Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sal ? Where are you ?

Just arrived home. Need something, A ?

Mine bit off the head of the CIA delegate this afternoon. Exposed the fool's lingerie kink in front of the ambassador. The guy was practically crying when he left the room. Mister Holmes was fuming, after that. How's yours ?

Nearly pushed the freak into the Thames and strangled the good doctor. They contaminated the crime scene, went running after the suspect, punched him (he'll be pressing charges). Destroyed evidences, called the boss a fumbling idiot a few times, had DC McCoy twist his ankle while chasing them. The weather was hot and humid. A nightmare. And after that the brats were laughing like schoolboys. He could have banged their heads together. He was fuming too.

They should be coming home in about 30 minutes. I've just pressed fresh pineapple juice. Come to mine ?

I'll bring my cousin's artisan rum. You have coconut cream, right ?

Of course ! I also have tequila, triple sec, salt and lots of lime. And fresh mint.

Coming. You think I'll be there in time ?

Don't worry, I'm recording the surveillance feed.

***

At last inside the flat he had been sharing for a few months with Mycroft, Greg shut the door, toed off his shoes near his partner's perfectly aligned ones and called :

“I'm home, love.”

His partner, without suit jacket but with a glass of something strong in hand, met him in the hallway. As he shed his outer layer, the policeman asked :

“Shit day, too ?

– You could say that. I loathe obtuse American cow-boys playing I'm an intelligence field operator.”

The venom in the words made Greg wince.

“ Ouch. I suppose you sacked him ?

– He wasn't in my line of command. But he is now departing for the colonies, with, I can only surmise, a brilliant future as a lingerie sales assistant.”

They kissed in the hallway before going side by side to the living room.

“ At least the lingerie thing must have be fun... You should be proud of me. I didn't murder your brother. Not for lack of desire. Wanted to strangle him to stop him from laughing like a moron with John. Or drown him. Or punch both of them.

– Sometimes I wonder if the world is really worth our efforts.”

A second glass of something strong – his favourite whisky – found its way in Greg's hand.

“ Thanks. You're really, really cross, aren't you ?”

They both sipped the harsh liquor, sighting and trying to let some tension melt away.

“ Irate. The time I waste with idiots not listening to what I say and then begging for me to clean up their mess ! Idiots who can't do their job for saving their lives, idiots who fill a position thanks to nepotism, idiots who think they know better and don't follow orders !”

Greg put their glasses down and took his lover's hand. An angry Mycroft was a powerful turn-on. He asked in a suggestive voice :

“ You know what, love ? We're both mad and I think we need to vent a little frustration.”

His lover came closer and purred :

“ And what do you propose, Detective Inspector ?”

***

Sally Donovan had just reached Anthea/Andrea's flat. She rang, came in and locked the door in the swift move of someone both in a hurry and accustomed to the place. As she kicked her shoes, shed her jacket and put a bottle of rum on the coffee table, she heard their bosses talking. Andrea exclaimed brightly :

“Just in time ! Talking about our cross-dresser halfwit.

– Oh, great ! Do you have crisps ? Haven't eaten in ages !”

Andrea pointed a salad bowl behind the screen of her laptop. Sally kissed her cheek and poured herself a glass of water before sinking near her friend into the confortable sofa with a sight. She frowned at the pale yellow liquid in her mate's glass.

“Already started on the pina colada ?

– I was just waiting for the rum.”

Deftly opening the bottle, she poured a generous measure of the pure cane liquor.

“There !”

Then she proceeded to slowly stir her cocktail.

“I bought raspberries, if you want a raspberry lime margarita.

– You have some of that brilliant raspberry liqueur left ?”

Andrea nodded with a sly grin. With the remote control, she turned up the volume of her state of the art sound system. Munching a crisp, Sally pointed out :

“That projector is really great. The image quality is really better than what we have at work.”

That just got her a raised eyebrow from her jaded friend.

“ You know what, love ? We're both mad and I think we need to vent a little frustration.”

“Ten quids they shag like rabbits.”

Andrea rolled her eyes.

“ Of course, they'll shag like rabbits ! Wound up like they are ! No the real question is who is going to top.

– Then, a raspberry lime margarita on Greg. He was dripping with testosterone on the crime scene. I thought he was going to drown John. ”

Quickly pondering about that, Andrea offered :

“ A mojito on Mr Holmes. He was really keyed up and Greg likes it when he's all dominant. He'll let him win.

– You may be right. So a ti'punch on them taking turns.”

Sighting, Andrea reminded her :

“ Sal... We said we close the feed when they start undressing each other.

