(( Hello, everyone! I really did miss a little bit of Mystrade . I won't be posting another chapter f or a couple of weeks, likely, so I did want to get this one up before I forgot! I hope you like it, loads of fun to write!))

A gentle buzzing sound was all it took to wake Greg up.

He worked on the police force, after all. He had to be a light sleeper, because he didn't know if he'd be waking up at six in the morning or one. Granted, when he knew he wasn't to be disturbed for a little while, he slept like a log. Nobody could ever think of waking him up then.

His partner, of course, was a little bit harder to wake up. It was surprising, really – everything about Mycroft was fine-tuned and exact, like clockwork. And yet, half the time, it seemed that Mycroft would rather enjoy laying back in bed all day than actually going to work. Greg liked to think he had corrupted him somewhat.

Speaking of, he was currently spooning his partner, hugging Mycroft's back close to his front. The man was still clearly asleep, his face relaxed and his shoulders low. Greg nuzzled his nose into Mycroft's hair and kissed his scalp, his arms tightening around him. It took a few moments, but he began to hear the slightly annoyed grunts that signaled Mycroft waking. A smile spread across Greg's face.

"And what…" Greg mumbled into the top of Mycroft's hair, feeling the man start to squirm a little bit in his grasp. "Did I do in order to get the most handsome man in London in my bed, pray tell?"

Mycroft let out a contented sigh, turning about in Greg's arms until they were facing one another. It was so brilliant to see Mycroft like this. From the moment he went into work till the moment he got home, Mycroft Holmes wore a mask. An entire bloody body suit, really. It forbid emotion. Then he came home and he was so easy to stir up a smile, a laugh, a wink. Now, Mycroft was looking at him with contented, sleepy eyes, and he kissed the bottom of the man's chin. "I imagine it required a lot of emotional turmoil, quite a bit of alcohol, and the other most handsome man in London."

Greg grinned at him and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of the man's nose. Mycroft grunted in annoyance – always a bit sensitive about his nose, as it turned out. "Don't you have to get to work before I do, sweet?"

Mycroft shut his eyes and, for a few seconds, just pressed himself closer to Greg. Greg obliged happily, his arms curling around the man's pajamas until he was nearly crushing the man against his chest. He could feel Mycroft's heartbeat resounding against his own, and it made him stupidly, sentimentally happy. "I do. Slowly staving off the urge to tell them all to bugger off."

"Can't have that, can we? Who else would run this jolly old country? Besides, you know you love it. Or maybe you just love watching me work on the CCTV when you have a spare moment." Greg teased lightly, although it did bring up a point of minor contention – early in their relationship, Mycroft had confessed to hiring a man to follow Greg about while he was working. Mycroft said that it was purely to make sure he was safe, and Greg believed him. Still, he had laid out a clear rule for him – no bodyguards, or else Greg would go. But Greg couldn't disallow Mycroft the occasional glance on the CCTV. He had made a point of it, in fact, to give a cheeky wave to them every now and then.

"I suppose you're right." Mycroft purred, slowly easing himself out of Greg's grip. He separated himself from Greg and sat up. His grey pajamas were rumpled and his hair stood up at several odd angles. A pillow crease was visible on his face, which highlighted the freckles that he tried so desperately to hide. Giving Greg a slightly sultry smile, he extended a hand to him. "Join me?"

"As tempting as it is," Greg murmured, "I really would rather another hour or two of sleep. Maybe later, eh? After all, we've got the rest of our lives. Or until some nasty wanker manages to get a lucky shot at me."

Mycroft huffed a little and flicked Greg in the nose, murmuring a gentle, "Don't say such things, Gregory," before exiting the bed. Jokes about Greg's death weren't really tolerated, and, to Greg's credit, he had cut down on them.

As Mycroft made his way towards the bathroom, Greg propped his head up on his hand. "Make me, My."

Staring at himself in the mirror (and evidently not liking what he saw, as he grimaced), Mycroft shook his head. "I'll just tell Sherlock about our little relationship and then he'll throttle you with his bare hands. A suitable death, wouldn't you think?"

