Fic for ihuntyoudown: When Mycroft met Lestrade

[holmesticemods]

Title: When Mycroft met Lestrade
Recipient: ihuntyoudown
Author: [to be revealed]
Characters/Pairings: Mycroft/Lestrade, minor Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4800
Warnings: No warnings
Summary: Mycroft has never known what it was to fall in love – until he meets Lestrade. But with Mycroft being inexperienced, and Lestrade unsure; will they ever reveal their feelings?


When Mycroft met Lestrade


Mycroft tutted in frustration as he ransacked his father’s office. He has asked him days ago to lend him an envelope, how could he continue his chess-by-post match if he couldn’t contact his opponent? Mother, busy with a teething Sherlock was no help, huffing her fringe of her face and telling him to wait till later.

It couldn’t wait, and he rifled through the paperweights and heavy folders trying to find a stray envelope. His father was a shadowy, imposing figure, always away ‘on business’ and never one for a bedtime story or a play in the nursery. He was happy to see Mycroft’s latest certificate or listen to Sherlock’s burbling, but wasn’t a Daddy at all. Mother was an odd figure, very pretty and delicate with her dark curls and milky complexion but she often seemed lost in the dark, gloomy house, like a butterfly under a microscope. She seemed endlessly dazzled by her husband, and only brightened when he was around. She left most of the hands-on childcare to the nanny and usually gardened out by herself or looked through magazines.

After ten minutes, Mycroft was about to give up until he came across a plain manila folder, with a sellotaped edge. Mycroft carefully opened it and peeked inside. Then he dropped the envelope, face bright red. It wasn’t paperwork, it was a rude magazine. James Harris had brought one to school once and the boys had barely managed to catch sight of a dusky cleavage before Mr Walsh had confiscated the magazine and given James detention. But this wasn’t just one magazine, it was four different ones, all with men. The men weren’t like father, tall and imposing; or like the men in books who were impossibly masculine and stern. These men were smiling, looking like they had a secret. They had on tight clothes and glanced over their shoulders, with youthful smirks. Mycroft felt his stomach flip. They were attractive. Mycroft looked at the other magazine. On the cover two men were wrapped around each other, bare skin melting together. They looked out of the cover, bold and defiant. Mycroft sat down in the chair carefully; feeling aroused so quickly he felt lightheaded. Mycroft had known he was different to his peers, his nanny had called him a ‘late bloomer’ but he didn’t realise why until now. This was why when Jenny Altham had kissed him he had felt nothing, it was a revelation. Mycroft put the magazine down in front of him and slowly slid his hands down the front of his trousers.

‘Mycroft Holmes!’ Mycroft screamed in fright at hearing his mother’s voice so un-expectantly. He tried to steady his breathing and yanked his hand up and out of his waistband.

‘What on earth…’ she trailed off as she caught sight of the magazine, her eyes widening. For a long moment they both just stared at the cover, Mycroft wishing he could just vanish, disappear.

‘Mycroft’ his mother began, voice very serious. ‘Those men are disgusting. They are depraved and wrong and are going to hell. If you…become one of them I will never forgive you.’

Mycroft sucked in a breath and felt something in his chest tighten. Surely his mother wouldn’t feel this way about him?

Mrs Holmes strode over to the desk, and picked up the magazines with a look of revulsion on her immaculately made-up face.

‘These men are sick’ she continued, tearing up the cover in a fit of anger, ‘they ruin lives, they destroy families’ her voice faltered. ‘they take family men, men with children and make them just like them.’ She took the torn pieces and moved towards the window, opening the heavy sash and dramatically throwing them out. She stood at the window, a beautiful silhouette, her thin shoulders heaving. Mycroft thought he heard muffled sobs so moved towards her hesitantly, moving to place a hand on her shoulder.

‘Do not touch me’ she bit out. ‘Go away.’

Mycroft shrunk back and nodded, running from the room.


