AIR
Roses smalltalk:
Please, imagine Stephen Fry Mycroft...
Slash, transgender and Doyle-canon
AIR
He ran ahead of young man who had entered his private practice on the brink of panic, Doctor Anthony Lestrade knew the way to the Diogenes Club, everyone in the neighbourhood knew, even not officially.
The young man who had barged into Dr. Lestrades office was the private secretary of one of the club members and had stammered something about attempted murder and gunshots. So Anthony had picked up his medical bag and run straight to the club.
For once – and only once, the doctor had learned later – nobody cared as he slammed open the door and demanded in a loud voice to know, where the patient was.
They led him into a remarkable gentleman's office, dominated by a heavy tiger oak desk, the headwall behind the furniture one massive bookshelf and on the one free wall, opposite to a full front of tall, bright windows, an all overseeing portrait of her Majesty the Queen.
The Doctor took in all those facts and impressions in – including the specks of tobacco ashes, the few wine stains on the rich, Persian carpet and the gunpowder traces on the door – in one brief moment, before focusing on the tall man, still seated in the chair behind the desk.
A man of heavy build, seemingly massive, under his aristocratic brow a pair of steel-grey, expressive, attentive eyes, even now, hooded with pain, dominated his features, lips pressed into a firm line.
Dr. Anthony Lestrade, did what he always did, he took in and analysed the situation, the attendees and the whole picture in a matter of seconds, already examining with a part of his mind his patient.
And so he stepped up to the man behind the desk, on which he placed his medical bag and greeted: "I am Dr. Lestrade and you must be my charge, your right biceps is shot through by a bullet. Please, let me help you to remove your jacket dear sir."
Mycroft Holmes measured the young Doctor with a puzzled look before he dismissed his secretary with another stern one, turning his gaze back to Dr. Lestrade in front of him he nodded: "All right Doctor, pray tell," shrugging his jacket off with the Doctors help, "how do you know without a further look the bullet went through?"
With a crooked smile the Doctor, already cutting apart the sleeve of Mr. Holmes shirt, stated: "There's a hole in your Encyclopaedia Britannica, matching a bullet..." the wound finally lay bar and Dr. Lestrade advised: "Brace yourself, this will not be pleasant..."
Holmes clenched his teeth and the Doctor shot him a short, encouraging smile.
Anthony gave the man a smile, dabbing disinfectant at the wound and spoke in his friendliest doctors voice: "I am terribly sorry, I forget my manners sometimes when I am dealing with a severely injured patient. May I introduce myself properly: Doctor and surgeon Anthony Lestrade, at your service dear sir!"
The patient grinned a little lopsided and groaned: "In all likelihood, you are not the only one forgetting the etiquette," wincing at a sharp sting from his wound, "my name is Holmes, Mycroft Holmes."
The words which followed his introduction surprised Mycroft, as Dr. Lestrade asked absent-mindedly: "Holmes, like John Watson's flatmate?"
"Indeed, Sherlock Holmes is my younger brother..." curiosity raised and so Mycroft asked the blond man, who tended his wound: "How you come to know Dr. Watson, Dr. Lestrade?"
A pair of green, astute eyes lifted for an instant from his wound, a full brow curved elegantly and a small smile appeared on the noble features of the young Doctor: "We frequent the same gentlemen's club and I was his medical assistant in Afghanistan, Mister Holmes. And, his writing may be entertaining, but the stories he tells are even more so..." and then Dr. Lestrade focused once more on his task at hand.
This young man had been in the British Army, this left only one conclusion: he must be older than he looked, Holmes thought.
The Doctor carried on, stopped the bleeding, cleaned the wound with gentle, elegant hands and finally bandaged up the wound, applying a last soft pat, murmuring: "There we go, go see your usual medic to let change the bandage and take a look at," Anthony smiled reassuringly, placing the patients arm in a sling, "then it should be resumable in no big amount of time, Mister Holmes!"
"Doctor Smith deceased last month," Mycroft Holmes stated matter of fact and added: "I will come to see you, if it's convenient, Dr. Lestrade?"
