Chapter 1: Please Share My Umbrella
Greg was about to walk out of his apartment when he moved to grab his car keys and remember - the car died last week. He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face and reached into his coat pocket to make sure his Oyster Card was there.
His decision to move out to the outskirts of the city after the divorce was a byproduct of the money he lost, and now without a car, Greg was relegated to taking two busses before he could take the tube to the Yard. Hopefully in a few months he could save up enough to fix his car and make his commute so much shorter.
Walking out of his flat he looked up at the sky and determined he could do without his umbrella, despite the fact that it was still dark outside, because it was that early in the morning. He walked briskly to the stop and got on the next bus that showed up.
He was wet. He was cold. He was an idiot. He was a wet cold idiot. Why on earth had he decided to not bring an umbrella? It was London after all.
Greg stood by the bus stop, alone, because it was way too early for sensible people to be waking up.
That was the down side to moving so far away. He had to get up far too early to make it into the office on time, thus already cutting into the little sleep he usually got.
Tugging his coat closed a little more, he tried to ignore the water dripping down his head, causing his fringe to become a makeshift Chinese water torture device, dripping onto his nose in a steady rhythm.
He was beginning to slip off into a standing sleep when suddenly the continuous drip from his water stopped. He opened his eyes and saw a pair of shoes standing next to his and when he looked up he was greeted with a smile and Greg quirked an eyebrow to question the man.
“Please share my umbrella,” was the reply.
Chapter 2: Under My Umbrella
Mycroft was having trouble sleeping - well more trouble than usual. He usually managed a few hours a night, but more and more he found himself laying in bed staring at the ceiling. His doctor recommended that he began a light cardiovascular routine which Mycroft took with a grain of salt, but nonetheless found himself wandering around his neighborhood in the early morning despite the rain.
The rain actually never bothered Mycroft. It was one of the few things that calmed him like nothing else. The steady beat against the window. The idea that something so essential to human existence could be beautiful and destructive at the same time. The smell after it’s all over.
He was rounding a corner when he saw someone at the bus stop. Checking his watch to confirm the early hour, he shook his head and wondered what the poor soul was doing up this early, standing in the rain no less. He was about to pass by them when he caught sight of the grey hair, plastered down from the rain, and ran his eyes along the hunched body, and identified it as the detective who worked with his brother - the handsome one he had met a few times. It wouldn’t do to have him catch a cold and then have to deal with Sherlock more than usual, so Mycroft walked to him, and placed his large umbrella over both of their heads.
When the grey-haired man looked up to blink at him he smiled and said, “Please share my umbrella,” in reply to the quirked eyebrow.
The man before him scooted closer to him under the waterproof barrier, and Mycroft extended a hand.
“In case you do not remember, I am Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother.”
Greg made to shake his hand, and gave what was a lopsided smile to convey his apology at the wetness.
“I remember you. Hard to forget the man whose first meeting with you involved abduction.”
At that Mycroft chuckled. “Ah yes, you took it poorly though I do not blame you. What are you doing outside here in the rain Detective Inspector?”
“Oh my car broke and I moved rather far from the Yard, so I’m waiting for the transfer bus to take me to the tube.”
Mycroft had known that the good DI had divorced but didn’t know that the ordeal had caused him to move so much further outside of the city.
“Well, I do hope that next time you remember to bring an umbrella or something more suited to the weather.”
“And miss the conversation?” he smiled, causing Mycroft’s cheeks to redden.
“I am certain you can do without my presence for an extended period of time.”
It seemed to Mycroft that the older man was about to reply when the bus came down the road.
“I believe my duty to keep you dry is done. Please warm up and enjoy the rest of your day,” he said, bowing his head a bit, and waiting until the bus stopped to move Greg from the protection of his brolly.
Chapter 3: There is Always Football
It is a well known fact in this fandom that these two adore football
His new schedule wasn’t that bad. Yeah he had to get up early, and yes it required an additional two cups of coffee throughout the day, but it was nice commuting in the morning without the rush of people all around you.
Greg hadn’t encountered Sherlock’s brother again since the day he shared him umbrella with him to keep him from the rain.
Despite everything Sherlock ever said about Mycroft, that gesture alone made him reconsider the facade of the “ice man” Sherlock always went on about. It was a simple thing to be honest, but the ginger could have continued on his walk and ignore the oblivious Detective Inspector, but instead opted to shelter him for a few minutes.
The afternoon of the bus stop encounter, Greg went to the store and bought himself an umbrella for his commute back and it came in handy - well until it broke that was. Which is how he found himself with an upturned umbrella at the stop for his bus ride back home.
He was fiddling with the metal joints when he felt a tap on his back, and when he turned was greeted by a familiar smile.
“Mister Holmes,” he grinned, “do you have a sixth sense that only alerts you when pathetic people are having umbrella issues?”
“I am not sure how handy that power would be, but no, I was driving by and decided to stop by and see how you were faring.”
Greg lofted the umbrella in the air, twisting it around in his hand to show how messed up it was. “I think this is what I get for buying a cheap brolly at the corner store - it wouldn’t hold up to the wind.”
“It seems that the gusts won this round. Will you be alright to get home without it?”
“Yeah, the forecast said the next few days will just be wind no rain. I’ll be good. Bus should be here soon so no need to waste your time hanging around here,” he added, looking up at the dashing ginger. Dashing, Greg thought - where the hell did that come from.
“Well it will not be a waste if I have good conversation, and as you said, it should not be a long wait,” he grinned.
Greg looked the man over and thought for a second he was flirting - surely that wasn’t the case.
“Hope I’m not keeping you from something.”
“Not really. I was going home to watch the World Cup matches going on today. Rather important to see who is going to be childish on the phone tomorrow.”
Bursting out into laughter Greg nudged the politician. “Do you mean to tell me that you left work at a decent hour to watch football?”
“Detective Inspector, are you suggesting I am skiving off to watch a match and attempting to pass it off as perfectly legitimate government business?”
“Yup,” Greg answered with a smirk.
“Then you would be right,” he answered as the bus pulled alongside the stop.
“Good evening Gregory,” Mycroft said before turning on his heel and heading back to his home, leaving Greg grinning like an idiot on the corner.
Chapter 4: Fancy A Pint?
The Yard was bustling with people trying to get their work done early so they could head out to the pubs and watch one of the matches. England was out, but everyone had backup teams to root for as an excuses to heckle and drink in excess.
Sherlock Holmes was clearly not one of these people, as he was currently pacing in Greg's office, berating him for not knowing that one of many minute details from the robbery and assault he attended to last week.
"I mean seriously Lestrade, it was as if you were asleep at the crime scene," he trailed off, looking over the notes the DI had made.
Greg had tuned out ages ago, and when he noticed the gap in the conversation asked, "I was wondering if you had a way I could contact your brother?"
This statement stopped Sherlock in his tracks, causing him to toss the file on the desk, and himself onto the chair.
"Why on Earth would you need the red whale's contact information? I'm clean and none of your cases involve government matters specifically."
Greg fiddled with his pen, and tried to find a decent excuse but opted for honesty.
"He helped me out a few weeks ago when I was caught in the rain, and I wanted to thank him."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer to the desk.
"He helped you? Well what did he ask for in return?"
"Nothing," Greg shrugged, and couldn't help but smile a bit.
"Lestrade, he always wants something in return, and get that ridiculous grin off your face - happiness is not an association I make with Mycroft."
Sighing, Greg leaned back in his chair and tried again.
"I just want his number so I can thank him, and ask him a question alright? Nothing about you. Just a friendly chat."
"A chat," Sherlock scowled. He paused for a moment, in thought it seemed to Greg, and resigning himself to this situation said, "Fine, but nothing will come of it. Mycroft doesn't flirt or do dalliances. It is a wasted effort Geoff."
"Whatever. It is a waste of your time trying to engage my brother in anything aside from what he wants from you."
With that, Sherlock grabbed the folder he was looking at, scribbled Mycroft's number on it, and walked out of the door.
Moving the folder closer to him, he looked at the number as he typed it into his phone.
Fancy a pint while watching one of the matches? I see there are some good sets coming up. GL
Chapter 5: A Drink, Drink
Mycroft was sitting on a plane when his phone buzzed. Picking it up to see if it was the details he had asked Anthea for, he unlocked it to find a text from an unexpected number.
Fancy a pint while watching one of the matches? I see there are some good sets coming up. GL
Mycroft stared at the text confused and was wholly unsure what to make of it.