Mycroft Holmes was not the machine people liked to think he is, nor is he a cold, inhuman robot or a shell of a man. Yes, he hid himself away perfectly. No-one knew the real Mycroft, who liked the idea of owning a dog, liked coffee ice-cream and the movie Legally Blonde. They knew the man Mycroft wanted them to know, cool, efficient and always in control. Being someone else had taken a while to get used to; he used to rehearse his conversation and mannerisms. But now it felt easier than acting, it was effortless. The right touch to the arm to secure a deal, a confident half-smile to reassure a diplomat; it was simple. When he needed a plus-one he just took his assistant or a contact in a similar situation. There was never a romantic intention or real feeling behind it, it merely secured his image in the mind of others; Mycroft Holmes was a charming civil servant with a delightful partner who laughed at all his jokes and danced wonderfully.

But Mycroft, due to this had never had a real date. He was now 43 and had yet to experience the butterflies he often read about, or the ‘will they, won’t they’ of communication. When he saw his employees fretting about Valentine’s Day and ‘The Rules’ he thought himself lucky to avoid all the unnecessary entanglements. Yet he felt lonely, most of the time but it was a worthwhile sacrifice. Sometimes when he wanted to go the cinema, or lately when he saw a couple giggling together he felt a pang; but he firmly told himself not to be so foolish. Mycroft was very good at controlling himself but at night, his mother’s voice haunted his dreams warning him that if he was to follow his urges he would be unloved by her and disgusting. Mycroft wasn’t a naïve man, or a little boy; but he couldn’t get over that moment, that afternoon. He knew that being gay wasn’t disgusting, but after all this time being careful not to upset his Mother’s fragile nerves it was easier to just carry on with his solitary life. Occasionally he would see a man who would make his pulse race, a handsome face or a rakish grin but he would just ignore it. His mother had passed away four years ago, but he still felt her presence, and her words had had the desired effect. He was utterly unconfident that anyone would ever find anything to love in him; and even if they did – who would want a 43yr virgin? It was beyond contemplation.

He found himself, in early April sitting outside a pleasant street café. He was waiting for a colleague who had important documents for him to sign and he had decided to have a cup of coffee before the meeting. The sun was resolutely shining through the cloud and the air held faint traces of Spring. He inhaled and smiled to himself.

‘Beautiful, eh?’ A voice noted beside him. Mycroft turned to his right and smiled politely at the man who had spoken.

‘Textbook Spring day’ the man continued. Mycroft gave him a closer look. It was fanciful to think he had a ‘type’ but this man didn’t fit it; with his skinny frame and blonde hair. He was certainly very good-looking, but his smile never reached his eyes.

‘Indeed’ Mycroft replied, and shifted to sip his coffee.

‘May I join you?’ the man asked, hopefully. Mycroft looked over the rim of his cup in surprise.

‘I have a meeting’ he spoke very quickly, too quickly, he inwardly chastised himself.

The man looked disappointed, ‘Oh, okay.’ Then he grinned, ‘I’m Harry’.

Mycroft offered his hand, ‘Mycroft’.

Harry raised a light eyebrow, ‘That’s a new one’.

Mycroft gave him a half-smile. ‘Creative mother’.

Harry nodded in assent. ‘Certainly sounds like it. What brings you here, business…?’ he rested his face in his hands and Mycroft felt embarrassed at this new level of scrutiny.

‘Business, as ever’ he replied, hoping his colleague would turn up soon.

‘Not pleasure?’ Harry questioned, flirtatiously. Mycroft felt himself tense.

‘No’ he muttered, glancing down at his newspaper.

There was silence for a moment.
‘What about a drink later?’ Harry asked, standing up and leaning into Mycroft’s personal space. Mycroft felt stifled and terribly hot.

‘No, thank-you’ he smiled politely, moving to stand-up.

‘Sure?’ he queried. Mycroft sidestepped him, feeling the anxiety start to creep in.

