After the very positive results of my first story "His first" I've decided to continue it further. I had some help from my beta-reader SG-Siler. Please let me know if you find any mistakes in my grammar. Like I said before I'm not a native English speaker, but I always like to improve. The other chapters will follow soon! I've already completed two, but am keeping them on to see if there needs to be some tinkering before the end of the story.

As always I hope you like it, I would be very honored if you left me review. Have fun!

Mycroft was right. Ten minutes after he left Anderson had come into Lestrade's office and complained about missing some evidence. He was ranting on about Sherlock probably taking it from the crime scene. The object could be seen on crime scene photos, but Anderson was unable to find it in any of the evidence boxes he'd taken from the crime scene. If Anderson had been paying more attention he might have noticed the big smile on Lestrade's face, who was only half listening to his rant. Greg's phone vibrated in his pocket, he took it out and opened the message.

You were amazing, I'll be back soon.
MH

Butterflies. Greg wanted to reply but it was an unregistered number and he hadn't thought to ask Mycroft for his. Greg looked up at Anderson who was apparently waiting for an answer to a question he'd asked moments before. Greg raised his eyebrows at him.

"Well?" Anderson asked.

"Well what?"

"What are you going to do about the missing evidence? Sherlock can't just get away with this again!" Anderson spat the last sentence.

Greg felt calm and utterly relaxed when he told Anderson that Sherlock hadn't even been at that particular crime scene. Anderson looked up at the ceiling as if he was thinking about this news for a moment.

"You can't blame everything that goes wrong on Sherlock," Lestrade added. "Especially when he's not actually in the area. Go and have a look at those boxes again and recheck all the photo's to see if that.. What was it again?

"A lighter."

"If that lighter is the only thing that's missing from your evidence and bring me a full report."

That had started off Greg's workday and he'd been busy with paperwork until lunch. Even though he was surrounded by detectives and inspectors, no one mentioned anything about Greg's demeanor or the dent in his cabinet. He was walking around with a smile that went from ear to ear and no matter how heated conversations got, Greg seemed in control of all of them. It started raining at around three o'clock which brought the temperature back down to normal. It came down hard and the wind was tugging at the trees down in the streets. Early evening the phone calls started coming in. Everyone went on overtime as there were three reported murders and a rape. Things in the city had definitely cooled down.

Greg didn't come home until three in the morning. He took a quick shower and went to bed. Tired from working all day. Even though he would like to have lingered on his encounter with Mycroft some more, he couldn't stay awake.

Dreaming about a slender stranger giving him a blow job, Greg woke up at 7.43 AM with a hard on. Sunlight streaming through the old curtains. He moved onto his back and stroked himself over his boxer shorts. Had it really happened? Had he fucked a man? Finally? His fantasy had come true. He contemplated the events of last night and he could feel his cock needing more. He turned over the duvet and put his hand in his boxers moving up and down his erection, when his phone suddenly vibrated.

Greg picked it up off the nightstand and opened the message.

Show me.
MH

Greg quickly looked up and around the room. He'd have noticed if there was a camera in his own house, wouldn't he? Surely Mycroft couldn't see what he was doing now.

Another message.

I can.
MH

"Get out of my head Mycroft," Lestrade spoke out loud, not sure if Mycroft could hear as well as see him. Though he found this to be a bit creepy, he couldn't deny being aroused, knowing that Mycroft was looking at him jerking off. Not sure where the camera was, he positioned himself in the middle of his bed, moving his boxers down over his erection, so the elastic band pushed his balls upwards. He stroked his length. "Are you holding yours?" he spoke out loud again, hoping Mycroft could hear.

I am.
MH

Greg grinned, thinking of the slender man holding his own erection and kept up the pace he'd set, stroking himself. He stopped after about a minute and pushed his now hard cock downward at the base so it stood up high and proud.

I'm coming back to suck that and you'd better be ready for me.
MH

Greg groaned when he read that message and wet his fingers with his saliva before he started jerking off again. He imagined Mycroft lying in bed with him sucking his length, kissing and licking it. His hips moved up slightly, bucking into his hand. The rhythm taking over and steering him towards an orgasm.

I want your balls in my mouth again.
MH

Greg opened his mouth and let out a deep sigh. He remembered the feeling from the day before when he'd almost come when Mycroft had taken one of his balls in his mouth. He started breathing heavily, his legs restless when he thrust into his hand. "Oh God, I'm going to come." His face contorted, toes curled and his stomach muscles tensed up while his back arched, pulling his buttocks off the bed. Greg came, splattering come all over his stomach and chest. His buttocks hit the bed, his body still tense as he milked the come from his cock, muscles relaxing one by one, cleaning his hand on his boxers. Letting his now soft cock rest against his stomach. Greg smiled again.

You look beautiful when you come.
MH

"I wish I could see you."