“Anthea, can you come here for a moment?”
The ever present clicking of a blackberry stopped and the graceful woman got out of her seat in the row in front of Mycroft and came to sit in front of him.
“Yes Sir?” she asked, and took the blackberry from his hand when he handed it over.
“I am not sure what I should make of this message,” he explained, and did not appreciate the smirk that grew on Anthea’s face.
“I believe he is asking you out for a drink,” she stated simply, enjoying how flustered her boss looked.
“I understand that my dear, but is it a drink to thank me for the last two encounters we had, or a drink to chat about Sherlock, or a drink drink?”
“A drink drink sir? I was not aware we were teenagers again,” she laughed.
“Oh hush, you know what I mean.”
“I do, and I believe it is a drink to thank you, that the good Detective Inspector wishes to turn into a drink drink.”
Taking back the phone, Mycroft nodded in acknowledgement. He stared at the screen and bit his lower lip in thought.
“What do I reply?”
Sighing, Anthea grabbed the phone from her employer and tapped out a message on the screen.
“I sent your reply, the rest is up to you,” she grinned, and went back to her seat.
Fancy a pint while watching one of the matches? I see there are some good sets coming up. GL
Yes, the match between the Netherlands and Mexico on the 29th should prove to be entertaining. Perhaps you can come over to mine and watch it on the big screen? MH
I was just hoping for a pub, but you had me at big screen. I’d love to as long at it isn’t an inconvenience. GL
Nonsense, I would not have invited you if it were. MH
Great. I’ll bring the beer as a thanks for keeping me dry. Hell, I’ll hit up Borough Market on Saturday and pick us up something nice to drink. GL
Gregory that is not necessary, I know you are on a budget. MH
Not a big deal, considering it’s a special occasion. GL
I hardly think watching a match with me counts as an encounter of significance. MH
You never know. GL
Chapter 6: What Am I Doing Here?
Greg stood on the doorstep of what he assumed was Mycroft’s town home, if the address was correct. He held in one hand a bag full of different craft beer, and the other one hovered over the door.
What am I doing here? he thought to himself, putting his hand back down again, unsure if he should knock.
In his office, Mycroft was working while he waited anxiously for Greg to arrive. He was writing some notes on a memorandum when the camera that monitored his front door began to move and he saw Greg Lestrade come on to the screen.
Mycroft turned to focus on the image and smiled, but soon grew confused, as he saw Greg lift his hand as if to knock, but then put it back down again - repeating this gesture several times.
Growing nervous, Mycroft wondered if he had simply offered to take him out for a drink, expecting him not to accept, when he heard the knock and looked at Greg’s face in the monitor stern with resolve.
“You are being ridiculous,” Greg said to himself, “it’s just a football game. He probably doesn't even like blokes, so you’re good. Just a friendly thanks,” he assured himself, though knowing it was a lie, and knocked on the front door.
A few moments later the door opened and Mycroft Holmes stood on the other side of it wearing what to Greg was the most casual he thought anyone had seen Mycroft Holmes.
The ginger had on dark coral shorts, with a light blue button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up artfully, revealing a contrasting pattern under the shirt. Greg let his eyes trail down to admire the bare legs before shooting his eyes back up to meet Mycroft’s.
“Wow...I mean, hullo,” he smiled, his voice tight. Holding up the bag of beers as his peace offering he added, “Brought us some good stuff I hope. Am I too early?”
“No, not at all,” the ginger replied, and Greg thought he looked confused, and the older man hoped he hadn't notice Greg eyeing him. Greg also hoped thought that he would turn around and walk into the house so he could see his backside.
“Come in please.”
With that Greg entered and followed Mycroft to where he had set up for them their viewing area.
Chapter 7: Rough
Standing in front of the mirror, Mycroft looked over his outfit - his fourth one of the afternoon. He kept going back and forth between different combinations, attempting to settle on something that didn’t make him feel like a berk.
It started that morning when he got up and reached for his usual suit, and remembered that he wasn't working today, but rather Greg was coming over to watch football. Moving his hand to his more casual trousers, he pulled out a pair of khakis and a plain white button down, with his waist coat and jacket and stood in front of the mirror.
“Why hello Gregory, care to forgo the match in favour of watching golf?” he mumbled to his reflection and stomped off back to his wardrobe.
Reapproaching his mirror, this time in jeans and a shirt he didn't even bother to talk to himself - he looked uncomfortable, and Greg would know he was trying way too hard to look relaxed.
Stalking back once more, he stood staring at all his options and felt his phone buzz in his dressing gown.
Pulling it out to see who the message was from, he saw a number that was no doubt texting him to put in her two cents.
Pull out those coral shorts I got you for Italy last year, and pair it with that blue Burberry top you have that had the plaid pattern underneath it. Roll the sleeves up to your elbows. Wear the brown loafers that can be used without socks. Do not wear socks. Also, do not shave. The Detective Inspector seems to like men that have stubble and is what is also referred to as a “leg man” A
This will blend the casualness you are going for with the poshness he is expecting. Enjoy your date. Also, do not attempt to convince me that it is not a date. A
Scowling at the phone before slipping it back, Mycroft grabbed the pieces she recommended and begrudgingly put on the outfit.
He stood in front of the mirror and couldn't help but appreciate the way he looked, and hated Anthea at the same time.
Taking a step closer to his reflection, he ran a hand over his face, feeling the stubble beneath his fingers, and wondered if he should shave but decided to leave it, and walked off to his study.
“Wow...I mean, hullo,” Mycroft heard the man say, and saw how his eyes scanned his entire body before looking back up at him to say, “Brought us some good stuff I hope. Am I too early?”
“No, not at all,” the ginger replied, and mentally applauding Anthea and her choice of outfit for him. Greg Lestrade was most certainly a leg man, and Mycroft was happy to feed that desire.
“Come in please” he asked, and led Greg to the living room where he had the television on and some food laid out for them.
“I hope the trip wasn't too long,” he asked, sitting down, and pouring them each a beer.
“No it wasn't that bad,” Greg replied, staring intently at something on Mycroft’s face.
Noticing the look, the ginger asked, “Do I have something on my face from breakfast?”
“No, no, I just noticed that you didn't shave. Don’t think I've ever seen you not smoothed out.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot. My apologies.”
“No need. It looks good on you. Makes you look…” and not finishing his sentence, just smiled into his beer.
“Makes me look unkempt? Worn out? What?”
“Rough, but in a good way. It’s a good look on you.”
With his answer, Mycroft leaned back into the couch and flipped the channel to the match.
Chapter 8: Fun?
As much as the match was interesting, Greg enjoyed the company of his host even more. It was amusing how knowledgeable Mycroft was of the teams, and occasionally threw in his little political insights causing Greg to laugh. It was especially funny when political figures appear on screen because Mycroft began to deduce them, making Greg choke on his beer.
“Seriously, he’s wearing a thong?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yes, he lost a bet to his assistant over the latest match and that look of discomfort can only be coming from that.”
The time wore on and when the second match of the night was winding down, Greg looked up the next bus on his phone and saw it was coming in thirty five minutes.
“I have to head out soon if I want to get the next bus back to my area,” he said, shaking his phone in the air.
“Gregory there is no reason why I cannot just call a car for you.”
“My, I’m not having you call a car for me when I am perfectly capable of taking the bus. Besides, it’s been fun which is more than enough for me. No need to add a car ride to make my evening enjoyable.”
Greg cut him off holding up his hand. “Seriously My, no car.”
He paused for a few seconds, wondering how to best phrase his next question, and biting his lip asked, “Can we do this again? There’s still a few weeks left of the competition, and I haven’t had this much fun watching football in a long time.”
Greg watched as Mycroft blinked back and didn’t say a word.
“Oh, right. It was just a thank you. A one time thing. I’m sure you don’t accept guys like me into your house that often and you have better things to do than watch a match with your brother’s-”
It was Greg’s turn to be cut off.
“Please, you misunderstand my silence. I have never had someone describe an evening with me as fun, let alone want a repeat. I would quite like for you to come back again, unfortunately, I am out of the country for the next ten days. Would you like to come back for the final match?”
“I would love to,” Greg grinned, wondering why Mycroft would be so shocked that time with him was enjoyable.
“I’ll have to remember to bring an umbrella with me from now on though,” Greg added with a wink, “since you won’t be there to keep me dry and warm for a while.”
“I do not think you need my assistance to keep you dry Gregory.”
