Work Text:
He found the next card in the pocket of his overcoat.
After a long, grueling day of meetings, negotiations, and power plays, he’d been pressed to give up the peace and solitude of his one night off in weeks to go and see to Sherlock.
Seemed that he’d stepped in on a case that was entangled in a foreign affair, and that was entangled in something from the Home Office. Neither of which Sherlock needed to know about, let alone solve.
So, there he was, at Baker Street again, explaining to Sherlock, Lestrade, and John that the consequences of attempting to arrest the attaché to a country to be named later would be dire.
“Diplomatic immunity should not apply here,” Sherlock hissed. “And you know it.”
“The delicate balance that we’ve striven to maintain cannot be upset because you are displeased, dear brother,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “Calm down, and find something else on which you can focus your energies. I’m sure Detective Inspector Lestrade can find some puzzle for you to solve in his cold cases?”
Lestrade looked at him for a long minute, then nodded. “He says they’re boring, but I’ll try.”
“Thank you, Detective Inspector.”
“Greg,” he corrected with a smile. “Unless you think my name is Detective Inspector, like someone we won’t mention?”
Mycroft blinked at the teasing quality in Lestrade’s tone, and fought hard not to blush. “Of course, not. I was merely being professional.”
“First names aren’t important,” Sherlock insisted. “Who cares if your name is Greg, Gustave, Gabriel, or Grant?”
“Normal people,” Lestrade returned. “Which you are not. On the other hand, your brother seems the picture of civility and manners, and will refer to me as Gregory when not work-related, right?”
There was a wicked gleam in his dark eyes that made Mycroft feel…off-center. An odd feeling, indeed. “As you wish.” He said it coolly, and calmly, without a trace of the fluttering in his stomach that he felt.
“Oh, get a room,” Sherlock flung out, irritated.
Mycroft turned to him. “What?”
“And you,” he said, pointing to Lestrade, “stop flirting with my brother!”
Lestrade merely smiled. “Jealous?”
“Flirting?” John chimed in. “With Mycroft? Why?”
“Why not?” Lestrade asked.
John frowned. “He’s….Mycroft. He doesn’t…”
Lestrade looked at Mycroft, who looked very uncomfortable at being discussed as though he was not present. “How would you know? Even demigods need love.”
“Not even close to a demigod,” Mycroft finally answered. “But thank you for coming to my rescue, brave Inspector.” He stood and took up his umbrella. “I must be off.” He looked at his brother. “I do hope you will heed my warning, Sherlock, and cease your prying. I would hate to take John to an undisclosed location to teach you a lesson….”
“Me?” John shot Mycroft an acid look. “I’m not in this.”
“Unfortunately, you are my bargaining chip,” Mycroft supplied smoothly. “I did warn you…”
“Really, Mycroft,” Sherlock sighed. “That is a low blow, even for you.”
“Everyone has a certain weakness in life, dear brother. As such, you should expect them to be exploited.” He nodded to the room. “Good day, gentlemen.”
“And I’ll take my leave, too,” Lestrade said. “Keep him out of trouble, John.” He headed down the stairs and bumped right into Mycroft, who was standing near the front door. “Sorry…”
He eyed Lestrade with trepidation. “No problem. I probably shouldn’t be in front of the doorway.”
“Waiting for your ride?”
Mycroft lifted an eyebrow at the obvious question.
“Not really one for small talk, then?”
“Not really.”
“Right. I’m off then. See you soon.” Lestrade gave him a cheeky wink, nudged his shoulder and was off down the block before Mycroft could react.
A few seconds later, his car pulled up, and he slid inside.
“Is everything all right, sir?”
He looked over to Anthea, and nodded. “Sherlock. Need I say more?”
“No.” She went back to managing his life on her Blackberry.
Mycroft sighed, and reached in his pocket for his mobile. He stiffened in shock, and pulled out another envelope. “Oh, hell.” He took out the card. This one had a raccoon, wearing a robber’s mask, carrying a sack of hearts. The caption read 'You’ve stolen my heart, Valentine!'. Mycroft sat back with a thud.
Anthea looked over at the card in his hand. “Where did that come from?”
“My pocket.”
“Who put it there?”
“Quiet,” he ordered, and began thinking. He left the car, went up the stairs…sat on the sofa. John in the chair, Sherlock at the window, Lestrade in the other chair. Talk, talk, talk… taking my leave… bumped at the door by…Lestrade. Lestrade? Why would he…?
‘Stop flirting with my brother!’
‘Even demigods need love.’
He took out his mobile, and found Lestrade’s number. What am I going to say? How dare you send me valentines? No, that wouldn’t do at all. Perhaps invite him to dinner? Yes, but where? A pub? A fish and chip shop? Have takeway at NSY? He groaned and put his phone away.
