Chapter 1: Have A Wonderful Day
Greg Lestrade, amazingly, had Christmas day off. Usually he worked (he didn’t have anyone to spend the day with and his family were more than used to his hectic work schedule, not that they liked it). He actually enjoyed working Christmas as it was mostly domestic disturbances and people calling up to complain about music being played too loud. But this Christmas Greg found he was thrilled to have the day off.
He suspected it had something to do with the man he woke up next to. Mycroft Holmes was still asleep, his tall and thin frame curled up under the blankets of the DI’s bed. Greg grinned and turned onto his side to look at Mycroft better.
He couldn’t believe he and Mycroft were... together? Were they together? Physically, yes, they were occupying the same bed. But were they boyfriends? Just friends? Acquaintances?
Greg frowned when he realised they hadn’t discussed it the night before. Greg had come home to a lovely meal and he and Mycroft had spent a good few hours rolling around in bed together. His muscles still ached but it was a pleasant feeling, one Greg hadn’t felt in ages.
The DI continued to stare at Mycroft as he remembered the events leading up to waking up in bed with the British Government. Over the course of Christmas Eve, Greg had received a series of strange notes and presents from a mysterious party. It wasn’t until one am on Christmas morning that Greg had realised that they were from Mycroft. It had been the man’s strange, and oddly charming, way of telling Greg he liked him.
Greg couldn’t have been happier, really. He’d had a mad crush on Mycroft Holmes for months. And finally, early this morning, he’d slept with the man.
It had been bloody awesome sex.
Greg grinned at the memory.
Mycroft stirred and Greg watched as the politician yawned, rubbed his eyes, and blinked as he focused. A broad grin spread across Mycroft’s handsome features.
‘Morning,’ Greg smiled and bent down to place a soft kiss against Mycroft’s lips. He’d intended it to be chaste but Mycroft clearly had other plans.
He pushed a hand through Greg’s hair and dragged him down so the DI was lying atop him. Greg moaned into Mycroft’s mouth, their groins pressing together.
‘Mmf,’ Greg murmured.
Mycroft chuckled against him and let Greg go. ‘Yes?’
‘Need to breathe,’ Greg smiled and pecked Mycroft’s lips.
‘Breathing is extremely dull, Gregory, as it gets in the way of our kissing.’
Mycroft rolled his eyes and kissed Greg again. They stayed that way for a few minutes, exchanging soft, lazy kisses, tongues coming out to wind together and scrape in wet strokes. Finally Greg pulled himself onto the politician’s lap and ground himself into Mycroft, erections rubbing together quickly.
Mycroft moaned and his fingers dug into the DI’s hips, pulling him down harder and faster. Finally Greg could take no more and, not breaking the kiss Mycroft had forced them into, grabbed for the condom box and lube. He managed to scoot back and roll the rubber onto his cock, the younger man watching as Greg positioned himself between his legs.
Greg wasted no time in hooking Mycroft’s legs around his waist and thrusting forward. He entered Mycroft for the third time that day and groaned, body shaking as Mycroft squeezed around him.
‘Oh, fuck, yes!’
Greg grinned; he’d never heard Mycroft Holmes swear before Christmas day. The usual uptight, posh politician had quite the dirty mouth.
Greg pulled out nearly all the way and paused, the head of his cock the only part of him inside Mycroft. Mycroft blinked and looked up at him.
‘Gregory...’ he warned.
‘Mm?’ Greg murmured, fingers trailing down the younger man’s arms, making Mycroft shiver.
Greg continued to ignore him and felt Mycroft clench around the head of his cock.
‘Greg, for fuck’s sake!’
He pushed in, in one slick thrust, making Mycroft tense, swear, push himself down, clench, and grab Greg’s arms all at once. He became a writhing, shouting, sweating ball of mess as Greg’s long, hard thrusts scraped against his prostate.
‘Greg, fuck! Please, harder! Jesus... fuck... yes, there... THERE!’
Greg met each of his loud demands with a grunt and a push, biting his bottom lip as he drove himself deeper and deeper into Mycroft’s tightness and heat. Suddenly he felt Mycroft shift and warm, hard lips were crushed against his, Mycroft’s tongue scraping along his own and adding even more pleasure to what they were doing.
‘Fuck... can’t... uh...’
Greg came first, body shaking and lips pulled back in a moan as he continued soft, half-hearted thrusts. Mycroft mumbled against his mouth, incoherent words now forming with confusing thoughts.
And then Mycroft was coming, groaning and shuddering, nails digging into Greg’s arms, sure to leave bruises.
Greg flopped to the side, barely managing to avoid crushing Mycroft beneath his weight. They both laid there panting, exhausted after three rounds of sex. Neither were young men anymore and though they didn’t need any kind of stimulation besides another male body, they couldn’t go forever.
‘God...’ Greg managed to mutter after a minute.
‘Mmf,’ was Mycroft’s muttered reply.
Greg woke around midday to find Mycroft wrapped around him. Both were sticky and flushed but neither cared as Greg turned, body aching.
‘Good afternoon,’ Mycroft smiled and place a soft kiss against Greg’s lips.
Mycroft’s smile didn’t waver as he pulled the DI closer, lips never breaking from the soft, gentle caresses against Greg’s own. Though Greg was thoroughly enjoying himself, his thoughts from earlier shuffled into his mind and refused to leave.
Finally, due to annoying thoughts and a need for air, Greg said, ‘Erm...’
‘Yes?’ Mycroft said, pulling away. His cheeks were flushed, his breathing laboured. He leaned back against the pillows and pulled the blanket further down to give himself some air. When Greg didn’t say anything Mycroft looked up. ‘What is it, Gregory?’
‘Are... look, I guess I’m just gonna say this.’ Mycroft raised an eyebrow, waiting. ‘I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, Mycroft, or some kind of hook-up. I want...’ he swallowed, bit his lip, ‘... I want a proper relationship.’
Mycroft seemed incapable of movement or speech. He just sat there like a statue, staring, eyes slightly wide.
‘Mycroft?’ Greg said, wondering if he’d ruined everything. Maybe Mycroft didn’t want a relationship. Maybe he was already planning his escape. Maybe–
Greg’s thoughts were interrupted by Mycroft’s lips, hard and bruising where they crushed against his own. The DI nearly fell off the bed as Mycroft pushed harder against him. Thankfully Mycroft wrapped an arm around Greg, hauling them closer together. His other hand came up to caress Greg’s cheek lovingly, sending tingles along Greg’s skin.
‘Mmf... air...’ Greg managed to mumble.
With an irritated growl, Mycroft pulled back. ‘Yes?’
Mycroft frowned. ‘Gregory, I cannot believe you sometimes.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe that you would think... I am not the type of man to have one-time things or hook-ups. I care about you, Gregory.’
Greg’s eyes went wide and he looked down, blushing. ‘Really?’
‘Of course,’ Mycroft said, sincerity lacing through his voice. ‘With all my heart.’
Greg smiled and looked up. Mycroft pressed their lips together again, soft and loving this time.
‘I’m going to prove it to you,’ Mycroft murmured.
‘Start now,’ Greg mumbled and pulled Mycroft onto his lip.
After another satisfying round of sex, Greg woke to find that Mycroft was gone. He felt a bit disappointed (it was Christmas after all) but knew Mycroft had an important and demanding job.
He shuffled into the kitchen, body aching and bruised, to make some coffee and found a note taped to the machine.
H ave a wonderful day
He chuckled and placed the note on the table, wondering what on earth Mycroft was spelling out now. Really, he couldn’t have asked for a better day. He knew it was probably about to get much, much weirder.
Chapter 2: A Cup Of Coffee
‘Here we are again,’ Sally Donovan commented as Greg finished interviewing yet another witness. They had a pretty sure view of the crime and were taking a few minutes to have a break.
‘Mm,’ Greg yawned and rubbed his eyes. He was feeling thoroughly fucked (in a very good way) and was wondering if he’d have a chance to see Mycroft when he finished work. He was also wondering if he could handle another round with the younger man.
Greg looked up and realised Sally was staring at him.
‘You got laid.’
Greg blushed instantly and turned away. It was too early to have this out with Donovan. The woman could always tell when you’d got lucky; she was the first person to realise Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had moved their relationship into the bedroom... after Mycroft Holmes, of course.
Greg didn’t mind exchanging small details about his sex life (or lack thereof) with Donovan but had hoped, somewhat stupidly, that she had failed to notice his sudden uplifted mood.
Seemed he was wrong.
‘Sally,’ he muttered, hoping she’d move onto a different topic. But there was no stopping Sally Donovan.
‘Oh come on,’ she gushed, stepping closer. ‘It’s been too long, Lestrade. Besides, who else are you going to talk to? Dimmock?’
She raised an eyebrow and Greg sighed. She was right, of course. Though most people at Scotland Yard didn’t care that Greg was gay, he didn’t have a lot of people to discuss boys with. Dimmock was young and turned red whenever the word sex was uttered. Anderson was way too dirty and everyone else was just... well, Greg didn’t have a lot of real friends at the Yard.
‘Who was it?’ Sally asked. ‘The guy who decorated your office?’
