could relax with Mycroft. He could set aside the stresses of life on his own for at least a little while, be with the boy he loved, and all was well. Except that they had a date tonight and Greg’s electric had been shut off. His long hours that were barely paying the bills weren’t paying them well enough. He’d gotten shut off last night and had spent it all in the dark, preserving his mobile battery as best he could and charging it while he’d been at work during the day. And… Mycroft was on his way over. He couldn’t keep this secret from him any more.

A crisp knocking on his door caused Greg to jump and stop breathing, before letting out an exhausted sigh. He was basically ready to go, though getting dressed and showered in the dark wasn’t a fun task, and he’d hoped to be able to be standing outside waiting for his boyfriend. Nope. With a resigned slump of his shoulders, he made his way over to let the younger boy in.

“Gregory, good-“ the taller teen started to greet, but stopped short as he glanced around the darkened flat. He raised his eyebrows curiously. “You’ve decided to live by candlelight because….?”

Greg shrugged, in a half hearted attempt to shrug it off enough for them to hurry up and leave.

“Feeling spontaneous. Shall we?” he asked, pressing a hand to his boyfriend’s back and grabbing his keys. Mycroft wouldn’t move.

“You don’t have power. Why don’t you have power?” he asked, already catching onto the situation. Greg grimaced. He’d learned already that you couldn’t keep a secret from Mycroft Holmes. The kid was stupid smart, and he’d seen right through Greg from the get go.

“I, uh…”

“Gregory. Why did they shut off your power?”

Greg sighed, stepping back and folding his arms in on himself self-consciously. He stared at the floor, not wanting to admit it to him. He’d barely wanted to admit it to his mum, let alone his well off, proper boyfriend. He was getting the deductive eye, though, and he knew there was no avoiding it.

“Couldn’t…couldn’t pay it,” he muttered, refusing to look up. Silence fell in the flat, making Greg shift a bit uncomfortably. Then, the sound of his front door shutting caused him to look up with wide eyes, fear clutching him that the other teen had left. He hadn’t. Instead, he was walking towards him and running a hand through his dark hair, pulling him close to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mycroft asked against his skin. “You can always tell me. I can help, Gregory. There is no reason you should be stuck in the dark.”

Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft in a hug and shut his eyes, sighing. He knew he could’ve told him… Could’ve asked him. It wasn’t the question of asking for help. It was the pride not letting him. He could make his own way.

“I just couldn’t… I can take care of it,” he whispered insecurely.

“I don’t doubt that, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need help now.” Mycroft pulled back and cupped his cheek. “Please let me help. I want to help.”

Greg sighed again, pressing his lips together in a thin line. He could see Mycroft smiling, and his head was tilted up so they could kiss properly.

“Come home with me tonight,” he requested against Greg’s lips. “And in the morning, we will get this sorted out.”

“Myc, I-“

“This is not up for debate, Gregory. Come to bed with me tonight. Tomorrow, we will take care of this. Together.”

Greg nodded. There was no arguing with Mycroft when he was set on something. Plus, he couldn’t deny the relief to have the help. Even if he’d never wanted to ask for it.

Chapter Text

Greg reached over and grabbed Mycroft’s hand, moving to tug him away from the desk in his study. He grinned as the younger man blinked at him in surprise, practically stumbling at the force he was unprepared for.

“Gregory, what are you doing?” Mycroft asked with a huff. Greg proceeded to drag him down the hall and towards their bedroom. “Gregory, I have to finish-“

“Nope. Later,” he said over his shoulder, vetoing his other half being locked in a room for the rest of the night. They were going to get some time together. He was determined. Then Mycroft could go back to running England. He tugged him through the bedroom and to the attached bathroom, where he finally let go and turned around to face him. It was adorable and almost hilarious at the confusion on Mycroft’s face. It was something that anyone rarely saw, and it was yet another thing Greg felt lucky to be able to witness. Realization dawned on him soon enough, of course, and his entire expression changed.

“You drew a bath?” Mycroft asked, peering behind Greg and to the filled tub, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup,” Greg nodded, walking over and starting to unbutton the taller man’s waistcoat. “And we’re taking one.”

“Are we now?” he asked, thin eyebrow rising even higher. He did nothing to stop Greg from pulling his waistcoat and shirt off, leaving him bare chest, however. Then, taking a step back, Greg began to undress himself as well.

“We sure are. Trousers off.”

“Gregory, manners.”

“Trousers off, please,” Greg smirked, emphasizing his request as he dropped his own and stepped out of them. Mycroft let his eyes roam across his naked, tanned body in appreciation before following suit, and ridding himself of the rest of his clothing as well. Turning, Greg walked over and climbed into the bath he had prepared, stepping into the warm (very warm but not uncomfortably hot) water, slowly lowering himself and settling in against the back of the tub. He sighed as he relaxed, parted his legs to either side, and reached out his hand towards Mycroft. The younger of the two took it securely, stepping into the tub as well. He hesitated briefly as he adjusted to the warm temperature, before moving to lower himself as well. He settled in between Greg’s legs, but remained sitting straight.

“Nice, right?” Greg asked, sitting up again so that they were pressed against each other. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of Mycroft’s elbow, who hummed softly.

“Yes, it is rather pleasant,” he agreed, closing his eyes as Greg wrapped his arms around his torso, hands joining against his stomach.

They remained like that for a while, Greg continuing to press slow kisses to his shoulder and neck. The water soon started to grow cold, so they drained the tub a bit and began refilling it with warmer water, effectively prolonging the time they could spend there. Neither man really wanted to get out yet.

Adjusting slightly, Greg shifted back a bit and brought his hands up along Mycroft’s shoulders. He squeezed gently, moving in slow circles, beginning a massage of his shoulders and upper back. Mycroft groaned, a noise that shouldn’t be legal and one Greg had heard many times in a completely different context. It made him shiver. He smiled, continuing to work against the small knots he was finding in Mycroft’s back, until his partner had slumped and leaned back against his chest.

“Felt good,” Mycroft mumbled, and he tilted his head to the side to kiss Greg sweetly. Greg’s arms went back around his middle, holding him close as they kissed until neither man could breathe properly and they had to break, panting softly. Greg brushed the tips of their noses together, smiling, before going back in for another kiss.

His heart rate started to pick up, and after a moment, their kiss became a bit more intense. Mycroft shifted, turning so that he was more on his side, deepening the kiss a bit. Greg gripped his side securely, eventually pulling away while sucking and biting slightly on Mycroft’s bottom lip. They both huffed, eyes slightly darker now, and Greg broke out into a grin.

“See? I have good ideas,” he said breathlessly. Mycroft huffed a laugh and cupped the older man’s cheek gently.

“Yes, you do,” he nodded. “Now, I would very much love if you would wash my back for more, darling.”

Chapter Text

The elevator was out of order. How on Earth could the only elevator on their side of this big hotel be out of order?  How could a hotel so big and fancy only have one elevator on their side?!  Greg couldn’t quite figure out what to make of the entire ordeal.  He supposed he should be counting his blessings that their room was only six stories up, but with the rate of speed Mycroft was ascending, six stories was suddenly six too high.

 

“Myc, love, would you slow down?” he asked, panting harshly.  His newly wed husband had long legs, of course (legs he adored more than anything), but these long legs were taking steps two at a time at an alarming rate.  It wasn’t fair how quickly the younger man could climb stairs.

 

“We’re halfway there already, Gregory,” Mycroft said, stopping on the platform between staircases and turning to gaze at him. He arched a single eyebrow at the sight of Greg doubled over, hands on his knees, chest heaving.

 

“Yes, but… I need a breather,” Greg frowned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an old man, Myc, I’m not as spry as I used to be.”

 

Greg wasn’t out of shape, by any means. Being a Detective Inspector, he still had to stay pretty fit.  Chasing after suspects, long hours on foot moving around London, chasing after Sherlock… It was definitely a lot to keep him moving.  Even still, that much exertion in a short span of time could make him lose his breath, and his legs to ache.

 

Finally, he was able to straighten himself, and Mycroft started to walk back down the short series of steps between them. His husband had a smile on his face, one that held mischief behind it.  It made Greg’s heart race, because he knew the kind of mischief that smile usually led to.

 

“Well, husband mine, allow me to assist you with that,” Mycroft said lowly.  Reaching out, he grabbed the front of Greg’s shirt and shoved him against the concrete wall of the stairwell.  Leaning in, he pressed their lips together, kissing him roughly.  Greg let out a noise of surprise and excitement, and it only took him a brief second to respond and start kissing him back just as intensely.

 

Greg loved when Mycroft kissed him this way. In the time they had been together, they’d managed to kiss every way possible.  These kisses, however… They were all pressure and tongue and teeth and want.  These kisses were hungry and desperate, the easiest way to beg for more.

 

“While…while this is…very lovely,” he panted as they broke apart in order to catch their breaths a bit. “This doesn’t…really help…me recover.”

 

Mycroft’s smile turned into an all out smirk, his pale eyes darkened with arousal.  It sent a shiver down Greg’s spine, and he wanted.  Fucking hell, with Mycroft Holmes, he always wanted. This time, it was his turn to grab onto his husband’s shirt and tug him close, initiating another heated kiss. He took Mycroft’s bottom lip in between his teeth and sucked roughly, causing a soft moan to escape from the other man. Greg wanted to hear more. He wanted to hear it all. His hands were up in Mycroft’s silky, slightly ginger hair, and he slid a leg in between his long ones as they pressed against each other against the wall.  This was about to get vastly inappropriate. It probably already was. Greg partially wondered how far the excuse of ‘We’re on our honeymoon’ would get them.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft panted, breaking the kiss this time, barely resisting the urge to grind against Greg’s thigh. His smooth voice was roughed with his arousal, and it made Greg shiver again.  He bit his kiss-swollen lip, staring up at him heatedly.

 

“Take me to bed,” he commanded, his voice almost a growl, finishing the sentence for Mycroft. 

 

 Mycroft Holmes, who was normally so calm and composed, was fighting to keep himself as such at that sentence.  Greg could see it in the way his eyes darkened even more, the way the corner of his mouth twitched, and the way his grip on Greg’s shirt tightened.

 

They moved, faster than either of them had quite expected, scaling the rest of the stairs easily.  It was amazing how easily Greg completed the rest of the climb. Of course, now he had a goal in mind. And he wanted to get very naked, very very fast.

Chapter Text

Cases as delicate as this required a personal touch. Mycroft had dealt with too many experiences where, had he not had a hand in it himself, things would have screwed up immensely.  So to have a peculiar case, and to add Sherlock on top of it, made it very delicate. It wouldn’t be such an issue if his ridiculous younger brother hadn’t snuck into a high-ranking facility with his credentials (again), and caused alerts to go off once things started to get a bit off and out of hand (again).  That infuriating boy never allowed him peace.

 

Part of him was reluctant to involve the Detective Inspector in this business, but there was really no one he trusted better than Gregory Lestrade.  When it came to Sherlock, specifically, there was no other that could handle the younger Holmes (apart from John, but the good doctor was already there, so it was really doing him no good).  The older man had just returned from holiday, so Mycroft hadn’t wanted to bother him since he had yet to return to work, but he was left little choice.

 

Inspector Lestrade had, of course, agreed when the text was sent.  Mycroft hadn’t doubted that he would.  He had such a kind heart, and he was a good cop on top of it all, so it was a perfect mix for something of this nature.  Apart from the beginnings of their working relationship, when the two of them had hardly known each other, they had always worked together very well.  There was tension at times, mostly when a case required Mycroft to take it from Lestrade’s hands completely, but that just couldn’t be helped.

 

Currently, Mycroft was on his way to fetch Lestrade and take him to the train station.  He would have preferred to take the man all the way to Baskerville himself, but he had other duties to attend to that wouldn’t allow him to take such a trip. He had insisted on providing transport at least that far, as well as paying for the train ticket and his stay in the hotel, as payment for assisting.  Lestrade had put up a fight, as to be expected, but Mycroft won out in the end (also to be expected).  As his car pulled up in front of his flat, Mycroft paused for a moment, before deciding to step out and go up personally.

 

This was not the first time he had entered Lestrade’s flat.  As they’d begun working together more closely, Mycroft had received invitation to let himself in when he was stopping by.  It was bizarre, to be sure, but it was just one of the ways the two of them had been raised so differently from one another.  So, taking the liberty that had been offered to him, Mycroft stepped up to the door and opened it, stepping inside.

 

He peered around the small flat – there wasn’t much of a lived in touch to it.  Mycroft could tell it belonged to Lestrade from some minor things around it, but overall, it was fairly barren.  Much like his own estate, honestly.  The owner of the flat was nowhere to be found, however.  Mycroft’s brow furrowed slightly.  He was expected, so where was he?

 

He stepped through the rooms, seeking out the Detective Inspector, before finally finding him.  By finding him, of course, he almost walked straight into the man as he exited his bedroom.

 

“Apologies-“ Mycroft started, but fell short as he laid eyes on the man in front of him.  He was fairly sure he was gaping.  Greg Lestrade was standing in front of him in nothing but his trousers, which were unbuttoned to reveal the waistband of his pants underneath. He seemed startled, but not the least bit embarrassed about this state of undress.

 

“Mr. Holmes, I’m almost ready,” he blinked, recovering and running a hand through his darkly silver hair.  It was damp.  Ah. He’d been showering. Mycroft found he couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s frankly debauched state.  Good lord.  He found himself attracted to the Detective Inspector for a while now, but this was a whole new sight, and it was overwhelming to his sense.

 

“Ah… yes, of course,” he managed after a moment, probably sounded absolutely ridiculous. “Whenever you are ready, naturally.”

 

He cleared his throat, taking a step back and trying to not so obviously stare at Lestrade’s bare chest.  He was toned, looking extremely lovely and tan, and Mycroft felt heat rising in his cheeks.  Then the older man grinned and nodded, and it almost made his knees go weak.

 

“Won’t be but a few more moments,” he said, starting to walk past him. “Unless you don’t need us to go right away.”

 

“I, um.  Y-yes, I do, actually.” Mycroft was annoyed and embarrassed with himself. He never stuttered. He sounded absolutely ridiculous. “Do hurry, please.  I don’t want to have to adore you.”

 

The slip of the tongue was more embarrassing than anything else.  Of course, the phrase had been more under his breath than the rest of it, but he had a feeling Lestrade hadn’t missed it for a second.  Oh good lord, he was acting like a child.  He cleared his throat again, moving to stare at his umbrella.  He could still see Lestrade out of his peripheral, smirking.

 

“Maybe that’s my grand plan,” Greg commented, before turning and heading back into his bedroom.  Mycroft thought he could die on the spot. What an evening this was turning out to be…

Chapter Text

One of the best ways to wind down from a lovely evening at dinner with one’s partner was relaxing on the couch. Greg could barely keep the wide grin off his face with how content he was.  His week had been long and awful, and this was the first night he and Mycroft had been able to spend together this week.  Both their work schedules had been beyond hectic, so they decided to make tonight a big deal.  There was dinner, there was dancing (of which Greg was still embarrassed about, because Lord he could not dance), there was a walk in the park, and now there was snuggling in front of a soothing fire.

 

It had started out as just cuddling. Mycroft was stretched out on the sofa, his legs propped up on Greg’s lap, and the two of them were sipping an aged scotch Mycroft had been saving for quite a while.  Greg had vehemently refused for him to open it at first, that surely it was being saved for a special occasion, but when the younger man smiled sweetly and said he could not think of a more special occasion than tonight, Greg could’ve cried it was so sweet and he no longer put up a fight.

 

Once Greg had finished with his scotch, however, he shifted on the sofa some so that he was turned more towards Mycroft than he had previously been.  Reaching over, he started gently massaging his other half’s long legs. Mycroft hummed softly over his scotch glass, letting his eyes fall closed as he enjoyed the sensation. Greg grinned, gazing in complete adoration at the man next to him.

 

“That feels amazing, Gregory,” Mycroft commented after a moment.

 

“M’glad,” Greg replied, sliding down a bit and focusing on his ankles.  It was a part of the body many people didn’t think to work on when giving a massage, but Greg had learned from a relative who did this for a living, so he’d gotten rather good at it over the years.  His motions continued to emit sighs and hums of content, which were absolutely brilliant. He would massage his partner every bloody night if this was what it would do each time.

 

After more lingering there, he shifted down more to focus on Mycroft’s feet.  He gazed down, watching the motions of his thumbs as they started to work from his heels up, when he felt Mycroft stiffen in his grasp.  Greg blinked curiously, but before he could open his mouth to say anything, the younger man was pulling his legs away in attempt to get out of his touch.

 

“Myc?” he asked, brow furrowed as he glanced over at him.  Mycroft wasn’t looking at him; his eyes were locked on the scotch glass in his hands.

 

“Thank you Gregory, that was rather lovely,” he mumbled, flustered.  He hid it well, but over the years, Greg had learned to pick up on the tiniest cues. He was flustered. Why?

 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, glancing down at Mycroft’s feet.

 

“No, not at all, I just…” Mycroft’s words died in his throat, and Greg arched an eyebrow.  He thought on it for a moment, running back over the scenario again in his head, and slowly, a theory began to dawn on him.

 

“Are you ticklish?” he asked, a slow grin starting to spread onto his face. Mycroft looked at him, unable to hide the second of surprise that was showing on his face. That was what gave him away.

 

“No, that’s absurd,” he muttered, but shifted a bit. Grin widening, Greg reached out and began to massage his foot again, though his motions were quicker. Mycroft’s body jerked and the grip on his now empty glass tightened.  The noise he made was practically a squeak.

 

“Oh my god, you are,” Greg said, eyes lighting up in delight. “How was it you could keep that from me all these years?”

 

Mycroft sighed in exasperation, tucking his feet under him and out of the older man’s reach.

 

“Because I’m very good at it, and it’s a ridiculous thing.”

 

“No it’s not.  C’mere.”

 

“Gregory, I swear, if you-“

 

But he did.  Greg practically dove over the sofa and wriggled with his partner playfully, giggling excitedly as Mycroft shouted in surprise and protest. Eventually, he was successful. He may have gotten kicked in the face. But… the gut laughter he drew out of Mycroft made it so worth it.

Chapter Text

It was always difficult to stop smoking when one had been doing so for as long as Mycroft had. He’d never really had an addictive personality. No, Sherlock saw to that just fine. Cigarettes, however, was something he fell into. Of course, now he wanted – no, he needed – to stop, because of the soon-to-be change in he and Greg’s lives. Greg’s sister Emily was currently acting as surrogate for their child, and Mycroft was going to be a father. His mind was still reeling over it some days, but it made him determined. He did not want to be smoking when there was a child living in their home.

So he quit. He had been prepared for the cravings, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier some days. He found that he’d started picking up a few new habits to help with those cravings. They had been subconscious acts, but upon realizing their purpose, made complete sense. He drank more water. It became a common thing for him to have a bottle of water at his desk or in his car, and they had many more in the house than before. When he and Greg went out for dinner, Mycroft always took a toothpick as they left the restaurants, popping it in his mouth and chewing on the way home. As he worked, or lounged about, he took to holding random objects in his hand. A pen was most common, but the object varied depending on what was lying around.

Most of the time he didn’t even realize it when he started doing these things, even though he usually caught on after a brief period. They all helped, strangely enough. All of them combined, however, didn’t compare to one of the best ways he’d found to curb his cravings.

It happened one night as he and Greg were lounging on the sofa, watching a movie. They were curled up together, and Greg had one arm wrapped around Mycroft’s shoulders. The younger man could feel the stirrings of the cravings bubbling, making him shift where he sat slightly. It didn’t help they were smoking in the movie that was on. It didn’t always affect him, but sometimes watching other people smoke stirred up bits of withdrawal in him.

Before he really realized he was doing it, he lifted his hand and grabbed his husbands, the one that was draped over his shoulder and resting against his chest. He stroked the skin on the back of his hand for a few moments before taking Greg’s hand and pulling it up to his mouth. Curling the rest of his fingers over, Mycroft brought the older man’s index finger up to his lips and began swiping the very tip of his tongue against the pad of the finger. His eyes were locked on the telly, of course, as he licked on Greg’s finger, and after a moment he brought it in closer to nibble on it as well.

Attention was called to what he was doing when he felt Greg shift and heard a soft groan escape him. Mycroft froze, realizing that he’d basically been teasing and smoking on Greg’s finger, and he turned to look at his partner. Greg’s pupils were blown wide, a look of arousal very evident there, and that was even before he’d noticed the erection his sweatpants were doing an awful job hiding.
“Gregory, apologies, I…” he started, moving to pull his hand away. Greg didn’t let him, however, and he moved his finger back in to trace along Mycroft’s bottom lip lightly.

“Don’t stop,” he said, his voice deeper and rougher than normal. Mycroft felt his cheeks flush, and his eyes widened for a moment before he brought the digit back into his mouth. This time, his eyes were locked on Greg instead, watching every shift of his face and listening for every small noise he was emitting. It was so erotic. Finally, it became too much and Greg practically climbed onto Mycroft’s lap. He rocked their hips together, causing Mycroft to gasp and clutch at his partner desperately.

It was, by far, the best form of curbing those nicotine cravings. It was one he had to keep restricted to private settings, of course, because it was inevitable that they both got immensely turned on. It did, however, become common practice for Greg to offer up his finger before Mycroft ever reached for it himself. He’d brush against his soft lips, gazing as he touched, shivering when the younger man’s tongue slipped out to run across it.

Neither of them had ever loved the fact that he’d quit smoking more than they did in those moments.

Chapter Text

Can I come round? -G

 

Greg thumbed the screen of his mobile, the glass of champagne almost forgotten in his hand, as he leaned against a counter in the kitchen of 221B.  He’d slipped away in here for a moment alone after Sherlock had so kindly informed him that his wife was cheating again.  The PE teacher. Of course it was the bloody PE teacher.

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He and Christina had been out of sorts for a while, and it hadn’t been nearly the first time. They had stayed together for the kids, naturally.  Without his two girls in the picture, Greg would have filed for divorce long ago. Now here he was, miserable again, and he needed…

 

His mobile chimed, causing him to almost jump.

 

You are at my brother’s Christmas party.  Surely you do not need to leave to come see me.  –MH

 

Greg sighed, frowning at the words on his screen. His relationship with Mycroft Holmes had been peculiar, to be sure.  It had started as strictly professional, before lapsing into a comfortable friendship, before… They had gone to bed with each other after a long night of scotch, when Christina had first cheated on him.  At least, it was the first time he’d found out about. Even though he’d just found out about the cheating, their problems had started long before then. He was exhausted and hurt, and before he knew it, Mycroft’s lips had looked incredibly inviting, and his lap looked even more inviting… and then it was all over.  Part of him felt guilt, but that guilt made him angry. Why should he feel guilty when he was the one who’d been thrown out to pasture long ago? 

 

Can I please come round?  I really need to see you. –G

 

He persisted.  He needed to see Mycroft.  He’d had half a mind to pursue something with Molly Hooper; she was smart and gorgeous and sweet, but… For one, she was mad in love with Sherlock, and for another, that connection just… wasn’t there.  When he thought about a connection, he thought about Mycroft. It was supposed to be a mutually beneficial arrangement and nothing more, but he was falling for the younger man and there was no denying it.

 

It took ages for a response to finally come. So long that, he had given up hope of Mycroft agreeing.  However, once he’d finished his drink and was in the middle of helping John clean up while Sherlock played the violin for Mrs. Hudson, his mobile chimed again.

 

Alright. –MH

 

“Hey, Greg, I’m sorry about Sherlock,” John said out of the blue as he washed up a few mugs.  Greg looked up from his mobile to blink at him. “You know how he gets.”

 

“Yeah, it’s… It’s fine, mate,” he tried shrugging off. It wasn’t fine, not really. He felt pretty emotionally fragile right now.  John could see that, in a way. He knew he could.

 

“Listen, if you need anything… Even just a trip to the pub, you and me, just let me know, yeah?” John offered. Greg smiled.

 

“Ta, John.  Really.  I’ll definitely take you up on that.” He clapped a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. The two of them had become such good friends, and he appreciated what they’d built.  Then, he lifted his mobile and nodded to it. “Gotta speed off, though. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, for sure,” John smiled kindly.

 

Greg said his goodbyes; pointedly ignoring the look Sherlock gave him as he departed.  It was that bloody look that said he knew exactly what was going on. Of course he knew. He always knew. Shrugging it off, he tugged his coat on as he walked down the stairs, made his way to his car, and drove over to Mycroft’s.

 

He couldn’t quite get used to the grand feeling the elder Holmes’ home gave off.  It fit him very well, of course, so Greg hadn’t been the least bit surprised, but still. It was not his world, that was for sure. Taking a deep breath, he walked right up to the door and knocked.  It only took a moment before the latch was being undone, and the door opened, revealing Mycroft.  Greg’s eyes widened and he felt something in his resolve slipping as he stepped across that threshold. No sooner was the door shut behind him was he wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck and sliding up on his toes to kiss him deeply.

 

Mycroft returned the kiss with a passion that matched his own.  It had been one of many things that had honestly surprised Greg when their relations first began. He was a damn good kisser. Not just that… He just did amazing things with his mouth.  Greg felt a shiver run down his spine as he pressed against Mycroft, kissing him fiercely, and he let out a soft noise of disappointment as the kiss was broken soon after.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft muttered, pale blue eyes staring down into his deep brown ones.  He had that look about him that showed he was putting together puzzles pieces, deducing the events that would have led up to this point.  Neither brother would hear it, but it was rather amazing how similar he and Sherlock looked when they did this.

 

“Go ahead,” Greg sighed softly. Mycroft reached up and combed slender fingers through his silver hair.

 

“The PE teacher,” Mycroft muttered. Greg couldn’t help but look away, frowning.

 

“Yeah…” he confirmed, not that he needed to. If Sherlock had known, of course Mycroft would. “I just… I needed to see you…”

 

Silently, Mycroft pressed a kiss to Greg’s forehead. Sighing, he closed his eyes and focused on the softness of those lips.

 

“Can I stay tonight?” he asked, knowing how fragile he sounded.  It was a bit embarrassing, but he really didn’t care.

 

“I…” Mycroft hesitated. “Do not believe that would be a wise decision.”

 

“I know, but… Please.” He took a step back to gaze up at Mycroft with pleading eyes.  He couldn’t go home.  Not tonight. He couldn’t go back to that unfaithful woman who cared nothing for him.  He needed… He needed to feel loved.  Cared for. Here, he did.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft sighed, continuing to stroke his hair.  He may be protesting, but Greg knew he wasn’t going to refuse.  They’d done this dance before.  Greg was beginning to understand Mycroft all too well.  It soothed him. “Alright.  Would you care for some tea?”

 

“No,” Greg said, shaking his head. “Thank you. I’d rather you take me to bed.”

 

Mycroft blinked, staring for a moment, and Greg took that opportunity to initiate another kiss.  This one was much more fierce and wanting, and he took Mycroft’s bottom lip into his mouth to suck on it.  The act pulled a soft noise from the younger man that made Greg’s trousers start to grow tight.  He needed this. He wanted this.

 

Before long, the two men were lying on Mycroft’s large bed, clothes ripped off and panting harshly as they rocked their hips together, Mycroft moving in and out of Greg slowly.  He normally didn’t bottom, but without having to speak it, this was what they chose.  It was amazing how Mycroft knew exactly what he wanted.  He was an amazing, thoughtful lover, and Greg was arching against him and moaning, begging for more.  He clutched onto Mycroft’s pale body for dear life, practically shouting his name as he came.  Even after they had both finished and collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily and sweating, Mycroft didn’t pull out right away.

 

“Thank you…” Greg mumbled sleepily, closing his eyes as his hair was being stroked again.  Mycroft pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose.

 

“Any time Gregory,” he whispered back, lowering to rest his head in the hollow of Greg’s neck.  Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s torso, hugging him close, and sighing happily.

 

It had started out as casual sex. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Greg could feel that shifting, though, into something more.  Something permanent and meaningful.  He didn’t voice it, not yet, not while Christina was still in the picture.  But he had a feeling that Mycroft would remain in the picture long after she was gone.  He hoped so, anyway. It was too early to profess love or anything of that nature, but there was definitely something. They connected, and it spoke to them both as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

 

They didn’t need to say it.  It was said every time they were joined like this.

Chapter Text

“Daddy!”

 

Greg grinned, glancing up from his mobile as he’d finished up replying to his daughter Elizabeth’s text, where he was being fussed at over in a grassy area of the park near a tree.  Mycroft was standing there with their son, Oliver, who was wobbling on his feet but standing straight, facing him.

 

“I’m coming Ollie,” he called as he started to make his way over.

 

“Papa’s being slow, I know.  It’s rather tedious,” he heard Mycroft saying. Greg rolled his eyes, hearing the grin in his husband’s voice, and jogged the rest of the way over.

 

“Teedous,” Oliver repeated, waving a hand out in front of him as he pointed at Greg.  The older man took that opportunity to swoop down and snatch their one-year-old, lifting him up above his head before bringing him down to buzz his lips against his stomach.  Oliver burst out into gut-bursting giggles, flailing his arms and legs about. Greg laughed, gazing up at him brightly as a pair of identically brown eyes stared back down at him.

 

“Down!” Oliver commanded, pointing behind Greg’s head firmly.

 

“Alright love, down you go,” Greg chuckled, bending at the knees to set him back down on the ground.  A little hand pressed against his knee as their child steadied himself, looking around at the park, before turning and looking up at Mycroft.

 

“Papa,” he said reaching out with splayed fingers. Mycroft smiled affectionately. Giggling, Oliver took a slow, wobbly step, before stumbling the distance over to his taller father. He reached out and grabbed the end of Mycroft’s black umbrella, babbling away in his own refined baby language and pointing at the tree they were near.

 

“Clearly he’s deducing that tree for you, love,” Greg beamed as he stood.  His joints popped slightly, causing him to groan, because Christ he was starting to get old.

 

“Indeed he is,” Mycroft smiled, nodding as he kept a watchful eye on their chatty little boy. “They’ll be here soon, yes?”

 

“Yup,” Greg nodded, checking his mobile for the time.   They were waiting for Greg’s two daughters from his previous marriage to show up; they were all getting together for lunch.  Elizabeth was driving them over, because Lord help him she was driving, and they would supposedly be there any moment.

 

“Da!” they heard, as if right on time, and Greg turned to see Elizabeth and Abby walking over to them.  Oliver spun, hearing the familiar voice, and broke out into another stream of excited babbling.  Greg headed forward to meet the two of them, giving them tight hugs and kisses.

 

“Glad you could make it,” Greg smiled, tucking hair behind Abby’s ear and glancing at Elizabeth. “Traffic okay?”

 

“As much as it can be in London,” Elizabeth shrugged. Vibrating with excitement, Abby broke away from them to head straight for Mycroft and Oliver, waving excitedly.

 

“Bee Bee!!” Oliver squealed, tugging on Mycroft’s hand to make him help close the distance between them.  He was getting very good at walking with assistance, yet could not quite do it on his own.  Abby fell onto her knees and drew her little brother into her arms, kissing his cheek over and over as he giggled and grasped at her shirt.

 

“Hello there Ollie,” she cooed. “Who’s the coolest little brother ever?”

 

Oliver babbled in response, pointing over at the tree randomly.  It was a very serious conversation he was engaging in, and Abby listened in rapt fascination as if she knew precisely what he was saying.  Elizabeth and Greg made their way back over, and Greg walked over to wrap an arm around Mycroft’s waist and tug him close. Mycroft smiled and kissed his husband on the cheek.

 

“The gang’s all here,” Greg whispered, chest puffing proudly at the sight in front of him.  Elizabeth had dropped down on her knees as well, leaning in to kiss Oliver’s other cheek. His two daughters and his son… This was his family.  This was his husband, and his children, and it was perfect. 

 

“Lithy, Bee Bee,” Oliver was rambling, and the three of them were practically in their own little world.  The two men stood by, gazing lovingly, and waiting until they were all ready to head to lunch.  As the girls stood up, they each took one of Oliver’s hand and started walking with him in between.  Greg and Mycroft walked behind, only a few paces of space in between, listening as their giggling conversations continued.

 

“Ready for lunch Ollie?” Elizabeth was asking.

 

“Joooose?” Oliver asked, gazing up at her, and breaking out into a grin as she nodded in confirmation.  Mycroft squeezed Greg’s hand affectionately, glancing over at him as they got over to the car.

 

“All right, my darling husband?” he asked softly. Greg slowed and turned to face Mycroft, before reaching in and cupping his cheek.

 

“Perfect,” he responded, eyes shining with proud emotion, as he leaned in to kiss him sweetly.

Chapter Text

“Come oooonnnnn, you sodding wankers!!” Greg shouted loudly, shooting off the sofa and glaring at the telly. “Stop prancing around like a fucking fairy and kick the damn ball!”

 

Next to him, John groaned loudly and fell back against the sofa, away from his previous position of sitting with his back rigidly straight.  The two men were horribly frustrated as they watched their team Arsenal doing the opposite of scoring.

 

“Bloody fucking hell,” Greg grumbled as he dropped back onto the couch.

 

Over on the other side of 221B’s sitting room, in front of the windows, stood the two Holmes brothers.  Both of them were rather exasperated by their respective partners. Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to Greg shouting vulgarities, and he sighed.

 

“Dear lord…” he muttered, frowning as he glanced at Sherlock.  They had been sharing brief conversation with one another, keeping things short (because they just didn’t do normal conversation).  Now, his younger brother had picked up his violin and was plucking absently at the strings.

 

“I’ll never understand their obsession with it,” Sherlock commented, glancing at the football match playing on their screen. “Or why they must get so loud.”

 

“Some things aren’t meant to be understood, dear brother,” Mycroft commented.  He turned so they were facing a bit more, and he wasn’t constantly staring over at his partner and Doctor Watson.  He put his hands into his pockets and sighed through his nose.

 

“Or he could just pass it to the other team, why the hell not?” John was huffing, throwing a hand up in the air.

 

“They’re both so ordinary,” Sherlock said, emphasizing the last word with a hunt of distaste.

 

“You were the one that put stock in friends first, Sherlock, not I,” Mycroft took a moment to point out.  He ignored Sherlock’s withering gaze.

 

“Yes, but we really did go and land ourselves partners who are polar opposites,” Sherlock continued.  It was interesting; the two of them could barely stand to be in the same room together most of the time, yet when they did hold actual conversation, it was rather intimate.  For the Holmes boys, anyway.

 

“Well, we couldn’t very well go get people like us,” Mycroft pointed out. “We’d be single forever.”

 

“True,” Sherlock hummed.

 

They fell silent, turning their attention back to Greg and John.  They could not have been there for all the two of them cared, because their attention was set on that television set and it wasn’t going away from it until the match was over. They usually went and did this at a pub, allowing Mycroft to remain at home in the peace and quiet, but they had somehow decided it would be good for him and Sherlock to spend time. Why, Mycroft couldn’t figure out, but it was done and he was here, so he needed to make the best of it.

 

“I’m going to go fucking mental,” Greg snapped, grabbing at his silvery hair in frustration.

 

“Tell me about it,” John grumbled, glaring.

 

“For once, why in the hell did you not bring some stupid case file with you,” Sherlock snapped out of the blue. Mycroft blinked and arched an eyebrow.

 

“You’re telling me you’d actually look at one of my cases?”

 

“Yes, anything to get away from… that.”  He gestured at the other two men and huffed. “But no, as usual you are completely useless.”

 

Mycroft didn’t justify that with an answer. Instead, he watched his lover, unable to keep a tiny smile from sliding onto his face.  Even when he was being senseless and ridiculously hotheaded over a game that he wasn’t even personally attending, he was charming and adorable. It shouldn’t combine in such a way, and it shouldn’t make sense, and yet there he was.  He also happened to catch the brief moment where John looked over to where they stood, and smiled affectionately at Sherlock. He also happened to catch the smile Sherlock provided in return.

 

“He is good for you,” he commented after another moment had passed.  Sherlock stared. “John. Just as Gregory is for me.”

 

“Your point?”

 

“It’s why I do not question the possibilities around the union having ever taken place.  They are good for us.”

 

Sherlock, surprisingly, smiled again.

 

“Yes.  I suppose you are correct.”

Chapter Text

“Myc is gonna kill me,” Greg muttered as he slipped in the front door of their home, a damp bundle in his arms. He had a feeling there was no way the younger man would be okay with this, especially since he hadn’t so much as called or texted.  He hadn’t had time. He had needed to act fast.

 

So, pushing down the thought of irritation his other half was bound to have, Greg shifted the weight currently cradled in his arms and headed for the kitchen.  He walked over to the median they had and leaned over it, lowering the damp bundle of blankets down on the countertop.  Said blankets shifted and fell, revealing a shivering, wet kitten staring up at him with bright green eyes.  It mewed softly, clearly cold and hungry.

 

“I’ve got you little one,” he said in a soft voice, rubbing the top of its’ head gently.  It mewed again, and Greg felt his heart hurt at the sight. The poor thing had been abandoned nearby his crime scene, and it was an awful, rainy night.  There was no way he could’ve left it there. It surely would’ve died if he had.

 

Taking his hand back, he set a bag down on the counter behind him from Tesco, where he’d made the quickest trip of his life. He’d picked up dry and wet cat food, as well as a small container of milk and a plastic saucer he could use. He would unload all of that momentarily, but first…

 

He darted out of the kitchen and to one of their hallway closets.  They had some hand towels stashed in there, and he dug around until he pulled out three of them. He didn’t know if he’d need all three, but better safe than sorry.  Shutting the door, he went back into the kitchen and pulled away the wet blankets the small feline had travelled home with him in.  Said feline had taken a few hesitant steps across the surface, its little pink nose wiggling as it sniffed around its new surroundings.

 

“C’mere, yeah?  Let’s get you dried off,” he said in that same soft voice, circling around to where it had walked.  He took one of the towels and began rubbing it dry.  Thankfully, instead of getting spooked and trying to run, the kitten started purring loudly and leaning into his hands as he moved them.  He couldn’t help but laugh softly, happy it was starting to feel better.

 

“There we go!” he said after he’d dried it off as best he could.  The kitten mewed again and blinked up at him. “Yes yes, let’s feed you now. I bet you’re starving, you poor thing.”

 

He couldn’t quite decide what to make first. He stared at the things he’d picked up for a few minutes, before deciding to get it some warm milk first. Just a little bit. A large amount of milk could make a cat sick, he remembered from when he was young, but small amounts never hurt as much.  It was easier when they were young, too.  Plus, it’s little body was still shaking some, so Greg figured it could do with the warmth.

 

He poured milk into the saucer he’d bought and stuck it in the microwave.  It just needed a little bit of heat… It was as he was warming this up that he realized he and the kitten were no longer alone.  Behind him, he heard Mycroft clear his throat.

 

“What is going on in here, Gregory?” his partner asked, his voice stern and a bit skeptical.  Greg turned, seeing Mycroft regarding the kitten with an arched eyebrow, which mewed at him in response.

 

“Yeah, um,” Greg started, distracted as the microwave beeped at him.  He turned to pull the milk out, testing it to make sure it was only a bit warm and not scalding, before moving to set it in front of the kitten.  It wobbled over to the saucer eagerly, sniffing, before starting to drink. “The poor thing was at my crime scene tonight, Myc.  Out in the rain, shaking and wet to the bone. I couldn’t leave it there. It would’ve died.”

 

“So you decided to bring it home. Without consulting me, I might add.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry.  I needed to get it fed and dried off quickly, so I just kinda… acted.” Greg glanced down nervously, watching the kitten instead of looking at his boyfriend. He was irritated, as Greg expected, but still. 

 

Across the kitchen, Mycroft’s piercing eyes softened a bit as he continued to regard the older man.  With a sigh through his nose, he walked over to stand next to him, placing a slender hand on his shoulder.

 

“I can’t stand seeing you pout like that,” Mycroft muttered, glancing down to stare at the kitten.  It had finished drinking the milk and was now cleaning its paws. Greg blinked and looked up at him again.

 

“Does this mean we can keep him?” he asked, his brown eyes lighting up.  Mycroft looked at him pointedly.

 

“I never said that,” he started, and Greg’s shoulders fell slightly. “But, I’m not shutting the door on the conversation. Nurse the kitten back to health. We can give it a few days and see where we’re at, okay?”

 

Greg grinned, reaching to cup Mycroft’s cheek before sliding up on his toes to kiss him sweetly.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered against his lips. In front of them, the kitten mewed again, purring loudly.

Chapter Text

“I’m thinking about getting my hair cut,” Greg commented off-handedly as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, clad in nothing except for the towel he’d just used to dry himself off after his shower. Mycroft was currently leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed, admiring him, until the comment caused his expression to shift into surprise.

 

“Why?” he asked incredulously. Greg blinked, not having expected to hear him talk like that, and glanced over to look at him.

 

“I mean, it’s gonna start getting shaggy soon,” he said, turning back to the mirror and running his fingers through his dampened silvery strands.  He frowned slightly, not remembering the last time he’d let it get much longer than it was currently.  He was having to style it again some days, and it was almost more trouble than it was worth.

 

“When it gets shaggy, you can get a trim,” Mycroft commented, huffing.  Greg turned to look at him again, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Why’s it bothering you so much?” he asked curiously. “It’s just my hair, love.”

 

“I am aware of that,” Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. “That is precisely why it bothers me.  You’re hair is lovely, Gregory.”

 

“It’ll also grow back…” Greg pointed out, stepping away from the mirror.  Mycroft pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the older man, reaching up to run his slender fingers through his wet hair.

 

“Of course it will, but that’s months of me unable to do this,” he pointed out, continuing to run his fingers through Greg’s hair. He sighed, humming and closing his eye at the feeling of Mycroft’s nails running across his scalp. It felt so good.

 

“You could still do this,” he muttered softly, leaning into the touch and reaching out to rest a hand on Mycroft’s hip.

 

“Not as well,” Mycroft pointed out, leaning in and rubbing the tip of his long nose across Greg’s temple.  He slid his fingers down to lightly tease at the nape of Greg’s neck, where his hairline ended, and it sent a shiver down the man’s spine. Blinking his eyes open, his pupils were darkening his already dark brown eyes, and Mycroft smiled slyly.

 

“See,” he continued softly. “If you go and cut your hair, Gregory, how will I be able to make you feel good in this way? Hmm?”

 

Mycroft continued stroking through his hair, making sure to drag his manicured nails along the older man’s scalp in just the way he knew he liked it.  Greg responded how he always did: he let out the tiniest of groans, gripping a bit tighter onto Mycroft’s waist, and taking a step closer.  The towel that was secured around his waist did absolutely nothing to conceal how obviously turned on his was now.  Licking his lips, Mycroft leaned in and captured Greg’s mouth in a searing kiss. Greg clutched at him, kissing back roughly, pressing himself against Mycroft’s body.  They took a few steps back until they collided with the doorframe Mycroft had previously been leaning against.  The solid surface gave Greg the leverage he needed to press even harder against his partner and grind their hips together. Mycroft let out a surprised noise, gasping out of the kiss.

 

They gazed at each other with lidded eyes, panting softly, their mouths inches apart from each other.

 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Greg growled. His hands moved up to start undoing the buttons of the waistcoast and dress shirt Mycroft was wearing. As he did, they slowly began to walk into their bedroom, barely severing body contact with each other. Greg let the towel fall from his waist, leaving him naked, and after undoing a few more articles of clothing, Mycroft’s suit was being slid off until he was also naked.

 

Greg fell back into the bed, sitting on the edge, and Mycroft climbed into his lap and straddled him.  Their erections lined up perfectly and Mycroft rolled his hips, causing both of them to moan at the friction.  Then, his slender hands were back up in Greg’s hair. This time, however, they gripped hard, yanking his head back to expose his tanned neck. Greg gasped, and then moaned as Mycroft started to suck and bite at his neck.  There was no doubt he’d be leaving marks. Greg shivered, arching his hips up so they could keep up the friction they’d started.

 

“And you want to cut your hair,” Mycroft snarled as he sucked on the sensitive skin he’d previously been biting on.

 

Yeah, maybe Greg wouldn’t be cutting it all off.

Chapter Text

It was when they were out at dinner one night that Greg finally brought up something that had been on his mind for a little while now.  He was an observant man. He had to be, and he was damn good at it, regardless of what Sherlock said.  So to notice how Mycroft was taking no more than half portions of food, whether it was when they were out at dinner, or at home cooking, was a bit confusing and concerning.  Mycroft had a good, healthy appetite, and yet… Greg had never seen him really show that.

 

“Hey Myc,” he said about halfway through their meal. The younger man glanced up and raised his eyebrows a hair.

 

“Yes, Gregory?” he asked softly, putting his fork down. Abandoning the pasta he’d barely touched.

 

“You’re hardly eating anything,” he brought up. He’d noticed it especially over the past few weeks, and he gazed at his partner with concern.   Mycroft lifted a hand and waved it slightly, shaking his head.

 

“I am fine, before you ask,” Mycroft started. “I am just dieting, Gregory, so I am limited to my portion size.”

 

Dieting. It made sense, because the younger man did it a lot.  It had been a bit of a surprise.  Greg found, over the course of time the two of them had become intimate, that there was a lot about him that was surprising.  This one, though, he just didn’t understand.  Mycroft was healthy, so it wasn’t that.  He didn’t have a weight issue, so it wasn’t that either.  It just… didn’t make all the sense in the world.

 

“Love, why must you insist on dieting all the time?” he asked softly, not wanting to sound offensive in his question. He wasn’t trying to be. He was just genuinely curious. “Where did this all start?”

 

At this, Mycroft grew still.  Greg was concerned he had upset him, and froze, opening his mouth to say something to make it better… He watched as Mycroft picked up his napkin and dabbed it along his lips, before setting it on the table in front of him. Piercing blue eyes slid up to lock with his brown ones, a serious expression on his face.

 

“It started with you,” Mycroft said softly.   There was no doubting the truth behind the words he had just uttered.  Greg’s eyes widened, and he blinked.

 

“M-me?” he asked, seeking confirmation that he hadn’t misheard.  Mycroft nodded.

 

“Yes, Gregory.  You,” Mycroft nodded, speaking calmly. “When it became clear to me that you were more than a simple Detective, when you were more than an associate of my brother’s… I found I wanted to be fit for you.  Not that I ever considered myself a heavy individual, but being heavy and being out of shape are two completely separate things.  So I decided to put myself on a strict regiment, and it has stuck.”

 

There was more to it, more that wasn’t being said. Greg didn’t know that Mycroft didn’t want to abandon the regiment because he had convinced himself that if he began gaining weight, Greg wouldn’t find him attractive anymore. It was a thought that terrified the younger Holmes, so much so that there was no way he’d say it out loud. The logical part of his mind fussed, because of course Greg wouldn’t care if he gained a little weight. Of course he’d still wanted to drag him to bed and undress him, both carefully and in haste. However, as he’d come to learn in their time together, love did not always equal logic.

 

“You know I love you, right?” Greg asked softly after a few minutes.  Mycroft blinked, seeming surprised by the exclamation.

 

“Of course,” he nodded, tilting his head slightly.

 

“Just… I don’t care how much you weigh. You’re my partner, my lover, and I’m proud of that.  No matter what you look like. You’re bloody handsome.”

 

Mycroft’s cheeks felt heated, and turned a tiny shade of pink.  Glancing down, he picked his fork back up and began pushing his pasta around on his plate.

 

“Thank you, Gregory,” he mumbled. Smiling softly, Greg leaned over the table and gently lifted his head.

 

“You will always be the sexiest man I’ve ever known, and you are always going to drive me crazy with desire.”

 

He leaned in, kissing Mycroft quickly, but sweetly. Then, he brushed his fingers along his cheek and down his jaw, before settling back in to finish his meal. He planned on showing his lover later just how irresistible he was.

Chapter Text

Greg braced himself for the day he expected to be having today.  It was more difficult than normal waking up, and Mycroft just laughed at him as he walked around the house sluggishly with his coffee.  It was easy for him to be amused.  He’d only be dealing with Anthea all day, and if she did April Fool’s Day pranks, Greg would be surprised.

 

His co-workers, on the other hand, lived for the bloody day.  It was always chaos in his division of the Yard each year, grown men and women doing some of the dumbest things to each other, and he could never seem to escape it. And boy, were they dumb. They were high school glue-things-to-the-seat dumb and switch-out-your-coffee dumb.  He’d been a victim of the coffee type of prank last year, and he wasn’t able to get the taste of fish out of his mouth for a week.

 

He’d made it more than clear through the span of the previous week that he was not to encounter any of these pranks himself this year.  It had been a very intimidating stance he had decided to take, making it more than clear he wanted to have a normal day, and he only hoped that it came across as genuine. It was meant to.

 

He glanced around warily as he walked into the office that morning.  He could tell some stuff had already been done; Anderson’s belongings had all been glued to his desk, and someone had taken one of the offices and turned everything over. Wow.  His own office seemed to be untouched, at least at first glance. He brought coffee from home, not trusting what was brewed there this morning, and he took a deep breath as he settled into his chair.

 

  1.   He was pleasantly surprised.  He didn’t drop his guard, however, for the majority of the day.  Thankfully, though, nothing ended up happening. He went through the workday unscathed. He was grateful as he was driving home, because that was the end of it.  There was no way Mycroft would do anything for April Fool’s, so he was good to go for the rest of the night.  A quiet night in was all he wanted anyway, so he could feel his mood lifting and returning to normal.

 

He sighed in relief as he stepped inside his home, listening to the sounds of Mycroft moving nearby.  His smile widened.  It was rare they were both home at this hour, so that was a nice surprise. He was greeted with a soft smile as he entered the kitchen, and the taller man walked over to kiss him on the cheek.

