rina996:

The Ice Man was crumbling.

Not his public persona. God no, that could not and would not melt. That would jeopardize his career and everything he had worked for if that happened.

It was the private persona who was cracking, crumbling, melting.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, a few days stubble on his chin, his hair mussed out of place, and easy smile on his lips.

As little as nine months ago his reflection was vastly different. Perpetually clean-shaven and well coifed with a resting expression that often scared small children.

But that was before everything changed. That was before one magical night and one amazing man who turned his existence around and made him re-think whether or not caring was a disadvantage.

Gregory Lestrade was the personified definition of caring and affection. That night that he’d called Mycroft and asked to go to dinner and ‘discuss a few things’ Mycroft had no idea what to expect. Actually, he’d expected some complaints about Sherlock, perhaps the Detective Inspector had fallen on money troubles and was finally willing to accept the money Mycroft continually offered him as repayment for keeping an eye on Sherlock.

~

Upon entering the modest establishment he noticed the Detective Inspector sitting alone and fiddling with his suit cuffs. He was dressed more formally than usual, which Mycroft hadn’t expected. When he approached the table the Detective Inspector jumped.

“Mycroft.” He greeted with a nervous nod before taking a sip from the water glass in front of him.

“Detective Inspector.” He answered, sitting across from the silver haired man, “How may I be of service? Is there some kind of problem with Sherlock?” he arched an eyebrow as he looked Gregory over. The older man was anxious avoiding eye contact with the government official.

“I-uh. No there’s no problem. Not with Sherlock.” He managed to stammer out, looking up without looking at Mycroft.

“Another sort of problem then? I am indebted to you for your years of dedication to Sherlock. I’d be happy to do anything I could to assist you.” He offered

“Another sort…but not, I mean.” Greg flushed a brilliant shade of bright red and looked down at the tabletop, taking a deep breath before looking up at Mycroft. “I wanted to inquire about your….relationship…status.” he mumbled

~

That had shocked Mycroft, and when Gregory had revealed that he wanted to ask him to dinner Mycroft’s mind had frozen for a moment and the only response he could muster had been.

“We’re already at dinner, Dete- Gregory.”

That was eight and a half months ago. In eight and a half months Gregory had practically moved into his flat and filled his life with a light he hadn’t realized he’d been lacking.

Sherlock described it most aptly one day after a case.

~

“You’ve become less horrid.” The younger Holmes noted, sitting across from Mycroft.

“Have I?” he questioned, he’d noticed as well. With Sherlock, with John, anyone who was in regular contact with Gregory he’d become softer, less icy.

“You’re…bearable. Lestrade’s certainly made a difference.”

“I’m aware.”

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock spoke again.

“You’re thinking about something.”

“I usually am, Sherlock.”

“No, something specific. About Lestrade? Hmmm.”

“You could simply ask Sherlock. Yes, I’m thinking about Gregory. In fact I’m comparing the changes you see in me to the changes I saw in you when John entered your life.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

With that Sherlock stood and headed towards the door, pausing just before stepping out (for effect, of course).

“Wasn’t it you who insisted caring was not an advantage?”

“My view hasn’t changed.”

“You’re willing to put yourself at a disadvantage?”

“So are you.”

With a scoff Sherlock left, but the next time Mycroft saw him and John together they seemed happier and most definitely closer.

~

Mycroft chuckled a bit at the memory as he rubbed his chin, he didn’t like the stubble and he decided to shave. It wasn’t attractive on him, and growing out a beard would take too long. As he prepared to shave he hummed softly, glancing back at the bedroom. Greg still lay sleeping, he too, had a few days of stubble (holiday really was good for both of them) but he truly looked good in it. Rugged and manly while still being gentle and sweet, the kind of person Mycroft never thought he would find in his life.

Who would have known that the Detective Inspector loved to bake? Or rather, to try and bake. He had a tendency to let things burn, or add too much sugar, or not enough flour. On the rare occasions where something he baked came out of the oven whole and unburnt he was the proudest man on the planet, serving it delicately and eagerly watching Mycroft’s face as he ate. Mycroft lived for those smiles.

