When first we practise to deceive 6/?
anonymous
November 4 2010, 16:09:12 UTC
The dates continued and, after that one they were far less stilted.
He was, in fact, in a relationship. Which seemed to be working well, so far, and he was enjoying himself.
“You seem happy, sir,” his assistant said. “Last night’s date go well?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The only small, tiny, minuscule, unimportant little problem was that Gregory still had no idea exactly what it was the Mycroft did.
He thought that he was the more normal of the Holmes’ brothers, when both of them would probably protest that. He thought that Mycroft was a paper pusher, which was in essence correct. It was so much easier to deal with problems on paper than it was to deal with them in person. Things got messy when you dealt with them in person. It was why Sherlock insisted on it. The boy loved chaos.
Gregory thought that he was unimportant and mostly powerless, and Mycroft wanted things to stay that way.
Suspicion and fear were the most common reactions to finding out how powerful he really was. From somewhere he had grown so invested in this relationship that the mere thought of seeing one of those cross Gregory’s face was abominable.
It was easy to agree when Gregory told him that he needed to stop working so hard. It was easy to be told that his boss was a jerk (Mycroft had tried to work out whether that meant the Queen or whether he had become his own boss, but had given up after going in circles for four minutes. He had eventually decided to take the British People, in their most abstract, vague state, as his boss, and heartily agreed with Gregory on that point).
It was so much simpler to be who Gregory thought he was. And at this point, explanations would be long-winded and tedious and possibly end with the relationship unsalvageable.
He signed a name a little savagely on a dotted line (not his own name, of course).
He was, in fact, in a relationship. Which seemed to be working well, so far, and he was enjoying himself.
“You seem happy, sir,” his assistant said. “Last night’s date go well?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The only small, tiny, minuscule, unimportant little problem was that Gregory still had no idea exactly what it was the Mycroft did.
He thought that he was the more normal of the Holmes’ brothers, when both of them would probably protest that. He thought that Mycroft was a paper pusher, which was in essence correct. It was so much easier to deal with problems on paper than it was to deal with them in person. Things got messy when you dealt with them in person. It was why Sherlock insisted on it. The boy loved chaos.
Gregory thought that he was unimportant and mostly powerless, and Mycroft wanted things to stay that way.
Suspicion and fear were the most common reactions to finding out how powerful he really was. From somewhere he had grown so invested in this relationship that the mere thought of seeing one of those cross Gregory’s face was abominable.
It was easy to agree when Gregory told him that he needed to stop working so hard. It was easy to be told that his boss was a jerk (Mycroft had tried to work out whether that meant the Queen or whether he had become his own boss, but had given up after going in circles for four minutes. He had eventually decided to take the British People, in their most abstract, vague state, as his boss, and heartily agreed with Gregory on that point).
It was so much simpler to be who Gregory thought he was. And at this point, explanations would be long-winded and tedious and possibly end with the relationship unsalvageable.
He signed a name a little savagely on a dotted line (not his own name, of course).
*
Reply
Leave a comment