Title: Clothes maketh the man
Author: fanficwriter101
Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade
Fandoms: Sherlock
Disclaimer: The characters from the show aren't mine, they belong to others. No copyright infringement intended. Any characters you don't recognize are mine. Feedback would be nice, positive feedback would be nicer. Enjoy!
Category: Sherlock (BBC 2010/12 version) Mystrade angsty/humorous slash (implied) ficlet
Rating: R/adults only to be safe for content/nudity
Characters: Ensemble
Series: No
Spoilers: None intended but anything from Seasons One and Two (including the unaired pilot) might get a mention.
Summary: There's such a thing (in John's opinion) as too little clothing. Then again, there's also such a thing as (in Greg's opinion) too much. The Holmes brothers disagree with their flat mates.
Archive: Just tell me where it's going
Additional 'stuff': This is one of those fics which just wouldn't stop going round in my head until I put it down on (virtual) paper. In 'my' Sherlock universe, orphaned Mycroft and Sherlock spent several weeks living with an Uncle who was not child-friendly.


"Sherlock!" John couldn't even be bothered to shout but his tone conveyed his feelings well enough for most people to have picked up on his disapproval of his flat mate's current state.

Sherlock looked up from his blackberry, frowning. "Yes John?"

"Okay, you sit on my bed while I'm asleep. I don't mind that...well, I do but that's not the...you're NAKED Sherlock!!"

Sherlock sighed. "John, I'm busy."

John lifted himself up onto his elbows. "Can you be busy with some clothes on?"

Sherlock looked up from his phone just long enough to ask: "Why should I waste time getting dressed?"

"Sherlock, get off my bed! Now!"

Sherlock huffed and stood up. "We're out of milk."

John wanted to scream but settled for: "And while I was sleeping you couldn't go out and buy some?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "As you just pointed out John, I'm not dressed."

John rolled over, groaning loudly and pulled the bedclothes over his head.


Pimlico...that evening...

Greg wore boxers to bed in the summer and a t-shirt and boxers in the winter if it was exceptionally cold or he was alone, but he rarely needed to when Mycroft was beside him as the man was a human hot water bottle. 

Despite the heat radiating off him, Mycroft never *ever* came to bed without changing, in the bathroom, into pyjamas. He had, Greg had discovered, a dozen or more pairs, all of similar material - silk Greg guessed - and all dark blue.

The weather during the day had been exceptionally hot and Greg decided he would wear nothing to bed that night.

Mycroft climbed into bed and, as he lifted the bedclothes, realized Greg wasn't wearing his usual faded and well-worn boxers. He hesitated, wondering if he should say something. And exactly what he would say.

"It's a hundred degrees!" Greg sighed, sensing his partner's unease.

Mycroft smiled weakly. "It's seventy-one point three."

Greg rolled his eyes but offered: "I can put something on..."

Mycroft opened his mouth to thank Greg for his offer but changed his mind at the last moment. "Oh, no, as you so rightly say, it is very warm tonight."

Greg lifted his head, resting it on his folded arms. "What?"

Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with one of his buttons. "Our uncle..." He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable having to vocalize the memory.

"Christ Myc..." Greg said sympathetically, lifting himself up. Getting out of bed he crossed to the chest of drawers and pulled out his favorite boxers.

Mycroft's facial expression showed his turmoil. He was embarrassed - even after almost two years of sharing his life with the DI - at revealing something so personal but he was immensely relieved Greg had realized his discomfiture and reacted to it in the way he had.

Smiling with relief, Mycroft climbed into bed and waited until Greg returned. "My bedroom was freezing at night. Sherlock's too. I got in the habit of wearing pyjamas. Sherlock defied our uncle and never wore anything."

Greg smiled despite yet another awful admission from his damaged lover. "Yeah, I've dropped by Baker Street a few times early in the morning."

Mycroft lay down and placed his hand on Greg's bare chest. "Thank you."

Greg covered Mycroft's hand with his own. "There's already one Holmes who thinks it's okay to keep stuff from me. I don't want another one doing it, okay?"

Mycroft sighed and eased himself closer to Greg. "Sherlock almost got arrested this morning. A PCSO saw him trying to cross Baker Street on the way to buy milk."

Greg frowned and looked across at Mycroft. "Is that illegal now?"

"No, but doing it naked is."