“Perhaps I like the idea of you looking out for me,” he smiled, almost reaching out to touch Mycroft’s hand but thinking better of it.
Chapter 9: Bus Stop
It had been three nights since Greg had seen his apartment.
It started out as a simple missing person’s report no one took notice of. The missing person was 28, old enough to just gallivant off and not want to be found, and nothing in their personal life indicated foul play or something seedy. Well it was that simple until Sherlock, who had been helping out the narcotics division with an opium smuggling ring, noticed the name of the now missing banker, as a middleman.
Greg had been called in because he was handling that particular case, and this led to three extended days in his office, living on caffeine and sleeping on his desk.
Exhausted was an understatement for Greg’s state of mind. So when the good DI stepped off the tube stop to get on his first bus home and saw it was raining, he wanted to curse every deity he could think off. It wasn’t just because he would get to his next stop and have to wait a long time in the pouring rain, it was that he’d wait there and know that Mycroft wasn’t coming with his brolly and suave composure to shelter him.
It was pathetic, Greg knew, to be longing after a man he wasn’t even sure was interested despite their impending date to watch another match. But his mind wandered to a scene again where he was stuck in the rain and Mycroft would come in and no just keep him dry, but keep him warm.
The bus came to a halt, and Greg was preparing himself to be quite wet, but as he stepped onto the pavement he didn’t feel a drop on his head.
Looking up he saw that a bus stop had been erected, where before just stood a lone sign.
This was most definitely not here a week ago, Greg thought to himself and looked at the newly built structure.
It wasn’t like most of the other stops in London. Instead, wrought iron made up this stop, and was ornamented at that. It suited the neighbourhood it was in quite nicely, and Greg was more than thankful for it.
Hearing footfalls behind him, Greg turned and saw a young woman running for the stop, equally grateful for the shelter.
“Thank god this is here,” she huffed with a smile.
“It’s new isn’t it?” Greg asked, making room under the shelter for the lady.
“Yeah, got put up two days ago. Been quite a fuss in the area. I guess the neighbourhood tried really hard to avoid the bus shelters, and this is the first to go up. Called most of the ones around the city an eyesore, and didn’t want them here. Lucky for me, I don’t have to wait in the rain now,” she grinned, happy to be warm.
“You say this is the only of like this around here?” Greg asked in confusion.
“Yes,” the girl nodded, and pulled out her headphones to listen to music.
There was no way Mycroft Holmes would build a bus shelter for him. That was a ridiculous thought...wasn’t it?
Taking out his phone, Greg slide open his lock and pulled up Mycroft’s name to tap out a message.
Commute was a lot drier than usual today. Good thing too because I forgot my umbrella. GL
Ah, I see you got my gift then. MH
Gift? Mycroft it’s a bus stop! GL
Yes, I thought about investing in a nice umbrella for you, but this was much more permanent. MH
At bit excessive don’t you think? Seriously, why did you build this? GL
Not really. Sherlock is not the only one who likes to vex the neighbours when possible. Besides, I do hate the idea of you being wet without good reason. MH
The last message caused Greg to turn red. Surely he just meant wet from rain instead of the shower - he wasn’t suggesting anything improper...was he?
Well thank you for the bus stop. I’ll be sure to stay dry until I see you next. GL
Hopefully not too dry. I would think showers would be rather dull after a while then. MH
He was definitely flirting. Mycroft “Mister-I-am-going-to-kidnap-you-if-you-so-look-at-me-the-wrong-way” Holmes, was flirting with him!
Yes, yes they would be. Anything you can suggest to make them less dull? GL
Nothing at the moment, but I am certain we can discuss the topic when I see you again for the next match. MH
Greg was more than flushed when he stopped onto the bus moments later, causing the bus driver to quirk his eyebrow in amusement.
Mycroft hated being out of the country for more than a week. It always threw off his sleeping schedule and it killed his eating habits. This trip made him more irate the usual, because instead of being in London, flirting with the handsome Detective Inspector, he was in Moscow, dealing with idiots.
His plane landed at four in the afternoon and was soon comfortably ensconced in his car. Anthea slid in beside him, and tapped on her blackberry for a bit, before leaning forward to open the partition.
"Please head towards New Scotland Yard, and stop by the nearest Indian takeaway to the establishment," she instructed the driver, and leaned back in her seat without a glance at her boss.
"Anthea, all I want to do is go home and rest," he sighed, staring out the window.
"No sir, you want to go home and rest after you steal Detective Inspector Lestrade from his office, but seeing as that is not an option you are going to bring him dinner. He had been living on horrid sandwiches and crisps for days as a result of another difficult case, so you shall feed him."
"Have you thought that perhaps he may not want to see me?" he mused, turning to look at his assistant whose face took on an appearance of boredom.
"Since you were gone you only exchanged a handful of messages over the two weeks. My sources tell me that he typed out three times as many messages and erased them without sending them to you," she smirked, and glanced over at Mycroft's confused face.
"Well why would he not send them?" he asked, unfamiliar with this kind of social protocol.
"Because he thought he was being a bother and that your work is too important to interrupt," she stated simply, answering an email in German.
"That is silly. I would certainly make an effort to reply."
"Yes, I know that and you do, but he doesn't. So you are going to go by the Yard, carrying his favourite takeaway, and share a meal with him before you go home. This way he knows that you were also thinking of him while you were away."
When Mycroft hired Anthea it was for her skills as a multilingual martial arts master, who also caught the eye of 80 percent of the male diplomats he encountered. Who knew among her skills was also dating guru?
“My dear, we are not dating. We’ve merely had one evening in together and some conversations via text messaging.”
“You built him a bus stop,” she countered.
“It was a bus stop for the community,” he frowned.
“Yes that protects your Detective Inspector. Now, do as I say, and by the time he comes over for the match you’ll be snogging,” she grinned, knowing such forwardness would make her boss blush.
Clearing his throat, Mycroft looked forward, ignoring his assistant to the best of his ability.
An hour later Mycroft Holmes found himself walking into New Scotland Yard, a bag of Indian takeaway in his hand, and a bundle of nerves in his stomach.
That bundle left soon after his arrival when he knocked on the door of Greg’s office and was greeted with one of the most genuine smiles he’d seen on another human being.
Short update today, I have my evidence exam in 22 hours!
In the mean time if you are in need of a Mystrade fix check out my other works or head over to my tumblr (oddree13.tumblr.com) for my RP logs :)
When the office door opened, Greg thought it was certainly Sally coming in with more papers. But instead he was greeted with the unexpected sight of Mycroft Holmes and a bag of takeaway. Smiling, he stood and walked around his desk.
"My, what are you doing here? I thought you were out of the country?"
"I was," the ginger replied, "and I got in a few hours ago. But I was informed you were working rather hard lately, and thought I would surprise you with dinner."
Taking the bag out of Mycroft's hand and placing it on his desk, Greg leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Mycroft's cheek.
"I am so happy to see you. Thank you," he murmured, staying close to Mycroft's cheek, and kissing it again.
As he pulled back he noticed the flush on his friend's face and wondered it is was from embarrassment or if Greg had gone to far.
"That was a rather warm reception. Much more than I expected," he grinned, alleviating Greg's fears.
"Well I missed you, and I'm glad you stopped by because I wanted to ask you something," he explained, pulling his chair around to sit offering Mycroft the seat beside him.
Taking a deep breath he began nervously. "I, I wanted to ask you about our upcoming agreement to watch the match together...I don't expect you to say yes...and I get if you were just flirting from boredom...but I'd like to make it a date," he inquried. But, Greg, never being one to not cover his bases continued.
"It can just be the one. Not making you agree to more. I just thought you were flirting while you were away and it got me thinking that maybe, just maybe you fancied me more than just your brother's keeper?"
Rubbing a hand over his face, he didn't want to look up until he heard the clearing of a throat, and looked up to find Mycroft red-faced.
"I would most enjoy that," the younger man replied slowly.
Beaming, Greg laughed, nodding his head. "Right, it's a date then," he repeated, hoping if he said it more than once it would stick.
Grabbing the take away off his desk, the two men dug in, trading samples, and ignoring Greg's mountain of paperwork for a few hours.
I got out of my exam at 9pm so I'm glad I was able to post before midnight my time!
Chapter 12: Germany versus Argentina
It had only been two days since Mycroft had seen Greg at his office, but now he stood in front of his door, counting down the minutes until he arrived.
