and 
Chapter Text
Mycroft woke with the comforting warmth of Greg Lestrade curled around him. The policeman was pressing sleepy kisses against Mycroft's shoulder, his hand resting on Mycroft's chest. He hummed against Mycroft's skin when he realised that the other man was awake.
'Morning,' he murmured, shifting slightly so he had more access to Mycroft's body.
'Gregory,' Mycroft's voice was halfway between a sigh and a warning as Greg kissed his way down Mycroft's chest and disappeared under the covers, a second later his mouth closed around Mycroft, who completely lost interest in any protest he might have had.
#
Mycroft had never predicted Greg Lestrade. He had never expected to have a space in his life that only the policeman could fill. He had lived his life in a neatly ordered way, each day exactly as he had planned, a master of his own universe. And then Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had stormed into his office cursing the air blue and crowding into Mycroft's personal space as he yelled about something Mycroft couldn't remember. Greg's anger had been irrelevant compared to the sudden urge of lust and the thump in Mycroft's chest when the man leaned so far over his desk that Mycroft could feel his breath against his cheek.
He, Mycroft thought with sudden and complete certainty, was the one.
Eight months later and he was warm in bed beside him. This wonderful man who was everything Mycroft never expected. He was funny, kind, passionate, loyal, fair, angry, supportive, energetic, intelligent, handsome, solvent, ambitious. He was everything Mycroft could ever have wanted.
Which was why Mycroft had to break up with him.