Okay guys! I was trying to finish this chapter so I could post the whole shebang, but Good LORD! Over 4,100 words I realised it wasn't going to happen! So. Here's the first half of the night, everything till sleep comes. As soon as I finish it I'll post the other part.

Same as always, not mine, SO not mine. And this chapter depicts the creation of a functioning threesome, so if the idea of a couple fit blokes inviting in a hot lady squicks you, go elsewhere to read. Cause somehow, this little side plot has TAKEN OVER my story! I'll get back to the Johnlock soon I promise!

Chapter 10: Dinner For Three

Greg wanders around his living room fretting, moving a pillow and then two seconds later moving it back. He has to admit, the cleaners Myc paid to go over the place that day did a great job. The place looked cleaner and more put together than he thinks it's ever been! 'I know it's been a while...' he thinks to himself, 'But this place has never looked this good!' Trying desperately to stop fidgeting Greg shoots his cuffs again making sure his soft charcoal button down looks good. The shirt, which is a silvery charcoal, is set off by the darker trousers and his own silver hair. 'Maybe I should have gotten my hair cut...'

Further panic is cut short by his door buzzer going off. Hauling in a huge breath to quash his nerves, 'Bloody hell, I haven't been this nervous since the ex's emergancy cisarian!' Greg walks quickly to the door and opens it to find Sarah and Myc standing there.

Sarah looks stunning, as is evident from the looks Myc is giving her! Her hair is swept up into a french twist, studded with pinky-peach pearls. She's wearing a pale peach silk dress. It's a sleek number with an empire waist line, the bodice is ruched horizontally, with a square neckline, and studded with crystals. All of that cloaked in a knee length caramel mac and finished off with knee high worn black boots. Stunning.

Myc also looks amazing, but Greg is used to that! Once again Greg is thankful to that bespoke taylor of Myc's, because the only time Myc looks better than in those suits of his, is, well, never mind. The clean lines of his pinstripe suit, ivory on grey, an ivory silk shirt and butter yellow tie, with of course his taupe trench and ubiquitous umbrella, leave Greg unsure which of them is more... well, edible, really. Not to mention that he feels considerably under dressed now!

"Sarah, my you look lovely this evening, and your handsome as always Myc."

"Thank you Greg." smiling devilishly she pulls a generous bouquet out from behind her back. "I thought why the heck not, we're coming to your house, and just by being here we're upsetting ALL the societal rules anyways. So, a big tough, pint & footy loving bloke like you can DEAL with getting flowers on a date from a woman!"

Greg snickers and leans in to thank her with a kiss. "Thank you very much, I'll just get these in water, shall I? Myc, care to deal with coats and show the lady in?"

Mycroft leans towards Greg, snags a kiss, and passes him the wine he brought, as he walks by. "Of course Gregory. Sarah? May I take your coat?"

'Please." Setting down her purse, she lets Mycroft unwrap her... Sarah blushes a bit and glares at the coffee table for a moment trying to get herself under control again.

"Oh-ho, Miss Sawyer! Did we do some late night watching recently?"

Sarah gives Mycroft a mock glare, her blush trebling, just as Greg wanders back in with his flowers in a vase. "There, they are lovel...y... Sarah?"

Her knees no longer willing to keep her up Sarah slips down to rest on the arm of the sofa. Without any hope of it working, she hides behind her hand for a moment, while Greg places the flowers on the table, she had been glaring at a moment ago. Sarah winds her courage up.

"Right! Lets get this out so we can enjoy our evening without the giant 'elephant in the room', looming over us." She straightens in her seat and looks up at them commandingly, enough so, that Greg comes to sit, below, and to the side of her, on the sofa. Mycroft remains standing in front of her, an amused expression, actually, managing to find it's way onto his face.

"I watched the flash drive... possibly more than once, and yes it was hot, bloody hot! I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to talk to you let alone be in a room with you without making demands! I'm so confused. It's like I feel a part of this already." she looks away with a moue of distaste on her face. "Like I can make demands, and I can't. It's a bit odd."

