A mutual meeting of sentiment (SherlockianBeats and GJLestrade)

Mycroft Holmes was a proud man and everything about him showed a suave, mature, confident high powered politician but under it all - Mycroft Holmes was coy and quite subversive at times very unlike his younger sibling whose ego grew in leaps and bounds over the years.

Mycroft was also a creature of habit; he enjoyed his fine dining, enjoyed the theatre with Anthea and other members of his counsel and was particularly fond a certain New Scotland Yard Detective Inspector. DI Lestrade had been very much a part of Sherlock's life through his mid-twenties and now classed as a friend for both his sibling and Doctor Watson.

Mycroft was however showing that he was having feelings for Lestrade - not that he would admit, but he asked Anthea in confidence in the best way of approaching him, relationships and courting were not Mycroft's specialty. An emsil was the best course of action before trying to "kidnap" the detective.


From: [Only admins are allowed to see this link]
To: [Only admins are allowed to see this link]

Subject: Meeting

Dear Detective Inspector

I do hope you are well and have recovered from your altercation with the Prussian Mafia. I am under the impression that you acquired two cracked ribs - they must be very uncomfortable, I do hope you have adequate analgesia.

I would like to enquire if you were possibly free for a luncheon at Claridge's, the pastries are exceedingly delicious. I do hope you accept, please inform my Personal Assistant or myself of your decision.

Yours Humbly

M Holmes

Greg Lestrade was feeling every one of his fifty years. He was okay, as long as he didn't breath too deeply. He was on enforced desk duty until he was passed as fit again and the way he was feeling that wasn't likely to be any time soon. The pile of paperwork in his in-tray was depressing but it was the only thing to keep him from going stir crazy in his office. He stoically ignored the pitying looks from the rest of his team and pulled another file toward him.

Checking his emails was a welcome diversion but there was only one new one since he had checked them over twenty minutes ago. Greg frowned. What was Mycroft Holmes doing getting in touch with him? He read the email quickly and his consternation deepened. The man was so bloody old-fashioned. My altercation, Greg thought. Anybody else would call it a fight. Adequate analgesia? Christ, it sounded as though the man had swallowed a dictionary?

Reading between the lines, though, told a different story. Greg was nothing if not a good judge of where people were coming from, despite Sherlock's put-downs about being stupid. Greg had never taken that one personally. To Sherlock everybody was stupid. The words, however antiquated, intimated that the elder Holmes was concerned for his wellbeing, not to mention eager to meet him in what amounted to an informal setting (if Claridges of all places could be classed as informal). Well, informal for Mycroft, at any rate. He wasn't suggesting they meet either at his office or Greg's. He had signed it humbly. Greg snorted. Nothing about Mycroft Holmes was humble. Unless... It might suggest Mycroft was shy about approaching him. Greg wondered if he was like his brother in that regard, totally without experience in the relationship department?

How to word the reply? Greg smiled. He wasn't about to pass up a free lunch, providing it was free. He couldn't afford that place on his salary. He hit reply and began to compose his words carefully. Two could play at the correct grammar lark.

From: GJLestrade @ nsy.ppn.uk
To: HolmesM @ mi5.gsi.uk

Subject: Re Meeting

Dear Mr Holmes

Thank you for your enquiry and your kind consideration. My altercation with the Prussian Mafia was unfortunate but at least we got our man. Acquired three cracked ribs actually. Inconvenient but I'll live. Yes, thanks for asking, they are uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, but the doc gave me some decent pain meds as long as I don't drink alcohol while I'm on them.

I rather think it would be better to inform you, rather than your personal assistant, seeing as it was you extended the invite. My answer is yes, by-the-way, as long as you're paying. Some of us exist on rather less impressive wages.

Yours sincerely
DI Gregory Johnathan Lestrade.

There, that would do. He threw in a smiley face to further confound the British Government and then hit send and settled back to wait the reply.

Mycroft was tucking into a slice of Tarte au Citron with a pot of Earl Grey, whilst writing up some reports on the Mayfair Furnace Case. Suddenly he was interrupted by recieving an email from Lestrade.

Mycroft chuckled briefly at the audacity of the Detective Inspector. He sat back and began to reply with a small smile.

From: HolmesM @ mi5.gsi.uk
To: GJLestrade @ nsy.ppn.uk

Re:Re: Meeting

Thank you Gregory, may I call you Gregory for your quick reply to my correspondence. I am glad you are on the mend, I do hope that you have the confidence to go to Doctor Watson for advice if you need it.

I will get a car to pick you at 1630 tomorrow afternoon and of course I will pay - I do insist on that, being a modern gentleman.

