The One Time There Weren't Any Cookies

Mycroft had been in a bad mood all day. Of course he wasn't pouting like his dear brother would. Or raging like Dr. Watson. Mycroft didn't even show his contempt as Lestrade would do. He simply brooded, not speaking more than strictly necessary, as long as it didn't make him seem impolite in front of the wrong people. He couldn't let Anthea feel his anger either. Mycroft might still need her in a good mood later.

But the elder Holmes had been so proud of sticking to his diet for so long! All he had wanted was one cookie this morning. It was his birthday, after all! But then his housekeeper had forgotten to buy one. Mycroft was above throwing a fit over something as mundane as that. Sherlock would, he was sure of that. Sometimes Mycroft was jealous of his baby brother who could just behave... well, like a baby. But as a politician you didn't have that freedom. Things came to light pretty quickly and before you knew it, you had another stupid headline like "High Government Official with Even Higher Blood Pressure?" or even "Cookies Main Focus of British Government?"

One cookie wasn't worth the trouble. Or so Mycroft told himself. And then he could always get a cookie later in the day. But then his day started to get stressful. Some MI6 spy had mixed up delicate information with one of his Christmas cards and had sent details of a secret operation to his dear aunt. Now all hell was loose. And the operation wasn't even that important, but all the paperwork Mycroft had cope with! And all the men he had to scream at for this 'silly little mistake'!

Well, at least shouting at his employees improved his mood a bit. But as soon as he stepped out of the building his office was in, he realized again that something was missing. His cookie! Chocolate crumble with sprinkles on top! But now it was too late; all the shops were already closed. For a moment, Mycroft thought of 'searching' a bakery shop. One of Lestrade's drugs busts would do. But what if someone found out? He couldn't risk his public image over this.

Of course, he could just have sent Anthea for a cookie at any time of the day. But there had been more important things to do, even for her. And then Mycroft didn't trust his PI anymore. Strangely enough, every time he asked her for something else than what was strictly work-related – food, mostly – the information somehow ended up in Sherlock's knowledge. And he couldn't have his younger sibling tease him with his diet again. Mycroft suspected Mrs. Hudson, because he had seen her chatting with Anthea several times now. Which was strange in itself, as Anthea didn't CHAT.

Mycroft sighed. He wished he was into women; then the problem 'Anthea' would be solved rather sooner than later. He could think of something which would make her shut up for some time. The elder Holmes smirked. But no, none of that. He needed a cookie! Pronto! Cake wouldn't do, he always ended up eating the whole thing. Just ONE cookie!

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Anthea, you don't happen to have… a cookie with you?" His PI looked up and answered in a neutral voice: "No, fed the last one to a pigeon, as you are on a diet, Sir." Mycroft huffed. A pigeon! But he had to stay calm. Surely he must have a cookie at home, somewhere. He just had to get there without killing anyone.

But when Mycroft had searched all of the drawers of his kitchen, not even a crumb of a cookie had showed up. He swore under his breath because he had let his personal go already. One of them just might have a cookie on them. It was almost Christmas, after all! Mycroft sat down in frustration, staring into his empty kitchen.

The elder Holmes had never cared much about his birthday. But since he moved out from his parents, he had granted himself one wish every year. And this year's wish had been a cookie. Had this really been too much to ask?

Suddenly, there was a sound somewhere in the empty apartment. Mycroft frowned. A burglar? But the alarm hadn't gone off. Maybe he was already hallucinating for lack of cookies. Mycroft moved to the nearest drawer and picked out the sharpest knife, then slowly proceeded into the general direction of where the sound had come from. But actually, they could have him. His life had just lost its meaning anyway.

But then maybe one of the burglars had a cookie on him! A smile spread over Mycroft's face. He would just force them to hand the cookie over and then let them go. Or if they didn't have any, they would force them into a bakery instead. There should be one close by.

However, when Mycroft stepped into the living room and flicked on the lights, it wasn't a burglar he saw. It was Gregory Lestrade. "Surprise!", the DI shouted. He was spread out on the couch, his shirt half-open and a glass of red wine in his hand. Mycroft had never seen anything more alluring. For a moment, he almost forgot about the cookie. Then he saw the HUGE chocolate crumble cookie with sprinkles on a plate on the table, right next to Lestrade's knee.

Mycroft licked his lips, his mouth suddenly watering. Lestrade laughed. "Go on, take a bite. It's your birthday, after all." Mycroft's gaze fell on the second glass on the table, which was also filled with the dark-red liquid which would just go perfectly with the cookie.

"You sure that's alright?", Mycroft asked. He knew it would be polite to thank Lestrade first, maybe ask what this was all about, clink glasses, drink on his birthday… But all the elder Holmes could think of was the cookie! "Yes, of course," Lestrade laughed. He shifted his legs out of the way and patted the couch. "Come on, sit with me and enjoy your cookie, birthday child."

The 'birthday child' didn't need to be told twice. Mycroft almost leaped at the cookie, just barely managing to sit down before he took his first bite. And it was delicious! In fact, Mycroft thought he had never tasted something that delicious! After maybe half the cookie, he realized that he needed something to drink or he wouldn't make it. He looked up from his cookie for a moment and grabbed the glass now standing directly in front of him and slurped the wine like he had never slurped before. Then he dug back into the cookie.