– Right. Wouldn't want to face criminal charging. Okay, so one ti'punch now, and we'll see after that. ”

A content nod from Andrea, and Sally mixed two glasses. Luckily – or was it careful planning ? - everything they would need for the foreseeable future was on the coffee table.

***

Lestrade grabbed Mycroft's neck and whispered along his jawline.

“ Want to top ?”

Feeling a hand grab his arse, Greg nibbled his lover's ear.

“Maybe.”

Mycroft's other hand slid into his silver mane and then firmly grabbed.

“ You'll have to work for it, gorgeous.

– Oh, really, Detective Inspector ? You want to play ?”

The policeman ground their hips together while Mycroft tugged on his hair.

“And if I want ?”

He crushed their lips together. They kissed like men needing oxygen, clutching to each other. When Greg let him go, Mycroft smirked and caught his wrists in a tight grip. Eyes bright, his whole posture already one of a hunter, the taller man answered :

“ I'm game.”

Greg, a predatory smile on the lips, broke the hold on his wrists in a deft move and said : “Cheat. First one on the bed, ” before dashing to the bedroom.

Mycroft rushed and caught him by the shoulder, tossing him against the wall to take the lead. Greg grasped him around the waist and knocked him over in the middle of the hallway. They fought on the ground, trying to get past the other one to win the race. Mycroft tried to distract his opponent.

“No need to fight, tonight you bottom, Greg !

– Make me !

– Trust me, I will!

– Promises, promises. ”

They fought dirty, but playfully enough not to harm each other. That was the aim : not really battling for dominance, but giving free rein to the testosterone. They moved toward the bedroom, struggling on the ground. When Greg got up, Mycroft caught his legs. When Mycroft immobilized Greg, he reversed their positions and they rolled on the wood floor. Fortunately, the corridor was large enough.

***

“Hey, we can't see them well anymore when they're at the end of the corridor. Change the angle !

– The next best one is in the bedroom. Wait just a bit, till they're in there, before I switch.”

***

Finally they crawled next to the – closed - bedroom door. They had a break to get up and inside.

Panting, they stopped in the middle of the room, staring at each other right in the eyes, and darting quick glances to the bed. Smiling, high on adrenaline. Ready to throw themselves to the bed or to each other.

***

“There !”

***

Suddenly Greg saw Mycroft frown and look around.

“Wh-”

Mycroft silenced him with a hand gesture. Eyes quickly going from right to left, he was intently listening to something. Already in fight or flight mode, Greg focused too, ready for an intruder or another threat.

***

“Shit ! ”

***

Slowly rotating on himself, Mycroft was scanning the room, sweeping every nook and cranny with narrowed eyes, up, and down, and up, and down again. In a harsh voice, he commanded through gritted teeth :

“Anthea, if you don't shut off the cameras. this. instant. I swear I fire you !”

He was checking for the camera with an intent focus Greg had rarely seen. God, that was a huge turn on, if there ever was the need !

Anthea's voice, a bit distorted by the communication system, surprised the policeman. She had that playful slash whiny tone he had only heard when she was tipsy. And... Jesus, she was watching their bedroom ?

“ Oh, please, Mister Holmes, you know I was the seventeenth candidate. And it took you two years to train me. You can't fire me ! The time lost would be so inefficient. ”

Mycroft had stopped, staring at the curtains, jaw clenched. Now he was visibly looking for something in the room, perusing every surface available, unmoving. Eyes assessing and discarding object after object.

“My dear, on Monday morning you are boarding with the diplomatic bag to the Falkland Islands.

– Please, Mister Holmes, you know I hate cold weather !”

Ah, the whiny tone again. She must be pissed.

“Yes, please Mister Holmes, Andrea just needed to unwind.”

What ?

“Sally ?

– Er, hello, guv ?”

Mycroft walked toward the chest of drawers.

“Sergeant Donovan, if Anthea needs unwinding, I will happily oblige and give her a week off. Stanley is a charming city and I was told the penguins colonies are lovely this time of the year. I will make do with Martin in the meantime. And if you need holidays too, I'm sure it can be arranged. What do you think, Gregory ?”

Greg was stunned. Sally was listening to them. With Anthea. And watching too. Oh God ! But before he could reply, Anthea broke in, moaning.

“ But Martin is an ass !”

– Of course, he is. But he is not abusing his immediate superior's private life.”

Mycroft was Not Impressed. He had grabbed the heavy marble ashtray that was stationed on the chest of drawers and was feeling its weight.

“Sally, are you really getting sloshed with Anthea while watching your bosses' bedroom ?

– Well, not really, Greg... Err. And it's not like we're interested in you guys...err...

Anthea interrupted.

“Shut up, Sal. Don't make it worse. ”

Mycroft faced the curtains again.

