Let's Be Cops - Chapter 1 (A Mystrade Fanfiction)

"Now I've had the time of my life! No I never felt this way before!"

Mycroft Holmes let out a exasperated sigh as he watched the scene in front of him. He certainly hadn't imagine that his night would entail him being dragged out by his flatmate to a small nightclub... on kareoke night. It was nearly deserted inside, only a few people still straggaling behind after the rush from a few hours before had died out. Those few people soon left, leaving only the two flatemates, a few workers, and the manager, Angelo.

"And I swear it's the truth! And I owe it all to you!" The singer's voice was horribly off pitch and anyone who had ears could tell that he was at least a little bit tipsy. But, nevertheless, he continued on trying to sing. "I've been waiting for so long, Now i've finally found someone to stand by me!"

"Greg, don't look at me when you sing that." Mycroft said to his flatmate, Gregory Lestrade.

Greg stopped singing and walked down from the kareoke stage, plopping clumsily into the seat opposite of his friend. "Woo! Kareoke is fun don't you think?" His attention shifted to the small candle that was on their table, which had suddenly become so fasinating to him. He stared at the little flame flickering, watching the oranges and reds dance around. He then started to blow on it slightly, making the flame move erratically and go out. Greg then frowned.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Not really..."

Greg looked up at his friend now, his expression changing. "Oh can you stop being a buzzkill? I thought this would be fun, but all you've done is sit there and look depressed. You know, you - you look like a little grey storm cloud. All gloomy and... frowny faced."

"I'm not depressed, Greg."

"Then why can't you seem to enjoy anything anymore?"

"Because this is lame! We're both... lame." Mycroft stated suddenly, speaking what he had been thinking for quite a while now. He then sighed before he spoke again. He looked at Greg. "Remember what we said when we moved here? If we didn't make something of ourself by the time we were both 30 we'd go back to Oxford... I'm thinking that it's time."

"We did make somethin' of ourselves though!" Greg Insisted. "I think we're doing okay."

"Greg... You're unemployed and I'm working at a videogame developing agency as an assistant that nobody listens to, which barely pays the bills. We're nobodys." Mycroft replied in a deadpan tone.

"I did that commercial... that was a job."

"You were in it for 3 seconds and it was a commercial about STDs."

"Hey, they payed me 11,000 pounds for that commercial!" Greg reminded him. "I lived off that money for almost a year."

"I know, but that doesn't change the fact that we're both still losers... Come on... let's get out of here. This place is giving me a headache, and you're drunk."

"I am not!" Greg tried to protest, but his effort went unheard as Mycroft stood up from his seat and went up to the counter to pay the tab that they had accumulated that night.

Angelo, the manager, was at the register, letting his employees leave for the night as he closes up. "Not a good night, mate?" He said to Mycroft.

"No, it's not you, Angelo. I'm just... not feeling it tonight."

"Greg sure did though, didn't he? Angelo laughed, looking over towards the other man who was now slow dancing to the music that was playing on the radio with his hands up as if the air was his invisible partner.

"Yeah. Maybe a bit too much."

"You two go on and get home. He's gonna have a wicked hangover in the morning."

"Will do." Mycroft replied, while he took out his wallet. He was about to hand Angelo the money, but the manager shook his head.

"This one's on the house tonight."

Mycroft started to protest, but Angelo continued to insist. Mycroft then agreed and gave thanks.

He turned his head, "Greg," He called. "We're leaving."

"Myc! Wait! I like this song!"

"No, It's time to go." He replied, walking over to Greg and grabbing his arm.

"But Myc!" Greg pleaded, sounding very much like a child, and pulling his arm out of Mycrofts grasp. "I wanna dance! Come on, dance with me!"

"No, Greg, you're drunk. We need to get you home."

"Pleeease?" Greg said, now grabbing Mycroft's hands.

Mycroft saw Angelo in the corner of his eyes. He turned his head to look towards him, which only promted the manager to laugh.

"It's alright, mate. I don't judge." He said. He then smiled at both of them, and left to the back room.

"Please, Myc?" Greg repeated, which made the other man look at him again.

Mycroft sighed, "Fine. But after this, we're going home."

Greg smiled happily, "Yay." He then moved his hands, keeping one in Mycroft's, and putting the other on his side.