 

“I trust your day passed without incident?” he asked, smoothing a hand down Greg’s front before taking a step back to retrieve the cup of tea he’d just made for himself.  Greg nodded.

 

“Yes, amazingly.  It seems everyone actually listened to me for once.”

 

“Good,” Mycroft nodded, leaning and drinking his tea quietly.  As Greg moved to get into the fridge, he noticed a manila folder sitting on the countertop with Lestradewritten messily on it.  He blinked.

 

“What is this?” he asked, pointing at the folder and raising his eyebrows.  He was already walking over and picking it up before Mycroft could respond.

 

“Gregory, I wouldn’t open that if-“ Mycroft started to say just as Greg opened the folder.  His eyes widened at the unexpected sight, and his face blushed with embarrassment and fury, before slamming it shut again.

 

Jesus,” he huffed. “Out of all the people to pull an April Fool’s joke. Your brother?” Greg shouted, waving the folder. “How the hell did John let him do that?”

 

“I did try to warn you,” Mycroft pointed out, sipping his tea.

 

Greg shuddered.  The folder, which had disguised itself as information on a recent case Sherlock had become a part of, ended up being photos.  Very…sexual photos, of him and John.  He just… Why?

 

“He is immature,” Mycroft scoffed, answering the question Greg hadn’t quite voiced outloud.

 

“I need to bleach my brain,” he sighed, shuddering. He had never wanted to see Sherlock Holmes’ O Face.  Nope. Coulda done without that. It took him a few minutes to recover, but then he got an idea.  A very evil idea.  Greg started to smirk.

 

“Whatever you are thinking,” Mycroft said, arching his eyebrow. “Do not.”

 

“Oh, but Myc.  It’s only fair.  He wants to play dirty? We can play dirty.” Pulling out his mobile, Greg walked over to stand in front of Mycroft and leaned in, mindful of his teacup, to brush the tips of their noses together.

 

“I’ll have no part in this,” Mycroft huffed.

 

“Please?” Greg asked, batting his eyelashes. Finally, after a bit more begging and persuading, he sighed in irritation but agreed.

 

One photo, understand?  One.”

 

Greg nodded, pulling up the camera on his mobile and sliding to his knees in front of Mycroft, smirking.

 

“One is all I’ll need.”

Chapter Text

Greg hated that banana.  He hated it and loved it all at the same time. He was fucking jealous of that banana.  He leaned back in his chair and licked his lips, holding his coffee up to his chest as he admired the sight in front of him.  Mycroft had been eating smaller breakfasts as of late, usually toast or some kind of fruit, and on the weekends a bowl of oatmeal. He’d been attempting to eat healthier, and while Greg didn’t normally join him, he was immensely pleased this morning.

 

Whether Mycroft realized it or not, he was being immensely sexual with the banana he was currently having.  It didn’t help that it was a very phallic fruit and Greg couldn’t help but think about him running his tongue around something else. He shifted in his seat, staring over the rim of his coffee mug, and parting his knees a bit as his trousers were becoming tighter than they normally were.

 

Jesus,” he breathed as Mycroft started sliding the banana into his mouth. He wasn’t as quiet as he’d attempted to be, however, because Mycroft looked up at him at this.

 

“All right, Gregory?” he asked, arching his eyebrow in his normal, delicate way.

 

“Y-yeah,” Greg said, shifting his gaze down to his coffee mug and coughing slightly.  He could feel his cheeks heat up in a blush.  He glanced up again as he saw Mycroft lower the banana and run his tongue along his lower lip. 

 

It was almost too much for Greg to handle. He bit his lip as he tried not to groan, and then took a minute to look at the clock on their stovetop. Neither man had to be anywhere for at least half an hour, and Greg couldn’t hold it back anymore. He set his mug down on the table and pushed his chair back, causing Mycroft to look up at him in surprise again.

 

“Gregory?” he asked, pale eyes widening as Greg walked over to him and shifted the table away.  Greg reached out and plucked the banana out of his hand and dropped in on the table, and then crawled into Mycroft’s lap.  His pupils were blown wide, making his normal browns a lot darker, and Mycroft blinked as he put two and two together.

 

“You can’t expect to sit there and do things like that and not have me do something about it,” he growled, leaning down to kiss and bite along the younger man’s jaw lightly.  Mycroft’s breath hitched in his throat and a hand shifted to grab at Greg’s hip gently.

 

“G-greory,” he started, tilting his head back instinctively so he had more access to his pale neck.  He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “Gregory, you need to go soon.”

 

“Not too soon,” Greg whispered against his neck. “Besides, how can I leave when you need to help me do something about this?”

 

To emphasize, he rolled his hips down as he spoke, brushing them together and creating the most glorious kind of friction between them.  Mycroft groaned softly, arching up into him a bit.

 

“That is a problem,” he couldn’t help but comment. Greg grinned widely.

 

“It sure is.  So why don’t you solve my problem, yeah?”

 

“You’re so crude,” Mycroft laughed, but even as he did, his hand was slipping up under Greg’s undershirt.  He slid it up his smooth back and slipped around, brushing the tips of his fingers across Greg’s nipples.  They were sensitive, and it had Greg gasping and shivering.

 

“Myc,” he huffed, growling and rocking his hips again. “You’re so damn sexy.”

 

Both men were panting softly now, tugging at each other’s shirts as a slight sense of urgency overcame them. They started kissing roughly, sucking and biting at each other’s lips hard enough to make their breath hitch as they pressed against each other.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft gasped, moving his hands foreword to fumble with the buttons on Greg’s trousers.  Greg broke their kiss and leaned back enough to start doing the same, until both of them had undone and shifted their trousers down enough so that Greg could take both of them into his hand a stroke slowly. Mycroft moaned, arching up against him, creating more friction between them and making them both tremble.

 

They rutted against each other, panting harshly and moaning.  Greg kissed Mycroft deeply, slipping his tongue in and against the younger man’s, sucking and trembling.  They continued, their motions becoming more erratic and their breaths becoming harsher and more needy. Greg swiped his thumb along their tips, twitching at the sensitivity and whimpering.

 

“G-gregory, I’m…” Mycroft gasped into his mouth.

 

“A-and me,” Greg nodded, panting and burying his face into Mycroft’s neck to lick and nip along his pulse point. After a brief moment, Mycroft thought to reach out and grab a napkin to push between them, groaning and freezing as his orgasm washed over him.  Greg’s came almost immediately after, the two men clutching to each other desperately. After a quiet moment, Greg started huffing out laughter.  Mycroft blinked, but started grinning, and finally broke out into laughter of his own.

 

“That… was spontaneous,” Mycroft decided on saying, before giggling again. It was adorable listening to him giggle. Greg poked his tongue out before leaning in to brush their noses together.

 

“S’what you get for eating that banana like that,” he huffed again, before leaning in for a gentle kiss.

 

“We should get ready for our days now,” Mycroft whispered after a moment, reaching up to brush his slender fingers through Greg’s silvery hair.  Greg closed his eyes and hummed.

 

“Yes, I’m definitely ready for the day now,” he grinned.

Chapter Text

“Come on Gregory,” Mycroft coaxed gently, tugging on the older man and forcing him to sit up.  Greg groaned weakly in response, his eyes unfocused and his brow furrowed.

 

“W’re we goin?” Greg mumbled, blinking sluggishly. “Ws’wrong?”

 

Mycroft huffed through his nose and ran his slender fingers through sweat-dampened silver hair.  It was very concerning how high of a temperature the older man currently had. What were even more concerning were the hallucinations he’d been having over the course of the past half hour, and the slight slurring in his speech.  If they weren’t able to get it down soon, he would have to be admitted to the hospital.

 

Mycroft was trying everything in his power to prevent it from getting that far.  He had attempted to keep Greg as hydrated as possible, which thankfully wasn’t too difficult of a task. He wouldn’t stop sweating, however. It was covering his forehead and neck, and his shirt was completely soaked.

 

“We,” he started to answer as he took Greg’s shirt by the hem and tugged it off him, leaving him bare chested and shivering for a brief second. “Are getting you in the bath.”

 

“Now now,” Greg grinned, swaying slightly where he sat. “M’not gonna be able t’ perform as well as normal.”

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed, moving to wrap Greg’s arm around his shoulders and lift him up.  He wrapped his other arm around the older man’s waist and supported him fully, which was more difficult a task as he’d originally thought, and started to slowly move them out of the bedroom and towards the bathroom.

 

“It can’t be too dire if you’re able to make dirty jokes,” Mycroft smirked, trying to keep Greg’s attention as best he could. The last thing he needed was for him to pass out as they were making the trip down the hall.  That would get very complicated.

 

Finally, after what was really far too long, they were stepping into the bathroom.  Mycroft led Greg over and lowered him gently to sit on the toilet. He swayed for a moment before steadying himself, and attempted to watch as Mycroft moved around the small space. His reaction time wasn’t quick enough, however, so he took to staring at the floor instead.

 

Mycroft leaned over the edge of the bathtub, turning the water on and monitoring its’ temperature very closely. Too cold and it would be a shock to his very weak and heated system.  Too warm would not bring down his temperature, and could even end up making him just pass out.  It was a very specific procedure, but thankfully Mycroft was a very specific individual. It took a few adjustments but then it was finally at a decent, lukewarm temperature that would be most ideal, so he let it fill up the tub as he straightened and went about taking off his waistcoat and shirt.

 

“Getting’ in too?” Greg asked softly, raising his eyebrows a fraction in curiosity as he gazed at Mycroft’s now bare chest.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down so that he was just in his pants. “I cannot risk letting you sit in there alone and passing out.  So I will be sitting there with you.”

 

“Y’re th’best,” Greg sighed, glancing over at the half-full tub.  Slow hands moved to try and undo his own trousers pants, but he didn’t get very far. His body was behaving much as it did when he was intoxicated, except this was much less fun.  Walking over, Mycroft crouched and gently batted his hands away so he could do it himself.

 

After a while, they were both finally unclothed. Mycroft reached over to turn off the faucet completely, and then wrapped his arm back around Greg for support as they made their way over and stepped into the tub.  Mycroft lowered both of them, settling against the back of the tub and pulling Greg to rest against his body.  The sick man sighed, his body shaking as it tried to adjust to the temperature.  Mycroft worked on cupping water into his hands and running it along his neck, and then brushing his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had been collecting.

 

“Dunno what I’do without you. Th’nk you,” Greg mumbled drowsily, sighing as he leaned against Mycroft.  The younger man smiled.

 

“It is my vow to take care of you Gregory,” he whispered into his partner’s ear. “Now let’s focus on getting that fever down and getting you better.”

Chapter Text

Ever since Greg was young, he’d loved to bake.  His father was a chef - a French chef at that - so he learned all kinds of ways to cook before most people could understand how a stove operated.  He’d helped his da in the kitchen practically every other night, having been dubbed his Junior Chef, and when other teenagers were getting crap jobs at a fast food joint or the local grocer, Greg was helping run the kitchen of the Lestrade-owned restaurant.

 

He loved cooking.  He adored baking.  It was one of his favorite hobbies.  When he’d been blessed with two kids, it had been immensely exciting to bake for them as much as humanly possible.  He spoiled those girls with his cakes and pastries.  When he had separated with his cheating wife and no longer living with them day in and day out, he sort of stopped.  It was no fun baking for yourself.  It grew old, and fast.

 

One of the exciting things when he started dating Mycroft (one of the MANY exciting things) was that he had someone to bake for again.  It wasn’t long before his chef tendencies were itching to be put to good use.  When they started becoming serious enough that dinners happened more frequently in one of their flats as opposed to a restaurant, Greg really let himself flourish.  He was proud, and Mycroft loved every bit of it, and even surprised him with cooking prowess of his own.

 

When it came to baking, however, he found Mycroft to be a bit more reserved.  Always denying things, even though it was clear he had interest in them.  Greg recalled many times Sherlock would bring up his big brother’s weight, and it made him wonder if it was really something Mycroft was concerned about and not just a brotherly low blow.

 

It took until they moved in together a year and a half after they started dating for Mycroft to open up to Greg’s desserts.  It was brilliant when that happened.  He felt giddy and excited again.  He loved baking for Mycroft.  He loved even more, however, when…

 

“Love, you’ve got something on your nose,” Greg giggled.  Mycroft blinked and glanced down, as if attempting to see the edge of his nose, where a puff of flower had gotten on it.  It was absolutely adorable.

 

Yes.  Greg fucking loved it when Mycroft baked with him.

 

The politician paused from where he was rolling out pastry dough and glanced around for something to wipe his nose off with.  Rolling his eyes playfully, Greg reached over with his cleaner hand and just rubbed it off with his thumb.

 

“I was going to get it, Gregory,” Mycroft huffed, but he was smiling anyway.  Greg smirked.

 

“You know baking is a messy task, Myc.  You should embrace your flowery chaos.”

 

“I never embrace chaos,” Mycroft said, arching an eyebrow.

 

It was Elizabeth’s birthday this weekend, Greg’s oldest daughter.  She was turning seventeen and it made Greg feel insanely old.  Tomorrow morning, she and Greg other daughter, Abby, were coming to stay with them for a few days so they could celebrate.  Mycroft had brought up helping make her cake.  Greg had been eager to agree, throwing in a few pastries she’d grown up loving.

 

When they baked together, there was a playfulness that emerged that was less common in their day to day.  Sure, the two men had fun with each other all the time.  It was fascinating how different their demeanor could change when they did this.

 

Once the cake had been put into the oven, the two of them started on the icing.  Greg grew up making his own icing.  His da had refused to ever use store-bought, so Greg in turn was the same way.  They mixed and whipped the icing, getting to where it was forming nicely, and Mycroft twitched as some flew out of the bowl and hit his cheek.

 

“Love, you’ve got something there,” Greg laughed. “Here, let me.”

 

He started to reach out as if he was going to wipe off the icing, but very quickly his finger dipped into the bowl and gathered up more icing, before smearing it onto Mycroft’s long nose.  Pale eyes widened in disbelief and the younger man’s mouth all but dropped open, shock evident in his features.  Greg only laughed harder.

 

It started with a glare that turned into a smirk, and then Mycroft’s hand was in the bowl too.  Reaching out himself, he shoved a glob of icing along Greg’s forehead.  The loud laughter stopped as it was Greg’s turn to gape, and Mycroft’s to laugh.

 

“Oh, you’re in for it now,” Greg said, grabbing at the bowl and smearing icing down Mycroft’s neck.  They kept switching back and fourth, practically attacking each other and both laughing hard, until their faces and necks were covered in icing.  It was even in both men’s hair.  Their laughter started to die down a bit, both still grinning, and breathing slightly heavier.

 

“You’re absurd,” Mycroft panted, sticking his finger in his mouth and licking off the icing there.  He didn’t miss the way Greg stared, eyes widening a bit.

 

“You’re one to talk,” Greg chuckled.  Stepping close, he leaned in and licked the icing off Mycroft’s nose. “Mmmm.  Delicious.”

Chapter Text

The last time Greg was this emotional, it had to be the day that he and Mycroft got married.  He wasn’t one to ever get intensely emotional, unless under very dire circumstances.  This… He supposed this classified as a dire circumstance.  He was a father, a very proud father, and his oldest daughter was going off to university.  She had gotten a full ride to basically anywhere she wanted, and she had found one in bloody Scotland that she was going to.  She was flying out in the morning, so he and Mycroft had taken the girls for the night.

 

He’d see her in the morning.  Due to his ex-wife’s work schedule, he and Mycroft were taking her to the airport.  This wasn’t goodbye. Yet, trying to just let his daughter go to bed was proving to be a lot more difficult than he’d expected.

 

“Da, I can’t go to sleep if you don’t let me go,” Elizabeth said, chuckling softly as Greg was hugging her tightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, swearing he wouldn’t start crying, and he huffed through his nose.

 

“I know, I’m sorry,” he finally said, attempting to will himself to let go.  It was still a few more seconds before he followed through on it, though. He gazed at his girl, all grown up, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  She beamed up at him in a smile she very clearly inherited from him.

 

“Are you gonna cry?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

“No, don’t be silly,” Greg said, but it was obvious he was lying.  He huffed again. “I can’t help it.  You’re off to uni, Lizzie. In Scotland.”

 

“We’ll Skype all the time, you know that,” she said, patting his arm gently. “Now c’mon da, I’m tired.  We can do all this again in the morning, I promise.”

 

She winked playfully, and pushed up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.  He did the same and rubbed her back, and finally let her go before he could start hugging her again.  He sniffed as she left, and turned to where Mycroft was sitting nearby.  Greg could feel his eyes prickling a bit as he walked over and practically fell into his husband’s lap.  The younger man raised his eyebrow, but it was clear he had been expecting the action, and his long arms went around him and pulled him close.

 

“All right?” he asked softly, knowing the exact answer. Greg sniffed again and shook his head.

 

“I just…” he started, huffing as he tried not to start crying.  Really, he should pull himself together. “Uni, Myc.”

 

“Yes, you have said multiple times tonight,” Mycroft nodded, reaching up to stroke Greg’s silvery hair gently. “It will be fine. Besides, she will be back during holidays.  Christmas will be here before you know it.”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Greg sighed, lowering his head and burying into Mycroft’s neck.  His husband began rubbing his back soothingly, and it slowly started to help in relaxing him.  He was so wound up over it all, so proud and excited for her, and so upset all at the same time.

 

“Dear Abigail is taking it easier than you, Gregory,” Mycroft chuckled.  His tone was endearing, and teasing, and it actually did help Greg to feel better. He chuckled too.

 

“Yeah, I know.  You heard her saying she was going to sell all of Lizzie’s things on eBay?” he asked, nuzzling into Mycroft’s neck.

 

“I did.  Abigail is a smart one, seeing an opportunity like that.”

 

Greg lifted his head and gaped at Mycroft, who blinked before laughing.

 

“Oh come on, it was a joke.  Kind of.”

 

“When you make jokes, it scares me,” Greg said warily. He grinned and nudged him in the side, though.  Mycroft rolled his eyes.

 

“Let us go to bed as well.  You will need your rest if you are able to handle tomorrow morning,” Mycroft said, kissing Greg’s forehead.  Together, they stood and made their way to the bedroom, their fingers threaded together loosely.

 

“Thanks,” Greg said, tugging Mycroft to a halt once they were inside.  He stepped in close and wrapped his arms around him, sighing. “For helping make me feel better. I’m gonna need a lot of it tomorrow.”

 

“I know, darling husband,” Mycroft whispered, kissing the top of his head. “I’ll be right there with you.”

Chapter Text

Mycroft’s exercise routines had mainly consisted of his treadmill before he and Greg started to exercise together. They had used the treadmill at first, but as it was built for one person, it was rather counterproductive for them to switch back and fourth while the other stood around.  So, they decided to start running together, early in the mornings, before either man had to go to work.

 

Their home was near a park, and it was the perfect setting for them.  Plus, they would set out early enough that the park was usually barren.  Mycroft preferred it this way.  He wore his tracksuit because it was most suitable for running, but it was not something he ever desired regular people to see him in. Greg tended to run in sweatpants and, depending on the weather, a t-shirt or a tanktop. This morning was more brisk, so a shirt it was.

 

Of course, Mycroft never really saw Greg as they ran. The older man tended to… fall behind. Greg was in shape, mind, but until they had started these runs, most of his exercising came from working cases. He’d never really done any extra curricular exercise.  Mycroft tended to drift into his own mind as he ran, and so he would end up setting his own pace that was faster than his partners’ without even thinking about it.

 

After they had made one lap around the track in the park, Mycroft slowed and turned to find the other man. Greg slowed as he caught up, sweat lining his forehead and neck, panting slightly.  His silver hair had darkened a bit, and he leaned over to press his hands against his knees.  Mycroft arched an eyebrow and smirked slightly.

 

“All right?” he asked, chuckling a bit. Greg lifted his head and huffed a bit.

 

“You can stop laughing now,” he said breathlessly. “You’re tough to keep up with, you know.”

 

“And yet you try every day.  You are rather persistent, Gregory.  It’s an honourable quality.”

 

“Har har, hush it,” Greg said, standing up straight and stretching his arms out behind his back.  Mycroft shook his head.

 

“Darling, do not think I am mocking you in the slightest,” he said, running his slender fingers through his hair to move back a few strands that had fallen along his forehead. “Do you want to do another lap, or head home?  We have time for either.”

 

Greg shook his head, waving limply.

 

“One more lap.  C’mon Myc, let’s go.”

 

He took off running again, and Mycroft watched for a moment before starting back up.  He caught up easily, his long legs closing the distance without having to put fourth too much effort, but this time he kept his pace slower so that they continued to run side by side for a while.  They talked a bit, as much as they were allowed while breathing heavily as they ran.  Greg talked about his upcoming day, and the current case.  Mycroft, as usual, was not able to return the favor, but it bothered neither of them.

 

Once they finally made that second lap, they decided to head on back home.  They walked the rest of the way back; it was the only time Mycroft wouldn’t insist they take one of the cars anywhere.  They were out and running anyway, so what harm would it do?  Plus, the park was close enough that it didn’t take them long to get home.

 

As they stepped inside and shut the door, Greg was peeling his shirt off instantly.  Mycroft paused in his movements, admiring the contours and muscles of his back with an appreciative smile.  Greg looked over his shoulder and grinned as he caught him staring.

 

“Wanna shower with me?” he asked playfully, turning to walk over to Mycroft and reach out for his hand.  Mycroft’s heart was pounding, recovering from the run, but there was a heat in his cheeks he couldn’t deny.

 

“I do believe that would be lovely,” he said, reaching out to take Greg’s hand and squeeze.  Their shared showers was honestly the best part about them exercising together. Mycroft would always insist. After all, there really was no better way to start the day.

Chapter Text

Gregory,” Mycroft hissed quietly. “You need to get out of here.  We will most certainly get caught, and you know how they get about sneaking into rooms this late.”

 

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” Greg waved his hand in the air, crawling across Mycroft’s dorm bed and picking up the book the other teen had in his lap.  Very quickly, he replaced said book with himself, straddling his boyfriend’s lap and grinning.

 

Mycroft gave him a familiar stern look, one that Greg used to feel uncomfortable with but had learned as they started dating how to get around.  He knew how to make the other teen’s resolve crumble.  He also knew that Mycroft allowed him to.  They had a weakness for each other, though neither teen would admit it. Leaning in, Greg rubbed his nose against Mycroft’s jaw, breathing hotly against his neck.  Mycroft shivered.

 

“I need to study for my A Levels,” the younger teen muttered, gripping Greg’s waist slightly.

 

“No you don’t,” Greg muttered against Mycroft’s skin, nipping playfully. “You’re already taking them early anyway. Besides, you’ll ace ‘em.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be s-studying, Gregory,” Mycroft managed to say, stammering as the older teen started sucking on his jaw a bit.  He groaned, and Greg knew he had won.  He so did love to win out over course work.  It was quite a triumph when dating a Holmes.

 

Playful fingers slipped under the uniform shirt Mycroft was still wearing, teasing the pale skin that was hidden underneath. The grip on his waist tightened and Mycroft huffed out a breath, half because it tickled and half because it felt so good.  Greg lifted his head to gaze into his boyfriend’s pale eyes, which had darkened slightly, and grinned.

 

“If my dormmate comes back, this is all on you. So you are aware,” Mycroft pointed out, arching an eyebrow.  Greg shrugged.

 

“Let ‘im watch.  It would be quite the show.”

 

“You are ridiculous,” Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes but unable to keep the smile from sliding onto his lips as he tilted his head back.  Greg took the hint and dove in to kiss him passionately.  Mycroft’s fingers twitched, and started playing with the kit shirt Greg was still wearing, before pushing it up.  Greg shivered slightly as his stomach was exposed to the air of the room, and he sucked on Mycroft’s bottom lip gently.  One of Mycroft’s hands flew up into Greg’s black hair, tugging almost roughly and causing the older teen to groan.

 

Mycroft grew more confident with each kiss and tug and pant.  Greg loved how he coaxed his boyfriend out of his reserved shell and brought out this intense, almost controlling side of him.  It was something they shared and he could think of while everyone else thought he was a quiet, stuck up virgin.  Fuck no he wasn’t. He had a habit of taking control. Much like he was doing now.

 

Before Greg knew it, he was on his back and Mycroft had tugged his kit off him, leaving him bare chested and clutching at him. They kissed until neither of them could breathe, and when they parted Mycroft’s lips were against his neck. Greg arched up, tilting his head back, and Mycroft took the opportunity to reach even more of him.

 

Just as Greg was moving to take Mycroft’s shirt off as well, fumbling with the top two buttons, a sound came from the door. Both of them froze, and immediately Mycroft was off of him and almost completely across the room. Because that wasn’t conspicuous.  Greg fumbled with his kit, trying to tug it back on, and barely made it as Mycroft’s dorm mate entered.

 

“Evening Greg,” the other boy greeted. Greg nodded, sitting in such a way that attempted to hide his very obvious erection.

 

“Hey Scott,” he said in return, before shifting his eyes to Mycroft.  The younger teen had grabbed one of his random textbooks off his desk and opened it and a random page, setting it on his lap as he stared at it without reading. Greg grinned a bit. It was impressive.

 

The adrenaline thrummed through him, and he saw as a smirk twitched on Mycroft’s face.  Yeah… The events that would follow once the other boy was gone again were going to be brilliant.

Chapter Text

“Sir, I have those top priority reports and profiles ready for you,” Anthea announced as she entered the room. She had a folder in one hand and her Blackberry in the other, which was held in front of her as she texted away (her normal state).  She gazed up from the phone briefly enough to see a shocked flurry of limbs that made her raise her eyebrows in amusement.

 

“Oy!” Greg was shouting, grabbing at the duvet to tug over himself.  His eyes were wide with surprise and panic, face flushed with slight embarrassment and immense arousal.  He and Mycroft had just been rocking against each other, on the verge of initiating a round of sex, when Anthea had wandered in unannounced.  Mycroft, of course, looked very unruffled by the disturbance (only by Greg having gripped at his hair and biting his neck). He made no move to cover up, and with a huff, Greg grabbed another part of the duvet and tossed it over him as well.

 

“Ah, thank you Anthea.  You may leave them on the table there,” Mycroft was instructing, gesturing towards their bedside table.  Panting softly, Greg groaned.

 

“Am I really the only one feeling a bit intruded upon and exposed right now?” he asked heatedly.  They were stark nude for Christ sake.  He had no doubt Anthea had seen everything.

 

“I suppose you must,” Anthea shrugged, her attention shifting back mostly to her Blackberry.  Greg’s shoulders slumped in a sigh. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

 

“Yeah, but, still. We were in the middle of something, obviously.  Same anatomy or not, it was Myc and I, and I just-“

 

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Anthea repeated, looking pointedly at her boss from over her mobile. Greg blinked, and after a second, it dawned on him what she was suggesting.

 

“Wait.  You… I mean…” he started, trying to force himself to phrase what he was thinking. “You’ve seen… What, during an assignment or something?”

 

There was the obvious way Anthea had seen Mycroft naked before.  That, however, wasn’t the way his brain decided to go right out of the gate.  Mycroft shook his head at the question, however, and Greg started to slide in that direction.  His dark brown eyes widened a bit.

 

“You two?” he asked, gesturing between them. “When??”

 

“Six years ago.  Casual arrangement, nothing romantically involved,” Anthea answered, her eyes glued to her mobile screen. “Respect and stress relief, mainly. And yes, the pleasure of one another’s company, but nothing complicated.  I don’t do that sort of thing.”

 

Greg’s jaw dropped.  He knew he was gaping, and he really couldn’t care. Mycroft and Anthea had made love before. No, he supposed basic sex would really be what to call it.  Mycroft made love with him.  It was all sex, sure, but the meaning behind the terms differed. However, that didn’t change the fact that they’d had sex.  On more than one occasion it seemed like. 

 

“Wow,” he found himself saying. He sounded stupid, but he was truly baffled.  Definitely hadn’t expected that one.

 

“Well, I’ll be off,” Anthea sighed. “I’m going to the office and then home for the evening.  I’ll see you in the morning, sir.  Good night, Greg.”

 

Without another word, she left. Alone, the bedroom was still silent, as Greg was still feeling a bit stunned.  Not to mention definitely no longer in the mood.  The scare they’d had as she burst in made sure of that.

 

“You and Anthea,” he repeated, blinking and glancing at Mycroft.

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft nodded. “It was as she said, of course.  I felt it was of no consequence, which is why I never mentioned it.  Apologies if it has upset you in any way”

 

“Wow,” Greg repeated. “No, just… didn’t expect that is all.”

 

Mycroft hummed, smiling softly. He turned his head to glance at the folder that was left, but made no move to pick it up like Greg was half expecting.  Instead, he was reaching over for the older man and tugging him closer.

 

“Shall we start over?” he asked seductively. Shock to the system or not, Greg felt himself shiver.

 

“Y-yeah,” he managed.  They really would have to start over, but he didn’t see it being much of a problem.  Mycroft smirked and leaned in, capturing his lips in a rough, passionate kiss.

Chapter Text

Mycroft was reclined in his chair in the office, switching between different CCTV feeds and tracking movements. There was a case he was working on that Greg had become a part of, partially because Sherlock had refused, as usual, and partially because parts of the case had come across his division. Mycroft hadn’t been very happy about it to begin with, but his partner was a stubborn man, and with Sherlock’s equally stubborn insistence to stay out of it, he agreed. They were tracking four terrorists that were working together and had infiltrated different areas of London. Two of them had slipped inside of the major news outlets, and the others were switching back and fourth between banks and areas close to Buckingham palace.

 

Mycroft couldn’t quite work out their goals, yet. It was infuriating. Not everything lined up enough to where it all made sense and painted the bigger picture yet. He currently had six theories, and Greg had gone undercover to try and bring out information that would hopefully cut that number in half.

 

There were screens depicting each of the terrorists, but Mycroft’s attentions were mostly on the one that Greg was interacting with.  It was a younger Russian man, 35 years of age, and as the Detective Inspector said was lucky for them, very gay.  Mycroft didn’t see how it was lucky.  He knew exactly what his partner was getting at, but that was not lucky.  It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he huffed and glared at the CCTV footage.

 

He was jealous.  Greg was more than likely going to have to seduce the Russian to gain all the proper information.  The intelligence Anthea had gathered led them to that conclusion, and Mycroft agreed it would be the most effective means of attaining what they needed.  That didn’t mean he had to like it.  He very much did NOT like it, in fact.  He honestly would’ve preferred not to watch it, but at the same time, he trusted no one else to view the events and make sure they got everything they needed, so there they were.

 

He watched the footage of the inside of a bar, where the Russian was sitting in a corner.  They had tracked him here after the terrorist had left a warehouse; a rendezvous point Mycroft noticed they had established.  Once Greg gained the information they needed, they would be able to infiltrate that warehouse properly, which would ultimately take all four of them down. 

 

He watched as Greg made his way over to the table and slid down next to him.  This was not the first time he had made contact, but this encounter was key. Things were going according to plan, and his darling partner had the terrorist right where he needed him. Leaning forward on his desk, Mycroft folding his hands together and listened closely.  They had worked on attaching microphones where they needed to be so Mycroft could listen in on the conversation, and it was working rather well. They had him now.

 

“Now tell me you don’t lie in bed and imagine me,” Greg was saying.  He could barely be made out over the background noise of the bar, but at least it was quieter than a normal busy night so Mycroft could make everything out.  He frowned, hating having to hear this, but needing to.  As rational as he was, he very irrationally got jealous over this. But it was just undercover work. He needed to focus on that. The Russian man was also leaning forward in interest, his eyes locked on the dark browns of Greg’s.

 

“Pressing against you.  Naked. Even with your eyes closed you can still see me, can’t you?” Greg reached up and brushed his palm from the man’s forehead to his nose, causing the man to close his eyes.  He dropped his voice seductively. “Every detail, the heat of my breath on your cheek.  The shape of my mouth.  The smoothness of my skin.”

 

Mycroft’s eyes fluttered closed before he realized. He focused on his boyfriend’s voice, leaning closer, listening.

 

“Hey, imagine my skin, rubbing against you through your nightclothes.  My hips against your hips, my hands all over you.  Everywhere. Imagine.”

 

Mycroft imagined.  He could picture it: nights together lying in bed, on top of each other, kissing roughly and rubbing their bodies together.  It sent a shiver down his spine.

 

“And you let your hands explore me now, don’t you?” Greg was continuing.  Mycroft licked his lips, because yes… He was imagining that now too.  Running his slender hands up and down that tan skin…

 

“Every inch of me.  And you want me to push you down on the bed. And to take all your clothes off, want me to climb onto you.  And into you. Deep. Inside you.

 

Mycroft chewed at his bottom lip, eyes still closed, as his imagination moved with Greg’s words.  He should be paying attention to the Russian, should be observing, but… He couldn’t stop imaging the feeling of Greg pushing in and out of him, making him cry out and arch up…

 

“And it doesn’t go away when you open your eyes, does it?” Greg was starting to conclude, leaning back and away from the man, who opened his eyes to stare at him again.  Greg had a confident smirk on his face. “You can still feel me, can’t you?”

 

The Russian started talking.  Mycroft’s eyes snapped open, the other voice breaking the trance he’d fallen into.  He blinked rapidly, snatching a pen and listening closely.  He scribbled down everything that was mildly important, doing his best to ignore his tight trousers and flushed cheeks as Greg continued to work his magic.

Chapter Text

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Greg groaned as he was led to a table out on the patio of a super fancy restaurant. Mycroft was there waiting for him, a glass of wine in hand, and he glanced up at his partner with a slight smile.

 

“I assure you it is quite alright. Do sit, Gregory,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the chair across from him.  A glass of wine was already waiting for him as well, and Greg was grateful. He needed it after the day he’d had.

 

“First, though,” Greg prompted with a smile. He walked over and leaned down, kissing the younger man gently.  He brushed the back of his fingers against his cheek, and Mycroft hummed happily. Okay.  Now he could sit down.  He slid into his seat and reached for his wine, sipping on it and sighing as he was finally able to relax.

 

“Long day,” Mycroft commented. An observation, of course, not a question.  He could always tell. So Greg just nodded.

 

“Yeah.  Glad it’s over.  Hated that it cut into our dinner time though,” he frowned.  Mycroft shook his head.

 

“It is of no consequence, Gregory. My evening is free,” Mycroft smiled. Greg felt a bit of relief at that. His “minor position in the British government” took up a lot of time, and he would’ve hated for the case to keep him away from what little time they’d been able to carve out.  But good.  They had the rest of the night.

 

Their meals were brought out without either man having to order anything.  Mycroft arranged that sometimes, and it made Greg grin.  They ate and drank wine and relaxed, talking about nothing of consequence, and everything was just comfortable.  He crossed his long legs under the table and brushed the tip of his shoe against Greg’s calf.  The older man took the cue and stuck his leg out a bit further and raising it, rubbing back slowly. They gazed at each other fondly, their eyes saying things that were not coming out of their mouths.

 

The meal mostly over, and Greg was ready to call it a night and head to their home.  He was thinking about some cuddling in bed, maybe a joint shower, something of that nature.  Yet, as he shifted to start getting up, the server came back out.  He brought dessert out with him; two servings of tiramisu and cups of coffee. Greg blinked.  Mycroft hardly ever arranged for dessert, always using something diet-related as an excuse.  Not only was there dessert, but it was one of Greg’s favorites.

 

“What’s the occasion, Myc?” he asked with a smile as he picked up his spoon.  It wasn’t either one of their birthdays.  It wasn’t any kind of anniversary.  Nothing really…special about the day.  It seemed very random.  He licked his lips and took his first bite before noticing the change in Mycroft’s posture. He was straighter now, some of the relaxation he’d had previously gone.  He hadn’t touched his own yet.  Greg blinked. “Myc?”

 

“We have known each other for almost seven years now, Gregory,” Mycroft started saying softly.  Greg nodded, licking stray bits of tiramisu off his lip and gazing over at his partner.

 

“We sure have,” he commented after a beat of silence. He took a drink of his coffee. “What’s going on?  Mycroft?”

 

“My first impressions of you weren’t very lasting, I will admit,” Mycroft admitted, continuing without acknowledging Greg’s question. “But you very quickly became a much more important element in my life than I’d ever expected.  You became a force in my brother’s life, and did what I could not.  You got him off the drugs.  You changed his life around, and therefore, changed mine around. For the rest of our lives I will never be able to thank you enough, or truly relay the extent of my appreciation for this.”

 

Greg blinked, feeling a warmth flooding through him. It was rare they talked like this, but he wasn’t going to complain.  It was some of the sweetest stuff, even if they were basically facts. It was something else how they’d become a part of each other’s lives so essentially.

 

“That made me realize just how much I was in love with you,” Mycroft continued.  Greg smiled. “I never put much stock in it before, mind.  My life has always been far too busy to concern myself with any sort of relationship, or begin to entertain the idea of love. Now I cannot think how my life would be complete without it.  Without you.”

 

Greg blinked in confusion as he watched Mycroft stand, and felt something clutch at his heart.  It was something that his head hadn’t quite caught up with yet. His eyes widened as his boyfriend, the love of his life, walked over to him with one hand in his suit jacket pocket. It was a normal thing for Mycroft to do, yet it made Greg’s heart pound even faster.

 

“Mycroft,” he said shakily.  Everything clicked into place when, out in public with people nearby, Mycroft slid down onto one knee in front of him. He pulled out a small velvet box. “Oh Jesus Christ.”

 

“Gregory Lestrade, you are a part of me. I would appreciate it if you would do the honor of extending that part to the farthest it can go. If you would marry me.”

 

The box opened.  The ring was basically a wedding band, but there was something different enough about it that made it an engagement ring.  Greg couldn’t put into words what about it made him think that. He couldn’t put anything to words.  His mouth was dry and he was frozen, staring.  Mycroft stared back at him patiently, rigid and confident as he knelt in front of him.

 

“My god,” Greg exhaled shakily, heat prickling at his eyes. “I… Fuck.  Yes, you absolute bastard.”

 

Mycroft broke out into a genuine, wide smile; a smile that was reserved for Greg alone.  He moved to take the ring out but Greg didn’t let him get that far as he lunged out of his chair, falling to his knees in front of Mycroft, and tugging him into a passionate kiss.  Gripping the box tightly and shutting it, their arms went around one another and they kissed, not having a care in the world where they were or who saw.

 

Chapter Text

They were on a date. A true date. Greg had never been so excited to be on a date before. He’d been on plenty before he and Mycroft started dating, sure, but none of them were like this. Dinner and a movie, normally. The lame stuff all teens did. This, however. This was so much more.

Of course, in dating Mycroft Holmes, dinner and a movie just didn’t really flow. The London eye, however? Yeah, that was more his style. They’d booked a private capsule and while the normal rotation went for 30 minutes to an hour, they had it blocked off for them for at least two hours. With wiggle room if they decided to extend. Greg had a suspicion Mycroft had special influence in that regard, but he wasn’t going to complain.

The capsule had a very intimate feel to it. Greg grinned as they walked inside, shown to it by the attendant but left alone once the door was slid shut. There was normally a host for the nicer ones, so he assumed that was also Mycroft’s specific influence. It was nice. He took a few steps in, eyeing the small spread of food and champagne, and he raised his eyebrows in amusement.

They got settled in, drinks in hand, as the rotation began. Together they sat on the small sofa that could be fit inside the space, legs touching. Greg stretched his arm along the back of it, his fingers brushing Mycroft’s shoulder gently.

“This is really nice, Myc,” he commented, glancing over at the other teen, who looked amazing as always in his full suit. He got a slightly reserved smile in return.

“I am glad you are enjoying it, Gregory,” he commented, glancing out at the view in front of them for the briefest of moments, before turning his pale eyes back to the glass in his hands. Greg almost commented, but decided not to, and they drank in comfortable silence.

“C’mere,” he said softly when they’d both finished. He tugged on Mycroft’s arm and pulled him close, leaning in to kiss him gently. Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg’s neck and shifted closer, their bodies pressing against each other comfortably.

None of their movements were hurried, as the two teens just enjoyed each other’s company and the feelings they provided one another. They remained cuddled on the couch, talking and kissing and laughing softly with each other, glancing out as they rose higher. As they made their way to the top of the rotation, the wind caused things to rock ever so slightly. It was just enough to be felt.

In that moment, Mycroft froze. The gentle grip on Greg’s bicep tightened a lot. Greg blinked, looking over at his boyfriend curiously. His facial expression hadn’t really changed, but there was something in his pale eyes…

“Myc?” he asked softly. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, of course, Gregory,” Mycroft responded very quickly without looking at him. “Just fine.”

The grip wouldn’t loosen. Greg began to grin a bit.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asked after a beat. Now, Mycroft did turn to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t be absurd, of course not.”

Greg found he didn’t quite believe the other boy. It honestly surprised him, with as much as he knew Mycroft to travel in airplanes. Yet here they were, and he was definitely nervous and concerned about something.

“Why don’t we go look at the view then?” he asked, moving to get off the sofa. The grip tightened even more and Mycroft all but tugged Greg back down against him.

“It’s just London, nothing we haven’t seen before,” Mycroft mumbled. Greg grinned again.

“You are afraid. Awww, Myc, it’s okay,” he cooed, reaching to gather the younger teen into his arms. He received a glare at this, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Shut up, Gregory,” Mycroft mumbled with a huff. Shaking his head, Greg tugged him close and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“That makes the date even more sweet,” he whispered into Mycroft’s ear. That he’d arrange this, even with his adversity to heights? It was really romantic. Mycroft rolled his eyes, but the start of a smile seeped onto his face.

“Tell no one,” he whispered, leaning back into Greg with a sigh.

Chapter Text

“It’s late, I should probably go to my flat so I can get clothes…” Greg commented, stretched out on Mycroft’s bed stark nude. The younger man was propped up on one elbow next to him, reading through an email on his mobile, also just as naked. Smiling, he reached over and ran his fingers along Mycroft’s arm gently.

“Not necessary,” Mycroft commented, lowering his mobile and taking Greg’s hand into his, lifting it to kiss his knuckles. “I can have Anthea stop by and get you some later.”

“Later?” Greg asked, arching his eyebrows. “So I’ll just walk around your place naked until then, shall I?”

Mycroft paused, thinking on that for a second. Greg didn’t care to wander around nude, of course, because he was completely comfortable in such a state. He watched his partner’s face curiously as he thought about the scenario, his pale eyes running along his body.

“Perhaps not,” he hummed after a moment. “I would be unable to focus.”

Greg chuckled and shifted closer, brushing his nose along Mycroft’s bare shoulder.

“Maybe I want to keep you distracted,” he whispered deeply. He heard Mycroft exhale softly, and it made him grin even wider.

“You can wear some of my clothing until Anthea arrives with some of you own,” he said hastily after a moment. “You are welcome to anything, Gregory.”

The younger man sat up and got off the bed. He started to put on a pair of his silky pajamas, donned with a robe overtop of it. Greg watched silently, before deciding he should probably get dressed as well. Anything, he said. Humming to himself, he got out of bed and went over to Mycroft’s closet.

He could’ve put on pajamas too. He almost did, but in thinking about it, Mycroft’s legs were a fair amount longer than his own and he really didn’t want to be walking all over them. So instead, he went over and found one of the younger man’s pale blue dress shirts to pull on. He buttoned it up a little over halfway, and then wandered over to pull on another one of his robes over it. The shirt extended down to just barely covering over his arse, but it worked. Plus, he had the robe. Satisfied, he turned and made his way over to the other man with a smile.

Mycroft blinked and stared at him, those eyes running up and down his body again. Greg’s face flushed under his stare, and he smiled a bit.

“Myc?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I… can’t quite decide if that is better or worse,” Mycroft admitted, staring at the part of his chest not hidden by either article of clothing. Greg grinned widely and shrugged.

“Your suggestion, love,” he pointed out. It was amusing and a bit flattering how attracted to him Mycroft was. Greg never would’ve believed it, but… All evidence pointed to that. Including the amazing sex they’d just had.

“Anthea will have some of your things in a few hours,” Mycroft said, attempting to not act like he was completely distracted by him. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist and stepped close, tilting his head to kiss his jaw.

“I promise I’ll try not to be too sultry,” he whispered against his skin.

“You’re already failing at that, Gregory darling,” Mycroft huffed, shuddering a bit against his body.

“Oh I know,” Greg smirked, kissing along his jaw and down towards his neck.

“Gregory…” Mycroft groaned. Chuckling, he took a step back and smiled sweetly.

“Thank you for letting me borrow some clothes, Myc,” he said sweetly, moving to walk out of the bedroom. “Tea?”

“Tea would be lovely, yes,” Mycroft called after him, pale eyes locked on the way the robe swayed and Greg’s legs peeked out every time he took a step.

Chapter Text

Mycroft shifted with the mattress when Gregory got up, feeling disoriented for a moment. The bedroom was still dark, the November grey night barely getting through the curtains.  He woke a bit more when he noticed the cough sound coming from one of the adjacent bedrooms. He listened to the sound of water running in the bathroom, then the lull of Gregory’s voice as he helped his daughter drink some tepid water.

 

Greg's two daughters, Elizabeth and Abigail, were spending the week with them at Mycroft's flat (technically Greg's too now, because he has moved in a few months ago). Christina, Greg's ex-wife, had taken a week-vacation with the PE teacher (Mycroft had a file with his name, of course, but neither man cared enough about him to actually call him by such) so they had dropped off the girls before their flight Friday afternoon.  The four of them had spent a lovely week-end together, going at the zoo, the pastry shop, and the park. Dear Abigail was still recovering from a nasty cold, and even if she didn't have fever anymore, she kept a persistent cough.  It hit her especially hard during the night as she was lying down.

 

Silence eventually returned in the mansion and Gregory came back to the bedroom a few minutes later, a worried frown on his face.

 

“She is not better?” asked Mycroft.

 

“No. But at least Lizzy didn’t wake up this time.” The DI climbed back into bed, but chose to sit back again the headboard rather than going back being the big spoon with his lover.  Mycroft glanced at his alarm before sitting up and settling in next to his partner. The two men always woke up early, and judging by the hour, he figured they may as well get up now instead of trying to go back to sleep for such a short amount of time. Furthermore, both were worried about Greg’s youngest.

 

“Do you want me to call the doctor?” asked the redhead. Greg dismissed the idea with a slight shake of his head.

 

“No, it's just the leftovers of a cold. She’s too tired to go to school, though. I would prefer her to stay at home today.” He passed his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair with a sigh. “With the serial-strangler case I really can't take a day off, and since Christina is away for the week with her bloody PE teacher, there goes the normal option. She doesn’t really like me, but maybe I can ask Christina's sister...”

 

“I can stay home with her if you want,” Mycroft suddenly heard himself offer.

 

“What?” Greg asked, glancing at him with a shocked expression on his face.

 

“I don't have meeting that can't be cancelled, and Anthea can send by mail the most urgent files. So I can stay home with her today.” Mycroft shifted, suddenly a bit uncertain. “But, Gregory, only if you trust me to...”

 

Greg cut him off by waving his hand dismissively.

 

“Of course I trust you, Myc, that’s not even a question. But a sick child is not that fun, you know,” he said.  Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

 

“Really Gregory, no one can be as annoying as a young Sherlock with a cold.”

 

That made Gregory smirk.

 

“Yeah, I believe you with that.” He studied his lover's eyes for a moment. “Honestly Mycroft, are you sure?”

 

“Gregory, you're a part of my life now, just like your daughters. I know you are worried and I want to be there for you. Let me help, please?”

 

Relieved, Greg agreed.

 

Things went quickly after that. Abby was left in the bedroom the two sisters shared when there were staying in the house (nearly one week every two weeks, with the shared custody) while Elizabeth was asked to prepare herself for school. Elizabeth whined a little bit about it, wanting to stay at home too, but Greg quickly (but gently) scolded her, explaining that Abby was staying at home because of a cold, not to have a fun day off.

 

Before heading out for the day, the DI quickly went upstairs to give his daughter a kiss.  He then hugged Mycroft in the doorframe, Elizabeth already in the car.

 

“Thank you again,” he smiled.  Mycroft hugged him back for a moment before responding.

 

“Of course.  I love you.” Smiling, he kissed Greg’s cheek in farewell.

 

Once Elizabeth and Gregory had left, Mycroft had a moment dizziness in the silent house.  Was he really capable of taking care of a child during a whole day by himself? He remembered taking care of Sherlock when they were younger but it had been ages ago...

 

“Stop,” he scolded himself. Abigail was the sweetest girl in the world, and if he could deal with angry politicians every day, a six-year-old girl shouldn't scare him. Taking a deep breath, he slowly made his way to the kitchen. Gregory had left some food in the fridge, and perhaps Abigail would be willing to share a cuppa with him.

 

oOoOoOoOoOo

 

Several hours later, Mycroft felt himself relax. Everything had gone just fine so far.  After the cup of tea (she liked it with two sugars but no milk, he has been remembered) Abigail had slept through most of the morning.

 

At midday, he helped her to get to the bathroom, waiting behind the door while she washed herself a bit. Then he placed her on the sofa, her petite form covered by blanket when he warmed up a chicken soup bowl for her. She had wanted to take another nap after that, and he was now heading to her room with a mug of hot cocoa, curious to see if she had awoken. She had, apparently bored, which was easily deduced by the bright smile of excitement she gave him when he entered the room.

 

He carefully put the mug on the nightstand next to her, the rich smell of chocolate bringing back memories. Hot cocoa has been one of the only things that had been capable of soothing Sherlock when he was sick, and Mycroft hoped the magic of the chocolate would have the same effect on the young girl.