Halfway through shaving Mycroft heard a soft groan from the bedroom behind him and within moments Greg was in the bathroom, kissing his cheek and earning himself a mouthful of shaving cream.

“Ugh, ew.” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes and opening them a bit wider. “You taste like soap.”

“It’s shaving cream, love.” Mycroft chuckled, applying more foam to the spot Greg had just wiped clean.

“It tastes awful.”

“It’s not designed to taste good.”

“Lube is.”

“Gregory.” Mycroft blushed, nearly cutting himself with the razor as the his hand slipped.

“Mycroft.” Greg answered with a cheeky smile before heading to use the toilet. “Can we go back to bed after you’re done?”

“For what?” Mycroft asked, smirking back.

“Sleep, and then sex, and then probably more sleep. We don’t have to go to work until tomorrow.”

“Very true. As you wish, Gregory.”

“I love you.” He answered with a genuine smile as he moved to the sink to wash his hands and kissed the clean side of Mycroft’s face.

“I love you, too.” Mycroft answered as he finished shaving and wiped his face down with a damp washcloth.

“I know, it’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I agree.” Mycroft answered, as they climbed into bed and Greg put his arms around him.

There was a soft hum as Greg held him and slowly fell asleep and as Mycroft started to fade too he reflected on how much he meant it. Greg truly was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

eventhorizon451:

First impressions can be all you need, sometimes… little thing for Silver fox Saturday…

_____________________________

      “What is he doing here?”

      “Who?”

      “Mycroft.”

      “What’s a Mycroft?”

      “None of your concern.”

      “It is if he’s at my crime scene.”

      “I would wager you now would find it his crime scene, not that he will lift a finger to assist with your case.”

      “What in the hell are you talking about?”

      “Nothing of consequence.  Wait here.”

Sherlock stalked towards the tall, extremely well-dressed man and Lestrade watched the two exchange words, heated in Sherlock’s case, indifferent in… what was his name again… oh yeah, Mycroft…. Mycroft’s case.  Good to see someone who wasn’t at all affected by Sherlock’s dramatics.  Handsome looking chap.  Probably had money, if his suit was any indication.  Moved nicely, too.  Precise, yet fluid… sort of graceful, really.  And stood there looking around as if he owned the deed to the ground they were standing on and every person on it.  But not in a bad way, just… regal.  Very nice packaging on someone who was immune to Sherlock’s ridiculous posturing.  Might be someone Lestrade should meet…

__________

Chilly, grey, grisly, anonymous persons milling about and one slash of darkness nestled in the heart of them all.  Of course Sherlock found this sort of thing enjoyable.  But, perhaps not all of the scurrying functionaries were entirely anonymous.  The one to whom Sherlock was speaking certainly stood out from the masses.  What a striking man.  Serious, mature, carried himself with an authoritative bearing, dressed as would be appropriate for his choice of career.  A man of limited means who did not allow that to impact his sense of command, which apparently extended to some degree to Sherlock who was prancing about much as a show horse, as per usual, which phased the man not in the least.  And Sherlock… well, his body language was nothing if not telling.  This was not someone whose opinion he, as with others, cared nothing for.  Such as Mycroft’s own, which would be made clear once again in one second…

      “Why are you here?”

      “Simply running my eye over your hobby, Sherlock.  Is it so wrong that I would want to observe you in your new environment?”

      “Leave.  Your presence is unnecessary and distracting.”

      “One man amongst a multitude.  I would hardly consider myself distracting.  And the necessity of my presence is not relevant in the least to the conduction of your investigation.  Carry on.”

      “Do not pretend you have any interest in my activities.  You are here for a reason and that reason will undoubtedly work to bury the truth.  Leave or I shall have you escorted away.”

      “Oh?  Commanding the troops now, are we?  I am quite sure the upper echelon in our valiant police force would like to make comment on that.”

      “Make yourself absent!”

      “Make yourself an adult.”

      “Sounds like you two know each other pretty well.”

Two heads whipped around to find a very amused Lestrade standing a few steps away enjoying their performance.

      “Go away.  If you approach more closely, you might become tainted by his villainous exudate and lapse into a meddlesome and useless existence reminiscent of his own.”

