This one will be longer. Reviews, please! Even if it's just a quick 'hey there!' it would still let me know someone is reading :P (but more details are
appreciated). Tell me where you want this story to go, and you'll likely get what you want :) -roxxie

"So, what case do you want to know about first?" Sitting across from Mycroft at their usual diner was DI Lestrade. Mycroft had called him yesterday, and now they were where they always sat. Often the DI wondered why Mycroft had chosen this diner. Upon closer inspection, one could see it did not have any cameras or surveillance devices, and it was always at least partially empty. Like always, when Lestrade had arrived, a cup of tea was sitting in front of Mycroft. This time, however, a pint was sitting in front of his usual seat. Lestrade always ordered the same thing, so it wasn't a stretch to imagine that the highly skilled government official had deduced what he would be drinking. It was a change in the pattern, nonetheless.

They always ate at exactly the same diner. In the beginning Mycroft would 'kidnap' him in a black SUV and take him to an undisclosed location where his blindfold would be removed just long enough to answer the surprisingly intimidating man's queries. Then the blindfold was back on and back into the car he went. After a while the SUVs would take him to the diner instead. There Mycroft would be waiting, looking less intimidating but still a tad menacing. After a long time, they came to the more amicable agreement that Mycroft would call the DI to schedule a time to meet up. Needless to say, after such rough beginnings, their relationship had progressed quite well.

Gregory cautiously sat down and sipped at his beer. They talked about cases, as always, but Mycroft seemed more distant than usual. After their brief meeting, when he sat up to leave, Mycroft casually, quietly, almost timidly said, "Do you want to stay?"

"What?" Greg's question was equal parts 'What?' and 'Why?'

"You haven't eaten today, judging by the lack of stains on your clothes and the fact your breath still smells of your mint toothpaste. You already have bags under your eyes, and it's not yet two in the afternoon. You were probably woken up for a murder, did not have breakfast, and have been working on paperwork all day. Therefore, I was wondering if you'd like to stay and have something to eat before returning to your office and continuing with what will surely be a day full of paper cuts and being pestered by my younger brother."

"Wow." Lestrade was completely wonderstruck. "I had no clue you could do that! I thought it was just Sherlock. It must be a family thing. Crikey, that was impressive." As he spoke, Greg sat back down to face the slightly blushing Mr. Holmes. "Actually, I'd love some food. I'm starved."

Mycroft could barely hide the spark of hope and relief that crossed his face. He had briefly feared his instinctual deductions would surprise or anger the DI, but he was used to it from Sherlock.

They picked up menus and quickly scanned them. Neither of them were capable of reading anything, choosing to steal glances at one another instead. Mycroft was dying to know if Greg had thought it too forward of him to ask Greg to stay, and the detective was curious about the man across the table in the meticulous three piece suit.

When the waitress came to take their orders, mildly surprised the two regulars were finally eating for a change, Gregory randomly picked the first thing his eyes had landed on. Roast beef sandwich it is, he thought with a mental shrug.

Mycroft ordered a small salad. He was glad he could order food around Detective Inspector Lestrade without having his diets questioned. They ate in an awkward silence, trying as much as possible to not look at each other throughout the meal. After a while, the curiosity was too much for Greg to handle, and he looked up.

"So, what is it exactly that you do, Mycroft?"

Mycroft looked up from his particularly disgusting salad and suppressed a small sigh. It was so hard to pinpoint exactly what he did for a living, especially because he couldn't actually tell anyone about the more sensitive parts of his job. "I… occupy a minor position in the British government," he responded quickly.

"Yes, you've said that before, but what does it mean?" Greg asked with passion. He was honestly curious, Mycroft noted with glee. Gregory really cared.

"Isn't it a lovely day today," he said. The subject change was obvious and clear.

"Oh, I see. You can't tell me. It's all right, I understand. So tell me something about yourself, anything. What team do you cheer for?" Although Mycroft was intensely relieved as to not being further questioned about his job, he was dismayed at the fact he had almost nothing in common with the DI. He wasn't even sure what sport Gregory was talking about.

Their conversation was stiff and slightly awkward through the rest of the meal, but they both tried their hardest to keep it up. They went through every subject, from politics to the weather, and at the end of the meal had settled on places they'd both been to (which was also a hard subject to speak to, seeing as a lot of places Mycroft had been to he couldn't reveal).

The waitress stopped by with the check, and both men immediately reached for their wallets.

"Please, Detective Inspector, let me pay." The way Mycroft said his title sent shivers down Gregory's back, but he tried his hardest to ignore the troubling feeling.

"Nonsense! You always pay for my beers."

"That's because I invited you." With an impossibly quick hand maneuver, Mycroft whipped out his credit card before Greg could even properly open his wallet.

"Really, Detective Inspector, it's my treat."

Lestrade sighed. "Alright, but you can at least call me 'Greg.' You make me sound like a character from an old novel." Mycroft laughed a mostly fake laugh, but it made Greg smile nonetheless.

"If you insist, Gregory." Nope, the change in name had done nothing to stop the inexplicable shivers dancing up and down the DI's spine.