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"Were you raised by wolves, Lestrade?" Mycroft's clipped tone in Anthea's headset has her posture going from relaxed to alert. Thank God, she smirks and shoots a quick text off to Alicia, and here she thought tonight was going to be boring.
Greg's dry reply comes a second later, "Your privilege is showing, Holmes." His inflection changes when he says Mycroft's name to an exaggerated imitation of the older agent’s voice.
"I don't appreciate your tone, agent," Mycroft snaps.
"Well, I don't like you criticizing how I eat my ice cream, agent," Greg says in the same mocking voice. Anthea holds back a laugh and glances at the monitors in front of her, where different CCTV streams are currently displayed. She can see the nondescript black hatchback on one of her feeds, but she can't see through the windows. Anthea can only imagine the pinched look on Mycroft's face.
"I don't even know where you found ice cream. Good Lord, this is a stakeout.”
Anthea's phone pings with a text message alert, and she looks down.
BAB: I suppose I owe you dinner now? I should have wagered on two hours instead of four before the bickering started. Mycroft is losing his edge.
Luckily for me, Lestrade is eating in front of him. You know how distracting that gets for Mycroft. I want dinner from that sushi place ;) - A
"There's a place down the block," comes a muffled reply, Greg's mouth is presumably full.
"The whole point of a stakeout is to be unseen. I'll do the next sweep if you cannot contain yourself."
"Awww," Greg coos, "are you mad I didn't get you one? Here, have a lick."
There's the soft thud, which sounds like Mycroft hitting his head on possibly the car window. "No! I do not want a...a lick."
"Are you sure? I promise I don't have wolf germs.”
"I am not licking your ice cream cone!" Mycroft hisses, sounding scandalized.
"That's what he said."
There's a long-suffering sigh from Mycroft while Greg laughs before he inhales sharply, "Target spotted," his voice shifting into a stern baritone. "Shit, he's not alone."
Anthea's fingers are already flying across her keyboard as she turns on her mic, "It's showtime, Gentlemen."
***
"Stick to the plan," Mycroft's voice comes through as a murmur, and Anthea can make out the pair from one of the cameras inside the banquet hall. They are both dressed in tuxedos, looking well polished. Anthea remembers the scowl on Mycroft's face when he read what they had to wear.
"I thought you said you enjoyed seeing Lestrade all dressed up, especially in a tux." She had said at the displeased look Mycroft was giving her over the mission details.
"I have never said such a thing, and if I did, I would assume to have your trust not to repeat such things."
"Mmhmm... you called him pretty."
"Clearly, I was concussed," Mycroft cheeks had flushed even though his voice was frosty. It wasn't usual for agents and their handlers to be friendly with each other, and over the years, Anthea and Mycroft had become friends. Once a month, if work allowed, they got together for drinks. In the past, it was always Anthea who would occasionally lament her dating woes and discussed office rumors. Recently it had turned into Mycroft giving her detailed lists on how and why the younger agent irritated him. He failed to realize how infatuated he came across. It was a source of endless amusement, especially when she usually had a front-row seat to their quarrels.
"An infuriatingly pretty face with pretty lips," she quoted him and grinned as Mycroft's eyebrows did a weird dance.
Mycroft's reply is stopped when Greg walked into the comm room and asked grinning, "Who has pretty lips?"
Anthea may have felt a little guilty at the way Mycroft's shoulders had tensed but only a little.
"No one," Mycroft gritted his teeth, "Let's go, Lestrade. We have a mission to prepare for." Greg had given them a confused glance, one eyebrow raised but followed Mycroft out the door. Mycroft had delivered Anthea one of his "I will get you for this" looks over his shoulder before leaving.
It was the same look he was currently giving Greg in the present day. Greg is leaning casually against a grand stone pillar, one of many that line the vast room. One hand is in his jacket pocket and a drink in his other, "I am sticking to the plan," he says into his glass before taking a sip.
Mycroft huffs, "flirting with the Countess is not part of the plan."
"Is that jealousy, I hear Holmes?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I think she's in league with Lord Charmant. It might be worth it to talk her up some more."
"This isn't a bloody honeypot mission."
"Are you sure you aren't jealous? You are more prickly than usual tonight."
"I just fail to comprehend why a mission cannot go as planned when you are involved, but please be my guest if you wish to fraternize with young Miss Pennyworth."
Greg downs the rest of his drink and shoves the tumbler into Mycroft's empty hand. "Maybe, I will."
"Splendid."
"Fine."
Anthea watches Greg walk off and head to a small group of people. She opens a secure channel with Mycroft only, "you're an idiot," she says.
Mycroft doesn't respond; the slight twitch in the man's shoulders the only indication he has heard her. She hopes one day, one of them will crack, but Mycroft is too stubborn, and surprisingly, Greg is respectful of Mycroft's wish to be professional. She snorts, as if eye-fucking each other from across rooms was considered professional. Thankfully the night ends early with Lord Charmant accidentally admitting his lucrative business exploits (as planned) to Mycroft. Greg forgets all about the Countess as he rides back to headquarters with Mycroft praising his elicitation skills.
