Teen!Mystrade: Sherlock is 10, Mycroft 17, Greg still 19.

Had this M-rated before, but changed it - just a heads up for some minor sexual situations/implications

La Tempête is French for The Tempest. My excuse: Lestrade's a French name? I just like the word? I dunno? That said:

Enjoy~

Disclaimer: All characters rightfully belong to ACD and the BBC.

La Tempête

"What are you doing in my brother's bedroom?" A young, but very determined voice demanded to know of Greg Lestrade.

"Sitting, I guess. On the bed. It's rather comfy." He gave the scowling little boy a cheeky grin. It wasn't appreciated.

"No. I mean why are you here. You look… " Greg was regarded with a judgemental glance, green eyes raking over his untidily buttoned shirt and biker jeans, before the boy came to a conclusion. "... rough. You smoke, you drink, and I think petty theft is also on the list. You're not one of Mycroft's friends. He doesn't have any."

"Well, besides all my other character flaws, I also suck at maths," Greg explained matter-of-factly, not bothering to deny the - mostly true - accusations. He had once nicked some stuff as part of a stupid dare, but after applying for the force he considered that particular part of his life over. "Mycroft's tutoring me."

"Not at two in the morning. I highly doubt it," the boy replied sarcastically.

"What are you doin' up, then?" Greg said in an attempt to try and turn the tables. "Little kids should be asleep at this time, don't ya think?"

The scowl intensified. "I'm ten. I'm not "little". And my IQ is probably threefold higher than yours."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Well, aren't you a cute one?"

Disregarding the sarcastic comment, the brown-haired boy repeated his earlier question. "Again, why are you here and where is my brother?"

It seemed like the kid just got more irritated when not getting a proper answer. He didn't know why exactly, but, feeling a little childish himself, Greg decided to test this theory.

"Gone to powder his nose, would you believe?" He said. Judging by the glare – apparently not. "Look, I don't think I should be tellin' that to a ten-year-old." With a wink, he added, "Feel free to ask in a couple of years, though."

"So there is going to be an "in a couple of years"," a voice said from underneath the door. "Or was that just a figure of speech?"

"Mycroft!" Greg exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face when he saw the elder Holmes boy leaning against the doorframe. He walked over to him, reaching out a hand, but then, thinking of their company, thought better of it and just brushed it against Mycroft's arm.

The other teen did not move away, but instead addressed his younger brother. "Sherlock, why are you not in bed?"

"Some noise woke me up, I came to see what it was. Now I know," he added in an impertinent tone, "your paramour climbing the facade greening."

"Oi, I'm not-" Greg immediately protested - only to break off and adopt a rather perplex expression. "Wait, how d'you figure that out?!"

"Oh, please," Sherlock snorted. "You-"

"Sherlock, stop it. Be nice to Gregory." The intonation alone was enough to convey the parental authority in Mycroft's voice.

Though Sherlock wasn't easily impressed.

"Why?" He defiantly stared up at his brother from underneath the abundance of dark locks. "Because obviously, he's not your friend. You don't do friends."

"No, but I've certainly done him..." Greg murmured with his eyes to the floor.

Sherlock threw him an odd glance, but otherwise continued unperturbed. "What's he then to you, if not just some pastime?"

"Gregory is... very important to me. He is-" Mycroft paused for a second, going a little pink-faced. "He is my boyfriend."

It earned him a wide warm smile from Greg, together with an affectionate rub across the back.

"What?" Sherlock gaped.

Greg used his momentary silence to step forward and extend a hand. "This isn't exactly how I'd imagined the "Meet My Family" thingy would go, but anyways - Nice to meet you, Sherlock. I'm Greg. Greg Lestrade."

"Hello," the little brunet boy said, frowning, followed by, "I don't know you yet, and I don't like you yet," as he awkwardly let the older teen shake his hand.

Greg laughed. Then moved his hand to ruffle Sherlock's mess of dark locks. "Then let's try and see if I can't change that, eh?"

"Okay," Sherlock said, backing away, slightly annoyed by the touch, but obviously already formulating a strategy of proceeding. And he seemed to opt for a cross-examination. "Since when has this relationship been going on?"