“This is ridiculous,” Mycroft muttered to himself, and wondered what had gotten into him to act like a teenager waiting for a date. But that was the thing wasn’t it - this was a date. Greg had asked him to make this a date after the kiss on the cheek...that wonderful kiss on the cheek.
Mycroft had gone home that evening, light in his step, and lay in his bed thinking of how those soft lips would feel all over.
The doorbell shook him from his thoughts, and pausing for a bit (it wouldn’t do to make Greg realise he was standing at the door) he opened the door with a smile.
“Gregory, so glad you could make it.”
“Couldn’t wait actually,” he silver-hair man replied. “Oh Christ that seems desperate,” he muttered, causing Mycroft to laugh.
“Nonsense, I was unable to wait myself. You left an impression when I visited your office.”
“A good one I hope?
“Good is an understatement Gregory.”
“Well, I’m glad because it means I can do this again,” and with that Greg kissed Mycroft’s cheek again, causing the ginger to redden.
Clearing his though he simply nodded. “Yes, you may do that as you like,” and lead Greg to the viewing area once more.
With the game being between Germany and Argentina, Mycroft had taken it upon himself to cook a few dishes that overlapped and influenced between both cultures, and lay them out on the table.
“I bought some German beer for the occasion, and I have Argentinian wine for later on in the night if you decide to stay after the match,” he explained, trying to not seem to hopeful in Greg’s extended presence.
“You really went all out, thank you. And of course I’d like to stay after the match. It’ll give me a chance to chat with you more,” Greg replied, sitting down on the couch.
Seating himself next to Greg, Mycroft switched on the telly and listened to the pre-game commentary while Greg made himself a small plate of different meats.
Soon the game went on, and Mycroft wondered if Greg wanted the same political commentary as last time or if he wanted silence.
His question was soon answered as Greg wound and arm around his shoulder and scooted himself closer.
“Now what can you tell me about the Argentinian goalie?” he inquired in hushed tones, allowing Mycroft to begin his deductions by whispering them into Greg’s ear, setting the tone for the rest of the night. Greg would ask, and Mycroft would reply.
At a point Mycroft tried to adjust himself to face Greg but Greg just shook his head saying, “I like it when you whisper it into my ear. Gives me a chance to be close.”
With that in mind, Mycroft made himself comfortable against Greg and eventually found himself relaxed enough to lay a head on his shoulder while the watched the first half.
When the half-time report came on Mycroft stretched and gave a small yawn.
“I’ll clean up what we are done with and go grab the dessert if you like?” he offered, turning to look at Greg.
“What do we have?”
“Just some simple ice cream but I can hold off if you like.”
Greg nodded, looping his arm around Mycroft’s waist.
“I had other plans for half-time to be honest,” he grinned, and soon Mycroft found Greg’s lips against his.
It was killing him to sit here beside Mycroft for a whole half and not do something. Sure Mycroft was leaning against him but Greg wanted something more.
As the television changed to show the halftime commentary Greg felt the warmth leave his side and listened to Mycroft Holmes give some explanation about cleaning up and dessert, but all Greg could do was stare at his lips.
Looping an arm around the ginger’s waist Greg realised he didn't want anything else but to kiss him
“I had other plans for half-time to be honest,” he stated and pressed his lips to Mycroft’s before the younger man could pull back.
Soft. That was the only word that came to Greg’s mind as he kissed Mycroft - he could only think about how soft his lips were. But he soon noticed that Mycroft wasn’t responding, and was pulling back when he felt a hand curl around his neck and kept him pressed against the other’s mouth.
Moving slowly, he parted his lips to fit neatly between Mycroft’s and moved the kiss from a simple press to active kissing with small tastes. And the man tasted good. Wheat beer and seasoning lingered on his lips, but Greg also picked up the scent of his aftershave, causing him to moan softly against his mouth.
Winding a hand through his ginger hair, Greg pulled him closer as he nipped at his lower lip, begging invitation into his mouth. As the other’s lips parted, Greg slid in, fully immersing himself into Mycroft Holmes.
With both hands cradling his head, he let his thumbs massage his neck, while he tilted them down.
Once he was laying on top of Mycroft, Greg pulled back smiling. “You are so bloody gorgeous, and have been the subject of most of my showers for the past month,” he smirked, and began to pepper kisses along his jawline, until he reached his neck where he began to suck and nip and the sensitive skin.
Both men eventually lost track of time, coming up from the couch when there was only ten minutes left in the game.
Mycroft’s hair was disheveled and his lips were a puffy red, while Greg wondered how his shirt came undone without him noticing.
Sorry this post is shorter than usual. I'm sick in addition to examinations.
Chapter 14: Rear Window
Mycroft had agreed to a second date. Of course he did, he was taken. Four days after their date watching the final match, they had found time in their schedule to go on a date, and this is how Mycroft found himself waiting outside of a cinema.
Greg had asked him if he wanted to go see a showing the the art house cinema that was showing the best Hitchcock films over the course of the summer, and Mycroft, having never seen any, happily agreed.
The title “Rear Window” appeared on the marquee, and as Mycroft looked up to scrutinise it, Greg appeared beside him.
“Don’t worry it’s good,” he laughed, amused at the jump Mycroft made at being startled. “Jimmy Stewart is adorable and tenacious in it, while Grace Kelly is just class embodied. Even if you’re a man who isn’t attracted to women, she’s be the one who breaks the rule,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around Mycroft, and pulling him in for a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said, as he walked them to the window buying two tickets, and waving away Mycroft’s wallet.
“Let me treat you for once. I know that I won’t get too many chances to,” he explained, and taking Mycroft’s hand led him into the theatre.
As they walked Mycroft stared down at the entwined fingers and found himself fidgeting and thinking what must have been too loudly as Greg stopped walking to look at him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked concerned.
“Nothing, I was just...our hands,” he coughed.
Looking down at the entwined fingers Greg quirked an eyebrow and let go, leaving Mycroft feeling lonely somehow.
“Right, well, I just thought, but right, not your usual date,” Greg sighed, and head to go up the stairs, kicking himself for being presumptuous.
“No, it’s not that,” Mycroft called out, walking forward quickly to catch him. “I know that look from you. It’s the ‘I’m not good enough for this look’ and you are. This isn't about appearances on my end. I was just startled that you wanted to inform the people here we were-”
“Together? Dating? Snogging when we had the chance?” Greg interrupted. “Yeah I’d like to inform them because I’m bloody lucky and will never be ashamed of you holding my hand,” he pointed out, seeing the other’s mind turning.
Grabbing his hand again, Greg brought it up to kiss it.
“Looks like I have issues, and you have issues. I think you're out of my league status wise, and you think I want to keep you a secret, and clearly none of that is true. So instead of standing here explaining why we are both idiots, let’s go sit down and watch a film, and I’ll start coming up with excuses to loop my arm around your shoulder,” he winked, and walked Mycroft up the stairs.
When the movie started Greg was about to throw his arm around Mycroft, when the ginger surprised him by lifting the arm rest between the two of them, and sidled up next to him, placing an arm around his waist, and happy to show of his date to the theatre.
Chapter 15: You Know What Happens On The Third Date Right?
“Just because it’s the third date doesn't mean anything right?” he asked John, sipping his pint nervously.
“That rule of sleeping with someone on the third date doesn't always apply, is what I mean,” he clarified.
Shaking his head, John laughed. “Mate, you are getting too worked up about this. I mean you've only, what, kissed or made out and had two dates, I don’t think Mycroft Holmes is going to toss you into his bed tonight - he’d ruin his suit,” he teased, looking at the television.
“I've wrinkled his suit thank you, and besides, he doesn't wears suits on our dates.”
At that fact, John turned in his stool to look at Greg.
“Are you serious? I thought that’s all the man owned? Like a closet full of suits in varying shades of dull,” he mused, twitching his mouth to the side in thought.
“No, the first time I came over he wore coral shorts, and a lovely blue button down with the sleeves rolled. Hell, he didn't even have socks on, which was great because those legs were fantastic!”
Waving at Greg for him to stop, John sputtered. “Sounds great but I honestly don’t want to think about Mycroft’s legs.”
“Great legs, good kisser, makes these fantastic little moans when he’d turned on, and he even gave me a hickey,” he winked, amused at John’s obvious dismay.
“Are you just trying to put me off?” he whined, putting his head on the bar.
“No, just trying to tell you that I’m kind of head over heels for him. I mean he built me a bus stop!”
