"Stop the car!" Greg shouted at the driver.
Immediately, the black sedan came to a halt by the kerb.
Mycroft looked at his boyfriend in confusion. "Gregory, what are you doing?"
"I'm not doing anything. We're getting out of the car. Here." He placed a single finger over the government official's lips. "Just a few feet away is my favourite pub. If we're going to have drinks tonight, we're having them there, not at your stuffy club." Greg removed his finger from his boyfriend's lips, opened the car door and stepped onto the pathway, trusting Mycroft to follow.
With a heavy sigh, the government official did just that. He stood beside Greg and looked at the pub dubiously. "Gregory, you can't seriously expect me to go in there."
"Oh, I do." The DI gave Mycroft a little shove in the back to get him started towards the door. He opened and held said door long enough for his boyfriend to enter then he joined him. Looking around, he spotted an open space in the corner and made a beeline towards it, dragging Mycroft along by the sleeve.
When they sat, a pretty waitress came over to take their orders. "Greg!" she said with an enthusiastic smile. "It's been too long since you've been in. I've missed you." She leant in just a bit too close to him.
The DI's cheeks had turned a bright red. He had forgot about Amy and her crush on him. He leant as far away from her as he could. "Amy, this is Mycroft. Mycroft, Amy. I'm taking him around and showing him a few of my favourite places."
She gave Mycroft a perfunctory smile, then gave her attention back to Greg. "Do you want your usual?"
"Um, yes. And bring Mycroft the same. Oh, and a large serving of chips." His smile was somewhat strained. The moment Amy disappeared, he collapsed in his seat and dragged a hand over his face. "I forgot about her."
Mycroft looked rather amused. "I'm sure I could do something to discourage her."
"No!" Then in a calmer tone, Greg said, "No. I don't want her sent to Siberia or Antarctica. She's a nice kid." He shrugged. "Besides, it's rather flattering," the DI admitted.
"I was thinking of something less drastic, Gregory. I thought I might hold your hand," Mycroft said smiling.
"I appreciate the thought, but this isn't exactly that kind of place. Best not." Greg felt something twist in his stomach. He hadn't thought of that aspect.
Amy approached with two beers and the chips. With a wink for the DI, she set everything down on the table. "Enjoy."
As soon as she was gone, Greg apologised. "Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about... that... when I decided to bring you here. It's..."
"Fine, Gregory. You know how it is in my circles. I have to know who to be open with and who to be circumspect around. It's an unfortunate fact that we must live with." Mycroft gave his boyfriend one of his treasured warm smiles. "So what does one do at a pub?" the government official asked.
"Well there's football to watch or rugby." He shrugged and picked up his drink and took a long sip. "There's drinking, of course. And drinking games."
"Drinking games?" Mycroft asked dryly.
"Yeah," Greg said, grinning wickedly. "Drinking games... like 'Never Have I Ever'. But you wouldn't be up for that," he said, turning his mug around in his hands and giving his boyfriend a smug look.
"It sounds as if you're challenging me, Gregory. How does one play?"
"It's easy," the DI said. "The first player starts by saying something that they've never done, like, 'Never have I ever gone skydiving.' If the other person has gone skydiving then that player has to drink. Then they switch. That's it." He took another pull on his beer.
"Alright, Gregory. We shall play. But you must start," Mycroft surprisingly agreed.
"Oh, this will be fun. Never have I ever gone to a posh university," Greg declared.
"Not fair, Gregory, however..." Mycroft took a drink of his beer. "Never have I ever ridden a motorcycle."
"Touchè, Mycroft." This time it was the DI who drank.
This kept on for quite sometime until they were both more than a bit tipsy.
Greg held his mug so it tipped dangerously and he slouched on the table. "Never have I ever been blindfolded during sex." He was most surprised when Mycroft took a huge gulp of his beer. He was about to say something about it when his phone rang. He swore when he saw it was from John.
As John approached his favourite pub a few blocks away, he came face to face with none other than Sherlock. He spread his feet and stood tall, his hands on his hips. "Why are you following me, Sherlock. I told you where I was going."
"Indeed," the detective said, his breath fogging in the cold air, "you did. I thought this would be an excellent chance to study my husband in his natural pub environment." His cheeks were rosy as were his lips. He looked more gorgeous in the cold winter night than he had any right to look. Everyone else simply looked miserable.
John wanted to say something scathing and send his git of a husband away. The whole point of going out had been so he could watch the rugby game without commentary from Sherlock, but he looked too damned beautiful and since when had he been able to turn the detective away for any reason. "Alright. You can join me, but keep the insults to a minimum." With that, John went inside, leaving Sherlock to follow if he wanted.
They were in luck. The doctor's favourite table was free, so he and Sherlock sat down at it. The detective's eyes roved the pub, taking in every single detail and obviously making several deductions. John was rather surprised when none of them were forthcoming.
When the waitress appeared, John ordered beer for both of them and a burger. Sherlock asked for crisps. As soon as she left, the detective started talking, "She's a single mother with a five month old baby at home. You can tell she's exhausted and she must have cried recently because her eyes are red rimmed and her nose was stuffy."
