Thank you for reading chapter 4 of my Mystrade fiction. Once again, my apologies that updates are not as frequent as they could be, my job is so demanding that it is sometimes hard to fit in anything else unfortunately. but writing is certainly a wonderful way for me to have a break from it all!

if you have any comments or a few words to add to a review, I would be thrilled to receive them, it means a lot to me to get feedback on my work.

hope you enjoy and thanks for continuing to follow this story :)

Mycroft's car purred noiselessly through the London streets, weaving effortless through the traffic as it transported Mycroft and Lestrade to their destination. Inside the car, little conversation was taking place as Mycroft's phone had suddenly delivered an urgent email that needed an immediate reply.

"I do apologise for this," Mycroft muttered as he tapped deftly away on the tiny phone keyboard, extending the long slim fingers that Lestrade was privately fixated with, "allow me to deal with this and then hopefully we'll have no further distractions".

Lestrade was more than happy for a few minutes of solitude and silence, it gave him the opportunity to try and get his nerves under control. There was something distinctly intimate about going for a drink with Mycroft, it certainly felt as if there was a conscious effort being made to develop their relationship. And whilst this was both a welcoming and exciting idea, it also left Lestrade extremely nervous as to what lay ahead of him. Although he had become more accustomed to Mycroft's manner and presence since their meetings began, he still found the man highly intimidating. He knew nothing about him, he was a complete and utter mystery. Lestrade knew that this was not necessarily an entirely negative point; it was also the thing that made his attraction to Mycroft all the more potent.

The car suddenly slowed and stopped outside a very exclusive looking building with gleaming glass frontage and black marble adornments. A smartly dressed man stood behind a small desk just inside the doorway, presumably ready to greet guests and weed out anyone who was not welcome. Every inch of the building reeked of exclusivity and expense; Lestrade felt extremely out of place as he apprehensively peered out of the window.

"Don't worry," said Mycroft casually, "it's a members-only bar and you'll be completely welcome as my guest".

"Thank you," replied Lestrade, once again taken aback by Mycroft's seemingly psychic ability to read every thought in his mind. He climbed out of the car and waited whilst Mycroft gave a few short instructions to the driver. Having received his orders, the driver sped off, leaving Mycroft and Lestrade alone. Lestrade's stomach seemed to leap into his chest as he tore his eyes away from the intimidating bar entrance and met the gaze of Mycroft.

"Ready?" Mycroft asked with a bemused raise of his eyebrows, walking towards the door without waiting for an answer. Lestrade trailed awkwardly behind, feeling stupider by the moment.

The distinguished man in the doorway looked up gracefully as Mycroft enterered the building, his sharp eyes quickly sizing him up. It was instantly clear to Lestrade that Mycroft Holmes did have to worry about admittance to such an exclusive place.

"Good evening, sir," the man said with impeccable politeness, bowing his head slightly as he spoke, "nice to see you again, sir. Can I show you and your guest to a table?"

"Thank you," said Mycroft stiffly, removing his coat and holding it out just as a young woman appeared as if by magic to accept it. As she added Mycroft's umbrella to her load, she turned to Lestrade.

"Anything for the cloakroom, sir?" She asked, gesturing her eyes towards his coat.

"I'm ok," stuttered Lestrade, not used to such attentiveness, "I'll keep it with me if that's alright".

Mycroft shot him a withering glance as they were lead to their table and Lestrade mentally kicked himself for not copying Mycroft's example. He was clearly more adept at handling a venue like this. However, Lestrade forgot his anxiety as he was led into the lavish bar area. It was a truly stunning room, the walls and floors all decorated in shiny jet black, a beautiful circular bar of black marble forming the centre of the room. All the furniture in the bar was white and was discreetly divided into different areas to suit the needs of different customers. There were low seated white leather armchairs and sofas clustered around small white coffee tables and intimate two-seater booths carved out in alcoves in the wall. There were large expensive looking dining tables with various numbers of chairs gathered around them, and high seated bar stools for drinkers to perch around equally tall cocktail tables. The harshness of the black and white colouring was softened considerably by carefully placed warm spotlight lamps.

"How about here, gentlemen?" their guide suggested to them, gesturing towards a small but not too intimate dining table. He was clearly attuned towards making the correct choice for his customers.

"This is fine, thank you," said Mycroft, indicating to Lestrade that he should sit. Lestrade dropped down into the chair, Mycroft following into the one situated opposite. Mycroft leaned back casually in his chair and smiled at Lestrade as he neatly rested his hands flat on the table.

"What can I get you to drink, Inspector?" He asked smoothly, the tone of his voice sending shivers down Lestrade's neck.