Despite himself Greg grinned and Sally giggled.
‘I knew it! Nobody goes to that much trouble without loving you! Come on, give us some details. Just a few, please?’
Greg chewed his bottom lip as he contemplated telling Sally all about Mycroft Holmes and the amazing things the man could do (both in the bedroom and out of it). He really wanted to talk about it with someone, share his current happiness. And who else was he going to tell? John Watson? Sherlock?
‘Yeah,’ Greg found himself saying, ‘yeah, it was him.’
Sally was grinning from ear-to-ear. ‘How romantic!’
‘He sent me a heap of notes and some stuff; chocolates, food, that coffee machine. He’s the one who had all that music played on Christmas Eve.’
‘So the way into your pants is food, coffee, and music?’
Greg chuckled. ‘It appears so.’
‘What’s his name?’ Sally asked, blowing on her hands to keep back the chill.
Greg paused. He really didn’t want Sherlock finding out he was screwing the sociopath’s brother. He was hoping to keep his relationship with Mycroft a secret, at least for the moment; no doubt Sherlock would find some way to ruin it.
Greg realised Sally was still waiting for an answer. ‘Okay, what I’m about to tell you cannot leave your mouth ever, got it?’
‘I’m serious,’ Greg continued. ‘You can’t tell anyone who I’m seeing, Sally, please.’
Sally wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s not the Freak is it?’
‘What? No, of course not; he’s with John and he’s too young for me.’
‘Okay, good,’ Sally said and made a motion for her boss to continue.
‘You can’t tell him or John or Anderson.’
The sergeant snorted. ‘Why would I tell Anderson? Even if I did he’d forget it ten minutes later.’
‘Right,’ Greg said and cleared his throat. ‘Okay, his name’s–’
The two officers turned to see John Watson standing just beyond the police tape, a bag of groceries in one hand. He was wearing a beanie and a thick scarf, a black jacket pulled around his broad frame. Greg and Sally approached him quickly and he smiled, breath fogging before him.
‘Damn it, Doc!’ Sally said instead of hello, making John to look at her. ‘Lestrade was just gonna tell me who he’s shagging!’
‘Sally!’ Greg snapped as John’s eyebrows rose.
‘What?’ she said, her face a mask of innocence. ‘You didn’t say I couldn’t tell anyone you were shagging a new bloke.’
Greg sighed and John chuckled. ‘Seems a lot of that’s going around.’
Greg and Sally both looked at the doctor, forcing him to elaborate.
‘Sherlock wanted to talk to Mycroft last night but he kept ignoring Sherlock’s calls. Naturally Sherlock kept calling until Mycroft’s assistant turned up and said he was busy. Sherlock took that to mean Mycroft’s got a new boyfriend and was busy shagging him.’
Greg looked away from John and Sally quickly, not wanting them to connect the dots. Unfortunately for the DI, John had spent way too much time around the Holmes brothers. John could read everything on his face, in his body language, and he gaped.
‘Oh,’ the doctor said, eyes going slightly wide. ‘Oh, wow...’
‘What?’ Sally demanded, always ready for new gossip.
‘So what are you doing here?’ Greg jumped in, glaring at John.
John grinned. ‘Shopping,’ he said and held up the plastic bag. ‘I was passing by and thought I’d stop and say hello. I’m also having a New Year’s party and you’re both invited.’
Greg had been hoping to spend the countdown with Mycroft and blushed. Of course John saw it. ‘Erm, I’ll see what my schedule is like.’
‘Yeah,’ John smiled, ‘that’s what Mycroft said when he finally called Sherlock back.’
‘Who’s Mycroft?’ Sally questioned as Greg blushed harder.
‘Sherlock’s brother,’ John told her.
Sally turned to Greg. ‘Is he the guy who always turns up at the Yard to bail Holmes out? The one with the real nice suits and posh voice?’
‘Yeah,’ Greg mumbled, not able to look at her or John. How the bloody hell had he got himself into this mess? So much for keeping his relationship a secret.
Sally nodded slowly and smiled. ‘He’s the one you leer at.’
‘What?’ Greg gasped, taking a step back. ‘N-no I don’t!’
Sally smirked. ‘You totally do. You always straighten up your desk and your clothes when you hear he’s coming up. And you sit in there for absolutely ages blathering on about crap with him. Honestly, you’re like a teenage girl with a crush.’
Greg glared at her. ‘I do not leer at Mycroft Holmes!’
‘Well...’ John said slowly and the two police officers looked at him, ‘you don’t have to anymore now do you? You can openly stare after last night.’
Sally’s eyes immediately whipped around to stare at her boss and Greg groaned, rubbing his face.
‘Right,’ he mumbled before clearing his throat and looking at John. ‘Not a word of this to Sherlock, hear me? If he hears this from you I’ll make sure he doesn’t get a case for months. And I’ll be having a closer look at the serial killing cabbie; you know, the one who was shot by a person with military experience and a strong sense of morality?’
John blushed and nodded quickly. ‘Yeah, ’course,’ he said, ‘I won’t tell him; promise.’
Greg looked at Sally. ‘You too, got it? Not a word to anyone.’
Sally was silent for a few seconds before asking, ‘Holmes’ brother?’ Greg sighed. ‘Way to go, sir! He’s sexy!’
‘Right, right, he’s your man.’ John giggled, stopping quickly when Greg glared at him. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell,’ Sally said. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot.’
‘Mycroft probably already did that,’ John commented.
He and Sally burst out laughing, drawing the looks of everyone at the crime scene. Greg scowled, his face turning red as his friend and sergeant doubled over, John trying to speak.
‘S-sorry,’ he managed.
John and Sally straightened and turned as Greg looked at the young woman who had spoken. She was on the other side of the tape a few steps from John, a coffee-stained apron drawn around her black shirt and jeans.
She smiled and said, ‘Is one of you Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade?’
‘That’s me,’ Greg said and stepped closer to her, wondering how she knew his name.
‘This was ordered for you a few minutes ago,’ the girl said and held out the large cup of coffee she was holding. ‘Cappuccino, two sugars, milk.’
‘Er... thanks?’ Greg said. ‘Who ordered it?’
‘Tall guy, nice suit, roughly in his forties with brown hair and blue eyes. He had a posh voice–’ Sally and John giggled, ‘– and paid to have this brought over to you.’
Greg’s cheeks darkened quickly and he looked down. ‘Um, thank you.’
‘He also wanted me to give you this.’ Greg looked up and the girl handed him a piece of paper. He smiled and she said, ‘Have a nice day.’
Greg flipped the paper over as the girl walked away, Sally and John leaning forward to see what was written.
A cup of coffee, just for you.
Greg smiled and looked up to see John and Sally looking equally confused. ‘Long story,’ he shrugged and sipped from the cup. Of course it was excellent coffee.
With a smile, John said, ‘I better leave you to it and get home; Sherlock goes mad when I leave him alone for too long.’ He turned to go before stopping to look back at Greg. ‘Congratulations, Lestrade.’
Greg nodded as Doctor Watson left, Sally and the DI heading back to the crime scene.
‘Sorry,’ Sally apologised as they approached the building. ‘I’m glad you’re happy, really.’
‘Thanks,’ Greg smiled, fiddling with the note in his pocket. They climbed the steps and entered the first floor, Sally eyeing Greg from the corner of her eye.
‘So...’ she said slowly as they stepped back into the flat, a grin playing at her lips. ‘He must be good in bed; you’re walking a bit funny.’
Chapter 3: Paperwork Is Dull
If there was one thing Greg hated above everything else in the world (besides his mother insisting his homosexuality was just a “faze”, despite the fact he was forty-seven and had never dated a woman in his life), was paperwork.
He hated it with a passion; mind, body and soul. It hurt his hand, his eyes, his back. It went on forever and ever and was mind numbingly dull.
It had been an open and shut case, Greg hadn’t even had to call Sherlock in. But he still had to go through the paperwork and make sure everything was in order. Killers had been let off because of half-arsed paperwork.
Greg decided to take a break and got some more coffee. Back in his office he was looking for a new nicotine patch when there was a knock on his door. Greg looked up to see Mycroft’s assistant; a pretty young woman in her late twenties who was permanently attached to her expensive BlackBerry.
‘Hello,’ Greg said as she walked in, a yellow envelope under her arm.
She smiled and placed the envelope on his desk, eyes firmly fixed on her mobile.
‘What’s this?’ Greg asked.
He got a brief glance before the woman was staring at the tiny screen again. With a small smile she pulled a piece of paper from the back pocket of her tight jeans and passed it to Greg.
P aperwork is dull.
Confused, Greg opened the envelope quickly...
... to find sheets of paperwork filled out in his own handwriting. Everything seemed to be in perfect order and Greg grinned. Really, the elder Holmes was full of surprises; he could apparently copy Greg’s handwriting perfectly.
Greg looked up to find Mycroft’s assistant at the door. ‘Wait!’ he called and she stopped, turned to give him her attention though her eyes were on her BlackBerry. ‘Tell him thanks. He really doesn’t have to keep doing my paperwork for me but... well, just tell him thanks for me.’
