Relationship(s): Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, some OC's (not really relevant)
Ratings: Mature
Summary: Mycroft asks for help. Greg is drunk. The conversation get slightly off topic and does not go as planned. When Holmes' are involved it rarely ever does.
Part 1 of the "Rogue" series
Lestrade pulled his coat a little closer as they made their way out of the pub. John meanwhile was busy trying to keep his dinner down. Miller had already headed back to his flat and Groffman had ducked out an hour ago.
Lestrade leveraged John up and laughed as he muttered that he was fine while he tripped over his own foot.
"It doesn't usually affect me this much." John grasped Greg's shoulder tighter as his vision swam to the right.
"When's the last time you drank that much?" Lestrade quickly maneuvered John around the street light.
"I don't know. Too long I guess." John muttered something to himself before he suddenly started laughing. Lestrade smiled and rolled his eyes. If Lestrade had any say in it John would be getting out with them much more often.
A couple minutes later they arrived in front of 221B and Lestrade helped John up the stairs. Sherlock was there to glare at them as they stumbled through the door which of course sent John into another fit of hysterics. Lestrade handed him over silently (and if he didn't know better he would say that Sherlock was being gentle with John).
Sherlock deposited John on the sofa before he returned to the door. "He won't be of any use until the morning now." Lestrade snorted and sent him a gesture that had Sherlock rolling his eyes.
"You know you should let him out more. He deserves to have a bit of fun every now and then."
"John is free to do whatever he pleases, whenever he pleases. It is no fault of mine if he chooses to spend his time solving crimes. Your crimes might I add."
Lestrade snorted again and headed toward the stairs. "I think I'll take that as my cue to leave before I really start feeling drunk and punch you." Sherlock tilted his head in acknowledgement and shut the door behind him.
Lestrade only tripped once as he made his way back down the stairs. When he finally cleared the archway he headed up the foot path on his way for home. He made it about 10 metres before a black car pulled up beside him. Lestrade only paused for a minute before he kept walking.
The car followed him. Finally Lestrade stopped and knocked on the window. "What do you want?" The door opened briskly and Lestrade had to stumble back not to get hit. "The hell?"
"Get in." Mycroft was sitting on the far seat and Lestrade thought about ignoring him and just walking home. He didn't have the patience on a good day and today certainly hadn't been one of those. Before he could move though Mycroft shot him a look and Lestrade sighed before he finally just gave in and ducked inside.
The interior was nice and warm and Lestrade sighed as the warmth seeped back into his bones. "I repeat, what do you want?"
"I need your help. We've had a series of murders that require the assistance of my brother. Unfortunately he is not taking my calls right now and that leaves me with no other option but you or John." Lestrade shot him a look. "John is not taking my calls either currently." Lestrade laughed and Mycroft shot him a chilly look before he began studying the street lights outside.
"And what makes you think that I'm going to do anything for you? Besides if there were murders going on I'm pretty sure I would know about them. It is my job you know." Lestrade stretched his legs out and he could see Mycroft's gaze shift towards him again out of the corner of his eye. Lestrade almost smirked out of pure spite. Instead he stretched a little further and made sure to raise his arms up as well.
"We've been keeping it under wraps. They are not the kind of murders that would normally fall across your desk. However, as I said, we require Sherlock's unique way of seeing things and you are my only leverage right now."
"Leverage huh? Yeah that sounds about right. Lord knows you wouldn't be asking for my help otherwise right?" Lestrade could feel his temper rising and he took a few deep breaths to calm down. It didn't last long.
"Don't be childish." Mycroft's voice cut across his skin like a row of tiny razor blades.
"Childish? Are you joking? I'm not the one with the cold shoulder." Lestrade was fuming. He wasn't the one who had completely abandoned whatever it was that had been building between them. He wasn't the one who had ceased all contact and essentially disappeared. Sherlock didn't even know where Mycroft had gone (and Lestrade would know because he had asked John to ask him-discreetly of course).
Mycroft seemed to be battling his own temper if his eyes were anything to go by. The car wasn't very well lit but the glow from the street lights was shining well enough to reveal the shift from grey to blood red. Lestrade considered backing off (after all he didn't have a death wish) but the booze in his blood was making him brave (and stupid).
For a moment neither of them said anything. Lestrade simply glared at Mycroft as Mycroft clenched his jaw.
A double knock sounded from behind the glass that separated them from the driver. Mycroft growled lowly and Lestrade swallowed reflexively. The hairs on his arms were standing on end and his heart rate kicked into overdrive out of instinct. Mycroft's nostrils flared suddenly and his head snapped around. "I suggest you control yourself immediately or we are going to have a problem."
