Re: Fill: Sometimes Even ‘The British Government’ Has An Off Night - Pt 4/5random_nexusJune 26 2011, 03:13:28 UTC
It was dark and cold and everything was made of jagged edges and loud throbbing sounds; Mycroft resisted, struggling blindly to curl in to a ball and stay there, but a familiar voice drew his attention. The pounding, throbbing pain kept him from understanding the words, but he’d recognise his brother’s voice anywhere. Shaking his head, he groaned as the world swirled around him, sickeningly, uncontrollably, and his stomach lurched.
“I said be still, Mycroft.” The words wavered into existence, muffled and odd, but understandable now. “One of my people saw what was happening, recognised Lestrade, and fetched us to you both. An ambulance is on the way. Now, lie still and let John have a look at you.”
With a sound that was meant to be ‘yes’, but which came out as one long sibilant, Mycroft agreed. Sherlock knew, obviously, for a familiar hand caught his own and squeezed. When Mycroft tried to lift his head, the darkness swirled up and caught him in a vice-like grip that made acid roll up from his gut, bright spots and shards dancing on the insides of his eyelids before snatching him away again.
He drifted out of nothingness to a different, but still familiar voice. “It’s me, Mycroft. It’s John, alright?” John said, sounding calm and soothing. “I’m being as gentle as I can, I promise.”
“Greg’ry?” Mycroft managed to mumble, his mouth uncoordinated and tasting foul. Light touches upon his face and then his chest made him grunt and wince.
“He was a bit knocked about, but he’s on his feet again, don’t worry.” Another kind, light touch rested upon Mycroft’s aching head, keeping him from lifting it. He had something yielding under his cheek, it smelled like wool and Sherlock. “Don’t move your head, you’ve got a concussion. Help’s on the way.”
“Where… is… he?” Speaking at all took more concentration than Mycroft could believe, those three words, spoken clearly, made him pant from the effort.
He was just beginning to think he hadn’t spoken aloud after all when John answered. “He’s with Sherlock. They’ll be back soon.”
“What?” What were they doing? What wasn’t John saying? He couldn’t think and speaking again would surely make his head explode.
“Shh… easy.” Sighing barely loudly enough for Mycroft to hear, John said, “they’re after the one that was… working you over when we arrived. He ran, catching up one of his mates and dragging him along with him.” His tone grew harder, flatter, and Mycroft heard the soldier in him, the core of steel beneath the woolly jumpers and unassuming expressions of politeness. “They won’t get away.”
Instead of being alarmed, Mycroft let out a long, relieved breath and stopped struggling to get himself in order. If Sherlock wanted them found, the men would be found, but Gregory would keep Sherlock from killing them while Mycroft wasn’t able to do anything about dealing with damage control.
“Thanks,” he managed to sigh as he surrendered to the darkness fully, knowing he was in good hands and that things were being dealt with properly-or, at least, satisfactorily.
Re: Fill: Sometimes Even ‘The British Government’ Has An Off Night - Pt 5a/5random_nexusJune 26 2011, 03:18:58 UTC
"My? C'mon, My, I know you're in there," Lestrade's voice gradually evolved into something Mycroft recognised. Low, a bit hoarse, sounding much as he did when he sometimes woke Mycroft early from a sound sleep before they both had to leave their comfortable bed and face the world. But there wasn't gentle lust in his tone now, there was... an undercurrent of something tense, fear? Worry? "My? Mycroft? Don't just lie there frowning at me, open your eyes, love."
"Gregory... what..." Mycroft's voice seemed inordinately loud in his own head and he lost track of what he was about to ask when the blurry shape above him resolved at last. "Dear Lord, your beautiful face!" Mycroft groaned in dismay, trying to reach up for Lestrade with an arm that felt as if it weighed ten stone.
Lestrade's left eye was swollen shut, his jaw and a spot on his forehead were almost black with more bruising, and he bore a livid red patch on his chin where the skin was abraded. His nose was swollen and a bandage hid the bridge. A scabbed-over split was just visible at the corner of Lestrade's mouth, and another a little to the left of center on his lower lip. Mycroft's fingers just touched the right side of his face, despite the struggle to lift his arm. "It looks worse than it feels," Lestrade murmured.
