BBC Sherlock isn't mine, it belongs to BBC, the Mofftiss and Sir ACD.
Based off the irresistible and extremely flustering gif: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m32fctC76M1r5k8gko1_500.gif
“What are you implying, Detective Inspector?”
Greg licked his lips and tried not to shift on his feet too much. “What I’m trying—and failing miserably—to ask is if you would have dinner with me.”
Mycroft blinked. “Dinner.”
Mycroft’s head jerked back, not unlike a startled bird. “Why would I do that?”
Greg shifted, starting to feel his palms sweat. “Because I fancy you, and I’d like to take you out for dinner and a drink.”
Greg nodded. “A date.”
“Oh.” Mycroft looked down at his umbrella and shifted its position in his hand a bit. “You do fully realize that I’m a Holmes, yes?”
Greg laughed, though not unkindly. “Yeah, I got that bit.”
Mycroft blinked again, face blank. “Yet you’re still implying that you would like to start a relationship?”
Greg didn’t react how Mycroft expected, shocked with a mixture of sudden hesitation, withdrawal and disconcertion. Instead, he kept his gaze steady on Mycroft’s and with a hint of a smile, said, “Yes.”
Mycroft found himself wondering if the man in front of him contained the same trait as Doctor Watson, the one that enabled him to sustain long periods of time around a Holmes and not be driven away with all haste.
Mycroft’s curiosity was piqued, but he had never let that rule his decisions, unlike his younger sibling. Mycroft analyzed his own view on the matter. That the detective had asked him showed courage—he was a person of great influence, this case had revealed against his best efforts. If he knew to keep quiet and let Sherlock do whatever he needed to do (and tolerated it extraordinarily well, Mycroft had seen) he obviously had patience, which was a vital trait when dealing with the numerous immediate crises Mycroft had to attend to without warning. That this man had been the one to initiate Sherlock’s rehabilitation by enticing him with cases that stimulated his mind showed he was not only much more intelligent than Sherlock gave him credit for, but that there was a great and abiding kindness there.
Mycroft realized quite suddenly that he was attracted to this man. This was a genuine, good human being.
He had never wanted to be like Sherlock, never felt the need to be alone. Circumstances had placed him there, and while he had accepted that it was the way things were, he had not enjoyed the isolation his life had become.
Mycroft’s face softened from its stiff composure for a brief moment and he smiled slightly. “Yes. I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday, our works allowing.”
Greg grinned slowly, crows feet showing in his tanned skin. It was a good smile, Mycroft thought absently. “Great. I should give you my number and address then, so you can—”
“No need. I already have them.”
Greg paused, then shook his head, the grin turning wicked. “Of course. Holmes. I suppose if something comes up on Friday, you’ll know before me then, won’t you?”
“Does this bother you?”
“Should, but doesn’t. I’d still like your number, though.”
Mycroft felt the smile widening and fought against it. Foolish, becoming attached before the first date. Date. He had a date. How… intriguing. He typed a text on his phone for a moment, heard the phone in Gregory’s pocket vibrate, then turned at the sound of clipped heels behind him.
“Sir? The PM is on his way. We should be leaving now in time for your meeting.”
“Yes, of course. Detective Inspector—”
“Greg,” Mycroft amended, “I look forward to seeing you on Friday.”
Greg grinned widely. “Same.”
Mycroft turned and headed for the car, getting in and waiting until it started moving before he opened his phone to look at what he had sent, regardless that he already knew what it was.
Shall we skip the overpriced French dinner? Pizza is a personal favourite of mine as well. -M