Relationships have a way of sneaking up on you
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade, pre-relationship
This was supposed to be a 221b but it grew because I'm incapable of writing short things. Response to a prompt on Plurk that wasn't even mine but I felt like writing it anyway so yeah...
Theirs was a relationship born of gratitude. Greg hadn’t expected the junkie he took in to clean up would have a spider for a brother until he found himself pulled into the net, a quick meeting in half-finished building with promises of the disastrous consequences should he continue this acquaintance and push Sherlock further towards the brink than he was already.
Months after the warning was ignored and weeks after Sherlock had finally begun to resemble something if not normal, than at least clean, the D.I. found a gold pocket watch in his jacket on his birthday.
Other small presents began to follow. A fountain pen. A new notebook the day after he’d reached his last page. One memorable day, a tea service complete with hot scones and jam delivered right to his desk by a smiling waiter. The Met had a field day with that one. Who’s got it bad for you, Lestrade?
He didn’t answer, but he had a hunch. That night, he left a note on his desk.
You want to thank me so badly, come do it in person.
The next day, on his way to grab a sandwich from the shop on the corner for lunch, he was abducted by a sleek black car and deposited at a table in the back room of a restaurant that he wasn’t even certain he could afford to breathe in.
“You’ve done me an immeasurable service, it’s the absolute least I can do,” Mycroft was saying. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“I guess this isn’t your thing, is it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Thanking people. Could have just sent me a nice note, yeah? ‘Thanks for fixing my cock-up of a little brother, let me buy you a pint some time.’ You didn’t need to do all this.”
“The fish here is excellent,” Mycroft said, as though he hadn’t heard.
They had lunch and once Greg was able to steer the conversation away from Sherlock, it was actually quite enjoyable. By the end of the meal he still had no idea what the other man actually did for a living but they’d managed to find a good deal of common ground grousing about bureaucracy.
The next day there was a thermos of tea waiting, which Greg found much less objectionable than the full staff service. The fact that Mycroft was having items sent to his locked office no longer seemed as objectionable.
The two had lunch at least every other week after that, discussing everything from rugby to opera. He didn’t always understand everything Mycroft was talking about, particularly carefully worded complaints about work, but clearly having a sympathetic ear to listen was helpful. And he was more than aware that Mycroft was extending the same courtesy.
One week he was dashing down the street with a bagel between his teeth towards a crime scene and had to turn the black car down.
“Tell him I’m really sorry, will you? It’s a mess this time, I really can’t spare the time.”
That night enough coffee and sandwiches to satisfy everyone still trapped at the office appeared in the break room. The detectives agreed that Lestrade’s “Mysterious Lover” had their blessing.
Greg wasn’t entirely sure that was an appropriate nickname for Mycroft and was about to say as much when his phone beeped with an incoming text.
Are you free this weekend? -Mycroft Holmes
It wasn’t even worth the energy questioning how Mycroft had his mobile number.
i think so, why? GL
I need to attend a function at the British Embassy in Paris. Would you like to accompany me?
why me?
A long pause.
I enjoy your company and I need a date. We would be two nights in Paris. I can arrange the tuxedo rental.
A date. Greg looked from the sandwiches to the phone, and back to the sandwiches. “Mysterious Lover” indeed. For a few moments he tried to come up with a reason why flying off to Paris with a person he was rather beginning to suspect breakfasted with the bloody Queen or something was a bad idea. But he came up empty. And weren’t they already dating anyway? It had rather snuck up on him before he’d realized it.
No, there were definitely worse things in the world than to chance a relationship with someone whose view of affection involved covert deliveries of foodstuffs.
alright then. do i need to take off monday?
The response was almost immediate. Greg indulged himself for a moment the mental image of Mycroft hunched over his phone, waiting for a reply before laughing to himself and pushing the idea away.
That shouldn’t be necessary. A car will come for you at 0900 Friday. Bring your gun. Could be dangerous.
good. fancy dress parties are boring.
Try not to be too enthusiastic, Greg. I’ll see you on Friday.
looking forward to it.
Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade, pre-relationship
This was supposed to be a 221b but it grew because I'm incapable of writing short things. Response to a prompt on Plurk that wasn't even mine but I felt like writing it anyway so yeah...
Theirs was a relationship born of gratitude. Greg hadn’t expected the junkie he took in to clean up would have a spider for a brother until he found himself pulled into the net, a quick meeting in half-finished building with promises of the disastrous consequences should he continue this acquaintance and push Sherlock further towards the brink than he was already.
Months after the warning was ignored and weeks after Sherlock had finally begun to resemble something if not normal, than at least clean, the D.I. found a gold pocket watch in his jacket on his birthday.
Other small presents began to follow. A fountain pen. A new notebook the day after he’d reached his last page. One memorable day, a tea service complete with hot scones and jam delivered right to his desk by a smiling waiter. The Met had a field day with that one. Who’s got it bad for you, Lestrade?
He didn’t answer, but he had a hunch. That night, he left a note on his desk.
You want to thank me so badly, come do it in person.
The next day, on his way to grab a sandwich from the shop on the corner for lunch, he was abducted by a sleek black car and deposited at a table in the back room of a restaurant that he wasn’t even certain he could afford to breathe in.
“You’ve done me an immeasurable service, it’s the absolute least I can do,” Mycroft was saying. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“I guess this isn’t your thing, is it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Thanking people. Could have just sent me a nice note, yeah? ‘Thanks for fixing my cock-up of a little brother, let me buy you a pint some time.’ You didn’t need to do all this.”
“The fish here is excellent,” Mycroft said, as though he hadn’t heard.
They had lunch and once Greg was able to steer the conversation away from Sherlock, it was actually quite enjoyable. By the end of the meal he still had no idea what the other man actually did for a living but they’d managed to find a good deal of common ground grousing about bureaucracy.
The next day there was a thermos of tea waiting, which Greg found much less objectionable than the full staff service. The fact that Mycroft was having items sent to his locked office no longer seemed as objectionable.
The two had lunch at least every other week after that, discussing everything from rugby to opera. He didn’t always understand everything Mycroft was talking about, particularly carefully worded complaints about work, but clearly having a sympathetic ear to listen was helpful. And he was more than aware that Mycroft was extending the same courtesy.
One week he was dashing down the street with a bagel between his teeth towards a crime scene and had to turn the black car down.
“Tell him I’m really sorry, will you? It’s a mess this time, I really can’t spare the time.”
That night enough coffee and sandwiches to satisfy everyone still trapped at the office appeared in the break room. The detectives agreed that Lestrade’s “Mysterious Lover” had their blessing.
Greg wasn’t entirely sure that was an appropriate nickname for Mycroft and was about to say as much when his phone beeped with an incoming text.
Are you free this weekend? -Mycroft Holmes
It wasn’t even worth the energy questioning how Mycroft had his mobile number.
i think so, why? GL
I need to attend a function at the British Embassy in Paris. Would you like to accompany me?
why me?
A long pause.
I enjoy your company and I need a date. We would be two nights in Paris. I can arrange the tuxedo rental.
A date. Greg looked from the sandwiches to the phone, and back to the sandwiches. “Mysterious Lover” indeed. For a few moments he tried to come up with a reason why flying off to Paris with a person he was rather beginning to suspect breakfasted with the bloody Queen or something was a bad idea. But he came up empty. And weren’t they already dating anyway? It had rather snuck up on him before he’d realized it.
No, there were definitely worse things in the world than to chance a relationship with someone whose view of affection involved covert deliveries of foodstuffs.
alright then. do i need to take off monday?
The response was almost immediate. Greg indulged himself for a moment the mental image of Mycroft hunched over his phone, waiting for a reply before laughing to himself and pushing the idea away.
That shouldn’t be necessary. A car will come for you at 0900 Friday. Bring your gun. Could be dangerous.
good. fancy dress parties are boring.
Try not to be too enthusiastic, Greg. I’ll see you on Friday.
looking forward to it.