Hello and welcome to this world of mine! I recently read a story that made me fall in love with Mycroft/Greg, so I just had to type this up. John will arrive in the story in future chapters, I promise you. Any suggestions, please let me know. Love to you all! /Willows

Chapter 1

It was a Wednesday like any other Wednesdays. The rain was still pouring down outside the window, just as it had done for the past eight days. London was experiencing one of its more chilly springs, and everywhere, people ran with their heads down and their coats tightly wrapped around them. It had been a severe and unusually long winter, which had caused the towns inhabitants to stay indoors most of the time, making the few brave who defied the cold look like ghostly figures in the otherwise empty streets. Now the winter had finally turned into spring, but the much-awaited sun was still nowhere to be seen.

Greg shut off his alarm, grunted and rolled out of bed. He gazed out the window and cursed for the eight day in a row that he was living in London and therefore had to endure a life in the cold. He got dressed and walked sleepily out into the kitchen. He glanced briefly at the note on the kitchen table.

"Sorry, I have to work late tonight, don't wait up.

- Elaine"

He didn't even have to read it really, he knew what it said. He also knew that it was a lie, and that his wife was currently sleeping with the gym teacher at the school where she taught third-grade. When you teach third-grade, you don't have to work late every night, so it hadn't been a very difficult conclusion to come up with. Of course, he had been suspicious already two years ago when she started going to the dentist about three times a week. And last year she had taken a sudden interest in astronomy, which of course caused her to stay out late several times a week, "watching stars with her study-group". Greg had tried to be upset, but had found it in him that he really didn't care, which probably showed to what extent their marriage had fallen into the cracks.

He could always tell whenever she got herself a new lover by the color of her lipstick. During these years she had used pretty much the entire spectrum of reddish colors, from deep dark red to light pink. She had even tried a nuance of purple, but that only lasted for three weeks. A few months back she'd changed it from a bright-red color, to a darker shade of red, like roses, and so far it seemed like she'd stick with it.

If he was being honest with himself, he hadn't loved her for years, and he was certain that the feeling was mutual. They stuck together more out of habit and laziness than anything else. They didn't have any children to take into account, which probably was for the best seeing to the situation, although Greg would've loved to become a father. They had tried for many years, but in vain. Eventually they had gone to the doctor where Greg found out that he was practically sterile. He had a strong feeling that his wife had never really forgiven him for not being able to have children of their own. It was soon after that, that their marriage had started to fall apart. Their relationship now consisted of curt conversations about the weather, boring Christmas presents once a year and the occasional dutiful shag on birthdays and anniversaries.

And, of course, the eternal notes on the breakfast table from her. As far as discretion goes, she might just as well have shouted "I'm fucking my colleague, just so you know" into Greg's face. That would probably not have made any greater impact than the notes though, seeing as Greg just didn't care.

He was generally in a part of his life where he felt indifferent about pretty much everything. Despite the mostly terrible things he dealt with at work every day, they all left him more or less unmoved. He desperately wanted something to happen, anything that would get him out of this state. Seeing as fidelity wasn't really on the map anymore, he had tried chatting up a few women in a bar once or twice, but he was out of practice and it always ended with him going home alone to the empty house, watching a movie and feeling rather miserable.

While he was drinking his morning tea, this ordinary Wednesday, Greg flipped through the paper, and winced when he saw his own face staring back at him. The headline read 'BAND OF BURGLARS STILL ON THE LOOSE' and further down in the article, beside a pixelated picture of himself looking very grim;

"D.I Lestrade from Scotland Yard is in charge of the investigation concerning the wave of burglaries that has swept over London lately. The D.I stated on the press-conference yesterday that the police so far had reached no break-through in the investigation, and that they had no clues whatsoever. When he received the question what can be done to protect one's home from a break in, he answered 'Well I guess people will have to get better locks.'".

Which was not at all what he had said.

