Author's Note: This is just a quick Mystrade drabbly-thing that I wrote for my lovely friend who needed cheering up :) thankyou for reading and please review!
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, even though I kind of want to.
Mycroft's house was a grand old building, the house that he and Sherlock had grown up in together. Now it was just him, alone. The night in question was cold and crisp, and snow had been falling quietly, persistently, for hours.
The light from the fire flickered gently across the room, bathing it in soft golden light. Mycroft, who had settled himself on the sofa in the hope of getting some sleep, stretched out and closed his eyes.
There was a faint 'knock, knock' sound from the door.
He sighed and rolled over. Perhaps it was merely somebody who would give up and go away.
Of course, there was one particular person that Mycroft wished it would be, but he was away, working a case, and probably wouldn't be free for a few days at the very least.
Knock, knock.
He put a pillow over his head.
Knock, knock.
He started humming softly to himself, trying to block out the sound and wish it away.
Knock, knock.
Mycroft groaned. I give in, he thought, getting up and wandering down the hallway to the front door.
The knocking, by now, was very loud and very persistent, and accompanied by a string of loudly muttered swear words.
Mycroft's heart leapt into his throat as he realised who the oaths belonged to, and he opened the door as fast as he could.
Greg stumbled inside and stamped his feet on the rug, rubbing his frozen hands together.
"I thought you were working a case?" said Mycroft, trying to keep his tone neutral and his pulse rate normal. He began brushing snow off Greg's coat.
Greg nodded, taking Mycroft's hand in his and leading him down the hall into the main body of the house. "But everyone's gone home, and your infernal brother is 'working'. Got any food?"
Inside the warmth of the living room, Greg shivered and waited for Mycroft, who was getting him a blanket and some tea.
"Here you go," said Mycroft, coming in through a door that Greg hadn't seen before. "Some tea and there's a blanket on the sofa you can use, if you want." He placed the tray he was carrying on the small table in the middle of the room and sank into the sofa, unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves.
Greg smiled to himself and sat down on the sofa, closer to Mycroft than he had intended.
Mycroft blushed and wrapped the blanket around him, pulling Greg closer.
Greg nestled his head into the space between Mycroft's shoulder and head and sighed deeply. Just being with Mycroft made his worries somehow slip away.
It wasn't an awkward silence that they were sharing, but more of a tense one. They'd kissed before and definitely had feelings for each other, but Mycroft was such an impenetrable wall that Greg wasn't sure exactly how to put it.
Mycroft, who was trying very hard to still his beating, beating heart, saw Greg's hand so very close to his and decided, for once, to act on impulse. With a poker faced expression he took Greg's hand in his and interlaced their fingers.
At Mycroft's sudden touch electricity seemed to shoot up Greg's arm and he decided that perhaps he could just act and then he wouldn't have to speak at all.
Greg's lips were surprisingly soft against Mycroft's. The best part, Greg decided, was that Mycroft wasn't pulling away. He reached out and pulled their heads closer together, tangling his fingers in the long hair that Mycroft always wore in a ridiculous side part.
Mycroft, for his part, wasn't entirely sure what was happening, but he knew that he liked it. Running his fingers along Greg's jawline the two moved closer and closer, tangling limbs and tongues and fingers…
The next morning Mycroft awoke on the floor with something heavy resting on his chest. Opening his eyes, he studied the sleeping face of Greg Lestrade, hand resting just below his chin, legs entangled and mouth slightly open. There was something perfectly serene about this moment.
As memories of the night before came back to him he smiled softly and pulled Greg closer to him, breathing in his smell and wishing that this sense of blissful happiness would never leave him.