Summary: Written for Sherlock BBC Kinkmeme prompt: Mycroft gets roped into participating in a bachelor auction. Terrified that nobody will bid on him, he begs Sherlock via text: 'Please save me from this; bid on me, and I will do anything you ask me to do.' Lestrade receives the text instead.

Warnings: Mycroft in this fic has really terrible self image issues in regards to his weight which might be a bit triggery. Also, as this is leading to a Mystrade first time, the rating will increase for the last chapter. This fic is also as yet unBritpicked and unBetaed. All suggestions welcome.

Disclaimer: I don't own the revisioned Sherlock series for BBC nor am I making any money off of this. Just playing with the characters for a bit.

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Chapter 1:

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When D.I. Lestrade had invited Mycroft Holmes to participate in the New Scotland Yard annual holiday fund-raiser for widows and orphans, he'd never expected to have been drafted into the bachelor's auction. Mycroft could forgive himself the oversight. Why on earth would anyone, especially someone as experienced and (objectively speaking) attractive as the DI, consider Mycroft of all people to be a draw for a bachelor's auction? Admittedly, Mycroft wasn't obese anymore. He'd ruthlessly cut all indulgences from his diet five years ago, after he'd almost collapsed climbing the three flights of stairs to the squat where his brother had last decided to overdose himself on cocaine. The excess skin had also been surgically removed; and the scars were barely visible, certainly not through Mycroft's three piece suit. He wouldn't be required to remove clothing for the event, would he? It couldn't be that kind of auction, and besides, the thought of anyone being inspired to donate more money after seeing Mycroft's middle aged, pasty form was beyond comprehension. The entire thing was beyond comprehension.

"I'll simply have to bow out," Mycroft said, sipping his morning coffee at his desk as his PA tapped away on the other side at her Blackberry. She was going by Callisto this week, 'working through the Greek myths with my niece' she'd offered by way of explanation.. Mycroft knew better than to ask further.

"Why?" Callisto kept her gaze fixed on her Blackberry, "We'll have the attendees thoroughly vetted of course. It shouldn't pose a significant security risk. Certainly nothing like the wedding last week in Pakistan. Besides," her fingers paused for a second before resuming their flutter over the keys, "You need to get out more."

"I'm out constantly."

"Apart from work."

"I enjoy my work."

"Of course, sir." Callisto only called him sir when they were in public, or when she was being sarcastic.

"But this could be a fine opportunity for you to make a good impression." Her lips quirked in a half smile. "On a certain DI."

A half a bottle of white wine and a chocolate pastry on his birthday had lead him to share far too many revelations. "I thought we agreed not to discuss that further."

"You agreed, just before you passed out. I said nothing."

"Well, I fail to see how the humiliation of having nobody bid on me will enhance my standing in anybody's eyes."

"Excuse me?" Callisto snapped the Blackberry shut and looked up to meet his eyes. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. I can simply make a large cash donation and withdraw. They'll have to change their brochure, not a considerable loss. My brother must have given the organizers that photograph of me out of some form of spite, though truthfully it's one of my better ones." In that he at least looked basically put together and stood a three quarter angle which minimized his gut.

Callisto said, "I gave them the photograph."

Now Mycroft was baffled. "Why?"

"Because you look good in it."

Callisto had joined Mycroft's staff when he was halfway towards his weight loss goal, when he'd been neither obese nor thin but in some horrible in-between state where he resembled dripping candle wax, so she could be forgiven for having an irrationally positive view of his general appearance now.

Callisto added, "Your favourite Detective Inspector agreed."

"He did?" Mycroft tapped his index finger against the side of his coffee cup. "He said he found the photograph acceptable?"

"He said he liked it."

Mycroft's cheeks warmed and a strange bird fluttered where his heart ought to have been. How foolish was this, to read so much into an offhanded comment that couldn't possibly have any meaning beyond social politeness? Mycroft knew his strengths: intellect, observation, decision analysis, and a certain ability to manipulate large scale social dynamics with a well chosen word or action. Unlike his brother, who in spite of all effort possessed a form of ethereal charm, Mycroft was at best presentable.

Occasionally, though not as often since he'd started wearing the wedding band, someone propositioned Mycroft in hopes of gaining some greater advantage, as though he couldn't see their revulsion painted in the stiffness of their smiles, the narrowness of their pupils, and the orientation of their feet. Even knowing he had no other options, Mycroft found such offers repugnant. If he was going to pay to satisfy his baser urges, he'd rather an honest business transaction than a farce. But in his heart, which unlike his brother Mycroft freely admitted to having, he wanted more. Someone he could love, and who would in some small sense reciprocate that affection. Given that, Mycroft would do anything in his considerable power to make his partner happy, satisfied, and successful.

Unfortunately, such things were out of his control and thus out of his reach. He could, however, control the impression he made, if indeed he chose to go through with this. Which he was considering, God help him. His brother was right; emotions did make a mess of things.

"Callisto," Mycroft said, "You have to bid on me. Up to £ 10,000. I'll ensure you have the appropriate funds."

Callisto took a breath, her fingers resting on the top of her Blackberry. "Mycroft."

"I understand this is entirely a personal matter, and you have no need to oblige me."

"You underestimate yourself."

"Excuse me?"

Callisto raised the Blackberry back to her eyes and began typing again. "Of course I'll bid on you. If you need it, which I doubt."

"Thank you," Mycroft said. But one bidder wouldn't be enough. He couldn't pull someone from undercover work for this. It was bad enough he'd roped in his P.A. Nor could he depend on one of the acquaintances he deemed friends at socially appropriate moments. It would provide them too much of an advantage. Which left him, unfortunately, with only one viable option. God, but Sherlock was going to be insufferable about this.