Title: The Game (of Thrones) Is Afoot!
Author: Jessie Blackwood
Pairing: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Fandoms: Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are not my characters, they are public domain. Anything that resembles Sherlock BBC belongs of course to Mr Moffat and Mr Gatiss and is theirs alone. The plot is mine. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is otherwise purely coincidental.
Note: This was inspired partly by my own story, as being a year older than Rupert Graves and of the age bracket that thinks it might be too old for fandom but resisting mightily, and still cosplaying, as it is now called. I started going to conventions decades before dressing up as a character from film and tv was called cosplay, and Greg shares my vaguely embarrassed feeling when asked about it by non-convention-going friends. It is also inspired by someone's photoshop of a game of thrones character in armour, and Lestrade's head on the character's shoulders, which I cannot now find. Rather enough to set this fangirl's heart racing. Not to mention that fact that Mark has also been in the series that is the focus of this little tale. So what if Greg is a closet GoT fan? What on earth would Mycroft make of it all? This is a little cracky but I have tried to remain true to the spirit of the thing
Warning; WiP
Summary: Gregory Lestrade is a secret cosplayer and Mycroft is intrigued.


"Gregory, what are you doing?"

"Um...packing my stuff. I told you a month ago I'd be away this weekend."

"Ah, yes, your convention. Although why you feel the need to attend yet another Police Convention I really cannot imagine. I would have thought that you had seen enough of those to last a lifetime. Tedious things."

"Er... It's not that kind of convention, My."

"It isn't?" Mycroft badly wanted to know what sort of gathering it was that could entice his new husband away from their domestic bliss. The fact was that now he was keenly interested in finding out the kind of event that Gregory would enjoy, assuming it was something he was looking forward to and not something else he was required to attend by the Met. Just because it wasn't about policing did not mean that it's subject was in any way interesting. The tedium of a Health and Safety at Work gathering might be looming. Heavens, his darling Gregory might require rescuing.

"Oh, for God's sake," Greg muttered. "It's a fan convention, okay?"

"A...fan convention?" Mycroft took a moment to absorb and assimilate this information. "I take it we are not talking about people who collect implements for creating a current of air?"

Greg chuckled. "Damn right we're not."

"So then, Gregory, pray share with me the motivation behind your absence from me for three days." Greg muttered something that Mycroft didn't hear properly. "I'm afraid I did not catch that, Gregory. Répétez, s'il vous plait?"

"It's a Game of Thrones convention, okay?"

The glare he received made Mycroft quite sure there would be dire consequences should he lose control and laugh, and Mycroft Holmes was nothing if not in command of his reactions. All his reactions. He fixed his husband with a reproachful look and arched an eyebrow. "I will take it from your reaction that you think I will scoff at your...appreciation of the series?"

"Possibly," Greg replied warily. "However, where you're concerned, I'm never sure what you'll say. After all, I'm a grown man in a respected profession and I'm not supposed to enjoy myself like this and act all..."


"Coming from you that word implies something dangerous. After all, the fanatics you deal with tend not to have the best interests of the country at heart."

That elicited a smile. "I have no doubt that you are appreciative of and enthusiastic about the series, but I cannot see you acting like an obsessed teenager. You do not display behaviour markers of that nature. However, I dare say you will have come across your fair share of detractors."

"Damn right I have. I'm 52 and I'm not supposed to be...well, a fan of anything. Unless you include your brother. He thinks everybody should be a fan of his."

"Gregory, my dear brother thinks the world revolves around him. He has no notion that people might have other...interests. Were there a convention for lovers of opera, then you might even find me among it's ranks..."

"As far as I know, there are such things, but I highly doubt you would care for them, to be truthful. There are people there, Myc. Lots and lots of people. You know, noise, people, screaming fangirls..."

"You make it sound deplorable. However, I really cannot imagine fangirls screaming about opera singers."

Greg chuckled. "Well it isn't deplorable, certainly not to me anyway. They're a group of people who share the same passions as I do, the same appreciation and enthusiasm. I just think it's everything you hate, socially speaking."

