Buzz.
Looking at his phone, Mycroft couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
It was the second time this week Mycroft had gotten a text from a drunk Greg. It was odd to have them so close to each other. But a few nights ago Greg had gone out with John. It just so happened to be the night they had made plans to get dinner to discuss Sherlock getting his job back. Greg had sent some gibberish to Mycroft. Guy decay,, I lojd you'll. It must have been autocorrected. Mycroft had excused himself from his meeting to call Greg. After finding out where the two were, he had gone to get them. John had been fairly alert and was questioning why Mycroft was there.
"You always said you just sent a car," John had said accusingly. Mycroft had just sighed as he helped Greg into the car. He dropped both off at their houses. It wasn't a common occurrence, but when Greg had been going through his divorce, these calls had happened more often. Now, he and John only went out when they both had a night off. Mycroft was glad Greg had someone to talk to.
Mycroft would never admit it, but he had feelings for Greg. They had started as mere lust when he kidnapped Greg for the first time, needing to explain who Sherlock was and that he would be helping the detective. Then Mycroft increased the surveillance on Greg. He would text when he noticed Greg was low on milk. When he caught Mrs. Lestrade with the gym teacher, he wasn't sure what to do. He told Sherlock, who claimed he was able to deduce it. That was three, nearly four years ago. Over the years they talked more and more and Mycroft began to like him more and more.
Sighing and coming back to the present, Mycroft headed to his car. He did have a driver, but when it came to Greg, he wanted to be the only one there. He called Greg.
"Where are you?"
"Wherever you are."
"Skip the flirting. Where are you?"
"Outside your place. I think. Big building with a scary looking guard?"
"Just don't move."
Mycroft heard some laughing. "What?"
"I'm moving my hand. Oh, look, I can dance!"
Some loud steps seemed to say that Greg had followed through with his plans to dance. Mycroft hung up. He entered a long password to get access to where Greg's phone was. It was, somehow, outside the building where he lived. Sherlock must have given it to him.
A short drive later and Mycroft was at his apartment. He parked and looked for Greg.
"Over here!" Greg shouted, before running into Mycroft, knocking them both down. Greg was on top of Mycroft and seemed to be enjoying that fact. Mycroft certainly wasn't complaining. But, he got up, and tried to lead Greg towards his car.
"No, I don't wanna go home. I wanna go to your place. I'm here, aren't I?" Greg said, before leaning on Mycroft. "I'd rather just stay here - fuck," Greg started to say before running into a street light. Would it be wrong to bring Greg up? It's not like Mycroft would take advantage of him, but it still seemed improper, wrong even. Greg would surely hate him in the morning. But Greg was starting to swing around the streetlight, like he was trying to be seductive. Greg needed to go somewhere and they were right here.
"Come on, then."
"Where, sexy?"
"Can you stop that?"
"Why, don't you like me? Don't you wanna kiss me?" Greg asked, smiling in a devilish way. Mycroft swore quietly under his breath. He did like him and did want to kiss him. But he was drunk. It was wrong to say anything.
"How much did you drink?"
"I don't know."
"Follow me."
"Where?"
"To my place. That's what you want, right?"
"More than anything, sweetie."
Mycroft just rolled his eyes. He pulled Greg along and took him to his apartment. It was very big for a bachelor, but it was handy having the extra bed. "You stink," he observed.
"Well, I might've chased down a guy at work and spilled a beer on my at the bar," Greg said, as if he noticed the stain on the front of his shirt for the first time. "You have a shower in this fancy place?"
At this point, were there any lines that hadn't been crossed? "Yes, right through that door. Put your clothes out and I'll wash them. I have some clothes that should fit you."
Hearing the water turn off, Mycroft suddenly got more nervous. Would he just go to bed? And why did Greg always flirt with him when he was drunk? Did that mean he did have some sort of feelings for him, or was it just a joke to him?
"Mycroft?"
"Yes?"
"Can you come here?"
Mycroft wasn't sure what he was expecting. Why would Greg need help? He opened the door and suddenly Greg was kissing him. Mycroft shoved Greg off him and he landed on the bed.
"What did you do that for?"
"You're drunk!"
"No, I'm not. I was only pretending."
"What?"
"Well, a few nights ago, John didn't have that much. He told me that when I do drink a bit too much, you come. It was not just you sending someone to pick me up, like you always claimed. I figured it meant you might return some of my feelings."
"So you were testing a theory?"
"Yeah, you could say that."
"But why come to my place?"
"Something big must have gone on today. Some punk broke the water main thing to my apartment building. No water for me. I needed a shower. Plus, I kind of was hoping I could spend the night."
"Then why not just ask?"
"Because I wanted to see if you'd come or send a driver."
"I'm here. Obviously."
"And we just shared a lovely, if not brief, kiss. Obviously."
"I propose we extend that kiss this time."
"I would concur with that course of action, Mr. Holmes."
"I was rather hoping you'd say that." With that, Mycroft walked to the bed. He slowly climbed on top of Greg, trying to contain his smile. "Ready?"
Greg pulled Mycroft's head and kissed him as an answer.