SHERLOCK

THE BROTHER FINDS OUT

DI Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes have been dating for thirteen months... and nobody knows. So what happens when Sherlock finds out? Rated M for swearing and m/m sex.

Author's Note:

Characters: DI Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Sally Donovan.

Rating: Rated M for swearing and m/m sex.

About: Just a fun little story about Greg and Mycroft dating and people finding out. Oh, what a tantrum Sherlock will throw. Pairings: Mycroft/Lestrade, Sherlock/John

Ownership: Well of course I don't own it. Do you think I'd be writing fan fictions if I owned these fabulous characters? Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

I live to entertain.

{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}

It wasn't the first time he'd been pulled in for questioning related to a murder. In fact, it was the seventh time. But it was the first since he'd started dating Mycroft Holmes. And Greg Lestrade knew that, somehow, there would be a question that led to Greg revealing that he was having sex with the elder Holmes brother.

They'd managed to keep it a secret for thirteen months; not even Sherlock knew. But it was all about to come crashing down because bloody Sherlock was in the other bloody room with bloody John Watson and probably half of bloody Scotland Yard.

Greg yawned again and rubbed his eyes. It was late, or early, he couldn't remember. He had just fallen asleep when Sally Donovan was knocking at his door, asking that he come in for question in regards to a murder that happened five hours ago in the apartment downstairs from Greg's.

Five hours ago Greg had been getting fucked by his boyfriend. Mycroft had to go in to work and had woken Gregory for some very nice late night... or early morning, sex. And that is what Gregory Lestrade had bloody been doing.

'Did you know the man?' Sally asked.

'Who?'

'David Abrams.'

'Yeah, neighbour downstairs, moved in three years ago. Quiet, no family, kept to himself, liked fishing. Um, 6"1, roughly 98 kilograms, left-handed, grey hair, blue eyes, thin.'

Sally smiled as she jotted the notes down. Greg had been made a DI for a reason.

'He was killed between 10pm and 12am last night. Where were you during this time?'

'Why am I being questioned?' Greg asked.

Sally looked at him, bit her lip. 'He was killed by a left-handed man, about 5"10, with broad shoulders and grey hair, as our favourite psychopath told us.'

Greg sighed and could almost hear Sherlock mutter, "sociopath". Greg was 5"10, grey-haired, left-handed, broad-shouldered. He yawned again.

'I was in bed.'

'Can anyone confirm that?'

Greg paused, frowned. 'Yes, Sally. But do you really need that? I'm not a murderer.'

'You have killed people, sir.'

'There's a difference between killing and murdering,' Greg huffed, 'look it up.'

She smiled. 'Just tell us who you were with, Greg; clear this matter up.'

Greg frowned and folded his arms. 'I was with... my boyfriend.'

'Boyfriend?' Sally questioned, surprised. She hadn't been aware Greg had been dating anyone, much less a man; turns out he and Mycroft Holmes were very good at keeping a secret. 'How long have you been dating?'

'Thirteen months,' Greg scowled.

Suddenly there was tapping on the one-way glass and he could imagine Sherlock saying, "He's telling the truth, I noticed it a year and one month ago!" He almost wished the consulting detective was in here to stop Sally from asking–

'And what is his name? We need to contact him to ensure that you're telling the truth.'

'I am, Sally.'

'Why won't you give us his name?' Sally asked, quizzical.

'John Bloody Doe,' he grunted.

'You're not helping yourself, Gregory,' Sally said.

Greg sighed. He knew he wasn't, he was just making himself look guilty. But he and Mycroft had worked so hard to keep their relationship a secret. At first it had been to protect themselves from Sherlock's fucking insaneness, to get to know each other and date in private. Why were they hiding now, really? They weren't ashamed of what they were doing, there was nothing wrong with it. They were two consenting men in their mid-to-late forties who loved each other.

'Fine!' Greg snapped and threw his hands in the air. 'I'm dating Mycroft Holmes.'

There was the impenetrable silence from the other side of the glass. No doubt Sherlock's head had exploded. Because how had he not noticed? How had he not seen that Greg was fucking Mycroft?

'Mycroft... Holmes?' Sally said weakly. She'd never met the man, or heard of him, but she bloody well knew the last name.

'Yes, Mycroft Holmes,' Greg said. 'He's Sherlock's older brother and we've been dating a year. I love him, he loves me, we're planning on moving in together and Sherlock doesn't know. You can get his phone number from me, Sherlock, or John Watson, and call him. He'll tell you that when David Abrams was killed we were in bed and he was fucking me. Got it?'

Sally had turned pink, her mouth open, eyes wide. Greg glared at her and folded his arms. Ruined, all ruined. He needed to call Mycroft.

