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themirokai · 7 days

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Never say never on returning to wips you love.

In late 2020 and through 2021, I was writing a Mystrade series called His Professional Capacity in which Mycroft is a spymaster. I had the first chapter of a sixth (and probably final) story for the series written, but I never quite figured out where to take it and I moved on to other fandoms.

Now, three years later, I’ve written a five chapter story that nearly doubles the length of the series. It’s getting proofread and beta’d now, but I hope to start posting it soon. Because the vast majority of you followed me after 2021, and I want to entice as many people to read this as possible, I’m going to start posting the stories in the series here. First up:

What He Does

Greg encounters Mycroft's security detail and comes to understand the reasons for it.

~ 2,601 words. I've tweaked some minor things from the AO3 version, which was not Britpicked, but kept the rather American conception of when someone might be carrying a gun, since it's integral to the plot. Please enjoy despite inaccuracies.

Read it below or on AO3.

~*~

Greg pondered whether he should take Mycroft’s arm. Or his hand. Or offer Mycroft his arm. Or put his hand on Mycroft’s back. This whole “dating” thing was confusing. Greg hadn’t dated for decades, and back then it had been women. Not a mature, somewhat intimidating, incredibly posh, devastatingly gorgeous man. He wasn’t quite sure how to act.

Greg would admit that dinner had been a success. The conversation was comfortable, interesting, and somewhat flirty, just as it had been for their previous two dates. And the several meals and drinks they’d shared before that - before Greg had gotten up the nerve to ask Mycroft on a real date. They had chemistry. That was certain. And when the meal ended and Mycroft had suggested they go for a walk to enjoy the fresh fall air, Greg had jumped at the chance to keep the date from ending.

He pondered the possibility of a good night kiss, but wasn’t sure if that should come before or after holding hands or linking arms on a walk. What were the procedures for physical contact with a man who made your stomach do somersaults every time you thought about him? How were those procedures different when the man in question held a highly secretive and incredibly powerful government position? Were they different? Greg settled for moving a little closer to Mycroft as they walked along, allowing the sleeves of their coats to brush against each other.

Mycroft finished the anecdote he was telling about Sherlock as a child, and Greg turned to smile up at him. As he did, movement caught the corner of his eye and Greg glanced behind them. There was a man walking half a block behind them. Greg frowned.

“Shall we take this left?” he asked Mycroft.

“If you like,” Mycroft responded with a soft smile.

They turned and Greg waited about half a block before glancing back. The man behind them made the turn as well. Greg risked a slightly longer look this time and realized with alarm that he recognized the man from the restaurant. His mind immediately ran through possibilities. Mugger. Someone after Greg because of a case he’d worked or was currently working. Someone after Mycroft for whatever shadowy reason. Someone after either or both of them as a way of getting to Sherlock.

“Gregory? Is something wrong?”

No sense in worrying him. Greg could handle this. “No, uh, no. Let’s just - do you mind if we turn down this alley for a moment?”

Now Greg did take Mycroft’s elbow to guide him into the small alley, mentally kicking himself that the first time he touched the man was out of fear and necessity.

“Gregory, what-”

“Please, just stay here a moment and keep quiet, I’m sure it’s nothing, I’ll handle it.”

“Gregory!”

But Greg was not listening, he could hear the man’s footsteps speeding up and getting nearer, and drew his gun. From his peripheral vision, he thought he saw Mycroft reaching for him, but he was already committed to whirling around the corner and slamming the oncoming man against the wall, holding him with an arm across his chest and leveling the gun to his cheek. “That’s far enough, mate. Who are you and why are you following us?”

The man slowly raised his hands, but a female voice suddenly cut in. “Drop the gun! Now!”

Greg did not drop the gun, but turned to look down the barrel of another weapon held by a well-dressed woman who Greg was also fairly sure he had seen at the restaurant. Before Greg had a chance to respond, Mycroft stepped out of the alley.

“Stand down, Ms. Bell.” Mycroft sounded tired.

“Sir, please stay back!” the woman responded.

“Ms. Bell, Inspector Lestrade is not a threat.”