"Why are you leading?"

"'Cause I'm taller."

"No, I'm taller, Gregory."

"Well, I asked you to dance with me, so I get to lead."

Mycroft didn't see the point in arguing with his drunken friend. He simply laughed and said, "Okay, whatever you say."

They danced for the duration of the song. True, it was a bit awkward, being that Greg was drunk, and nearly tripping over his own feet, but if you asked Mycroft, this was probablly the highlight of the night.

"You're a good dancer, Myc." Greg said. "We should dance again sometime."

"Hmmm. I might have to take you up on that offer."

Once the song was over Greg let go of Mycroft, but seemed to lose his balance, and almost feel over. His friend caught him and held him up as they walked toward the door. Mycroft waved goodbye to Angelo who was about to lock up for the night, and they went outside.

Greg started to look in his pockets for the car keys, but got confused when he couldn't find them. "Myc, I don't have the keys."

"That's because I took them." Mycroft replied, jingling the keys that he pulled out of his pocket. "You're not driving, Greg."

"But-"

"Don't even start. You're much too intoxicated." Mycroft told him.

Greg huffed when Mycroft ushered him to the passanger seat, and defiently refused to put on his seat belt.

"Greg, Put on your damn seatbelt."

"Make me." Greg replied, crossing his arms.

"Fine then, I will." Mycroft leaned over, reaching around and pulling the seatbelt over Greg. The drunk man faught him, but eventually the sober one of the two got the seat belt latched. "There. Jesus. You're such a child when you drink. Give me all that trouble... even after I danced with you."

Greg looked over sadly, "...I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I've seen you at you're worst; this is nothing." Mycroft then put the key in the ignition and started the car. "Come on. Let's go home."

Just as Mycroft was about to back out of the parking spot, a large black SUV came up and sideswiped the car, breaking off the driver side mirror in the process. The action happened so suddenly that Mycroft didn't even have any chance to avoid them. He didn't even see them coming up from behind.

Greg took notice of all of this, and immeditly got defensive and angry at the careless driver. "Hey! They broke my car!" He unlatched his seatbelt, and before Mycroft could stop him, he darted out of the car and stomped over to the SUV.

"Shit." Mycroft quickly got out of the car to go after him. It was enough that Greg was drunk, he didn't need him getting into any altercations with complete strangers, even if they did damage the car.

Greg walked up to the SUV and banged his fist on the front window. "Hey! You jackass, open your window!"

"Greg!" Mycroft called, coming up next to him, and taking hold of his arm in attempt to pull him away. "Don't."

Instead of the drivers window rolling down, the back window did, revealing a rather frightening looking man inside. His facial expression was one of disgust and general melevonence, looming grey eyes stared back at the two men, and the scar above the right eye made the man look all the more imposing. If you asked Mycroft, he looked rather like someone who would be part of a mob, and, given that he was in a black SUV, that only reiterated the subject. The man didn't speak a word, only stared at Greg and Mycroft for a few moments.

Mycroft sensed that if they stayed any longer that there would be trouble. So he wordlessly pulled Greg away from the
window, and directed him back to the car. Once they backed up, the SUV sped off, turning up a cloud of dust as the wheels spun up the loose gravel. Mycroft looked at the back of the vehicle, hoping to catch glance of the license plate number, but he found that there was no plates on it at all.

"Myc! Look at this!" Greg said, nearly shouting now, given how mad he was at the strangers. "They broke my mirror!"

"I know, Greg." Mycroft replied. He too was a bit angered "We cant do anything about it now."

---

The next morning Greg woke up with a horrendous headache. It was so bad that he didn't even want to move. He simply rolled over and buried his face in the pillow he was laying on. Wait... He didn't remember getting into bed. In fact, he didn't remember anything that happened after he was singing kareoke at the night club. What happened? God, he certainly hoped that he hadn't gone home with someone from the club and done something stupid. He opened his eyes, only seeing brightness at first as they adjusted to the light. He looked around and he sighed in relief when he realized that he was in his room. He slowly rolled over and pushed himself up into a sitting position, trying not to agrivate the pain in his head any further than it already was. Upon closer inspection, Greg realized that this actually wasn't his room, but Mycroft's. How'd he end up in here? He really wished that he could remember what happened last night, but as much as he tried, he could bring the memories to the surface. They were drowned too deep by the copious amount of alchohol he had consumed.