There was a short pause during which Greg tucked more socks in his bag.

"I rather admire Tycho Nestoris myself."

That came out of left field. Greg frowned. "You've read the books then?"

"Of course, Gregory. After all, you do keep leaving them around for me to find. Did you really think I had no idea?"

"Well, maybe a little. I've never told you how much I love the show though."

"No, you haven't but I do know that you never miss an episode, and if you do, you always watch on catch-up on your laptop later no matter what time it is. That is without doubt the actions of someone who appreciates the subject matter."

"So...have you watched it as well?"

"I admit I had a certain curiosity, so yes, I have viewed some of it."


"As I said, I admire Tycho and the Iron Bank of Braavos. So much potential." Mycroft smiled, thoughtfully. "What it must be to wield such power..."

"And of course you are nothing like that, are you, love?"

"Alas, I wield far less power than you might think, Gregory. I certainly do not have much influence where our delightful monarch is concerned."

Greg smiled. "Like I believe that."

"I will take great pleasure in introducing you one of these days. When she has made up her mind, it would take a braver man than I to say no to her."

Greg grinned, unable to imagine his husband flummoxed by Her Majesty. "I like the Lannisters, myself. Although I am rather fond of Emilia Clarke."

"Ah, the lovely Daenerys? I can quite see your attraction there. I do favour John Snow myself; tall, dark, handsome. Quite the fellow, really. So, do you...I believe the term is cosplay these days?"

Greg tried and possibly failed to hide his surprise that Mycroft actually knew that term. "I play dress-up, yes."

"And which character do you favour?"

"I rather think Tywin Lannister..."

"Isn't he somewhat older than yourself?"

"Yes, but he was young once. Besides, there are limited options for someone my age..."

"Dear me, Gregory, you are a seasoned warrior of advanced experience. I would have thought the opposite were true."

"I am glad you didn't mention my age."

"God forbid. Age is irrelevant. The pursuit of one's hobby should not be restricted by age. So...your costume?"

"Packed," Greg said, pointing to a larger case in the corner of the room.

"What on earth is in that?"

"My...my armour..."

"Armour? Gregory, how on earth do I not know that you possess armour?"


"Because what?"

"Because I feel daft, that's what."

"There can be nothing daft about you wearing armour. The visions it conjures are...breathtaking. I am now consumed with curiosity."

"For goodness sake, Mycroft. How is that normal, hm? I play dress-up, Mycroft. I am an adult, last time I looked. When on earth is it normal for a 52 year old man to get dressed up like something out of a TV series? Why are you taking all this in your stride? Where's the catch?"

"I can assure you, there is no catch. Why, Gregory, I am ashamed of you. Normal? When did you start using that particular epithet? We both know there is no such thing. We are all unique and individual, despite a desperate desire for the Human race to categorize its members into little boxes, clearly labelled and tagged. Life would be deplorable were there no variety and variety only comes when some of us stand up to the norm and cast it aside. You obviously enjoy it."

"Of course I do. Wouldn't do it else."

"Then what is the issue here?" Mycroft smiled. "You have no requirement to justify yourself to anyone, least of all me! Would that I were with you, I could play your squire for the weekend."

"I rather thought you would have fitted Tycho, you know. Someone somber and serious..."

"Somber?" Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "I am not sure how to take that, Gregory. I was not aware that I could be thought of as somber..."

"Well, I didn't mean it insultingly. Seriously, Mycroft, you possess the necessary gravitas and dignity that would make it work for you. You even look a bit like him."

"I will take that as a compliment then, thank you, Gregory," Mycroft said with a smile.

"You know, you could come as well. We can get your ticket on the door. My hotel room is a double, so..."

"Maybe next time. I would not want to be in your way,"

"You wouldn't be. You're my husband, Myc. Why on earth would I not want you there?"

"If you had, I would have expected you to ask me before now."

"And I told you I wasn't sure what you'd say. It wasn't because I didn't want you with me. I know you don't care for crowds too."

