#mystradedialogueprompt

[starkraivennemad]

How Does That Feel?

Mycroft Holmes stood with his little brother as they got dressed together. They were very grown men now and it dawned to him they had not done such since...

"The day before you left for uni. Black trousers, a white button with slate pullover, a navy-blue tie, black socks, and lace-up brogues for you. Black short pants with braces, a tee with charcoal stripes, white knee socks and black penny loafers for me." Sherlock chuckled, speaking aloud the thought in Mycroft’s head, his usually mellifluous voice soft with bittersweet reminiscence.

For all their differences as they became men of the world, when the Holmes brothers were in sync, it was uncanny. This was one of those times.

How does that feel? he asks himself. It something Mycroft does on emotionally laden days to acknowledge the feeling, name it and move on so that he’s not overwhelmed.

“Funny how that feels.” He mused aloud.

“I know.” Sherlock nodded in understanding.

“You loved those braces. They had little yellow and black bee buttons sewn into the front of them."

"Little bee buttons that YOU had sewn into the braces." Sherlock emphasized.

"I did not know you knew." Mycroft smiled surprised, but pleased.

"Mummy refused to buy me the short pants I had seen in a store window and wanted them." Sherlock chuckled in memory. "Yes, they were shorts for little girls, but I did not care. I wanted the bees."

"Yes. And you had caused quite the scene on the asphalt I was told. You were five and already so head strong. Mummy really should have known better." Mycroft chuckled. "You were so chuffed when I presented the black braces, with the bees sewn on, to you a few days later."

"Oh, my behavior then was a pittance compared to the meltdown I had when school bully Melvin Vandenberg, popped off one the buttons, then ran off and tossed it where I could not see. I tore up the flower beds looking for it until I was bodily picked-up and carried out screaming when I could not find it. I thought it lost forever. I was inconsolable. I  thought..."

Mycroft saw the slight melancholy that creased Sherlock’s brow then and he knew.

"Though I have to say that must have been one impressive meltdown - enough to have your friend Victor and all of facilities scour the entire yard until it was found, Brother Mine, I would have never hated you for losing a simple button were it not found."

"I realized that later in hindsight. But right then and there when I already felt abandoned by you for going to uni without me, I just knew you were never coming back because I had been so careless." Sherlock shrugged and continued dressing.

So many, many years later and Mycroft could see a shadow of that hurt within his brother. It was life, he would not apologize for being off to university. Nonetheless he felt sorry for the pain his leaving caused Sherlock. It was the beginning of the chasm that formed between them. Given who they are as men, though things are certainly better, there still were moments when Mycroft wondered if it will ever close.

How does that feel? Sorrow, Regret.

Sherlock’s momentary grasp on his shoulder brought him back to the present. It reminded him of how far they have come that Sherlock not only noticed, but quietly did what was needed to remind him that it might have taken them a couple of decades but that chasm has begun to close.

How does that feel? Good. It was a good feeling.

"Victor found the button later and gave it to me and then walked up to Vandenberg and punched him in the nose making it bleed." Sherlock looked askance for a moment a small bittersweet smile at his lips. In less than two years from that day Sherlock loses Victor because of…her.

And it is Mycroft’s turn to grasp Sherlock’s shoulder to ground him.

"No one did anything like that for you again until John...and the cabbie..."  Mycroft said carefully, years of being who he is reminding him ears can be anywhere listening.

"Not until John." Sherlock confirmed.

"And that’s why you're marrying him."

"One of the many reasons why."  Sherlock tied a perfect double-Windsor knot on the second try. "None other cares for me the way John does."

"Oh?" Mycroft hmmed, tying a perfect double-Windsor knot on the first try. When Sherlock did not respond, Mycroft said nothing as he finished dressing.

John, for all he does care for Sherlock, he has only been in his brother's life the past eleven years. Even Gregory Lestrade, who certainly cared for Sherlock, had five more years than that. Except for the years in uni and the first few as an agent, Mycroft has spent his life, especially the last near thirty of them protecting Sherlock in so many ways. Yes, things were better, but there was still something of a strained relationship between them as adults. He could not help the twinge of hurt he felt at the seeming dismissal of it all.

How does that feel? Disappointment, with a tinge of resolve. It was not a good feeling.

"You two about ready in there?" Greg, John's best man, knocked on the door just then.

"We are." Mycroft went to the door, grateful for the diversion.

Gregory looked at him, the unspoken “You okay?” in the raised brow.

Mycroft gave a single nod in an equally unspoken “I'm fine.”

“How's John?" Mycroft knew his husband would understand he changed the subject on purpose, but would let it be for now, knowing he'd explain later.

"Left him with Mike, checking off the new, borrowed and blue." Greg stood at the door looking to Sherlock, "He said you had something for us…?"

"That reminds me, Sherlock, where is your something ol...?" Mycroft started to ask.

He stopped when Sherlock reached into a toiletry bag and handed him a small box. He raised a curious brow as he opened it, then gasped aloud as he looked at his brother completely stunned. "Oh Sherlock!"

"Myc?” Greg entered the room fully at Mycroft’s stuttered breath in contrast to Sherlock’s pleased but shy smile. He closed the door behind him. “Sherlock?"

Mycroft held the box out so Greg could see the contents.

"Bees and safety pins?" Greg looked from the little bee buttons inside the box to the two brothers staring at each other.

"You…" Mycroft’s usually cool blue-grey eyes were suddenly warm with unshed tears as he found his somewhat choked voice. His fingers gingerly touched the buttons as though he would not believe they existed without doing so. He stared at his little brother. “…you kept these...?”

"Of course." Sherlock reached into the box, "You got them just for me. You defied Mummy who was stuck on the gender bias of their coming from a girl's outfit. She told me years later how you argued with her for me to have them when you explained exactly how you knew I would wear them. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Rosie are wearing similar, but different bee buttons that I gifted them as important in my life. But these original buttons are ours…” Sherlock picked up two bees and safety pins and secured them to his brother’s lapel. "Though young yourself, you fought for me. You understood her points, but you fought for me to be me, even at that tender age. Yes, you left for uni soon after, and I simply could not understand that, but I have never forgotten that you did this for me Mycroft."

Mycroft was speechless as he watched Sherlock pin him. He remembered the buttons, naturally, but they were both children when he had given them to Sherlock. He had thought the buttons to be long lost to history. That Sherlock had kept them through the years since floored him.

How does that feel? Frankly overwhelming, but good.

"It was the first of many such battles between our parents and I until they finally understood I had to find my own way and they had to accept it. Other than the drug use, you have never stopped me from being me, even if you don’t always agree with my choices. John and Greg also accept me as I am and will each get one bee, but you were the first, so you get two.” Sherlock continued speaking as he straightened Mycroft’s lapel. “And for all the trouble I have given - and let's be honest will continue to give you - today, I wanted you to know while I outgrew the short pants, and the ability to easily tell you such, I have never outgrown my need for someone to understand the dragon slayer, when no one else does. Yes, I have John, Greg and even Molly, but they are not you. None other cares for me the way John does – save one. And right now, I want to acknowledge that One and say thank you. Thank you, for everything, Brother Mine. Thank you."