She smiled broadly and fixed Greg with her eyes. ‘Of course, Detective Inspector. Have a pleasant day.’
‘You too,’ Greg said.
Her BlackBerry beeped and suddenly she was gone, leaving Greg to relax into his office chair and grin.
Chapter 4: Paper Cranes
After a tumble with a particularly vicious criminal, Sally Donovan dropped Greg at home to get changed. His flat was closer than Scotland Yard and he raced up quickly to dress.
In his room he found a rather... interesting surprise.
Greg gasped as he looked around, eyes widening in wonder. Hanging from his ceiling from pieces of string were between thirty and forty paper cranes, all perfectly folded and in various shades and colours.
Hanging in the middle of the room was a single white piece of paper and Greg tore it down quickly.
P aper cranes.
It was a simple note but still had the DI grinning. He’d always loved paper cranes but had never been able to make one.
He’d never told anyone he liked them either; how Mycroft knew was beyond Greg. That he’d gone to this much trouble to make Greg smile had the police officer’s heart fluttering. He couldn’t believe that he’d ever thought Mycroft Holmes only wanted a hook-up.
Greg was still grinning when he joined Sally back in the car. Folded up in his wallet was a small, gold paper crane.
When Greg got back to his office he found his mobile sitting on his desk. Frowning, because he was sure he’d had it after getting changed at his flat, Greg picked it up.
It started ringing immediately and Greg jumped. He cursed himself before swallowing and answering.
‘How has your day been?’
Greg smiled and sat. ‘Rather pleasant, actually,’ he said.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘How are you, Mycroft?’
‘Much happier now that I’m talking to you.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Greg said.
Mycroft chuckled. ‘I hope you don’t mind my going into your flat without you. I wanted to hang the cranes myself.’
‘No, it was fine,’ Greg said, ‘honestly. Did you fold them yourself?’
‘I needed my assistant’s help for the first few but after that it was relatively easy to remember.’
‘You’ll have to teach me.’
‘I would love to.’
They both paused, listening to each other breathe. It was broken when Greg heard Mycroft tap on a computer.
‘So...’ Greg said slowly, fiddling with the pen on his desk.
‘Yes?’ Mycroft asked when Greg stopped.
‘When can I see you again?’ the DI finally asked, biting his lip to stop groaning. He really hoped he didn’t sound needy or desperate... although he wasn’t the one sending Mycroft notes every second hour (not that Greg didn’t love them, he did!)
‘Hopefully tonight if I can get away,’ Mycroft said and Greg felt himself start to smile, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t promise anything, Gregory.’
‘I get it, Mycroft,’ Greg said. ‘You have a tough job.’
‘I’m still sorry.’
‘And that’s why I forgive you.’ Greg grinned when he heard Mycroft chuckle.
‘I’m glad,’ Mycroft said and paused before asking, ‘Do you finally believe that I want more than a onetime thing?’
Greg shook his head. ‘I believed you when you told me, Mycroft. The notes and everything are fantastic but you really don’t have to do it. You got me, I’m yours.’
Mycroft laughed lightly. ‘I can’t stop now, Gregory, the message isn’t complete... do I really have you?’
His voice was soft and nervous at the end.
‘Of course,’ Greg said quickly. ‘You have me now and forever.’
‘Forever is a long time.’
‘Not long enough.’
They lapsed into silence for another minute before Mycroft said, ‘I believe you have that the wrong way around, Gregory.’
Before Greg could ask what he meant Mycroft was talking again.
‘I have to go, love. There’s something on the back of your chair.’
He hung up, leaving Greg staring at his phone. Greg stood a minute later and turned his chair to find a note taped to the plastic.
Y ours truly, Gregory.
I am yours.
Greg grinned and stared at the note, happiness flooding through his entire body.
Mycroft Holmes had him.
And, amazingly, Greg had Mycroft too.
Author’s Note: I know it may seem like they’re jumping into the whole, ‘I want you now and always’ thing but in my mind the two have wanted each other for months, maybe even years. So it only seems appropriate that they’d both be completely head-over-heels for each other now that they’re finally together.
Chapter 6: Never Give Up
Greg didn’t get home until three am. Sore and exhausted, he stripped to his boxers and slumped onto the couch.
It was moments like this that Greg hated his job; the violence, the deaths, the endless hours of fighting endless criminals.
Sometimes he wondered what the point was. There would always be another murder, another family ripped apart.
Greg sighed and rubbed his eyes. Sometimes he wondered if the late nights and lack of a life was worth it. Sometimes he just wanted to give–
Warm arms enveloped him and a chaste kiss was placed against his cheek. A note was pressed into Greg’s hands and he looked down at it.
N ever give up.
Greg grinned and turned to kiss Mycroft properly, pushing his entire body against the man who made everything okay.
This, right here, was definitely worth it.
Chapter 7: Everything Can Be Said With Food
A brutal case had everybody on the edge of their nerves, even the great Sherlock Holmes. The genius was currently in the morgue shouting at Anderson, John Watson trying to calm his boyfriend down.
Greg was reminiscing about that morning, particularly the thing Mycroft had done with his tongue. It helped Greg relax and took his mind off the fact he hadn’t eaten since the previous day. It also helped keep the ugliness of the case from crushing him completely.
His fantasy was annoyingly interrupted by a knock on the door. Sighing and trying to ignore the aching in his crotch, Greg got up and pulled his office door open. He was greeted by a delivery boy and his team, the officers looking at the bags of takeout with hungry eyes.
Greg found that there was enough food for everyone. People tore containers open and started chatting, happy to have a break and a meal. Even Sherlock shut up long enough to watch John scarf down five spring rolls and half a container of rice.
Greg found a note under his receipt;
E verything can be said with food.
Greg smiled, understanding immediately. Mycroft respected Greg’s work; the late nights, long hours and bad food. He understood that Greg would forget to take breaks in favour of catching a killer, sometimes to the point of collapsing onto his fellow officers.
He understood Greg completely and loved everything he found. The food, the note, it was Mycroft’s way of showing how much he cared.
Greg popped open one of the containers and shovelled some chilli tofu into his mouth. He was the luckiest man in the world.
Chapter 8: Words
Unlike popular belief, stakeouts are not fun. They’re boring hours spent sitting still trying to keep a watch and really, really trying to not kill whoever you’re stuck with. Hours alone with one person in a hot/cold car with no music or food or coffee can make any small habit a reason to commit murder.
Sally’s most annoying habit was chewing gum. Fine every other day but during stakeouts her constant chewing drove Greg up the frigging wall. She was limited to chewing gum every second hour or Greg would throw the pack, and any other possessions she had, out the window.
Greg’s used to be smoking. He’d put away a packet every four hours and stink up the car in the process while simultaneously giving his partner cancer from second-hand smoking.
Now that he’d quit Greg had taken to tapping the wheel, the window, his leg, his foot. He also scratched at the nicotine patch he was wearing, the older the patch the harder the scratch (Sally had shouted at him when he pointed out that that rhymed).
Mostly Sally had to talk him out of sticking ten goddamn patches on his arm just to feel a good shot of nicotine.
After six and a half hours in a freezing cold car, Greg went for a walk to stretch his legs and to avoid he and Sally becoming a murderer/murder victim. He wasn’t sure which he’d rather be. When he got back he found a book sitting on his seat.
He raised his eyebrows questioningly as he shuffled onto the seat.
Sally smiled, their previous animosity forgotten. ‘A young woman dropped it off.’
It was Greg’s favourite book; To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. He’d had to read it in school and surprisingly found it was an excellent book. He’d bought three new copies over the years after his other ones had fallen apart from excess reading.
A note slipped from between the pages and Sally leaned over to read it with Greg.
W ords can make anything bearable.
‘Why’d we have to get stuck with Sherlock every day instead of him?’ Sally demanded.
Greg chuckled as he pulled out his phone, smiling down at the book. Mycroft answered after the first ring.
‘Thank you,’ Greg said, running his fingers down the glossy cover. It was brand new and a lovely edition.
‘It wasn’t a problem, Gregory.’
‘How’d you know?’
Mycroft tutted, like Greg’s question was completely stupid. Greg supposed it was really. The Holmeses knew everything.
‘I have to go, Gregory.’
Greg laughed and said, ‘Bye, Mycroft.’
He hung up, Sally smiling at him. ‘God you’re lucky.’
‘Yeah,’ Greg grinned. ‘I am.’
The stakeout was suddenly a lot more enjoyable.
Chapter 9: You Do It Because You Care
Sherlock was really getting on Greg’s nerves. He had been forced to go to Mummy Holmes’ for Christmas and had, according to John, sulked the entire time, forcing his mother to shout at him, causing Sherlock to make the fridge explode... causing John to sigh and treat burns.
So the consulting detective was rather snappy and foul to everyone he met as he worked the crime. He even got on Greg’s nerves. While that was nothing new, Greg found that the detective’s words were rather more biting and venomous than usual. Greg prided himself on the ability to block Sherlock out and get the job done. But over the hours he grew irritated and snappy himself until, when the case was finally closed, the DI exploded.
‘Sherlock!’ Greg shouted and the genius glared at him. ‘What the bloody hell are you playing at?’