“An invitation should follow the declaration,” Anthea said easily. She handed him an envelope. “Just in case you need a declaration of your own, sir. Though I'm not certain that the Detective Inspector would declare his...interest in such a fashion.”
"Low odds are still odds. And it doesn't hurt to be prepared." He shoved the envelope in his inside pocket with a nonchalance he did not feel. He was well out of his depth.“Have you plans for the evening? In celebration of the day, that is?”
“Nothing that can’t be set aside, if you need me. As usual.”
“I do not. Push my dinner meeting to breakfast, and advise all parties involved that we will need extra hours to finish this matter. And be sure to tell Louis to include shirred eggs on the buffet. Don’t want to start an incident.” He tapped the glass with the handle of his umbrella, and the car immediately pulled to the kerb. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“But, sir…where are you going?”
"Off the deep end, obviously." He closed the door, and started walking. To where, he didn’t know.
***
He walked a full block before he realized he may have acted rashly. Walking wasn’t necessarily unknown to him, but he most definitely wasn’t one for walking without a purpose.
He stopped in front of a coffee shop, and eyed it in distaste.
“Didn’t take you for a guy who would frequent a place like this.”
Mycroft was well-schooled in how to react to surprises, so to his credit, he didn’t jump at Lestrade’s voice at his left. “I would not.”
“Right.” The deep laugh that followed unnerved him even more. “So you’re just standing about because there are state secrets to be recovered inside? Trying to figure a plan of action?”
The one thing Mycroft did not take kindly to was being mocked. “Look, Detective Inspector…”
“Gregory, remember?” Lestrade smiled at him, and motioned toward the shop. ”Coffee?”
“No.”
“No?” Lestrade smiled again. “I’m sure you’re curious about the cards. So, let me try again. Coffee?”
Completely out of his depth, and disarmed by that most lovely smile, Mycroft sighed. “Fine.” Without waiting to see if the world's most irritating detective would follow, he marched inside and sat down.
Lestrade appeared at the table a few seconds later with that secret smile still hovering about his lips. “Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee. Black.” He said it as if he’d been offered a choice of poisons.
“Scone? Biscuit? Fairy cake?”
Mycroft lifted an eyebrow. “Neither.”
“You strike me as a guy who would love a fairy cake.”
“And here I thought you were among the Yard’s finest."
“I’ll just get coffee, then.”
Mycroft watched him walk away, and couldn’t help but think how absolutely absurd this was. And how off-kilter he was, sitting in a coffee shop…for whatever reason. He took the cards from his pocket and laid them on the table in order of appearance.
“Oh, you brought them. And put them on the table. Irony, I’m sure.” Lestrade sat a coffee in front of Mycroft, and sat down across. “Share my scone?”
“Again, no.” He ignored the coffee, and motioned at the cards on the table. “Explain.”
“If I have to explain a Valentine’s Day card, you’re not a brilliant as Sherlock says.”
“I understand their meaning. I’m asking why?”
“Self-explanatory.”
“Not really.”
Lestrade sips at his coffee. “Mycroft… you’ve never had a chap fancy you?”
“There are many reasons someone would…fancy… a man such as myself. To curry favour, for a leg up, for… the list of reasons numbers more than five hundred, were I to count. However, I’ve never had anyone express…feelings. And not in this manner.”
“So, you’re not bothered by me being a chap?”
“Again, the Yard’s finest.”
“Then why are you angry?” He popped a corner of the scone in his mouth and chewed. “A valentine should make you happy.”
Mycroft watched Lestrade’s mouth for a full minute before shaking himself. “I do not like games, surprises, or being toyed with. You are doing all of the above.”
“I am doing none of those things. I fancy you. I thought you felt the same.” He looked at Mycroft with shrewd eyes. “I may not be as bright as you and Sherlock, but I know I wasn’t mistaken.”
Mycroft frowned. “What gave you the idea that I fancied you? We’ve only communicated by phone, email and text. I can count on one hand the times we have been in the same room.”
“Well, that’s just it. The last time we were in a room together was just after that business with Sherlock’s stalker, the one who hid in the underside of the sofa at Baker Street. You were in my office, along with Sherlock and John. Standing in the corner, all prim and proper, being concerned for your brother.”
“As you well know, my brother is a constant source of worry for me. That he was targeted by a madman concerned me.”
“I don’t doubt that. He was the reason you made the trip to my office, but not the reason you stayed. You could have done that thing you Holmeses do so well to make sure that he and John were okay, but you didn’t. I thought I was crazy, but I saw it. You were watching me. When I took off my shirt and then the Kevlar, your eyes told me everything I wanted to know.”
Mycroft assumed his best poker face, and said, “In what way?”