Greg matched Mycroft's grimace. "Don't remind me. He keeps deducing that I've got a girlfriend, and it's taking all of my willpower not to wipe that smirk off his face. I do rather like my head attached to my body, as it happens, so I'll keep it down."

Mycroft stripped himself and made a movement towards the shower. "I would shudder to think of it, my darling."

Almost immediately, Greg pushed himself out of bed and went to hug Mycroft from behind. Mycroft pressed himself against him, and kissed his cheek. When he spoke again, it was slightly unwilling. "Go back to bed. You've not been sleeping well lately."

"Sorry. Couldn't resist the show." Greg winked at him, before retreating to his bed. When his alarm rang next, Mycroft had already headed off to work. Something vaguely oatmeal-y was smelled from the kitchen, and Greg happily sat down to breakfast.

When he had to leave, he had to check himself in the mirror. After they had moved in together, Mycroft had sat him down and told him what he had to do to escape Sherlock's deductions. Under no circumstances was Greg to use Mycroft's cologne, Greg had to sleep on the same side of the bed, Greg couldn't adopt Mycroft's mannerisms. Greg agreed readily, in order to escape Sherlock's wrath.

Still, though, he let himself have a few allowances. There was a picture of him and Mycroft in his desk, he would send a sappy text to Mycroft every now and then, he would nick a bit of Mycroft's hair products. Mycroft chided at him for being uncareful, but Greg was too much a fool in love to care. He tapped out a happy beat on the steering wheel as he made his way to the Yard. Usually he would've given Mycroft a little goodbye kiss, an 'I love you' – just a precaution. After all, they both worked in dangerous positions.

He settled himself in his office with a cup of coffee and a tune to whistle. It would be paperwork, unless some poor bloke in London got offed before lunch.

The last thing he could remember was the first sip of coffee, before everything went black.

When he woke up again, he was tied to a chair. Blind-folded, as well. Fear struck him cold in the heart. This was it. He was going to be killed, he was going to be tortured, and he wasn't ever going to see the light of day again. Wasn't ever going to see Mycroft, again, for that matter, and the last bloody thing he had said to him was how good he looked naked. He pulled weakly at his bonds, feeling the fear start to bloom into panic. When that happened, he mentally shut himself down.

No. He didn't have the faintest idea where he was. That didn't mean death, no. It could be ransom. Could just be interrogation. He just wished he could see who his kidnapper was, because really, if he could overpower him, this would all be over.

The blindfold was removed from his eyes. At first, all Greg was aware of was the harsh light, streaming directly into his eyes. Suddenly, he didn't want to see the light of day anymore – if it was any harsher than that light, that is. There was a figure. Long, lean, and with the most peculiar hair-

Oh, for God's sake.

"Sherlock? What the bloody hell are you doing?" Greg coughed out, feeling the faintest pain from his bonds. Now that Sherlock was his kidnapper, Greg felt no fear. Just a hell of a lot of anger. Sherlock didn't say anything, no. He just stood there like a statue before he deftly moved forward and sat on Greg's lap. Both arms went around his neck.

The last time he'd been that close to Sherlock was when the boy had been overdosing. This time, though, the man was all-too sober. And, frankly, was looking at him with awkward eyes that might have been alluring. Or an attempt to be alluring, anyway.

Greg stomped his feet on the ground and tried to push away from the man. Hell, if he had to slam his chair against the ground, he would. Thankfully, Sherlock removed himself before Greg had to resort to that measure. "Sherlock. What the hell was that?"

"An experiment." Sherlock replied swiftly, moving behind Greg to untie him. "I've recently been informed about your unholy relationship with my brother, and I was seeing if it was merely an attempt to get closer to me. Given that you rejected my advances, I would say that is not the case. That ruins my best theory, Inspector, so I must ask you – why are you with my brother?"

