I own nothing, this little story was brought about by the comment of there is not enough Mystrade out there, so here is one more small story for WingsOfDuskAndDawn
He got the notice that the divorce had gone through at the same time as a triple murder. Perhaps that was why he didn't notice at first the second set of papers with it. By the time he had finished catching the murderer, which had been surprisingly simple all things considered, and got home to review the papers he had already been on his feet for sixteen hours. Those papers were supposed to be his freedom, his freedom from a wife who preferred other men, his freedom to have the girls over without their mother hovering, just his freedom. Some would say they were too, his complete freedom from any sort of responsibility but not him. They were a knife to the gut, slowly twisted and pulled out.
He got his divorce alright, he also got the paternity papers saying the girls were not his, that all his rights to them were gone.
The next few weeks went in a blur between Sherlock committing suicide, the funeral, trying to be there for John who seemed to have pulled into himself, and wanting to help Mycroft but not knowing how. By the time he finally had a night at the flat it all hit and he couldn't stand to be their anymore so he had left and went to a pub. Found a dark corner to drink his sorrow in peace.
So he was vastly surprised when a tall ginger slid into the spot next to him, tucking his umbrella against the arm rest. "Detective Inspector Lestrade," the cultured voice greets him, "You missed our dinner this week."
Lifting his head up from the spot on the table he had rested it on, he looks over at the taller man frowning. He's trying to remember when they had scheduled dinner. Why they would have scheduled dinner when Sherlock was dead and Mycroft had never shown any interest in speaking with him about anything else. Then trying to remember where he had been the night they normally would have had it. Oh right, John. John had a bad night and he had went to his friends flat to visit with him, to help him through.
"I was with John," he finally mumbles. Annoyed with the fact that nearly perfect Mycroft is seeing him drunk, he rubs a hand across his face and sits up as straight as he can before turning to face him. "I'm sorry, you never showed any interest of speaking outside of about Sherlock." He shrugs a little, "When I offered an ear at the funeral you seemed offended so I thought it best to drop it."
Confusion mars the younger mans features for a moment before he opens his mouth to speak and quickly shuts it. "Detective Inspector I…" the taller man started but he interrupted.
"Greg or Gregory please, I don't want to be the detective that has failed at everything for a little bit." He tells the younger man as he slowly gets to his feet. "Actually, I think I should just go."
Mycroft nods once, dropping some money on the table and standing as well. "Let me offer you a ride home since it is partially my fault you feel this way." He murmurs when they get outside.
He turns on the ginger haired man with better reflexes than one would expect out of a nearly plastered man, "Your fault? I don't think so Mycroft," he tells him, swaying a bit and unwittingly using the younger man's first name despite the fact he had never done so before. Part of him is aware of Mycroft tensing up, but he continues speaking anyways. "You're not the one with the failed marriage, lost his girls, best friend committed suicide because he thought you didn't believe in him, other best friend slowly killing himself, and bloke you are attracted to never even noticing. So please don't. Just don't."
Apparently his little rant surprised the younger man, who just stared at him for a few minutes before muttering, "Oh." He is pretty sure it is the first time he had seen the politician at a loss for words.
He nods once towards the taller man before turning to walk towards his tiny, little flat. Only he doesn't get very far because that same taller man grabs his wrist and spins him around, startling him with the contact between them.
"It's not polite to rant like that and not give a bloke a chance to answer," he comments, holding him surprisingly solid grip for someone with a desk job.
He blinks, still surprised at the fast paced actions but his mind sobering up with ever second.
"Now then, I apologize for not realizing that you were attracted to me, I thought I had misread the situation, after all nothing in your history shows an interest in men." He pauses, lifting his other hand to touch the older man's jaw as he asks, "Please let me give you a ride home."
Slowly he nods, too surprised to do anything else.
-oOo-
Over the next few weeks he sees a surprising amount more of the politician, mostly around lunch or dinner time when he just appears there, umbrella in hand with either food or the offer to get food.
When John makes the comment over dinner on one of the rare night Mycroft has not appeared or had someone bring him food, he can do nothing but stare at his friend. "You know, I think Mycroft is courting you." The blonde man remarks as he listens to him describe the last few weeks.
"I…" he starts but is unable to continue, not sure what to say.
That's not a problem John seems to have however as he tells him, "Listen, if you like the arse, peruse it, if he is anything like Sherlock he will be a rather cuddly and affectionate person once you get pasted the Holmes mindset and when you're in private."
He nods and the rest of their dinner goes in silence before they are finally able to break away from their respective thoughts.
-oOo-
It's another six days past his conversation with John when the younger politician appears at the door to his flat. Normally an event would appear on his phone calendar alerting him that the other man was coming. So for him to just be standing there was a bit startling.