“Those beautiful eyes of yours tracked every button I undid, and every Velcro bit that was opened. When I slid the vest off, you couldn’t take your eyes off my arms and chest. I bet if I asked, you could tell me about every hair, scar, and minute detail.”
Indeed, Mycroft thought, allowing himself a mental sigh at the memory of the slight dusting of hair on those gorgeous arms. He cleared his throat. “So, you decided to… stalk me with valentines?”
“It worked.” He looked at Mycroft, then down at his scone. “Right?”
“Before I answer, satisfy my curiosity.”
“We’ll start with that.”
To his credit, Mycroft did not blush. He cleared his throat again, and looked at a spot beyond Lestrade’s left shoulder. “I understand how you got the card into my club, and into my coat. But, my office…?”
Lestrade laughs. “I was dropping off some paperwork for the Superintendent. Bumped the girl carrying the folders to your assistant. Easy to slide an envelope into a pile. I figured they’d already been scanned. And even if they hadn’t, your assistant surely wouldn’t begrudge you a valentine.”
“She would not. One more question?”
“I suppose,” Lestrade sighed. “Though you’re killing the mood I’m trying to set here.”
“Why?” Mycroft leaned forward, and made direct eye contact. “And by that, I mean, why me? You could have anyone you set your cap for.”
“Set my cap for?” Lestrade frowned, and pushed the scone away. “Are you serious?”
“Quite.”
“Mycroft…” He blew out his breath in a huff. “Who wouldn’t want you? You’re mysterious, aloof, posh, and sexy as hell. So untouchable. You wear a suit like armour, but everything about you screams ‘feel me’, from the expensive cut of said suit and the fine silk of your pocket square, to the soft leather of your shoes. I find you so damned attractive and so irresistible that I’m following you around leaving valentine’s cards like I’m ten years old.
“And it’s not just the clothes… All that leashed power…like a brand new Jaguar, idling in the garage, just waiting to be taken for a long ride. Ever since you looked at me, I’ve been trying to find a way to get you into bed. Preferably yours, since I know it’s got million thread-count sheets, and a lush mattress. I want to peel you out of all your layers until you’re naked and wanting. I want to hear you say ‘Gregory’ in your goddamn haughty way while your hands grab at my back because I’m making you feel like the king of the world.” He looks around, then lowers his voice. “You make me want to pin you down, and make you come until you pass out. No one has ever made me feel that way, Mycroft. Just you.”
Stunned by the pure lust in Lestrade’s voice, Mycroft had no idea how to respond. Surely one didn’t thank another for lusting after them? And just what did it mean, that a handsome man like Lestrade would want to engage in such…activities with him?
Lestrade panicked at Mycroft’s silence. Maybe too much? Too needy? Lusty? Well, hell, he thought, I’m not backing down. I just want him, any way I can have him. Oh, hell… “Look… I know I’m probably coming on too strong, and you’re not… maybe someone who wanted you for some kind of gain told you some bullshit about your eyes being like agates or some shit, but… I’m not like that. I don’t want you to do anything for me as far as my job is concerned. And I really do like you. Not just about sex, though. I want it all. Whatever part of you I can have – friends, lovers, buddies with benefits... It’s up to you. But I want you to know that I mean it – that I’m not just saying it because you’re who you are… you understand?”
Mycroft cleared his throat. “So… this is what being someone’s valentine entails? Interesting.”
“Well, not usually. Roses and dinner usually follow the cards. I can do that, too.”
“Unnecessary. I am, as they say, sold.”
Lestrade let out the breath he’d been holding. “So… you want to be my valentine, Mycroft Holmes?”
“You are just my type,” Mycroft said solemnly. “And I would love to strike up a match with you. I’m sure the rest will sort itself out, though I really do not like leaving things to chance.“ He reached into his inner jacket pocket, took out an envelope and held it out. “For you.”
Lestrade took the envelope and opened it. A card with a bee, holding a lace-trimmed heart that said ‘Bee Mine’. “So, you knew it was me.”
“There was a 7.534 chance that it was.”
“That low?”
“Anthea’s odds, not mine.”
“You didn’t have any odds.”
“Gregory, let’s not quibble. You got your valentine, and I have a card with a felonious raccoon.” He stood and took up his umbrella. “And a silver fox, it seems.”
“That’s a joke at the Yard. I don’t… “he trailed off, blushing. Then he also stood, and took Mycroft's arm. “Are you hungry?”
“No. But there was some mention of Jaguar’s idling in garages. I have both a Jaguar, and a garage. Perhaps we could explore that avenue…?”
“It was a metaphor, Mycroft. But, since you mentioned it, it’s been a while since I’ve necked in a car…”
“Excellent.” Mycroft stopped, and gave Lestrade a quick peck on the lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Gregory.”
Lestrade smiled and led him outside.
Fin.