SHERLOCK

3:47am

Greg wakes up at 3:47am to find that his boyfriend's a bit busy with work. Greg's quite happy to sit back and watch, as Mycroft's fine as long as Greg's there.

Author's Note:

Pairing: Gregory Lestrade/Mycroft Holmes

Original Prompt: You asked for Mystrade prompts? Lestrade sitting in a chair and Mycroft kneeling on the floor in front of him, so close that he's touching his knees. Bonus points on romantic feeling rather than sexy. - failcatfails (Tumblr)

Warnings: Mild language

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

The bright green numbers on the alarm seemed to be mocking Greg Lestrade as he yawned and scrubbed his face. It was 3:47 A-goddamn-M on a Sunday. Greg should have been burrowed under the blankets, each cover drawn over his head to keep out the cold, with a very sexy British Government curled up around him.

But no. Noo. Because said British Government seemed to have vacated the bed some hours earlier, leaving Greg cold and worried.

The DI yawned again and jumped from bed, quickly grabbing his think wool dressing gown and sliding it on. After doing the sash up he grabbed the closest blanket, wrapped it around his body, and shuffled from the bedroom.

He'd never get over just how big Mycroft's Kensington House was. It was all dark floorboards, plush emerald green rugs, and gorgeous wallpaper that changed in every room. The furniture in the upper level was all old, well-cared for pieces, while downstairs was the more expensive and modern furniture like leather sofas and armchairs, glass-topped coffee tables, and dark wooden tables and chairs.

Greg scrubbed his eyes again as he padded down the stairs and turned left, heading for the sitting room. Usually when his boyfriend was up and working he could either be found in the study, kitchen, or sitting room.

Greg's first choice was correct; Mycroft Holmes was in the large sitting room, sipping from a glass tumbler, the amber liquid swirling about as he placed it back on the coffee table.

The table, sofa, and most of the floor were covered in thick folders of all colours, with documents marked TOP SECRET in bright red stamped across the front. There were two laptops open with chords running everywhere, as well as an iPad sitting atop a stack of books, Mycroft's BlackBerry over one keyboard, and what looked like a Nintendo DS plugged into the side of the other laptop.

A warm fire burned in the marble fireplace opposite and Greg could see that a few folders were in danger of going up in flames.

Greg blinked at the mess before clearing his throat.

Mycroft turned and Greg smiled stupidly. The normally impeccably dressed elder Holmes was wearing black silk pyjama bottoms, with Greg's t-shirt thrown over the top. A cotton dressing gown very similar to the one Sherlock wore was hanging loose from his tall frame, and his ginger-brown hair stuck up in all directions.

'I'm sorry, Gregory, did I wake you?' Mycroft asked, breaking the older man from his musings.

Greg shook his head. 'No... well, sorta.'

Mycroft inclined an eyebrow.

'Erm, I couldn't sleep without you,' Greg said and blushed slightly. Though he and Mycroft had been dating almost a year, with Greg's work at Scotland Yard and Mycroft disappearing to all kinds of places for weeks at a time, it had been more like four months. So Greg was still in the "oh God I'm going to embarrass myself and he'll leave" phase.

Mycroft chuckled and held an arm out, Greg shuffling forward and hiking the blanket further up so he didn't disturb Mycroft's work. He finally reached the other man, who drew him in and kissed him softly.

'I apologise, Gregory, but I have a meeting tomorrow and I have to go over a few things.'

'A few?' Greg questioned, glancing around. 'It looks like your desk exploded in here.'

Mycroft smiled, cheeks slightly pink as he looked. 'Yes, well... I tend to get slightly uncontrolled when I'm working like this.'

Greg smirked; Mycroft was definitely a Holmes.

'Sherlock and I work very differently, thank you very much,' Mycroft huffed.

Greg chuckled and kissed his boyfriend softly, the pout melting away to be replaced by a shy smile. ''Course you do,' Greg said. 'So, you're not coming back to bed, then?'

