Any Port in the Storm
Title: Any Port in the Storm
Author: aislingdoheanta
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Mycroft, Lestrade, Mycroft/Lestrade, probably other characters from the show.
Summary: Set post-Fall, directly following the other stories in the Storm series.
Rating: T
Word Count: 3586 This part.
Notes: This is a slightly longer work than the other parts of the Storm series and will be a multi-chapter story since it is too long to post in just one go. Not sure entirely how long this will be or how far in time I want to go. :) I'm hopeful that by the time I get to the end of this story I will not have to go back and change everything else.
Warnings: The return of the Angst! Major SPOILERS for the Fall as well as other canonical references and much speculation. We'll see where it goes. This whole section has been added to the story as it had originally started later on, but this was what I wrote very quickly today.
Disclaimer: Obviously Not Mine
Enough was enough.
Mycroft Holmes spent the past two weeks in a haze of fake funerals, comforting the grieving parties, and not doing anything useful. He had been foolish and allowed his own feelings get in the way of what needed to be done.
He hadn’t done any research regarding where his brother was or why his body wasn’t where it was supposed to be. He hadn’t done anything to clear both John’s record and his brother of the whole Hostage situation. And he hadn’t done anything to clear Gregory’s name within his own division.
He had been too busy allowing his fears and emotions to cloud him from facing anything. He had allowed his guilt and grief of losing his brother affect him. Not only had it affected him, it had rendered him useless. He had been too afraid and fragile-how he hated that world-to actually start digging around.
Caring is not an advantage.
Those were the words he lived by and had lived by ever since he was a young boy and the other children made fun of him or tried to put him down. He put on the mask of being the Ice Man and hadn’t looked back. Even after his father had died, he hadn’t taken it down. After all, his mother, brother, and countless other family members were in mourning and there were things that needed to get done. It was simply easier to just keep the mask up in front of others and make sure everything was done.
He had used that his entire life and could not understand why it had failed him now.
He shook his head at himself. Of course he understood why it had failed him now: He hadn’t put it up. He had been feeling guilty ever since the whole Moriarty thing and then his brother’s death had just made it impossible to put back up.
Until today.
He had put on his favourite black suit and waistcoat that had miniscule gold pinstripes running through it. His white button-up was expertly pressed and crisp, just the way he liked it. He had even made quite a statement by wearing his bold red tie, complete with the tie pin he had received from Her Majesty a few years ago after cleaning up a little matter within the country. His shoes had been professionally polished and his coat was also meticulously clean.
He was in full command mode, as he should have been for the past few weeks. It was a childish mistake to have allowed his emotions to get the better of him, regardless of the situation.
He sat down behind his desk, and made sure everything was organized in the manner he wanted it to be. His pens were all in the drawer, except his favourite that was in his pocket and the one that sat on the edge of his desk for whenever he had visitors.
Mycroft cleared his throat and opened his diary, looking at all the things that needed to be done today. He had four meetings scheduled which state that his presence had been requested. Mercifully, they were all scheduled for the morning, leaving the afternoon for him to remain in his office, undisturbed for the most part.
He heard Anthea’s proficient walk for a few seconds before the woman herself walked through Mycroft’s office door, after a brisk knock of course.
“Ah, Anthea. I trust the car is on its way?”
She nodded. “It’s waiting outside, Sir. Have a nice weekend?”
Mycroft nodded. “Yes, I rather did. Yourself?”
Anthea chuckled. “Nothing too exciting I’m afraid.” She glanced him over as he stood up. “Wonderful tie.” It’s good to see you back.
“It is, isn’t it?” Good to be back.
He quite enjoyed the way they had been working together for so long that they could read the unspoken snippets of conversation between them. Rather, he enjoyed the way that she understood it now as well. He always heard the unspoken parts of a conversation but rarely had someone else who understood it as well.
Anthea glanced down at her phone as it lit up. “Do you require my company for the morning, Sir?”
