As they strolled into the Carpenter's Arms, Mycroft was momentarily taken aback to see the handsome, thirty-something bartender giving Lestrade a welcoming smile like they were old friends.
"Greg!" the bartender hailed, beaming at him, "Didn't expect to see you tonight."
"Stakeout finished early for once, Charlie" Lestrade replied with an easy grin, sitting down at the bar and motioning for Mycroft to do the same. "So I thought I'd come visit my favorite bartender."
"You're just hoping for some drinks on the house. You policemen, you're all alike - shameless flirts," the man called Charlie said with a laugh and an eyeroll. "Watch out for this one," he warned, turning now to address Mycroft, "He's an unmerciful tease."
"Rest assured, I shall be on my guard," Mycroft promised, dramatically placing his hand over his heart and bowing his head; he had purposefully kept his face solemn, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement.
Charlie gave Mycroft a quick and appraising once-over, then leaned over the bar to whisper conspiratorially to Lestrade, "Oh, I like this one Greg. Yes, just what you need, I'd say."
"What I need, Charlie," Lestrade said firmly, "Is two pints of the usual for me and my friend here."
"All right, all right, I can take a hint," Charlie responded, his raised hands conveying surrender but his expression giving off anything but. "Guinness all right with you, sir?" he asked Mycroft.
"Oh, I'm sure whatever the two of you procure for me shall be a transcendent experience," Mycroft responded gallantly.
Charlie rewarded him with a grin, shot Lestrade a meaningful look as he murmured, "Yes, just what you need," then went to get the drinks.
"Well, I can see why you like this place," Mycroft said before Lestrade could explain. "Charlie is obviously inordinately fond of you, but unless I'm mistaken, the affection is more friendly than romantic. That combined with the innocent flirting leads me to guess...brother-in-law?"
Lestrade laughed, obviously impressed. "You know, sometimes you act so normally, I forget you're a Holmes. Brother-in-law's as good a term as any; Charlie's been married to my best friend Jim for going on three years now. Not only is he a loyal friend and an excellent bartender, but he has also taken me on as something of a personal project as of late. I keep trying to convince Jim to let him redecorate the kitchen instead, but to no avail."
Charlie returned swiftly with the drinks and, with a quick wink at the pair of them, was off again in a flash, suddenly very interested in assisting a middle-aged Asian gentleman who appeared thoroughly baffled by the pub menu.
Lestrade lifted his glass in a salutatory gesture at Mycroft and said, "Here's looking at you, kid." At Mycroft's baffled expression, he gave another exasperated sigh and said firmly, "Casablanca. Next weekend, we're watching it. No arguments."
Mycroft laughed and agreed, echoing Lestrade's gesture with his own glass and taking a sip, nodding appreciatively afterwards.
"Is it a transcendent experience?" Lestrade asked with a wry smile.
"Oh quite," remarked Mycroft, "I'm normally a wine man, but this is quite excellent. Charlie should be commended."
"I've been trying to get him into the Urban Beverage Disposal Department for years," Lestrade replied with a serious expression, causing Mycroft to utter a loud laugh and jab him affectionately on the shoulder.
After finishing his first beer a few moments later, Mycroft declared, "Well, Gregory, we've partaken of the potables, which I deem distinctly above average, but I'm afraid I won't be able to rubber stamp this pub of yours until I've sampled the entertainment."
"Oh, really?" Lestrade asked, amused, "What exactly did you have in mind? A go on the fruit machine?"
"Don't be silly," Mycroft replied. "Everyone knows the mark of a truly exceptional local establishment," he continued knowledgably, "is a fully equipped dart board. I assume the Carpenter's Arms possesses one?"
"Yes, yes," Lestrade said, a little astonished, "It's in the back."
"Excellent!" Mycroft proclaimed excitedly, as he removed his Hugo Boss jacket, folded it briskly, and placed it on the back of his stool. "Take me to it!"
Lestrade got up as well, hastily removing his own jacket and slipping it over his stool. He led Mycroft to the dart board in the back, but not before throwing a warning glance at Charlie, who was looking like he dearly wanted to say something inappropriate.
"Red or green?" Mycroft asked brightly, removing the darts from the board and offering them to Lestrade.
Lestrade glanced at them for a moment, then up at Mycroft, then back down again, still trying to process his new discovery of Mycroft's passion for darts. Finally, he decided on green and picked up the appropriate half of the darts.