"Erm," replied Lestrade inanely as he ran his eyes urgently over the wine list in front of him, unsure of what to do. What sort of drink would Mycroft Holmes expect him to drink?

"I'll have whatever you're having," Lestrade said weakly, aware of how pathetically non-committal it sounded.

Mycroft's smile widened with condescending menace.

"I'd much prefer it if you actually chose the drink you wish to have," Mycroft said softly, his eyes boring into Lestrade and making him feel even more intimidated than before. He simply could not think straight when Mycroft was around.

"No, really," Lestrade said, "I'll join you in whatever you are having."

Mycroft leaned forward, bringing his hands up in order to rest his chin. Lestrade had not until this point noticed the richness of the blue in his eyes.

"Well my intention, inspector, was to have a particularly fine variation of South African red wine that this bar serves," he said. "However, it is very obvious to me that you are more of a beer drinker. So why don't I order us a bottle of wine to share, but also a beer for you to begin with? I think cider if your preferred pint?"

Lestrade had absolutely no idea how Mycroft could so easily read everything there was to know about him; he simply nodded in unspoken thanks. Mycroft smiled in satisfaction and nodded towards a waiter who took the order and presented their drinks in a matter of moments. Once Lestrade had his cider in his hand and Mycroft was holding a large glass of wine, he elegantly gestured the glass towards Lestrade.

" Here's to a successful working relationship," Mycroft said, his eyes never leaving Lestrade as he took a deep mouthful from his glass.

Lestrade took an equally deep drink from his pint, the cold liquid tasting even nicer than usual as it slipped down his throat. He took two further long drinks, sighing with pleasure as he felt the alcohol rushing to numb his tired limbs. However, he was alarmed moments later when he realised that the alcohol had also gone straight to his head; he had barely drunk half of the pint, and yet the first tiny hints of drunkeness were already swimming in his brain. Lestrade thought back quickly to his day at the office. He had literally eaten nothing that day, with the exception of a few biscuits with his tea and a piece of birthday cake from one of the young constables who had turned 30 at the weekend. He had been forced to skip lunch due to an overly long telephone call, and now he was drinking strong alcohol on an empty stomach. Lestrade knew he should probably take it easy, but his swimming brain felt so marvellous in comparison with the crippling nerves he had been experiencing earlier. Taking another long drink, he smiled broadly Mycroft who was silently watching him from across the table.

"So, inspector," Mycroft said quietly, leaning into the table further still, "where did we get to in our conversation?"

They chatted easily and Lestrade was able to answer every question put to him in a relaxed manner, although the alcohol had certainly facilitated that. Once Lestrade's pint was finished, the two men had quickly worked their way through their shared bottle of wine. It had taken Lestrade a moment to realise when Mycroft ordered them a third glass each.

"Two is normally my limit," Mycroft said indulgently as he sipped at his additional glass, "but I thought tonight we might push the boat out a little".

By the time Lestrade had finished his pint and three glasses of wine, the room around him was beginning to spin at an alarming rate. He knew he was drunk but he was also still in control enough to remember where he was and who he was with. Even though he had drunk far too much, it was still essential to keep his mouth under control and behave himself. Either Mycroft could handle his alcohol more efficiently or he was excellent as putting up a facade as he appeared still completely in control, the drinks apparently not affecting him. He smiled at Lestrade as a few moments of silence fell at the table.

"I hope I won't have got you in trouble for this unplanned drink, inspector," Mycroft said. His glance dropped to the marble table top and he asked his next question very carefully.

"Perhaps your wife or girlfriend might have something to say when you get home?" He continued, the question asked as casually as possible so as not to give away how much Mycroft wanted to know the answer.

Oh God, thought Lestrade, his face flushing even redder than it had been before due to the glow of alcohol. There was an awkward pause; Lestrade could feel the tension building between them. The nicely sized table they were seated at suddenly felt far too small and oppressive. Lestrade sense that whatever he said in the next few moments was going to have a profound impact upon the relationship he had been building with Mycroft.

"I'm not married actually," Lestrade eventually replied, "quite recently divorced."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mycroft replied sympathetically, "that must have been extremely difficult for you."

Lestrade knocked back the final dregs of his wine aggressively.

"No," he said, his voice suddenly venomous and bitter, "it was good to be rid of the cheating, miserable old cow."

Lestrade regretted this outburst immediately and felt embarrassed. He knew it was the alcohol, he was far too drunk to be having this conversation. Mycroft sat utterly nonplussed, no reaction on his face.

"Sorry," muttered Lestrade, staring into the bottom of his empty glass, "it was a bit of a messy split as you can see. I'm still quite angry about it all."