It was funny, the effect panic had on a person. For a second, Greg felt as if he was going to pass out again. All the work he'd put into making sure Sherlock didn't know, and now Sherlock knew. His mouth went dry and he shook his head. Mycroft wouldn't be angry, no – the politician had even been suggesting that they come clean with their relationship. However, Greg knew that Sherlock had likely told everyone by now, and he wasn't too keen on what they would say. "How…how did you find out?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Inspector, you're even wearing his damn gel-" Sherlock hissed, one hand landing in Lestrade's hair. Greg shook his head wildly to dislodge the man's fingers. "John witnessed you two in a restaurant while you two were on a date. According to him, you two were massively fascinated by one another. The conclusion, from there, was obvious."

Greg couldn't bring himself to be angry at John. Hell, he felt bad about not telling the bloke. John would be a bit confused, at first, like everyone would – Mycroft, in a relationship? But then John would just wish him all the best. "Right. I suppose we've been a bit…clumsy, at that. Yes. We're together."

"Obviously, but why?"

"Well." Hell, it was so easy to be sentimental with Mycroft. Clasping Mycroft close to him, sleep still evident in the politician's eyes, and with Mycroft nearly melting against him, Greg could be goddamn Shakespeare. Now? How easy was it to admit that Greg even loved him? "I'm quite keen on your brother. He's a…" His mouth went dry, and he coughed. "An incredible bloke. Really, really. An incredible bloke. Nobody better."

Sherlock scoffed and Greg gave an angry grunt. "A likely story, Inspector. What is it, then? After his money? After a promotion, perhaps? Or did you simply want some easy company in your bed?"

Oh, now the bloke had done it.

Greg was up, and Greg was angry. Not quite shouting, no, but he had jumped to his feet. At his full height, Sherlock had to be reminded how much Greg towered over him. "Bugger off, you bleeding wanker. You have no idea why the hell we're together, and it's not like a-" A pause. Did Greg really want to say it? "A machine like you could understand what that's like."

Greg knew he had hit a nerve. Sherlock shut off whatever emotion he was showing, until Greg might as well have been talking to a wall. "Calm down, Inspector. I merely wanted to pose a few questions to you. Take a seat."

Figuring he had pushed it a tad too far, Greg sat down.

"How long have you two been together, what intentions do you have with him, and how long do you intend to be together?"

Greg took a deep breath, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. His eyes shut and he tried to think of Mycroft. "We've been together…six months, now. We moved in around the four-month bit. Intentions? Hell, I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to leave him, that's for damn sure. We're very happy together. I don't think I'd ever want to leave him. That enough?"

Greg couldn't bring himself to be angry about the kidnapping any longer. After all, he had little sisters. He had the 'Break her heart and I'll break your skull' talk. This was merely Sherlock's version. Perhaps a little bit crueler, but meant in good-will… or so Greg hoped.

"Barely. What do you see in him, Inspector? I grew up with him, you see – and his past boyfriends haven't been so kind. They've either been after his ambition, his wealth, and on one memorable occasion, merely his physical appearance. Who are you to be any different?" Sherlock's voice was barely restrained, and Greg realized the tone. This was Sherlock worrying.

So Greg just tried to be honest. "He's…he's brilliant. He's funny, he's sweet, and he's stupidly attractive to everyone. He's just got this…this way about him, when he speaks. He stares at you like you're the most important thing in the world, and it's just so brilliant to talk to him. He cares so damn much about everything, and you can see it when he talks, and when he's just being Mycroft, you just want to hold onto him and not let him go. I love him."

When he opened his eyes again, Sherlock looked a little bit disgusted. Greg couldn't help but snort at him, and he nodded. "I do feel that way, honest. I'd never do anything to hurt him."

"Very well." Sherlock's voice was tight, and he had his nose high up in the air as if he smelled something foul. He gestured his hands somewhere in the darkness. "I imagine you'll be keen on getting back to work soon. I'll accompany you shortly. I'm suppressing the need to vomit, I'll have you know."

Giving him a doggy smile, Greg stood up and brushed off his trousers. "Yes, well, we're all very sentimental and sappy, and we'll do something like kiss in front of you if you don't lay off." He felt childish. "Honestly, Sherlock, we're in a relationship. I'm not planning on killing him. And he's very happy, I imagine."

With that said, Greg disappeared out of the darkened building. He thought about texting Mycroft what had happened, but thought against it. It would be difficult enough to explain to the people at the Yard.