Work Text:
Greg walked up to the door of his building on surprisingly wobbly legs and watched Mycroft walk away; there were large grins on both their faces. “I’ll text you.”
“You had best.” Mycroft waved without turning back and slipped into the car, his grin still in place.
Greg was standing over a dead body and staring at it, willing it to make sense so he didn’t have to call in Sherlock. After the cabbie suicides weren’t actually suicides, any time it looked like a case of self-harm the entirety of the Yard got on edge. It had only been a few days, but in a city like London there were suicides almost every day. Just thinking that made Greg’s chest hurt. He looked down at the body again and sighed, running his hand over his face and willing it all to get better.
For once, he got his wish. While his eyes were still closed he felt the phone in his pocket buzz. He pulled it out, groaning because he was sure it was either his supervisor or Sherlock. To his surprise the name of the phone did read ‘Homles’ but it wasn’t the bothersome one. Greg smiled as he opened the message from Mycroft.
You didn’t text. –Mycroft Holmes
Greg stepped away from the crime scene and typed out his response, trying and failing to keep the boyish grin off his face.
I’m sorry. Work. You know how it is.
Sadly, I must say that I do. That being said; it is fitting for me to be the one initiating the conversation. This date is mine to manufacture. Ergo, would you like to go out on another date with me? –M
I would absolutely adore to. When are you free?
The way my life and schedule works, I can force anytime to be free. So might I recommend Friday again? –M
That sounds brilliant.
I shall pick you up at eight sharp on Friday. Also, do go to the street so that you might gather lunch for you team. –M
Lunch for my team?
Yes. It seems someone had lunch catered in for your entire team. It seems that you are all stuck at a crime scene during the lunch hour. –M
Are you already spoiling me after one date?
I have no idea what you’re talking about. Must rush off to a meeting. Ta ta. –M
Greg stared at his phone and sighed. There was a warmth and tension in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Gregory Lestrade was falling in love after one date. And that was either very good or very bad. Considering this was a Holmes brother, the latter was much more likely. Greg shook his head and went to the street where the deli just around the corner was setting up portable tables with enough food for his entire team and all of the press members that were present. His chest tightened again as he thought about Mycroft orchestrating this. Greg smiled at Sally, who looked overjoyed at being able to eat a real lunch on a case, and joined his team at the table.
Friday came far too soon for Greg. His desk hadn’t been bare all week. In fact, he only realized it was Friday when Sally strode into his office with a grin on her face.
“Sir, there’s a car outside for you.”
Greg frowned. “A car?”
“Yes, a car. Says I’m supposed to fetch you for…your date.” She grinned wider at him.
Greg frowned at looked at his watch. It was eight. His eyes got wide. “Oh my God it’s Friday?!”
“Yes sir, has been all day.”
“Fucking hell, I’ve to go.” He stood up and looked down at the wrinkled and faded shirt and tie he had on. He looked up at Sally with a desperate expression on his face.
Sally smiled and shook her head. “You look fine, Greg. Go on your date. And, if I may say so, about damn time. With the way he looked at you when you surprised him, I’m surprised it took this long.”
“How’d you know who the date was with?” Greg frowned and straightened his tie.
“Unmarked black car? Staff sending the message? Who else could it be but the Freak’s brother?”
Greg frowned at Sally’s nickname for Sherlock but grabbed his bag all the same and rushed out the door and down to the car where Mycroft stood waiting. Greg blushed and looked down at his clothes again. He’d intended to change. He’d intended to shower or something. But his damned caseload. He had to go on his second date with Mycroft in a two day old shirt, smelling like the burned Italian food they’d had for lunch.
Mycroft cleared his throat as Greg drew closer to prompt him to look up. “Gregory, stop blushing and fussing over your attire.”
Greg looked up and smiled at Mycroft’s ability to see through any pretense. He stopped in front of Mycroft; closer that one would stand to a friend, but not entirely in his personal space. “I wanted to shower and change but…work.”