"Erm, since March, I guess? Isn't that right, Mycroft?" Greg looked at his boyfriend for confirmation; he nodded. "Well, if we don't count the week you misinterpreted my sister's perfume on me for somethin' else and refused to talk to me like a stubborn mule, I'd say that makes about seven months."

"I am not some kind of stubborn livestock!" Mycroft declared, lightly hitting Greg's arm.

"Sorry, love." He pressed a quick kiss to Mycroft's temple. Sherlock gagged at the display. "Though you didn't really have to let me stand in the rain for three bloody hours before you left me in."

Mycroft looked a little embarrassed.

But Sherlock wasn't yet finished with his enquiry. "If that is correct, how come I've never seen you before," he asked.

Before Greg could answer, Mycroft stepped in. "You did see Gregory when he came for his tutoring lessons. You probably just deemed him not important enough and deleted his presence from your mind. A habit you very much ought to get rid of, Sherlock."

"And at night, I tried to be really quiet. Sorry I broke that branch under your window, by the way." A slightly contrite look on his face, Greg moved his hand down along Mycroft's arm until it brushed against the back of the other teen's hand.

The younger boy still didn't seem satisfied. He was closely scrutinising them as he thought of his next question. Then he decided. He cocked his head, the locks bouncing slightly, and looked at Greg.

"It seems you're a very physical person, seeing as you apparently can't live without touching another person every ten seconds, so it's to be assumed you take on the more active part in your sexual dynamics. Am I right?"

"Sherlock!"

"Whoa, little guy, that's going a tad too far! No need for you to know that!"

Besides his exasperation, Mycroft sounded terribly embarrassed now, and Greg couldn't say he didn't feel his own ears growing a little warmer than usual.

"Why, was my deduction wrong?" Sherlock put on an innocent face. "Are you maybe taking turns?"

"Hey, why don't you go back to sleep, huh?" Greg suggested hopefully, as well as a bit desperate. A look over to Mycroft showed him the younger teen was colouring in a dark, slightly unhealthy, shade of red. "Don't you have school or somethin' in the morning?"

"It's Saturday," Sherlock said bluntly.

"Just go, Sherlock." By the sound of it, Mycroft had apparently regained his composure. He rubbed at his temples. "Now."

"Fine…" A sullen look on his face, the boy retreated, dragging his feet over the carpet and towards the corridor. It seemed to bug him infinitely not having his curiosity satisfied and all his questions answered.

Finally alone, Mycroft quickly shut the door behind him, then leaning against the closed door. He let out a sigh. "I am really sorry for this, Gregory. I'd assumed he'd be fast asleep by now."

"No worries, that's the way kids are. Although he kind of talks like a tiny adult. Bit funny, actually," Greg laughed, before he walked over to the other side of the room and looked out of the window, pulling a face in consequence. "Oh bugger, it's started raining again and I didn't bring an umbrella. Seems like I'll have to hurry, too, because chances are we're gonna get one nasty storm."

Suddenly he felt two arms wrap around his waist from behind. There was a warm touch, and Mycroft buried his face in Greg's neck. "Or you could just stay... I wouldn't mind a bit of company. It sometimes gets a little cold alone…"

Greg turned around in the embrace, his hands sliding down Mycroft's back until they came to a rest on the firm, pert arse. It fit perfectly into his hands. Greg smirked. He gave it a slight squeeze. "Want me to warm you up, then?"

"Maybe." Mycroft tilted his head and leaned upwards. He pressed his lips softly against Greg's. "But only if you want to as well."

"How could I say no to such an offer?" Greg smiled and pulled him close, their bodies pressed together as he returned the kiss.

"Then don't."

A sudden flash of lightning lit up Mycroft's face, and Greg clearly saw the desire in his blue eyes. His lips captured Mycroft's just as the booming sound of thunder followed. He buried his fingers in Mycroft's soft hair, raking through it and keeping their heads close, and felt Mycroft taking his face in both hands, opening his mouth and moving in sync with Greg's. There was a faint taste of mint toothpaste on Mycroft and Greg felt a tad bad for probably tasting like his last cigarette. But if Mycroft was bothered by it, he didn't let it show, much rather, he embraced Greg's tongue with his own as it swept his mouth.

