Greg woke up to his phone beeping and vibrating in his pocket, alerting him of a text. He'd fallen asleep on his sofa after coming home from a very long, tiring and stressful day at work. He had thrown himself on to the sofa and lain there staring at the ceiling trying to forget the events of the day. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but, evidently, he had.

He hazily glanced at the clock on the wall, it was 11.23 pm. Who's texting me at this time of night?

He took his phone out of his pocket and "1 New Message. Unknown" appeared on the screen. He opened the message and read it, raising an eyebrow.

Gregoyr Lestrde! MJ

After a few seconds he realised it was the other Holmes brother. Mycroft. How delightful...Mycroft was possibly the only person in the country who could send a text under "unknown", but he didn't seem to be as insufferable as his brother. Yes, the man obviously had an intellect the same size as Sherlock's or possibly larger, but Greg has never felt like Mycroft has been purposely intimidating or gone out of his way to show everyone how brilliant and exceptional he is which he admired him for.

He considered replying, but it was clear that Mycroft was intoxicated so he closed the message and pocketed his phone. He got up off the sofa and then his phone went off again. He dug the phone out of his pocket, sighing. Unknown. He opened the message.

I cbnn sed ynt. mh,

Fortunately, he was able to work out what Mycroft was meant to say before Mycroft decided to send him another impatient text. I can see you. MH. Instinctively, he looked around the room, knowing full well that no one was there and that Mycroft was very good at watching people without them even suspecting that they're being observed from afar. Knowing what Mycroft has done made he feel quite uncomfortable, knowing he can and possibly has watched him every night as he sprawls out on the sofa, trying to erase every unpleasant death from his memory until he slips into a deep sleep.

Did you bug my living room?

He waited, phone in hand. He knew Mycroft could reply faster than the average person, along with his brother which Greg already had the experience of the vexatious fast replies.

His phone beeped.

I nay hbvc in my spbre tinf. MH.

I may have in my spare time. Wonderful. He considered pocketing his phone again and just heading to bed, but he knew Mycroft would text him a ridiculous number of times until Greg gave in and replied. Him and his brother were the same, if they want attention, they will get attention.

Lovely. How much alcohol have you drank, Holmes?

He stood there for a few moments, but got no reply. He looked around the room, searching every inch of the room which was in his view. Where has he put the cameras? He walked to a corner of the room and looked up to the corner where the ceiling and the wall met. There's no camera. He did the same for every other corner of the room, scanning along the top of the walls at the same time. Nothing, not even a little black dot that I could mistake as a spider. Damn it. Why am I even bothered? It's not like he's going to see anything. It's not like I have a significant lady or man in my life to bring back every night, or every other night. No, I just go to work in the morning, come home late and crash out on the sofa, every single night. Nothing that would interest him at all, he has more important matters to attend than to watch me in my living room, but why has he bugged it?

He flopped himself back onto the sofa and resumed earlier's staring contest with the ceiling, this time thinking about why Mycroft would install cameras somewhere in his front room, instead of the deaths he has to deal with every other day.

He jerked up right on the sofa as his phone continuously vibrated in his pocket, the irritating ringtone blaring from his thigh. He must have fallen asleep again. Now what? He thought as he took his phone out of his pocket to see Unknown Calling on the screen. Has he not passed out yet?

"Greg Lestrade here." He said groggily, holding the phone against his ear, rubbing his face with his free hand.

"Gregoryyy! Darling, Gregory! W-"

"Mycroft, how much alcohol have you consumed tonight?" Greg interrupted. He dared a glance at the clock, which was now informing him it was 1.54 am, and frowned at it.

"Now, my love, that would be telling!" Mycroft slurred down the phone.

"You sound like you've consumed an extreme amount. You're very drunk, you should go to bed. Wait, where are you?" The thought of Mycroft being in a pub getting rat faced surrounded by the people his kind despises unsettled him.

"Gregory, Darling... I am not drunk, don't be so... ridiculous. I am a professional after all." Mycroft slurred again, but he sounded like he was getting his composure back.

"You're a professional at getting drunk?"

"Intoxicated is a better term, I believe." There. His composure had completely returned.

