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“Well, Mycroft?”
Mycroft halted in his explanation of whatever matter of national importance he had come to unload on Sherlock and John this time and raised an eyebrow.
Sherlock smiled, amused and smug. John knew that particular expression all too well. Sherlock had deduced something about Mycroft that he found personally amusing - and that was probably embarrassing to Mycroft in some way.
“What?”, Mycroft asked, clearly irritated at the interruption.
“Who is it?” Sherlock leaned forward eagerly. “The one you are in love with. Found yourself a goldfish after all, brother?”
John stared at him.
“Mycroft is in love?”
He had not thought that Mycroft Holmes of all people bothered with human feelings such as romantic love.
“Just look at him, John, it really is obvious this time. He has just showered right before coming here as you can tell by the fresh clothes and the slight curls in his hair - however, Mycroft would not do so at this time of day unless he has been working out more often than usual. Meaning there is a new motivation for him to lose weight. He is wearing a new tie, nothing he would have chosen for himself - far too colourful, no, this is something he wears because he believes it may be to someone else's taste. Mycroft also faintly smells of flowers but he does not wear flower scented perfumes, and he has not recently been to a park, he stopped at a flower shop on the way here then - but he did not purchase any flowers, so he considered it and eventually lost the courage to do so.”
Mycroft's face was slowly reddening but Sherlock continued unbothered.
“There is a slightly crumpled up paper sticking out of one of his pockets - Mycroft keeps important work related notes in his notebook, so either something concerning a matter he dislikes or given to him by a person whom he dislikes but then he would have discarded it or, if too important, he would have given it to Anthea - so it is something he felt embarrassed by, meaning he has been trying his hand on romantic poetry again.”
“Mycroft writes poetry?”, John blurted out before he could think better of it.
The glare Mycroft shot him was deadly. Fortunately, John had been spending enough time around the Holmes men to remain unaffected. A lesser man would have fled before Mycroft’s expression.
“He dabbled when he was young - he was never any good at it, so you're not missing out on anything, John. Mycroft has also missed several obvious aspects of the pathetic excuse for a case he's trying to foster off onto us, so his mind is occupied with another matter. It cannot be political in nature, anything significant enough to distract my brother would have attracted the attention of my network in some way, but everything has been quiet - too quiet, it has been a very boring few weeks. Also, notice where Mycroft's eyes have been wandering ever since he's entered the room. One, to his own reflection in the windows - he wants to ensure he looks good, no need to do so for you or I. And two, the door - either he has an important meeting soon in which case he would not have bothered informing us of this case in person, or he hopes that this person might show up here. The latter would also align with the recent increase in his in-person visits.”
Mycroft had shown up here more often recently, it was true. Though John had not bothered with trying to understand the why - unless Sherlock was in danger, attempting to unravel the motives and actions of Mycroft Holmes was certain to induce madness.
“Not to mention his driver.”
“His driver?”
“He did not come here with his usual driver - the driver could be sick except the car is also different. So he sent his driver to pick up someone else, someone important enough to Mycroft to warrant lending out his favourite driver. I have not made any new acquaintances recently so there is no one for him to kidnap and offer money to, and for a work acquaintance he would not send his own personal car and driver. So it's someone who is personally important to him.”
John shook his head incredulously.
“Brilliant . . .”
Sherlock grinned proudly, his eyes gleaming in excitement.
“Conclusion - Mycroft has recently fallen in love, and it is someone who might reasonably show up here, so it is likely to be someone we already know. Mycroft also believes this man to be unattainable. He's not straight or in a relationship, otherwise Mycroft would never have even considered sending flowers, but he chickened out after spending quite some time in the flower shop contemplating whether or not he should act on his feelings, so it's most likely someone he considers out of his league, am I right, dear brother?”
“As always, dear brother, you indulge in your habit of involving yourself in matters that are absolutely none of your business, and to an incredibly inappropriate degree. My private life does not concern you beyond what I elect to inform you about. Do I really need to tell Mummy that you have been interfering with my personal matters again? You know what she thinks of such behaviour.”
Sherlock snorted.
“In which case I would inform her that it concerns your love life - which, as we both know, is a siren call she cannot resist meddling in herself. So if you would rather deal with Mummy's interference -”
“Except that there is no love life to speak of, Sherlock”, Mycroft hissed.
He put down the files he had brought, a sour expression on his face, and left quite stiffly.
“Wait”, John broke the silence after a moment, “how did you know it’s a man he's . . . uhhh . . . interested in?”
“Don't be ridiculous, John, my brother has never shown interest in a woman once. You should see his face when one flirts with him, not that it happens very often.”