‘Yes’ Mycroft moved to the left and made his escape, forgetting completely about his meeting. He just wanted to get out, get away.


All Mycroft heard as he stepped onto the pavement was a polite ‘Oof, sorry’ as he collided with a warm, hard body and he found himself looking down slightly to meet deep, dark chocolate brown eyes.

‘No, my fault I assure you’ Mycroft murmured.

‘Nah, I was texting’ the man grinned. Mycroft found himself unable to look away from the stranger’s handsome face, and he just nodded mutely.

‘Better be off’ the man gestured to his phone, walking backwards and offering a friendly wave.

Mycroft found himself lamely waving back, standing on the pavement perfectly still as the crowd swarmed around him.


A week later and Mycroft had visited that same café every single day, telling himself it wasn’t hoping to see the handsome stranger. The waitress was starting to look sympathetic and he was developing a crick in his neck from peering up and down the road. Sipping his coffee mournfully he told himself to stop acting like a lovesick teenager – something he never went through in his youth. His assistant had been sent flowers two days previously, and she had come into work humming every morning since, pink-cheeked and dreamy-eyed. It had made him slightly jealous, not that he wanted pink roses with ‘To the most gorgeous girl alive’, but the thought of such attentions was attractive.

He noticed a couple canoodling in the corner and rolled his eyes, deciding enough was enough. Back to his firm control over his emotions and steady workload. He drained his cup and stood up, then froze as a familiar figure appeared in front of him, wearing a smart, navy suit unbuttoned at the neck. Mycroft felt his mouth go dry.

‘Oh we have to stop meeting like this’ the man smiled, weaving in between the chairs to stand in front of Mycroft. Mycroft found himself lost for words, being so close to him. He had daydreamt about what he would do if this opportunity had presented himself, and he had never pictured himself flustered and unable to speak, he had hoped for witty and enchanting.

‘At least I got a break from my phone’ the man said conversationally. ‘Left it in the office’.

‘Office?’ Mycroft managed.

‘Scotland Yard’ the man replied, gesturing to somewhere up the road.

‘Ah, I imagine you are very busy’ Mycroft smiled politely.

‘You cannot imagine…’ the man laughed, white teeth shining.

Mycroft fought the urge to smugly intone that he did in fact know what it meant to be busy, and to do an important job.

‘You must be in...’ the man gave Mycroft a once-over, causing the him to flush.

‘Fashion?’ he guessed.

Mycroft couldn’t stop a look of surprise on his face, and he was rarely surprised.

‘Um, no’ he looked down at himself. ‘I work for the government’.

The man raised an eyebrow, ‘Not in the tax office?’

Mycroft smirked, ‘No, and even if I was I wouldn’t tell you’.

The owner of the café called out, ‘Lestrade, you’re up’.

The man, Mycroft supposed he was Lestrade, raised his arm and waved at her.

‘Better go’ he turned back to Mycroft with a rueful smile.

‘Of course’ Mycroft shuffled back, looking down at his shoes. Then he felt a gentle touch to his sleeve.

‘See you later?’ Lestrade asked hopefully. Mycroft found himself nodding, and watched as Lestrade took his order and strode off.


A month later and Mycroft felt like he could call Lestrade an acquaintance, even a friend perhaps. They regularly met for coffee and occasionally lunch when they both managed to escape the office. Mycroft found himself liking Lestrade’s simple honestly and charming smiles, he felt like he was a breath of fresh air when he found his days full of bureaucratic pomposity. Lestrade seemed to appreciate Mycroft’s old fashioned manners and they balanced each other out, Mycroft’s occasional stuffiness worked well alongside Lestrade’s easy-going conversation. They talked about everything, work and politics and old television show and their mutual love of secret X Box Gaming. But they never touched on relationships, and Mycroft found himself unsure on what Lestrade’s marital status was, and he felt embarrassed to ask after so long. Lestrade didn’t wear a ring or talk about ‘we or us’ but that was common nowadays. Sometimes he found himself resting his chin on his hands, or fussing over his tie of a morning, and he had to tell himself to not be so foolish. Someone like Lestrade surely had an extremely attractive partner already, not after a 40 something, slightly chubby man.