“Respectfully, sir, then why is he hustling you into an alley and drawing a gun on your security?” Ms. Bell kept her own gun trained on Greg, who was frozen.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because he did not know that I have security and thought Mr. Spooner was following us with malicious intentions.” Mycroft squared his shoulders, and put the tone of command into his voice. “Stand down, Ms. Bell. That is an order.” The woman grimaced and holstered her weapon. “Gregory, kindly unhand Mr. Spooner.”

Greg stepped back, but was not quite able to pick his jaw up off the floor. “They work for you?”

“Indeed,” Mycroft said, as Mr. Spooner, with a face like a thundercloud, started brushing off his clothing. “Mr. Spooner and Ms. Bell are … associates of mine and - for the time being at least - they have been charged with ensuring my safety.”

Greg holstered his gun. “Do you always have security?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said simply.

“So the other times we’ve been out together?”

“They were there and you did not notice them. Which is how it should be,” Mycroft lowered a meaningful look at Spooner, who squirmed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Greg asked, still wrapping his mind around the fact that he was apparently trying to date someone who merited two armed guards at all times.

Mycroft sighed. “In retrospect, that was clearly a mistake. I-” he paused, looking at the three of them, then shook his head. “The bar in the hotel across the way is nice and quiet. May I buy you a drink, Gregory? I’m afraid the walk has been a bit ruined.”

“Sure… yeah, a drink sounds good.”

Fifteen minutes later they were ensconced in a booth at a swanky hotel bar. Greg had a single malt Scotch, and Mycroft was twisting the stem of a glass of red wine in his long fingers. Beautiful fingers, Greg thought. Spooner and Bell had taken a table on the other side of the bar where they were too far to hear the conversation, but had clear sight lines to Mycroft.

“So how long have those two been your bodyguards?” Greg asked, nodding at Spooner and Bell.

“They’ve only been on this rotation for about a week. They’ll spend a month with me, before moving on to another assignment and being replaced by another two. And I wouldn’t call them bodyguards. They are field agents.”

“Ms. Bell sure seems like a bodyguard.” Greg took a swig of his drink.

“Ms. Bell knows that she will be held partially accountable for Mr. Spooner’s carelessness. This assignment is meant to give a more experienced agent - in this case, Ms. Bell - an opportunity to train a less experienced agent - Mr. Spooner - in the field. It also allows me to observe agents in the field to get a feel for their strengths and weaknesses. I’m afraid tonight revealed some weaknesses.” Mycroft sipped his wine.

“It’s not their fault you decided to go out with a cop,” Greg grinned.

“Yes, but-” Mycroft stopped himself and smiled. “Yes, you’re right.”

Greg narrowed his eyes. “You expect them to be better than me. It’s alright, you can say it.”

Mycroft considered Greg for a moment before responding. “I expect them to be able to follow their mark unnoticed, even if their mark is accompanied by a particularly intelligent and observant detective.”

“Fair enough, and I’ll take the compliment,” Greg chuckled. “So is that the only reason you have security? For training and observation?”

Mycroft twirled his wine glass in his fingers again before responding. “Gregory… I have enjoyed our time together, and if you are willing I would like to continue to see you.”

Greg grinned. “More than willing.”

Mycroft smiled. “Thank you. There are many things I am unable to talk about with you, for your safety, and mine, and that of others. And even with this I must tread a bit lightly, but … I would like you to go into,” he gestured vaguely between the two of them, “this, with your eyes open.”

“I’m listening.” Greg sat a little straighter.

“The work I do, the work I have done in the past, has risks. I… have enemies. Enemies who would prefer that I were no longer operating. While I am generally able to take care of myself, I am not as young as I was and there have been … close calls, as it were. And so now my security detail is part of the field agents’ rotation.”

“How close were the close calls?”

“Too close.”

“How too close?”

“A few centimeters from a major artery, too close.”

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

They both sipped their drinks. “Well then I’m glad Ms. Bell pulled her gun on me. She was probably right to,” Greg said after a minute. “Don’t be too hard on her tomorrow.”