"It looks horrible." Despite having seen much worse, having caused much worse on a few occasions, Mycroft felt the backs of his eyes stinging with the urge to cry; this was his beautiful lover, his dearest friend, and one of the best men he had the privilege to know. It was a travesty that the features he adored so much should be marred so, by something so loathsomely hateful as the base fists of small-minded idiots not fit to touch Gregory Lestrade's shoes. "Oh, my dear, I'm sorry."
"What're you apologising for?" The tenderness in Lestrade's voice forces one of those burgeoning tears to squeeze out of the corner of Mycroft's eye. "It was those bloody chavs-hey, hey, now!" Breaking off, battered features pulling into a deeper version of worry, Lestrade brought one hand up to Mycroft's face, fingertips erasing that lone line of insistent moisture before it ran back into the hair at his temple. "I'm here, you're here, it's going to be alright."
Shaking his head, despite the fact that the movement was nauseatingly disturbing, Mycroft had to close his eyes.
"No, no, stay with me, My," Lestrade said urgently. "Come on now, love." The worry in his voice increased, though Mycroft heard the gentle urging more clearly and opened his eyes again. "Speak to me, let me know those brilliant brains aren't scrambled." His attempt at humour was weak, at best, but all it did was increase the sting in Mycroft's eyes.
"I should have had the car waiting, not on stand-by.” He was aware some of his distress was simply a reaction to being hurt, a fairly natural inclination to emotionalism in the wake of danger and physical damage. Yet, no matter how much he told himself this, he couldn't stop feeling utterly wretched that his lack of foresight had put his lover-yes, yes, and himself-in harm's way.
“Mycroft Holmes, you listen to me.” Lestrade leant down, his fierce frown somewhat thrown off its effectiveness by his battered face. “What happened was not your fault! It's the fault of those-" He broke off, no doubt to keep himself from going off on a profane tangent.
"What of them?" Mycroft asked into his sudden pause. Surely he would have word from his own people as soon as they knew he was cognisant, but Lestrade must have some information.
Re: Fill: Sometimes Even ‘The British Government’ Has An Off Night - Pt 5b/5 random_nexusJune 26 2011, 03:22:20 UTC
"Three of them stayed put till they were picked up," Lestrade answered with an understandably harsh edge to his tone. "One ran, helping one of his friends for a while before dumping him to try and get away." Gently taking Mycroft's hand, Lestrade’s expression-such as could be deciphered-turned to one of grim satisfaction. "Sherlock helped me find them. They're both in custody, as well."
"Are they?" He hadn't meant to sound surprised, but he was a realist and had been prepared for the worst.
“They’re all being charged with assaulting a police officer, and anything else I can make stick that even vaguely applies.” A smile tried to creep across Lestrade's face, making him wince, and he nodded. "I had a bit of trouble convincing Sherlock to leave them to us, but he finally listened."
"Is he alright?" Of course Lestrade would know Mycroft didn't mean physically.
"I had to turn him over to John to keep him from following me into A & E, still ranting." A soft chuckle escaped him. "That man has a gift for managing your brother, My, I have to tell you."
“You needn’t tell me,” Mycroft said, smiling a little, the strange melancholy that had been welling up in him, as if from his very bones, now fading a bit. “That’s why I approve of John Watson, despite what my brother thinks my opinion may be. He’s good for Sherlock.” He let out a long, soft breath, his affection for his lover filling him, making his voice want to catch in this throat. “Like you’re good for me, Gregory.”
Nodding, smiling as much as he could without too much pain, Lestrade bent and kissed Mycroft, tenderly, lovingly. “And you’re good for me, Mycroft.” He caught the shift of Mycroft’s expression, being far more observant than Mycroft had initially thought him-and more so now that he’d been influenced by both Holmes brothers-and shook his head, kissing him again to prevent the words that he had been about to say. “No. You are, always will be, and this… what’s happened? Doesn’t change that in the slightest.”
