"Mycroft, I don't understand why you felt the need to kidnap me and stick me in a shipping container just to ask me on a romantic safari," Lestrade groused, rubbing the circulation back into his wrists after five hours stuck in a large and rather uncomfortable box.
"Oh? Is that so?" The older Holmes brother turned to look at the DI only briefly, a bright twinkle obscuring the color of his eyes in the bright African sunset.
"I have a phone, you know. You could have just called me," Lestrade replied, sulkily, as his partner petted his silver hair with the affection one might show to a pet.
"You're the second person to say that to me this year, you know. Perhaps I just get a little carried away with the theatrics of my position," Mycroft sighed, gracefully unfurling his umbrella to shield them, if only slightly, from the unrelenting sub-Saharan sun as it washed the sky into a brilliant montage of flaming rubies, delicate corals, and infinite citrus gradients. "Or perhaps I just like to maintain the mystery in our arrangement, Greg."
"Well, you do a lovely job at that, My." The corners of Mycroft's eyes crinkled pleasantly at the pet name; his whole face seemed clearer in the pristine air of the nature reserve they had halted in for the night.
For one brief moment, the typical rational Lestrade was struck with an overwhelming cascade of romantic whimsy: here he was, with his secretive but loyal partner of two years, aglow in the heat of a brilliant sunset which put London's tea-colored cloudscape to shame, and he felt as if they were the only two men left in the world. The entire planet seemed open to them, anything available at the snap of his lover's workmanlike fingers, and he was nearly dizzy with joy.
He embraced Mycroft, the five cramped hours in the musty heat of the shipping crate completely forgotten at the simple euphoria of spending time with the efficient, calculated and powerful man he loved.
The politician hugged him back, whispering into his hair, "You know, we can always have it all. Anything you want. Always."
Lestrade nodded, then pulled away slightly to wrap an arm around Mycroft's waist, slightly embarrassed by his uncharacteristic burst of emotion. Generally both of them were rather hands-off except in the bedroom, as physical contact would only serve to raise eyebrows – and the suspicions of Mycroft's freakishly observant brother. At the thought of that, Greg smirked. It was a miracle that they'd been able to hide their relationship from Sherlock for this long – perhaps the consulting detective wasn't as gifted as he thought.
Just then, a group of elephants appeared on the horizon, contrasting starkly with the rosy hues of the sky. Lestrade, who'd never seen a pachyderm outside of the zoo, gasped in appreciation, and he felt Mycroft tighten his grip around his waist.
"They're beautiful," Greg whispered.
The world is a beautiful place," Mycroft replied, kissing him.