“I entirely understand, sadly.” Mycroft fidgeted with his cufflinks and glanced up at Greg.
Greg, for his part, knew that look all too well. Mycroft wanted to kiss him but worried Greg wouldn’t be okay with it in front of his place of work. Greg shook his head and reached out to gently grip Mycroft’s tie, pulling him forward and down just enough that he could bring their mouths together in soft kiss. He pulled away slightly and spoke while still close to Mycroft, “I don’t care what I’m wearing. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”
Mycroft smiled and chuckled softly, enjoying the feel of Greg’s breath mingling with his own. “As have I. It has taken immense self control for me to not call you or text you daily.”
Greg leaned back a little and smiled, his hand on Mycroft’s tie still. “You should have. I wouldn’t mind.”
Mycroft stepped back and removed Greg’s hand from his tie, lacing the fingers with his own. “Well then, next week I shall endeavor to remedy that.” He opened the car door and ushered Greg in before following him, their hands remaining joined.
“So where are we going?”
“Chez Laruel.”
“Say what?”
Mycroft chuckled. “Chez Laurel. It’s a very good and wonderfully quaint French restaurant near midtown.”
Greg grimaced. “I won’t have to eat snails will I?”
“No, but most of the wait staff doesn’t speak English. Don’t fret if you do not however; I speak French, so even if you don’t we will be fine.”
“You speak French?” Greg’s eyebrows rose. “You make a better Lestrade than I do. You’ll have to order for both of us. I don’t speak a word past bonjour.”
“Mais oui, mon cher.” Mycroft grinned.
“Did you just call me ‘my dear’?”
Mycroft looked at their joined hands and smiled a little. “I did. That does not bother you, does it?”
Greg lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of Mycroft’s hand. “No. And feel free to speak French at will. It’s hot.”
Mycroft sputtered out a laugh. “Hot?”
“Yeah. Hot.”
Mycroft stared at Greg for a long moment, entirely at a loss for words. He shook his head and smiled a little. “Gregory, I…” He fell silent again, entirely at a loss for words. Greg stared at him expectantly and Mycroft was saved from having to admit to himself, and potentially Gregory, what he intended to say next when the car stopped at their destination. Mycroft took a deep breath and leaned across Greg to open the door and nudge him out. Once they were both out of the car, Greg held his out again for Mycroft’s and wiggled his fingers, not looking at Mycroft but instead standing in wonder of the quaint yet beautiful café they were standing before.
Seeing Greg hold his hand out so causally for Mycroft to take sent shivers down Mycroft’s spine and dropped a warm coal in his belly. Mycroft was extremely thankful that Greg was unable to see his face at that moment because the feeling of being wanted, not just sexually or physically, but wanted as a person and a partner, surprised him into a moment of stunned silence and flush. Greg didn’t see the fleeting moment in which Mycroft’s face showed his reverie, but he felt his pause in motion and he squeezed Mycroft’s hand.
“You’re going to have to read the whole menu to me, aren’t you?”
Mycroft smiled at Greg and his perceptiveness. “Yes, I am. But considering you find my speaking French arousing, I suspect the dinner will be an enjoyable one.”
Greg held the door open for Mycroft, who was greeted warmly by the maitre d’ in French. After a brief exchange he led them to a table in a small alcove. It was mostly candle lit, secluded, and dripping with romanticism. Greg couldn’t help the small flush that crept into his cheeks as the maitre d’ smiled at him. In the same way, Mycroft’s praise never failed to bring a blush to his cheeks because it was so obviously rarely given, so did being seen with him as a couple flatter him. It was an unspoken and constant praise that a man like Mycroft had chosen Greg for his dinner date. They took their seats after a momentary pause, both thinking about pulling out the chair for the other. Greg sat and didn’t touch a thing, feeling far too rough for the entire place. Thankfully there was, at least, one thing he did know about.
“That’s always the trouble with dating a man.”
Mycroft gently laid his napkin on his lap and looked at Greg inquisitively. “Hmm? What is the trouble?”