Mycroft smiled. “That’s quite alright, Anthea. You have been fairly busy these past few weeks. Why don’t you finish up here and then have the afternoon off.”
Anthea regarded him carefully before nodding. “Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re quite welcome, dear.” He put his coat on, carefully buttoning it up. He grabbed his briefcase and umbrella from Anthea’s outstretched hands. “Please be sure to reschedule the business trips I have missed recently. I would like to complete them all by the end of next week.”
“Yes, Sir.” She said from her post by the door.
“What would I do without you?” Mycroft asked as he walked out of the door.
“Schedule your own meetings,” Anthea added with a smiled.
Mycroft chuckled and added, “Quite right.” Then he walked out of the building and into the waiting car to begin his morning of meetings. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could get started on the actual matters on hand.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
It was close to four when Mycroft was finally able to settle back into his own office and begin the research for his brother. There had been a major misunderstanding with one of his negotiations which garnered another meeting that afternoon-certain details had been lost in translation.
It was smoothed over now, but it did require Mycroft to make a personal visit there soon. He would simply add that to the list of travels he would have to make in the upcoming week.
He rolled his neck to one side and took a deep breath. Instead of starting his CCTV search, he opened his diary to find out when his travel plans were.
France-Flight leaves at 4am on Tuesday. One night. Overnight back already packed. Meeting with British liaison at 3pm Tuesday. Meeting with embassy Wednesday morning at 10. Return to London Wednesday evening. Flight takes off at 7pm LT.
North Korea-Flight takes off at 6am Thursday. There until Saturday evening. No meetings scheduled for he is in need of your advice. Leave Saturday at 9pm LT.
America-Flight leaves at 8pm on Sunday. Meeting with President to discuss the IOCW. Meeting on Monday, details TBA. Misc. meetings through the following few days. Return to London on Thursday evening-flight leaves 4pm LT
Scotland-Train on Saturday at 10am. To return at 9pm LT on Sunday evening. Quick discussion.
China-Leave on Thursday and return on Sunday night. Details TBA.
Mycroft nodded to himself as he wrote down his impromptu trip to Germany that he would have to schedule between his trip to Scotland and his trip to China. It would be a grueling few weeks, but it would be just what he needed to get himself back in order.
He knew that his relationship with Gregory required him to inform him of the drastic changes to his schedule. He knew he should just send him an e-mail for he was probably busy, but he missed Gregory. They had been together for long periods of time recently, especially the weekends, and it seemed strange to know that Gregory was not just in the next room. Not that he could ever admit this to Gregory himself.
Mycroft pulled out his mobile and phoned him. He had expected it to go straight to voicemail since Gregory was at the Yard, so he was surprised when Gregory’s strained voice was heard through the phone.
“Detective Inspector Lestrade.”
Mycroft frowned at how tired his partner sounded and made a mental note to begin fixing his job sooner rather than later. “Gregory, is this a bad time?”
“Not really. Just slightly busy, you know. With paperwork and things.”
The things, Mycroft knew, were the way most people in the Yard were reacting to Gregory now that they assumed that Sherlock had been the reason that he had solved every single crime he had been put in charge of, since Sherlock had been the person to create the crime to begin with. “Well, I just wanted to inform you that I have had some major changes to my schedule and will be required to travel quite a bit in the next few weeks.”
“Oh.”
“I apologise for the short notice, but I will be leaving early tomorrow morning for France.”
“How early?”
“My flight leaves at four.”
“Will you be coming home tonight, then?”
“Of course. I have a few things to collect before the flight.”
Gregory sighed and Mycroft cold feel him shaking his head. “Yeah. Alright. I guess I’ll see you at home then.”
Mycroft was confused as to why Gregory sounded so upset. “I’m sorry if I upset you, however I am required to go away quite frequently.”
“I know, Mycroft. We’ve been together for quite a while.” A sad chuckle. “I’ll leave you to your work so hopefully you can make it home earlier than recently.”
Mycroft nodded, feeling the small pang of guilt again. “I will have my revised schedule sent to you as soon as the flight times and details are finalized.”