Sally managed to clear her throat and mutter, 'Er, right, 'course. We'll, uh, call Mr Holmes and have him... yeah.' She turned scarlet and Greg grabbed his mobile. He scrolled through and called Mycroft.

'Hello?'

'Cat's out of the bag.'

'I'm sorry?'

'I was pulled in for questioning this morning, guy below me was killed. I was asked where I was and finally told them we were having sex.'

He paused and Mycroft said, softly, 'I see, Gregory. And Sherlock?'

'Other room, heard everything, head's probably exploded.'

'Yes, of course, his brain is annoying that way. Well, it had to happen eventually. Do they need my statement saying we were together?'

'Yes, I'm passing you to Sergeant Donovan.' He handed over his phone and Sally took it gently, like it was a bomb ready to go off.

'Hello, Mycroft Holmes? I'm Sergeant Sally Donovan with the Metropolitan Police. We're holding Gregory Lestrade for questioning about the murder of the man in the flat below his. Mr Lestrade states that he was with you, in bed, between ten pm and midnight last night. Can you confirm this?' She paused, scrawled on her notebook. 'Thank you, Mr Holmes. I will call if I have any further questions.' She passed the phone back to Greg.

'Hey.'

'I'm sorry it happened this way, Gregory.'

'Doesn't matter,' Greg yawned. 'I'm gonna go home and go to sleep.'

'Come back to mine, I'll be done by midday. We can have lunch and discuss where to put your things.'

Greg smiled. 'Sherlock might've killed me by then.' He looked at the one-way glass and wondered what Sherlock was doing.

'Don't be so dramatic, Gregory. I have to go, I love you.'

'Love you too,' Greg said and hung up. He looked at Sally. 'Any more questions?' When she failed to respond, Greg sighed. 'I didn't hear anything, or see anything or anyone suspicious,' Greg stated. 'We done here?'

'Y-yes, sir,' she managed to squeak.

Greg dragged himself from the chair and pulled the door open, coming face-to-face with Sherlock Holmes.

'My brother?' he demanded. 'Thirteen months with my brother?'

'Yes, Sherlock,' Greg said and pushed past him. Behind Sherlock John was laughing. 'Mycroft and I have been dating just over a year and we love each other. So what?'

'So what?' Sherlock shouted. 'He... you... no!'

'Yes.'

'How?' Sherlock demanded.

'On one of our many lunches I asked the bloody sod out because he was too nervous.'

'Why?' Sherlock asked.

'Because he's sexy.'

Sherlock groaned and Greg smirked.

'Congratulations, Greg,' John choked out through fits of laugher.

'Thank you, John.'

'Don't encourage him!' Sherlock shouted and rounded on John. 'Did you know?'

His boyfriend put on a straight face. 'I honestly didn't. I suspected, though, when Greg started wearing fancier shirts.'

The colour drained from Sherlock's face. 'The shirts! THE SHIRTS! HOW COULD I NOT SEE THIS? WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH ME?'

He was properly shouting now and Greg rested a hand on his arm. 'Relax, Sherlock. Come over for dinner, we'll explain.'

Sherlock seethed, not wanting to be caught dead in his brother's flat, especially a flat that was soon to be Greg's as well. But his curiosity was outweighing his disgust and he shouted, 'FINE!' and stormed away.

'Congrats,' John giggled and walked briskly after Sherlock.

Greg laughed.

-oOo-

Greg was woken with a soft kiss that he quickly turned passionate by hooking his arms around Mycroft Holmes' neck and dragging him down. He'd fallen asleep on the couch watching Torchwood and Mycroft had managed to sneak in without waking him.

'A little self control, Greg,' Mycroft murmured against his lips. But he was smiling.

'Never,' Greg muttered and pulled himself up.

'My back.'

'Is fine,' Greg moaned. He whined when Mycroft pulled back, chuckling.

'How is my brother?'

'Murderous.'

'I assumed as much,' Mycroft said and hooked his umbrella onto the couch. He walked around to sit beside Gregory, pulling the man onto his lap. 'Was he really that bad?'

'Started shouting about shirts,' Greg said and nuzzled Mycroft's neck, licking at the exposed skin. 'Something about him not being able to see it and there being something wrong with him.'

'I always wondered how he never managed to put it together.'

'We're just incredibly suave,' Greg said and kissed Mycroft hotly, passionately.

'Mm,' was all Mycroft managed before he was stripping Greg of his shirt, his pants, everything. He had the DI on his hands and knees, groaning as Mycroft got naked and hovered behind him. 'What would you like me to do, Gregory?'

'Fuck me,' Greg moaned.

'Fuck you?'

'Uh huh.'

'How hard?'

'Very hard.'

Mycroft smirked and pushed in, deeply, making Greg moan and shout.

'Fuck, Mycroft!'

