Men sometimes make passes / at men who wear glasses (221B fic)
BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG (implicit slash)
Summary: Blooms84 expressed a recent craving for glasses!fic. (She said any pairing would do, but I know her heart really belongs to Mystrade).
It was Sherlock's fault, naturally. Yes, he'd saved Lestrade's life by rugby-tackling him as John 'Killer' McMurdo took aim. But they shouldn't have been chasing McMurdo in the first place, rather than waiting for the armed response team. And Sherlock could surely have avoided toppling Lestrade into the Serpentine while saving his life.
By the time he surfaced, minus contact lenses, of course, the shouting suggested that McMurdo had been collared. His eyes were streaming, but a tall, black-haired blur in a dark coat was bending down on the bank, offering him a hand up.
"Sod off," he said. "I don't need more of your help."
"If you say so, Detective Inspector Lestrade," Mycroft's precise voice replied.
***
Lestrade's eyes still felt scoured the next day, so he had no choice but to dig out an old pair of glasses for work. McMurdo's arrest meant even more bloody paperwork, and his mood wasn't improved by seeing Mycroft arrive. Probably come to complain about his behaviour last night, he thought. And then he saw the startled look on Mycroft's face as he came into Lestrade's office, heard a tiny gasp.
***
Three weeks later, Lestrade remembered to ask Mycroft why he'd finally plucked up the courage to ask him out.
"Did no-one ever tell you, Greg," Mycroft replied, "that with your glasses, you're beautiful."
Rating: PG (implicit slash)
Summary: Blooms84 expressed a recent craving for glasses!fic. (She said any pairing would do, but I know her heart really belongs to Mystrade).
It was Sherlock's fault, naturally. Yes, he'd saved Lestrade's life by rugby-tackling him as John 'Killer' McMurdo took aim. But they shouldn't have been chasing McMurdo in the first place, rather than waiting for the armed response team. And Sherlock could surely have avoided toppling Lestrade into the Serpentine while saving his life.
By the time he surfaced, minus contact lenses, of course, the shouting suggested that McMurdo had been collared. His eyes were streaming, but a tall, black-haired blur in a dark coat was bending down on the bank, offering him a hand up.
"Sod off," he said. "I don't need more of your help."
"If you say so, Detective Inspector Lestrade," Mycroft's precise voice replied.
***
Lestrade's eyes still felt scoured the next day, so he had no choice but to dig out an old pair of glasses for work. McMurdo's arrest meant even more bloody paperwork, and his mood wasn't improved by seeing Mycroft arrive. Probably come to complain about his behaviour last night, he thought. And then he saw the startled look on Mycroft's face as he came into Lestrade's office, heard a tiny gasp.
***
Three weeks later, Lestrade remembered to ask Mycroft why he'd finally plucked up the courage to ask him out.
"Did no-one ever tell you, Greg," Mycroft replied, "that with your glasses, you're beautiful."