"Where are you?" Greg didn't know why it mattered so much to him, he knew Mycroft would be fine. If anyone tried to touch Mycroft with a feather they'd have a number of people jumping on them, he was safe, but he felt the like it was necessary to know where the drunken fool was.

"Now that would be spoiling the surprise, my love."

"What? Surprise?..." What on earth is he talking about?

"See you soon, very soon."

Mycroft hung up. Greg just stared at his mobile phone. He didn't like how Mycroft had said the final sentence of their conversation and he had a feeling he wasn't joking about the very soonpart.

About 5 minutes later, there was a knock at his door. He jerked his head round facing the living room door, he could see the front door, but it was too dark outside to see any silhouette through the glass. He didn't move, he couldn't. He had a bad feeling about this.

His phone beeped.

Darling, you're not going to let me stand out here all night, are you? MH.

Greg frowned at the message. Well, he's certainly sobered up. He managed to force himself off the sofa and walked to the front door. He grabbed the keys off the small shelf next to the door and began to unlock the door. Why do I have a feeling this isn't a visit about police matters? He unlocked the door and opened it enough to see who was there while still blocking entry. As he feared, Mycroft stood there dressed in his usual clothing, his mouth twitching slightly at the corners.

"Hello, my love."

"Can you stop calling me that?"

Mycroft smirked. "May I come in?"

"Er... Yeah. Sorry." Greg seemed to be a little flustered, faltering when he opened the door wide enough to allow Mycroft admittance. Why am I letting him in? If this was any other person, even Sherlock, I would have told them to sod off, shut the door in their face and gone straight to bed. Why am I allowing him into my home, at 2 am!

He watched Mycroft as he stepped into the house and slipped his shoes off. Greg just stared at his feet for a moment, then realised he was still holding the door open. He looked up and found Mycroft smiling at him. He cleared his throat, avoiding Mycroft's gaze and closed the door. "So... when did you come to the conclusion that 2.10 am was a brilliant time to greet someone with your presence?"

"Only you, my love."

"Sorry?"

"Tea would be nice."

Greg scowled, "Right, yes. Come through." He walked into the kitchen, Mycroft following behind.

"This is lovely."

"What is?"

"Your home. It's very cosy and delightful. You live alone, correct?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm." Greg watched Mycroft eyeing up his kitchen as he started to make some tea, waiting for him to say what he was going to say. He got the hint that he wasn't going to say anything else.

"What?"

Mycroft turned to Greg, "Pardon?" he looked a little distracted.

"You went 'Hmmm' as if you were considering what to say next."

"So it may seem." Mycroft seemed a bit absent, he was looking around Greg's kitchen, looking at every little thing just like Sherlock does when he's examining a corpse for answers. Brilliant, just brilliant. He's finding everything about me by looking at a stack of mugs. That's brilliant That's just perfect.

Greg sighed and passed Mycroft a mug of tea. He realised that Mycroft wasn't going to tell him the reason for him turning up at his home in the early of hours of the morning without a nudge in the right direction. "Mycroft, why did you come here?"

"In all honesty, Gregory, I don't have a clue." Greg frowned, turning to look at him, leaning against the worktop. One does not just decide at 2 am that they are going to go to ones home and drink tea. "I am intoxicated, my love. When one has..." His hand gestured vaguely in the air as he sought for the right word. "Devoured... a certain amount of alcohol they tend to do things without thinking. Surely, you understand?"

Greg cleared his throat, for the second time tonight. There was something odd about how Mycroft had said devoured which had made his heart beat speed up. He was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable with one of the Holmes' lot in his house, never mind the fact they are intoxicated and managing to disguise it so well. "Yes, I understand."

Silence fell for a while. Greg sipped at his tea, avoiding Mycroft's gaze. Mycroft just stood there, opposite, watching him. He hadn't touched his tea. Another Holmes trait.

Mycroft finally broke the silence. "How's my dear brother?" He asked, placing his mug on the table.

"You already know how he is. You have cameras everywhere, even in my living room."

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. "You found them?"

"No."

"How do you know about them then?"

"You text me earlier, can you not remember?"

Mycroft shifted slightly, "I was, and still am, intoxicated."