'I aim to please,' he whispered and kissed at Greg's neck, his back, his lower spine. Greg groaned again as Mycroft pulled back and pushed, harder, fucking Greg like he hadn't in a while.

It was a familiar routine but one that always had both men grunting. They rarely had a lot of time together so they spent the short time they did have bringing amazing amounts of pleasure to each other, whether it was through sex, or kissing, or touching, or watching TV and cuddling. Even dinner made them both smile madly, like there was nobody else in the world; only them.

Each time seemed like a first, yet familiar, whether it was Mycroft fucking Greg or Greg taking Mycroft. Or having dinner in a restaurant, a cafe, their soon to be shared flat. Or just reading with each other, or separately, watching TV or a DVD or just cuddling. It was familiar, and safe, and caring, and different.

And sex, the sex was... it was everything and nothing to their relationship; just another way for them to connect, the pleasure just an added bonus. Each stroke, each grunt, each moan, each swear, was like a personal heaven opened up by only the two of them being together.

Greg clawed at the couch as his breaths came ragged and short, his teeth clenched as Mycroft thrust at him; it was hard, and rough, and fucking brilliant, just the way Greg needed it that day.

'Fuck, Myc,' he groaned and dug his nails into the black leather beneath him.

Mycroft, if possible, just thrust harder, his own fingers digging into Greg's tanned hips. He groaned loudly and his head flopped back as he entered his hot, tight lover, never tiring of the feeling of being in Greg Lestrade.

'Jesus Fucking Bloody Christ,' Greg moaned and raised a hand to stroke himself. Mycroft reached for him too and together they jerked the DI in time with Mycroft's thrusts, making both of them moan and ache for more.

It was coming, now; the heat, the tightness, the unbelievable feeling of making each other completely split apart. At first it had been all hot and sweaty and swearing and so fucking brilliant. And then it was familiar, still hot, but sweet, and open, and just for each other.

Now it was everything; hot, tight, sweaty, swearing, brilliant, sweet, open, love. It was love, what they were doing, what they always did. Love made the climax more unbelievable, more heart-wrenching and gut-clenching.

Greg shouted and thrust himself back, once, and suddenly he was coming, spewing over his hand, Mycroft's hand, the couch, his knees, everything. He shuddered and rolled back, clenching tight around Mycroft.

Mycroft's climax was the same; tight, hot, bone shattering, muscle tightening. He moaned and continued to thrust as he milked himself and Greg for everything it was worth. His breathing was harsh and irregular, his eyes squeezed shut tighter than ever.

Greg moaned and leaned forward, his arse in the air as he rested his head against the couch. Mycroft pulled out and fell to sit, sprawled across the couch more casually than he would normally be. Greg managed to turn and fall into Mycroft, enjoying the feel of his partner's sweaty body against his.

'I fucking love you,' Greg murmured.

Mycroft chuckled. 'And I love you, for all your swearing.'

'Heard you swearing,' Greg grinned.

Mycroft smiled and closed his eyes, completely satisfied and at ease with everything around him.

-oOo-

'I invited Sherlock to dinner,' Greg said later, after cleaning up the mess and getting dressed and falling into each other once more. Torchwood continued to play on the TV and Greg only watched it a little, content to have Mycroft tracing patterns on his arm through his ratty t-shirt. He eyed John Barrowman from the corner of his eye and Mycroft nudged him.

'Eyes on me, Greg.'

'I was only looking.'

'Mm-hmm' Mycroft said, too content to give a proper answer. He was wearing his at-home clothes; pyjama pants, faded black t-shirt. It was beautiful, to Greg, to see the man out of his suits. Not that he didn't look fabulous in a suit, but at-home Mycroft was just for Greg, for his eyes only.

'Yeah, I actually think Sherlock'll come, he wants to know how he missed it and how serious we are. He'll bring John along for support.'

'And John is happy for us?' Mycroft asked, resting his chin against Greg's head.

''Course he is,' Greg said. 'I was happy for him when he and Sherlock got together.'

'Mm,' Mycroft said, going back to grunting a reply.

'What will we make?'

'Mm-nn,' Mycroft, which Greg knew was Mycroft for: I don't know.

'Pasta?'

'Mm.'

'Steak?'

'Mm.'

'Human organs?'

'Mm.'

Greg giggled. 'You're a weirdo, Mycroft Holmes.'

'Mm.'

'Please answer me– properly.'

Mycroft yawned and shifted so he could look down at Greg. 'What would you like to make, Greg?'

'Pasta, it's all I can make.'

'That soup was passable.'

'You were sick for three days.'

'The sex was well worth it.'

Greg chuckled. 'Pasta it is. And I'm using bottled sauce.'

'I'm sure I could whip something up,' Mycroft said and continued to run his finger down Greg's arm, moving to his chest.

