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Mycroft Holmes quietly stepped from the lift at NSY and walked across the busy floor to his destination. It always amused him most on the floor will glance at him then quickly turn their heads in fear he might notice them. None but two people on the entire floor know exactly who he is or precisely what he does, but people know someone with power when the see it.
And Holmes Mycroft knows he exudes POWER in his three-piece suited glory. Still, he could not help the trite pleasure in watching the unconscious displays of fear and respect from them as he passed.
Luckily for them, unlike his incalcitrant little brother who deduced the worst in them and publicly aired their trivial affairs for sport, Mycroft did not. Oh, he certainly deduced them to the core, but he could not be so bothered with airing it. He was at NSY to see one person and one person only.
Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.
Mycroft could have easily passed the assignment to one of his minions to give to Lestrade. But being honest with himself he could not. Work being what it was for both, they have not had an update dinner in nearly a month. They have spoken on the phone, but it was not the same. He wanted to see the man.
He just could not say those words to him, among others.
Words like I want you and I have been in love with you for well over a year.
Mycroft Holmes knew who he was – a powerful man, cold, exacting and yes posh. Blessed with an intelligence that put him so far above Mensa level to make being a member comical. Yet cursed to not have the patience to deal with the rest of the normal world that even Mensa level geniuses find inept.
Yet Gregory Lestrade, though not Mensa, was still amazingly intelligent. He was a hard-working cop who earned every accolade and above all he was a genuinely good man that people naturally gravitated to. Gregory had the patience of Job. He had to, to have put up with the likes of his brother and by some miracle, become someone that Sherlock calls a friend. That he was naturally handsome and aged beautifully where his premature silver hair only added to his allure did not hurt.
Mycroft remembers the days when they first met, and he had not so much as looked at the man fully before he dismissed the then sergeant. He thought Lestrade would just be another bribed minion to spy on his brother. Never in his life was he happy to be proven so wrong. His underestimation of the man left Mycroft unprepared for Gregory’s slow but sure chipping away at the ice that surrounded himself and his heart. He who had told Gregory on several occasions that caring is not an advantage discovered that he cared so deeply for the detective inspector.
He cared so much he cannot go so much as a month without desperately wanting to see him.
Thus, Mycroft the Moth headed to straight to Lestrade the Light's office and internally grinned when he saw the man.
Like the squad floor itself, the DI had decorated for the holidays. Only instead of his desk or his walls he had decorated himself.
Above his head a sprig of artificial mistletoe hung from the ceiling with a sign that read "Stop trying to get me under the mistletoe!" while an arrow pointed directly down. Red and green tinsel was wrapped around his arms. While gold and silver tinsel was draped from his neck like floral leis.
The tinsel was one thing, things had been very busy at NSY of late and the levity was need. But Mycroft knew the mistletoe, especially its specific location, had to be against Human Resources rules somewhere. He also knew, Lestrade would not care one whit and would feign innocence if reported, not that anyone would. The charming copper was well-liked and knew all would take it for the humor it was.
It did not stop Mycroft from wishing he had the guts to put that mistletoe to use, but down-to-earth men like Gregory Lestrade did not desire high-handed, admittedly high maintenance, stalwarts like himself. So, like the words he doesn’t say, he keeps that wish to himself.
Gregory’s head was down, concentrated on the mounds of paper and computer work. At some point Gregory had run his hand through his hair making it stand on end. Mycroft’s hand literally itched to touch it. Whether to finger comb it back in place or muss it further did not matter.
Mycroft stood at the open door and watched the furrowed brow for a moment before he knocked.
“Ya?” Gregory had barely glanced up from his desk in acknowledgement, but that mere glance made Mycroft’s heart stutter. Because his mind had been busy on work, Gregory’s whole mien had changed at the sight of him. For a moment Mycroft knew that Gregory was happy to see him before he pulled his professional façade in place. Mycroft was not sure what to make of that.
“If you’re busy detective inspector, I can come by another time.” He turned as if prepared to leave, even as he silently prayed to deities he does not believe in, that he got to stay and nearly swooned in relief when that prayer was answered.
“Get in here, Holmes. You do not casually come by these offices. What can I do to -erm- for you?”
Mycroft had far too many answers to that near Freudian and tamped them down. He knew Gregory thought nothing of it as by rote he automatically closed the blinds and the door to Lestrade’s office when he visited so no one could enter without knocking as they got to the business at hand.
An hour later Mycroft found himself standing oh so close to a seated Gregory as he went over something on the man’s computer. He did not need to look on the computer for what he wanted, but it got him just that much closer to Gregory. Close enough that though Gregory had moved over to give him some space Mycroft could still feel the body heat the man radiated. He realized they both were under the mistletoe and clearly Lestrade had realized it as well if he was reading his sudden pinking correctly.
It dawned on Mycroft then, that was not the first time he had seen Gregory slightly flushed in his presence. He knew the possibilities it could have meant with others, but this was Gregory(!) it could not mean what he thought it meant. Mycroft dismissed for the impossibility it was.
Then Gregory opened his drawer and pulled out a little figurine.
“Oh, one thing, Mycroft...”
Mycroft's brow creased slightly recognizing the fève. It was the figurine left over from the galette des roi he had gifted Lestrade a few weeks ago before the holiday season had begun in earnest. But he did not understand its significance in the moment. He crossed his arms over his chest and played along with Lestrade to see what this was about.
“Now, as I understand the tradition, the youngest person in the room calls the names of those who get a slice. As it was a single serving of galette des roi, which you gave to me directly, that’s covered.” Greg sat up in his chair holding the figurine.
Greg is the senior of the two by a couple of years and the only other person in the room when he gave it, making both statements correct. Mycroft nodded once, but said nothing, as Gregor continued.