"You were married a long time?" Mycroft asked.

"Twelve years."

"And apart from the divorce, you were happy together?"

"Oh yeah, things were great, until she met someone else that is."

"And is she the only significant other in your past?"

This last question caught Lestrade off guard. What an odd thing to ask, he thought to himself. His eyes met Mycroft's and he was taken aback to see the tiniest hint of hungry desperation in his gaze. The man was clearly fishing for information he wanted more than anything. However drunk Lestrade was, he was also not stupid. His gut instinct told him exactly what was going on. He felt a warm shiver of pleasure in his stomach; it was tantalising and thrilling to think it was just possible that Mycroft Holmes himself was so eager to know about his personal life. Emboldened by the drink and with lust pounding in his veins, Lestrade decided to take a bold gamble and put his cards on the table. He looked Mycroft squarely in the face, not wanting to miss his reaction.

"There have been a couple of other people who were special," he said slowly, "a couple of nice girls."

He paused to add extra impact to what he wanted to say next.

"There were even a few special men at times as well," he added.

Mycroft was too accomplished at hiding his feelings to react visibly, but Lestrade noticed a flicker within his eyes. Although neither had articulated what they were both privately feeling, somewhere deep within them, some form of bond of mutual understanding had just been fused.

Mycroft finished the last sip of his wine.

"It's getting late," he said, "I think I should take you home."

Lestrade prayed at that moment that Mycroft's ability to seemingly read his mind was not working. The thoughts that were pounding through his brain at this moment were bordering on the obscene and most certainly not to be shared with anyone.

When the car arrived they travelled though the streets in silence. Lestrade lay his head back in his seat, the entire world spinning around him in an alcoholic daze. Mycroft next to him was sitting bolt upright, his hands folded in his lap and his legs crossed neatly. Lestrade felt as if they were involved in some sort of game; both had revealed some of their cards, but the question now was who was going to make the next move.

The car pulled up outside Lestrade's small house. His head swayed as he tried to coordinate his hand and arm together to open the door.

"I'll see you to the door," said Mycroft, exiting the car on his own side and walking briskly to meet Lestrade at his door. Lestrade wondered as they walked up the path if Mycroft wanted to see him in, or whether he was simply aware of the fact that Lestrade was in serious danger of collapsing head- first into the flower bed.

They reached the front door and with some slight fumbling, Lestrade managed to find his keys and unlock it. He turned his back to the house and faced Mycroft, slightly nervous as to what he was expected to do now.

"Thank you for the drink," Lestrade said, feeling oddly shy suddenly.

"It was the least I could do," Mycroft said pleasantly, "especially after all your extra work. I'm glad you enjoyed it and thank you for your company."

The awkward pause descended again, neither suddenly sure of what to say.

"I will see you at the office soon I'm sure," Mycroft said, and took a small step backwards, indicating that it was time to go.

"Wait!" Lestrade blurted out suddenly, the sight of Mycroft leaving spurring him into yet more reckless action. Mycroft stood still, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

Lestrade was not quite sure what he was doing, but he took a step towards Mycroft in order to close the gap that had suddenly appeared between them. Too close. Lestrade had brought himself into a proximity with Mycroft which was far from normal. Their faces were now inches apart, Lestrade breathing heavily as he fought against the now pounding lust which was hammering in the lowest pit of his stomach. Never before had he desired so badly to touch somebody, to feel their body, to press his own aching and needy body firmly against theirs. His head leant forward ever so slightly, the thought of Mycroft's lips only inches away from his own proving to difficult to resist.

"Goodnight inspector," Mycroft said suddenly, breaking the spell and bringing Lestrade back to reality with an unpleasant jolt. Mycroft gave a tiny smile and sharp nod before turning and walking back to his car, leaving a bewildered Lestrade. He watched the car speed quickly away, half hoping it would suddenly stop and Mycroft would emerge to finish the evening in the way that Lestrade's fevered imagination had hoped it would. But it was not to be. Mycroft was gone and Lestrade was more confused than ever.

He wandered gloomily into his dark house, wondering if he had completely mis-read the situation. Perhaps the wine, his old feelings about his wife and the nerves had all combined to make him think something completely different was developing between him and Mycroft. If that was the case, a new worry crept into Lestrade's mind. Maybe he had completely misjudged this situation and acted with an entirely inappropriate level of intimacy towards Mycroft.

Before Lestrade could question the situation anymore, he heard the text message alert of his mobile phone ringing. He fished the device out of his pocket and flipped it open to read the message. The words in front of him made his heart leap into his mouth.

Drinks were nice. Maybe at the weekend it could be dinner? I'll drive myself so we can do exactly what we want. M.