‘You think this is funny?’ Greg demanded. ‘The Chief is on my arse about you gallivanting through a goddamn mansion throwing vases around!’
‘It was important to the case–’
‘I don’t care!’ Greg shouted. ‘You can’t break into houses for any reason! It’s illegal!’
‘I solved the case,’ Sherlock said and shrugged. ‘I thought that’s what you cared about.’
‘I care about people breaking the law!’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘You... goddamn it, Sherlock!’
Sally Donovan was in the corner rubbing at her eyes, trying to fight off a headache that wasn’t being helped by her boss and the Freak. Anderson was trying to hand over his report but Greg had his back to him. John was trying to catch Sherlock’s eye and get his boyfriend to leave.
Greg was furious. No, beyond furious. He was tired and hungry and had been planning on meeting Mycroft for lunch. But oh no, Sherlock had been arrested and Greg had had to bail him out.
‘I fail to see the problem,’ Sherlock said.
‘That’s the point!’ Greg seethed. ‘You never see the bloody problem! You just do what you fucking want and leave everyone else to pick up the mess! Me, John, your brother, everyone! Why can’t you fucking behave like an adult! Why can’t you act like a proper human being and just be... normal?’
‘And what do you know?’ Sherlock sneered, venom spearing through his voice and stabbing at Greg’s heart. ‘You’re forty-seven years-old with no partner, no friends, and a crappy job. You call me for every murder because you can’t solve anything on your own. You’re so miserable no man wants to stick around long enough to see your bedroom. All your friends left because all you do is work your bloody meaningless job and your family doesn’t even care if you skip Christmas.’
Greg felt everything drop away until there was a cold, hard chill setting into his bones. Every thought he’d ever had vanished completely as Sherlock continued to speak. John was grabbing at his boyfriend’s arm and shouting at him to apologise and then shut it. Sally’s mouth had dropped open and Anderson was glaring; nobody had ever heard Sherlock this spiteful.
‘What do you have to show for your life, Lestrade?’ Sherlock asked.
‘Sh-shut up,’ Greg said, voice broken and low.
Sherlock smiled, glad he was getting to the DI. ‘You say I have problems. I have a brother who’d do anything for me, a boyfriend who loves me, a mother who demands me at every Christmas dinner, and an IQ that can’t be properly measured. Everybody wants me. Who wants you?’
Greg felt his hands shaking, his eyesight going dark. Sherlock had to shut up; Greg needed him to shut up.
‘What do you have?’ Sherlock demanded.
Greg was aware that he was moving but before he could smack that smug look off Sherlock’s face John was in the way.
‘Don’t,’ the doctor said, ‘it’s not worth it, Greg. I’ll... I’ll...’ Not even John Watson knew what to say about his partner’s behaviour.
‘LET ME GO!’ Greg shouted, voice and strength coming back with a terrible force. Sally had to get her arms around Greg and help John drag him back. Soon Anderson was joining. Though they’d all like to see Sherlock smacked it was Greg who would get in trouble, especially since he was in a police station.
‘FUCK YOU!’ Greg shouted at Sherlock, the younger man continuing to grin. ‘FUCK YOU, SHERLOCK!’
‘That’s another thing,’ Sherlock commented. ‘You–’
He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence because suddenly he was reeling back, slamming into the wall with blood pouring from his nose. Greg froze as Mycroft Holmes lowered his arm, eyes blazing with anger. No one had even seen him come in.
‘How dare you, Sherlock,’ he said, voice soft but so terrible. ‘Gregory has done so much for you and that’s how you treat him? With violent insults and incorrect deductions? How fucking dare you say such things to a respectable man like Gregory.’
Sherlock’s eyes were wide, a hand pressed to his face. Everybody in the room got the feeling Mycroft had never hit Sherlock. Usually he was the one defending his brother. Now he was the one hitting him.
‘What?’ Sherlock managed.
‘Gregory got you clean!’ Mycroft hissed. ‘He’s saved your life thirty-four times in the past six years! He dragged you from the gutter and let you stay on his couch for months! He gave you a job and continues to consult you despite the fact his entire team hates you! How can you say those things about him?’
Sherlock was scrubbing at his face and wincing, eyes flicking from his brother to Greg. Greg had stopped struggling and was staring at Mycroft, John’s hands still tight on his arms.
‘Gregory is a fantastic DI, the best Scotland Yard has,’ Mycroft continued. ‘His family understands that his job is important and accepts that he cannot make family holidays. He doesn’t jump into bed with every cute guy that walks past; he actually waits for someone he has a connection with.
‘Goddamn it, Sherlock, I don’t know why I even help you!’ Mycroft snarled. ‘I don’t know why Gregory puts up with you and I don’t know why John is with you! Sometimes I just want to leave you to fend for yourself!’
The room was silent after Mycroft’s shouting, everyone staring at everyone else. A few people were looking through the windows to see what was happening but the occupants ignored them.
Sally was looking at Mycroft with a new found respect, Anderson glaring at Sherlock like he wanted to throttle him. John was breathing heavily and shaking his head, like he couldn’t quite believe his boyfriend could be that cold.
Sherlock was still against the wall, nose bleeding and staining his scarf. Mycroft stood tall, still, completely in control. Greg... Greg walked out.
He left before anyone could stop him or say anything. He felt eyes on him but he didn’t know who’s.
You couldn’t argue with a Holmes.
They were always fucking right.
Greg was sitting with his back against the wall in his living room. He had a bottle of bourbon and was steadily emptying it, eyes swimming as his brain shut down. He felt his chest heave as, yet again, his heart tried to rip itself from his chest.
Sherlock’s words vibrated within his brain and slipped down each and every vein, circulating hate and anger to every part of his body.
‘Why do I bother?’ Greg asked himself, voice hoarse and barely a whisper. ‘Why do I even fucking bother with him? I... I...’
Strong hands took the bottle and Greg didn’t fight them. He was dragged up and wrapped in warm arms, a wonderful smell of expensive cologne and Mycroft filling his nostrils.
‘You do it because you care,’ Mycroft whispered into Greg’s ear, placing soft kisses to his neck. ‘You do it because you care about my stupid brother. You care about the victims and families and catching the killer.’
‘Mm,’ Greg mumbled, trying to beat down the hate and anger.
Mycroft pulled back to look Greg in the eye. ‘Do you know why I know that?’
‘No,’ Greg said and shook his head.
The politician pulled him closer again, arms warm on Greg’s back. He buried his face in Greg’s neck and whispered, ‘I know because I care about you.’
Greg smiled and closed his eyes, allowing Mycroft to pull him into his bedroom.
When Greg woke up Mycroft was wrapped around him, face pressed against Greg’s back. The DI grabbed for his phone and flipped it open to find a mountain of messages, all from Sally, Anderson, John Watson and... and Sherlock.
It was one message at the very end, sent at 1:00am:
I apologise, sincerely, for what I said to you, Gregory. I was angry and hadn’t eaten in four days or slept in two. I know that doesn’t make up for what I did but please note, and tell my brother, that I am sorry.
You are NOT a bad police officer or a bad person. I never meant any of that. You know that I would never work with you if I truly believed what I said. I hope that, in time, you can forgive me, however John has told me that I shouldn’t expect it any time soon and possibly at all.
Again, I’m sorry.
Greg blinked, re-reading the message to make sure he’d seen it correctly. It didn’t sound like Sherlock; the sociopath never apologised. But Greg knew John wouldn’t have faked a message just to make Greg feel better. And it did sound like Sherlock.
Greg felt his heart twist as he remembered Sherlock’s words and he dropped his phone. He knew Sherlock was a vicious bastard. But he also knew that Sherlock was capable of love, of joy, of caring about people. He cared about John, he apparently cared about Mycroft.
Did he care about Greg?
The DI decided he’d have to either forgive Sherlock or stop calling him for help. He swallowed, settling back into bed. Would he be the kind of guy to let some stupid arsehole’s words get in the way of catching a killer? Would he let his own insecurities take away the best mind Scotland Yard had ever seen?
He sighed and closed his eyes, biting his lip. Greg really didn’t know what to do.
Mycroft shifted behind him and Greg noticed that there was a note clutched in his hand. It took Greg a minute to get it free but it was worth it in the end.
Y ou do it because you care.
Greg wiped tears from his eyes and picked up his phone, messaging quickly before rolling over to pull Mycroft closer.
Sherlock, you’re forgiven. But you’re gonna suffer for fucking saying that shit, do you hear me? You will answer every single one of my calls no matter what time of the day or night. You will NOT steal evidence and you WILL call me when you get a lead. If you don’t I’ll have Mycroft hit you again and I’ll sever your connection with Scotland Yard permanently.
I hope Mycroft broke your nose and I really, really hope John withholds sex for six months.
And by the way, yeah, I’m shagging your brother. Have been since Christmas. I hope that image stays in your head FOREVER!
You couldn’t argue with a Holmes. They were always right...
... at least one of them was.
Chapter 10: Elevator
Amazingly Sherlock was on his best behaviour at the next scene. Greg figured it had something to do with the longing looks he was giving John. Greg used Donovan as a go-between and managed to not say anything directly to Sherlock the entire morning. He didn’t trust himself to speak to the younger Holmes, not yet.