When Mycroft was finished, he was a new man. He had never felt so happy, so free! What did he need diets for anyway? He was perfect as he was! For a moment, Mycroft wondered what was in the cookie, then he realized who had given it to him... Lestrade! The DI was still sitting patiently at his side, sipping on his wine and wearing an amused expression.

Suddenly Mycroft felt ashamed. He shouldn't have let himself go like that in front of Lestrade! When he was alone, this behaviour might just be tolerable, but with the detective inspector around… Then the elder Holmes took in the whole scene and realized that he wasn't the only one who had let himself go a bit.

A bulge in the DI's trousers made pretty clear that Lestrade was enjoying himself as well. Mycroft cleared his throat. "This was really delicious," he said. "But now I'm in a bit of a dilemma."

The detective inspector frowned at him. "And what is that?"

"I've already had my dessert," Mycroft explained with a smirk, "and now I see something else which I would like to taste. What do you think I should do about that?"

He could see the detective's adam's apple move as Lestrade swallowed drily. "Well," the older man said, "it's your birthday, isn't it? You can try everything you see tonight."

Mycroft smiled at that. Oh and how he would. But not here.

He got up from the couch. "Come on, then."

Lestrade frowned at him. Then his face lit up. "Bedroom?", he asked, almost coyly.

"No, kitchen."

"Kitchen? Do you want to... eat something?"

Mycroft laughed. "No, detective inspector. You might have realized that my tastes are a bit… different from other people's. So I want to try you... in the kitchen."

Lestrade cringed at being addressed like that. "Greg, please."

Mycroft smirked. Nothing against kitchen sex, but a lot against being addressed by his title. Interesting.

They moved into the kitchen, Lestrade… Greg casually leaning against the counter, looking up at the younger man expectantly.

Mycroft winked at him and then went down on his knees in front of the other man. This would be a reward Greg would never forget. Bringing Mycroft Holmes cookies always paid off.

Slowly, Mycroft opened the detective's flies and pushed his hand into Greg's trousers. It wasn't the first time he had touched a man like that, but he had never expected Gregory Lestrade to let him. If he had known… well, it wouldn't have come to this whole situation, maybe there wouldn't have been any cookies, so it was in vain to think about that now!

Decisively, Mycroft pulled Greg's hard cock out of his trousers. The detective moaned at that. Mycroft looked up at him and saw the detective had his eyes closed. Mycroft's heart lurched. Greg seemed to be a connoisseur too!

But the elder Holmes soon focused his attention back on the important thing at hand. He softly licked the tip of Greg's cock and was rewarded by a low moan. Mycroft then went on to lick the underside of Greg's cock. It didn't taste bad, actually. He had tasted a few cocks in his time, but usually he didn't really appreciate the taste of it. Too salty. Sometimes even kind of rancid.

But Greg's cock tasted different. Definitely clean. Just a touch salty. Mycroft caught himself wondering what kind of drink would go with that. Martini, maybe. He pushed the thought away. He had to concentrate. Do this exactly right. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to taste Greg's essence… and this was the very essence of what a blow-job was all about, wasn't it?

So Mycroft increased his efforts by slowly putting Greg's dick into his mouth and the slowly putting it out again. He started to build a steady rhythm – in and out, in and out – and soon had Greg panting above him. Good so far. Now to make things perfect. Mycroft opened Greg's trousers completely with one hand while holding the base of the other man's cock with the other. This way, Mycroft could keep fellating Greg while gaining access to his sack.

Mycroft put his now free hand into Greg's boxers and started fondling his balls. The detective started to moan loudly: "Oh god, yes. I like that, Myc. Please don't stop."

The elder Holmes smirked around the cock in his mouth and increased the pace. The salty taste soon became stronger. Pre-come. Really good. How could he have ever missed how good the taste of pre-come was? Or maybe it was just Greg's which tasted so good...

Greg had stopped being coherent. All which came out of his mouth now was: "Oh, yes, like that, faster, ohhhh, yea, harder, do me, yes, ooooh, Mycroft!" The detective's balls were drawing up under Mycroft's administrations. Good, he was close. The elder Holmes sped up his pace even more and took as much as he could of Greg into his mouth. Soon, the detective shouted his name and Mycroft's mouth was filled with something delicious. He really couldn't remember if he preferred sweet to salty.

When the elder Holmes got up again, he realized that he had been enjoying himself very very much there. Luckily, Greg could take care of that 'problem' by rubbing his hand quickly over the front of Mycroft's trousers a few times. The younger man moaned and came. He had never been less annoyed about soiling his pants. And two desserts he had really enjoyed! This was just the best birthday ever!

When Greg had gotten his breath back, he said: "You know, I just had an idea. About your diet…"

Mycroft groaned.

"Now let me finish," Greg said, before the elder Holmes could say anything. "I just read somewhere how much calories you burn by giving someone a proper pounding."

Mycroft's face lit up like a child's on Christmas. Had Greg just suggested… two desserts EVERY DAY?