Hearing the words from Sherlock, the open acknowledgement, Mycroft was ashamed of having just thought his brother was apathetic to him. He should have known better. For all the strain between them growing up, Sherlock was very much like him in certain ways. Sherlock just was not one for such outward displays of affection.

Mycroft gave a tremulous smile at the memory of the conversation held as they smoked in front of their parents' house that long ago Christmas when he called Sherlock a dragon slayer. He was further shamed to realize that had been the last openly tender moment between them as brothers.

Until now.

Mycroft understood that heartfelt thank you was Sherlock's way of saying he loved him. It was as good as he was going to get with his brother.

And the unshed tears flowed. “Oh, Sherlock!”

Sherlock then picked up two more bees with safety pins and held them out to Mycroft. "Can you?""

"Oh, of course!" Mycroft took the items and pinned the bee buttons to Sherlock’s lapel. As soon as he was done, he did something he rarely did with his brother as an adult: pulled Sherlock into his arms and held him tight. "I love you, Sherlock."

Though he could never forget it, Mycroft will be eternally grateful to Greg, whom both brothers had all but forgotten was in the room with them, when in a few days will present him with a framed photograph of the moment captured on his phone.

The moment when Sherlock himself did something even more rare: hugged his brother back tightly and then said the actual words.

"I love you too, Mycroft."

How does that feel? Absolutely Wonderful!

---------

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[starkraivennemad]

Give It To Me

From a hidden distance Mycroft watched Sherlock as he sat at the mirror. He had been doggedly at it for an hour. There was progress, but so much was left. Sherlock had made the mess; he would not ask for help to fix it.

Even as a young child, insisting on tying perfectly symmetrical bows on his shoes, Sherlock, proved to be prideful and stubborn.

Not much changed as an adult.

Sherlock’s last OD -Mycroft hoped- was the rock bottom. He had disappeared for four months before he dragged himself out of whatever Dantean circle, he had fallen in. Filthy and sickly, he found D.I. Lestrade and stubbornly detoxed cold turkey. Once done, for the very first time Sherlock asked to go to rehab, and Mycroft blessed Lestrade for his help in that miracle.

But first Sherlock wanted to wash and comb his severely matted curls. It would have been easier to cut it all off, but sober Sherlock’s pride wouldn’t allow it. Determined to save them, Sherlock sat, painstakingly separating hair strand by strand. The front was one thing, Sherlock could see; but it was excruciating to watch his growing frustration as he blindly handled the back.

“Give it to me.” Mycroft entered the room and held out his hand. “Please.”

Sherlock sighed, then handed the comb to his brother.

[starkraivennemad]

Convince Me Tomorrow

By all accounts it had been vicious for the past weeks in Mycroft Holmes’ life. It genuinely felt as though the classic Mr. Murphy and ALL his laws were out to get him.

Completely wiped out, he ordered an equally exhausted Anthea home. That she only gave trace argument against leaving until he was also ready to leave spoke volumes. Too drained to make it to his vehicle, he decided to kip for a moment on the sofa.

Mycroft removed his suit blazer and rolled up his cuffs.

But first, a much-needed snifter of brandy.

“Mr. Holmes. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade is on the premises.”

Ah, Gregory. Always the perfect elixir to what ails me!

“Thank you, please send him up.”

He chuckled to himself remembering time early days of knowing Gregory when he loathed the man. Stubborn, but respectful in a sneering way that showed how he felt, Gregory simply did not kowtow to him. Highly intelligent and intuitive, Lestrade a rare thing in Mycroft’s world - an honest man. The fact that all of it came in a very pleasing to the eye package that was unfortunately married then. Even as he slowly grew to respect and admire the man, he spent years being the cold unapproachable man. Being Iceman. Antarctica. The above such trite things as sentiment. The one who regularly touted ‘caring is not an advantage’.  

But that was then.

Now respect and admiration had grown to full on love. And though Greg was now divorced - alas, only Mycroft himself knew of that love. After years of holding himself away, he had no idea how to get close to the man.

Thus, it was a Mycroft Holmes who was more than a snifter or two of brandy in, that cheered when Gregory entered.

“Greetings! It’s been a minute as the youth say. Join me a drink?” Mycroft stilled his snifter in time to keep it contents from sloshing over the rim – barely. 

Oh, he’s wearing one of his better suits! It does not look he’s worn it all day. He must have gone home and changed. He looks good. Why does he look so good?

He frowned as Gregory quickly closed his gaped mouth. “What?”

“I um…” Greg scratched at his head. “…In all the years we’ve known each other – I cannot claim to have ever seen you this… relaxed… in appearance or temperament.”

Mycroft looked at himself.

Granted on any other man, being jacketless, waist-coated, with perfectly folded sleeves would be an elegant casual look. But for the normally, impeccably dressed, three-piece bespoke suited Mycroft? -it was down-right slovenly in his mind, and he was horrified!

“Oh! Do I offend? I - I – I did not mean to -” Mycroft immediately stood and put down the glass to unfold his sleeves.

“No don’t!” Gregory practically yelled as he darted to his side, placing his hand atop Mycroft’s to stop him. “It was not censure, Mycroft! Please relax. I am happy to see you—this much of you… I – I mean see that you can sit back and relax a moment.”

Both men were transfixed by Gregory’s fingers that gently grazed along the fine hairs above his wrist…

He’s… He’s touching me! He’s TOUCHING me! He’s touching ME!

…but then Gregory he realized what he was doing and quickly moved his hand.

Mycroft was admittedly inebriated, but the shock of Gregory’s warm touch fired off several cranial pistons into action.

Oh, stopped, but he did not apologize. What does that mean?  

Greg lifted the near empty decanter. “Uh, are we having a celebration of sorts?”

“Oh dear, wasn’t that full an hour ago?” Mycroft said sheepishly. “Wait. What brings you here?”

“And on that note – I think we need to get you to your driver.” Gregory put down the brandy decanter.

“What? Why? You’ve just arrived!”

Too upset at the thought of being parted from Greg so soon, he be more horrified to know he whined.

“I’m here because you invited me. And perhaps to ensure a pod person has not taken you over?”

“What are you talking about?”

Greg showed Mycroft his phone.

TEXT–1744: It’s sad but true. How I think about you. It rhymed! Ooh! – MH

TEXT–1745: Drinks. You and Me. Now. Diogenes. It rhymed again, see? – MH

Mycroft looked at his pocket watch and then checked his own phone in horror.

Yes, I sent those over an hour ago. Oh, I was, and am, well into my cups.

