Greg Lestrade wasn't sure what he had with Mycroft Holmes at this point. They were good friends certainly, and that was odd enough considering their different status and circles. But they were good friends and they had fallen into the habit of having dinner together on Friday evenings whenever possible, generally a small, friendly place where both could relax.

Mycroft had expressed his romantic interest at that first lunch, but true to his word, he had never pushed the issue and seemed content to be Greg's friend. It was, as he had said, good to have someone who, while they couldn't discuss the particulars of work, could understand the pressures. Someone who could understand the fact that they couldn't discuss their work.

It was enough to simply say, "Ugly case today," or, "Think this one's going to get off on a technicality after all our work." Or for Mycroft to say, "Things are not going well at the negotiation table," or "Bloody tired. Had to fly to Geneva and back today," and know that the other would understand.

So there was nothing out of the ordinary when Mycroft's car was waiting at Scotland Yard to pick Greg up on a Friday night.

But, after getting into the car, Greg could see that it had not been any sort of a good day. Mycroft looked ruffled. Well, ruffled for him. His tie was loosened, a few hairs were out of place and his pocket square had obviously been used.

"You alright, Mycroft?"

Mycroft sighed, "Just a bit…trying today. Do you mind if we forego dinner out this evening?"

"No, no problem at all. You could have just called to cancel. You didn't have to come in person. I would have understood," Greg reached out and patted the other man gently on the shoulder. He continued in a low voice, "You don't always have to be quite so proper, Mycroft. I'll take the tube home. It's fine." He reached for the door handle, but Mycroft stopped him. For a moment the other man's hand rested on his.

"No, I…I wanted to see you. Just to…relax." Mycroft smiled wanly, then moved his hand.

Greg swallowed. "You could, we could, we could go to my flat, just…hang out." He'd never had Mycroft around to his place, and he'd never been to Mycroft's. That had seemed too intimate.

Mycroft made a wry smile, "Hang out?" His mouth shaped the words as though they were a foreign language, one he didn't know.

But to Greg's surprise, Mycroft relaxed slightly, the starch going out of his shoulders and said, "Yes, I think I'd like that."

It was a bachelor's flat. Everything screamed that a typical male lived there. Alone. There were the requisite take-away cartons and beer bottles. The laundry stacked on the stuffed chair was clean and folded but was more likely to be worn again before it was ever put away. Greg stalled at the door, trying simultaneously to let Mycroft go ahead and to slip in to tidy up. At least he didn't have porn mags or DVDs strewn about.

Mycroft held up his hand, "Please, Greg, don't make any effort on my account. I like the…comfortableness of it. If a little disorder bothered me as much as people think, then I would never be able to visit my brother in his den."

Greg smiled. Mycroft could always put him at ease. It was his unique talent, which was probably what made him so good at his job.

"Um, take-away?"

"That sounds lovely."

"Indian, Chinese, Thai?" Greg asked, waving menus.

"Whatever you prefer. Do you have any wine?" Mycroft sat down primly on Greg's settee, but then he seemed to reconsider and let himself lean back into its comfort. He shut his eyes and Greg was struck by Mycroft's simple attractiveness. Not striking like his brother, but basic, like a well-made white shirt.

"I've only got some old red. Nothing up to your standards."

"I don't judge a person on the quality of their wine cellar, Greg. I'm sure it will be fine and go admirably with a Vindaloo."

Greg laughed and went to wash some seldom used wine glasses. He vaguely remembered that reds were supposed to go in the rounder ones for body or something. But Mycroft took the proffered glass with a tender smile.

After placing the order, Greg shuffled about, moving some things, taking the clothes to the bedroom to get them out of the way at least. He didn't fancy sitting on the sofa with Mycroft and looking across the room at his y-fronts.

They ate with the telly on, but Mycroft made him switch the station whenever the news came on. "I get all the news I need in my red boxes, more than I need. More than anyone needs."

Greg set his glass down on the coffee table. "Can you talk about it? Do you want to talk about it? You know I'm always here to listen."

Mycroft smiled again, "I know Greg; I value that. I have very few people with whom I can just…be."

"Well, hell, Mycroft. Be. Take off your shoes, your waistcoat, your tie. Make yourself comfortable. Mess up your hair, unbutton your cuffs. Anything you want!"

"Why, Greg, if I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to undress me!"

They both froze. They'd had this kind of banter before. In the beginning they'd both been so careful to avoid the suggestion of anything—of a gay man flirting with a straight man—that it had become more uncomfortable than if they'd just let it go, so now it had become a game. But still, it was one thing out in public, it seemed different here in Greg's own flat.

