This little One-Shot just wouldn't leave me alone - I had to write it. So, given the subject matter, I felt it only right to dedicate this to my very good friend Copgirl - if you haven't read her stuff you really should go and do so now! - then come back and read this too...please?

It had been a long day, and Greg was too weary to even care about the snow falling in large, cotton wool flakes past his office window. All he wanted to do was go home and sit in front of the television.

The outer office was in total darkness, he was the last one to leave as usual. Even the regular Friday night session down the pub didn't appeal as he dragged on his overcoat and closed his office door.

On his way down in the lift Greg pulled out his wallet to check that there was enough cash in it to pick up a take-away. He still had his head down as he stepped out into the foyer and collided with a solid body, suited and wrapped in the best quality cashmere Chesterfield overcoat.

"Oh God, I'm sorry..." he blurted, then looked up into pale blue eyes.

"Not quite Inspector." Mycroft Holmes smiled and stepped back, giving Lestrade space to catch his breath. "I actually wanted a quiet word with you..."

Greg groaned inwardly. There were many times he had wished for an opportunity to be alone with his erratic consultant's eminently more agreeable brother, and now here he was and Greg felt like he'd been put through the wringer and come out looking like shit.

Holmes' smile grew.

"Actually you look more like you've just managed to get through a rough week without committing murder – both my brother and all the members of your team are still alive despite their constant bickering and jibing, I'd say that's cause for a celebration wouldn't you?"

The other man's accurate description of his week drew a rueful chuckle from Lestrade.

"It was a close run thing," he admitted. "If John hadn't been there I think the outcome would have been very different."

"Ah yes, the inestimable Doctor Watson." Mycroft turned, gesturing towards the door as he did so. "It's fortuitous of you to bring him into the conversation."

Following the tall auburn haired man Greg felt his stomach sink. He could only guess at what heinous sin John had supposedly committed to have the powerful mind of the British Government turned on him.

In silence they climbed into the sleek black car that stood idling at the kerb.

"What about my car?" Greg wondered out loud as he pulled the seatbelt across his chest.

"Give your car keys to Anthea, she'll deliver your car home for you."

Looking up Greg saw the dark haired assistant holding out one hand for the keys while the other was busy on the keyboard of her Blackberry. Handing them over, he waited until they were moving before saying

"What does she do on that thing? Play Candy Crush?"

This drew a genuine chuckle from his companion.

"It wouldn't surprise me." Mycroft admitted. "Frankly, she is so good at her job that I can hardly complain if she does."

"Fair point."

The silence settled around them, and Greg found himself fidgeting in his seat. Finally he had to speak.

"So, you wanted to talk to me about John? What's up?"

"Not here." Mycroft turned his head and looked at the older man. "I thought we could talk over dinner."

"But...I'm hardly dressed for dinner!" Panic clutched at Greg's innards as he envisioned sitting opposite this immaculately turned out man in his scruffy and stale work clothes, but it seemed that, like his brother, Mycroft Holmes had that uncanny knack for mind-reading at the most inappropriate moments.

"No one will mind that you've come straight from work Gregory, I have arranged for dinner to be served to us in the Stranger's Room at the Diogenes Club. That way we can talk in comfort with no one to overhear what we have to say."

Greg didn't know what worried him the most, that Sherlock's brother had called him Gregory (and let's face it – even Sherlock after all these years couldn't get that right!) or that he didn't want whatever it was he had to say about John to be overheard. Suddenly he started to feel very sorry for the short blond ex-soldier.

xXx

The Stranger's room was one of the few places in the Diogenes Club that speaking was permitted. In keeping with the rest of the building, it was tastefully decorated – if a little dark with all the mahogany panelling – and the staff had already set up a small table with two chairs so that they might eat and talk in comfort.

As soon as dinner was served and the white gloved waiter had served wine, Mycroft indicated with an imperious wave of his hand that the man could leave, that they would serve themselves.

If the food was melt-in-the-mouth delicious Greg didn't notice, he was too busy watching Mycroft's elegant hands as he cut his food into delicate portions. Finally he could stand it no longer.