“Monday morning, Falkland Islands, one week, Anthea. And turn off the microphones, too. Good night, Sergeant Donovan.”

And he threw the ashtray hard at the spy camera half-hidden behind the curtain, crashing it under the heavy weight.

With a self-satisfied sight and a predatory smile, Mycroft asked :

“Now, where were we, Gregory ?

– You were telling me you wanted to top and I said 'Make me'.

– Oh yes !”

And he pounced.

***

“Fuuuck !”

The acoustic feedback was high pitched and very loud. Andrea threw herself onto the remote control and switched the sound off.

Sally gulped her pina colada and rubbed her ears.

“The bastard ! That was nasty!”

Andrea shut the computer down, knocked back her margarita and sank back in the sofa.

“Fuck ! I wonder where my fur coat is. Do you have warm boots ?”

***

Chapter Text

“You were telling me you wanted to top and I said 'Make me'.

– Oh yes !”

And he pounced.

Greg caught a glimpse of Mycroft whirling around him and barely had time to realize the game had resumed before suffering a proficient kick behind the kneecaps combined with a hard tug on the arm. That sent him tumbling in front of the bed. Mycroft swirled around him and landed on the bed just in time to break his fall.

Gloating, the taller man stated smugly :

“I won.”

Catching his breath, Greg grunted,

“Ngh. You bastard !”

Mycroft sat in a more comfortable way, gathering a kneeling policeman between his thighs. He caressed the gray hair, let his hand slide down his partner's jaw and added fondly,

“Yes. But your bastard.”

They reached for the other one at the same time and kissed sweetly, before Mycroft delved lower and firmly cupped his lover's erection. He asked in a low purr,

“And doesn't that turn you on, mi amor ?”

Greg reveled in the sensation, groaning. He tried to circle his partner's waist to bring him closer, but his arms were quickly captured and held behind his back while Mycroft leant forward and brushed his lips against his neck. Enclosed in his lover's embrace, he could only moan, mouth open and head tilted backward, slackening in abandon to give the younger man more access. Mycroft nipped at his earlobe and whispered huskily,

“ Hm. What a swift reaction. Surrending already ? Aren't we a little submissive, tonight, my dear ?”

Anticipation clouding his eyes, Greg took a slow intake of breath before answering in a challenging tone. He knew perfectly well how Mycroft despised that definition of his deducing abilities when he said, mutinous smirk in place and defiant glint in his chocolate eyes,

“Oh yes, you bloody mind-reader.”

Mycroft freed him enough to look him in the eye with a raised eyebrow and ask in an unconvinced voice,

“Mind-reader ? Honestly ? You're going to be difficult ?”

Greg gave him a fervent nod and an eager smile.

“Yep, and you love it.”

The younger man released him completely and helped him up to sit on the mattress at his side. Not fooled one second by the playful attitude of his lover, Mycroft took the callous hand in his and, in a serious voice that conveyed deep honesty, he declared,

“Of course I love it, Gregory. I love giving you pleasure. Anything you need. I love when you look after me and I love to nurture you too, no matter if it is by mean of gentle lovemaking, wrestling in the corridor or kinky plays. Now, tell me what happened today.”

Gregory's shoulders sagged and he rubbed his perceptive partner's hand with his thumb.

“I don't want to spoil the mood, love.”

This statement and the small voice in which it was delivered caused Mycroft to roll his eyes so much that Greg smiled in spite of himself.

“Dear Lord, Gregory ! There is no mood to spoil. There is my significant other who is preoccupied and this shall take precedence over any baser instinct that I could ever be subjected to.”

He had done it on purpose, thought Greg, snorting. The condescending tone and stuck-up turn of phrase. Just the right touch of public school self-derision to cheer him up.

Smiling, the policeman put his feelings into words,

"Love you, My. You always see through my evil schemes." 

Greg rested his head on Mycroft's shoulder. His lover took him by the waist and let him explain.

"'t was your brother, of course. But not only that. The body.... It was a boy, Same school as Benji. A year older... Drugs. "

Mycroft soothed his partner with a gentle caress and a patient ear. 

"Overdose... But his dealer wanted to make it look like an accident. He was at it when we stumbled upon them in the warehouse. We found them by sheer luck. I had called your brother about the counterfeiting ring. And he was leading us to the clandestine workshop near the docks, where they printed those hologram things they put on the banknotes. "

Greg stopped and leant, elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes with his hands. Mycroft let him go. 

"He was wearing his uniform. Same as Ben. Even had his schoolbag with him... Never should have been there. And his looks... Jesus ! For a moment I saw a younger Sherlock. Same dark curls and lanky frame. I think even John was shocked. 'T was a bit much, honestly.” 

He exhaled wearily and continued in a hard voice.