Mycroft put his hand to his forehead, forefinger pressed against the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry Greg, I shouldn't have said that. I know you didn't…there's just been so much unpleasantness this week…and I…"

"Hey, no, no, I understand. It's not…it doesn't bother me. I just want to be able to help. That's what friends do."

With a rueful little laugh, Mycroft looked down into his lap. "Is that what friends do?"

"God, did you and Sherlock not have friends as kids. You both seem so surprised by simple kindness," he paused, and then went on as gently as he might with a victim of a crime, "Tell me what's going on."

"You know that I can't, not really. Just that…two…no, I really shouldn't… What happens, Greg, when you find a dirty cop at the Yard?"

"Um, there's a division, a special division that investigates, Internal Affairs. Depending on what the policeman did, they may be put on unpaid leave, dismissed or, if it's bad enough, sent to prison. It's not very well liked, you can imagine. Is that what happened? Did you have your version of a dirty cop?"

"Yes, but there isn't anything like Internal Affairs in my business. Not once the damage is done."

"Oh…"

"What it comes down to, and I shouldn't be telling you this at all, but what it comes down to is that two men died this week. The first was a very good man, and no one outside of my office will ever know what he did for his country, including his wife and children. Such is the way it is in my line of work.

"…and the other…I thought he was a good man… I trusted him, Greg. I trusted him completely, we all did and…

"It never gets any easier. It's not like there haven't been problems before, but each time you think, 'not him, he couldn't possibly, she would never.'" Mycroft gasped as though he were trying to control himself and put his face in his hands.

"You should be glad that it doesn't."

Mycroft looked up, "What?"

"That it doesn't get any easier. Because it shouldn't. If you don't feel betrayed when it happens then…it means you don't trust anyone anymore, and you can't live like that. No one can."

Greg was leaning into Mycroft now, looking into his eyes. He'd unconsciously gripped Mycroft's hands in his. 'If he were a woman,' Greg thought, 'I'd have kissed him by now. Maybe just as a friend, but I'd be more physically comforting.' With that thought foremost in his mind he pulled the other man to him so that Mycroft's head was pressed into his shoulder. This he was good at. He didn't know it, but in his own way he was just as capable as Mycroft in putting people at ease.

Mycroft pulled back slightly and Greg leant in and pressed their lips together. If he'd thought too long about it he wouldn't have done it. If they hadn't had the companionship of the previous months, he wouldn't have done it. Any number of things might have stopped him, but they didn't.

Instead, Mycroft stopped him by leaping up so fast he nearly fell over the coffee table.

"Don't! Just don't! My God, why would you do that?" Mycroft was scrambling for his coat now, "I have to go. I should never have thought…"

"Mycroft, wait! What did I do? What?"

Mycroft stopped, and he was once again the 'minor-government official' who secretly controlled everything. Prim, proper but just a little bit frightening and completely in control of himself. "Oh, please," he sneered, "let's give the gay boy a pitying kiss. He'll be beside himself with joy and everything will go back to normal. I thought better of you, Greg."

"Mycroft, no, I…that's not what I meant at all. Wait, just wait! You needed comfort, and I…I needed to give it to you. Maybe I have for a while. I don't know. I know I didn't…dislike it."

Mycroft looked dumbstruck.

"Look, Mycroft, just sit back down. Just sit down and we'll talk like we do or watch a game or a film or something and everything will be fine. We'll be fine."

"No, I…I don't think it will be fine."

"What? Why? We're…mates. We're…?"

"That's just it, Greg," Mycroft said, but he sat back down, perched on the edge of the sofa, ready to leave. "You know how I feel. How I've always felt. And now…I thought I would get over it. Being in love with you. But I haven't and now that…you've kissed me, I don't think…I don't think that I'm strong enough to keep…being near you. Like this. Like mates."

"Oh," said Greg, "we could…we could try it again."

Mycroft looked exasperated as if he expected Greg to be more intelligent. "I just said that…"

"No," Greg said, and this time he reached out to touch Mycroft's hand, "I meant we could try the kiss again."

"I don't want your pity or your appeasement. I'm not a dog who'll be happy with a bone," he winced, "unfortunate term."

"I'm not offering pity, or appeasement," he smiled to show it was all alright, "or a bone. I'm just saying that it wasn't unpleasant to kiss you. It seemed the right thing to do at the time. Hell, seemed a good idea at the time, and I…I guess I want to see where it goes. If it doesn't work…well, we'll figure that out when we come to it, I guess."