 

“How are you, dear Abigail?” he asked gently as he sat down on the bed next to her. Settled, he picked the mug back up and handed it over to her.

 

“I feel better, thank you Myc.”

 

Mycroft smiled a little. Greg's daughters have taken after their father's habit to call him “Myc”.  He could not stand his name being shortened by strangers, or even his own family, but it didn’t bother him with these three. With Gregory because it was one of the many ways the DI showed his love for the posh man. As for Abby and Elizabeth, it was because they were comfortable with him and no longer felt the need to be formal. He wasn't “Mr. Holmes” in this house. He was just “Myc”, their daddy's lover, and he found he didn’t want it any other way.

 

After cleaning Abby's face of the chocolate moustache she had acquired, Mycroft stood, prepared to leave so the sick girl could continue to rest, but she retained him by grabbing at the bottom of his suit jacket.

 

“Can you stay here, Myc?” she asked softly, blinking up at him with brown eyes identical to her father’s. “Or can I come with you to your office? I will stay silent, I promise.”

 

“You should be resting, Abigail.”

 

“But I'm bored!” she complained with a dramatic sigh.

 

Ok, that one definitely brought back Sherlock-related memories. Mycroft frantically tried to remember what he used to do with Sherlock to keep his young brother entertained. He quickly dismissed some ideas, however: reading aloud the criminal section of the newspaper and testing her about how far she remembered the “periodic table of elements song” just wouldn’t do the trick. He racked his brain to find something when she began to fuss again. So, on a whim, he tried: “Would you like to draw?”

 

When she nodded, he sighed in relief and went over to the girl’s desk to get some white paper, cardboard as a support plate, and colored pencil, happy to have managed this crisis. The young girl studied pencils for a moment, before separating some of them and handing them to Mycroft.

“Do you want me to take care of them while you draw?” he asked, glancing at what he now held.

 

“No silly, it’s so you can make your own drawing too.”

 

“Oh, all right,” he blinked in surprise.  He helped her to sit against the pillows, rearranged the duvet and then settled next to her again on the bedspread with his own paper.

 

Mycroft had no artistic skill whatsoever, so he just made some doodle with a dark green pencil while Lizzy drew with application, her brunette hairs falling in front of her face.  After a while, Mycroft simply stared at the chamber, and he realized that he couldn't remember how the room had looked before the two girls had inhabited it with their clothes, cartoon-character posters, and toys. He was astonished to think, upon further reflection, that he was happier that way. The house had always felt so cold and empty before, which hadn’t ever bothered him before, but he knew he couldn’t go back to that ever again. If Greg has brought the warm in his heart, his daughters have brought life in this house.

 

“Myc? Do you want to see my drawing?”

 

Her question brought him out of his thoughts, and he re-focused on the young girl.

 

“Yes, of course dear,” he smiled, setting his own aside.

 

The girl proudly showed him her drawing. The paper was filled with 4 humanoid forms, messily drew in light pink colors. Two small forms were displayed under the stretched arms of the two tallest, and all of them wore smiles so big they extended out past their faces.

 

“It's lovely, Abigail,” Mycroft complimented.

 

“There, it's me and Lizzy,” said Abigail, pointing at the two smallest forms. “I have the blue shirt daddy gave me, and Lizzy the green, because it's her preferred color.”

 

Mycroft nodded with a serious expression as he listened to her explanations.

 

“There, it's daddy,” she said, pointing at one of the tallest figure, with a messy grey hair and a red and white ribbon around his neck. Mycroft smirked, recognizing the Arsenal fan scarf his lover was fond of. There was a pause before she spoke again, finishing shyly. “And here is you.”

 

He halted for a moment, looking at the childish drawing. He was represented with a set of circular forms on his torso, which were surely the buttons of his ever-present jacket. His hairs were a messy blur of bright orange curls. What really stopped him was he and Gregory’s hands. The two men were holding hands, their arms unnaturally proportioned in order to pass over the two sisters' head in a protective gesture. What gave him pause, though, wasn’t even just that.  It was that a yellow line crossed their joined hands. When he asked about it, the young girl simply responded:

 

“It's the weddings rings, of course!”

 

Mycroft felt a pang shoot through his chest. Wedding?  It was one of the many things he had never wanted before meeting Greg. Now, some days, he indulged himself in a little dream... But no, Gregory had failed one marriage. Certainly he didn't want to make another try, so he easily dismissed the idea.

“Honey, your father has explained to you that we are not married. We love each other, of course, but we are not married like you mother and your father were,” he explained calmly.

 

“But daddy showed me the rings!” Abigail exclaimed back at him.

 

“What ring, honey?” Mycroft asked after a pause, brow furrowing in surprised confusion.

 

“Not the ring, rings! Those he bought to ask you to marry him!”

 

Mycroft mind stopped at the word “marry”, immediately rushing in all directions. Maybe Abigail had misunderstood... Obviously, Gregory hadn't meant... It was surely... Mycroft cut his swirling mind. First, he took a deep breath. Then, he started to rearrange his thoughts properly. He needed more data to figure out the situation.

 

“When did he talk to you about that?” he asked her gently. Abigail pondered it for a moment before responding.

 

“Um... two weeks ago? He asked Lizzy and me if we were ok to have you as another daddy. He said that you were in love, and that when adults are very in love and want to spend the rest of their lives together they marry, and that's why he was going to marry you.”

 

Deep breath, Mycroft. How was it possible that his inner voice sounded like Sherlock? Dear Lord...

 

Abigail's tiny voice drilled into his dazed thoughts.

 

“You...” The little girl's tone was hesitant and a little bit frightened suddenly. “You are going to marry daddy, right? I mean… you love him, yeah?”

 

Mycroft's heart missed a beat, before going full speed.

 

“Of course, dear, with all my heart. If your father asks me to marry him, I will say yes.”

 

He was rewarded with the biggest smile he had ever seen.

 

“Cool! Lizzy and me, we think that you are super cool, and daddy is soooo happy now, and if you are married we want stay with you in this awesome house with all the toys forever.”

 

The water in Mycroft eyes were not tears.  He would never treat them as such.

 

“Abigail dear, you have nothing to fear. I love your father, and I love the two of you as well. Elizabeth and yourself are always welcome in this house.”

 

The young girl extended his arm in front of her, shifting under the covers.

 

“Can I have a hug?” she asked shyly.

 

Mycroft slid closer and wrapped his arms around her. He had never been very good at hugging before, but Gregory had made him more comfortable with them, so he simply held her fondly for a moment. They swung slowly, Mycroft careful not to press her too much, while the girl hugged him as hard as she could with her little arms. After a moment, he felt Abigail getting softer against his chest.

 

“I think I want to sleep again now,” she yawned.

 

Mycroft helped her to get back under the covers, arranging her duvet before collecting the cocoa cup and silently making his exit.  The little girl's voice caught him on the doorframe, making him pause for a moment.

 

“I love you Myc.”

 

“I love you too, Abigail,” he whispered, his voice wavering. He couldn't reach the kitchen fast enough before letting his emotions completely take him over.

 

oOoOoOoOoOo

 

When Greg got home that night, he went directly to his daughter’s bedroom to check on her, before going down and meeting Mycroft in the lounge. The redhead was tidying up the DVD boxes of the cartoon Abigail had watched during the late afternoon.

 

They kissed slowly and deeply for a moment.  When they parted, Mycroft felt calm enough to offer a reassuring smile to the worried DI. He had decided to hide the drawing, and had plenty of him to wash away the redness of his earlier tears, but the warm feeling was still in his stomach. He decided not to tell to Gregory that his daughter had spilled the beans. Knowing the man, he had secretly prepared some surprise rendezvous for his wedding proposal, and Mycroft wanted to let him go at his own pace.

 

So when the DI asked about his day, he offered him a warm smile and simply responded: “It was perfect.”

 

Chapter Text

“Gregory, it’s truly wonderful getting to meet your sister,” Mycroft commented as they climbed into the car, leaving the restaurant that they had taken dinner with Emily Lestrade at.  Greg hummed softly, wrapping his arm around the younger man’s shoulders and scooting close in the car.  He stroked Mycroft’s shoulder and smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

 

“I’ve been dying for you to meet her,” he grinned proudly. “We were the two middle children so we stuck together.”

 

“Your bond is truly admirable,” Mycroft commented, reaching for Greg’s other hand and threading their fingers together. He squeezed gently. “It is very clear you two love each other, and that it has always been as such.”

 

Greg smiled.  He gazed over at Mycroft as he spoke, listening and feeling proud over the observation.  He nodded, moving to open his mouth, when something in his partner’s expression made him pause. There was a sort of longing there, in his eyes and the thin line of his mouth.  Greg’s eyes softened.

 

“You okay, Myc?” he asked softly, squeezing his hand and shifting closer.

 

“Yes, I am fine.  You needn’t worry, Gregory,” Mycroft replied, but the tone in his voice had changed slightly.  Greg saw right through it. He squeezed their joined hands again and pulled him close, kissing his forehead.

 

“Talk to me love,” he whispered softly, his lips brushing along Mycroft’s skin.  The younger man sighed.

 

“I suppose I would be lying if I wasn’t the slightest bit envious of your relationship,” he sighed wistfully. “You and Emily have what could be classified as a normal sibling relationship.”

 

Greg smiled sadly.  It wasn’t a secret to him that Mycroft wished things were better between he and Sherlock.  He never talked about it, but he got the impression the two of them used to be very close. He had no idea what pulled them apart, or what created the rift between them, but… Mycroft cared dearly for Sherlock, like a big brother would, and he could see the pain there. Even if he did conceal it well.

 

“I’m so sorry love,” he sighed, rubbing Mycroft’s bicep reassuringly. “I hate the state of your relationship. Is it really so beyond repair? What could’ve happened to get you two so separated like that?”

 

  1.   Greg froze just slightly.  Maybe he shouldn’t have asked that.  They had never really breached the topic of Sherlock in that manner, even though Mycroft entrusted him with all details of his life, and he suddenly felt a bit nervous.

 

“He thought I abandoned him,” Mycroft spoke softly after a few moments of tense silence. “When I left home for university. Before then, he was basically my shadow. He had me raise him more than our parents, and I was okay with it.  I’ve always loved him dearly.  Then I left, and he… He took it hard.  He never had friends, as I’m sure you can imagine.  With me gone, there was no one.  I tried, coming home when I could of course, but it wasn’t often. I had many responsibilities and grades to keep up with, so while I was mostly able to manage coming home on major holidays, there was hardly ever any in between.”

 

Greg said nothing, just nodding and squeezing Mycroft’s bicep.  It hurt to hear; he could only imagine how much it hurt his partner.  How much it hurt both Holmes brothers.  Greg could sympathize to an extent.  His youngest sibling, Jonathon, was a bit estranged from the rest of them, but… It was nothing like the painful split those two must have gone through.

 

“Every time I went home he was more distant,” Mycroft sighed. “Until one day, he didn’t leave his room at all. He didn’t respond to my knocking. When I tried talking to him through the door, he started playing obnoxious, yet skillful things on his violin to shut out my voice.  Something he still does to this day.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Greg whispered.  Mycroft shook his head and straightened, as they were pulling up in front of their home.

 

“It is why I am grateful you and Emily are so close. You have that familial bond that I lost. It’s good that at least one of us has it.”

 

Greg watched as Mycroft climbed out of the car, and the clambered to get out after him.  Reaching out, he grabbed his wrist and gently spun him.

 

“You have it too.  Maybe not with Sherlock, which I hate dearly and wish something could be done, but…” Greg stepped close and nudged the tips of their noses together, before leaning up to kiss the taller man gently. “You have it with Ems. You’re family, Mycroft.”

 

“I love you Gregory,” Mycroft sighed with an affectionate smile.  He wasn’t usually the one to initiate, so it made Greg blink in surprise, but bust out a big smile.

 

“I love you too, Myc.  Now c’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Chapter Text

“You wear…too many…damn layers.”

 

“Nonsense, Gregory, I – aahhhh – I am very aware how much you… how much you enjoy my c-choices of clothing.”

 

“Not bloody enjoying it right now.”

 

Greg growled as he pressed against the taller man, diving in to kiss and lick at his neck as his hands fumbled with the buttons of Mycroft’s three-piece suit.  His partner was right, of course.  Greg did adore every one of the politician’s perfect suits. He loved the way Mycroft looked in them, how perfectly tailored they all were… He loved watching Mycroft methodically put them on in the morning, and he loved assisting in taking them off at night.

 

Now, however…  Now he liked the lovely garments much less than normal. When the two men were furiously attempting to create the friction their bodies desired, they were rather hindering. Plus, Greg got a bit impatient when he was turned on, so the tedious way he had to remove the clothing felt ten times slower than it really was.  No matter what, though, he could never bring himself to handle them roughly.

 

Finally, after what felt like an aching eternity, Mycroft was bare-chested.  Shivering, Greg shoved him down onto the bed and yanked his own shirt off to toss on the floor. Their eyes locked, both sets of pupils blown wide, and next Greg was climbing onto the bed and straddling his lover as he leaned down for a heated kiss.

 

Mycroft’s hands were on his chest, and then his back, his nails dragging down Greg’s slightly tanned skin. His long legs were wrapping around Greg’s waist, and god it felt so good. It was with reluctance he shifted away after they were both left breathless and panting from the intensity of their kisses, but since it was to rid Mycroft of his trousers, Greg supposed he could cope.

 

Shortly they were both naked and pressing together, Greg taking both of them in his hand and stroking slowly. Their hips rocked together, Mycroft arching his back to press them against each other.  The almost desperate noises the politician made when they were like this was dizzying.  Greg watched his face for a while, gazing at each tiny way Mycroft’s forehead and mouth and nose twitched with each wave of pleasure that shot through him.

 

Greg had his face buried in Mycroft’s neck, panting against his skin and rubbing along their slick tips with his thumb, which always made Mycroft jerk and almost yelp every time.  The younger man shifted under him, adjusting to a better position as he parted his legs a bit, causing Greg to settle between them even easier than he’d been before.  He was moving to gently bite at Mycroft’s collarbone when he felt his lover’s body start to shake a bit underneath him.  At first, he thought it was his climax starting to hit, but… No. After a second, he heard sounds coming from Mycroft that wasn’t any kind of moan or other pleasurable sound. No, it was…

 

Laughter?

 

Greg blinked, starting to slow in his movements a bit. Mycroft was still moving, however, so they continued to rock against each other, even as his laughter became much more evident.  Greg lifted his head, puzzled, but couldn’t hold back a bit of a chuckle himself.

 

“What’s so funny?” he asked breathlessly. Mycroft blinked, quieting, before busting out into another stream of giggles.

 

“Apologies, Gregory,” he said as his voice quivered with continuous laughter. “It’s just… We’re still wearing our socks.”

 

Greg arched an eyebrow and stilled, turning to look at their tangled legs.  Sure enough, in their haste to get undressed and touch one another, neither man had taken off their socks.   He had to admit, it did look silly.  This set off another round of giggles from Mycroft, which Greg couldn’t help but join in on. They’d never had sex with just their socks on before.  It was a simple thing, and Greg supposed it really wasn’t THAT funny, but…

 

There was something about them laughing together in the middle of sex that was just lovely.  Greg had never done that before.  It was playful.  They took a moment to recover from their amusement, their laughter starting to softly die off as they gazed at one another, before Mycroft lifted his head to initiate another kiss.

 

“Come now Gregory,” he said, whispering the double entendre deeply against Greg’s lips, rolling his hips up and thrusting both of them through the hand that was still wrapped around their erections. Greg groaned and began moving his hand again, going back at it with full, perfect intensity.

Chapter Text

Years of association and polite meetings all led to this.  What started as a professional relationship, brought together because of Sherlock, slowly turned into a friendship.  With that friendship came coffee, comfortable conversations, and actual laughter. Hangouts with coffee turned into lunch. Lunch turned into dinner. The laughter became more private, more… intimate.

 

Now here they were.  Greg had his arms around Mycroft Holmes’ waist, and they were kissing.  Christ could the man kiss.  They had shared simple kisses here and there, of course. They started having dates, holding hands, and once Greg had worked up the balls to do it, there were simple kisses. But this… This was heavy, wanting kisses, and Mycroft was biting his lower lip and tugging, and it was perfect.

 

“You know when I said we could come back for coffee, I didn’t mean coffee, right?” he whispered softly, rubbing his nose against Mycroft’s with a grin.

 

“You mean you’re not going to brew me a hot caffeinated beverage?” Mycroft asked, dropping his mouth open as he feigned surprise.

 

“Smart ass,” Greg chuckled, nudging the politician in the chest playfully.  Mycroft smirked.

 

“I know quite what you had in mind, Gregory. Believe me when I say I want it as well,” Mycroft panted slightly, leaning back in to initiate another heated kiss.

 

Slowly, they made their way through Greg’s flat. He navigated it expertly, being matched touch for touch and kiss for kiss.  Mycroft’s hands ran down his arms and sides, slipping under his shirt to stroke the skin of his stomach and making him shiver a bit.  Finally, they made it into the bedroom, and they took the slightest of steps back from each other.

 

“May I?” Mycroft asked, panting, running his pale eyes up and down Greg’s torso.  The older man felt his skin tingle.

 

“Yes,” he breathed.  Mycroft took the approval quickly to grab a hold of his shirt and tug.  Greg lifted his arms and his shirt was pulled off and discarded to the side.  He remained silent, watching as Mycroft let his eyes roam across his naked torso.

 

“Gregory, you have…”

 

“Tattoos, yeah,” he shrugged, rubbing the back of his head a bit.

 

The heated intimacy they were just sharing died down a little bit, but was not abandoned.  Reaching out, Mycroft started tracing the outlines of the guitar he had on his left side.  He shifted his arm and turned so the younger man could better see it.

 

“How many?” Mycroft asked in a hushed tone, examining the guitar closely as he traced.  Greg let out a small breath as the motion tickled slightly, and he turned his head to watch him again.

 

“Why don’t you inspect, Myc?” he asked softly, grinning. “I’m all yours.”

 

The look Mycroft gave him at that statement sent heat flaring through him.  He bit his lip a bit and ran his fingers through the other man’s hair, stroking the back of his neck lightly, but did not go any further.  The moment that was occurring between them was intimate on more than one level.  The steamy stuff would flare back up shortly, of course.  However, this was also about getting to know one another on an extremely personal level. It was about exploring each other’s bodies, which Mycroft was currently taking full advantage of.

 

The younger man was running the tips of his fingers along his skin, finding each of the six tattoos that decorated his upper body. He pressed close as he explored, kissing bare skin and breathing against him, making him shiver.

 

“You have more than I expected,” Mycroft said after a moment, as he’d circled around and was now standing in front of Greg again.

 

“I used to have a nipple ring too,” he commented, not entirely sure why he said it but chuckling as he watching Mycroft’s eyebrow rise?

 

“Which one?” he asked, his eyes flicking down to Greg’s chest.

 

“Left.”

 

Mycroft leaned in, running the tip of his tongue over that nipple.  Greg let out a soft gasp.

 

“Why did you rid yourself of it?” he asked before running his tongue along it again.  Greg whimpered.

 

“D-dunno,” he breathed, reaching out to clutch Mycroft’s arm.

 

“You were quite adventurous in your youth, weren’t you?” Mycroft asked as he righted himself.

 

“Yeah,” Greg smiled, pressing in and slipping his hands under Mycroft’s coat to slide it off his shoulders. “Me and my best mate James always went and got them together.”

 

“Should I be jealous?” Mycroft teased.

 

“Nah,” Greg said, leaning in to initiate another kiss. This one was heated again and they gripped at one another as their arousal flourished. “Not when I’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

Greg could swear he was a fish in another life. It was the best explanation. He loved being in the water about as much as he loved cooking, which he loved almost as much as the handsome man reclining at the poolside under a large umbrella.  Smiling softly to himself, he swam over to the edge of the pool and rested his arms on the warm concrete, propping his chin there and gazing over at Mycroft.

 

“You should join me love,” he said softly, watching as the politician looked up from the book he was holding.

 

“That wouldn’t be the wisest choice,” Mycroft commented, arching an eyebrow. “I am fine right here, admiring you enjoying the water.”

 

Greg chuckled and turned his head to the side, his cheek squishing as he pushed into his arm.  He shifted his legs under the water absently, causing it to ripple against his back.

 

“I’d enjoy it more with you,” he protested. Mycroft shook his head.

 

“Gregory dear, I regret to remind you of the delicacy of my skin under the sun’s rays,” Mycroft pointed out. He marked his place in the book and set it aside, before sitting up straighter and folding his hands on his lap.

 

“What if I put sunscreen on you?” Greg asked, his grin widening.  He was nothing if not persistent. “We have some of that real heavy duty stuff. And I won’t let you burn, promise. Maybe just enough to get you a few more freckles…”

 

“That is really the last thing I desire,” Mycroft scoffed, rolling his eyes. He had quite enough freckles already, thank you very much.  Shaking his head, Greg pushed himself out of the water.  Droplets fell off him and slid down his body as he started to walk over to where his partner was sitting.  He didn’t miss the way Mycroft’s eyes locked on his torso, or the way his lips parted slightly.  It made him smirk.

 

“Come on Myc,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the chair and leaning in to rub his nose along the younger man’s cheek. Mycroft sighed, shaking his head in exasperation.

 

“Fine,” he conceded.  Greg’s grin brightened, making Mycroft chuckle. “In many ways, you are still so childlike, my dear.”

 

“And you love it,” Greg retorted, turning at his waist to reach for the aforementioned sunscreen.  He popped the cap open and poured some of the somewhat coconut-scented liquid out onto his palm.  Pressing his hands together, he rubbed them together to coat both palms. “Now turn, love.”

 

Eyes shining in amusement, Mycroft shifted on the chair and turned so that his back was facing Greg.  He gazed along that freckled back, leaning in to press a kiss to the base of his neck.  He pressed two and three, moving down slightly with each other.

 

“Thought you were applying my sunscreen?” Mycroft asked, his voice light.  Greg grinned.

 

“About to.  Can’t help that you distract me,” Greg grinned, sitting up. Sighing softly through his nose, he reached up and started rubbing along Mycroft’s shoulders in a gentle massage. He started at the edge, moving in and along his muscles slowly.  Mycroft let out a content noise, his eyes fluttering shut and his head falling forward slightly.

 

As he reached halfway down his partner’s back, Greg had to stop momentarily so he could get out more sunscreen. He continued at that point, rubbing in small circles along the muscles of Mycroft’s lower back. The younger man let out another noise.

 

“Feels good,” Mycroft sighed softly. Smiling, Greg finished covering his back and retrieved more sunscreen.

 

“Face me again now,” he requested affectionately. Mycroft did so, turning and glancing down as their knees brushed against each other.  Greg continued applying the sunscreen to his arms and chest, definitely not ignoring the way he shivered slightly as his hands brushed along his nipples.  Greg smirked.

 

“Ready for that swim now?” he asked, glancing up at Mycroft, smiling.  The younger man nodded, taking Greg’s hand and threading their fingers together as they stood.

 

“Yes, I believe I can make due with a short swim,” he commented.  Greg squeezed their hands and led Mycroft over to the pool, tugging him in for a sweet kiss before the both climbed into the comfortably cool water.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Lestrade?  Yes, hello.  Your daughter Abigail got into a fight this afternoon at school, we need you to come down.”

 

When Greg had gotten the call, he could scarcely believe it was actually happening.  His Abby, a fight?  She was getting sent home for the remainder of the week?  His Abby? He kept asking himself that as he left the Yard and drove to meet with the school officials and pick up his little girl.  They explained very little, and Abby sat in a chair staring at the floor the whole time, her hands balled into fists as she gripped her trousers tightly.  Greg was polite, apologized, and then they were leaving.

 

He stopped in the deserted hallway and crouched down, holding onto Abby’s shoulders gently and looking into her eyes. She hadn’t cried, but she was upset. His brown eyes were soft and patient.

 

“Okay, you wanna tell me what happened?” he asked softly.  Abby huffed.

 

“Eric said…” she started, her voice wavering with tears Greg knew wouldn’t fall. “He called you disgusting.  Said I… said I should be ashamed for having two daddies now. That you and My were… unnatural.”

 

It was clear she was extremely upset over it all. Greg sighed through his nose. He couldn’t blame her; he would’ve done the same damn thing.  He squeezed her shoulders again softly and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead.

 

“It’s okay dear,” he said softly. “I’m sorry you had to hear something like that.  That you…”

 

“No!  Da, don’t be sorry.  I love you and My. I love having you both as daddies.” Now this was where her eyes started to shine with tears.  She gripped his shirt tightly, and he nodded, tucking hair behind her ear.

 

“I know, love.  It’s okay.  Some people are ignorant, but the good thing is their ignorance won’t hurt our lives, yeah?” Abby nodded. Greg smiled and stood. “Now come on. Someone’s waiting for us.”

 

Abby’s eyes lit up, as she knew exactly who that someone was.  She practically took off into a sprint that Greg didn’t even bother trying to put up with, smiling softly as he watched her.  He just… He couldn’t quite bring himself to punish her for it.  She needed to understand that hitting the kid wasn’t really the best choice to go with first, but… He understood why she did it.  She was proud of him, and of his marriage, and that made him want to cry.  Nothing had been more important than his children’s’ acceptance, so the fact that his youngest had socked a kid in the jaw for slandering it made him rather proud honestly.

 

He would tell her that.  Once she’d understood she really needed to not do something to that effect again.

 

“My!!” Abby cried out as they stepped outside and she laid eyes on the taller of the two men, complete with his umbrella, standing next to a familiar black vehicle.  Mycroft crouched some as she approached, Greg close behind.

 

“Good afternoon Abigail,” he greeted, and then glanced at his husband with a soft smile.  The three of them climbed in the car and it drove off.  Greg assumed one of Mycroft’s employees would drive his car back to the house.  They usually did.

 

“Now Mycroft knows as well as I do that you going home is not all fun and relaxation,” Greg pointed out after a moment. He still had to be a father, through it all.  Just… not a harsh father.

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft nodded, further emphasizing his point. “While I am not yet fully aware of the details of your encounter, resorting to physical violence is not always the best or first choice, my dear.”

 

Abby nodded, staring down at the floor a bit.

 

“I know, m’sorry…” she sighed. “I just…”

 

“It’s okay, Abby,” Greg made sure to say before she felt too terrible about it.  The young girl blinked and looked back up. “I understand, love. I do. You just need to be careful, okay? If something like that starts to happen again, there are two things you can do that will be better than hitting the boy.”

 

“What are those?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

 

“Ignore him and walk away, first,” Greg said, sticking up a finger.  Then, he added a second. “Or, report him to a teacher, and let them give out a more appropriate punishment.”

 

Abby nodded, fiddling with the hem of her shirt a bit.

 

“Kay,” she muttered. 

 

“Do not worry, Abigail,” Mycroft soothed. “It’s over and done with for now.”

 

“I just don’t like people saying it’s disgusting,” she pouted, huffing.  Slowly, Greg slid a hand across to thread his fingers with Mycroft’s and squeeze. Pale eyes flicked over to him briefly. Abby saw, and smiled. “Because see? Your love is beautiful. You’re both my daddies and it makes me happy and proud.”

Chapter Text

This had been the week from hell. Greg hadn’t worked a case this difficult since the mess of bombings Moriarty had pulled them and Sherlock into. The detective was like a kid in a candy store, of course, having the time of his life.  Greg felt like he was losing years off whatever life he had left. He hadn’t slept in three days straight, living off of coffee and sub sandwiches and adrenaline.

 

The string of murders had gotten more complex and more gruesome as the case was drawn out.  Complex… It was the nice term for it.  As it turned out, they were so much more than a simple string of murders.  There was not just motive behind the killings, but slowly they uncovered a political connection between them all.  It had been hard to find, and even Sherlock himself didn’t see it for a while, but once they did it was clear as day.  This was also the time that Mycroft had to get involved.

 

Their work didn’t often overlap like this. Before, on the times that it had, they had overlapped just enough for Mycroft to have it yanked from Greg’s jurisdiction and worked on much more privately.  The elder Holmes had been unable to do it with this, because it was already too involved and not so easily contained, so here they were.

 

Their sofa was usually used for cuddling, and drinking, and some heavy snogging.  Now, though, it was also used for work.  The two men were sitting side by side, Mycroft with his nose buried in his mobile and Greg was leaning over papers that were strewn across the table. He had a mug of fresh coffee in his hand and he was sipping out of it silently and yawning.

 

“You need to rest,” Mycroft commented, slipping a hand around Greg’s waist.  The older man turned to glance at him, and his pale eyes shifted away from his mobile long enough to glance at the pen hanging out of his mouth. Greg blinked and reached to take it out, not realizing he’d been chewing on it.  It was a habit he still tended to do as a result of quitting smoking, when he was in high stress situations.  He took in his partner’s appearance: his nightclothes and red robe were well kept as always, but his hair was a bit messy and he had lines showing under his eyes.

 

“Says the pot to the kettle,” Greg commented, tossing the pen down on top of a case file on the table and drinking his coffee. Mycroft arched an eyebrow and hummed, but continued reading and typing. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

 

“Perhaps, but Gregory, I am used to the intensity of these long hours.  I am a Holmes, after all, and you’ve met my brother.”

 

“You’re talking like,” Greg started, having to pause as he broke out into a large yawn. “Like I’m not.  You know this is normal to me, love.”

 

Mycroft glanced up from his mobile again to look at Greg sitting there in his punk band t-shirt, messy silver hair, and equally baggy eyes.  He stroked the area of the older man’s side where his hand rested, a tiny smile sliding onto his mouth.

 

“Come here, Gregory,” he requested with a tilt of his head.

 

Smiling, Greg set his coffee mug down and picked back up his case files.  Then, he did as requested, shifting back on the couch and leaning into the younger man’s side. They fell back into comfortable silence as they worked.  Occasionally, they would hold short conversations with each other as one of them found something, discussing the evidence involved.  Greg prodded Mycroft for his theories, and it was refreshing working with the other Holmes brother for once.

 

Even with Mycroft working it, things were still going slowly.  Greg jotted down notes and texted Sherlock, silence still settling between them. They leaned their heads together and sighed in unison, sharing a kiss before continuing.

 

As a little more time passed, both men started to get the sleep they so desperately needed.  Sure, neither of them had chosen to, but before they knew it, both sets of eyes were closed and both Mycroft’s mobile and Greg’s case file had slipped from their fingers to fall on their laps.  It wasn’t likely they’d be sleeping for more than an hour or two, but at least it was something.

Chapter Text

Mycroft couldn’t quite recall how long he’d owned the treadmill that was in his house.

 

He used it quite frequently; more so in times where he felt his diet had been slipping (which usually coincided with a smart ass comment from his dear little brother).  When he had started attempting, and then succeeding, to court Gregory Lestrade, he used it a lot.  One had to keep up one’s appearances, of course.  While he would absolutely never admit it outloud, there was a concern down inside him that if he slipped and gained back the weight he’d done a good job of keeping off, Greg might no longer find him attractive.

 

Caring had never been an advantage, of course, but now that he did, he couldn’t turn it off.  The thought of losing Greg was unpleasantly numbing.

 

When the two of them moved in together, the older man began using the treadmill a bit himself.  He joked that he never really needed to, as he had to chase Sherlock around London more often than he cared to admit, yet there were days that he changed into a plain t-shirt and shorts and went to run.

 

Most of the time, when Greg was using the exercise room for the treadmill, or the occasional weight lifting, Mycoft was either still at the office, or in his study working on something.  There were occasions, though, that he would join his partner in the room.  They would necessarily work out at the same time, because it was a bit difficult to do with only one set of each piece of equipment, but he would keep Greg company. Sometimes they would discuss a case he was working, or they would talk about their days (what they were able to discuss, anyway).  Some days they were in comfortable silence, and Mycroft would read the newspaper or enjoy a glass of scotch.

 

This was one of those nights. Mycroft was relaxing in a chair, legs crossed loosely, currently holding his second glass of scotch. His eyes were closed, and he was listening to the sounds of his darling Gregory behind him on the treadmill. The sounds of the machine, the pounding of the detective inspector’s feet on the belt, his panting…

 

Greg’s panting was very distracting in this current moment.  Perhaps it was the scotch. Perhaps it was their work schedules keeping them from being intimate with each other for the past week. Whatever the root cause of it was, it was very distracting. The way he was panting, and the occasional grunting noises he was making as he exerted himself… It sounded an awful lot like the way Greg sounded when they were making love to one another.

 

Mycroft was good about distancing himself from his bodily desires when it was required.  At least, he was most of the time.  He was better at it before he started dating Greg.  Some days, though, it was all he could think about. He couldn’t stop thinking of the way Greg would touch him, or the things he would say and do, and the way it all made him feel.

 

Today seemed to be one of those days, for sure. Besides, he didn’t have any pressing business to attend to currently, meaning there was nothing that was motivating him from not focusing on these wonderful images.  He shifted in his seat as he felt heat pooling deep in his gut. Sighing through his nose, he finished off his scotch and gave in so he could turn to look at the other man.

 

Greg’s forehead was glistening with a line of sweat. His silvery hair was slightly darkened as it had become damp.  His eyes were closed and his lips were parted, huffing soft breaths as he ran. His hands were balled into loose fists, and the shirt he was wearing was also darkened with sweat on his sides and around his neck.  Mycroft stared. He knew he was staring, and he really couldn’t care less.  He watched the way his muscles hardened and flexed as he ran.

 

Mycroft licked his lips and shivered slightly. It was ridiculously arousing. He was hard pressed to ignore the erection he so obviously had now.  Swallowing, he straightened himself before standing and clearing his throat.

 

“Gregory dear, I am going to go take a shower,” he said, his voice surprisingly controlled.  He turned on his heel and left the room before his partner could respond. This didn’t negate the possibility of them doing something before bed, but he did not want to interrupt Greg’s workout session and he definitely had to take care of something.

Chapter Text

One year ago today, Greg stood in front of Mycroft Holmes, in front of friends and family, and they pledged themselves to each other. One year ago today they exchanged rings, and their bond became official in the eyes of the law. In every sense of the word, they were husbands.

 

Now that year had gone by.  In some ways, it had flown by.  They had already been living together so nothing really changed, except that Greg could glance down on his hand and see his wedding band shine in the light and smile.  Before work that morning, the two of them had shared a rather big breakfast. Normally, they would drink their coffee and tea, Greg would maybe make some toast, and that would be it. Today, they ate properly. They spent the time together, threading their fingers together when they could, and they shared a longer kiss than normal before each of them went off on their days.

 

Greg ended up not having to go out for lunch that day. A very delighted Anthea brought food to him.  It was rare for her to have such a smile plastered on her face, but she rolled her eyes and winked at him, even as she continued to stare at her Blackberry, and departed after a quick “It’s from the boss, his head is in the clouds today”.

 

That had made him giddy.  Really, it was just another day.  But it was a big day, at the same time.  It was nice to hear that Mycroft was thoroughly distracted while at work.  As long as that distraction didn’t cause any issues in the future… Though Greg doubted that it would.

 

They had plans for dinner that night. The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough, but thankfully it did, and Greg sped home to change. He met his husband at the restaurant, who stood and pulled him into a quick embrace with a kiss on the cheek. It was about as affectionate as Mycroft allowed himself in public, and Greg couldn’t help it if he was grinning like an idiot.

 

Dinner was lovely.  Everything was amazing, as it always was, the two of them shared and finished off an entire bottle of wine, and their conversation was as relaxed and normal as it always was.  After dinner, they shared a piece of cheesecake, which was also delicious, and then Greg assumed they would head back home.

 

The car didn’t take them home, however. He looked at Mycroft curiously, but was met with a knowing smile and no explanation.  So instead, he turned to look out the window and try to figure out by their surroundings where they were going.  Soon, they were leaving London, and Greg turned to look at Mycroft in complete confusion.

 

“Why are we leaving London?” he asked, brow furrowed. Mycroft’s smile widened.

 

“We’re going to East Sussex.  Just for a little while, because I want us in our own bed tonight. But this first…”

 

That was all the explanation Greg was given. Mycroft fell silent after that and took hold of his hand, threading their fingers together.  East Sussex… Greg was trying to think of the significance. They had vacationed in Sussex before, of course, and there was a small home that Mycroft owned there, but… They weren’t staying there.  So what were they doing?

 

He thought about it as they drove. It was a little less than a two-hour trip, and about halfway through, an idea dawned on him.

 

“Are we going to Camber Sands?” he asked, turning his body to face Mycroft completely.  The smile he received in return answered it for him.  Greg broke out into a huge grin.  They had spend a lot of time at that beach when they’d been on vacation, and what a wonderful, gorgeous spot it was.  Greg loved it.

 

He spent the rest of the drive kissing his amazing husband.  It started slow, but finally Greg stopped giving a shit and crawled into Mycroft’s lap in the car. They gripped at each other, kissing intensely and biting a bit, and both men ended up with flushed cheeks and panting softly.  They didn’t take it any further, though.  Not for now, at least. Soon, the car was stopping, and they were getting out and walking down to the beach.

 

Greg pulled his socks and shoes off, leaving them in a spot near the edge of the beach.  Mycroft followed suit.  Hand in hand, they walked across the sand, gazing out at the darkness of the water and the moon up above.  It was an amazingly cloudless night, and they could see the stars…

 

Together they walked, admiring the view. When they stopped, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing, and it was perfect.

Chapter Text

“Dibd’you get Jabes Bond?” Mycroft sniffed, wincing as he did.  He was lying in bed next to his partner, who was equally as sick as he was.  The two men were curled under two duvets with a mound of pillows built up behind them.  Greg had gotten a cold from someone at the Yard that quickly went out of control. As Mycroft had tended to him and tried to help cure the illness, it latched onto him the following day.

 

They were quite the pair.  Both of them were ridiculously stopped up, and had long since abandoned the handkerchiefs they usually used in favor of lotion-treated tissues. Said tissues were littered along the bed, as both of them were a bit too weak to deal with actually throwing them away. Mycroft would find it immensely unsanitary if both of them didn’t feel utterly awful and could really care less at this point.

 

“A’course,” Greg nodded, pulling over his laptop and propping it up on one of the unused pillows near Mycroft’s legs. He’d just put in the DVD of Skyfall, and he settled back at it loaded the main menu.  It was kind of a tradition between the two of them to watch a James Bond movie when one or both of them was sick.  It had started one day when Mycroft had been so out of sorts he was miserable, but also very bored.  It had been amusing hearing him sound so much like Sherlock, though Greg refused to comment.  So, in effort to give Mycroft’s mind something to do, he’d started up a Bond marathon.  The rest was history.

 

Mycroft was sipping on a mug of Lemsip, the steamy substance causing his extremely sore nose to tingle as it worked out his stuffiness some.  He sniffed roughly, feeling the moisture trickling down.  Ugh.  It was disgusting.  With a frown, he looked around for the tissues, because unlike the older man had done before, Mycroft completely refused to use the sleeve of his light blue nightwear to wipe his nose clean.  No. That was a level of unsanitary the posh man would never stoop to.

 

“Grebgory, where…” he started, when he noticed the box he was searching for.  It was sitting over on the older man’s other side.  He huffed through parted lips.  Greg blinked, noticing his runny nose, and managed a tiny smile.

 

“Need these?” he asked hoarsely, picking up the box. Mycroft nodded and reached over, leaning against Greg’s shoulder, only to be denied as Greg held the box a little further away.  Even though his misery was still plastered all over his face, there was a playful shine in his brown eyes.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft practically whined, all dignity flying out the window.  He sniffed again as he felt it slide a little further, utterly mortified by the feeling. His slender fingers were splayed and wiggling slightly, his pale eyes gazing at his lover and pleading.

 

Greg could not resist that look. He felt a piece of his heart crumple a bit, and almost instantly, he set the box down a lot closer to his sick other half.  Mycroft quickly snatched a handful of tissues and wiped at his nose, wincing again at the pain that came with it from how much he’d been rubbing and blowing.  He did all of this again, however, as he tried to clear his nasal passages.

 

“Sorry darling,” Greg apologized, sliding an arm behind and around Mycroft’s shoulders.  Mycroft sniffed delicately in annoyance, though he was too weak and comfortable to move away from Greg’s warm body.

 

“You cab make it up to be by makibg more Lemsip,” Mycroft muttered, setting the now used tissues aside and settling back into the pillows that were mainly behind Greg.  At least it gave him a reason to snuggle a bit closer.  He got extra cuddly when he felt awful.

 

“I will,” Greg agreed, turning to press a kiss into Mycroft’s extremely messy hair.  He reached over and pulled out a tissue of his own to blow his equally sore, red nose, and sighed as he sniffed in attempt to clear himself up. “But first, let’s gaze at Daniel Craig for a bit.”

 

Nodding with the slightest smile he felt okay enough to manage, Mycroft reached over with the hand not holding his mug to start the movie.  With a sigh, he settled back into Greg’s side, half paying attention to the opening credit sequence of the movie, half falling asleep in his medicated and pained state. Greg had to take the half full mug from his grip gently and set it aside so it wouldn’t spill, and he kissed Mycroft’s hair again as he settled in himself.  It was going to be a long, difficult illness, but they took comfort in each other.  It helped.

Chapter Text

Mycroft was more than eager to get home that evening. It had been a long week and he had hardly seen Greg, and this evening out mark the start of a lovely, work-free weekend.  There would be lovely dinners, sleeping in, movies, and lots of sex.  The two of them had no plans to leave the house. They needed it too, with as much as they’d both been working.  Finally, they would spend some quality time together.

 

The politician sighed in relaxation as he entered their home and shut the door behind him.  Walking over to the coat rack as he did daily, he shed his jacket, hanging it up, and then put down his briefcase and umbrella.

 

“Gregory?” he called out, listening for signs of his partner in the house.  There was no response, so Mycroft hummed to himself in thought and walked through the house. He glanced in the kitchen before making his way into the sitting room.  He opened his mouth to call out again, when the sight in front of him caused him to stop dead in his tracks.

 

One of their small tables had been turned over, the book and empty glass that had been sitting on it had slid across the floor. While the sofa mostly obscured him, Mycroft saw the back of Greg’s head and one of his arms as he lay, unmoving on the floor.  Mycroft felt his heart stop.

 

“Gregory!” he called out, willing himself to move as he darted across the room.  Pale eyes widened as he fell to his knees in front of Greg, and for a moment all he could do was stare and assess.  Blow to the head, he could see the blood.  Most likely from the table that had been turned over. Breathing: Mycroft could see the slight rise and fall of Greg’s chest and the way his pulse throbbed in his neck. Finally, he reached forward with shaky hands and brushed through his silvery hair, panting slightly.

 

“Oh Gregory,” Mycroft whined, covering his partner’s forehead and feeling the slightly elevated warmth. His brow furrowed in deep concern, but every attempt to wake the older man brought about no result. So, he grabbed his mobile.

 


 

Greg woke with a gasp, followed by a groan. He shifted, attempting to move, but was stopped as a hand pressed against his shoulder and pressed him back down on the bed.  He blinked, his vision unfocused, and parted his lips with a soft whine.

 

“Hush, my dear.  It’s okay,” came Mycroft’s voice, easing through his consciousness and causing him to relax some.  His brow furrowed, and he registered a somewhat familiar beeping sound.  A heart monitor?

 

“M-myc?” he asked hoarsely, before breaking out in a cough.  He blinked, trying to clear his vision, until finally he started making out his surroundings.

 

He was in a hospital room, lying in a bed and wearing a gown.  It was a smaller room, with one chair to his right, where his partner was currently seated. Behind Mycroft and behind him (he assumed) was an array of hospital equipment and IVs, all of which he was strapped up to.  He frowned.

 

“What happened?” he asked, having to shut his eyes again as his head started to throb.

 

“You overworked yourself and collapsed,” Mycroft answered softly, taking hold of his hand.  Mycroft’s hands were so soft and warm. “You hit your head and received a concussion as you fell.”

 

Greg sighed, fingers twitching as he attempted to squeeze Mycroft’s hand.  He hadn’t been eating or sleeping well due to the case he’d just been working, but he had so been looking forward to their weekend.  It looked like his body had finally given up on him. Opening his eyes again, he turned his head to look at the younger man properly and frown.

 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, coughing again. Mycroft released his hand to retrieve the cup of water and held it close enough so Greg could get the straw into his mouth and drink.  It was nice and cool. Felt good.  When he was done, he turned away so he could continue. “I ruined our weekend.”

 

“No, you did not,” Mycroft said, shaking his head. “They’re going to release you in the morning.  We can still have our weekend.”

 

The politician fell silent and took Greg’s hand again, his pale eyes staring at them instead of actually looking at his face. Greg frowned again and this time, he was able to squeeze that slender hand he loved so much.

 

“You scared me,” Mycroft whispered, his voice sounding small and vulnerable. “I came home and saw… Gregory, I was terrified.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Greg responded, and their eyes locked. Emotion was spread all across Mycroft’s face, and even now, he still looked scared.  Greg squeezed that hand again. “Please forgive me, Myc. I didn’t know it would hit me that hard.”

 

He ached.  It felt like a truck had hit him.  Greg sighed through his nose and opened his mouth to speak again, but it was cut short as Mycroft leaned over the bed and kissed him gently.

 

“Of course you are forgiven,” Mycroft whispered against his lips, brushing their noses together. “And we will continue with our weekend plans.  Just…with a bit more care. I will take care of you, my love.”

 

Greg smiled, tilting his head to initiate another slow kiss.

 

“You always do,” he whispered in response.

Chapter Text

“And get officers around the block, we…” Greg was instructing, trying to keep his voice smooth, gesturing around with a shaky hand. “We t-travelled a good bit.  Don’t wanna miss anything.”

 

Sally nodded, glancing at him skeptically before turning and starting to shout directions to the officers dancing around the scene. Greg huffed through his nose and stood, shrugging away the paramedic that was trying to dance around him. He had work to do.

 

Leave it to Sherlock to give chase with a suspect in the middle of December.  Of course, Greg had to go after him, because he was still a bloody civilian… as well as his future brother-in-law.  Greg had always been a bit protective over the mad younger Holmes, though, far before he got romantically involved with Mycroft.

 

Who, speaking of, was currently striding across the crime scene, using his long legs to his greatest advantage to close the distance between them.

 

“Gregory, you’re shaking,” was the first thing out of Mycroft’s mouth, and he reached up to grab the bright orange blanket that had been draped around Greg’s shoulders and tug it tighter around him. Greg opened his mouth to protest, to move, but the look his partner gave him made him stay still and silent.

 

“Myc, I’m f-fine,” he sighed, glancing around to make sure everything was getting done properly.  Maybe he was shaking.  Yeah, okay, he was absolutely bloody freezing.  That’s what happens, though, when one slips and falls right into the Thames.  In December. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I came to see if you were at a stopping point to share some coffee, but now it seems I would very much like to get you home instead,” Mycroft sighed, running a gloved hand through Greg’s damp hair to push it out of his forehead.

 

“I can’t go home, Mycroft,” Greg started to complain. “I have too much to do.”

 

“Well you should have thought about that before you decided to take a swim in the Thames.”

 

“You can blame your brother for that,” Greg almost snapped.  He didn’t mean to take it out on Mycroft… He was stressed, cold, and a bit pissed. Luckily, his fiancé knew it was not his intention, and his icy glare was immediately relocated to where Sherlock was standing a few yards off with John.  It seemed that the doctor was giving his flatmate an earful already, which made Greg almost chuckle.

 

“I will have him murdered,” Mycroft muttered in irritation.  Greg shook his head and reached up to bring the politician’s attention back to him.

 

“No you won’t, Myc.  I’m fine.”

 

“You’re freezing.  You’ll catch your death if I don’t get you home.”

 

Greg wouldn’t deny that if he didn’t get warm and dry soon, he would definitely get real sick.  That was something he didn’t need.  As he thought about it, he wondered if it really would be fine to let his partner take him home.

 

“Donovan!” he called out, cupping a hand at the side of his mouth to give himself a bit more volume.  The sergeant turned, and he waved her back over. She glanced at Mycroft and nodded her hello, but said nothing directly to him.

 

“Yeah boss?” she asked.

 

“You have a handle on things here?” Greg asked, trying to grip at his blanket.  His fingers were going numb.  Yeah… He needed to warm up.  His shivering was dying down, but he knew he was still cold, so that wasn’t the best sign in the world.

 

“I do.  It’s just cleanup.  Get home so you don’t get horribly sick,” she said.  She nodded at Mycroft again, getting a grateful one in return, and she turned back again to continue her job.  Greg sighed and slumped his shoulders.

 

“You win.  Take me home, love,” he mumbled.  Mycroft didn’t hesitate in leading him to the black car that was wonderfully heated inside.  Before he was joined in the vehicle, however, he overheard Mycroft saying something rather rude to Sherlock, who must’ve caught sight of him.  He chuckled as his lover joined him and they drove off.

 

“Down, tiger,” he teased.  Mycroft ignored the jab in favor of pulling another blanket out from somewhere Greg hadn’t seen and draping it around him.

 

“My foolish brother deserves far worse for causing this amount of suffering for you, Gregory.”

 

“For the last time, Myc, I’m fine. It’s okay.”

 

They fell silent, and Mycroft leaned in to press a warm, gentle kiss to Greg’s cold lips.  He hummed, his eyes fluttering closed as he kissed back, feeling a bit of warmth flooding inside of him.  Now if only it would spread to the outside.

 

“There will be a fire awaiting us at home,” Mycroft whispered affectionately. “And tea.  Perhaps I will draw a bath for you before bed.”

