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There was nothing special or noteworthy about the first seventeen meetings they had. However, at the 18th meeting, something went wrong.
Mycroft sat at the quiet table tucked away at the back of the coffee shop where he and Gregory had been meeting to discuss his brother for the last eighteen months. He crossed his impossibly long legs and scowled a little deeper at the people around him. The world seemed to be conspiring against him. Just that morning he’d received a call from his mother. Mummy Holmes was a brilliant tank of a woman. It was her fortune and her family’s social standing that had led to the children taking her name instead of their father’s. And, unlike their father, she actually cared about them. Of course, that had its own pitfalls. One of which was that she called Mycroft on a regular basis to enquire as to his happiness. No matter how much he assured her that he was resplendently happy, she insisted no one could be happy alone.
It had been a ten years since Mycroft had given up on romance. It was not something he deemed necessary and, moreover, the constant distraction of searching for a life partner was preventing him from concentrating on his work. He’d had enough romance in his youth to last a lifetime. AAfter coming out to his parents he’d had a constant stream of boys flowing into his window late at night. For the last two years of grade school he’d shagged his way through every gay, queer, or questioning boy in the city simply because his father disapproved. Then came a bit of time with no shagging. His father’s disapproval in homosexuality stopped being something of a joke when his father threatened to cut off the funding he so desperately needed for Uni if he continued on as he had been. By the time he reached 25 and his career was putting more and more pressure on him every day, he decided he’d filled his sex quota for a lifetime and didnot feel the need to worry about it any more.
But then Mummy would call. And she would remind him that he was alone. And she would worry that he was miserable. And suddenly he would start to feel miserable just because of her assumptions and not because of any emotional state he was in. So Mycroft sat in the coffee shop and watched an inordinate number of couples share coffee and flirt, miserable because of his phone call with his mother that morning. It certainly did not help that Gregory Lestrade was handsome enough that Mycroft had to stop himself from thinking on the Detective Inspector more than once. It was a distraction and, moreover, the D.I. was divorced which led to the obvious conclusion that he preferred women. No need to even distract himself with looking. Not that looking could hurt.
It was that moment that Lestrade chose to walk into the shop, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. It only made Mycroft’s scowl deepen. Lestrade greeted him with a wide grin.
“Mr. Holmes! You look for all the world like you just smelled a rancid fart.” He chuckled a little at his own joke.
Mycroft’s eyes widened as he quickly tried to school his expression into something else. Anything else. “I do not. I was merely…thinking. That is all.”
Lestrade sat down and gave him a sarcastically serious face. “Thinking about farts?”
Mycroft glared at the D.I. However, he was mostly glaring at the other man’s preternatural ability to catch Mycroft off guard – something that was very rarely done and almost never done more than once by the same person. “No. About the people in the shop.”
“Oh? What about them?”
“There are an inordinate number of couples here. And they’re all being extremely affectionate towards one another.”
Lestrade looked around and raised an eyebrow, “So?”
Mycroft huffed, “So, I’m forced to deduce that either it is nearing a full moon or there is some sort of aphrodisiac in the water supply around here.”
“Induce.” Lestrade sipped the coffee that was set in front of him by the young woman that worked afternoons. After a few meetings, the staff at the café had learned both their orders and their pattern. It was convenient as it meant neither had to wait in line at the counter to get coffee. Instead it was brought to them and they paid before they left.
Mycroft froze with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. His eyebrows pulled together for a moment before he calmly raised his cup and sipped. “I’m sorry, what?” His tone was frigid.
“You and Sherlock make the same mistake. You say deduce when you mean induce. ‘Cause deductive reasoning is when you end up a specific example using generalities. But inductive reasoning is when you look at all the specific examples and create the generality from them. You guys are inducing, not deducing.”
