Lestrade thundered up the stairs, through the already open door as fast as he could. His feet barely managed to stop just past the threshold. He spotted Sherlock sitting on his habitual sofa straight off, playing with the strings on his violin and looking…perfectly…healthy. Sherlock looked up calmly and said, "Ah. You're here."
He panted a bit. "What? What's the problem?"
"Problem? Ah, yes." He pointed the violin's bow to the other end of the apartment that Lestrade hadn't even glanced at. His gaze followed it to see someone that was not John sitting in John's chair. He was dressed impeccably in a gray suit, an umbrella resting under his hand, with a half-annoyed expression. "Arrest him." Apparently seeing Lestrade's utterly confused expression, Sherlock sighed and half-growled as he continued, "For trespassing."
The man rolled his eyes heavily. "You're being dramatic again."
"Hardly." Sherlock glanced at him then paused. "Why were you running?"
His temper flared just a little. "Sherlock! You called me and said it was urgent, and you needed help! If we weren't in a high speed chase with someone, I'd have had all available backup here! What's going on? Where's John? Who is he?"
There was a grumble and just when Lestrade thought he wouldn't answer, there was a mutter, "My brother. Brother dear, this is Detective Inspector George—"
"Greg! My name is Greg—"
"Lestrade."
There was a long pause before the man in the chair shifted. "Forgive his manners, they're always at its worst when he's being difficult. Mycroft Holmes."
"Oh… So…" He stepped forward and held out his hand, seeming to surprise the older brother. "I don't think we've ever met in person."
As Mycroft took his hand, Sherlock asked from behind, "When have you ever met him at all?"
"Well someone has a tendency to disappear on us and John has to call someone. We've spoken once or twice on the phone when we're looking for you."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Not just that, I don't think."
"Okay, fine, we've spoke before John came into the picture, but we've only ever talked on the phone."
Mycroft stood up as he released his hand and he couldn't help making a surprised sound. Both Holmes men looked at him. "What?"
"Oh, I just didn't think… You're a bit taller than Sherlock, aren't you?"
"Why does that make any difference?" Sherlock demanded from behind him, sounding irritated.
Greg looked at the perpetually childish man. "It doesn't, it was just an observation. I thought you liked those."
There was a snort of disgust thrown his way before he noticed Sherlock's eyes had rested in contemplation of his brother. Deciding he wasn't ready to be in the middle between them, he said, "So since you just called me here for a lark, can I go now?"
"No, of course not. You have to arrest him."
"For God's Sake, Sherlock, I'm not arresting your brother!"
"Maybe he'd like it," the younger sibling said in a sulky fashion, eying Mycroft. "…No, probably not. It'd probably be the other way around. Fancy being handcuffed, Lestrade?"
"Sherlock…" Mycroft warned in a dark, dangerous voice.
Where the hell was John? He hadn't seen Sherlock in such a foul mood in a long time and it had to have been something to do with the doctor. "Are you honestly going to even suggest…"
"I thought that's what people always did when they see two men together."
"Sherlock, what is this about? Where's John?"
Finally those blue gray eyes turned away and his sulking became even more pronounced. "He's not here. He's with a…friend of his."
There was a pause before Mycroft let out a heavy sigh. "Sherlock, jealousy is beneath you."
"Wait, jealousy?"
Mycroft met Lestrade's bewildered eyes. "It's clear that a friend of John's, obviously male, came to see him. Someone must have made a comment to Sherlock after they'd left about the state of their relationship, leading him to sulk in a jealous rage."
"But… Sherlock…" Lestrade stared at Sherlock. "You should know that John only ever thinks about you—"
The great detective surged to his feet and paced. "Of course I know that!"
This was far too much for his pay grade. "You know what, I'm going to leave all this mess for John to clean up and go back to catching criminals. They're easier."
"Take my brother with you, if you're leaving."
Lestrade gave a slightly pleading look at Mycroft. If the man didn't leave with him now, he'd only be harassed by texts all day about it. The tall man seemed to barely resist the urge to roll his eyes and stepped out with him in silence, swinging his umbrella once and then hooking it on his arm. As they headed down the stairs, Lestrade couldn't help but ask curiously, "So…Mycroft." A flicker of eyes in his direction told him he had the man's attention. "How do you feel about…it?"
Not surprising of the Holmes men, Mycroft seemed to deduce what it was that he was asking. "While I personally view such things as dangerous, Sherlock is not quite as adept as I am about withholding myself from people. John is no danger to him, though, so I have no objections."
