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Not Dating

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Four days later Greg left The Yard a bit early, heading home to shower, shave and don something more comfortable. That it was also considerably sexier than one of his work suits was mere coincidence. Grabbing his leather riding jacket and mirrored sunglasses at the last moment, Greg hoped Mycroft, if he could make it, wouldn’t begrudge him his sartorial indulgence. And technically, he wasn’t wearing his tightest jeans and biker boots specifically to get The British Government’s attention. Well, not only to get it.

When Greg had impulsively sent Myc the text two days earlier, he half expected the other man to respond with thinly veiled derision. Mycroft definitely did not seem like the type to go to a screening of a 51 year old Rodgers & Hammerstein musical. Greg figured however that since he was going anyway he should at least give Mycroft the chance to join him if he wished. He definitely thought it was a long shot though. So when the politician asked him to text the time and location, Greg was pleasantly surprised. Later that day Greg’s phone whistled at him, alerting him to another text from the elder Holmes.

I can’t promise to be available Thursday evening but if I can make it I will meet you at the theater. Save me a seat?

Greg agreed to this request happily, adding a winky face emoji to his reply. When he saw the screen of his phone light up with an emoji from Mycroft, this one with a tongue sticking out, he laughed out loud. A bit not good, as John would say since he was at the crime scene of a likely suicide. Immediately schooling his appearance, he slipped his phone into his pocket and focused on sorting his team. In spite of this almost definitely being ruled a suicide due to a self-inflicted gunshot wound, Greg wanted forensics conducted thoroughly all the same. He wanted to review a few older cases to look for possible similarities before he’d be satisfied.

There was no sign of Mycroft outside the theater when he pulled up on his bike a few minutes later. Steering around the corner to the side street he parked and pulled his helmet off. Looking about to see if anyone was nearby, he quickly used his mirrored glasses to rearrange his disheveled locks into a slightly hipper but equally disheveled state before sliding them on. Telling himself that Mycroft would probably be a no-show, Greg strove to tamp down his excitement. Just the possibility that he might be there had Greg all aflutter. It was ridiculous to be feeling this way at his age but he absolutely did not care. He was genuinely happy for the first time in a long time and he was going to enjoy it to the fullest.

Sure enough, Mycroft was not amongst the small crowd waiting outside the entrance, enjoying one last smoke before heading inside. Greg queued to get his ticket and went in. Still no Mycroft. Oh well, better luck next time Greg thought. He was determined not to allow the disappointment he felt to ruin his evening. Standing in line to get some popcorn and a frosty, sugary beverage, Greg considered the changes he’d experienced in the last several weeks. Finally free of an unhappy marriage, living in a gorgeous place and with the strong possibility for a new love on the horizon, Greg was feeling pretty hopeful that his golden years wouldn’t be spent perpetually alone. Yeah, he was going to have a good night.

A short time later, Greg watched contentedly as Maria met the Von Trapp family. Although it made no sense at all, he couldn’t help thinking of Mycroft every time the stern Captain spoke. Feeling silly, Greg imagined himself as the newest child-minder for the strict, no-nonsense Captain Holmes, teaching his children how to have fun and just be kids, bringing happiness back in to his home and eventually falling in love with him. Striving to reign in these fanciful musings, Greg was a bit startled when someone took the seat next to where he had his giant bucket of popcorn resting. When an expensive looking umbrella was propped up in front of the same chair, he looked over to see Mycroft gazing back at him.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Grinning like a loon, Greg replied, “Better late than not at all. I’m so glad you could make it.” He had to stifle a strong urge to take the politician’s hand in his. No romance idiot, remember? Together they turned their attention back to the big screen. When the intermission came, and the lights went up, Greg stood and stretched. He turned in time to catch Mycroft enjoying the view. He chuckled as Mycroft turned an adorable pink at being caught out. “Come on smart guy, I need the loo.”

It was Greg’s turn to enjoy the view as Mycroft stood and exited the theater ahead of him. Eschewing his usual bespoke finery, Mycroft had chosen to wear buttery soft charcoal grey trousers paired with what had to be a cashmere navy blue jumper. He looked amazing. After taking a quick bio break, Greg joined Mycroft who had stepped outside for some fresh air. As he approached the other man, Greg wondered how he was going to keep his hands to himself for the duration of the intermission, never mind the remainder of the evening.

