Lestrade
It's not every day that someone like him comes along. Suave, smart and sophisticated. Leaning on his umbrella like a walking stick, he awkwardly looks around as he stands in the cafe doorway. After a few long seconds I look up at him and we make eye contact that lasted for infinity. He gave a small smile - the one he reserved just for me.
Mycroft came over, placed his umbrella on the back of his chair and pushed his upper body over it to rest his hands seductively on the tabletop, fingers pointing outwards. His beautiful face was a hand span away from mine. "You do know I don't frequent cafes?" he said intensely. "I am the British government, it would not do to be seen squandering away my time in London's delis."
"Squandering! I call this enjoying. Is that such a foreign work?"
He ignored me and stopped a passing waitress instead. "Yes, tea for two, thank you. And I would appreciate it if this little escapade could stay between us" he said flourishing a £20 note into the waitress' pocket. Turning back to me he explained "I don't want to be found, particularly by more... embarrassing acquaintances."
After a rather pregnant pause the tea arrived (That was quick!) and Mycroft was surveying me over the rim of his teacup. Only his bottomless eyes and an occasional glimpse of his shapely lips were viable.
Mycroft is perfect. Everything. His voices, his hands, even his umbrella. I thought back to the last time we met and a cascade of warmth flew to my groin before heating my face. He took another sip of tea then smirked at me. Nothing gets past the Holmes brothers.
