What Sherlock Regrets Doing the Most
Title: What Sherlock Regrets Doing the Most
Prompt: (from sherlockbbc_fic.livejournal.com ) "So we all know that Sherlock picks Lestrade's pockets when he's annoyed, right? Well, one day Sherlock pinches Lestrade's phone and, being bored, decides to read through his texts as some sort of deduction exercise; he's already worked out that Lestrade must have a new love interest. Sounds like fun......until he discovers a serious of filthy texts from Mycroft Short version: Sherlock discovers dirty texts from Mycroft on Lestrade's phone."
Pairing: Lestrade/Mycroft
Genre: humor
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Brief moments of adult content and innocence-shattering at the hands of an older sibling.
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Lestrade had been increasingly annoying as of late. He brought boring cases Sherlock's way, argued with Sherlock when he thought the consultant was getting too involved, and insisted that Sherlock find a way to deal with being around Anderson at crime scenes. The only thing to do in such situations was to punish the man using the single tactic that had always managed to work: pinch something from him. Given that the Detective Inspector had a new love interest -- when he wasn't bothering Sherlock, he was off talking or texting on his phone, it seemed -- taking his mobile seemed to be the decent choice.
As soon as he'd shut the door to the cab that was returning him to his flat, the lanky man began looking through the phone.
The latest one had been from Sherlock, informing Lestrade of how boring he was being. He skimmed over a few more texts; they were all relatively general. A few here and there from Donovan regarding less (in his opinion, of course) important cases, random ones from other acquaintances and quite a few from one--
Mycroft Holmes?
Sherlock blinked, reading the name again. He even stopped to check the number, just to be certain. Indeed, it was his brother. The consultant felt a small surge of irritation in his chest. Mycroft couldn't convince John to spy on him, so he'd moved on to Lestrade? That, or the man had been spying on him all along. With narrowed eyes, Sherlock opened the most recent text from Mycroft.
You're being incredibly naughty as of late. Perhaps someone should consider using those handcuffs on you?
Sherlock read, then re-read, the text. Mycroft, his brother who hardly ever texted anybody, had taken the time to send a dirty message to Lestrade of all people? Ridiculous. He scrolled further back, reading from an older message onwards.
From: Mycroft - You know I'd prefer to not text.
From: Lestrade - How else could we possibly "sext" one another?
A slight choking noise escaped from Sherlock's throat. Already horrified and terribly curious, he read on.
From: Mycroft - You're incorrigible.
From: Lestrade - So you've said. When can we get together?
From: Mycroft - You know I'm always wide open -- in a manner of speaking, of course.
If there were a god, Sherlock prayed he would strike him dead as soon as possible.
From: Lestrade - You did that on purpose.
From: Mycroft - You've caught me.
From: Lestrade - Now to decide what to do with you. You deserve to be punished, after all.
It was all Sherlock could do to keep from letting out a small, horrified squeak at the image that supplied him with.
From: Mycroft - Really, now?
From: Lestrade - Do you suppose a sound spanking will suffice?
The lanky man's cheeks flushed a bright red.
From: Mycroft - That would imply that you're in charge in this relationship.
From: Lestrade - Did you believe that YOU are?
From: Mycroft - Far more than you, at the very least.
From: Lestrade - I suppose we can find out later tonight, hm?
That brought Sherlock back to the first text he'd read. The pale man sat, slumped, in the car, staring at the phone's screen. His face was contorted into a confused mixture of horror and embarrassment. He'd certainly known that there was no way either man was still a virgin or unfamiliar with sex in anyway, especially by this point in their respective lives. However, something told him that he'd never quite look at his brother or the Detective the same way again. He found himself suddenly wishing that Mycroft truly had been proposing that Lestrade spied on him.
Two days later, when John had found out about the phone and insisted Sherlock return it, he could hardly keep the blush from his cheeks as he handed the mobile back to an aggravated Lestrade. It definitely hadn't helped that, as more time passed without an answer, Mycroft's texts had gotten increasingly sexual in nature. So much so that Sherlock feared he would never be able to sleep again.