“Oh…” Mycroft blushed deep to his roots.

I texted – in rhyme dear god – and he got dressed and came. But he’s in A SUIT - for me?

“Oh…” Gregory echoed, and promptly lost his battle to remain stoic.  “You look so incredibly gobsmacked right know, Mycroft, were you not drunk, I could kiss you.”

“That implies you could kiss me when I’m sober.” Mycroft said carefully. “I may be drunk and thus emboldened -that is true, but you know I remember everything. If I ask to see you tomorrow - would you?”

“See you tomorrow? Or… kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“If you ask to see me tomorrow?” Gregory gave a shy, but burgeoning smile of hope. “Tomorrow… I’ll kiss your whole face—don’t try me.”

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps…” Mycroft mixed quotes as he began to roll his sleeves down, then retrieved his jacket and briefcase. “Good night till it be morrow…”

Gregory reached for his hand when they reached Mycroft’s sedan.

“I know you’ve noticed I dressed in this suit for you.”

“I… have…”

“Then remember this: I was hoping to convince you to get me out of it.” Gregory took Mycroft’s hand in his and kissed it. “It is a hope that I have had for quite a while now.”

“I hope you can convince me then.” Mycroft returned the gesture and climbed in the sedan.

----    ----

TEXT–2359: Will you see me tomorrow? – MH

TEXT–0000: It is tomorrow. – GL

TEXT–0001: I know. – MH

A grinning Greg, who clearly had been expecting this, opened the door to his flat to see Mycroft standing there. “A promise is a promise, Gregory.”

“I know.”

“And you’re still in your suit.”

“I still hope to be convincing, Mycroft.”

Gregory kept his promise.

And was very convincing indeed.

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@mystradepromptsandscenarios

Mystrade Monday Prompt #99

[starkraivennemad]

What Do You Think You’re Doing?

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mycroft asked Greg’s receding back.

Greg spoke over his shoulder, but did not stop walking. “Getting the fuck away from you before one of your bulldogs have to take me down because I forgot you are Sherlock’s brother and slug you!”

“I did not give you permission to leave, Lestrade.

“You’re so observant, Holmes, observe that I did not ask.”

His back to him, it is not Greg’s fault he does not see Mycroft’s eyes narrow with chagrin.

----   

“What do you think you’re doing?” an annoyed Mycroft snatched his arm from the hand that held it. “I told you; you may leave now.”

“Look I get that you’re not in the best mood right now, but don’t take it out on me.” Greg removed his hand, but raised a warning finger. “You can’t dismiss like one of your minions. I called YOU remember? I care for Sherlock too.  I’m staying.”

Plopping tiredly into a chair, it is not Greg’s fault he is unaware of Mycroft’s nod of respect.

----   

“What do you think you’re doing?” a surprised Mycroft asked a little louder than intended.

“Sorry!” Greg held his hand “I didn’t quite have full grasp of it when you let go and I didn’t want it to fall and spill.”

“And why are you still holding it?” Cool blue-grey eyes scoured his.

“You -erm- surprised me with your outburst – I froze.”  Greg blushed profusely quickly taking the salt shaker from him at last.

Head down, it is not Greg’s fault he does not notice the flash of Mycroft’s disappointment in the loss of contact.

----   

“What do you think you’re doing?!” an amused Mycroft answered without preamble when Gerg called.

“Just letting the two light weights dry out a bit and suffer a lot for a couple of hours before I let them loose for being a drunken nuisance, just not enough of one for a citation.” Greg chuckled.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Mycroft gave a dramatic disappointed sigh. “If you could be so kind as to yell at one or both at top volume when you do, I’d be most appreciative.”

“I’ll do my best, Mycroft.”

“You always do, Gregory.”

Greg hears the soft chuckle, but it is not Greg’s fault he does not see Mycroft’s pleased smile that lingers as they ring out.

----   

“W-Wh-What  do you think you’re DOING?!” a stunned Mycroft froze as Greg solid arms pulled him into a hug when he returned to the Governor’s office at Sherrinford. “And what are you doing here?”

“Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to – I mean I meant to – I – oh, bloody fuck! I was so happy to see you out of that cell – I forgot myself!” Greg responded. “Sherlock and John told me what happened and I had to see you for myself.”

Each man pointedly ignores that Greg still holds him by a hand and Mycroft has not stopped him until Mycroft himself lets go when they hear someone approach.

Greg pretends it is not his fault that he noticed how reluctant Mycroft was to let go.

----   

“What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Lestrade-Holmes?!” Mycroft hoarsely whispers when Greg unexpectedly shoves him back against the seat,  Greg’s hands deftly undoing Mycroft’s belt.

“Oh, if you gotta ask, Mr. Holmes-Lestrade.… ”

It is totally Mycroft’s fault Greg took advantage of their private jet to become the newest members of the Mile High Club.

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Facebook #mystradedialogueprompt: “What do you think you’re doing?” Facebook Mystrade is Our Division Prompts: Fault

[starkraivennemad]

Noticing

“Careful…” Greg Lestrade teased quietly.

Mycroft Holmes whose Mach speed on a slow day mind was elsewhere, but always attuned to the man next to him, focused his attention. “Pardon?”

Greg blatantly looked away. “For a moment there I thought you might sing.”

“Sing!” Mycroft scoffed, “What makes you think I would do something like that?!”

“You…” Greg bit his lip in failing effort to not grin. “You were… humming. Happily, so. I’m honored you’ve knocked down those ice blocks you surround yourself with, to relax enough for that.” Greg looked as though he was about to place a hand on his forearm, but stopped himself, “Thank you.”

It was not the first time Mycroft noticed such abortive moves from Gregory.

But it was the first time he noticed.

Noticed the thing Gregory had been trying to hide from him.

Noticed how he was showing him in subtle ways now, without upsetting the wall.

Noticed when Greg sometimes retracted from that wall, if it became too cold.

Noticed Gregory was correct - the ice blocks were mostly gone.

And noticed the only person trying to rebuild them was Mycroft himself.

Years ago, after one bad relationship too many Mycroft sealed his heart away and swore never again. The blocks were the sickening touch of fear, secured away in emotional ice.

The fear of letting himself be vulnerable again.

The fear of trusting someone to not hurt him again.

Gregory was subtly showing that HE was the someone Mycroft could have those things -vulnerability, trust, more– again.

Moreover, Mycroft noticed Gregory alone had been making all the moves, patiently waiting for Mycroft to make one.

“You know how I feel! You reciprocate!” He reached for Gregory for the first time, purposely humming in happiness.

“I do. And I have… for over a year, Mycroft, but I needed you to know it for yourself...” Greg beamed at the humming and their joined hands, “…not because I told you.”

Mycroft swallowed the fear, looked the waiting man in the eyes, and mentally kicked the last ice cinderblocks between them away. “I love you. And I’d very much like for you to be mine, Gregory.”