Mycroft smiled and hesitantly reached across the table to touch Greg’s hand. Greg immediately took the opportunity to grab hold of the long, slender fingers. “You don’t… mind? That I live a life that requires that I am under surveillance?”

“I mean you have some privacy, don’t you?”

“Yes!” A blush was climbing up Mycroft’s cheeks. “Yes, of course! I - um - they - well, I mean-“

The sight of Mycroft Holmes stuttering like a schoolboy melted the last of Greg’s discomfort and he grinned, then squeezed Mycroft’s hand. “Can I safely assume that if I go to kiss you when we leave here that I won’t end up looking down the barrel of Ms. Bell’s gun again?”

Mycroft gaped at him momentarily before recovering. “No - um - no, that would be fine.”

“Just fine?” Greg cocked an eyebrow, leaning in to the newfound confidence.

A slow smile played over Mycroft’s features. “More than fine. Welcome.”

Greg settled back into his seat with a grin. There was one thing sorted.

Greg squinted across the restaurant. “Is Bell wearing a wig?”

Mycroft took a sip of his drink. “Gregory, kindly do not peer at her. She is more effective if it is not clear that there’s a connection between her and I.”

Greg turned his eyes front, but not before he saw Bell glower at him. “Sorry,” he grinned at Mycroft. “Is it a wig though? It’s awful. Don’t you all train in costuming or something?”

Mycroft coughed and wiped his mouth carefully with his napkin, avoiding Greg’s eyes. “I believe she dyed her hair.”

Greg’s jaw dropped. “No. Mycroft, no. Not that colour.” Mycroft cut another bite of his meal without looking up. “Did she do it because of me?” Greg asked, astonished. When Mycroft neither confirmed nor denied, Greg clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

“You’ve been… a little too good at spotting her,” Mycroft said after a minute. “But her new assignment starts in a few days. I believe the change in hair colour is more related to that.”

“There is no way that shade is good for any kind of undercover work, darling, you’ve got to get her to change it. It looks like it doesn’t know whether it’s red or purple.”

Mycroft started a bit at the pet name, and watched carefully as Greg applied himself to his meal. After a moment, he relaxed with a smile. “I’ll speak to her.”

“Mycroft.”

“Mm?”

“The chap on the bicycle.”

“What about him?”

“Is he your new security?”

A heavy sigh, then, “Kindly leave your gun holstered, Gregory.”

About a month, a number of dates, and many quite pleasant kisses after their first, Greg and Mycroft lay naked in Mycroft’s bed following their first time having sex. Greg was gently tracing his fingers over one of the several scars that broke the plane of Mycroft’s pale skin. He had seen the scars when he had undressed Mycroft - a lengthier affair than he was used to, with far more buttons - but had been preoccupied at the time. Now he took his time to study them.

“More of these than I was expecting,” Greg said, tracing what he suspected was the remnant of a knife wound to Mycroft’s side.

Mycroft started moving away from him. “I’m sorry. If it bothers you I can-” He was stopped as Greg wrapped an arm around his waist.

Greg pulled Mycroft close. “Don’t be daft. You’re beautiful and I want to see all of you. It’s not like I like the idea of you being stabbed,” he touched the knife scar, “or shot,” his fingers found the scar from a bullet wound on Mycroft’s shoulder, “or shot again,” the scar on Mycroft’s left thigh, “or burned,” the matching marks on the forearms, “or … what is this?” Greg fingered the vaguely triangular scar just above Mycroft’s right hip.

“Stabbed, I suppose you could say,” Mycroft replied quietly. “It was an ice pick.”

“An… ice pick.”

“Indeed. The result of an error in judgment of a much younger man.”

“Just to be clear, you were the younger man with poor judgment, right? There’s not some young tosser running about who caused you to get ice picked?”

“That’s correct. I read a situation erroneously and suffered the consequences.”

“With an ice pick.”

“Just so.”

“Any chance I could get more of the story behind that?”

Mycroft considered for a moment. “If two governments were to permanently fall… no, even then it wouldn’t be unclassified in either of our lifetimes.”

