Chapter Fifteen: Subway on a Park Bench.

The news that 'The Mycroft Situation' was progressing positively was not received as well by John as Greg had expected it to be. The doctor listened in silence, a deadpan expression upon his face and a Meatball Marinara in his lap, as Greg explained why he had not joined them for a commiserative pint the other night, and offered no comment of opinion once the story had been told.

The heady good mood that Greg had been revelling in was slowly giving way to annoyance at his friend's blatant disapproval. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. "What?"

John opened his mouth, hesitating between tact and voicing his thoughts. "Don't you think..." he began very slowly. He shut his mouth temporarily as Lestrade raised a challenging eyebrow, but it was useless to think he could get away with it now, so he ploughed on, "Don't you think it's all going a bit fast?"

Greg bristled with indignation. "Excuse me?"

"Well, it's just..." John sighed, rubbing a hand across his brow. "You seem really serious about this and I'm just worried that... Well, you only split up from Caroline not six months ago and you're already going on about a new relationship."

Greg winced inwardly at 'relationship'. "So?"

"So, I don't think it's healthy to be investing so much so quickly, especially with a-"

"A what?" Greg demanded, furious. "A bloke?"

John's expression hardened. "A Holmes," he replied flatly.

Greg stared at him from across his untouched Subway. "Please tell me you're not being serious, John."

The other pan pursed his lips and said nothing.

"What the hell?" Greg hissed, leaning towards him. "I can't believe you're saying this to me now! What happened to being supportive? You were wishing me luck the other day!"

"Yeah..." John shifted awkwardly. "But that's when I thought it was just a bit of a post-breakup breakdown type thing. I didn't think it would ever be...reciprocated."

Greg's nostrils flared. "You're being a massive knob, you know that?"

"I'm just trying to look out for you."

"In what way is that 'looking out for me'?"

"You barely know him-"

"I know him a damn sight better than you do!"

"Yeah, but I live with Sherlock."

"So?" The utter absurdity of the conversation was making the volume rise to embarrassing levels. Luckily the ominous grey clouds that had been looming all day were keeping most people away from the park. "What has that got to do with anything?"

"Look," John said quietly, trying to mollify his friend, "I'm just saying-"

"Well, don't."

"-that it isn't easy and that I don't think it's a healthy thing for you to peruse right now. You need some time to yourself."

Greg gave a bark of hollow laughter. "Says the man who almost literally jumps from woman to woman!"

John's brow furrowed. "That is neither true nor the point," he said stiffly, voice clipped with indignation. "And, might I add, completely below the fucking belt!"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Greg scowled. "This is a pointless conversation."

"I'm just concer-"

"And not one I'm prepared to continue," Greg continued firmly, cutting him off. "I appreciate your concern, John, but it is entirely unnecessary."

"But what do you actually know about him?" John persisted. "Like, has he ever been in a relationship? Of any sort? And if not, why not?"

"He's not Sherlock, John," Lestrade reminded him pointedly. "And it's still very early days-"

"But it's important," the doctor insisted. "Especially considering your own circumstances, you have to be twice as careful."

Greg sighed, giving a noncommittal shrug. "I suppose there are conversations which ought to be had," he agreed reluctantly.

They sat stiffly beside each other in uncomfortable silence as John picked at his sandwich – Greg's lay next to him, forgotten. He could understand, theoretically, what John was trying to say but it was far from what he had wanted and expected to hear when he was feeling so on top of the world - he didn't need any extra doubts or niggles when they were still in the very sensitive, delicate first stages of whatever it was that they were doing.

At least that particular question hadn't reared its ugly head – the dread 'So, are you going out or what? What are you?' that was the cause of so many problems that never needed to exist. He was happy, Greg decided, he was content – what else could matter any more than that?

"Detective Inspector."

