For meetings with Lestrade, Mycroft always selects an older brown suit from the back of his wardrobe. Longish jacket, loose trousers. His arousal is inevitable. It's uncontrollable, but must remain hidden. Mustn't risk embarrassing the Inspector.
Sometimes the urgency of this desire is agony. Today it's merely an exquisite ache.
Noticing Lestrade fidget and blush, Mycroft desperately hopes he hasn't given himself away.
Buttoning his jacket, reaching for the door, Mycroft wonders why Lestrade doesn't stand up to escort him out as usual.
Now they're both blushing.
The meeting continues, behind closed doors, for the rest of the afternoon.