The D.I. and The Man in Goverment - A Mystrade Fic

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fan Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
After a divorce gone wrong, Greg finds himself having to rent a room. When he ends up feeling lonely, Greg decides to take up Mycroft's offer of assistance with anything at all. One thing leads to another, and soon enough, they find themselves naked and writhing as one.

Submitted: August 19, 2017

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Submitted: August 19, 2017



It was a lonely room; no pictures on the wall, no decorations of any kind, to lend any kind of warmth and comfort.
There was only a bed, a medium-sized wooden cabinet, and a mender's stool, besides the blinds and sheer coffee-coloured curtains.
Greg sighed to himself, setting his few belongings on the floor of his new room.
After his latest divorce, his ex-wife had gotten everything in the settlement; the house, his car, and a good chunk of his bi-weekly wages.
Greg had never been one for many personal belongings.
When he had been a lad, his parents had never permitted him more than what had been necessary.
They had moved a lot, due to his father's military occupation, and packing and repacking took its toll on them all.
Therefore, the less they had, the easier it was.
That was something that had stuck with Greg throughout his years. It didn't bother him at all.
On the contrary, whenever he'd taken up quarters with someone, he'd found the clutter of effects rather overwhelming. It felt cluttered and uncomfortable.
This room was simple, and he preferred it that way.

Greg wasn't used to sharing a house with anyone other than a lover, but now he found himself occupying a nice enough house in a middle-class neighbourhood with three others.
Natasha, Elliot, and the landlady, Rebecca.
He hadn't felt much like socialising, and had only been there for two days, and so he didn't really know what they were like beyond the initial introductions.
After his shifts, he had taken a quick shower, made himself a quick sandwich, and had eaten in his room.
It wasn't so much the divorce from Sasha that was particularly bothering him.
They had both agreed that it simply wasn't working out betwixt them, and had filed for divorce together.
Sasha had promised they would remain close friends and that the legal seperation would be quick and easy.
But, then, she had gone and done her best to take it all from him.
That's what really hurt.
He didn't have much, but she wanted it anyway.
Sasha had even worked on recieving any cash payments available should he die before she did.
He was hurt and disgusted. Greg had thought that he had known his ex-wife quite well. He hadn't known her at all.
As he lay on his bed, listening to birds singing outside his window, he did his best to keep from dwelling on it.
He was the only one in the house, having the day off while the others were out at work or play.
Mycroft, who had seemed to have taken something of a liking to him, had offered his assistance in any way, should it be needed.
He hadn't known what to make of that.
Sure, he had met the man quite a number of times, through work when it came to Sherlock, though recently Mycroft's demeanour had changed towards him and become... Almost imperceptively softer.
It was subtle, but Greg felt certain that it was there, whatever it was.
He wasn't sure what it was that Mycroft was trying to accomplish.
Greg could admit to himself that he did feel what some might consider a crush on the governmental man with the sometimes unsettling attitude.
What he felt for Greg wasn't clear.
Perhaps it was only a game, he didn't know what to think.
He took his mobile from his jeans pocket and went into the contacts list.
Mycroft had given him a number and demanded that he record it there.
It was lonely, that little room... And, he didn't have too many friends, only three or four, and he had a feeling he knew what he could expect should he ring them up.
With the exception of Sherlock, the response from his mates would mainly be pity, and that wasn't something that he needed.
And, as Sherlock was currently deep in work on a complicated case involving a serial murderer and something to do with ducks, it wasn't as though he could talk to him.
Greg stared at the number contemplatively, his finger hovering over the dial button.
Should he, or shouldn't he? What would he even say?
He closed his eyes, let out a breath, and trying not to overthink things as he tended to do, he placed the call.
It rang a few times, before going to voicemail.
Greg didn't bother leaving a message, instantly regretting the call.
He hung up, and put the phone back into his pocket, before closing his eyes and trying for a nap.
The quiet was pleasant enough, though it could be somewhat unsettling.
Too much silence was as bad as too much noise.
As the birds tweeted and twitted outside, Greg could feel the gentle sunlight on his skin.
He was drifting into a light slumber, when he felt the sudden buzz from his mobile indicating a new text.
He was half-considering ignoring it, but Greg wasn't all that good at leaving off phone calls or texts. It might've been something terribly important, and deserving of his full attention.
He opened his eyes a touch groggily, and read the new message: 'What is it that you require?' - MH
Greg frowned at the message.
He didn't 'require' anything, really... Mycroft was an awfully busy man, perhaps he ought not to have bothered him with something so trivial.
'Sorry, wrong number' He replied, losing his nerve.
Mycroft tended to be quite intimidating at times, and for Greg, this was one of them.
Yet, that was part of the appeal.
'Liar' Came Mycroft's response.
Greg groaned. Of course, Mycroft would call him out.
Before he could send a text back, his phone rang. It was Mycroft.
"Hello." Greg answered, feeling a little tense.
"I have no plans for the rest of the day, what is it that you want?" Mycroft asked him, his voice smooth.
"I, well, uh..." Greg stammered, clearing his throat gently. "I'm just looking for some company, that's all."
There was a pause.
"I'm sending a car, be ready to leave within the half-hour." Mycroft stated matter-of-factly, before hanging up.
Greg blinked as he took the phone away from his ear.
He hadn't said anything about going anywhere at all. He sat up in bed.
He was wearing worn jeans and a pilled white t-shirt, not exactly the sort of thing one might wear when meeting up with such an extravagant sort of man.
Greg didn't feel like changing, and decided that since Mycroft had gone and made the decision to leave the house for him, that he would stay in his laid-back clothing.