'No, I'm afraid I can't,' Mycroft said, eyes already drifting back to his work. 'I have three meetings tomorrow after ten, not to mention how long I'll have to speak to David about this stupid mess his PA got us into then, then I have to head over for afternoon tea with Elizabeth, followed by a quick check-in to make sure Sherlock hasn't blown 221 up, and then-'

'Mycroft, Mycroft, Mycroft,' Greg cut in, making the other man pause. 'Please shut up,' Greg said. Mycroft frowned and the DI winked at him. 'I get it, you're busy. Now I'm going to make coffee because you shouldn't be drinking alcohol this late at night- or this early, either one. So, you sit down and try not to knock anything over while I make coffee, okay?'

'Okay,' Mycroft said, yawning when Greg dumped the blanket on the sofa and headed for the kitchen.

The DI woke up a bit more as he worked Mycroft's expensive machine, eventually coming back in with two mugs of coffee. He passed Mycroft his and grabbed some folders.

'What are you doing, don't touch that!' Mycroft practically shouted.

Greg snickered but went still as Mycroft moved some other stuff aside so Greg could sit and put his coffee down. The older man wrapped the blanket around himself and settled down, blowing across the top of his mug to watch Mycroft work.

It was quite interesting, Greg found. Mycroft either shouted into his BlackBerry, spoke calmly on his landline, typed up e-mails, letters, and what Greg was pretty sure was a Tumblr blog, while simultaneously swiping a thumb along the iPad, pushing documents aside, and flourishing a fountain pen that bled green-ink along the paper.

Greg didn't know how Mycroft did it. He was hardpressed to listen to Sherlock, write down notes, and drink coffee at the same time. Yet here Mycroft was, doing thirty peoples' work in the space of an hour.

It was clear that Mycroft was tired, and slightly frustrated, but he still enjoyed his work and liked keeping busy. So Greg didn't say anything, just sitting and watching his boyfriend work and occassionaly getting up to make more coffee.

When it hit 5am and Greg slouched back on the sofa, using one of the small, expensive throw-pillows to get comfortable. Suddenly he felt hands tugging him up, and yawned and opened his eyes as he was pulled into a sitting position.

Mycroft was kneeling before Greg between his legs, warm chest pressed to Greg's knees as he leaned forward to tug the blanket firmly around the DI. When he saw that he had Greg's attention, Mycroft smiled warmly and said, 'You should go back to bed.'

'Nah, m'right,' Greg mumbled, yawning again.

'Gregory, just because I have to be up doesn't mean you have to be,' Mycroft insisted. 'Please go back to bed.'

'Muum, just five more minutes,' Greg whined. Mycroft chuckled as the DI smiled goofily at him.

'Five more minutes?' he questioned. Greg nodded. 'And I have your word that you'll go back to bed?'

'Yup.'

Mycroft smiled and placed both hands on Greg's knees as he leaned up and pressed gentle lips against Greg's own, Greg humming softly as they kissed. When they broke apart Greg pecked Mycroft on the cheek and settled back, legs once more drawn up on the sofa.

Mycroft gave Greg a small smile and turned, sitting himself on the edge of the sofa as he went over some documents. After five minutes Greg tugged Mycroft back and the politician flailed a bit before getting comfortable, his back pressed against Greg's warm body, the DI's legs either side of him.

He huffed a bit and got a poke to the ribs for his trouble, before he finally settled down with files and a laptop spread over his knees. Greg smiled in pleasure and kissed Mycroft's neck before getting comfortable again.

They sat in silence together, the only sound Mycroft's shuffling papers, the hum of the laptops, and the crackling of the fire.

Suddenly Mycroft paused and Greg cracked his eyes open. 'Somethin' wrong?' he asked sleepily.

'No,' Mycroft murmured. 'I'm just... not used to this.'

'Not used to what?'

'Being warm and comfortable while working,' Mycroft said.

'Mm, well I make an excellent pillow,' Greg said.

Mycroft chuckled and wriggled closer, one of Greg's arms wrapping around his waist. Mycroft felt warmth spread through him and he smiled stupidly, while behind him Greg grinned.

'I love you, Mycroft,' Greg said softly.

Mycroft turned and kissed him. 'I love you too.'

Greg smiled as the politician went back to work. 'Even if you do wake me up at three fucking forty-seven in the morning,' Greg commented.

Mycroft chuckled.

{THE END}