He fished his keys out of his pocket as Mycroft opened the door to the backseat of a black car in front of his. "You know, in some ways, I think Sherlock is really lucky."
That paused the man. "What?"
He looked up and grinned cheekily at Mycroft. "I don't think he realizes how well he's loved."
There seemed to be the slightest of tension in the tall man's shoulders. "I beg your pardon?"
"Well, wasn't it you that sent me information on those gay hate crimes?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Mycroft got into the backseat, but Greg only called after him, "Nice to meet you, Mycroft Holmes!"
-0-
Though he spoke once with Mycroft since their initial meeting face to face, the next time he saw Mycroft in person was entirely unexpected. He stared as he opened his door, tie incomplete and his suit jacket nearby. "…What are you doing here?"
"I was informed you needed a…partner for a function."
Greg looked Mycroft up and down, in his impeccable suit that was, frankly, just a bit more formal since the last time he'd seen him and good enough to eat. Yeah, he had to go to the 'party' thrown by the department and yeah, it was a black tie event, but… "…So what are you doing here?"
There was a heavy, heavy sigh. "Some time ago due to a most embarrassing incident that I shall not relate, I owed Sherlock a…favor." There was such distaste to the word that he knew that whatever Sherlock had done, it was big for Mycroft to even utter the word. "You were complaining about going alone and he told me that in return for what he had done, I was to accompany you to the party."
Was this some kind of joke? If it was, it wasn't on Mycroft's end. "But—"
As if knowing what he was about to ask, Mycroft interrupted. "He expressly forbid me from having Anthea, or anyone else, take my place. My only hope at this point is if you decline my company. You will decline, I trust?" Mycroft raised his eyebrow almost demanding that he do so.
To be honest, he considered it. No one should be forced to go to these things; he should know because he was being forced…but misery loved company and he wasn't going to turn down the chance to have someone to commiserate with. "No, not now that you're here. Let me get my jacket."
The look on Mycroft's face was priceless, but he dared not laugh. He didn't know how the man would take it, possibly have him killed. Like a gentleman, Mycroft waited on the steps outside of his flat for him. A car was waiting, naturally, and he locked the door as he stepped out.
"Wait."
Greg stopped and he blinked as he suddenly felt hands grab his tie. He'd somehow gotten a nasty knot in the material and hadn't been able to get it out in a few seconds. He hadn't wanted to leave Mycroft waiting, so he'd been determined to fix it in the car. Mycroft had other plans, however. He had expertly released the knot and rather than let Greg do it himself, had completed his tie in a few seconds.
"…Thanks," he said, just a little stunned.
Mycroft nodded elegantly, but there was a sense of warmth and resignation in the man that kept it from seeming cold and distant. Before he could even lift his arm, Mycroft himself had opened the back door to the car for him. Did this ever feel like a date… He tried to shake the random thought off, but only succeeded in shoving it to his subconscious. As the door closed and the tall man sat beside him, he asked, "So what's Sherlock's game?"
There was a heavy sigh as the car pulled away from the curb. "Sherlock is merely being a petulant child as usual."
"He usually has more of a reason than that," Greg argued, not willing to sell his friend short.
There was a grimace and Mycroft looked out the window instead of at the detective. "I believe that his favor consisted of his desire to see me uncomfortable, as I hate all manner of such functions despite them requiring my attention on a consistent basis. He would also find it highly amusing that your partner is male. It is all a great joke by the great Sherlock Holmes."
Greg eyed him and while he got the sense that there was just a little something more that Mycroft wasn't willing to reveal, he decided he wouldn't push it right then considering he had stolen the man's only way out away. "Right… Well, I'm at least glad you're here."
That caught the politician's attention and the same grayish eyes that Sherlock had turned to look at him. "Why?"
"At least I'll have someone to talk to."
"Aren't your colleagues going to be there?"
"Some, but not ones I'm close to."
Mycroft nodded slowly, as if that was something he could understand to some extent. "Were you planning on attending without a companion?"
"Well, yeah. Been divorced for two years now, not like I had anyone else to go with, so when you showed up, I thought, why not? It's someone to talk to."
A small smile touched the tall man's lips, much to his surprise and he couldn't help appreciate the action for a bit. "I shall endeavor to make it an interesting evening for you then, to the best of my ability."
"Why?"
"Because I understand intimately how boring such functions can truly be and there were times that I wished for exactly what you want."