They only stopped for air when they just couldn't do without anymore.

"What is this?" His hands still attached to either side of Greg's face, Mycroft ran his thumb over Greg's cheek, pausing at a small dark mark that would probably turn blueish in a day or two. Underneath the heat in his voice, he sounded worried.

"Bit of that branch got me when it snapped. Nothing bad," Greg reassured, still to trying to catch his breath.

Without saying another word, Mycroft leaned forward and gently touched it with his lips, lingering at the marred spot for a moment. When he pulled back, Greg buried his face in the crook of Mycroft's neck.

"You worry too much," he said, the words half muffled by the fabric covering Mycroft's shoulder. Greg tugged at it a little, until it slid further down, exposing more of the pale skin. He inhaled deeply, then pressed his cheek against Mycroft's, savouring the warmth.

"I know." Mycroft turned his head so Greg had to look at him and brought their foreheads together, then jutting out his chin and capturing Greg in a long, sensual open-mouthed kiss. The older teen responded by tightening his hold of Mycroft's body, pulling him against his own body, trying to overcome the last bit of distance between them.

Soon again they were caught up in yet another, passionate kiss and couldn't find a way to get close to one another that would be close enough. Fumbling and tugging at each other's clothes, they tumbled backwards onto the bed, Greg dragging Mycroft down on top of him.

"He wasn't wrong, you know," he panted, looking up into Mycroft's eyes. A single reddish strand had fallen over his forehead and partly obscured his left eye. It looked so damn enticing, Greg's willpower was brought to its limits trying not to jump Mycroft right this instant. The only thing that kept him from it was a different, but nevertheless tempting idea. "Do you want to, well, erm, switch things up a bit, every now and then?"

Mycroft pushed back his hair with what could only be called a seductive smile. "That would certainly be very nice, Gregory," he said, then he rolled over, reversing their positions, tightly wrapping his arms around Greg's neck and pulling him down for another deep kiss. "But not now. Now I just want you."

Greg groaned. "I give up! D'you have a bloody clue what you're doing to me?!"

Mycroft stuck his hands beneath the back of Greg's shirt, sliding up along the warm skin, caressing his sides. It drew a shiver from Greg. "Mhm. I believe I do," he murmured.

"You little..." He growled against Mycroft's neck. A soft moan escaped the younger teen when Greg launched his attack by sucking on his collarbone, before he gradually moved downwards.

His jeans were rubbing against Mycroft's sleepwear, and Greg noticed it wasn't just his own pants that suddenly felt way too tight. He slid his hands under the front of the silky pyjamas, palming the taut stomach, then teasingly dipped a finger below the waistband of the boxers thereunder. To his satisfaction Mycroft sucked in a sharp breath.

With a teasing smirk, he retreated his hand again, but only to let it wander over Mycroft's thigh, running along the inside until it came to a rest atop the bulge in Mycroft's pants. He squeezed.

"Gregory...!"

Greg continued massaging his hardening erection, while with the other hand he pushed up Mycroft's shirt, exposing his stomach once more. He lowered his face and his lips connect with the heated skin as he spoke. "Remember, love, you started this."

"I was under the impression you, too, were inclined to this; not to..." Greg licked at the skin below his navel and Mycroft arched his back, "not to… ah… slowly torture me."

"I'm an evil man, what can I say?"

Satisfied with the reactions he got from the other, Greg continued moving his tongue, licking his way teasingly slow towards to the fabric of Mycroft's underwear. He tugged at it and it slid partly down over Mycroft's hips, giving him better access. As a consequence, Mycroft tangled his fingers in a fistful of Greg's short hair. The pulling didn't exactly hurt, but Greg thought it was a bloody huge turn-on.

They barely noticed the flash of light illuminating the room for a fraction of a second. Then another, loud burst of thunder was to be heard, shaking the whole house.

Only a moment later, the door flew open, and Sherlock came crashing in again.

"Mycroft!"