Storing his utensils back in the medical bag, Anthony nodded affirmative: "It will be an honour, Mister Holmes," he turned to shake the unharmed hand of Holmes, "see you then after tomorrow, just come by my practice, I will be around until dinnertime, have a nice day Mister, Holmes."
He visited the young doctor twice in a week while he convalesced, he even was comfortable to make the way from the Diogenes Club to the practice afoot, as The Doctors practice-locations were near by.
Then, some weeks after his last medical appointment with Dr. Lestrade Mycroft Holmes found himself walking back to the Club late in the evening from a business meeting, when some hooves stopped right by his side.
He was about turning around to see what was going on, when the friendly voice of Anthony Lestrade invited: "Good evening dear Mr. Holmes, would you like a lift to your club, or somewhere else? Would be an pleasure to me!"
The co-founder of the Diogenes Club measured the Doctor's chaise with a pleased look before answering politely: "Good evening Doctor, I was on my way to the club, a belated supper, if you would like to give me the honour of your presence?"
Doctor Lestrades green eyes lighted up of for one brief moment and he stretched his hand out to help Mycroft into his carriage: "The honour is all to me, dear Mr. Holmes..."
They sat in Mycroft Holmes bureau nipping delicate brandy and smoking exclusive cigars, like so often in the last three months.
After the first supper they shared, they started to meet up for dinner, supper and cards frequently, indulging in politic discussions, analysing the passers-by and talking about the weather or Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, while smoking Mycrofts cigars and drinking Anthonys luxurious brandy.
"So, Dr. Anthony..."
The young man opposite Mycroft Holmes peered over the seam of his brandy glass, green eyes wide awaken: "What is it, dear Mycroft?"
Mycroft almost blushed, there was it again: this almost tender dear, the Doctor almost every time applied when he spoke his name.
"Anthony," he smiled, "dear, do you by chance have any news of my brother and Dr. Watson?"
Anthony finally took a sip of his brandy and put the glass back on the table, pensively tracing its seam with his index, before settling his gaze once more on Mycroft: "They were in Dartmoor last week," Anthony's lips curved into a genuine smile, "passed some lazy days together."
This was the moment when Mycroft finally understood that Doctor Anthony Lestrade knew how special the friendship between his brother and his doctor was. And, that Anthony seemingly wasn't bothered in the slightest.
So he smiled back with no small amount of relief and stated: "That's good. Very good."
Two hours, several glasses of brandy and two cigars later, when Anthony was about to leave and he stood up to bid him goodbye, Mycroft Holmes was almost ready to...
"Are you alright Mycroft," the Doctors voice sounded concerned, his hand already on the doorknob, "you look a little..." his sentence simply drowned in the look Mycrofts steel-grey eyes gave him while the man moved closer, "What is it? What's wrong, Mycroft?"
The elder man did not answer, just kept staring. Staring and then leaned slowly forward, down to Anthony.
The Doctor stared right back in those steel coloured – not cold at all – eyes and then drew a shaky breath. A breath filled with the luxurious mélange of aromatic cigars, warm brandy and a very exclusive cologne and then – their lips met.
Anthony tensed, most literally froze in place, then – in a split second and not for long – his longing took over and his lips, his mouth got pliable.
Mycroft Holmes had barely the time to savour the feeling of Anthony returning the kiss, as the man already pushed him back, turned and took flight out of the bureau, slamming the door.
He stared paralysed after the fleeing doctor, blinking slowly, before the reality settled back in and he dragged himself back into his seat.
"Oh my," the government man sighed, deeply scared to have ruined the friendship between them, only by the fact that he was an invert, a sodomite, who could not hold himself back.
Dr. Anthony Lestrade didn't stop until he reached Baker Street.
Leaning on a lamppost for support, struggling for air, he took in for the first time since he burst out of Mycroft's office, his environment, surprised, that his headless run had taken him so far, he straightened his clothes ant turned towards the house number 221b. He needed someone to talk. Someone who knew his darkest secret.
