A/N: Here is one of the newest stories I've been working on for a while. Basically, uni!Mystrade AU except Mycroft is a woman. A bad ass woman. I really like her, if I do say so myself.

This fic has nothing to do with the largest city in Hungary. It has everything to do with the song Budapest by George Ezra, which was complete inspiration for the fic. It doesn't actually have much to do with the song, except that I had it on repeat every time I was in the mood to write. Listen to it. Love it. Imagine uni Lestrade and female uni Mycroft.

This entire story has a warning for language. Eventually there's mentions of violence. It will be rated high for things that happen (don't they always happen?). Anyway, I really like this story and I hope you all do, too. Please review!


Mycroft Holmes would be embarrassed to admit how much she enjoys the fact that Gregory Lestrade has a pathetic little crush on her. She could squash the man with her bare hands, she could outsmart him quicker than he'd even realize, but there was something about holding all of this power over him that she liked. She liked the idea that she could bring a man to his knees with a simple quirk of her lips.

She was never been this way before, until about two years ago when she got her first real boyfriend. Until uni, at her private school and her short time in college, she stayed away from boys. Boys were mean when they were teenagers; they were rude and only liked the obviously pretty girls who were blonde and thin. Mycroft has never like that. She's always had a bit of meat on her bones, her face had always been more round than everybody else's, and being born with wavy auburn hair, she would look ridiculous as a blonde. But last summer, she vowed to herself to begin eating healthier and exercising more.

And it wasn't for anybody but herself. It was for her health. She was always fine with the way she looked and by the shape of her body, but the doctors began steering her into a direction of fitness, so she took it and literally ran.

Now muscle cages the meat and she's never thought her thick thighs could look this in short skirts, but oh how they do.

The fact that men have taken to her new body is just a statement of how dumb they are, is what she thinks. She's the same person. She's the same girl she was last summer only with a different outer shell. But they flock to her like flies to a lamp; she often gets more attention than her smaller friends. But she doesn't appreciate the attention she gets.

Well, not all of it.

Because here is Gregory Lestrade, whose future is undecided and is only in uni to play football, waiting for her to say any command and he'd jump to it quickly. He doesn't even realize he's doing everything she tells him to do. He has a smile that says he thinks he's in control, his eyes are gleaming with the idea that tonight is when he'll make his move and ask her back to his flat, and he's speaking with confidence. His chin is raised high and his chest is puffed out like a lion on the hunt.

Mycroft looks around the bar to where the men Lestrade came with are chatting up the women she came with. It was supposed to be a girl's night, but of course that means 'let's go out as a group to find men because going alone is actually quite terrifying'.

Mycroft excused herself to the bar and Gregory followed.

"We only came out tonight to find girls and look, here you all are," Gregory says after he's ordered. He leans back on the bar and his body is shifted openly towards Mycroft.

Mycroft rolls her eyes. "We didn't come here for you."

"You came here for men. I am a man."

"Are you? I thought you were the newest discovery of ape."

Gregory chuckles, as he does when he doesn't really realize that she's trying to insult him. It just makes Mycroft laugh and enjoy his stupidity all the more.

"Chimpanzee would be more accurate," he argues, "Seeing that we can be sexually promiscuous and driven by our huge—"

Mycroft makes a face as she sips her drink. Three seconds is a quick transition from talking casually to a man mentioning his dick.

"Don't look so sour, I was going to say brains."

Mycroft does chuckle at that. "Right."

"Honestly," Gregory says. "I don't wish to make you uncomfortable."

Mycroft glances at him and he's looking at her with a genuinely caring look in his eye. That is the part that makes her uncomfortable.

"Either way," she says. "You and the words 'huge brain' doesn't quite fit."

Gregory laughs again. "Not as large as yours, I can assure you."

Mycroft sips her drink again. Two skewed compliments and that caring look all within two minutes; Lestrade is really trying tonight. Usually he says something equally as sarcastic, they argue about something petty, then he leaves in a huff only to text her later with a half-arsed apology. But tonight he is being…sweet. He must really be lonely.

Mycroft isn't going to buy it. When she let him make out with her five months ago, it was after four seemingly random meetings (like tonight, in a bar with friends) and she counted the compliments he paid her before she let him anywhere near her. She's not going to give it again just because he says two nice things in a row.