"I can control myself just fine you bloody prat. Keep in mind that I didn't want to be having this conversation in the first place. You're the one who…" Lestrade's tirade was cut off as a hand closed swiftly around his throat. He wasn't being strangled yet but he could definitely feel the power that the agile fingers carefully squeezing his windpipe possessed. On top of that he was being slowly dragged across the seat until he was practically sitting in Mycroft's lap.
"I said control yourself." Mycroft's voice had changed. It sounded like liquid gold running over smooth river stones. Lestrade could feel himself harden and he prayed that Mycroft wouldn't notice. He was embarrassed enough at his reaction, he didn't need Mycroft blackmailing him with it later.
Unfortunately for him Mycroft seemed to be taking an exceptionally close look at him suddenly and he dragged him closer. Lestrade could feel Mycroft's breath on his neck, damp and quick. His own breathing had increased considerably just with the proximity.
"Mycroft." His voice didn't sound like his own either. It was rough and deep and Lestrade closed his eyes out of pure humiliation. This was exactly what he had been waiting for months ago when he had first started flirting with Mycroft. Then something had happened and Mycroft had left him high and dry. Now, instead of just being turned on, Lestrade was angry (and turned on). "Mycroft." His voice sounded steadier the second time.
Mycroft seemed to come back to himself for a minute as he loosened his grip on Greg's throat. He didn't let him go though. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear Detective Inspector. I do not share." With that said Mycroft released Lestrade's throat and pushed him bodily back across the cab. Lestrade struggled for a moment to regain his equilibrium. When he did though he threw out his fist. Mycroft caught it easily but Lestrade felt better anyways.
"I don't know what the hell you're on about and I don't really care. You listen to me Holmes and listen well. Fuck. Off. If I wanted to date someone that was this much trouble I would have pursued someone like your brother by now." This statement got him another growl and a pupillary response. Mycroft's eyes narrowed down to slits that resembled cat's eyes and Lestrade could just make out his fangs from behind his lips. He swallowed reflexively before continuing. "I haven't been seeing anyone since the divorce and I don't sleep around. I don't know where you got your information from but they must have been high as a kite when they gave it to you. And anyways, what I do on my time is my own business if you aren't going to be man enough to do something about it. Got it?" Lestrade poked Mycroft in the chest and Mycroft grabbed his wrist.
"And if I did decide to do something about it." Mycroft tugged a little but Greg stood his ground (or sat it rather).
"If you did something right now I'd probably stake you to be perfectly honest." Mycroft's eyes drifted down to Lestrade's coat pocket and he grinned.
"Do you think you could make it in time?" Lestrade opened his mouth to reply but Mycroft had already grabbed his other wrist and pulled him in. Their lips collided hard and Lestrade could swear he tasted blood from where Mycroft's fang had pierced his lip.
The kiss wasn't gentle by any means and Mycroft quickly gained the upper hand. One hand had wrapped itself around the back of Greg's neck before he could decide what was happening and the other had snaked itself down to his upper thigh. Greg grunted roughly and grabbed his shoulder, letting himself be owned for a moment. Only a moment though.
It didn't take long for him to regain his senses and when he did he reached for his coat. Mycroft was still too wrapped up in licking the blood from his lips to hear the soft snick of the stake releasing and by the time it registered properly Lestrade had the stake aimed for his aorta.
"Let me go. Now." Mycroft quickly released Greg's thigh and neck and backed up as much as space would allow. Lestrade reached for the door handle. He stepped out onto the foot path again and quickly retracted the stake before shoving it in his pocket. He straightened his coat brusquely. "I think we are done here." He didn't make it two steps before the window came down behind him.
"You can't pretend that you didn't enjoy it." Mycroft's eyes were back to their chilly grey and he looked far more relaxed then Greg had ever seen him.
"I'm not denying anything but if you ever try that again I will stake you where you stand. Do we understand each other?"
Mycroft nodded his head in assent and started to wind the window back up. He stopped before it reached the top. "And Sherlock?"
Greg sighed and glanced back down the street at 221B. The light was on upstairs and Lestrade thought he could hear violin music playing. "I'll see what I can do."
"Excellent. I will have all of the files sent to your office immediately." Greg nodded and turned. "Oh, and Detective Inspector."
Lestrade turned around and glared at the glass. "What now?"
"I wouldn't want you attracting any unwanted attention on the way home." Something came fluttering out of the window and Lestrade grabbed at it before it could hit the high-street. The black car pulled away and disappeared into the darkness.
Lestrade unclenched his fist. In it was a pristine white handkerchief with Mycroft's initials monogrammed blue in the corner. Lestrade snorted and gently wiped away at his lip as he headed back to his flat.