Written for Let's Write Sherlock: Challenge 5


This will sound like one of John's blog entries, but it really started because of a case.

Sherlock and John were out of town when a serial killer decided to come out and play. He was targeting gay men, specifically ones who visited a certain nightclub several times a week.

If Sherlock were there, he would have swanned in, identified the killer, and John would have stopped the bloke just before he killed the twat.

Without Sherlock, it was decided that we would infiltrate the nightclub, with two people posing as a couple to attract less attention.

I didn't want to put any of my men at risk, so I volunteered to go undercover. I also knew I needed someone with me, both for the backup and to pose as my other half.

I didn't think too long before I came up with an answer, which should have been pretty telling right there. What can I say, I was in denial.

I met Mycroft right after I first met Sherlock, arrested for being high as a kite at a crime scene, which he solved in minutes. At that point, all I saw was a teenage junkie, although I could tell the kid was smart. Wasn't till I arrested the murderer, everything happening as Sherlock said it would, that I realized just how smart. When his brother showed up to pick him up, I could tell that apparently intelligence and sarcasm ran in the family.

Since then, I'd seen more of Mycroft Holmes than I had ever thought I would. As Sherlock began to work cases (after he sobered up) Mycroft would take to randomly kidnapping me to have a chat about his brother. The chats turned into lunch or dinner meetings, which were more convenient for both of us, and I actually started looking at him as a friend.

He was there for me when I found out about my wife's cheating and throughout the divorce. In turn, I listened to him when he was worried about Sherlock, or about some classified matter or the other at his work that I would likely never hear details about.

I knew he likely could solve this case from his desk, but he'd probably humor me, even though he detested legwork. I also knew that there was little chance he would get hurt if something went wrong, as he likely had better security than the PM.

So, I called him, told him about the case and the undercover op, and asked if he would pretend to be my partner for the night.

He didn't have club clothes (did the man ever wear anything other than three piece suits?) but his assistant took care of that. (I will add, on an unrelated note, that the sight of him in those jeans…well, I was holding my coat in front of me for a bit.)

The plan went off without a hitch. Mcroft spotted our guy as soon as he walked in, and as soon as he led his would-be victim from the club we got him. There was a bit of a struggle, and I ended up needing a few stitches in my arm from a lucky swipe with his knife, but it all went well.

Mycroft insisted that he accompany me to the A & E, then followed me back to my flat. I think he was waiting for me to keel over, but I felt fine. They'd given me something for the pain, and my adrenaline was still up from the fight, and I will blame that for the fact that I grabbed a handful of Mycroft's shirt and yanked him to me and kissed him.

(God, this does sound like one of John's blogs. I can picture him doing that with his prat of a lover/flatmate.)

At first, Mycroft stiffened, but then he relaxed into it and kissed back. We didn't do much more than snog that night, but our chats since then have taken a slightly different turn.

Who would have thought that pretending to be a couple would end with me landing that British Government for a boyfriend?


Greg sighed and leaned back, staring at what he had written. No one would ever read this, of course, but he needed to get his head on straight. Everything seemed to be moving so fast. It was hard to believe they'd been dating for several months now.

Their anniversary was coming up. He really should start looking for a present.

Long arms wrapping around his torso brought him out of his musings, and he tilted his head back so he could properly welcome his partner home.

They kissed for several minutes, before the broke apart, Mycroft reading the information on the screen in front of him while Greg calculated how long it had been since Mycroft had ate or slept and whether there would be time for sex before he made sure Mycroft ate and slept for a while.

He usually took better care of himself than Sherlock did, but whenever he was out of the country to sort out who knew what he tended to forget about menial things, like eating and sleeping.

"I object to this," Mycroft said, tapping the paragraph where he mentioned Mycroft kidnapping him regularly to chat about Sherlock.

"Would 'abducted me off the street' make you feel better?" Greg asked, grinning cheekily.

"I had to ensure that you would help my brother, not further his decline," Mycroft replied unrepentantly. "Seeing as how it as all worked out for the better, I don't see the problem."

"True," Greg said, still grinning, before he got up from his chair and tugged Mycroft toward their bedroom. Food could wait for now. It had been a month since he'd last seen Mycroft, and he decided to reacquaint himself with every inch of him.