“Thanks. I’m here if you need me.” That was their new usual parting since Sherlock’s death.
“Thank you.” Mycroft hung up for he never quite knew what to say when Gregory said things like that. He appreciated it, certainly, but did that mean he was required to tell Gregory everything that went on inside his head?
He leaned back in his chair and sighed as he rubbed his face. Gregory had noticed that Mycroft had been putting in quite a lot of hours since Sherlock’s death. He hadn’t even been doing anything. He just couldn’t face going home to a potentially empty flat, nor could he go home and face Gregory’s sadness. It was too much for Mycroft, so he would leave his office and head down to the Diogenes Club for a few hours. He’d read the paper occasionally, but mostly just locked himself in his office there and allow the silence to surround him.
Mycroft knew that was not appropriate behavior for someone in a relationship; however, it was the only way he knew how to handle himself. He had allowed Gregory to see him break down twice during the whole event, and it could not be permitted to happen again.
Yes, Gregory always said that he was there to do whatever Mycroft needed. He was there to be the person Mycroft turned to when he was upset, but Mycroft had never had anyone like that before, so how could he know if Gregory was being truthful. Perhaps he would leave if Mycroft showed too much weakness. Or worse, use his weakness against him.
When Mycroft was honest with himself, which he only ever did when locked away from the rest of the world because honestly brings vulnerability, he would admit that it was this fear that had stopped him originally from turning to Gregory.
He had always been a self-sufficient man, never needing anyone else because he had everything under control. If he didn’t, he would shut himself away until he did again. He had never allowed anyone to see him weak since his first relationship had ended badly. Why would he want to give someone that power over him again?
Then Gregory had been with him through Sherlock’s Overdoses. The first was because he had been required to give a statement, the second because Gregory had actually wanted to be there for him. Gregory had just held him that night, refusing to let go even when Mycroft said he was okay.
That was the first time Gregory had ever truly seen Mycroft vulnerable, whether he had known it or not. Mycroft had remained awake the whole night, wrapped in Gregory’s arms as he thought through everything that had happened. He hadn’t wanted to shut his eyes because dreams were things Mycroft could not control. And he knew what his dreams would be. So he remained awake out of fear for his brother and what Gregory might do with this information now that he had it.
It had taken a while, but now Mycroft knew that Gregory would never intentionally use his weaknesses against him or to gain anything. However, that didn’t take away the fear that eventually Gregory will have had enough and leave him. After all, there was only so much one man could take within an eccentric partnership.
That was why Mycroft had made the decision to remain alone, in the safety of his own club, rather than face the potential reality of Gregory calling him weak and walking out. It had been the better option.
Mycroft shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell on his relationship with Gregory. He had footage to look through to figure out what had become of his brother. He opened up all the files that held the footage from on top of the roof. There were a few different camera angles, so he would have a lot to go through. Even though he had already watched this, it was best to begin from the Act before branching out into the smaller acts or new avenues of information.
He opened his notepad and set his pen on top of it, ready to write down little things at they appear. He didn’t need to physical reminder, but it made him feel better to know that there was a documentation of the work he was doing.
He sat back and pressed play.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Greg Lestrade slowly walked into the flat, feeling the pressure of the last few weeks drain him of energy.
Everyone was convinced that Sherlock had been a fraud, creating the criminal mastermind of “Jim Moriarty” after hiring the actor Richard Brook. That his intention had always been to create this super-hero type persona for himself, even if it meant he had to create a few crimes in order to solve them.
He was a joke down at the Yard now, because he had worked with Sherlock Holmes.
Greg could have handled the jokes, but he couldn’t handle the way he was treated as a pariah now. He had busted his arse to get to where he was now and all because of some bogus story all of his credibility was being questioned.
Yes, he had used Sherlock for the past few years, but he wasn’t consulted on every bloody case! What about all the cases he solved before Sherlock? The cases he handled without Sherlock? Does all the good he had done without Sherlock count for nothing?