In precisely thirty minutes, a large black car rolled into the driveway and Greg walked out of the house, locking it securely behind him.
He double-checked the locks, as was his habit, before getting into the expensive vehicle.
Without a word, the driver backed out onto the street and began taking him wherever it was that Mycroft must have decided on.
The interior of the car was quite comfortable, with immaculate leather seats the colour of fresh cream and a surprising amount of room to move about. Soft lighting, a fully equipped mini-bar, and even a tiny fridge made the car seem more like a small home rather than a vehicle.
He wondered where it was that he was headed, noting that they were headed out of the city.
He didn't mind the length of the ride. It was nice to merely stare out the window at the scenery the car was rushing past, some of the colours blurring with the speed.


It was nearly an hour's drive to a large estate west of London, where everything looked almost too perfect.
The trees and shrubs were trimmed and highly maintained, the large onyx fountain was polished and the water sparklingly clear, and the gardens were strikingly beautiful.
The house itself, or perhaps it was more of a mansion, Greg wasn't altogether certain as to which, had no visible blemishes whatsoever.
The car was taken up the hand-laid brick path that lead past the house, and temporarily parked while the chauffer opened Greg's door for him.
Greg stepped out of the car, feeling rather out of place.
"If you'll head inside, sir, you will find luncheon waiting on the veranda." He informed Greg, who merely nodded and obliged.
Not that he knew where the veranda was.
Fortunately, a maid that had been preoccupied with dusting a marble statue of a detailed angel had been kind enough to personally guide him.
The veranda was located at the rear of the place, and overlooked a pond which had been home to a dozen or so healthy looking koi fish.
Mycroft sat in a wrought iron chair before a matching table which held the aforementioned meal.
"Come, sit." Mycroft invited him, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.
Greg obeyed, feeling quite awkward now.
Mycroft, naturally, hadn't missed the discomfort that Greg was exhibiting and gave him a gentle smile.
Greg was not at all used to being in such a place as a guest, being much more familiar with what in comparison would have been outright slums.
"Tea?" Mycroft offered, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly.
"Yes, please." Greg said, and Mycroft poured him a cup of tea, putting in a half teaspoon of sugar as was the way that he liked to take it.
Greg began feeling less uneasy, as they ate lunch together.
His thoughts began straying to things he had reprimanded himself for.
He knew from experience how apt Mycroft could be at reading thoughts, and he would have been mortified if his thoughts had become obvious to Mycroft.
Little did he know that despite his efforts, Mycroft had been fully aware of the lusty things that had popped into his mind.
As he felt the same way, Mycroft wasn't about to spoil it all and say or do anything that would let on his knowledge. He didn't want to cause more disomfort for Greg.
Greg wasn't the usual sort of man that Mycroft went for. On the contrary, he was quite the opposite.
Greg was far more endearing to him than Mycroft would have estimated before they had met more than a few times.
Now, he'd found himself sweet on Greg. Found himself happy to find an excuse to be near him.
Mycroft was rarely so sentimental, having driven such things from his mind as much as was humanly possible.
Still, he was human, and as much as he may have tried, Mycroft could not override that.


