Caught Under the Mistletoe
I want a triple homicide for Christmas. Only a triple homicide will do. Don't want cocaine, no dinky dangerous drug. I want a a triple homicide to solve and enjoy.
Betrayal. Hatred. Fury. A lot of unhappy emotions were going through Brandi at that moment. How could he be such a coward? Brandi trusted him and he did something like that. You never can trust a Holmes.
"Wow, Mycroft," Brandi said in disbelief. "Wow...just...wow."
Mycroft fumbled with his phone for a moment, before turning white as a sheet. "It would appear that I have sent that text message to the wrong number," he said, voice cracking.
Brandi paused for a moment, trying to take it all in. Mycroft sent a text to a wrong number? Oh this was rich. Absolutely fantastic! For once in his life, Mycroft had messed up. It might've been in a very little way that probably won't affect him, but it was still fun to watch him sweat.
Brandi crossed her arms and glared at Mycroft. "Oh really?" she asked sarcastically. "And who did you send it to then, Mycroft? Who?"
Mycroft gulped, his hands were even shaking. "To my brother, as it would seem," he said.
If the message was just sent to Sherlock, why was he so shaky? It wouldn't be that big of a deal. Sherlock would just make fun of him for messing up and hold it over his head for he rest of Mycroft's life... Yeah maybe he had a reason to be upset.
Brandi held out her hand and Mycroft handed the phone over without trouble. She flicked open the message. It meant nothing. MH ...Seriously? He signed it? He signed it. Well, wasn't that Mycroft in a nutshell. Brandi pulled up her text to Mycroft and handed him the phone.
Mycroft read the message and nodded. "Yes, of course," he murmured. "Quite right."
Brandi raised an eyebrow and studied him curiously. What was this? Why did he seem almost disappointed? Maybe he wanted more drama. God knows why, drama with any of the Holmes boys was like dancing the tango with a wolverine. It just didn't end well...ever...at all.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Mycroft," she grumbled. "We'd better get downstairs."
Without waiting to make sure Mycroft was following her, Brandi flounced back down the stairs and into the hall. She straighten herself and put back on her big smile. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Brandi quickly darted down into 221C.
Greg was standing by the tree arranging gifts. Brandi smiled and walked over to him, "Afternoon, Greg!" she chimed happily. "When did you arrive?"
Greg straightened up and gave Brandi a lopsided smile. "Just a minute ago, Molly let me in," he replied.
Brandi lowered her voice and murmured, "Are you going to tell him?"
Greg's shoulders sagged. "Honestly? I don't know what to do. I mean how can I just tell Mycroft that I fancy him?"
Brandi stood up straight and Mycroft walked in the door. "Now's a good time," she told Greg. "Hey Mycroft!" Mycroft turned to look at Brandi. "Greg wants to talk to you!"
"Brandi!" Greg hissed as she skipped off to help Mrs. Hudson with dinner. Mycroft approached Greg, his cool demeanor made Greg feel like he was about to be scolded by the school headmaster. Greg cleared his throat awkwardly and murmured, "Umm... H-Hello, Mycroft. How are you?"
Mycroft was as stiff as a board as he said, "Quite well, thank you Gregory. Yourself?"
'There's that school headmaster thing again,' Greg thought to himself. "I-I'm good...I'm good," he replied. He sighed and shook his head, why was he being so bloody awkward? It was honestly the most pathetic thing ever. He had been up against serial killers, maybe not as many Sherlock, had guns drawn on him, hell even once took mace to the face, so why was he so afraid to talk to Mycroft? 'Because when Mycroft's being all cool and stiff he is terrifying.'
Greg remembered when Mycroft had told him about when he'd kissed Brandi. Why would Mycroft had told him? What was the purpose behind that? Sure he and Mycroft had been spending a lot more time together, it probably all started after the last case Mycroft had dropped in on.
It had been near the beginning of December, the same case Greg had called Brandi in to help on when her arm was broken, and Mycroft had dropped by a crime scene. Mycroft and Greg had been discussing the case and how Sherlock and John finally figured it out, when the car window next to Mycroft shattered, a gun shot.
Greg pulled Mycroft to the ground between the two police cars as shots rang out. It had been slightly odd considering Greg had been lying on top of Mycroft the entire time. They had stayed like that until the shots stopped, which had been a good five minutes, just panting as they stared into each other's eyes...in a completely nonsexual way.
"Clear!" one of the sergeants shouted, and Greg rolled off Mycroft and laid on his back. He ran a hand down his face and moaned. "Sorry, Mycroft," he apologized, "didn't mean to slam you so hard..." Mycroft gave him an incredulous look. Greg groaned, "That came out wrong."
Mycroft nodded, just staring up at the stars with Greg. Someone walked up to them and Donovan asked, "Boss? You two okay?"
Greg sighed and pulled himself to his feet, then helped Mycroft up. "Yes I think we're alright," he said.
Donovan looked between the two, Greg still hadn't let go of Mycroft's hand and Mycroft didn't look like he wanted him to. Sally smirked and bit and crossed her arms, she nodded at Greg and Mycroft's hands. "You two boyfriends now?" she asked.
Greg shot Sally a warning look. "Knock it off, Sally," he barked.
"Why don't you just answer the question, Detective Inspector?"
"Do you want to loose your job?"
Mycroft held up his free hand, the umbrella long forgotten on the pavement. "Now you two, please stop," he intervened, "we aren't school children." Mycroft knew that to get Sally to stand down he had to let go of Greg's hand, sadly; so he did. "Detective Inspector Lestrade was just helping me to my feet." Mycroft bent down and scooped up his umbrella. He gave Greg a nod. "Good day."
Soon after that Mycroft had started inviting Greg to lunch and over for drinks. He and Greg had told each other of their hopes and dreams. What they wanted for the future. Their likes and dislikes. And then Mycroft told Greg about what happened with Brandi, and it hurt. It still hurt.
Mycroft studied Greg curiously. "Are you alright, Gregory?" he asked.
Greg was going to lie through his teeth and say that he was fine, but he wasn't; and he was sick to death of pretending that he was okay. "No, actually, I'm not okay," he admitted. "I'm a lot less than okay, to be honest."
Mycroft looked confused and he asked, "Why's that?"
"Because, Mycroft, for some reason I really like you, and I'm not going to lie, because I am tired of lying, I planned on asking you on a date. I've felt more comfortable with you than I did with my ex-wife. And then you told me you kissed one of my best friends, so it's a bit painful." Mycroft looked up at the ceiling. "Come on...at least look at me, Mycroft."
A small smile ghosted on Mycroft's lips and he said softly, "It looks like we've been 'caught under the mistletoe', Detective Inspector."
Greg looked up and his face went blank, although his eyes were still a bit wide. "Ah," he said, though it was more of a squeak than actual words. "It would appear we have."
Sure enough there was a little twig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. A little mocking twig of mistletoe. Mycroft would never go through with it. It just wasn't who he was-
Warm lips brushed over Greg's. Greg's eyes instantly snapped shut and he felt Mycroft's silky hand cup Greg's jaw. The kiss was soft, relaxing, passionate, gentle...loving. All to soon, Mycroft pulled and way.
Greg opened his eyes and looked into Mycroft's eyes breathlessly. "Mycroft..." he murmured.
Mycroft gave Greg a small smile. It was genuine, sweet, kind, and happy. "Merry Christmas, Gregory Lestrade," he whispered.