Mycroft, now quite serious, urges her to sit properly, on the far side of Greg, while he sits on the table facing her. Focusing that Holmesian eye for details he softly asks "What kind of demands - Dear Lady - have come to mind?"

Hiding in both her hands now, tips of her ears bright red, Sarah screws up the courage to talk again. "Things no 'Lady' would consider before getting to know the man, let alone men, an awful lot better! I refuse," both men watch with interest as the blush travels down to her decolletee, "to let hormones and curiosity get the better of me! So when is dinner?"

Seeing a grab for conversation change, Mycroft takes pity on Sarah, "Are those boots Prada?"

Greg shaking his head at the rapid change in topic, and wanders off back to the kitchen. Sarah smiles at Mycroft, "Yes. These are my 'these boots are made for walkin'/getting over you' boots. I bought them on a depressed and panicky day."

Mycroft watches her flick a look after Greg, then look to him, and finally down at the boots themselves. Thinking about when those boots came out and when they'd be at a price Sarah could imagine buying them on a whim, he matches that up to the timeline of his dear brother and his blogger...

"Did you get them before you broke up with John, or after?"

Sarah looks at him for a few minutes her eyes growing round and her pupils dilating. "The weekend before," Greg comes in with glasses for the wine, and stops short at the tense scene in front of him. "I wasn't sure if he was cheating on me or not. So I got them, just in case I needed to 'walk all over him'. But John assured me he wasn't thinking of anyone else, he was just too busy trying to keep your brother on a even keel."

She pulls away a bit and turns to look at Greg, while Mycroft looks at the boots in question. As though lost in their beauty his right hand falls to gently feather his finger tips over the delicate shape of Sarah's ankle.

A questioning sound curls out of her, as Mycroft's fingers slip around to grip her foot over her arch solidly. "Sorry," Mycroft pulls away completely rising from the coffee table and striding to Greg's sideboard he unerringly produces the wine bottle opener. "Normally, I'm very capable at keeping things at a distance. I apologise if my familial behaviour offends you."

Sarah catches Greg's eye, as Mycroft is fussing the foil off the, slightly dusty, bottle of wine. He nods minutely; she stands slowly and walks over to Mycroft. Moving cautiously into his field of vision she gently smiles and places her hand engagingly on his forearm.

"I'll borrow a phrase from John now. 'It's all fine' Mycroft. If we aren't going to get hung up in social norms, and actually become," she falters a bit her cheeks blooming again, "lovers together, then casual touching is going to have to happen."

He stares disbelievingly into her eyes for a few moments before his posture unravels a bit and he places his own hand over hers squeezing a touch as his gaze finds Greg.

"Now," Sarah distracts him as he did for her moments ago. "Tell me about that dusty old bottle."

Mycroft smiles and starts to tell her about his favourite tipple, "This is a Barolo by Giacomo Conterno, from the Cascina Francia, in the Piedmont region of Italy. The grape is the Nebbiolo, which is a red italian wine grape. Thought to derive it's name from three things, 'nebbia' which refers to the fog that covers the region commonly during grape harvest, or the word, 'fog', referring to the fog-like milky veil that covers the mature grapes, but I prefer the idea it's derived from from the word 'nobile' meaning, clearly enough, noble."

Greg appears suddenly at their elbow with a carafe for decanting. "Yeah, it's noble alright, 1988 vintage with a £185 price tag makes it ridiculously 'noble'."

Mycroft blushes this time as Sarah's face blanches, at the silence, Greg looks up from the pouring he was about to do. "Oh, sorry guys, I just... I usually give Myc a hard time about what he spends money on... I, uh... I didn't think."

Sarah shakes her head quickly, waving her free hand back and forth in a negating gesture, "My parents are big into wine, so I'm not un-used to people paying a lot of money on one bottle. Actually it was the vintage that took me by surprise, wow. I'm looking forward to that now."

So Greg decants the wine and leaves it to breathe, turning and disappearing back into the kitchen, which is starting to emanate some really lovely smells, he leaves Mycroft to get over his embarrassment with Sarah.

Mycroft's expression goes cold and Sarah can feel his walls come up. "It has been said that my ability to see right to the heart of the matter is much like my younger brother's. Do you perhaps wonder if we don't have more in common?"

