Start Out Small, Oneshot (Part 2)
Series: Sherlock (BBC, 2010, TV)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Gregory Lestrade, John Watson
Couple: Mycroft/Lestrade, Sherlock/John
Title: Start Out Small
Word Count: 4257
Chapter: 2/2
Status: Complete
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Sherlock is owned by BBC and whoever else is on a list of errata that probably is longer than I am tall. I have no claim on it.
Summary: Lestrade had a plan, he really did, until Sherlock showed up and blew it out of the water.
“So you’re back to seeing her.”
Greg looked up at Donovan as she loomed over him. “What?”
“Your mystery woman.” Rather than before, when she found great amusement in it, she looked deadly serious.
He blinked. “Donovan…can we focus on the dead body?” he asked, gesturing to the corpse. Sherlock hadn’t shown up yet, dragging John behind, so he figured this was far too menial for him. Not that he needed his help.
“Sir, you crashed so hard when you stopped seeing her months ago. Why are you getting back together with her?”
Frustrated, he stood up. “First of all, how do you know any of that, and second, even if I was seeing someone, what makes you think it’s the same one? Also, dead body..”
“Come on, sir, we’re not stupid, so stop treating us like we are.”
He groaned and stalked back, trying to ignore Donovan as she followed behind him, throwing concerned words at his back that whoever he was with clearly didn’t care as much as he did. All the things concerned friends were supposed to say, he supposed. He’d said similar things back in college when his buddies ended up in bad relationships.
Yet he wasn’t sure what he was doing with Mycroft quite yet qualified as a ‘relationship’. They’d had one date the previous week and then said man had been unceremoniously yanked from the country. He knew that Mycroft hated texting and he’d found himself absurdly flattered that the smart man had deigned to send him one a few days ago. It had been short, nothing more than simply wishing him well, and…
I miss you. -MH
The three words had haunted him since he’d received them. The moment he’d read them, he’d wanted to get on a plane, fly to wherever Mycroft was, and kiss him so hard he’d lose his mind. Yet he hadn’t been able to do that; instead he’d tried to concentrate on work and pretend nothing had happened. Apparently he hadn’t been doing a very good job of it if Donovan was on a tirade.
Greg tried to get in the car and get moving before Donovan could join him, but she yanked the keys from his hand and insisted on driving. This was going to be a long drive and in the interests of keeping his sanity, he had to tell her something.
“Look, before…it was just sex. We had a big argument about it because I felt more and…we broke it off for a bit.” He wanted to be completely honest, but without knowing Mycroft’s input, he had to swallow the words. Yet he couldn’t quite make himself say ‘she’. The last thing he wanted to do was create a diplomatic incident for Mycroft that he wasn’t even around to handle. “We talked about two weeks ago again, when we admitted we both had feelings for each other, and we’re taking things slow.”
“We’re just worried about you. You’re in this pretty deep and we saw what was happening with you because of Sheila before you met this girl.”
He couldn’t really argue with her. He had fallen for Mycroft hard, that was entirely true, and he was beginning to believe that maybe it actually was reciprocated. Which made the elder Holmes’ absence even worse. If he had known that Mycroft was going to be leaving the country a mere two days after their first official date, he probably would have broken his own mental rule to hold off sex for a bit.
“I’ll be fine,” he tried to reassure her.
“Well, if this is serious, you have to introduce her to us.”
“…Since when?”
“Do you want us to ask the freak to tell us? He’d find out.”
God, Sherlock would tell them too. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from lording it over them that he’d known from the very beginning. Trying to throw water on that fire, he lied, “Do you really think Sherlock would care who I’m dating? He’d just throw you out of the flat with a colorful ‘don’t bother me’.”
It seemed to work because Donovan’s shoulders slumped a little. “You’re probably right.”
This was going to be a long day…
-0-
Though he knew there wouldn’t be, Greg checked his phone for another text from Mycroft besides that one. He sighed a little and wished he could just unbend enough to text back and ask when he would be returning, but he couldn’t quite make himself do so. This was Mycroft’s job and he knew that going into this mess.
He was about to put the phone down when it came to life in his hand, buzzing as it rang. When it popped up ‘Number blocked’, he felt his heart pick up speed.
“Gregory.”
He felt himself smile and with the door to his office closed, he didn’t bother to fight it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair. “Mycroft. Didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Why is that?”
“Well…you’re working and with different time zones… What time is it there, wherever you are?”
“2:52 am.”
“What are you doing talking to me, when you should be in bed?” he chastised.
“I wanted to hear your voice.”
Greg felt the precious voice Mycroft had called him at three in the morning to hear strangle in his throat. A flush went up his cheeks and he cursed himself for being too embarrassed to say anything like that in return. He couldn’t even get the words ‘I miss you’ out. It had been so long since he’d had to say anything of that nature and as he got older, apparently one became so much more cowardly…
“Uh…thanks…I think?”
Mycroft chuckled at him. “As I’m sure you’re busy, and as you have pointed out, I should be asleep, I will say my goodbyes.”
“Y-Yeah. Sleep well, Mycroft.”
“Goodnight, Gregory.”