Greg sighed. "You must have drank a lot. You text me saying 'I can see you'. well it was meant to say that. It was really just jargon. I asked you if you had bugged my living room and you replied some more jargon which I made out to be 'I may have in my spare time'."

"Oh, yes. Now I remember..." Mycroft paused and cleared his throat before carrying on. "I do apologise profoundly for my drunken messages. I don't know what came over me."

"Alcohol." Greg replied bluntly, taking another sip of his tea.

"Ah... yes, that was a bit evident." He replied, averting his gaze to the floor.

Greg couldn't help but chuckle. He felt his body relax as he got comfortable with Mycroft being in his house. Mycroft was not as bad as his brother. Actually, he was very pleasant to be around.

Mycroft looked a bit perplexed when Greg had started to laugh, but that soon passed and he started laughing lightly too, either understanding why Greg was laughing or it was the alcohol consumption.

They soon calmed down and stood smirking at each other from either side of the room. Greg finished his tea and placed it in the sink behind him, turning back around and looking at Mycroft. Oh, look at him. He's gorgeous. Look at his mouth. Those lips that allow wonderful and intelligent words to escape them. I wonder what it's like to kiss him, to feel his lips against mine... Wait, did I really just think that? Stop it, Greg. Pull yourself together. You're tired. He had always thought Mycroft was quite the attractive man, the same with his brother and other men he has met in the past but he's never wondered what it would be like to kiss them... He'd always known that there could be the possibility that one day he'd kiss a man, but he never imagined he'd be wanting to kiss Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes' brother.

Mycroft glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. "Well, it's twenty to three. I guess I should depart. Again, I apologise for the drunken text messages, phone call and then the unexpected visit. I hope you don't have to arise too early in the morning for work." He stood up properly and started for the kitchen door, but he lost his balance. Greg caught him, his hands gripping at his hips to hold him up.

"Mycroft, are you okay?" Greg said quickly, his hands moving from his hips to hold his shoulders. His eyes searching Mycroft's as Mycroft frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Here, sit down." Greg went to pull a chair out from under the table but Mycroft stopped him, placing his hand over his hand on the back on the chair.

"I'm fine, my love. I must have moved a little too fast, that's all." He smiled, looking down at Greg. Greg glanced up at Mycroft, freezing as their eyes met and held the gaze. He swallowed and he felt his heart beat speed up rapidly. His gaze lowered onto Mycroft's mouth. Those lips, those perfect lips... Do it, Greg. He mentally shook himself and looked away. No. Stop it. You work with his brother. And he is one of the most powerful people in the country.

"Gregory..." Mycroft whispered, bringing his hand to Greg's face, cupping his cheek and turning his face back to look at him. Their eyes met again, Mycroft's eyes were wide and so beautiful. Mycroft leaned forward, stopping when there was barely a gap between Greg's lips and his own. Each others hot breath warming on their lips. Lean in, Greg. You'll find out what it feels like, his lips brushing against yours. Maybe it'll lead to a proper kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, your tongue doing the same. You could taste him, find out if he tastes as delicious as he looks. Indulge yourself. He wants you too. All you have to do is lean forward the slightest bit. And he did.

Their lips pressed together ever so lightly, then a little more pressure was added. Mycroft parted his lips and Greg followed. The kiss was gentle and loving, so gentle it was painful. Greg needed more. Mycroft pulled away and Greg took a few seconds to find himself again, he looked up at Mycroft who was gazing at him with a flicker of disbelief in his eyes.

Greg realised what just happened. He had kissed Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft bloody Holmes. "Mycroft..."

"No. Greg, don't... I understand." Mycroft backed away. "Please, save your breath. I apologise for tonight, I shouldn't have come over. I think I've out stayed my welcome." Mycroft turned and started for a quick and silent exit. Greg couldn't move, he opened his mouth to speak but no noise followed. Mycroft stopped as he stepped outside, he looked back at Greg with the look of regret and disappointment clearly displayed on his delicate face. "Good night, Lestrade." He closed the door. The last sentence lingering in the air around Greg. He hadn't called him Lestrade all night, or Greg. Just Gregory, Darling or My Love. My Love... Oh Greg, what have you done?