Greg's heart flipped at the faintly gravelly, meticulously enunciated words that preceded their bearer. He raised his head with a welcoming smile, ignoring John's muttered, "Speak of the devil,' to see Mycroft leaning on his umbrella and looking down on them with an almost entirely bland expression (Lestrade could swear there was just the faintest trace of a smile crinkling the corners of Mycroft's eyes.).

Greg rose with an equally neutral, "Mr Holmes. What can I do for you?"

"I don't mean to disturb you on your lunch break, Inspector," said Mycroft with a slight tilt of the head. "I was merely wondering if you had the time to look over a couple of reports that have recently found their way to me. I would appreciate a second opinion, if you have the time."

Lestrade opened his mouth for the customary, 'Of course', but was interrupted by a loud sigh and an irate, "Oh for god sake, I get the message! I'll leave you alone then, shall I?" from John, who then grabbed the remnants of his Subway and stormed away, glowering.

A delicate eyebrow quirked at this peculiar reaction from the normally mild-mannered doctor, then Mycroft's aloof appearance softened into something much warmer than Greg was accustomed to seeing – although it was definitely something he was gradually getting used to.

"I am under the distinct impression that I have displeased Doctor Watson," Mycroft noted with a small smile of amusement.

Greg shrugged, raising his hands in an 'I don't even know' gesture. "I think he's just in a bad mood."

Grey eyes met his own directly in that probing way both Holmeses had when reading between the lines. "Indeed?"

Lestrade could feel the heat rising up into his face. He dropped his gaze a fraction, breaking the seemingly telepathic connection Mycroft was trying to set up and said in a tone of feigned annoyance, "Now that you've gone and scared of my lunch partner, I hope you have a reason that's more worthwhile than reports."

Mycroft laughed, switching his umbrella to the other hand. "Yes, of course. I wanted to invite you to join me for lunch."

Both sets of eyes fell to the abandoned Subway.

Deciding it was best to deny all association, Lestrade grinned and slipped to Mycroft's side. "That sounds ideal. I'm starving."

"Wonderful."

They began to walk through down the leafy boulevard, a little closer together than was usual – not quite touching, but close enough to be acutely aware that they almost were. Greg glanced sideways; Mycroft's expression was deadpan and completely front facing although he could see his lips twitching in acknowledgment.

Smiling to himself, Greg looked down at the paving slabs disappearing beneath his feet as they walked on, watching their footsteps fall in with one another until they were perfectly synchronised.

"How did you know where I'd be?"

"Coincidence."

"There's no such thing as coincidence when it comes to you," Greg pointed out.

They both glanced sideways at each other, eyebrows raised in an identical expression of amusement, before laughing and looking away.

"You are significant to me," said Mycroft blithely. "Therefore it is only natural that you should be... on my radar."

Greg wasn't sure which point he ought to address first – the 'significant' comment, or the fact that Mycroft had a radar.

"I'm not sure I like the idea of being on a radar..."

"Oh, it's merely for the sake of practicality," Mycroft assured him, as though that justified it. "It's not invasive. Usually..." he frowned, then corrected himself, "Only with Sherlock but that's because he's impossible."

"Fair enough."

They walked on a little way, the park gates in sight. Greg thought about glancing at his watch, but decided he didn't actually care about the time – work was tedious and there was nothing elsewhere he urgently needed to attend to.

The second question was jostling to the forefront of his mind and down onto his tongue. Lestrade bit it back for as long as possible, but the ever quickening of his heart-beat forced it from his lips in a muddled, "So...'significant', hmm?"

Blood rushed to the tips of Mycroft's ears. "Well..." he muttered, eyes fixed stoically ahead. "Well... is that not desirable?"

"I didn't say that."

Greg noticed little lines of pleasure crinkle beneath Mycroft's eyes.

The younger man turned his face just a fraction of a degree to the left with a decisive, "Well then."

This elicited a loud, short laugh from Greg, who unconsciously moved half a step to his right, their hands now barely an inch away from each other. "Well then indeed."