“The little things like pulling chairs out and holding doors. I’ve had girls do those things for me but early on when you want to impress them and act the gentleman, you open doors and hold chairs and bring flowers and the lot. But when you’re with a bloke you both go for it and it always makes it a bit awkward for a moment or two.”
Mycroft stared for a moment. “I must apologize for not hearing a single word you said past the point where you insinuated that we are dating.”
“Aren’t we?” Greg blushed and began to worry that he’d gone too far.
“I would like to think so.” Mycroft stared, his eyes still slightly large with wonder, “However, I’ve discovered that it is usually not assumed until there is a formal conversation determining that one is indeed dating another. I find it entirely trivial, but it is the social norm so I’ve held to it.”
Greg reached across the table and laid his hand on Mycroft’s. “Why not just have that talk now. I’d like to date you. Officially. Call out the friends and the jeering because I’ve got a new boyfriend and that whole lot.”
Greg’s wide grin brought a small smile to Mycroft’s face. “I find that entirely agreeable. While I truly wish there were a term less juvenile than ‘boyfriend’, I think it’s the most applicable.”
Greg nodded and released Mycroft’s hand to lift the menu and stare for a moment. “Yeah, no. You need to tell me what literally all this is.”
“Bien sur. What would you like to hear about; chicken, fish, beef, pasta?”
“Oh…um what are you getting?”
“I think I’m going to get the duck in red wine sauce. It’s wonderful. Fresh anise and parsnips over a small bit of pasta.”
“And can you say all that again, but in French?”
Mycroft looked up at Greg and flashed a brief, wide smile. “Mais bien sur. Moi, j’aime beaucoups le canard en sauce au vin rouge. C’est absolutement magnifique. Anis fraise et les panais sur un petit peu du pâtes.”
“Oh,” Greg’s voice broke and he sipped his water, “Okay then, that’s what I’ll have. Yeah…that.” Greg smiled and realized he wasn’t just talking about the food. But it was only the second date. There would be time.
“Have you ever read T.S. Eliot?” Mycroft suddenly asked.
Greg frowned. “A bit back in grade school. Why?”
“I was just,” Mycroft shrugged a little, “I was looking at you and suddenly wishing to experience a dozen dates at once. Flowers and carriage rides and fireworks and walks in the park. I want do to it all, right now, with you. It reminded me of a line from Eliot’s ‘The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock’.”
“Which line?”
“He says. ‘There will be time, there will be time,’ and then goes on to say, ‘Time for you and time for me, / And time yet for a hundred indecisions, / And a hundred visions and revisions, / Before the taking of toast and tea.”
“I think you may have read my mind.” When Greg saw a flash of puzzlement flash across Mycroft’s face he continued on, “Before you asked about Eliot I was just having to remind myself that this is really only our second date and there’s gonna be time for us.”
Mycroft reached across the table and took Greg’s hand. “Indeed. There will be time.”
They smiled at each other and both became so enraptured looking at the other that they failed to realize what they were doing. Ergo, both stared for a long moment, emotion easily readable on their face until the click of the shoes of their waiter brought them back to reality. The waiter smiled and nodded at Mycroft.
“Monsiuer Holmes, comment allez-vous?”
Mycroft smiled and nodded, his hand sliding away from Greg’s and his posture becoming stiff and proper. “Tres bien Henri. Et tu?”
“Magnifique. Et qu’est-ce que vous et votre…?”
“Ami.”
“Vous et votre ami veux?”
“Le canard et un peu du vin rouge au maison.”
The waiter nodded and left quickly. Greg fought down his emotional and physical reaction to the ease and fluency with which Mycroft spoke the language. He seemed to speak as if it he were as fluent as French as he was in English. Greg smiled when Mycroft turned back to him.
“What did you say?”
“I ordered our food.”
“Yeah, I heard a bit there I recognized, but there was a tick where you and the waiter stared at me. What’d you say?”