'Really?' Greg asked. Mycroft was a fantastic cook when he had the time and on more than one occasion Greg had dropped his pants simply because of the food he could make.

'Of course,' Mycroft said. 'I'll think of something. What time?'

'Dunno.'

'Maybe you should text Sherlock and ask?'

'Mm,' Greg murmured and Mycroft chuckled. He leaned down without disturbing Greg and took the man's mobile from his trousers on the floor. He pressed it into Greg's hand.

'Message him.'

Greg yawned and sent a quick text:

If you still wanna come to

dinner, and we both want you to,

what time is acceptable for you?

G Lestrade

Though Sherlock had his number saved, Greg always felt the need to make sure Sherlock knew who was sending the message. He, and his brother, always signed their texts with 'SH' or 'MH'. Greg didn't understand why, just accepted it as a weird Holmes thing.

The reply came ten minutes later as Greg was kissing softly at Mycroft's chest.

Hey, it's John, about seven should

do. I don't know the address and

don't trust Sherlock to give me the right

one. So text it back and I'll make

sure we're both there. :-)

John Watson

Greg smiled and texted John the address before glancing at his watch. 'It's only four.'

'Three hours to make a fabulous pasta sauce,' Mycroft said but made no motion to get up.

'Or we could, and this is just a suggestion, go into our soon to be shared bedroom and let me fuck you like crazy.'

'Hmm,' Mycroft said and took a good five minutes pretending to mull it over. Greg elbowed him, very softly, in the crotch and Mycroft grinned. 'Bedroom, DI Lestrade.'

'Yes, Mr Holmes,' Greg grinned and dragged his boyfriend up.

-oOo-

Sherlock was dressed in his usual attire; slim-fitting suit, silk shirt, blue scarf, and dramatic dark coat. He glared darkly at Greg as he stalked into the flat, followed by a grinning John Watson.

'Hello, Gregory.'

'You're enjoying this far too much,' Greg said and shut the door. He turned to take John's coat.

'Oh, yeah, way too much,' John said. Greg laughed and led John to the kitchen.

The pasta was boiling and the sauce was on low, simmering. John sniffed as he entered.

'God, what is that smell? It's... jeez, do you always eat like this?' He stared at the sauce with a kind of pining look on his face.

Greg chuckled. 'No, Mycroft works too much to cook. Mostly its takeaway and whatever I can stick in the microwave. My pasta isn't anywhere near as good.'

'I picked the wrong Holmes,' John joked and caught the hurt look Sherlock flashed him. 'I'm kidding, Sherlock, I love you.'

Sherlock crossed his arms and fell into one of the expensive chairs, pouting. It was cut short when Mycroft entered, wearing jeans and a thin silk shirt. John eyed him silently and Sherlock frowned deeply.

'Love you, Sherlock,' John said and tore his eyes away from Mycroft.

'He does look sexy in jeans, doesn't he?' Greg smiled and Mycroft rolled his eyes.

John didn't say anything but his eyes agreed. Sherlock was becoming sulkier so John went to sit by him and kiss him lightly. 'Hello, Mycroft.'

'Dr Watson.'

'Please, call me John,' John smiled.

Mycroft smiled back. Gone was the mysterious, rude, and seemingly bored politician John was used to. For now he was Mycroft Holmes; Greg Lestrade's very serious boyfriend.

'Very well, John.'

Sherlock tutted and rolled his eyes.

'Hello, brother,' Mycroft smiled.

'Mycroft,' Sherlock grunted.

'And how are you?'

'Fine,' Sherlock said, 'I figured out who killed Lestrade's neighbour.'

'Who?' Greg asked, offering John a beer. Mycroft poured wine for Sherlock, who reluctantly accepted.

'Your other neighbour, the one above you.'

'Right, so I'm surrounded by murderers and murder victims. Glad I'm getting out of there.'

Sherlock sulked again and John asked, 'When are you moving in?'

'Soon as possible,' Greg said and sipped his beer. 'I want to move everything myself.'

'Professional movers would be much easier, Gregory,' Mycroft said, beginning an argument they'd been having for the past month.

'Yeah, but half the fun is collecting your stuff and packing it away, then unpacking it in a new place,' John said.

'See!' Greg said triumphantly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as Mycroft smiled. 'Very well, Gregory, I accept your conditions.'

'Excellent,' Greg grinned and kissed him.

'Please,' Sherlock moaned.

'Sherlock, you can't really be against this,' Mycroft said. 'Why don't you just tell me what's bothering you?'

Sherlock glared at him and John rested a hand on his shoulder. 'Come on, Sherlock...'

Finally seeming to let go of his anger, Sherlock sighed. 'I'm annoyed at myself for not seeing it. How could I miss something as obvious as you two getting together?' He looked at them carefully. 'I can see how much you love each other, how much happier you are with each other, but how did I miss it?'