Mycroft’s stare was stern and even. He realized that to Lestrade, he probably appeared angry. That was a much more convenient thing for him to believe than what was actually going through his mind. Mycroft had to grit his teeth as he realized that Gregory Lestrade was the first person in a long time to be able to successfully surprise Mycroft. And not just once. It seemed that every time they met, Lestrade said or did something that made Mycroft take pause and have to focus to collect himself. It was entirely infuriating because it made him question it all. The choice to stop looking. The choice to accept a life alone and enjoy it. He was happy, he truly was. But as he looked at Lestrade who was beginning to shift uncomfortably under his gaze he realized that he would throw all his decisions and all the time spent building a life alone out the window if it meant more time with this man. If only to understand how he so effortlessly slipped past the multitude of walls that Mycroft had constructed around himself to tickle at Mycroft’s side, startling him and making him internally smile at the same time.
Lestrade had taken all the staring he could from Mycroft. He looked down at his hands, “I’m sorry if I offended you, Mr. Holmes.”
“Mycroft.”
Lestrade’s head lifted and he furrowed his brow. “What?”
“My name is Mycroft. Please feel free to call me by it.”
“Oh. And you should call me Greg. It’s my name after all.” Gregory smiled and it made Mycroft feel a little uncomfortable. After a year and a half of formal meetings, he’d crossed the line into amiability between them. And all because he’d gotten worked up and been highly attracted to Gregory for a split second. Mycroft mentally chastised himself for such a slip in his cast-iron mental resolve. Mycroft grit his teeth and focused on the task at hand.
“My brother is being evicted again.”
Gregory nodded and sipped his coffee. “Yeah. I already told him he can crash at mine until he finds a new flat.”
Mycroft smiled a little. It was actually a genuine smile. “You do not have to. I am perfectly capable of housing my brother. Even if I have to resort to letting him stay with me. My last wish is for him to become a burden to you.”
Gregory tried not to laugh. “He’s already a burden four of five times over. A little more won’t hurt.”
“Fine. But please inform me the moment he finds a place.”
“Why?”
“Because I wish to meet his new flatmate before they become…settled in.” Mycroft said the words as though they were bitter against his tongue. He was not a man who ever ‘settled in’.
“Oh no. I will not aid another kidnapping.”
Mycroft attempted to look scandalized but ended up appearing mildly maniacal. “It’s hardly a kidnapping, Gregory. Just a little ‘get to know you’ gathering.”
“No. And besides, I thought you did that a few weeks in.”
“Yes, well, it seems Sherlock has learned my pattern. Ergo, it must be changed.” Mycroft pointedly raised his eyebrows accusingly at Gregory.
Gregory grinned widely and laughed, “Fair enough. And it’s Greg, not Gregory.” He adopted a posh accent when he said ‘Gregory’. Mycroft just rolled his eyes.
“I’m fully aware of that. However, the name ‘Greg’ is plebian at best whereas Gregory is much more intelligent, stately, and has an air of upstanding morals. So for you, Gregory suits much better than ‘Greg’.” Mycroft adopted no accents.
Gregory stared at Mycroft for a moment and smiled, feeling his cheeks heat again under the man’s praise. Something about the way Mycroft said it, made the words feel like the highest praise Gregory had received in some time. He nodded, “Fine I’ll tell you when he moves.”
“Truly?”
“Yeah. I’m a pushover it seems. Compliment me and I’ll do anything.” He blushed again as he realized the innuendo of his words.
Mycroft chuckled lightly. “Well then the next time I need to have the New Scotland Yard officers called off of my brother, I’ll make sure to ring you and inform you that your hair looks good.”
Gregory rolled his eyes and went back to his coffee. This was the point where Mycroft would kindly excuse himself and go back to work. He truly did have a lot to do. The Koreas were acting up again. However, he surprised both of them by opening his mouth to speak again.
“So, Gregory, how are you?” The banal small talk felt awkward in his mouth and his stiff posture showed that he was doing something new. But it was slight enough Gregory would probably never notice.