"Look, this is all very nice Mr Holmes - "

"Mycroft." The cultured voice corrected him gently.

"Er...Yeah, right. Well, Mycroft, as I said, this is lovely, but I've got to ask – what on earth has John done? I always thought he'd been good for Sherlock, even after...well, you know, the fall and everything – I thought you'd be happy that they've finally worked things out between them, no chance now of John upping sticks and leaving..." He stopped dead, noticing the slight colouring of Mycroft's cheeks, and the way his hands trembled as he put down his knife and fork.

"What's wrong?"

Mycroft shook his head.

"Nothing, it's..." He looked frustrated at his inability to explain without feeling stupid. "Gregory, John has done nothing wrong – quite the contrary. You're right about John and Sherlock's relationship, it's the best thing that could have happened to my brother, however…"

TWO HOURS EARLIER….

"Just what is it that you hate so much about me Mycroft that you have to constantly check on your brother's welfare despite it no longer being your problem? Don't you trust me?" John sighed shaking his head. "Don't you trust him?"

"John you misunderstand….."

"No Mycroft – you misunderstand. You have never been in love, never even admitted to caring – other than about Sherlock, and to be honest I think that's more about control than care - what the fuck makes you think you can lecture us on our behaviour? Especially when….."

"When what?"

John stared stubbornly at the floor, his arms folded and shoulders hunched.

Mycroft looked at his brother, but Sherlock turned away, already unhappy with his sibling's constant interference in their lives.

He looked back at John, who seemed to be struggling with a decision, pacing past him to escape to the kitchen, putting the kettle on and pulling mugs from a cupboard.

"Tea?" he gestured toward Mycroft with a mug, watching him shake his head.

"John, you obviously have something to say, I suggest you say it."

"Or what Mycroft? What will you do if I don't say it?"

Sherlock sniggered.

"He'll probably try to make you disappear John, we'll have to be on our guard."

"Oh for goodness sake…"

"Look." John walked back into the room and handed Sherlock his drink before moving to lean against the window frame. "You Holmes' are brilliant – no Sherlock, don't try to deny your brother is clever – but neither of you are good at seeing what's been right there under your noses are you?"

His glance took in the shocked expressions on the faces of both brothers.

"For God's sake Sherlock, how long did it take for you to see what I felt?" a blush tinged the tips of John's ears as he remained the focus of the two cleverest men in London. "Do I have to spell it out to you?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"By the time I realised it was too late to stop the wheels that had been put in motion."

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"John this doesn't explain…."

"Yes, yes it does." Sherlock interrupted. "He's trying to point out…"

"Sherlock!"

"No John, I'm fed up with his spying, and his smugness, when all the while he's just as bad as I am – or was."

Closing his eyes Mycroft found himself, not for the first time since John had arrived in Sherlock's life, reaching for his patience. He realised that a compromise was needed if he was ever to get to the bottom of whatever it was that John was hinting about.

"Alright John, what is it that you want me to do or say in order for you to tell me whatever it is you are trying in such a roundabout way to convey?"

"Remove them." John said, his voice calm but unbending. "Remove every means that you have in place within this flat for spying on Sherlock and me. Stop watching our every move." He took a breath and stared hard at the British Government.

"I don't mind that your cameras pick us up when we're out and about but…" he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating two CCTV cameras on the buildings opposite. "…I object strongly when I open the curtains and see that they are looking directly into our living room."

Sherlock watched the exchange with interest. He could see by his brother's expression that he was closer to capitulation than he would have been had Sherlock himself made these demands. Not for the first time did he realise that John's people skills were worth their weight in gold!

"And if I agree?" The older man looked suspiciously at the ex-army doctor. "How do I know this isn't just some ruse to get me to do as you want while you two just sat back and laughed at having got one over on me?"

"Mycroft," John sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "We're not your enemy – in fact I'm the closest thing you have to a personal agony aunt."

Sherlock choked on his tea. Mycroft's jaw dropped.

"Stop laughing Sherlock." It took a while for John to get his twitching grin under control. "I'm going to steal one of your favourite sayings…."

"Be my guest." The younger man chuckled.

