imagine a dating app which notifies you if someoneās swiped right on your profile, even if you havenāt already swiped on them
imagine sherlock stealing mycroftās phone and installing the app on it, uploading a profile for him. he gets the phone out of mycroftās coat and back in without him noticing. (rosie is a great help in that regard. itās so much easier to pickpocket mycroft these days.)
imagine greg, on a friday night, being wound up by his colleagues in the pub about his permanently single status; them pushing him to install the app. his new constableās just got engaged to a lass he met through it. it sounds like a stupid idea to greg ā how can you know if you want to go out with them when all youāre looking at is a picture? ā but heās a good enough sport to let them push him into installing it. he can just delete it later anyway
imagine a case that takes sherlock and john out of london, and mycroftās worried for his brother, so greg finds himself haring off after them. he has no idea mycroftās there too
even if itās ridiculous (and the local police arenāt best pleased to have a met detective rocking up on their patch), the hotel gregās been booked into is gorgeous. he hasnāt slept this well in months. he has a run every morning and starts taking long, relaxing baths.
he finishes a book, for the first time in months.
one night heās sitting in the bar ā john and sherlock have buggered off somewhere (probably to do something horribly dangerous) and gregās savouring the last of his glass of whisky before bed
itās idle curiosity. he opens the app. he plays with the settings. he wonders what his colleagues would say if they knew heād checked the third box (āanyoneā, instead of āwomenā, or āmenā) after ālooking forā.
the photos cycle, endlessly, and you just swipe ā left or right, no or yes. itās hypnotic after a while, and the strangeness of it (the basic nastiness of a yes or a no based on looks alone) fades away ā
left, left, right, left, hesitate ā left, right, right, left, left, left, right ā
that last one wasā¦that was mycroft.
cold realisation runs down gregās spine.
itās nothing, though, to the bone-deep shock of adrenaline when he looks up ā eyes wide, hand tugging at his hair ā and sees mycroft holmes, legs crossed in an armchair next to the crackling log fire