Greg got up from the bed and walked out of the room, into the sitting room.

Mycroft was already awake and was sitting on the sofa while reading the morning paper. He looked up as he head the bedroom door open and greeted Greg, "Morning."

"Hmm? Oh, Morning, Myc." Greg then rubbed his head, and went to the kitchen cabnit to grab some asprin for the alchohol induced migraine that he had. "Ugh, my head feels like it's going to explode."

"I told you not to drink so much." Mycroft replied. "You never listen. Tea's on the counter by the way."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Greg downed a few of the pain relievers, washing them down with a gulp of tea. After a few moments he asked Mycroft what he had been thinking when he woke up. "Hey, how did I end up in your room? What even happened last night."

"You were drunk, Greg." Mycroft started. "So drunk, in fact, that you insisted on singing karoke for nearly 2 hours straight. During that time you had numerous amounts of shots and other drinks, and you asked three girls to dance with you, all of which turned you down." Mycroft deliberatly left out the part where Greg asked him to dance, and how Greg had said that he was a good dancer. That bit of information could be saved for later time. "When we left, you tried to drive but I took the keys. On the drive home, you fell asleep and no matter what I tried, I couldn't wake you, so I had to carry you into the flat. That was certainly not an easy task. I put you in my room because it was closer. You're not exactly a 'lightweight' you know. I was fine sleeping on the couch."

It took a moment for Greg's mind to catch up with all of Mycroft's words. "Oh... Um, Thanks then. And, I'm sorry. I didn't know that I was such a hassle."

"There's no need for apologies, Greg. That is what friends are for." Mycroft said with a slight grin.

Greg finished the rest of his tea in one gulp and then put the cup in the sink. He noticed now that the clothes he was wearing were different than those from last night. "I don't remember changing clothes..."

"Well, I couldn't let you sleep in that uncomfortable night club outfit you had on, now could I?"

"Oh... well, Thank you... again." Greg said, feeling slightly embaressed that Mycroft had to do such a task for him.

"Like I said, that's what friends are for." Mycroft replied as he looked at his watch. He noticed that it was about time for him to leave for work, so he stood up, setting the newpaper on the table and made his way towards the door. "I have to go. I have that presentation today."

"For your game?"

"Yeah. Hopefully those idiotic co-workers of mine will actually listen... but I doubt it."

"Don't worry, Myc. As soon as they start playing it, they'll love it."

"I certainly hope so." Mycroft said. "Anyway, don't hurt yourself while I'm gone."

"No promises."

---

An hour or so after Mycroft left the flat, Greg heard a knock at the front door. He got up from where he was sitting and went to see who it was. Upon opening the door, he saw the neighbor kid, Phillip Anderson.

"Oh, hey kid. What's up?" Both Greg and Mycroft knew the kid well. His parents were the ones who greeted them when they first moved into the flat. They were nice people, and Phillip was a good kid. His parents however had crazy work scheduels which left their 12 year old son alone for a majority of the time after he gets out of school. During the weekends was about the only time when both his mother and father were home at the same time. Being left by himself, Phillip had grown to be very self sufficient and knew how to care for himself for the most part. Even despite that, Greg and Mycroft took to looking after him when his parents weren't home. They would help him with his homework, keep him entertained, and make sure he didn't get himself into trouble. Occasionally he would even stay in their flat and sleep on the couch during the night so he wouldn't have to be alone. All of which his parents greatly appriciated and thanked them for emensly.

"Hey, Greg." Anderson replied. "My friends and I are playing rugby, but my team needs another person. Are you busy?"

"Oh, No. I'm not busy."

"Awesome!"

With that, Both Greg and Phillip left the flat, and went over to the large feild across the street from the building.

As they walked up to the group of children, one of them looked back and saw Phillip getting closer.

"Phil, who's the old guy?" The kid who asked was Phil's friend Markus

"This is Greg. He's my neighbor. He's gonna the last member of my team." Phillip answered.

"Ha! I bet this old timer can't even play!"

"Hey, Shorty" Greg said, "I can't play just fine. I was captain of my high school's Rugby team."

"Yeah, that was like... 300 years ago!" Markus replied. "And who you calling shorty? I'm still young, I'll grow. What are your gonna do? Stretch?"

