SHERLOCK

TROUSERS ON CHAIRS

Author's Note:

Main Pairing: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

Side Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Warnings: Graphic m/m sex, explicit language

Note: The seventh story in the "Impact" series. The full list can be found on my profile. The partner series is called "Sherlock: Colours" and tells the Johnlock side of the story. The full list can be found on my profile.

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

'I'm...'

'I can wait all night, Mycroft.'

Finally Mycroft squeezed his eyes shut and said, 'I have a problem.'

'And what would that problem be?'

He took deep breaths. 'I'm a... an alcoholic.'

Greg paused and looked Mycroft over. The man was shaking, barely holding on. 'Are you going to let me help you?'

'Yes.'

'Good.'

Mycroft opened his eyes and looked pleadingly at Greg. 'You're not going to leave me?'

'No,' Greg said and stepped closer. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft and hugged him tightly. 'I know that was difficult and that giving it up will be hard. But I will be with you every step of the way, Mycroft Holmes. I love you, okay?'

'Okay.'

'Thank you for admitting it,' Greg said and kissed him softly.

'I don't know if I... if I can stop.'

'I'll help,' Greg said and pulled back to look at Mycroft. 'I know that was difficult for you, but I will help, Mycroft. Being an alcoholic is nothing to be ashamed of. Letting something like that control you isn't a weakness, Mycroft. It's human. And getting over it will just make you stronger, alright?'

'Alright.' Mycroft gripped Greg closer, glad to have his boyfriend there. He was very close to falling apart. 'Gregory?'

'Mm?'

'I love you.'

'I love you too.'

It would be difficult, Mycroft might relapse. But Greg didn't care. He loved Mycroft Holmes. And he'd do anything for him.

Chapter One: The Deal

Mycroft Holmes didn't like being ill. It messed with his ability to think. He couldn't keep tabs on his thoughts and his fantastic, brilliant brain was reduced to a pile of mush. Thankfully he rarely got sick. Detoxing, though, could not be avoided. As a functioning alcoholic, Mycroft actually operated normally when he had alcohol in his system. It was why he drank so much and had to drink at work. When he didn't he began shaking and shivering, sweating and feeling hot and cold and just sick.

It would be painful. It would make his stomach hurt, his muscles itch, and he would want a drink so badly. Anything would do: a beer, a vodka shot, a fucking alco-pop. Anything! But he had promised to get sober for Gregory. His Gregory. So he would detox slowly and painfully and probably loudly.

After getting arrested (and let off because of his high status as the shadowy side of the British Government) Greg took Mycroft back to his flat and proceeded to throw out each and every bottle of alcohol. It didn't matter what it was, Greg binned it. Mycroft watched pained as fifteen-year-old scotch was thrown out like a cheap bottle of soft drink.

Greg texted Anthea and had her search Mycroft's office to get rid of any stashes before he turned to Mycroft.

'Right, any hidden drinks I should know about?' Mycroft shook his head roughly and Greg snorted. 'We'll see.'

He went through Mycroft's en-suite bathroom first but found nothing. In the bedroom there was a bottle of bourbon in the bottom draw along with some old diet pills that Greg decided to bin and ignore for now.

The living room was next and Greg found a few treasures in various cabinets. Mycroft watched from the couch.

'You are a liar, Mycroft Holmes,' Greg said once he'd searched every nook and cranny.

'I'm sorry,' Mycroft mumbled.

'S'alright,' Greg said. 'Addicts lie.'

Mycroft sighed. 'I can't believe I'm an addict,' he said. 'I didn't realise...'

'Addicts never do,' Greg said. 'It starts small and you tell yourself you can stop but next thing you know it's running your life.'

'It sounds like you speak from experience,' Mycroft said.

Greg just smiled. 'I'm a cop, Myc. I've seen plenty of junkies swearing on their mother's lives they're not addicts. Sherlock included.'

Mycroft sighed again and tipped himself back to fall on the couch. 'I can't believe this... you must hate me.'

'Why would I?'

'I was adamant that I wasn't an alcoholic,' Mycroft said and looked at Greg carefully. 'But I am. You were... you were right.'

'I didn't want to be, Mycroft,' Greg said. 'None of this is exactly fun for me. But I'll help you, I promise.'

Mycroft fidgeted with his shirt. 'What if I want a drink?'

'You call me and I'll stop you.'

'And if that's not enough?'

Greg smiled. 'For every day that you go without a drink, I will give you a kiss. I won't kiss you any other time.'

'What?'

'That's the only way it will work, Mycroft,' Greg said and sat back on the coffee table. 'One kiss for one full day without a drink. One week and you get a grab. Two weeks, a hand job. Three weeks, a blow job. Four weeks and I'll make you come with my fingers. One full month and I'll let you fuck me. The next month I will fuck you. It will continue that way until you feel strong enough on your own and don't want a drink. Deal?'

Mycroft stared at him carefully before swallowing and nodding.

'Good,' Greg said. 'Now bed.'

'Gregory...' Mycroft said as they stepped into his room.

'Yes?'

'Thank you.'

Greg smiled and picked up Mycroft's hands. He kissed them softly. 'You're welcome.'