There he goes. Mycroft Holmes. The most powerful, intimidating, well-dressed, handsome devil in Great Britain who occupies a minor position in the government. And here is Greg Lestrade, the most overworked, underpaid Detective Inspector in Scotland Yard who is helplessly in love with him.
Greg just came back from his holiday in Italy, when no sooner had he set foot on British soil had some of Mycroft's men escorted him to the Diogenes Club in London. Mycroft had asked that Greg kindly sacrifice the rest of his holiday to babysit Mycroft's younger brother Sherlock, who was currently en route to Scotland to solve a very curious case involving hounds and secret government agencies.
And here we are, back to where we started, with Greg staring after Mycroft with a mixture of frustration and longing. Well, an order from Mycroft was as good as an order from the queen herself, so, off to Baskerville.
Sherlock and John are surprised to see Greg, of course. What are the odds of running into each other in another country?
"Mycroft sent you," Sherlock accuses Greg.
"I don't just do whatever your brother tells me," Greg lies. He hadn't even tried to stand up to Mycroft.
How things fared at Baskerville are no doubt familiar to you. The three men went home to England satisfied with their work, and rather exhausted after such hair-raising events. But for Greg there is no resting. A lovesick heart produces an overactive brain, and an overactive brain makes one susceptible to sleepless nights, frequent daydreaming, and constant dreamy sighing.
Greg isn't sure what he should do, if anything, about the way he feels for Mycroft. The man is not to be toyed with. But Greg's feelings are very serious, and well, he decides right here and now, laying sweaty in his bed, wide awake and aching inside, that he has to at least try to win Mycroft. He is done being lonely, and hiding his feelings. This is the twenty-first century! What is there to be ashamed of? Greg isn't a coward, that's for sure.
Bright and early a few hours later, Greg texts Sherlock to see if he will tell him where Mycroft lives. He is going straight over there and declaring his love. He doesn't care if Mycroft has him exiled to Siberia or assassinated.
Sherlock is happy to provide Greg with Mycroft's address. It is possibly the most opportune occasion Sherlock will ever be gifted to harass Mycroft. Because now, Greg would be harassing Mycroft for him, and Sherlock is the one who made it possible.
Greg doesn't take Mycroft as the flowers or chocolates type of man, so he decides on just going empty-handed to Mycroft's home and offering only his heart.
Mycroft's home is gorgeous, if you're lucky enough to see it. It's at the bottom of a long, hidden driveway in a quiet rural setting. There is nothing for miles and miles around, just the way Mycroft likes it. Greg takes a moment to appreciate the sight. Maybe there is something to be learned of Mycroft in his choice of home.
Mycroft answers the door promptly after Greg pressed the doorbell twice in rapid succession. He half-opens the door, with that signature cocked eyebrow, clearly surprised, and not pleasantly, to see Greg standing before him.
"I never told you where I live," Mycroft says.
"I'm a detective," Greg reminds him. "I can find people when I want to."
"Sherlock told you where I live." It's a statement, not a question.
Greg clears his throat, feeling a foot shorter under Mycroft's intense gaze.
"I love you, Mycroft!" he confesses bluntly. "I always have and I need you to know."
Mycroft takes a moment to seethe at Greg before slamming the door in his face.