Sherlock ran off with a new lead, after informing Donovan in detailed notes exactly where he was going and why, leaving Greg to head back to his office and get started on phoning the victim’s families.
He was feeling worn out and tense by eleven. He’d woken up to Mycroft heading out for an emergency meeting. Greg had been too distraught for sex the night before and they’d only shared a quick kiss before Mycroft left.
Greg wasn’t used to having a boyfriend. It had been far too long since he’d broken up with his last partner, Martin. Martin had been... God, they’d been together in 2004. Six years... six long years without regular sex.
Greg and Mycroft had been together all of four days and had had sex seven times... for some reason it wasn’t enough for Greg. His body hadn’t burned like this in years.
He was feeling twitchy as he hung up and yawned, leaning back to take a short break.
Greg looked up to see Mycroft’s assistant standing at his door. ‘Oh, hello...’ He realised he didn’t know the woman’s name and she smiled.
‘Call me... Anthea,’ she said. ‘I have a note for you.’
Greg smiled and stood. He wondered when the notes would stop; would Mycroft do them for everything? Birthdays? Anniversaries? All days ending with the letter Y?
‘I must say, sir, that you have made Mr Holmes quite happy,’ Anthea said.
‘Oh... er, thanks.’
She smiled and disappeared, leaving Greg to unfold the note.
Greg raised an eyebrow but decided to go with it. He trusted Mycroft and figured he could waste a few minutes finding out what the elder Holmes wanted.
Greg walked to the elevator and pressed the button, humming to himself to pass the time. The doors opened and Greg stepped in, only to stop when he saw Mycroft. Mycroft smiled and remained where he was as Greg stepped all the way into the elevator. He was followed by a young officer.
‘So sorry, this elevator is full,’ Mycroft informed him.
‘Er... what?’ the officer asked.
Mycroft smiled dangerously. ‘This elevator is full.’
Taking the hint, the officer allowed the doors to close in his face.
‘Mycroft?’ Greg questioned. Suddenly Mycroft was pressed against him, forcing Greg back into the wall. They bashed together and Greg groaned, Mycroft’s hands sliding up and under his jacket. ‘M-Mycroft,’ he mumbled, ‘what?’
‘I missed you,’ Mycroft said.
‘We’re in public, in an elevator.’ Suddenly the elevator jolted to a halt and Greg smiled. ‘You’re a sneaky bastard.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ Mycroft mumbled. ‘Pants, now.’
Greg complied, ripping at his belt as Mycroft attacked his lips, smothering Greg in wet kisses and licks. Greg felt his knees go weak as his boyfriend’s tongue licked into his mouth and explored thoroughly.
‘Oh God,’ Greg groaned and dropped his pants, his erection straining through his underwear. One of Mycroft’s hands fell to grip Greg through the cotton, rubbing and gripping and pulling. ‘Oh... oh God.’
Mycroft smiled and hooked his thumbs under Greg’s underwear, wrenching them down and exposing Greg to the cool air. Mycroft dropped to his knees and took Greg in his mouth, tongue swirling around the dripping head.
‘F-fuck,’ the DI moaned and threaded his fingers through the politician’s hair, pulling him closer and closer. ‘So... close...’
Mycroft pulled back immediately and Greg groaned. Mycroft chuckled and kissed Greg softly, lips pulling Greg’s apart and tongue darting in. ‘Not yet, love.’
‘Why not?’ Greg demanded.
Mycroft leaned closer to breathe into his ear. ‘I want to fuck you first.’
He shivered as Mycroft pulled back, grabbing Greg by the shoulders and turning him to face the wall. Greg put his hands against the cold elevator as Mycroft spread his legs, cold fingers dancing lightly across his arse.
Greg closed his eyes and pushed back slightly, earning a laugh from Mycroft.
‘You’re in such a hurry.’
‘We’re in an elevator, in Scotland Yard,’ Greg reminded him.
‘Oh yes, of course,’ Mycroft smiled and placed kisses against Greg’s neck. He scraped his tongue along the skin up to Greg’s ear and took the lobe in his lips.
‘Fuck, Mycroft,’ Greg groaned and pushed himself back. This time his arse came into contact with Mycroft’s crotch and he felt the politician straining through his trousers. ‘Please, fuck me.’
‘Here?’ Mycroft asked. ‘We’re in an elevator... in Scotland Y–’
‘Now!’ Greg hissed.
Mycroft smiled and Greg heard a belt and trousers being dropped, followed by a pair of boxers. He felt Mycroft’s cock push against him and groaned. He barely heard the sound of a cap being popped, focusing instead on the aching of his cock and sweat on his skin.
Suddenly Mycroft was sliding inside and Greg groaned, arse clenching against the invasion. It had been so long and Mycroft was so big. Greg felt pain rear through his body and Mycroft stopped, body pressed hard against Greg’s.
‘Are you okay?’ the politician whispered.
‘Mm,’ Greg grunted. ‘Fine. Just... a minute.’
Mycroft continued to lean against him, fingers drawing circles on Greg’s hips, lips and teeth nibbling on his jaw.
‘’Kay,’ Greg mumbled.
Mycroft started thrusting immediately, each push bringing his face to Greg’s. He placed kisses against Greg’s stubbled-jaw every few thrusts, the DI grunting into his mouth.
‘God, faster,’ Greg begged. He felt Mycroft up his pace, pounding into his boyfriend hard. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the elevator as well as Greg’s and Mycroft’s grunts.
Mycroft’s nimble fingers wrapped around Greg’s cock and he jerked in time with his thrusts, leaving Greg sliding down the wall. Mycroft had to pull Greg back, his jacketed arm warm and hard against the DI’s stomach.
‘Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!’ Greg whimpered, eyes screwed shut. His hands slipped again and he fell, grunting as Mycroft slipped out.
Luckily the politician was fast and strong and he simply held Greg up, continuing to fuck him and stroke his cock. Greg gave himself over to the sensations and finally, with a loud shout and a shudder, Greg came all over the wall and Mycroft’s hand.
The DI clamped down around his boyfriend and went limp as Mycroft continued to fuck him. Mycroft buried his face in Greg’s neck and bit into his shoulder as he came, cock buried into Greg to the hilt.
They both slumped to the floor, Mycroft pulling out of Greg and leaning back. Greg panted and wiped at his eyes, everything so hazy and good.
‘Fuck,’ Greg muttered when he’d got his breathing under control.
Mycroft smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Gregory.’
‘I took you from work and...’ he trailed off and swallowed.
‘Technically,’ Greg said and Mycroft looked at him, ‘you didn’t take me from work.’
Mycroft chuckled and draw Greg close.
‘I love elevators,’ Greg commented.
Mycroft smiled and kissed him softly.
Chapter 11: A Quick Rendezvous
Greg honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this excited about a relationship. He and Mycroft had been dating all of six days but Greg felt like they’d been together years. Mycroft knew everything about Greg and the DI was determined to learn everything there was to know about Mycroft Holmes.
Greg got a small case out of the way and was swamped with paperwork. He missed lunch and by three was starving. He started going through his draws looking for a packet of crisps or maybe a chocolate bar.
Finding nothing, Greg grabbed his wallet and decided to get a sandwich from the cafe around the corner.
He passed the smokers milling about outside and clamped his mouth shut to stop any of the delicious smoke entering his lungs. He shook his head and walked faster, putting the temptation to buy a packet of cigarettes behind him.
Greg bumped into an elderly woman who stepped back with a surprised look on her face.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Greg gushed. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Oh yes, I’m fine,’ the woman said and smiled up at Greg. ‘Are you Detective Inspector Lestrade?’
Greg frowned. ‘Er, yeah, I am. How can I help you?’
‘I’m here to help you, darling,’ the woman smiled. She handed across a piece of paper and Greg chuckled.
‘Really?’ he said, not even bothering to ask how the old woman knew Mycroft. She was probably a secret government spy or something.
‘He’s quite a chap, isn’t he?’ the woman mused. ‘He really does care about you.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Greg smiled.
The woman nodded at him and started walking. Greg turned when she said his name again. ‘Go to the cafe, darling. He’ll be waiting.’
She disappeared into the crowd as Greg read the note.
A quick rendezvous.
With a smile, Greg hurried to the cafe where he was met with a very interesting sight. Mycroft Holmes, with his thousand pound suit, expensive umbrella, and stiff posture, was lounging in one of the back booths, legs crossed and fingers tapping a rhythm against the plastic table.
He smiled when he saw Greg and nodded at the table where, as Greg got closer, the DI saw a large plate with a steak burger, chips, salad and a large bottle of coke.
‘God you’re brilliant,’ Greg grinned and leaned down to give Mycroft a kiss. He wanted to jump Mycroft right there and fuck him stupid. He wanted to straddle the man’s lap and suffocate him with his lips and tongue.
But he was hungry... and they were in public.
Greg sucked on Mycroft’s bottom lip quickly before pulling back and falling into the seat across from him. The politician looked a bit dazed as Greg crammed a few chips into his mouth and chewed quickly.