--------------------------------- @flashfictionfridayofficial @mystradepromptsandscenarios

[starkraivennemad]

Attitude

Greg found himself in an unexpected fit of giggles when a phrase innocently fell from Mycroft’s lips.

“Oh, that is your puerile thoughts giggle…”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Greg brought a serviette to his lips. “It was an inside joke with my family.”

“Oh?” Mycroft brows furrowed trying to fathom how what he said while semi-jokingly kvetching about a colleague could cause such.

“It started with Mum fussing with my dad. Went over my head at first because I was too young. Took a bit to get the correlation.” Greg turned a little pink. “Once I did? It was weeks before I could keep a straight face when heard.”

Greg knew Mycroft knew him well, he understood Mycroft was aware he was stalling by the indulgent little smile that played at his lips as he made a go on gesture.

“When Mum was in a… let’s say flirtatious mood and didn’t want me to know she would comment on Papa’s attitude. How Papa had a lot of attitude. Or if Papa was in a mood that was reciprocated, she’d tease ‘not with that attitude!’”

“Ah…” Mycroft nodded, getting the correlation as he had just said the words himself. “Not that it was meant the same when said to you, I gather.”

“Goodness no!” Greg shuddered with a laugh. “I eventually cottoned on. I was using it myself for a while, calling it my attitude, but like most jokes told too often, it eventually lost its humor. With some notable exceptions.”

Because he knew Mycroft well, Greg watched as Mycroft studied him.

“You have commented on my attitude several times of late, Gregory.”

“I know...”

Greg saw the surprise as those mental wheels spun.

He saw when the conclusion was reached.

And he saw Mycroft’s understandably wary, but definite happiness of that conclusion.

“Are you saying you meant it in the same context as your female progenitor?”

“I am…”

“You want…”

“All of your attitude…? I do.”

“So, you’ve realized that thought is…reciprocated?”

“Oh yes, I have…”

They sat acknowledging the screaming unsaid.

“Shall we… check our attitudes then?”

“Oh, lets.”

Greg smiled taking Mycroft’s hand.

Signaling for the check, Mycroft grinned.

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

[starkraivennemad]

Heartbeat

Greg blinked surprised to see a certain name pop-up on his actual personal phone.

Mycroft had always, ALWAYS called on his work phone and sometimes at his office desk phone, but never has he called him personally. Greg felt the anxious thump of his heartbeat.

Greg started typing even as he rang in. “Hello, Mycroft, how are you?”

“Hello Gregory. Do you know that you and Sherlock are the only people in the world who have asked that, and I know truly mean it?” the unheard dejected sigh in Mycroft’s voice was loud as loud as the silent gratefulness. “Even now.”

“I’m sorry the world makes you feel that way, but I am glad that you know I do mean it.” Greg continued typing furiously.

Greg felt both honored and chagrinned. Honored that Mycroft had called him, HIM, when he was clearly feeling something out of the norm. Chagrinned that Mycroft was being made to feel something out of the norm.

“You’re typing rather quickly… If you’re busy…”

“Nope.” Greg stopped what he knew was Mycroft getting ready to back out of whatever it was. “I haven’t heard from you in a bit. Talk to me, Mycroft. I’m listening.”

Greg could not explain this thing with Mycroft, because he cannot really say what it is.

Or what he wants it to be.

Or what Mycroft wants it to be for that matter.

The last time Greg saw Mycroft was the morning he rescued Mycroft from Eurus’ cell in Sherrinford. Once Mycroft got over the initial shock of seeing Greg there, the control he was renowned for  shattered. Greg opened his arms and Mycroft, to emotionally raw to deny himself the balm offered there,  fell into them, then desperately clung to him like a lifeline. Other than to give his thanks, Mycroft was quiet as Greg was dropped off at his flat.

And then weeks of nothing from Mycroft.

Until now. Which meant it was something deep to break the silence. Read the rest on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/50929210

Mystrade Monday Prompts #59 For October 16, 2023 "I dreamed of you.”

Okay, it's not flash or even Monday, but it is this week's prompt.

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

[starkraivennemad]

To Step In

“This isn’t working…” Mycroft Holmes told himself as he dressed. “No, I need to do this. I must.”

Thus, Mycroft Holmes found himself dripping wet in front of a door.

It was just a door. A wood framed door the same dulled red in need of a fresh coat just like all the other doors that faced the hall on this landing.

"A good heart rain…”

The sky was near charcoal in color, with slate clouds laden with moisture, ominous in their threat to continue to release their watery burdens again and again as he rode to his destination. 

Mycroft had not planned to be there, but the dark stormy day was the catalyst that told him that right there was exactly where he needed to be. He was not a man who believed in any deity, but he knew a message from Universe when he felt one and he obeyed.

"A good heart rain, a good scotch…”

He pulled the bottle wrapped in its plastic bag from the seat next to him and stepped out of the sedan into the deluge.

He could have had the sedan pull of closer to the building. He could have opened the umbrella he carried and used it as was intended to be used – but needs must.

By the time he made it to the lobby door he was drenched. He could have picked the lock and entered, but it was a weekday morning, he was barely there a full two minutes before a resident exited the building and he entered before the door had closed. 

A quick ride in the lift to the sixth floor and here he was shivering in front of the door. He breath labored with a nervousness he would deny if any dared to ask.

“It is just a door,” he tells himself.

A simple wood door the its once vibrant red hue now dulled in the passing just like all the other doors that faced the hall on this landing. Then again what stopped him was not what was on this side of the door, but what was in the flat on the other side. 

Or more specifically who.

"A good heart rain, a good scotch and a good friend…”

DI Gregory Lestrade.

It was not just the man himself on the other side of that door, but all that Mycroft under would come with him. That door was portal to someone it took far too long for him to comprehend was in offering:

Greg knew exactly who Mycroft was: cold, shrewd – and offered friendship without an agenda.

Greg knew exactly who Mycroft was not: gregarious,  – and offered kindness and laughter when no one else had.

"A good heart rain, a good scotch and a good friend are what is needed for times like this."

Those were Greg’s words to him once they were off that godforsaken island - it had storming that early morning.

Mycroft remembered how he had derisively scoffed at Greg’s words that rainy grey morning as he dropped him off on the way home. The torments of Eurus fresh in his psyche, he was not in a good mental state to see the hand that reached out.

"A good heart rain, a good scotch and a good friend are what is needed for times like this."

It took days before Mycroft understood it was an offer if had what it took to accept it.

It was pouring rain. Mycroft stood there dripping wet. He had  a bottle of good scotch in hand.

All that weas missing was the good friend.

Except Mycroft finally realized Greg Lestrade has been so much more  than a mere good friend in his heart for over a year.

Beyond that door Greg Lestrade was that portal to wonders untold.

Kindness. Understanding. Friendship.

No, he would not lie to himself about this.  