Mycroft smiled, that rare and genuine smile that lit up his face, and made him handsome, "You are a remarkable man, Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"I'm friends with you. That has to count for something."

Mycroft sat back on the sofa. There was now the width of an entire cushion between them.

Greg said, "It would probably work better if we were closer together."

Mycroft slid a tentative inch closer, then another. "Greg, you don't have to do this. I'll be all right. We can go back—"

"Shut-up, Mycroft," Greg said and closed the distance to take Mycroft's face in his hands and kiss him.

It was strange. But familiar too. Mycroft's stubble was sparse and surprisingly soft, but it was still stubble. He smelled of expensive aftershave and hair pomade and face cream. And underneath he smelled like a man. The bones were different in Greg's hands, the jaw stronger, Adam's apple pronounced. Everything seemed sharper than on women. The kiss was chaste, just dry lips against dry lips. Greg didn't feel aroused, but he didn't feel repulsed either. He felt comfortable. Comfortable was the right word.

They parted enough to look in one another's eyes. Mycroft's were open wide, his normal sang-froid disturbed.

"You don't have to do this, Greg. You really don't."

"Let's see how it goes. Isn't that what we first said."

"I won't do anything that you don't want me to do."

"I know."

This time it was Mycroft who pulled Greg's head to his. The lips were wet now, although neither man remembered licking them. They stayed like that for some time, parting, coming back together, parting.

Greg pulled Mycroft tighter to him, "This would be the point, in my other first dates, where we might get a little more…"

"More?"

"More passionate." He leant in again, his lips parted and Mycroft met him.

It was still strange. The smell was different. The planes of the body in his arms was different, but the plain desire was the same. The taste of someone's mouth, curry and cheap plonk not withstanding, was similar, just the textures were new.

Mycroft pulled his mouth away from Greg's and traced a line down his throat with his tongue. Greg let out a puff of air in surprise. It felt good, a natural progression.

But Mycroft pulled back alarmed. "Greg? Tell me if it's too much. I won't do anything that you don't want to do!"

"No, it's fine. Really. Just surprised, but good surprised. Really."

They kissed again. Mycroft slid his fingers through Greg's hair. "I love your hair, Greg. It was one of the first things I noticed about you," he murmured as he went back to planting kisses on Greg's neck.

"What, grey and all," Greg chuckled. He could feel the strokes of Mycroft's tongue even more strongly when he laughed. His body was responding, even if his mind was still trying to sort it all out.

Mycroft pulled back to look in Greg's face. "Do you really not know how handsome you are, Greg? Many women at the Yard, and I suspect, quite a few men, call you a…I believe the term is 'silver fox.'"

Greg shut his eyes and shook his head. "Learn something new everyday. What about you? What do your…boyfriends call you?"

"There hasn't been one in a long while. Look, do you mind if I…get more comfortable? Good Lord, I sound like cheap porn."

"I'd have thought you only had expensive porn," Greg laughed. I told you before, make yourself comfortable, get…unstuffed. You know, stuffed shirt?"

"Yes, but that was before, before we were doing this."

"It's really still fine, Mycroft. If it gets to be…I'll say when."

Mycroft nodded. He stood and, turning away from Greg, undid his tie, unbuttoned his waistcoat and laid them both over the chair. After a moment's consideration he bent down, unlaced his shoes and removed them. He placed them neatly by the chair as well. Greg, watched all of this with an amused grin. This time, instead of sitting back down, Mycroft leant over Greg so that he was pushed back against the sofa. Greg finished the action by pulling Mycroft down on top of him. It was just like making out as teenagers, he thought to himself. Well, except for the fact that they both had penises. Because now that they were spread out, he could feel Mycroft's erection pressing into his hip. That was different and a little alarming, but his body didn't seem to object.

Reaching for Greg's shirt buttons, Mycroft said shyly, "Do you mind?"

"Um, no, not yet."

The top button on Greg's shirt was already undone, the way he usually wore it. Mycroft's deft fingers undid the second two buttons, down to the V of the white t-shirt he was wearing. Mycroft followed his fingers with his mouth, trailing brief kisses along the bared skin, brushing along Greg's chest hair.

"Grey here as well."

"Grey hair everywhere," responded Greg.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow suggestively, "Everywhere?" He was feeling more comfortable now since Greg hadn't slapped his hands away or reacted with disgust. It made him bold, and he ran his palm over the front of Greg's trouser.

But at that Greg did pull back. "Not, not yet. Just…not yet."

"Alright," smiled Mycroft just before he leant in for another kiss, "Let's see where it goes. I'm willing to take all the time in the world."