Before he could chicken out, he texted, I miss you. It felt so inadequate as to how he felt, how happy that even though Mycroft really should be sleeping, and that he was probably so exhausted after all his work, and yet he’d called him… Refusing to change his mind, he sent another text a second later. I love you. He loved everything about Mycroft. How he put his initials after his texts, how he smiled, the fact that he was so hardworking. He was dedicated, he was understanding, he was really, really hot-
His phone quickly starting buzzing again and he answered without thinking, “Lestrade.”
“Gregory…”
His name was almost a growl and he felt his stomach hit his feet. It sounded almost…reproving? “Shouldn’t you be in bed-”
“Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.”
Sweat broke out on his palms. Had he really screwed up somehow? But Mycroft knew about his feelings… “Yeah?”
There was a moment’s pause and when Mycroft spoke again, his voice was no longer a growl, but that faint disapproval was still there. “Those words should not be texted to me. While I accept that telling them to me face-to-face is not a current possibility, you should have told me them during our conversation.”
By the end of his sentence, Greg could detect a hint of amusement amid the disapproval and he felt a rush of relief. Damn Mycroft for that mini meltdown! “I wasn’t sure if I should. It’s hard enough you’re not here to actually see, I didn’t want to make it harder for both of us. And…well…I was too embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?”
He glanced at the door, but it remained solidly closed. Sherlock of the perpetual bad timing was still apparently occupied. “Yeah. Mycroft, I’m almost forty now and I was married for almost twenty years. I haven’t felt this kind of feeling for long time. I forget what the rules are to this kind of thing and it’s…kind of a first for me, falling for a bloke. Sure, when I was in university, I experimented sleeping with men, but I didn’t really fall for any of them. Then I met Sheila and we know what happened after that. Then there’s the fact that it’s you to consider.”
“Me?”
“Look, you really should be asleep right now-”
“Gregory…”
He sighed and picked at his pack of sticky notes, staring at them even though he wasn’t really seeing them. “You’re Mycroft bloody Cecil Holmes. You’re…you. I’m just trying to get over the fact that we’re in this…relationship. I don’t know what the boundaries are in regards to your work, or what you like, or what would make you comfortable. I don’t know what’s ‘too fast’ and what’s not. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s new enough, falling in love with a man at my age, but add the fact that I fell for a man smarter than the combined intelligence of the country, is sexy enough to be a model, and is an amazing person, and I’m kind of at sea.” When there was no reply to that, he muttered, “You asked. I tried to warn you.”
The intake of breath he heard was shaky. “Gregory, if I were in the country right now, I would drag you into my bed, everything else bedamned.” He flushed again. “I understand your concerns, but I can assure you, it’s fine. Do whatever you feel like doing. There are no ‘rules’ you should be concerned with.”
“But your position-”
“Is secure,” Mycroft interrupted. “While I hardly think it prudent to place either of us on morning talk shows declaring our feelings, I can handle anything that might come to pass.”
Somehow he wasn’t quite sure he believed that Mycroft would be happy to have anyone find out he was dating a man. “So if I told my squad that I was dating Sherlock’s brother, you’d be okay with it?” he asked skeptically.
“Yes.”
“If I asked you to meet my father?”
“I would, provided our schedules didn’t interfere. Gregory, the reason for the secrecy in the beginning was not for me, it was for you. I can weather any perceived ‘scandal’, but you could lose any chance for further promotions and it can cause difficulty if those you work with disagree with the relationship.”
“That’s fine,” he said honestly. “I think it’ll be an adjustment for my team, but they’ll get used to it and as for promotions…I’m not sure I’d want to go any further anyway. I like where I’m at and I’m not a bureaucrat. I’d be terrible at the kinds of things they’d want me to do. I know that if I did get promoted, I wouldn’t be out in the field that much and we’d have more time together, supposedly, but…”
“You’re happy where you are.”
“Yeah. Is that…a problem?”
“Hardly.”
“Well…good. Now, you really need to sleep.”
“You expect that I could sleep after your texts?”
He was a grown man; he shouldn’t be blushing! “Go to sleep, Mycroft!”
“Very well.”
Before he could rethink his decision, he ended the call and let out a deep breath. It was definitely going to be a much better day than he’d thought.
-0-
“Your sulking has gotten worse.”
Greg and John both blinked at the sudden interruption from a terribly bored looking Sherlock. He’d finally uncurled from the sofa to stare at the two men. “What?”
“Ignore him, he’s been like that for the past two days. He doesn’t have a case,” John said with a roll of his eyes and a sip of his tea.
“Did he shoot the wall again?”
“You don’t even need to ask.”
“Lestrade, if you give me a case, I’ll tell you when Mycroft’s coming back. I’ll even tell you where you can meet him.”
“Wow, you’re desperate.” He did consider the offer. It had been a week since that conversation, bringing Mycroft’s absence to almost three full weeks by that point.
“So are you.”
He couldn’t argue with that. He wanted to see Mycroft again and he didn’t even have so much as a picture of him on his phone. He really needed to take a shot of his boyfriend, or get Anthea to send him one, if the man was going to be on a trip this long in the future.
“I suppose I could, but what makes you think I have any new cases that you haven’t already gone through that you’d be interested in?”
“There has to be something in your cold case files,” the consulting detective whined.