Greg knew exactly who Mycroft could be: warm, caring, open – and offered a chance to be a person that no one else but Greg understood he could be: someone who could love and would be loved in return.

This door was a portal that waited to be opened…

All he had to do…was knock and step in...

Mycroft had just raised his hand to ring the buzze…

The door opened...

“Mycroft?” Greg’s gravelly voice nearly went up an octave in the surprise of seeing him at his door, especially a dripping wet Mycroft. “What happened?”

Mycroft trembled at the sight of the gorgeous man, whose warm brown eyes took in the sight of him as a whole and lingered on the hand that held the bottle in a plastic bag.  

"I… I forgot my umbrella and got caught in the rain?"

Greg blinked at the recalled words from a month’s old conversation. It was not exact right - it was supposed to be a statement of denial of crying in the rain, but Mycroft knew Greg would understand. They both ignored the unused umbrella in his other hand.

“You… you consider me a good friend?”

“No. No, I do not, Gregory. And I don’t think you consider me one either.” Mycroft gave him a watery smile, partially ashamed that it even had to be questioned, but yes, Greg understood exactly.

Greg’s breath stuttered as he stepped back and let him in.

“Gregory I…” Mycroft spoke as Greg closed the door and locked it behind him. “You should know I…”

“If I did not know before, I do now.” Greg’s voice was so soft. “Come, Mycroft… …”

He turned and there Greg stood smiling with his arms, his heart, wide open.

Mycroft stepped into the arms, the kiss, the portal…

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[starkraivennemad]

Bygones

Greg parked across the street and a few spots from 221b Baker Street. It was late afternoon and shockingly almost no vehicular traffic on the snowy street. A few uni kids were passing on the pavement side when one grabbed a handful of snow from a nearby bonnet and lobbed it someone else. Greg grinned as he skirted around the impromptu snowball fight that broke out amongst them as he climbed out of his car. He was mid street, past the center line when he heard an almost too sharp whistle. Naturally, he turned his head to look, and was immediately pelted with snow.

And not just a snowball. But several.

All aimed at him.

It was soft snow, but more than enough for the seasoned cop to understand what was happening. He laughed lifting his hands to mock protect his himself, only soft head shots to become more solid body shots from all directions, he could not move.

"Problem Graham?" He mentally cursed as he looked up and spotted Sherlock laughing from the open window.

Mycroft’s sedan pulled up and the man himself rolled down a window. “Need assistance?

“You’re all I need right now.”

Mycroft stepped out and the pelting stopped.

“I thought you said let bygones be bygones…” Sherlock laughed from the window.

“Point.”  Mycroft reached for some clean snow, made a ball, and launched it. 

“Mycroft!”

Greg laughed at Sherlock’s affronted face at Mycroft’s direct hit.  

Mycroft  grabbed more snow and landed one solid snowball dead center of Greg’s chest, then all but dived in the sedan, as a grinning Anthea closed the door behind him. 

It was rare to catch a Holmes off guard. Mycroft had laughed and said he was so impressed that it even happened it was all bygones. Greg really should have known when he threw that snowball which dumped a hefty mound from a snow laden branch on his head it was not going to go unpunished.

“Oh, you bastard!” Greg was so surprised and delighted all he could do was laugh as the sedan drove off.

He barely heard Mycroft’s merry laughter as the window rolled up.

“Bye! Gone! Muah!”

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

[starkraivennemad]

To The Victor

Greg knew he should not have tried it. He really did know.

It was a fool’s quest to try. Especially, in the semi lit kitchen.

But stubbornness was very much a trait of being a Lestrade.  

To the victor, no?

So, he tried - several times.

And failed – several times.

Yet he was getting closer to his goal, each attempt giving him false security, that the next would be successful, he overextended his reach, upsetting his delicate balance.

Greg felt the wrongness of it and knew there was not a thing he could do already feeling himself about to make impact with the floor.

“Greg!” A partially dressed Mycroft ran into their kitchen. His eyes immediately deduced what happened. “Your leg!”

“Damn my leg!” Greg shouted. Teeth gritted; his hand slapped at the cast he wore in frustration.

Mycroft helped him to a chair. “What were you thinking?”

“That I’d make you some damned tea before you left!” Greg glared at the box that still mocked him from the upper shelf. The shelf he himself had placed them on. But that was days before surprising a criminal by tackling him.

Fortunately, Greg had made the arrest.

Unfortunately, he had broken his tibia during the capture and was currently out on medical leave.

“I can help you with that.” Mycroft finished buttoning his waistcoat, his long legs easily letting him get the box. He tutted when Greg started to reach for his fallen crutch. “Why didn’t you just ask someone?”

“It’s early. I didn’t want to wake staff…” Greg groused. “And I’m not an invalid.”

“No one says you are.” Mycroft handed him a mug and squatted before him. “What would you say - roles reverse?”

“Sod off.” Greg could not help his growing smile. “I know what you’re doing… What about your staff?”

“Our staff, love.” Mycroft reminded him, his hand on Greg’s thigh, exposed from the cutoff trouser leg for his cast, travelled. “You know they’re discreet. “Just trust me. Please.”

“How’s the tea…?” Mycroft grinned zipping him up when done “Worth it?”

Greg grinned at his new husband, forgotten mugs on the table.

To the victor, indeed!

“Yes. Mm, good.” @mystradepromptsandscenarios @flashfictionfridayofficial

[starkraivennemad]

In Need

Mycroft Holmes turned off the press conference he had watched for the nth time. It was less the conference but the cell phone video that captured one Detective Inspector Lestrade as he chased down a murderer that he watched repeatedly. Especially the part when Gregory jumped onto, ran across, then leapt from a moving vehicle to capture the man.

Mycroft had never been so hard in his life and could not wait to do something about it.

He Gregory well. He knew he would be home soon and what he would want.

After knowing each nearly a decade, secretly pining for him for the past two years, learning the feeling was reciprocated a mere two weeks ago, and having the pleasure of loving openly since, it was still novel and wonderful to him that he shared this love with Gregory.

Thus, he was waiting just inside the home office door with two snifters of cognac on Gregory’s arrival.

“I need you.” Gregory panted.

Gregory slammed the door, grabbed a snifter, downed it in one go and threw the crystal at the fire place.

Surprised by the action, Mycroft had no time to respond as his own snifter was snatched from him to meet a similar fate. Any thoughts of complaint he may have has were swept away when he was turned and shoved against the door in the full body press of Gregory’s body against his, followed by a passionate kiss.

“Tell me more.” Mycroft grunted feeling Gregory’s hard need against his own.

An amused, but happy staff will take care of things later, but that is later. Caught in the whirlwind matching passion Mycroft thought nothing of the clothing trail that marked their path from the office to the bedroom. They grasped and clawed and snatched at any and everything that impeded skin-to-skin contact. That became desperate grasps and claws of each other until a sweat drenched and quivering Mycroft roared his lover’s name unable to hear Gregory’s cry of his name as the world whited out around him.