"I think the most vexing thing would be feeling seriously underdressed with you adorned in your warrior's costume."

"Well then, we should find you something suitable so you can blend in. A nice robe, maybe? There are always loads of costumiers there, in the dealer's room. Price is no object for you. Why would you want to come though? You hate too many people in one place, it gives you the jitters."

"While that is true, I find my curiosity concerning this aspect of your life far outweighs the potential jitters I might feel. I can always retreat to our room if I find it overwhelming."

"Will you be able to take time off?"

"I am certain that if I require it, nobody will deny me the opportunity. Besides, Anthea usually takes care of business until I return. I will, however, need to pack some clothes..."

"Casual. Smart casual," Greg assured him. "And that does not mean a suit. If you're serious about this, I want to see polo shirts and jeans, Myc. Leave the Savile Row at home. Okay?"

"I think perhaps you had best pack for me then, my love."

"Yeah, okay. Maybe that would be for the best. You absolutely sure about this?"

"Most certainly, Gregory. Or should that be Lord Gregory Lannister?" Mycroft paused, thoughtfully. "My, that does have a ring to it."

Greg chuckled and took a bow. "I'll pack. You call a car. This is going to be a bit of an education..."


"I am never going to a convention with you again!"

Mycroft sighed as he watched his husband exit the car and grab his bags from the driver, not waiting to see if he was followed before carrying his gear into the house. With as much dignity as he could muster, Mycroft unfolded himself from the rear seat and followed, bringing up the rear as Jeremy, his driver, carried the remainder of their luggage into the hall. Jeremy tipped his cap to Mycroft, his expression a carefully maintained mask, and left quickly, shutting the door behind him. Silence fell. I think, Mycroft considered, that I just may have been sent to the wall...


Registration at the convention was very nearly fully subscribed. The girl on the front desk kept shooting glances at Mycroft and seemed rather distracted but she finally processed Mycroft's registration. There were a few distinctly sycophantic-sounding 'yes, sir's and 'no sir's and then they were allowed to proceed.

Greg hefted their luggage into the lift after a surprisingly brief and uncomplicated check-in (at least nobody stared at Mycroft) and they went up to the fourth floor accompanied by two Daeneryses, complete with baby dragons, a fair attempt at a Joffrey and a passable Ned Stark. All of them were shooting curious looks at Mycroft. Greg could have sworn he heard a comment about the Iron Bank as they exited the lift.

Their room was comfortable and quite spacious, despite lacking Mycroft's usual five star rating but he didn't comment on it, merely unpacked his clothes into the drawers and then sat on the bed and glanced over the literature they had been handed in their convention packages. He took out the lanyard and badge and examined it carefully.

"It's your ID badge, Myc. Wear it at all times otherwise you won't be allowed anywhere, okay?"

"Very well. What else do I need to be aware of?"

"How do you manage to make everything sound like an MI6 mission?" Greg shook his head in exasperation. "These events are strictly policed now. No photos or autographs unless you've paid for them, no talks unless they're booked and paid for. However, these are platinum passes, Myc. They get us everywhere, into all talks, photos and autographs as well..."

"Is that why it was so expensive?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I thought you would want all-access, and after all, no point in my being all-access and you not. That would never do. It's what I save up for so I can enjoy it all." He sighed. "Never used to be like this though. Time was you could go prop a bar up with the guests in the evening, sink a few and chat about all sorts but if that happens now it's a bloody miracle. When I started going to cons, they were all for charity and everything was in with the basic convention registration. There was none of this gold and platinum pass lark. Now it's all big business. Shame really. I miss the old days..."

"So when did you start attending conventions?"

"Oh, when I was in my twenties, in the nineteen eighties, why?"

"But Gregory, Game of Thrones is only twenty years old and it was first shown on television only five years ago."

"Spot on, Mycroft." Trust a Holmes to know the details. "Your point being?"

"Well, you cannot have been going to Game of Thrones conventions for so long."

"Mycroft, there were other conventions out there, you know. Before that I was into Dr Who, Blakes 7, Babylon 5, Quantum Leap..."

