The room was quiet. And everything in it was still. Sherlock lay peacefully on the bed, eyes closed, his skin still pale but the veins no longer rising to the surface like barbed wire. Next to him, pale, sweat-sheened, but also asleep, John Watson. John's chest rose and fell uncertainly. On his chest, just above his left nipple, just below that terrible bullet scar, was a neat dressing covering up the most recent wound. The inch long cut that had opened the vein that Sherlock had drunk from. He would have carried on drinking. He would have drained John dry. But Mycroft had stopped him in time. That was what Mycroft did.
Mycroft was sitting with his eyes closed. Still. Almost but not quite asleep as Greg slipped in to the room. Greg ran his hands down Mycroft's chest, enjoying the feeling of his solid flesh through the material of his shirt. And enjoying the almost instant reaction that was visibly straining against the fly of Mycroft's jeans.
It had been more than a pleasant surprise. More like the cherry and flake on the top of the world's biggest ice cream when Greg had got an eyeful of Mycroft fully erect for the first time. Not that size was important. Of course not. In fact when the person in question had just been bitten and turned in to one of the un-dead it was possibly irrelevant to the point of hilarity. But even so.
Greg reached a hand down and popped the top button open. Mycroft sighed and leaned back in the chair but still didn't open his eyes. Greg smiled. He reached for the second button, feeling the tight front of Mycroft's jeans straining as their contents increased in size. He was just reaching for the third button when Mycroft grabbed his wrist and redirected his hand. Greg found himself inside the tight jeans, cupping Mycroft's warm, heavy balls.
They were warm. Very warm.
That was impossible.
"Mycroft?"
"Mmmm?" Mycroft pushed up into Greg's hand.
"Mycroft?"
"What?" he opened his eyes lazily, his gaze filled with lust.
"You're hot."
"So are you Detective Inspector. I want you on me right now!" Mycroft leaned forward and licked Greg's ear.
"No. I mean, you're warm." Greg removed his hand from Mycroft's jeans and slid it up inside his shirt. Mycroft's belly and chest were warm too.
"Oh. Isn't that impossible?"
"Yes."
Mycroft moved his hand up inside Greg's jumper.
"Funny thing is, you're warm too." A long finger flicked at Greg's right nipple making him squirm in Mycroft's lap.
"Is it safe to leave these two." Greg indicated the sleeping figures on the bed.
"I think so."
"Come on then. Let's find out how hot we can get." Greg pulled Mycroft from the chair.