“I can’t just let this go, Gregory,” Mycroft told him gravely. He could manage to allow the animals to be dealt with by the courts-it was highly unlikely they would receive anything but the strongest possible sentence, without Mycroft even interfering-but the fact that this sort of thing could happen to anyone in this day and age… it appalled him. Whether it was he who took the blows or someone else, the fact that those individuals thought they had that right, in the first place, was inherently wrong on the deepest levels.
“No, you can’t. We can’t.” Lestrade shook his head, his voice a little graver, as well. “We’ll do everything we can, of course, but the most important thing?” He leant down and kissed Mycroft; giving him several soft, lingering, loving and yet chaste kisses. “We won’t let them make us afraid. We’ll live our lives, love one another with everything we’ve got, and provide an example for others.”
Mycroft’s smile happened almost without his will, creeping across his face and warming him from within. “Now that is exactly why they keep choosing you to speak to the press, my love.” Lestrade snorted gently and shook his head, but Mycroft added before he could comment, “that and you’re-barring incidents like this-one of their sexiest Inspectors.”
Re: Fill: Sometimes Even ‘The British Government’ Has An Off Night - Pt 5c/5 [END]random_nexusJune 26 2011, 03:26:08 UTC
“You are just a bit biased, My,” Lestrade told him dryly, but leaned down and kissed him again, nevertheless; which suited Mycroft just fine. “Would it hurt your poor ribs too badly if I got up onto the edge of the bed with you?”
“What about yours?” Mycroft countered, he had seen how stiffly his lover moved and sat; even so, he carefully edged over to the far side of the hospital bed.
“Mine aren’t broken, yours are.” He still eases down onto the side of the bed. “I expect we’ll scandalise the nurse when she comes to check on you.”
“I could not care less just now,” Mycroft murmured as his beloved carefully… so, so carefully… snuggled in next to him.
“Well, then, neither do I,” Lestrade replied quietly as he tried to find a comfortable spot, wincing and grunting a bit as it seemed something of his or Mycroft’s hurt no matter what he did. “You know, when you come home, this is going to be rather awkward for a while, love.”
“It’s merely a matter of time, Gregory,” Mycroft told him with firm reassurance as they found a position for Lestrade that didn’t hurt too much for either of them and yet still allowed them to be close. “Just a matter of time and everything will be alright.”
“Or else?” Lestrade asked on a soft breath of a chuckle.
Mycroft nodded once, gingerly cuddling into his love’s side. “Or else, indeed.”
Re: Fill: Sometimes Even ‘The British Government’ Has An Off Night - Pt 5b/5 darthhellokittyJune 26 2011, 06:18:34 UTC
Yay! This is very well done - I can imagine John had a very hard time keeping Sherlock from killing those idiots. Mycroft and Lestrade are very sweet together.
“I said be still, Mycroft.” The words wavered into existence, muffled and odd, but understandable now. “One of my people saw what was happening, recognised Lestrade, and fetched us to you both. An ambulance is on the way. Now, lie still and let John have a look at you.”
With a sound that was meant to be ‘yes’, but which came out as one long sibilant, Mycroft agreed. Sherlock knew, obviously, for a familiar hand caught his own and squeezed. When Mycroft tried to lift his head, the darkness swirled up and caught him in a vice-like grip that made acid roll up from his gut, bright spots and shards dancing on the insides of his eyelids before snatching him away again.
He drifted out of nothingness to a different, but still familiar voice. “It’s me, Mycroft. It’s John, alright?” John said, sounding calm and soothing. “I’m being as gentle as I can, I promise.”
“Greg’ry?” Mycroft managed to mumble, his mouth uncoordinated and tasting foul. Light touches upon his face and then his chest made him grunt and wince.
“He was a bit knocked about, but he’s on his feet again, don’t worry.” Another kind, light touch rested upon Mycroft’s aching head, keeping him from lifting it. He had something yielding under his cheek, it smelled like wool and Sherlock. “Don’t move your head, you’ve got a concussion. Help’s on the way.”