It was killing him to realize that no one ever really thought him capable to begin with. If they had, his reputation of a damn good copper would have remained, despite his supposed lack of judgment regarding Sherlock.
He slammed his briefcase down on the table the whipped off his coat.
Yes, he was angry, but he was also unbelievably sad. He felt a million different directions pulling on him and he wasn’t sure where to go. Everything happening at the Yard was difficult to deal with enough, but he would get through it. Then he had John who was practically catatonic now who Greg had been trying to take care of, despite his residual anger at the way he had attacked Mycroft. Mrs. Hudson also needed him.
Mycroft even needed him, even if he was too bloody stubborn to admit it.
And the truth was, he needed Mycroft. He needed Mycroft to tell him what he could to make him feel better. He hated having to look at Mycroft and see nothing behind those gorgeous blue-gray eyes of his. It was even worse knowing that Mycroft had put up his walls again that Greg had spent years painstakingly trying to break them down.
Even if Mycroft hadn’t wanted to talk, Greg would have let it be. He just needed Mycroft to be around. To be the anchor to hold onto throughout the night. To remind him that everything would be okay.
That they would get through this.
Greg had always been a practical man and had never truly expected this relationship with Mycroft to last. After all, Mycroft was so closed off from people Greg hadn’t believed it would truly work between them. It had and they almost seemed to have been made for each other, as cliché as that sounded. Mycroft was the stable, steady stream to keep him level while Greg was the raging rapids that caused Mycroft to let go everyone once in a while. While they had their problems, it all seemed to still be going well and he couldn’t quite imagine his life without that man anymore.
However, lately, he seemed to just be waiting for the other shoe to drop.
They had been through so much together: Greg’s mother's death, Sherlock’s ODs, the enormousness that was Mycroft’s job and the balancing act between the two of them. They had always been able to work through it. When his parents had died, Mycroft had handled everything he had been able to for Greg and when he was out of his depth, he waited until Greg told him what he needed. During Sherlock’s ODs, Greg had done what he felt needed to be done since Mycroft insisted he was “okay” and refused to tell him what he needed.
This might be too big for either of them. And it terrified him. Not necessarily because they wouldn’t get through it, but because he would end up being another person that had failed Mycroft.
They had been together for quite a while and Greg had learned about his past and the people that involved. After learning that Mycroft had never relied on anyone, nor had he ever felt comfortable enough with anyone until Greg, he had vowed that he would do everything in his power to never make Mycroft question his decision to let him in.
It would break his heart to find out that he was doing anything that caused Mycroft to shut down or avoid him.
Greg glanced at the clock and sighed. It was already past nine and he was knackered. He had been hoping that Mycroft would have already had been home.
Greg smiled as he made his way to their room thinking about how he would have apologized profusely for being so late tonight. Mycroft would have smiled and shake his head telling him not to worry about it as it was only a night. Greg would have put down the book Mycroft would have been reading, carefully placing the bookmark before closing the book. They he would have grabbed Mycroft’s hands and pulled him up from the sofa where he had been sitting.
He would have gently kissed him hello before leading him to their room. He would have carefully removed Mycroft of his intricate suit, taking his time. Mycroft would have rebuffed him, quietly making his excuse to shuffle off to the loo to change instead of having Greg do it-he was still slightly shy. Even though it annoyed Greg on occasion, he found it mostly endearing because it was such a Mycroft trait.
He would have changed while Mycroft was gone and then gone to brush his teeth and other things before crawling into bed beside Mycroft who always faced Greg’s side of the bed while waiting for him. He would have pulled Mycroft to him, kissing him thoroughly, trying to show him without words how much he loved him and was going to miss him. Even if it was only for one night.
Mycroft would have chuckled at first, as he always does when Greg starts things. Greg thought it was some sort of defense mechanism he had never gotten rid of-as though his laugh was always ready for the moment Greg pulled away and told him it had all been a joke.
They would have enjoyed the laziness of their snog-yes, Greg still called it that-before it turned into something more. Or perhaps it would have just been that and they would have been able to lie there in silence, Mycroft’s head carefully resting on Greg’s chest while tapping out Greg’s heartbeat.