"Come in," he tells him, then blushes when he realizes that his flat is probably nowhere near the standards that he is used to. "Can I get you something to drink?"
The younger man gives a single shake of his head before replying, "No thank you, I was stopping to ask whether you would be willing to go to dinner with me."
He stops to blink at him for a moment, considering the request slightly confused.
Mycroft notices his confusion and rushes to say, "Not a work dinner, a date dinner." He stumbles over the word date and just about growls in frustration at himself. Why is it so hard to ask this man out on a date?
"I, yeah, I'd like that," he finally answers, "Let me change," he remarks hyper aware that he is in his lounging clothes, an old pair of sweet pants and a matched jumper. It was the last thing the girls had gotten him before their mother kicked him out.
The taller man nods once and waits patiently while he bolts to his small room to get into something presentable, if not up to the politicians standards for nice. A few minutes later he is standing in his living room ready to go. Surprisingly enough, the ginger haired man blushes when he first steps into the room which makes him wonder if he has something on his clothes that he didn't notice.
"Something wrong?" he inquires looking over his outfit and glancing in the mirror to make sure there was nothing on his face.
"No, I just, ummm," again the younger man seems unsure of what to say. Finally he closes the distance between them in three steps and leans down just a hair, pressing his lips against his for a moment before stepping back and blushing further.
The blush is rather cute to see and he can't help but smile. John's comment coming back to him with blinding clarity. "Dinner?" he inquires, giving the younger man to compose himself.
Mycroft nods, opening the door and motioning to the black car idling by the curb. The ride is silent a both men are lost in their respective thoughts, yet they are both hyper aware of the other one. So when the car pulls up in front of a nice flat a short bit later he is rather surprised. The two of them make their way inside, the door man greeting Mycroft by name before buzzing them in. After a short elevator ride upstairs, the taller man opens the door with his key before motioning him in first.
His first impression is shock, he wasn't expecting such a posh bloke to live in a comfy seeming flat with well used but cared for furniture, bookshelves everywhere, and a relaxed feel to it.
"What would you like to drink?" Mycroft inquires as he removes his outer most coat, leaving him only in a three-piece suit. "There is beer, whiskey, wine, soft drinks, tea, or coffee."
"Tea or coffee is fine," he replies absently, still looking around. He can smell something delicious coming from the dining area but hadn't yet made his way that way.
A few minutes later, the ginger haired man appears next to him with a steaming cup of tea, he's not surprised when he discovers it's made the way he prefers it. "Thank you," he murmurs appreciatively.
A small smile tugs at his lips as he responds, "Your welcome," taking a deep breath he continues, "Dinner is in the dining room if you are ready to eat."
Nodding once, he turns and follows the younger man into the dining room to be mildly startled by the small buffet laid out.
"I was not sure what you preferred since you tend to get something different every time, so I have a selection ready." The taller man comments, his blush coming back.
He smiles at the younger man, softly inquiring, "Where did the food come from?"
"I had my cook from the house for work make it and have it brought over by some of my trusted staff." The blush deepens.
The silver haired man gives him a funny look inquiring, "You have two houses?"
He nods slowly once, he can feel the blush spreading as it gets darker, "Yes. I live here. However sometimes I need a show place for work when there are visiting diplomats and dignitaries."
He nods, grabbing a plate from the small pile on a serving cart. "Makes sense, I am sure this place is more comfortable." After considering it for a moment he takes a bite or two of each dish, if he is still hungry when he is done with his sampler plate, he can get whatever tasted the best on the second round.
Taking a eat at the small table set for two, he waits until the younger man sits down before he starts to eat. Even though he know that there is a lot that he would never get an answer on if he asks, he still inquires about his day and the two fall into a fairly innocent conversation about how their respective days had went. Though Mycroft is mostly closed-lipped about his, he still shares how some of it was. After dinner, the two end up back in the lounge, still chatting away as they sit on the small sofa in front of a fireplace he hadn't originally noticed.
He can feel the looks the younger man is giving him and notices the tension rising in the air, the expectations and thrill.
For Mycroft it is frustrating because he is not sure how he is supposed to initiate any sort of intimate moment with the detective. Despite the fact he was in his mid-thirties he had never felt the urge to be in any sort of relationship so he never learned what a person was supposed to do to start or show interest in one. He was sure there was etiquette about it, it just was not something he remembered being covered when he learned etiquette as a child and teenager.
After setting his mug down the younger man turns to him say something, anything that might indicate an interest but finds he cannot speak because Gregory has leaned over and softly pressed his lips to his.
He's not sure where it will go, but this is always a good starting place.