A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, readers! This chapter is written and being submitted to Fuck Yeah Mystrade Fanfic's Valentine's Day competition. I wanted to write for this story because it's my favorite Mystrade story I have. Anyway, here you go. It takes place before ch. 92. Hope you enjoy!

words: 2,000 (give or take)

rating: T

tags: fluff, romance, humor

Mycroft Holmes, being twenty-years-old and cynical about the world around him, hates surprises. He hates the suspense, he hates having to pretend to like the surprise, he hates having to act surprised even when he already knows what the surprise is.

But Greg, his twenty-year-old husband, is determined, determined, to give Mycroft an enjoyable surprise Valentine's Day.

It's because they live three hours apart. This long distance stuff works just well enough to not drive them crazy, but on holidays, no matter how small, it gets a bit annoying that they're so far away from each other.

Especially since they're married now. They jumped the gun and got married spur the moment two months ago. When Greg proposed that night, he assumed they'd wait at least the six months for Mycroft to move back to London, but they grew too eager and decided to get married the very next morning.

Now, they just want to be together for Valentine's Day.

Greg was unsure he'd even get the time off, but he went into his boss's office at the very start of the year to ask.

"You want Valentine's Day, Lestrade?" the Chief had asked. "Got big plans with the girlfriend already?"

"Uh, no sir," Greg had answered. "I'd like to spend it with my husband. He's away at uni and we only see each other every few week when I have a weekend off."

The Chief sat back in his chair and thoughtfully removed his glasses. "Husband, eh? How long have you two been married?"

Greg cracked a smile. "Twelve days, sir."

"Twelve days? Boy, that's not even two weeks!"

Greg laughed. "I know, sir."

The Chief sighed. "Sure, enjoy yourself. You're the first to ask anyway."

Greg thanked the Chief profusely, but he didn't tell Mycroft that he got the time off.

Throughout the next month and a half, Greg managed to thoroughly convince Mycroft that he had to work the entire weekend of Valentine's Day, and that he didn't have time off until the next weekend. Each time it was brought up, he'd suppress giggles and laughs, knowing that would give him away.

The first step in Greg's master plan is to surprise Mycroft at a nice restaurant. He made the reservations, then arranged with Henry (Mycroft's driver) to take Mycroft to that restaurant from work and Greg would be waiting there. Henry agreed, of course, and Greg told him he could take the weekend of Valentine's Day off, too.

The next step was to make sure Mycroft didn't work that weekend either. Sometimes, when they can't see each other, Mycroft would spend all weekend at the office to get a head start on the next week. He was sure Mycroft could simply break his work plans, but he wanted to make sure none were pressing, that Mycroft would be absolutely free.

So, he convinced Sherlock to get into trouble.

"What?!" Sherlock had questioned when Greg asked him. "You want me to get into trouble?!"

"Not a lot of trouble," Greg said. "Just enough that Mycroft would ground you for the weekend and be forced to stay home with you."

"Why can't you just tell him to stay home?"

"I want to surprise him."

Sherlock practically growled. "Well," he said, "What's in it for me?"

"I'll give you anything," Greg said. "Within reason."

"Hmm…" Sherlock took long seconds to finally come up with what he wanted. "I want a new laptop."

"What?!" Greg cried. "I said within reason, Sherlock!"

"That is within reason!" Sherlock argued.

"I eat dinner at my parents' house, Sherlock. A new laptop is not within reason."

Sherlock huffed. "Once this is over, tell Mycroft he owes me a new laptop."

Greg suddenly stopped. "What happened to your current laptop? Mycroft just bought it, he—"

"It may have sustained a slight…injury."

"Inj—Sherlock! What did you do to it?!"

"Nothing you need to know about," Sherlock said. "I'll get into trouble if you promise to get me another one."

Greg sighed. "Fine. Fine, whatever."

"Thank you."

"Oh, Sherlock? One more thing?"

"What?"

"I'm sending you back to your mother for the weekend. Bye!"

"Gre—"

Greg didn't hear the end of it; he hung up before Sherlock could yell at him and avoided his calls for four days.

The last step in the whole surprise is to make sure it all goes as planned, which is what Greg is stressed out about today.

It's February 14th, and he wakes with the crippling fear that his husband is going to hate the surprise.

No, not the surprise itself. He's going to love that Greg is there, he's going to love even more that Sherlock isn't. What he is going to hate is the fact that he was surprised.

Greg almost calls it off. He gets a hold of Henry after he knows Henry's already dropped Mycroft off at work.

"It's fine," Henry reassures him. "He's going to be so excited to see you."

"I hope so."

"He will be. It's the wrath of the little one you need to avoid."

Greg laughs. "Sherlock's still mad?"

"He made up a large research paper that, quote, 'needs to be done by Monday and he hasn't started yet.' Mycroft is livid, and Sherlock's pissed off at the earful about how irresponsible he is."

This still makes Greg laugh. "Well, I've found him a great laptop, so he'd better be happy."

Henry laughs. "I've seen the current one. Anything will do."

"Oh, god. I don't want to know anymore."

"You really don't."

Greg takes a deep breath to right his thoughts. "Alright, you really think this plan will work?"

"Yes. I'm taking Mycroft to the restaurant, then I'm picking Sherlock up to take him back to his mother. Right?"

"Yes, perfect."

"Good. I'll see you later then."

Greg says goodbye to Henry, then hangs up to get ready for his weekend.

He gets on the train at one o'clock, that way he can be at Mycroft's flat around four. This gives him an hour to get showered and dressed in his best suit, then get to the restaurant by five.