John wisely decided not to bring up Sherlock's reactions to Irene Adler.
“Aha!”
Sherlock's triumphant exclamation drew the attention of everybody in the room - John, Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson. He was waving Mycroft's phone.
“Sherlock . . .”, Mycroft pinched his nose in exasperation. “Please do kindly cease taking my personal belongings, brother dear.”
“He's right Sherlock, you really shouldn't snoop through your brother’s phone like that”, Mrs. Hudson shook her head, disapproval clear on her face.
“Several searches about football . . . ‘british football teams list’, ‘british football teams nicknames’, ‘british football rules’, ‘british football results’ - either the nation’s continued survival is dependent on our football clubs, or your object of affection likes it. Are you truly that desperate to impress your goldfish?”
“Give that back!”
Mycroft ripped his phone from Sherlock's hands.
“Just take a look at that folder.”
“Bringing me sensitive government matters as cases now just so you have an excuse to hang around Baker Street? You are going to put Lestrade out of a job at this rate.”
Mycroft’s face turned thunderous.
“Why the government chooses to consult you on certain matters is not of any relevance, Sherlock, just like the contents of my phone.”
He turned around on his heel and fled the room once more.
“Caring is not an advantage”, Sherlock imitated Mycroft's voice. “As always, John, my brother is the worst at taking his own advice.”
It was a clear evening in early winter when Mycroft showed up again - this time, ostensibly, to complain about the additional work that Sherlock's behaviour on a case had cost him. John had to admit that he hadn't been entirely innocent either. Still, their idea had worked in the end, and the case might have remained unsolved had it not been for their little charade. John could have done without wading through London's sewers for over three hours, though.
“Sherlock?”, Lestrade walked into the flat a few minutes after Mycroft's arrival. “There is a case you might be interested in, you could take a look at this -”
“No!”, Sherlock exclaimed, his face twisted in horror and disgust.
“Huh? But you didn't even look -”
“Not you, Lestrade, my brother! Ugh, what must it be like in your small mind! Give me that, I'll text you once I have figured it out.”
John shared a confused look with Greg. The Detective Inspector motioned over to Sherlock silently. John shrugged, equally at a loss. He watched as Lestrade put the folder down and left after another hesitant glance at Sherlock.
“What was that?”, John demanded to know.
Sherlock ignored him and turned towards Mycroft.
“Really? Gavin?”
“Gregory”, Mycroft corrected him with a glare.
“What . . .”
“His entire body language shifted the moment Gideon walked through that door. Did you not notice the way Mycroft slightly turned towards him? And the trembling hands? He was not even talking to you, Mycroft, and you are that affected? You really are pathetic when you're in love.”
Sherlock shuddered exaggeratedly and made a retching noise.
“Wait . . .”, John blinked as the realisation hit him. “It's Greg? The mystery bloke you're into? You've got a crush on Lestrade?”
Mycroft shifted uncomfortably, a pink tint to his ears.
“I believe that is still none of your business, Dr. Watson, nor is it my brother's.”
John shook his head in disbelief.
“So why’d you had us think you're pining over some unobtainable guy? It's just Greg. Granted, I'm not sure if he's into blokes but he's hardly the type to rip you a new one for asking.”
Mycroft glared at him. Sherlock made another disgusted noise.
“I understand that you are a very . . . approachable person, Dr. Watson, so this may not be something you can relate to, but I am neither sociable nor do I possess the Detective Inspector’s stunning beauty.”
John mouthed the words stunning beauty to himself. From beside him came an ill groan as Sherlock leaned forward in his seat and put his head in his hands. John patted him on the shoulder.
“Right, ahh . . . so, what?”
Mycroft sighed and looked at John with his best I am a Holmes and therefore vastly superior to your slow mind gaze.
“So, Dr. Watson, while I am, in fact, well aware that Detective Inspector Lestrade has dated men before, there is no reason for him to consider me a potential partner. I have neither an enticing appearance nor an entertaining personality to offer, and I would rather not be with someone who is only after my power and influence. Not that the Detective Inspector would start a relationship based on such things, he is far too decent a man for that. Not unlike yourself, Dr. Watson. So any attempt to form a partnership with the Detective Inspector would most certainly prove to be an exercise in futility.”
John watched as he turned and left, shoulders slightly hunched. He had never really felt sorry for Mycroft Holmes before, but now he found himself surprisingly sympathetic. After all, he had recently been starting to understand that he did, in fact, have feelings for someone way out of his league, too. He still was not gay, but perhaps there was one man he liked . . .
Next to him, Sherlock let out yet another ill noise.
“Don't, John.”
John flinched. Had Sherlock somehow . . .
“We are not helping him.”