Lifting his glass, John knocked it against Greg’s. “That he did, so stop worrying about tonight and go with it. I’m sure if you aren't ready he won’t toss you. When was the last time your were with a bloke anyways?”
“Uni,” Greg sighed and sipped his beer, watching the match.
Sushi had been wonderful. Greg had only had it once before and it was an unpleasant experience, but Mycroft had assured him he’d be taken care of at the tasting. Thought hesitant, Greg enjoyed himself, and now knew why people always went out for it.
“Thanks again for tonight, honestly it was great.”
“My pleasure Gregory. I always get invited to these events or dinners because of my work but I either take Anthea or pass on the tickets to someone else. It was nice to go with a date whom I like for a change.”
“Well, cheers to them for giving us dessert to go. Want to come back to mine before you head off to yours?” Greg asked.
“Certainly. I was planning on driving you home anyways,” he smiled, and informed the chauffeur about the change of directions.
Once at Greg’s flat, the two men entered and Greg immediately began his apology.
“I’m sorry it’s not anything fancy. Divorce too a bit out of the bank and I’m not here much, just to sleep really,” he began and Mycroft turned around to place a soft kiss to his cheek.
“I am not bothered nor put off. It’s a flat Gregory, not a statement of your life - well other than you work too much.”
“Look who’s talking,” Greg laughed, and went to sit on the couch with their take away.
Sitting beside him, Mycroft took the first ball of mochi and bit into it, giving the other half to Greg.
“I honestly want to thank you again for the company. It was a lovely date and I hope the next time I have an offer like this you’d be able to accompany me,” he wondered.
“Of course, I was kind of hoping our dates wouldn't end at number three,” he remarked.
“Number three is it?”
“Yeah, third date, unless you count the bus stop meetings and the first match we watched.”
“You know what they say about the third date right?” he intoned, quirking a brow briefly.
Nodding Greg swallowed, watching Mycroft as he moved in closer.
“Now I have no intention of taking you to bed like that, as it has been a long time and I’d rather take it slow. But I am very amenable to staying the night if you are interested?” he muttered timidly, not quite making eye contact and his bravado failing.
Beaming, Greg cupped Mycroft’s face and pulled him in for a kiss.
“Yes, please. I think I’d like the idea of waking up next to you,” he replied as he pulled back a bit.
“Good, good. Now, is it just penetrative sex you would rather not engage in or any form of sex?” he asked matter-of-factly.
Chuckling at how Mycroft he question was, Greg shook his head.
“Nah, just the kind that requires excessive amounts of lubricant. I’d kill to see you naked right now, if I’m being honest.”
Standing up, Mycroft held out a hand for Greg and began to walk him towards his room, turning to retort, “No need for murder. That would bring around Sherlock, and I am not an exhibitionist.”
I think this was a bit longer than usual. Decided to indulge and write a bit more because it's my birthday ^_^
Check me out on tumblr for more goodies! (oddree13.tumblr.com)
Chapter 16: I Don't Think He's My Boyfriend...
The morning after Mycroft's sleepover at Greg's apartment
Waking up in an unfamiliar bed, was not an experience Mycroft appreciated as usually it meant a few of the following:
He was away on business
He was on a mission
He’d been kidnapped, gently
He was staying with his parents
Turning over, he looked at the bedside table and seeing a familiar watch, smiled, remembering he had stayed the night at Greg’s. It had been a lovely night full of touches, breathlessness, and ultimately cuddling - none of which either man had done in a long time.
Sitting up he looked around the sparse room and saw what Greg meant by he really only slept here. Everything was bare boned and efficient.
The door to the bedroom pushed open, and Greg stood in the doorway in green boxers and a vest, his hair still mussed from the night before.
“Morning, gorgeous,” he grinned. “Was just about to wake you up. Breakfast and coffee is ready, and I threw a fresh towel in the bathroom in case you wanted to shower here. Come out when you want,” and turned to walk back to his kitchen.
Getting up and stretching, Mycroft found his pants and walked out to the kitchen, borrowing Greg’s dressing robe.
Taking a seat at the small table, Mycroft was given toast and eggs, along with a hot cup of coffee.
“Not sure if you ate in the morning, but I usually have at least toast and coffee, so I made eggs to indulge.”
“Thank you. I myself am the same with just toast or something to go. Often if it is an early morning breakfast will be waiting for me at my desk.”
“Lucky you, I just get Sally thrusting coffee in my hand begrudgingly,” he chuckled.
“Well, then perhaps the next time you have an early morning I can send by some sustenance for your team?”
Grinning around the rim of his coffee mug Greg shook his head. “Nah, you’d be sending a lot ‘cause I get a lot of early mornings. But thanks for the offer.”
“Just know the offer is on the table.”
The two men sat in silence - Greg scanning the morning paper and Mycroft answering some messages - each exchanging glances as they worked, and entwining their feet together.
Once ready, Mycroft’s driver pulled around and both men got into the car.
“Thanks for the ride to work. Kind of slept in more than I usually do,” he smirked, moving across the seat to be closer to Mycroft.
“It is no problem and the next time I stay the night or you do, I will be sure to get you to the office on time.”
“Next time?” Greg inquired with hope in his voice.
“Yes, I would be happy to repeat last night at either of our places.”
“Good. Great. Brilliant.”
As the car pulled up to the Yard, Greg stepped out but bent back down to press a kiss to Mycroft’s cheek.
“See you soon?”
“Of course,” Mycroft assured, and closed the door to drive off.
Turning around Greg was greeted by a very confused Dimmock, whose mouth was open and he was clearly trying to form words.
“Don’t gape Dimmock, you look silly,” he grinned, as he walked past him into the Yard.
An hour later Sally walked in with a smile on her face that spelled gossip.
“Sally it isn’t even ten. You cannot possibly have new drama from yesterday.”
“I can sir, and it involves you,” she began, smug.
“Let me guess. Dimmock?”
“Yes, and really you’ve been seeing someone, posh at that, and didn’t tell me?”
Leaning back in his chair, Greg carded a hand through his hair, clearly shy about the whole situation.
“It was just the third date, didn’t want to get my hopes up,” he explained, unable to stop looking pleased.
“Well I want to meet this boyfriend of yours soon,” she declared, pointing a finger at him, and walking out of his office.
“He’s not my boyfriend!” he called after her. “At least I don’t think,” he added to himself, and started on his work for the day.
Three days later when Greg was called in on an early morning homicide, his team returned to the Yard and went straight to the conference room for a strategy meeting to find it sitting on the table a platter of baked goods and several containers of takeaway coffee.
“Your boyfriend?” Sally asked, biting into a muffin.
“Yeah,” Greg beamed and began the meeting.
Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me this far. I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am. Comments and critiques are welcome :)
If you like my writing check out my other fics or my tumblr
Chapter 17: By August He Was Mine
Cancelled dates. Missed birthdays. Broken promises. This is why Mycroft never got into a relationship.
It had been over a week ago when he was about to leave the office to meet Greg for dinner when a call came in that required his attention. That call lead to a meeting, and that meeting led to Mycroft jumping on a plane to Kenya to deal with one of the Empire’s former colonies.
Greg had been understanding when Mycroft made the call from the tarmac but he was more than prepared to return to London and have Greg say, “This has been great but your life is too erratic for me.”
So now that the wheels were setting down, Mycroft was prepared to de-plane, get in the car, and go back to his town-home alone.
Instead he was greeted by the silver-haired DI in his car.
“Welcome back!” Greg smiled, enjoying the look of shock on Mycroft’s face when he opened the door of the back seat.
“Gregory what are you doing here?” he asked, sliding into the car, and closing the door behind him.
“I text Anthea to let me know when you were coming home and if I was off work that I’d want to come and see you. Hope that was alright.”
Staring in utter disbelief, Mycroft nodded. “Yes, it is more than alright, but it’s quite late. I am sorry.”
“Sorry? Mycroft you’ve just been in Africa for over a week, that much I got, but no need to apologise. Just wanted to see my boyfriend,” he explained and pulled Mycroft to his side, sliding an arm around his waist.
“Boyfriend?” the ginger asked in his continued disbelief.
“Yeah, it’s what I told Sally if that’s alright with you. She wondered where the mysterious pastries were coming from,” he kept on, kissing the top of Mycroft’s head.
Mycroft lay silently against Greg’s shoulder for a few moments and broke the silence by airing his doubts.
