CHAPTER FOUR

A/N: Warnings etc. in Chapter One.

There was strong, black coffee waiting for him in the kitchen on the morning of his disciplinary as well as an anxious John Watson.

John didn't say much for which Greg was incredibly grateful. He felt as though something huge was trying to fight its way out of his stomach despite having vomited twice already but the coffee stayed down and he relished its warmth.

"Good luck, mate," said John watching him with troubled eyes as Greg straightened his tie in the mirror.

"Thanks," he replied, tight-lipped. He couldn't help thinking he was on his way to his own execution and, worse, he'd have to drive himself there.

He parked at Scotland Yard and was conveyed to the ninth floor. This was where the fiends in human shape operated, the office of Professional Standards. The officer at the desk gave him a smile with all the warmth of a penguin' s fart and told him they would be with him shortly. Greg resisted the urge to get up and pace the floor. The door to the office directly behind the desk opened and the Detective Chief Inspector called him in to his doom.

Greg sat at a table opposite three other officers, all higher rank than him and all looking disapproving. They bandied phrases like 'unauthorised civilian access to active cases', 'professional misconduct', 'bringing the Force into disrepute'. Greg looked down at his knees. He was finished, he knew it. He just wished they'd tell him he was done so he could go somewhere and get drunk.

"Inspector Lestrade, do you have anything else to add to your original statement?"

"No. All I have to say is that I allowed the now-deceased Sherlock Holmes access to my cases with the approval of my then-Super. And someone important in Government circles thought it was a good idea too."

There were frowns and glares all round at this. Suddenly Greg felt defiant. Sod them.

"Be that as it may, this hearing has come to a decision." Greg's heart started to hammer in his chest. This was it.

"You acted inappropriately, but with good intentions and your clear-up rate speaks for itself. You are a good officer and we can ill-afford to do without the likes of you. Consider this a formal reprimand. This will stay on your record for a period of one year. You are expected to resume your post tomorrow morning." Greg could hardly believe his ears, and when his warrant card was returned to him, he genuinely thought he might cry. "Watch your step in future, Inspector."

"I will," he muttered as he shook hands with all three of them before leaving the office. Once in the lift there were a few tears of utter relief, but they didn't stop him smiling. He felt like he was walking on air as he left the Yard and drove home.

John was waiting for him as he had hoped and was every bit as delighted as Greg had been.

"You jammy sod!" he exclaimed, thumping Greg on the back as he hugged him.

Greg could not stop smiling as he pulled off the tie that was threatening to choke him and changed out of his best suit.

"I'm starving," he said to John. "Let's go and find some breakfast."

John was out and Greg had just finished ironing the last of his shirts in preparation for going back to work. He had already spoken, reluctantly, to Sally Donovan to find out what he could expect when he got back and was completely unsurprised at her litany of complaints but she finished with

"It'll be good to have you back, sir. "

Greg bit off the uncharitable thought that she had been mostly responsible for the whole mess. That could wait, now he had all the time in the world.

On impulse, he picked up his phone and it rang out. He really didn't expect it to be answered and was fully prepared to leave a voicemail when he heard Mycroft's voice.

"Hello, Gregory. I hear congratulations are in order."

"Is there anything you don't know?" grumbled Greg. He heard the amusement in Mycroft's voice when he replied.

"Very little, actually."

"Well, I just wanted to say thank you. I don't know how you did it and I really don't want to know, but I know it was you."

"It really wasn't. Your record, I believe, stood for itself as well as the testimony of your former boss. Now that I can believe. You are a very fine officer, Gregory. They appreciated that."

"Okay, I'm not sure I believe you, but I'll take it."

"Indeed. Are you busy tonight?"

Greg thought he'd misheard until Mycroft repeated it.

"Er, no, I'm not as it happens."

Mycroft mentioned a restaurant just off the Marylebone Road.

"That's if you like Italian food."

"I do. Very much. Are you asking me out? "

"I don't know, I've never done this before."

"What? Asked a man out?"

"Asked anyone." Greg hooted in disbelief. No way could Mycroft mean what he thought he meant.

"My God, "said Greg as there was an embarrassed silence at the end of the phone. "You're serious. Look, I'd love to have dinner with you."

"Oh, good. Shall we say eight o'clock?"

"Eight's fine. Can I just ask, why me? And why now?"

"I liked to keep an eye on the people that were involved with Sherlock. Once you came into his life I couldn't stop looking. As to why now…well…I watched my little brother fall hopelessly, helplessly, irrevocably in love with his best friend. He never did anything about it because he had no room in his life for sentiment and he didn't want to hurt or alienate John. And he ended up hurting him in the worst way possible. I don't want it to be too late for me. It's just dinner, let's take it from there."