Silence followed with nobody sure what to say. How did Sherlock Holmes miss something as important as his brother and friend getting together? It didn't seem possible.

'It's frustrating,' Sherlock groaned and took huge gulps of wine.

'Maybe you did see it, but chose to ignore it,' John tried, 'so you wouldn't crap it up like you usually do.'

'I do not, as you eloquently put it, 'crap' anything up,' Sherlock huffed. John just kissed him, softly, making Sherlock shiver beside him. 'Okay, I suppose I can accept that, perhaps, I chose to ignore the very obvious signs for my brother's and... and Gregory's sake,' Sherlock said. He frowned at them. 'But you still should have told me.'

And back was the pouting man-child.

Greg chuckled and Mycroft smiled. John rubbed behind his ear and Sherlock practically purred. They all laughed. (Sherlock pouted).

-oOo-

'God, I'm going to die,' John moaned as he shoved pasta into his mouth. 'Mycroft, make me a pot of this to go.'

Mycroft smiled. 'I take it you and my brother don't usually eat like this?'

'When I can get Sherlock to eat its a few spoonfuls of takeaway, or maybe a slice of pizza.' He smiled affectionately at Sherlock, who had eaten half his plate.

Sherlock glared back.

'Well, I don't normally eat like this either,' Greg admitted. 'Takeaway, microwavable dinner's, eggs, that's what I get.'

Mycroft reached over to take his hand. 'If I could, I'd cook like this every night for you.'

'And make him fat in the process,' Sherlock muttered. 'But maybe you like that, Mycroft.'

Mycroft glared at him and John nudged him under the table.

Sherlock scowled but muttered, 'Sorry.'

'That's quite alright,' Mycroft grinned, delighted John Watson could make his brother apologise with a simple poke of his shoe. 'I hope you are enjoying yourself, Sherlock.' Sherlock snorted. While he appeared to have accepted his brother's and Lestrade's union, he wasn't about to do so quietly. 'And you too, John,' Mycroft added.

'I'm ready to make love to this food,' John admitted.

They chuckled softly and Greg got up, 'More beer?'

'Please,' John nodded.

When Gregory got back he decided it would be a good idea to shift closer to Mycroft and drape himself over his boyfriend's shoulders. Mycroft cleared his throat, his face flushed.

'Gregory, you're being quite rude.'

'So? They don't care.'

John giggled and Sherlock scowled. 'I do,' he muttered.

Greg shrugged but moved back, kissing Mycroft softly. No need to anger the sociopath.

'So how did you two get together exactly?' John asked, spooning more pasta into his mouth.

Mycroft blushed and Greg grinned. They both remembered it well...

Greg blinked at the sudden man standing in his doorway. He knew him, of course. Mycroft Holmes had kidnapped Greg at least several times before the DI said lunch, or dinner, was quite acceptable. Seemingly flustered after this, Mycroft agreed that lunch would be... acceptable.

Greg grinned; finally, he was getting the man to a cafe.

They sat across from each other, Mycroft picking at a salad with no dressing, Greg biting into his burger. He was too hungry to care about being polite, though he did care if Mycroft Holmes thought he was a slob. Because no matter how annoying, or smug, or mysterious, or bloody irritating Mycroft Holmes was, Greg still found him charming, and funny, and unbelievably sexy. The real question was trying to figure out if the other man was interested.

Like usual, Mycroft sat with his eyes trained on Greg, seeming to see nothing else. While most people would see that as sexual attraction, Greg wasn't so sure. When it came to the Holmeses, intense staring could be seen as a way for the genius to find something out about you and use it to humiliate you, or it could mean they were simply deducing how you'd got to work that day.

So rather than get his hopes up, Greg and Mycroft talked about Sherlock a bit, finished their meals, and bid good day.

Their next lunch was less awkward, with Mycroft actually smiling. He seemed slightly more at ease and this time his salad came with light dressing. Greg smiled, his usual burger crammed into his mouth.

'How are you?' Mycroft asked, starting the conversation like he always did.

'Hungry.'

Mycroft smiled. 'I can see.'

'Sorry, I'm a pig.'

'It's quite alright, Detective Inspector,' Mycroft assured him. 'You haven't eaten since last night.'

Greg raised an eyebrow but didn't ask how Mycroft knew. He just shrugged and took another big chunk of meat, swallowing and sipping from his coke.

'Well, Sherlock's not been around much lately. I didn't actually expect you to turn up.'

'Yes, I am aware that my brother has found... something else to occupy his time.'

Greg grinned. So someone else knew about Sherlock and John too.

'It's about bloody time, don't you think?' Greg said.

Mycroft nodded, eyes roaming over Greg. 'Yes, about time.'