Mycroft cleared his throat and smiled as he watched Greg eat. ‘How are you today?’
‘Good now,’ Greg said and sipped his coke. ‘You?’
‘I’m quite well,’ Mycroft said and flicked imaginary dirt from his sleeve.
‘How’d you know I was hungry?’ Greg asked. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and the DI laughed. ‘Right, right; stupid question.’
‘Gregory,’ Mycroft tutted, ‘you could never ask a stupid question.’
‘Oh really?’ Mycroft nodded. ‘Right... hmm... how old are you?’
Mycroft said, ‘Excuse me?’
‘You said I could never ask a stupid question,’ Greg said, ‘I’m determined to ask a stupid question.’
Mycroft chuckled. ‘I’m forty-four.’
‘Really? You look younger. Okay, next question; what’s your middle name.’
Greg scoffed. ‘Come off it, you already knew that.’
‘I prefer hearing the facts from you rather than a file, Gregory,’ Mycroft said. ‘Do you have another question?
Greg smiled. ‘What are your parents’ names?’
‘Sherrinford and Lindella. Yours?’
Greg laughed. Though he was positive Mycroft knew absolutely everything about him, it seemed the politician was willing to answer Greg’s questions as long as Greg also wanted to reveal his own personal information.
‘Benoît and Amanda. Do you have any other mad siblings I should keep an eye out for?’
Mycroft grinned. ‘No need to fear, Gregory, Sherlock is my only sibling. There won’t be any more Holmeses crashing your crime scenes.’
Greg bit into his burger and slurped some coke before asking, ‘Aren’t you going to eat?’ Mycroft leaned forward and stole a chip, chewing around a smile as Greg said, ‘Oi, those are mine!’
‘Therefore they are my chips.’
‘But you gave them to me,’ Greg said, pointing a chip at Mycroft. ‘Therefore you gave up any ownership you may or may not have had over said chips.’ Mycroft grabbed the chip Greg was holding and shoved it into the DI’s mouth. ‘Mmf,’ Greg mumbled before swallowing.
‘Very well, Gregory, I shall purchase my own chips.’
‘Nope, it’s too late.’ Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘You have to share mine.’
‘You’re very confusing, Gregory.’
Greg grinned. ‘Yup.’ He picked up a chip and held it out for his boyfriend. Mycroft turned the tables by leaning forward and sucking the potato right out of Greg’s fingers. The DI’s mouth fell open and he moaned softly as Mycroft’s tongue flicked across his fingers.
‘Are you okay?’ Mycroft smirked.
‘Erm... yeah... yeah, f-fine,’ Greg managed and ripped a large chunk from his burger, nearly choking. Mycroft chuckled and handed Greg his bottle of coke.
‘Please continue with your questioning,’ Mycroft smiled, ‘this is much more interesting than spending three hours chatting to the PM.’
‘The Prime Minister?’ Greg gasped and Mycroft nodded. ‘You chat with the Prime Minister?’
‘Wh-what do you talk about?’
‘Oh, you know...’ Mycroft said slowly and took another chip. ‘Football, movies, secret government plans... just the usual.’
Greg’s mouth fell open as he watched Mycroft popped the chip into his mouth. He couldn’t believe that the man he was enjoying lunch with had chats with the Prime Minister. Well actually, he couldn’t believe that a man who chatted with the Prime Minister was having lunch with him.
Greg leaned back in his seat and played with the remainder of his burger.
‘Is something the matter, Gregory?’
‘Why are you with me?’
Mycroft’s pale blue eyes raked over the DI carefully before settling on his face. ‘Pardon?’
‘Why are we dating?’ Greg asked.
‘I asked you.’
‘No, you sent me a heap of stuff rather than pick up the phone.’
Mycroft smiled. ‘Gregory, what is it you really want to know?’
Greg paused before taking another drink and looking at Mycroft. ‘We’re... well, we’re very different people, Mycroft. You’re all... rich and handsome and have the right friends. I have three friends; one is my subordinate, one calls me an idiot daily, and the other runs around with an illegal firearm. I don’t really understand why you’d want me.’
Mycroft was frozen in his seat, eyes narrowing as they stared at the DI. Greg swallowed and had to look away. He hated when Sherlock looked at him like that... it was absolute torture for Mycroft to turn his intense gaze on him.
‘Gregory...’ Mycroft said slowly, voice barely controlled. ‘I cannot believe you would ask that.’
‘Why?’ Greg said. ‘We’re so different–’
‘Our differences don’t matter,’ Mycroft said. ‘It’s our similarities that matter. It’s the way I feel about you, the way you feel about me, that matters. The fact that you make me happier than anyone else in the world is what matters, Gregory.’
Greg looked up at him. ‘What do we have in common?’
‘We are both workaholics,’ Mycroft said, ‘we have successfully kicked a smoking habit, we both have endless patience for Sherlock and John, we want to make the world a better place, we both enjoy reading, drinking bourbon, spending Sundays sleeping in and watching anything with David Tennant in it.’ He grabbed another chip before saying, ‘Oh, and we both look absolutely spectacular shagging in an elevator.’
Heat flushed Greg’s face and he looked down. ‘Um... what?’
Mycroft smirked. ‘After our little... meeting in the elevator, I realised there was a CCTV camera on the ceiling.’
Greg’s head snapped to look at him. ‘WHAT?’
‘Not to worry, Gregory, I have the footage.’
‘Really?’ Mycroft nodded. ‘And you’ve... you’ve watched it?’ Mycroft nodded again. Greg’s face darkened and he downed half his coke. ‘And do... are...’
‘As I said, Gregory, we look absolutely spectacular together.’
‘Have you decided to stop being stupid now, Gregory?’ Mycroft asked.
‘I’m not stupid.’
‘That question was. Honestly, “why am I with you?” You’re a completely remarkable man, Gregory. You’re handsome, smart, funny, and just... I can’t even really explain how amazing I find you.’
Greg grinned and shook his head slowly.
‘What? You don’t believe me?’
‘No, I believe you,’ Greg said. ‘But you just proved yourself wrong.’
‘Yep,’ Greg smiled. ‘You said I could never ask a stupid question. Yet you just said I asked a stupid question.’ Mycroft frowned at him. ‘Are you in the habit of contradicting yourself, Mycroft?’
‘Shut up, Gregory,’ Mycroft said and looked away. But he was smiling and Greg chuckled.
When lunch was finished and Greg had rubbed his foot raw stroking Mycroft’s leg under the table, the two men stood to part ways. Greg sighed once they stepped outside and Mycroft looked at him.
‘I don’t want to go to work. I want to stay with you.’
Mycroft smiled. ‘Would you like to spend New Year’s with me, Gregory?’
‘Of course,’ Greg grinned.
‘Excellent,’ Mycroft said. ‘I’ll pick you up from Scotland Yard when you finish work.’
‘How will you– never mind,’ Greg cut himself off when Mycroft opened his mouth to say that he knew everything. ‘That sounds great, Mycroft.’
The taller man pulled the DI in for a kiss and hug, arms wrapped around Greg’s waist. A few people tutted and glared but neither cared as their lips pressed together, bodies warm and solid against each other.
‘I’ll never get tired of kissing you,’ Greg mumbled when Mycroft’s lips trailed down his jaw.
‘Are you sure about that?’
Mycroft smiled and kissed him again. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow night, Gregory.’
‘What about tomorrow during the day?’
The politician chuckled. ‘I’ll leave you a note.’
Greg shook his head. ‘You’re amazing, you know that?’
‘I do,’ Mycroft said. He gave Greg a quick peck on the lips before pulling back. ‘But it amazes me that you think so.’
Chapter 12: Reminder
Greg was practically bouncing around Scotland Yard. Usually he spent New Year’s much like Christmas; either at work or sitting in front of the telly with a beer and bowl of soup. But this year he had someone to be with. It was really, really surprising that it was Mycroft Holmes.
Greg really never thought he’d get the elder Holmes. He had spent months pining after the man, of daydreaming and staring (well okay, maybe leering). Now Greg had him. He was dating Mycroft Holmes.
It was making him giddy. He had the next week off and was, hopefully, spending each and every day with Mycroft Holmes. If Mycroft worked Greg would just have to leave him cryptic notes.
Greg didn’t get a new case all day and wondered if Mycroft had something to do with it. He was whistling when Sally Donovan walked past and blushed when she stopped.
‘What are you so happy about?’ Sally asked.
‘Oh, you know, New Year’s...’ Greg said and stood. He needed some fresh air and Sally followed him into the elevator. Greg felt colour tinge his cheeks as he remembered what he and Mycroft had done in the elevator.
‘Since when do you like New Year’s?’
Greg shrugged as he and Sally walked towards the doors. ‘I’ve always liked New Year.’
Sally snorted and said, ‘Really? Always? So last year when you threw a cup at Holmes, that was a onetime thing? And the year before that you shouted at Dimmock for forty minutes just because your pen ran out of ink. And the year before that–’
‘Yes, alright, I get it,’ Greg cut in. They stepped outside and Greg leaned against the wall, trying not to look at the smokers to his right. ‘I don’t like New Year, so what?’
