This Mycroft with Lestrade? It’s more likely than you think! Historical fantasy, friends-to-lovers, magical creatures, epic battles, but most importantly: PUBLISHED MYSTRADE!!
Get yours here: Beasts of London
Just for my Mystrade followers, have an excerpt: If you like it, be assured there will be kisses later in the novel 💖
Mycroft froze for a second, then nodded, handing the needle to the inspector. He could see Mary’s eyes on him from across the room, bright green and sparkling with magic. He had to keep it together.
As Lestrade took Mycroft’s hand into his, he sucked in a short breath.
“Sorry. Does it hurt?”
“Yes,” Mycroft lied. “While I could probably still cast a mending spell, I’m not sure I could bear one more at the moment. I’d rather rest and repair the damage in the morning. Just fix it for now so it doesn’t open up during the night.”
“Sensible,” Lestrade replied, even though Mycroft knew the inspector probably had no experience with such problems.
As a silver pattern mage, Lestrade’s capacity to store energy in his cells was rivalled by none. His body was a basically endless reservoir, replenishing itself faster than he could mold and use it with everyday spells.
Mycroft watched the inspector work in silence, stitching up the cut on the back of his hand, gently mumbling his own cleansing magic, which ensured the wound wouldn’t fester. In the background, he heard Mary and Sherlock discuss the amount of energy it would take to shake their patient out of his stupor. The more effort they put in to heal him, the harder it would be to get rid of him. Mycroft didn’t want to know who the victim was. It was easier to cast him out in ignorance, if only to soothe his own conscience.
“Any other wounds I should tend to?” Lestrade asked. Mycroft blinked twice, refocusing on the man’s face.
His features glowed in the light of the fire, eyes as dark as the night, dark brown hair falling around his ears. He looked entirely too inviting like this, open and eager to help. Dangerous. As Mycroft caught the man’s sly smile, he realised he had been silently staring for too long and cleared his throat.
“My shoulder, I think,” he said and turned quickly.
“Ah, yes. But it doesn’t look too bad. May I?”
“Of course.”
Mycroft felt the inspector stroke the skin on his back, across the shoulder blades, and the tingle that accompanied it showed him he cleaned it with a spell before applying the needle. With a muttered apology, Lestrade began stitching Mycroft up, hands on his heated skin. Mycroft had closed his eyes, both relishing the contact, the attention, all the while counting the seconds until he was released. It was exquisite torture, pure and simple. The inspector tied the string and placed a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder.
“I think we’re done here.”
Mycroft nodded and turned around, self-consciously looking downwards, before he dared meet Lestrade’s eyes again.
“Thank you,” he uttered. “That’s too kind of you.”
“Whatever are old friends for?” the inspector said with a smile.
Mycroft shot him a half-forced smile in return. Friends. Yes. That was one word that could describe them. Not the one he longed for.
For @bitemebat, who wanted to see Lestrade. Unfortunately the design isn’t finalised yet, but here’s a sneak peek at the sketch
