Disclaimer: nothing mine, BBC and Conan Doyle share all the rights and merits. I play.
Sneaking romance in
It's since he met him (and refused to become a corrupt policeman) that one Greg Lestrade has been captivated by the elder Holmes brother. He didn't expect to ever crush on someone considerably younger than him – he thought that he'd escape that particular version of midlife crisis – much less on a man. But Mycroft is Mycroft, and like his brother, he can't be classified with the categories the rest of humanity fits in. Mind you, he's got suavity in spades, unlike Sherlock, and will perfectly blend in if he chooses to; but still Greg feels dazzled every time he's lucky enough to see him.
Actually, more than a crush, it's probably love at first sight, horribly cheesy as it sounds. It's the only reason strong enough for Greg – married Greg, used-to-be loyal Greg, through all his marriage problems (which he so not needed Sherlock to talk about) – to have tried, as actively as he dared, to obtain the status of Mycroft's lover.
They have sex now (plenty of it, no matter their busy schedules) but Greg won't brag and say that there's much love between them. He suspects that he might be closer to a favourite pet, but it's good enough for now, and it won't stop him from trying to conquer the fortress of Mycroft's heart.
Maybe someday he'll ask John for pointers. Of course, Sherlock and Mycroft are different from each other, but he never expected to see the younger Holmes fall in love so quickly or so hard. Whyever does John still deny it?
As part of his subtle (yeah right) wooing strategy, a lot of careful planning and a fair bit of begging have brought Greg here. 'Here' being on a tropical island, on holiday, with Mycroft. The elder Holmes is high maintenance, and deserves nothing less. Anyway, Mycroft is indulging him, agreeing to take a few days off work. Well, when I say off work, I mean checking in by phone twice a day to be sure that the world isn't going haywire without his careful supervision.
But the rest of the time is all for Greg.
They walk on the beach at sunset. Or, Mycroft attempts to jog and Lestrade tries deftly to slow him down, using the "it's too hot during the day" excuse to push the romantic setting on his partner with plausible deniability. (He doesn't want to be lectured about their relationship's nature.)
They laze about in quiet companionship, Mycroft under the beach umbrella and with so much sunblock on that somehow his skin seems unaffected by their surroundings – then again, he claims that he never tans, he just gets burned – while Greg gets obscenely tanned. Or, Mycroft overthinks God knows what as usual and Greg takes advantage of it to shamelessly stare at him. Mycroft doesn't mind, or at least doesn't complain.
They go swimming and admire the wonderful nature and weird fishes. Or, Lestrade exclaims, "Look at that!" and Mycroft indulges him (again), still apparently overthinking things, and sometimes quips, "Doesn't that one look like your chief superintendent?"
They share ice creams, coconuts and lovely dinners, and Greg pretends that each time Mycroft picks something off Lestrade's plate his lover isn't worried about calories intake but feeling playful.
And of course, they have a lot of sex. On the beach, in the water, in their bedroom, morning, afternoon and night. It's as near bliss as it can be with their current arrangement (Greg will get Mycroft to fall for him someday, and then their happiness will be perfect).
Just two days before their holiday is supposed to end, Mycroft's mobile phone receives a text while they're kissing. In another life they'd ignore it, but in another life Mycroft isn't the British Government (among other things). Upon reading it, the elder Holmes grimaces.
"Someone just used my ID to access a high security research center," he announces.
"Terrorists?" Greg queries, worried.
"The only person with the chance to have access to my ID can rightfully claim half of what's written there as his own," Mycroft calmly states.
"Right. Sherlock," Lestrade sighs heavily. Maybe he should arrest the boy for theft, after all. "Does this mean that you have to go and deal with him?" Really, Sherlock's timing is awful. Couldn't he have waited just two more days?
"Oh no, I won't," Mycroft assures.
Happiness flares bright and warm within the DI, but it's short-lived.
"You will," are the next words out of his partner's mouth.
"Why?" he can't help but protest. Hopefully not whine.
"Oh please Gregory. Use your imagination. It must be for a case, as Sherlock's experiments don't require the equipment only that place might offer. If I go there, blow his cover and try to scold him for nicking my documents, what do you think will happen?"
Sherlock can be confrontational at the best of times, and Greg shudders to consider what kind of reaction that might evoke.
"Right. And I suppose that leaving him unchecked is inadmissible. You know, trusting him for once," he suggests without much conviction.
"He's on a case, Greg. There could be mad scientists trying to drug or infect him while we're speaking. You know how I worry about him. It wasn't what I thought of when I upped your clearance, but since I did, you wouldn't really make me send to check on Sherlock one of my minions, as he calls them. You know that my brother despises each and every one of them. Or would you?" Mycroft counters.
Greg won't ever be able to disappoint his beloved. "I'm going to pack," he sighs – again. He receives a brilliant smile for his acquiescence.
...And now off to deal with hurricane Sherlock. Worst thing is, Lestrade's slightly worried too. Mycroft is contagious.