"I thought I said no deductions," John growled.
"Actually you said to keep the insults to a minimum. Not only did I not insult her, but I saved my deduction until she was out of earshot." The detective gave his husband a broad smile as if to say "Aren't you proud of me."
John's glare broke down into a giggle and he wished he already had his beer. "Okay, do another one. Do that man in the green jumper."
Sherlock looked at the man and sniffed. "He has two cats. A short hair and a Persian. The short hair is black. The Persian grey. He hates them both, but pretends to like them because his wife treats them like their children. Hmm.. He actually loves her. Unusual, that."
"Love. It does happen, you know."
With a soft smile meant only for John, Sherlock agreed, "Yes, it does."
At that point, their orders arrived.
"You know, you've made two deductions," John pointed out. "That means we both have to drink twice." He lifted his mug and drank. "You too," he said gesturing with his beer. Once Sherlock drank, the doctor took another sip. He made sure his husband did the same. "Okay, next deduction. The man in the red shirt with the brown trousers."
One hamburger, chips and far too many deductions later, they were both pleasantly tipsy. John had slipped down so far in his seat that his feet and legs were tangled with Sherlock's, a fact that caused neither of them distress.
"Okay, mister con... consulting detective," John said with a finger pointed at his husband. "Deduce what Greg and Mycroft are doing right now."
"Pft, they're having drinks at that stodgy old club of my brothers." Sherlock waved a hand in the air. "Boring."
John got his phone out, fumbled it, then dialled Greg.
The detective looked at him through narrowed lids as he swayed where he sat. "What are you doing?"
"Greg!" the doctor said too loudly into the phone. "What are you doing?" He listened. "Really. Sherlock got it wrong," he said laughing. "Us? We're at a pub too, just a few blocks away." He listened for a few more moments. "Why not? The more, the merrier.."
"John, tell me you didn't just invite Lestrade and my brother, my brother, John, to come join us," Sherlock begged, leaning a bit to the right.
"Alright. I'll tell you that," the doctor said, grinning, "but I'll be lying."
The brisk winter air did its part to clear Greg and Mycroft's heads as did the walk to the pub where the other two men waited. When they entered, it was actually the DI who spotted John and Sherlock first. He waved at them from across the pub.
John, seeing them, waved back, then switched seats so he could sit next to his husband and the other couple could sit together as well.
Mycroft and the DI sat across from them, all of them exchanging greetings. Everything went completely quiet when the government official said, "Hello, Lockie." Perhaps his head wasn't all that clear after all.
Of the four of them, Sherlock was definitely the most drunk. His bottom lip started trembling and he tried to climb up on the table. "I miss you, Crofty. We used to have so much fun together."
John pulled him back down onto his seat.
"But we did," the detective insisted, drunkenly. "Then he became an interfrfng.. interfering busybody." He took another sip of his beer.
Under the table, John patted his knee. "Here, here!" he said, raising his mug and clicking it roughly together with Greg who, by now, had his own beer.
"I shall endeavour to be less of an 'interfering busybody' in future," Mycroft promised. "After all, you do have John now. He can keep you out of trouble. Besides... Gregory has been rather distracting of late."
Sherlock brightened up as fast as he had gone teary eyed. "When are you going to tell Mummy and Daddy about the wedding?"
"Lockie!" the government official said in a scandalised tone. "I haven't even asked Gregory yet."
John tried to quiet his husband down, but Sherlock was having nothing if it. "Well he's right there." He threw his arm out and pointed at the DI. "Go ahead," he slurred, "ask him."
"There's no need," Greg said, smiling. "The answer is yes. And I hope I remember this tomorrow."
"He said yes," Sherlock said and dropped his head onto the table.
"I think it's time I got this one home," John declared, wirh a smile for the other two men. "Though I don't know how, exactly." What had just transpired hadn't fully sunk in yet.
Out of nowhere, Anthea appeared. "There are two cars waiting to take you all home, Mr. Holmes. I can have the drivers come lend a hand if you think it will be needed," she added, looking at the younger Holmes.
John stood up along with the rest of their party sans one consulting detective. With a sigh, the doctor leant over and pulled a reluctant Sherlock to his feet. Greg moved in and ducked under one arm as John took the other. Together, they got him outside and into the backseat of one of the cars.
Mycroft and Anthea joined them, having settled the bill. "Tell my brother that I should like to see more of him. If you remember this," the government official said, putting out a hand to steady himself against the car. "In a decidedly less interfering fashion," He added.
"John. Joohn. Jaaaawn," came from the back seat of the sedan.
"I'd best be going," John said and started to get in the car. "Oh, and congratulations!" He had just realused that the other two men were now engaged. "Really!" He sat next to his husband and closed the door, then the car pulled away.
"It's our turn, Crofty," Greg said, teasing. He grasped his fiance's hand and pulled him into the waiting sedan.
As the car pulled away, Mycroft rested his head against Greg's shoulder. "Thank you for saying yes, Gregory."
The DI smiled. "Thank you for... well, intending to ask." He turned his head and placed a kiss on top of Mycroft's head. It had been a wonderful night.