The Chemistry of Mycroft and Lestrade

mydwynter:

It occurs to me as I’m elbow-deep in editing this Mycroft/Lestrade story—and feeling that exquisite torment of loving this story, of being proud of it—that there are those who will never bother to read the thing simply because they can’t be bothered reading anything with the pairing. That gives me a sad. I wish I could convince them otherwise.

See, to me, there’s so much potential in these two. They’re visceral. They’re compelling. As someone who writes both, the problems, issues, and dynamics between Mycroft and Lestrade are just so different from those between John and Sherlock. There’s so much to explore between the two that isn’t often explored with John and Sherlock, or is explored in vastly different ways: Age. Experience. Interaction with work colleagues. The various manners in which they enact the business of caring for others. How the two must fight to fit a relationship between them into such busy, work-entrenched lives.

All pairings are different from one another, obviously. That’s the way of it. Well-written stories are the volatile combination of two or more characters, and that reaction is by definition going to be different with any other combination. However, I’ve talked to many people who have said, “oh, I read Johnlock, but I just don’t care about Mystrade.” And when I ask why, it turns out that they’ve built up this image of the pairing that may reflect the way Mycroft and Lestrade appear to be, but it doesn’t consider what happens beneath the surface when you put these two disparate elements in a room together, shake it up, and let it go.

It can be explosive. Illuminating. Rich. Satisfying. Real.

It can be a story of two men who have achieved within their own particular spheres negotiating how they interact with each other. Two men who have separate lives of their own who nevertheless decide to meet in the middle. Two men whose baggage doesn’t necessarily match, but they decide, regardless, to try.

The combination of Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade is so much more than the sum of its parts.

I admit, I didn’t get it at first. I read books, I wrote my own original pairings, I read and wrote Sherlock/John. My dance card was full up, I thought. I knew Mycroft/Lestrade existed, of course, but I just didn’t bother to get involved. Greg has silvering hair, and Mycroft carries an umbrella, and what else can there be between them? What more did I really need to know?

But then for some forgotten reason I read one of their stories, and all that changed. I read a story, and I finally understood that there was a there, there. I read a story, and all my barriers crumbled away into nothing the first time Greg made Mycroft smile. I fell in love.

If you’ve read good Mycroft/Lestrade and it’s not been your cup of tea, that’s one thing. I can understand that. But if you haven’t even tried any, if you’ve rejected them on spec, I just really wish I could convince you to give them a try.

I wonder if you wouldn’t fall just a bit in love, too.

So I wrote another chapter of Mycroft’s choice, and i think there may be one more after this. So, enjoy more omegaverse mystrade romance.

Mycroft’s Choice, Chapter 2

teaser below the cut

When Mycroft’s heat ended, they both went back to their lives and their jobs. While Gregory had kept his promise of not bonding with him, Mycroft still felt his thoughts turning back to the alpha, even as he worked through the inevitable pile of paperwork. Twice he caught himself standing in front of the mirror after his morning shower and looking at his shoulder as if trying to imagine what Gregory’s bond bite would look like. Ridiculous.

Four days after the heat, Mycroft was working late in his home office when the bell rang. Grumbling and hoping it wasn’t his little brother he went to answer and was surprised to find Gregory on his doorstep. “Saw your light was on,” he smiled and gestured with a bag. “Dinner?”

Mycroft wanted to say something sharp about the hour, but his stomach rumbled at the smell. “Come in.”

Greg smiled and followed him into the kitchen. His cock twitched at the memory of Gregory scenting his neck at this table, but he silently and sternly told his body to behave. Oblivious, Greg put the bag on the counter and started dishing out the homemade dinner, putting the leftovers in the fridge. “At least opening your refrigerator isn’t the exercise in horror that Sherlock’s is.”

I finally wrote a second chapter to Mycrofts Choice ( the omegaverse mystrade) it’ll be up tonight