Mycroft nodded enthusiastically, muttered, "Excellent!" and retreated behind the faded, chalk starting-line opposite the board.
"How long have you had this fascination with darts, exactly?" Lestrade asked, as Mycroft gestured eagerly for him to take his first shot.
"Oh ages," Mycroft replied, cringing as Lestrade's first dart hit the rim of the "2" box. "Blair and I used to play twice a week in the old days. Cameron's more of a billiards man, unfortunately," he continued with a sigh.
Lestrade raised his eyebrows at this, but said nothing, finishing his turn with an abysmal 12 points.
"You play darts like you're lobbing a cricket ball," Mycroft remarked despairingly, "Your stroke needs to be much more fluid than that. Observe." With that, he stepped up to the line and fired three darts, one after the other, into the "20" space at the top of the board.
"Well, we don't all have world leaders to practice with," Lestrade protested, a bit defensively.
"Now, that's no excuse," Mycroft chided, "Come on, I'll show you." He retrieved his own darts, made a small notation on the chalk scoreboard, and walked back to stand behind Lestrade. "Now, try again," he said encouragingly, peeking over Lestrade's shoulder.
This time, Lestrade tried closing one eye and throwing that way, but this just resulted in him sending the dart flying into the plaster wall next to the board.
"Sorry, Charlie," he yelled, cringing slightly.
Charlie swept by with a fresh round of drinks and proclaimed, "These can only help," with a pointed look at Lestrade. Before turning to leave, he walked over to Mycroft and grasped his sleeve theatrically, imploring him, "Please, help him; save my walls."
Mycroft laid a hand on his shoulder and raised the other in the air as if taking an oath, responding with the utmost solemnity, "I promise, I will do my level best."
Charlie grinned, took one last, pained look at the plaster, and was gone again.
Lestrade resignedly took a swing from the pint Charlie had obligingly brought him and prepared to take his second shot. Before he had loosed the dart, however, Mycroft interrupted from behind him, "I'm sorry, I can't allow this to go on any further. Your stance is all wrong; let me show you," and reached forward to adjust his posture.
"I am a grown man, Mycroft!" Lestrade protested, "I think I know how to throw a dart."
Mycroft looked at him incredulously, then at the sizable hole in the wall next to the dart board, then back at him, and said, "Not too fine a point on it, dear fellow, but clearly you don't. It would be none of my concern, despite my love for the sport, but I promised Charlie that I would do everything within my power to save his walls from further injury, and I am a man of my word. Now, why don't you stop protesting, act like the grown man you so vocally claim to be, and learn how to throw a dart properly? Your stance again, please."
Lestrade rolled his eyes and grumbled a bit, but nevertheless posed as if he were preparing to throw a dart. Mycroft gave him a quick up and down glance, mumbled, "Oh no, no, no, that's not right at all," took a long drink from his pint as if for strength, then sidled up behind Lestrade.
"Now, your posture should be much looser," he began, placing his hands lightly on the sides of Lestrade's hips, attempting to guide them into a less constrained position.
"Mycroft, really!" Lestrade objected, "I'm an Inspector for God's sake!"
"Yes, Gregory," Mycroft said patiently, moving his hands up to straighten out Lestrade's shoulders, "I am perfectly aware of that fact, although how you achieved that rank without even a cursory knowledge of the game of darts, I shall never know. Now your right arm should swing lightly and naturally as you take your shot."
He placed his left hand on Lestrade's waist and extended his right arm so it paralleled Lestrade's own, using his hand to manipulate Lestrade's grip and swinging their arms back and forth together. For a few moments, they swayed in perfect tandem, and Lestrade brushed his left hand ever so lightly over the one Mycroft had placed on his waist.
"One," Mycroft began counting softly, preparing Lestrade to take his shot, "Two...Three!" Lestrade swung his arm back with Mycroft's and then forward one last time, freeing the dart to fly elegantly into the center of the target.
"Perfect! Absolutely perfect!" Mycroft said, giving Lestrade a little squeeze which required almost no effort as his arms had been wrapped around him for the past ten minutes.
Lestrade laughed and leaned back against him slightly, saying, "All right, I admit it, that was fun. With you as a teacher, Charlie may revoke my lifelong ban on the pool table."
"A mountain I would be most willing to climb another evening," Mycroft commented amiably. "But for now, I think we've earned another round. Charlie!"
