“She knows what size pants I wear.” Among a lot of other things, apparently. This pair of underwear is green, too. He’s pretty certain he knows why now.
Mycroft glances at him. “I know that, too.” He tries to look casual about it. “Anyone with a basic grasp of spatial relations could extrapolate that with a scant bit of observation.”
Lestrade raises an eyebrow. “I think that’s Mycroftish for ‘I’ve been looking at your arse’.”
Mycroft’s cheeks flame. “I—”
Lestrade hooks his ankle around Mycroft’s, pulls his foot away from the rungs of his chair so their feet are touching beneath the table. “It’s okay. I’ve been looking, too. And not because you needed some spare togs.”