They finished twenty minutes later after discussing the pros and cons of the sixth Harry Potter book. Mycroft smiled as he took Greg's hand, the first time he'd ever offered to shake hands with the DI.

'It's been a pleasure, Detective Inspector Lestrade.'

'All mine, Mr Holmes,' Greg smiled.

He left feeling satisfied; they were getting somewhere.

This time Mycroft ordered a sandwich– brown bread, no mayonnaise, lettuce and light cheese. He bit into it delicately, licking crumbs from his lips, and it was all Greg could do not to openly stare.

He swallowed and bit into his trademark burger. Mycroft had called to say he was already at the cafe, at their usual table, and Greg had arrived to find his usual waiting; hamburger with lettuce, tomato, beet root, pickles, heavy on the tomato sauce. He licked said sauce from the corner of his mouth and Mycroft practically dunked his face in his chilled water.

Greg was frustrated beyond belief. Mycroft's sudden need for hydration could be because he was actually thirsty, or turned on by what Greg did, or disgusted by what Greg did, or any number of a million things. Greg nearly smacked his palm against his forehead. Why'd he have to go and fall for a man like Mycroft Holmes?

He didn't know how it happened, or when it happened, it just did. And now he was just going to do his best to get the bloody gorgeous man into bed and make him come quite undone.

'Sorry, I'm a pig,' Greg smiled and wiped at his mouth with a napkin.

Mycroft came up for air, slightly pink. 'That's... alright... Detective,' he managed.

Greg smiled. 'Sherlock's been quiet lately.'

'I am aware.'

They didn't talk about Sherlock after that.

Greg took the liberty to order. Mycroft Holmes was far too skinny and his diet was simply ridiculous. So he ordered a burger like his, minus the tomato sauce and beet root because he remember Mycroft saying he hated beet root and couldn't stomach tomato sauce. It came with a side salad, specially requested by Greg, and a glass of ice water.

Mycroft sat down and stared at the burger. 'I will not eat this; it is far too unhealthy.'

'Lettuce, tomato, pickles, what more do you want?'

'The meat has far too many calories.'

'How can you possibly know that?'

'This is a small cafe, I can smell the oil, and I am a genius.'

Greg snorted. 'Mycroft, let go, just once.'

Mycroft turned slightly pink and Greg realised he'd referred to the man as Mycroft, not Mr Holmes like he usually did.

'Er, you can call me Greg, if you want.'

Mycroft nodded, slowly. 'Very well... Gregory.'

Greg chuckled. 'I'll give you all the gossip on Sherlock and John if you eat it.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 'What makes you think I don't know?'

Sipping his coke, Greg smiled. 'You wouldn't be here if you knew everything, Mycroft.'

The politician pondered that for a minute before picking up the burger and, with ease, taking a bite. He chewed quickly and swallowed. 'Go on.'

Greg laughed and proceeded to tell Mycroft about Sherlock and John getting arrested for indecent exposure. While Mycroft knew about the arrest, Sherlock had refused to give him the details, so he listened in amusement as Greg explained that Sherlock had simply been so turned on by John's deductive capabilities that he'd dragged him into a cleaner's closet to shag him senseless. That the cleaner's closet was in a high school didn't seem to bother Sherlock or John until they were caught, detained, and arrested by a grinning Greg Lestrade.

'That was highly amusing, thank you, Gregory,' Mycroft chuckled and finished off his burger. 'I will be sure to lord that over Sherlock the next time we meet.'

Greg grinned. 'You'll have to tell me an embarrassing story in return.'

Mycroft smiled and it reached his eyes. 'Yes, I will.'

Two burgers were waiting and Greg grinned, falling into the chair. 'It was good, huh?'

'While I admit that the fat content is totally unacceptable, I believe that one burger a week will not damage my diet too highly.'

'Why are you on a diet?' Greg asked, dipping one of his chips into the tomato sauce on the edge of his plate. 'You're in excellent shape.'

Mycroft turned pink and cleared his throat. 'You think so?'

'Oh, yeah,' Greg grinned and made a show of licking the sauce from the hot potato. Mycroft's eyes followed the entire movement. 'Very handsome.'

Mycroft jumped when the waitress put their drinks down and drank half the water in one go. Greg smiled. Maybe there was hope for him and Mycroft yet.

'You promised me an embarrassing story about Sherlock,' Greg said as way of introduction. Mycroft sat before him and smiled down at the burgers, at the chips that had suddenly appeared on his plate instead of a salad.

He picked up a chip and bit it delicately, Greg watching.

'How about the first time he realised he was gay?'

'Yes,' Greg grinned and leaned forward.

Mycroft leaned too. 'He was seventeen, in the middle of a party, and suddenly realised he wanted to snog one of the town boys. He pulled the boy behind the curtains and did just that. Everything was fine until they fell out, half-naked, exposed to the entire school faculty, all father's business associates, and half-a-dozen religious elders.'