Greg leaned up to kiss Mycroft’s chin. “You’re fascinating. Does anyone actually believe you work for the Department for Transport?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Yes, Detective Inspector Lestrade. People from whom I have not had to take away investigations, and who have not had to deal with my brother, and who have not seen me in a state of undress - essentially everyone in the world who is not you or who has not otherwise encountered me in my professional capacity - generally believe that I am a minor government official.”

Greg planted a kiss on his chest. “People are daft, then. You dress too well to be a minor anything.”

Mycroft’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Thank you. I think.”

“Anyway,” Greg picked up his prior thought. “I don’t like the idea of you being hurt. I hate it in fact. But the scars are part of you. And I like you. I like all of you. Very much.”

Mycroft drew Greg up so that they were face to face and kissed him deeply. “I also like you very much, Gregory,” he breathed when they finally broke apart.

Greg pulled himself tight against Mycroft’s side and rested his head on the other man’s chest. The angle put the bullet wound on Mycroft’s thigh in his line of sight. “This is the newest one,” he murmured, touching it gently.

“Very astute, Gregory.”

“Not a youthful error of judgment, then?”

“No. That one is the reason I have a security detail.”

Greg covered it with his palm. “A few centimeters from your femoral artery.”

“Mm,” Mycroft acknowledged. “The circumstances were such that if my assailant’s shot had been better - or worse, I suppose, given your perspective - I likely would have bled out before assistance could reach me.” Greg hugged him a little tighter. “That caused my superiors to insist that I be under guard,” Mycroft finished.

Greg frowned. “You have superiors?”

“One or two. It’s a bit … complicated.”

Greg huffed. “I bet it is.” He planted a kiss on Mycroft’s chest. “You’ve certainly led an interesting life.”

“I believe the corollary to the traditional curse is ‘may you live an interesting life.’”

“Do you feel cursed?” Greg asked, craning his neck to see Mycroft’s face.

“On the contrary,” Mycroft smiled, “the fact that in spite of all this, or perhaps as a result of all this, I have ended up here, with you, has me feeling incredibly fortunate at the moment.”

“Me too,” Greg grinned.

~*~

Thanks for reading! The next story is now up over here.

#mystrade #his professional capacity #<- will use that tag for this series #greg lestrade #mycroft holmes #mirokai writes #mycroft x greg #mycroft holmes x greg lestrade #bbc sherlock

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aworldofgoldfish · 1 month

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Would he kiss another person had they been there? Doubtful. Lestrade - Greg is not just strangely alluring, he’s the man who saved Sherlock, who stood by his brother when others didn’t. In some ways, the man who sits next to him is the most loyal man Mycroft knows. Maybe that’s the reason Sherlock sent him to Mycroft. He momentarily wonders how Greg escaped from Eurus’ games and shudders at the thought of this man at the hands of his sister. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “What for?”

Between Disappointment and Hope in AO3 [G]

written for @mystradepromptsandscenarios “Where are we supposed to go from here?”

#mystrade monday #MMP #story writing #Mycroft Holmes x Greg Lestrade

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feralremains · 1 year

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- Hi. - Hi.

I knew I just had to draw something after reading @the-toad-in-your-piano 's wonderful fic Crimson Blaze. I would definitely recommend reading it!

#go read it now! no excuses!#mystrade #mycroft holmes x greg lestrade #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #gregory lestrade #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock art #sherlock fanart #mystrade art #my art #art

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gnomens · 1 year

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long mystrade fic recs

I love Mystrade, so here are some of my favorite fanfics. These are all medium or long and all are complete. They are masterpieces with much angst and only the happiest of endings. I highly recommend checking out all of these authors’ other works. Some may be locked to unregistered archive users.

Lullabye by Mottlemoth | E, 20k, Complete | Soulmates Twice a year—on your birthday and theirs—you can hear your soulmate's voice throughout the night. It gives each fated pair a chance to talk and bond before they meet. Sharing names, locations or other identifying details is unwise. It's rumored that if you try it, even in hints, the connection will be severed and you'll never find each other. Today is Mycroft Holmes's 38th birthday. He and his soulmate have had two nights together a year for the last two decades, never even knowing each other's names. But it's getting harder and harder to keep saying goodbye.

