So, yet more Mystrade my friends! :D I have just returned from a ten-day school trip to Israel, and seeing as wifi was scarce, I wrote a lot to pass the time on the planes and coach.
One of my major headcanons for Greg is, as it probably also is for a lot of people, PunkStrade, so I have acted upon that headcanon and have written this. It will be continued, so don't worry, and the second chapter is already half finished. (Yeah, there was a lot of time to pass.) Hope you enjoy!
Mycroft walked cautiously down the darkening street, wary of the kind of people who frequented such a place. Of course, if it were up to him, he wouldn't be here at all, but, as was the social nicety, he could not refuse Anthea's invitation to go out for drinks in one of her favourite bars that evening.
He approached the entrance to the building in question, and wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of cigarette smoke that accosted him. Music blared from inside the building, and none that he was at all familiar with, only serving to add to his trepidation. Mycroft scanned the room, searching for his friend. Ah, there she is. He thought to himself, slightly relieved that he had spotted her so easily. Anthea was sat on a stool by the bar, chatting with one of the young barmen, her back turned towards the entrance.
Mycroft walked over to the bar, conscious not to make eye contact with any of the far too loud to be decent people who occupied the establishment. He hadn't realised, when the outing was suggested, that Anthea's taste would be quite so...punk. Everybody there was dressed in such a way as to make Mycroft uneasy, with their studded leather jackets, piercings everywhere, ripped clothing in all sorts of places, and oh, did that man's hair really need to be spiked so ridiculously?
Feeling utterly out of place, and increasingly nervous, Mycroft tapped Anthea on her shoulder, glad when she turned around and beamed at him.
"Myc, I didn't think you'd turn up! So, what're you having?" She asked, giving him no time to sit down or even contemplate what would pass as adequate to drink here.
"I will have whatever you are having, my dear." He replied, pulling out a barstool and sitting next to his friend.
The bartender gave Mycroft an odd once-over. "I take it you don't come here often?"
"Obviously not." He answered curtly, accepting the pint of lager the man handed to him. He tentatively took a sip, his brow furrowing at the taste, and swallowed grimly.
Anthea laughed, frowning at Mycroft good-naturedly. "I said dress casual, Myc." She said, tugging at his jacket's lapel.
"This is casual!" He said defensively, folding his hands in his lap. "This is my tweed suit, Anthea, and I have forgone a tie!"
"Well, it'll have to do, but don't blame me if you get any trouble. The guys here are kind of rowdy." She explained, glancing around.
"Yes, quite." Mycroft agreed, seeing the many people jumping and shouting rather violently at the far end of the room, crowding the live band that were playing just as enthusiastically.
"Oy, Anth." The barman said, leaning in conspiratorially. "Over there, look. She's been staring at you for ages now." Mycroft turned to have a look, and, sure enough, a tall blonde woman was not so subtly eyeing up his friend.
"Hm, so she has." Anthea mused, smirking at the woman from across the room. "I'll be back in a bit, don't go anywhere." She said, before weaving her way through the crowd to get to the interested party.
And where exactly would I go? Mycroft thought to himself sarcastically, drumming his fingertips on the wooden bar. He stayed there for a good few minutes, checking his watch now and again only to see that time was passing glacially.
"What's a pretty posh thing like you doing all alone in a place like this?" An unfamiliar but deliciously rough voice asked from behind him. Mycroft swivelled round on his stool, only to be met with surely the most attractive man he had ever laid eyes upon. Really, he was simply stunning, and Mycroft found himself lost for a moment in his deep brown eyes. And oh! Did he really call me pretty?
"I am not alone." He replied, glancing across the room to find Anthea and the woman thoroughly...involved. "My companion is simply preoccupied at the moment."
The all too handsome stranger followed his gaze, laughing an absolutely gorgeous laugh at Anthea's predicament. "Looks like she'll be preoccupied for quite a while, so how about you and me get to know each other a little better? Greg Lestrade." He said, thrusting his hand forward, presumably for Mycroft to shake.
"You and I." Mycroft corrected.
"Huh?" The newly named Greg replied.
"You and I should get to know each other a little better." He repeated, watching the realisation dawn in those truly magnificent eyes.
Greg grinned, a boyish, crooked, and utterly charming grin. "Glad we're on the same page." He said with a wink, pulling a stool between his rather lovely legs, dropping down to sit in front of Mycroft. "Let me buy you a drink." Greg offered.
"I already have one, thank you." Mycroft replied politely, holding up his practically untouched pint. Greg just raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders, relenting.
"So, you got a name or what?" Greg asked, running his fingers through his tousled hair a few times, only serving to make it more disorderly.
"Mycroft Holmes." He answered with a smile.
"Not heard that one before." Greg replied, with an amused quirk of his lips.
"Creative mother." Mycroft said in way of an explanation.
"Ha, wish I could say the same. At least yours isn't the same as a million other common gits."
Mycroft frowned, wondering how this frankly beautiful man could ever think himself any less than unique. "Your name holds no baring over your influence in this world, Gregory."
Greg grinned again, something that Mycroft was already growing rather fond of, and said, "S'pose not. Only my mum calls me Gregory, you know." He said with a laugh.
"Well I prefer it." Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow, as if challenging him to question it.
"Alright, alright, call me whatever you want." Greg said.
"Anything?" Mycroft smirked.
Greg leaned in, "Anything." He said, with a decidedly flirtatious tone to his voice.
And before Mycroft could filter his thoughts, his completely inexperienced brain decided to tell his mouth to blurt out, "So you think I'm pretty?"
Thankfully, he managed to school his features into a passable expression of nonchalance, acting like he had meant to say something so forward.
