Disclaimer: Okay so I can't fixate on anyone else. I want Lestrade and I need to figure out a way to get him. I'm thinkin', I'm thinkin'. Give me time I'll figure something out. For now though they're not mine and I'm poor…as always.

A/N: This chapter is once again dedicated to Beccabrrr for the idea. Hope you like it. Thanks for all the reviews.

Don't forget to let me know if you want me to continue with the stories. And if you have any ideas for them. Thanks.

Footie

"Did I really hate him when we first met?" Greg asked into the silence that followed the end of Artiebiba's story. He didn't remember hating Mycroft, per say, just being annoyed with him.

"You didn't hate him at all," Artiebiba refuted. "You were angry with him because of his seeming uncaring attitude towards Sherlock but you didn't hate him. It took you nearly a year to see beneath the mask and then you kind of just…insisted on being his friend. And then watching the two of you dance around each other for four more years was amusing and painful." She gave a sad shake of her head. "I was so very relieved when the two of you worked it out."

"You were not the only one," Sherlock murmured. "Do you know how hard either of them were to deal with back then? Every time Mycroft kidnapped Lestrade, Lestrade turned around and came to me and tried to mother me. He'd sit for hours in my parlour and just want to talk or feed me or make me sleep. And then after he'd gone Mycroft would come over and insist on grilling me on everything Lestrade said." He sent a glare at the two men in question. "I'd thought that when the two of you finally got together it would stop but you had to go and make friends with my John and now you two are around all the time! Or Lestrade is at least." He gave Mycroft a pointed look now.

Mycroft ignored him and continued to pet Greg's head as he let the memories wash over him. He smiled softly down into Gregory's brown eyes. "I knew you didn't like me in the beginning. I didn't mind. You liked Sherlock and that was enough for me."

Gregory smiled back at him. "Thanks for the story, Artie," he said without ever turning from Mycroft. "It was…informative."

"You're welcome, Greg." He heard the rustle of fabric as she rose to her feet. "I shall see you all tomorrow sometime. Have a good night."

They all called out their good nights. Greg yawned as the door closed behind Artiebiba. "Tired?" Mycroft asked him unnecessarily.

"Mmm," Greg murmured as his eyes drifted closed. "Yeah."

"Come," Mycroft gently lifted him. "I'll take you to the bedroom. You can't sleep on the sofa again."

Greg steadied himself against Mycroft's chest, he was suddenly very tired. "Stay with me?" He asked muzzily.

"Of course," Mycroft murmured and led his husband to their bedroom.

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"You promised me an embarrassing story, Myc," Greg whispered when they'd settled into their respective sides of the large bed. Greg suddenly decided that he hated this bed. He hated how far away Mycroft was and he hated that because of his own deception he couldn't cross that distance.

Mycroft propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at his husband. "Did I?" He paused and Greg nodded. "In that case," he lay down a bit closer to Greg. "I should tell you about when I mauled you at the footie game."

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Mycroft shifted uncomfortably among the group of women surrounding him. It was so very hot today and he was forced to socialize with the vapid policemen's spouses because it was the annual picnic and Gregory had asked him to come. He tugged on his collar and reached into his pocket for his handkerchief to wipe away the sweat beading on his brow. He hated this so very much. "The things I do for you, Gregory," he muttered under his breath.

"Not to worry, Mr. Holmes," Dianna Dimmock patted his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "The game will start soon and then you'll forget all about the heat…well, the heat of the sun anyway." She snickered with a blush.

He had thought that she was one of the few intelligent persons here today. "Pardon?" He asked coldly.

She giggled. "Once those boys—"

"And girls," Eric Patterson interrupted. His wife was a Detective Sergeant. He was a fireman, if Mycroft remembered correctly.

"Yes, Eric, and girls. Anyway, once they get started playing the heat of the day isn't the heat any of us are thinking about. They get all sweaty and excited and…well, did you know that there are fifteen children that have been born almost exactly nine months after this picnic in the last five years alone?" She waved a hand at the toddlers gathered on a blanket under the wary eye of some of the spouses.

Now Eric snickered. "Me and Ellie almost got arrested last year for indecent exposure." He paused and grinned. "The handcuffs would've been fun though."

Mycroft swallowed hard. A sweaty Gregory was even more sexy than usual. A sweaty sexy Gregory with handcuffs? Oh God, Mycroft suddenly wasn't sure he'd make it through the day. He vowed to himself that he wouldn't assault Gregory here. Not in front of his coworkers. No, he'd be able to wait…at least until they made it to the car. He hoped.

It was only moments later that everyone was called out to the field to observe the footie game. Mycroft stood on the sidelines and looked everywhere except towards his husband. It wasn't all that difficult. In the scrum of players it was easy to miss his husband's lithe form. Then suddenly Gregory was right in front of him. Mycroft's knees nearly buckled under the weight of desire flooding him.

His face was flushed a dull pink. His brown eyes sparkled with exhilaration. His brow was beaded. There were grass stains on his cheek and blades of it in his hair. He was grinning. Mycroft didn't hear the whistle calling for a time out. He didn't see the other players huddle together to talk strategy. All he saw was his husband. All he heard were the moans and whimpers that filled their home at night.

Only his very tight self-control and the fact that at the moment walking would be both difficult and painful allowed him to stay where he was and not charge the field and throw Gregory to the ground in a fit of passion. But oh, how he wanted to.

Mycroft kept his gaze trained above the game but it didn't help. Visions of Gregory flashed across his sight. He couldn't hear the cheers of the crowd over the pounding of his blood. Then Gregory was in front of him again. Taking his hand and pulling him towards him. "Game's over," Gregory said. "We won."

"Mmm," Mycroft watched those lips move and forgot to blink. "You should have a reward then."

His rigid control snapped and he hauled Gregory into his chest. His lips captured those grinning ones. His right hand grasped the back of Gregory's head to hold him in place. His other pressed against Gregory's lower back and brought their bodies as close as their clothing allowed. His tongue dueled Gregory's and then mapped out teeth and roof and tongue. He couldn't stop. He had to have his husband. Now.

But Gregory was pulling his head away. "Myc," he gasped out. Mycroft buried his head in Gregory's neck, catching the skin there and worrying it with his teeth, the way he knew drove Gregory insane. "Myc, stop!" But Gregory's hands were pulling him closer and his hips were grinding. "Myc, not here! Oh God," he groaned. "We have to stop." But now his lips were on Mycroft's ear. "Myc," it was a sigh.

"Ow!" Mycroft cried out at the sudden pain in his ear. He pulled his head up and glared at his husband. "You bit me! Hard! And not in a nice way."

Gregory gave him that cocky grin. "Do you really want to do this in public, Myc? Cuz I'm game but I do have to work with these people."

Mycroft swallowed hard and looked around himself. He frowned. "We're leaving, Gregory. Now."

Gregory nodded agreeably and they walked off to the car. The driver got a bit of a show before Mycroft remember to put the divider up.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Gregory gave a sleepy chuckled and rolled against the warmth of Mycroft at his side. The blackness of sleep swallowed him.

Mycroft watched his husband snuggle deeper into his side with a small smile. Gregory thought he was so clever. Well, he was, but did he really think that his husband wouldn't catch on to his deception?

He had known since Gregory sank into the sofa as though he owned it that Gregory was faking his amnesia. It had taken him a few hours to understand Gregory's motivations and then he had realized that this "amnesia" would give them an opportunity to reconnect. To remember why they were together in the first place.

He leaned over and kissed Gregory's forehead. "I'm so sorry for not being here, Gregory," he whispered. "It…I will be better. I won't forget you again."