Under the Rose by Mottlemoth | E, 125k, Complete | Past Trauma, Secret Relationship It's no surprise for Greg Lestrade to discover that, when it comes to relationships, Mycroft Holmes doesn't really do things like other people. Mycroft's lack of experience and intense need for privacy will take some special care—but that's fine. Greg's always been a patient man.

End Game by Mottlemoth | E, 160k, Complete | Sex Holiday, Friends with Benefits to Lovers Mycroft has a problem. After a drunken New Year's Eve at Baker Street gets out of hand, this preoccupation with Greg Lestrade doesn't seem to be going away. He makes Greg an irresistible offer: seven days alone together in paradise, to be with each other and exhaust the craving. Sadly for Mycroft, Greg comes with irresistible offers of his own—and seven days in paradise might not be enough.

A Christmas Carol by Mottlemoth | G, 40k, Complete | Post Break-Up, Reuniting "All lives end... all hearts are broken." Mycroft Holmes never needed a reason to loathe Christmas—but getting dumped by the love of his life certainly did the trick. It's been a year since Mycroft lost the man he adored, and with Christmas Eve fast approaching, he's counting down the hours until all this festive lunacy is over. Sadly for Mycroft, fate has other plans. It's going to take three ghosts to show him the error of his ways. But can he make amends in time? Or will he prove to himself, once and for all, that caring is not an advantage?

Portrait of a London Vampire by Vulpesmellifera | E, 30k, Complete | Vampires, Hurt/Comfort Struggling artist Greg Lestrade lands his big break—representation by one of the most prestigious London art galleries. When his newfound status hooks an attractive and puzzling patron, dangerous desire and a daunting dilemma spins Greg about in a troubling fog. To complicate matters, someone is brutalising his neighbours, leaving behind gutted bodies, faces frozen in a rictus of fear. Grief stirs old, painful memories, wrapping Greg in a sticky web of want and deceit. At the web's edge, the East London Butcher lurks.

Written in Skin by Vulpesmellifera | M, 25k, Complete | Soulmates, Blind Greg Mycroft Holmes lives a quiet, steady life. He works. He paints. He takes walks. It’s what he does to ignore the flurry of partnering around him. Whether it’s the biological drive to mash two bodies together, or the religious dictum of the salvation in finding one’s Devotee, it’s not for him. It won't ever be for him. Until the day he meets a blind man in the park. The world will never be the same.

All Else Above by Meansgirl | E, 140k, Complete | First Time, Sex Work, Family Trauma Mycroft Holmes' life isn't going according to plan, and there is little he can do about it. His career is a mess, his house is a shrine, and he can't even manage to get laid. In fact, he's never quite figured that last thing out. Maybe it's time. Perhaps, if he could work out how to have a relationship, he could work out the rest. Enter Greg Lestrade, who comes highly recommended by Mycroft's shark-like coworker and sometimes-friend, Alicia. Mycroft, under the impression he is going to see a counselor, is shocked to realize he has been misled.

If You Ever Hunger, Hunger for Me by Meansgirl | E, 115k, Complete | Age Gap, Kinky with Heart Greg notices the kid watching him, and for a moment he fantasizes about watching back, doing the old once-over and eyebrow quirk. Do people still cruise like that? AU with a younger Mycroft, who can't stop watching the silver fox at the pub.

If That’s All There Is by Meansgirl | E, 55k, Complete | Depression, Family Trauma The slow-motion breakdown and hard-fought redemption of Mycroft Holmes.

#mystrade #fic rec #mystrade fic #mystrade fic rec #mystrade fic recs #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #mycroft holmes x greg lestrade #mycroft x greg #fic recs #sherlock #sherlock bbc #ao3 #ao3 works #archive of our own

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flexitarianfandom · 1 year

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A Delicate Issue

Bluebuell33

Summary:

Greg can't believe that the man he has been pinning for the one and only Mycroft Holmes, wants Greg to play his boyfriend at an event where Mycroft's mother will be. This is maybe his only chance to show the man how he feels. He can't blow it.