 

“No, you’ll draw a bath for us,” Greg corrected.

 

“Very well,” Mycroft smirked, leaning back in for another kiss.

Chapter Text

The past 8 months had flown by. Greg had almost forgotten this feeling. Being the father of a newborn was exhausting, amazing, and adventurous.  Every single day something wonderful seemed to happen, and every day he was the proud and doting father of his little Oliver.

 

Oliver grew fast.  He was a quick learner, which Greg wasn’t surprised about in the least, but it still shocked him how much quicker their boy picked up on things. Often he joked that it was the Holmes genes in him.  Oliver was very much a Lestrade in his looks: big brown eyes that got him anything he wanted and dark hair that he no doubt got from Greg.  What the older man loved though were the features that were so distinctly Holmsean, making it clear that Mycroft was also his father. The freckles were Greg’s favorite, no matter how much the younger man huffed over that inheritance.

 

Oliver was a very observant baby. 7 months in and he was testing his little legs, which Greg knew would get them in a world of trouble once he was mobile. Oliver would use coffee tables and chairs and both his fathers’ knees to hold himself up and look around with curiosity shining in his eyes that reminded Greg so much of Sherlock it was a bit scary. He would grip with his small fingers and wobble, sometimes keeping himself up successfully and others falling a few seconds later, where Greg could swear he would huff and glare at the offending appendages.

 

What started out as a calm, normal evening in the Lestrade-Holmes household very quickly became a buzz. They had just finished dinner, and Greg was in the sitting room with Oliver.  He was stretched out on the couch while their child sat on the floor, playing with a stuffed bee Uncle Sherlock had given him, and babbling his baby language to it very intently.  After a few moments, Oliver was looking around the room as if searching for something, and his eyes locked on it on the coffee table a little ways away.

 

He set the bee down and turned, as if starting to crawl that way, but then there was a pause.  At first, Greg just noted the movement out of the corner of his eye; the one that was always on the boy so he wouldn’t disappear.  He was lightning fast, after all.  However, Greg quickly turned his full attention over as Oliver stuck his butt up in the air and pushed himself to stand, instead of crawl.

 

Eyes wide, Greg forgot how to breathe in that moment. He was frozen on the sofa, lips parted in awe, until he just about freaked out as Oliver took unsteady, but successful steps forward.  It only took a few to get him to the coffee table, where he reaching for the building blocks sitting there, babbling away.

 

“Myc!!” Greg hollered, sitting up straight. “Myc, get in here!”

 

Mycroft rushed in from the kitchen not seconds later, pale eyes wide in immediate concern at the way Greg’s voice had sounded. He had to admit, it did sound like he had been panicking.  In a way, he supposed he had.   But it was well deserved, because their son had just fucking walked.

 

“What is it, Gregory??” Mycroft asked, looking around the room to see what had caused the alarm.  He saw nothing out of the ordinary, of course. Oliver seemed fine…

 

“Ollie, he… Look.”

 

Greg pointed, not needing to explain, as Oliver had turned and taken his steps back to the blanket, where he plopped back down and picked up his bee again.

 

“Myc, he walked,” Greg said, grinning brightly and practically vibrating on the sofa.  Neither of his girls had gotten the hang of walking on their own like that until they were close to 10 months old.  As always, their Oliver was ahead of the game as far as development went.  It was insane.

 

“He sure did, Gregory,” Mycroft grinned, taking a few steps into the sitting room, watching their son affectionately.

 

“His first steps.  My god.”

 

There was a moment of silence, and Mycroft’s eyebrow arched.

 

“Actually, Gregory, he took a few steps earlier this week,” Mycroft commented, glancing up at his husband with a slightly furrowed brow.  Greg froze and stared, his mouth dropping open.

 

“And you didn’t tell me?!” he asked, completely caught off guard.  He had missed his son’s true first steps?  Without having any idea??  Mycroft shifted, glancing down at Oliver before back up at Greg.

 

“Was… I supposed to?” the younger man asked, genuinely confused.  Greg wanted to be a bit upset, and he supposed he was, but… The look on Mycroft’s face wiped away any anger that may have wanted to come out.  His eyes softened.  His husband was a new father, and Greg knew that his and Sherlock’s childhood hadn’t always been a normal one, so…

 

“It’s okay,” Greg said, standing. He walked over to Mycroft and leaned in to kiss him gently.

 

 

“I apologize, Gregory.  I was not aware…”

 

“I know.  It’s okay love. Let’s just focus on the fact that now that Ollie’s starting to walk, our lives are officially over,” Greg smirked, winking.  Mycroft chuckled.

 

“Yes.  I suppose it is.”

Chapter Text

Greg’s life had been a real strange one since Sherlock Holmes had walked into his life.  Though, he supposed it was more appropriate to say he stumbled into his life and his crime scene, high as a fucking kite.  Yet as he went to have him removed, this young thing had rambled off everything about the crime scene, and a few days later when the case was wrapped and solved, had turned out to be right about it all.

 

The day after that conclusion, Greg was kidnapped and taken to a warehouse.  Well, kidnap was a bit harsh, he supposed.  Not like he was given a choice to climb into that black car, though. This was where things became immensely more complicated and interesting.

 

An interested party had turned out to be this kid’s older brother: Mycroft Holmes. Did that family not have anyone with a normal name?  Greg had been irritated when he was requested to spy on Sherlock, which was peculiar because he’d only known him for a week and he was a drug addict who had no care for authority and rules, but… There was something Greg admired in him. He saw his potential, if only he didn’t have that cocaine…

 

Determined, he started working on getting Sherlock off the drugs.  Allowing him into crimes scenes when he’d stayed clean seemed to be the best means of persuasion. Plus (even though he was definitely breaking a few rules bringing a civilian into these) they started solving some of their more insane and mind-boggling cases.  It was a win win.  As well as that, Greg continued his association with Mycroft.  The older brother seemed impressed by his efforts, and they met weekly to touch base on Sherlock and just… talk.  Their friendship developed surprisingly fast.

 

What was more surprising where the feelings that budded shortly after.  Mycroft was not at all Greg’s normal type in a bloke, but… He was drawn to the man. There was power there, and yet… there was also a gentle side that Greg had a feeling not many people had ever witnessed.  So yeah, maybe he got attracted.  Maybe he developed feelings.  Maybe they went out on a few dates.  Casual, of course. He didn’t really have the guts to actually ask the man out or pursue anything romantic, even though deep down he knew Mycroft would agree.

 

As he was half-watching a football match and drinking a beer, lost in his thoughts, there was a knock on the door that stirred his attention.  Blinking, he set the drink down and stood, turning the volume of his telly down some and heading for the door.

 

“Yeah?” he asked as he opened, and then stopped short at the sight in front of him.  Mycroft was standing there, gripping tightly to a very limp, dirty, and muttering Sherlock.

 

“Apologies, Gregory,” Mycroft said, breaking the stunned silence and adjusting the weight of his brother a bit. “I was unsure where else to go.”

 

That was not something Mycroft ever admitted. He always had places to go, people to call.  Yet here they were… Sherlock was clearly out of his mind on something, which made Greg’s shoulders sag. He hadn’t seen the boy in two weeks, which was normal because he wasn’t always around, but… Obviously he’d fallen off the wagon.  Again. They had been doing so well, too…

 

“Come in,” he ushered, taking a step back and gesturing him. “Over to the couch, lie him down.”

 

Mycroft said nothing more and he all but carried Sherlock into the flat.  He headed immediately for the sofa and dropped him down, causing the younger Holmes to grunt and stare around wildly.  He still didn’t seem too aware of his surroundings.  Greg shut the door and walked to stand next to Mycroft.

 

“It’s a rather bad hit,” Mycroft commented. Greg nodded.  It was pretty obvious, and it was amazing Sherlock hadn’t ODed. Though he supposed that possibility was still there.

 

“Let me get some water,” he said, turning and heading into his kitchen.  He pulled out a water bottle and searched for a cloth to run under the faucet as well. Once everything had been gathered, he headed back in and used the cloth to clean up Sherlock’s face, who started deducing his alcohol consumption and something about his ex-wife and her cheating habits.  He ignored it. It didn’t take long, however, before the babbling man was practically passed out on the sofa. Greg stood and glanced at where Mycroft was still standing.  The poor man looked exhausted and almost terrified.  He never looked that way out in public, but for some reason, he allowed himself to look that way around Greg.  It was pretty much the highest compliment ever.

 

“He’ll be okay,” Greg tried to soothe, walking over and reaching out to squeeze Mycroft’s bicep gently. “Don’t worry. He can stay here, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

 

  1.   Wide, pale eyes shifted from Sherlock to stare right at Greg. It made a shiver run down his spine, but he didn’t break eye contact.

 

“Gregory, I…” Mycroft started. Greg shook his head.

 

“It’s fine.  I’ll take care of it.  I promise.”

 

More silence.  Mycroft was staring at him, staring through him.  He was most likely deducing every bit of him. Greg swallowed and shifted, but didn’t say or do anything.

 

That was when the unexpected happened. One moment they were tending to a drugged Sherlock, the next they were staring at each other.  Then, before Greg knew what was happening, Mycroft’s lips were on his.  Slender hands were gripping at the sleeves of his Arsenal kit tightly.  Greg let out a surprised noise, but after a moment, took the equally bold move to kiss back.

 

The kiss was passionate, eager, and a little desperate. It was also the best kiss Greg had ever experienced.  It made his knees go weak.  Finally, they parted with a gasp, and Mycroft looked almost horrified.

 

“Sincerest apologies, I didn’t… I never…” He was flustered.  The great Mycroft Holmes had no words.  Greg thought it was the cutest thing in the world.  Saying nothing, he reached out and cupped Mycroft’s cheek, causing his stammer to halt instantly.

 

“It’s okay, Mycroft,” Greg said. “Just… Let’s do it again.”

 

The noise of surprise was Mycroft’s this time, as Greg pushed himself up on his toes and initiated their second kiss. It was the start of something that neither of them had to question or try to explain.  Suddenly, it became about them.

 

Chapter Text

“Greg Lestrade, is that YOU?!”

 

The voice was boisterous and frankly, a bit alarming. Mycroft and Greg had been in comfortable conversation, and his sentence was put to a halt as a man with Greg’s height came over with a big grin on his face.  Mycroft blinked, staring up at the intruder with an arched eyebrow and an icy gaze.

 

“J-jason?” Greg blinked, a bit surprised to see the man but obviously a familiar individual.  The older man shifted in his seat, which Mycroft calculated as minor awkwardness, and tore away his gaze to stare at his partner instead.

 

“Yeah, man!  How are you?  It’s crazy seeing you here, it’s been so long,” this Jason was saying, clapping a hand on Greg’s shoulder and squeezing a bit too tightly.  Were Mycroft a cat his hair would be standing up on end. His eyes slanted at the contact.

 

“I’m fine,” Greg was responding, smiling politely.

 

“That’s great!  Saw you were a detective inspector now, good on you. Who’s your friend?”

 

Mycroft had to physically stop himself from bristling even more and saying something rather rude.  Greg gave him a pleading look.

 

“My boyfriend,” he answered, and Jason’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Yeah?  Well congrats man, you landed a good one with Greg,” Jason said, now addressing Mycroft. The politician gazed up at him.

 

“As I am aware,” he made himself comment finally.

 

“Does he still do that thing in bed where he-“

 

“Aaaaand that’s enough, Jas, thanks,” Greg interrupted. Mycroft glared. Clearly an ex-lover, and possibly even an ex-boyfriend.  He also seemed rather oblivious.  It was irritating.

 

“Awww Greggie,” the intruder cooed, wrapping an arm around Greg’s shoulders and squeezing him.  It was a much more intimate gesture than it needed to be, and the look this Jason was giving suggested he was still an interested party. A bold move, considering he was sitting right there. That, on it’s own, was most likely the last straw.

 

“Gregory, darling, would you be so kind to get a refill of tea for me?” Mycroft asked with a gentle smile at his boyfriend. Greg eyed him warily, as if already catching onto his train of thought, but he nodded and stood. He picked up Mycroft’s empty teacup and leaned down for a quick kiss to his cheek before walking to the counter.

 

“Jason, why don’t you have a seat,” Mycroft offered, with clear intention that it was a command, not a request. The man hesitated warily, but slowly sank down into the seat Greg had vacated.

 

“I didn’t catch your name,” Jason said, feeling the awkwardness but attempting conversation.  Mycroft’s pale eyes flared intimidatingly, and Jason’s own widened a bit.

 

“Because it was not offered,” Mycroft said, the ‘obviously’ hanging in the air unsaid.  He threaded his fingers together and rested them on the edge of the table. “Now, what is it you do, Jason?”

 

“I, uh… I bartend at nights, and… during the day I work with the postal service,” came the answer.  Mycroft hummed in obviously fake interest.

 

“I see,” he commented. “Now, do you enjoy your line of work?”

 

“I… do,” Jason nodded.  Mycroft hummed again, glancing at his hands as if in thought. When he looked back up, they were flaring with an even more intense threat in them.

 

“That being the case,” he said, his voice dropping a bit deeper. “You would do well to cease whatever attempts and flirting you are currently doing with Gregory.”

 

“I wasn’t-“ Jason started to protest, practically interrupting Mycroft.  The politician raised a slender hand to command silence, which he got immediately.

 

“You will cease, because as you are clearly aware, he is spoken for and will not reciprocate your advances.  If you enjoy your jobs and would like to have a future with either of them, you will leave. Now.  With no attempts to initiate something of this nature should you ever encounter Gregory again.  Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Are you threatening me?” Jason asked, as if ignoring everything that was just said.  Mycroft sighed.  Normal people were so tedious.

 

“A threat implies some inability to take action,” Mycroft glared. “No, Jason, this is a warning.  Now, leave.”

 

Jason stayed a moment longer, mouth open in shock. Mycroft’s glare hardened, and it was enough to have the man out of his seat and out the door.

 

Moments later, Greg came back with a fresh tea and sat down, sliding the cup over to Mycroft across the table. He had a knowing and amused look on his face.

 

“I see Jason didn’t stick around,” he commented knowingly, grinning.  Mycroft just smiled politely.

 

“We came to an understanding,” he replied. Greg chuckled.

 

“I’m sure you did.” His brown eyes flashed mischievously. “It’s hot when you threaten people.  When you’re jealous.”

 

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are referring to,” Mycroft commented, tilting his chin a bit.  Greg’s grin widened.

 

“I’m sure you do.”

Chapter Text

“Alright people, tread lightly,” Greg was instructing to his team, all clad in bulletproof vests.  Even Mycroft.  The politician had protested, but that had been Greg’s stipulation if he wanted to be a part of this.  His duties, Greg’s ass. They were playing by his rules or not at all. “These men are skilled, they are ruthless, and they are determined. These are not your garden variety criminal, these are terrorists.”

 

“It is imperative we take one of them alive,” Mycroft commented.  Greg noticed the wary looks that were given, and he snapped his fingers.

 

“He’s right,” Greg added. “Listen, I’m in charge, but Mr. Holmes is on point.  He knows more about what’s going on with these guys than we do.  So, one left alive.  Doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt the hell out of ‘em.  Now break.”

 

Without another word, every officer broke off into a formation they had planned and coordinated properly, leaving Greg alone with Mycroft.

 

“You stay behind me, okay?  And if things get rough, you need to-“

 

“Sssh, Gregory,” Mycroft said calmly, reaching up press a finger against the Detective Inspector’s lips.  Greg huffed, but fell silent.  His brown eyes were gazing up pleadingly. “I will.  I’ll be fine.  Let’s go.”

 

“Fine,” Greg sighed. “Have I stated for the record how much I don’t like this plan?”

 

“You have, darling,” Mycroft chuckled. Greg frowned.

 

“Just… please be careful.  And carry your gun.  Please.”

 

Sliding up on his toes, Greg leaned in to kiss Mycroft gently.  It was the only moment they could spare.  Turning, they were crouching down and moving where they needed.  Greg’s heart was pounding, and he gripped his sidearm tightly. This kind of thing always made his adrenaline surge and his determination flare.  There was a layer of panic underneath.  Not for his own life, of course, but for Mycroft’s.  He hated that his partner was here, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

 

When they moved in, things became a blur. They always did. There was darkness and shouting and bullets being fired.  People lost track of each other, but orders were still shouted back and fourth and the bad guys were getting taken out.  It was about all Greg could ask for.

 

“Remember, leave one!” Greg shouted as they were closing in, glancing over his shoulder to see Mycroft trailing behind him, gun pointed confidently.  He smiled slightly, giving himself a single moment to admire how ridiculously sexy the younger man looked.  As he turned to move back in, he heard more shots, one ringing out before three more following suit, and there was a grunt.  From behind him. Greg felt his heart stop.

 

Immediately, he spun around, wide eyes seeking out Mycroft.  He found him, right where he’d been moments before, but he was no longer holding up his gun. He was swaying, and he blinked in confusion, before looking up at Greg.

 

“Gregory, I…” he started, voice pained, and brow furrowing and he stumbled and started to fall forward.  Greg rushed to him, reaching out and grabbing him before he completely collapsed.  Falling to his knees, Greg pulled Mycroft close and started trying to figure out where he had been hit.

 

He could feel warm blood starting to seep onto his lap, and finally he found it.  The bullet had somehow snaked through the vest Mycroft was wearing and hit him on the side.  Hopefully it wasn’t as bad as Greg’s brain was currently making out for it to me.

 

“Myc, hey,” he was saying, patting Mycroft’s cheek slightly to get his attention.  Pale eyes shifted to him, and his brow furrowed again.

 

“Gregory?” he asked, voice softer now. His breath came out in short huffs and he was losing focus.  The pain was probably too intense.

 

“You need to stay with me, you hear?” Greg asked, forcing Mycroft to look at him again.  After a second, he shot his head up and screamed, “Medic!”

 

Thankfully, paramedics showed a moment later. Greg was continuing to mutter to Mycroft, trying to keep him alert and awake so he hopefully wouldn’t go into shock. When they arrived, he was being pulled away from the injured man, and it made his heart clench tightly. He groaned, hand stretched out, not wanting to leave him.

 

Finally, he came to his senses and stood, and rushed out after them.  He was going. It didn’t take much convincing for him to climb into the ambulance, and he watched without breathing as Mycroft was stripped of his jacket, vest, and dress shirt.  The suit… It was one of Greg’s favorites. That made the pain in his chest ache even more. 

 

He was doing his best to keep the tears out of his eyes, and his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were going white. No one was talking to him. They were hunched over Mycroft in the ambulance, talking to each other, but no one was talking to him.

 

This was going to be a long fucking night.

Chapter Text

Mycroft registered the beeping of a machine first. That, along with a sharp, hot pain in his side.  His brow furrowed and he grunted involuntarily, shifting on a bed that was not his own and attempting to come into focus.  His head was killing him and as he started to blink his eyes open, he noticed he was not alone in the room.

 

His darling Gregory was sitting in a chair, slumped over and completely asleep.  Mycroft’s pale eyes softened as they gazed at his partner, taking in his appearance. He’d barely slept, and no doubt had not left that chair since their arrival here.  He’d been gripping his hair a lot, and hadn’t eaten. Most likely, Greg had lived off nothing apart from coffee and crisps from whatever vending machine was out in the hospital’s lobby.

 

Mycroft sighed through his nose. The older man never did take care of himself.  He would be more irritated by that were it not for the circumstances.  It had taken a little bit for him to gather himself, but the situation came flooding back once he did.  He had been shot.  The odds of getting shot where he had while wearing a bulletproof vest were rather small. Yet he had beaten those odds. It was why Greg had not wanted him there, even though Mycroft had known it had been a bit imperative that he was. But the look in his love’s eyes when he was shot… It was a look he would prefer to never see again.

 

Time had seemed to slow down when it had happened. Mycroft had never thought it could, and yet it definitely did.  His wound had been by no means fatal, but the pain… It had taken over all rational thought. Neither of them had known at that time how bad the wound had been, and there had been every possibility he could’ve died that night.

 

A soft groan emitted from him against his will, and that noise stirred the sleeping man.  Mycroft felt bad for waking the man up from what had to be some much needed sleep, but instantly Greg was sitting upright, eyes wide, and leaning over the bed.

 

“Myc,” he huffed, reaching out to grasp his hand gently. “Christ, are you okay?”

 

“I…” Mycroft started to say, but his voice cracked from lack of use and caused him to cough gently.  Turning, Greg reached for a small cup of water that had a straw in it, pulling it close.

 

“Here,” he whispered, and Mycroft got the straw into his mouth gratefully.  He could only take a few sips, but it was relief on his throat, and he sighed.

 

“Thank you,” he sighed, slumping into the bed a bit. “Gregory, I… I must offer my sincerest apologies. I should’ve…”

 

“Hush, love, it’s okay,” Greg whispered, squeezing his hand gently. “You’re okay, and you’re alive.  That’s all that matters.”

 

Mycroft nodded, glancing at their joined hands. Yes, his darling was correct. He was alive.  It had not been the first time he’d had to do legwork, by any means.  He was trained. Yet still… Something had been different about that chain of events.  Different enough that almost cost him his life.  It was a regretful experience.

 

“I should have listened to you,” he admitted after a moment of silence.  Greg nodded, glancing up at him.

 

“Yeah, you damn well should’ve,” Greg agreed with a sigh.  There was anger there, but there was no force behind it.  Exhaustion and gratefulness overtook it, Mycroft could tell. “I almost…”

 

“I know,” Mycroft said so Greg wouldn’t have to voice what he was trying to.  He’d almost lost him.  Mycroft was very aware. With the strength he had, he tried to squeeze Greg’s hand back reassuringly.

 

“Never again, Mycroft,” Greg said with a little more force. “You hear me?  Let me handle stuff like that from now on, please.  I worry about you enough with your job without you adding to it with stunts like that. I can take care of those things, okay? I need you to trust me.”

 

“I do trust you,” Mycroft sighed, closing his eyes as his head started to throb again. “But okay.  I agree to your terms.”

 

There would be no way Greg would hear otherwise. Mycroft knew this. Besides, the older man wasn’t wrong. He was extremely good at his job, and while some things were extremely sensitive, perhaps there were ways to work closer with Greg without having to be in the field himself. It seemed that would be most ideal for them both.

 

“Good,” Greg whispered, his voice shaking slightly. “Now, let’s get you better, okay?  I want to take you home.”

Chapter Text

Greg remembered his first kiss with Mycroft like it was yesterday.  He had never thought he’d fall for a posh boy like Mycroft Holmes, or even more so that in turn, the other boy would fall for him, but here they were: a punky rough kid that smoked and drove a motorcycle, and the smartest boy in school that didn’t need to drive because he had people that did it for him.  They were complete opposites that had never had any reason to utter more than three words to each other, but they had.  They had said quite more to each other than that.

 

Having been partnered together for a school project had done more than they ever thought.  Greg thought he had gone mad at first, but he felt a draw to the other boy. Soon, it had stopped being about the project, and more about just… hanging out.  Their hanging out started in the school library, but shortly, they started meeting up at each other’s houses.  At least, Greg preferred going over to Mycroft’s house, because his own was a bit embarrassing in comparison. 

 

It was one night at Mycroft’s, as they were bent over and finalizing the last details of the project, that it happened. Greg was reaching over to scribble something down in one of the margins and he leaned close, their shoulders brushing together.  They both froze, and when Greg turned to look at Mycroft, realized just how close they had become. Their faces were right in front of each other.

 

Mycroft’s normally composed, almost emotionless face was anything but in that moment.  Greg wanted to take a picture.  His pale eyes were open wide in obvious surprise, and his lips were parted just slightly. Greg felt his heart stop, and he couldn’t breathe.

 

“I, uh,” he started, licking his lips and not missing the way Mycroft’s eyes flicked down to watch the motion. That sent a bit of heat through Greg, and he decided.  It was now or never. Besides, he was known for his bold moves.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked in a hush voice, as if catching onto the train of thought.  He seemed nervous, but was making no move to pull away.

 

It was then that Greg made the move. Watching Mycroft for any bad cues, he leaned in slowly and tilted his head.  Mycroft’s eyes widened even more, and it seemed that the young boy had stopped breathing, but… Then it was happening.  Greg closed the distance and pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss.

 

Neither of them moved at first. They just sat there, lips pressed together in one of the simplest kisses Greg had ever been a part of. Finally, Greg pulled back and started to manage a little smile.

 

“Sorry, I…” he started, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, when it was Mycroft’s turn to move.

 

The younger of the two closed the distance between them again and initiated what quickly became a much more intimate kiss. Their lips began moving against one another, and Greg pressed back and deepened the kiss, reaching to cup the back of Mycroft’s head and slide his fingers through very soft, slightly ginger hair.

 

What had surprised Greg the most was how damn well Mycroft kissed.  He’d always had the impression the younger man was a bit clueless on this front, and perhaps he was, but… He was matching Greg’s movement kiss for kiss, whimpering softly into Greg’s mouth and clutching the front of his shirt tightly.  Greg had the courage to swipe his tongue across Mycroft’s bottom lip, and the other boy reacted in the way he had hoped. He parted his lips and Greg jumped at the chance to slip his tongue into the other teen’s mouth, finding his own tongue and sliding them together.  Mycroft whimpered again and clutched tighter.

 

They parted with a small gasp, both panting softly, and Mycroft’s face was flush.  Greg gazed at him, brushing the back of his fingers across his cheek.

 

“Myc…” he whispered.  Mycroft licked his now slightly kiss-swollen lip and sighed shakily.

 

“Gregory, I… I don’t usually…”

 

“Was that okay?” he asked.  Mycroft hesitated, but then nodded.

 

“Yes, I suppose it was.  It was… something I’ve admittedly thought about,” Mycroft mumbled, glancing down at his lap as his flush deepened.  Greg huffed out a chuckle and touched under his chin to lift his head again.

 

“May I?” he asked, glancing back at Mycroft’s lips again.  After Mycroft nodded, Greg dove back in for another passionate kiss.

 

They officially started dating three days later, much to literally everyone’s surprise.  Even Greg’s own surprise, he supposed.  But that didn’t matter.  What did was that Greg was lucky enough to kiss Mycroft daily, and to be kissed daily, and Christ was an amazing kisser he was.

Chapter Text

“Why don’t you let me give you a ride, eh?” Greg Lestrade asked, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.  The boy he was currently talking to, who was also extremely surprised, regarded him very skeptically.  Arching an eyebrow, Mycroft Holmes eyed the punky greaser boy over the rims of his glasses, and he shifted the textbooks he was currently holding.

 

Greg was everything Mycroft was not. He was “cool”, he had tattoos, slicked his hair back, and fell asleep with his feet propped up in class. He always wore form-fitted jeans (usually ripped), and a leather jacket with a whole manner of studs along the shoulders.  It was quite a ridiculous look, in all honestly.  Yet it seemed to suit him.

 

“Whaddya say, Holmes?” came his deep, rough voice again.  Mycroft blinked and shook his head.

 

“No thank you Gregory, I’m quite alright. I’ve never ridden on…” He paused, gazing at the motorcycle the other boy was sitting on. “On one of those.”

 

“S’not that bad,” Greg smirked. He reached behind him and held out a spare helmet, gesturing it toward him. “C’mon.  I ride safely, promise.  Lemme give you a ride.”

 

Mycroft didn’t want to.  He preferred his modes of transportation to have four wheels and actually protect his body from the concrete.  Yet, there was also a bit of a pull in his stomach that was telling him to accept the helmet and the ride.  For the type of person he was, Greg wasn’t all that bad. He was actually kind to other people, while some of the other in his “gang” were just bullies. He was also surprisingly intelligent. His marks came nowhere close to Mycroft’s own (though to be fair, no one’s did), but for someone who slept through class almost daily he was a successfully passing student. If he applied himself, Mycroft wasn’t sure just what all he could do.

 

“Fine,” Mycroft sighed, giving in. He tried not to smile at the way Greg beamed proudly. “Do you have somewhere for my things?”

 

“Yeah, a side pack, here,” Greg gestured, reaching down and opening a leather pack he hadn’t noticed before. Nodding, Mycroft walked over and slid his things in, sealing the pack and finally taking the helmet.

 

He’d never worn a helmet before either. Even when he was younger, he’d never ridden a bicycle.  Really, what was the point when your family was rich enough to give you a car that could drive you everywhere?  He peered at it, arching his eyebrow again, which earned a chuckle from the punky boy watching him. Mycroft bristled a bit and he received a pat on the back.  It made him jump and take a step back.

 

“Just tug it on.  It’ll fit with your glasses fine, don’t worry. There’s no trick to it.”

 

Huffing, Mycroft finally just stopped overanalyzing it and pulled the helmet on.  While it didn’t interfere with his glasses, like Greg had said, it still wasn’t very comfortable.  At least he was grateful for being offered the proper protection.  It was very smart to have a spare handy, he had to give Greg that.

 

Mycroft had to be the most awkward person to ever climb onto a motorcycle, ever.  He didn’t miss the people in the schoolyard gawking at the sight in front of them, and he hardly blamed them.  Finally, however, he was on, and on instinct his hands flew forward to grab Greg’s waist tightly as the contraption shifted a bit.

 

“Easy there,” Greg laughed, glancing over his shoulder. “I was going to tell you to hang on, so good on you for that. But don’t worry, it’s not gonna tip over.”

 

Mycroft was hardly amused.  But he didn’t let go, and he leaned a little more foreword so that his chest was pressing against Greg’s back.  That made him feel a little more secure.  Something he very much needed, because when Greg took off Mycroft thought he might die.

 

He was having a panic attack. There was nothing else to explain it. His eyes were wide, and he really had no idea what to do with himself.  Why had he done this?  He was usually a much better judge of his actions than this.  He just couldn’t deny the older teen this, for whatever reason.  Mycroft was not the type of person to agree to anything because of a look given to him by a guy or girl.  Plenty had tried in the past, even if it was just for answers to the next test or to copy homework.  Yet here he was.

 

The ride couldn’t end quickly enough, and yet when Greg was pulling up in front of his house, Mycroft was oddly disappointed. Letting out a shaky breath, he extracted himself from the driver and climbed off.  His legs were a bit shaky, but he remained upright, took off the helmet, and gathered his books.

 

“See?  Not so bad,” Greg was grinning as he lit up another cigarette. Mycroft sighed again, but managed a nod.

 

“No, I suppose it wasn’t,” he conceded. After all, it wasn’t as bad as he’d been led to believe.

 

“This mean I can give you a ride again?” Greg asked. “Soon?”

 

Mycroft gawked.

 

“W-why would you want to?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking, staring at Greg like he’d grown another head.

 

“Cause I think you’re cute,” Greg admitted with a shrug.

 

“I’m not giving you homework to copy,” Mycroft said automatically, eyes slanting.  Greg laughed, and it sounded rather lovely.

 

“Nah, not looking for that.  You may be the smartest guy in class, but I’m not doing this to capitalize on your nerdyness.  I want to get to know you.  That okay?”

 

Mycroft paused, continuing to stare. Was it okay?  Was he…

 

“I suppose,” he sighed with a nod. He had no idea what he’d just signed up for, but he’d be lying if he weren’t slightly hopeful about it.

Chapter Text

“I do not see the appeal,” Greg heard Mycroft muttering one afternoon.  The Detective Inspector hummed curiously, not quite looking up from the paperwork he was trying to finish.  Mycroft had stopped by so they could take a lunch together, but the Superintendent would kill him if these papers weren’t completed and on his desk before then. Luckily, they were just about done, and…

 

Greg froze as he finally allowed himself to glance up at his partner, and his mouth dropped.  Was he really seeing…?  Yup. He sure was.  On the other side of his office, next to the coat rack he kept near the door, Mycroft was standing and holding a bloody deerstalker hat. His pale eyes were slanted and his was obviously staring through every part of the hat, and it was apparently a very serious thing.

 

“W-what do you mean?” Greg finally managed to ask, pen forgotten in his hand.

 

“What is the draw?” Mycroft asked, giving Greg a sideways glance before turning his focus back to the hat. He turned it one way, and then another, and then upside down for him to peer inside of. “It looks ridiculous. I don’t understand why the whole of London seems to adore seeing my brother in it.”

 

Was this actually happening right now? Greg couldn’t decide if it was ridiculous or adorable.  Perhaps it was both. He cleared his throat and set his pen down finally, folding his hands on top of one another.

 

“He’s a symbol, in a way,” Greg attempted to explain. “That hat gave him a symbolic look that, for some reason, his coat and cheekbones didn’t.  I guess it just stuck.”

 

Mycroft hummed as he listened to the information, eyebrow arched.  Then, without warning, he lifted the hat and dumped it on his head.  Greg’s jaw dropped even more than it had before, and he didn’t think he’d be able to find his teeth.  Mycroft was… Oh my God.

 

“It’s an ear hat,” Mycroft commented, turning to look at Greg.

 

Now that he was looking at the sight of Mycroft Holmes wearing a deerstalker from the front, Greg couldn’t contain himself. He blinked a few times, and then very quickly burst out into a fit of laughter.  He doubled over onto his desk, and Mycroft huffed, looking slightly irritated.

 

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” he commented over the laughter, plucking the hat off his head and going back to staring at it peculiarly.  Greg… couldn’t stop laughing.  There were tears in his eyes, and just when the laughter started to die down, the image popped back up in his head and it started right back up again.  Mycroft sighed in exhaustion.

 

“Really, Gregory, it’s not that funny. You’re being ridiculous.”

 

“N-no, ridiculous is… seeing y-you… wearing that,” Greg giggled, wiping at his eyes and taking a deep breath.  Mycroft just stared at him.

 

“So it looks amusing?  And that’s why they like seeing Sherlock wear it?” Mycroft asked, still trying to get to the bottom of the mystery that was presenting itself.

 

“No, it’s just… I mean, sure it is a bit, but not to the general public.  Just…you. In that.  Never thought I’d see the day.” The image would bring Greg amusement and joy for years to come.  Maybe he’d be lucky enough to get a picture of it some day.

 

“Before you comment, you are never getting a photo of me wearing it,” Mycroft said, as if reading his mind, and turned to toss the deerstalker back onto the coat rack where it had been hanging. Greg couldn’t help but giggle again.

 

“Aww, Myc,” he started, teasing.

 

“No.  Now, can we go to lunch now?  Before you wrestle me into the damn thing?” Mycroft asked, picking up his umbrella.

 

“S-sure,” Greg said, rubbing his eyes and he still couldn’t stop chuckling over it.  Man, that had truly been a beautiful sight.  He signed his name where it needed to be on the paperwork, gathered it up, and grabbed his coat.  Together, they walked out of the office, and Greg dropped the packet in the slot outside the Superintendent’s office door.

 

“Sure I can’t see it again?” Greg asked in amusement.

 

“No,” Mycroft responded flatly.

 

“Just once?”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“What if we’re both naked?”

 

“You… are a strange man.”

 

“And you love me.”

 

“God help me, yes I do.”

Chapter Text

When Mycroft came home that evening, it was clear he was in a mood not to be messed with.  Greg thought it was kind of funny how easily he could tell now, even with as schooled as his partner’s features always were.  The way he held his head or squared his shoulders could give away some of the most important things without Mycroft even having to say a word.

 

“Hey love,” Greg sighed with a smile, hoping to pull his partner into a better mood.  He reached out and squeezed Mycroft’s bicep, who gave him an exhausted smile in return.

 

“Good evening, Gregory,” Mycroft muttered, leaning in and giving Greg a quick, distracted kiss on the cheek before stepping past and heading towards the kitchen, where he put the kettle on to make some tea. Greg followed him, quiet and patient.

 

“You gonna tell me what’s up?” the older man asked softly as he leaned against the doorframe.  Mycroft paused in his movements and sighed through his nose, before shaking his head.

 

“Nothing.  Don’t concern yourself.”

 

  1.   Sometimes Mycroft could be rubbish at lying.  This was one of the ones Greg could see right through.  Shaking his own head and smiling softly, he pushed himself off the doorframe and wandered through the kitchen.  He wandered up behind the taller man and slid his arms around his waist, leaning in to rub his nose against his back.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft began.  There was a non-threatening warning tone to his voice that Greg very easily ignored.

 

“Talk to me,” he whispered instead. Mycroft sighed again.

 

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said.  Well, that pretty much explained it.  No doubt the younger Holmes brother was irritating, as he always was, and beyond exhausting.  Greg squeezed him gently.

 

“Don’t let it bother you,” he said. Finally, Mycroft turned so that they were facing one another.

 

“It’s exhausting, Gregory.  It’s exhausting trying to talk to him and having him play that ridiculous violin every single time I speak.  He’s a bloody child, he’s always been a child, and there’s absolutely no getting through to him.”

 

As Mycroft finally began ranting, his voice got a bit louder and a bit more aggravated and passionate.  Greg remained quiet, listening and taking in everything he was saying.  Then, he leaned to the side and reached over to turn the burner off.

 

“What are you-“ Mycroft started, clearly looking irritated that Greg had stopped his tea preparations.  Greg reached for his slender hand and tugged him toward the sitting room.

 

“C’mere,” Greg said, tugging him across the room and over to the sofa. “Sit.”

 

Mycroft remained standing, arching his eyebrow in exhaustion.  Greg sighed.

 

“Sit, Myc,” he repeated, gesturing towards the sofa. Finally, the younger man nodded and did as instructed.  Greg stepped forward and climbed onto his partner’s lap, straddling him and leaning close to brush their noses together. “We’re not moving until I can cheer you up.”

 

“Gregory, this isn’t necessary,” Mycroft said as he gazed up at him.

 

“Yes, it most definitely is.  So sit tight and allow me to woo you,” Greg smirked. Mycroft arched an eyebrow again.

 

“You are ridiculous,” the politician commented with an eye roll.

 

Refraining from comment, Greg started kissing over Mycroft’s entire face slowly.  His hands rested lightly against his partner’s chest, playing with his tie a bit as he moved.  Finally, Mycroft let his eyes close and Greg could feel his body start to relax.

 

“Whenever your brother is infuriating you,” Greg started saying as he continued with his kisses. “Just close your eyes and think of me.  Of this. Of what all you’ll be coming home to.”

 

“If I start thinking of you, he will know immediately,” Mycroft mumbled, but there was no force behind the comment. Greg took that as a good sign. He smirked, moving his kisses slowly down that long, pale neck.

 

“Then you should make the thoughts as filthy as possible,” he commented. “Make him squirm and want to bleach his brain.”

 

There was a pause, and then Mycroft chuckled. Victory. After finishing his kisses, Greg straightened so they were looking at each other again.  He had his big grin plastered on his face, and at the sight of it, Mycroft started to smile genuinely as well.

 

“You are truly something else,” Mycroft said lightly. His pale eyes were even smiling.

 

“I know.  And now you’re feeling better.  I’m the best boyfriend in the world,” Greg boasted.  Mycroft nodded and leaned in to kiss him gently.

 

“You truly are,” he agreed with a soft nod.

Chapter Text

“Oh man, you guys!” Greg exclaimed loudly, grinning as brightly as he could. “Here we go!  This is my song!”

 

The older man turned up the song that had just started on the radio and started humming along with the opening. Behind him in the car, his youngest daughter Abby groaned dramatically and tugged her black and pink striped arm warmers down over her hands to cover her face with.

 

“Daaaaaa,” she complained, knowing exactly what was about to happen. “You said no singing!!”

 

“But Abs, it’s Africa,” Greg countered. “It’s always the exception to the rule.”

 

Abby groaned again, tugging on her Arsenal hat now (which was currently turned backwards), spinning it around and pulling the bill down to cover her eyes.  Next to the agonized pre-teen, her older sister Elizabeth refrained from comment, nose buried in her mobile as she waited for her turn in a round of Scrabble she was playing with Mycroft, who was situated in the front passenger seat.

 

“IT’S GONNA TAKE A LOT TO DRAG ME AWAAAAY FROM YOOOOOOOU!!!” Greg sang along really loudly as the chorus hit, grinning and beating the steering wheel in time with the drumbeat.  Mycroft arched an eyebrow, but continued to ignore his darling husband as he played.

 

“Myc, that’s so not a word!” Elizabeth said, leaning forward so her stepfather could hear.  He chuckled.

 

“My dear, if it weren’t, I would not have been able to play it,” he replied in amusement.

 

“Da I’m going to throw my hat at you if you don’t stop,” Abby warned, huffing and slumping down into her seat.

 

“You do that and I won’t be giving it back,” Greg smirked. “Free hat!  I’ll wear it to the next game!”

 

They continued to drive, and Greg continued to sing. He got more and more enthusiastic as the song went along, and even sang along with the keyboard solo. How exactly he achieved that could not be explained, but sure enough, he definitely did.  As the song came to an end, much to everyone else’s relief, Greg blinked and paused.

 

“This road doesn’t look as familiar now,” he muttered. Mycroft arched an eyebrow again and turned his head to regard the driver.

 

“Well, perhaps if you hadn’t been so passionately serenading us, you would not have missed the turn,” he commented. Greg snorted and waved a hand.

 

“We’ll be fine,” he brushed off. After a while, though, they were still not on track and nowhere near where they needed to be.

 

“Da, just stop and get directions,” Elizabeth said, setting her phone down as her game with Mycroft had ended.

 

“Nah, I’ve got this Lizzie,” Greg shrugged. “I know these roads like the back of my hand, it’s no big.”

 

“We’re never gonna get to grandmum’s,” Abby exclaimed dramatically. “We’re gonna be lost forever.”

 

“We are not going to be lost forever, Abs,” Greg laughed.

 

“Yes we are.  We’re going to have to resort to cannibalism to survive,” she said back.

 

“No we are not!!” Greg countered with shock. “Have faith in your old man, eh?”

 

The groan he got in return showed that she clearly did not have faith.  Greg wasn’t worried, though.  Just needed to take a different turn a few more miles ahead, surely… About fifteen minutes later, he caught movement in the center mirror as Abby shifted closer to her big sister and started reaching for her arm.

 

“NO ONE IS EATING ANYONE!!” Greg shouted, causing Abby to freeze.  The younger Lestrade daughter giggled, but moved to sit back in her spot properly.

 

Throughout all of the insanity, Mycroft remained quiet, now reading a book he had brought with him on the trip. After some more time had passed and they were still obviously not on the right track, however, he put his book away and pulled his mobile back up.  Abby was once again commenting on cannibalism, and Elizabeth was teasing Greg by saying that he would be first since it’s his fault they were lost in the first place.

 

“In ten miles, turn right,” came a voice from Mycroft’s mobile, and he propped it up on the dash of his car. Greg lifted his eyebrows.

 

“GPS?” he asked, glancing at Mycroft momentarily, who had gone back to his book.  The younger man hummed.

 

“The most obvious solution, of course,” he said smoothly after a moment. “After all, you’re clearly not going to ask for directions, dear, and I don’t know about you, but… I would rather not be consumed by one of your darling daughters.”

 

Greg laughed, unable to hold it back, because hearing his darling husband comment so casually on Abby becoming a cannibal was just the funniest thing.  Abby giggled and clapped over the directions that would finally get them there.

 

“Fine,” Greg sighed. “But any of you breathe a word of this to my da and you’re dead.”

Chapter Text

Greg had been extremely nervous to meet Mycroft’s parents.  He had no idea what to expect, because that couple was the reason for both he and Sherlock, and the two of them were just so unique and insanely smart and… Well. He was a bit terrified. He’d imagined spitting images of the two Holmes brothers in looks and behavior, and wondered how quickly it would take for them to disapprove of everything he was.

 

That… was not at all what happened. Greg had to physically keep his jaw from dropping to the floor when he met Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. They were so… ordinary.  Mummy Holmes pulled him in for a hug almost right there on the spot and started fussing with their luggage and getting Mr. Holmes to start carrying things inside. She offered them tea and biscuits and asked Greg if he had any allergies and what his favorite dishes were.

 

“It’s about time you brought him, Mikey,” she was scolding her eldest son.  Greg attempted to cover his mouth as discreetly as possible to muffle the snort that was slipping out.  Mycroft didn’t miss it, however, and offered his partner a quick glare.

 

“Oh Greg dear, you are so handsome!!” she exclaimed as she turned her attention back to him.  She reached up to cup his cheeks and pat them, beaming brightly. “I’m so glad you’re here. You make our Mikey very happy, you know. You’re good for him.”

 

“Dear lord Mummy, could you be bothered to try using my full name, since you gave it to me?” Mycroft asked in exasperation, and not for the first time.  The look Mummy gave him showed Greg this was a conversation that had likely happened many, many times before.

 

They shared some tea, Mummy Holmes fussing over them both in a very sweet way, until Mycroft finally tugged Greg to the room they were using during their stay.  Shutting the door behind them, the younger man sighed and let his shoulders slump as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Myc, your parents,” Greg started, setting his bag down next to the bed.

 

“Are exhausting, I know,” Mycroft muttered, checking his mobile and walking to the other side of the bed to sit down.

 

“No,” Greg laughed brightly. “I was going to say adorable.  They’re so… ordinary. Not at all what I expected.”

 

“Yes, it’s awful,” Mycroft sighed. “Something Sherlock and I deal with unfortunately every day.”

 

“Aww, don’t say that.  They’re your parents, and they clearly love you.”

 

“I told you that you had nothing to worry about, did I not?” he asked, ignoring Greg’s comment. Smiling softly, the older man wandered across the room and stood in front of Mycroft, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.

 

“C’mon love.  This’ll be a fine visit.  I was the only one supposed to be stressed and worry, not you.  Relax, yeah?” he whispered, running his fingers through Mycroft’s hair.

 

“Apologies.  This is just what they do to me,” Mycroft shrugged, but he nodded. They took a few minutes to unpack before heading back downstairs, where Mycroft was pulled into the kitchen. This left Greg alone with his partner’s father, who had been quite thus far.

 

That quiet streak ended when they had settled down in front of the fireplace with small glasses of scotch.  Mr. Holmes started talking Greg’s ear off. It was such pleasant conversation, and he started to learn a lot about Mummy Holmes, and both kids inheriting their intelligence from her, and tons of stories from both Mycroft and Sherlock’s childhoods.  He jumped from one thought to the other, sometimes without a lead in whatsoever, so while Greg got lost a few times, overall it was amazing.  It was also peculiar, however, when Mr. Holmes started humming after a little while.

 

“Father, do stop humming,” Mycroft called out as he walked into the sitting room.

 

“Oh, is he doing that again?” came Mummy’s voice from the kitchen. “Just smack him, Greg, that’ll take care of it.”

 

Greg just blinked.  Like he would even consider something like that!!  Mycroft’s comment did happen to pull Mr. Holmes out of whatever bizarre trance he had slipped into, however.

 

“Ah, Mycroft.  Good of you to join us,” he said, glancing at his older son. “I was just about to start telling Greg here about Sherlock’s lake experiments and you assisting him.”

 

Mycroft went bright red, and it made Greg’s eyes widen.

 

“Father, that is not necessary. Please do not bore Gregory with such inane details from my childhood,” Mycroft huffed, pointedly not looking his partner in the eye.  Greg’s jaw dropped. Oh my god, he was embarrassed. He was embarrassed.

 

“No, Mr. Holmes, please,” he said after a moment, feeling a bit excited and starting to grin. “What is this about the lake experiment?”

 

As Mr. Holmes jumped into the story, Mycroft actually groaned and turned to bury his face into a couch cushion. Oh yeah, Greg was loving this visit.

Chapter Text

It had been two months since Greg had finally shown outward interest in Mycroft.  One month since they started going on casual dates: getting together for them and not to discuss business or Sherlock.  Then, finally, a week before, he’d asked Mycroft out.

 

So they were dating.  It was surreal, but sure enough.  They were boyfriends, for lack of a better term. Not that Mycroft would likely say that term out loud, but that was okay.  It was what they were, and it was amazing.  Greg couldn’t remember a time he had been happier.  At least, happy like this anyway.  Becoming a father twice over was in a completely different realm than finding a partner.

 

Mycroft was an absolute sweetheart, something he hid underneath that icy exterior.  No, he was truly far from icy.  He was warm and caring and amazing, and Greg finally got to see that. He’d suspected it, and he knew the potential was there.  Now, he got to experience it in full.  He felt it in the way their fingers brushed against each other.  He saw it in the way Mycroft gazed at him, care and adoration in those pale eyes.  He knew it in the way they kissed, electric and needy and perfect and complete.

 

So yeah, he was happy as hell. Even more than that, he was daydreaming. He’d admit it. Of course, in that daydreaming state, he barely noticed the black car pulling up beside him on the walk until he got a little too close to it.  He blinked, recognizing it as one of the ones Mycroft often used. The younger man hadn’t texted him, however, and while he did have a habit of showing up he usually gave some sort of signal now that they were together.

 

His confusion became even more intense when, once the door opened, he only saw Anthea in the vehicle.  Bending down, he peered in at Mycroft’s assistant, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Anthea?” he asked curiously. It wasn’t her real name; he knew that much for sure.  According to Mycroft, she changed it often, yet it was her most preferred and the one she used when with him.  So Anthea she was, Greg really didn’t care.

 

“Get in the car, Detective Inspector.” It was a comment, not an invitation.  There was no force to her voice, and yet something in her tone made it clear that he better not refuse.

 

“Um, okay?” he agreed, glancing around to make sure no officers had followed after him from the Yard for any reason. Adjusting his briefcase, he bent again and climbed into the car.  He tugged the door shut and had just barely buckled in when it pulled off.

 

Silence fell in the car.  Greg waited patiently as Anthea continued to tap away on her Blackberry. It was her constant state, really. So to see the woman turn it off and set it down a moment later was when the shock really started to wear in. Greg blinked, eyes wide.