There was silence for a moment, rather pointedly at that.
“Ugh, fine. I suppose Lestrade, at least, is not entirely awful. No idea what he sees in my brother, but we all know that if he waits for Mycroft to make a move he'll be waiting forever.”
John frowned.
“Greg likes him back?”
Sherlock sighed.
“Yes, John. In fact, he has been pining after my brother for about two years now.”
“Huh.”
Greg stared at Sherlock incredulously.
“Dinner? With you and John?”
Sherlock looked more awkward and uncomfortable than Greg had ever seen him before.
“The recent cases have gone well. I thought we could . . . celebrate at a nice restaurant.”
“You eat out with John alone”, Greg stated, narrowing his eyes. “You never invite me - God knows I wouldn't want to be third wheeling the whole time anyway.”
“I can make an exception. You have correctly identified some key evidence on the last case, you're almost becoming observant! You have earned the reward, Gideon.”
“Is this about the case with the old Lady and the Pomeranians? What, the waiter in this restaurant have an obsession with woodworking, too?”
Sherlock clenched his jaw as Lestrade walked off chuckling. So, not plan A then.
“Fortunately there turned out to be a camera still working across the yard. No need for me to show up in person”, Mycroft announced over the phone. “Do give my regards to the poor Detective Inspector, though, I presume getting locked in for the entire night proved to be quite the inconvenience.”
John could not get a word in before Mycroft hung up.
“I told you there was no chance that plan would work, not on my brother.”
“Yours wasn't any better.”
Sherlock scoffed.
“If Gordon had been cooperating, it would have worked perfectly.”
“Perfectly, my arse.”
Sherlock spent the next few minutes trying valiantly - and failing miserably - not to think about said arse and how perfect it was, indeed.
Still a better use of his cognitive functions than helping his brother get laid. The things he did for John . . .
Mycroft frowned as he heard raised voices. He had only just reached the foot of the stairs at 221B Baker Street, but he could hear a heated discussion going on upstairs. One hand on his umbrella, he quietly ascended the staircase.
“That is none of your business!”
“Oh, believe me, I wish it wasn't but for some unfathomable reason it's important to John so just get to it.”
“Oi! There is nothing wrong with me wanting them to be happy, Sherlock!”
“There is, it's completely irrelevant. But since we're involved already -”
“You are not involved. There is nothing to be involved in!”
“Because you haven't done anything about it yet.”
“No, because there is nothing going on between us and there won't be! It's nonsense. I'm not going to ask out Mycroft Holmes!”
Mycroft froze on the top step, his blood running cold.
In front of him, the door to Sherlock's and John's flat burst open and Gregory Lestrade, the most beautiful man in all of London, came storming out - and abruptly froze as well.
“Mycroft . . .”
Gregory's face went as white as chalk. His eyes did not meet Mycroft's.
“I didn't - that wasn't -”
He snapped his mouth shut and practically threw himself down the stairs. Mycroft turned his head mechanically to watch him leave the building.
To get away from him.
Ugly, cold, fat Mycroft Holmes.
I'm not going to ask out Mycroft Holmes!
Of course he wouldn't. Who would want that? Who could possibly lower their standards so immensely? What sort of advantage or pleasure was there to be gained from dating Mycroft? He was the Iceman, Antarctica, overweight and ginger - not potential partner material at all. He knew all of that. And yet, to hear it out loud from the one person . . . Ah, but he had known better than to have any hope - and still, he must have had some, for this to hurt. To make him feel so ashamed of himself.
I'm not going to ask out Mycroft Holmes!
I'm not going to ask out Mycroft Holmes!
I'm not -
Mycroft steeled himself.
This was Sherlock's doing. Sherlock had pushed poor Gregory. The Detective Inspector had done so much for his brother - had saved Sherlock's life when Mycroft had failed to protect Sherlock from his own mind. And in turn Sherlock had pressed him on this issue and made the Detective Inspector so uncomfortable that he had felt the need to flee. It was only appropriate for Mycroft to right his brother’s wrongs. Of course, talking to Mycroft after this incident would undoubtedly unsettle the Detective Inspector further, but this reassurance had to come from Mycroft himself.
Greg shut himself in his office as soon as he reached Scotland Yard. He had never wanted to drink so badly during work hours before - he would never, of course, but in all his time at Scotland Yard he had never wished so desperately for the end of his shift.
He sacked down into his chair and ran a hand through his hair.
Why would Sherlock and John mock him so cruelly?
Sherlock, he could understand to a certain extent - the man often failed to understand how much his words got to others. He did it to Donovan, to Anderson, to countless witnesses, even to John. He had done it so often to Greg, had said something that unintentionally hit way too far below the belt. Greg was not particularly surprised that Sherlock knew about his feelings for Mycroft, or that he would say something inconsiderate about it.