Lestrade grinned. "Great. Glad to hear it."
-0-
Greg really tried not to smile, but it was hard. Mycroft kept up a running commentary under his breath about everyone. While normally he wasn't interested in the details of other people's lives, it seemed as if Mycroft was choosing just to share observations that would be funny, unlike Sherlock who had no concept of what a filter was.
About an hour in, he'd had a good amount to drink and was feeling positively tipsy and pleased. If his slight leaning against Mycroft's arm bothered the politician, he didn't show it. They had settled in a corner, leaning against the wall; well, he sort of was, of course Mycroft's posture was perfect. "So what was all that about in the flat?" he couldn't help but ask now that he was sufficiently inebriated enough to ask.
A devastating ginger eyebrow rose. "What do you refer to?"
"The time that Sherlock called me to arrest you. What was all that about?"
"What part do you not understand, Detective Inspector?"
Greg shrugged. "It's Greg, and I don't know, it just felt like there was so much…subtext going on over my head."
Mycroft snorted a little. "Detective Inspector—"
"I'd really rather you call me Greg. We've been talking for years, comrades of a sort."
"Comrades?"
At the stunned question, Greg grinned. "Well, what do you call partners that are in a never-ending war of keeping Sherlock in line?"
This time Mycroft actually laughed. "I take your point. Very well, Gregory."
"You're going to use the whole name?"
"I see nothing wrong with it."
Greg shrugged and leaned more heavily, but it threw his balance off. Mycroft had little choice but to reach out around his waist to steady him and keep him up from just slipping down to the floor. "Would you like to sit?"
"Nah, I'm good here. You're comfy." For some reason, Mycroft seemed to stiffen just a little at their predicament. "Something the matter?"
"No." Mycroft made another observation about a woman's hair and Greg laughed a bit.
"You've got a girlfriend, Mycroft?"
There was a very long pause. "I would advise you to tread carefully, Gregory."
At that, he straightened just a little and met the tall man's eyes. He was tipsy, not drunk, and he could tell when it was something serious. "What?"
"Sherlock is not the only one that has…no specifications on gender."
He blinked at that. "What, so you're okay with guys too?"
Mycroft sighed and slipped his arm from around Greg's waist, gesturing to the door and clearly intent upon leaving. They'd been there long enough, apparently, so they were allowed to leave without causing undue stress.
As they stepped out into the relatively clear hallway and headed for the main door, their eyes didn't meet even as Mycroft continued to speak with the same detachment and emotional investment as if he was speaking of the weather. "Yes, I have no problems with men or women, Gregory. It is of my own choosing that I have no 'goldfish' on my arm, as Sherlock put it sometime back." As they were outside the building, the night air closing in on them and waiting for the car, Mycroft turned to him. "You are attracted to me, that much is clear, but I would advise against even considering it. I am…a difficult man, moreso than you realize. Sherlock pales in comparison."
He rubbed his head a bit, not even sure how they got onto the conversation. All he'd asked was if the man had had a girlfriend. Not that he was going to even attempt to lie and deny that he was attracted to the man since he'd seen him, and he did like the scheming man personally from their years of interaction, but he hadn't really been prepared to contemplate it in depth… "So...boil it down for me."
"…Sherlock was not entirely incorrect when he asked you in Baker's Street whether you fancied being handcuffed. While I would not actually employ said handcuffs, the idea remains the same: I'm controlling, Gregory, and I trust you know what that would mean in bed."
Greg's eyes widened. "…Oh. You mean…"
"Yes. You would have to be prepared to be the submissive one." Not one, but two cars slowed to a stop in front of them. "I brought this up not because you had any intention of doing anything now, but that I feel the need to stop it before it starts cause problems. If you are still…interested after learning this, then you know how to reach me. Anthea will take you home."
It felt as if he'd been hit by Sherlock's whirlwind and he was left gaping as Mycroft slid into the backseat of the first car and it drove off.
-0-
"—strade."
His head jerked up and he almost blushed at Sherlock and John staring at him. How long had they been in his office? "What are you two doing here?"
"If you were listening, you would know," Sherlock told him, annoyed, and eyed him closely. He tossed a folder on Lestrade's desk and he opened it cautiously. It was an old cold case that he hadn't given the detective, which means that Sherlock was stealing stuff again. He sighed, but it was almost always never worth arguing about. He'd learned to pick his battles over the years.