He's right on schedule for everything, down to the second. He checks in for their reservation and waits, roses in hand, for his very lovely husband to arrive.

His very lovely, grumpy husband who is currently bitching to his driver for taking the wrong route home.

"There's traffic," Henry tries to reason with him.

Mycroft grumbles. "There's always traffic."

"There's construction."

Mycroft just about yells at his driver. "There isn't, Henry. I had the number one worst day ever, and the fact that you're taking the entirely wrong route home is making me want to jump out of this car and accept my fate."

"We're barely moving. I think you'll survive."

Mycroft crosses his arms in the backseat. His voice comes out deep; he's speaking through clenched teeth. "I had to fire someone today. Have you ever had to do that? I've never had to do that. And I spilled coffee on my suit, so I had to send for a new one. I wasted a thousand pounds today because I am clumsy. Do you understand, Henry?"

"I do, Mycroft, I really do. But this is the route we need to take."

Mycroft shifts in the backseat for the best position to hop out of the car.

"Do not exit this car, Mycroft," Henry orders.

"Or what?"

Henry takes his phone out to send Greg a quick text letting him know that Mycroft is having none of this.

They're almost there, Henry can see the restaurant, so he lets Greg know that they're just south.

"Shit!" Greg shouts in the middle of the restaurant, then jumps from his table so quickly that it shakes against the floor.

"Sir?" a passing waitress asks.

"I'll be right back, is that alright?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, he just runs out of the restaurant and down the street.

When Greg gets to the car, Henry is standing out of the door and the cars behind him are honking.

"He took off that way!" Henry says, pointing down the street.

Greg lifts his hands in a questioning way. "This plan was flawless!"

"You didn't account for his atrocious mood!" Henry calls.

Greg shakes his head and runs after Mycroft.

Mycroft is moving surprisingly quickly, so Greg nearly loses him when Mycroft crosses the street even though the light's changed. Greg patiently stops, keeping an eye on his angry husband, and when the light changes again, he takes off after the fuming brunette.

"Mycroft!" Greg shouts before he loses Mycroft. "Mycroft, stop!"

Mycroft does pause. He takes a quick look around for whoever is calling his name, and that gives Greg enough time to catch him.

"Myc, I'm right here!" Greg calls when he gets close enough for Mycroft to see him.

Mycroft slowly turns towards Greg. He doesn't look happy, or shocked, or pleased. He looks upset.

Greg catches him and smiles widely. "My gosh, you're fast."

Mycroft opens his mouth to speak, and judging by the look on his face, Greg assumes he's going to start yelling. However, Mycroft's face drops into a deep frown and he throws himself onto Greg, wrapping his arms tight around Greg's neck.

He sobs into Greg's neck, but Greg doesn't feel tears; he knows Mycroft isn't crying.

"Hey, hey," Greg softly says. "What's the matter?"

"I hate surprises!" Mycroft cries, hugging Greg tighter.

Greg can't help but laugh. "Oh baby," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

Mycroft shakes his head and pulls back enough to take Greg's head in his hands. He slowly leans in to capture Greg's lips with his own, happily sighing when they make impact.

Greg holds him closer and continues to kiss his husband there on the busy street. He doesn't care if people are watching, he doesn't care about indecency; he hasn't kissed his husband in three weeks.

Mycroft pulls away first, taking a deep breath as he presses his forehead against Greg's.

"I hate surprises," he whispers against Greg's lips.

"I'm not sorry."

Mycroft finally smiles. "I missed you."

"You have no idea," Greg replies.

Mycroft kisses Greg again. He strokes Greg's cheeks, ears, and the back of his head as he plunders Greg's mouth.

But Mycroft suddenly pulls away again.

"Wait…what about Sherlock? The report? The—"

"All made up. I bribed him to make an excuse for you to stay home this weekend, but I sent him back to London with Henry."

Mycroft smiles very widely at that. "Oh, Greg!" he cries, attacking Greg with another hug.

Greg finally manages to pry Mycroft off of him enough to get him back to the restaurant. The waitress did hold their table, so they sit and order as soon as they get back.

Their entire meal is difficult, to say the least. Not seeing each other for weeks isn't an ideal arrangement, especially with their marriage so new and the 'honey-moon phase' well and kicking.

This means they fix each other with seductive stares, share quick, heated kisses, stroke up the other's leg with a clever foot, and eventually share a rich chocolate cake that makes Mycroft blush because Greg whispers, "I want to eat this off of you."

When they finally leave the restaurant, they immediately get a cab for home. Luckily, there is minimal traffic on their route, so they're back within twenty minutes of leaving the restaurant.

They kiss in the lift up to the flat, barely making it to their own flat, and when they get in, they go straight to the bed.

Many, many long, sweaty minutes later, they're laying on their backs in bed panting at the ceiling.

"I think I might start to like surprises if I get that perfect of a shagging after," Mycroft says, rubbing the back of his hand down Greg's chest.

Greg catches his hand and squeezes tight. "You did most of the work. I'm assuming you had a terrible day."

"I did," Mycroft agrees. He looks at Greg. "I was having a terrible day," he corrects, "Until you showed up."

Greg turns to him. "I just wanted us to have a wonderful first Valentine's Day as a married couple."

"It was wonderful," Mycroft says, leaning over to kiss Greg. "Thank you."

Greg places a hand on his cheek and pulls him in for another kiss. "I love you, Myc."

Mycroft rubs his nose against Greg's. "I love you, too."

"Happy Valentine's Day, love."

Mycroft takes Greg in his arms and holds him tight. "Happy Valentine's Day."