This is a very short one I wrote with a friend while doing 10 minute fanfics based off one word. The word I got was "Run" and the characters I got were Mycroft and Lestrade. This is the result...

After a long heated kiss behind some run down pub, Mycroft took Lestrade's hand and they started jogging down the empty road. Alone at last.

It was some ridiculous time in the morning, and Mycroft really should've been running the country, but all he wanted to do was run away with Greg. He loved him more than England, than Sherlock or Mummy, or even life itself.

"Where are we going?" Greg giggled as they stopped in the middle of the road for a breather. God, Gregory's face looked beautiful as he basked in the golden orange street lights that were shining above them. His grey eyes glinted with silver as they both looked at each other with lust.

"It dosen't matter. Anywhere. Everywhere; as long as I'm with you." Mycroft softly cupped Greg's face and lightly kissed him.

"Oh come off. Really, where are we going?" Greg playfully slapped Mycroft's hand away and smiled.

"I'm being serious, Gregory. let's run away together. Lets live in a cottage in Switzerland. Or in the snowy hills in Greenland. Or we could go to America and live in New York." Greg had never seen Mycroft this day dreamy before.

"Are you really serious? What about your job? Your family and life here?" Greg had both of Mycroft's hand in his, their bodies close together as the cold wind blew in the night.

"Without you, it's not worth a thing to me. I love you. Like I've never loved anything before."

"More than cake?" Greg cheekily asked.

"More than all the cakes in the world!" Mycroft announced and as they giggled like two school girls, they kissed.

"Oi! Ya fags!"

The sound of a small crowd threw them off, and they saw a bunch of skin heads coming at them. Greg was sure that out of the 7 of them, at least 3 had baseball bats.

"Ya queer cunts! Fuck off from this town, no one wants ya!" One of them called.

All Mycroft's power, and all Lestrade's police badges couldn't do much for them now. Greg grabbed Mycroft's hand and yelled "RUN!" and they ran back the way they came, towards one of the main streets near the pub.

But the others were too quick. They were surrounded in the small alleyway. The next thing they knew, was excruciating pain, and were almost beaten to death for their sexuality.

After a month of mourning, Mycroft went to Switzerland. Alone.