Greg giggled helplessly.

'I have never seen Sherlock that flustered or that out of control. He was so controlling going into the situation, even when he realised he liked boys, and everything fell apart. It took me a month to get him out of his room. He didn't try again until he was twenty-five.'

'And how did that go?'

'Not so well,' Mycroft frowned and poked at his burger. 'He fell for the man, the man used him.'

'Oh,' Greg said and tugged at his shirt. 'I'm sorry.'

Mycroft smiled at him. 'I took care of it.'

Greg shivered suddenly. 'And by that you mean...?'

'I had him deported.'

Greg grinned. 'Serves him right.'

Mycroft smiled.

'Hmm, you have some chilli sauce on your lip,' Greg said. He'd been eyeing it for the past minute, just trying not to jump forward and lick it away. While Mycroft was not a fan of tomato sauce, he apparently liked all things spicy.

'Oh?' Mycroft said and failed for a few seconds to clear it.

Greg grinned and suddenly couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and wiped it away with his index finger. He locked his eyes on Mycroft's and licked his finger clean. 'Gone.'

Mycroft's pupils dilated and he cleared his throat, leaning back.

'Erm, thank you, Gregory, th-thank you...' he trailed off and spent the rest of their... date? meeting?... what?... blabbering on about something.

But the damage was done. Greg had seen; Mycroft Holmes was attracted to him. And if Mycroft didn't do something soon, Gregory would.

Four... "meetings" later, Mycroft hadn't done anything. Greg had watched, had deduced, and Mycroft definitely liked him. His pupils dilated, his cheeks flushed, and he gulped every time Greg did something overly sexual; which he did a lot. He made a show of licking lips, his fingers, his chips. He rubbed his cold glass against his neck, his chest. He moaned softly as he bit into his burger, purposefully locking eyes with Mycroft.

And yet the man hadn't said, or done, anything other than act like a total klutz. He'd spilled more than five drinks, knocked his burger to the floor, and blabbered on more times than Greg could count. This had to stop and Greg decided that he'd make the man simply state that he was gay and then Greg would ask him out.

'So, that story you told me about Sherlock, about him realising he was gay?' Greg said. Mycroft nodded slowly and looked up at him. Neither had spoken much of Sherlock lately, only proving to Greg that these were no longer meetings as short courtships. 'It wasn't too dissimilar to how I came out.'

Mycroft choked on his drink and quickly wiped at his lips with a napkin. 'Excuse me?'

'I didn't exactly tell my parents I was gay,' Greg said and licked at a sauce coated finger. Mycroft flushed darkly. 'I was having sex in my room and my mum walked in.'

Mycroft choked again but managed not to spill any of his water.

'Bloody embarrassing,' Greg smiled, 'but saved me giving her the "I like boys" speech.'

'Yes,' Mycroft managed and forced a smile, 'I guess that did save time.'

'How'd you do it?'

'How did I do what?' Mycroft asked.

Greg started pointedly at him. 'How did you come out to your parents? Or to Sherlock?'

There was silence, then, with Mycroft turning even redder and Greg just staring.

'You... noticed, then?' Mycroft asked suddenly.

'What? That you were gay or that you were clearly checking me out?'

Mycroft swallowed, hard. 'Both,' he whispered.

Greg grinned. 'I noticed both, Mycroft.'

'I see.'

More silence, Greg staring at Mycroft, Mycroft staring at the table.

'Would you like to go out on a proper date, Mycroft?' Greg asked.

Mycroft jumped, stared at him. 'What?'

'A date, at a restaurant, preferably a dinner,' Greg continued. 'You, me, romantic, hopefully with a kiss at the end.'

Mycroft stared, wide-eyed. 'You want to date me?'

'Yup,' Greg said. 'Do you think I lick sauce off my fingers like that all the time?'

'A part of me hoped you didn't,' Mycroft said and glanced at Greg's hands. 'Although I wouldn't be opposed to you doing it all the time.'

Greg smiled and trailed a finger through the tomato sauce. Slowly, he raised it to his lips and sucked softly. Mycroft moaned, actually moaned!

'Dinner?' Greg asked. Mycroft nodded. 'When are you free?'

'Tonight.'

'Excellent,' Greg said and stood. 'I have work.'

He rounded the table quickly and grabbed Mycroft, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. He just couldn't wait any longer and sighed as Mycroft's lips pushed back against his. Greg darted a tongue across Mycroft's bottom lip and Mycroft copied, both groaning.

Greg pulled back and grinned. 'I gotta go to work.' He kissed Mycroft, quickly, and said, 'Call me,' before leaving the cafe and a very flushed Mycroft Holmes.

The date would be good.

The sex would be great.

