Sherlock Oneshots (Mystrade/Johnlock/Mormor)

Scotland Yard's Best - Mystrade/Johnlock

Greg's P.O.V

"What if I don't want to work for your brother?" I yelled, waving my arms around like a crazy person. I get pretty unintelligent when I'm drunk, and I'm not that smart in the first place.

"It's not an option, Gavin. He specifically asked for you." Sherlock droned. He always forgot my name, no matter how many times John or I corrected him. "You know what he's capable of."

"No, I really don't! I've never met him!"

Now, that wasn't true. I'd met Mycroft countless times. We actually had become friends, in a way. We went for dinner or lunch a few times a month, and we'd even gone to each other's respective houses. We talked about everything together, and had both overshared multiple times. I knew more about him than Sherlock did.

If you don't believe me, here's a list of things I know about Mycroft that Sherlock has absolutely no idea about:

· He has a cut behind his right ear from when he was shot in the lobe, somewhere in Argentina

· He's never been in a relationship

· He once had a 2-hour panic attack because he thought he lost his umbrella (it had rolled under Anthea's desk, and she was out for the week. I'm kinda sorry to say that that story made me cackle)

· He's terrified of ants

· He absolutely hates omelets and mushrooms, especially together

· He's gay

"Not the point, Geoff. He's clearly insane, and therefore has asked you for help." Sherlock's a bitch. Can't even remember my bloody name!

"Oi! Watch yourself, love. Don't want you getting punched in the face like last time we were here." John chuckled, wandering over to the bar stool that Sherlock and I had saved for him. He handed us both a drink, and sat down in between us. Probably to keep us from getting into a punch up. Last time we were at this pub, Sherlock got pissed and deduced the affair the bartender was having. The moron got his nose broken.

"Yes, John. I won't let that happen again. I can still feel my nose slip in and out of place every now and again."

"That's enough of that, thanks." I grumbled. I sipped my drink, then looked to John. "You not having anything?"

"Someone's gotta make sure he gets home in one piece." John laughed, gesturing to Sherlock. He turned around to face his already tipsy boyfriend, and we both made fun of Sherlock for being a light weight.

"He really is, isn't he?" A familiar, soothing voice drawled from behind me. I whirled around, nearly falling off my stool, to see none other than my best friend Mycroft Holmes.

"Heyyy! Look who it is!" I reached up to punch him lightly on the shoulder, and I could tell he was trying not to smile. "What brings you 'ere?" Sherlock and John were too interested in one another to care about Mycroft and me. Myc – that's my nickname for him. He was annoyed at first, but grew to love it – sat on the stool next to me.

"Well, Mr Lestrade, I'm here to inform you of a case that I was for you to work on." Mycroft smiled once he realised the other two could've cared less about us. He only ever let his guard down around me. No one else.

"What kinda case?"

"Well, essentially I would need you to act as my body guard for the next few months. I'm going to be doing a lot of travelling outside of the United Kingdom and need extra protection. I thought I'd turn to Scotland Yard's best for help." He winked at me, and I smiled in return.