Once lunch had been eaten, they took a walk along the grounds.
At first, silence reigned.
Mycroft gave Greg a swift once over, his eyes lingering a bit longer on the firm arse beneath the rugged jean fabric.
Greg noticed and looked mildly surprised.
He couldn't have imagined that.
Mycroft merely gave him a cocky smirk and continued walking along the soft grass.
Greg found himself blushing, wondering how to react.
He'd always been the pursuer, not the pursued. This was new, and he didn't want to find himself in over his head.
Maybe that was exactly what he needed, though.
It had been some time since he'd been with a man, and Greg had missed it.
Before his promotion to D.I., Greg felt more comfortable being seen with either gender in a romantic light.
But, this job had become more important to him, and he intended to continue up the ladder.
It wasn't something that he was proud of, ignoring that part of himself in order to gain more career security. Things somehow ended up that way.
Greg paid little attention to where they were going, as the quiet was punctuated by brief snippets of conversation.
It was only when they had approached a small cottage that Greg began wondering.
Mycroft unlocked the front door, encouraging him inside.
It was a much simpler place, more like the sort of home your average person might have.
"I thought a touch extra seclusion might be an advantage." Mycroft explained, shutting the door. "There is only one key, and I am in possession of it."
Greg licked his lips, understanding washing over him.
He took a step towards Mycroft, who leaned down and claimed his mouth with a reserved sort of energy, as though he were holding back.
Reaching behind him, Mycroft locked the door, before moving his hands to Greg's back.
Greg made a small groan, as Mycroft carefully bit his lower lip.
Things escalated so quickly that Gre's head was spinning.
Hands were everywhere, the combination of gentle and rough touches stoking the fire.
It felt incredible, the sudden abandonment of everything but this moment of unbridled passion.
Neither of them held anything back, finding one another remarkably comfortable to be with.
Once that switch had been thrown, and Greg realised that he need not fear showing his true feelings and desires, the change had been massive.
They made love against the wall, Mycroft taking him hard and fast while Greg's legs wrapped around the slightly pudgy torso.
The sensational orgasm that only men had been able to coax from him made Greg see stars, leaving him weak in Mycroft's strong arms.
After the intense sexual session had ended, leaving them both abundantly satisfied, they lay panting on the floor, dripping with sweat.


Once he was capable of speech again, Greg turned to Mycroft, unsure of how this changed things.
Were they to be occasional partners or something more?
Mycroft kissed him, stirring things up again.
Greg lost his words again, as they began round two.


The pair of them stayed there until the next morning, claiming one another once more in the shower, before finding themselves asleep in the bedroom atop a firm bed.
By the end of it all, they both knew there was no going back.
They were completely involved now, and neither of them had any regrets about it.


That afternoon, Greg was back at work, his mind straying occasionally to yesterday.
He felt wonderful, though he had a suspicion that everyone must have been able to tell that he'd had sex.
The rest of the day went by well enough, and afterward, he headed back to his little room to rest.
He was knackered.
Without supper, Greg went straight to bed and slept through the night.


It was a couple more weeks, with a few invites over to Mycroft's, before he moved in.
Adjusting to actually living somewhere so luxurious took some time, but Greg managed it.
It was months before they had their first fight, which had actually ended all right.
Within a year and a half, they were married.

© Copyright 2018 Colún Dubh. All rights reserved.

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