Mycroft shivered in the cold night air. This was absolutely ludicrous. There was nothing to be found upon digging up a one hundred and twenty-two-year-old grave, even if Sherlock hadn't been high when he suggested it. And the Detective Inspector, did he really need to get down inside the grave with Sherlock? He was going to ruin his suit. Surely the man had better sense than... that... Oh, how interesting! He had never seen the DI without his suit jacket before. Lestrade looked quite fit in his shirt sleeves and leather gloves. My, my, and the cut of the man's trousers was extremely flattering, especially at that angle.
"Mycroft," Sherlock called out, his annoyance clear in the crisp winter air. "Kindly shine the light on the grave and not the DI."
"My apologies, I was just thinking of being somewhere... warmer," Mycroft felt his cheeks redden as he readjusted the beam, all the while thinking it was about time he kidnapped the Detective Inspector again. They were long overdue a chat.