Honestly, either situation was fine with Greg. He had never been the type of man to plan out what nights he and his partner were going to have sex. It just seemed entirely unromantic and really killed the mood, at least for himself. Perhaps there were other people who plotted out exactly when, where, and with whom they were going to do the deed. But they reminded him so much of prostitutes, that he couldn’t do that.
Even if he had been that type of man, it wouldn’t have worked with Mycroft. It had taken the better part of a year before they had finally slept together. Although, to be fair to both of them, it had taken awhile before Greg had had the courage to properly ask Mycroft out. And a bit longer after that for Mycroft to understand that they were something of an item.
Greg sighed as he flopped onto the bed. Now he was exhausted and missing Mycroft even more than he had originally been. Maybe if I just lay here for a while, he’ll arrive and we can still have a gentle night before he has to leave.
However, ten minutes later, Greg was fast asleep.
NEXT CHAPTER
Author: aislingdoheanta
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Mycroft, Lestrade, Mycroft/Lestrade, probably other characters from the show.
Summary: Set post-Fall, directly following the other stories in the Storm series.
Rating: T
Word Count: 3586 This part.
Notes: This is a slightly longer work than the other parts of the Storm series and will be a multi-chapter story since it is too long to post in just one go. Not sure entirely how long this will be or how far in time I want to go. :) I'm hopeful that by the time I get to the end of this story I will not have to go back and change everything else.
Warnings: The return of the Angst! Major SPOILERS for the Fall as well as other canonical references and much speculation. We'll see where it goes. This whole section has been added to the story as it had originally started later on, but this was what I wrote very quickly today.
Disclaimer: Obviously Not Mine
Enough was enough.
Mycroft Holmes spent the past two weeks in a haze of fake funerals, comforting the grieving parties, and not doing anything useful. He had been foolish and allowed his own feelings get in the way of what needed to be done.
He hadn’t done any research regarding where his brother was or why his body wasn’t where it was supposed to be. He hadn’t done anything to clear both John’s record and his brother of the whole Hostage situation. And he hadn’t done anything to clear Gregory’s name within his own division.
He had been too busy allowing his fears and emotions to cloud him from facing anything. He had allowed his guilt and grief of losing his brother affect him. Not only had it affected him, it had rendered him useless. He had been too afraid and fragile-how he hated that world-to actually start digging around.
Caring is not an advantage.
Those were the words he lived by and had lived by ever since he was a young boy and the other children made fun of him or tried to put him down. He put on the mask of being the Ice Man and hadn’t looked back. Even after his father had died, he hadn’t taken it down. After all, his mother, brother, and countless other family members were in mourning and there were things that needed to get done. It was simply easier to just keep the mask up in front of others and make sure everything was done.
He had used that his entire life and could not understand why it had failed him now.
He shook his head at himself. Of course he understood why it had failed him now: He hadn’t put it up. He had been feeling guilty ever since the whole Moriarty thing and then his brother’s death had just made it impossible to put back up.
Until today.
He had put on his favourite black suit and waistcoat that had miniscule gold pinstripes running through it. His white button-up was expertly pressed and crisp, just the way he liked it. He had even made quite a statement by wearing his bold red tie, complete with the tie pin he had received from Her Majesty a few years ago after cleaning up a little matter within the country. His shoes had been professionally polished and his coat was also meticulously clean.
He was in full command mode, as he should have been for the past few weeks. It was a childish mistake to have allowed his emotions to get the better of him, regardless of the situation.
He sat down behind his desk, and made sure everything was organized in the manner he wanted it to be. His pens were all in the drawer, except his favourite that was in his pocket and the one that sat on the edge of his desk for whenever he had visitors.
Mycroft cleared his throat and opened his diary, looking at all the things that needed to be done today. He had four meetings scheduled which state that his presence had been requested. Mercifully, they were all scheduled for the morning, leaving the afternoon for him to remain in his office, undisturbed for the most part.
