Chapter Text
Slamming what had to be the seventh shot glass down onto the bar Greg Lestrade sighed, dark eyes closing for a moment as the world seemed to spin. When it felt safe enough to open them he could only see the pale ring around his finger. For the last few months he’d juggled with leaving it on, or taking it off.
After barely an hour of having it off the guilt had become almost distracting. So he’d pulled the ring back on while trying to call his wife. For a good while it had seemed like she was willing to try and make things work. They weren’t living together anymore but she had kept going to couples therapy, talked to him about the issues she was having, and even wore her ring still.
Now? She was shacking up with some gym teacher, and had had her lawyer call his in regards to the papers. They had to sit down for one more meeting to make sure everyone agreed on everything, and then. . after that? His wife would no longer be his wife, and the silence that greeted him every day at home would be the only thing to look forward to. Sighing softly he held up a hand, waving over the bar tender.
“You sure about this?” He asked, setting another shot glass out anyway. “I’m not sure about anything anymore. . “ Greg murmured, taking the glass and swallowing the burning whiskey down with a small hiss.
The crowd around him was loud, voices straining against the walls of the tiny pub. When it occurred to him that it was time to finally leave he’d lost count with how many drinks he’d actually had. The bar tender had stopped questioning him, just starting to pour drinks so he could get back to the other people crowding around the bar. Slamming down money for the drinks he stood, holding tightly on the sticky top of the polish wood for a small breath.
“Oi! Call yourself a cab. Can’t have you out there driving!” one of the bar tenders called out. “I plan on it. I’m not stupid.” Greg replied, waving their worry away as he made his way outside.
Finally out in the fresh breeze he tried to breathe away the haze of drunkenness that currently seemed over whelming. When was the last time he’d let loose like this? Judging by how bothersome it was to take a few steps towards the curb much too long, and he wasn’t in a hurry for it to happen again.
Even before Greg could hold a hand up to try and summon a cab a sleek black car pulled in front of him. It was quite a familiar thing to suddenly have this car pull up out of nowhere. “The Holmes brothers. Bloody crazy if you ask me. . “ Greg murmured as he opened the door and got inside.
It was so late! Why would Mycroft need to see him about Sherlock now?
Asking the driver was a pointless, and that little texting crazed assistant was nowhere to be seen either. The first time he’d met Mycroft Holmes it had been under less than pleasing circumstances. By that point he’d worked with Sherlock quite a bit, and had a strange fondness for the blunt worded detective. Mycroft had merely kidnapped him one day, they’d had a talk about him, Greg, being Mycrofts extra eyes and ears around the younger Holmes brother.
When John Watson had come around the kidnappings masked as meetings increased somewhat. Mycroft wanted him to watch out for the both of them now, and report back anything. The only things Greg ever saw were almost impossible. Sherlock was still himself but a bit different with John, almost softer and a lot happier.
“My head. . “ Greg groaned softly, running fingers over his hair as the car drove along. Where was he headed now? There had been so many different meeting spots over the past few years there was no telling.
An abandoned building? A random shop? Where on earth would Mycroft demand to see him now? With the images of past meetings rolling through his head Greg Lestrade wasn’t even aware the car had stopped until the driver opened the door.
Getting out he was greeted by a rather nice looking townhouse. The type that cost more money than sense to own, at least that’s how Greg always saw them. When he was led inside there wasn’t anything that led to the idea this was an actual home. It was lived in judged by the perfectly placed décor items, and the sight of a leather couch in a dark themed living room, but it wasn’t a home. Nothing personal, not even the sight of shoes at the door.
“Ah, Greg, I am glad you were able to join me.”
Turning towards the voice he could only shake his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Holmes, would I really have a choice in the matter? If this is about Sherlock I must be honest. There’s nothing else I can say, and right now I can barely think straight.” Greg said, glancing at the tan line around his finger again. “Yes, I had heard about that little. . mess.” Mycroft said, gaze flickering down to where the wedding band had been at one point.
“How. . you know what? I don’t even care. Listen, Holmes, I need to get home.” He said. “Do sit down. We both know there isn’t exactly anything waiting for you back home.” Mycroft said, gesturing towards the sectional leather couch.
Not bothering to fight against the ‘order’ Greg went to take a seat, unable to help looking around for pictures of any sort. At least some of Sherlock, considering the over protective brother Mycroft was. “Is this even your home?” He found himself asked while sitting back, mentally thanking God that there was somewhere for him to sit?
“It is a place I do business in once in a while. Were you expecting sentimental family photos spread out? Maybe more ‘homey’ touches?” He chuckled, distain dripping from every word. “Shut it, Mycroft. . I get it. . I should have known better. . “ Greg sighed, leaning his head back against the couch as his eyes followed the figure taking a seat across in one of the chairs. It made more sense for Mycroft to sit there. Easier for the man to watch him.
“You obviously are not taking this whole separation thing very well. Hitting the pub past your limit. Very shameful for a man your age.” Mycroft said with the tiniest shake of his head. It was moments like this that left Lestrade beyond confused. Maybe it was the alcohol dulling his senses but it was even harder to know if Mycroft was laughing at him or not.
The idea of it was even more annoying than usual, and worse. “I need a drink.” He murmured, looking up at the ceiling. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had laughed at him. No doubt ‘she’ was having quite the laugh with her new man. This moment also made him rue the day he decided to quit smoking, and all of the damned patches were still back home. “The bar is right in the corner back there. Help yourself.”
“What?” Greg asked, not sure he’d heard it correctly. “If you are to drink yourself into a mindless stupor my words will not stop you.” He said, tilting his head in the direction behind him.
A small bar from the looks of it but as Greg went over it had more than enough. Grabbing a glass and bottle of whiskey he poured a bit, wincing at the burning feeling down his throat.