Banishing this thought for the time being, he stepped in front of his elegant companion, smiling appreciatively. “Thank you so much for joining me Mycroft.” With these words he tried to convey all the things he wanted to say but could not. As a trade-off, he allowed his eyes to roam a bit, from Mycroft’s lips to the long line of his throat and down to the point where pale skin was covered by soft, dark fabric. Daringly, he had opted not to wear a shirt beneath it. Taking a breath he averted his eyes from the small tuft of coppery chest hair just barely peeking out to add, “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

Mycroft held his breath as Greg approached. Clad in a tight black tee and faded jeans that showed off his strong, muscular legs, he strode confidently, with an unhurried, relaxed gait. The British Government had to forcibly keep his feet from moving in the policeman’s direction. Instead he tried to focus on simply being in the moment. Still, he was unprepared for the wave of pleasure that spread outward from the base of his throat when Greg spoke. The normally articulate man was unable to summon a single response as he gazed at the stunning man standing before him. When Gregory’s eyes met his after a fleeting appraisal he simply returned his appreciative gaze, unconsciously licking his lips. Greg’s eyes began to twinkle. Mycroft felt his face heat up as a blush spread across the alabaster complexion. Tearing his own eyes away he contemplated the tips of his 800 pound Italian loafers, finally managing to say “It’s good to see you again too Gregory. Thank you for inviting me to join you.”

His tummy did funny things as he realized that the statesman was a bit flummoxed. Greg was mesmerized by this rather demure and diffident version of a man he knew to be one of the most powerful in the world. The realization that he, Gregory Raimond Lestrade could discombobulate Mycroft Holmes simply by saying hello was wondrous and a little stupefying. He took a tiny step closer and softly commented, “I think this may be the first time I’ve seen you wearing anything other than a three piece suit.” He’d deliberately kept his voice low so Mycroft would have to lean in a little to hear him. When Mycroft carefully lifted his gaze to meet Greg’s again he added, “That jumper looks lethally soft.” He saw an understanding light creep into Mycroft’s eyes. “May I?” he enquired as he lifted a hand.

Mycroft’s voice was barely a whisper. “Please.” He held perfectly still, his eyes growing wide as Greg shuffled a tiny bit closer and brushed the fingertips of one hand along a sleeve. Although his touch was feather-light, Greg felt a slight trembling of the arm inside. A flash of electricity danced up his arm as his fingers travelled just beyond the edge of the sumptuous material and came in to fleeting contact with the back of Mycroft’s hand. Blinking away his shock at the strength of his desire to take the other man’s hand in his, he quirked a grin, glancing at Mycroft through his lashes. “Only the best, right?”

Instead of answering, Mycroft allowed his fingers to tangle with Greg’s, tugging them gently. When he had the Inspector’s full attention he affirmed, softly, his eyes caressing “Only the best.” Greg was struck speechless by the warm expression in the other man’s eyes. His tummy flopped around some more as the lights flickered, indicating the end of the intermission. Wordlessly, both men turned toward the entrance and walked side by side, their shoulders brushing a bit. Once inside, Greg scooped up his popcorn, hoping Mycroft would take the hint. After a brief pause the umbrella was moved and Mycroft settled himself in the seat next to Greg’s. For the remainder of the movie, Greg’s attention was divided between the screen and the endlessly intriguing man next to him. His senses were full of him, breathing in his scent, the soft sounds made when he crossed his legs or reached over for a handful of popcorn, the warmth from the arm next to his. His mind reeled a little at how thoroughly he was captivated by the tiniest morsel.

As the final credits filled the screen Greg turned to find Mycroft’s gaze on him, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Greg felt his face flush. He should have known his preoccupation would be noticed by the most observant man in the world. His earlier nervousness gone, he grinned back, not discomfited by Mycroft’s perspicacity. Might as well get used to it, he thought. They strolled slowly through the lobby and came to rest standing under the marquee. A wary light crept in to Mycroft’s eyes as his hand slid into the pocket of his trousers. Still feeling a bit giddy, Greg reassured him. “It’s okay Mycroft. You take your obligations seriously. Nothing wrong with that.”

The politician’s relief was clear as he slid his phone from his pocket. “Thank you for understanding. This won’t take long.” He sent a brief text and received a reply within moments. Returning his attention to the older man he said, “I’ve a car coming. May I offer you a lift home?”

“That would be brilliant but I have my bike with me.”

Mycroft stilled. He stared at the policeman for a full thirty seconds before replying. “You…rode your motorcycle?” His voice was low, a bit hoarse. A slow grin spread over Greg’s face. He nodded.

“Do you…like motorcycles?” he asked, not so innocently.

Greg struggled to keep his features and hormones in check as Mycroft’s eyes raked over his leather clad shoulders, arms and torso, his breathing uneven. Mycroft’s gaze continued on their tour of Greg’s denim covered thighs. Did he just swallow? Now dealing with physiological changes of his own, he stared at Mycroft’s mouth, unable to look away. Greg’s throat constricted painfully as the politician’s eyes travelled slowly from his boots up to his eyes. After another hard swallow Mycroft managed to respond. “I like people who ride motorcycles,” his voice husky.

After watching Mycroft’s eyes darken noticeably he offered, “Wanna see?”