‘Tough morning?’ Lestrade asked, the spring sunshine reflecting off of his cufflinks and making a rainbow on the table.

‘Just slightly’ Mycroft sighed, thinking of the daybreak meeting he had to suffer through.

‘Mine wasn’t too hot either’ Lestrade smiled sympathetically, stirring his cappuccino. ‘None of my colleagues are getting on at the moment, and its making everything ten times more difficult’.

‘I can sympathise, my own colleague this morning spilled their drink all over my tie’ Mycroft gestured to his open shirt.

‘I wondered why you weren’t so formal’ Lestrade grinned, ‘Like the look though’

Mycroft found himself making a face.

‘What? Not exactly a casual type of guy?’ Lestrade teased.

Mycroft looked at him as if to say ‘Look at me, what do you think?’

‘Point taken’ Lestrade held up his hands, laughing wryly.


Mycroft jumped when his phone unexpectedly vibrated. It was 9pm, and no-one ever contacted him past 8:30pm, and if it was an emergency they contacted him through his other phone.

The text was from an unknown number, which was highly suspicious. Frowning to himself, he clicked open.

‘Hi, sorry for this but I just wanted to talk to someone who wouldn’t call me DI. You about? Lestrade’.

Mycroft found himself understanding how Lestrade must feel, there was a point where you felt like standing up at work and screaming, ‘I am a person, call me by my bloody name’. But it was hard to find someone to share this with, who wouldn’t just comment on your wages, and it being part of the job.

‘Yes. Frustrating day I presume? Mycroft.’

‘The worst. A string of serial killings and nothing to go on.’

‘You will figure it out; bring out your old childhood companion Simon Supercop. Mycroft’.

‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you about that!’


‘You look very smart’ Mycroft noticed appraisingly.

Lestrade brushed a hand down his shirtfront, self-consciously.

‘Really? I feel like a bit of an idiot. It’s only because of the meeting’

‘I like the colour…it goes well with your eyes’ Mycroft spoke falteringly.

Lestrade looked up quickly, surprised. ‘Really? Oh, thank-you. You always look smart’.

Mycroft laughed self-effacingly. ‘Well naturally, the economy would collapse if I turned up in my pyjamas.’

Lestrade nodded in agreement, eyes sparkling, ‘Yeah, but it would be fun, right?’

‘I can’t sleep. Mycroft’.

‘You do realise I know who you are, it’s saved on my phone.’

‘Sorry, habit. Mycroft’.

‘Now you are taking the piss’.

‘It’s 3am, what do you expect? Mycroft’

‘What’s up?’

‘Just had to make a decision. Quite an important one. Might go either way. Mycroft’

‘Like what brand of coffee for the office vending machine?’

‘A tad bigger than that, I am afraid. People may get hurt. Mycroft’

‘You made the right decision, I am sure of it. Try not to worry. Are we still on for the café, tomorrow?’

‘Yes of course. Thank-you. Mycroft’.

‘Anytime. Mr G. Lestrade III’



Sherlock glanced up and narrowed his eyes. ‘You’ve actually lost weight, what’s the magic secret then?’

Mycroft sighed. ‘Not eating and not sleeping like you? No, just stopped fussing about it all.’

‘Well its working, you look marvellous’, Mrs Hudson piped up, sticking her head around the kitchen door.

Sherlock glared at her, as if the dear lady had just committed a massive betrayal.

‘What!’ Mrs Hudson laughed, ‘he does. The man looks lovely’ she looked at him intently and then winked.

Sherlock huffed and fell back onto the couch. ‘I must be bored, chatting about Mycroft’s calorie intake’.

Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes and disappeared back behind the fridge. Mycroft let himself out.