There really wasn’t anything new in there that Sherlock didn’t already know. He had gone through those long ago and took any that had appealed to him. “You know everything I have, Sherlock.” As the man went on a ‘bored!’ tirade about how the world was going to rot, Greg racked his brain to find something for him. He could just ask Mycroft, he supposed, but he tried not to interfere too much with the diplomat. The last thing he needed was to be interrupted in the middle of his sleep wherever he was.
“I can put in a word for you in another district so you can look at their cold cases. Best I can do, Sherlock.”
He didn’t think it’d be well-received, but apparently Sherlock really was that desperate. “Good! John, we’re leaving!”
“Hey, you were going to tell me when Mycroft’s coming back-”
“Sherlock, you can’t go out in your pajamas--”
“Petty details, the both of you.” Sherlock stalked past them, but he did end up heading to his bedroom rather than the door, throwing off his dressing gown onto the table as he went.
“You know, you’re going to have to tell him eventually,” Greg commented.
John, eyes still where Sherlock had disappeared to, turned back to him. “What?”
“That you fancy him.”
“But I-I suppose there’s no point in denying it is there?” John admitted, quickly letting go of any denial he’d been about to say. “What good would it do?”
“You never know. Look what happened with Mycroft.”
“Mycroft isn’t Sherlock.”
“No. Sherlock is easier.”
“Bollocks to that!”
“No, listen to me. Isn’t he? He tells you exactly what he’s thinking at every moment and even if he doesn’t, you just have to ask and he’ll spill it. Besides, he’s possessive as hell and it’s pretty clear he adores you.”
John coughed in an absurdly fake way, saying as he did so, “Pot calling kettle black.”
Before he could respond, Sherlock was back and throwing a folded piece of paper and a plastic I.D. at him. “That’s Mycroft’s private landing pad. He’ll be arriving in an hour. That card will get you in. John, come.”
“An hour!”
Wow, he must have been really grateful for the diversion… He watched as John sighed and headed out first, but Sherlock stood in the doorway until his partner was out of earshot. “That’s not for the cold cases.”
Somehow he hadn’t thought it was. It was too…generous for something like that. “Figured not. What’s it for?”
Sherlock finally looked at him and said, “John.”
“So you heard that.”
“I get dressed faster than you talk.”
“Just don’t break his heart, Sherlock. He’s a good guy.”
“I have no such intentions.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
The smirk on his face sent a shiver down Greg’s spine. “I’m going to show Mycroft how it should be done.”
As the consulting detective left, he muttered, “I’m so sorry, John.” Whatever it was, would likely involve crowds and a lot of Sherlock antics. Poor John, he thought, finally looking at the address and abruptly getting up from his seat. It would take him almost the entire hour just to get there from where he currently was!
Damn that man!
-0-
Mycroft sighed, rubbing his eyes as he felt the jet slowly come to a stop. The last three weeks had been brutal. Not so much his job, but that he had missed his partner so much. He had never thought the feeling would be that strong, making him wonder if he had made a mistake in capitulating to his feelings. Yet the thought was momentary. He just had to work harder to keep himself focused in situations like that, and if that meant he didn’t quite dare sleep, so be it.
He handed the notebook full of papers he’d signed to his assistant before exiting the plane. His car was nearby, thankfully, and he really wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower-
“Sir.”
He turned at Anthea’s words, reaching up to grab another briefcase he must have forgotten, only to realize she wasn’t handing him something; she was pointing. Frowning a little, Mycroft followed the gesture with his eyes. He couldn’t help them as they went wide.
“Gregory…?”
Another car had just pulled up and out of that, stepping onto the tarmac of the private runway, was none other than his partner. How had he made it past security? How had he known when he’d be back and where? It wasn’t that Mycroft had begrudged the knowledge to the inspector, but he’d wanted to surprise him upon his return, preferably when he wasn’t jet-lagged as hell.
As the man approached, he tried again. “How did you get here-”
His question was preempted by a hand grabbing his tie and yanking him down into a blistering kiss. It sent life responding in his veins, and Mycroft dropped his briefcase on the tarmac without care. Before he could stop it, he’d grabbed the shorter man and pulled him close, quickly diving his tongue into his mouth in sheer desperation. Lestrade’s arms wrapped around his neck and his amazing brain just…stopped. He forgot that Anthea and his driver were right there, watching. He forgot that he was tired or that there were still things to do. He had Gregory.
“Mycroft…” he heard muffled against his lips. “Mycroft…!”
“What?” he finally broke the kiss to ask, a flash of irritation.
“…You can’t undress me right here.”
He blinked. Sure enough, somehow his hands had disposed of the man’s jacket and was now lying on the ground, he wasn’t sure where the tie had gone, and three shirt buttons were open. “…My apologies.”
“No apologies needed. I, uh…well…”
At the helpless gesture, Mycroft looked down at himself. Gregory had loosened his tie and released the buttons on his coat, jacket, and cravat by the time they’d managed to get to their senses. He chuckled a little and pulled the man close one more time. The kiss this time was more controlled, less lust and more affection. Oh, how he’d missed him. No amount of pictures he’d brought with him made up for the inspector in person; to be able to touch him, smell his cologne, and to hear his laugh in person, rather than over the phone, was a privilege that had been taken away from him for three weeks.
“…Sir?”
He ignored Anthea’s verbal prodding in favor of holding his dear Gregory tighter, stealing another kiss.