Mycroft fidgeted with his cufflinks and smiled a little. “He left the sentence open when referring to you. Thus allowing me to fill it in with whatever I wanted you to be referred to as amongst the staff as well as anyone who, by some stroke of God or man, might recognize me here.”
“And?”
“Mon ami. A French colloquialism for my boyfriend.”
Greg blushed and smiled when the waiter returned to fill their wine glasses and he lifted his, taking a sip. And thus the dinner continued. They drank and ate. They talked and stared. For most of the evening one or the other was blushing and looking aside as the other complimented them or showed them favor. Entirely too soon, but in reality about four hours later, they were standing at Greg’s doorstep with Mycroft’s car just down the road. Much as he wanted to invite Mycroft up, Greg’s greatest fear was cocking this up. Every single one of his shortest relationships had started out with heaps of shagging. Every one of his longest ones had started out with talking and kissing and the shagging came later. So he didn’t invite him up. But Greg had only so much self-control.
When Mycroft leaned down and softly kissed Greg goodnight, Greg reached up to grip his tie and keep him close. Mycroft pulled away a little and looked confused until he realized Greg was using his tie to keep him close. To kiss him more. Upon realizing this, Mycroft relaxed and let his hands drift to Greg’s waist as he gently kissed him again. Greg tilted his head a little and traced his tongue along Mycroft’s warm lower lip, his hand not engaged in holding Mycroft’s tie going to rest at the back of Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft, while entirely out of practice, was not his little brother. He let his grip tighten on Greg’s waist and opened his mouth in response to Greg so that soon their tongues slid against one another. All decorum, and knowledge that Anthea and a few of Mycroft’s private staff were watching, disappeared as Greg slid both his hands into Mycroft’s silky hair, gripping it lightly. Mycroft wrapped his arms tight around Greg, holding him close. They continued on, snogging like teenagers by the steps to Greg’s building, until a small moan escaped the back of Mycroft’s throat as Greg worried Mycroft’s lower lip gently with his teeth. It seemed to bring them both back to reality, and Mycroft kissed Greg a few more times, mouth closed, before he pressed their foreheads together and remained close for a moment.
“Much as I detest being forced to say so, I do believe it is time that I bid you goodnight.”
“Yeah…what you said.” Greg smiled a little. He was entirely unable to be as coherent and elegant when speaking as Mycroft. The fact that Mycroft was able to speak normally, even after a snog like that, just furthered the gap in their linguistic abilities as Greg struggled to form even a simple sentence.
“Will you actually text me this time? Or will I be forced to initiate again?”
“I’ll text. Promise.”
“Then I shall say that I will miss you greatly. The memory of your lips will haunt my dreams all week.” Mycroft smiled and gently released Greg.
Greg blushed and stood awkwardly as he realized his body had begun to betray him during the kiss. “I…I have no idea how to respond to something so sweet.”
“Ah, but I’m merely being honest.”
Greg nodded and took a deep breath, his body back under control. He crossed his arms and grinned. “Well then. Honest I can do. Your lips will haunt me but not in my dreams. Well…maybe. But showers are much more likely.”
Mycroft’s eyes widened in surprise. Greg just laughed and leaned up to kiss him swiftly once more before climbing the stairs to his building. Mycroft huffed as he processed the mental image of Greg in a shower…thinking about him. “With that picture in my mind, I will bid you goodnight, mon cher.”
“G’night luv.” Greg smiled and disappeared into his building, pulling out his phone.
Told you I’d text.
Mycroft had just slid into the car when his phone went off. He laughed loudly once before regaining his control and typing out his response.
It is good to know at the start of this relationship that you will keep your word. –M
Greg stared at his phone. He knew what response he wanted to type out. He knew what he wanted to say but he feared saying it. He feared cocking it up. When Mycroft’s phone went off again, his chest became tight. He too knew what he wanted to see when he looked at the little screen. But this was not Mycroft’s area of expertise. He didn’t know what was right or when. He sighed and smiled as he read Greg’s response.
Goodnight.