"I remember that." Mycroft sounded a little surprised at himself.

"You do?"

"Yes, I remember fervently wishing Sam Beckett would turn up and correct what had gone wrong in my life..."

"Never, really?"

"Indeed. Alas it never came to pass. Sherlock remained as annoying as ever and I remained estranged from my family for years..." Greg was unpacking his kit and hanging it up as Mycroft spoke. The sight of the armour drove all other thoughts out of Mycroft's head. "Oh, my..."

"What...? Oh. I see. Now you find out you have a medieval military kink, hm? Knight in shining armour?"

"Well, it is hardly shining, Gregory, but it is still armour. Oh, my God, chainmail too?"

"Well, I do need the whole thing for the best effect."

"An effect I cannot wait to see the results of, Gregory. When will you be donning your attire, if I may ask?"

"Tomorrow, probably. There's a cosplay competition in the afternoon. I don't wear it all the time, it's bloody heavy."

"Ah, they hold competitions at these things?"

"For the best cosplay, yes. There's more than one category, as a rule. Why? You fancy going in for it?"

"Heaven forfend, Gregory. I am not about to parade myself in front of a board of judges as though I were in a beauty pageant!"

"Well, I'm going to. I worked hard on this costume."

"I will watch with bated breath then, my love."

"You've not seen my swordplay yet either."

"Swordplay?" Yet again, his husband was surprising him. "When on earth did you learn swordplay?"

"Before we got together. The Royal Armouries run training days, you know, for actors and re-enactors and such. It's good exercise, but I've not really maintained it. I guess it slipped my mind to tell you..."

"That was remiss of you, Gregory. After all, you know I practice the fine arts of Kendo and Kenjutsu."

"Yes, I do and you are amazing at those, love. Maybe I ought to take it up again. It was good fun."

"So what happens tonight?"

"Nothing much. I think a visit to the restaurant for food and the bar for a pint is in order. We might see some people I know and I can introduce you."

The evening went as predicted. Greg met up with a few familiar faces and introduced his husband proudly. Everybody fell into discussing their chances in the competitions, as well as the guests that were turning up. Mycroft sat silently until one of Greg's friends piped up how like Tycho Nestoris he looked. Mycroft looked vaguely embarrassed by this. "It has been noted," he said softly.

"Yeah, I told him he ought to get the robes and enter the competition but he's a bit shy," Greg said.

"You should," said a short woman who reminded Mycroft of Molly Hooper.

"I think not," Mycroft said gently. "Thank you, though, for your vote of confidence."

"Suit yourself," she said with a grin. "Personally I think you'd wipe the board."


"This was perhaps a bad idea." Mycroft sat down in their hotel room and stared into space.

"Why? You not enjoying it?"

"I have a grave problem with how much this kind of thing puts one in the public eye. That is not something I wish to encourage, Gregory. I am not one to place myself in such a public position!"

"Ah. Understood. But it's fun, Myc. It's off duty relaxation. You don't have to do photos and such if you don't want to."

"Good. I am afraid I will not be taking part very much. I'm sincerely sorry, Gregory, I do not want to spoil your weekend."

"It's okay, love. Let's get some sleep, then tomorrow we can at least attend talks. And you get to see me in my armour..."

Mycroft had to allow himself a smile at that. He imagined his Gregory would be stunning.


The cosplay efforts were very good this year. Greg was a bit in awe of some of them, but he was resplendent in his own costume, having based it on Jorah Mormont's armour. He was comfortable in it, carrying it with ease, a fact Mycroft noted with distinct pleasure. Greg noticed him noticing and preened. Might even get lucky later if I play my cards right...

He might have been born in it, Mycroft thought, watching Gregory move about the throng of hopeful cosplayers. He toyed with the idea of slipping his husband's name into the New Year's Honours list, a life peerage just so he could call him Lord Gregory every day. Her Majesty might take exception to that, however. Although it was not as if Gregory hadn't earned it, given his dedication over the years. He would have made a good addition to the House of Lords. Mycroft watched one of the Daeneryses drift up to Gregory and he responded by bowing to her, perfectly in character. They stood for photos and Mycroft admired his Gregory's stature. He would enjoy removing that armour later...

