Relaxed

Lestrade stirred and rolled over in bed, burrowing deeper under the covers with a soft snuffle. Mycroft let out a low chuckle at the man pressed up against his side.

He looked like a very relaxed cat.

Lestrade, having heard the quiet amusement, poked his head out of his covers and blearily opened his eyes.

"... My?" he yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Wha's goin' on?"

"Nothing." Mycroft said. "Good morning."

"Ugh, morning..." Lestrade groaned in despair, lazily shaking his fist at the sunlight slipping through the window. "Damn you."

Mycroft patted his head. "There's no work today." he informed the lackadaisical copper.

"Oh, thank God." Lestrade sighed in relief. "... Wait, why?" he asked in confusion.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Because you're a workaholic that needs a break." he joked affectionately. "And nobody wants to see you back in your office the day after you could've died saving a hospital and the entire area around it from a viral breakout. You're making the others look bad."

"They just want an excuse to slack off." Lestrade grunted.

"Please." Mycroft sighed. "Humor them, ...and me. Take some time off." He dropped a kiss on the top of Lestrade's head. "Go take a shower, I'll ask Merrim to put on some coffee."

Lestrade let out a whiny noise and wrapped his arms around Mycroft's midriff stubbornly, keeping the man in place. "Don' wanna get up." he complained.

Mycroft laughed. "That's the spirit."


Fifteen minutes later, Mycroft was sitting in a plush armchair in the sitting room with Merrim setting out tea, coffee, eggs with bacon, and toast, when Lestrade sidled in quietly with an embarrassed look on his face.

He was wearing one of Mycroft's silk, navy coloured bathrobes. It looked rather fetching on him. The dark blue contrasted nicely with his silvery hair. Mycroft almost didn't want to wonder why he was wearing the robe and just accept that he was.

Instead, he raised his eyebrow at Lestrade inquisitively.

"I - uh - don't have anything other than work suits here." Lestrade said sheepishly.

Oh.

Merrim coughed unintrusively. "I will call the Young Miss. In the meantime, please, have a seat."

Lestrade nodded absently. He could only assume that the 'Young Miss' referred to Anthea. He sat down as Merrim served him breakfast with coffee mixed with milk, sugar, and a dash of cocoa.

More of a comfort drink now, than a mugful of energy that Lestrade considered the MET's coffee, drunk black as tar.

He took and sip and his eyes widened, eyebrows raised. He scowled at Merrim without malice. "You've ruined me for all other coffees." He murmured mournfully.

Merrim just nodded slightly with a slight twinkle in his eye despite his smile-less face. "My pleasure." And he drifted off, silent as a ghost. Sometimes, Lestrade thought he must be part of the house itself rather than a separate being.

"So..." Mycroft prompted when they were alone. "Only work suits? You seriously couldn't find anything else to wear?"

Lestrade shook his head, swallowing a bite of egg. "If I did, I wouldn't be wearing your bathwear, My."

Mycroft stared at him in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Does that mean you're not wearing anything under it?" Lestrade choked on his food.

He lowered his silverware onto his plate with a clatter. At first he reddened and looked embarrassed, then annoyed at Mycroft, then a slow, feral smirk grew on his face. "You want to check?" he teased, eyebrow arched challengingly.

Mycroft opened his mouth to reply when the doorbell rang. Both Mycroft and Lestrade looked toward the hall leading to the front door. Mycroft sighed and leveled a stern look at Lestrade.

"We're not done here." He stated before getting up.

Merrim was already in the foyer opening the door when Mycroft arrived. Anthea walked in with no less than seven large bags hanging off her thin arms.

The valet gallantly swooped in and took a considerable amount of the burden off her. "Welcome, Miss Anthea." he greeted in his usual monotone.

"Merrim." Anthea greeted back.

Mycroft took the remaining bags from her. "Looks like you've got a great deal of shopping." he remarked.

"It's on your tab." Anthea smiled back.

"Rather fast, wasn't it?" Mycroft raised his eyebrow.

"I've been dying to dress him up." She smiled, nodding her head in the direction of the sitting room where Lestrade was waiting for them.

"He's not a doll, Anthea." Mycroft sighed reprimandingly.

"Who's not a doll?" Lestrade asked, poking his head out into the hall. "Holy shit, did you buy up a whole store, Anthea?" he gawked when he saw the shopping bags.

"No." Anthea shrugged. "Half would be a better estimate."

Lestrade rolled his eyes.

The PA and the copper drifted out of the sitting room and into Mycroft's bedroom with the shopping and Mycroft returned to his breakfast. He could hear the two talking through the absently open doors they left behind.

"Anthea, this jacket costs more than my weekly paycheck."

"Stop complaining."

"These jeans are too tight."

"They're perfect. Better from the back."

"Wai-...! Oh, great. I feel like a mannequin on display now, thanks. Should I just stay still and let you walk all around me? I could just turn, you know."

"Try this one. I think this colour suits you."

"I think it makes me look like a twat. I like that one better. ...What does this even mean 'dressing to the right'?"