And them, together, would be excellent.

John laughed at the end. Greg had told most of the story, leaving out some of his more vulgar thoughts.

'You were meeting to discuss me?' Sherlock demanded.

'It was Mycroft code for "I want you",' John said.

'Oh,' Sherlock said. 'That is more acceptable.'

Mycroft chuckled and squeezed Greg's hand. 'What would I do without you?'

'Die,' Greg grinned and kissed Mycroft softly. 'Honestly, I usually don't eat that sloppily, couldn't you tell?'

'I was busy trying to keep myself from attacking you, Greg.'

'And a fine job you did, I almost gave up.'

'But you didn't,' Mycroft said, softly.

'No,' Greg agreed and raised Mycroft's hand to kiss it. 'I didn't.'

John went back to eating his dinner, grinning broadly at the happy couple. And, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock smile softly as he looked at his brother and friend.

-oOo-

'Doctor Who?' John asked after dinner, his fourth beer in his hands.

'Yes,' Greg grinned. 'Nobody ever wants to watch Doctor Who with me.'

'Mycroft doesn't like it?' John asked as Greg grabbed one of the box sets and pulled it open. 'Neither just Sherlock.'

'Myc says its "unrealistic, boring, and utterly confusing". He's just jealous he doesn't look as good in a suit as David Tennant.'

John chuckled and Mycroft called, 'I heard that!'

'Love you, darling!' Greg grinned.

John just shook his head and fell onto the leather couch. Greg tried to forget about what he'd done on that couch earlier as he sat beside the doctor.

They settled back to watch series three, leaving Mycroft and Sherlock at the table. Mycroft swirled his wine around and took a sip, looking at Sherlock.

'What?' the younger Holmes asked.

'Are you okay with this, Sherlock?' Mycroft asked. 'I'd really like to hear your thoughts.'

Sherlock glanced over his brother carefully. Mycroft loved Greg, there was no doubt about it, and Greg loved him. They were good for each other, and very happy, and as much as Sherlock wanted to tease and provoke his brother about it, he knew Mycroft rarely had good things in his life. While he loved his job, it just wasn't enough, but now Sherlock could see that his brother really was happy.

And hadn't his brother managed to be sincere and honest when Sherlock and John got together? Didn't Sherlock at least owe him the same consideration?

Swallowing hard, Sherlock placed his glass on the table. 'I am very happy for you and Gregory, Mycroft. And while I won't pretend that not telling me wasn't annoying, I am glad that you have found each other and are happy.'

Mycroft stared at his brother, speechless. Sherlock's smirk found its way back to his pale lips.

'What?'

'Thank you, Sherlock.'

Sherlock hesitated before saying, 'You're welcome.'

Their conversation was cut off by Greg whistling at the TV. 'Now that is how a man looks in a suit!'

'Agreed!' John shouted and they both broke into hysterical giggles.

Sherlock and Mycroft turned to see David Tennant, who played the title character of The Doctor (a truly horrid name, Mycroft thought), rush across the screen in a tuxedo while a giant alien chased him.

'And they call themselves grown men,' Mycroft tutted.

'I really don't see what is so fascinating about the show,' Sherlock said drily. Then he paused, looked around, and said, softly, 'Though he does look good in those suits.'

A grin spread across Mycroft's face as Greg and John wolf-whistled again.

'I am inclined to agree with you, brother. But never, ever, tell Gregory.'

Sherlock smiled, a proper one, and sipped his wine. 'As long as you never tell John.'

Mycroft nodded and smiled. 'Agreed.' They lapsed into silence again before the giggling became too much and Mycroft stood to join them. 'Sherlock?'

'Yes?'

'I'm glad you found out,' Mycroft said.

Sherlock nodded, managed a smile. 'When you plan to get married, or have a baby, please tell me.'

'I will,' Mycroft said.

'Now I have to prove to John that I look better in a suit than David Tennant.'

'I agree, brother,' Mycroft said and followed Sherlock into the living room. Sherlock jumped on John and proceeded to rub himself all over the doctor, who promptly forgot all about the Doctor.

Mycroft sat in one of the arm chairs and Greg shifted to get away from Sherlock and John, who were practically dry-humping each other.

'Animals,' Greg grunted and fell to sit on Mycroft.

'And what do you think I plan to do to you tonight?'

Greg grinned. 'Make me forget about David Tennant?'

Mycroft smiled and kissed Greg, slowly, softly, glad he no longer had to hide it. 'Yes. By tomorrow morning you won't even know the man's name.'

'And you won't even know yours,' Greg said. He smiled at Mycroft and, slowly, Mycroft smiled back.

{THE END}

Author's Note: Just a short, fluffy Mystrade I came up with last night. Enjoy.

I live to entertain.

And, most importantly,

{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}