"Come on, Myc. I want a photo." A huge replica of the Iron Throne had been set up to one side of the main hall, for anyone who wanted to go sit in it and be photographed. Mycroft was happy to oblige. And doesn't Gregory look distinguished sitting there, backed by the resplendent fan of swords. "Your turn, love," Greg said, and pushed a protesting Mycroft onto the seat. "Oh, wow. You look..." Greg was lost for words. "Just act haughty, love. You're perfect." He snapped a couple of photos on his phone before Mycroft could bolt, and grinned at him. "I'm enjoying this."

"On no account do those pictures ever leave your phone, my dear."


"Thank you."

"Although I might send one to Anthea."


"Mycroft?" The call came across the hall enthusiastically and Greg stopped and turned to see who had hailed his husband.

"Mark, how nice to see you." Mycroft smiled congenially and the two men shook hands.

"What on earth are you doing here? You didn't tell me you were coming. Should have said something. And who is this?"

"Allow me to present my husband, Gregory."

"Husband? My God, you actually went and did it! Congratulations. I cannot wait to tell Ian you finally found yourself someone. And why weren't we invited?"

"Well, it was a very small affair, family only. No fuss, you understand?"

"Knowing you, yes, I do. Well, well. Gregory?" A hand was extended in Greg's direction. Greg took the offered hand in bemused awe and shook it.

"Greg, actually. Most folks call me Greg," he said.

"Greg then, so what's it like being hitched to this guy?"

"Very good. Very, very good. He's...well, I don't want to sound sappy but, he's damn near perfect."

"You make a very good looking couple. Listen, can't stop, I'm expected on a panel in five. You really need to accept my dinner invite and we can chat more congenially. I might see you around."

"Yes, of course. I don't wish to delay you."

"See you later then."

Greg watched the man go. Then he turned to Mycroft. "You know Mark Gatiss?"

Mycroft nodded. "I have made his acquaintance on occasion."

"You know Mark Gatiss. How have you never revealed this to me?"

"Because...I have never had occasion..."

"Bollocks, Mycroft. Bloody Hell, you...I have no words."

"Yes, I know we look alike, a little. Mark is an actor, and he has kindly agreed on a number of occasions to take my place at functions to which I could not attend."

"How does that work? You're not twins, love. If someone knows you, they'd know you weren't him, and he wasn't you..."

"Usually he attends where I am not known, with the full knowledge of my colleagues who might also attend to back up the lie. Sometimes, refusing an invitation is an insult, but I cannot be everywhere. He doesn't have to do much. Make polite conversation, dance with the ladies, that kind of thing. He does an admirable job, and he doesn't have to do it often. His bit for National Security, I suppose you might say. I so rarely appear at anything outside of a royal event..."

"Well we are definitely accepting that dinner invite, if we get one. Got that?"

"Gregory, please. You do not have to act like such a fanboy."

"Oh, yes, I do."

The rest of the day passed without a hitch. They admired costumes in the dealer's hall, Greg was frequently stopped for photos, to which he acquiesced with grace and good humour. Mycroft noticed he was particularly attentive where children were concerned. "Although what kids are doing watching Game of Thrones I do not know," he commented. The cosplay competition went well, although Greg lost out to a particularly good Brienne of Tarth. He did receive a commendation though. They went for a particularly good dinner in the hotel dining room and then spent the evening with some of Greg's convention-going friends again. Mycroft tried not to feel like the odd one out and sat beside his Gregory patiently, sipping a G&T and watching the costumes coming and going around them.

Sunday dawned brightly and Greg dragged them both off to a panel concerned with behind the scenes work on the series. Mycroft found he was at least partially interested in what was being said. That was followed by a Q&A session for some of the actors. As they headed toward it, Mycroft was hailed by an enthusiastic and familiar voice behind them.

"Mycroft? It is you. How are you?"