Two hours and three pints apiece later, they had discussed Lestrade's role as the aubergine in a middle school pageant on nutrition, Mycroft's passionate hatred of women who wore too much perfume in elevators, and their mutual belief that Connery was the undisputed James Bond. Eventually, however, the conversation took a natural turn toward the subject which had begun their little adventure earlier that evening: Sherlock.
"I can't imagine him as a child," Lestrade said, his words slurring only a little, "What was he like?"
"Shorter," Mycroft deadpanned. They both stared blankly at each other for a couple seconds before erupting into fits of giggles.
As the laughter died down, however, Mycroft's tone turned reflective and sentimental, and he said, "He was trouble from the very first. Always getting into places he wasn't supposed to be, telling people things he wasn't supposed to know. 'You make sure and take care of your brother,' Mummy said, and I promised that I would."
"And you have been ever since, " Lestrade finished for him. "You don't think he's old enough to take care of himself now?" he asked gently.
"Well, look what happens when I leave him to his own devices!" Mycroft argued passionately, gesturing grandiosely with his glass. "John Watson is the best thing that's happened to him in years, maybe ever, and he's cocking it up!"
Lestrade nearly spit out the sip of beer he had in his mouth and said laughingly, "Mycroft Holmes, I'll bet you've never said "cocking it up" before in your life! I must get you drunk more often."
Mycroft blushed and said defensively, "I'm not that drunk!" But after quickly playing the past hour over in his mind, he added sheepishly, "Well, maybe I've had one or two more than I ought. Sorry, didn't mean to get so worked up there."
Lestrade reached over and squeezed his hand warmly, saying, 'No, don't apologize, please. You love your brother enough to get upset when you think he's ruining his life. I think that's lovely."
"Lovely?" Mycroft asked, and now it was Lestrade's turn to blush.
"You know what I mean," he said, embarassed, and turned back toward the bar as Mycroft grinned at him.
"Do you think he's ruining his life?" Mycroft asked quietly after a minute, genuinely interested in Lestrade's opinion.
"Quite possibly," Lestrade admitted after some thought, "But I also think that you telling him that won't fix it; if anything it will probably make things worse."
Mycroft sighed and said, "You're probably right," before finishing off his pint. As he was waving Charlie over for two more, Lestrade patted him lightly on the shoulder and then took off for the back of the bar, presumably to use the facilities.
"Charlie?" Mycroft called out plaintively, causing Charlie to jog down to him from the other end of the bar. "Charlie, you're a bartender."
"Yeah, I'm with you so far," replied Charlie with a laugh, "Clearly the lager hasn't impaired all your neural functions."
"No, no," said Mycroft impatiently, trying to get his words to work properly, "What I mean is, people tell you their problems, right?"
"Sure, all the time. Bartenders and hairdressers hear it all, so they say. Why, you have a problem you need some professional help with?"
"It's my brother," Mycroft said with a sigh. "Do you have a brother, Charlie?" he asked, not waiting for an answer before barrelling on, "They're nothing but trouble, I'm telling you. My brother is an idiot; I mean, he's not, he's a genius, a total genius. But I'm telling you, Charlie, he's a first class idiot. He has this great guy - I mean smart, funny, sweet, the whole deal - who wants to be with him, and he won't do a damn thing about it. He is not the easiest person in the world to love - believe me, I know - and I'm scared this is his one chance to be happy, and he's throwing it away."
"Why would he do that?" asked Charlie sagely.
"I don't know!" Mycroft moaned, "Stupid reasons, I suppose - he's afraid it would change everything, afraid it wouldn't work out, afraid that no one could ever really love someone like him".
"Mycroft, I'm going to impart some insight to you, acquired painstakingly during my 15 years at this job. Are you ready to hear it?" Charlie asked, looking serious.
Mycroft nodded slowly, doing his best to match Charlie's expression.
"Are you sure we're talking about your brother and not you?" Charlie inquired.
"Me?" Mycroft said in genuine surprise. "Who could I be...?" he trailed off as Charlie inclined his head slightly toward the back of the bar. "Oh, shit. I've only just realized."
Charlie smiled sympathetically, saying, "That's how it always is with the good ones - straight out of the blue, no warning."
Mycroft sat back in his stool, still in shock from his sudden revelation. He looked back up at Charlie, suddenly afraid, and said, "I don't know what to do, Charlie."
"Well, Mycroft," Charlie replied, "That depends - are you an idiot, or are you a genius?"
"I know which I feel like at the moment," he said truthfully.