“Sir, would like me to clear your schedules for the rest of the day?”
Finally, he pulled away enough to say, “Now that is an excellent idea, Anthea.”
“Wait, schedules? Mine too?”
“Of course. There’s no purpose in clearing mine if yours isn’t as well.”
Rather than getting upset, which he would admit to fearing the moment he’d said the words, his partner laughed. “I suppose I can’t object then.”
“Good.” His arm slipped around the man’s waist as he began to lead him to his car nearby.
“But my coat and my car-what happened to my tie?”
“Anthea will take care of it,” he assured him, as he ushered him into the back seat, following him quickly. “Now you really must tell me how you knew of my landing, and where. And how you managed to get past security.”
“Oh, that. Sherlock.”
He really should have known. His little brother just loved to meddle. “Which I.D. did he give this time?”
“Well, I’d give it to you, but it’s in my coat jacket. That’s lying on the ground back there.”
Mycroft shook his head a little, but he was amused, rather than an annoyed. The things Gregory did to his mood. “I can’t be angry with him in this one instance.”
“You’re not angry with him at all, don’t deny it.”
He watched in interest as the detective inspector eased over to straddle his waist. “In the car, dearest?” he asked teasingly, flicking at a nearby button to raise a divider between the back seat and the front. He had thought they were entirely unnecessary when Anthea had had the cars done a year or two back, but it had seemed too much of a pain to remove them. Now, he was actually pleased he hadn’t gone through the effort to get rid of them.
“I just need to kiss you again and this is the easiest position to do that in.”
Mycroft hummed in an unconvinced fashion, but he brought their lips together in delight all the same. “Dear me,” he murmured, “I do believe you’ve conquered England.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” was the teasing reply.
“You’d have the British Government on its knees if it were feasible at the moment.”
“How about you kneel your loyalty to me later and just bloody kiss me again?”
He chuckled at the half-impatient reply and did as ordered, enjoying the way those hands slid underneath his many layers to touch his chest through his white shirt. The kiss morphed in a casual way as Gregory kissed down his neck. Not even the vibration of Mycroft’s mobile interrupted him. Instead, his hand eased over to the pocket it was in and pulled it out.
He looked at the caller I.D. and smirked. “Answer it.”
Without even looking, the detective inspector hit the green button and Mycroft said, as he hit the speaker phone button, “What do you want?”
“What did you do to your clearance this time, Mycroft? My cards don’t work,” Sherlock complained.
“Sherlock! Jesus!” Gregory jerked back from his neck and dropped the phone as if it was made of fire, where it landed in Mycroft’s lap, right next to a suspicious bulge.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Lestrade. Mycroft-”
“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t take measures after your last stunt with my I.D., Sherlock?”
“I’ve tried all the usual passwords and they’re not working.”
“Are you admitting that I outsmarted you this time, little brother?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why have you called me, asking for it?” There was a moment of silence. “Ahh. I assure you, Gregory is quite fine.”
“I didn’t call because of him.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Well, he’ll at least stop sulking now.”
“I can hear you, you know,” the detective snapped, face red as a cherry.
“Shut up, Lestrade.”
“Where’s John?”
There was an abrupt disconnect to the call and they both looked at the phone together for a moment. “Do hand me my phone please, Gregory,” he asked, knowing the reaction that was going to occur and loving it.
His face turned even darker and he reached down to pick it up, his hand brushing against Mycroft’s bulge. “You’re terrible,” he muttered.
“I’m aware, yes,” Mycroft admitted, lightly gripping Gregory’s chin and pulling him in for a kiss. “I trust that it won’t cause you to object spending the rest of the day in my home?”
“You know I can’t refuse you, you bastard.” Gregory took a deep breath through his nose and admitted, “I missed you so much. Your voice, your aftershave, everything. I didn’t even have a picture.”
“Pictures don’t help. It only makes it worse,” he told him honestly. “Trust me on that.” Fingers eased to the base of Gregory’s spine and massaged there, listening to the soft moan that escaped. “Our communication must be limited with such long durations. If I hear you too much, I’ll miss you that much more and it would be too difficult to resist ending the trips prematurely.”
“I know, but…I love you.”
It was like Sherlock had kicked the wind out of him. Again. Sure he’d felt his chest seize and his stomach twist itself in knots when he’d read the text, but it was nothing in comparison to hear it being said. For a moment, just like when they’d kissed on the tarmac, he felt his brain just stop for a few, terrifying minutes as he could do nothing but feel the delighted adrenaline the words provoked.
“You said to say it face to face.”
“…My apologies,” he muttered after a minute, managing to gather his scattered wits. “I hadn’t quite expected how powerfully it would affect me, hearing you saying it in person.”
Gregory smiled brightly at that. “Now you know what you do to me all the time, whenever you’re around.”
He could only shake his head. To think he’d almost lost this all by living in denial. All the risk was worth it, just to be able to hold this feeling, bind Gregory to him tightly, so he’d never have to go without him again. “Never forget, Detective Inspector, that I love you just as much.”
“…Are we close to your place at all yet? Geez, listen to me, sounding like I’m twenty…”
Mycroft kissed at the heated cheeks. “Almost. Hold out a little longer and we’ll make up for all that lost time.”
“Tormenter.”
“I suppose I am. Do you mind?”