"And then those two morons wreaked havoc on the crime scene. Everything ! Every damn thing they could do to ruin the scene, they did it ! And they were giggling like two year olds. I swear !"

Mycroft asked cautiously.

"Did you arrest the dealer, in the end ?

- Fortunately for them, yes. But I hope we will have enough evidence to convict him. No thanks to your brother, that. Honestly, I wonder what popped into his head."

Slowly rubbing his lover's back, Mycroft offered prudently,

"Not that I excuse in any way my brother's reckless attitude, but did you consider that he may have been shaken to be reminded in such a harsh way of what could have become of him if not for your timely interventions ? It may have been his and John's way to cope with the shock of seeing someone as alike as him dead from overdose."

Greg resumed his cuddling on Mycroft's shoulder.

"Yeah. Maybe. I was rather shaken up, too, you know. I know you can't judge a book by his cover, but this lad didn't look like an addict... And it made me doubt."

Mycroft felt he knew where this was leading. He kissed Greg's forehead and rubbed his shoulder. 

"I thought about Ben and... What if he uses too and I don't see it ? What if the divorce was too much ? He's so sensitive and he keeps everything bottled up inside. I couldn't bear to find him like that, My.”

The anguished voice of his partner broke Mycroft's heart.

" Your son is a fine young man, Gregory. If it can put your mind at rest, I never saw any sign of addiction in him. I'm not infaillible, but you know I can be rather observant and I have a little experience detecting such things. Sherlock provided a rather large test sample of substances, I must say."

Greg smiled at his companion's attempt to use a little humour once again. 

"What should I do, My ? I can't stop thinking about that."

Mycroft seemed to consider things for a few seconds before answering. He sat a bit further, just enough to be able to look Greg in the eyes, while maintaining a soothing contact by gently rubbing a hand on the policeman's knee.

"It goes without saying that I could have him under surveillance for a period of time. I shouldn't offer, with the ethical question of intruding on a citizen's life and using public money, but you know I would do it for you."

The defender of the law in Greg huffed and made his outrage known with a disarming smile. 

"You devil ! Don't tempt me !'

" You're right, Gregory. I think there is a better solution to your dilemma : have you ever noticed the pattern in your behavior when work upsets you, my dear ?"

Greg frowned.

Pattern ?

No, he had never noticed a pattern. 

Mycroft explained patiently, 

"Whenever something bothers you up to a certain point, you slip into a playful and sexually submissive persona when you come back home. When you're really shaken up, you rarely complain or vent, or even simply talk about it. Sometimes you just flee to the gym or run around the neighbourhood. I must coax you into talking. Have you just considered sharing your worry with your son ? Explaining the facts and your emotions ?"

Taken aback, the detective took a minute to ponder his lover's words. 

His shoulders sagged when he realized,

"The ex-wife hated it when I talked about work at home. She told me again and again that all those crimes where turning her stomach and that she didn't want to hear anything about that. And then she ranted about the kids at school, how awful the parents were, and this terrible colleague and that awful problem and that she deserved a relaxing evening, what with her stressful job."

Scolding, Mycroft took his hand and tsk'ed. He only had harsh words for that kind of behaviour.

"The self-centered cheating bitch that posed as your wife was undeserving of the slightest instant of your company ! Talk to your son, Greg, explain what you saw today. Tell him that you trust him but that the perspective of loosing him would break your heart. That you will always be there to listen to him. "

Greg closed the distance between them to hug his lover, burying his face in Mycroft's shoulder. The younger man stroked the silver hair.

"Thanks, My. You're the best ! How can I ever repay you for everything you do for me ?"

Mycroft hugged him back, closing his eyes to contain the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. 

"My considerate lover, always caring for everyone else. You deserve someone to pamper you, Gregory. You know, that expression you taught me ? I've got you ?"

He kissed the silver mane and rubbed his lover's back.

"I've got you, Gregory. We are not in a commercial relationship, where every good deed should be repaid back. You deserve to be taken care of after a difficult day. Just let me do that for you. You need only ask. Without words if needed."

Resolutely, Mycroft got up on his feet and stated in a resolute voice,

"Now, I shall draw you a bath and make some tea. Then a massage, I think. And after that, you will tell me what you need to fell comfortable.”

Greg stared at his lover, blinking, mouth open.

Mycroft frowned disapprovingly, hands on his hips, and scolded gently,

“And you will loose that deplorable habit of putting your needs after everyone else's without even thinking about it. I should deport that woman in Northern Siberia.”

A few hours later found Greg sprawled on their bed, relaxed to the state of a spineless blob. He mused that in retrospect, Mycroft had been perfectly right, as he often was, and that pampering and gentle love making were exactly what he had needed, after all.

***