Work Text:
Two weeks. That’s all it took for Gregory and Mycroft to establish their relationship. The two weeks were preceded by 5 years of glances at arses, staring at beautiful physiques, and awkward, professional, conversation. But it only took two weeks for the men to get their shit together. Although they barely knew each other, other than meetings in warehouses, crime scenes, and their dreams, they felt that the oddly quick pace of their relationship suited them. They both didn’t know a single wit about the other, with the exception of basic date conversation, but they didn’t worry about it.They loved each other and that’s all that mattered. Until one day, where Gregory Lestrade witnessed the unthinkable.
Greg fucking loves Mycroft’s master suite. He liked the rest of the home. but something about the master suite just felt right. Especially the way the bedroom looked in the morning on a bright sunny day. Greg noticed that the way the sunlight shone through the thin white curtains, it gave him a warm fuzzy feeling, adding to the bliss of a good shag and a good night’s sleep with Mycroft. Although Greg’s eyes weren’t open, he could feel that Mycroft was already out of bed. Greg assumed that Mycroft was already up and working. Greg decided to lay in bed and let his thoughts drift about the perfection that is Mycroft Holmes.
Greg has always been attracted to put together men, and Mycroft screamed “put together” in every aspect of life. Mr. Holmes was someone that never let anyone see him as anything but powerful, successful, intelligent, and well-dressed. The eldest Holmes was impeccable, nary a hair out of a place, a trouser leg wrinkled, nor a shirt stained. He was clean and organised, but Greg knew how to make Mycroft unravel, and it was quite the glorious sight. Mycroft had the air of impenetrable and invulnerable. All these traits made Gregory eager to delve deeper into the man that made Mycroft. Gregory wanted to know everything about him, the good and the not so good.
“Gregory?’
The sound of Mycroft’s voice broke Greg out of his thoughts and forced him to open eyes.
“Gregory!’
Trying to gauge where the shout was coming from, Greg rolled onto to his other side, facing the bathroom. Using his piss-poor detective inspector deduction skills, nothing compared to the Holmes Brothers’ brilliance, he came to the conclusion that the sound was coming from the en-suite bathroom. Gregory immediately thought the worse, so he scrambled out of bed and ran the few steps to the door, screaming Mycroft’s name.
“Mycroft! Are you alright? Are you hurt? Sick?!”, Greg started to open the door.
“No!” Greg closed the door and waited for Mycroft to explain.
A soft mumble, that Greg couldn’t sort out, replied back.
“I didn’t quite catch that. Mycroft, what’s wrong?”
Then Greg smelled it.
“Gregory, you do know I loathe repeating myself, so could you please find it in your capabilities to fetch me some toilet paper”
Gregory paused, blinked a few times in confusion, thought back to the mysterious smell.
Then Greg began to giggle.
Mycroft was taking a shit.
The picture that popped up in Greg’s mind made the giggles become a full blown bark of laughter, which was covered, pathetically, by a cough then followed by a noiseless laugh that had Greg doubled over and in tears. Greg visioned Mycroft on the toilet, knees drawn together, shoulders slightly hunched over, and hands lax. It was definitely a sight to be seen. Greg after having a good laugh, finally pulled himself together, for Mycroft’s sake.
“I’m sorry, love, you caught me by surprise. Where can I find the extra loo paper?
Sounding embarrassed but straining to be indifferent, Mycroft replied, “Downstairs, in the laundry room”
“Be back in mo, dear”
Running down the stairs and into the laundry room, Greg felt good. He knew something that no one really thought about when they thought of Mycroft Holmes, not even his own brother, Greg knew that Mycroft pooped. Making Mycroft all the more human and all more real for Greg. After his brief reaffirmation that Mycroft was the right fit for him, although knowing that Mycroft could totally take this situation and turn into a crisis, Greg decided to lighten his partner’s spirits and intercept the thoughts of negativity that would try to wriggle their way into Mycroft’s brain before they even had a chance to attach themselves to Mr. Holmes. Greg bounded up the stairs, toilet paper in hand, and gave a light knock on the bathroom.
“Can I open the door?”
“You may”
With a slight smirk, Lestrade opened the door, stuck his arm inside the bathroom. One thing Greg did know was that Mycroft couldn’t reach the toilet paper while still sitting.
There was a groan on the other side of the door, and a sigh of exasperation. While Greg was too busy sniggering, he failed to notice the door swing away from with Mycroft standing in front of him, pants around his ankles, with the Mother of all Glares.
Then with a smirk, Mycroft said, ‘You little shit”