Okay maybe that was exactly what he'd said. He really should keep better control of his temper when it came to dealing with the press. Nonetheless, the stupid journalist was right, they had nothing to go on whatsoever. There had been about eleven break-ins in London so far, during the past three weeks. There seemed to be no connection between the stricken houses, although the procedure was always the same. The house, belonging to a wealthy family, cleared of everything valuable, but no fingerprints, no DNA, no traces whatsoever. They hadn't even found a single hair, and Greg thought that he might be slowly going crazy just out of pure frustration. He folded the paper with a bit more force than necessary, tearing a few pages in the process, and downed his tea in one mouthful. He then put on his coat and made his way to work, hating the rain more and more with each step.

He was soaking by the time he stepped into his office, which did not improve his already bad mood. He helped himself to a cup of lukewarm coffee in the kitchen and grunted to the people nearby in a sort of good morning greeting. He barricaded himself in his office, hoping not to be disturbed by some dreadful colleague. He had tons of paperwork to attend to, and Greg once again wished desperately for something to happen, anything to get him out of this.

He got his wish fulfilled around lunchtime, when yelling in the corridor outside caused him to look up from the report he was currently writing. He tried to locate the shouts and was just about to go see what was going on when his office door was jerked open. It was Sally, a young and ambitious Sergeant who'd started working at Scotland Yard just a few weeks ago. Greg had so far not determined whether or not he liked her.

"Lestrade, you have to come! He is being a complete arse to everyone, claiming we are incompetent. He shouted obscenities at Maria and made her cry. He's demanding to speak with you." Sally said, sounding exasperated.

"Who?" Greg asked, feeling more than a bit confused.

"I don't know who he is, he just barged in and started insulting all of us."

"Where is he now?" Greg said, already heading out the door and down the corridor, Sally trailing behind.

"I put him in the interrogation room, I didn't know what to do." she said hesitantly.

"It's fine Sally, I'll deal with this. You can go now." He added when she looked as if she were about to follow him into the room. She just nodded and headed round the corner. Greg wondered what kind of person was waiting for him on the other side of the door, who had managed to upset so many people and make such a fuss in just a few minutes. He should probably be suspicious, but he felt nothing but curiosity. Finally something out of the ordinary happened. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

The man waiting for him inside was tall, lean and pale. He was sitting slumped in the chair, his feet up on the table. His black curly hair was a mess, and his clothes seemed like they could use a good wash. He had a fancy black coat draped around him, which did not suit the rest of his outfit, and which made him look strangely majestic. The most striking about him though was his face. The pale skin was flawless and made a sharp contrast to the black hair. The high cheekbones gave him a mysterious aura and could've been too sharp, hadn't it been for his eyes, which bore a striking but warm gaze. Greg was instantly fascinated by this man. He sat down opposite of him, crossed his arms and met the piercing look provided by the strange man in front of him. The man pulled out a packet of cigarettes, and continued to light one and inhale deeply with his eyes closed.

"Those things will kill you" Greg said simply, because he honestly had no idea to start a conversation with this man.

The dark haired one inhaled again and snorted at him. "Oh don't pretend you don't want one as well. You're practically inhaling my smoke, and your pencil is pretty much useless right now." Greg looked down at the pencil he had held between his fingers. It was broken in half. It was hard to stop smoking, and so far he hadn't done a very good job. He fought against his better judgment for about six seconds, then he sighed and took one of the offered cigarettes, sincerely hoping he wouldn't get caught smoking inside. The man smirked, and held out the lighter for him.

"You are Detective Inspector Lestrade" It was not a question. Even his voice was dark and mysterious, and every word sounded like it had been carefully weighed before spoken out loud. "I've read all about you in the papers."

Greg really didn't know whether to be flattered or ashamed by this so he just nodded and said "Yes. And who are you?"

The man cocked an eyebrow at him, smirked again and said, "I am Sherlock Holmes."