And because she is Mycroft's friend, she doesn't comment on the pleased and smug look Mycroft has on his face when they get back or Greg's open adoration. At least not until their next drinking night.
***
It wasn't as if Mycroft and Greg's interactions were always tense and heated. Anthea got to witness a lot of endearing moments as well. If only those two could see that they were a Hallmark movie waiting to happen.
***
"Fuck me up, Holmes. Where did you learn to drive like that?" Greg laughs breathlessly.
"You had the same training as I, Lestrade."
Greg's voice is full of disbelief and awe, "Uh... they didn't teach us how to car chase after the enemy driving bloody backwards."
"They didn't?" Mycroft asks with mock innocence.
"You are so teaching me that!" Greg demands and Anthea is stunned to hear Mycroft's genuine laugh ring out. Only she hears the soft inhale from Greg as his breath catches.
***
"I must say I am slightly impressed, Lestrade," Mycroft muses, voice low and smooth.
"Hold up," Greg jokes, "did I die and go to heaven, or did you just actually pay me a compliment?"
"Mmm, don't let it go to your head."
"Too late."
"What have I done?" Mycroft sighs.
“Just wait until I fully impress you.”
"Good Lord."
***
"You...you brought me pastries?" Greg asks, hesitant. They are currently in an unmarked car headed towards a target's known hangout.
"I happened by a shop along my way to get you, and knowing your inclinations for sweets during stakeouts, I obtained some." Mycroft's voice is indifferent, but Anthea knows the pastries are from a high-end bakery, which was not along the way.
"Ta," Greg says, surprised, and Anthea suspects Greg might have pink cheeks right now.
"It also saves me from having to deal with you blundering into a shop when you get a craving like a child."
"Oi!"
***
Anthea had tried a few times to talk to Mycroft about it.
"You know there is nothing in the rules against agents having relationships with each other," Anthea says over drinks one night.
Mycroft rolls his eyes, "I am not having this conversation again."
Anthea shrugs a shoulder, "I'm just saying it might help you relax a little."
"I assure you, I have plenty of relaxing activities to partake in," Mycroft scoffs.
"But do they involve those big brown eyes?"
Mycroft hides his face in his hands and mutters, "heaven help me."
***
"That was stupid and reckless," Mycroft says, his speech is edged with tight control.
"Well, I couldn't just let them shoot you," comes Greg's somewhat slurred reply, and Anthea is immediately concerned. She doesn't have eyes on the pair now, but she knows their location and tells them extraction is on their way.
"I had the situation in hand, Lestrade."
"Didn't look like it to me."
"Hmmm and pray tell me who is currently bleeding from a head wound?"
"It's not that bad - ouch, stop that!" Greg groans.
Mycroft's reply is gentle and soft, "You are going to need stitches."
Greg huffs out a laugh, "You sure you can't just kiss it an' make it better?"
"...I think you are concussed. Let's get closer to the extraction point."
"Carry me, Holmes. I feel weak," Greg teases.
"You haven't lost that much blood if you can make jokes," Mycroft puffs.
"At least they didn't go for my face. I can still be pretty for you."
"Stop talking, Lestrade."
"Am I not pretty?"
"CPU is 5 minutes, boys," Anthea cuts in over Mycroft's heavy sigh of frustration.
"Anthea your - you're th' best," Greg says, slur slightly worse.
"Assessment on agent Lestrade's condition agent Holmes?" Anthea asks while she updates the extraction team.
"3-centimeter shallow laceration on the left frontal region, probable concussion, minor bruising and cuts."
"And yourself," she asks and then warns, "don't lie to me."
"Besides my wounded pride, a trivial bruise on my jaw."
"ETA 2 minutes. I'll have medical waiting."
"Good, we are at the extraction point."
"Holmes…" Greg's purr echos through the comms, which can only mean he has to be leaning close enough to Mycroft's earpiece. "Tell me I'm pretty," He says thickly, "I think you're gorgeous," the last word is so slurred it's almost unintelligible.
"Lestrade," Mycroft chokes out, "please stop talking."
"Anthea," Greg whines her name as if tattling to a teacher, and she gives a small laugh.
"Agent Lestrade was injured protecting you, agent Holmes…"
"I hate you both."
"Awww, I love you too." Greg murmurs sleepily.
Anthea's eyes are wide, and there is an awkward heavy silence on the comms after that. She still has no visuals on them, but she just knows Mycroft probably looks panicked. Mercifully, the extraction team arrives, and they take over with handling Greg's delirium. Later in the hospital room, when she overhears Mycroft scolding Greg once again for getting hurt and -"Yes, damn it, Lestrade, you are distractedly engaging - yes, that means you are pretty. Now take your medication."- well, that's nobody's business.