But John? They weren't really close but Greg had come to think of John as a decent bloke. A friendly face who softened Sherlock's sharp edges a bit. Who helped Sherlock in a way neither Greg nor Mycroft could. A stand-up bloke. Greg hadn't thought of him as someone who would tease him about his pathetic crush on the man who practically ran the whole country. As if some divorced, greying copper had any kind of chance with the British Government itself.
Greg jumped in his seat as the door opened. And of course, because the universe personally despised - and habitually mocked - one Gregory Lestrade, it was the last person he wanted to see right now.
Mycroft Holmes looked as attractive as ever, powerful and regal and untouchable, as he stood in the doorway to Greg's office. Though it was not the first time he had come here, Mycroft still seemed out of place. He belonged in fancy mansions. Or castles. Somewhere where a single piece of furniture cost more money than Greg would ever spend in his life, probably. Not in the office of a DI who couldn't even solve his own cases.
“How did you get in here?”, Greg blurted out.
Mycroft only raised an eyebrow in response - which, yeah, fair enough.
“Sorry, stupid question.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. Perhaps the floors of Scotland Yard could decide to mysteriously open up and swallow him whole. It could be Sherlock's next case. Surely John would have a blast figuring out a title for this one. Or perhaps someone could have the decency to get themselves conveniently killed, prompting Donovan to come in like a guardian angel and spirit him away to the crime scene. Away from Mycroft Holmes’ piercing eyes.
“It appears as though I must once again apologise to you on behalf of my brother, Detective Inspector”, Mycroft broke the silence.
Huh?
“Huh?”
Mycroft cleared his throat. He shifted, gripping his umbrella tightly. Greg blinked in confusion.
Why would Mycroft need to apologise? Greg was the one with the inappropriate feelings that would never amount to anything but discomfort on Mycroft's part.
“My brother and Dr. Watson recently uncovered some facts that have convinced them you and I should . . . form a more intimate partnership. After the failures of their previous attempts I had hoped for the matter to be put to rest, but alas it appears I have underestimated John Watson's tenacity. Please rest assured in the knowledge that I had no intention of bothering you with this issue and that I harbour no . . . illusions about any reciprocation.”
Greg stared at Mycroft, who had begun to blush slightly.
“If this makes you too uncomfortable to continue our previous association I would be willing to organise a liaison - provided you would be generous enough to still work with my brother after his poor choice of subject matter.”
Greg stared some more. Then his brain began to reboot.
For most people, this would have been a lot of information packaged in a lot of fancy words, all at once. They would have needed some time to properly parse through everything and think about their next move. Fortunately, Greg had the advantage of having associated with the Holmes brothers for years now. He prided himself on having a decent understanding of Mycroft's carefully crafted diplomatic approach to dealing with overwhelming situations.
And he definitely prided himself on his very strategic responses to Mycroft's retreats into his politician persona.
Greg stood up, shoving his chair back with more energy than strictly necessary, rounded his desk and grabbed Mycroft by the tie. He proceeded to discover that the British Government had very soft lips. Extremely kissable. Though it would have been nice for Mycroft to kiss back - on account of the obvious misunderstanding between them Greg was willing to overlook his lack of active participation.
It was Mycroft's turn to stare. His face was flushed bright red, and the stunned look in his eyes was, quite frankly, absolutely adorable.
“What - I - you -”, Mycroft seemed speechless for once in his life.
Greg took a moment to savour the unique situation he had found himself in - witnessing a flustered Mycroft Holmes.
“I thought I would be making you uncomfortable”, he said finally, taking pity on Mycroft. “If I were to ask you out, that is.”
Mycroft blinked, his brain clearly trying to regain its senses. Greg could practically see the moment it started running again, just like his own had done earlier - though at a considerably higher speed than Greg’s brain.
“You would not”, Mycroft responded, the words little more than a hazy breath. Like he couldn't quite believe this was real.
“Good to know. So dinner tonight? Or whenever it works best for you.”
“Tonight is fine!”, Mycroft practically stumbled over the words. “Quite fine!”
“Great!”, Greg clapped his hands together. “And then we can figure out what to do about Sherlock and John. After all of this, we really should respond in kind, don't you think?”
Mycroft nodded slowly, lips twitching with the hint of a smile.
“I certainly agree. It is only fair that we help them along, as well.”
Mycroft leaned back in and - oh yes, Greg had been right. It was very nice kissing Mycroft, especially when they were both on the same page.
Over in 221B Baker Street, John had the most horrible feeling that something extremely unsettling was about to happen.