It was only in quiet of afterglow that Mycroft appreciated the enormity of what they had shared and what it meant. The love and trust that he did not even think about it until then.

“I wouldn’t have done this with anyone else.” Mycroft smiled into the warm brown eyes smiling into his. “Couldn’t have.”

“Done what?” Gregory ran a hand through Mycroft’s chest hair.

“Given myself as easily I did with you, my love. Without thought or hesitation.” A blushing Mycroft shyly admitted. “And that’s how I know now.”

“Oh Myc…” He saw the surprise as Gregory read the unspoken between the lines, “…I knew I had your heart, thank you for trusting me to love all of you.”

And because Gregory knew him well, Gregory smiled warmly he as gleaned onto the salient point. “Go ahead, ask, my love.”

Mycroft slid over onto Gregory and kissed him slowly, tenderly.

“Marry me, Gregory.”

"Not a question. Answer's still yes." Read on AO3

[starkraivennemad]

Reciprocal

"Sir?"

Lost in his thoughts Mycroft blinked and looked to his assistant staring at him oddly. "Yes, Anthea?"

"You did not answer the question?"

"Forgive me, what was the question?"

"Shall we drive off and take you home now or do you still need a moment to ponder...?"

Mycroft sat up in his sedan at what he knew the ellipsis implied.

Mycroft looked in the direction Gregory Lestrade had headed to his flat.

It had been fifteen minutes since Gregory left the sedan. Yet they still sat idling at the curb.

Detective Inspector Gregory Michael Lestrade.

An average man he once considered one among the many minions that served him. He did not think much of Lestrade, and the feeling was reciprocal.

Except, even from the onset Gregory Lestrade never was an average anything. 

The very first person to turn down his offer, he could not be bullied nor bribed as so many others. Did Greg follow Mycroft's lead when it came to keeping a weathered eye on his brother Sherlock, yes, but only on his own terms. If Mycroft wanted to know about his brother he always had to come to Greg and ask. Thus began their dinners when Mycroft would get updates on Sherlock.

Never anything sordid and wasn't his business to know as a brother or protector. Conversely, he learned nothing he ever said about Sherlock reached his brother's ears. The intelligent man had an integrity that Mycroft respected even if he never openly admitted such it was understood it was reciprocal.

In the years since, dinners that went from three or four times a year became four or five times a month and long ago gave up the pretense of being anything about Sherlock.  it surprised Mycroft when he found himself looking forward to those dinners with Gregory and learning that was also reciprocal. 

Reciprocal. Mycroft thought about that. The two men have gone from through much dealing with his brother and by turns each other. Mycroft was there to help Greg through his divorce. Greg has been there to help him get through the trauma of Sherrinford. He could not imagine his life now without Greg in it. 

With a shock he wondered if that too was also reciprocal. 

"Sir?" Anthea touched his arm when he opened the sedan door to step out. 

He realized then that he had not responded to her earlier question.  "Sherlock is the only person alive who knows me better than you, Anthea. I feel it's time to change that. You can go home."

He looked to her and saw the smile hidden behind her professional mien and knew she knew, but still she had to ask. "Are you sure, sir?"

"No, but like every single thing that has happened when dealing with him it has been with reciprocity, Universe is rarely so lazy."

Her hidden smile became a wide one as she let his arm go and sat back in the sedan. "I'll see you overmorrow.".

A few minutes later he is standing in front of Greg's door when he phone rings. He grinned seeing the name of the caller. 

"Yes, Gregory.?"

"Yeah, um... I can see the sedan still parked out front, are y...is everything...okay?" Greg asked, and before Mycroft could respond asked a new question. "Or would you like to come up? Oh nevermind I see the sedan is leaving..."

"The sedan is leaving I am not."

"What?"

"Open your door."

"Really?" The amount of joy heard in Greg's voice was only succeeded by the alacrity in which Mycroft could hear Greg run to said door and smile that greeted him when it was flung open and Mycroft was treated to a shirtless Greg.

"All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life.” 

"Your heart was never dead, just dormant. I suspect like mine it only needed the right person to tend to it." Greg stepped back granting him entrance. "Welcome to my garden."

And Mycroft knew with every fiber of his being then that everything he said to Anthea was correct. 

Every single thing that has happened when dealing with him it has been with reciprocity.

As soon as the door closed behind him Mycroft pulled Greg into his arms.

"And welcome to mine, Greg."

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

[starkraivennemad]

Reminding Me

Greg Lestrade was not having the best day. Awake since a quarter of three in the morning, it was now half past one in the morning. He stood back while Donovan questioned a new widow. There was something about the woman that niggled at the back of his mind, something he could not put a finger on.

Same with a book he saw in the window of a shop that morning. And with the new watch he noticed on his boss’ wrist while being royally blasted by him for something that was not his fault.

Greg chastised himself to pay attention before he missed something – else, or nearly did something stupid – again.

Goodness knows I do not need another dressing down from Sherlock Holmes, when I was caught semi day-dreaming.

There had been something about a painting in a different murder’s home that had triggered a similar feeling he could not quite grasp.

“I would think the copious amount of blood on the floor you’re about to step into would have your attention, not- whatever that monstrosity passing itself off as art on the wall. Clearly you don’t need my assistance if you can’t pay attention, Inspector. ”

And with that Sherlock flounced off minutes later.

Now hours after the fact, it still rankled. Suffice it to say when his phone buzzed with a familiar pattern Greg was not in the mood.

Mycroft. Oh, Christ, what does he  want?

Before he fully retrieved his phone from his pocket the buzzing stopped. Assuming an accidental dial, and grateful to no have to deal with the man right now, Greg went back to work. He would have completely dismissed the incident if the same did not happen again as he and Donovan left the scene and called it quits for the night.

Greg stared at his phone in surprise.  Mycroft Holmes accidentally dialing someone once was a mistake. But twice – within  the span of twenty minutes?

That did NOT happen.

Greg immediately dialed the man as he rushed to his car.

“Gregory, I apologize. I was not aware of the late hour and…”

Tired as he was, even Greg heard the falsehood of it. Greg did not lie to himself. He knew Mycroft Holmes to be a master manipulator. If he truly wanted to lie to Greg, he would be none the wiser. Greg did not think twice as he interrupted.

“Bollocks, Mycroft. What do you need?”

“I…”

The phone fell silent. The seconds ticking by was the only reason Greg knew the man had not rung out. As Greg somehow knew he would, he smiled to himself when Mycroft spoke again exactly as the minute mark struck.

“I must suffer being in close quarters with another being.”

Mycroft suffer?

His exhaustion fled; Greg looked at his phone. “Excuse me?”