"Mycroft, you see but you do not observe." Leaning across to the coffee table John put his cup down, then thrust his hands into his jeans pockets. "Every time you turn up at a crime scene, or move in to takeover an investigation from the Met, Greg can't take his eyes off you. He positively drools at times."

"But…."

"And you – you're not so bloody innocent of all this. I've seen you eyeing him whenever you think no-one's watching."

"You're wrong…."

"No Mycroft, I'm not. You forget, of the three of us here I'm the expert in feelings and relationships." John enjoyed seeing the uncomfortable blush rise up from the older Holmes' collar and spread all the way up to his hairline – he felt it went some way towards avenging those times that he and Sherlock had been spied upon. "I know it took a while for Greg to recognise his feelings…"

"What has he said?" Mycroft demanded.

"Oh nothing, it's just written all over his face – if you know what to look for." There was an expectant pause, then John added "in the same way that it's written all over yours."

Mycroft spluttered. Sherlock guffawed. John stepped up to stand next to the flustered embodiment of the British Establishment.

"So, if you want to assure yourself of the truth of what I've just said, Greg will still be in his office, by now the rest of the team will have adjourned to the pub and he will be in the office finishing up- he's that kind of conscientious officer. Anyway, after the week he's had I doubt he'll be joining them so…."

He didn't have time to finish his sentence – Mycroft was already turning away and heading towards the door.

xXx

As Mycroft finished his story he glanced up through lowered lashes to see that Greg was sitting staring at him, his mouth hanging open in stunned surprise.

"I…..I'm sorry, it looks like John was setting me – us – up as the butt of some atrocious practical joke…" he stammered.

The colour had drained from Lestrade's face, and his cutlery dropped noisily from nerveless fingers.

"My dear Inspector, I apologise…."

"No!"

The word sounded like a thunderclap in the unnatural quiet of the room. Both men appeared startled by it.

"I…"

"You…"

They both spoke. Mycroft waved his hand graciously.

"You first."

"I didn't realise I was so transparent." Greg admitted quietly. "Nor that John was so observant."

"Then…." Mycroft frowned, puzzled. "Let me get this straight. John was right? You are…"

"Attracted to you? Yeah." Shrugging, Greg lowered his head. "I know I'm way out of your league though."

"No – yes – I mean, I didn't think you were- well, you know."

"Gay? Bi-sexual? Nope, neither did I." With a kind of hopeless grin Greg chuckled. "I said exactly the same thing to John over a pint one evening shortly after he and Sherlock….he laughed and said he wasn't, that he was simply head over heels in love with your younger brother, Holmesexual he called it. Made me think."

"And what conclusion did you come to?" It seemed as if Mycroft was holding his breath against the answer.

"That I find myself thinking about you at the most inappropriate moments, that every time a new case comes along that your brother is involved in I hope you will also turn up, that maybe whatever John has, I seem to have too."

For a moment Mycroft was speechless, his mouth opening and closing several times but no noise came out.

Greg didn't seem to have similar problems as he picked up his fork once more and used it to poke at the remains of his dinner, moving vegetable around and staring at them as if they were the most fascinating thing in the room.

"I know I'm way out of your normal social strata, and I'll understand if you never wanted to see me again, but I can't say that I'm unhappy that John has 'outed' me so to speak." He glanced up with a small smile. "You needed to know, I needed you to know."

Blue eyes met hazel as Mycroft swallowed drily.

"Have you finished eating?" He asked, clearing his throat and fiddling with his cufflinks.

"Er, yeah." Greg sighed. "If you don't mind calling me a cab I'll be getting along home." He stood up and folded his napkin. "Thanks for the….unfffff!"

His words were swallowed as a pair of warm lips tentatively covered his, and a hand crept around the back of his head to hold him still.

As Greg relaxed into the kiss Mycroft guided him back away from the table, both men ignoring the crash as his chair tipped over, they were too intent on each other.

"Let me take you home." Mycroft whispered between nips and kisses.

"My flat's…."

"No Gregory, come home with me – it will be far more comfortable – and private."

The Detective Inspector gazed at Mycroft , his feelings unguarded for the first time since they met, and he grinned.

"That sounds like the best offer I've had all my life!"