"You are really trying tonight, aren't you?"

Gregory smiles innocently. "What?"

"You're pretending to be sweet. You haven't had sex in…wow, almost a month. My condolences, Lestrade."

He laughs. "I will not confirm or deny that number. Can't you just believe I'm trying to be nice without any ulterior motives?"

"Not when you, the king of everyone knowing your sexual history, haven't had sex in a month."

Gregory sips his beer. When he sets the bottle down and licks moisture from his lips, he nods at a girl down the bar. "See her?"

Mycroft turns around to look at the girl. Petite, blonde, nice jaw line, pert breasts, short skirt. She's got a charm bracelet with a Greek letter on it, which means she is probably in a sorority. Which means, statistically, she probably has an STD.

"She probably has an STD," Mycroft mutters, turning back to Lestrade.

"Now how can you possibly tell that?"

"She has a Greek letter charm on her bracelet."

"Which means…"

Mycroft sighs. "Do try to keep up at least once, Lestrade. It means she must be in a sorority, and statistically speaking, Greek members are more likely to be carrying STD's."

Lestrade frowns a bit. "Well…what are the actual chances she—"

"Are you really going to risk your health just to fuck her?"

Lestrade swirls his beer bottle around. "No…I guess not…"

"Just the fact that you're honestly considering it is kind of gross, Lestrade."

"I'm not considering it!"

Mycroft shakes her head.

"So, why won't you go out with me?"

Mycroft laughs. "Because you don't want someone to go out with. You want someone to have sex with. I don't want to be your bloody girlfriend."

"So…then why don't you be a girl I have sex with?"

"Have you ever considered the fact that I don't want to have sex with you?"

Lestrade looks surprised, almost hurt.

"Lestrade, listen to me very carefully. Throughout the rest of your life, you are bound to meet people who don't want anything to do with your dick. Straight women, gay women, gay men, straight men, whatever. They are not going to want to see you naked."

He quietly downs the last half of his beer in one drink. Mycroft almost feels bad for breaking that news to him, but somebody had to.

"So…why not?" he quietly asks.

She looks at him. "Why, what?"

"Why don't you want to have sex with me?"

"God, really, Lestrade?"

He nods.

"Because I will tell you. And your feelings will be undoubtedly hurt."

"Hang on then," he says, turning to the bar. He waves the barman over and orders another beer for himself and another drink for Mycroft. When they are served, he takes a large drink and sets the bottle down.

"Ok," he finally says. "Lay it on me."

Mycroft takes a deep breath. "Well, first of all, you're largely sexist. You assume every female you come in contact with somehow owes you something. Second, you are a slob. I've seen your bedroom, and the thought of entering it scares me. Third, I tend to like men whose IQ's are at least in the same threshold as mine. And four, I absolutely —and I cannot stress this enough— hate football."

Lestrade takes another large drink of beer. "So. Let me get this straight. I'm a womanizer. My bedroom is too dirty. I'm too dumb. And you hate what I do."

"In a nutshell," Mycroft replies.

"Has is ever occurred to you that you have flaws, too?" he asks.

"I have not been pursuing you for the past year."

"Well, there are still things about you that I don't like."

"Enlighten me," she says, turning completely to him. "Please, tell me what you, man who hasn't left me alone for a year, don't like about me."

"Well, you…" he looks at her clothes (black leggings and a flowy white top) and her hair (pulled back into a tight pony-tail, the way she usually wears it). "You're…" Lestrade purses his lips and his eyebrows knit together in thought. "You…"

"Lovely," Mycroft mutters, grinning and taking a drink of her scotch on the rocks. "When you can think of something, I'd love to hear it. And anyway, you only want me because I seem to be the only person in the world capable of telling you no. If I said yes to you right now, once it was over you'd be willing to never speak to me again."

"What if that didn't happen?"

"Though the idea of sleeping with you just to prove you wrong does sound appealing, it's still not something I would like to do."

"Come on, Mycroft," he whines.

Mycroft smirks. "Oh, beg again. It was kind of sexy."