      “Now I’m guessing you’re related.  This your kid brother, Sherlock?”

      “Oh very good.  I have not seen him rendered speechless since our cook’s young daughter gave him a kiss.  I believe they were five at the time and he required a full day to recover from the shock.  It remains in memory as the most restful day of my life.  Mycroft Holmes, at your service.  And I do have the misfortune of being the elder sibling.”

      “Really, you’re his older brother?  Huh… well, that explains a lot.”

      “Oh?  Do clarify.”

      “Well, the little bastard obviously suffers from a massive inferiority complex and now I understand why.”

Mycroft prided himself on never being caught off guard, but nothing was stopping the bark of laughter that escaped his lips and the one that followed upon seeing Sherlock’s vermillion and very indignant expression.

      “I am gladdened that you so clearly see the foundation of our relationship… oh, I do apologize, I do not know your name.”

      “Detective Inspector Soon to Be Sacked!”

      “Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.  It is my dishonor and burden to keep an eye on this one, though he is probably the reason we’ll get this case closed before the day’s over.”

      “Then he does contribute positively to your investigations.”

      “Stop talking about me as if I were not here!”

      “He does a great job.  It’s supernatural, really, but I’m not complaining.  Whether it’s some psychic power or, like he says, his enormous brain that does his magic for him, he’s an amazing lad.  Really, he’s been a lot of help and I’m happy to have him here.”

Speechless and blushing in a single day… Mycroft made note to somehow document this momentous occasion in his brother’s life.  Perhaps a new national holiday.  Or a cryptic mark on the next round of coinage…

      “That is most kind, Detective Inspector.  Most kind, indeed.  It is a rare person who finds good in Sherlock’s company, though he does have a wealth of talents he could choose to showcase, were he so inclined.”

      “Oh?  Care to share?”

      “Absolutely not!  I will not stand here and…”

      “Then go stand somewhere else, Sherlock; you’ve got a lot of room to choose from.  Like near the dead body you’re supposed to be checking over.  Go on… get to work.   Tell me who the murderer is by lunchtime and I’ll buy the tea.”

And Sherlock accepted the dismissal… grudgingly, but without a typhoon-caliber tantrum.  Mycroft’s interest in the Detective Inspector rose just a little bit higher…

      “He listens to you.”

      “When he wants to.  Actually, he just wanted an excuse to leave without it appearing like he was running away from the possibility of any story-sharing we might start up about him.”

And a little higher…

      “Very intuitive.  He is still very much the child in some ways.”

      “No argument here.  So… Sherlock said this was probably your crime scene now?  You… you in law enforcement, somehow?”

      “Heavens, no.   I leave that to skilled professionals such as yourself.  My responsibilities lie in minor aspects of government.  Very dull, but the bureaucracy must stand lest England fall.”

A government man… Lestrade could see that.  But he doubted very much this Mycroft’s role was in any way minor.  Men who carried themselves like that didn’t do anything minor.  And he was Sherlock’s brother, for christ’s sake.  No… he might be a government man, but Lestrade had a suspicion that if he did want this crime scene for some reason, it would be handed over no questions asked.

      “Yeah, well, I think you’re not giving me the full story, but that’s ok.  It’s only our first meeting after all.”

      “And if we have a second?”

      “Well then… may have to apply some of my own deductive powers and dig a little deeper.”

      “Is that a challenge, Detective Inspector Lestrade?”

      “Why do I get the feeling you really like a good challenge?”

      “Oh, you are  intuitive, aren’t you.  Very well, I shall toss down the gauntlet when next we meet and we shall see how successful you are at navigating my labyrinth of lies and subterfuge.”

      “I’ll bring my compass and torch, then.”

      “Excellent.  Shall we say tonight?”

      “Sounds great, I…”

Both men stared at each other with wide eyes and tried to put together the pieces of how they suddenly agreed to a night out after knowing each other for five minutes.  it was only Mycroft’s quick and slightly bewildered cough that broke the silence.

      “Well then… I… I shall call for you this evening.”

      “Oh… yeah, ok.  I’ll give you my number and… here, take my card.  Mobile’s at the bottom.”