Worry threads it's way into her eyes, "Wh..what?"

Sensing 'blood in the water' Mycroft draws himself up all 185 cm of him, looming over her in a cold manner. "When did you first suspect my brother?"

"G..goo..goodness, what do you mean?" Suddenly Sara is aware that Mycroft is Sherlock's brother, and every iota as intelligent, if not more so, as Sherlock. Her grip on his sleeve becomes white knuckled as she waits for his pronouncement.

"You clearly have issues with Sherlock, every time I mention my familial connections you freeze in a hostile stance for a moment, so you blame him for something. Every time you look at Gregory and he ISN'T looking you get this far away look, that is melancholy. So not to do with Gregory, but someone like him maybe? Just as open and honest as Gregory? Bit shorter though maybe?"

Sarah takes a step back, still holding Mycroft's sleeve like a lifeline. "No, they're alike in some ways, but I'm not... I like Greg."

Some of the intensity bleeds away from Mycroft then, "But you worry that you'll be left out in the cold with us, just like with John and Sherlock. That's the real fear, that you aren't good enough to keep our attention. Just like John, even without sex his relationship with Sherlock was more rewarding than yours. That's why you always believed John was secretly fucking my little brother."

CRACK Sarah stares at Mycroft's face where a print of her fingers and palm is quickly coming up in an angry red. She blinks, spilling tears down her cheeks, as she finally lets go of the suit jacket sleeve.

Mycroft stares down at her, his face blank, completely blank: pain rolling through his nerves, as he listens to Gregory call out, "What was that? Is everything ok in there, I have my hands very full at the moment, do I need to come out there?" Mycroft reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief and passes it to Sarah.

"We're fine Gregory, don't mind us." lowering his voice he relaxes his posture, no longer looming there, he reaches a hand, that had been hanging by his side, out to Sarah's chin. Taking the point of it in his hand he speaks still softly, "I am sorry I said those hurtful things. I guess I'm worried about this relationship going badly.

Sarah, who since she struck Mycroft, hadn't moved, or uttered a word, reaches up with her empty hand, and curls her fingers gently over Mycroft's wrist.

"I'm the one who's sorry Mycroft." she looks searchingly into his eyes, "I know your not the most experienced bloke in relationships out there, and I know your used to having an advantage over everyone else, so I'm not going to hold a grudge, yeah? I know I slapped you, full on, and I'm sorry for that, but you bloody well deserved it, and you know it."

Mycroft nods, "I am aware that I overstepped the bounds, yes... But it is still true."

Sarah's cheeks flash red so quickly and then her face drains to white, that he worries she'll faint! She breathes slowly and calmly through her nose for a moment, then fixes him with a steely look. "I wasn't aware that I suspected that, sure I've thought, 'why didn't, he have sex with me?' 'Has he even done so since being invalided home?' The doctor in me has wondered, if not, is there a physical reason why? But I never, not for one moment thought my, yes, I'll call it catty, behaviour toward Sherlock was because I secretly thought John was having sex with him."

With a sudden quick jerk, she pulls herself and Mycroft around so they can sink into the plush sofa. "Ugh, and now, thanks to your brother enjoying wandering around in a sheet, I have mental images to go with the..."

Looking like he's landed in a vat of dog dirt, Mycroft interrupts wincing and clenching his eyes shut tight against the horror. "Oh, GOD, and now I have the images, well thank you, I think I'm fully repaid for being so callus."

So when Greg comes through the doors with a tray of crustini topped with chanterelles, he finds Sarah and Myc on the sofa leaning into each other giggling; Sarah has clearly been crying, and Myc has an obvious hand print on his face.

Grumbling in irritation, Greg puts the tray down and glares down at the two like they are children to be scolded. "What the hell? I'm gone for five minutes and you two are taking shots at one another?!"

At this the two on the sofa fall even further into giggling, and Sarah manages to point at Greg, choking out, "Yes sir!" and snapping off a salute.

Greg looks at himself, and notices the patronizing posture he's adopted; hand on hip, hip and shoulder angled aggressively forward. Frankly he was surprised Sarah hadn't said 'Yes, Mum.' the way he's standing there.