 

“There is something you and I need to discuss,” Anthea said, staring right at him and crossing her legs.  Greg blinked again.

 

“Yeah, sure,” he said with a nod. “What’s up?”

 

“You have become romantically involved with Mr. Holmes,” she commented, clearly leading towards something.  She wasn’t just observing on their personal life for the sake of it. “He has been looking at you in such ways for a while now. I’m sure he’s mentioned.”

 

“Sort of, yeah,” Greg nodded. They’d talked about that the other night.  How both of them had developed feelings quite a while ago, and neither of them had thought they could do something about it.  It was truly amazing how they could have felt exactly the same, and a bit frustrating they could’ve been like this for a lot longer than they have.  Better late than never, of course.

 

“This is a big deal for Mr. Holmes. For you as well, I’m assuming. However, you are the only person he has decided to trust so intimately and with so much.”

 

Greg started to smile.  Yeah, that was very true.  He still wasn’t sure why Anthea was saying all this, but it was nice to hear anyway.

 

“You know all this, of course,” Anthea commented. She was still staring at him seriously and, after a moment, she began to lean in. “I am bringing it up, because I cannot stress the gravity of what you can hold against him.”

 

Greg’s eyes widened.  Hold against him?  Why would he ever-

 

“You have wonderful intentions, Mr. Lestrade. Of this I am aware,” Anthea said before he could open his mouth, as if knowing what he was thinking. It was creepy. “But you need to understand, with as big a deal as this is, if it isn’t everything for you that it is for him, you could break his heart.  And if you break his heart…”

 

Her eyes slanted dangerously, and Greg felt ice sliding down his spine.

 

“There are not enough ways I could list that I can, and will destroy you.  Do you understand me?”

 

Greg was frozen.  Anthea was having the break-his-heart-I’ll-break-you conversation. This was actually happening. Silence fell between them again, neither one breaking eye contact, until Greg finally nodded.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Greg said, weakly but completely sincere.  Anthea continued to stare at him, before finally nodding, once, and picking her Blackberry back up.

 

“I am glad we understand each other.”

 

It was the last thing she said. They pulled up in front of his flat a minute later and he climbed out to go inside.  Well, if that had already happened with Anthea, who was bloody terrifying, he… couldn’t help but take it as good sign.

 

Chapter Text

Greg wished he could count on one hand how many times Mycroft Holmes had forced him into one of his nondescript black vehicles and had him driven to the most random places in London. If the man wanted to meet so badly, he didn’t see why they couldn’t do it at his office in the Yard. Or even Mycroft’s office, he never cared to visit.  Or neutral grounds like a coffee shop or the park or something

 

That wasn’t how Mycroft worked.  That was why, once again, Greg was being dropped off in some bizarre building that he’d never noticed before.  At least this one wasn’t an abandoned warehouse.  It had that much going for it, at least.  With a sigh, he shoved his hands in the pocket of his coat and wandered inside to find the other man.

 

He shouldn’t put up with it.  If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t.  Yet… with Mycroft, he did.  Partially because he supposed what they had was kind of a friendship (at least the closest thing he had a feeling Mycroft had ever allowed himself to have to one).  It was also partially because there was a tension between them that was rather lovely. There was a mutual attraction there that Greg couldn’t mistake for anything else.  He thought it one-sided at first, but slowly things Mycroft would start to say or do was making him realize that it wasn’t.

 

He didn’t say anything.  Mycroft didn’t either.  They were hovering in this slightly strange yearning for one another that neither man had the courage or act on or the audacity to entertain as anything more. It was frustrating at times, but Greg found himself craving it, in a way.  So, things remained as they were.

 

“Ah, Gregory, good of you to make it,” Mycroft greeted civilly. Greg slowed as he entered the room, gazing at the taller man in his flawless three-piece suit and umbrella, raising his eyebrows.

 

“You hardly give me much of an option,” he commented, sarcastic and slightly amused.  At this, Mycroft smirked, huffing out a soft laugh.

 

“Yes, I suppose.  That does not mean I don’t appreciate it anyway,” came the almost snarky, but genuine reply.  It made Greg’s stomach flutter in a way he’d started looking forward to.

 

“So, what can I do for you today, Mycroft?” Greg asked, wandering further into the room so that they weren’t but a few paces apart.  He crossed his arms loosely in front of his chest, gazing at the other man, curious and yet distracted, and quite a bit irritated, to be honest.  It was always exhausting getting whisked away from whatever he was doing (which had currently been trying to clean up a crime scene, bloody important work), even if he did get to see this man’s handsome face because of it. Emotions battled within him; he wanted to be beyond pissed off at Mycroft, yet he couldn’t quite let himself. Not when he kept staring at the man’s thin lips or the way his pale eyes pierced into him, knowing so much and feeling… a bit intimate, really.  It made him shiver.

 

“There is a matter of delicacy I would like you to take into your charge,” Mycroft said, slipping into business as he adjusted the hold on his umbrella. “I have already talked to Doctor Watson as well, but it is more important than just one man.”

 

“Is it now?” Greg asked, half listening. Yeah, he could tell which emotions were starting to win out, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from…

 

“Indeed.  As you are aware, Sherlock has danger nights.  Well, unfortunately, this one is rather major.  You may or may not be familiar with Redbeard…” Mycroft was starting to explain. “Your knowledge of it is unimportant, really. It’s imperative you get him a case, Detective Inspector.  Give him something to distract himself with.  He will not even glance at mine, but it’s extremely important he is occupied with one, no matter how simple it might be for him.  He just needs something.”

 

Mycroft was talking.  Greg was listening.  But… it had been so long.  Even still, he knew he wasn’t mistaking the signals.  No way.  Their eyes locked and Mycroft stalled in what he was saying just enough that made the older man’s heart leap up into his chest.  He didn’t know what was compelling him to take action, but something finally snapped. Something took a hold of his resolve and finally threw it right out of the window.

 

Before he could stop himself, Greg’s legs were moving.  He was closing the short distance between them, causing Mycroft’s eyes to go deliciously wide and his lips to part just in time for Greg to lean up and crash his against them. There was a clatter that sounded as Mycroft’s trademark umbrella fell to the ground.  His hands went straight for the lapels of his jacket and gripping tightly.  They were up against a wall.  They had really been that close to a wall?

 

“Detective Inspector,” Mycroft gasped, breaking the kiss, but making no move to get away.  His pale eyes were the slightest bit darker, and it made Greg shiver again.

 

“Call me Greg,” he muttered, leaning back in to kiss him again.  This time, a noise of surprise emitted from Mycroft, but he was kissing back.  Sweet Jesus was he kissing back.  The posh man had to be the best kisser Greg had ever known, and it made him deepen the kiss and grip even tighter, their bodies pressing flush together.  When he slipped his tongue out and into Mycroft’s mouth, the politician actually groaned.

 

“Let’s… continue this… conversation… somewhere else…” Greg whispered in between kisses.  It was when he broke the kiss and started mouthing his way across Mycroft’s cheek and jaw that the other man nodded in agreement.

 

“Y-yes Gregory…” he panted. “That would be…most wise. Most preferable.”

Chapter Text

Mycroft did not belong in a place like this. Not once before had he ever stepped foot in here, nor had he ever sat in the middle of any bar watching a live band play.  No, this was not his scene.  This was, however, his boyfriend standing up on stage, singing and playing guitar like no one Mycroft had ever seen, so it was something he made the sacrifice for. So he sat, sipping quietly on a frankly mediocre scotch, gazing at the boy he’d somehow fallen for.

 

Greg was a fascinating teenager. He was outgoing and dressed insanely, and he was the kind of boy Mycroft had always ignored before. He found, however, that Greg could not be ignored. There had been a quick attraction there, for both of them apparently, and the next thing Mycroft had known they were in a corner in the library at school, kissing like their lives depended on it.

 

When Greg had approached him last week about the performance his band had been lucky enough to book at this very bar, Mycroft had been inwardly hesitant.  However, he had agreed immediately, unable to resist the equally hesitant expression on his boyfriend’s face.  Greg knew just as well just how different Mycroft’s lifestyle was from this, but this was a very important thing to the older teen and there was no way Mycroft would be too stubborn to attend.

 

Thankfully, he was left pretty much alone where he sat. It was partially because he had no desire to socialize with the strangers that surrounded him. However, it was even more because of how entranced he was by Greg.  He was so talented, and Mycroft had been treated to many private performances, so he knew how well the other teen could sing and play.  Seeing him actually performing, however, actually standing up on a stage… The boy was in clearly his element.  He owned the place, and it was one of the most beautiful sights Mycroft had ever had the pleasure of bearing witness to.

 

“Alright all,” Greg said after a song had ended. The other members of the band were setting down their instruments and beginning to head off stage. “The boys wanna get their drink on, take a breather.  So while they’re being lazy, it’s gonna be you an’ me.”

 

Greg grinned and winked, switching out the electric guitar he’d been using for the acoustic one Mycroft watched him use at his flat. He walked over to the side of the stage and pulled over a bar stool someone had set up for him, before sitting down and readjusting his microphone.

 

Mycroft recognized the first song he started singing. He recalled it being titled Boulevard of Broken Dreams, and it was one he played at home a lot. It had actually been the first song Greg had ever played for him.  The air surrounding Greg completely changed.  His energy wasn’t outward and charged like it had been during the rest of the performance.  No, there was something much more intimate about the way he was playing now. Mycroft leaned back in his chair, basking in the beauty of what was going on up on stage, holding his drink but forgetting to actually drink in.

 

With that song over, Greg moved into one that Mycroft didn’t recognize.  He didn’t miss, however, how those dark brown eyes opened and locked with his pale ones as he sang.

 

Put your arms around me.  What you feel is what you are and what you are is beautiful.  Oh, May.” His eyes closed again and he tilted his head back a bit. “Do you wanna get married, or run away?

 

Mycroft felt his cheeks heat up in a blush. While the marriage proclamation was just a part of the song, he could feel the rest of the words were just meant for him.  Greg had the ability to say everything he ever wanted with just his eyes.  He sang to everyone, but he sang for Mycroft.  If that wasn’t beautiful, the younger teen just didn’t know what was.

 

The next song was even more heavily meant for him, that much was obvious.  Mycroft found he couldn’t breathe.  Greg’s eyes were on him the entire time, a bright grin on his face as he sang the words. Mycroft’s head was spinning and he could quite decide if “When you kiss me I just gotta.  When you kiss me I gotta. Kiss me I just gotta say…” or “I’m so glad I found you. I want my arms about you.   I can’t help it if I feel this way.” made his heart quicken more.  No matter which, Greg was up on that stage, singing over and over again that he loved Mycroft, and only Mycroft.  His heart was beating so fast he thought he might pass out.

 

Another song was played after that, but Mycroft only half heard it.  He was gripping his now empty glass tightly, trying to recover and making sure he didn’t outwardly look like the fool he felt like inwardly.  Afterwards, Greg called for an intermission and was getting off stage. Mycroft watched the way he weaved in and out through the sea of people, all talking to him and wanting to shake his hand.  By the time the other teen made it over to his table, he had a handful of papers.

 

Mycroft blinked, peering at them. They were obviously phone numbers, all meant for him.  Mycroft felt jealousy pang in him, but that sensation was immediately sated when he watched his boyfriend shove the lot of them in an untouched glass of water. Ink began smearing and become unreadable almost immediately.

 

“Whaddya think?” Greg asked as he slid into the seat next to Mycroft.  He leaned over the table, their shoulders pressing against each other, and the younger teen could feel his body heat from being up on stage and performing instantly. He licked his lips.

 

“It was…” he started, having to clear away the lump that had formed in his throat. “It was lovely, Gregory.  Truly.”

 

“Those songs were meant for you, you know,” Greg said, completely serious, leaning in a bit closer.

 

“I-I know,” Mycroft nodded.  Smiling, Greg reached over and cupped the back of the very flustered younger boy, closing the distance the rest of the way to kiss him sweetly. He smelled like sweat, cigarettes, and alcohol, all mixed with an underlying scent that was just him.  Mycroft shouldn’t be so addicted to that scent, or find the combination at all desirable. He did, however, gods help him, and he kissed his boyfriend back passionately.

Chapter Text

Sssshhhh, Gregory, yooou’re… You’re not listening,” Mycroft hissed, leaning over and closer to Greg than he most likely had anticipated.  Greg raised his eyebrows in a bit of surprise. 

 

Out of the two of them, the younger man was not usually the one getting drunk.  Greg was feeling pretty damn tipsy, mind, but the two of them had somehow gone through an entire bottle of scotch as Mycroft had attempted to teach him how to play chess. They’d abandoned the chess game finally and were sitting on the sofa.  Mycroft was currently tangling their legs together and almost crawling right into his lap.

 

“I am listening, love,” Greg corrected, finishing off drink number whatever. “And I was not denying it either.”

 

“Yes yes yes yes, but Gregory, you may see, but you’re not observing,” Mycroft fussed.  With a sigh, he stuck one of his legs up in the air. “You need to observe.”

 

“I do my fair share of observing, Myc. Mostly when you’re naked and we’re in bed.”

 

Mycroft started giggling.  Yes, apparently massive amounts of scotch made the great Mycroft Holmes giggle. Greg had never seen him like this, in the six years they’d known each other, and it was something he wouldn’t soon forget.  It was so unlike him, Greg would swear he was a different person.  That also meant it would most likely be a long time before he ever witnessed something like this again, so he needed to enjoy it.

 

“Oh stop it, you pervert,” Mycroft scolded with no force behind it, turning his leg to push Greg’s chest with his toe. “Seriously.”

 

“I am being serious.  I’ve told you how sexy I think your legs are.”

 

Mycroft nodded.  Leaning forward, and wobbling slightly, he tugged at his trousers and pulled the leg up to reveal one of his pale, slender legs.

 

“Not just sexy,” Mycroft commented, pointing a finger at the older man seriously. “No.  The best. I have the best legs.”

 

“Yes you do,” Greg grinned, nodding.

 

“But you’re not observing.” With a huff, Mycroft untangled himself from Greg and started to stand.  His center of gravity swam, causing him to almost fall over, but somehow he refrained from doing so.  Greg snorted.

 

“Where are you going?” he asked, highly amused. Mycroft turned, wobbling again slightly, and reached for Greg.

 

“I’m going to prove it to you. We’re going to a strip club. Come, Gregory.”

 

“We’re not going to a strip club, we’re already drunk,” Greg laughed, sinking further into the sofa to illustrate his lack of moving. “’Sides, what would staring at a bunch of women do?”

 

Mycroft gave him his oh so common withering look. Even drunk he pulled it off flawlessly.

 

“We’re going to a male strip club, Gregory, do keep up.  Now get up.”

 

It was remarkable how much more Mycroft and Sherlock sounded alike when Mycroft had been drinking.  Not that Greg would ever bring that up and say it out loud, but it was so true.  He kind of loved it.

 

“Get back here, we’re not leaving the house,” Greg sighed, reaching for Mycroft to try and pull him back down on the sofa.

 

“It’s not like either of us have to drive,” Mycroft continued to fuss.  “I need to prove mine are the best legs in all of England.”

 

“Get back here,” Greg repeated, finally grabbing hold of his lover’s slender hand.  He tugged him back down onto the sofa, Mycroft letting out a rather undignified yelp, and Greg wrapped his arms around him before he could scramble away.

 

“I believe you,” he whispered in Mycroft’s ear. “I know it to be true.  You don’t need to prove anything to me.  Stay here, yeah? Let’s stay right here and snog like horny teenagers.”

 

“We’re not teenagers,” Mycroft mumbled, turning to glare at Greg.

 

“Yeah, but we are horny,” Greg smirked. A grin slid onto Mycroft’s face as well.

 

“That we are,” he whispered as he leaned in to initiate a heated, grabby kiss.

Chapter Text

Days off were the best.  Lazy days off were even better.  This was one of the first ones Greg had been able to have in ages. So if he was going to spend the day stretching out on the couch watching football matches, no one better dare to say anything about it.

 

He still woke up and made his usual coffee, as well as Mycroft’s cup of tea, and gave his partner his fair share of kisses before finally letting him leave for the morning.  He wanted Mycroft to stay home with him and be lazy too, but apparently there were some important meetings that couldn’t be ignored or rescheduled. Stupid government, needing to be governed and shit.

 

It wasn’t long after he stretched himself out on the sofa that the other member of their house decided to join him. At least he could get some form of cuddles.

 

“Hello, Remmington,” he smiled sweetly, rubbing on their spoiled cat.  He got a soft meow in return, and moments later he was curled up in Greg’s lap and falling asleep.  Greg continued to pet on him, and after a moment snapped a picture to text to Mycroft.

 

He spent the morning like this, and neither he nor Remmington moved an inch.  He switched back and fourth between an Arsenal and a Chelsea match. Both teams were winning, thankfully, and it was making for a very pleasant experience for once. With Remmington warm and comfortable on his lap, vibrating as he purred, Greg sunk into a half asleep daze, head lulling back a bit as he slipped in and out of consciousness a bit.

 

He was woken a bit after lunchtime with a soft kiss on the head.  Blinking lazily, he yawned and attempted to stretch, only to find that he still had a cat on him.  It had probably been the longest their spoiled feline had remained in his lap without getting up once.

 

“What’re you doing home?” he asked as he yawned again.

 

“I can leave if you prefer,” Mycroft commented, arching his eyebrow in amusement.

 

“Noooooo,” Greg sighed, reaching for the younger man and snagging the corner of his suit jacket loosely. “Just surprised. Didn’t expect you to get home so early.”

 

Mycroft reached for Greg’s hand, squeezing it gently before tugging his suit free.  He walked around the sofa and crouched down so that they were more at eye level with one another.

 

“Our meeting concluded early, and Anthea had my schedule rearranged,” he explained quietly, reaching out to stroke Remmington’s back slowly. “I happened to recall a wonder man having a lazy day at home, and decided it would be most wise to join him.  It seems, however, that he has been taken by another.”

 

Greg snorted, causing Remmington to lift his head and blink lazily at the two men.  Grinning, Greg gazed up at Mycroft affectionately.

 

“Well, why don’t you get changed and I think we can find a way to squeeze you in,” he said, shooing Mycroft off to change into more comfortable clothing.  The posh man hesitated, not ever changing into clothes like that until it was time for bed, but then he nodded and disappeared up to their bedroom.

 

Remmington was in the process of stretching when Mycroft returned, wearing a set of deep red pyjamas.  Greg started grinning again, and beckoned him over.

 

“C’mere, Myc,” he said softly, shifting where he was on the sofa and starting to make room.  The movement caused their cat to jump off his lap in what was most likely a huff, but Greg just rolled his eyes.  Mycroft got on the sofa, moving to stretch out as well, and hooked their legs together.  Humming, Greg slipped an arm around his waist and leaned close.

 

“I must say, this is much better than sitting in a room with stuffy foreign leaders,” Mycroft mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to Greg’s forehead.

 

“Damn straight,” Greg chuckled.

 

His lazy day turned from great to fucking amazing. Remmington decided to join them again and somehow stretched out over both their laps, and even though Mycroft took over the telly and switched it over to a chess match, Greg didn’t care. He was lazy and sleepy and comfortable, surrounded by the two he loved most, and it was perfect.

Chapter Text

Both men had very obviously had shit days at their respective jobs.  Greg had been up for almost 36 hours straight dealing with a vey complicated murder case, and a very irritating Sherlock Holmes.  Finally, he was home, and dragging his feet as he wandered through to the sitting room of his and Mycroft’s shared home.

 

At first, he had been grateful to hear Mycroft come home.  That didn’t last long. Irritation and coldness radiated off Mycroft in waves, which did nothing to help Greg’s current mood. With a sigh, he tried to push past it anyway.  They hadn’t been able to really spend time together the past few days, so he wanted to make the best of it.  Maybe it would make them both feel better.

 

“Make you some tea?” he offered in way of greeting as Mycroft emerged after setting down his briefcase and umbrella. The younger man sighed.

 

“No, I am capable of making my own tea, thank you Gregory,” came the rigid response.  Yeah, a horrible day then.  Greg shrugged.

 

“I know, I just thought I’d offer,” he muttered, arms loosely crossed across his chest.  Instead of responding, Mycroft wandered into the kitchen to start on said tea that was mentioned.  Greg followed, leaning against the counter next to him.

 

“Is there something I can do for you?” Mycroft asked as he set his water to boil.  Greg raised his eyebrows.

 

“I’m sorry, do you not want to spend time with me?” he asked, the question coming off a lot more heated than he’d planned. Mycroft gave him a withering look.

 

“Gregory, honestly.  I said nothing of the sort.  Do not make up words that were not said.”

 

Irritation flared inside the DI. He should calm down; he really should, because there was no reason for it.  They had both had awful days and that was it.  Of course, he was unfortunately a bit of a hot head, and he couldn’t help the irritation at how much of a jerk his partner was currently being.

 

“You may not have said them, but it’s pretty clear. So sorry, I’ll go,” he said, pushing off the counter in a huff.

 

“Stop being such a child Gregory, honestly,” Mycroft snapped. “I’d expect this kind of thing from Sherlock, but if you’re really going to react like this, I would rather you go.”

 

Greg froze, a bit shocked.  He stared at Mycroft, who didn’t move or say another word, before shaking his head.

 

“Fine,” he snapped, storming out of the kitchen. As quickly as he was able, he retrieved a pack of smokes from one of his jackets and walked to the back of their home and out onto the patio.  He lit up and took a long drag, trying to blink back the heated sensations prickling behind his eyes.

 

He shouldn’t take it personally. Surely Mycroft didn’t mean it. Surely he didn’t want him gone. But… why wouldn’t he? It’s not like Greg was a good fit for the posh man anyway.  He was crass, old, rough, and broken.  He didn’t deserve someone like Mycroft.  It was no surprise he would want him gone… Maybe…

 

He rubbed at his eyes furiously, irritated with himself.  He was getting so emotional.  He sighed, halfway through the cigarette when he noticed he was no longer alone.

 

“I thought you quit,” Mycroft commented, his voice hushed.  Greg glanced over briefly as the younger man sat down beside him.  He huffed out a sigh and stared at the ground as he flicked ash off his smoke.

 

“Yeah, well, apparently not,” he mumbled, not really trusting himself to look at Mycroft.  He was feeling emotional enough as it was.  Silence fell between them for a little bit.

 

“I must apologize,” Mycroft finally said. “I spoke before thinking.”

 

“No, it’s… Maybe I should go. I’m surprised you haven’t kicked me out before now.  After all, I’m a broken old cop, what on Earth could you possibly see in me? I’m lucky I’ve had this long with you.”

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft sighed.  He reached out and put a slender finger under Greg’s chin, tugging his head to the side so that they were facing one another. Greg’s mouth was set in a frown as he was determined not to cry.  Mycroft’s eyes, however, were no longer cold.  They were the pale, warm orbs Greg knew so well.  It made his heart clench.

 

“You are not broken,” Mycroft whispered, rubbing Greg’s jaw with his thumb. “I do not want you to go.  In fact, I would be quite lost were that to happen.”

 

Greg remained silent.  He didn’t trust himself to speak.  They stared at each other for a while.

 

“We have both had awful days,” Mycroft continued. “Things have been stressful and rough, and my patience has been tried more than once today.  I took it out on you. It was wrong of me, and I need to apologize.”

 

“Myc, I…”

 

“Please forgive me, Gregory.  Please understand I meant none of the harm I realize I just caused you.”

 

Greg sighed and closed his eyes, shoulders slumped.

 

“I love you, Gregory Lestrade. It was a grave mistake to ever make you think otherwise.”

 

Greg blinked and opened his eyes again. Mycroft smiled softly at him, and it made his head spin.  Then, Mycroft leaned in and connected their lips in a slow, gentle kiss.

 

“Let’s go back inside,” Mycroft whispered when they broke off again. “I want to spend the evening in the proper way.”

 

“And what’s the proper way?” Greg asked, voice quivering with emotion.

 

“With you in my arms and my heart,” Mycroft answered, before starting to smile. “And possibly a lot less clothed.”

 

Greg choked out a sob, vision blurring as his eyes welled up with tears he hoped wouldn’t fall.

 


“Okay,” he agreed, and he allowed Mycroft to take his hand and lead him back inside.

Chapter Text

“You’ll be fine, Myc, really,” Greg was saying, smiling softly as they stood at the front door.  He reached up and cupped his husband’s cheek affectionately.

 

“I don’t doubt that Gregory, but must you?” Mycroft asked, sighing softly.

 

“Darling, you look like a deer in headlights,” Greg chuckled.  It was uncommon for the younger man to seem so nervous. “I won’t be horribly long, okay? I just need to go to the Yard, sort some stuff out, and swing by the store on the way home. I’ll be an hour tops.”

 

Mycroft nodded, huffing through his nose. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be alone, necessarily; he just didn’t feel like he was quite equipped for the situation.  He wasn’t accurately prepared for this.  He shifted and nodded.

 

“Alright,” he commented, leaning into Greg’s touch and closing his eyes.

 

“You’ll be fine,” Greg whispered affectionately. “You’re great.  You don’t need me all the time.  I’ll be home soon.”

 

Pushing up on his toes, Greg leaned in and kissed sweetly. Then, Mycroft was alone. Well, not really alone, but… He was alone with their newborn son. He still felt like he didn’t hold a candle in the fatherly department to his dear Gregory, but the older man was gone and there was nothing to be done about it.  So he straightened and sighed, turned, and wandered into the sitting room.

 

Their son, Oliver Lucas, was asleep on the sofa. Walking over, Mycroft placed his hands on the back of it and gazed down at the slumbering infant. He was just about two weeks old with a surprisingly full head of dark hair.  His lips were parted as he slumbered, having not mastered the ability to completely breathe through his nose alone, and one of his extremely small hands was balled up in a fist.  Oliver often slept this way, clutching nothing but clutching nonetheless, and Mycroft just let himself admire the sight.

 

He smiled affectionately at his son. Yes… his son.  His and Gregory’s.  He was the most beautiful child Mycroft had ever seen.  He truly believed this, even if he was a bit biased to that fact. Perhaps he could do this. If Oliver slept the majority of the time, he’d have nothing to worry about.

 

Mycroft quickly learned, however, that he was not so lucky.  After a few moments of admiring the sleeping infant, he’d moved around the sitting room to pick up the few toys and blankets that were strewn about, and that was when Oliver roused with a cry.  Mycroft froze, blinking as he watched his son completely wake up, bending and unbending his legs and waving his arm around as he cried.  Dropping the stuffed Rubik’s Cube John and Sherlock had given him, Mycroft walked over and knelt down in front of the sofa.

 

“I’m here, Oliver,” he said in a gentle, hushed tone, reaching out so the boy could grab onto his slender finger. Oliver did, gripping his index finger tightly, and turned to gaze up at his father with big brown eyes that were all Lestrade-inherited. They had started as more of a gray color, having not decided which way to go yet, but they quickly became almost identical to his other father’s.  This was not good for Mycroft, of course.  Having two pairs of big puppy brown eyes to gaze at him? Lord no.

 

“What’s wrong love?” he asked, brushing back the child’s fuzzy hair as he continued to cry. “Are you hungry?”

 

He was trying to remain surprisingly calm, even though he felt entirely inadequate in this current situation. It had been a few hours since Gregory had given him his last bottle, so perhaps that was it. So, making sure Oliver was secure on all sides and couldn’t roll off the couch, he stood and strode into the kitchen to prepare a bottle.

 

Part of him truly hated leaving Oliver in the other room crying, but unlike his husband, he had not come close to mastering doing tasks with one hand as he held Oliver in his other.  He recalled everything he’d watched Greg do hundreds of times, and had done a few times himself.  Making a bottle really wasn’t all that difficult, and once it had reached sufficient warmth, he walked back into the sitting room with it.

 

“Alright, Oliver, come here,” he said softly, picking up his son and attempting to get the nipple of the bottle in his mouth. He was denied more than once. Mycroft frowned, unsure why he wouldn’t take it.  Was he not hungry? Why was he crying then?

 

It became clear again after a moment, and Mycroft felt a tad bit of dread at the realization.  His diaper needed changing.  It should be an easy task, really, but it was not something Mycroft had gotten the hang of yet.  With a soft groan, he set the bottle down and stared helplessly at his crying son.

 

He shifted to lay him back down on the sofa and pulled over the small bag they kept in the sitting room so they wouldn’t have to go all the way back to the bedroom for supplies.  He pulled out wipes and a diaper and… stared helplessly at them. So, swallowing his pride, he reached for his mobile to make a call, setting it on speaker so his hands could be free.

 

“Yes, sir?” came the answer.

 

“Anthea,” Mycroft sighed. “I need your assistance.”

 

“What is it?” she asked, clearly going into action mode.

 

“Nothing of that nature,” he placated, as Oliver’s cries were most likely reaching the phone now. “I need… to change Oliver’s diaper…”

 

There was silence for a moment, before a soft giggle sounded from the other side of the phone.

 

“Anthea,” he sighed in annoyance. “Just… please. Gregory is at the Yard and I already feel ridiculous.”

 

“Alright boss,” she continued to chuckle. She did, however, shift into a helpful mode and spent the next several minutes helping to walk him through the steps over the phone.  He recalled the motions once he was doing them, and it ended up being much easier with Anthea’s assistance, and soon Oliver was in a clean diaper and seemingly much more happy.

 

“Thank you Anthea.  I will see you in the morning.”

 

Call completed, he reached over and picked up Oliver, holding him close.  The infant was still sniffling, but his eyes were now dry, and he was staring at his father instead.  Then, he reached out to grab for Mycroft’s nose, grinning.  Yes, he’d also inherited Greg’s grin.  Mycroft really stood no chance.

Chapter Text

Mycroft had been gone on a business trip. This happened fairly frequently, in all honesty, due to his very important “minor position” in the British Government.  There were always lots of meetings and negotiations of nature Greg was rarely privy to, though sometimes he was allowed to know. Those times were lovely, because it was so nice getting to actually hear Mycroft talk about his work.

 

He would be returning tonight, and Greg was very excited.  He’d been gone for two weeks now, and having only planned for one week, it was excruciating for both of them having to wait twice as long to be together again. Earlier in the day, Mycroft had texted Greg his itinerary, and it looked like he’d be home early enough for them to still have dinner.

 

So, about half an hour before Mycroft was expected home, Greg started making dinner.  He started working on an old, genuine French recipe of his da’s that Mycroft had immensely enjoyed when they’d visited his family.  Overall, it took about 45 minutes to prepare, which should have been perfect timing for Mycroft having arrived just before its completion. Unfortunately… that was not the case.

 

Dinner was done with no sign of Mycroft. Greg started checking his mobile, but there was no email or text waiting for him.  He hadn’t missed any calls.  He thought perhaps it was a bit of a delay, so he sat in the kitchen and kept the meal warm.

 

Another half hour passed, and still nothing. With a tiny sigh, Greg worked on getting the food stored so they could reheat it once he did finally get home. Once all that was done, he attempted to call the other man.  It went straight to voicemail, though if Mycroft was on a plane, he might have turned it off. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and pocketed his mobile to do some stuff around the house.

 

He got a text from Anthea a little while later informing him that a meeting had gone over, which had set Mycroft’s departure time back. That’s what he had assumed, but it soothed his nerves to hear from at least one of them.  Just running late.  Greg felt a new burst of energy and optimism at that.  Surely he wouldn’t be too much longer then.

 

As night hit, Greg decided to make some tea. Out of habit, he prepared two cups, but in glancing at the clock, didn’t see an issue with it. He carried the two cups into the sitting room and got comfortable on the sofa, setting one on the coffee table and drinking out of his slowly as he watched the news on the telly.

 

Mycroft finally arrived home an hour later. With a sigh, he set his umbrella and briefcase down next to the coat rack, as he always did, and slipped out of his coat to hang up as well.  Glancing around, he wandered through the house and heading towards the sitting room where he heard the telly.

 

“Gregory?” he asked as he entered, and then slowed as he saw his partner asleep on the couch.  He smiled affectionately, pausing for a moment before walking over to the slumbering older man.  Leaning over, he reached out and ran his fingers through Greg’s hair, causing him to stir and yawn.

 

“Hey,” he grinned widely upon realizing who was home. He grunted slightly and pushed himself to sit up. “Only been asleep for a moment, I promise.”

 

“You should have gone to bed, darling,” Mycroft chuckled softly. “Apologies for running so late, the meetings went on much longer than they should have.”

 

“Anthea told me.  I’m just glad you’re home.” Greg stood and stretched, before wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s neck and kissing him gently.  He smiled against his partner’s lips, nuzzling before speaking again against his lips. “I made tea, but it’s probably cold. There’s also dinner, I can reheat it if you want?”

 

“That’s quite alright,” Mycroft smiled, shaking his head.  He cupped Greg’s cheek before leaning in to kiss him again. “Let’s just go to bed, we can eat later. If the food will keep?”

 

“It will,” Greg nodded.  They kissed again and then threaded their fingers together, Mycroft leading them through the house and to their bedroom. It was so lovely to have him home again.

Chapter Text

Sherlock’s flat was empty, unsurprisingly. It was unoccupied more often than not, and Mycroft sighed as he watched over the surveillance feed. No doubt Sherlock was somewhere getting high again… His little brother’s drug habit was worrying, and Mycroft’s worrying was exhausting.  No matter what he did, though, he just could not get through to Sherlock.

 

Part of him wondered if Sherlock did it to spite him. Their history was a complicated one, and some days Mycroft found himself missing the younger days when the two of them actually got along.  It felt like an eternity had gone by since then.  The tension between them was at an all-time high, and Sherlock loathed being in his presence, even though he was just trying to help. He truly cared about him, and his worry was constant.

 

He turned to work on some paperwork, having a lot more responsibilities in his newest position (he had been promoted two months prior).  After a while, however, movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Blinking, he turned back to the screen showing Sherlock’s flat again, expecting to see the younger Holmes stumbling in and falling onto the couch like he’d done multiple times before. What he saw instead… surprised him.

 

His eyebrows lifted high as he watched Sherlock being walked into the flat by a man he hadn’t seen before.  The man was older, his dark hair starting to gray around his temples.  He had lines on his face that had settled in over the years, and it was clear he wore a lot of expression on his face.  He had an authoritative air about him, and even as he basically supported Sherlock’s full weight, still held himself straight and strong.

 

Mycroft completely forgot about what he was doing as he watched this man take Sherlock across and lower him down on the sofa. His little brother was obviously very drugged up, but it still looked like he was protesting.  Quickly, Mycroft reached across the table to turn on the sound.

 

“Come off it Lestrade,” Sherlock was mumbling, almost incoherently, trying to wave the other man away.

 

“Sod that,” came a deep, rough voice from this… Lestrade.  Mycroft scribbled the name down on the top of a note pad.  He had a lot of research ahead of him.

 

“M’fine,” Sherlock muttered in annoyance, rolling and curling into the couch.  Mycroft could tell his body was shaking.  So he was coming down from a high, then.

 

“No, you were in a crack den,” Lestrade argued. “You’re bloody lucky my men came along, and a hell of a lot luckier I was with them. I should’ve arrested you, you know.”

 

  1.   So this Lestrade was a cop.  Worked for the Yard, most likely.  A sergeant, perhaps? He had a team apparently, so he had some kind of authority, but he didn’t seem to be extremely high up on the chain of command… Clearly he would have to be just unnoticeable enough to be able to get away with not arresting an extremely drugged up man like this. Why didn’t he arrest him, though? This was peculiar.

 

“You were in the wrong place,” Sherlock said, and Mycroft recognized him slipping into a mode of deduction both Holmes brothers were known for. “You need to go to the one down the road, the one…”

 

“You hush.  I don’t give a rat’s arse about these insane deductions right now,” Lestrade fussed, pointing a finger at Sherlock seriously.  So he was aware of the deductions.  This was obviously nowhere near their first encounter. How was it Mycroft had not known of this man until now?

 

“You’ll never be Detective Inspector at this rate,” Sherlock said in a degrading voice.

 

“I don’t give a shit.  I’m making you tea, you’re going to bloody drink it, and then you’re showering.  Then I’m putting you to bed.  And don’t you dare think about sneaking out the minute I’ve left, you hear? Don’t think I don’t expect it.”

 

As this older man was saying all this, he was moving around the flat and disappearing into the joke that was Sherlock’s kitchen. Making tea, Mycroft supposed. The longer he listened and watched, the more shocked he became.  Shocked, and… relieved?  This man was taking care of Sherlock.  More important, Sherlock was letting him.  Icy pale eyes began to soften as he watched Lestrade kneel down next to the sofa and help Sherlock drink his tea.  He also had a flannel that he started pressing against the younger Holmes’ forehead and cheeks.

 

Mycroft continued watching long after he’d left. He just stared at the empty sitting room, Sherlock in bed and most likely actually asleep, eyes locked on where he’d been kneeling.  Lestrade… A quick document revealed the man to be Gregory Lestrade, sergeant at New Scotland Yard. Married, two kids, one just born…

 

Mycroft chewed on his bottom lip gently. He needed to meet this man. He was feeling strange, something he’d never felt before.  He had a yearning to know this man, to… Mycroft wasn’t sure.  But unknowingly to either of them, really, this sergeant had done something to him, and it was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

“So this is where you’ve been,” Mycroft commented as he wandered into the small garage.  His arms were crossed loosely in front of his chest and he gazed around, his nostrils assaulted by the pungent smell of gasoline and rubber and metal. It really wasn’t a pleasant smell, and if he didn’t associate it with his boyfriend, he would dislike it entirely.

 

“Yeah, sorry,” came Greg’s voice, and he slid a bit where he was laying on his back on the concrete floor.  Shortly, his head appeared from under the motorcycle that he always drove, a wrench in his hand and a smudge of oil on his cheek. It was, frankly, adorable. “Just giving her a tune-up, what with the weather changing and all. I didn’t know you were here!”

 

“Not to worry, I haven’t been here long,” Mycroft smiled, gazing affectionately at the older teen as he stood and walked over. He had a flannel in his hands that he was using to wipe clean, and even as he stepped close he didn’t reach out for Mycroft as he usually did.  It was very thoughtful.

 

“I should get cleaned up,” he commented with a chuckle. “Would you wanna go for a ride?”

 

Mycroft blinked, eyes widening as he gazed at the older boy.  He took a moment to peer at the vehicle, before looking back at Greg and arching his eyebrow.

 

“On that?”

 

“Of course!” Greg said as he started laughing. “It’s perfectly safe.  I haven’t had the chance to take you on it yet.  We should go!  I bet you’d like it.”

 

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He trusted Greg, of course, but… He’d never been on a vehicle that only had two wheels before. He never even owned a bike, like most children did.  Neither he nor his little brother Sherlock had any interest in such things. Granted, he had seen Greg drive it multiple times, and the boy was really a natural with it.

 

Somehow, even though he was still wary, Mycroft found himself agreeing.  The excited look on Greg’s face was pretty much worth it, though, and his bright grin was immensely infectious.  So, Mycroft waited while Greg changed clothes and wiped himself down, without needed to take a full shower.

 

“Alright,” he announced as he came back out. “First.”

 

He strode swiftly, closing the distance between them. Bringing his hands up, Greg cupped Mycroft’s cheeks and leaned in to kiss him sweetly.  Mycroft returned the kiss eagerly, one arm going around his shoulders and hugging him close.  They remained like this for a moment before parting, and Greg rubbed the soft skin of Mycroft’s cheek before walking over to his bike.

 

“Here,” he prompted, carrying a helmet over and handing it out to the posh boy.  Mycroft took it with hesitation, eyeing it.  Greg chuckled. “Come on, love, it’ll fit fine.”

 

Greg was pulling one on himself, and Mycroft watched silently before doing the same.  It felt strange.  It was snug, but he supposed that was the point, and after shifting how it sat on his head a few times, he felt overall satisfied with it.  Greg was climbing onto the bike and gesturing for him, reaching out to take his hand gently.  Mycroft gripped it as he followed suit, carefully lifting his leg and settling in behind him.

 

It wasn’t so bad.  At least, not at first.  When Greg shifted and the bike rocked, Mycroft jumped and clung to the boy in front of him tightly.  Greg laughed.

 

“You’re fine,” he smiled, reaching a hand down to squeeze Mycroft’s arm reassuringly. “Trust me.  Just relax, and you’ll start to enjoy it.”

 

As he usually was with these kinds of things, Greg was right.  Once they took off and started driving down the road, Greg took a few turns and began heading out into a more secluded, countryside type area.  The sun was out and the temperature was comfortable, and soon Mycroft completely forgot about the bike.  He hugged onto Greg gently, leaning against his back and gazing at the scenery that they passed.  He had to admit that it was all rather lovely.  He couldn’t help but smile in content over it all.

 

Mycroft wasn’t sure how long they rode for, but soon Greg was pulling off to the side and turning off the engine. Propping the bike up properly on its kickstand, he climbed off and then reached for the younger boy’s hand again to help him off as also.  They both removed their helmets and Greg secured them to the bike.

 

“Well?” he asked, smiling brightly.

 

“It wasn’t so bad,” Mycroft admitted with a soft smile. Greg’s grin widened and he reached for his boyfriend’s hand, threading their fingers together.

 

“Now c’mon,” he said as he started to lead Mycroft into the grass and over towards some trees. “I wanna show you one of my favorite places.”

Chapter Text

The British Government tapped the handle of his umbrella and sighed as the black car sped through London. Anthea had ensured the traffic lights worked in his favour, but it was still too slow for his liking. He faulted the Americans, really. A simple weeklong conference had dragged into a fortnight, thanks to their egocentric puffery. And here he was, nearly late for his holiday with Gregory.

Gregory. Just the name was a balm for his frayed nerves. It’s what kept him sane through the ordeal. They had planned the holiday—their first—long before the set of meetings became necessary. Even then, he’d been assured they would conclude in plenty of time for their getaway. He should have known better.

Mycroft closed his eyes and locked away remnants of the conference. It was over; any remaining details could keep until his return. Yes, time to focus on Gregory. It had been two long weeks without him. The fourteen days without the caresses and kisses that kept him—and by extension, a good part of Europe—calm and collected were incredibly wearing. He opened his eyes and smiled, his first real one in days, when he realized they were in Gregory’s neighbourhood. He was mere minutes from his love.

The car stopped outside the modest building and Mycroft hurried up the steps. He opened the door with his key and stepped inside.

“Gregory?”

“Myc!” Greg appeared in the bedroom doorway and Mycroft dropped his umbrella.

This was not his Gregory. His Gregory was clean-shaven with neatly combed hair. His Gregory wore dress shirts and trousers (at work) or jeans and a tee (everywhere else). But this…this version was entirely different. His hair was slightly overgrown and messily swept back. He wore a soft mocha shirt that revealed more of his chest than was usual. Rose coloured cords hung round his neck and displayed several small charms, while leather cording was wrapped round his right wrist.

And then there was the lack of a clean-shaven face. This Gregory wore a beard. A short, salt and pepper beard that perfectly matched the hair on his head.

Greg grinned, crossed the few feet between them and pulled Mycroft into a fierce hug. His facial hair was softer than it looked.

“You…you haven’t shaved.”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Greg took a step back and rubbed his beard. “I never shave on holiday…or in the days leading up to it. Helps get me into the spirit of things. D’ya like it?”

Mycroft realized his mouth was hanging open. He closed it and swallowed hard. His throat suddenly felt dry. Gregory was beautiful—more beautiful than usual. He was sex personified.

Bearded Gregory looked at him expectantly.

“Myc? Are you okay?”

“Uh…yes.” Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts. When he opened them again, the gorgeous bearded creature was still looking at him. His trousers grew tight. “It’s just…your beard.”

Greg froze. “You don’t like it? I mean, I know I look scruffy. But I figured since we’re going on holiday…”

Mycroft took a step forward, cupped Greg’s jaw with both hands, and crushed their lips together. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist and pulled him closer. The British Government released his boyfriend’s lips and rained kisses along his jaw, down to his chin, and up the other side. Greg chuckled.

“I take it you approve.”

Mycroft released Greg, twined their fingers together and pulled him into the bedroom.

“God yes.”

Chapter Text

The night started like most.  Both Greg and Mycroft got home at a surprisingly reasonable time that evening, Greg changed into more comfortable clothes, and started working on dinner.  They ate and conversed throughout, comfortable and just happy in one another’s company.  After dinner, Mycroft cleaned up the dishes, and together they moved into the sitting room.

 

Mycroft poured them both a glass of scotch and they stretched out on the sofa as they enjoyed them.  Greg sat with his legs stretched out along the length of the sofa and his back against the arm, and Mycroft settled in between them, leaning back against Greg’s chest.  Mycroft might have been the taller of the two, but this was how they always ended up.

 

Once they were done with their drinks, Greg leaned forward to set aside their empty glasses.  When he settled back in, Mycroft snuggled in more, turning into the older man’s body and relaxing with a sigh.  Greg smiled, pressing a kiss into his hair, before bringing his hand up to run through the soft strands slowly.

 

Mycroft let his eyes fall closed, a content smile on his face, and Greg continued to play with his hair.  They were quiet for a while, and Mycroft was starting to fall into a light doze when he heard Greg hum in interest.

 

“What is it?” Mycroft asked softly, blinking his pale eyes open and turning slightly to gaze up at Greg.  His eyebrows were raised, and Mycroft arched one of his eyebrows in return.

 

“I found a strand of gray,” Greg said, a slightly amused smile playing on his face.  Mycroft froze, eyes going wide in shock, and he shot up into a rigid sitting position as he twisted at the waist.

 

“You what?” he asked sharply.

 

“Welcome to the club, love,” Greg smirked in amusement. Amusement. He was sitting there as if this wasn’t the biggest issue they’d faced in weeks.

 

“Surely you are mistaken,” he huffed, bristling inwardly. “There’s no way I’m getting gray.  No way.”

 

“Awwww, it’s okay Myc,” Greg attempted to soothe, reaching out to rub his bicep gently. “There’s nothing wrong with a little gray. I mean, hell, I’m covered in it and I’m okay.”

 

“Yes, but that’s because it makes you look distinguished,” Mycroft frowned. “Your silver is extremely sexy. I have quite enough imperfections I already deal with, I am not going to add another.”

 

Turning, Mycroft pulled his mobile out of his pocket and started to compose a new text.  Greg sighed, shaking his head, and leaned forward to wrap his arms around the panicked man’s waist.  He kissed his shoulder and reached out to grab the hand that had the mobile.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked softly, still extremely amused.

 

“Texting Anthea.  She needs to bring me at least three bottles of hair dye. To start.”

 

Groaning, Greg leaned forward just a bit more and wrestled the mobile out of his partner’s grasp.  He ignored the noise of protest that Mycroft let out and put the device on the table next to their glasses.

 

“You do not need hair dye!” he said in exasperation. “Myc, darling, it’s just one strand of gray.  And it’s under your hair, closer to your scalp. No one will see it.”

 

“That doesn’t matter, I know it’s there,” Mycroft practically pouted, leaning back into Greg again reluctantly. Greg rubbed along his side gently, leaning in to kiss his cheek and nuzzling gently.

 

“You’ll be distinguished too,” Greg whispered affectionately.  Mycroft rolled his eyes, but leaned into the affectionate gestures.

 

“You have met my father, haven’t you, Gregory? I am not suited for those genes.”

 

Greg ignored that quip about the Holmes family, and instead reached for Mycroft’s hand and threaded their fingers together loosely and squeezing.  Slowly, Mycroft began to relax again, even though Greg knew he was still a bit huffy over it. He couldn’t help but find it at least a little adorable.

 

Finally, he grinned widely as he pulled Mycroft back into him.

 

“Hey,” he whispered.  Blinking, Mycroft turned to look at him again, curiously. His gaze got even more curious as he saw the big grin sliding onto Greg’s face.

 

“You wanna check me for grays?” he asked with a chuckle.  Mycroft scoffed and smacked him on the chest, which made Greg laugh out loud.

Chapter Text

“Good lord, this is absolutely ridiculous,” Mycroft was scoffing in utter irritation, crossing his arms. “Can you stop being a child for two bloody seconds?”

 

“Please, like you’re one to talk,” Sherlock snapped from where he was slumped in his leather chair.  Once again, the Holmes brothers just didn’t know how to have a civil conversation.  It was kind of exhausting.

 

Over on the sofa, Greg sighed, shaking his head as John sat next to him with his arms crossed.

 

“These are the men we’ve decided to spend the rest of our lives with,” Greg muttered, listening to the two of them go at it.

 

“Yep,” John sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair. “You think there’s something wrong with us?”

 

“There’s definitely something wrong with us,” Greg snorted in amusement. “But god help us, we love the bastards.”

 

They fell silent for a moment, gazing at the two grown men across the room acting like 5-year-olds.  Greg and Mycroft had stopped by, Greg to bring John a movie they’d been talking about and Mycroft to bring by some case files. Of course, moments after the case files had been brought up, this started happening.  It was exhausting watching the two of them go at it like that.

 

“We really do,” John nodded, glancing over at his best mate. “Hell, you two are gonna be married soon.”

 

Greg felt warmth flood in his chest. They sure were. Three months ago he and Mycroft had become engaged, and it was just bloody brilliant.  He loved that crazy man over there.

 

“Yep, somehow,” he grinned widely. “I’m fuckin’ lucky.”

 

John smiled sweetly at him, before cringing at the insults he heard being thrown back and fourth between Mycroft and Sherlock. He sighed again.

 

“I’m happy for you, Greg.  It’s an amazing thing.  It’ll be good for you two, for sure.”