“I thought I was coming home to a breakup. That I would get back and try to reschedule our date and you would simply tell me that I was too much work. My schedule was too erratic and you did not want that in your life. I did not think I would be hearing boyfriend of all things.”
Listening to Mycroft his heart felt heavy. He hated how the man never thought himself enough and that Greg let him think that saddened him.
“Did I ever give you a reason to think that I had a problem with your job?”
“Aside from the initial abduction you mean?”
“Yeah,” he snickered. “My, please know that I adore you and yeah it sucked having to cancel dinner, but I’ll get calls in the middle of things too, given enough time. I like you because you get my schedule and I get yours. So let’s go back to your home, fix some drinks, and watch crap telly until we fall asleep.”
Turning his head into Greg’s neck, Mycroft placed a small kiss on the delicate skin and mumbled, “Sounds perfect.”
Hours later the glow of the television illuminated the room while Greg and Mycroft were curled up alongside each other asleep under a throw blanket, each looking content to be in the other’s arms.
Ever since Greg made DI the same thing occurred every year - he was forced to take a holiday, save the year he found out about his wife’s cheating before the Baskervilles nonsense. He put in more hours than he should, according to his higher ups, and was usually mandated to take a vacation, and each year Greg loathed it - except this year.
This year, after almost two months since his little courting ritual with Mycroft, Greg found himself in Paris with his boyfriend, staring out a window at the Eiffel Tower. Apparently Anthea had caught wind of Greg’s mandated holidays, and took it upon herself to impose the same injunction on her boss, and book the two of them a flat in Mycroft’s favourite area for a ten days.
Ten day of Mycroft. Ten days of Paris. Ten days of cooking classes, market visits, chocolate tastings, and indulgence. Also ten days of Mycroft Holmes, naked in bed beside him.
The city rightfully earned its moniker the first night when Mycroft seduced Greg into bed, saying it wouldn’t be proper to not make love in the city of such a feeling, and between that, champagne, and a cute freckled bottom, Greg was unable to say no.
Each morning they would wake and go to a corner cafe and sit outside with some toast and coffee. Mycroft would deduce passers-by, and Greg would work on his French, which amused his boyfriend endlessly.
Afternoons were spent visiting sites, some touristy, and others more off the beaten path, like the Île Saint-Louis where the pair shared Berthillon ice cream.
At night they would find a cozy bar or spend it in the apartment, watching the city light up from the balcony before going to the bedroom.
One night, in the middle of their visit, as Mycroft lay curled up alongside Greg, the older man stared at the ceiling wondering how his life came to be this way, and broke the silence.
“I always hated holidays,” he began, knowing Mycroft was listening. “It always seemed like a way for me to be silent alongside someone else just in a different location. I couldn’t stand them, and the Yard kept making me take time off. But this time, I quite frankly don’t want it to end. And I’m laying here kicking myself so letting myself be miserable for so bloody long when I could have been doing this for ages. I mean, I know the timing for us wouldn’t have been right, but I’d like to think that maybe if I’d have turn left somewhere, you would have offered me that umbrella much sooner,” he finishes, carding his hand through Mycroft’s hair the whole time.
Turning to look up from his lover’s chest, Mycroft hummed in agreement.
“Perhaps, but early in life would not have worked for me.”
Frowning, Greg asked why.
“Because it look me this long to open myself up to being vulnerable and allowing myself to fall in love. I do not think it would have happened earlier.”
Smiling softly, Greg shimmied down so he was face to face with his boyfriend.
“Then I’m glad to have waited,” he whispered, “because I love you too,” sealing the declaration with a kiss.
Short update because tomorrow I go into a four hour criminal procedure exam (but then law exams are done!)
Chapter 19: If You Hurt Him, I'll Kill You
Mycroft was sitting at his desk catching up on the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated during his holiday in Paris when the door burst open and in stalked his baby brother.
"Where have you been?" Sherlock harrumphed, and sat in the chair across Mycroft's desk.
"Holiday," he stated plainly, not looking up to see his peeved sibling.
"Holiday? But you don't go on holiday. Why is everyone suddenly going on holiday."
"It is the summer time Sherlock, but surely not everyone is going on holiday."
"You left. Lestrade left. Clients are coming in slow. Miserable weather," he continued, complaining to a new audience.
"Well of course Gregory was on holiday, we went to Paris together," Mycroft inserted, wondering if his brother had known.
The simple statement was met with a long silence which Mycroft finally acknowledged by looking up and saw his brother's confused face.
"Sherlock, you had to have known we were seeing each other?"
Cleaning his throat he sat up a bit straighter. "I knew that he had asked me for your number to thank you for something or other, I deleted it. I didn't think it progressed further than a text where you would dismiss him."
Mycroft smiled softly, remembering the message fondly. "I hardly dismissed him. After that encounter we began dating, and have been doing so since July, and became serious rather quickly. It has been...enjoyable."
Staring at his brother in shock Sherlock shook his head."This is coming from the man who told me that caring was not an advantage, and who sees most people as goldfish!"
Sighing, Mycroft put his pen down and turned his full attention to his younger sibling.
"While those things still hold true to an extent, I find myself making an exception. Gregory is many things, but he is not a goldfish - he is singular as it stands, and I find myself caring for him a great deal."
Reading between the lines Sherlock's eye widened.
"You love him."
"I do," he stated firmly. "I love him, and I hope that this goes somewhere permanent."
"Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" Sherlock smirked, teasing his brother like he once teased John.
"No but perhaps by the end of the year," he thought wistfully, thinking back to what was said between them in Paris.
"You really are serious?" Sherlock gaped.
"I am and I hope you can accept this and be happy for me."
Saying nothing Sherlock got up and left his brother's office.
It was mid-afternoon when Greg was looking over a case that he was taking over for a rather ill Dimmock when Sherlock Holmes burst into his office and not bothering to slow his pace, rounded Greg's desk and jabbed a finger into his chest.
"I know many ways to make you disappear and ensure that no one ever finds your body. I have studied the art of crime and I am not hesitant to use my skills to murder you if the opportunity ever arises," he whispered lowly, and walked out of Greg's office as quickly as he came.
Stunned, Greg watched the space where Sherlock entered and vanished, and processed the message he had just received. A few moments later he got his phone from his desk and tapped out a message to Mycroft.
Did you tell Sherlock about us? GL
Yes. Why do you ask? MH
I think I just got the if you hurt him, I'll kill you speech from your brother. GL
Chapter 20: I'll Go Down With This Ship
I apologise for the crack :P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Greg worried his lip as Mycroft went about putting the last finishing touches on dinner.
"Gregory whatever is on your mind, I am certain you can tell me before someone other than me causes you lip to bleed," he teased sliding over a wine glass to his boyfriend.
"It's a silly thought and silly question so don't worry about it My. How was work?"
"More meetings than I care to count and I fear that the generation after me will be too incompetent to notice. Also, I doubt whatever question you have for me is truly silly."
Shaking his head, Greg truly doubted it. "No, it's stupid, and I'll just keep it to myself."
"It is about the party is it not?" Mycroft asked, sipping the red he's just poured.
Staring at his other half, Greg just laughed in what should have been disbelief.
"Why do I try to keep secrets from you?"
Smirking, Mycroft leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
"This one was not me for once. It was Anthea who alerted me to your invitation and before I could protest sat me down and explained to me the importance of boyfriends at work events - including fancy dress ones," he grimaced.
"So you are going with me?" Greg clarified in shock.
"Yes, but I shall be choosing the costumes. I promise they will not be silly period pieces and they will not involve me in a usual suit," he added, knowing Greg would say James Bond did not count as a costume.
"Now shall we enjoy dinner and turn in early? I have had a long day and wish to go up to my bedroom soon so you can wear me out," he grinned, digging into his dinner.
A week later, Greg walked into the guest room of Mycroft's townhome, and looked at the costume on the bed. Laughing as he pulled up the trousers, adjusted the belt, and added the braces, he stood in front of the mirror looking at himself and practiced his American accent.
Shrugging on his trench coat, and walking out into the hall, he found Mycroft standing in the doorway in blue pin-striped suit, with what appeared to be converse trainers from the side.
Turning to look at his boyfriend, Mycroft beamed as Greg took in his other as David Tennant's doctor, complete with sticky-uppy hair.
"I cannot believe we are going to this event dressed as Captain Jack Harkness and the Doctor! You really outdid yourself," he stated in elated shock. "I mean you're wearing trainers, and a suit that isn't your usual style. And lets not get me started on the glasses," he mumbled, biting his lower lip.