"All right, enough hilarity. Here is the first course, creamy, butter fried chanterelles, with garlic, shallots and thyme." Turning, but stopping short he tosses over his shoulder, "I'll get the champagne, if you promise not to brawl as soon as I'm gone!"

Mycroft struggles to stop laughing, "No, no, Gregory, come sit with Sarah, I'll get the Dom Perignon." Standing he removes his coat and laying it on the back of the sofa, revealing the silk backed waistcoat beneath. To Greg's delight, it also revealed the clinging lines of his trousers.

Unabashedly Greg watches Mycroft leave the room and whips his head back around at the fresh round of snickers out of Sarah. "What?"

Mirth clear in her eyes, "I don't know how you do it, when your in public, no one would know you feel this way about him. But the look you gave him just now? What are you 16!"

Greg blushes and laughs as he pulls the champagne flouts out, "Yes well, I try very hard not to look at his shapely arse when we're not alone." Sensing Mycroft behind him he continues, "I do find it very hard to keep my hands off of him; he so terribly sexy you know."

Sarah breathes a murmur of assent.

Behind Greg, a gentle pop stops him, and he turns around to see Mycroft, looking at him closely, cheeks dusted in colour. Mycroft clears his throat, "Well now..." clearly deciding to affect he hadn't overheard the comment. "I'm going to tell you about this champagne, before Greg can louse it up."

Mycroft smiles winningly at Sarah, bringing her in on the jest. Starting to pour he begins to describe the champagne. "This is a 1921 Dom Perignon vintage wine. It is extremely pale for it's age, it has an interesting bouquet of toasted sandalwood, vanilla, honey, praline and marzipan. It's an energetic draught, with plenty of 'backbone', and yet it remains a focused flavour with a lacy texture and nutty flavours. It is simply a model of balance and concentration."

Sarah stares at him, and the rapidly filling glasses, "1921? You are having me on aren't you?"

Greg smirks at her expression, "No, my dear he is being completely truthful. He bought the two at Christies last month, and he hasn't been able to shut up since."

"Well it was quite the coup, I managed to beat out Prince Charles at the last minute! Even though his paddle came up at the last second, the auctioneer didn't see it, till it was too late, so it was awarded to me."

Mycroft tops off the flouts, as the bubbles die back, and places the bottle in the chilled bucket he brought with it. He raises his glass, "Well, here's to us." Greg and Sarah smile and their flouts chime as they strike each other gently.

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Somewhere around one AM, and they are all sitting in the living room again, Sarah reflects on the dinner they had. Somewhere after the champagne, with the custini and cream mushrooms and the seared scallops with lime & coriander; Then the blue cheese and cranberry salad that stood alone and then there was the Barolo they decanted earlier, so sublime with their confit duck with roast veggies. The lovely light chocolate mousse was paired wonderfully with a strong espresso, and now they were nibbling on some lovely cheeses and a sweet wine from Canada.

"Good lord!" shifting about so she sinks even further into the soft suede sofa, Sarah blinks slowly at the two men beside her. "This has been a very lovely meal, did you send out for it." No one says a thing for a moment as Sarah watches Mycroft smirk and Greg... blush?!

Fixing Greg with a careful look, like she's measuring out his responses exactly, "Did you make all this food Greg?" Her response is just an intensifying of the blush.

"Yes, he is quite the accomplished cook, from what he's told me, it was an idea of his ex-wife's. They were to take a cookery course to do something fun together..."

Greg interrupts him, "But that fell on it's face when I showed up 3/4s the way through a class to see her outside snogging the daylights out of another student. I went directly into the class and set my soufflé on fire. It hadn't been the first time so the next day I filed for divorce."

Sarah looks carefully at the man before her, yes he's damaged by that old hurt, but he's also the type to be sick of all the well meant sympathy that goes along with this kind of situation. She smiles, "Well she should have bet on the dark horse, I think he's a winner."

Mycroft chuckles warmly at Greg's stupefied expression, adding, "He's got the long legs of a runner, and a nice deep chest for endurance."