 

“You ever think about it for you and Sherlock?” Greg asked curiously.  John didn’t say anything at first, turning back to look at the two of them, before shrugging.

 

“I dunno.  I mean, I have,” John admitted, crossing his legs and leaning back against the sofa a bit. “Especially with you two getting engaged.  But… I don’t think Sherlock would be too keen on the idea.  He scoffed over the news with you two.  I think I’m okay accepting that’s not the life for us.”

 

“Don’t rule it out,” Greg commented, looking at him pointedly. “He might surprise you.  Lord knows Mycroft did.”

 

“Yeah, I s’pose,” John shrugged again. Greg nudged him gently and grinned.

 

“John, tell him I’m too busy,” Sherlock whined, looking over at his flatmate turned boyfriend almost pitifully. John, however, was not taking any pity on him, and he shook his head.

 

“You were complaining your boredom this morning,” he commented.  Sherlock groaned.

 

“Lestrade, if you have time to sit there, you have time to go find me a case,” he snapped, still glaring at Mycroft. “Or are you too busy trying to keep my brother happy now?”

 

“There’s no trying to it,” Mycroft snapped, fuming in irritation. “Leave Gregory alone.”

 

“Oh so you’re his protector now?” Sherlock snapped back.

 

“Oy, I don’t need a protector,” Greg spoke up, huffing and crossing his arms now.

 

“Come on girls, stop now,” John said, directed at the two Holmes brothers. “This is getting exhausting.”

 

“He started it,” both Sherlock and Mycroft said at the same time.  Silence fell over 221B, before both Greg and John burst out laughing.  They got identical looks of irritation from their respective significant others, which only made them laugh harder.

 

“I fail to see what is so hilarious,” Mycroft muttered, arching an eyebrow.

 

“No doubt something ridiculous and common,” Sherlock said with a sigh.  It took a moment for Greg and John to calm down (a moment too long in the Holmes brothers opinions), but finally, they stopped laughing and sighed.

 

“Wanna go to the pub, John?” Greg asked, standing.

 

“Mmmm?  Yeah, sure,” John nodded, standing as well.

 

“I am not going to that filthy pub,” Sherlock said, tilting his chin up.

 

“Didn’t ask you,” Greg said, grabbing his coat. “You two stay and duke this out.  Myc, I’ll be back in a bit and we can go home, yeah?”

 

Neither man waited for a response before they were down the steps and out the door, leaving behind two baffled, irritated Holmes men.

Chapter Text

Mycroft was stressed.  Catastrophic matters in North Korea made things bad enough on their own (And it was always North Korea, wasn’t it?  It was exhausting.). On top of that, his dear Gregory had been very horribly injured on a case and was in the hospital. That was where he currently was, seated in the chair next to the hospital bed, reading classified files as his darling slept beside him.

 

He was all right.  He would pull through, and would most likely only be in hospital for a few days before he was released into Mycroft’s care.  Alas, that did nothing to alleviate the stress and pain of seeing Greg lying in that bed, pale and exhausted-looking, even though all he was doing was sleep.  He had lost a lot of blood and his injuries would most likely scar, according to the doctor.

 

After a while, he set his files aside and leaned his elbows on the bed, reaching to take one of Greg’s limp hands into his own. He rubbed the back of his tan hand with a thumb, and sighed softly.  Closing his eyes, he just listened to the beeping of the machines he was hooked up to, hoping for him to wake up soon so they could actually converse. The only conversation they’d had thus far, Greg had been extremely doped up on pain medication and hadn’t made much sense. He also hadn’t quite remembered who Mycroft was, but began to hit on him in a very smooth way that made the politician’s blush reach his ears.

 

The silence was shortly interrupted by soft knock on the door, causing Mycroft to straighten immediately in his seat, though he did not let go of Greg’s hand.  He turned his head just in time to see Abby stick her head in shyly.

 

“Can I come in, My?” she asked. Mycroft smiled affectionately, nodding.

 

“Of course, Abigail.  Your father is asleep, but by all means.  Is Elizabeth with you?” he asked, finally releasing Greg’s hand so he could stand.  She nodded as she entered the room, and sure enough, the older Lestrade daughter came in right behind.

 

“Hi, Mycroft,” she nodded, greeting him gently. “Wanted to come see da.”

 

“He will be most pleased you did. As am I,” Mycroft smiled. Abby wandered over and hopped up into the chair the politician had just been occupying, and Elizabeth glanced toward the door.

 

“Mum is here…” she muttered, a clear warning to him, before reaching out to squeeze his hand and walk over to stand next to her little sister.  Mycroft sighed through his nose, but the action was not noticeable by anyone.  Fantastic.  With everything else, what he needed was to be in the same woman with Gregory’s ex-wife. Christina was a headache and he had, thus far, managed to avoid her directly.  Clearly this would no longer be the case. Oh well.  He was nothing if not a master at fake politeness.

 

He squared his shoulder as he noticed her slip inside, though she made no movement to go towards the bed.  Her entire body language screamed that she had no desire to be here, and if it weren’t for the daughters she shared with Greg, no doubt she wouldn’t be. It was extremely insensitive of her. After all, she was the one who had cheated.

 

“Oh,” was all she said at first upon noticing Mycroft was in the room.  He couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow.

 

“Not who you were expecting?” he said in forced politeness, unable to completely hide the bite in his voice. A glance out of the corner of his eye proved that the girls were not really within ear shot, thankfully.

 

“Just would have preferred to avoid all this,” she muttered, clearly not offering him the same courtesy. “They were just so insistent on coming here.”

 

“Well Gregory is their father,” Mycroft countered, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Whom they love dearly.  It would only be natural for them to desire seeing him in his weakened state. Sate their worry.”

 

Of which you clearly have none, you heartless woman, he wanted to say, but goodness knows Mycroft Holmes had been taught more manners than that.

 

“You talk about them with such familiarity,” Christina snapped, venom leaking in her voice. “It must please you to know you’ve wormed your way into the Lestrade family so successfully.”

 

Mycroft’s patience was wearing thin. He could be polite all day and every day, but when he was not returned with the same thought, he got fed up. Quickly.

 

“Forgive me, but if anyone had ever wormed their way in, as you so eloquently put it, it would be you,” Mycroft said, his voice starting to adopt some impatience. It didn’t help everything else that had piled on.  He had no time for this ridiculous woman right now.

 

“How… how dare you,” Christina scoffed, just barely managing to keep her voice quiet enough so the girls didn’t catch on to what was happening. “I don’t know how you convinced Greg to think you were worth being with, or how he was ever okay with having you around our children.  I don’t understand why he wastes his time with you.”

 

“As opposed to you, who continuously cheated on him, even though he tried endlessly to work things out?” Mycroft snapped, his temper starting to flare. “Don’t you even think about coming in here and accusing me of being the one who isn’t worth being with.  Unlike you, I care for Gregory unconditionally. Unlike you, I respect him as a person, and welcome every part of him that stays out to work on cases, that gets injured and put in the hospital, and that goes out to enjoy a few drinks at the pub with his colleagues.  Unlike you, I know how lucky I am, and I embrace it.  Whether you like it or not, he and I have joined our lives together, which means your children are a part of it as well. I care for them as if they were my own, a courtesy I am hard pressed to believe you would return had our positions ever been reversed.”

 

Christina said nothing, just staring at him in actual disbelief.  Mycroft couldn’t help the joy he felt at the expression.

 

“Now, I suggest you take your leave of this room before I find myself getting very angry.  Elizabeth and Abigail will return to you in the waiting room when they are ready to leave, and not a moment before.  Now.  Out.”

 

Christina opened her mouth to protest, but whatever words were on the tip of her tongue vanished at the icy glare Mycroft provided. With a huff, she turned and stormed out of the room.

 

Mycroft took a deep breath, working on calming himself before turning and heading over to where the other three Lestrades were.

 

“Do you think he’ll wake up soon?” Abby asked softly, gazing up at Mycroft, clueless as to the fight that had just occurred. Elizabeth, on the other hand, seemed to have some idea.  She always did. She was impressively smart, and Mycroft found himself proud of how mature of a young lady she was turning out to be.

 

“I am sure he will, Abigail,” Mycroft commented, softness in his voice once again.  He rested his hands on the edge of the bed, gazing at his slumbering partner with worried, lovingly yes. “And he will be most pleased to know the two of you have come by.”

Chapter Text

Greg was a bit pissed, in the drunken sense. Okay, well, maybe the temperament sense as well.  He was slumped on his sofa, his… fourth beer in hand, staring at the ceiling and basically hating the world.  Grown men were still entitled to drunken temper tantrums most common from people in their early 20s, right? Even if they weren’t, fuck it, because that’s exactly what he was letting himself do.

 

He stared at the stack of papers sitting on his coffee table, feeling the overwhelming urge to set them on fire. He’d known this was going to happen, and he’d been prepared for the package for weeks now.  It had been a few months since Christina had moved out for good. Even still, coming home after a long bloody day and opening a packet of divorce papers first thing was not what a bloke really wanted to deal with.

 

So he’d pushed the damn things aside to ignore until at a really random hour, and had headed to the fridge. He’d planned on having one or two anyway as he worked on winding down from a triple homicide and a disappointingly high Sherlock Holmes showing up at his crime scene.  Whom he’d given the boot.  Because insight be damned, there was no way Greg would ever risk his cases with having a damn drug addict examining evidence and giving them leads. No way in hell. He would prefer to continue working, thank you very much.

 

So, as he was drinking beer number 4 and most definitely not crying (yeah, okay, maybe a bit, but he was drunk at this point okay?), there was a knock at the door.  Great.  Because he couldn’t just get drunk and go to bed in peace. He contemplated leaving it and pretending that he hadn’t heard anything, when the next series of knocks sounded. With a sigh, he set his almost empty drink down and stood.  His vision swam for a moment and he shut his eyes, working on getting his center of gravity under control, and made his way over to his front door.

 

“What do you wa-“ he started, the words dying in his throat as he saw who stood just across the threshold.  He blinked, gazing at Mycroft Holmes, standing there with his umbrella and holding some files in his hand.  They stared at each other, the taller man’s pale eyes piercing and knowing as always, and Greg braced himself for whatever the man was going to say.

 

“Gregory, I’m sorry,” Mycroft said softly. Greg blinked again. Okay, that hadn’t quite been what he’d expected.  He wanted to ask what Mycroft was sorry for, but he didn’t need to.  No doubt he knew exactly why Greg was drunk.  So instead, he sighed and shook his head.

 

“It’s whatever,” he mumbled, taking a step back and gesturing for the younger man to come in.  Mycroft did with a nod, leaning his umbrella against the wall and walking into the sitting room.  Greg followed, falling back onto the sofa, while Mycroft quietly sat down near him on the other end. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I… came by to bring you the files to give to my brother, as we discussed a few days ago,” Mycroft said, obviously hesitating a bit. Ah.  Greg had forgotten all about them.  He scrubbed his face roughly and sighed.

 

“Sorry, yeah.  I forgot,” he admitted. “It’s been-“

 

“I am aware,” Mycroft interrupted, saving Greg the trouble of explaining.  Thank god. “This is not a good time, let me get out of your hair.”

 

“No!” Greg said as Mycroft moved to stand. They both froze at the desperation that was evident in his voice.  Now that Mycroft was here… Greg found he didn’t want to be alone.

 

Slowly, Mycroft sat again, crossing his legs and turning his body towards Greg.  The two of them had become… friends really wasn’t the right word for it, he supposed. But something like it. They bonded as they both tried to keep Sherlock off heroin, and sadly still failing.  It was exhausting.

 

“Would you like a drink?” Greg asked, gesturing to the one he’d been drinking out of.  Mycroft shook his head in a polite decline.

 

“No, thank you, Gregory.  I admit I cannot stay long.  However, I would not be opposed to remaining a little while longer.”

 

Remain he did.  Greg finished the rest of his beer, and Mycroft initiated different avenues of conversation that tried to steer him away from the divorce or his homicide case.  It was appreciated, but Greg still couldn’t push past that haze he had fallen into.

 

After about twenty minutes or so, they had eased into more comfortable conversation, and he had Mycroft laughing softly. The posh man looked gorgeous when he laughed.  When he genuinely laughed.  It was almost a shame he didn’t more often.  Over the course of their conversation, they had drifted closer to one another, and Greg felt an almost magnetic pull towards the other man.

 

Their closeness became evident to one another as Mycroft turned to say something in return to what had made him laugh, freezing as their noses almost touched.  His breath hitched in his throat and they just stared at each other. Greg had the overwhelming urge to…

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked in a hushed tone, not moving when Greg reached up and brushed the back of his fingers along his jaw. He didn’t move away either, however. This was not the first time Greg had thought about kissing Mycroft, and it had obviously not been the first time Mycroft had thought about it either.  In his vulnerability, Greg gave into his urges.

 

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Mycroft’s mouth.  The relaxed hold the younger man had on the back of the sofa tightened immediately. He still didn’t pull away, though. Feeling a spur of courage, Greg tilted his head and pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss.

 

The noise of surprise Mycroft made was delicious. Greg’s heart skipped a beat, and he took the other man’s bottom lip in between his teeth and sucked gently. The noise he’d made turned into a soft groan.  A slender hand was gripping his bicep securely, grounding himself.

 

Then, just as quickly, they broke apart.

 

“I should go,” Mycroft said breathlessly. “Early meeting. Take care, Gregory.”

 

Greg was frozen.  He nodded numbly, not moving a fraction of an inch as Mycroft stood, bade a polite but flustered farewell, and left his flat.  It probably took five minutes before Greg let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he slumped back into the sofa and covered his face.

 

Well, he’d fucked that up.  The alcohol and the divorce papers had ruined his self-control. Never mind the fact that he’d been yearning to kiss Mycroft for months now.  He hadn’t wanted to like that…

 

He passed out on the sofa a few hours later, mobile clutched in his hand, with a half-formed text to Mycroft typed out that he would never send.

Chapter Text

Mycroft considered himself a very put-together individual.  One of the first things he had learned in life was self-control.  It was one of the big things that distinguished him from his younger brother, Sherlock.  It was partially why he was the smart one.  While Sherlock’s life had taken a turn of self-destruction just to alleviate the constant boredom he felt, Mycroft became a productive and successful politician.

 

Mycroft did not necessarily get bored. He had learned to compartmentalize his deductions, his thoughts, everything to give his mind some form of peace and organization.  He had tried so hard to condition Sherlock to do the same.  It was clear early on in life that they were the same, and he had tried… He had been unsuccessful, obviously.

 

Mycroft could control his thoughts and emotions better than anyone else he had ever come across.  He could focus on what was necessary and push aside everything else, filing it away where it may or may not prove useful later on in life. So, why was he having such a difficult time with this?

 

Gregory Lestrade had kissed him. Correction: a vulnerable, depressed, and drunken Gregory Lestrade had kissed him.  All the circumstances around his visit three weeks ago and the events that occurred had been horrible timing. It had been glaringly obvious the older man was going through the steps of divorce.  Of course he would be sent papers, and the timing was right. It all lined up and made sense.

 

They had kissed.  Mycroft had kissed plenty of people in his lifetime, naturally. He’d had many physical encounters starting in university and on, and while it had been a while since his last, he was no stranger to it.  It was always a means to an end.  A desire he found his body needing every few years or so.  Some kisses, touches, and intercourse were required to sate urges that tediously popped up from time to time.  Thankfully, however, it was never a frequent thing.

 

This kiss, though… He could not get his mind off it. He could not compartmentalize the action, or the way it had made him feel.  He could not forget the warmth that had spread through his entire body, nor could he ignore the warmth that emerged as he recalled the action. As he monitored CCTV or read through paperwork, he would start to recall the feeling of Gregory’s lips pressed against his, and how his body had shivered at the pressure he had experienced as he sucked on his bottom lip.

 

Absently, he reached up and touched his bottom lip with his fingers.  He sighed, clearing his throat and straightening himself.  He could not deny the Detective Inspector was attractive.  Mycroft enjoyed being in his company.  He was a surprisingly calming force in Mycroft’s otherwise hectic, stressful world.

 

He sighed, dropping his hand and reaching for his mobile.  He had not heard from the older man once since that moment.  Gregory texted him often, which made his silence very peculiar. Partially, he wondered if he had behaved incorrectly after their kiss.  He hadn’t known how to react, for once.  He had been taken by surprise.

 

Or was Gregory embarrassed?  He didn’t need to be.  Mycroft had thought about the circumstances surrounding it all a lot. Honestly, he had probably thought about them too much.  His actions were nothing to be embarrassed of.  They were perfectly natural for someone going through something like that. He found he wanted to text him and tell him that.  But should he even bring it up?

 

Mycroft hadn’t recalled the last time he was at such a loss.  He’d only ever felt this confused and lost over Sherlock’s seemingly endless drug habits.

 

“Sir?” came a voice, and Mycroft blinked.

 

“Yes, Anthea?” he asked as he glanced up. How long had she been there? He hadn’t heard her enter… The look on her face showed that she had most likely called out to him multiple times, as well.

 

“Your meeting has been cancelled this evening. I suggest wrapping up for the day and heading home,” she informed him, glancing at him.  There was a knowing look in her eyes and he couldn’t decide if it was good or bad.

 

“Do you now?” he asked, arching an eyebrow and setting his mobile down.  Anthea nodded, her eyes flicking towards his mobile briefly.

 

“Indeed.  Perhaps grabbing a bite to eat?”

 

Mycroft could hear her suggested undertones. He managed a small smile and nodded.

 

“Yes, of course,” he said, standing and gathering his coat and umbrella. “Thank you, Anthea.”

 

“Have a good evening, sir,” she said, nose buried in her Blackberry instantly.

 

Mycroft rubbed his thumb across the screen of his mobile as he strode out to his car.  He was halfway home when he finally composed and sent the text he’d been thinking about all day.

 

Would you consider joining me for dinner, around 8pm?  I feel we have some things that should be discussed. –MH

 

He was walking through his home ten minutes later when he finally received a response.

 

I agree. See you at 8.  –GL

 

Chapter Text

Dinner was a bit tense.  Greg had been expecting that.  He’d been avoiding Mycroft for weeks after he kissed him in a depressed, drunken haze.  It wouldn’t have been as bad if that were all it was, though.  But… it really wasn’t.  It wasn’t because it was all Greg seemed to be able to think about now. He dreamed about it. The touch of their lips in that moment awakened something inside of him he didn’t know existed.

 

They made somewhat casual conversation. They discussed Sherlock, and they discussed their work.  More so, Greg discussed his work. Mycroft could rarely return the same courtesy, of course.  It wasn’t until dessert that the topic turned in the direction Greg had been dreading all evening.

 

“Gregory, about the last time you and I were together,” Mycroft prompted, finishing off his glass of wine and signaling for the check.

 

“Yeah, uh,” Greg said, rubbing the back of his head and setting his napkin on the table. “I’m sorry about that, I just-“

 

“It cannot happen again, you understand,” Mycroft interrupted. Greg blinked.  He felt his heart sink in surprising disappointed, but he forced himself to nod.

 

“I know.  I was drunk.  I hadn’t planned to, it just kinda…” Happened?  For once, not in his dreams?  No, Greg couldn’t say that. “I’m sorry.”

 

Mycroft nodded curtly.  He paid for the bill and stood, prompting Greg to do the same. In silence they walked out of the restaurant, where a car was already waiting for them.  Greg couldn’t help but smirk.  There was always a car waiting.

 

The beginning of the ride was also spent in silence, as they made their way across London and towards Greg’s flat. Greg stared out the window as Mycroft was reading something on his mobile.

 

“Thanks for dinner,” Greg finally said, remembering his manners.  He turned a bit, in case they were to initiate conversation, which caused their knees to press together. Greg’s heart jumped in his throat, and Mycroft’s thumb stilled over the mobile screen.

 

“You are quite welcome,” Mycroft said, though there was tension obvious in his voice.  Pale eyes glanced up, and they stared at each other.  Greg licked his bottom lip nervously, having no idea what to make of what was happening.  Which was why, moments later, when Mycroft practically dove across the backseat of the car and grabbed Greg’s face roughly, the older man yelped in surprise.

 

Mycroft was kissing him.  He was the one… He started… Neither of them was even tipsy, they’d barely had enough wine for that.  The kiss was basic, closed lips pressed together, but there was no mistaking the intensity that was still behind it.  Greg blinked as Mycroft leaned back, and they stared at each other, slender hands still framing the older man’s face.

 

“I thought…” Greg started, a bit breathless. “I thought you said it couldn’t happen again.”

 

“It shouldn’t,” Mycroft murmured, not letting go or moving away.

 

“Shouldn’t?” Greg repeated, raising his eyebrows. That word could hold an entirely different meaning.  The politician nodded. “Then shouldn’t you…let go of my face?”

 

“I…” Mycroft started, at a loss of words for what Greg thought was the first time ever. “I find I do not want to.”

 

The admission made Greg shiver. There was something bigger at play here. Something neither of them had considered, let alone allowed them to indulge in.  It was something that was woken that night, three weeks ago, as Greg stared drunkenly at his divorce papers.  It was something that wouldn’t go away, he had the feeling.

 

“Then perhaps you should kiss me again,” Greg heard himself say, tilting his chin in almost a challenge.  He watched as Mycroft’s pupils dilated, and listened as he huffed out a breath.

 

The next moments flew by faster than Greg was prepared for.  Mycroft was climbing into his lap.  Mycroft was shoving him almost roughly against the backseat of the car.  Mycroft was kissing him again.  This kiss was even more intense than the previous, and Greg pushed his tongue into the other man’s mouth after he’d decided to bite on his bottom lip.  The noise Mycroft made was intoxicating, and Greg was instantly half-hard in his trousers. They kissed desperately, as if their lives depended on it, each one of them fighting for dominance and each one gaining it over the other at some point.

 

They hardly noticed the car stopping in front of Greg’s flat.  The older man was sliding his hands around and grabbing at Mycroft’s arse, causing his breath to hitch as their bodies pressed against each other.  He could feel Mycroft’s desire pressing hot and hard against his thigh, and Christ, Greg wanted.  All too fast, however, he was pulling away, panting harshly.  Greg had to force himself not to whine in disappointment.

 

“We have arrived,” Mycroft managed as he tried to compose himself.  His smooth voice was rough with desire and it was the sexiest thing Greg had ever heard. He sat there dumbly for a second, before nodding and not so discreetly adjusting his erection inside his trousers. He tried not to beam at how Mycroft stared.

 

“Yeah, so, um… thanks again for dinner?” Greg attempted. Mycroft huffed a laugh and nodded.

 

That was Greg’s cue to climb out of the car. He shut the door, but a moment later the window was being rolled down.  Greg raised his eyebrows, still panting a bit.

 

“Three days time, here,” Mycroft was saying. “9pm. I feel… this has just become rather complicated.”

 

“Y-yeah,” Greg nodded.  Not that he was complaining.

 

“I’m not looking for a relationship, Gregory,” he pointed out.  Greg shrugged.

 

“I just signed divorce papers.”

 

“Indeed.  I will… see you in three days.”

 

Greg nodded and waved, and then the window was rolled up and Mycroft was gone.  Three days. He had no idea what was going to come of this, but he felt like it was something.  But what?  Lord only knew…

Chapter Text

Well, that had happened.  Their first big fight.  The circumstances had all lined up terribly wrong on top of everything, exams were making them both tense and snappish, and things had kinda just… exploded. Greg remembered sitting in Mycroft’s dorm room, and how they’d just… started snapping at each other.

 

Greg had issues with his intelligence. He made okay marks, sure, but not great. Things wouldn’t stick. It was one of the big things when it came to falling for and dating the smartest boy in their entire class that made him feel a bit worse at times.  These A levels were kicking his arse.  And Mycroft just… hurt him.

 

He wasn’t sure if the other teen had said those things intentionally or not.  Calling him childish and saying he refused to apply himself and he was acting like a dimwitted child… It had really hurt.  Add that to the stress pounding down on him, and Greg had snapped back. It had happened five days ago. They’d avoided each other since then.

 

He sat in the library, hidden in a corner currently, book in his lap.  Even in the subjects he was good with he was stressing.  Somehow, these history texts weren’t making any sense.  They should, and they weren’t.  He had his nose buried in it for so long, that he didn’t notice the body in front of him until he cleared his throat.

 

“Yeah, wha-“ he started, glancing up in irritation, before falling short and his eyes widening. “Myc?”

 

“Gregory, may I… join you?” the younger teen asked, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.  It was adorable, and yet Greg could still feel hurt and anger flare up in him.  He had a shite temper; everyone always told him.  So he huffed.

 

“I dunno, don’t want to infect you with my dimwitted behavior,” he muttered, staring back down at his book. His heart was pounding. Mycroft sighed.

 

“Yes, about that,” he started. “I owe you an apology, Gregory.  I didn’t truly mean what I said last week.”

 

Greg wanted to believe it.  He supposed he did, really.  Mycroft had never lied to him, so why would he start now? He sighed and shut the textbook, setting it aside and crossing his legs.

 

“We were both feeling a lot of stress over A levels,” Mycroft continued, shifting the books tucked under his arm. “It’s only natural that stress would come out in forms unintended by both parties.”

 

Greg knew Mycroft was going to be a brilliant politician one day.  He talked like it so naturally, and he was amazing at negotiating, and commanding people to listen even when they didn’t want to.

 

“I’m sorry too…” Greg sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.  His voice dropped even softer at his next admission. “I’ve missed you…”

 

“And I you,” Mycroft smiled. “So may I sit?”

 

Greg was silent for a moment, pausing and thinking. Slowly, he started to grin a bit, and motioned at his lap.  Mycroft arched an eyebrow, and Greg chuckled.

 

“C’mon, I’m comfy.  You’ve said so yourself,” he grinned wider. Mycroft sighed in exasperation, shaking his head.  He did, however, set his books down and glance around before carefully sitting on one of Greg’s legs. This wasn’t good enough, however, and once the older teen had his arms around Mycroft’s waist, he tugged him closer so that he was almost straddling his lap.

 

“Gregory, we’re in the library,” Mycroft hissed, hands pressed flat against Greg’s chest and his cheeks flaring up bright pink. It was adorable.

 

“Well I guess you better be quiet then, right?” Greg smirked as he grabbed the lapels of Mycroft’s uniform and tugged him in for a heated kiss.

 

Mycroft froze, mind obviously racing and protesting what was happening, but Greg could feel his body ease as he swiped his tongue along his lips.  They kissed rougher, Mycroft kissing back now.  His slender fingers ran through Greg’s hair, his nails scraping against his scalp. It made Greg shiver.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft huffed against his lips, before whimpering slightly as Greg moved to kiss and nip along his neck. He clutched at Greg’s shoulders, pressing close, heat vibrating between them. “Gregory, we need…”

 

“No one else is here,” Greg growled, clearly in no hurry to relocate.  He’d had dreams about doing less than tasteful things in this library.  Maybe it was weird.  He didn’t care.  Plus, he found he didn’t want to say no to some makeup sex.

 

No,” Mycroft hissed, though he shivered and pressed closer, lips parted slightly. “Gregory, please…”

 

Greg paused.  Well.  That was hard to ignore.  Licking his lips, Greg nodded and gazed up into Mycroft’s quickly darkening eyes.

 

“Mine, then.  Your roommate will be there.”

 

“Wise decision,” Mycroft nodded, his voice trembling.

 

“Now,” Greg all but growled.  They barely gathered up their books before they were walking swiftly through the library.

 

“Gregory, I am sorry,” Mycroft said again as they walked with fingers threaded towards their privacy.

 

“Thank me with less clothes, yeah?” Greg smirked, gazing lovingly at his boyfriend.  They’d had their first big fight.  Now they were going to have their first amazing makeup.

Chapter Text

Greg couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he watched his partner trying to get ready.  Mycroft was an immaculate dresser, with a closet full of suits that he could probably get lost in.  Yet here they were, about to head out to a field for a picnic, and he couldn’t find something appropriate to wear.

 

He wasn’t sure how he’d convinced Mycroft to go on an actual, bonified picnic, but he had.  He was looking forward to it.  It was always something he enjoyed, ever since he was a young bloke, and it had been so long since he’d enjoyed something of that nature.

 

“Don’t you have jeans?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and Mycroft stood over at his dresser in his pants and a button-up shirt that was hanging open, currently staring between two sets of dress trousers. Greg wanted to take a picture. It was adorable and sexy all at the same time.  However, the trousers he was wearing weren’t the best suited for this kind of outdoor venture.

 

“Jeans?” Mycroft repeated, almost scoffing. “I doubt that I do, Gregory.”

 

“Come on, you have to own one pair.” Grunting, Greg got out of bed and wandered over to his dresser.  He waved a hand to shoo him aside for a moment and knelt down, opening a drawer and starting to look through the clothes that were in there. Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, but Greg was already there, so he decided not to and worked on folding up the trousers he had been holding.

 

Finally, after about ten minutes or so, buried in the very bottom of the drawer, Greg felt it.  He cried out in triumph, grinning brightly as he tugged out the jeans.

 

“I knew you had a pair!” he grinned, holding them up towards the taller man. “Everyone has at least one pair.”

 

Mycroft stared at the jeans with wide eyes, and arched an eyebrow.

 

“I’m not wearing those.”

 

Groaning, Greg stood and stepped close to Mycroft. He wrapped an arm loosely around his waist.

 

“It’ll be perfect for the picnic, Myc,” he said softly. “Better than worrying about something like grass stains getting on your expensive trousers.  Come on, just this once?”

 

It took a few moments of convincing, but finally Mycroft agreed.  Greg was giddy. He couldn’t really explain why, but in all the years he’d known the younger man, he’d never seen him in something so casual.  It was either dress trousers, pyjamas, or nothing at all.  Of course, nothing at all was most preferable, but… Still.  He was finally gonna see him in jeans.

 

While Mycroft went to get dressed, Greg wandered towards the kitchen to make sure they had everything they would need. He’d done most of the preparation earlier in the day, but it was always good to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He focused on that, getting together the last of the food he’d prepared, and making sure to put their wine in its’ bag. Then, it was getting the blankets and plastic silverware together (because lord knows they wouldn’t take their nicer and potentially breakable stuff with them).

 

  1.   Good to go. Greg sighed triumphantly and slid everything together at the corner of the counter, and then turned to go find his other half and see if he was ready to go.  They met in the hallway near their bedroom, and Greg just…stared.

 

Mycroft was wearing the jeans, and holy hell did they look amazing.  They were extremely form fitting, showing off just how long and slender the man’s legs really were. Greg felt okay in guessing that his arse probably looked amazing as well.  On top, he’d discarded the button up he’d previously been wearing for a light blue long-sleeved sweater.  Underneath he had on a white collared shirt, just poking out above the neck of the sweater.

 

“Gregory?” he asked, arching an eyebrow and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  He clearly looked a bit self-conscious.

 

“Myc, can we… Hell, let’s just stay in,” he said roughly, shivering a bit.  Mycroft looked a lot sexier than Greg had been prepared for.  Mycroft blinked, lips parted, before breaking out into a laugh. It was genuine and heartwarming, and Greg started to grin.

 

“You’re a ridiculous man,” he continued to chuckle. Taking a step forward, Mycroft squeezed Greg’s bicep and leaned in for a soft kiss. “I’m glad you approve of my choice of wardrobe.”

 

“God yes I do,” Greg sighed, still grinning.

 

“Come, Gregory.  Show me this picnic experience you insist on telling me about, yes?” Mycroft asked with a warm smile. “Then perhaps we can come back home and see where the night takes us.”

 

Mycroft winked, smirking suggestively. Greg’s grin turned mischievous, and he nodded.  Yes… Today was going to be pretty good.  They turned and Greg followed Mycroft back to the kitchen and then out the door.

 

Oh, and yes.  Mycroft’s arse looked bloody perfect.

Chapter Text

Greg had definitely had his fair share of weird cases in his time.  He’d experienced a wide array of bizarre things.  Stuff that haunted him, stuff that turned into a good story, and overall rather fascinating things he wouldn’t soon forget.  But this…

 

This took the fucking cake.

 

He could still hear Sherlock’s laughter from deep in his gut, and frankly, it was really irritating.  This wasn’t that funny of a situation.  It was the exact OPPOSITE of a funny situation. Maybe he was panicking. Yeah, he was definitely panicking. He was on his way home currently, hoping Mycroft would know how to fix it.  Or, if he didn’t, that he would know someone who did.

 

“Mycroft?” he called out as he walked inside, still physically jumping at the difference in his voice. So. Weird.

 

When Mycroft walked out to join him, the younger man froze and stared.  Greg crossed his arms over his chest defensively.  Though, his chest was no longer… as flat as it should’ve been.

 

“Well, Sherlock had texted me…” he commented, walking close with an eyebrow arched. “I hadn’t quite wanted to believe. This is…interesting.”

 

“Interesting?” Greg repeated. He held his arms out in exasperation. “I have boobs!”

 

“Yes, my dear, I can see that,” Mycroft nodded, staring at the mounds in question.

 

Greg had no reason to believe in things of a supernatural or mystical nature.  Never had. He’d known plenty of people who had, of course, and he always thought them ridiculous.  But as they were investigating the murder scene today, he had walked into a room where he was doused with a strange black powder (which was still on his clothes, and most likely in his hair, of course). Then… he was a girl.

 

“Please fix it,” he (She? Fuck that, Greg was not putting himself into the mentality. Too weird.) whined, dropping his hands in exasperation.  He was freaked out. He didn’t like this at all, and it needed to be taken care of.

 

“I’ll see what I can do.  Go change, perhaps take a quick shower, and I’ll make some calls,” Mycroft instructed, pulling out his mobile and immediately scrolling through his contacts. 

 

Greg huffed, but turned and headed towards their bedroom.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to take a shower.  Even weirder. But at the same time… It didn’t sound like a bad idea.  So once he was in their bedroom, he started tugging off his dirty clothes and tossing them in a corner, making his way through and to the bathroom.

 

He stared at himself in the mirror. Hair was still short, but the lines of his face were softer and almost a bit younger.  His neck and shoulders were more slender, and he had… His now more slender hands reached up, and he gently groped the boobs he was now sporting.  It had been a while since he’d actually felt any.  Beyond that, though, for them to be on his person was just bizarre.  How the actual fuck could something like this happen?

 

He turned a bit, glancing at the more accentuated curves of his waist and arse and hummed in appreciation.  At least he looked pretty damn good.  He pointedly ignored other aspects of his brand new anatomy, specifically something that was now missing, and moved to get in the shower.

 

He stayed in there for a while, trying to wrap his head around what had happened.  Maybe he continued to poke at himself for a bit.  But he could never bring himself to move lower than his stomach. That was just too beyond weird for him to actually accept.  Not thinking about it, he wandered out into the bedroom naked, toweling his hair dry, and stopping short as he noticed Mycroft was in there.

 

Normally, it was no big deal. But now, Mycroft’s pale eyes were as wide as saucers as he stared at Greg’s new anatomy.

 

“I, uh…” Mycroft blinked, his gaze definitely not on Greg’s face. The older man (woman, goddamn it was so weird) blinked, feeling his cheeks flush, and hastened to cover himself with the towel.

 

“Sorry, Myc, habit,” he said quickly, wrapping his towel around his chest and huffing.

 

“It… it is all right,” Mycroft said a bit dismissively, moving to focus back on his mobile. “I have a team at your crime scene, collecting evidence of the substance that caused your… transformation. I have another looking into a few avenues of individuals who, oddly enough, excel in this kind of thing. Hopefully we can get it sorted within the next twenty-four hours.”

 

Greg was quiet as Mycroft explained, nodding a bit. He wandered over to the dresser so he could put something on.

 

“Okay, thanks,” he sighed, still feeling really strange.  He forced past it though and tugged on a pair of sweatpants that had an elastic band, and a t-shirt that was buried underneath a bunch others because it had started getting too small. They fit rather effectively, which he was grateful for.

 

“I need a drink,” Greg muttered as he walked over and stood in front of Mycroft, sighing.  The taller man ran his fingers through his damp hair and smiled.

 

“Come, Gregory.  Allow me to fetch that for you,” he said affectionately, and Greg nodded. He was grateful that Mycroft was attempting to remain as normal as possible in this abnormal situation. It was definitely helping.

Chapter Text

Mycroft felt miserable.  He’d just returned from a trip to Belgium, and while he had been rather eager to get home to his family, he had completely dreaded the fact that he would inevitably get sick.  So here he was, holed up in his and Gregory’s bedroom, feeling nauseous and sneezing up a storm.

 

This was not what he preferred to do. He’d been able to see Gregory, of course, but he’d made it fairly obvious he didn’t want to be around their 1-and-a-half-year-old son, Oliver.  He had missed the boy dearly, and he knew that he had been missed in return, but the last thing he wanted to do was infect their son with whatever plagued them this time around.

 

So he continued to lie there, curled up in a huge duvet, sniffing roughly into his handkerchief.  He closed his eyes and sighed, his body relaxing into the mattress and he tried curbing this god awful cold.  He was two days into it, and it seemed like the worst was over, but he wasn’t feeling at all well enough to risk leaving.

 

The sound of a door opening, and Gregory hushed voice caused Mycroft to blink his eyes open.  They widened and he froze as he saw Oliver in his arms, and immediately he tugged the duvet up and over his head to obscure him completely.

 

“Papa!!” Oliver said brightly, and then made a soft noise of confusion at his disappearance.  Mycroft felt the bed shift as his husband was sitting down next to him, and setting their son in his lap.

 

“He’s that lump, right there,” he was saying softly. “You see that lump?  It’s papa.”

 

“Papa ’ump,” Oliver giggled, and Mycroft felt a tiny hand smack his covered shoulder.

 

“Gregory, I told you I didn’t want to expose Oliver to my illness,” he muttered, voice muffled a bit.

 

“And I told you he’ll be fine. Come on and show yourself, love. Ollie misses his papa.”

 

Mycroft was hesitant, of course, but it seemed that there was no forcing the two of them to leave.  So, with a sigh, he pulled down the duvet and revealed himself again.  No matter what, however, he couldn’t regret the action.  The smile that lit up Oliver’s face made Mycroft start to smile as well. He couldn’t help it. He had certainly inherited the Lestrade smiling genes, and it was the most beautiful thing ever.

 

“Papa!” he repeated, reaching out with his fingers spread.  Mycroft rubbed his hand against the duvet before allowing himself to reach out so the boy could grab his index finger for a moment.

 

“Papa feels bad,” Greg said to Oliver, his lips pressed into his dark brown hair as he spoke.

 

Mycroft nodded, humming in agreement, as Oliver just made a cooing noise of understanding.  He most likely did understand. Their son was insanely intelligent for his age, which the politician had not once been surprised of. He started to smile again, but froze and had to scramble for his handkerchief as he felt sneezes building up. He covered his mouth just in time before the flurry came out.

 

“Choo!!” Oliver giggled, still grinning. “Choo!”

 

“Bless you love,” Greg chuckled softly. He looked down at Oliver again. “Can you say bless you?  That’s what you say when someone sneezes.”

 

Oliver glanced up at his older father, listening to the words being spoken.  He blinked, taking in the words and processing them, before glancing back at Mycroft as he sneezed again.

 

“Choo,” Oliver repeated, chewing on one of his fingers briefly. “Bless.”

 

Mycroft blinked, and broke out into a huge grin.

 

“Why thank you, Oliver.  That is rather sweet of you.” He worked on blowing his nose and expelling what had built up.

 

“Bless!!” Oliver repeated, looking at Greg proudly.

 

“Good job, Ollie,” Greg cooed, kissing the top of his head.  He glanced at Mycroft again, smiling sweetly. “See?  Aren’t you glad I decided to ignore you?”

 

Mycroft chuckled hoarsely as his darling Gregory winked at him.  Oliver continued sitting in his lap, deciding it was now his job to say ‘Bless’ every time the sick man made any kind of noise with his nose or throat (regardless of whether it was actually a sneeze), and Mycroft couldn’t help but nod at the older man’s question.  He was already starting to feel better.

Chapter Text

Greg was pleasantly surprised by how his outing with Mycroft was going.  This was the… fifth time they’d gone out together in a casual capacity?  Or was it the sixth?  He couldn’t seem to remember, but that didn’t matter in the long run. Not really.  What mattered was that he seemed interesting enough to warrant multiple outings that had nothing to do with Sherlock or a case or anything government-related.

 

The two of them got on real well. More than well. Greg was feeling a strong connection to the younger man, and a heady attraction that had almost gotten him in trouble more than once.  They weren’t dating, not really.  These, however, could be classified as dates.  It was just that neither man chose to label them as such.

 

Slowly, nights had escalated to soft touches, and after the fourth time and perhaps a bit too much whisky, it had ended in a kiss. Multiple kisses, in fact. Greg’s lips still buzzed when he thought about the heated action between the two of them in the backseat of one of Mycroft’s many vehicles.  So not only did he want Mycroft, but Mycroft wanted him.  It was lovely.

 

After that fourth outing, they had gotten together at each other’s flats.  Greg really didn’t think of them as dates, but there was wine, and laughter, and more kissing. This was a very important thing. Each kiss they had and each touch each of them felt, Greg could feel himself falling faster and harder than the touch before.  He had never experienced something like this before.  It was addictive.

 

Tonight, he had picked the restaurant. He had picked one of the nicest ones that he’d ever been to before his association with Mycroft Holmes, and admittedly, he’d been rather nervous about it.  Mycroft really seemed to be enjoying himself, though, so it didn’t take long for the older man to relax.

 

They talked about a lot of things over dinner, and yet really nothing at all.  It was the best. Occasionally Greg could convince Mycroft to confide something about his work: bits and pieces that weren’t necessarily classified information that could help him piece together an idea of what he was really responsible for.  Greg didn’t think he’d ever try and force it all out, and part of him thought he’d never want to really know.  But it was nice getting to hear Mycroft discuss his profession in any capacity.

 

They had dessert, though it was mainly Greg that allowed himself to be spoiled on the sweet cakes that were brought out. Mycroft had a few small pieces, and some bites of the accompanying ice cream, but then he slid the rest over for the DI to have what we wanted.  This was always the way it worked.  Mycroft seemed to enjoy the sweet things so much, and yet he would hardly ever allow himself to truly enjoy them. There was something behind all that. Perhaps he’d know one day.

 

The drive back to Greg’s flat was silent, but it was comfortable.  He glanced out the window as they drove, and blinked in surprise about halfway through as slender fingers brushed against his own.  He smiled slightly, turning his hand palm up and spreading his fingers a bit, invitingly.  Mycroft smirked playfully, tracing small circles along his palm light enough that it almost tickled, before threading their fingers together gently.  Greg never wanted it to end.

 

It did, however, and soon they were both stepping out of the car and walking up to the door.  They turned to face each other, hand in hand, and Greg smiled brightly.

 

“I-“ had a really great time was what Greg meant to say.  What came out, however? “…think I love you.”

 

His brown eyes widened in shock and fear, and he watched Mycroft blink silently as they both took in the fact that he’d just bloody said that.  Ah, bollocks. Greg could feel himself panicking. Christ, they hadn’t said they were getting into a relationship, Sherlock said Mycroft doesn’t do relationships, and he’d just screwed up whatever good thing they had going, oh lord. 

 

He opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say to somehow backpedal away from his confession, when Mycroft’s lips started to slide into a smile.  Whatever he was trying to think of saying died before it ever started, as Mycroft’s slender hand cupped Greg’s cheek, and pale eyes stared fiercely and affectionately down at him.

 

“I think I love you as well, Gregory,” he whispered.

 

Greg couldn’t believe what he’d heard, not at first. But then they were kissing, and hugging tightly, and Greg was inviting Mycroft in for coffee he knew neither of them would drink.  And it was the start of something amazing.

Chapter Text

Mycroft had planned out the entire day, and he had to admit, as things were going, he was getting more and more excited. Anthea had cleared his schedule so he could take the day to devote to everything he’d thought of, and some things that he hadn’t.  He was a very detail-oriented man, especially when it was important, and oh this was.

 

Gregory had told him he didn’t want to do anything too fancy for his birthday.  There was obviously a part of him that didn’t want to acknowledge the milestone of turning 50 that he was undergoing.  Mycroft, however, insisted on having a few things lined up.  His birthday was a special day, and it was important, and he wouldn’t let it go by uncelebrated.

 

They started the day in the only way that could perfectly happen: they had a lie in.  Mycroft had rolled over and tugged Gregory close, threading their fingers together and waking him up with gentle touches and kisses.  They remained like that for a while, smiling and just resting together.  That, however, then turned into what the older man proudly named Birthday Sex. Mycroft thought it amusing that he would actually name their intercourse, but this was a special occasion, and supposedly that’s what was done on special occasions.

 

They’d collapsed afterward, kissing for as long as they could stand before a shower was in order.  The shower was longer than normal, and may have also involved a second round of orgasms for them both (while they weren’t young anymore they still had rather impressive stamina), and it was wonderful.

 

“If we do nothing else the rest of the day, this is still officially the best birthday ever,” Greg had commented, panting softly in the wake of his release, grinning almost dreamily.

 

It was, of course, not the end of the day. They did relax around the house for a little while, but they took a walk in the park around lunchtime, and Mycroft had dinner reservations for later that evening.  They went to Greg’s favorite Italian restaurant, and Mycroft wore a pinstripe suit that the older man had dubbed his favorite a while back. It did not go unnoticed, if that bright grin had anything to say about it when he revealed himself.

 

Instead of having dessert at the restaurant, Mycroft took them to a small French bakery near their home.  It still dimmed in comparison to the one owned and ran by Gregory’s father, Pierre, but it had become a place the two of them frequented when they could. Usually they would stop there for coffee and tea, or breakfast on occasion.

 

There had been a full cake ready and waiting for them, candles lit, the moment they walked in.  Greg lit up in a frankly childlike grin that brought immense joy to Mycroft.  He couldn’t help but grin either.  He watched as his partner bounced over to the counter to look at it, very much resembling someone who had just turned twelve, and not fifty.

 

They enjoyed their usual serving of coffee and tea as they each partook in a slice of cake.  Mycroft’s was considerably smaller, but he couldn’t refuse at least one slice.  It was Gregory’s birthday, after all.  They shared many kisses in between, and the two members of staff came out and sang.  It was all rather enjoyable.

 

“Follow me, Gregory,” Mycroft commented once they had gotten back home.  He helped Greg slip out of his coat, being that the older man was holding the remainder of the cake, and he motioned him towards the kitchen.  He took the cake from him and walked to set it down on the counter, and then reached on top of the fridge and pulled down an envelope.

 

“Myc, I told you not to get me anything,” Greg said, but still couldn’t hide the excitement creeping onto his features.

 

“Nonsense, Gregory,” Mycroft waved, shaking his head. “It’s just a little something.”

 

“You’ve been saying that about everything, all day,” Greg smirked, but he reached out and took the card being handed to him.

 

Mycroft shifted his weight, suddenly feeling slightly nervous.  There was no reason to be, of course.  He knew his darling Gregory would very much enjoy the small gift that was tucked away inside the birthday card.  Even still… the anticipation of him opening it was buzzing in his gut.

 

Greg read the card in silence, a soft smile on his features at the simple, yet sweet words.  When he opened it, however, his eyes turned as wide as saucers and his lips parted in the softest gasp.  Mycroft started grinning.

 

“Mycroft…” Greg said in a hushed tone. “You shouldn’t have…”

 

“Of course I should’ve,” Mycroft grinned, shaking his head.

 

“Yeah, but… two season passes to every Arsenal game?? And look how close these are.  My god.  I could bloody kiss you right now.”

 

“Then why don’t you?”

 

Greg smirked and practically leaped at Mycroft, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck and initiating a passionate kiss. He had been nervous, but it felt pretty solidified inside Mycroft that he’d done a rather good job.

Chapter Text

Greg was pissed, and he was panicking, and there was traffic, and nothing was going fast enough!  God fucking damnit. Most likely he forgot quite a few things he would end up needing on the trip, but… Right now, he was just concerned with getting to the airport and getting on the plane. Everything else could be dealt with. None of the other stuff mattered, he’d figure it out.

 

He was going on a two-week vacation with Mycroft, and their departure was today.  More specifically, their departure was in twenty minutes, and he wasn’t even at the airport yet.  He didn’t think he was going to make it.  Mycroft had booked them two private, first class tickets on a plane headed to Venice, where they had booked a high-class hotel and were going to travel across Italy for the course of the trip.  It was all he was able to think about for weeks.  It was their first extended trip together, and it was going to be brilliant.

 

If Greg made the flight, anyway.  Not that it would be the end of the world, but he’d somehow have to find another flight, and lord knows how that would turn out.  He’d gotten thrown into a case this morning that had kept him at the Yard two hours later than he’d planned on being at work that day, and it had screwed up everything. Sally had been apologizing profusely, trying to keep his name off it so he could slip out early, but the Superintendent had definitely had other plans.  Bastard.

 

Finally, a lot slower than it needed to be, the car was pulling up to the airport.  Greg huffed a quick thanks at the driver and dove out of the car. He ran around to the boot and tugged out his suitcase and his carry-on bag, and made a break for it. Why did the airport have to be so large? He checked his mobile for the time, and no messages from Mycroft, and he checked his ticket to make sure he went towards the correct gate.

 

Of course, he still had to go through security and get his luggage on the belt.  That process took longer than anything else, as it always did, and as he was standing in line he could hear his flight’s last call.

 

“Bollocks,” he cursed roughly under his breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet.  What was taking so long?!  He had half a mind to whip out his badge so he could get through, but it wouldn’t have ended up making any difference, because he was able to get through a few moments later.