"Erm..." There were a few hushed whispers.

"What the bloody Hell? Why do they need to know that!"

Anthea coughed pointedly.

"Okay, I'll stop asking about it and assume that it's just something rich people do."

"Sure, as long as it gets me out of explaining."

"Why do I even need a suit? It's a bloody day off!"

"Days."

"Huh?"

"Days off."

Lestrade sighed heavily. "Okay, but why would I need a suit? What wrong with mine?"

Anthea snorted softly.

"You laughed at me just now, didn't you?" Lestrade accused irately.

"Of course not. Just go along with it."

"Seriously, what's wrong with my suits?"

"Pinstripes. That's what you need, proper pinstripes."

"Anthea!"

Anthea hastily strode out of Mycroft's bedroom with Lestrade following, now in a charcoal grey turtleneck and jeans.

"Seriously, Anthea!" The copper seemed slightly affronted, but he smiled when Anthea wasn't looking. "Mycroft, you don't think there's anything wrong with my suits, do you?" Lestrade asked, suddenly looking at Mycroft.

"They are very well suited for your work." Mycroft replied neutrally.

"That could mean... so many things. Thanks, My." Lestrade jutted his bottom lip out just so.

Anthea froze and spun on her heel. "Did you just call him 'My'?"

"Um..."

Awkward moment.

Anthea quickly looked down at her Blackberry. "Nevermind. Must've been my imagination." And she walked out.

If Mycroft or Lestrade noticed her smile growing with the speed she made her way to the door, they didn't say anything.


Lestrade sat curled up in one of the stuffed armchairs in Mycroft's large library. Mycroft was seated on a sofa close by, doing paperwork.

Lestrade sighed heavily and snapped his book shut. Mycroft looked at him. "The Princess Bride?" the government agent asked, peering at the title.

"Childhood favorite." Lestrade smiled.

"Should I ask why you seem reluctant to read said childhood favorite?" Mycroft asked next.

"I don't know." Lestrade shrugged. "I'm bored. I've been in this room reading for the last three hours." The copper's posture screamed 'pent up energy'. "How do you do it?" Lestrade asked Mycroft.

"You spend a lot of your time in your office writing reports." Mycroft pointed out.

"That's different." Lestrade waved him off.

"How so?"

"It just is." Lestrade shrugged and dropped his head back on the headrest despondently.

They lapsed into silence again.

"That's what it is!" Lestrade exclaimed suddenly, causing Mycroft to startle. "I must be waiting for the other shoe to drop!" he said decisively.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I'm waiting for a call from the Yard to come see a body, or a text from Sherlock on a case, or-... well, I'm waiting for something to happen!" Lestrade raked his fingers through his hair. "Peace and quiet never lasts very long, does it?"

"The whole point of a vacation is to relax." Mycroft said to him with a chuckle.

Lestrade let out a slightly strangled noise. "Mycroft, I haven't been able to relax since I met you Holmeses!" He jabbed a finger at Mycroft. "Watch. Something's bound to happen."

"Murphy's Law." Mycroft grumbled with a slight smile.

"Damn right." Lestrade crossed his arms with a stoic look.

"Well, let me know if something happens." Mycroft shook his head, returning to his paperwork.

Five minutes later, Lestrade uncrossed his arms and let out a sigh. "What's that about then?" He asked, peering at Mycroft's paperwork.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Mycroft said as expected.

"Well you won't have to tell me." Lestrade grinned impishly. "I mean, if you leaned down a little and turned just a bit to the left-..." Mycroft rolled his eyes with a small smile at Lestrade's antics.

"Gregory, as much as I love you, you're disturbing my work."

Lestrade pouted. "Fine, fine. I'll drop in on Sherlock and John at the hos-..."

"No." Mycroft declared firmly. "Not there."

"What? Why?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"Murphy's Law." Mycroft reminded. "You're on vacation. You are not to get involved in anything that would lead to a case."

Lestrade's shoulders sagged just a little. "There's nothing worth watching on the telly."

"Surely you can find something safe and stress-free to do?" Mycroft sighed, seemingly giving up on his work.

Lestrade's eyes rolled upwards as he thought. "Um... nope." he replied cheerfully. At Mycroft's steadily exasperated look. "Oh, come on! It's not my fault! It's not like I actively try to get into trouble!"

"Sometimes, I wonder about you." Mycroft remarked sarcastically.

Lestrade blinked. "Well, I guess you're right about that." He practically poured himself out of his seat with the smooth movement of honey and walked over to Mycroft, smirking. When he reached him, Lestrade ran a finger down Mycroft's smooth-shaven cheek. "You're trouble. With a capital 'T', Mister Holmes - Mycroft Holmes." He purred from under thick eyelashes. Then, he turned and sauntered off.

Anthea was right. Those jeans were glorious.

Safe? Stress-free? It seemed Lestrade didn't know the meaning of those words. Either that, or didn't care.

Mycroft shook his head with a smile and followed him.