Title: Scr-awl mine
Author: fanficwriter101
Pairing: Lestrade/Mycroft/Anthea
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: BBC Sherlock (2010) implied slash PWP ficlet
Rating: R for implication/G for content
Characters: Lestrade/Mycroft/Anthea
Series: No
Spoilers: Anything might get a mention (also see below)
Summary: The moral of this story: Never let someone confuse skin with paper.
Archive: Just tell me where it's going
Additional 'stuff': Yesterday I watched the Dr Who episode where Mark Gatiss plays Dr Lazarus - The Lazarus Experiment. At several points he's wearing very little clothing ~smile~ I like *my* Lestrade's first name.

***

Early morning...Pimlico

Mycroft was lying face down, enduring rather than enjoying being tickled by the light touches on his neck and shoulders. He wriggled, squirmed and fidgeted the whole time.

The teasing voice was soft, still too soon after waking to have its habitual gravelly tone. "Who knew...the great Mycroft Holmes, ticklish."

"You can't talk. I only have to brush past you and you jump ten feet in the air." Mycroft retorted gently.

"Freckles."

Mycroft frowned. "What...oh...yes." He knew his shoulders and upper back were covered in light orange freckles but he rarely thought about the spattering of color.

A fingertip traced a pattern, slow and deliberate, around the numerous small dots.

"What are you doing?" Mycroft's curiosity got the better of him and he half-turned, one eyebrow raised.

"It's like dot-to-dot back here."

Mycroft blushed, a little angry at the personal comment. "If you would prefer someone with more perfect skin..."

"Now, I didn't mean..."

Mycroft rolled onto his back, looking up at his lover. "I know...I'm sorry."

A gentle hand rested on his furred chest, fingertips brushing the almost-hidden nipple. "Turn over."

Mycroft spent his entire life giving out instructions, orders and 'suggestions'. Obeying someone else's instructions was something he was still getting used to. However, in the absence of anything better to do, he did as he was commanded and rolled back onto his stomach, pillowing his head in his folded arms.

Almost immediately, he felt a slight pressure, a much smaller fingertip once more tracing a pattern he couldn't see.

******************************

Late afternoon, Mycroft's office...

Anthea walked to the door, hung her boss's jacket on the hook and turned back. "Um...Sir...I...I think you...you have a mark on your shirt."

Mycroft frowned and looked down. "Where?"

Suddenly nervous, Anthea walked around behind Mycroft and put her hand between his shoulder blades. "I think...maybe...you..."

Huffing crossly, Mycroft snapped: "For God's sake woman, just tell me!"

Lifting her phone, Anthea snapped a picture of what only she could see. Her hand shaking a little, she handed it to her boss.

Mycroft stared at the image silently, his facial muscles twitching. "Get Gideon on the phone. Now!"

********************

The phone in his pocket rang and he read the caller-id then answered. "Mycroft?"

"Look at your email!" Mycroft's angry snarl was closely followed by the disconnection of the call.

The computer on the desk took a moment to load the image but as much as it had made Mycroft incandescent, it had the opposite effect on the man staring at the enlarged image.

It was obviously Mycroft, his back to the photographer. Emblazoned clearly on his back, the ink it had been written in leaching through Mycroft's shirt, were the letters GL then a heart shape then MH, wonkily written so as to join up the freckles hidden by the cotton shirt.

The door opened and Sherlock and John walked into Lestrade's office just as the DI dissolved in a fit of very unprofessional giggles.

Lestrade closed his email inbox down hurriedly. "Sherlock."

"Lestrade...how is my brother?"

Lestrade decided not to ask how Sherlock knew he and the older Holmes brother were more than just good friends. "Oh, his heart's in the right place."

Sherlock's look of confusion was the icing on the cake to the still-chuckling DI.

End

***