And he didn’t. He just saw Mycroft as bored, detached, and probably only asking because he felt like he had to. Still, Gregory smiled warmly. “I’m good. Considering I’ve technically been divorced for six months now, you’d think I’d be done. But I’ve got to let the ex-wife into my flat this weekend so she can get the last of her shit.”
Mycroft nodded. “That sounds terribly unpleasant. Would that I could do anything. However, I do not think you would appreciate my having her kidnapped, killed, or deported and those are, truly, my only options.”
“Small position in government?” Gregory raised his eyebrows.
“I said minor. Not small.” Mycroft looked away and primly smoothed his coat cuffs.
“Hmm. And you?”
“What about me?”
“How’re you?”
Mycroft hadn’t been prepared for reciprocation. “Oh. I’m quite well.” he smiled and began to recite what he always told people when asked how he was. However, for some reason he stopped. Mycroft stared at Gregory and all the attraction that was brought on by his mother and the couples flared. For once he told the truth, “That’s a lie. I’m exhausted. But I always am. I’ve become far more used to sleeping in my office than I ever dreamed I would when I was young. I have a closet of clothing at work. Just for the days that I do not go home.” Mycroft shrugged slightly and sighed, looking into the air and seeming lost in the feeling for a moment.
Gregory was astonished. For the first time Mycroft was speaking to him like a normal person. Telling him the truth. To Gregory, it was amazing. “I understand that. But for me sometimes it isn’t that I have work that needs to be done. It’s just work that can be done. And it keeps me from having to go home and sit in my flat alone with the telly.”
“I fear that is often my reasoning as well.” Mycroft looked at Gregory and felt another surge of emotion. And then, as quickly as the openness came, it was gone. He closed down and gave a curt nod before standing. “Well then, must be off.”
Gregory’s face fell at the change and he stood too, plastering on a smile and offering his hand. “Right. Until next time, Mycroft.”
Mycroft took the offered hand and shook it once, curtly. “Until then, Gregory.”
As soon as Mycroft was safely in his dark and secluded car he pulled out his phone and angrily dialed Sherlock’s number. As it rang, he raised the divider so Anthea and his driver could not hear his conversation. Without waiting for Sherlock to greet him, Mycroft began to shout as soon as he heard the other line pick up. “This is all your bloody fault you sniveling twerp!”
Sherlock huffed and Mycroft knew he was glaring at the phone. “What do you want Mycroft?”
“To ask you why, out of all the coppers in this damned city, you had to go and befriend Gregory Lestrade?”
“He’s not all bad! He took good care of me when I needed it most. Put your damned bloated ego aside and you’ll find he’s actually quite kind.”
“That is not the issue, Sherlock. I find him kind. Too kind in fact. Gregory is a bloody saint and always so intelligent and thoughtful.”
Sherlock paused and chuckled. “Ahh. So that’s the issue. Gregory is too kind.”
“Shut up Sherlock!”
“Does Gregory know what you think of him?”
Mycroft’s anger was fading and being replaced with horror. “I said shut up, Sherlock. This conversation is over.”
Sherlock sighed and pushed down his own ego. “No it’s not. I’ll stop teasing but it’s not over. You know how long it’s been since you were on a date.”
“I’m fully aware. I do not intend on going on any anytime soon, though.”
“Yes, well, you should. After Father and Melissa…you deserve to by happy, Mycroft.”
Mycroft paused and swallowed. It was rare that he and Sherlock were honest with each other. Usually they veiled their familial affection for one another in threats and annoyance, but every once and a while something real was said. “I am happy, Sherlock.”
“Yes, you are. But you’re not the sickening happy that others can so often seem to be.”
“Neither are you.”
“Yes, but I don’t have an opportunity to be so staring me in the face. You should ask him to dinner.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“No you won’t. It’s probably all for the best. He’d end up seeing you eat and realize what a fat arse you are.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes. The moment of affection had passed. “Yes well it would be a happy change from your blatant anorexia. Now go away. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“You called me!”
