Somehow me and a friend realised that Lestat would be perfect for Mycroft. "Now he won't be lonely at Christmas!" This started out as a pretty unserious idea but as I started writing I found this thing actually pretty interesting. This story will for now be rated T but with vampires involved I might have to turn this into a M story. Not only because they are in fact killers but I think that Lestat and Mycroft would be able to do some pretty hawt stuff. I'm serious. So we will see if I'm capable of writing things like that or not.

It was a cloud free night with the moon looking like nothing more than just stripe on the sky. Stars were twinkling carelessly like ever before. Lights poured out of the windows of London, cars filling the streets like any other night. But inside of one house there was nothing but silence. The lights were out but none were asleep. In the biggest room sat a man in an arm chair, resting his chin at his folded hands. His stare was concentrated on the very top of the window, straight at the thin moon above.

This man was still wearing the grey suit that he had worn all day and he hadn't even loosened his tie, even though it was far into the night. He had no plans on moving. Not a single muscle in his body moved. He was just going to sit there, staring.

"You are tired," a voice suddenly said and broke the magical silence that surrounded the man.

Usually nothing would surprise him as he was used to never relaxing but this time he flinched. His whole body tensed as he turned around, turned away from the window and stared into the darkness behind him.

"You seem surprised to see me," the voice said with a playful attitude.

"I shall inform you that I do not appreciate any kind of company at this very moment," Mycroft answered. His eyes were desperately searching for the source of the voice but even though he was slowly getting used to the dark he could still see nothing.

"Oh, but that is a lie," the voice continued. "You are alone and you are not pleased with it."

"Stop playing games," Mycroft said with a sharp tone. "Step forward."

With that the sound of shifting clothes right next to Mycroft made him flinch a second time that night. Mycroft stared to his side, looking straight into grey eyes that absorbed the blue from the night outside. He didn't need much more than that single look to feel the heat disappearing from his body. A slight tremble in his fingers told him that he was in fact scared. Who was this person?

"You feel lonely," the person in front spoke with a soft voice. This made Mycroft aware of the blond waves and beautiful white skin that was basking in the dim moonlight. The man was leaning down while resting a hand on the back of the arm chair, dressed in a shirt with ruffles that seemed to have been through a lot. Even though Mycroft still felt the hint of fear through his body he kept looking at the man while thinking about how beautiful he was.

"How did you get in?" Mycroft asked bluntly, totally ignoring the previous statement.

"I prefer to keep my secrets to myself but if you must break the magical spell I did in fact use the door. Don't worry about any of your guards. They didn't even notice my presence." The man leaned back a little while looking at Mycroft from tip to toe. Mycroft kept his eyes at the man's eyes.

"And what can I do for you?" Mycroft asked when he realised the man wouldn't speak any more. The man did take a pause and walked around the arm chair while looking at the room.

"It's not about what you can do for me, but what I can do for you." The man stopped on the other side of the arm chair, slowly kneeling down by the side of it. "I seldom do charity but have been troubled with boredom for quite a while now. You interest me, you see. You sit here, deep in thought, in the middle of the night and feel lonely. You won't even admit your loneliness to yourself, or how much you envy all those that have friends. Like your brother."

"Is this to do with Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, very tiredly. He had a weak spot for his brother but didn't feel like getting dragged into anything without wanting it himself. He seldom did and this was not an exception. He was not to accept it.

"Of course not, then I would be spending my time lingering around in his shadows. But he has someone that entertains him, unlike you. Why do you spend your time alone?" The man leaned forward, now just a foot shorter than Mycroft who hadn't moved at all and was still sitting with his hands clenching the arm rests of his chair. The man reached out one of his hands and was slowly reaching for his throat. "A human who choose this kind of empty life. You interest me, Mycroft Holmes."

He knew everything. This man was not only frightening Mycroft with just a stare but also seemed to know everything about him. When he heard his name mentioned he felt a shiver along his spine and at the same moment the fingernails of the man reached his neck, slowly tracing the outlines towards his chin.

"Will you stop with the riddles?" Mycroft forced himself to ask but his voice was weak and was shaking slightly.

"I will keep you company. I will save you from you loneliness." The man answered bluntly.

"And what do you want from me?"

"I will save myself from boredom."

Mycroft stared into the grey eyes that had suddenly shortened the distance between them and was now just inches away. His breath was shortening and the nail that had contact with his skin slowly raised his chin without Mycroft even feeling capable of refusing. The man got a smirk that slightly spread on his face, and a glimpse in his eyes made Mycroft surrender. The smirk turned into a grin when the man saw that he had won.

"My name is Lestat de Lioncourt."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lioncourt." The man was barely an inch from his face and yet he managed to sound somewhat confident. It all disappeared within a second.

"Call me Lestat," the man said.

Suddenly the space between them was gone and Mycroft felt cold lips push against his. Cold fingers met the skin of his throat as they started to slowly caress the skin, feeling as his blood started pumping harder through his veins. The tickle of a tongue against his lower lip made Mycroft hiss as he took a deep breath, opening his mouth slightly. Enough to make him feel the tongue lick his lip a second time before a sharp edge met the texture of his lip. When he felt the metallic taste of his own blood he suddenly realised it. Even though the thought was silly he had to utter it aloud when the man had retreated half an inch for just a second.

"Vampire."