“Where… is… he?” Speaking at all took more concentration than Mycroft could believe, those three words, spoken clearly, made him pant from the effort.
He was just beginning to think he hadn’t spoken aloud after all when John answered. “He’s with Sherlock. They’ll be back soon.”
“What?” What were they doing? What wasn’t John saying? He couldn’t think and speaking again would surely make his head explode.
“Shh… easy.” Sighing barely loudly enough for Mycroft to hear, John said, “they’re after the one that was… working you over when we arrived. He ran, catching up one of his mates and dragging him along with him.” His tone grew harder, flatter, and Mycroft heard the soldier in him, the core of steel beneath the woolly jumpers and unassuming expressions of politeness. “They won’t get away.”
Instead of being alarmed, Mycroft let out a long, relieved breath and stopped struggling to get himself in order. If Sherlock wanted them found, the men would be found, but Gregory would keep Sherlock from killing them while Mycroft wasn’t able to do anything about dealing with damage control.
“Thanks,” he managed to sigh as he surrendered to the darkness fully, knowing he was in good hands and that things were being dealt with properly-or, at least, satisfactorily.
~~~
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"Gregory... what..." Mycroft's voice seemed inordinately loud in his own head and he lost track of what he was about to ask when the blurry shape above him resolved at last. "Dear Lord, your beautiful face!" Mycroft groaned in dismay, trying to reach up for Lestrade with an arm that felt as if it weighed ten stone.
Lestrade's left eye was swollen shut, his jaw and a spot on his forehead were almost black with more bruising, and he bore a livid red patch on his chin where the skin was abraded. His nose was swollen and a bandage hid the bridge. A scabbed-over split was just visible at the corner of Lestrade's mouth, and another a little to the left of center on his lower lip. Mycroft's fingers just touched the right side of his face, despite the struggle to lift his arm. "It looks worse than it feels," Lestrade murmured.
"It looks horrible." Despite having seen much worse, having caused much worse on a few occasions, Mycroft felt the backs of his eyes stinging with the urge to cry; this was his beautiful lover, his dearest friend, and one of the best men he had the privilege to know. It was a travesty that the features he adored so much should be marred so, by something so loathsomely hateful as the base fists of small-minded idiots not fit to touch Gregory Lestrade's shoes. "Oh, my dear, I'm sorry."
"What're you apologising for?" The tenderness in Lestrade's voice forces one of those burgeoning tears to squeeze out of the corner of Mycroft's eye. "It was those bloody chavs-hey, hey, now!" Breaking off, battered features pulling into a deeper version of worry, Lestrade brought one hand up to Mycroft's face, fingertips erasing that lone line of insistent moisture before it ran back into the hair at his temple. "I'm here, you're here, it's going to be alright."
Shaking his head, despite the fact that the movement was nauseatingly disturbing, Mycroft had to close his eyes.
"No, no, stay with me, My," Lestrade said urgently. "Come on now, love." The worry in his voice increased, though Mycroft heard the gentle urging more clearly and opened his eyes again. "Speak to me, let me know those brilliant brains aren't scrambled." His attempt at humour was weak, at best, but all it did was increase the sting in Mycroft's eyes.
"I should have had the car waiting, not on stand-by.” He was aware some of his distress was simply a reaction to being hurt, a fairly natural inclination to emotionalism in the wake of danger and physical damage. Yet, no matter how much he told himself this, he couldn't stop feeling utterly wretched that his lack of foresight had put his lover-yes, yes, and himself-in harm's way.
“Mycroft Holmes, you listen to me.” Lestrade leant down, his fierce frown somewhat thrown off its effectiveness by his battered face. “What happened was not your fault! It's the fault of those-" He broke off, no doubt to keep himself from going off on a profane tangent.
"What of them?" Mycroft asked into his sudden pause. Surely he would have word from his own people as soon as they knew he was cognisant, but Lestrade must have some information.
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"Are they?" He hadn't meant to sound surprised, but he was a realist and had been prepared for the worst.