"Thanks." Sherlock nodded and turned to go. In a split second, Greg decided it was time for Sherlock to answer some questions. "Sherlock, wait." The tall, willowy man paused and turned his head, quirking an eyebrow. "I wanted to ask you some questions."
There was a heavy sigh and the man dropped almost bonelessly onto a chair, followed by John a little less gracelessly, but normally at least. "What is it, Lestrade? Even you can understand—"
"About Mycroft."
It was actually hilarious, seeing Sherlock screech to a stop. It was the one and only time he'd ever managed to surprise the man. "About…Mycroft?"
"Yeah. You sent him over for that party about two weeks ago, remember?"
"Of course I do. Was there a problem? I find that highly unlikely because while Mycroft is unbearable most days, he at least can handle something like that. He does it all the time."
"No, the party was fine. It was actually a bit of fun."
Sherlock drew back a bit in his chair, as if he'd slapped him. Apparently the word 'fun' and 'Mycroft' were never meant to be spoken of in connection with each other ever. Even John was looking downright shocked.
"Then what did you want to know?" the doctor asked, seeing that Sherlock wasn't about to start talking soon.
"Well…"
Blue gray eyes widened in something close to unholy glee. "Oh…! Now that is an interesting development."
"...What did you just deduce now, Sherlock?" Greg asked with a sigh, secretly glad he didn't have to actually say it.
"He gave you his warning speech, didn't he?"
"Warning speech?"
Sherlock would never willingly leave John in the dark and happily explained, "My brother has avoided all attachments for years. His favorite phrase is 'Caring is not an advantage'. He makes that abundantly clear without words, but this time he warned Lestrade because it's not as simple as it was before. Whenever he feels himself getting too close, he 'warns' the other party to stay away. Rather hypocritical of him."
"So…he was being serious? I didn't think he'd go for guys…"
"Mycroft doesn't 'go' for anything. He has had a few sexual encounters over the years, but always only once, and always with strangers. That he feels attraction to you and it is clearly reciprocated is unnerving to him." Sherlock tilted his head. "So what are you planning on doing?"
Greg leaned back in his chair. What was he going to do about it? Despite the occasional curious nature, he'd never actually acted on anything in regards to men. He'd never felt the pressing need to and he wasn't like Mycroft that could just do it without it being someone he cared about. In that respect, he and John were similar. He didn't think John would ever land himself in bed with someone he didn't care about either. They were probably of a dying breed.
"I think I'll give him a call," he decided at last.
Mycroft he did care about. While he didn't know what the man himself thought about their relationship, Greg had viewed them as friends over the years, bonding over their frustrated love and hate with Sherlock. They had done all they could to mitigate the self-harm and behaviors that caused him to get in trouble, and John had taken Sherlock the rest of the way. With the doctor in the picture, neither had to be quite as worried as before since there didn't seem to be the same edge that could just tip Sherlock back into the depths.
"Lestrade."
"What?" He looked at Sherlock, noting that the man was staring at him with deadly seriousness.
"Are you serious about this?"
"What do you mean?" His eyes narrowed. "I'm not about to just fuck him and go if you're concerned about that."
"…No, that would make it easier." The detective stood and paced as if he were a lion in a cage. "Mycroft has avoided emotional attachments since we were children. He is incapable of…" With coat flaring dramatically at the sudden turn, Sherlock spun to face him. The look in his eyes was cold, calculating, and intimidating. So rarely did Greg see that and when he did, he could understand why Donovan had insisted for so long that he was a psychopath. There was a fervent urgency in his eyes, the same when John was in danger, but none of the panic. In a way, it reminded him of Mycroft and how he became cold and terrifying when he spoke to someone that had hurt Sherlock. He had spoken to one of Sherlock's suppliers years ago when they'd finally worked with him to kick the habit and had heard what Mycroft had been like on a personal visit.
"Sherlock?" John asked cautiously.
"I will say this once and only here, since Mycroft hasn't put the bugs back in your office that I removed a week ago."
"Wait, bugs—"
"I know more ways to cause pain, dismember, and hide a body than you can ever imagine. Hurt Mycroft, and I will use all of them."
"Sherlock!"
Was this seriously happening? This was the man that insisted he hated his brother was now as protective of him as Mycroft was of Sherlock. "Do you honestly think I can hurt him?"
"Yes," Sherlock told him flatly. "The only person who can hurt him worse…is me."