"Oh yeah. I think I've got a thing for redheads." Greg replied with another amused look.
"Well that's a relief," Mycroft said, "because I am...obscenely ginger." He finished with a sigh.
"Don't say it like it's a bad thing, you're so hot." He said, biting his lip coyly.
"Ah, y- yes, well." Mycroft stuttered, not used to the blatant compliments. "So are you." He brushed back a stray curl that refused to stay in place, that kept falling stubbornly over his forehead.
"Why thank you." Greg said graciously, and then, much to Mycroft's shock, reached out and took his hand in his own, slowly and gently pulling it away from his head and held it between them. "No, don't; I like it." He said sincerely.
"Oh." Mycroft said, as his entire vocabulary seemed to have deserted him. After he had gathered his wits about him, he managed to form a more intelligent response. "You are not as you appear to be, Gregory Lestrade."
This provoked yet another glorious smile from his new companion, and Mycroft found himself wanting more and more to be the cause of that smile.
"We're not all aggressively rebellious anarchists, you know." He said, pretending to be offended.
"You've certainly proven as much. However, I am surprised by the lack of metal adorning your face, considering the amount that others are wearing."
"That, my friend, is because it's detrimental to have visible piercings when one is working their way up the police force."
Mycroft raised his eyebrows slightly, happy that Gregory had a proper career planned for his future.
"Detective Constable, I'll have you know." He clarified. "So, you know, I got a nice set of handcuffs if you're into that kind of thing." He added with a positively lascivious wink.
Mycroft was once again taken aback by Greg's words, and they caused him to blush high on his cheeks, and the tips of his ears flushed red.
"I'll take that as a yes then." Greg said mischievously.
"I, er, well." Mycroft began, attempting to defend himself, and a certain few of his fantasies.
"I'm just teasing." Greg assured him. "What do you do? I expect it's something important given your...everything." He finished with a laugh.
"I am a civil servant." Mycroft answered, reluctant to expand on that point. It was not wise to discuss his work, no matter how charming the inquirer.
"Bit vague. Can't tell me anything else? You're not a secret agent or anything, are you?" He said, but looked as though he was not entirely joking.
Mycroft rolled his eyes, smiling wryly at how his guess was not so far off. "I occupy a minor position in the British Government." He explained, eschewing any actual expansion on the topic.
"Minor my arse! I bet you're the one who sits in an office all day approving all the major decisions affecting the rest of the world."
Mycroft smiled, brushing off the idea with his forced-nonchalant body language.
"Yeah," Greg continued, with a terribly obvious once-over of Mycroft's body, "you're no where near rough around the edges enough to be doing regular field work."
"I'll take that as a compliment." Mycroft said, taking another sip of his awful beverage. He honestly did not understand how Anthea, and seemingly the rest of the world his age, could enjoy such a ghastly drink.
"Good. Because it was damn well intended as one. You really are stunning." He said, almost wistfully, and Mycroft felt his heart race. Nobody had ever payed this kind of attention to him before, and for him to be lucky enough for that person to be Gregory Lestrade who finally did; well, he was joyous.
"I..." And utterly lost for words. "I'm sorry, Gregory, but I am unused to such compliments directed towards me."
Gregory looked shocked, though Mycroft could not at all fathom why. "Seriously? No way. But you're- You know what? Come back to mine, and I'll pay you all the compliments in the world." He promised sincerely.
Mycroft couldn't believe his luck; this perfect being actually wanted to be with him, even if it was only for one night.
"Now? Do you not wish to exchange contacts, or...?"
"No, no, we can do that after." Greg said with another sinful grin, standing up and grabbing Mycroft's hand, pulling him up too.
"Sorry, after what?" Mycroft asked, unsure of what the protocol was when going to the home of somebody you just met, who also happens to be a possible love interest.
"Well, you know. We could...get to know each other a little better." Greg suggested, exaggerating the words, shouting to be heard over the music, but refusing to meet Mycroft's eyes.
Why Gregory was acting shyly, Mycroft didn't know, but he tried to calm this sudden onset of nerves by agreeing certainly.
"Yes, yes, that sounds wonderful." He said, nodding his head so that Greg understood over the din of the music. Even if it was a little short notice, he would accept any reason to prolong being in Gregory's company.
"Great!" Greg proclaimed, and began to weave his way through the mass of dancing and jumping bodies, tugging Mycroft along behind him.
They reached the exit to the stifling building, and were about to leave when Anthea spotted them over her new friend's shoulder.
"Myc! Mycroft!" She called, excusing herself from the woman's arms and making her way over to them.
Mycroft turned at the sound of his name, telling Greg to wait for a moment.
"Mycroft, who's this?" Anthea asked, a clearly amused look painting her features.
"Oh, yes, of course. This is Gregory Lestrade." He gestured to the man who still had his fingers intertwined with his. Greg nodded his head in greeting.
"Right..." She said dubiously. "And what, exactly, are you doing with Gregory?"
Mycroft gave Anthea his best condescending look, and replied, "Gregory simply suggested that we go back to his home, that is all." He explained.
Anthea only raised her eyebrows, conveying her disbelief in a look.
"What?" Mycroft snapped hotly, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his chin in defiance.
"Just didn't think you were type, that's all." She said coolly, but the amused expression had returned in full force.
Mycroft scowled at Anthea, hiding the fact that he had no idea why she was so opposed to him doing what she did on a regular basis. Perhaps she is simply jealous that I have managed to attract the most handsome man here, on her territory. He thought to himself.
"Come Gregory, we're leaving." Mycroft all but commanded, pushing open the door and stepping out into the chill night air, Gregory following eagerly after him.