      “How convenient.  I cannot offer one in return, unfortunately, but Sherlock can provide you with any information you might require.”

      “Minor officials carry wallet’s full of cards.”

Mycroft had to wonder if the smile he felt on his lips looked as wicked as it felt.

      “You do have your ways, Detective Inspector.”

      “Gotta stay on my toes with Sherlock around.”

      “Admirable.  Few can and fewer do.  Until this evening?”

      “Yeah… looking, um… yeah, looking forward to it.”

And Lestrade watched the elder Holmes give a slight nod and turn towards the large, black sedan that the Detective Inspector only now noticed stood idling on the street.  Minor official… man couldn’t lie to save his life.

__________

      “Are you finally finished with wasting time with my nosy brother?”

      “No, don’t think I am.  I sort of…”

      “What?”

      “I sort of have a date with him tonight.”

Lestrade wondered if he could script some bombshells ahead of time to hold in his pocket when he needed Sherlock struck dumb and silent.

      “I forbid it.”

      “Not your call.”

      “He is poisonous!”

      “Didn’t look like a snake to me.”

      “He has already struck you blind, obviously.”

      “It’s just a date.”

      “Mycroft does not date.”

      “Oh, so I’m special, then?”

      “You shall plunge into a pit of despair and disillusionment by night’s end.  Mark my words.”

      “Ok.  And if not, you have to pay for the tea tomorrow.”

      “It is a wager.  One I shall win.”

Not if Lestrade in any way read the look in Mycroft Holmes’s eyes correctly.  And he was never wrong about eyes.  Never, ever, ever…

__________

      “You must cancel my appointments for the evening… No, I do not care if the Ambassador does have to return in the morning… You will tell him to wait and that will be that… No, that is also not important… It is highly unlikely that they will carry out their threat to execute the prince; they threaten this every other week.  It is simply too hot in their country and they are lacking for sources of entertainment… Hang the PM!  I’ve no time for a discussion about that particular initiative until such time as certain heads are pulled from certain arses and they let me handle matters in the correct fashion!… I am not ruffled… You would be incorrect, again… If you must know, I have an assignation this evening that arose suddenly… I refuse to use that term… It is a fruit, for heaven’s sake… No, you do not know the individual… No, security will not be required… No, I am not anticipating the need for a ‘sympathetic ear’…

Not if Mycroft in any way read the look in Gregory Lestrade’s eyes correctly.  And he was never wrong about eyes.  Never, ever, ever…

eventhorizon451:

Quick, but too many irons in the fire for anything else.  However, didn’t want to miss another Silver Fox Saturday without something going onto the proverbial paper…

_____________________________

Clubs hadn’t improved one bit in the years he’d been married.  They were still filled with desperate, lonely people pretending have a wild  and carefree time, when they were actually trying to find anyone to form any type of connection with, even if it was for ten minutes in a damp and filthy alley.  Why in the world had he thought coming out was a good idea?  Oh yeah, because he was one of those people… just as desperate and lonely and just as hopeful that a ten-minute connection might just, in a fairytale world, turn into something more.

Keep reading

eventhorizon451:

A wee thing for Silver Fox Saturday… Greg needs a present for Mycroft’s birthday.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, John is there to help…

____________________________

          “I’m doomed!”

          “It’s only a birthday, Greg.  You act like you need a gift for Mycroft’s coronation or something.”

          “I think that already happened at some point, but no one’s thought to tell any of us about it.”

          “You could be right.  Take a look in his sock drawer for a crown and scepter.  Big ermine cape, too.”

          “Mycroft would look great in ermine.”

          “You can’t afford an ermine cape.  Maybe an ermine thong.”

          “I bet I would have needed to order that in advance, though.  I’m so stupid!”

John let out a large, cleansing breath and just shook his head.  If this was what couples life was like, maybe he’d rethink his campaign to bring himself and Sherlock into that species.

          “Look, just think about what he likes and get something that goes along with that.  If he likes reading, get him a book, for instance.”

          “He has a standing agreement with every bloody publisher out there that any book which might interest him has to have a copy delivered to his office for a look over.”

