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Greg couldn't resist, once he'd heard the news from his team in the break room. He almost tripped into his office, shutting the door behind him, and grabbed up his phone to text Mycroft.
I’ve the perfect reason to meet tonight.
His phone began to ring. If Mycroft had time to respond when Greg contacted him, he’d call instead of texting. Greg answered, “Mr. Holmes! So good to hear from you.”
“You’re in a fine mood, Lestrade. What has you so ebullient today?”
“One of the constables had one of those calendars, you know, the kind where every day is some silly celebration? And guess what today is!”
“I couldn’t begin to speculate.”
“It’s National Drink Wine Day! In the States, anyway. And you’re the only person I know who knows anything about wine. Wanna celebrate with me?” Greg mentally crossed his fingers. He’d been looking for reasons to have more social occasions with Mycroft. Talking about Sherlock could only get them so far, and Greg was hoping to know more than the professional facade of the well-dressed man.
“I suppose I could make time for a glass this evening. Would you care to come to the club?”
“Meet you at the Diogenes at 7! This’ll be brilliant.”
Mycroft had no idea what had prompted this sudden zeal from the Detective Inspector, but he knew how to take advantage of an opening when presented. If they were planning to indulge together, perhaps he should start seeding the field now. “À bientôt, Gregory,” he purred, before disconnecting.
The rest of the afternoon flew by as Greg’s thoughts kept wandering back to that particular tone in Mycroft’s voice. Was he imagining things, or was it possible those posh tones had sounded a little sultry? As he wrapped up at work, he shook his head, focused on getting into Mycroft’s private rooms with the necessary decorum.
Once at the club, Greg knocked on the door before opening it. Upon seeing Mycroft, back to him, pouring from a decanter, he stepped in, took off his coat, and settled into an armchair before the fireplace. “I didn’t mean to invite myself over to raid your larder, but it seems you found a selection for us.”
Mycroft looked back over his shoulder as he finished filling two glasses. “I happened to have a vintage cellared here I’d been meaning to sample, and you provided an excellent excuse. I believe you’ll find it spirited but not pretentious.” He picked up the wine glasses and handed one over.
Greg took the offered drink. “I never know what to make of that wine talk. Seems a lot of failed poets try their hands at description once they’re in their cups. Anyway, cheers!”
“À votre santé,” Mycroft responded, tapping his glass lightly against Greg’s. As they each took a first sip, their eyes met. They smiled at each other before looking away.
“That’s amazing stuff, Mycroft.” Greg filled the silence, took another sip, and swallowed. “Thanks for sharing it with me.”
“A good wine is best shared,” Mycroft responded, as he settled in the neighboring chair and crossed his long legs. As usual, he was wearing a finely tailored three-piece suit, but the jacket was open. “Creating a holiday to do so is unnecessary.”
“I dunno where they come up with all those days, but someone somewhere wanted to sell something, probably.” Greg’s experience sometimes made him cynical about people’s motivations. “The calendar’s fun, though. Gets you thinking outside the usual. A bit of a break can help us all.”
“Mmm,” Mycroft agreed. “I’ve often found it refreshing to appreciate a mental distraction and then return to work better able to solve problems.” He didn’t reveal that his favorite distraction was seeing the police officer now in his company leading an investigation, masterfully directing his team and corralling those involved in the case.
“Psssh. Can’t imagine how big your distractions would have to be, given the scale of your challenges.”
“Please, Gregory, there’s no need to compare. We each contribute to the best of our abilities.”
Greg decided to let the mention of measurement pass by for now. He was open to flirting, but no need to be crude. He thought he’d try a different topic. “That’s new. The way you say my name, no one else does. I like it.”
Mycroft had stood up, reaching for the wine in preparation for refilling the glasses. His hand stilled briefly before he took the decanter and poured another round for them. “I thought it more suitable for a social occasion. I’d make a comment about liquor loosening lips, as they say, but it’s too early in the evening for that to be believable.” He returned to his seat, loosening his tie.
“’s true. I’ve got to be able to stand a few rounds down at the pub for work. Either thanking the team or working a witness. I’ve built up tolerance, so a couple glasses of this, no matter how tasty, isn’t an excuse for anything.”
“Do you need an excuse for something, Inspector?” Mycroft smirked a bit and cut his eyes towards his drinking partner.
Greg paused, a number of answers flashing through his mind. Then his brain rolled back to what Mycroft had said. He was flirting! Maybe. Hard to tell with a Holmes. Greg hoped he was right, and he wasn't the only one whose thoughts were moving in that direction. But better be sure. Nothing wrong with a direct question. He suspected Mycroft didn't get many of those, given his position.
“I might. Are you flirting with me, Mycroft? Tell the truth and shame the devil.”
“If you have to ask, I’m more out of practice than I feared. My apologies.” The diplomat looked back into his glass.
Greg set his wine on the side table. He wanted his hands free and no excuse. He thought for a moment before responding, "No need. You're not the only one. Wanted to be sure it wasn't wishful thinking."
Mycroft looked up at that. "So you're amenable?"
"Downright interested." Greg leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting them on his knees, eyes searching Mycroft's face. "I'd like us to get to know each other better. Have more evenings like this."
"That sounds quite ... intriguing, Gregory." Mycroft was also leaning forward, drawn towards the attractive man with the stunningly refreshing habit of saying what he thought.
The evening had gone so well, Greg figured he'd push his luck a little further. "This wine has been delicious, but if you don't mind, I'd like another taste."
"Of course." Mycroft set his glass aside and moved to rise. Greg stood up with him, then reached out, wrapping his arms around the taller man.
"From your lips,” he murmured, before kissing him.