Oh, how much he loved that smile. “Not at all.”
-End-
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Gregory Lestrade, John Watson
Couple: Mycroft/Lestrade, Sherlock/John
Title: Start Out Small
Word Count: 4257
Chapter: 2/2
Status: Complete
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Sherlock is owned by BBC and whoever else is on a list of errata that probably is longer than I am tall. I have no claim on it.
Summary: Lestrade had a plan, he really did, until Sherlock showed up and blew it out of the water.
“So you’re back to seeing her.”
Greg looked up at Donovan as she loomed over him. “What?”
“Your mystery woman.” Rather than before, when she found great amusement in it, she looked deadly serious.
He blinked. “Donovan…can we focus on the dead body?” he asked, gesturing to the corpse. Sherlock hadn’t shown up yet, dragging John behind, so he figured this was far too menial for him. Not that he needed his help.
“Sir, you crashed so hard when you stopped seeing her months ago. Why are you getting back together with her?”
Frustrated, he stood up. “First of all, how do you know any of that, and second, even if I was seeing someone, what makes you think it’s the same one? Also, dead body..”
“Come on, sir, we’re not stupid, so stop treating us like we are.”
He groaned and stalked back, trying to ignore Donovan as she followed behind him, throwing concerned words at his back that whoever he was with clearly didn’t care as much as he did. All the things concerned friends were supposed to say, he supposed. He’d said similar things back in college when his buddies ended up in bad relationships.
Yet he wasn’t sure what he was doing with Mycroft quite yet qualified as a ‘relationship’. They’d had one date the previous week and then said man had been unceremoniously yanked from the country. He knew that Mycroft hated texting and he’d found himself absurdly flattered that the smart man had deigned to send him one a few days ago. It had been short, nothing more than simply wishing him well, and…
I miss you. -MH
The three words had haunted him since he’d received them. The moment he’d read them, he’d wanted to get on a plane, fly to wherever Mycroft was, and kiss him so hard he’d lose his mind. Yet he hadn’t been able to do that; instead he’d tried to concentrate on work and pretend nothing had happened. Apparently he hadn’t been doing a very good job of it if Donovan was on a tirade.
Greg tried to get in the car and get moving before Donovan could join him, but she yanked the keys from his hand and insisted on driving. This was going to be a long drive and in the interests of keeping his sanity, he had to tell her something.
“Look, before…it was just sex. We had a big argument about it because I felt more and…we broke it off for a bit.” He wanted to be completely honest, but without knowing Mycroft’s input, he had to swallow the words. Yet he couldn’t quite make himself say ‘she’. The last thing he wanted to do was create a diplomatic incident for Mycroft that he wasn’t even around to handle. “We talked about two weeks ago again, when we admitted we both had feelings for each other, and we’re taking things slow.”
“We’re just worried about you. You’re in this pretty deep and we saw what was happening with you because of Sheila before you met this girl.”
He couldn’t really argue with her. He had fallen for Mycroft hard, that was entirely true, and he was beginning to believe that maybe it actually was reciprocated. Which made the elder Holmes’ absence even worse. If he had known that Mycroft was going to be leaving the country a mere two days after their first official date, he probably would have broken his own mental rule to hold off sex for a bit.
“I’ll be fine,” he tried to reassure her.
“Well, if this is serious, you have to introduce her to us.”
“…Since when?”
“Do you want us to ask the freak to tell us? He’d find out.”
God, Sherlock would tell them too. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from lording it over them that he’d known from the very beginning. Trying to throw water on that fire, he lied, “Do you really think Sherlock would care who I’m dating? He’d just throw you out of the flat with a colorful ‘don’t bother me’.”
It seemed to work because Donovan’s shoulders slumped a little. “You’re probably right.”
This was going to be a long day…
-0-
Though he knew there wouldn’t be, Greg checked his phone for another text from Mycroft besides that one. He sighed a little and wished he could just unbend enough to text back and ask when he would be returning, but he couldn’t quite make himself do so. This was Mycroft’s job and he knew that going into this mess.
He was about to put the phone down when it came to life in his hand, buzzing as it rang. When it popped up ‘Number blocked’, he felt his heart pick up speed.
“Gregory.”
He felt himself smile and with the door to his office closed, he didn’t bother to fight it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair. “Mycroft. Didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Why is that?”
“Well…you’re working and with different time zones… What time is it there, wherever you are?”
“2:52 am.”
“What are you doing talking to me, when you should be in bed?” he chastised.
“I wanted to hear your voice.”
Greg felt the precious voice Mycroft had called him at three in the morning to hear strangle in his throat. A flush went up his cheeks and he cursed himself for being too embarrassed to say anything like that in return. He couldn’t even get the words ‘I miss you’ out. It had been so long since he’d had to say anything of that nature and as he got older, apparently one became so much more cowardly…
“Uh…thanks…I think?”
Mycroft chuckled at him. “As I’m sure you’re busy, and as you have pointed out, I should be asleep, I will say my goodbyes.”
“Y-Yeah. Sleep well, Mycroft.”
“Goodnight, Gregory.”