The uber intelligent genius worked in a position the world does not know exists and is better for it. Mycroft Holmes causes suffering in others who do not listen to his advice in that position. Mycroft himself does not suffer for anything but save his brother and migraines; that his brother,  Sherlock, was sometimes the cause of said Migraines, notwithstanding. A man for whom caring is not an advantage is practically a mantra, Mycroft most certainly did not suffer the company of others if he did not have to, including Greg’s. Something he had made known repeatedly in their association, even if that now decade old association has slowly grown into something of a friendship from once acrimonious beginnings.

Greg started his car. “It’s past two in the morning, Mycroft. I’m having a bad day, could you be a little more forthcoming?”

“I know, Gregory... As am I...” Mycroft sighed. Before Greg could take in the enormity of that admission, Mycroft continued. “I... I find myself in the unique mindset of desiring quiet, but not solitude and the Quiet Room will not do. If I must do this – and clearly, I must – the only compromise is to align myself with someone who would cause the least egregiousness  to my sensibilities. I lament that it seems it would be… you.”

“I…” It was Greg’s turn to take a full minute to parse through the backhanded part to reach the possible compliment.

He wants company? But not just any company. He wants MY company…

“Where are you?”

“Diogenes, if you’re too tired, Gregory, I will underst-”

“Be there in twenty.” Greg rang out.

----    ----

A middle of the night Mycroft sat behind his desk. His shirt sleeves were perfectly folded, exposing his forearms. It was only the second time Greg had seen him as such. With his eyes glued to his work, Mycroft blinked when Greg stood at the door and softly cleared his throat.

You called here I am. Your insufferable company.

Mycroft checked the time, seventeen minutes. He gave a slight smile when Greg said nothing else as he closed the door, and hung his trench on the rack.

Always the perfect host, Mycroft gestured between the choice of the wingback chairs by the fireplace, a decanter of what Greg knew would be very expensive brandy on a table between them, or the sofa which had a pillow and a blanket folded on top, in deference to the late hour.

Mycroft stood; a curious look flickered across his face as Greg chose neither but approached the desk instead.

Greg closed the laptop and glared at Mycroft daring him to gainsay him as he pointed to the chairs.

You want quiet, but not solitude, but you are not working while I just sit around and twiddle my…

Caught in Mycroft’s blue/grey gaze he was reminded of the art that had captured his attention – It had the same color. Without looking down he knew then that his boss’ new watch reminded him of Mycroft’s pocket watch. The book he saw in the shop? A copy of Narnia that he and Mycroft had talked about at their last dinner. And the canned lights above Mycroft’s head shone on the ginger hairs of the hirsute man’s forearms. Hair the bright ginger color of the victim’s wife Donovan interviewed.

…Oh

“Gregory?” Mycroft broke the silence. “Are you well?”

He called...

He started to say I saw something today, and it made me think of you, but stopped himself just in time.

...and I came running...

It was then Greg realized these were not one-off occurrences at all. He has been seeing the man in seemingly random things, not just that day, but for quite a while.

...without batting an eye...

Oh shit…

“I’m fine – shall we…?” Greg quickly turned, walked to the chairs, sat, and poured himself a much-needed drink.

He called and here I am…

In a moment of shocking clarity, Gregory Lestrade understood something else:

I’m in love with Mycroft Holmes and I absolutely cannot tell him.

OH SHIT!

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

[starkraivennemad]

Woof!

“Good evening, love. Busy?” Mycroft peeked into their home office, seeing Greg at the desk.

Greg smiled seeing him. “Nothing that I can’t ruthlessly, heartlessly abandon for you.”

Given the hour, it was a relaxed Greg. His suit jacket was off and shirt sleeves folded up. Mycroft wanted to run his fingers along the hairs of his husband’s forearms that gleamed in the overhead light, but that is not what he came for.

Mycroft entered the room fully and closed the door.

Greg’s smile faded slightly as Mycroft entered with papers in hand. He quietly approached and slid some of the paperwork he held in front of Greg.

Greg looked at the paperwork and blinked in surprise. “Mycroft?”

Mycroft then slid the rest of what he held before Greg could react. He could see the tension that had grasped Greg relax somewhat, but not enough.

“This why you’ve been so pensive this evening?” Greg looked at the paperwork.

“Yes.” Mycroft admitted.

He knew Greg was by no means surprised. Still…

“A dog, Myc?”

“It would be wonderful, Greg.” Mycroft sat in the seat in front of the desk and prepared for battle. “I know what you’re going to ask: aren’t we enough? We are, truly we are. There’s the unconditional love between you and me, yet imagine if we add a dog to us. Did you know dogs release oxytocin, the love hormone, in their owners?”

“Mycroft…” Greg looked at him dubiously.

Greg pulled out photos Mycroft had included in the papers of a man with his dog and placed it on top. The happiness of both could not be denied. Mycroft pointed at the times they had seen others with their dogs, “…and look how happy they are.”

“Yes, having a dog comes with needs and a responsibility, I understand, but we can do this.” Mycroft added. “Even with our insane jobs and hours, a dog is not really going to be a deterrent for us, is it?”

He knew Greg was beginning to consider it. His strong fingers had stopped at one photo and stayed on it.

Mycroft came around to Greg’s side of the desk, turned his chair and crouched before him. “Imagine the joy of being greeted with such tail wagging joy after a rough day.” Mycroft put his chin on Greg’s knee and looked up at into Greg’s brown eyes pleadingly. “Just a warm head on your knee to be petted, loving it and you. Or just being happy at your feet if that’s all the spoons you have that day.”

Oh, it was dirty pool, they both knew it. Mycroft knew Greg had noted his increasing want of such in the past months. Their increasing want if both were being honest with themselves.

“You really are serious?” Greg said wistfully.

“Yes, I am very  serious. That’s why I brought these so you can see how serious…” Mycroft indicated the papers on the desk.

“We could go full grown dog, or the puppy route…” Mycroft rubbed his face against the inside of Greg’s thigh. “And oh, how GOOD we’re going to look together when dog walking.”

Mycroft knew he had him, when Greg’s hand landed on Mycroft’s head, his nails just grazing the across the scalp through his ginger hair, the way he liked it.  Mycroft gave a teasing whine at the gesture.

Greg needed the right little push and Mycroft knew just the thing…

“And there would be a need for training either way… In case the dog has a bad habit… ” he rose to his knees and began to rub his groin against the leg he straddled, “…you may want to break him out of...” he was happy to note he was not the only one getting an erection by the tease, “…what do you think?”

Greg’s hand firmed into a solid grasp of his hair in a hold both knew always drove Mycroft wild.

Oh, but it was Greg’s eyes that were nearly blown as he held up a picture of a leather harnessed dog and its equally leathered wearing owner, both members of a club they sometimes attend.

“God, we spoil each other.” Greg kissed him.

“Let’s not stop now.” Mycroft ground himself against Greg’s leg.