#sherlock bbc #mystrade #mycroft holmes x greg lestrade

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statistiquesfrancophones · 9 months

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Stats de ship : Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade (28/07/2023)

Statistiques globales

Statistiques francophones

#sherlock #mycroft holmes x greg lestrade

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elenaazra · 6 months

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OMG!!!! Mystrade shipper in me is going crazy right now. This photo made me so happy.

After so many years…

November 2023

#mystrade #sherlock #bbc sherlock #mark gatiss #rupert graves #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #mycroft x lestrade #mycroft x greg

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callmehector · 11 months

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Me: I'll go to bed early tonight

Also me at 3am reading smutty fanfics:

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moodboards-aesthetics · 3 months

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Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade aka Mystrade

#mycroft bbc #mycroft #mycroft holmes #mycroft x greg #sherlock and mycroft #gregory lestrade #greg lestrade #mycroft x lestrade #inspector lestrade #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock fandom #sherlocked #i am sherlocked #aesthetic #moodboard #mystrade

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lacelynpage · 10 months

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You fall asleep in an odd spot ~ Sherlock Preferences

A/N: HELLO DARLINGS!!!! I’m SO sorry its been so long. Life got really chaotic but I trying to find time to writ more. I have missed you all sooo much. I hope you enjoy what I cooked up for today. See you all again soon hopefully lol.

Sherlock:

Being with Sherlock involves a lot of late nights. When you're on a case the two of you can easily stay out till the sun starts to spill over the horizon. Exhaustion is your nearly constant companion. So it is not uncommon for you to fall asleep on the cab ride back to Bakers street. After your head is resting comfortably on his shoulder he will gently intertwine your fingers. Running his thumbs over your knuckles soothingly. It is one of the few truly tender things he does, and it means the world to you.

John:

Sleep isn't always your best friend. Most nights your body would, rather cruelly, keep you awake. Force you to think about your whole life till you spiraled into anxiety. John understood that struggle and would often stay up with you, making tea and sitting with you. It led to some of the deepest and more honest conversations. However, your bodies were still both achingly tired in the morning. So when John came to pick you up on your lunch break for a date one day after a particularly long night. He wasn't surprised to find you sound asleep on your desk. With a gentle touch he woke you up, telling your coworkers you weren't feeling well. The two of you spent the rest of the day together, cuddled up and fast asleep.

Mycroft:

Late hours were the norm in your house. Both of you commonly work odd schedules as contacts from around the world update you on various projects. On a bright Sunday morning Mycroft awoke to find you missing from the bed. Assuming you had simply gone to bed later and woken up early he walked down to the kitchen. The sight that greeted him was odd but not unfamiliar. You sat at the small breakfast table in the corner, head resting on the keyboard of your laptop. A few papers and a now very cold cup of coffee to your right. Gently, he woke you and ushered you into bed, calling Athena to cancel all morning meetings. The two of you needed some recovery time.

Greg:

It was cute really, well Greg thought it was cute at least, that you could never make it through a movie in the cinema. No matter how much you wanted to see the movie, every time you would drift off. Popcorn left to get cold in your lap as your head lulled back. While the end credits rolled he would nudge you awake with the most childish grin on his face, making you groan in frustration. He would always give you a summary on the car ride home, which you appreciated.

Moriarty:

You were not one to let your guard down easily, Jim knew that. No matter how tired you were, sleeping in public wasn't an option. However, there was one exception, the plane to Dublin. Something about flying home relaxed you, made the worries and enemies slip from your mind. Softly you rest your head on Jim's shoulder and let sleep overtake you. He would work quietly, kissing your head whenever you stirred slightly to adjust. These plane rides were often the quietest moments in your life together, you both treasured them.

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snadwich-underscore · 9 months

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Ay canwe get some mystrade in here

Lestrade: "You've never seen Paddington 2??"