It was said as a statement of fact and Greg knew that that was absolutely true. He had been around, spoken with Mycroft on the phone, for years during their struggle against Sherlock's addictions. Mycroft's love for him was abundantly clear and whenever the detective had repudiated his feelings, thrown invective at him, it hurt his older brother. He had never said so, but Greg had noticed in their conversations since John had showed up that Mycroft had slowly sounded more at ease and relaxed, slightly happier.
"I'm not going to hurt him, Sherlock. I've dealt with you for years, I think I can handle Mycroft."
"Mycroft isn't like me, Lestrade. I'm easier."
"You're easier?" John said in disbelief.
"Yes. While most people are dull and stupid and can't figure it out on their own, I at least tell you how I feel most of the time. Can you think of one time that Mycroft has? That you have ever seen his expression falter?" In the silence that followed, Sherlock stalked to his desk. "I have given you warning, Lestrade. I'm not going to stop you…but I will be watching."
How ironic. It was the exact same from those many years ago that he'd talked with Mycroft on the phone for the first time after he'd met Sherlock, and he could only marvel how far Sherlock had come that he'd make his familial love clear, even when Mycroft wasn't around to hear it. They were the oddest ones he'd ever met, but they were definitely brothers.
Suddenly Greg smiled. "Good, because I could use your help."
The intensity of the room eased a bit as Sherlock tilted his head in cautious confusion. "You always need my help, Lestrade."
"No, I mean with this. You know Mycroft better than anyone else alive."
"Of course."
"So you can help me if you see I'm going to make a huge mistake. I'm not saying intervene, but help me to at least understand where I'm going wrong if I fuck up."
Sherlock rocked on the balls of his feet a little, thinking about this. He knew that the man loved being right and pointing out all the things people missed, but it also meant that he'd have to be part of Mycroft's life more often. His eyes flickered to John, who merely looked back and shrugged as if to say 'up to you'. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he sighed, "Fine. I know if I say no, John will try to help anyway."
"Good. Now…what's his address?"
-0-
Lestrade refused to admit that he was nervous as he waited on the stoop. The house was expensive, and big, and he was expecting an irate butler or someone like that storming up to the door. Instead, it was silence and he was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. His little impromptu visit, which Sherlock had downright gleefully encouraged him to do, had been unplanned and perhaps not one of the better things to do to a man that ran the British government.
After a minute, he heard footsteps approaching and the door was opened, the silent 'yes?' in the air so loud it was like a scream. Mycroft himself had answered the door, wearing slacks still from his suit, but his shoes had been put away and the cravat and jacket were missing, leaving the white shirt underneath with sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Even his tie was gone. "…Detective Inspector…?" Mycroft said, but the stunned tone of voice told him that he'd had one up on the normally smart man.
"Greg, remember?" Mycroft nodded silently. "Can I come in?"
There seemed to be a long minute of consideration and finally Mycroft stepped aside. "I'm reasonably sure that my brother has not managed to kill himself in the last few hours since I stepped away from the CCTV, so I feel it prudent to ask why you've come."
Greg closed the door behind him, watching the tall man's back as he led him into a sitting room. There was a book on a table next to a chair and a cup of scotch by the smell, ice melting in it, so clearly he'd just interrupted Mycroft's time relaxing. "Sherlock told me where you lived."
"I assumed so, yes, otherwise you never would have made it this far."
He grinned in amusement. "He gave me the 'hurt Mycroft and I torture you' speech."
Mycroft looked over at him, cup lifted to his lips, and cocked his head. "Gregory." His eyes narrowed as he was clearly putting some pieces together. "Why have you come?"
"Don't you already know?" Sensing the atmosphere become a bit cooler, he held up his hands in apology. "Look, I was thinking about what you said the last time we talked. I was…going to take you up on your offer, but there's something I have to clear up."
"…And what is that?"
"I'm not in this for a quick fuck. I don't do that kind of thing with anyone."
"You're here to determine if what we spoke of included a relationship and not just sex."
He nodded and watched as the lighting of the room cast shadows on Mycroft's face. "I'm sure Sherlock has told you of my…past excursions."
"Yeah, and I'm not like that. Isn't that what made this difficult? We're talking about dates, talking about each other, that kind of thing. Are you sure about it?" Mycroft peered into the depths of his drink, listening to the ice clinking against the glass. Greg stalked up and put his hand over the top of the cup, forcing their eyes to meet. "Mycroft." There was still silence and then it dawned on him "…You need time to think about this?" For all that Mycroft had asked him if he was sure about it all back then, now he wondered if that question had been more directed at himself.
"…Yes."