Startled by the sudden call, Greg and Mycroft hastily jerked apart and into an upright position, rearranging jumbled clothes and smoothing down mussed up hair.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." Greg muttered under his breath as he tossed a pillow to Mycroft, he himself crossing his legs to hide their still very much present, although quickly fading, erections. He took a deep breath and told himself it wasn't a Lestrade thing to do to strangle tiny brunet intruders. Especially those that were related to his boyfriend.

"What is it now?!" Mycroft's voice was laced with a tinge of annoyance he just couldn't hide. Or maybe didn't want to.

"Nothing."

Without another word, Sherlock crawled over the bed and settled down between his brother and Greg, drawing a corner of their discarded blanket around him. Greg exchanged a quick, surprised glance with Mycroft. He had expected another round of the question-and-answer game.

"Clearly, it's not nothing," the elder Holmes brother remarked. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

Turning around on the bed, Greg gave the scowling boy a closer look. From the window came a new flash of light and Sherlock flinched slightly at the sound of the following crash of thunder, although he obviously was trying to hide it. So that's what's going on. Despite still being a little pissed - that may or may not have been an understatement - Greg felt a surge of sympathy for the tiny figure, that was alternating between glowering and shivering. He sighed.

"He's only ten, Mycroft," he explained. "Of course he'd be scared of a thunderstorm."

Mycroft looked sceptical. "Physically that might be true, but mentally he is already years ahead."

"So, you mean it's like counting in dog years?" Greg asked, fascinated.

"An interesting way of putting it, but, in general parlance, yes."

"I'm not scared!" Sherlock protested from behind them. "I just... don't like it."

" 'Course you don't," Greg agreed, then leaned over to Mycroft and brushed back his hair, murmuring into his ear, "We'll continue this another time."

A small sigh escaped Mycroft when Greg placed a soft, apologising kiss below his ear. "Promise?" He whispered hopefully.

Greg chuckled and playfully nipped at the skin along his neck. God, part of him wished they wouldn't have had to stop. "Promise," he said.

"Hey!" A scolding voice chimed up. "Don't do anything disgusting while I'm here!"

"You're always welcome to return to your own room, Sherlock," Mycroft reminded him.

It worked like a charm. Sherlock immediately fell quiet and turned his back to them - Greg had no doubt he was scowling again, it seemed like his favourite thing to do - then curled up under the blanket, face to the wall.

Greg motioned with his head at the small rolled up bundle. "Piece of work that one, but kinda cute." He turned towards Mycroft with a lopsided grin on his face. "Bit like you, actually."

"Was that a compliment, Gregory?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "For your own sake, I hope so." His eyes were twinkling, though, and Greg knew he'd taken it the right way.

"Yeah, it was. Now c'mere you." He settled comfortably against the headboard and then looped an arm around Mycroft, pulling him close to his side. "Let's get some sleep ourselves." He leaned his head against Mycroft's and they just listened to the storm outside.

After a little while, he felt Mycroft stir again, resettling his head on Greg's chest. When he talked, his speech was soft and already slightly dazed by sleep. "Gregory?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not evil. You're a good man... Good, and kind, and funny," he mumbled.

Greg noticed his heart was beating a tad faster than it would probably do normally. Unconsciously, his hold around Mycroft's waist tightened.

" 's that why you love me?" He asked lightly, holding his breath.

"Yes. Yes, I do."

»««»»««»»««»»«»««»»««»»««»»«

When Greg woke up the following morning, chirped awake by an early bird who couldn't at least wait for bloody sunrise, he tried to stretch his body, but found it to be strangely weighed down. He blinked once or twice in the dim light seeping in from the window. After a bit more squinting he could see why.

There was one Holmes plastered to either of his sides. Sherlock lay curled up under his left arm, a small fist clutching at Greg's shirt, and Mycroft had his long legs tangled with Greg's and his head was resting on Greg's shoulder. Both were breathing deeply, apparently still fast asleep.

"Oh, well." Greg shrugged, a smile on his face. Then he pulled up the covers over the three of them and closed his eyes once more.

fin.

A/N

I am evil. I know, sorry. Hope you still enjoyed it

Feedback is always welcome ^^

~Writin'Redhead