All aboard the good ship Mystrade, we set sail in an hour! Don't worry, these stories will still primarily focus on John and Sherlock, but I feel like the word "bespoke" had to have Mycroft in it somehow, and I've recently grown fond of this pairing, so why not? Feel free to skip if it's not a pairing you enjoy.
Greg Lestrade rubbed his eyes, wondering how he'd gotten into this situation. There was an ancient Italian man he couldn't understand attacking him with numerous pins and whipping him with a tape measure every time he tried to fidget. He threw Mycroft Holmes a miserable and suffering glare.
He couldn't deny, though, that Mycroft's tailor was some kind of sartorial genius. The man always cut such a dapper, elegant figure in his well-fitted three-piece suits. They belonged on someone like Mycroft. Greg was worried when all was said and done, he'd just end up looking like someone playing dress-up.
"My, remind me again why I agreed to let you do this?"
"Because, my dear, you dress like a peasant. If you're finally coming home to meet Mummy, you should wear something to reflect the occasion. She appreciates the effort."
Lestrade grunted as the tailor jabbed him in a rather delicate area. He was starting to suspect the man was doing it on purpose whenever he complained, there was no way Mycroft would trust such a clumsy worker near his own unmarred body.
The elder Holmes walked around his lover, eyeing him appraisingly as if visualising the final picture.
"Besides, it will be good for you to have something of quality for once. Something tailored to show off your assets, something bespoke."