You will soon, I have to go. Be good.
MH

Greg couldn't shake the feeling of being watched all morning and kept looking for the camera in his bedroom and the other rooms in his house, but couldn't find any. Whatever position Mycroft held within the British Government he had access to the best of the best. That much was clear.

-xXx-

Almost four weeks had passed and there were no more messages from Mycroft or his assistant. Greg started to have feelings of insecurity about the whole relationship. Was it even a relationship? He didn't know. What do you call it when you have sex before your first date? He felt bad about himself and he didn't feel like going in to work when his phone rang. There was an apparent murder/suicide at 14 Dorset Street, Bryanston House apartments. He went there and found Sherlock Holmes and John Watson standing behind the police tape, being held back by Sgt. Sally Donovan. Sherlock and Donovan were sneering at each other.

"You're just upset because I said Anderson's wife was back. Don't blame me if he's not willing to leave his wife for you. Go blame him." Sherlock was looking around, when he saw Lestrade arriving at the crime scene. He left Donovan standing with her mouth open, ready to reply to his sneer and walked up to Greg. "Good, you're here," he exasperated, "they won't let me in."

"Well of course they won't let you in," Greg said, "you're not a real police officer." He cringed at his own words. He was angry at Mycroft and obviously taking it out on the younger brother.

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks and raised an eyebrow as he cocked his head and looked Greg up and down, doctor Watson still at his side.

"Good evening doctor Watson." Greg nodded to him. "Can you please take Sherlock home." Greg hadn't thought about how close this crime scene was to Baker Street. He hadn't called Sherlock in so he must have come chasing the police cars or listening to his scanner.

Doctor Watson nodded understandingly and raised his hand to take Sherlock's arm. "Come on Sherlock, let's go."

"Something is wrong," Sherlock said as he squinted, while still looking at Greg. He tugged his arm out of John's grip and walked up closer to Lestrade. "You've had sex," he said. John turned around and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Not in the mood, Sherlock," Greg retorted, keeping an eye on Donovan and trying to make sure she couldn't hear the conversation. Of all the people to run into, Sherlock was definitely last on his list. He didn't want the whole world to find out he was gay. Not yet anyway, he wasn't ready. He wasn't sure. He'd just had sex with a man once, surely that didn't make you gay. Did it?
To make sure Sherlock didn't blab out any more information he grabbed him by the arm and took him aside, away from the crime scene ribbon. John was left standing and pretended he had to check his phone.

"How long has it been? Three, maybe four years?"

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"It didn't end well, she left and now you're on your own again."

"Sherlock! What will it take for you to shut up?"

"Full access to your crime scene and evidence already collected," Sherlock quickly retorted.

"Why, Sherlock? I don't even know what's going on at this crime scene. It looks like a straight forward murder/suicide. You'll get bored very quickly."

"I've been cooped up in my apartment for over four weeks. You didn't call me, not once. I'm bored and running out of experiments. John's afraid I might blow up a whole block of flats if things go wrong." Suddenly Sherlock turned around and looked down the street. Greg followed his gaze but he couldn't see what Sherlock was looking at. When the consulting detective looked back and faced Lestrade he had a surprised look on his face.

"You weren't with a woman, you were with a."

Greg cut in quickly before Sherlock could finish his sentence. "Alright Sherlock, alright! Just stop talking!" Greg pleaded with him as he looked around again to see if anyone was standing close enough to hear them. "I'll let you in on the crime scene. Just don't think you can keep holding this over me, are we clear on that?"

"Crystal."

"What?" Greg asked stupidly.

"Clear. Crystal clear. Clear as a crystal." Sherlock hopped around energetically and signaled to John to come over.

Lestrade moved in on Sherlock, walking into his personal space. "Not a word to anyone, Sherlock. I mean it." He looked straight into the consulting detectives eyes. Sherlock quickly nodded his head.

The three of them walked towards the apartment building, Sherlock receiving a scowled look from sergeant Donovan. No more than ten minutes later they were walking back out again.

"So disappointing," Sherlock ranted.

"They can't all be criminally masterminded murders," John replied.

"A straight forward murder/suicide. Damn! But I wanted this so badly." Sherlock balled his fists tightly with a look on his face as if someone had stolen his favorite toy.

"Just go home Sherlock, I'll call you if I get anything interesting." Greg promised Sherlock. "Just try not to blow anything up in the meantime ok?" The last remark was pointed more to John than to Sherlock. He was feeling run down from the encounter with the younger Holmes brother and just wanted to go home and lie down.

John was pushing Sherlock into the direction of Baker Street and said goodbye to Greg. After a few meters Sherlock ran back to Greg and whispered into his ear: "My brother would not have you followed like this if he didn't at least like you." And then he shot back to John without watching what that sentence did to Greg.