Greg had no answer to that. Some small talk cleared the ashes of their previous conversation and Greg hung up, utterly stunned.

Mycroft's hands were shaking as he put down his mobile. He was scarlet in the face and sweating, unbelievably pleased he had done it over the phone and amazed at his own daring. Or stupidity. Probably the last thing he needed to do was to get involved like that with Greg. The potential for hurt on both sides was enormous but, for once in his adult life, Mycroft didn't care.

Greg was slightly late, he had underestimated the traffic at that time of night, but he was directed to a corner table. Greg was quietly impressed at the understated décor of the place and the wonderful aromas wafting from the kitchen. Mycroft got up as Greg approached and smiled.

"Sorry I'm late, I forgot about the roadworks"

"It's fine," he replied as Greg sat down opposite, thanking the waiter as he handed them the menus.

"Drink, sir?" asked the waiter. Mycroft ordered red wine but Greg declined, asking for sparkling water instead. In response to Mycroft's raised eyebrow, Greg elaborated.

"I've got the car. Plus, I'm back to work tomorrow and the last thing I want is to face Sally Donovan with a hangover."

"Fair point."

"Even if it does taste like old flatirons." Mycroft smirked.

All in all, Mycroft had been pleasantly surprised at how quickly the night had passed and what a charming and attentive dinner companion Greg had turned out to be. He was so easy to talk to and had been both amused and impressed by Mycroft's observations about their fellow diners.

It was not dissimilar to time they had spent together before but Mycroft was aware of something in the air between them, something sparking that made his heart beat that little bit faster. This was an actual date, his first ever and he had not been disappointed, wishing only for the night not to end just yet. They both declined coffee but, as they got up to leave, Mycroft's phone began to ring.

"I'm sorry, Gregory. I must take this."

Silently cursing, Mycroft answered the call.

COBRA

One word. That was all it took for Mycroft to get the feeling that his coach had just turned into an enormous pumpkin.

"Thank you, I'll be along directly," replied Mycroft, replacing his phone in his breast pocket. "I hate to do this, Gregory, but…"

"It's fine," replied Greg with a smile. "Look, I'll drop you off."

"I'm supposed to be picked up by…do you know what? They can wait. You are, after all a Detective Inspector in the Metropolitan Police."

"Trained in firearms too," chuckled Greg as they made their way to the car park. "We'll be there in no time."

Sadly true, thought Mycroft as Greg eased the BMW into the London traffic. All too quickly they were as near to Downing Street as Greg was able to get. He put on the handbrake and turned in his seat to look at Mycroft.

"I had a really nice time tonight, Mycroft."

"So, did I," he replied honestly. "Let's hope there's nothing major happens to spoil the next time." He realised, to his horror, what he'd said and tried to backtrack.

"Er…that is…I mean…What?" Greg had started to laugh.

"Sorry. I know this is new to you but don't fret so much. I really do want to see you again."

Mycroft was relieved. He thought he'd blown it.

"Do you know what else I'd like?"

"No…"

"I'd really like to kiss you."

"Oh, yes…"

Mycroft could feel himself blushing again. Greg unfastened his seatbelt and leaned in, his hand cupping Mycroft's cheek as their lips met. Mycroft's eyes closed as he breathed in the clean scent of him, sliding his arms around Greg's neck as his mouth opened under his. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, butterflies in his stomach and, for the first time in his life, real, proper desire for another human being.

It was Greg who broke the kiss but did not move away. Their foreheads were still touching and his warm hand moved to the back of Mycroft's neck.

"Oh, wow." Greg breathed. His pupils were enormous in his soft brown eyes.

"My sentiments exactly," whispered Mycroft. "Gregory, I have to go before they send out the helicopter."

Greg laughed "And before I get arrested for loitering with intent, too."

Mycroft disentangled himself from the car and from Greg.

"I'll be in touch very soon, I promise." Greg nodded and restarted the engine. He was smiling as he drove home. In reality he hadn't known what to expect but he had been surprised at how much he had enjoyed himself. He was already looking forward to the next time.

The last place on Earth Mycroft wanted to be at that precise time was that COBRA meeting. He presented his usual suave, inscrutable front, hiding the turmoil in his brain, still reeling from his first ever kiss.

There were a million reasons for him not to pursue a relationship with Greg Lestrade and he knew, given time, he could come up with some pretty compelling arguments. That was his head talking. His heart knew better.

If nothing else, he wanted another kiss.