I don't own any Sherlock characters, they belong to much better writers then me. :)
The Pinkest Rose.
No one has ever bought Lestrade flowers. So when he found a dozen pink roses on his desk on Monday morning, he stopped short.
"Oi, Kate!" He called to his secretary, "Who sent these?"
"I don't know, Sir. They didn't have a card on them."
Lestrade furrowed his brow, "Ok, thank you." Lestrade strode back to his office and closed the door. The inspector picked up the roses and looked at them closely. Each flower looked well trimmed and there were no thorns on any of them. Lestrade shook his head and put them on the side.
The rest of the day went by as an uneventful blur. Lestrade walked out of the office at 5 and began to walk down the street. Slowly, clouds began to churn above him. Soon enough, it was raining. The light patter of rain hit against the sides of the pavement as Lestrade continued to walk, looking desperately for a cab. Suddenly, he heard a car pulling up to the curb and saw a black car pull up next to him. A smile tugged at the corners of Lestrade's mouth as he saw a tall figure climb out of the car, an umbrella in one hand, a pink rose in the other.
"Hello Gregory." Mycroft greeted him with a smile, only reserved for the Detective.
"Mycroft." Lestrade returned the warmth in his voice and smile.
"Did you like my flowers?" Mycroft twirled his umbrella mischievously
Lestrade stepped forward, his shoes slopping in the rain. "That was you?"
"My dearest Gregory, of course it was me." Mycroft said lightly, taking Lestrade by the arm and leading him down the street again.
"Aren't you cold?" Lestrade asked, burrowing his shoulder further into Mycroft's arm.
"Well, not with you here." He grinned down at him, eyes filled with love.
"Well, we might as well use your umbrella, just incase." Lestrade said.
Mycroft inclined his head ever so slightly, then he pulled out his umbrella and popped it open. The two walked arm in arm, down the street, with not a care in the world.