Chapter Three: First Meetings

Mycroft lit a cigarette and blew smoke above his head. He was sitting on his very expensive couch, fidgeting and looking at the drugs. He kept looking away, kept telling himself he didn't need to take them.

But then his eyes would drift back and he'd groan.

Mycroft stood, hoping that walking, that maybe making coffee, would help him resist the urge to stick a needle in his arm. He turned on the expensive machine and stood smoking, keeping his back to the drugs.

The smell of coffee filled his nostrils and suddenly memories were ripping through his head. Mycroft groaned loudly and leaned against the counter, trying very hard to forget about the man that was addicted to coffee.

But it was impossible. Without the drugs, Mycroft's mind was running a million miles an hour. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't forget about the one man that had made everything okay.

Mycroft's drug addiction was out of hand now. There he was, Mycroft Holmes, sitting in a club and sipping scotch. He'd heard about it from another politician, one who's own drug habit put Mycroft's to shame. He had boasted that the club was a good place to get young men and good drugs.

Mycroft needed the drugs, he'd run out three days ago. His arms were itching, his brain needing a hit just to shut up. Mycroft sipped his drink and looked around, wondering where he could get some cocaine.

He spotted the man in the corner and stood, abandoning his drink in favour of cocaine. The man stiffened when Mycroft approached and the younger man didn't blame him; Mycroft was dressed in an expensive three-piece suit, everyone else wore jeans and skin-tight dresses.

'Whatchya want?' the man asked over the thumping music.

'Cocaine,' Mycroft said. The man tensed again and Mycroft held up his hands. 'I can tell you are a dealer from your hands, your jeans and your eyes. Now please, I want to buy some cocaine. Don't make me wait.'

The man looked him over again, no doubt wondering if Mycroft was a cop.

'If I was a police officer would I really be dressed like this?' Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.

The man chuckled. 'Yeah, alright. Got cash?'

'Of course,' Mycroft said. Both looked around to make sure they weren't being watched as they exchanged money and drugs. Mycroft had a smile on his face as he went back to the bar and ordered another drink.

He hated that he was reduced to this; to buying drugs in a seedy club just to satisfy his addiction. But with a pocket full of cocaine and a nice drink in his hand, Mycroft couldn't bring himself to care. He knew he'd end up overdosing and dying in his office or flat. No one would care, really. Sherlock might, Mummy definitely wouldn't. She was too busy sleeping with the new stable hand.

Mycroft stood and removed his jacket, draping it over the back of his chair before resuming his drinking. He watched the party-goers with distant eyes, feeling like an outsider more than just another young person having a good time. Mycroft had never liked clubs, had never liked anything much.

He decided to have a few more drinks before heading home and shooting up. It seemed like a nice way to spend the night and he didn't have work until the day after tomorrow. He could spend the entire time high.

Suddenly there was a man falling beside him and reflexes honed by hundreds of hours of training made Mycroft turn. He grabbed the man's arms to avoid a very embarrassing situation and felt ice slide down his thighs.

Trying very hard not to shove the man back and shout, Mycroft said politely, 'Excuse me, sir, could you not spill your drink over me?'

'Sorry,' the man grunted.

Mycroft let the man go and said, 'Not to worry, it was just ice.' He turned back to the bar and had another mouthful of alcohol. It was a few seconds before he realised the young man hadn't moved. He was just standing there with his empty drink, staring at Mycroft. He turned slowly and said, 'Can I help you?'

The young man (early twenties, police officer, partially gay... drug addict?) cleared his throat and gave Mycroft a smile that made the politician's heart skip a beat.

'Can I buy you a drink?'

Mycroft jumped, eyes going wide and lips parting. The man was... hitting on him? On Mycroft? Of course Mycroft had been hit on before, men and women alike loved his bright blue eyes and thin body, but he'd never had someone this... attractive, ask to buy him a drink.

Mycroft forced those thoughts aside. He'd always worried that he liked men over women and it scared him to think that he was attracted to the other man. Mycroft knew there was nothing wrong with being gay but Mummy and Father had always frowned on it, Father physically and Mummy vocally. If they knew Mycroft liked men...

'You...' Mycroft finally managed, trying to ignore his thoughts, 'you want to buy me a drink?'

'Yeah,' the man said.

'Erm,' Mycroft said, 'I'm flattered, but I'm really... I'm not gay.' It was a lie, it felt like a lie. Mycroft had only ever been with women but he'd never enjoyed sex, it had never turned him on like it seemed to other men. Mycroft couldn't tempt himself, he couldn't.

But he also couldn't help looking the older man up and down, loving the tight jeans that hugged his arse and hips, the open shirt that gave Mycroft a nice view of a firm, hard chest. He licked his lips and hoped to God the guy didn't know he was looking.

'It's just a drink,' the man said and slid onto the stool beside Mycroft. 'We'll see how the night goes.' He winked and Mycroft felt a blush tinge his cheeks so he looked away quickly. 'So, you want that drink?'

Well... one drink couldn't hurt, could it? It wasn't as though the man was asking him to bed. 'Erm... yes, okay.'

The man smiled, turning to catch the bartender's eye. 'I'm Greg,' he said and slid the bourbon across the bar.

'Um...' Mycroft froze, staring at the man with wide eyes.

'This is where you tell me your name.'

Mycroft blushed again and licked his lips. 'M-Myc,' he finally settled on. There was no need to tell this Greg his entire name and Mycroft wasn't exactly normal. Mycroft couldn't have his superiors finding out that he was out all night at clubs.

'Myc?'

'Yes,' Mycroft nodded again.

'Nice to meet you, Myc,' Greg smiled and raised his glass.

Mycroft took his and clinked their glasses together. 'You too... Greg.'

Greg smiled. And it was the most beautiful thing Mycroft had ever seen.