“As the sole partaker of the galette, by default, I am the person who found the fève and must lay claim to it so: J'ai la fève. And then I must wear the crown, correct?” Greg reached in the drawer and donned the little gold crown that came with the galette.
Paired with the hair in disarray and the tinsel garlands that adorned him, Mycroft knew Gregory was aware how utterly ridiculous he looked.
“That is correct on both counts.” Mycroft again nodded once, as he struggled to keep his face stoic as always.
“Now, I need to declare a counterpart. As I do like to buck tradition when it suits my purpose and since you are the only other person in the room, by the default I declare you roi along with me. Thus, Vive le roi, Mycroft!”
“I have no idea where this is going, but for the sake of tradition or rather your bucking of it: Vive le roi, Gregory!” Mycroft Holmes has cowed ambassadors and kings with a mere twitch of his brow, thank you very much. Though he knows Gregory could sense his amusement he will not let Gregory Lestrade see how much he wanted to laugh – he will not!
“Finally, as the one who found the fève and wears the crown. I am le roi du jour as it were. You left before I could make a ruling to enjoy my reign that day. So as the only person I can rule, it seems only fair that I be granted five minutes to actually, you know - rule.”
All amusement fled Mycroft as his mind went awry with deductions on the possible ridiculous things Gregory might ask him to do. Goodness knows he had been a supreme arse to the man over the years. He knew Gregory was a mature man, but not above being petty enough to take advantage of the moment.
Gregory stood, a look of determination in his face.
Mycroft pulled his pocket watch from his waist coat and started the timer. “Five minutes, Lestrade. It can’t involve anything or anyone entering or leaving this room - starting now.”
The blinds were drawn, the door was locked. If Gregory Lestrade wanted five minutes to take the piss out of him, goodness knows the man has earned it in spades for all he has put it with from Sherlock alone.
“Excellent."
Mycroft knew whatever it was he would do it and braced himself.
"By order of le roi: Kiss me right now and make it as good as that damned galette you gave me.” Greg leaned against his desk.
Mycroft had mentally braced himself, prepared for Gregory to say anything…but that.
He could not have hidden his surprise and hesitation if his life depended on it as forced himself to NOT look at the mistletoe now mere inches above their head while he rapidly deduced Gregory.
With a shock, Mycroft realized Gregory meant it!
Gregory Lestrade wanted a kiss – from him!
In shock, and yes, a part of him still expected the rug to be pulled, for the first time in decades it is a tentative, unsure Mycroft Holmes who leant in just enough that their lips just barely touched. With a pleased hum from Gregory Mycroft was encouraged and let the kiss linger well past the point it could be called chaste as his lips parted slightly, silently asking for more.
His brain went haywire as the emotions flooded him. His fingers grazed along Gregory’s jaw as he stepped in closer to deepen the kiss.
When he felt Gregory respond with a flick of tongue against his is when Mycroft accepted this is in fact happening.
And with that epiphany so many other things Mycroft had ignored as improbable and downright impossible became truth. He felt Gregory arms as they snapped around to hold him, his thick fingers caressed his nape, and took what he wanted.
In all his self-disparagement he had never considered that Gregory himself was going through the exact same turmoil. That Gregory has wanted him just as deeply as desperately. And oh, the vibrations of the soft moan that escaped Gregory when Mycroft angled to press the full length his body against him was divinity as they kissed.
Their lungs’ need to get full breaths is what finally separated them. They leaned against each other, foreheads together.
When he could speak again, Mycroft pointed to the mistletoe above them. “You already know I don’t play well with others, and I already know you don’t share important things; neither do I. So, I don’t think you’ll be needing that anymore, will you?”
Gregory immediately yanked it down and tossed it towards the bin. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“But do keep the tinsel. It suits you.” Mycroft deadpanned. He felt Greg shift and realized the edge of the desk had to be digging into him. That naturally reminded him of work, and he reluctantly pulled away. He felt Gregory’s stare as he straightened his clothing removing any tinsel that had stuck to him. He knew there was no denying he had been quite thoroughly kissed. He already imagined the conversation with Anthea, and heaven help him – Sherlock, that had to happen. He opened the blinds again before he picked up his umbrella and coat and headed for the door.
“Last thing, Holmes...” Gregory was back at his desk looking at papers again.
“Yes, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft opened the door.
“If you want more, you know where to find me.”
Mycroft full out grinned at the recalled words from when he gave Gregory the galette des rois. Mycroft reluctantly checked his pocket watch.
“Regrettably, I’ve a meeting with the PM which I expect will take some time. Perhaps tomorrow 8pm, mon roi?”
“8pm tomorrow then, mon roi.”
Mycroft was a daze as he all but floated across the floor back to the lifts. He had kissed the man at long last! His feelings for the man were returned!
What the HELL was he doing?!
The doors at the lifts opened when he knew he was not going to wait until the next evening.
He turned to head back to Gregory’s office only to see a smiling Gregory already in his coat right behind him. Before he could say anything, Gregory shoved him into the lift.
“OUT!” Greg ordered the two passengers already there, in a voice that brooked no argument. It was no surprise to Mycroft that they obeyed.
And damn if that was not an unexpected turn on!
Gregory had him pressed against a wall, holding the mistletoe from his office above their heads as soon the doors closed.
“You had changed you mind already, hadn’t you, le roi?”
“Yes, le roi, but don’t let that stop your attempts to persuade me to take you home and strip you of more than that tinsel!”
By the time the lift reached the main floor le rois were very grateful for long winter coats that buttoned.
And suffice it to say Mycroft did not make his meeting with the prime minister.