 

Panting harshly, he broke out into as much of a run as he could get away with without getting yelled at by any officials. He glanced at the signs, turned down corridors, and finally, his gate was in sight.  His gate… had no people in it.  He could feel his heart sink with every step he took that got him closer over.

 

“Well fuck,” he sighed, shoulders slumping as he slowed to a stop.  He frowned, sighing and glancing at his phone again.  He’d missed boarding.  Running a hand through his hair, he turned and started to make his way over to the concierge’s desk. If he acted quickly, maybe he could find another flight that wouldn’t put him too far back. He started texting as he walked, trying to type out and let Mycroft know what was going on.

 

“Gregory, where are you going?” came the younger man’s voice.  Speak of the devil. Blinking, Greg turned and saw Mycroft, over near the shut doors where the tarmac was, a calm and amused look on his face.

 

“Myc?” Greg asked, blinking, but unable to keep the relief off his face.

 

“Wouldn’t you know it, the plane was delayed a bit. Something about double checking the engine,” Mycroft said, his face feigning innocence.  Greg started to smirk, however, because he knew that was a load of shit.

 

“You sneaky bastard,” he grinned in compliment, walking over and tugging him into a sweet kiss.

 

“I assure you, I have no idea what you’re suggesting, my dear,” Mycroft chuckled after the kiss, cupping Greg’s cheek. “Come, Gregory. Let’s get our seats.”

 

A man in a suit walked over as if on cue, getting the doors open for them.  Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hand and threaded their fingers together as they walked, and got onto the plane. 

 

They settled into the most comfortable seats Greg had ever seen on an airplane, connected enough that the older man could sit a bit sideways and curl his legs in with Mycroft’s comfortably. They were both provided some amazing whiskey, and then left very much alone.

 

It was the start of what would be a perfect vacation.

Chapter Text

In the end, they were just numbers: Lines that bent to form recognizable patterns, which were then given assigned quantities. Mycroft understood the logic behind it, yes, but that didn't stop him from feeling a cold wave of dread settle in the pit of his stomach. Nor did it stop him from immediately stepping off of the scale and leaving the washroom in a series of long, hurried strides. 

 

After careful dieting  and  a strict exercise regimen, he had somehow managed to gain weight. He couldn't understand it, couldn't fathom how he had allowed such a thing to happen. Surely it hadn't been his fault; it must have been accredited to something else - something that had escaped his heavily guarded boundaries of control. 

 

Whatever the case, this would not do. This was  unacceptable . Letting himself go was most certainly not an option, and he would do whatever it took to return to what he'd weighed prior to weighing himself that afternoon. 

 

He began his atonement with an unusually long run on the treadmill. He could feel sweat pooling in the hollows of his temples and running down the side of his face, where they dripped off from his jaw. Mycroft couldn't have said how long he ran, but by the time he stopped the machine and stepped back onto the floor, his thighs were quivering and he was forced to grip onto the handrails to avoid losing his foothold. 

 

That was the first of his effort. 

 

The second instance came later that evening, when both he and Gregory were sat at the dining room table (the older man having cooked a marvelous dinner). He watched through somewhat anxious eyes as a full plate was set in front of him. It smelled heavenly, of course, for his partner was incalculably skilled in the culinary arts. 

 

Be that as it may, and given his current mind frame - given the  numbers  - he did not see food. No, what he saw was carbohydrates, starches, calories… A plethora of red flags that had him reluctant to partake in the otherwise godly meal. 

 

"You alright, love?" Gregory's voice inquired, breaking Mycroft from his inner musings. "You're looking at your plate like it's going to hurt you." 

 

Oh, but if only the older man realized the sheer validity of his words. 

 

"Unfortunately, I find myself feeling not very hungry," Mycroft evaded with utmost nonchalance. "An utter tragedy, I will admit, for it both looks and smells alluringly appetizing." 

 

At this, Gregory set down his fork. "Myc, you haven't eaten anything today. You didn't have breakfast when we had our morning tea and coffee together, and when I called you earlier from the Yard you said you hadn't eaten lunch." 

 

Mycroft suddenly wished that Gregory wasn't so perceptive when it came to his appetite, or lack thereof. It was incredibly inconvenient (especially  now  of all times). Nevertheless, the composed man kept calm and showed no signs of outward discomfort. Sadly...that wasn't enough to pacify Gregory's concern. 

 

"Something's up," he noticed, sitting back in his seat and loosely folding his arms across his chest. "You gonna tell me? Or do I have to interrogate you?"

 

There was an absolute, unyielding finality to Gregory's tone that suggested he wasn't fibbing. He was entirely, one-hundred percent serious. 

 

Realistically, Mycroft could have lied. He could have gone with the excuse that a recent national crisis had left him rather distracted, thus explaining his avoidance of all things edible.  And yet… Gregory wasn't a colleague, nor was he someone Mycroft particularly enjoyed being untruthful with. 

 

" Myc? "

 

Bugger. 

 

Sighing, Mycroft abandoned his ruse and broached the topic that would no doubt upset Gregory. "Earlier this afternoon, I felt it necessary to weigh myself. So I did."

 

"...And you didn't like what you saw," Gregory finished, catching on rather quickly. "So you bloody-well starved yourself." 

 

At this, Mycroft's topaz eyes hardened into sharp sapphires. He grew defensive. "I did not  starve  myself, Gregory. I simply chose not to eat. There is a difference." 

 

"Right, okay. A difference," the DI huffed. "Myc, how many times are you going to do this to yourself? You're supposed to fluctuate in weight. It's normal. So long as it isn't extreme loss or extreme gain, which I know that it isn't, you're fine. And you  are  fine." 

 

Mycroft watched as Gregory unfolded his arms and reached across the table, taking his hand gently in an affectionate, patient hold. Tendrils of guilt began to sink into his chest, yet he paid them no mind. Instead, he allowed the physical contact and curled his fingers around Gregory's. 

 

"You seem rather convinced of this," Mycroft pointed out, feeling a ripped part of himself slowly start to stitch itself back together. 

 

"Because I am," Gregory affirmed, smiling. He then retracted his hand and returned to his half-eaten pasta. "Now, you're to finish your food or you're not leaving the table."

 

Mycroft arched an eyebrow whilst slowly reaching for his fork. "And if I  do  finish?" he challenged coolly. 

 

His lover smirked. "Then you're not to leave the bedroom later." 

Chapter Text

Greg was at work when he got the call. He didn’t remember what he was doing. He remembered the coffee, strangely enough.  It was like when you were in a car wreck.  The strangest things concerned someone when they were in a car wreck. Where was his phone, or oh lord this person or that person was going to kill him.  He remembered the coffee.  He remembered the smell of the coffee, and the color.

 

“Lestrade?” he had answered curtly when the phone had rang.

 

“Mr. Holmes’ plane had engine failure. He’s being rushed to the A&E. I’ll text you the address.”

 

He’d barely had time to respond before Anthea was ending the call as quickly as it had come.  He was frozen.  Engine failure? Surely he had heard wrong. He could feel his phone vibrate in his hand with the aforementioned address, but Greg had gone numb. His ears were ringing and he smelled that goddamn coffee and oh god.

 

Sally had walked into his office right as his coffee mug fell to the ground and shattered, spilling hot coffee all over the floor. It had alarmed her, while Greg barely even jumped.  One moment he was staring across the room at her, and the next she was at his side. He was shaking. Or was she?  He didn’t know.

 

After barely managing to get the words out, Sally was ushering him through the Yard and out onto the London streets. They were going to his car. Yes, he needed to get to the hospital. He was pausing. How could he drive? He had no idea what was going on right now.  He looked at Sally with glossy, pleading eyes.

 

“Sal, I need…” he said, voice trembling and sounding completely foreign to himself.  Sally shook her head.

 

“Go ‘roud, get in the passenger,” she said softly, nudging his arm. “I’m driving.  You have the address?”

 

“Y-yeah…” he mumbled, doing as instructed and all but collapsing into the passenger seat.

 

That was how he ended up standing in a large, secluded hospital room, gazing down at where his husband lay unconscious in the bed next to him.  He seemed so frail and just… not himself.  It was scary. His head was wrapped in bandages, and there was bruising under his eyes and along his arms.  There were bandages along his arms too, no double covering a whole manner of cuts.

 

Greg all but collapsed into the chair next to him. He’d talked with the doctor briefly, and then with Anthea.  Apparently, Mycroft had been one of the lucky ones.  Three other passengers had died, two more were in serious comas… While they weren’t quite sure when the politician would be waking up, his unconsciousness was not as serious of a concern.  He did suffer from broken ribs and collarbone, though.  He’d also had to go through two blood transfusions almost immediately after being admitted to the hospital.

 

Now here they were.  His vitals were still at dangerous levels and would require close monitoring for at least 48 hours.  Could still be that long before Mycroft would be conscious enough to know what was going on.  Maybe longer. It was guaranteed two or three weeks of being in hospital before they would ever be able to start discussing release.

 

Once everything sunk in, and he was finally alone in the room with his unconscious husband, Greg started to cry. The numbness faded and everything crashed down on him like a brick wall.  He buried his face in his hands and he cried.  He was lucky, of course.  He knew that. Mycroft was alive, and seemed like he would easily make a full recovery.  That didn’t change the fact that Greg had been, and still was, terrified.

 

After twenty minutes or so, he started to cry himself dry.  His nose and running and stuffed, and he had a pounding headache starting to emerge, and he could hardly breathe.  Slumping back in his chair, he grabbed the box of tissues that had been sitting on a small table, and proceeded to try and clean himself up.  It took a few tissues and a lot of nose blowing, but finally he could sort of breathe again.

 

With an exhausted sigh, he slumped back in the chair again and stretched his legs out.  His red eyes drifted to gaze one again at Mycroft.  Now… all he could do was wait.

Chapter Text

Mycroft had woken up the morning after he had been admitted to the hospital.  It had been barely an hour.  John had texted to let Greg know that he and Sherlock were on the way.  His darling husband was weak and not talking much, and clearly in a lot of discomfort, but their eyes connected and despite everything, Mycroft had smiled at him.

 

Greg’s heart had calmed instantly. He tried to talk about random things to get Mycroft’s mind off the pain, and… That’s when it started happening. An escalated discomfort appeared on the younger man’s face.  His pale eyes became unfocused, and he clutched at the duvet draped over him, his body tensing. The heart monitor was next. The beeping escalated quickly, and Greg had no idea what to do.

 

He shot out of his chair as two nurses rushed in, where they’d gotten alerts from the monitors.  They shoved past him, and he watched on with wide eyes, trembling.

 

“Mycroft?” he asked, voice trembling in panic. His scared brown eyes turned to the nurses as he tried not to start hyperventilating. “What’s happening to him??”

 

“Detective Inspector, please, let us work,” one of them said as the other was leaning over his husband, who was trembling in a way Greg had never seen before.  He wanted to cry.

 

What’s going on?” he whined, tears welling up in his eyes.

 

“Leave the room, Detective Inspector. Please.  We’ll come get you.”

 

Another attendant came in, and Greg felt like he was going to be sick.  This new arrival guided him out of the room and shut the door in his face.  His heart was pounding so loudly it was all he could hear, and he couldn’t get that sight out of his mind.  Mycroft had been awake.  He’d been talking. Why had that happened? It just… came out of nowhere…

 

Numbly, he made his way to the small waiting room across the hall; surprised his legs didn’t give out from under him. He collapsed into a chair, where he had been sitting for no more than five minutes before John was calling out his name.

 

“Greg?  What’s going on?” his mate asked, seeing the pale and haunted look on his face. Sherlock had been right on John’s heels, and his eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Greg as well.

 

“Mycroft… He…” Greg started, licking his lips and trying to find the words without his stomach churning.  He wasn’t being all that successful.

 

“Ssshh, deep breaths mate, yeah?” John whispered, sitting down beside him and rubbing his back.  Sherlock didn’t move or speak.

 

“What have they done?” Sherlock asked sharply. Greg was almost startled by the intensity of his voice.

 

“Sherlock…” John started in a hushed tone, but Greg shook his head.

 

“They, uh… They…” he started, trying to recall what all he’d been told. “H-he has broken bones… Had, uh… two bloody transfusions…”

 

To Greg’s surprise, Sherlock cursed under his breath, glaring.  The tall man spun, coat billowing out behind him, and he snapped at the doctor who was headed towards Mycroft’s room.

 

“You!” he said roughly.  Greg was silent, staring.  The doctor froze and blinked, opening his mouth to counter in obvious irritation, but Sherlock didn’t give him that chance. “Mycroft Holmes is having a reaction to one of your blood transfusions.”

 

“Um… yes.  And you are?”

 

“His brother.  You’re an idiot.  Take my blood and be quick about it.  You’ll have to flush his system, it handles mine.” The doctor blinked again. “Well? Hurry!”

 

Greg’s mouth dropped open, and he almost forgot about how panicked and terrified he was as he watched Sherlock. He was being… What was he doing? He blinked, turning to look at John, who had a proud smile on his face.

 

“And he says he doesn’t love his brother,” John whispered fondly, gazing at Greg and squeezing his bicep. “He’ll be fine, Greg.”

 

Sure enough, an hour and more blood movement later, Mycroft was all right.  Unconscious again, but the moment had passed and his vitals were strong. Greg was allowed back in the room, and both John and Sherlock were right behind him. 

 

Greg collapsed back into his chair, reaching out and gripping Mycroft’s hand as he tried breathing slowly. John pulled the other chair over and sat next to him, and Sherlock… hovered over the hospital bed on the other side.

 

“Mycroft’s body behaves peculiarly to blood transfusions,” Sherlock muttered in explanation. “If those idiot doctors had actually looked at his records as they should have, they would’ve seen that and called me immediately.”

 

Greg blinked, staring across at Sherlock. The younger Holmes was being protective. He recognized the look in those sharp eyes, and the way he stood like a statue over Mycroft’s body, constantly looking at him and his monitors.  It was a wonderful sight.

 

Managing a smile, Greg shifted his gaze over to his sleeping husband.

 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispered, tears in his eyes, as he squeezed the hand he was holding. “You right bastard.”

 

He was too busy looking at Mycroft to see Sherlock smiling a bit.

Chapter Text

Mycroft was finally going home. It had been a long two weeks, stuck in the hospital, recovering from the most terrifying plane ride of his life. It was such a relief. He had started to go stir crazy and had demanded multiple times to be released, always being shot down by either Gregory or Anthea.  They had both become a bit infuriating.

 

He wasn’t trying to be mad at his husband. His darling Gregory was only trying to help.  He’d been concerned, and Mycroft could only imagine what his poor dear had gone through when he’d heard. His intentions were good, and loving, but it was driving him a bit around the bend.

 

“Good lord Gregory, I’m just getting out of the bed,” he snapped in annoyance as the older man was reaching out to help him get out of the hospital bed. “My ribs are broken, not my legs.”

 

Greg gave pause, gazing at Mycroft with an odd look in his eyes.  With a soft sigh, he nodded and took a step back.  Mycroft felt something clench in his chest.  He sighed as well, sitting on the edge of the bed.  He glanced down at his lap, which was thankfully clad in trousers. He was sick of those god-awful nightgowns he’d been forced to wear.

 

“Apologies,” he said wearily. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep, slow breath. “I understand you are trying to help, Gregory.  You, however, resemble my mother a bit too closely right now.  I do not need you to coddle me.  I am perfectly capable of standing on my own.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right Myc, m’sorry,” Greg muttered, rubbing the back of his head and nodding.  Mycroft glanced at his husband and sighed, grunting a bit as he pushed down on the bed and stood.  He was wobbling a bit, but he steadied himself and nodded.

 

“Come here,” he requested, motioning towards himself with a slender hand.  Greg blinked and glanced at his hand, before walking over.  Smiling gently, Mycroft reached over to cup his cheek and pull him in for a kiss.

 

“What was that for?” Greg asked with a soft laugh. He was smiling and his eyes lit up. It pleased Mycroft. That was a much better look on him.

 

“For being here.  Now please, husband mine, can we go home?”

 

Greg nodded and picked up the duffle bag of supplies Anthea had dropped by last week of his possessions.  They walked slowly, and thankfully Mycroft was able to walk on his own, for the most part.  He wasn’t too stubborn, however, to reach out and grab Greg’s shoulder tightly as they got towards the entrance.  He could feel some more aching and exhaustion settling in a bit, so he used his husband as an anchor.  Greg said nothing of it.

 

Finally, they made it outside, where a black car was faithfully already waiting for them.  He allowed the older man to help get him in the car, and finally when they were both settled in, it took off.

 

Neither man spoke on the ride home. Greg reached over and threaded their fingers together gently, turning his head to press a kiss to his shoulder. Mycroft hummed and smiled. He was just grateful they were finally going home, and he could hardly resist the audible sigh that escaped him when their building came into view.  Home.

 

Greg got out first, walking around to the boot of the car to get out the duffle bag, before heading around to the other side for where Mycroft was carefully trying to get out.  He was successful, but he did reach out for Greg’s shoulder once again. The walk to the door was slow, and it was a bit frustrating, but Mycroft managed with a slight frown.

 

“Gregory,” he muttered once they stepped inside. Greg set the duffle bag down and turned to look at him. “Would you…”

 

As if knowing what he was trying to say, Greg nodded and carefully wrapped an arm around Mycroft’s waist. He was a bit irritated at himself, but he was feeling the pain now and admittedly, he did need the help now. He just wanted some tea, medicine, and to get into his own bed.  Together, they made their way through to the kitchen, and…

 

“WELCOME HOME MYCROFT!!” came a chorus. Mycroft gaped. Greg’s two daughters, Elizabeth and Abigail, were standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room, hands thrown up high and grinning brightly.  Mycroft opened his mouth, said nothing, and closed it again. He blinked and looked at Greg, who was also grinning.

 

“Elizabeth?  Abigail?” he confirmed, blinking, and for once a bit speechless. Greg chuckled. Mycroft blinked again, and that’s when he noticed the banner hanging above the two of them. It said exactly the words that the two girls had said, very clearly homemade, and it had him smiling.

 

“We made it ourselves!” Abby grinned proudly. Mycroft chuckled.

 

“And it is extremely lovely.  Thank you, girls, this is so sweet.”

 

“Da only helped hang it.”

 

Greg shook his head and chuckled.

 

“Yes, that’s the only part I played,” he agreed, letting his daughters take all the credit.  “Now girls, we need to get Mycroft comfortable, okay?”

 

Elizabeth was already heading over to the stove, where she very clearly was beginning to work on tea.  Mycroft loved these girls.  Greg carefully helped him to the living room, where he could stretch out on the sofa, their dear cat Remmington, trotting over and meowing. Carefully, Mycroft reached down to scratch his head.

 

He was alive, and he was home. He could never have been more grateful for his luck as he was in that moment.

Chapter Text

When Greg and Mycroft woke that morning, they made love.  It was slow and lazy and passionate.  Neither man rushed it, and they got lost in the sensations, surrendering themselves to them. It was utter bliss. It was the purest definition of ‘making love’ that there was.

 

After an equally lazy recovery period, they took a shower together.  After their shower, they had a mild breakfast of Greg’s coffee and Mycroft’s tea, and some buttered croissants.  This time was quiet and relaxed, enjoying each other’s company without the need to speak, occasionally brushing their feet together underneath the table.

 

After breakfast, they went back into the bedroom with the intention to get dressed.  Instead, they made love again.  This one was more desperate and needy, clutching at each other and marking in all the appropriate places.  Greg bit and Mycroft scratched, and they both moaned loudly, and it was just like they hadn’t already had one orgasm so far that day.

 

They cuddled for longer after that, threading their fingers together and brushing hair aside, kissing each other lazily. Neither man wanted to look at the clock, but they both knew…

 

“I am truly sorry I must go,” Mycroft mumbled for what had to be the millionth time that day, hours later as he was finishing the last of his packing.

 

“Hey, it’s your job,” Greg said from where he was sitting crossed-legged on the bed, against the mound that was their pillows. “I’ve known about these possibilities from the get go. It’s okay.”

 

“Still doesn’t make it any more pleasant,” Mycroft sighed.  It honestly warmed Greg’s heart that his partner was having as difficult of a time of it as he was. Neither of them was happy about it. This would be the longest Mycroft had to go away since they had gotten more seriously involved, and moved in with, one another.

 

“A whole month…” Greg muttered with a sigh. It could be longer. It was scheduled for a month, but it was clear that the politician expected it to be longer.

“Please tell me you’ll be safe.”

 

“I swear to you, Gregory, it will all be meetings and conferences.  All desk work. I’m long done with anything field related.”

 

Greg nodded.  Meetings.  Tons of meetings with other politicians, and extravagant dinners where there would be more meetings, and then conference calls followed by more meetings. It sounded so terribly boring. Greg would be driven insane if he had to deal with that heavy a schedule.  Jesus.

 

“Try not to die of boredom,” he grinned as he climbed off the bed.  Mycroft was buttoning up his waistcoat, and gave Greg an almost insufferable look.

 

“I can promise nothing,” he drawled, but there was a grin lighting up his eyes.  It made Greg smirk brightly.

 

He helped Mycroft carry his luggage through the house and out to the car that was waiting for them.  Anthea was seated inside, tapping away on her Blackberry as she always was.  She glanced up for the briefest of moment and gave Greg a nod in greeting.

 

“I’m seeing you off at the airport,” he announced to the younger man as they stood next to the car.  Mycroft gave him a brief look of surprise, but nodded and squeezed his bicep gently.

 

“That would be lovely, Gregory,” he whispered, kissing Greg’s forehead before they both climbed into the car.

 

The ride was mostly silent.  Greg reached over and threaded their fingers together securely. At one point, Anthea leaned over and relayed some information regarding Mycroft’s schedule to him: what to expect upon their arrival and things of that nature.  None of that was really too secretive, but Greg didn’t pay too much attention anyway.  Best to give them their privacy in that regard.

 

Anthea took care of the luggage when they got to the airport, leaving Mycroft with his carry on and Greg. Together, they made their way to the terminal.  They had barely had enough time to relax together before they were calling for boarding.

 

“Do take care of yourself,” Mycroft said, concern not hidden from his tone as he gaze down at Greg.

 

“I will.  You too.  I’m telling Anthea to look after you,” Greg responded, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. He swore to himself he wouldn’t cry.

 

“Don’t dive into work so far you won’t sleep,” Mycroft said, running his slender fingers through silvery hair. “I know you’ll want to.”

 

“Promise you’ll call me,” Greg said, trying not to plead.

 

“As often as I am able,” came Mycroft’s reply. They both knew it wouldn’t be much.

 

“Maybe we can video chat?”

 

“I would like that very much.”

 

“I already miss you.”

 

“And I you, Gregory.”

 

“Don’t go, Myc.”

 

“I must, my love.”

 

They kissed deeply, and Greg knew he was gripping a bit too desperately.  He could feel the heat prickling at his eyes.  No, he would not cry. He couldn’t.  Mycroft kissed him back passionately, more than they ever had in public, and neither of them cared.

 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Mycroft whispered against Greg’s lips.  He laughed painfully.

 

“Doubtful.”

 

“I will call you when I land.”

 

“You bloody well better.”

 

“I love you, Gregory.”

 

“I love you too, Mycroft.”

 

They kissed again, until finally Mycroft had to make the decision to step back.  Their hands were the last to disconnect, Greg squeezing the taller man’s fingers a bit too hard as they slid from his grasp.  He let out a shaky sigh as he watched Mycroft turn and step through the terminal, and out of sight.

 

He couldn’t bear the silence on the ride home. He couldn’t bear the silence in the house.  He pulled out his old Clash albums and blared them well into the night, until he was able to hear Mycroft’s voice.  They talked for an hour, before the politician was forced to disconnect to attend his first meeting.

 

Greg slept on Mycroft’s side of the bed that night, face buried in his pillow and letting himself be surrounded by his scent.

Chapter Text

The beauty of going on vacation was always when you decided to stay on vacation for longer.  For Greg and Mycroft, when their work schedules allowed them to stay longer.  Greg knew Mycroft had been ready and willing to end their vacation when they’d originally planned, but Greg had really really wanted to extend it.  So they did.

 

Of course, this posed a problem for some of the supplies they’d packed.  Anthea was currently working on getting them set up with more sets of clothing and food perishables to help get them through the extended time they had set up, but the younger of the two men still ran into a clothing issue.  Greg, not so much.

 

“Why don’t you just wear some of mine, love?” he asked, stretched out on the bed as he gazed at Mycroft on the other side of the bedroom.  The younger man was staring at the clothing he had brought, almost all of it dirty and not fit to be re-worn (though Greg would have anyway, but it was one of the many ways the two of them differed).

 

“Your clothes?” Mycroft blinked, eyebrows rising a bit curiously.  Greg couldn’t help but take a moment to admire his partner’s appearance.  Neither of them had kept up with their shaving as constantly as they did while they were at home, so they were both getting a bit of scruff. Mycroft’s was surprisingly bright ginger, quite the contrast to his darker hair, and it made Greg realize he’d never actually seen him with facial hair before.

 

“Yup,” Greg nodded, pushing off the bed and wandering over to him. “I’ve got more options that are completely clean. It’ll help hold you over until the morning, when Anthea comes with more stuff.”

 

He reached up and brushed along Mycroft’s slightly prickly chin with a smile.  It was lovely. Humming, he pressed himself up on his toes and pressed their cheeks together.  Wrapping an arm around Mycroft’s torso for support, he nuzzled the taller man the best he could, feeling the way their slight beards scraped against each other.

 

“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked with a soft laugh.

 

“Enjoying the fact that you haven’t shaven,” Greg mumbled in response.

 

“Ah,” Mycroft hummed. “Yes… I was planning on shaving today.”

 

Greg pulled back with a pout and a slight noise of complaint.  He stared up at Mycroft with his big brown eyes, the ones he knew he couldn’t resist.

 

“Don’t, please,” he said, sighing softly through his nose. “We’re on vacation, we don’t need to shave for anyone. Enjoy being unshaven a bit longer? Let me enjoy it?”

 

He smiled very softly, and he could see the shift in Mycroft’s shoulders.

 

“Very well,” he agreed, and Greg could clap in glee. He wished they would have the chance for Mycroft to really grow out a beard, because he had a feeling it would look vibrant and gorgeous.  But… oh well. He’d take what he could get.

 

“Here,” he said, stepping away and pulling out a pair of dark gray sweats and a plain white t-shirt.  He handed them over. “Wear these for today. S’not like we were planning on going out anyway, yeah?”

 

Mycroft blinked and glanced at the clothing now in his hands, before nodding and turning to head into their attached washroom. Greg grinned in victory. He enjoyed getting his darling politician to be unkempt and relaxed.  Sure, he loved Mycroft’s suits and perfect lines and all that, but that made him enjoy stuff like this even more. He loved it because he was the only man who got to see Mycroft Holmes like this.  Just him. 

 

Lost in his thoughts, it took Greg a moment to realize that Mycroft had returned from changing.  A soft clearing of the younger man’s throat brought him back, and he blinked and glanced over.  He couldn’t keep the grin off his face for a second.  Mycroft looked adorably self-conscious about it.

 

“Don’t get that look,” Greg laughed, walking over. The sweats were slightly long on him, so they fit Mycroft about perfectly (though his ankles did peek out a bit more than they should, really).  The t-shirt fit perfectly. “You look adorable.”

 

“Hardly,” Mycroft denied, shaking his head. “But thank you for allowing me the use of these, regardless.”

 

“Oh please, seriously.  You do. I love seeing you in my clothes,” Greg grinned, pulling Mycroft in for a tight hug. “Makes me want to take them right back off you.”

 

He pressed up on his toes again to initiate a passionate kiss with the taller man, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft hummed as he returned the kiss just as roughly.

 

“Perhaps it’s alright, then,” he whispered against Greg’s lips, smirking, before kissing him again.

Chapter Text

Mycroft was… exhausted.  Exhausted and stressed and annoyed over so much. He had not been so frustrated with work in a while, and had gotten very little sleep, and it was all extremely unsatisfying.  Not that he slept on a regular scheduled like most people, because he most definitely did not, but that didn’t help everything else.

 

He only ever felt relaxed when he was at home. Being around Gregory made everything worth it.  He could push aside some of the thoughts constantly swirling through his head when he was in the presence of his husband, who was caring but not smothering or overbearing, as he always managed to be.  How the older man could find that fine line between the two was a mystery. As always, Mycroft was actually surprised by him.  All these years later, and it was still a refreshing feeling.

 

Gregory had made dinner and it was waiting by the time Mycroft got home.  He was so grateful for it.  Smiling, he leaned in to press a brief kiss to his husband’s cheek, squeezing his bicep, before going to change while food was put onto plates.

 

“Still dealing with all that insanity?” Greg asked as they were finishing up their meal a little while later. Mycroft nodded with a sigh.

 

“Unfortunately,” he muttered. “It seems little will actually bring about resolution in this current stage.  It’s rather tedious.”

 

“I bet,” Greg said, brow furrowing in concern. “You need a break.”

 

“Alas, I am unlikely to get one. But let’s not discuss it now. I’d much rather enjoy being in your company instead,” Mycroft brushed, waving a hand lazily. Greg nodded and worked on finishing his meal.

 

They went to bed together soon after, Greg pulling Mycroft close and pressing slow kisses along the back of his neck. Mycroft sighed softly and let his eyes flutter closed, enjoying the sensations.  When he felt his husband start to brush his fingers along his side a bit more deliberately, however, his body tensed on its own before he had any control over it.

 

“Apologies, my love,” he said, turning in the grip just slightly. “Not tonight.”

 

Greg’s movements stilled, and after a moment, there was a nod and a single kiss pressed to the back of his neck.

 

“Alright.  Goodnight, Myc,” he whispered, and they both fell asleep soon after.

 

It went on like this for the next week. Work didn’t get any easier, and while it wasn’t nightly, each time his dear Gregory made any vocal or physical suggestion of intimacy, Mycroft felt and heard himself deny it. The suggestions became less frequent, noticeably so, and come the following Friday Mycroft found it was all he could think about.

 

He’d never felt panicked in the way he currently did. When he and Gregory had started becoming intimate, it opened up an entirely new world to Mycroft. One that he adored, and that was intense and special and theirs. He ran a hand through his hair and covered his face, sighing.  He only ever felt like this over his weight.  Now here he was…

 

He began to fear that he would lose Gregory’s interest. They were married, of course, and while it was clear between them that it wasn’t all about sex… They hadn’t brought one another to orgasm in at least two weeks straight. How long would it be until Gregory was tired of getting turned down, as Mycroft seemed to be doing?

 

He couldn’t focus.  Things had started to ease up a bit at work, but he couldn’t make himself even think about it right now.  How was it that he, Mycroft Holmes, could sit there and fear about the state of his love life?

 

“Sir, go home,” Anthea suggested, obviously aware something was wrong even if she didn’t know what. “Let me clear your schedule. Go get some sleep, because I know you haven’t been.”

 

The woman might not have been looking up from her Blackberry, but Mycroft knew that tone when he heard it. With an exhausted sigh he stood, nodding, and did as was requested.  Even if he was a bit nervous about getting home.

 

He was greeted with the same bright smile and hug as always, though at this point, it did little to ease his mind. He barely managed a smile as he set his umbrella down, and naturally Gregory picked up on it immediately. Honestly, when had he become so easy to read?

 

“What’s wrong?” he asked instantly, brown eyes full of worry.  Mycroft tried to keep his breathing steady.  He was suddenly terrified, and overcome with the urge to cry.  It was ridiculous.

 

“Nothing,” he said tightly, doing everything in his power to keep his voice even. “I’m going to go change.”

 

He turned and headed to the bedroom. Gregory followed. The older man never let him off the hook that easily.  Mycroft pointedly didn’t look at him as he started to slide off pieces of his suit.

 

Mycroft,” Greg finally huffed, grabbing his bicep gently as he was half-undressed as forcing him to turn and face him.  Mycroft blinked rapidly, mouth pressed in a thin frown. “Talk to me. Now.  Sit.”

 

He tugged Mycroft over and made him sit down on the bed.  Then, he sat next to him and waited expectantly.  Mycroft sighed.

 

“It’s nothing,” he tried saying, his voice coming out in more of a whining tone than he’d planned on.

 

“Obviously that’s a lie.  I’m not stupid, love, please talk to me.  Please.”

 

Mycroft couldn’t ignore it anymore. He buried his face in his hands and huffed out a distraught breath.

 

“Please don’t leave, Gregory,” he felt himself starting to beg.  Oh honestly.

 

“L-leave?” Greg repeated, blinking in shock. “Why on Earth would you think I’d do a thing like that?”

 

“You’re not less desirable to me, Gregory. I just…”

 

He faded off, and there was silence between them. Mycroft couldn’t bear to make himself look at his husband.  Finally, there was a sigh.

 

“Wait,” Greg eventually said. “Are you… Is this because we haven’t had sex in a few weeks?”

 

Mycroft had married a smart man. Gregory was brilliant, even if his dear younger brother always said otherwise.

 

“It’s… not you…” he started to say, trying to think of a way to explain.  But he couldn’t. Logically, he could think of reasons why he would have no sex drive, but…

 

“Look at me,” Greg said seriously. Finally, Mycroft forced himself to, pale eyes glistening with moisture.  Greg’s stare was intense, and yet… affectionate. “Hey.  It’s okay.  Do you hear me? It’s okay.  Come here.”

 

Greg moved to the head of the bed and stretched out, grabbing Mycroft’s arm and tugging him close.  They ended up curled into one another, Mycroft’s head on Greg’s chest.  Greg threaded their fingers together, running the fingers of his other hand through Mycroft’s hair as he started to speak.

 

“This is fine.  It’s all fine.  Do you hear me? I don’t care.  I don’t care that we haven’t had sex in a while. I know I’ve been suggesting it, and of course it’s because I want you what feels like all the bloody time. But it’s also because I know you’ve been stressed and in your own head a lot, and I just want to help. But it’s all okay. I love you, Mycroft Holmes. I married you for so many reasons, and only one of them is to make you moan and scream in a way no one can.”

 

There was a pause, and Mycroft couldn’t help the involuntary shiver that coursed through him.  His husband had such a dirty mouth.  He quirked the tiniest of smiles as he attempted to relax.

 

“So we’ll just lie here.  Anything you need.  I’m here for you, I want to help you.  I love you Mycroft.  No matter what. You hear me?”

 

There was silence, but then Mycroft nodded.

 

“Yes, Gregory.  I hear you.”

 

“Good.  Now look at me so I can kiss you.”

 

Mycroft smiled more at that, and pushed himself up on an elbow, leaning in to kiss Greg gently.  Greg brushed their noses together as they pulled away, and tugged him back down, curling their legs together.  They remained like that the rest of the night, and it made Mycroft wonder what he’d ever been scared of.

Chapter Text

Greg and Sherlock were running as fast as they could through the dark and empty warehouse. An hour before Sherlock had received information they could find the suspect of the latest murder in the bowels of this very building. All they had found was a dead man - plus a ridiculously large amount of explosives equipped with a timer. The timer had shown them they had left 58 seconds to leave the building.  So they ran.

 

Long legs carried Sherlock towards the next exit with amazing speed and Greg followed as fast as he could. The DI, being a bit older and not equipped with legs like an antelope, lost sight of the consulting detective. Therefore, at a junction, he turned left where Sherlock had turned right.

 

Dashing through the door and onto the strip of grass outside, Sherlock just managed to think that the 58 seconds should be about up, when an explosion lifted him off the ground and sent him flying into the next tree. 


 

* * *

 

It was late and already getting dark when Anthea entered the meeting room. Mycroft Holmes looked up curiously because Anthea never entered a meeting without a very good reason. 
  She walked over and whispered in his ear.

 

"There's been an accident. DI Lestrade."
Mycroft was out of his seat right away.

 

"If you would excuse me…" He really didn't give a damn if the two ambassadors he had been meeting with excused him or not. There was no way he would stay. Anthea handed him his coat and they hurried to the waiting limousine. 


 

Half an hour or approximately 3600 beats of Mycroft's heart later, the limousine pulled up in front of an accident site that looked like the whole of London's fire department had a get together around an enormous pile of rubble. A smoking and steaming pile of rubble that supposedly had been a building once and was now bombarded with water from all sides.

 

Mycroft rushed to an ambulance where he had spotted John Watson. The man gave him a glance full of anxiety.

 


"Sherlock is treated for a broken wrist and a few bruises." Not really wanting to break the news but knowing he had to, he added, "Greg is still missing."

 


Missing in this heap of crumbled concrete and burned wood? His Gregory? If it was possible Mycroft paled even more and his heartbeat stepped up another notch. 


 

"Wow wow wow, you're not passing out on me," John said, stepping closer and grabbing his arm. Mycroft knew he would not pass out but was still glad when John forced him to sit on the steps of the ambulance in which Sherlock was treated. 
  A bottle with water was shoved into Mycroft's hand and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.


 

"I'm sure he is all right," John told him. "Okay?"

 


Mycroft nodded, watching with wide eyes when yet another fire engine pulled up, a group of fire fighters jumped out and got to work.

 

Over in the rubble, 

Greg crawled out from a ditch he had been thrown in from the explosion. His head was hurting, he was drenched from the icy water provided by the fire fighters and covered head to toe in soot. Nobody paid attention to him, when he came stumbling out of the undergrowth. Except for a large lump at his temple Greg was more or less okay, so he kept staggering along. He was shivering from the cold from the water and lying on the cold ground for some time. Perhaps if he kept going around the site, he thought, he would find an ambulance and they would have a blanket for him. 



 

Mycroft had no idea what had made him look up but he spotted the man who was approaching from the dark right away. He stood up and hurried towards the drenched figure. With no regard for his expensive suit he pulled Gregory into his arms. He wrapped him in his blanket and buried his face in the wet and dirty hair, not caring that the soot was immediately transferred to his own face and clothes. And Gregory was all too happy to hug back, and ruin Mycroft's suit for good.

Chapter Text

“Why exactly did you bring me here?” Mycroft asked skeptically, raising his voice so he could be heard over the crowd that was surrounding them.  He was not particularly fond of being around so many people, even if they had decent seats, and he felt himself inching closer to Greg subconsciously.

 

“Because it’s fun!” Greg replied with a bubbling laugh, clad in full Arsenal gear, complete with scarf wrapped nicely around his neck. “Besides, you got me these tickets for my birthday, and I wanted to share the experience with you in return!”

 

Mycroft could see where that was the case. He didn’t quite understand the logic from Greg’s point of view.  Personally, he cared little for football, and his only exposure to it was because of the older man next to him.  Greg had a passion for the sport that Mycroft couldn’t help but love, even if he hated sports as a whole. 

 

Perhaps that was why he agreed to this in the first place.  He was, in a way, regretting that though.  It was very loud, and the game hadn’t even started yet.  He was aware of the rules of football, naturally, so he knew a bit of what he’d be witnessing.  What he didn’t understand, however, was the mentality around the game.  The passion. 

 

Mycroft sighed through his long nose and squared his shoulders as he settled in the best he could.  There was no turning back now, so he might as well make the best of it.  He would suffer through it for Greg, if nothing else.  Because he loved that man.  If this wasn’t the biggest proof of love he’d ever shown, then he didn’t know what was.

 

Some people were coming out on the field, players and referees it looked like.  People started clapping and cheering.  Everyone around them, Greg included, started to stand.  Blinking, Mycroft followed suit, peering around to figure out what they were all standing for.  He knew it was customary for sports events to have a national anthem performance before the game kicked off, so unless they’d already missed that, perhaps that’s why everyone was standing?

 

Standing, Mycroft waited for the song to begin. It didn’t.  People were cheering, and starting to sing and chant now, and bodies moved around in jumps, sways, as people sat and stood and sat again. He blinked as Greg sat back down, and then a few other people around them did as well.  He remained standing.  Shouldn’t he be?

 

“Myc, love, what are you doing?” Greg asked after a second with a gentle laugh.  His brown eyes were shining affectionately as he gazed up at him.  It made Mycroft’s heart skip a beat.  He loved that look, and it was only reserved for him. It was amazing.

 

“Waiting for the anthem, correct?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.  There was a beat of silence before Greg chuckled again and shook his head.

 

“No.  C’mon, sit back down with me,” he gestured, reaching out and brushing his shorter fingers along the back of Mycroft’s hand.  The younger man was still a little confused, but he nodded and did so, sinking back into his seat carefully.

 

“Why did everyone stand, then?” he couldn’t help but ask, gazing at Greg for answers.  It wasn’t often he was so confused about the things going on around him. Even if he didn’t practice these kinds of things himself, he was a lot better when it came to reading people than his younger brother obviously was.  Yet… this eluded him.  Sports were a bizarre ritual.

 

“Just excitement!” Greg grinned, threading their fingers together and squeezing tightly. “The teams are out and it’s about kickoff. The songs and stuff are kind of a fan requirement, something we always end up doing before and during the game. Team spirit, if you will.”

 

Ah. Yes, Mycroft supposed that made sense. He felt a little embarrassed at getting caught off guard like that, especially in such an obvious, physical way. He wasn’t sure if anyone had actually noticed, but it made his cheeks heat up a bit regardless.

 

“Don’t worry, babe, I’ll make a fan out of you yet,” Greg grinned, bringing their joined hands up to kiss Mycroft’s knuckles. Cheers erupted around them. The game had started.

 

“I suppose we shall see, Gregory,” Mycroft mumbled, eyes shifting to watch as the match went underway.  He highly doubted his partner’s statement, but best to solider through it anyway.  For love.

Chapter Text

Potty training.  It was something Greg had done twice before, with his two girls, and now here he was doing it a third with his son.  He had methods in mind to start helping make that step forward, but potty training a boy was very different from potty training a girl.

 

Watching Mycroft dealing with it was an entirely different experience.  As with most things, he approached it logically and very matter-of-factly, and was overall slightly timid about it.  It was only something Greg could notice, though, because the younger man didn’t make it so obvious that their son would see.  This was a damn good thing.  If Oliver picked up on any hesitance from them, it would make the entire thing even more difficult.

 

“Come on, Oliver,” Mycroft was saying softly as they all stood around the entrance of the washroom.  Greg had gotten him a small, colorful, beginners potty, of course, which Oliver stood in front of and stared at warily.  He would never forget the look Mycroft had given him when he’d brought the contraption home.  It had been just adorable.

 

“No,” Oliver huffed, swaying back and fourth slightly. It was their child’s favorite word as of late.  He wasn’t at all interested in learning how to use the potty like his fathers, still clearly content to go in his nappies, but he was about a year-and-a-half old now, and it was time to give it a go.

 

“Oliver, darling, it is something we all had to learn,” Mycroft continued, crouching down beside him and resting his heels against the edge of the tub.  Greg remained quiet as he watched, a small smile on his face, listening to his husband talk to their child like he was negotiating.  Really, though, he kind of was.  Negotiations were important with children. “Daddy and I do it all the time.”

 

“No,” Oliver repeated, shaking his head. Greg watched his movements, and it was clear he actually did have to use the bathroom.  He hoped they could time this right.  Mycroft turned his gaze towards him, looking a bit lost, and Greg gave him a sympathetic smile. Time to step in.

 

“Hey, Ollie,” he said, stepping forward and getting into the small plastic bucket of bath toys sitting on the sink. Oliver blinked, and turned his head to watch him, brown eyes wide and observing. “Going in the potty is fun! Here, let me show you.”

 

Mycroft arched an eyebrow at the word fun.  He remained quiet, however, his attention on Greg as well.  The older man rummaged around until he found a package of miniature rubber ducks.  There we go. With a grin, he opened the package and pulled out a bright blue one.

 

“See this ducky?” he asked as he knelt next to Oliver. He got a nod in return, and he reached out with a small hand, fingers spread open wide, clearly wanting the duck for himself.

 

Shaking his head, Greg turned and set the duck inside the plastic potty.  It rocked back in fourth in the small amount of clean water they had put in it. Mycroft’s eyes widened at the sight, a bit confused because clearly that’s not what toy ducks were used for. Oliver watched as well, turning back to the potty again.

 

“That ducky is gonna help you, okay?” Greg said, rubbing the back of his son’s head gently. “Aim for the ducky.”

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  Greg shifted his gaze towards him long enough to get across an expression that said ‘Trust me’, before he turned his attention back to their child.

 

“Papa?  ‘uck?” Oliver asked, pointing at where it was floating.

 

“Yup, the duck,” Greg confirmed with a bright grin. “If you go in the potty, with the duck, you’ll get a treat!”

 

Oliver stared up at Greg with a bright grin. Oh yeah, it was amazing how quickly children could understand the words treat and snack.

 

“Yeah?” he asked excitedly, giggling. Greg couldn’t help but giggle as well.

 

“Yeah!  But you have to go in the potty, okay?  That’s why the duck is there.  If you do, the duck’ll tell me you did a great job, and then I can get you a treat. But you’ve gotta do a great job, okay?” Greg was saying.  Mycroft was silent, lips parted just slightly.

 

“Kay!” Oliver shouted excitedly, clearly ready to give it a go.

 

That night, Oliver Lucas Lestrade-Holmes used the bathroom in a real potty for the first time.  His two fathers were terribly proud of him, and it was the start to many fun games that caused him to keep the trend going, until nappies were phased out completely.  Mycroft had been amazed by it, because he never would have thought of something like that. Greg just grinned proudly.

Chapter Text

Greg was startled at the soft knock at the door, and his head jerked up from the mountain of paperwork sitting in front of him on his desk.  His eyes were wide and his heart was beating a bit faster, not expecting any sort of noise, let alone a simple announcement that he was no longer alone.  His shocked expression turned into a pleased one, a smile slipping onto his face, and he leaned back in his chair.

 

“Mycroft,” he greeted brightly behind a small yawn. He took a moment to glance at the clock on his wall to confirm that it was, in fact, after midnight, and he stretched with a grunt. “What can I ask has brought you over this way?”

 

“I was in the neighborhood and noticed your office light was still on,” the posh younger man began, stepping just inside the doorway. Greg raised his eyebrows, not really believing that for a second.  New Scotland Yard was never just in Mycroft’s neighborhood. It wasn’t terribly close to his office or his home, so that was a big ol’ lie.  Not that Greg would complain.

 

“Were you now?” he asked in amusement, smirking slightly.  Mycroft’s eyes flashed in acknowledgement that he’d been caught in his fib, but said nothing of it. Instead, he held up a Styrofoam cup and a brown paper bag.

 

“I thought you might like some coffee? And some fresh pastries from the bakery down the road,” Mycroft explained, hesitating for a moment before walking across the office so he could set the items down on Greg’s desk.

 

“It’s after midnight,” Greg said a bit dumbly, blinking at the bag.

 

“Indeed it is,” Mycroft chuckled. “If your observational skills have gotten so common perhaps a break is in order.”

 

“Ha ha,” Greg said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he reached for the coffee.  He took a sip and hummed; it was bloody perfect.  Mycroft just knew how he liked to take his coffee. “I’m just saying, it’s after midnight and you were able to get fresh pastries?  I thought that was rather impossible.”

 

“There are many things I am good at,” Mycroft said, which was no way an explanation at all.  There was a pause, as he glanced down at where his hands were clasped in front of him, pressing his lips in a thin line. “I also thought you might like the company.”

 

Mycroft was correct, of course. Greg would love the company.  He still had so much to do, though… He glanced at the stacks of paper, and the case folders next to them, and at the clock.  He’d figured he’d be pulling an all-nighter here, which he’d been fine with.  It helped to occupy him. There were times when adjusting to his life as a divorced man were still difficult.  They were better now, however, with Mycroft. He didn’t really quite know what to call the relationship they had developed, but the spark had been there for a while. Once he had become single, it was something he slowly began to pursue.  They’d gone on a few dates, and at this point, Greg had stayed over at Mycroft’s twice.  He was over his ex-wife, though at times he knew he had been before they’d even signed the divorce papers, but that didn’t mean he still didn’t have rough nights. It was strange for it to affect him and NOT affect him so much at the same time.

 

“You’re definitely not wrong,” he said finally, with a soft sigh. “I have so much to do though.”

 

“I won’t get in the way,” Mycroft said as he glanced at the chair nearby. “Though I wasn’t kidding when I said you deserved to take a break.  Set it aside and eat. Ten minutes.”

 

Greg nodded, doing just that. He motioned for Mycroft to take a seat on the small sofa he had in the corner of his office.  He stood and stretched, his knees and back popping slightly, and snatched up the food that was brought to him before joining the man over. Their thighs pressed together as he ate, and they were relatively quiet during it all, just enjoying each other’s company.

 

When Greg was done eating, he turned to kiss Mycroft gently.  Wrapping their arms around one another, they kissed for what felt like an eternity, until Greg had basically ended up on Mycroft’s lap.  He had to break the kiss as his breathing became a bit more uneven, and he cupped the other man’s cheek affectionately.

 

“I still have stuff to do,” Greg whispered reluctantly. He’d much rather remain on the sofa with Mycroft.  More kissing and maybe some heavy petting would be lovely right about now.  But he had a lot to do.  He couldn’t set it all aside for the rest of the night, as much as he desperately wanted to.

 

“Can I be of any assistance?” Mycroft asked softly, gazing up at him.  His pale eyes had darkened slightly in a way that sent a shiver down the older man’s spine.

 

“I don’t want you to keep yourself awake for me,” Greg said, eyes shifting a bit as he reached up to stroke Mycroft’s hair. The action caused him to smile and close his eyes, leaning into the touch a bit.

 

“It’s no inconvenience,” he muttered after a second, stroking Greg’s side.  It felt good. It calmed him and sent a heat through him at the same time.

