.I
Sherlock and Mycroft stared longingly at the man leaving through the flat's door. Ever since they had met, both brothers had been smitten with the Detective Inspector. They knew it would be a challenge worthy of them to get to him; married, though unhappily, and painfully in denial of his –at least- bisexuality. Not to add that they would have to outdo each other to win the man's affections.
Mycroft stared at his brother's smug grin. They both knew he was in clear disadvantage; popular opinion stated that Sherlock had gotten all the good genes as far as appearance went. He had the beautiful face, the chiseled body, the seductively low voice… he even smelled nice most of the time, even if he decided showering was boring for a week or so. Mycroft felt nothing but contempt for his brother at the moment. It had been a long time since he felt for someone the way he did for Lestrade, and he didn't want to lose him, not to Sherlock.
His younger brother let out an almost silent laugh while looking at Mycroft from head to toe, stopping for a moment in his midsection.
-You must be insane, dear brother, if you think for a second that he'd lay eyes on you with me in the room.
He had summarized all of Mycroft's thoughts in one, terribly hurtful phrase. Mycroft had to admit that he had let himself go a little as of late. Unlike his brother, he did have a tendency to overeat and, consequently, to gain weight. Lately he had been cheating on his so-called diet more often than not and it was beginning to show, especially around the middle, where his trousers started to dig in a little bit… much to Sherlock's delight.
Mycroft simply smiled at his brother and made an inner promise to start watching what he ate those days.
-We'll see. Good evening, Sherlock
.II
Mycroft stared down at his plate and sneered. That thing he had just eaten could not be considered a proper meal under any circumstances. Perhaps, he thought, he could help himself to a little treat of the hundreds that Sherlock appeared to be sending his way lately. It wasn't a brilliant strategy to make him gain weight but what baffled Mycroft the most was that it seemed to be actually working. He absently ran a hand over his protruding belly. He wasn't losing any weight; that much he knew. Oh, who was that 'diet' fooling anyway? Would it really hurt that much if he had just one tiny, little piece of cake?
If he had known Lestrade was on his way to his office he would at least have made the piece a little smaller. When the DI walked through his door he was face-first into his plate. Now, Mycroft wasn't a messy eater -quite the opposite, really- but there was no mistaking his actions in that particular situation: fork on the way to his mouth, chocolate glaze dripping from it, and an expression of utter joy on his face. He could almost see the amused smile on Lestrade's face as he stared silently, seemingly at a loss for words. Mycroft could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He couldn't have imagined a more embarrassing situation if he tried.
Trying his best to keep his composure, he cleared his throat, lowered the fork to his plate and motioned the DI to come in and sit down. Lestrade did his best to act unaffected but from time to time he eyed the enormous piece of cake still sitting on Mycroft's desk.
-I'm terribly sorry to bother you; you know I wouldn't if I didn't need to...
-Please, Gregory; it's always a pleasure to help you.
He had, on several occasions, assisted the DI on some cryptic case Sherlock wouldn't take or -as much as he regretted to admit- couldn't solve. It wasn't much of a pleasure for him to do so, but to have and excuse to spend a couple of minutes with Lestrade was simply bliss.
They spent some time talking about the case, which turned out to be quite puzzling but certainly not impossible. Mycroft had a couple of theories that, if proven true, would definitely alleviate Lestrade's work a great deal.
-Dear God, Mycroft, I don't even know how to thank you anymore.
An idea flew through Mycroft's mind, swift as light and almost too timid to turn into words. He spoke before he would change his mind.
-Dinner, perhaps? Are you busy tonight?
He almost regretted the words when he saw the look on Lestrade's face. He was most definitely surprised, shocked to be quite honest. He wasn't really horrified, at least, but he was almost there.
-Um… No. I mean yes! I mean…
He paused for a second to try to find the words. Mycroft found it quite nerve wrecking but tried not to let it show too much.
-No; I'm not busy tonight. Um, dinner would be… good. Yes, good.
He let out a nervous laugh. Mycroft almost sighed in relief, but he was able to contain himself.
-Say, seven? I'll have a car pick you up.
Lestrade was silent for and instant. His smile was sad as he began speaking in a softer voice than before.
-I'm not currently staying at home. You see, me and the wife…
-You don't have to explain. I am aware of your situation. Seven it is then?
Mycroft felt somehow concerned that Lestrade would be offended by the fact that he knew so much about his personal life, but he appeared to be quite relieved, in fact. He smiled an honest smile then.
-Seven would be great.