"Charles, it's good to see you. I'm moderately well, how are you?"

"Fine, fine. What's this? Someone new on your arm?"

"This is my husband, DCI Gregory Lestrade. Gregory, allow me to introduce you to Sir Charles..."

"Yes, I...I know who he is." Greg stuttered, faced with acting royalty. "Good to meet you, sir." The two men shook hands.

"Charles, please. Congratulations to you both. When did you tie the knot?"

"A few months ago," Mycroft said, "but we've known each other for a long time."

"Very well done, and best wishes for it. Sorry I can't stay, I'm due on an autographing session." He flexed his wrist and smiled. "Time to flex my signing muscles. Enjoy yourselves, the both of you. I'll see you soon, Mycroft. Sir John's soiree is next month, is it not? You'll be bringing Gregory of course?"

"Of course," Mycroft replied and smiled as the man disappeared with his minders.

"You have got to be kidding." Greg was staring at him.

"Why, my dear?"

"Who else do you know that you haven't told me about? This is bloody embarrassing, Mycroft..."

"I only know Charles because of his acquaintance with a friend of mine, Sir John Powell-Carter. John holds rather vast parties, and Charles always attends. I'm sorry, Gregory. I had no idea..."

"No idea, and yet...Mycroft, surely you know that all the actors from the series attend these things. Do you know anyone else?"

"Mycroft, is that you?"

"Natalie...What a surprise...."


And now they were home.

Mycroft followed Gregory into the study and poured them both a generous measure of brandy. "Here, my dear. I think you need this?"

Greg took it without speaking and stared out the window. Twice he turned to speak and each time stopped, unable to find the words.

"I am sorry you did not win the competition, my love..."

"Not to worry. I don't really go in them to win. I just enjoy taking part."

"An admirable outlook, my dear."

"Mycroft, who else do you know, seriously? I mean, who else am I going to get surprised by?"

"Honestly, Gregory, I do not know many people in the acting world, beyond those I meet at social functions. Most of them are charitable concerns that one of the Royal household is associated with and it is my obligation to attend. From now on, you will be my plus one at such events, so maybe you should get used to it."

"Get used to it? Great. Is that all the advice you can give me?"

"Sadly, there is little advice I can give beyond telling you how to behave, and frankly, you really do not require instruction. You always carry yourself with dignity and exemplary behaviour. Gregory, you are not...regretting marrying me, are you?" "

Regretting...? Mycroft, no, don't be daft. Of course I'm not. But you might have told me. Finding out you know people I idolise..."

"They should be idolising you, you know."


"They are only people, Gregory, doing what they love, and they are privileged to be able to do it. They have been lucky, despite their talent and their money and their opportunities. You are a DCI in London's Metropolitan Police. You keep their world safe for them."

"Yeah, well, it isn't just me you know. I have help."

Mycroft chuckled. "I'm sorry, Gregory, truly. I'll tell you what, you tell me who you like, and I shall tell you if I know them or not. How would that be?"



"Okay then. Challenge accepted. Now, do you know...Chris Hemsworth?"




"Chris Evans?"


"Captain America, Mycroft!"

"No, defintely not."

"Harrison Ford?"

"Actually, I missed meeting him when I was invited to a premier but I was in Turkey at the time..."

"Robert Downey Junior."

"Ah, yes, dear Robert. Does a lot for charity, you know. Met him a few years ago."

"You know Robert Downey Junior? You're not joking?"

"I would never joke about a thing like this, Gregory. I know him. Anybody else you wish to ask about?"

"No, I guess that'll do for now. So,. I'm your plus one now, hm?"

"Yes, you are."

Greg nodded and put his glass down. "Mycroft..."

"Yes, my dear?"

"Care to explore that medieval armour kink you got going?"

"Only if I can wear the robes..."


"Yes, robes. I am afraid I did indulge at the dealers tables, as you suggested I might. I found a particularly fetching dark green satin I think you might appreciate...."

"Say no more." And Mycroft found himself almost dragged up stairs to their bedroom.