Greg leaned back against the wall of the shower. It had been a long day. Hours upon hours looking for a missing piece of evidence, then searching Sherlock’s flat, then finally ending with the infuriating man nearly getting himself poisoned and the culprit being shot by a completely unknown but highly trained soldier.
Having seen Sherlock’s older brother a short distance from the scene of the crime, he had his suspicions about how a mysterious trained shooter happened to be in the area when Sherlock was in peril, but as always when it came to Mycroft Holmes, there was no proof of any involvement on his part.
Greg wasn’t inclined to go looking for it; the man always made him feel uneasy. Confused. Off-balance.
But there was no reason to be thinking about the man now, when he was finally able to relax.
He stepped back under the water, letting the heat envelope his body, washing the tension away. Or rather, most of the tension. Now that the major stress of the day had been taken care of, his body was starting to demand his attention. He was already half-hard, and definitely feeling in the mood for a wank.
He sighed softly, reaching down and stroking himself as he tried to come up with something appealing to focus on. He thought of his wife, first, for loyalty’s sake, but it only made him think depressing thoughts about their currently strained relationship.
Another woman might be in order. Sally -- no, she would kill him if she knew he was thinking about her like this, and even his fantasy version of her reflected that.
Molly, perhaps? But all he could think about her was that she was shy and insecure -- and interested in Sherlock.
Sherlock. Now there was someone he didn’t want to think about while wanking. Greg sped up the pace a bit to keep himself hard, his mind unfortunately still focused on the irritating man.
Even if he had any desire to have sex with Sherlock, he couldn’t see Sherlock’s brother allowing it to happen. He’d probably haul him off to another warehouse somewhere, tie him to a chair, and threaten his job and his life for even considering it. Greg would be there in the chair, helpless, while the man loomed over him, and...
Greg felt his heartbeat quicken, his cock pulsing slightly in his hand. He swallowed, but kept going, strokes faster but less steady, less certain. The idea of Mycroft Holmes looming over him was more attractive than it should have been.
And it really wasn’t something he should have been thinking about. Mycroft Holmes was powerful and dangerous and more than a bit creepy, at that. Their first meeting had involved him showing Greg CCTV footage of himself and threatening him into spying on his brother for him. Sherlock was too clever; he kept finding the cameras his brother had planted and removing them from his flat.
A less clever person like Greg would have no hope against him if he decided to spy. If, for instance, he installed cameras in the shower to watch him wanking. Mycroft Holmes could be watching him this very moment, watching him pant and groan and grip the shower bar as he fisted his cock.
And the man would know, too. He would know exactly what Greg was thinking about, somehow. The next time he saw Mycroft -- the next time Mycroft tied him to a chair in a warehouse and loomed over him -- Mycroft would sneer at him, and possibly leer at him, saying something like:
“Naughty Inspector. What have you been up to since the last time we saw each other, hmm?”
Fantasy Mycroft twined his fingers in Greg’s hair, tilting his head back and preventing him from looking away.
“I did see you in the shower. And from the position of your left foot and the way your hair fell against your face, I can only conclude you were thinking about me.” He clucked his tongue. “Repressed homosexual desires and a mild urge to be dominated. I’ll have to add this to your file.” Fantasy Mycroft smirked at him. “I do like knowing the most efficient ways to ensure your cooperation.”
Greg groaned softly. He was close-- so close--
Mycroft leaned down, cupping Greg’s cock through his -- no, through nothing. Mycroft would have stripped him before tying him up, made him naked and helpless so that he could reach down and fondle him as he pleased, squeezing his balls and stroking his cock faster and faster and faster until he came all over those well-manicured hands, and-- and--
Greg felt his knees give out beneath him, and he slid down to the floor of the shower, still panting.
He let the water wash away the evidence of what he’d been doing, then rubbed his face.
He hoped neither Sherlock nor his brother were actually skilled enough to deduce his fantasies from obscure physical clues.
Well... he definitely hoped Sherlock wasn’t.