Okay so my brain is pushing me to write, but it's not telling me what, so sorry if this one doesn't quite make sense. Something I forgot to include in the summary is that this story is before John comes into Sherlock's life, so he's not necessarily clean at this point.

Hope you relish this chapter!

The next few weeks went very slowly. It was pure torture. Sherlock made it worse with his snarky comments and his 'you're all idiots' tone at the crime scenes. Eventually Greg kicked him out, threatening to search his flat for drugs. That shut him up. Of course, it didn't help that Sherlock knew exactly why Greg was feeling grumpy. Luckily he hadn't figured out who had caused it. Hopefully he never would.

Greg and Mycroft's lunches had been cancelled for the foreseeable future. There were no more friendly talks, texts, or calls. It was as if Mycroft was slowly erasing Greg from his life. Or trying to make Greg erase Mycroft from his.

Not that it was helping. In fact, it was making everything worse.

Several times, Sally and Anderson and the rest of his team had made comments in his hearing of how short he'd been and wondered why he was so crabby all the time. Sherlock, of course, had noticed, but surprisingly not commented

Greg had heard them whispering, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Now he was sitting in a pub, drinking to his heart's content. And it still wasn't enough. He still couldn't forget that cold tone and expressionless face. Nor could he forget the warm body and soft lips.

"Fuck," he growled and ordered another beer. It was his sixth, and Greg knew he got a bit tipsy after four. He giggled, bad mood forgotten for the moment. Not just a little tipsy, he reminded himself, a lot.

Somehow, when he walked in, he'd missed the tall redhead buried in the corner, nursing his own alcohol. Only Mycroft's wasn't beer. It was the finest scotch money could buy, and a lot of it too. He'd been staring at the DI since he'd walked in, already a little drunk. He'd definitely noticed Gregory Lestrade walking in. There was no way to miss it. Especially when you happen to be in love with him.

Mycroft winced at the thought. Love, he had thought, was a chemical defect found in the losing side. Now he was being proven right. If, and only if, he was actually in love, then this was why wars were lost, people were killed, and countries were lost.

Greg, still sitting at the bar, suddenly swung around on his barstool. His gaze immediately clashed with Mycroft's. His eyes darkened. He grabbed his beer, took a swig to boast his courage, and jumped off the stool, nearly running to Mycroft. The British government was surprised enough not to move. Greg jumped Mycroft, pushing him back to lay against the seat of the booth.

Within a second, Greg's arm was placed at Mycroft's throat, the man himself leaning in to growl threateningly in his ear.

"You're not getting away this time. We are going to talk, then hopefully snog a lot, go home, snog some more, and shag each other. Not necessarily in that order. Got it?"

Mycroft gulped, though not in fear. He nodded slowly.

Greg let him up, but stayed on his side of the booth, not letting him get out of this that easily.

The older man started in right away. "What the hell did you think you were doing when you left? Work? As if I hadn't heard that kind of excuse before. But why? I wanted you, you clearly wanted me, still do, I'm pretty sure," Greg glanced down at Mycroft's crotch and noted the tented trousers, then looked back up at the light blue eyes before continuing, "Yeah, so why did you leave?"

Mycroft inhaled, then exhaled slowly. He didn't know if he could explain his feelings like he could anything else.

"I, I, um," he began, only to be cut off by Gregory's chuckle.

"Oh dear, I've made the British government stutter. I must be powerful indeed."

Mycroft glared at him and raised an eyebrow. "May I speak now?"

Greg nodded. So Mycroft began his train of thought at that point.

"Gregory, you are such an attractive man. You've always been popular with the ladies and the men. I was attracted to you at first sight. But that morning, after our snogging session and my getting drunk, I looked into the mirror and couldn't find one thing that could have possibly drawn me to you. I figured it was just that I was nearby, handy when you needed someone. I still think that. You hadn't had a sexual partner in over 18 months. I thought… I thought that…"

Mycroft gulped and opened his mouth to say exactly what it was that he'd thought, but the older man interrupted him.

"You thought that I was just horny. You thought you were just available. You thought wrong."

Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's a short chapter. It just kinda reached a natural cliffhanging stopping point.

Once again, please review. I really want to know what people think, and while I love Thilbo4Ever, that is just one person. A scientific survey or a poll isn't just based off one person, now is it?

Loves anyway