Before he could chicken out, he texted, I miss you. It felt so inadequate as to how he felt, how happy that even though Mycroft really should be sleeping, and that he was probably so exhausted after all his work, and yet he’d called him… Refusing to change his mind, he sent another text a second later. I love you. He loved everything about Mycroft. How he put his initials after his texts, how he smiled, the fact that he was so hardworking. He was dedicated, he was understanding, he was really, really hot-
His phone quickly starting buzzing again and he answered without thinking, “Lestrade.”
“Gregory…”
His name was almost a growl and he felt his stomach hit his feet. It sounded almost…reproving? “Shouldn’t you be in bed-”
“Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.”
Sweat broke out on his palms. Had he really screwed up somehow? But Mycroft knew about his feelings… “Yeah?”
There was a moment’s pause and when Mycroft spoke again, his voice was no longer a growl, but that faint disapproval was still there. “Those words should not be texted to me. While I accept that telling them to me face-to-face is not a current possibility, you should have told me them during our conversation.”
By the end of his sentence, Greg could detect a hint of amusement amid the disapproval and he felt a rush of relief. Damn Mycroft for that mini meltdown! “I wasn’t sure if I should. It’s hard enough you’re not here to actually see, I didn’t want to make it harder for both of us. And…well…I was too embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?”
He glanced at the door, but it remained solidly closed. Sherlock of the perpetual bad timing was still apparently occupied. “Yeah. Mycroft, I’m almost forty now and I was married for almost twenty years. I haven’t felt this kind of feeling for long time. I forget what the rules are to this kind of thing and it’s…kind of a first for me, falling for a bloke. Sure, when I was in university, I experimented sleeping with men, but I didn’t really fall for any of them. Then I met Sheila and we know what happened after that. Then there’s the fact that it’s you to consider.”
“Me?”
“Look, you really should be asleep right now-”
“Gregory…”
He sighed and picked at his pack of sticky notes, staring at them even though he wasn’t really seeing them. “You’re Mycroft bloody Cecil Holmes. You’re…you. I’m just trying to get over the fact that we’re in this…relationship. I don’t know what the boundaries are in regards to your work, or what you like, or what would make you comfortable. I don’t know what’s ‘too fast’ and what’s not. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s new enough, falling in love with a man at my age, but add the fact that I fell for a man smarter than the combined intelligence of the country, is sexy enough to be a model, and is an amazing person, and I’m kind of at sea.” When there was no reply to that, he muttered, “You asked. I tried to warn you.”
The intake of breath he heard was shaky. “Gregory, if I were in the country right now, I would drag you into my bed, everything else bedamned.” He flushed again. “I understand your concerns, but I can assure you, it’s fine. Do whatever you feel like doing. There are no ‘rules’ you should be concerned with.”
“But your position-”
“Is secure,” Mycroft interrupted. “While I hardly think it prudent to place either of us on morning talk shows declaring our feelings, I can handle anything that might come to pass.”
Somehow he wasn’t quite sure he believed that Mycroft would be happy to have anyone find out he was dating a man. “So if I told my squad that I was dating Sherlock’s brother, you’d be okay with it?” he asked skeptically.
“Yes.”
“If I asked you to meet my father?”
“I would, provided our schedules didn’t interfere. Gregory, the reason for the secrecy in the beginning was not for me, it was for you. I can weather any perceived ‘scandal’, but you could lose any chance for further promotions and it can cause difficulty if those you work with disagree with the relationship.”
“That’s fine,” he said honestly. “I think it’ll be an adjustment for my team, but they’ll get used to it and as for promotions…I’m not sure I’d want to go any further anyway. I like where I’m at and I’m not a bureaucrat. I’d be terrible at the kinds of things they’d want me to do. I know that if I did get promoted, I wouldn’t be out in the field that much and we’d have more time together, supposedly, but…”
“You’re happy where you are.”
“Yeah. Is that…a problem?”
“Hardly.”
“Well…good. Now, you really need to sleep.”
“You expect that I could sleep after your texts?”
He was a grown man; he shouldn’t be blushing! “Go to sleep, Mycroft!”
“Very well.”
Before he could rethink his decision, he ended the call and let out a deep breath. It was definitely going to be a much better day than he’d thought.
-0-
“Your sulking has gotten worse.”
Greg and John both blinked at the sudden interruption from a terribly bored looking Sherlock. He’d finally uncurled from the sofa to stare at the two men. “What?”
“Ignore him, he’s been like that for the past two days. He doesn’t have a case,” John said with a roll of his eyes and a sip of his tea.
“Did he shoot the wall again?”
“You don’t even need to ask.”
“Lestrade, if you give me a case, I’ll tell you when Mycroft’s coming back. I’ll even tell you where you can meet him.”
“Wow, you’re desperate.” He did consider the offer. It had been a week since that conversation, bringing Mycroft’s absence to almost three full weeks by that point.
“So are you.”
He couldn’t argue with that. He wanted to see Mycroft again and he didn’t even have so much as a picture of him on his phone. He really needed to take a shot of his boyfriend, or get Anthea to send him one, if the man was going to be on a trip this long in the future.
“I suppose I could, but what makes you think I have any new cases that you haven’t already gone through that you’d be interested in?”
“There has to be something in your cold case files,” the consulting detective whined.
