Work Text:
Stood at his open wardrobe, unexpectedly flummoxed by the simple question of what to wear, Greg realises he has never seen Mycroft – the very image of a gentleman from another era - out of a three-piece suit.
And now he’s imagining Mycroft out of a three-piece suit. Not helpful.
Greg tells himself he has no reason to be nervous. He’s been on plenty of dates, even if his last first date was in another century. He understood how it worked then: take an attractive woman to a nice restaurant, buy her dinner and drinks, escort her home, and subtly sneak a breath mint in hopes of a decent snog at the door.
But this? This is all new. He’s fairly sure that even if his past dating experience had included blokes, it still wouldn’t have prepared him for dating Mycroft Holmes.
Oh, god. Dating. Mycroft. Holmes.
He needs to talk to someone about this. He has a text half-composed before he decides that he really doesn’t want to talk to John about this just yet. He’ll have to say something soon, though, if only so John has half a chance of preventing Sherlock deducing it publicly and loudly at the next crime scene.
That thought? Also not helpful. Think about trousers, shirt, tie, jacket. And breathing. Try not to forget about breathing.