‘I cannot believe you just did that’ Mycroft breathed, looking down at his once immaculate shirt.

‘What?’ Lestrade protested in wide-grinned innocence.

Mycroft pointedly stuck his finger in the floury batter and flicked a rather large piece directly at Lestrade’s face. It hit, magnificently.

‘That’s what you do to your guests?’ Lestrade pretended to be greatly affronted.

‘Only the ones who started it’ Mycroft emphasised pointedly.

‘I was merely trying to give you a sample’ Lestrade smirked, sitting his finger in the mixture and slurping it from his finger. Mycroft suddenly found the kitchen counter fascinating.


‘God, this case is driving me insane’ Lestrade groaning, dragging his hands through his short hair. ‘I know there is a link, I know there is, I just can’t see it. The brother-in-law is surely hiding something, tried to escape the country earlier this week, claiming it was a holiday. Then the key witness suddenly backed out, citing illness but no-one has seen a doctor’s note. And the press were sniffing around yesterday. It’s a bloody nightmare. It will take a genius to sort this all out.

A slow grin spread over Mycroft’s face, ‘Oh, I might know just the person.’


Mycroft was making his way up the narrow stairs of 22b, pondering if it was too late to install a lift when Mrs Hudson came bounding out, eyes wide.

‘Mycroft, dear. Don’t go up, Sherlock has a man up there!’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Well this was a turn-up for the books. He thought fleetingly of his mother and for once found it all rather humorous.

‘Whats he like?’ he asked, conspiratorially, leaning on the bannister.

‘Rather handsome’ she began, ‘I believe he’s an ex-solider’ she tittered momentarily about uniforms and the like, ‘and he seems lovely. Quite well-spoken and didn’t even mind Sherlock’s little eccentricities’.

Sherlock certainly carried more baggage than mere eccentricities but he thanked Mrs Hudson anyway and departed for the door. Time for a little meeting with Sherlock’s new beau.


Unable to concentrate on anything except Lestrade’s surprisingly lovely legs poking out from underneath the checked tablecloth; Mycroft found himself blurting out ‘My little brother has a boyfriend’.

Lestrade looked up, interested. ‘Oh right, that doctor of his. Can’t say I’m surprised. Thought they looked quite sweet together’.

Mycroft smiled, imagining his brother’s rage at being called sweet.

‘Anyway’ Lestrade stretched up, causing his t-shirt to ride-up his body, making Mycroft flush. ‘Enough about the know-it-all and his new squeeze, you need a piece of cake; you look a bit skinny to me’.

Mycroft could have wept with joy.


Mycroft rested his head on his desk, feeling the cold oak permeate through his temples. He closed his eyes and tried not to fall apart. Tighten all the screws, straighten his spine, gather his reserve. All he could see behind his eyelids was the Christmas photo of the man’s family, the one he always kept on his desk. Mycroft felt his stomach clench with guilt and he felt nauseated. The youngest was only just two. The world closed in, making it hard to breath. Why was he doing this to himself? Couldn’t someone else be strong for a while? His wife hadn’t even cried at the news, had grabbed his hand and held on, grip so tight he had bruised. But he would have never let her go.

The door creaked open and Mycroft turned his head to the left, squinting in the burgeoning light.
‘Anthea called’ the shadow whispered, ‘I’m here. Oh Mycroft’.

‘So they still don’t know’ John sat up, sheets pooling around his waist. Sherlock twisted his head, curls tickling John’s stomach to look up at him.

‘No, Mycroft hasn’t ever, well he hasn’t ever’ he said quietly.

‘Really?’ John whistled. ‘Well that explains a bit, I suppose’.

‘He’s never had anyone’ Sherlock sounded pained, and vulnerable and it made John’s arms tighten around Sherlock’s shoulders. ‘He always said he was uninterested in anything romantic’.

‘So now he doesn’t know what to do’ John surmised. ‘And Lestrade?’