"Well we both like the show and I am more than certain these two got up to no good when Rose left the TARDIS."
Turning to the table by the front door, Mycroft grabbed another prop and handed it to Greg.
"Vortex manipulator for you, and a sonic screwdriver for me," he supplied, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"You are far too excited," Greg snickered, shaking his head.
"Well you look sexy, and when we get back home I can finally act out what was a rather inappropriate dream I once had about these two men" he inserted, blushing and walked him out the door to the car.
So I'm time jumping a bit because this story ends in December. This story was inspired by the song Bus Stop by the Hollies and well the song ends in a way that I think our boys would look forward to.
Also, I know this chapter is a bit cracky, but Mark Gatiss is a big Doctor Who fan, and the idea of Greg as Captain Jack Harkness had me sweating like a sinner in church!
Chapter 21: Petulance
It could have been worse. At least I didn’t pull the straw for Christmas or Halloween. GL
I just do not understand why a Detective Inspector is dealing with delinquents at this juncture in your career. MH
Because nights like these are a nuisance for the whole Yard and it was decided that everyone would share the burden. GL
How are you to get home? MH
The tube and the bus like I always do. GL
But it will be late. MH
Yes love but I’m a grown man with a badge who deals with criminals. I think I can get home late at night. GL
Just stay at my home, it is much closer to your office. MH
I’m not waking you up in the middle of the night just because you don’t want me commuting across town in the middle of the night. GL
May I at least send a car? MH
Tossing his phone down on his desk, Mycroft stared at the offending item, ignoring the look of amusement Anthea was giving him.
“Why don’t you just ask him?” she queried, taping out her next email.
“Ask him what?”
Looking at her boss as if he was being an idiot, which he was, she clarified. “Why don’t you ask him to move in with you? This way he’ll have a shorter commute, you’ll stop being petulant when he stays at his, and I can stop breaking into his flat to bring him clothing.”
“I am not petulant.”
“Says the man who demands a cup of tea more, and is more likely to send someone you dislike on a more dangerous mission the nights that Greg doesn’t stay over,” she stated.
“I do not,” Mycroft scoffed.
“Remember Agent Grant?”
“How is it my fault the Serbian shot him in the knee cap?”
“Because you knew he’d shot that assassin before.”
Mycroft stayed silent, and went back to his papers.
“When is my next meeting?”
“You are meeting with David at three, and I’ll send Michaels to make a copy of your keys along with a spare passcode stick to be programmed for your townhome,” Anthea rattled off, and walked out without giving Mycroft a chance to retort.
It was eleven at night and the hooligans were just starting to pour in. Greg was on his third cup of coffee, and wondered it was just better to sleep at the office that night, when he remembered that cup of coffee number two spilled on his shirt earlier that day.
Making his way down to the vending machine, he was slipping some coins in to get a bag of crisps when he heard and throat clearing behind him and turned around to see Mycroft Holmes, standing there looking anxious.
“My, what are you doing here? I told you I didn’t need a car, and it’s going to be a few more hours until I get off, easy.”
Looking even more high strung than before Mycroft took a settling breath and began to say, “I know you did not want a ride or assistance in any which way getting home tonight, but it was brought to my attention that I become ‘petulant’,” he quoted in the air, “when I am not with you for a length of time, and Anthea suggested something to alleviate my querulous state.”
“Well I hope she didn’t suggest getting me out of work,” he stated, knowing how Mycroft got when he wanted Greg to come to some function or to get off work.
“No, I have learned my lesson, and Sergeant Donovan castigated me in the hall,” he smiled softly. “No, this remedy is rather indelible, and you need not give me an answer right away but I thought I should offer.”
With that said, Mycroft held out a silver key ring with the keys to his house, along with a data stick that informed Mycroft of the weekly passcode to his home.
Staring at the offering Greg gaped. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”
Nodding, Mycroft attached an additional option. “You can either move in, or at least take this as an open invitation to come and go as you please...I enjoy your presence in what I am coming to recognise as our home.”
A blush grew on Greg’s cheeks, and he pulled Mycroft into an embrace, resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder.
“I’ll come home later tonight then,” he whispered, moving to kiss his boyfriend on the lips in the hall of the Yard.
It was nearly 2:30am when Greg entered the townhome and found his way upstairs. Stripping down and climbing into bed, he wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist, and laying beside him, nuzzled him to semi-consciousness to say, “I’m home.”
"Why are we doing this again?" the ginger asked looking around the tree lot and the hoards of people passing through.
Beside him was Greg, trying his best to hide a smirk, amused at his boyfriend’s clear disdain for the situation they were both in.
“Because I am rather fond of the holidays and because you love me you agreed to let me get a tree for our place since you mother insisted that you host this year.”
Grumbling, Mycroft began to walk into the faux forest, and peered closely at each tree that he at a glance deemed worthy, but passed each up for various reasons.
Too tall. Too fat. Too sparse. Too dense. Too green. Too dull. Too dry.
Greg followed behind him exhausted, not having bothered to point out a suggestion in ten minutes for fear of reprimand.
Finally, after thirty minutes of searching, Greg bumped into Mycroft who had stopped in his tracks and stared smiling softly at a tree.
“Gregory, I have found our tree,” he declared, and gestured to the flora before him.
Glancing up from the ground, Greg gazed at his boyfriend’s choice and had to admit it was a specimen. Wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s waist, Greg grinned, and kiss him on the cheek.
“Perfect love. Now let’s get it carted off and they’ll deliver it tomorrow.”
Two nights later both men found themselves home at a reasonable hour, and began to unwrap the ornaments and baubles the ordered, along with the netted lights.
Pouring themselves drinks, they decorated into the evening, each taking turns critiquing, moving, directing, and conceding. After some time the pair stood back and admired their work, and Mycroft noticed the pleasant smile that had not left his lover’s face the entire night.
“You look pleased.”
“I am. I’ve always loved this season and it's kind of nice to have it feel right. This time of the year is about family, and being with ones your love, but it hadn’t been like that for a while. Now it’s perfect,” he explained, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Mycroft’s cheek. “I hope we get more like this,” he sighed, happily, and sat down on the couch to admire their tree.
Moving to sit beside him, Mycroft seated himself next to Greg, and leaned over to pluck a box that had been sitting on the coffee table the entire night, and placed it on Greg’s lap.
“What’s this?” he asked, looking at the square package.
“Just a little something to top off the tree.”
Carefully undoing the wrapping paper, Greg pulled open the box and and plucked out a flat, round, silver ornament. Holding it in his hand he saw the words ‘Christmas 2014’ engraved on one side, and turning it over, saw ‘Greg & Mycroft’ etched on the other, in script.
“I got this for us...to commemorate our first holiday together, and perhaps we can get a similar decoration and mark it with the year.”
Speechless, Greg clutched the gift in his hand, and pulled Mycroft into a deep kiss, in an attempt to convey his emotions.
Pulling off, Greg stood and hung the ornament in the center of the tree and took a step back to admire it.
“I kind of like the idea that one day with will just be a silver tree,” he said, sighing in contentment.
“Me too,” Mycroft concurred from the couch, and beckoned his partner back to his side.
Chapter 23: Hatton Gardens
I need your help. GL
What's new? Is it a murder, burglary, or abduction? SH
None of those. It's about your brother. GL
Please Sherlock, it's important and I need your advice. GL
Great! Meet me at Hatton Gardens at 5pm. GL
Greg was bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for Sherlock at main crossroads of the area. He scanned the crowd continuously, hoping to get a glance of the consulting detective, and repeatedly glanced at his watch.
At 5:15 PM Sherlock lifted up from the wall he's ben leaning against for the last twenty minutes and approached the anxious looking DI. Walking across the street, Sherlock nodded in greeting and eyed Greg in confusion, having been unable to determine why the detective asked him to this particular location.
"Why have you asked me to meet you here?" Sherlock asked, voicing his uncertainty.
"I told you I needed help with a matter involving Mycroft," Greg reiterated, fidgeting.
"Yes I understand that, but I don't understand why we needed to meet here. the entire length of the road is just jewelry stores, and I am certain I observed at least six men who were contemplating proposals."
Greg began to open his mouth to explain, but shut it, not sure what kind of wording he should use to lay it out for Sherlock. Taking the DI's silence as a need to supply more information, the younger continued.