"Okay. I'm going to head home now, but you've got my number. Call me if you need me."
"I will." For a brief minute, Greg felt fingers brush over his hair and face, almost a phantom touch, before the man walked him to the front door. "I will be in touch."
Though Greg honestly wanted to know what those lips tasted like, he could see by virtue of having spent so much time Sherlock that Mycroft was discomforted. No, he'd give him his time at the very thought of letting someone intimately in his life when he was sure the only people that had ever gotten so close to him were his family. "Mycroft, just one thing," he said before the door closed.
"Was there something else?"
"I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Sherlock when he became overprotective of you," and here those eyes widened just a little in surprise, "I'm not going to hurt you. Promise." He jogged back to his car and blessed Sherlock that was probably the only reason he hadn't been shot by a sniper just going to the front door. He glanced back at the house as he settled behind the wheel and stared for a minute as Mycroft remained for a long moment, watching, before he slowly closed the door.
-0-
"Why are we here?" Sherlock complained, more like whined, but John merely jabbed his elbow into his side. Greg grinned a little watching them. It was Molly's birthday and as soon as work had been finished, they'd cleared a place in his office for a small party. He wasn't sure whose phone it was that was playing music, but Molly was having a fantastic time dancing with anyone she could convince to. It was probably the happiest he had ever seen the woman.
"Oh enjoy it," Greg told him and grinned at the disgruntled expression.
There was a knock on the closed door and Donovan threw it open, only to pause. "…Don't I…"
"Mycroft! You're actually late."
Greg blinked and stared at the man in his impeccable suits, dark blue today and familiar umbrella on his arm. He hadn't seen the elder Holmes brother in three weeks and not a word. He'd promised to give the man some space and so he had, but it hadn't stopped him from randomly texting him just simple words about his day, occasional complaints about his job or about how good his coffee tasted. It was the only way that he knew to show Mycroft that being in a relationship included small things like that and it wasn't such a scary thing.
"Sherlock, my schedule is very busy." A matching pair of blue gray eyes narrowed. "It appears as if I've interrupted a celebration. We will speak later."
"Oh, come on in, the more the merrier!" Molly said, gesturing for him to come in.
Sherlock met Greg's eyes deliberately and he knew that the younger brother had done it on purpose. He smiled a little. Sherlock was clearly still wary at the current development, but willing to help if it made his brother…better. It could only be John's influence, particularly now that they had acknowledged their feelings for each other and were 'officially' lovers.
"No, I'm afraid I must decline—"
Greg grinned and reached out from his position of leaning against his desk, grabbing Mycroft's wrists. He had to wonder just how often the man was touched when he felt an instinctive twitch under his fingertips. The two brothers let only very few actually touch them apparently, as he knew how vocal Sherlock could be if he was touched or manhandled by anyone other than John, himself, and oddly Mycroft. "Come on, it's a birthday party. Enjoy yourself, you're welcome here. Molly says so."
Their gaze met seriously, but there was no answer in those shuttered blue eyes, so Greg told himself once again for what felt like the millionth time to be patient. As patient as John was with Sherlock. He was learning all over that there was a very specific way to handle the Holmes brothers and rushing or getting irritated or angry was not it.
"For a few minutes. I had to quickly make time, as I was under the impression that there was something of great importance." He glared at Sherlock, who looked back at him and shrugged. Why did Greg have a feeling he had pulled what he had with Lestrade so many months ago by making it seem like he needed help in the worst way? And anyone who knew Sherlock and Mycroft knew very well that Mycroft would have dropped everything he was doing if he thought his little brother needed him for anything.
They watched Molly and a few of the other officers dance before those brown eyes twinkled at a target. "John!"
John looked up from his can of soda. "Yeah?"
The doctor's hands were grabbed and tugged into the space cleared away for dancing, Sherlock only making a slight sound of distress. Even now, after their relationship as lovers had been settled for at least two months, Sherlock was still highly possessive of John…well, moreso than before and that had always been considerable. A song with a quick beat, one that he recognized had been on the top-songs list considering he heard it everywhere now, flooded from the phone's speaker.
Sherlock's eyes were glued to John's movements. He wasn't exactly graceful in the most conventional sense, and there was a look of embarrassment on his face despite his smile, yet he continued. He spun Molly around and his embarrassment seemed to ease as he realized no one was judging him. Greg blinked as he watched Mycroft, next to him, lean over and whisper something in Sherlock's ear. There was a twitch of an eye and then suddenly the consulting detective had stepped forward and very gracefully stepped between the two dancers, managing to get both their hands in one of his each and spinning them at the same time.