All of the other children began laughing loudly at the joke.

"He might be older, but he can school you in rugby anyday!" Phillip stated.

"Let's play then! Enough talking!"

That began their game. Phillip and Markus were both team captains and throughout the game they were trash talking each other. It was a bit of a competition within the game to come up with the best insults. For the most part, Greg kept his presence in the game minimal. He wanted the children to have fun, and he didn't want to get in their way. The children ran and dashed around, playing the game to the best of their abilities, some of them being better than others. With kids though, skills level doesn't really matter. Kids didn't care about who was good, who was bad, who was the fastest or the strongest. Kids played games like this to have fun. True, winning was always a good feeling and losing was never enjoyable and often led to a few bouts of anger. But, at the end of the day, winning and losing didn't matter as long as they had fun. Most of the kids thought this way, with the slight exception of Markus. He was one of those boys who always had to win. He had to be the very best. He had to come out on top for him to actually be happy.

So when Phillip's team ended up winning, Markus was quick to get angry.

"Urgh!" He yelled. "You guys cheated!"

"We didn't cheat!" Phillip countered.

"Yeah you did! You cheated and that's why we didn't win!"

"Can't you just accept that someone might be better than you, Markus?" Phillip said. "You can't always be the best at everything!"

"Hey! Guys!" Greg spoke up. "Look, you're all good players! There's always room form improvement though, yeah? Markus, you could work on being more team friendly, and not try and do everything by yourself."

"Who asked you, old man!" Markus yelled. "You aren't a coach! What do you even do all day!? Loser! I'm out of here." Markus then turned and walked across the feild, stomping away from Greg and the rest of the children.

The other kids didn't say anything, but seeing as how the game was over now, they saw it fitting to head home as well. The group soon dispersed from the feild and went on their seperate ways.

Greg and Phillip soon followed suit, returning to their building. Greg invited Phillip into the flat, seeing as how the kids mother wouldn't be home for another hour or so.

"Thanks for playing with us, Greg." Phillip said. "And don't worry about Markus. He's always like that when he loses."

"Bit of an angry kid, ain't he?"

"Yeah, he's like Grumpy cat. He hates just about anything that doesn't involve him getting praised for his accomplishments." Phillip replied. "And hey, If It means anything, I don't think you're a loser. You're an awesome neighbor."

Greg Laughed. "Hmm. Thanks. Your not too bad yourself."

"Where's Mycroft at?"

"He's at work. He has his presentation today for his game." Greg answered

"That cop game? Oh man! I hope he gets it made!" Phillip said excitedly. "I love that game!"

"He still has the test copy in his room." Greg said. "You wanna play it? You can be the first beta tester."

"Do I! Of course!"

---

Work. That word was almost becoming an unaccepted word in Mycroft vocabulary. He really didn't even want to walk into work today. He knew that this presentation would be important but, knowing his past experiences, he knew quite well that even though his idea was a great one, it would most likely be ignored by everyone. Nobody in that company listened to any game concepts unless they involved overpowered superheros, or lewdly dressed women. In previous meetings some of the concepts that people came up with were so ridiculous that Mycroft literally facepalmed and walked out of the room to avoid the idiocy spreading to him.

The rest of the associates had arrived and Mycroft had finished setting up the visual for his presentation - two maniquens dressed in police uniforms from the New Scotland Yard. The others sat down and turned their attention to Mycroft as he began. "So, the concept I've thought up is this: Imagine that you are a cop on the front lines of violent crime. You're chasing criminals, dodging gunshots, bringing down crime rings. This game will make it feel like the player is actually in danger. The idea is to emerse them so far into the world that is the game, that it feels like their actually there. - "

Oh the other associates rudely inturupted him. "Stop for a minute, why would someone want to play as a police officer?"

"Yeah, most people hate the police, why would they want to be one?" The head advisor added.

"No, You're not seeing the point here." Mycroft tried to say. "Perhaps if you just see the gameplay-"

"People don't like Police, but you know what they do like... firefighters!" Another worker said, diverting the topic completely.

"Yeah! Firefighters are hot."

"And Zombies! Everyone loves Zombies."

"There! That's it! Put those two together!" The head advisor nearly shouted, a ridiculous amount excitement in his voice. "Someone start taking notes! Firefighters vs Zombies! This will be our next big hit!"