Sally smiled. ‘Are you spending this one with your boyfriend?’
‘And what are you doing?’
‘I dunno,’ Greg shrugged. ‘I suppose I’ll get a note.’
‘Yeah, what is with the note thing?’ Sally asked, leaning against the doorframe.
‘I honestly have no idea,’ Greg said, ‘but I know I love it. It’s just so... unique, like Mycroft.’
Sally chuckled. ‘I’ve never seen you this happy.’
‘No, neither have I.’
‘Good Lord, what are you two gossiping about?’
Greg looked over Sally’s shoulder to see Sherlock and John. ‘What do you want, Sherlock?’ he asked.
Sherlock frowned. ‘Why else? To help you lot.’
‘As if,’ Sally scowled.
Sherlock glared back. ‘I wasn’t asking you, Sally. I was asking the Detective Inspector over there. You know, your boss?’ He looked at Greg. ‘I need a case.’
‘Why not?’ Sherlock whined.
‘I don’t have a case,’ Greg told him, ‘and besides, I’m busy tonight. I’m not spending the beginning of 2011 chasing you ’round London.’
‘That’s what I told him,’ John commented from beside Sherlock, ‘but you know him.’
‘Please, Lestrade, I’m begging you,’ Sherlock said.
‘Don’t you want to spend the night with John?’ Greg asked. Sherlock folded his arms and frowned. ‘What?’ Greg said, looking at John. ‘What is it?’
‘Mycroft is busy tonight,’ John said and smirked at Greg, ‘so he isn’t going to Holmes Manor for New Year. Usually he stays there after Christmas to be with their mother. But–’
‘This year he’s decided to actually have a life,’ Sherlock scowled. ‘So Mummy has requested me and John. If I’m not busy I’m to arrive at her home before seven pm. However if I’m working a case I don’t have to go.’
Greg grinned and leaned back against the wall. ‘Gee, I’m sorry, Sherlock. But I don’t have any cases.’
Sherlock scowled. ‘Lestrade...’
‘Nope, not one,’ Greg smiled. He and Sherlock hadn’t spoken much since the consulting detective had basically called Greg a useless piece of– well, the point is that they weren’t on the best of terms. Sherlock was, thanks to John, doing his best to make it up to Greg. His best was no insulting the DI directly and accepting when Greg said no.
‘... please?’ Sherlock said. Greg shook his head. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and he snapped, ‘Fine!’ he pulled a cigarette packet from his pocket and lit one before John could stop him.
‘Sherlock!’ the doctor scowled. ‘I thought you’d quit!’
‘I have,’ Sherlock said and blew smoke from the corner of his mouth.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Call this a little slip.’
John tutted and folded his arms. ‘I threw out all your packets.’
‘Evidently you missed one... or seven.’
‘Sherlock,’ John sighed. ‘I told you–’
‘Yes, I know,’ Sherlock interrupted. ‘I apologise.’
John rolled his eyes and Sally smirked. Greg’s eyes were on the cigarette. It had been months since he’d had a ciggie and remembered the feel of one between his lips, his fingers, the delicious smoke curling into his lungs and the nicotine streaming through his system.
Greg blinked and looked up to see the other three staring at him. ‘Huh?’
‘You okay?’ John asked.
‘F-fine,’ Greg swallowed as Sherlock took another drag.
The consulting detective smirked and said, ‘Do you want one?’
‘No,’ Greg said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ Greg insisted.
‘As soon as you’re alone you’re going to go buy a packet,’ Sherlock said. Greg opened his mouth to deny it but there was no point; Sherlock knew Greg would. He sighed and leaned back.
‘You’re doing well,’ Sally reminded him.
Greg ignored her. Suddenly a piece of paper was being pressed into his hand and Greg looked up. ‘Sherlock?’
‘This is for you,’ Sherlock said. ‘I found it in my cigarette packet earlier, I assume it’s from my brother.’
‘I know my brother’s handwriting, Gregory,’ Sherlock rolled his eyes.
Finally Greg took the note.
R eminder not to smoke. You’re doing well.
Greg smiled and pushed the note into his pocket.
‘He’s not going to buy any,’ Sherlock commented and finished his cigarette. John and Sally looked at Greg.
‘No,’ the DI said and rubbed at his arm where a nicotine patch was stuck. ‘No, I’m not.’
Chapter 13: Gay As A Man Can Possibly Be
Greg finished at five and there was a black car waiting. Mycroft was in the back, alone, so as soon as the door shut Greg threw himself onto his boyfriend.
‘God I missed you,’ Greg moaned as he crushed his lips against Mycroft’s.
‘Missed you... too...’ Mycroft managed, hands untucking Greg’s shirt and grazing the DI’s skin.
‘How far away is your place?’ Greg asked, pushing his hips forward.
Mycroft gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Fifteen minutes.’
‘Hmm...’ Greg said, trailing his fingers down Mycroft’s shirt. He began unbuttoning the waistcoat and silk shirt. ‘I think that’s enough time.’
Mycroft’s eyes opened and he raised a brow. ‘What?’ Greg gave him a bruising kiss, lips sucking Mycroft’s bottom one and tongue swirling over his teeth. Mycroft groaned and smiled when Greg pulled back. ‘Oh, I see.’
Greg managed to shrug his coat, jacket and shirt off while Mycroft sat and watched, eyes roaming over his boyfriend’s chest and stomach. Strong, pale fingers ran across the DI’s back and he moaned, head thrown back as Mycroft took a nipple between his lips.
‘Hmm,’ the politician mumbled against him, tongue drawing circles across to other nipple.
‘Get your fucking clothes off now,’ Greg demanded.
Mycroft chuckled and removed his mouth from Greg’s skin. With Greg’s help he got his jacket, waistcoat and shirt off, Greg’s fingers digging into Mycroft’s shoulders to pull him up. Mycroft arched into Greg’s body and pulled at the DI’s belt, slipping a hand into his underwear.
‘Shit,’ Greg gasped as Mycroft began stroking him. Greg wanted to fuck Mycroft in the car but it was impossible to stop himself from grinding against Mycroft’s hand, an orgasm already building in his body.
Greg didn’t want to be the only one coming and ripped at Mycroft’s belt. The politician leaned back to give Greg more room but didn’t stop stroking, fingers wrapping around Greg’s cock and squeezing as he reached the head.
‘Mm... f-fuck...’ Greg mumbled, hands stilling on Mycroft’s trousers.
Mycroft chuckled and kissed Greg again as he got his own pants open. He guided Greg’s hand in and moaned against him as the older man finally grabbed hold of him.
They stroked in time with each other, Greg pushing himself forward so their hands rubbed together. Their kisses grew frantic as both men climbed higher and higher to their peak.
Greg came first and his shout was muffled by Mycroft’s mouth, the younger man’s tongue pushing in and scraping across his own. Greg moaned loudly and continued pushing himself forward, riding out the orgasm as long as he could.
Mycroft withdrew his hand to grip both Greg’s hips, eyes closed as he fell back and pulled Greg closer. Panting, Greg forced his crotch against Mycroft’s, his hand pulling at his boyfriend’s cock.
‘Almost... there... oh...’ Mycroft mumbled and bit his lip. Greg licked a trail along Mycroft’s jaw and captured his lips just as he came. ‘Fuck!’ Mycroft shouted and Greg smiled, nibbling on Mycroft’s bottom lip as he gasped for air.
Greg remained where he was as Mycroft caught his breath, watching the man’s eyes open slowly.
‘I was hoping for something a little... more,’ Mycroft confessed.
Greg chuckled. ‘We have all night, Mycroft.’
‘Hmm,’ Mycroft smiled and kissed Greg softly. ‘So we do.’
Mycroft’s flat (if you called call owning the top two floors of a massive building a flat) was filled with modest furniture and decorations. The paintings and framed photos on the black walls were all perfect and beautiful. The floorboards beneath Greg’s socked feet were varnished to perfection as was the furniture. The TV cabinet held a flat screen TV, rows of DVD’s and a stereo.
‘My flat is a little... empty,’ Mycroft confessed as he slipped from his jacket and waistcoat, placing both on the coat rack. He removed his shoes and said, ‘I don’t have many people over.’
Greg smiled and wrapped his arms around Mycroft to give him a soft kiss. ‘It’s fine.’
Mycroft grinned. ‘Now, shall we wash up?’
‘I suppose,’ Greg said and allowed Mycroft to lead him to the bedroom. The walls here were maroon with a gold trimming. The large king-sized bed was covered in a navy blue duvet with matching pillows and looked very comfy. ‘Are the pillows soft?’ Greg asked as Mycroft opened the door to his en-suite bathroom.
‘Yes,’ Mycroft said. ‘Why?’ Greg raised his eyebrows and Mycroft chuckled. ‘You have a dirty mind, Gregory.’
‘And?’ Greg asked, joining Mycroft in the bathroom. Mycroft just smiled.
The en-suite bathroom was bigger than Greg’s main bathroom at home. The tiles were blue and white with black trimming, the mirror large and easily big enough to give Greg an entire view of his body. The white sink top was lined with moisturisers, hair products and brushes. Greg smiled.