There really wasn’t anything new in there that Sherlock didn’t already know. He had gone through those long ago and took any that had appealed to him. “You know everything I have, Sherlock.” As the man went on a ‘bored!’ tirade about how the world was going to rot, Greg racked his brain to find something for him. He could just ask Mycroft, he supposed, but he tried not to interfere too much with the diplomat. The last thing he needed was to be interrupted in the middle of his sleep wherever he was.
“I can put in a word for you in another district so you can look at their cold cases. Best I can do, Sherlock.”
He didn’t think it’d be well-received, but apparently Sherlock really was that desperate. “Good! John, we’re leaving!”
“Hey, you were going to tell me when Mycroft’s coming back-”
“Sherlock, you can’t go out in your pajamas--”
“Petty details, the both of you.” Sherlock stalked past them, but he did end up heading to his bedroom rather than the door, throwing off his dressing gown onto the table as he went.
“You know, you’re going to have to tell him eventually,” Greg commented.
John, eyes still where Sherlock had disappeared to, turned back to him. “What?”
“That you fancy him.”
“But I-I suppose there’s no point in denying it is there?” John admitted, quickly letting go of any denial he’d been about to say. “What good would it do?”
“You never know. Look what happened with Mycroft.”
“Mycroft isn’t Sherlock.”
“No. Sherlock is easier.”
“Bollocks to that!”
“No, listen to me. Isn’t he? He tells you exactly what he’s thinking at every moment and even if he doesn’t, you just have to ask and he’ll spill it. Besides, he’s possessive as hell and it’s pretty clear he adores you.”
John coughed in an absurdly fake way, saying as he did so, “Pot calling kettle black.”
Before he could respond, Sherlock was back and throwing a folded piece of paper and a plastic I.D. at him. “That’s Mycroft’s private landing pad. He’ll be arriving in an hour. That card will get you in. John, come.”
“An hour!”
Wow, he must have been really grateful for the diversion… He watched as John sighed and headed out first, but Sherlock stood in the doorway until his partner was out of earshot. “That’s not for the cold cases.”
Somehow he hadn’t thought it was. It was too…generous for something like that. “Figured not. What’s it for?”
Sherlock finally looked at him and said, “John.”
“So you heard that.”
“I get dressed faster than you talk.”
“Just don’t break his heart, Sherlock. He’s a good guy.”
“I have no such intentions.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
The smirk on his face sent a shiver down Greg’s spine. “I’m going to show Mycroft how it should be done.”
As the consulting detective left, he muttered, “I’m so sorry, John.” Whatever it was, would likely involve crowds and a lot of Sherlock antics. Poor John, he thought, finally looking at the address and abruptly getting up from his seat. It would take him almost the entire hour just to get there from where he currently was!
Damn that man!
-0-
Mycroft sighed, rubbing his eyes as he felt the jet slowly come to a stop. The last three weeks had been brutal. Not so much his job, but that he had missed his partner so much. He had never thought the feeling would be that strong, making him wonder if he had made a mistake in capitulating to his feelings. Yet the thought was momentary. He just had to work harder to keep himself focused in situations like that, and if that meant he didn’t quite dare sleep, so be it.
He handed the notebook full of papers he’d signed to his assistant before exiting the plane. His car was nearby, thankfully, and he really wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower-
“Sir.”
He turned at Anthea’s words, reaching up to grab another briefcase he must have forgotten, only to realize she wasn’t handing him something; she was pointing. Frowning a little, Mycroft followed the gesture with his eyes. He couldn’t help them as they went wide.
“Gregory…?”
Another car had just pulled up and out of that, stepping onto the tarmac of the private runway, was none other than his partner. How had he made it past security? How had he known when he’d be back and where? It wasn’t that Mycroft had begrudged the knowledge to the inspector, but he’d wanted to surprise him upon his return, preferably when he wasn’t jet-lagged as hell.
As the man approached, he tried again. “How did you get here-”
His question was preempted by a hand grabbing his tie and yanking him down into a blistering kiss. It sent life responding in his veins, and Mycroft dropped his briefcase on the tarmac without care. Before he could stop it, he’d grabbed the shorter man and pulled him close, quickly diving his tongue into his mouth in sheer desperation. Lestrade’s arms wrapped around his neck and his amazing brain just…stopped. He forgot that Anthea and his driver were right there, watching. He forgot that he was tired or that there were still things to do. He had Gregory.
“Mycroft…” he heard muffled against his lips. “Mycroft…!”
“What?” he finally broke the kiss to ask, a flash of irritation.
“…You can’t undress me right here.”
He blinked. Sure enough, somehow his hands had disposed of the man’s jacket and was now lying on the ground, he wasn’t sure where the tie had gone, and three shirt buttons were open. “…My apologies.”
“No apologies needed. I, uh…well…”
At the helpless gesture, Mycroft looked down at himself. Gregory had loosened his tie and released the buttons on his coat, jacket, and cravat by the time they’d managed to get to their senses. He chuckled a little and pulled the man close one more time. The kiss this time was more controlled, less lust and more affection. Oh, how he’d missed him. No amount of pictures he’d brought with him made up for the inspector in person; to be able to touch him, smell his cologne, and to hear his laugh in person, rather than over the phone, was a privilege that had been taken away from him for three weeks.
“…Sir?”
He ignored Anthea’s verbal prodding in favor of holding his dear Gregory tighter, stealing another kiss.
“Sir, would like me to clear your schedules for the rest of the day?”