He gracefully handed Molly over to Donovan and Greg felt his jaw drop a bit to match John's stunned expression as Sherlock perfectly began to dance in time with the song. The other dancers slowly backed up, giving them a circle. John seemed even a bit less graceful now than before, but it didn't seem to matter because he never made a misstep thanks to Sherlock. Greg wondered if Sherlock was accounting for every step John took, knew him so well that he knew exactly how the former soldier would move before his mind could catch up. He spun him around, their footsteps in complete alignment to the beat of the music.
"Did…you know…"
"Of course," Mycroft said coolly, but there was pride glowing out of his eyes as he watched his brother and lover. "Sherlock is the best dancer I have ever seen."
As the song ended and another followed it up, Sherlock met Greg's eyes and nodded at Mycroft. Seeing what he wanted, the D.I. hesitated. He didn't want to push Mycroft into anything and he didn't think the older man would be comfortable dancing with anyone, much less in front of a bunch of people that were, in essence, complete strangers to him. Sherlock frowned at him and muttered something to his partner. John glanced over and nodded. Before he could react, the willowy man had spun John closer to the pair near the desk and he kicked at the umbrella still loosely held in the man's hand.
John quickly grabbed it and tossed it Sherlock. Greg cast a glance at the oldest Holmes in concern, but there was only a faint look of amusement near his lips. Chances are, if he hadn't wanted to let go of it, he could have prevented the doctor from grabbing the umbrella. "What are you doing, Sherlock?"
Sherlock spun the umbrella in his hand and then tossed it over the heads of the circle of people opposite of where his brother was. "You figure it out. Lestrade."
Greg sighed and whispered, "Sorry" under his breath before he pulled Mycroft forward to the dance floor. Mycroft stiffened once he was in the center and he knew that no amount of tugging would make that tower of steel move, and no one even dare try…except for one.
Sherlock glared and grabbed his brother's hands. "Don't ruin her birthday. John said birthdays are important." Mycroft's eyes flickered to Molly, watching intently, then to John and it seemed as if that was all that was needed because he allowed Sherlock to tug him into moving. Someone, maybe John, had reset the song to the original he and his partner had danced to.
Mycroft moved like he was highly self-conscious, but Sherlock was clearly not taking no for an answer. In some ways, it was almost as if they were still silently fighting even as they moved together. Not surprisingly there were no missteps and he had to wonder if that was because both were so smart they were ten moves ahead or if they just knew what the other would do because of their relationship. Greg stepped back, readying to go back to his position of leaning against the desk when Sherlock spun his brother just a bit and it was almost as if the detective had thrown him at Lestrade because suddenly the tall man had his hands on his arms and it was him that was being spun around.
There were whoops and cat-calls from his staff and Donovan was grinning evilly. He blushed and glared, too old to be dancing, yet here he was. He was never going to hear the end of it. As if sensing what would happen if he stopped, Sherlock remained dancing because if he didn't, Mycroft would certainly flee. Lestrade steeled his spine, filled with a deep desire to see Mycroft have some fun. To show the man that had never known anything other than award ceremonies and the like that all parties weren't like that. As rhythmic clapping began around them, he kept his eyes locked with the politician.
Mycroft's gaze remained on his, not even fighting it and really, if the man was concerned about his dancing, he shouldn't have been. He was a different dancer than Sherlock who could probably do a waltz the same perfect way he did break dancing if he wanted, but that didn't mean that he was bad. He was still graceful despite his size and slightly heftier build than his brother. Only peripherally did he notice that Sherlock and John had bowed out of the dance area, leaving just the two of them.
As the song began to come to close, for the first time, Lestrade watched a bit of mischief come into Mycroft's eyes. In a massive flourish, he spun the D.I. and that morphed amazingly smoothly into a deep dip. Suddenly his view of the ceiling was obstructed by the handsome face of Mycroft Holmes. Without warning their lips met and the hand on the base of his spine, which was the only one holding him up and that testified at how strong Mycroft actually was, burned against his nerves. It was…amazing and he could feel that tongue teasingly touch his lips, but before he could allow it entry, it had disappeared. He leaned up into the kiss with a soft moan, one hand threading into red hair instinctively.