"Greg's a good bloke," Charlie said, leaning over the bar to look him in the eye, "One of the best, in fact. And in the five years I've known him, I've never seen him laugh half as much as he did with you tonight. I wasn't kidding when I said you'd be good for him; and I think I can now say with certainty that he'd definitely be good for you. So, Mycroft Holmes, I ask you again - are you going to sit there like an idiot, or go get him like a genius?"
Mycroft finished off what was left of Lestrade's beer for some liquid courage, murmured a heartfelt "Thank you" to Charlie, and headed off toward the back of the bar. To his surprise, he found Lestrade leaning against the wall of a small alcove containing a beat-up jukebox.
He meant to say something romantic, but all that came out was "What are you doing?"
Lestrade paused as if formulating what he was going to say and finally blurted out, "Standing here trying to figure out a way to ask you back to my place without feeling like an idiot." He looked miserably embarassed.
"Well," said Mycroft thoughtfully, "How about, 'Mycroft would you like to come back to my place?'"
"That could work," Lestrade admitted after a pause. "Mycroft, would you like to come back - " was all he got out before Mycroft kissed him, pressing him against the brick wall of the alcove. Lestrade immediately returned the kiss, placing his hands on the sides of Mycroft's face. They bounced off all the walls of the small alcove, even colliding a few times with the jukebox, as they took turns taking the lead.
After a few minutes of this, they pulled apart a little to catch their breath; Lestrade took advantage of the pause to ask, "So I should take that as a yes then, should I?"
Mycroft laughed, wrapped his arms around Lestrade's neck, and declared, "Yes, Gregory Lestrade, yes, there is nothing I would like more in the world than to go back to your place."
Lestrade's eyes lit up and he gave Mycroft a quick kiss on the lips before running toward the front of the bar, shouting, "I'll bring the car round!"
Mycroft walked slightly more slowly toward the main room to say good night to Charlie, who commented immediately, "I take it by the silly grins on both your faces that you decided on genius?"
"Oh yes," replied Mycroft, unable to stop smiling for a moment. Impulsively, he leaned over the bar to give Charlie a quick peck on the cheek and said, "Thanks for everything, Charlie. I just might have to send my brother over to you."
Charlie looked at him in surprise and said, "So you really have a brother then?"
Mycroft laughed and said, "Oh yes, I really have a brother. And he really is an idiot." At this point Lestrade ran back into the room, took Mycroft's hand, and led him quickly out the door, giving him only just enough time to yell out a quick good night to Charlie before the door of the pub swung shut.
They could barely keep their hands off each other long enough to make it to the car, and Mycroft soon found himself pressed against the well-worn leather of the passenger seat by Lestrade's body. "How far is it to your place?" he gasped when they came up for air.
"God, fifteen minutes at least," Lestrade said, looking very dissatisfied with this number. "What about yours?"
"Five if we gun it," Mycroft replied eagerly, before pouncing on him again. "Get out, I'll drive."
"Are you sure you're up for it?" Lestrade asked in sudden concern, trying to do the blood alcohol calculations in his head.
"Not to worry, I should be well within the legal limit, a .06 at worst," Mycroft assured him. At Lestrade's flabbergasted expression, he added, "Genius, remember?"
With that, Lestrade acquiesced, and Mycroft soon found himself driving well over the speed limit in a strange car toward where he mostly remembered his flat was with an incredibly handsome policeman draped all over him.
They tumbled out of the car, kissing non-stop as they stumbled into Mycroft's building while still pawing at each other like two love-struck teenagers. Somehow they made it relatively unscathed into the elevator, onto Mycroft's floor, and finally into his flat.
When they reached the door to the bedroom, however, Lestrade pried himself off Mycroft momentarily to ask in a serious voice, "Are you sure you want this? It'll change everything."
Mycroft gave him a little lopsided smile and said, "God, I hope so!" kissing him again, sweetly this time. He then withdrew a little and, stroking Lestrade's cheek softly, assured him, "I want this, Greg. I'm not going to be sorry in the morning."
"Me neither," Lestrade said confidently, a huge grin on his face, "Just wanted to make sure."
As they tumbled laughing onto the bed, errant buttons flying everywhere as they struggled to get each other's clothes off, Mycroft thought briefly about how marvelous it was that a day which had begun in such an ordinary fashion could end as spectacularly as this. Then Lestrade kissed him once more, maneuvering himself so he was straddling Mycroft on the bed, and, for once in his life, Mycroft Holmes quit thinking altogether.