Finally, he pulled away enough to say, “Now that is an excellent idea, Anthea.”
“Wait, schedules? Mine too?”
“Of course. There’s no purpose in clearing mine if yours isn’t as well.”
Rather than getting upset, which he would admit to fearing the moment he’d said the words, his partner laughed. “I suppose I can’t object then.”
“Good.” His arm slipped around the man’s waist as he began to lead him to his car nearby.
“But my coat and my car-what happened to my tie?”
“Anthea will take care of it,” he assured him, as he ushered him into the back seat, following him quickly. “Now you really must tell me how you knew of my landing, and where. And how you managed to get past security.”
“Oh, that. Sherlock.”
He really should have known. His little brother just loved to meddle. “Which I.D. did he give this time?”
“Well, I’d give it to you, but it’s in my coat jacket. That’s lying on the ground back there.”
Mycroft shook his head a little, but he was amused, rather than an annoyed. The things Gregory did to his mood. “I can’t be angry with him in this one instance.”
“You’re not angry with him at all, don’t deny it.”
He watched in interest as the detective inspector eased over to straddle his waist. “In the car, dearest?” he asked teasingly, flicking at a nearby button to raise a divider between the back seat and the front. He had thought they were entirely unnecessary when Anthea had had the cars done a year or two back, but it had seemed too much of a pain to remove them. Now, he was actually pleased he hadn’t gone through the effort to get rid of them.
“I just need to kiss you again and this is the easiest position to do that in.”
Mycroft hummed in an unconvinced fashion, but he brought their lips together in delight all the same. “Dear me,” he murmured, “I do believe you’ve conquered England.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” was the teasing reply.
“You’d have the British Government on its knees if it were feasible at the moment.”
“How about you kneel your loyalty to me later and just bloody kiss me again?”
He chuckled at the half-impatient reply and did as ordered, enjoying the way those hands slid underneath his many layers to touch his chest through his white shirt. The kiss morphed in a casual way as Gregory kissed down his neck. Not even the vibration of Mycroft’s mobile interrupted him. Instead, his hand eased over to the pocket it was in and pulled it out.
He looked at the caller I.D. and smirked. “Answer it.”
Without even looking, the detective inspector hit the green button and Mycroft said, as he hit the speaker phone button, “What do you want?”
“What did you do to your clearance this time, Mycroft? My cards don’t work,” Sherlock complained.
“Sherlock! Jesus!” Gregory jerked back from his neck and dropped the phone as if it was made of fire, where it landed in Mycroft’s lap, right next to a suspicious bulge.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Lestrade. Mycroft-”
“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t take measures after your last stunt with my I.D., Sherlock?”
“I’ve tried all the usual passwords and they’re not working.”
“Are you admitting that I outsmarted you this time, little brother?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why have you called me, asking for it?” There was a moment of silence. “Ahh. I assure you, Gregory is quite fine.”
“I didn’t call because of him.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Well, he’ll at least stop sulking now.”
“I can hear you, you know,” the detective snapped, face red as a cherry.
“Shut up, Lestrade.”
“Where’s John?”
There was an abrupt disconnect to the call and they both looked at the phone together for a moment. “Do hand me my phone please, Gregory,” he asked, knowing the reaction that was going to occur and loving it.
His face turned even darker and he reached down to pick it up, his hand brushing against Mycroft’s bulge. “You’re terrible,” he muttered.
“I’m aware, yes,” Mycroft admitted, lightly gripping Gregory’s chin and pulling him in for a kiss. “I trust that it won’t cause you to object spending the rest of the day in my home?”
“You know I can’t refuse you, you bastard.” Gregory took a deep breath through his nose and admitted, “I missed you so much. Your voice, your aftershave, everything. I didn’t even have a picture.”
“Pictures don’t help. It only makes it worse,” he told him honestly. “Trust me on that.” Fingers eased to the base of Gregory’s spine and massaged there, listening to the soft moan that escaped. “Our communication must be limited with such long durations. If I hear you too much, I’ll miss you that much more and it would be too difficult to resist ending the trips prematurely.”
“I know, but…I love you.”
It was like Sherlock had kicked the wind out of him. Again. Sure he’d felt his chest seize and his stomach twist itself in knots when he’d read the text, but it was nothing in comparison to hear it being said. For a moment, just like when they’d kissed on the tarmac, he felt his brain just stop for a few, terrifying minutes as he could do nothing but feel the delighted adrenaline the words provoked.
“You said to say it face to face.”
“…My apologies,” he muttered after a minute, managing to gather his scattered wits. “I hadn’t quite expected how powerfully it would affect me, hearing you saying it in person.”
Gregory smiled brightly at that. “Now you know what you do to me all the time, whenever you’re around.”
He could only shake his head. To think he’d almost lost this all by living in denial. All the risk was worth it, just to be able to hold this feeling, bind Gregory to him tightly, so he’d never have to go without him again. “Never forget, Detective Inspector, that I love you just as much.”
“…Are we close to your place at all yet? Geez, listen to me, sounding like I’m twenty…”
Mycroft kissed at the heated cheeks. “Almost. Hold out a little longer and we’ll make up for all that lost time.”
“Tormenter.”
“I suppose I am. Do you mind?”
Oh, how much he loved that smile. “Not at all.”
-End-