“It really can be quite interesting to watch how people handle different levels of emotional turmoil.”
“So glad I can be entertaining for you during this time. I guess that answers why you even brought me here so late in the first place. You’re worse than Sherlock sometimes.” He said, pouring another glass before sitting at one of the small bar stools.
“I would say it depends on what you mean by ‘worse’. Sherlock seems to have forgotten how risky it can be to be sentiment towards anything, judging by the change of relationship between him and our dear doctor Watson.” Mycroft said as he stood, taking a few steps closer to Greg who was already swaying in his seat. “I’m not even going to ask. I don’t even think I want to know. Why do you even care?” Greg laughed, shaking his head.
Mycroft had always been honest about how he felt when it came to feelings. Well, honest about how he ‘thought’. Did Mycroft even feel anything besides the need to watch over his brother? “You have never exactly appreciated what I have said about emotions before, but look at yourself now. All for the love of a woman you are sitting here, drinking something that gives you little pleasure but all in the hopes that it will cloud your mind to the pain she has caused you.” Mycroft said, reaching up to place a warm hand on the others shoulder.
With the steadying hand Greg noticed how much he had been moving. Was Mycroft Holmes really touching him? Looking at the hand his eyes followed up the arm until they met the stormy colored eyes. “You look almost pleased with yourself. That’s impossible though, or did something good happen?” Greg murmured.
“Good is such a relative term. I am rather pleased you came. With you in your current state what I have to say might actually sink in easier.”
“Oh God, that’s always good to hear from a Holmes brother.” Greg said with a little shake of his head. It felt like the hand on his shoulder squeezed gently, drawing his attention again. It was a bit hard to tell with the numbing effect of the alcohol but it seemed possible judging by the cocky chuckle from Mycroft.
“Lestrade, you intrigue me. Very much so. I had been holding back out of respect for the marriage you were so hell bent on preserving.” Mycroft explained, stepping a bit closer as Greg frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. When have you ever held back from anything?” He asked when the slight pressure on his arm went away, fingers grasping his chin instead to draw his head around somewhat.
It sent off little warning bells to have someone grabbing at his face, but Greg was slow to react as he was turned somewhat to face Mycroft. “What the hell are you doing?” He asked, eyes growing wide as he noticed the face coming closer to his.
Truth be told Greg hadn’t really been ‘close’ with anyone since his wife had first moved out. He just hadn’t been able to get past the idea of her finding out. So, when lips were placed over his for the first time in what had to be almost a year he couldn’t help but react, heart leaping into his throat for a second as his lips softened under the contact. The ‘who’ on the other side of the kiss mattered little in those few minutes.
When Greg finally came back to himself he had fully turned towards Mycroft, and even had a hand on the one still trapping his face. “Mycroft!” Greg said, trying to pull away but the grip was firm and unrelenting. Grasping the others wrist he searched the face so close to his.
“How long has it been since you’ve partaken in something as relaxing as sex? It really can be a wonderful way to relax, and judging by the pounding of your heart you really could use it.” Mycroft chuckled.
It felt like his head was spinning, almost hard enough to send him falling over but Mycroft was keeping him steady with the grip to his face. “I don’t. . understand? What the hell are you saying? What the bloody hell are you even doing?” Greg asked but he didn’t sound outraged, merely confused.
“You haven’t been with a woman since your wife left, and I have held back out of something considered respect. Now it is final and I see no need to hold back further, or is my company honestly so distasteful?” He asked with a small smirk, dropping his hand away from the pale face.
Greg reached up to lean on the bar, taking in a careful breath as he tried to work through what had exactly happened. “I don’t think I quite understand. You want me as in. . sexual?” Greg asked as Mycroft laughed softly. “I normally distain such drunken behavior but on you it is almost endearing. The cloudy judgment in your mind mixing with confusion of basic bodily desires with your common sense.”
He wasn’t gay! Greg Lestrade shook his head but nothing could clear away the desires that had been worked up from just a mere kiss. Almost an entire year without sexual contact with anyone, mixed with whiskey and a kiss just seemed like trouble.
“This doesn’t make sense. I should go.” Greg said, trying to stand. The stumbling was stopped by a pair of arms wrapping around his waist, drawing him closer to a perfectly stable body. “Mycroft!” He tried to sound angry, offended by being pulled so close but he couldn’t help but look back into the stormy eyes.
A storm promising fresh life and quite a wild ride. When they came closer all Lestrade could do was tilt his head out of habit, accepting the kiss that was offered this time as he felt fingers dig into his back through the suit.
Pulled flush against Mycroft he grasped at the mans shoulders, lips parting almost timidly only to be invaded by a tongue demanding control. Greg was used to being in control always. That’s what he had to do. Take control and keep order, but Mycroft was trying to take it. Moaning softly he tried to push away but a punishing nip to his lower lip had the Detective Inspector almost melting into a puddle.
When Mycroft finally broke away Greg couldn’t move, instead making his grip tighter on the others arms. “Your body seems responsive, your pulse is racing perfectly, but you doubt yourself?” Mycroft said, a wandering hand reaching down to explore the currently covered ass.
“Do think it over carefully. There is no attachment to leave you guilty, and no real excuse to turn away.” He said, letting go and leaving Greg to grab back onto the edge of the bar.
As Mycroft started walking off Greg watched him move, confusion almost enough to knock him sober. Taking a few steps to the couch he laid down, breathing heavily as he licked his lips. Mycroft had tasted oddly. . clean. And so different. Instead of soft and delicate he had been powerful and demanding. What was he even thinking though?
Mycroft was a man! They were both men! Men didn’t just. . they weren’t supposed to just. . God, it felt like his heart was about to explode.
“Mycroft. . “