Sarah collapses onto Greg's shoulder in a fit of giggles, "Oh please, I'm sorry for making the allegory, no more, or soon I'll be making centaur jokes!"

A completely sly expression blankets Mycroft's face, "If he was a centaur, the 'size' of him would hardly change."

At that Sarah's giggles take on a life of their own; even as her cheeks get redder, and Greg groans at Mycroft's bad joke. "Ok you two, can you stop teasing me now, after all the work I did on dinner, and yes I know I sound like the stereotypical 1950's housewife."

Now even Mycroft is slumped against Greg chuckling uncontrollably, Greg gives up and collapses against them laughing too.

Without warning the mood on the sofa shifts, and Greg finds himself between two increasingly amorous people. Sarah is sliding her hand into the small of his back, between him and the sofa, and Mycroft is slowly running his hand up Greg's inner thigh. Squeaking a bit he tries to be the voice of reason.

"Are you two sure we want to jump to this right now? Ah! ...I mean, shouldn't we wait until we're sober?" He looses track for a second as a second hand joins Mycroft's, smoothing along his inner thigh, but a firm hand squeezing him through his trousers, brings him back on point, as it were. With a gasp, Greg grabs both the offending appendages and holds them away from his body. "Can we please think about this clearly, before we screw this all up by going to far too fast?"

Mycroft heaves a sigh and smiles at Sarah gently, "I suppose we should let him have his way, he did make us a spectacular meal. However, I did send my car home," Greg interrupts with a surprised, but pleased sound. Mycroft gives him a lingering look, "as I didn't expect to be going home tonight. Would you be comfortable sleeping in Gregory's guest room?"

Sarah arches an eyebrow, "Other than not having suitable sleep wear, I am perfectly happy to doss on the sofa, a guest room would be lovely."

Greg's face splits in a huge grin and he hauls himself, and then Sarah up to their feet. "Well then my dear, let me show you the way." She replies with a quick, "Ta." and they disappear down the hall.

"This is a pretty big flat for one bloke, Greg, don't you feel alone in here?" Sara asks absentmindedly, as they pass a separate bathroom from the one in the front hall. He glances over at her as they come to the room, which contains a double bed, a wardrobe and a desk, but little in the realm of personal touches.

"I did have a smaller place, but it was too crowded, and Mycroft didn't like to come there much. Said it was strange when my kids came over, there was no separate space for them or him, we were all lumped into the same room." He looks at her carefully, "Can you see Mycroft putting up with 'average' teens?"

Overcoming her shock, "No, really I can't see that one. He has a hard enough time dealing with Sherlock, and he was probably a pretty good kid... well beyond the drugs, and the dropping out of Uni... Okay, forget I ever said that please!"

"Of course."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sarah keeps talking. "So, you've been dating long enough that you got a new place to give him his own space in the house, and he interacts with your kids. How often are they over?"

Guardedly, "Once a month."

"Wow, that sucks! I want to hear all about them, but if we keep talking I'll fall asleep in the middle of a sentence."

Greg smiles, disappears for a moment then comes back in with a large dark T'shirt, "Her, wear it to bed, at least you'll be comfy." "Thank you Greg." and with a peck to his cheek she closes the door on him.

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In the master suite Mycroft is stretching out on the King sized bed, wondering if all three of them will fit, or if he'll have to order a special bed. Lazily, his eyes judge the room capable of 'carrying' a bigger bed without loosing it's proportion.

When Greg arrives, Mycroft's lack of clothing makes a quick impression, as he freezes.

"Hello D. I. what can I do for you?" Greg struggles to clear his throat, as looking over his lover's bare body robs him of the strength to breathe. His eyes track all over, lingering on the curve of his calve muscles, the light pattern of curly hair on his legs, the arch of his hip bone where Greg can practically see his hand grabbing ahold and gripping, and the blue, blue, eyes that pull at him, Myc's siren song.

Wordlessly Greg dumps his kit, regardless of it's worth he leaves it crumpled, even walking on it in his haste to fit his hands just there. "You can lie still and let me search you, is what you can do."

"Oh, officer..." purrs Myc incongruously playful, "anytime!"

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