 

“Just stay?” Greg finally asked.

 

“It would be my pleasure,” Mycroft smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.

Chapter Text

Greg stared into his pint glass with a somber expression, gazing at the golden liquid as he shifted it back and fourth slightly. He needed to buck up a bit. The point of coming out to the pub wasn’t to sit in silence and focus on… He sighed, setting the glass down and running a hand through his hair.

 

“Sorry,” he said to John, who was sitting beside him patiently. “I’m meaning to be much more company than I am.”

 

“S’okay,” John said, shaking his head and waving a hand in front of him dismissively. “I’m here for you tonight, mate, all right?”

 

Greg nodded.  He was so grateful to have John in his life.  Being caught in the whirlwind of two Holmes men made it difficult sometimes.  He’d had many years of dealing with the force of them alone, so to have someone in his same state of mind, someone he was a true mate with, made things easier.

 

“How long’s he been gone?” John asked after a moment.

 

“Five weeks and counting,” Greg frowned. Admitting the time frame sent an ache through his chest that caused him to pick his beer back up and take a long swig from.

 

“Christ,” John breathed, shoulders slumping as he leaned his elbows on the bar.  He signaled for the barman to get them another round.  Greg opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it as the drinks were already being poured.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Greg huffed a soft laugh. It was awful.  The trip wasn’t supposed to last longer than a month. Now it was almost a month and a half and the last time he’d talked to his partner, there was no clear ending point. To say he was upset wasn’t the half of it.

 

“I’m so sorry, Greg,” John frowned, reaching over to squeeze Greg’s bicep gently.  The doctor gazed at him with sympathetic eyes, and he tried to smile in return.

 

“I just miss him so much,” he groaned, scrubbing his face with one hand roughly. “He tries to talk to me, but some days he can’t at all.  He’s literally in meetings all day.  He’ll end up shooting me a text saying ‘All right’ or ‘Good night’, something along those lines, so I know everything’s fine, but…”

 

“Well that’s good, though,” John said, trying to focus on the upside.  He wanted desperately to lift his best friend’s spirits.  It was awful seeing Greg in such a state.

 

“Yeah, but I miss his voice,” Greg said, his voice starting to tremble slightly.  He blamed it on the number of pints they’d had.  He wasn’t entirely sober at this point, which made him more emotionally vulnerable, and he’d always been able to open up to John.  John understood, and he was supportive, and he was amazing.

 

“I know, Greg,” John whispered, pushing their empty glasses aside as fresh ones were placed in front of them. “I know how hard it is. In a way.”

 

And he did, didn’t he?  Circumstances were entirely different, but John had been in very similar situations with Sherlock.  He knew what Greg was going through, and that was part of what made him feel such comfort from him.  In all things, they supported each other when it came to their relationships with the Holmes brothers. Greg supposed that’s what kept them both sane individuals.

 

“Our bed is so bloody big without him,” Greg continued. He’d felt a dam break and there was no going back now. “Things are so quiet.  The house is eerily quiet, my phone is quiet, and everything is just… I feel so… lost some days. I miss his touch, the feelings of his arms around me.  Being able to press my cheek against his shoulder.  I miss him, John.  God.”

 

Taking a shaky breath, Greg reached up and rubbed at his eyes before tears could fall.  He needed to keep it together somehow.  He was a mess.  He wanted Mycroft to come home, to him, to their life, and he wanted to kiss him forever.

 

“Come back to mine tonight,” John suggested after a few long moments of silence.  He was rubbing along Greg’s back and shoulders, pulling him close to wrap his arm around and hug him.

 

“I…” Greg started.  He wanted to accept the invitation.  He knew that if he went home, it would just hurt tonight. But he didn’t want to be an inconvenience.

 

“Seriously.   Come back to Baker Street.  Stay in my company for a while longer, and perhaps Sherlock can amuse us with something. We can throw on football, or some crazy action movie.  Or, if you really want a laugh, we can make Sherlock watch a romantic comedy or reality television.”

 

John grinned brightly at Greg.

 

“I wouldn’t be any trouble?” he asked softly, sniffing and trying to breathe normally.  John shook his head.

 

“Nah, not at all.  I don’t go to the clinic tomorrow and you and Sherlock don’t currently have a case.  Seriously. Come home with me, okay? We can leave after this round,” John said.

 

Greg managed a grateful smile, and finally, he nodded.

 

“Ta John,” he said, clearing his throat and turning back to his beer.

 

“Any time, Greg,” John responded as he did the same.

Chapter Text

Work was exhausting, as it always seemed to be. Mycroft was looking forward to the day being over, however.  With the close of the day came an evening spent with his dear Gregory.  Neither of them had a work-related obligation to tend to, so they had planned on spending the evening in together, relaxing with a nice dinner and then spending some time on the sofa.

 

He got home first that afternoon, though it shouldn’t be by long.  As he was changing into a more casual set of clothing, his mobile went off, signaling a new text. Pausing as he took off his waistcoat, he turned and picked it up.

 

Hey, love. Sherlock is being an absolute prat, and John’s all out of sorts right now.  I’m gonna take him by the pub, try and perk up his spirits a bit, okay? Be home in a few, I won’t be too late. I swear.  –GL

 

Mycroft sighed through his nose as he read over the words.  Well… there went those plans.  He knew Gregory didn’t mean intentionally to bail, and knowing Sherlock, John was most likely in need of some good company and a strong drink.  That didn’t stop the older Holmes from feeling a bit irritated about the change of events.

 

As much as he wanted to, he did not text his brother to pointedly tell him off.  Nor did he try and harbor any of his irritation towards his partner. Gregory was looking out for John, who was an old and dear friend, and he was just a kind man in that regard. He steeled himself, pushing down the bit of hurt that he couldn’t help but feel at spending more time at home alone than he was supposed to have been, and went to get some work done in his study. No point in wasting his time.

 

It was two hours later that Mycroft heard the front door open and shut.  There was silence, and he stilled his movements as he wrote up documents for a meeting he had next month, just listening.  There was the sound of steady footsteps walking through the hall.  So Gregory wasn’t drunk then.  He was thankful for that.  He had a feeling that if the older man had consumed a bit too much, he really would have had a more difficult time letting it slide.

 

“Mycroft?” he heard the older man call out. Mycroft hesitated, before setting his pen down and standing.  He stretched a bit and pocketed his mobile, before heading out of his study to meet where Gregory was standing in the kitchen and pulling out containers of what seemed to be Chinese food.

 

“Hey,” he said with a smile as Mycroft entered the room. “Picked up food from our favorite Chinese place since I was home a bit later.  I’m real sorry about that.”

 

“Quite all right,” Mycroft said softly, stepping forward to glance at the food.  He picked up a pair of chopsticks, turning it over in his hands silently. There was a pause in the motions in front of him, and Mycroft shut his eyes as he heard footsteps getting closer. Then, a pair of arms was wrapping around his waist from behind, and Gregory’s forehead was pressed against a shoulder blade.

 

“I’m really sorry,” Greg whispered with a sigh. “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings… John was just…”

 

“I know,” Mycroft said, clenching the chopsticks tightly.  He was mostly over it, but that hadn’t changed the fact that he had been disappointed. “I understand.”

 

It was clear that Gregory felt bad for what he’d done, even though Mycroft had fully understood why he did.  It made his heart ache in the best way.  The older man was truly the kindest Mycroft had ever known. Finally, he set the chopsticks down and rested one of his hands over the two clasped together against his stomach.

 

“Why don’t we eat before everything gets cold,” he suggested, trying to pull them into what they could of the night they’d had planned.  He received a tighter hug before Gregory stepped back, and continued splitting out their portions of dinner.

 

They did retire to the sofa after dinner, even if bed was soon.  Mycroft curled into Gregory’s side with a soft sigh, resting his head on his chest and listening to that heartbeat.

 

“I’m going to make it up to you,” Greg rumbled.

 

“You don’t have to,” Mycroft whispered in return, and he meant it.  He was feeling better now.

 

“I already have, though,” came the response. Blinking, Mycroft lifted his head to look at the older man quizzically.

 

“Oh?” he asked, both curious and shocked. It made a grin spread across Greg’s face.

 

“Yup,” he nodded. “I texted Anthea, and then swung by the Yard after the pub… We both have the day off tomorrow.”

 

It took a few seconds for the shock to melt away and for Mycroft to absorb those words.  The day off?  Immediately, he started trying to go through the calendar in his mind to see what exactly Anthea had rescheduled or taken onto her plate.

 

“Stop thinking into it,” Greg laughed affectionately. “Anthea said you would.  She told me she had everything covered.  So let’s have a lie in tomorrow, yeah?  I don’t want us to leave the house, or even the bed, if we don’t have to.”

 

Gregory’s grin was suggestive and contagious. Mycroft could feel one beginning to slide onto his own face.

 

“That sounds amazing,” he said, leaning close to curl their legs together and kiss the older man passionately.

Chapter Text

“Come on Lestrade, do keep up,” Sherlock said in an impatient huff.  The lanky detective scoffed before darting off, not bothering to wait for a response.

 

Greg couldn’t do these all night chases through London the way he used to.  He’d be damned if he would admit it out loud… but it was more difficult for him now. He was exhausted, and Sherlock wasn’t getting any slower, and he just wasn’t cut out for this anymore.

 

Logically, he should start looking at retirement options.  He had them, and they were good, and he lived a comfortable life.  But… he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  He couldn’t bring himself to admit that at almost 51 years of age, he just wasn’t cut out for this life style anymore.  The long hours, the lack of sleep or proper diet, the exertion chasing criminals… or Sherlock… His mind was still as sharp as ever, but his body was beginning to protest it.

 

He felt hackles raise and anger bubble at Sherlock’s comment.  It had not been the first time recently he had talked degrading to Greg about how slow he had started to become.  At least this time he didn’t make a quip about the age or physicality.  Greg never really could handle hearing someone say it out loud.

 

He was stiff and frustrated as he got home that night. Every muscle ached, and he knew he needed a long bath or shower.  He needed to have that hot water loosen his muscles, and then he wanted to sleep for days. He dragged himself in the house and up to the bedroom, where Mycroft was awake and sitting in bed with a book.

 

“Welcome home darling,” the younger man commented, closing his book and setting it aside.  Greg managed a tiny smile as he pulled off his jacket. The expression in his partner’s face changed almost instantly, picking up on the way Greg carried himself and the exhaustion that had seeped so deep into his features that it was surely noticeable to anyone at this point.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked after climbing out of bed and striding over to him.  Greg shut his eyes and frowned, glancing away.

 

“M’fine,” he muttered, really not in the mood for it. Whatever it was going to be. His pride and ego had gotten enough of a beating for one night.  He didn’t want to acknowledge what he was so clearly battling right now. He couldn’t admit it to himself. God knows he didn’t want to hear the love of his life admit it either.

 

“You’re hurting and exhausted,” came the response, and slender fingers ran their way through Greg’s silver hair. He sighed, leaning into the touch.

 

“I just wanna go to bed,” he groaned, tugging off his shirt and dumping it on the ground next to him.

 

“You need a shower,” Mycroft said. Greg knew he was right. He did need a shower. He would most likely regret it in the morning, but it didn’t stop him from shaking his head anyway.

 

“No,” he said, unbuttoning his trousers and starting to step out of them. “Just sleep.”

 

Mycroft was quiet as Greg continued undressing and dressing into pajamas.  It was obvious the older man was going to be stubborn on the topic.  Greg didn’t miss how Mycroft stayed close, even as they both made their way back over to the bed and climbed in together. Instantly, Greg rolled into his side and curled into Mycroft, smiling and closing his eyes as comforting arms wrapped around his torso.

 

“You should consider looking at retirement options,” Mycroft said after a few peaceful moments.  Greg’s entire body froze up.  He wanted to pull away from the other man, but he forced himself to remain. He tried to force down the hurt.

 

“Myc, I…” he started, his voice shaking a bit. He swallowed.

 

“There is nothing wrong with it, Gregory,” Mycroft pressed on, his voice firm and gentle.  As if to lessen the blow they were obviously giving, he started stroking Greg’s hair again. “You have been a vital part of New Scotland Yard for many years, but there’s nothing wrong with finally taking time for yourself.”

 

Greg forced down the tears wanting to prickle at his eyes.  No.  He… he couldn’t accept… He sighed, gripping Mycroft pajama top and turning his face into his shoulder a bit more.

 

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice slightly muffled. He felt pretty stupid for getting so insecure and worked up about it all.  Mycroft was right, and he knew there was nothing wrong with it. Yet, everything was wrong with it.

 

“You can,” Mycroft said. “Just think about it. Gregory, there is nothing dishonorable or foolish about retirement, especially in your line of work. You’re overworking yourself. I love you, and I’m just looking out for you.”

 

“Would you really love me if I just sat at home all bloody day like the old man I’m becoming?” Greg asked bitterly.

 

At that, Mycroft pushed on Greg a bit until they were both sitting.  He forced Greg to look straight into his eyes, a seriousness there that almost surprised the older man. He blinked, frozen as he stared at the love of his life, who was gently gripping his chin.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft whispered. “Nothing can make me stop loving you.  Nothing.”

 

Saying nothing else, Mycroft pulled Greg in for a passionate, yet gentle kiss.  Greg let himself melt into it.  He still didn’t like the idea, but… He didn’t know.  Maybe it was something to look at.

 

He really didn’t like the idea, though. Of course, falling asleep next to Mycroft Holmes, and kissing Mycroft Holmes, made the worry and tension seep out of him.  For now, at least.

Chapter Text

Greg breathed in the fresh country air with a smile, closing his eyes so he could enjoy the warmth and peaceful sounds of nature around him.  Sometimes living in the heart of London made one forget how this kind of thing felt, and it was always so refreshing to be reminded.  He would miss London soon enough, of course, but he was still in the stage where he found he never wanted to leave.

 

This was the second time he and Mycroft had come to stay at this private stone cottage in the heart of Surrey. It was a great vacationing spot for them.  It was close enough to London so that if either of them had to get back in a pinch, it wouldn’t be immensely difficult to do, while still being far enough to truly be getting away by themselves.

 

Greg had been extremely surprised when Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had given them this cottage.  It was apparently one of two they owned, the other one being over in Sussex and reserved for Sherlock if he ever decided to accept it. They’d been given the place as a wedding present, and Mycroft had apparently been expecting it. Greg still didn’t believe it some days. It sat alone in a gorgeous green field, large trees providing plenty of shade across the grounds, and a lovely clear stream running by one side.

 

Basically, it was heaven. 

 

Greg was stretched out along an outdoor sofa they had in the middle of their covered patio.  He was wearing sunglasses, a plain t-shirt, and jean shorts, ankles crossed and stretched along the length of the sofa.  His hands were folded under his head and he was just the picture of relaxation.  There were times when he considered having them both retire and move out here permanently. He wondered if they could. This relaxed, quiet lifestyle was great, but did it suit them for every day?  He wasn’t honestly sure.

 

“Gregory?” came his husband’s voice from behind him. Humming, Greg pushed up his sunglasses to prop up on the top of his head, and he tilted his head back to gaze at where Mycroft was standing in the doorway to the cottage. He was wearing shorts as well, though they were much more dressy than his own, and a pale, collared shirt tucked in. He looked so professional and casual at the same time.  Greg loved him.

 

“Yes, love?” he smiled, noticing now what Mycroft was carrying.  He held, in each slender hand, wine glasses, and what looked like a bottle tucked under his arm.

 

“Apologies if I am disturbing you, but I thought we might have some wine tasting?” Mycroft asked, stepping out onto the patio and heading his way.  Greg sat up straighter and turned so that his legs were hanging off the sofa now.

 

“Sounds lovely,” he smiled.  As if Mycroft could disturb him.  Wine tasting?  That was definitely more Mycroft’s thing than his own, but Greg did enjoy a good glass of wine, and with the younger man, he would do anything.  Maybe it was a bonus that alcohol was involved.

 

“Wonderful,” Mycroft smiled, handing over a glass before uncorking the bottle he had with him. “This first one is a red, a bit drier than what you normally drink.  However, it sits nicely on the tongue, and after settling for a few moments, is a very pleasant experience.”

 

Greg nodded, holding out his glass as the wine was poured, and doing what was smoothly instructed.  It was not the first time they’d done something like this, and Mycroft was really a wonderful host.  The wine was rather dry, and likely something Greg wouldn’t drink frequently, but it was good nonetheless.

 

They went on like for the better part of an hour. Mycroft brought out different wines and they talked about them softly, before having at least half a glass of each. For the more enjoyable ones, maybe they indulged a little bit more.  They also had an assortment of snacks to eat along with it: cheeses and crackers, fruits, and some sandwiches Greg had made that morning.  It was bloody wonderful.

 

Greg wasn’t sure how many wines they’d tried at that point, but he was definitely feeling tipsy.  He also didn’t miss the way their bodies gravitated closer with each new glass they had, and how slowly hands began to stray.  At this point, Greg was hardly paying attention to the description Mycroft was insisting on giving for the wine he’d just brought out. It was fruity, he’d said. Greg was much more interested in his husband’s flush lips, and the way his tongue would occasionally slip out and run along his bottom lip slowly.  He was enjoying the sight of his pale, exposed neck, pupils widening and heart racing.

 

Mycroft was drinking.  Greg’s drink was forgotten in his hand.  Finally, when their eyes locked, they froze for a moment before Greg acted.  He reached over and took Mycroft’s wine glass from him, setting them both aside.  He watched as his pale eyes darkened when he climbed onto his husband’s lap.  Their noses were touching and their breath mingling.  Greg was noticeably aroused.

 

Swallowing, he closed the distance and initiated a heated kiss.  His tongue slid along Mycroft’s thin lips as he was granted access, and they pressed against each other with soft groans.

 

“I taste the fruity flavor,” Greg whispered, voice surprisingly deep.  He could feel Mycroft shiver under him.  In that moment, he decided the best kind of wine tasting was when Mycroft drank the wine and Greg licked his way into his mouth afterwards.  Yes.

 

“Gregory, we should… go inside…”

 

But Greg was already pressing against him with more purpose now, kissing and nibbling on an earlobe.

 

“There’s no one else for miles,” he whispered in a seductive way he knew Mycroft couldn’t ignore. “C’mon.  Let me fuck you outside.”

 

“Gregory, language,” Mycroft attempted to scold, but already he was clutching onto the older man’s shirt tightly.  It was obvious he wanted it just as badly.  Greg wasn’t going to hesitate.  The wine quickly became a secondary activity.

Chapter Text

Mycroft’s trousers were uncomfortably tight.  He shifted in his chair as casually as he could, taking deep breaths through his nose, but it wasn’t helping.  His heart was pounding, and he could feel his very obvious erection aching, hidden under all his clothing and dying to be uncovered.

 

“Look at you,” a deep voice cooed roughly.  Mycroft had to shut his eyes, feeling it vibrating through every inch of him.  He shivered. “So eager.  So wanting.”

 

Mycroft bit his lip.  His eyes flew open again as he felt a finger tracing the outline of his cock against his trousers.  His lips parted in a gasp, and he stared up at Gregory Lestrade, who was standing between him and his desk, leaning over him with a dark look in his eyes.

 

“I can’t wait to unravel you,” Gregory was muttered, eyes sliding along his frame.  Mycroft wanted.  He found that he couldn’t wait either.  It was all rather surprising.

 

“Gregory,” he gasped, his hips twitching as he yearned to press up into the touch that was teasing him so terribly.

 

“Now now,” Gregory said, pulling back.  Mycroft whimpered at the loss, and his cheeks flushed at the lack of control he found himself dealing with.  Honestly, he had a much better handle on himself than this.  It was downright embarrassing.  The older man chuckled.

 

“What do you want?” he asked, still standing straight and no longer touching him.  Mycroft wanted… everything.  Most importantly, he wanted to be touched again.

 

“I want…” he started to say, voice shaking and not holding any of the authority it usually did.  He was a bit uncomfortably vulnerable, but the analyzing part of his brain could really care less.  Because he wanted… “Touch me, Gregory.”

 

“Touch you…” Gregory was saying, trailing off with a pointed look.  Mycroft wanted to groan. 

 

Please,” he whimpered, letting his head fall back and shifting in his chair again.  The slight bit of friction it created as his clothing shifting over his achingly hard erection almost made him gasp again.

 

“You could probably get off just like that,” Gregory said, his voice sounding rough and aroused and a bit shocked.  Mycroft couldn’t bring himself to look at him, because he was probably right. “So sensitive.  Would you come for me like that if I told you to?”

 

Gregory was so filthy.  It was embarrassing.  Mycroft surprised himself with how much he loved it.  He thought dirty talking had been rather ridiculous and nothing he ever wasted his time on, because it always took him out of whatever moment he was attempting to achieve, but when Gregory Lestrade did it… Mycroft could listen to it all day.

 

“Answer me.” Gregory’s voice was commanding, yet gentle.  Mycroft needed more.  He managed a nod.

 

“M-most likely,” he said, his voice barely sounding like his own.  Oh honestly.

 

He was rewarded with a sure hand cupping his erection and rubbing eagerly.  Mycroft practically yelped, eyes flying open just to see how close their faces were all of a sudden.  He barely bit back a moan and decided not to hold back.  He rocked down into Gregory’s hand eagerly.

 

“More…” he muttered, and was rewarded with a heated kiss.  His arms flew around Gregory’s neck immediately, pulling close.  He could hear his zip being undone, and suddenly there was a rush of cool air as his trousers were parted.  He gasped into the older man’s hot mouth, arching up as his erection was finally pulled free and fingers were wrapping around and stroking…

 

With a start, Mycroft’s eyes flew open.  He was panting harshly, and he realized… He was alone.  In bed.  He had been dreaming.

 

With a groan, he covered his eyes with his arm.  His heart was beating so loud and intense that he could hear it in his ears.  This was not the first time he’d had dreams like this.  He had been aware for a while just how attracted to Gregory Lestrade he had become, but it had gone downhill when, two weeks ago, they had been drinking and ended up making out in the backseat of his car.

 

They had seen each other since, of course, but they were both nervous.  The kisses they shared had been heated and wanting, and they both felt what it meant.  Neither of them seemed to be able to actually make of it what it was.

 

So, not for the first time, he was lying in bed with an erection.  He glanced down at where his silky pajama pants were tented, slightly darkened from the moisture of pre-ejaculate, and he knew.  He couldn’t leave things like this.

 

Closing his eyes and pushing down his clothing, he wrapped his slender fingers around himself, panting.  He imagined a different hand stroking him as slowly as he was doing so now, and he came with the Detective Inspector’s name on his lips.

Chapter Text

“What exactly are you doing?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow as his partner tied a blindfold over his eyes with a grin. They had just climbed into the car and settled in, and then out of nowhere Greg had pulled the cloth out of his pocket, and here they were.

 

“Surprising you,” was all he said in way of explanation, before leaning forward to hand the driver written instructions of where they were going.  The man nodded with an amused smile, and off they went.

 

Mycroft had a slight frown on his face as they rode. Being blindfolded wasn’t the most ideal scenario, and not knowing what was happening was even more unpleasant. The only redeeming thing about what was currently happening was the feeling of Greg’s fingers on his thigh, brushing along in small circles.  After a little while of driving, however, Mycroft’s brow furrowed. He was unable to see, but he still turned to face his partner.

 

“Are we going to the British museum?” he asked curiously.  Why else would they be driving to the West End?

 

“How do you…” Greg started to ask, but trailed off and shook his head. “Nevermind.  No, we’re not.”

 

Mycroft smirked slightly.  He recognized the patterns of turning and stop lights they were moving along with, though he did always love catching his darling Gregory off guard, even when he was the one that was supposed to be surprised. He tried thinking about everything else of significance that was nearby, but couldn’t come to the correct conclusion. It was infuriating.

 

“Here we are,” Greg announced as the car was pulling over and coming to a stop.  He reached over and opened a door, guiding Mycroft to climb out and onto the pavement. He kept an arm loosely around his back as he turned and had them walk just a bit, before pulling him to a stop. Then, he reached up and took off the blindfold.  Mycroft blinked his eyes open immediately, and then arched an eyebrow.

 

“McDonalds?” he asked incredulously as he stared at the golden arches.  There was silence, and he glanced over at Greg to see the shocked look on his face. That shock quickly melted into laughter.

 

“Oh bloody hell,” Greg laughed loudly. He had to turn away and cover his mouth, taking a moment to recover as Mycroft practically glared at him. “No. No, Mycroft, not that. That.”

 

Still giggling a bit, he pointed at a shoppe a few buildings down.  Mycroft turned to follow the gesture, and when he laid eyes on the place in question, his eyes widened and his lips parted a bit. 

 

“James Smith and Sons Umbrellas?” he asked in slight disbelief.  Greg was sporting one of the proudest grins.

 

“Yep,” he nodded, folding his arms across his chest and gazing up at the taller man.  Mycroft blinked.  Surprisingly, he’d never been here.  He’d heard of it, naturally, and seen a few of the umbrellas and walking sticks that had been purchased from there, but…

 

“Gregory,” he started, but the words actually escaped him.

 

“C’mon,” Greg said, taking a few steps forward. “Let’s go in, Myc.”

 

He reached out and wiggled his fingers invitingly, and finally, Mycroft took the offered hand.  He allowed Greg to lead him up to the front door, where he couldn’t help but glance in through one of the windows, and then the door was opening with a small ring and there they were.

 

Umbrellas were everywhere.  On display, in stands, grouped together by style and color, and… Wow.  Mycroft was in awe. He’d had expectations about how this place might have been laid out, and they were completely overshot. Greg was gazing at Mycroft, watching the subtle changes in his face that said so much for him. He had been so excited about this, and it was so worth it.

 

Running a hand through his hair, Greg turned to glance at the other side of the shoppe, nodding to the clerk with a smile, and then turning back.  And Mycroft was gone. Greg blinked.  Where in the hell had he disappeared to?

 

“Mycroft?” he called out softly, taking a few steps in. He received no reply. He continued to peer around, until finally, he spotted a flash of slight ginger hair poke out amongst the variety of umbrella handles. He chuckled softly and shook his head. It was downright adorable.

 

“These are Bedford,” Mycroft muttered softly once he walked over, lifting up a slim umbrella with a black handle. “They are leather and rather comfortable for when you have to hold it for long periods of time. Also very good for decoration purposes. And these here, these are Holborn. Their design is exactly the same as the Bedford but with a Malacca cane handle.  They both have the beechwood and metal here, see?”

 

Greg glanced at what Mycroft was gesturing at. He smiled and nodded, even though the mechanics he was getting described to him really made no sense. He didn’t care. He could literally stand and listen to Mycroft gush about this until the end of time.  The younger man was acting like a kid on Christmas morning, and it was the most beautiful sight.

 

“What about these?” he asked with a bright grin, picking up one that had a dinosaur head.  He turned and bobbed it up and down slightly, tilting his head and adopting a goofy voice. “Hello Mycroft.  My name is Rex.”

 

The look Mycroft gave him made it all worth it. He smirked and set the umbrella down again.  Mycroft just shook his head.

 

“Honestly, Gregory,” he sighed, but Greg noticed the slight smile he was also sporting.  Greg chuckled again.

 

“Tell me about these ones,” he asked, gesturing to some that had ridges in the handle.

 

“Seriously?” Mycroft asked, blinking. Greg smiled and nodded. Mycroft grinned brightly and stepped over, leaning in for a gentle kiss. “You are a wonderful man and I love you.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Greg mumbled, blushing. Mycroft brushed their noses together before pulling back and taking out one of the ones he’d pointed to.

 

“These handles are Whangee cane…”

Chapter Text

“So – and god help me for asking, but – what’s it like having sex with him?” Greg asked after polishing off his sixth pint.  He leaned against the edge of the bar, watching John as he waited for an answer.

 

A sober Greg Lestrade would definitely have not asked his best mate John Watson about his sex life with his flatmate turned recent lover, Sherlock Holmes.  Nope. A part of his mind was regretting it even now.  But Greg was very much not sober.  So, all of that was out the window.

 

“Bloody amazing,” John grinned, halfway through his sixth pint as well.  Greg couldn’t help but laugh.  Of course John would say it was amazing.  He said that about everything else regarding Sherlock, so it just fit.  It made him giggle.

 

“Yeah?  So he’s not, you know, clueless in that area?” Greg asked with a sloppy gesture of his hand that turned into a request for their next round. He needed to stop drinking. But nah. 

 

“Not one bit,” John snorted. “Christ Greg, he’s the most saucy, adventurous person I’ve ever been in bed with. And he just knows things. He knows things that shouldn’t be possible, but they feel so fucking good.”

 

It really was TMI.  Greg didn’t miss the way John shivered slightly at just the thought of the activities he was currently referencing.  Greg found it fascinating, though.  So Sherlock was wild in the sheets.  That was what he deduced from that, so yeah.

 

“When are you getting someone?” John asked, pointing at the older man before picking up the new drink that had just been set in front of them.  Greg glanced at his own and hummed.

 

“Dunno,” he said honestly, taking a long swig of his beer.  He should cap it at seven. Getting up in the morning was going to be a bitch.

 

“Anyone in mind?” John asked after a moment.

 

“Oh yeah,” Greg sighed before he could stop himself. “There really fucking is.”

 

A certain someone that also shared the family name of Holmes.  Greg had such a yearning and hard on for Mycroft Holmes it wasn’t even funny. He wanted him romantically, he wanted him sexually, he just… wanted.

 

“I bet Mycroft’s clavicle is fun to kiss…” he muttered, which totally gave way the explanation that John had planned on asking for.

 

“Mycroft Holmes?” John asked, to clarify what he’d just heard.  Greg nodded.

 

“Mmhmm.  With that slender, pale neck.  Wanna bite it. Wanna… You know, I wonder if there’s hair there, on his chest?  A light dusting, or is it bare?  I wonder what kind of noise he makes when you bite in the hollow of his neck. I wonder what it sounds like when his breath hitches as you hit just the right spots.  I wonder what it takes to finally make his cool, emotionless exterior melt away.  I wanna know, John. I wanna find out.”

 

“Jesus Greg, you’ve got it bad,” John exhaled, shifting to get a bit more comfortable in his seat.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Greg frowned, running a hand through his silver hair and taking another long drink. “Sorry mate, that was…”

 

“No, s’fine,” John said, shaking his head and waving his hand. “You should tell him.”

 

“John, I’m drunk as a skunk, do not put these thoughts in my head.  You might make them sound like a good idea,” Greg laughed, gripping his sweating glass a bit tighter. He couldn’t tell Mycroft. That would be a disaster. They were common associates thanks to Sherlock, and he supposed they were friends.  But he doubted there was any way there were returning feelings there.

 

“No, I am putting those thoughts in my head,” John argued back gently. “Because you did for me.  And thanks to you, Sherlock and I… No.  I’m returning the favor. The end result might surprise you.”

 

“He’s a Holmes, he always surprises me,” Greg muttered.

 

“Exactly that,” John chuckled. “So fucking do it. I’m serious.  Never mind that we’re seven pints in.”

 

Jesus,” Greg groaned, rubbing his face roughly. “I need to go home.”

 

“Yeah.  Me too. After this one, yeah?”

 

Greg nodded.  Yeah, after this last pint.  They switched conversation back over to the most recent crime they’d solved, and how Arsenal was doing in the football division currently.  It was a nice distraction, and Greg was very drunk. But he couldn’t stop thinking about John’s words.  John’s encouragement.

 

Perhaps he was right.  What was the worst that could happen?  He already kind of expected to get turned down, so there really was no surprise that would be bad.  He wasn’t sure how his pained, sober brain would feel about this all come morning, but right now… His drunk brain thought it was a grand idea.

 

Because after all, he really did want to find out all those things.

Chapter Text

Your clavicle is super hot you know.

 

Very kissable.

 

Wish I could find out.

 

That series of texts that Mycroft was alerted to was far from what he expected to get.  His eyebrows shot up as high as they had ever gone as he stared at the words on the screen.  Sent by Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

 

This… honestly had to be a joke. There was no way Gregory had sent these. Right?  He continued to stare at them, trying to process the words in front of him.  Sherlock must have stolen the poor Detective Inspector’s phone again.  That’s really all there was to it.

 

Return Gregory’s mobile phone to him and delete those texts immediately. –MH

 

He sent the text to Sherlock’s mobile instead, not wanting to leave anything more embarrassing for the poor older man to discover later.  His eyebrows only rose again when the reply came.

 

I’ve no idea to what you are referring, Mycroft.  Go away.  –SH

 

Was Sherlock… serious?  Blinking, Mycroft went back to his text thread with Gregory. He was now sitting up straight in bed, where before he’d been leaning back casually.  If Sherlock didn’t have his phone, then… then he…

 

Are you drunk? -MH

 

He licked his lips as he impatiently waited for a response.  If Gregory had sent those, than surely that was the only explanation.  There wasn’t a response for a long time, longer than Mycroft had honestly expected, so with a sigh, he turned on his side and reached to put his mobile back on the nightstand so he could get some sleep. As he was in the middle of that process, though, it went off again.  His chest clenched in a strange way.

 

Maybe, but entirely not the point.

 

I’d be good for you.  You know. Wish I could have you.

 

And that was that.  Mycroft was frozen for what felt like an eternity, with no clue how to respond.  However, not another text was sent.  It was forty minutes later when he finally decided to lie back down and attempt to get a few hours of sleep. That… didn’t happen. Not with what had just happened. It was all Mycroft could think about.

 

He was distracted the next morning as well. There was no other correspondence, which meant that most likely Gregory had gotten home and passed out. He was immensely curious as to what would happen when the older man realized the slight conversation that had occurred between them.

 

He had been drunk.  Mycroft had to keep reminding himself that. He had been drunk and bizarre things happened when you were drunk like that.  He had to keep reminding himself that, so he would try and avoid as much disappointment as he could. 

 

The dreams he’d had that night got downright filthy. His clavicle… He couldn’t stop thinking about Gregory’s lips pressed against there, feeling their softness, smelling his shampoo.  It was not the first time he’d thought of the Detective Inspector in such a light. It would definitely not be the last.

 

Come lunchtime, he still had no new texts. Part of him wanted to text Gregory and see how he was faring the day after drinking so heavily. On a whim, he… decided to stop by the Yard instead.  He had no idea what exactly took him there, but before he could second-guess himself, he was walking through the building and knocking on the door to Gregory’s office.

 

“Come in!” he heard the man call out. Squaring his shoulders, Mycroft slipped inside.

 

His first assessment was that Gregory was still dealing with the headache and slight nausea multiple pints had no doubt caused him. Most likely he’d been camped out at his desk all day.    He watched as the man looked up, not missing a single facial expression he sported. He started exhausted, shifted into work mode, and then upon realizing who was in the room with him, became confused and then mortified.  Ah. So he did know about the text conversation.

 

“M-mycroft,” he mumbled, his brown eyes staring immediately back at where his hands were folded together on his desk. “Can I help you?”

 

“I… wanted to see how you were faring,” he replied truthfully.  He watched Gregory nod slightly.

 

“Ah.  I’m… fine.”

 

Calmly, Mycroft walked forward and sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk.  Silence fell between them.  Finally, Mycroft just decided to put it out there. No sense in stepping around it all.

 

“About your texts,” he began, but got no further before he was interrupted.

 

“I’m so sorry about those Mycroft,” Gregory said hurriedly, still not looking at him. “I was really drunk.  John and I went out, and…”

 

“So you did not mean them, then?” Mycroft went to confirm, feeling the disappointment he told himself not to have settling in anyway.

 

Silence.  Gregory looked up at him, and they stared at each other for a while.

 

“I…”

 

“It’d quite all right, Gregory. We can set it aside. It won’t affect our relationship,” he said dismissively, moving to stand.

 

“But what if I want it to,” the older man blurted out suddenly.  Mycroft froze where he’d started to turn, and looked back over his shoulder at him.

 

“You… want it to?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. His heart was racing.

 

“Yeah, maybe…” Greg shrugged, and then shook his head. “Yeah. Yes.  I just… I didn’t want to tell you that way…”

 

“Then why don’t we go to dinner this evening?” Mycroft suggested.  His heart was pounding, but this was actually happening.  Shock returned to Gregory’s face, followed by a bright smile that clenched Mycroft’s heart.

 

“Sounds great,” he beamed, nodding.

 

“I’ll text you,” Mycroft smiled sweetly, and genuinely. The expression Gregory got in his eyes upon noticing that smile was a good sign that made Mycroft feel… giddy.

Chapter Text

Greg didn’t want to move.  Moving meant effort.  Effort meant ugh.  At least, in his head it did. All of that was a combination of nope that he absolutely did not want to deal with right now.

 

“Myc, it’s so hot,” he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes and sinking further into the sofa.  He was not equipped to deal with this.  He didn’t quite understand why people picked today of all days to do maintenance on their home, which ended up with their air conditioning going out.  On one of the hottest summer days London had been given so far.

 

“Perhaps if you get off the couch and move around, you would cool off,” Mycroft suggested, walking in from the kitchen. He was carrying two bottles of water, one for each of them, and was in a very rare combination of khaki shorts and a short-sleeved polo.  It was a really refreshing look on him, and the only good thing about the weather currently.

 

“But that would require moving,” Greg groaned, reaching up to accept the cold bottle that was given to him. He gazed up at his partner pathetically before uncapping the water and taking a very long drink from it.

 

“But it will also cool you down. Why don’t you join me out in the yard for a while?  I do believe there is a nice breeze going that would feel much better than the sofa.”

 

Greg gazed up at him, took another drink, and then sighed.  Maybe that would be better. He was feeling a bit desperate. At this point, he’d take just about anything to get some comfort.  So, it was with great reluctance that he shifted, pushing himself with his free hand to sit up, before standing.  He closed his eyes for a moment as he adjusted, and ran his hand through his slightly sweat-dampened hair, before nodding at the taller man.

 

Smiling, Mycroft turned and began to make his way out onto their patio.  Greg followed, and immediately was grateful for it.  He sighed as the first breeze hit him.  It had to have cooled him down by ten degrees at least. He continued drinking his water as he followed Mycroft, until they had gotten to a disconnected section about halfway into their yard.

 

The structure was small, and very private, with amazing airflow.  Mycroft had installed it two summers ago, and it had quickly become one of their favorite spots. As they sat down on the love seat they’d furnished it with, Greg couldn’t help but sigh again and close his eyes.

 

“This is lovely,” he said, shoulders slumping comfortably.  A small chuckle came from beside him, and he opened his eyes to see a very smug expression on his partner’s face.  He shook his head. “Oh hush.  Yes, you were right.”

 

“My dear, you focus entirely too much on the actual temperature you are feeling at a current time,” Mycroft commented, drinking his water.  Greg watched silently, waiting for him to continue. “Instead of focusing on the heat you are in, you should try to think of any way to alleviate said discomfort.”

 

“Well, that’s what I have you for,” Greg couldn’t help but grin.  He elbowed Mycroft affectionately and then drank more water.

 

“Sometimes I don’t know how you’d survive without me,” Mycroft mused.  There was a smile on his face and in his eyes, and Greg just let himself get lost in the comfortable expression.

 

“I wouldn’t,” he whispered, a little more heartfelt than perhaps Mycroft had expected.  The younger man blinked, but then broke out into a bigger smile.

 

“You are something else, Gregory Lestrade,” he said, shaking his head.

 

“I know,” Greg nodded, leaning in to kiss him gently. “And you love it.”

 

“Naturally,” Mycroft whispered, before starting up another gentle kiss as the breeze swirled around them.

Chapter Text

Mycroft was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed loosely, a book in his hands.  He’d finally gotten some downtime from work; there was a lull in the usual negotiations and Anthea was handling a lot of the minor tasks, giving him the ability to actually spend some time at home.  It was almost a foreign concept for the politician, and he enjoyed it greatly.

 

It had given him the opportunity to see more of his partner, Gregory.  They’d actually been able to have comfortable, full meals together without the interruption of Mycroft’s mobile.  They had been able to lie in bed a little longer than normal in the mornings, and actually wake up next to each other at the same time for a change.  It was all rather lovely.

 

It was also giving him the chance to catch up on some of his reading.  He’d fallen a bit behind of the massive amount of books he’d planned on getting to, and some he had really wanted to reread.  Usually he would take one with him when he went on trips, giving him something to do for the plane ride, but that had seemed to dwindle a bit as of late, so this was his chance.

 

Of course, his darling partner wasn’t quite fond of the plan Mycroft had begun to execute.  Sometimes it was easy to forget that the man was bordering fifty. He had gotten about halfway through the book he was currently reading when the silence wasn’t enough for the older man anymore.  Mycroft blinked as Gregory was suddenly putting his head in his lap and sighing loudly.

 

“Myc,” he groaned dramatically, dropping his hands on his chest with a loud smack.  Arching an eyebrow, Mycroft lifted his book to stare down at the man who was all but pouting at him.

 

“Can I help you, my dear?” he asked curiously, tilting his head to the side.

 

“Do you have to read right now?”

 

“I would prefer to get some done, yes,” Mycroft admitted, nodding his head. “That does not mean you cannot sit here with me. You may put on the telly if you like.”

 

Readjusting his book, he went back to reading. Gregory had shifted some, doing just what had been suggested, and adjusting the volume to a level they could both handle.  With a soft smile, he turned the page, falling into the story once again.

 

Two pages later, there was once again a head falling into his lap, and the sound of another dramatic sigh being emitted from the man next to him.  Mycroft blinked.

 

“Come now, Gregory,” he sighed, lifting his book again to gaze down at those deep brown eyes staring up at him. “I will never finish at this rate.”

 

“But…” Gregory started, frowning a bit. He turned and stared at Mycroft’s stomach, and the younger man shook his head.  Holding his place with one finger, he shut the book and used his now free hand to stroke Gregory’s silver hair gently. He received a happy hum for these efforts, and it made him smile again.

 

“It’s not like we are not here together, my love,” he said softly. “When I am done, perhaps we can put on a movie, or take a bath together, okay?”

 

Once again, he went back to his reading. Silence fell between them again, and after a moment, Gregory was sitting up and getting off the sofa. Mycroft’s eyes flicked up for the briefest of moments before returning back to the book.

 

Movement in front of him caught his attention moments later.  He could hear the rustle of clothing, and with a surprised noise creeping up in his throat, Mycroft looked up from the book to see Gregory pulling off his shirt. The younger man stared.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked in a slightly hushed voice.  Gregory smirked, dropping his shirt on the ground.  Then, his hands were moving to the waistband of his trousers, and… Yes, he was unbuttoning them.  Mycroft could see the fine line of hair that led down to extremely pleasant things, no longer concealed by the clothing he was wearing, as they were quickly being taken off.

 

“You mentioned a bath?” Gregory asked, his voice low and suggestive.  Mycroft’s mouth went dry and he felt a shiver run through his spine.  Licking his lips, he remained frozen in spot as the older man slowly – dear lord so slowly – slid his trousers down and then hooked his thumb in the waistband of his pants. The remaining clothing gave Mycroft a perfect outline of his crotch, and…

 

As Gregory turned, swaying his hips suggestively as he made his way towards the washroom, Mycroft hunted quickly for his bookmark and had to control himself so he would not completely toss the book aside. Yes, he was rather well distracted now.

Chapter Text

The night had started out wonderfully. Greg and Mycroft had gone to an upscale, quiet restaurant for dinner.  Greg had gotten out of the Yard at a decent time, and Mycroft rescheduled a meeting, so it worked out perfectly.  This weekend would be three years they had been together, so they decided to celebrate with a very nice dinner tonight, and then they were going away for the weekend.

 

They’d had appetizers, and were currently waiting for their main courses to be prepared.  Mycroft had ordered for them both, something Greg had come to realize was something he actually really liked.  He always ordered the best things, and he just knew what Greg liked.  It gave him fuzzy feelings.

 

They were talking about nothing in particular; Greg was entertaining with some bizarre stories of his early days in the Yard. Mycroft was laughing. They were holding hands across the table, and it was all so beautiful.  Greg’s fingers were gently stroking across Mycroft’s palm as he spoke, chuckling softly and gazing into pale, bright eyes that were staring back into his own.

 

“So then, Sally comes in, yeah?” Greg was saying, a laugh bubbling up in his chest at the memory. “Third day on the job, bless her. And she-“

 

“Well now, looks who’s here!” a deep voice came, interrupting his sentence.  Both men froze, because they were both intimately familiar with whose voice that was.  To Greg’s relief, though, they did not disconnect their loving grasp on the table.

 

“Brother dear,” Mycroft nodded at the younger Holmes, who had waltzed up to the table with a grin on his face that made Greg know he interrupted just to get on their nerves.  He sighed.  John wandered up beside him, an apologetic expression on his face. Greg swore one day his face would just stick that way, living with Sherlock.

 

“Sherlock, they’re obviously having dinner,” he said in an annoyed tone. “As are we.  Let’s go back to our table?”

 

“No, I think it would be fine if we just had a seat, right? Maybe we can have our food brought over here instead,” Sherlock smirked arrogantly, pulling over two chairs and plopping into one.  John groaned as he sank into the other one in defeat.

 

“I’m really sorry you guys,” John sighed.

 

“Not on you,” Greg commented, glaring at Sherlock. “Sherlock.  Can you not right now?”

 

“Oh why, because you two are celebrating three years of putting up with each other?” Sherlock asked in a huff.

 

“That’s precisely why,” Mycroft commented before his little brother would continue. “Now go.  Honestly, you cannot stand to be around me most of the time, yet are eager to when it’s quite an inconvenience me.”

 

Silence fell across the table. Greg turned to glance at John and they both shrugged.  It was something they tended to do a lot when it came to their respective partners. There was still so much about the Holmes men that they had yet to unravel.

 

Sherlock and Mycroft were staring at each other. Sherlock’s eyes slanted as he raked his gaze up and down his brother’s form, which caused Mycroft to glare.

 

“Sherlock,” he said, a warning tone to his voice. “Do not do this.”

 

Sherlock’s lips were parted all of a sudden, a look of clarity dawning on his face.  Greg had seen it many times on a crime scene, and couldn’t help but be horribly curious what about Mycroft was causing that look now.

 

“Ah.  This is… interesting,” Sherlock mumbled.  He received a heated glare from Mycroft, who had now taken his hand back.

 

Go,” he hissed through his teeth.  Greg and John both blinked.

 

Food had arrived during the whole exchange, and Greg barely managed a smile and a nod at the waiter, thanking him softly before he left again.  He turned to stare back at Mycroft.

 

“Hmm.  Yes, very interesting.  I see now,” Sherlock was mumbling.  Mycroft’s gaze was becoming more hostile with every sentence.  It was not a look Greg saw often.

 

“Sherlock, we should go,” John tried again, also seeing the stare the older Holmes was giving him.  He looked as clueless as Greg felt, but finally, after a bit of urging, he tugged Sherlock out of the chair.

 

“Worst double date ever,” Sherlock commented, and John elbowed him.

 

“Like you would actually want to go on a double date with anyone,” he fussed, before turning back to the table. “Sorry again, guys. See you later, yeah?”

 

Then, John was shoving Sherlock away before any more damage could be done.  Greg waited a few moments, watching a bit of calm returning to Mycroft’s form, before deciding to speak.

 

“What was that about?” he asked, blinking. Mycroft smiled softly.

 

“Nothing to be concerned over. Now, what is it you were saying about Sergeant Donovan?”

 

Greg paused a moment more, before slipping back into the story he’d started to tell.  In his pocket, Mycroft was heavily aware of the small box sitting there, and was only grateful Doctor Watson had taken Sherlock away before he could’ve done the damage he was threatening to do to the surprise.

Chapter Text

With a bit of reluctance, Greg was leaning close and knocking softly on the door to Mycroft’s study.  The younger man had been forced to step away from their evening to take a very important phone call and sort out some documents, so he had been gone for the better part of two hours.  He could hear Mycroft speaking on the other side of the door, clearly in the middle of another phone call, and for a moment thought he should just leave it be and come back later.

 

“Yes?” he heard his husband call right as he was turning to walk away.  Good timing, he supposed.  With a soft sigh, he cracked the door open and poked his head inside.

 

“Sorry Mycroft, I don’t mean to disturb,” Greg started, opening the door a bit and stepping into the room.

 

“Nonsense, Gregory, it’s fine,” Mycroft said, looking up. “Is everything alright?”

 

Greg opened his mouth to speak, but the words fell short in his throat as he stared at his husband.  Mycroft was wearing thin, gold-rimmed glasses, and the lenses flashed a bit in the light of the table lamp near him.  Greg had… never seen him wear glasses before. He blinked.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft repeated, arching his eyebrow curiously.

 

“Sorry,” Greg started, jolting out of his trance. He couldn’t stop staring, though. Mycroft was wearing glasses. They were… Well hell, they were pretty attractive.

 

“Are you just going to stare, darling?” came Mycroft’s voice again, and Greg blinked as he realized that his train of thought had again derailed.  He chuckled in embarrassment.

 

“Sorry.  Just… glasses?” he couldn’t help but ask.  Mycroft shifted in his chair.

 

“Ah, yes,” he sighed, reaching up to take them off. Greg would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit disappointed.  He was just now getting to admire how they looked on him. “After long days, as of late, I find it helps me avoid a headache.”

 

“They looked nice,” Greg said, walking a bit closer. Mycroft smiled, and glanced down to straighten his stack of papers and move them to the side.

 

“Thank you darling,” he said, glancing at his mobile before sliding it into his pocket. “Apologies for being gone so long. That took a lot longer than I expected.”

 

“It’s alright.  That’s why I came, though.  Your son is no longer considering my presence as acceptable.  He dem