Black Mail
by: Vampira
Disclaimer: Do not own, am not making money.
The two men lay next to each other on the large bed, naked skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat, panting heavily. Both had twin grins on their faces, as the darker-haired of the two turned to his lighter-haired lover with a soft, breathless chuckle.
"Wow..." was the most articulate thing he could think of at the moment.
His lover's mind was a bit more quick to start firing on most cylinders again, however. "Your wife will not be amused." was the answer, although he gave a soft chuckle of his own. Neither were too concerned about her.
"She never did understand the concept of hypocrisy." came the answer.
"Yes...that's true. How is your son's PE teacher doing, anyway?"
"Apparently not too good. He managed to pull a groin muscle in the shower." this reply was decidedly amused, if the tone was anything to go by.
"What a pity."
"Yes, tragic." came the retort, two seconds before a burst of laughter.
"Come now, Greg. Surely, you aren't finding mirth in another's misfortune." the tone was mock-scandalized.
"Surely not, My, surely not."
Mycroft gave a slight snort, undignified but suitable for the topic. "I don't understand why you don't leave her."
"Jealous?" Greg asked with a self-satisfied smirk.
"Do not let your ego ruin the conversation." Mycroft said with a lofty tone. "I was merely suggesting that it might be better for your peace of mind."
"But, not better for the children." Greg answered.
"Oh, not that again. Your children would probably be better off without their parents being in a loveless relationship filled with uncertainties and deceit. Every once in a while, your wife files for separation and then doesn't go through with it. Perhaps it's time for one of you...to go through with it." Mycroft answered.
"Oh God, Mycroft, must we talk about this now? Can't we work this in while you're harassing me at work sometime?"
"I do not harass you at work." Mycroft huffed. "I simply check in."
"Right."
"Which reminds me...please make sure that you use some sort of fake name for me in your phone. If Sherlock is around when I try to get hold of you, he'll notice we're on a first-name basis and he will figure it out."
"Yes, and that would be such a pity. What makes you think he hasn't already?"
"If he had, he'd have gloated over it by now."
"Right. Well, I'll remember to do that..." Greg said with a soft chuckle, as he sat up, preparing to get up from the bed and get dressed.
"Greg..."
"Yeah?" he asked, pausing to turn and look at his lover.
"Stay a while longer..."
"My, I need to get back to work. They'll begin to wonder..."
"Please..." Mycroft said, quietly, looking into his lover's eyes. It wasn't every day that Mycroft Holmes pleaded for anything. Even from a lover. Perhaps especially from a lover.
Greg paused to stare at him again, regarding him, realizing the rarity of such an event. Finally, he nodded, and lay back down, pressing close to the man he'd fallen in love with against all probabilities, sealing their mouths together in a deep kiss that burned with a slow fire.
Four days later, Greg was at a crime scene with Sherlock when his phone went off with a text message. He sighed and took it from his pocket to look at the text. He knew from the special sound he'd assigned that it was Mycroft, but he never knew whether it would be important or not so he had to look. He figured his lover must be aware that Sherlock was here, otherwise he would've just called instead.
'Tonight, 915, my place'
'I'm at a crime scene, this is hardly decent'
'Why?'
'Dead body...'
'I fail to see your logic'
'Making dates over dead bodies is a bit unseemly'
'Be on time'
And that was the end of the correspondence, Greg knew a dismissal when he read it. He rolled his eyes and put his phone back in the pocket he'd gotten it from.
Sherlock had been staring at him oddly the entire time, but he had been so preoccupied with the texting that he hadn't noticed.
The detective took out his own phone and began to send a text of his own.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Greg asked, exasperated with this perceived delay.
"I apologize, Lestrade, I had no idea you were the only one allowed to waste time with text messages at crime scenes." came the dull-toned retort indicating distraction.
"I'm not the one with the brilliant mind whose supposed to be figuring out what happened to this woman." he replied.
Sherlock completely ignored him.
Elsewhere, John's phone made a noise to indicate he'd gotten a text.
"Sorry..." he said, a bit sheepishly, as he shifted on the plush chair to take out his phone and opened the message.
'Is Mycroft in the room with you?'
'Yes we were just talking about the case' John didn't understand why he had to go to Mycroft alone whenever he requested help with something he didn't want to deal with. This was taking the feud a little too far.
'Was he just texting someone?'
'Uh...yes...why?' After all, Mycroft was an important and busy man...when was he not in demand?
But, no reply was forthcoming. Instead, Sherlock smirked. It made him look almost evil. Oh yes. He could use this the next time Mycroft wanted him to do something boring for him. Not this time, no. But, the next time.
John sighed, realizing he wouldn't be getting an answer, as he looked up at the elder Holmes brother. "Sorry...now, back to what you were saying..."
END