‘Doesn’t think Mycroft likes him like that, they’ve been friends for so long now’. Sherlock rolled over, placing his mouth directly over John’s belly-button and making a silly noise just to hear John giggle. John obliged.


‘Do you like it?’ Lestrade questioned. Mycroft had been silent for a good 5 minutes.

Mycroft stared down at the beautiful hand-made chess-set. Where the white pieces looked like him and the black pieces looked like Lestrade. The board was a shining map of grey and purple squares and he felt tears well-up in his eyes.

‘I love it’ he pronounced simply. ‘I can’t imagine how you got it made’.

Lestrade rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, self-consciously. ‘I know a bloke who knows a bloke’ he offered. ‘Anyway, I’ve got ulterior motives, I want to learn’.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes playfully, ‘I am terribly accomplished, you know. I defeated grand-masters during my teenage years’.

‘I bow to you, oh great one’ Lestrade grinned mischievously. ‘Besides, Happy Birthday’.

Mycroft reminded himself to enquire about the cost of installing the oh-so necessary lift as he ascended the staircase.

Sherlock surprised him by being present at the top, his dressing gown crumpled around his thin frame. But then, Sherlock had always surprised him. From his first words at 23 months, ‘It was Bella who stole, not Peter’ to his Goth phase at 14.

‘Oh, of course’ he huffed, ‘The DI’s fancy man came round to harass me’.

‘Now Sherlock, don’t be so foolish’ Mycroft chided, trying to hide his embarrassment. It was useless though, to hide anything from his brother.

Sherlock raised a dark brow. ‘Am I?’ he replied archly, leaning against his desk.

‘Yes, we are merely good friends’ Mycroft settled himself into what he liked to think of as his favourite chair.

‘Yes, like John and I’ Sherlock responded drily, blowing his fringe off his forehead with a petulant huff of air.

Mycroft decided silence was a good option.

‘He doesn’t look at anyone else, you know’ Sherlock broke the silence, sounding as if it pained him to speak.

Mycroft eye’s darted to him, hope shining.

‘Not that you would be interested’ Sherlock sighed dramatically, ‘being married to the stupidity that is our Government’.

‘Don’t be childish’ Mycroft told him, crossing his legs.

‘You could do worse’ Sherlock told him, before crossing to the couch, lying down and closing his eyes; indicating the conversation was most certainly over.


Sally grinned at Lestrade, her dark eyes glinting in the glow from the streetlights. ‘Now this case is over, fancy a drink? Or do you have a date?’ she added playfully, tying her hair up into a messy ponytail.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. ‘For the 100th time-‘

‘He’s not your boyfriend, partner, whatever’ Sally finished.

‘Well, he’s not’ Lestrade replied awkwardly. ‘We’re not…he doesn’t think of me like that’.

‘You’re a DI’ Sally told him, quite needlessly Lestrade figured, ‘So use some of those skills on the man, look at the evidence. You spend all your time together, right?’

Lestrade nodded, cautious as to where this was going.

‘You have inside-jokes, he makes you laugh, you like the way he looks?’

Lestrade nodded again, feeling his cheeks flush.

Sally smirked at him authoritatively as they reached the door of the pub. ‘And finally’ she twisted dramatically holding the door open for him. ‘Who do you think of first when you wake-up?’

And as Lestrade’s brown eyes widened she followed close behind him, and called out to Callum that she wanted two doubles, and quick.

Lestrade and Mycroft found themselves back at where it arguably all began, the pretty little café that served the best coffee and was closest to Scotland Yard.

The two men sat in silence, Mycroft fiddling with his napkin and Lestrade taking furtive glances at Mycroft’s mouth, then looking away.

‘So’ Lestrade began. ‘How is…everything?’

‘Not bad’ Mycroft firmly put the napkin down. ‘Sherlock found himself in A&E twice, my assistant is planning on getting married next year and I am toying with the notion of having a vacation myself’.