*Rosie fell asleep within the first 10 minutes

*Mycroft being a sobbing mess afterwards and Lestrade comforting him

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themirokai · 6 months

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Too Much To Drink

A Mystrade Fic by MiroKai

Around Halloween 2021, the @mystradepromptsandscenarios prompt was "I'm not drunk enough for this" and I wrote Not Drunk Enough (which didn't get posted until December of that year but who's counting?). When this week's prompt was "I've had too much to drink tonight" I knew I had to do a follow up. You can probably read this as a standalone, but the other one is short, so consider reading that one first if you like context.

Mycroft has a bit too much to drink at a Halloween fancy dress party.

You can read the whole story here or on AO3.

Mycroft Holmes had a rather absurd amount of self-control, Greg reflected as he watched his husband from across the fancy dress party. To most of the guests - everyone but him and Anthea, probably - Mycroft probably appeared a bit reserved and quiet. Greg was impressed. He had seen Mycroft drunk plenty of times, but almost all of those were in private and the few times when they had overindulged at a restaurant there was no one else around who they knew, and they generally went straight from their table to the car.

But here, Mycroft was holding it together in front of a number of Greg’s and Sally’s colleagues, and while Greg hadn’t been watching Mycroft’s glass all night, he’d seen it refilled a number of times and he knew how light his flask was from the drive over.

Mycroft was betrayed - to Greg, at least - by a looseness, a softness that usually only came out when he and Greg were alone, secluded in the privacy of their home, the work of a nation set aside. Greg could see it in how Mycroft held his glass, how he leaned against the wall, how his eyes - far from their usual sharpness - roamed the room aimlessly.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.”

Greg, startled, turned back to the sergeant he had ostensibly been talking to. “What’s that?”

The sergeant nodded at Mycroft. “How long you been married to Mr. Mystery, Boss?”

“Two years,” Greg answered automatically, still not sure how the conversation had gotten here. “Three in May.”

The sergeant took a swig from their drink. “Yeah? And how long together before you tied the knot?”

“About five years. Why-”

“Seven years?” The sergeant whistled. “And you’re still mooning after him like a smitten teenager? I gotta find me someone like that.”

Greg realized that he had completely zoned out on their conversation and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Sarge.”

The sergeant waved that away, then pointed a finger at him. “I’m gonna tell you the same thing I would tell you if you were a smitten teenager. Go make a pass. At least you know he’s going home with you.” The sergeant barked a laugh, then clapped Greg on the arm and went off, presumably to talk to someone more attentive.

Smiling, Greg threaded his way through the room to Mycroft’s side. A smile spread across Mycroft’s face as he saw Greg approach. It wasn’t a normal smile Mycroft would use in public: calculated to the millimeter. Instead it was a sleepy, languid thing that nearly stole Greg’s breath. Smitten teenager indeed.

“Hello, darlin’,” Greg beamed at him. Up close he could see a bright flush on Mycroft’s cheeks and he strongly suspected it was from more than just the warmth of the great coat.

“Gre- HIC! Mm, excuse me.” Mycroft pressed his slender fingers to his mouth.

Greg couldn’t help but laugh as he wrapped his arm around Mycroft’s waist. “How are you doing?”

Mycroft blinked. “I am perfectly satisfactory. Thank you.” He spoke a bit slowly, but his diction was perfect. Suspiciously perfect.

Greg raised an eyebrow at him. “Perfectly satisfactory, hm?”

Mycroft hiccuped again then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Gregory, do you see the young woman in the blue cape?”

Greg had seen her earlier. “Yes…”

“It is a - HIC! - lovely garment. I think I should get a cape. I would look quite fesshhn…” Mycroft frowned. “Fechn.” His brow wrinkled in concentration. “Fetching. I would look quite fetching. HIC!”

Greg grinned and reached up to brush his fingers over a flushed cheek. “Yeah, you’d look gorgeous in a cape, darlin’.” Greg kissed his cheek. “Seems you got drunk enough for this party.”

Mycroft sniffed and turned up his nose. “I’ve no idea wha- HIC! - what you mean.”

“Uh huh.” Greg ran his tongue over his teeth. “Care to walk a straight line for me, darlin’?”

“‘S ‘mpossible.” Mycroft gestured vaguely at the room. “Too many people. And objess. HIC!”