          “Oh.  Well, that takes the fun out of book shopping doesn’t it… ok, no books.  How about… well, he likes his brollies.  How about…”

          “He won’t touch anything except what’s made by his ultra-special brolly-maker.  You’d swear the lord himself whittled the handles and wove the fabric.”

          “Yeah, don’t want to try and undercut God’s umbrella skills.  So, that doesn’t go on the list.  A gadget of some type?  He seems the gadget kind.”

          “Are you kidding me?  The man who has every intelligence agency on the planet under his thumb?  He’s got gadgets I don’t think I’m even supposed to know exist!  And if he doesn’t want something that will sample your DNA from forty paces, all he has to do is call up fucking Sony or something and say ‘Good morning, do send me an item I will find amusing, if you would be so kind.  I have a truly dreadful meeting this afternoon and require something to distract myself during the interminable droning of the participants.’  It’ll be delivered in an hour, you wait and see.”

          “You sounded just like him right there.   Nice job.”

          “Immersion training.  Just like they do when they want you to learn a foreign language fast.”

          “A film?  Or… ok, you’re already making a face.”

          “Same deal as the publishers.  You and Sherlock should come over more often.  We see pretty much every film that’s been made weeks before they get released.”

          “How about a mate’s matinee, just you and me?  Sherlock is a complete tosser about films and it’d be good to actually watch something without having to screen out the continued stream of verbal abuse being hurled at the telly.  And at me.”

          “Yeah, Mycroft’s not much better, but he gets all butter-voiced with his abuse, so it’s actually sort of sexy.”

          “I really didn’t need to know that.”

          “Spreading around my good fortune.  But stop distracting me from my mission.  Birthday gift!”

          “Clothes?  Ok, now it’s me that’s stupid.”

          “I wish I could get him clothes, John, because he does enjoy looking smart, but since I don’t have a chest of pirate treasure buried under a tree, I’ll have to think of something else.”

          “Cologne?”

          “His own private blend hand-crafted by some wizard whose name I can’t even pronounce.”

          “Jewelry?”

          “What, from my pirate horde?”

          “Ok then, what’s your stand on burglary?”

          “I think I’m soon going to be in favor of it.”

          “Ok, that’s our Plan B.”

          “AARRGGHHH!”

          “Now you sound like a pirate.  This is getting desperate.  I don’t think Mycroft will appreciate spending his birthday getting you out of jail for being a burglary pirate.”

          “He’d probably love it.  Make me pay for it all night, too.”

          “Oh?”

          “What?”

          “That his thing?”

          “What?  No!  Well, I don’t think so.”

          “I’ve got an idea.”

          “I’m already going to say no.”

          “I think you’ll like it.  Well, later on, that is.  You’ll hate me at first, but then you’ll love it.”

          “Have you gone insane?”

          “Nope, but come on.  We’ve got work to do.”

__________

Well, that was properly categorized as a mentally-debilitating day.  Far too much stupidity and far too little progress to leave him with a satisfactory sense of accomplishment.  And not a word from Gregory.  It was unlike his lover to leave such a day unrecognized, but it was highly likely that he had been called to service, even on his scheduled off day and was now enmeshed in some form of intricate and tragic crime that required his special skills to untangle.  But a phone message would have been appreciated.  A text even, with one of his beloved’s special little winking faces at the end.  It was no matter.  He had spent birthdays in solitude for the majority of his life and one more would not perturb his existence unduly.  At least he could now lose this coat and the papers he had brought home to read over and finally put his body into something far more comfortable as his own small reward for surviving another year on this Earth.  And he had the perfect thing waiting that was…

          “Gregory?”

          “Yes, sir?”

          “Oh my…”

How on Earth did his love secure his naked self, hand and foot, to the bedposts?  And from where did the black leather wrist and ankle cuffs come?  That matched the collar around his Gregory’s neck…

          “Do I please you, sir?”

Please?  What a ludicrous word.  Enflame… that was far more fitting…

          “You do.  However, you must mind your manners.  Do not speak unless I specifically ask you a question.  Is that understood?”

          “Yes, sir.  And, sir?  Happy birthday.”

Happy?  How far from the mark.  He must teach his love more descriptive language.  And there was no better time for a lesson, and a correction, than now…