I do appreciate that modern technology has enable youngesters primarily use emoticons but you are infact middle age and slightly out of the loop
Kind regards

Mycroft

Greg sat back and smiled at the reply. Nobody had called him Gregory since his mum and she had usually only done so when he had been naughty. Gregory Johnathan Lestrade, wait until your dad gets home. He smiled fondly at the memory. She was dead now, and he still missed her, but he had never kept his sexuality a secret from her and she had always supported him, as had his dad. He really should go see the man. He was living with Greg's older sister and her family in Weston Super Mare now, too far away to regularly see each other. Time maybe to plan a holiday. He was owed a massive amount of time off anyway.

He turned back to the email. Cheeky sod, he thought. Slightly out of the loop? Middle aged? He could talk. Mycroft was only a few years his junior, and acted like he was in his dotage. He had certainly been born in the wrong era, that was sure. He would have made an excellent Victorian gentleman, with a cravat and topper.

That bloody umbrella would have been a sword stick, once uppon a time, when it was legal to carry such things. Greg wondered briefly if there was something of the sort in the handle of the umbrella he carried about with him now? Every time he had seen the man he was leaning on it, twirling it, like it was an extension of his arm. He wouldn't put it past Mycroft to carry a deadly weapon of some kind. He was probably licenced to kill... Greg blinked and his mind shot off at a brief tangent, envisioning Mycroft as 007. Actually he could well be M in real life. Maybe that's what it stood for - Mycroft Holmes, licenced to thrill. Oh, Gregory Johnathan Lestrade, you are in danger of being a very naughty boy, a very naughty boy indeed.

He shot back a quick reply, agreeing to the pick up at 4.30. He found he was actually looking forward to this. Dinner with a Holmes was bound to be anything but boring. Now all he needed to know was what to wear. Not wanting to appear naive but well aware that he didn't move in such circles as these normally, he added another few lines to the email before sending.

"One last question. I would be eternally grateful for your sartorial expertise in what one should wear for a trip to Claridges. I doubt my wardrobe is as extensive as yours. I think have, oh, all of three suits to choose from and one of those is slightly too tight for me now. I will expect to wear a tie, although my manners are a little rusty. I was brought up on a council estate in Somerset, and I am certainly not an old Harrovian. A Whovian maybe, a reference I doubt you'll get. After all, popular culture is probably not your thing. A bit plebeian I expect. Never mind, I look forward to seeing you on the morrow.
Regards
Gregory
(and of course you may call me that, but I warn you, it'll make me feel like a naughty six year old...)"

Two could play with words, he thought. While he knew Mycroft might think he was taking the piss, Greg didn't care. It was not in his nature to be cruel, but he liked to keep people on their toes. He was certainly not above gentle teasing here and there. His mind drifted back to Sherlock and the orange blanket. Nope, not at all.

Mycroft smirked to himself at the Detective Inspector's reply, he shifted in his seat and poured another cup of tea and sipped the hot liquid before typing out the reply and getting Anthea to book the reservation.

Mycroft had a way with men and was not the Ice Man that people envisaged - he was suave, sophisticated and this Detective Inspector was caught in his lure - he licking his lips in anticipation.

"Gregory, I would suggest something smart but not formal. I do trust you to make a decision on what to wear, I would offer my tailor's service if we were to commence further ministrations.}}

In reference to your media reference - I am aware of Doctor Who. I am not very intune to entertainment via visual media but am aware of Doctor Who, I do enjoy Tom Baker's presentation of the Gallifreyian.

Look forward to meeting you."

Bloody hell, Greg thought as he reviewed the text. Mycroft was a little behind times if the last Doctor he recalled was Tom Baker. He grinned. This might be interesting. Unless... Could anyone be that old-fashioned? Maybe he was being strung a line here. He sat back and looked at the text again, refusing to believe that Mycroft was such a stuffed shirt as he supposed. He rather thought that Holmes might be having a joke at his expense. He would play this by ear and see where it went, enjoy the dinner and then tell the daft muppet where to get off if his suspicions proved true.

In the event he chose his newest suit, a crisp charcoal-grey wool which Greg felt showed off his physique the best, adding a plain white shirt and dark purple tie. Keep it simple, he thought. Mycroft would no doubt be at his sartorial best. So, no point competing. Greg was ready ages early and sat around waiting for the car, trying not to think about how all this could go wrong.

Mycroft has ordered Anthea to pick up the Detective Inspector before himself at the Diogenes. Mycroft was feeling a little apprehensive and nervous - something he felt rarely. He sat there finishing up getting ready - charcoal pinstripe with red inlay.

Anthea sat in the car and sent a quick message to her employer before heading out to receive Lestrade; she approached the apartment and rang the doorbell awaiting patiently.