“Bad dog!” Greg yanked Mycroft’s hair until he was back to first position of head on his knee. “We’ll shop for your ears, collar, tail, and leash tomorrow.”

“Woof!”

-------------------------------------------

Read on AO3

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

[starkraivennemad]

Fifteen Minutes

“You two had already known each other for nearly a decade. What was your first date?” John asked Greg, when he and Mycroft showed up for dinner at Baker Street.

“Good question.” Sherlock added.

“The Landmark?” Greg looked at Mycroft.

“The Landmark.” Mycroft confirmed.

It was something spontaneous. The very first time where they took advantage of an unexpected free evening and met to dinner together without prescheduling it or a reservation. They stood waiting by the podium for the hostess to return and seat them.   Mycroft’s suit collar had flipped up some in the back with his coat removal. The perfect lines of the meticulous man’s suit were marred and caught Greg’s eye. It was not something he was truly conscious of doing, only that it needed to be rectified immediately. He reached around to fix the collar before Mycroft startled at the contact. Caught in Mycroft’s icy blue-grey stare like a deer in headlights he froze. Then Mycroft quickly he realized what Greg was doing and relaxed under the touch. He gave a slight nod of surprised thanks. An older woman leaving the restaurant passed by just as Gregory slowly snapped out of it and ran his hands down Mycroft lapel. “You two make a lovely couple. How long have you been dating?” Mycroft looked at his pocketwatch, “About fifteen…” “Years?” The woman interrupted. “Minutes.” Mycroft deadpanned.

“What happened then?” John laughed.

“Luckily the hostess arrived to seat us.” Greg grinned. “He was so smooth with it;  the old bird’s face was priceless.”

“You lost it. Well, we lost it.” Mycroft chuckled. “The poor hostess knew not what to make of the two grown men giggling as naughty school boys in her wake. It was the third time you made me laugh out loud in public. It was the first time I admitted to myself that I wanted it to happen more.”

“Looks like you got what you wanted, brother mine.” Sherlock raised his glass to Mycroft then to Greg.

John raised his glass as well.  “Congratulation on the engagement.”

“Who knew it would turn out to be truth?” Greg kissed Mycroft. “To us!”

“To us, indeed.” Mycroft grinned.  

Art by Archiaart

[starkraivennemad]

Unexpected Talent

Greg mentally shrugged at the closed blinds as he stalked into his office. He thought he opened them before he left, but could not be so arsed with them now.

"Mycroft took up yoga a while back and now I'm beginning to wish I had." He threw his trench in the general direction of the coatrack, uncaring that it missed and will wrinkle. "Could use some fucking Om or something like that about now."

"I can imagine." John Watson let out an exasperated sigh as he entered behind Greg and hung the coat properly.

"Thanks." Greg waved a hand and plopped into his chair "How many times do I have to tell that idiot genius of yours, John? How many?"

"I know Greg. I know how a bit not good that was…"

"A bit?!?!" Greg exploded as he slid up to his desk…

…and froze… "I am only warning you once…"

"Okay, bit of an understatement…" John took seat in front of Greg's desk. "Granted, he did apologize, but the damage was done…"

---the classic coin appearing from behind his ear---

"Really?"

…Greg could not have stopped the surprised gasp that escape….

"What gave it away? When she screeched at us to get out, ya think?" Greg snarked as he picked up a pencil.

---the wallet that disappeared from one pocket and then reappeared moments later in a different one with more cash than was previously in it---

"Might've done…" John conceded. "I expected him to inform the widow about the affair…" John scrubbed at his face. "I  did not expect him to do so via showing the photos of the lipstick marks around the victim's penis and ask if the colors matched any of hers."

…The pencil started a light but steady tap on his desk - he had been warned…

"Just each time I think that one of the Holmes Boys cannot surprise me with the unexpected…" 

--suddenly appearing out of nowhere---

"Look, Sherlock does know he messed up, Greg." a clueless John continued.

…He felt the sensation begin and was trapped… "When you least expect it…"

"Does he?" The pencil tapping became heavier as he blew out a breath. "I really don't want to talk about…"

…A deep low rumbling that was going to get worse … "…expect it."

"Look, I can tell you're really pissed off at him…"

"John just…"

…Greg dropped his head to his free hand… 

"Look we know who did it, Greg… Just… "

---the first time his hands were suddenly restrained in his owns cuffs---

"John…"

…He barely, BARELY bit back the groan that nearly escaped…

"Give him a chance to sort this for you, ya?"

…as the low heat in his abdomen began to coil…

…but he was not expecting THIS…

"Fuck!"

The pencil snapped.

"Shit!" John blinked. "You alright there, mate?"

Greg dropped the broken pieces and grabbed the arm of his chair

…Greg needed John to leave his office…

---the LAST time his hands suddenly restrained in his owns cuffs---

"John…" Greg gritted out between his teeth. "…please close the door on your way out."

John raised a brow at the abruptness but knew the dismissal for exactly what it was.

“NOW.” Greg could not look at him.

John gave a sharp nod and left, closing the door behind him. 

Greg barely heard the door click before he threw himself back in his chair.

…his head slammed against the headrest and bit his lip…

…a low insistent moan driven from him…

…all he could do was hold on…

…he gave himself over…

…to the heat that low coiled…

…seized from within…

…spilled out…

“Oh, you bastard.” When he could find breath again, Greg half laughed; half moaned as he slowly rolled back from his desk.  

"Really, Gregory, disparagement of my parents?" Mycroft, in all his three-piece suited glory, tutted as he gracefully unfolded himself from under from under Greg’s desk. “After receiving such a gift?”

“Yes, I was warned, but I am starting to think you took up yoga last year, just so you can comfortably do exactly this.” Greg pointed at his newly zipped crotch that showed no trace of the expert fellating that happened.

“I did.” Mycroft leaned down and thoroughly kissed a very debauched Greg.

Sitting in the chair previously occupied by John, Mycroft crossed his leg, adjusting the line of his trousers just so when the door swung open.

“Hey Greg I… Oh, Mycroft!” John Watson appeared at the door again. “Where did you pop up from? I wasn’t aware you were here. I didn’t see you pass.”

“I was not aware you not seeing me pass, negates me seeing my husband.” Mycroft said coolly before turning to Greg. “It’s not as if I just popped up from under the desk.”

Greg choked, as he otherwise silently stared at John, unable to speak.

“Right. I… Never mind. I’ll text later.” John looked at both, turned and closed the door solidly behind him.

“You’re going to kill me.” Greg removed the key, deposited into his mouth via a scorching kiss, and unlocked the hand Mycroft had cuffed to the chair. "Is there no ends to your talents?"

"No." Mycroft grinned as he politely pulled out his handkerchief and daintily dabbed at the corners of his spotless lips.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Read on AO3

Mystrade Monday Prompt #87

For April 29, 2024

"Is there no end to your talents?”

@mystradepromptsandscenarios