‘Plan to finding yourself on a spiritual retreat?’

Mycroft shuddered. ‘I know quite enough about myself, thank-you’.

‘I am thinking of a beach, somewhere where I click my fingers for a cocktail and I sleep metres from the sea’. Mycroft smiled at the mere thought.

‘Sounds perfect’ Lestrade looked envious. ‘I will miss our chess games though’.

‘We can play via email for that week’ Mycroft suggested, realising he too, would miss their games. Lestrade’s quiet focus entirely on the board, tongue occasionally sticking out the corner of his mouth, providing an image of what he surely had looked like as a boy.

‘Or if you’re not, I mean, perhaps we could get the same week…’ Mycroft looked mortified at the words that fell out of his mouth.

Lestrade bit his lip, ‘That would be…great…yeah’.


It was now autumn and the sky was slowly darkening in the 4pm gloom. The streetlights and shop signs managed to make the red, brown and gold leaves shine and the wind whistled quietly through open doorways and white curtains.


Mycroft was sleepily sipping his tea and flicking through his novel, waiting for Lestrade who was a little late. This was to be expected, as he knew Lestrade was usually assaulted with paperwork the minute he tried to leave the haven of his personal office. Mycroft knew the feeling.

‘Sorry, Mycroft-’ Lestrade coughed out, looking like he had run from work.

Mycroft looked at him, his face painted with concern. ‘Are you okay? You didn’t need to rush yourself on my account.’

Lestrade looked pained. ‘I have news. They want to move me, a sort of switch at work. A team in Manchester is having real difficulties so they want me to go up there and help the team out’.

Mycroft didn’t know what to say. He was torn between stamping his foot petulantly, or just flat out begging him to stay. He managed a breathy ‘Oh’.

‘Oh?’ Lestrade looked hurt. ‘That’s it? I might be gone for 6 months Mycroft. And when I found you, well you, you were the only one I wanted to tell, had to tell. And all I get is an ‘oh’, after all this time. Christ, I can’t believe I thought…’ he trailed off.

Mycroft’s heart leapt and he stood up, knocking his book onto the muddy floor. ‘No, please – I’m not very good at any of this’ he concluded awkwardly, twisting his hands together.

‘Neither of us are’ Lestrade sighed, a small smile gracing his mouth.

‘No, but I…I’ve never done this before’.

‘What, been emotional in public? Wish I could say the same’ Lestrade tried to grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

‘It’s not that’ Mycroft felt like he wanted the pavement to sink into nothingness, and for him to fall very far down inside. ‘I’ve never, well been with anyone. In any way, and I’m afraid that makes me rather useless at anything like this. I don’t know what to say to stop you going, I don’t know if I ever have a right to. I just can’t not see you every day, and I couldn’t bear to discover you had met someone. I just want you, and I would like you to like me enough to overlook all my inexperience and stupidity in such matters. I love you, very much. You are so dear to me, and I don’t know why I am even saying this, as we are just friends and even if you did like men, it would be a suave, devastatingly fit man called Josh that you would surely want, not someone like-‘

Lestrade cut him off with a kiss.

Comments

[billiethepoet.livejournal.com]

I feel so bad for Mrs. Holmes and baby!Mycroft in the beginning.

And there's nothing wrong with a 43 year old virgin. Lestrade will show you how.

[shefa.livejournal.com]

Oh, what a journey for Mycroft. I'm so glad he'll have a happy ending. :)

[rampaging-panda.livejournal.com]

I like the idea of Mycroft being unbuttoned a little, even though it came from a coffee spill, poor chap.

I'm glad Lestrade started to rant after the "Oh," or Mycroft might not have had the guts to say what he did!

[maigrey-star.livejournal.com]

Oh, Mycroft. This was lovely with a wonderful happy ending, those two took their time but I'm sure they'll make up for it ♥

[arcsupport.livejournal.com]

Lovely UST and a nice slow delivery on the promise!