“That,” Greg said, “and you’re well and truly pissed.”

Before Mycroft could retort, Sally stopped in front of them, smiling broadly. Her eyes were a little glassy and her flower crown was askew. “You lot alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, all good, Sal.” Greg smiled at her warmly. “The party’s great, but we’re going to head home.”

“Aww,” Sally pouted, then threw her arms around Greg’s neck. “Thanks for coming, Lestrade.”

“My pleasure,” he told her, patting her back.

Sally released him and turned to Mycroft. “C’mere, Posh!”

She grabbed him in a hug around his chest and Mycroft was surprised into a hiccup. Sally released him and Mycroft swayed a little, blinking slowly. He focused on Sally determinedly.

“Sargenn Dono… Donvin. This ‘s been a verr charming party. HIC!”

Sally’s jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide as she looked between Greg and Mycroft.

Mycroft swayed a bit more and Greg wrapped an arm around him.

“Feeling a bit worse for wear, Mr. Holmes?” Sally asked.

“Nonsense. Perfec… perfeckly satsfactry.”

Sally’s grin could only be described as ‘shit-eating’.

“I’m gonna get him home, Sal,” Greg said as Mycroft leaned against him more heavily.

“That seems like a good idea,” she said. “Let me get Thea to say goodbye.”

Sally moved off and Greg pulled out his mobile to text their driver. Text sent and acknowledged, Greg positioned himself under Mycroft’s arm, with a hand on his chest and his arm around his back.

“Come on, darlin’. Let’s get you out of here.”

Mycroft hiccuped again and muttered something about the room being too wobbly. Greg started towards the door, compensating for Mycroft’s unsteady gait.

They were almost there when Anthea stepped in front of them. A slight smirk broke her normal impassive expression. “You enjoyed yourself?” she asked Mycroft.

“You have verr. Very good Scotch. HIC! An you gave me quite a lot of it,” Mycroft said, clearly making an effort to keep his diction under control.

“I did promise to get you drunk enough for the experience,” she said, then turned to Greg. “I hope you enjoyed yourself as well, Lestrade.”

“Yeah, really good time. Wonderful party. Thanks, Anthea.”

She slipped one water bottle into the pocket of Mycroft’s great coat and another into Greg’s jacket pocket, then kissed Greg on the cheek.

“Do you need any help getting him to the car?”

“Nah.” Greg looked up at Mycroft who hiccuped. “You can walk, can’t you, darlin’? Just a bit wobbly.”

“Alright, safe travels then,” Anthea said, opening the door for them.

“Good night, Anthea,” Greg said.

“HIC! G’night my dear.”

Greg guided Mycroft out of the building and into the cool October air. The street was empty and Greg took his hand off Mycroft’s chest to pull out his mobile. The car should be there in another minute or two. He looked back at Mycroft to see him smiling at Greg blearily.

“Yur verrr pretty,” Mycroft slurred.

Greg chuckled. “Thanks, love. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Gregry, ‘s posssbl I’ve had - HIC! - too mussh to drink tonight.”

“You don’t say?” Greg laughed. “You’re so much drunker than I realized, just seeing you from across the room. You were really keeping it together.”

“Speaking’s more difficult than standing. HIC! An I knew you’d take care ‘f me. Knew I could...” Mycroft gestured vaguely. "Let go. HIC!"

Greg swallowed down a lump in his throat. It may have been seven years, but it never ceased to astonish him that this secretive, polished man had chosen Greg as the person he let see his frailties and flaws. As the one person who he let care for him. “Yeah, darlin’,” Greg said as the car pulled up. “I’ve got you.”

Once in the back seat, Mycroft quickly settled with his head on Greg’s shoulder.

“Love you, Gregry,” he mumbled as he fell asleep.

Greg kissed the top of his head. “Love you too.”

___

Thanks for reading! Writing Mystrade always feels like coming home for me.

#posting a little early #it's Monday in England #story is set in England #totally legit #and my work schedule sucks on Mondays #I have a couple reblogs scheduled...#mystrade monday #mystrade #mycroft holmes x greg lestrade #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #mystrade fic #mirokai writes

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