Had the idea of writing a short sequel of sorts for I Feel Like I Don't Even Know Him!
It's not finished, and I'm not sure how much I'll write for it, but under the cut is some of what I've got so far. Takes place around chapter 16. Please let me know what you think.
Lestrade was having a long day. He had spent all day dealing with petty criminals, now he had to go back to his boyfriends to take care of Sherlock. Because clearly, the man had never been played before. How had he gone so long without having a man mess with him? Surely he didn't think it was actually love? They did look good together. And Greg had never seen Sherlock so happy.
Mycroft had wanted to send in the cavalry just that morning. Greg was convinced he would have sent England's finest to knock on John Watson's door. He had talked him out of it of course. Although, it was tempting. Sherlock had been so happy before, and now? Well, it hurt to see the man. He would hardly venture from his bed. Acting like a heartbroken teenage girl in some American flick, not that Sherlock watched them. He didn't get the reference. Neither did Mycroft for that matter. Just some offhand comment that Sherlock's age and gender had nothing to do with it.
Now, Greg drove towards Mycroft's house. Honestly, he spent more time there than at his own flat. It was more like home. He just didn't want to move in without Mycroft saying so.
As he put the spare key into the door, it swung open to reveal Mycroft. He had his phone pressed to his ear. "Oh good, you're home," Greg's mind stuttered to a halt, but he didn't have time to ruminate on the use of 'home' before Mycroft had continued. "All my research says that Sherlock should be over it by now. So we have to go to the Watson home to-"
"No!" Greg had found his voice and managed to move towards his impossible boyfriend. "I told you this morning, you're not getting involved."
Mycroft looked at him, his mouth opening and his hand dropping slightly. He shook his head a little and hung up the phone, letting it drop on a nearby table. "You were half asleep. How could I take you seriously when your words are muffled by my chest? Hmm?" Greg just shot him a look. Mycroft rolled his eyes, paired with a perfectly put upon sigh. As if Greg had been acting unreasonably. Him? Of all the people acting unreasonable, it certainly wasn't Greg.
He passed by and dumped his bag on a kitchen chair, making his way to the kettle. Mycroft liked his tea made on the hob, but Greg just wanted tea. "Why not just buy him some ice cream? Like a proper big brother. Not like the British government with a personal vendetta."
The kettle clicked off and was punctuated by another exasperated sigh from Mycroft. He turned and disappeared behind his office door, leaving Greg with two mugs. Perhaps Sherlock would actually drink it if offered.
It was a long shot.
Greg picked up the mugs and went to move down the hall. Towards Mycroft's office and Sherlock's depression filled hovel. He stopped short when Mycroft came to stand in front of him, blocking his path. Mycroft had a jacket on and was slipping his slim wallet into the inside pocket. "Well? Come on then."
This was all too much. So much had happened in the short time he'd been back. All he wanted was a decent cuppa, and maybe a hug from his boyfriend. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so. He sighed, looking down at the mugs he still held, "What are you going on about?" Mycroft looked put out again. It was times like this, Greg could really see the family resemblance.
"To buy ice cream. Come on. It was your idea." The emphasis seemed to do it. He left no room for argument.
Mycroft swept past him, picking up Greg's bag and rooting through it. Greg just shook his head and dumped the undrunk tea on the counter. He took his car keys from inside his pocket and shook them before he walked towards the front door. They needed to get some things anyway. He hated asking Anthea for shopping. He prefered to buy his own food. Plus, he could scout out all the good bargains.
Without looking behind, he climbed back into his car. He'd let Mycroft drive back, he loved to drive, and Greg liked to be driven by him… but he would never take them to Tesco. Mycroft's nose was buried within his phone.
They drove in silence. Only the slight vibration of Mycroft's phone and the quietened chatter of the radio hosts filled the space around them. It was peaceful. Until Greg parked in front of Tesco that is. "Why are we here?"
Greg unbuckled his seatbelt and turned the key. "Ice cream. It was your idea to come now," He made a move to get out of the car, but stopped at the lack of movement from the passenger seat. He sat back and gave Mycroft an expectant glance. "Look, I've got to get stuff too. I can't afford whatever posh place you go to, Tesco is closer than Asda. Not only that, I need petrol and it's cheaper here. Now… shift your shit let's go."
Mycroft's eyes flickered over Greg - then over the shoppers around them. "I'll pay petrol, but we have to go to Sainsbury's."
Greg's mind stopped. He mentally went over what Mycroft had said. Surely he didn't say Sainsbury's? The thought of Mycroft in his three-piece standing in the store - was something he just couldn't picture. He couldn't even picture Mycroft surrounded by orange… or holding a basket for that matter. It wasn't where Anthea went. He knew that. There was some exclusive place that you had to have a membership for. Mycroft sighed, pulling Greg from his mind and back into the car. "He will only eat mint-choc-chip and raspberry ripple. He can taste the difference. Mummy used to shop at Sainsbury's, when he was sad, mummy would give him a bowl of raspberry and mint."
This… was new information.
He could just picture it. A young Sherlock and Mycroft bonding over a bowl of ice cream. He could imagine a young Sherlock throwing a wobbly over what ice cream he was given. The fact it apparently carried on into adulthood made Greg smile. Who would have thought that the man could be so… human.
Greg pulled himself from his musings and started to drive towards the nearest Sainsbury's - unable to argue with Mycroft's reasoning.