Mycroft pulled him up and he stumbled as he was suddenly standing on his own. He wasn't sure how or who had brought it to him, but the umbrella was in the elder Holmes' hand and he twirled with every bit of dramatic flair as Sherlock's coat before sitting it on his arm, straightening his suit, and leaving the room with panache under everyone's stunned eyes. Behind him, Greg heard Sherlock comment in the silence, "Show off."
-0-
Greg was on Mycroft's doorstep as soon as the small birthday party had broken up, Molly spending the last of it opening presents. He shifted from foot to foot and counted the seconds until the door opened. Mycroft had changed into what appeared to be a loose pair of pants and shirt, and amazingly a dressing gown like Sherlock was so fond of. He raised an eyebrow in question and the politician answered with an amused smile, "A gift from John. I believe it was meant to be a joke."
"Well it works," he replied as Mycroft stepped aside to let him in.
"What brings you here, Gregory? It's fairly late."
He rolled his eyes. Did Mycroft really not know or was he deliberately making him say it? "I wanted to know where we are now, what with that kiss." And was it really okay that Mycroft had kissed him like that in front of everyone?
"It was an impulsive action, something that I try never to engage in. I find myself full of impulsive thoughts regarding you."
"Do any of those thoughts revolve around a relationship?"
Mycroft settled in his chair, the same one he'd been in the first time Greg had been there weeks ago. "…I enjoyed your texts the last few weeks."
"You never replied."
"I dislike texting." It was like pulling teeth, but Greg reminded himself once again to be patient. Finally Mycroft spoke again and the question was like dumping cold water on him. "If I said I needed more time, would you give it to me?"
How much time was more time, he wanted to ask, but wouldn't. It almost didn't seem fair when it was Mycroft who had brought up this whole situation months ago, but as much as he'd be disappointed, he would do it, because the Holmes men were special and for certain people, namely himself and John, they were worth waiting for.
"Yes."
That critical gaze had watched him the entire time and he was sure that somehow, Mycroft had deduced every thought that had gone through his head. It was either that, or he was psychic and that would explain a lot if he was, he thought dryly. "Come here, Gregory."
He came closer to the chair, wishing he'd thought to change at least, but he had gone straight to Mycroft's house after work and the party. Lean fingers wrapped around his wrist and tugged, and the detective inspector obeyed, sliding into the tall man's lap. His restraint broke, wanting to taste those lips again so badly, but their kiss was soft as he tried to rein his passion back.
There was a nip to his lip as Mycroft silently told him not to do that and suddenly they were kissing like madmen. He felt hands grip his rear possessively and this time he felt a tongue ease its way into his mouth. They had time now and at least the politician wasn't going to tease him. Greg tugged the robe open, touching his neck firmly.
When the kiss broke, they were both panting. "Mycroft Holmes, do you have to be perfect in everything you do?"
Mycroft smirked at him, running his thumb over Greg's bottom lip. "For you? Yes."
"I thought you asked for more time."
"I asked if I said I needed more time, would you give it to me. I never said I needed more time."
Was that a test? It seemed like something he or Sherlock would do, to see if the other person was really serious because he had never met anyone that could lie to either of them successfully. They asked to be sure their prospective partners were serious, didn't they? "Sherlock does love you, you know."
Mycroft blinked at the abrupt shift in topic. "…I know."
"You do? Nobody would blame you if you didn't think so, with how he talks to and about you."
"Sherlock is…different. I know what he means and I'm aware of his feelings. He will never tell me he loves me and he will never thank me, but I know he feels both." Mycroft seemed so confident in it, as if he'd never been hurt by anything Sherlock had ever done, but Greg figured that hurt had to come from somewhere in his past. With any luck, he might have the chance to find out.
"So…dating now?"
There was a heavy sigh. "I will not have you going into this believing this will be a smooth transition."
"I know, trust me. I know that it's going to be rocky and you don't like talking about emotions and all that. I'm prepared for it. Are you?"
"…As best as I can be."
"Good. Now…do you want me to go since we've gotten all this settled? We both know where this is going if I stay."
Mycroft's eyes darkened in promise. "I want you to stay."
Greg smiled. "Good. I wanted to stay too."
After another deep kiss, his new boyfriend muttered, "He'll be insufferable for weeks now."
"Who?"
"Sherlock."
That stumped him. "Why?"
The answer only further confused him. "Goldfish."
-The End-
(Yes, the dancing scene was pretty much pure crack. I wanted to write it so I did. The song I was listening to and wrote it to was Counting Stars by OneRepublic if anyone wanted to know. As before, I might do their first time in a continuation.)