Doctor John Watson heard the doorbell and shot a short glance to the clock on the mantelpiece, it read a half past eleven in the evening, either this was a late client for Holmes, who wasn't even around, or one of his patients had an emergency.
Downstairs voices could be heard, one of them belonged to Mrs. Hudson and the other one. With out any doubt, to Dr. Anthony Lestrade. A breathless, stammering Anthony, who staggered now upstairs.
Watson awaited him under the open door to the living room.
"Oh, John," Anthony wheezed, "I have to apologise for my late interruption, but..."
Dr. Watson looked the man in front of him up and down, then gripped his wrist and pulling him into the living room, pressing him down in the chair usually occupied by Sherlock Holmes he asked worried: "You look like you run through half of London Anthony," pouring a brandy, shoving it in the man's hand, "what the hell happened to you?"
"I apparently run through half of the city, John..." Anthony gulped the alcohol down, his green eyes getting a distant look, "John, do you remember our days in the army..."
John nodded, filled Anthony's glass again and one for himself, taking place in his seat: "Of course I do, Thony."
Anthony nodded: "Of course you do. You're the one who got wounded... I'm just the one who feared every day to get discovered..."
Johns heart clinched at those words and he remembered instantly what Anthony was referring to:
The fact that Anthony was anatomically a woman.
You could not see it, but it was true: Anthony Lestrade was born as a woman.
Everything other than his body on Anthony was doubtlessly manly. His moves, his voice, his behaviour, his actions in the war, his whole appearance. Everything.
Watson, back then in the army, when he found out – dressing a small injury on Anthony – had been quit shocked, but then decided to keep shut, as Anthony had kept shut too about the little scene he had seen between John and on of the other soldiers, both of them naked on the same bunk.
And then Anthony Lestrade had saved him his leg, his shoulder and his life. He had been the one who had done the first aid, pulling him out of the danger zone...
Dr. John Watson looked concerned at his friend and asked again: "What happened today Anthony?"
Dr. Anthony Lestrade sighed deeply before he desperately sputtered out: "Mycroft Holmes happened. He kissed me. I'm in love with him, but he needs a true man if he's like you and Sherlock. I'm not enough and never will be. Not able to be enough..." he buried his face in his hands and actually sobbed.
Dr. Watson stared shocked at his friend. Anthony never cried. Anthony usually was cold and calm as Sherlock.
And what the other just had said? Mycroft Holmes had kissed him?
"Oh Jesus..."
Anthony peered out between his fingers at the shocked exclamation his friend uttered, only to hide back instantly, sobbing even more, jerking as a comforting hand was placed on his shoulder, but nonetheless he looked up at Watson.
Watson couldn't look at his friends distress any longer without doing something and so he squeezed Anthony's shoulder, speaking up: "You know, it took Sherlock about three meetings to deduce your..." he made a gesture towards Anthony, "... 'special condition'. Sherlock says, that his brother is better in deducing than he ever will be."
Anthony stared at him with wide, but undoubtedly hopeful, eyes and so John continued: "Do you really think Mycroft doesn't know yet?"
There was a faint shake of the head and a sigh.
"Go back now and explainthat you won't allow him to take you like a woman..." they had no secrets at all, but Watson still blushed, "If he still wants you – and I don't doubt he want," John shrugged,"I would say, it's worth a try!" and with this he shoved another brandy in his friends hands.
Mycroft Holmes just downed another drink, trying to think of a way to re-establish his and Dr. Lestrade's friendship, already secretly mourning it, when there was a knock on his office door.
He put the glass down on the tiger-oak desk, straightened his back and his jacket and then beckoned the visitor in, not very happy about the intrusion.
The door slid open and a very familiar figure stepped into the room, hat in hand and a wary smile on his lips.
Anthony approached the man at the desk, while Mycroft stood up, disbelievingly staring at his visitor.
The Doctor stepped in front of the tall man, throwing the hat on the seat in front of the desk and spoke up: "You know, that I never will be able to give you what you need and that I will never pretend to be a woman, Mycroft?"