“That is entirely beside the point.” Mycroft hung up his phone and smiled slightly. That had been the longest conversation about something emotional that he and Sherlock had carried on in a long time. Perhaps the detective work was helping to ground Sherlock. Gregory was good for him. Mycroft caught himself and groaned. It seemed that without his intending to, he’d developed a crush on the Detective Inspector. The kind that seemed to rewrite history and have existed from the start.
-------
It was the next day that Greg received a phone call from Sherlock. He was dubious when he answered it as the young man rarely if ever called. “’Lo?”
“Yes, hello Lestrade, no time for pleasantries. Got business to attend to.”
Greg scowled and leaned back in his desk chair, putting aside his paperwork to deal with this call. “Okay…what business?”
“The business of my brother.”
“What about him?”
“Less him, and more his heart. The metaphorical one, not the physical one. Although sometimes emotions will cause a psychosomatic tension in the chest.”
“Okay, Sherlock, I’m lost. What the hell are you talking about?”
Sherlock let out a long sigh. “Good God, Lestrade. Do keep up. My brother is head over heels for you so I’m doing my duty as a sibling and calling to inform you to not hurt him emotionally. Or physically, I suppose, but he’s surprisingly strong so that’s less of a concern.”
Greg nearly knocked his tea off the desk as he sat forward in his chair. “Woah! Hold on. Your brother fancies me?!”
“Yes, if we must be so banal, he fancies you.”
“Since when?!”
“Since I don’t know. He called me in a tizzy after your last rendezvous so I’m now informing you to be gentle with him. He’s been single for a very long time.”
“But…me?”
Sherlock huffed again. “Good God. Yes you. Now stop being humble and just say that yes, you’ll not break my brother’s heart!”
Greg gaped and blinked, trying to process Sherlock’s words. “Yeah, mate. I won’t. I promise.”
“Good.” Sherlock hung up without saying goodbye.
Greg stared at his phone as he laid it on the desk. Mycroft fancied him. Him! Sure, Greg had been sporting quite the torch for the posh man, but that was just it. Mycroft Holmes was a brilliant, successful, posh politician who had no business being interested in a messy and rough D.I. Greg hadn’t questioned Mycroft’s interest in men. No man that grooms himself that well could ever be interested in women. But Greg had always set any thoughts of Mycroft aside. In Greg’s eyes Mycroft had been a consummate Holmes; unattainable and not ever worth the angst. But then one short call from Sherlock and…. Greg realized that within one minute’s time he had gone from doing fine to entirely in over his head. Thankfully, he had a full month to get his feelings under control and sorted before he had to face Mycroft again. In the end, crush or not, this was Mycroft. If anything were to happen, Greg would not be initiating because that was the power dynamic. Mycroft was in charge of their every interaction. Greg just followed along.
It was two days later when Greg’s phone rang. He was at a crime scene and had just come off of Sherlock’s insane cabbie incident, so he was glad to have a nice easy case. He picked it up and stared at the phone for a moment, confused. It was an incoming call from “blocked number.” With a sigh, Greg picked up the phone.
“Lestrade.”
Greg blanched and Sally stared at him, worried, when the person at the other end of the phone answered. “Well hello Gregory.”
“Mycroft?”
“Obviously.”
“Why…why are you calling?”
Mycroft sighed. “I would think it would be obvious. My brother nearly got himself killed and then that new flatmate of his, Dr. John Watson, saved his life. We need to meet.”
Greg stepped away and tried to keep his heart rate down. “We do?”
“Obviously. I know next to nothing about this Dr. Watson and you, while your interactions have been limited, have gleaned more of his character than I. Ergo, we must meet.”
“Okay….I suppose.”
“Good. Same place, same time, today. I’ll see you then.”
Greg kept the mobile to his ear even after he heard the line go silent. It afforded him a few moments to think and process. He would be meeting Mycroft Holmes, the man who allegedly was smitten with him, that afternoon. The same Mycroft Holmes he would be entirely head over heels for if he let himself. Greg swallowed thickly and pocketed his mobile. He had come to the decision that any move to make would be Mycroft’s and he would stick to it. If nothing else, Mycroft was made of ice. The meeting wouldn’t be awkward. Mycroft didn’t even know Sherlock called Greg. It would be fine.