Once again, Mycroft had been ignored, and his ideas stepped on. He sighed deeply as he watched the rest of the associates ramble on and on about their new idea.

It was no use trying to redirect their attention again. Mycroft turned and gathered up his things, putting it allinto a box, and he wordlessly walked out of the conference room, his co-workers not even taking any notice of his absence.

---

Feeling even more depressed than he already was, Mycroft walked up the stairs to the flat, hoping to just sit down with a hot cup of tea, and forget about work and how his life seemed to be so meaningless. He pushed open the door and walked into the flat, dropping the box onto the kitchen table.

"Boo!" Mycroft heard. He looked up and saw Greg standing in the middle of the sitting room with a white sheet over his head that had two eye holes cut out.

"What ever are you doing, Greg?"

"It's our costumes for the party tonight! We're ghosts!" Greg replied as he removed the sheet and showed his face.

"Absolutly not." Mycroft immedietly said.

"Wa - Oh come on! I didn't see you coming up with any ideas!"

"I'm not even sure I want to go to the party." Mycroft sighed. He didn't see the point in it anymore. All that would happen would be them getting ignored, or humiliated yet again. It seemed like it never fails that no matter what they do, something always came back to bite them in the arse. "Who even plans a costume party in the middle of July?"

Greg had seriously had just about enough of Mycroft feeling sorry for himself. It had gone on for much too long, and it was really bringing down Greg's mood. He tried to always remain optamistic and positive. Even when life didn't go their way, that was no excuse to sit around and complain about it. "Mycroft, would you just stop being so sulky, and try and enjoy yourself for one god damn night?"

"Well even if I go, I'm not going as a ghost."

Greg frowned, "Fine, what about those?" He pointed as he spotted the uniforms that were in the box Mycroft had brought home.

Mycroft looked to where his flatemate was pointing, "Those? Oh, No, those were just for my presentation today."

Greg gave Mycroft a look, "It's either those or we go as ghosts. And don't even say you don't want to go, Because I don't care. You're going even if I have to drag you there myself. You need to get out more."

As much as Mycroft wanted to argue, he knew that the effort would be futile. "Alright. Alright, fine."

Greg smiled and nodded, "Good. Glad that's settled. Now hurry up and make us some tea. The new episode of Doctor Who is on."

---

Later in the evening when they were getting ready for the party, they both put on the police uniforms. Greg's was a bit small, but not to the point where he couldn't wear it.

"I have to hand it to you, Myc, these are some really convincing costumes." Greg stated.

"Oh, they're not costumes." Mycroft replied, "They're actually real uniforms."

"They are?" Greg questioned. "So this bulletproof vest?"

"Is a real bulletproof vest."

"Awesome." Greg moved his hand, feeling the gun holster, "Are the guns real?" He said as he pulled out the weapon that was in it.

"They are, but they're locked to only shoot blanks."

"So they less useful than a Star Trek phasor locked to stun..." Greg said, more to himself than to Mycroft. He put the gun back in it's holster. "Well, at least we look the part. I wonder if strangers would mistake us for actual police."

"Ha, doubt it." Mycroft responded. "You can pull it off I guess, but nobody would believe for a second that I'm a cop."

"That because you're not putting any effort into it." Greg said, "You gotta act the part. It's like going to a comic con. You need to embrace the character a little."

Mycroft could sense the underlying hint within that statement. "Greg, I've told you before, I'm not going with to your superhero conventions."

"One of these days, 'Croft, I'll get you to go to one. I swear it."

"Ha. Sure. Good luck." Mycroft replied sarcastically, but then chuckled. "Lets get to this party before I change my mind and make you go alone."

"Alright, alright." Greg said, getting into the car. "So, hey. How'd the presentation go today?"

Mycroft knew that eventually that question would come up. He thought about telling Greg the truth - that they didn't even consider it - but his ego was already hurt enough... "The presentation? Oh, They... They loved it." He said, hoping that his friend wouldn't notice the lying undertone in his voice.

"That great, Myc!" Greg replied, smiling widely. "You're first official game! This is what you've been waiting for!"

"Yeah, Yeah! It - It's great. Wonderful even." Mycroft said. He then mentally sighed and thought to himself, "just... perfect..."