They then head into the car and proceeded to the Diogenes to pick up the the finely dressed Mycroft Holmes. "Gregory. Pleasure." he spoke quietly.

Greg wasn't surprised that Anthea had been sent to pick him up. She certainly seemed to be Mycroft's right hand woman. Probably come to make sure I don't run away, he thought with a wry grin. If Anthea noticed, she said nothing. She was busy texting on her Blackberry again. She never seemed to stop.

The car drew to a halt outside the Diogenes club, and Anthea got out in favour of letting her employer in. Mycroft was impecably dressed as always, and Greg couldn't help but admire the way the cut of his suit showed off his physique. He wasn't fat by any means, his brother's jibes were obviously totally unfounded. Mycroft carried himself carefully, his posture as correct as the rest of him. He slid into the seat beside Greg and murmured "Gregory. Pleasure." Greg smiled and nodded and made a decision. If Mycroft was interested, then Greg was going to see how much.

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied as smoothly as he could. He watched Mycroft's expression as the man sat down beside him, noting his apparent nervousness. That was new and unexpected. Greg smiled warmly and asked how Mycroft's day had gone.

Mycroft cocked his head nervously and spoke about his day and returned the question; he was becoming more comfortable in Greg's presence - shortly after they had arrived at Claridge's where Anthea bode them both good luck and Bon Appetit.

Mycroft opened the door for the Inspector and smiled warmly, leading them to the Exclusive Suite where there was Bucks Fizz ready for them. He pulled out a chair; "Sit down Gregory. I hope you do not mind Bucks Fizz as an aperitif?"

Greg smiled. "Why would I mind?" he said warmly. "This is luxury to me." He cringed inwardly and hid it beneath his smile. Way to go, Greg, m'boy, he thought. How to sound like you're poor as a church mouse. Except that Mycroft already knew that he couldn't afford to indulge in this sort of thing. Mycroft moved in different circles, entertaining ambassadors and diplomats and MPs, rubbing shoulders with dignitaries from all over the world as well as the Royals themselves. Bucks Fizz was probably boring to him. Well, Greg considered, I might not get another chance, so I am going to make the most of this.

He accepted the drink and raised it, fixing Mycroft with his gaze and lowering his lashes just a little. "To...tonight," he said softly. "Thank you for this, Mycroft. I want you to know that I really do appreciate it." He tipped the glass and drank, the bubbles prickling on his tongue. Better be careful though, he thought. He recalled the medication he was on did not go well with alcohol. The last thing he wanted to do was cause problems there. With a Holmes about, Greg wanted to retain full use of his faculties.

Mycroft sat back and cocked his head, observing Greg carefully. He sipped his drink and nodded.
"You look very dashing Gregory, I do appreciate your sentiment in dressing appropriately."

The waitress came over and laid out a spread of various sandwiches and hor d'ourves, she smiled at the men and went away. Mycroft cleared his throat; "How is the aperitif? Would you prefer a beer? I am aware that you are partial to a light ales." Mycroft smirked, biting his lip.

"Don't make it sound so plebeian, please. I like a drink in the pub with the lads after work, same as any typical bloke." Greg smiled broadly. "The aperatif is fine, and thanks for the complement. Dashing is not a term people usually use around me." He looked around him at the palatial surroundings. "Nice place. Do you come here often?"

Mycroft chuckled lightly and took a hefty sip of the aperitif - taking the soothing effects of the alcohol to calm his nerves.
"You are a very handsome man." he thought further internally - /would love to bed you too/

"I come here twice a month with Anthea, and occasionally with mother. I prefer this due to it being quiet and reserved. And the Battenberg is very delectable."

Mycroft subtly brushed his own foot onto Greg's shin, hoping he did not notice.

Greg wasn't sure he had felt the nudge against his ankle. He glanced up at Mycroft but the man wasn't giving anything away there. So, footsie under the table, eh? Mycroft was being unusually coy about all this. Greg wondered underneath the complements and the small talk, Mycroft Holmes was unsure of his own feelings. Wouldn't be a surprise, Greg thought. More like his bloody brother...

"You know..." Greg paused and waited for Mycroft's gaze to meet his. The man might meet his eyes but more often than not he was the first to look away. Greg had seen it in suspects in interviews. They appeared cocky and confident but underneath they were nervous as all hell and hiding it. Subtle tells always gave them away every time and Mycroft was displaying a few. "I was thinking," he said, extending a hand to close over the back of Mycroft's fingers as they lay on the table. "This is nice, but you'll have to come over to my place, let me cook us a meal. We can relax, we don't have to worry about being overheard, watched or interrupted. You could stay..."