Two sticky trails of red ran down Mycroft's chin. They would have made it to his pristine white shirt if it had not been for Greg LeStrade's timely intervention. He smiled and wiped the trickle away with a napkin. Mycroft smiled, a look of extreme satisfaction splayed across his face, and took a second, rather ostentatious bite. Greg sipped his double Espresso and pondered on his reversal of fortune. A hundred and twenty four years of lonely nothing and in a matter of hours he had found, bitten and taken Mycroft Holmes. Taken him and made him his. Forever. He really was going to have to explain all that later. He wasn't entirely sure if Mycroft would be okay with it. After all, a man like Mycroft would probably not take kindly to being someone else's possession.

Greg had seen it hundreds of times before. When a Vampire had made a blood bond, like the one he had made with Mycroft. The Bitten would be subservient to the Biter. Except that Mycroft seemed to have missed that memo. Or perhaps it was because Greg had only seen it happen between men and women before. A gay vampire was something of a rarity. Not that anyone in The Family seemed to mind, once bitten you tended to leave Homophobia, Racism and all the other crap that humans deemed essential to their boring little social groups behind. It was far more fun for everyone to unite and gang up on the Normals.

Mycroft gave a little sigh of contentment as he took his third bite. And then his face changed. Greg tensed immediately, following Mycroft's gaze to the doorway where Sherlock was framed by the sunlight. Mycroft moved quickly, lightning fast. Another rather nice side effect of the transition, your reaction times went through the ceiling. Greg found himself with the half eaten bacon and egg sandwich oozing ketchup onto its plate in front of him. Mycroft nonchalantly sipped his black coffee trying very hard to not look like a man who had just been stuffing his face with fried food.

Sherlock looked very hard at his brother. Then at Greg. Then back at Mycroft. Like some terrible intellectual tennis rally was going on in his head.

"Oh My God! You two had sex!" He said it loud enough for the whole cafe to hear. Greg put his head in his hands. Mycroft just stared at his brother. "That is disgusting! LeStrade, I thought you had taste!"

"I thought you wanted to talk to me about a case?"

"That was before this little domestic tableaux was laid in front of me. How's the diet Mycroft?" he looked pointedly at the wounded sandwich.

"It's going remarkably well actually." Mycroft took another sip of coffee and Greg began to scent the familiar Chocolate aroma. Interesting. Mycroft got off on arguing with his brother. So Sherlock did have his uses!

"You actually let my brother... Ewww!" Sherlock collapsed theatrically into the vacant seat next to Mycroft. There was a pause. "Oh yes. These bodies that keep turning up with no blood." If Greg had had any colour it would have drained at that point.

"Don't worry about it Sherlock." Mycroft looked dangerously at his little brother.

"But..."

"Don't worry about it. I will find you something far more interesting to do. Now run along Sherlock."

The detective looked at his brother, calculating, eyes narrowed. As though he was adding things up and getting the wrong answer.

"Oh you are just wrong. I'm telling Mummy."

"You realise that would actually mean speaking to her? Grow up Sherlock. Go home. And have a bath. Quite frankly, you smell!" Mycroft reached across the table, took the remains of sandwich and resumed his eating. Sherlock paused a moment longer before turning on his heel and flapping out of the Cafe.

Greg sighed and took a gulp of Espresso.

"God if that's what he's like about us having sex, what's going to happen if he ever finds out about the other thing?" Greg had visions of Sherlock armed to the teeth with Holy Water and Stakes and Crucifixes, none of which actually worked, but it was a pain in the arse getting stuck with a pointy stick every so often, or drenched in salty water. The Buffy Generation had a lot to answer for.

"To be honest, I think he'll find that easier to deal with!" Mycroft smiled in to his sandwich. He still had Ketchup on his chin.