“They’re all being charged with assaulting a police officer, and anything else I can make stick that even vaguely applies.” A smile tried to creep across Lestrade's face, making him wince, and he nodded. "I had a bit of trouble convincing Sherlock to leave them to us, but he finally listened."
"Is he alright?" Of course Lestrade would know Mycroft didn't mean physically.
"I had to turn him over to John to keep him from following me into A & E, still ranting." A soft chuckle escaped him. "That man has a gift for managing your brother, My, I have to tell you."
“You needn’t tell me,” Mycroft said, smiling a little, the strange melancholy that had been welling up in him, as if from his very bones, now fading a bit. “That’s why I approve of John Watson, despite what my brother thinks my opinion may be. He’s good for Sherlock.” He let out a long, soft breath, his affection for his lover filling him, making his voice want to catch in this throat. “Like you’re good for me, Gregory.”
Nodding, smiling as much as he could without too much pain, Lestrade bent and kissed Mycroft, tenderly, lovingly. “And you’re good for me, Mycroft.” He caught the shift of Mycroft’s expression, being far more observant than Mycroft had initially thought him-and more so now that he’d been influenced by both Holmes brothers-and shook his head, kissing him again to prevent the words that he had been about to say. “No. You are, always will be, and this… what’s happened? Doesn’t change that in the slightest.”
“I can’t just let this go, Gregory,” Mycroft told him gravely. He could manage to allow the animals to be dealt with by the courts-it was highly unlikely they would receive anything but the strongest possible sentence, without Mycroft even interfering-but the fact that this sort of thing could happen to anyone in this day and age… it appalled him. Whether it was he who took the blows or someone else, the fact that those individuals thought they had that right, in the first place, was inherently wrong on the deepest levels.
“No, you can’t. We can’t.” Lestrade shook his head, his voice a little graver, as well. “We’ll do everything we can, of course, but the most important thing?” He leant down and kissed Mycroft; giving him several soft, lingering, loving and yet chaste kisses. “We won’t let them make us afraid. We’ll live our lives, love one another with everything we’ve got, and provide an example for others.”
Mycroft’s smile happened almost without his will, creeping across his face and warming him from within. “Now that is exactly why they keep choosing you to speak to the press, my love.” Lestrade snorted gently and shook his head, but Mycroft added before he could comment, “that and you’re-barring incidents like this-one of their sexiest Inspectors.”
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“What about yours?” Mycroft countered, he had seen how stiffly his lover moved and sat; even so, he carefully edged over to the far side of the hospital bed.
“Mine aren’t broken, yours are.” He still eases down onto the side of the bed. “I expect we’ll scandalise the nurse when she comes to check on you.”
“I could not care less just now,” Mycroft murmured as his beloved carefully… so, so carefully… snuggled in next to him.
“Well, then, neither do I,” Lestrade replied quietly as he tried to find a comfortable spot, wincing and grunting a bit as it seemed something of his or Mycroft’s hurt no matter what he did. “You know, when you come home, this is going to be rather awkward for a while, love.”
“It’s merely a matter of time, Gregory,” Mycroft told him with firm reassurance as they found a position for Lestrade that didn’t hurt too much for either of them and yet still allowed them to be close. “Just a matter of time and everything will be alright.”
“Or else?” Lestrade asked on a soft breath of a chuckle.
Mycroft nodded once, gingerly cuddling into his love’s side. “Or else, indeed.”
~~~
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And they definately deserved those snuggles at the end :)
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Thanks so much!
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Superb, my dear. So well written as to make me grit my teeth and then melt my heart both at the same time. I think we're even now. :)
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VERY glad to know you enjoyed. 'I think we're even now.' Okay, then. *grin*
Thank you muchly, bebe!
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I agree, sometimes I think people can underscore the rough stuff too hard, but tastes vary.
Oh, my, I so appreciate your telling me the bits that particularly caught your attention! *happy bouncing*
Thank you, bebe, oodles and bunches, for the lovely comment!
<3
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Thanks so much for the comment!
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