"You're unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

They're silent for a minute or two, and Mycroft knows this is about when Greg is going to leave. He'll go down the bar and talk to the sorority girl and Mycroft will be left with a strange feeling of missing the attention he gave her. It happens every time, and Mycroft still doesn't know what to make of it or what to do about it.

"How could I change your mind?" he asks.

Mycroft blinks in surprise. "What?"

"What could I do, how could I change, to have a shot with you?"

"You are willing to undergo an entire character makeover just to get in my panties?"

"Maybe I realize I am as big an arse as you say. Maybe this isn't about you. Maybe this is about all the other hot girls who don't like me because I'm a jerk. You can help me."

Mycroft considers this. She would be doing the world a favor by turning Lestrade into a respectable human being. She would be doing loads of future females a favor by bringing a nice non-sexist Gregory onto the map.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Mycroft downs the last of her drink. "When you can tell me all the parts and functions of a female reproductive organ, then I will consider helping you."

"Isn't it just a vagina?"

She rolls her eyes and hops off her barstool. "See you around, Lestrade."


Three days later, while Mycroft is in a conference meeting taking notes for two of her bosses, her phone beings to ring.

"I apologize," she says, taking her phone out of her purse and turning it on silent. "I didn't realize my phone was not on vibrate."

The men smile politely and the meeting continues.

When she gets out of her meeting, she checks her phone again and sees that she has four missed calls from Lestrade.

Rolling her eyes, she calls him back.

"You'd better be dead or dying," she says when he answers.

"I just thought you'd want to know that after three days of research and awkwardly asking my biology instructor," he says, "That I now know all the parts of the female reproductive system."

"And you called four times while I was in a meeting because of that?"

"I didn't know you were in a meeting."

"Most of the time, if it's the middle of the day and you're calling someone who has important things to do, you leave a message and wait for them to call you back."

"You called back."

"You called four times."

"Well, it's important to me."

Mycroft sighs. "Fine. Meet me for dinner and we'll talk."

"Dinner? You asking me out, Holmes?"

"No. Goodbye."

Mycroft hangs up before he can argue that it's a date. It's not a date. She knows it's not a date. She's doing a deed for the world by agreeing to help him.


"Alright," she says as she takes her jacket off and folds it over the back of her chair. "Tell me what you've learned."

"Already? We've just sat down."

"If you're bullshitting, I want to leave before I order."

Gregory smiles. "Fine, be ready to eat your words.

"So basically, your body produces an ova, which is used for fertilization, and everything else makes sure it's safe. Conception occurs in the Fallopian tubes, which, admittedly, I didn't know existed. Then, once the egg is fertilized, it implants in the walls of the uterus to begin…uh…y'know, pregnancy. And you get a period if nothing is fertilized. And your period is when the uterine line sheds. Which is totally freaky, I can't believe that happens inside someone's body."

Mycroft laughs at his ad lib. "Yeah, it's pretty dreary."

"Yeah. So anyway," he goes on, telling Mycroft everything he learned. People tables over glance at them awkwardly, but Mycroft doesn't care. She's never cared about what other people thought, and if they're uncomfortable by the scientific and biological uses of a female body, that's their fault, not hers.

She is pleased that Gregory has done his homework. She can already tell he's trying to be a better person.

By the time the waiter returns (for the third time), Gregory is finished with his speech. He looks at Mycroft expectantly, wondering if she's going to stay to have a meal with him.

Mycroft just smiles and orders, and Gregory looks the happiest Mycroft has ever seen him. Mycroft knows he likes her, whether it's purely sexual or if he's actually interested in her as a person, but she'll never quite get used to that 'you're-the-only-person-I-see-right-now' look he gives her.


After a pleasant dinner, Mycroft lets Gregory walk her home, but she doesn't ask him inside, lest he get the wrong idea. But he doesn't look like he cares. He politely kisses Mycroft's cheek, in a purely friendly way that she does with most of her friends, then leaves Mycroft at her front door.

She doesn't know if the excitement that runs through her is from the one-on-one time she had with Lestrade or from…

Biting her lip, Mycroft can't think of another explanation for the tingles she has. Trying not to give it any more thought, she goes straight to her closet to change for bed.