Sad green eyes met hopefully gleaming steel-grey and then Mycroft Holmes reached out, placed a big hand on Anthony's waist, pulled him closer and stated matter of fact: "You are what I need, Doctor Anthony Lestrade, and never dare to act like a woman, you are a man."
Anthony left out a breath he hadn't realised holding in and leaned upwards, brushing his lips against the others, never leaving Mycroft's eyes with his own, only closing them as he felt the other man kissing back.
It tasted of rich brandy, spicy cigars and something undeniably addicting, even with closed lips. And so Anthony nibbled careful at Mycroft's lower lip before he licked his way in the others mouth, kissing him ardently.
Mycroft felt himself giving in, loosing himself in the demanding, forceful kiss while Anthony manoeuvred him backwards against his heavy desk, one gentle hand on his neck,the other on the small of his back.
"Mycroft..." he shuddered at the husky breathing tone Anthony's voice had taken, "My... croft..." he was shoved on the desk while the doctor's teeth graced his neck.
They ended up, Anthony standing between Mycroft's legs, heavy lidded eyes locked and working fervently on each others jackets until Anthony batted the others hands away, shaking his head slowly: "Please don't..." and with this the Doctor lurched forward, pressing more fervid kisses to Mycroft's mouth.
Anthony took the lead in this first encounter, pulling on Mycroft's jacket, west and when his nimble surgeons fingers worked on the shirt buttons and his teeth trailed a soft path over a broad chest, the taller man was reduced to a heated mess.
"Anthony," it escaped Mycroft as a throaty groan when he pushed his hips forward to get more friction and was rewarded with the doctors hand on his crotch and an impulsive bite to his craned neck.
The doctors breath staggered as the man on the desk began to move against his hand, uttering a sound akin a helpless groan and one of Mycroft's hands shot to his shoulder, clutching hard, undoubtedly leaving marks.
Anthony leaned more forward, pressed his own wiry body up to the taller man's, one arm slung around Mycroft's waistline, digging his fingers in the flushed skin, his mouth latched to where neck and shoulder connected and moving the hand on the others crotch in a circling motion.
Anthony's reward was another stuttering breath, followed by a throaty moan barely resembling his name and his lovers fingers digging even deeper into his shoulder, while a shudder ripped through Mycroft's whole body.
Mycroft clung to Anthony's shoulders, gulping down air in little, breathless huffs, tried to calm down while he stuttered an apology after another until Anthony turned his head and silenced him with a gentle kiss, whispering against his quivering lips: "Shh, My everything 's perfectly fine..." a low, soft chuckle, "Beside your suit perhaps, my dear."
The tall man sighed relieved, pulled back an inch, placed both hands flat against Anthony's chest and sighed, looking down at the other, from his position still on his own desk: "You're perfect, but why did you come back, Anthony? And I assume, I wasn't the first..." blushing into deep red Mycroft shook his head and stopped midway through and continued: "I've to apologise, I am rambling nonsense..." he began to straighten his clothing, fiddling very embarrassed with the buttons and not looking at the doctor.
Anthony took hold of Mycroft's fumbling hands, pulled them to his mouth, kissed every knuckle and whispered: "I came back because I was a coward and John told me to do so..." he locked his green eyes on steel-grey, "And, no, you are not the first, Mycroft, but you will be probably the last," Mycroft visibly paled and Anthony hastily carried on, "as I have the urgent want to take you home and lock you away from anybody else, dearMy!" and with this he started to button up the others shirt.
Mycroft looked down at the golden mop of hair, felt the elegant fingers move over him again, only this time to redress him, closing buttons and all, while he still considered Anthony's words.
This was until Anthony looked upwards, smiling, reached for Mycroft's hips and pulled him from the desk, only to sling his own arms around the taller man's neck, purring: "Stop thinking so much, Mycroft, just come to my place for tonight..." and again Anthony's voice dropped low, husky once more, "And I'll show you..."
Mycroft Holmes silenced Dr. Anthony Lestrade with a kiss, pulling him closer and murmured eventually, breathless, as he shoved the smaller one carefully backwards: "Invitation and challenge to notthink accepted, take you're hat and we'll call it a night..."