The moment Greg walked into the café and saw Mycroft sitting there, sipping at his coffee in the strangely dainty way he always did, Greg knew it wouldn’t be fine. His heart sped. His palms began to sweat. His feet felt too large. Thankfully Mycroft was focused on his phone and didn’t see him approach but, once again, it was Mycroft Bloody Holmes. He’d know soon enough. Mycroft looked up from his phone and gave Greg a small smile.
“Ah, good afternoon, Gregory. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”
“’S no problem. I’m always around.” He chuckled tensely and fought down a blush.
“I understand that sentiment. Well, the matter at hand. What do you know about Dr. Watson?”
As Mycroft spoke Greg found himself not paying attention to his words, but instead watching his face. Mycroft seemed to emote so much as he spoke. However, it was all superficial. A smile, a quirk of an eyebrow, a crinkling of the nose. Greg had been fortunate enough to surprise Mycroft into real emotional responses a few times and those times the difference in expression had been marked. Suddenly the stubborn bull headed Greg Lestrade from his school days flared up in Greg’s chest. He wanted to weasel his way past that wall of ice at any means. Consequently he responded to Mycroft without any idea what Mycroft had said or any care.
“Coffee?”
Mycroft was genuinely surprised for a fleeting moment. “I already have some, thank you.”
“No I mean outside of this. Of here. Or tea, if you’d rather. Hell I’d be open for a pub, but that doesn’t strike me as the place to take a Holmes on a date.” Greg tried not to think about the things he was saying as he said them. Or about the fact he had promised himself to not make the first move. It wasn’t terribly hard as Mycroft’s reaction had him in its thrall.
Mycroft first flushed deeply. Then he looked at his hands and opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it when he found no words. Finally he cleared his throat and readjusted his tie while looking past Greg and at a blank space on the wall, composing himself. “Yes.”
It was Greg’s turn to flush and open his mouth only to close it when he realized he had no idea what to say. In the end he spoke a bit too loud as he coughed out, “What?!”
Mycroft flushed at the heads that turned towards them and he leaned a little closer to the table to display the private nature of their conversation. “I said yes.”
Greg leaned into the table a little as well but still had the appearance of a small animal in the headlights of a car. “To coffee?”
“I’d rather it be tea, actually.”
“But a date. You said yes to a date.”
“Of course I did. Why is that so hard to believe?” Mycroft was whispering but it somehow still seemed like shouting.
“Because you’re damned gorgeous and out of my league.”
Mycroft flushed deeply and leaned back, his eyes widening and betraying his shock. “That is hardly true. I believe it to be the other way around.”
“Holy shit I asked you out and you said yes.” Greg leaned back as well and covered his face with his hands, the shock of the past minute washing over him fully.
“You did indeed. While I am curious as to what prompted it, I am mostly pleased that you were so prompted.” Mycroft’s composure had returned but it was much less chilly.
“Your brother.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He called me and told me.” As Greg spoke Mycroft’s face darkened. “Hold on. Before you go killing him or deporting him it was for the best. I’d have been too scared to say anything otherwise. If anything you should thank him. Him and that wall of ice you keep up.”
Mycroft raised his eyebrows in confusion but a smile tugged gently at his mouth. “Wall of ice?”
“Yeah. You’re always so composed, so emotionally reserved.”
“That’s merely part of my personality. And, moreover, it is a personality trait that has been cultivated due to my profession.”
“Yeah, but it’s also a challenge. And there’s nothing I love more than a challenge.”
Mycroft smiled fully and genuinely as he looked back down at his hands, entirely not used to having any mind paid to him. Let alone a favorable gaze. Greg smiled and felt his victory in his chest. He’d asked Mycroft Bloody Holmes out and Mycroft Bloody Holmes had said yes.