"Why the holidays entices people to purchase elements that have for some strange reason been labeled 'valuable' is beyond me. Now, did my brother have a suspicion that one of these chains is acting a front of some sorts?"
"No, Mycroft doesn't know I'm here..." Greg muttered, staring at Sherlock who had laid out all the evidence, but failed to connect the dots.
"Then if criminal activity isn't going on, why have you brought me here?"
"I need your help choosing a ring for your brother."
"Why would you need to get my brother a ring? He already wears that gold one."
"Because if all goes well on Christmas with your parents, he'll be wearing another one," he added, unable to really say the purpose of their excursion just yet.
"I just said that he has a ring, why would he need another? And what do Mummy and Father have to do with it?"
Sighing in frustration, Greg realised that Sherlock must have deleted the concept of engagements or did not want to think of Greg and his brother this way so badly that his brain was interrupting the conclusion.
"Sherlock, when your parents come over on Christmas I am going to ask them if they mind me asking your brother to marry me. If they say yes, then I am going to need a ring when I ask your brother because I am not getting down on my knee to ask Mycroft Holmes to be mine for the rest of my life without a ring he's worthy of. So I need you to help me choose one, not just for size, but for quality and style because I cannot, I repeat, cannot mess this up...I just can't..." he ended, looking at the Holmes brother earnestly.
Staring dumbfounded at the DI, Sherlock stood in silence for several moments before turning down the street and walking, only stopping once he found a suitable store, gesturing for Lestrade to enter with him.
“This one looks promising and I can already tell I can blackmail the owner into lowering the price.”
Shaking his head and laughing, Greg followed Sherlock into the store to make one of the biggest decisions of his life.
An hour later, Greg and Sherlock were walking out of the shop with tungsten ring bearing a simple engraving.
“Thank you Sherlock, honestly. I know you probably don’t think this is a good idea but thanks for coming along.”
“What makes you think I disagree with this course of action?” the ravenette asked sincerely.
“I mean you and Mycroft don’t get on but you threatened me when we started out so I figured you didn’t approve too much. That and I’m just a Yarder, and you think we’re all idiots. Can’t really give your brother much.”
Scowling, Sherlock stopped walking and waited for Greg to turn and face him.
“If I didn’t approve of your and my brother I would have done more than threaten you. Sabotage and poisoning come to mind, for one. And Mycroft doesn’t need much by way of material things, but Mycroft isn’t like me in the companionship aspect. He tried to befriend people and tried to find someone and just shut down after awhile. Then you came along and needless to say it’s like seeing him before he got his position and lived only for his work...it’s nice. Besides, Mummy’s taken with you,” he grumbled, and continued to walk.
Stunned at the explanation he just received, Greg walked silently next to Sherlock for sometime before thanking him and saying, “I’m looking forward to having you as a brother-in-law you know?”
The catering had finally been dropped off and plated, allowing Mycroft to finally retire to the living room and slump on the couch next to his boyfriend.
“Can you stop worrying now? Christmas is supposed to be relaxing not making you panic every ten seconds,” he teased, sipping his tea. “Besides, if anyone needs to be nervous it’s me. I’m meeting the Holmes parents today and I need to make a good impression.”
“Why are you so anxious about meeting them?”
“Because one, they don’t mind that your gay, mine flipped and still haven’t called back. Two, if they are like you and Sherlock I’m going to be spending the night making sure I’ve schooled all my expressions. Three, I want them to like me because I love their son.”
Leaning into Greg, Mycroft placed a kiss on his cheek to ground him. “They already love you because you love me. Also, no need to try and school your features - Mummy’s better than Sherlock and I.”
“I feel so at ease now,” he sarcastically replied, and wrapped an arm around his lover, resting against him until the party began.
Early evening came around and the townhome’s living room was full of people. Mummy and Father Holmes had arrived first, insisting on getting some quality time with their oldest and his significant other. After Sherlock came with John and Mrs. Hudson in tow, and eventually Molly made a brief appearance to say her hellos before going off to another Christmas party. A few of Mycroft’s extended family members popped in and out throughout the night, and once the party number had settled, everyone went in the dining room to eat.
As the plates were cleared and dessert was set out by the fire and tree, Greg have the signal to Sherlock to distract Mycroft long enough for Greg to have a conversation with the Holmes parents to ask about Mycroft’s hand. After some nodding, tears, and kisses to the cheek, Greg had the yes he’d been hoping for and steeled himself for his proposal after everyone left.
Once the brothers rejoined everyone in the living room, the gifts were passed around and Greg was amused that he received from Mycroft a rather sturdy umbrella.
“In case I am ever out of town again and you need it,” he teased and Greg happily handed Mycroft his substitute gift.
“Please do not tell me you expect me to wear this in public,” Mycroft asked, holding up the England jersey.
Laughing at his apprehension, Greg shook his head. “No, just the next time we watch a match, probably when the Euro Cup comes around.”
Conversation and family stories filled the rest of the evening, and when the last guest left, Greg turned to Mycroft and asked, “I’m rather stuffed, mind going for a walk with me before bed?”
Short chapter is short because it's Christmas Eve and I've been baking and prepping all day. Us Hispanics celebrate today in excess as well as tomorrow.
Outside the air was chilly, but after being inside all day drinking and eating, Mycroft and Greg appreciated the fresh air before heading off to bed.
Hand in hand the two men walked around the neighbourhood, discussing the nights events, the embarrassing stories the Holmes parents told, and the way Sherlock was unable to sit still the entire night.
It wasn’t until they were rounding the corner to the bus stop Mycroft commissioned that the ginger noticed that his lover had been leading them down a particular route to end up at this location. Happy to see no one around, Greg tugged Mycroft to the bench and sat beside him, his fingers lacing neatly with Mycroft’s.
“It was a good night,” Greg sighed happily, leaning against his boyfriend, stroking his hand.
“It was indeed, and my parents adored you like I said they would.”
“I know, I know but I was still nervous. Meeting the parents is always a big step and you won’t be meeting mine anytime soon,” he huffed.
“I am sorry about that.”
“Causing your parents to cut their communication with you. If it was not for me, they would still be talking to you.”
Shaking his head, Greg turned to face Mycroft and cupped his cheek in one hand. “My, if they can’t accept that this is what makes me happy then they are idiots. It will be there loss that they won’t be able to see the way we are with each other and as much as it sucks, you make my world complete, not them.”
Greg cut him off with a press of this fingers to Mycroft’s lips. “No buts, My. You are it for me. You have made the last six months some of the best of my life. I felt excited for the first time in a long time, wondering if you’d call or when our next date would be. When you asked me to move in, it was like coming home. I’d found someone who wanted to see me morning, noon, and night, and honestly you could pick anyone and you picked me - an old Yarder who has seen better days.”
Mycroft was about to retort when he watched Greg get on one knee on the ground in front of the bench.
“Gregory what are you doing?”
“Aside from getting the Mycroft Holmes to point out the obvious, I am getting on my knee to say that though this hasn’t been the longest courtship and we are rather different people, I can’t see spending the rest of my life with anyone else My. I love you, and I hope you love me just as much. And I asked your parents before I did this and they approved. So,” he began, taking a deep breath, “Mycroft Edwin Holmes, will you marry me?”
Pulling out a box from his pocket, he opened it to reveal the ring he’d picked out days before with Sherlock.
Staring in disbelief of the proceedings, Mycroft gaped, looking between the box and Greg before nodding.
“Yes. Though I am most certain this is a fever dream, yes.”
Beaming, Greg slid the ring onto his finger and stood, pulling Mycroft up from the bench to kiss him.
A few hours later, Mycroft lay awake in bed with Greg curled alongside him. Sex usually put them both to sleep, but Mycroft was far too keyed up to dream just yet. Twisting the ring around his finger he pulled it off, finally noticing the unevenness of the metal resting against his finger.
Turning on the lamp next to his bed and angled the ring to see the message and smiled when he saw the words that started it all.
Please Share My Umbrella?
Thank you to all those who have subscribed to this fic and shared it with their friends. This began as a writing exercise to keep me sane during final examinations and it became a joy to wake up to your kudos and comments every morning! With this fic over, I'll be adding to my other WIPs and eventually writing more Mystrade because these two never seem to be able to stay apart for long in my head.
Check out my other work here and on my tumblr (oddree13.tumblr.com) and if you live in the States you should check out the Sherlock fan convention I am helping organise - GRIDlock DC (gridlockdc.com).
Thank you again for all your support.