‘What?’ Mycroft asked.
Greg shrugged. ‘You use a lot of product.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Mycroft said, voice short and low.
Greg turned to look at Mycroft. The man was looking down, playing with the edge of his shirt. ‘Mycroft, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Mycroft said and left the bathroom.
Greg followed. ‘Mycroft?’ he caught up with the younger man at the door and grabbed Mycroft’s wrists, turning him so they faced each other.
‘Mycroft, what’s wrong?’
The elder Holmes sighed. ‘I like cooking.’
Greg frowned. ‘Er... okay?’
‘I take an hour to get ready for work.’
‘Mycroft, what’s that got to do with–’
‘I like watching romance movies,’ Mycroft continued, ‘I own pink shirts, I have mummy issues and I really, really like using seven different moisturisers. So yes, I’m gay, as gay as a man can possibly be; I’m a giant bloody stereotype.’
He folded his arms and turned away, no doubt waiting for Greg to start poking fun at him. Instead he felt a piece of paper and a pen being pushed into his hand.
‘Go on,’ Greg said over his shoulder. ‘Write me a note.’
Mycroft smiled and (wondering where the hell Greg had got a piece of paper and a pen in seven seconds) quickly scribbled the words down, showing it to Greg when he was done.
G ay as a man can possibly be.
Greg pulled Mycroft around to kiss him, body’s pressed together.
‘Mycroft, I like all those things.’
‘Really?’ Mycroft asked.
‘Mm-hmm,’ Greg nodded. ‘I like that you can cook and enjoy a good romance movie. I think you look really sexy in pink and that anyone with a brother like Sherlock has to have a strange mother. Those moisturisers smell so goddamn sexy I wanna fuck you every time I smell the coconut one. And Mycroft?’
Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
‘I love my men gay.’
The politician smiled and kissed Greg again, both letting the note fall to the floor.
Chapter 14: Remember This Moment
Greg had Mycroft on his back and ripped the man’s trousers clear, attacking his mouth with lips and tongue.
‘God, Gregory, fuck me!’ Mycroft begged.
‘Condoms?’ Greg asked.
‘Bedside table,’ Mycroft moaned. Greg continued to thrust their crotches together as he pulled the top draw open, finding a condom box and bottle of lube. Greg ripped the condom open and rolled it onto his cock before slathering it with lube.
‘Gregory, would you stop arsing about and just– fuck!’
Greg pushed in completely and was suddenly engulfed completely in the tight heat of Mycroft Holmes. ‘Oh God, you’re so tight,’ Greg moaned.
Greg chuckled and began thrusting; Mycroft was quite rude and demanding when Greg was fucking him.
Greg thrust with long, steady pushes, snapping his hips at the end to better hit Mycroft’s prostate. In five minutes the politician was shouting for more and demanding Greg touch him. Greg had no choice but to comply, fisting his fingers around Mycroft’s cock and pulling.
Mycroft arched off the bed as, suddenly, an orgasm overtook him. Come soaked his stomach and Greg’s hand as the DI continued to pull, milking the climax for Mycroft as long as he could. Mycroft went still, panting and looking at Greg as his boyfriend continued to move.
That was all it took for Greg to come, shouting Mycroft’s name and shuddering as his hands tightened on Mycroft’s hips. Mycroft’s soft fingers came up to stroke Greg’s sweaty face, cupping his cheek warmly.
Greg pulled out slowly and fell onto his back, Mycroft immediately wrapping himself around the DI.
‘Under your pillow,’ he whispered.
Greg reached under the pillow and pulled out a piece of paper. He chuckled as he read it.
R emember this moment.
‘I’ll never forget this moment, these moments. Ever.’
Greg chuckled and gave him a kiss.
Chapter 15: Eating Out
An hour before midnight, Greg and Mycroft sat on Mycroft’s balcony. Food was spread across the table and they spent most of the hour kissing and passing each other chicken, steak, vegetables, and every other food Mycroft had figured was appropriate.
Greg stuffed himself until he could barely move and Mycroft smiled at him over his wine.
‘You’re trying to kill me.’
‘Why on earth would I do that?’ Mycroft asked.
‘Dunno... so you can have your way with me?’
Mycroft chuckled. ‘Gregory, you have a disturbing humour.’
‘And you love it.’
All around them they could hear people partying and cheering, shouting things at each other and bringing in the New Year with copious amounts of alcohol. Once upon a time that was how Greg celebrated New Year’s; with so much alcohol he woke up not knowing what day it was.
But this year, or years, Greg was more than happy to be sitting across from Mycroft Holmes with food, wine and beer. He felt like he was the luckiest man in the world.
Greg lifted his plate to put it aside and found a note.
‘Honestly, what is it with you and notes?’ Mycroft just smiled as Greg picked it up.
E ating out.
‘Really?’ Greg asked. ‘Is that what we’re doing?’
‘Do you want me to stop with the notes?’
‘Never,’ Greg shook his head. ‘Never, ever stop, Mycroft Holmes.’
‘Good,’ Mycroft said. ‘I never plan to. I plan to spend many, many years with you, Gregory Lestrade.’
Greg grinned. ‘Good.’
‘Good?’ Mycroft asked.
‘Yes,’ Greg nodded. ‘Because I plan on spending many, many years with you.’
Greg laughed. ‘Yeah,’ he said, looking at the man who had become the best thing in his life. ‘It is.’
Chapter 16: Gregory Lestrade
A few minutes before midnight Mycroft hauled Greg to his feet.
‘Mycroft?’ Greg questioned as warm arms encircled him.
‘Do you have all the notes?’ Mycroft asked.
Greg smiled; of course he did. He pulled them all from his pocket and, like he had the first time, Greg placed them on the table, one under the other. When he was done he leaned back into Mycroft’s arms and looked down.
H ave a wonderful day.
A cup of coffee, just for you.
P aperwork is dull.
P aper cranes.
Y ours truly, Gregory. I am yours.
N ever give up.
E verything can be said with food.
W ords make everything bearable.
Y ou do it because you care.
A quick rendezvous.
R eminder not to smoke. You’re doing well.
G ay as a man can possibly be.
R emember this moment.
E ating out.
‘It’s not finished,’ Greg commented and Mycroft chuckled in his ear.
‘No, not yet.’
‘Where’s the last note?’
‘It’s not time for the last note.’
‘It’s not?’ Greg asked.
Mycroft looked at his watch and pulled Greg closer, humming as he placed soft kisses against the DI’s jaw. ‘No, not yet.’
Greg lost himself in Mycroft’s embrace, in his smell and touch and just him. He never, ever wanted to leave Mycroft Holmes. The man made the smallest things amazing; a simple cup of coffee, a book, even lunch. Everything with Mycroft was just so damn exciting and right. Greg had never felt this way before, not once in his forty-seven years.
The shouts were coming from all around them but neither seemed to notice. Mycroft’s tongue licked slowly along Greg’s ear and he shivered.
Greg pressed kisses against Mycroft’s cheek and chin, Mycroft murmuring encouragement.
Mycroft pushed his crotch forward and was meant with a satisfying bump.
‘God, never stop,’ Greg begged as his fingers dug into Mycroft’s hips.
‘I never plan to,’ Mycroft said against his neck, sucking back on the tanned skin he loved.
‘Mycroft,’ Greg groaned. ‘Kiss me.’
Finally Mycroft’s lips pressed against Greg’s and the DI opened up, tongues twirling together as the final countdown was shouted by drunk people all over their part of the world.
There was cheering all around as the people of London, of Mycroft’s building, celebrated the New Year with hugs and kisses and declarations of all sorts. Greg didn’t care about any of it. All he cared about was Mycroft’s lips on his own and the slip of paper his boyfriend had pressed into his hand.
Slowly, once they’d broken apart, Greg opened it to reveal the final note. He looked at the others, spread across the table he and Mycroft had eaten at. He took in the words and noted the first one, the one with the letter printed in bold.
Finally, the message was complete.
‘Happy New Year, Greg,’ the DI mumbled, eyeing all the notes, the words, the handwriting that belonged to Mycroft Holmes. He couldn’t believe that he had got so lucky. In one week everything for him had changed.
Mycroft was watching him, worried that Greg wouldn’t like the last note. Greg made a show of putting it into his pocket, folding the paper carefully and keeping it snug in his trousers.
Greg grabbed him by the shirt and smiled, placing a soft kiss against the politician’s lips. ‘Happy New Year.’
‘Happy New Year, Greg,’ Mycroft murmured and kissed back.
The notes blew away in the cold wind as all through the city people celebrated the New Year. Greg and Mycroft didn’t hear any of it as they tumbled across the politician’s bed, kisses and touches being exchanged.
Much later, winding down and holding each other close, Greg would say the words back to Mycroft, making the elder Holmes the happiest man in the world.
Greg only kept the last note; the one that had made him feel so out of control, so perfect and stupid and absolutely goddamn happy. He kept it in his wallet and, whenever he was feeling down or annoyed, he’d take out the crumpled piece of paper, smooth it out, and read the words written to him by a man who would go completely out of his way to remind Greg of how much he cared.
The note read like this:
G regory Lestrade, I love you.