He heard Anthea’s proficient walk for a few seconds before the woman herself walked through Mycroft’s office door, after a brisk knock of course.
“Ah, Anthea. I trust the car is on its way?”
She nodded. “It’s waiting outside, Sir. Have a nice weekend?”
Mycroft nodded. “Yes, I rather did. Yourself?”
Anthea chuckled. “Nothing too exciting I’m afraid.” She glanced him over as he stood up. “Wonderful tie.” It’s good to see you back.
“It is, isn’t it?” Good to be back.
He quite enjoyed the way they had been working together for so long that they could read the unspoken snippets of conversation between them. Rather, he enjoyed the way that she understood it now as well. He always heard the unspoken parts of a conversation but rarely had someone else who understood it as well.
Anthea glanced down at her phone as it lit up. “Do you require my company for the morning, Sir?”
Mycroft smiled. “That’s quite alright, Anthea. You have been fairly busy these past few weeks. Why don’t you finish up here and then have the afternoon off.”
Anthea regarded him carefully before nodding. “Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re quite welcome, dear.” He put his coat on, carefully buttoning it up. He grabbed his briefcase and umbrella from Anthea’s outstretched hands. “Please be sure to reschedule the business trips I have missed recently. I would like to complete them all by the end of next week.”
“Yes, Sir.” She said from her post by the door.
“What would I do without you?” Mycroft asked as he walked out of the door.
“Schedule your own meetings,” Anthea added with a smiled.
Mycroft chuckled and added, “Quite right.” Then he walked out of the building and into the waiting car to begin his morning of meetings. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could get started on the actual matters on hand.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
It was close to four when Mycroft was finally able to settle back into his own office and begin the research for his brother. There had been a major misunderstanding with one of his negotiations which garnered another meeting that afternoon-certain details had been lost in translation.
It was smoothed over now, but it did require Mycroft to make a personal visit there soon. He would simply add that to the list of travels he would have to make in the upcoming week.
He rolled his neck to one side and took a deep breath. Instead of starting his CCTV search, he opened his diary to find out when his travel plans were.
France-Flight leaves at 4am on Tuesday. One night. Overnight back already packed. Meeting with British liaison at 3pm Tuesday. Meeting with embassy Wednesday morning at 10. Return to London Wednesday evening. Flight takes off at 7pm LT.
North Korea-Flight takes off at 6am Thursday. There until Saturday evening. No meetings scheduled for he is in need of your advice. Leave Saturday at 9pm LT.
America-Flight leaves at 8pm on Sunday. Meeting with President to discuss the IOCW. Meeting on Monday, details TBA. Misc. meetings through the following few days. Return to London on Thursday evening-flight leaves 4pm LT
Scotland-Train on Saturday at 10am. To return at 9pm LT on Sunday evening. Quick discussion.
China-Leave on Thursday and return on Sunday night. Details TBA.
Mycroft nodded to himself as he wrote down his impromptu trip to Germany that he would have to schedule between his trip to Scotland and his trip to China. It would be a grueling few weeks, but it would be just what he needed to get himself back in order.
He knew that his relationship with Gregory required him to inform him of the drastic changes to his schedule. He knew he should just send him an e-mail for he was probably busy, but he missed Gregory. They had been together for long periods of time recently, especially the weekends, and it seemed strange to know that Gregory was not just in the next room. Not that he could ever admit this to Gregory himself.
Mycroft pulled out his mobile and phoned him. He had expected it to go straight to voicemail since Gregory was at the Yard, so he was surprised when Gregory’s strained voice was heard through the phone.
“Detective Inspector Lestrade.”
Mycroft frowned at how tired his partner sounded and made a mental note to begin fixing his job sooner rather than later. “Gregory, is this a bad time?”
“Not really. Just slightly busy, you know. With paperwork and things.”
The things, Mycroft knew, were the way most people in the Yard were reacting to Gregory now that they assumed that Sherlock had been the reason that he had solved every single crime he had been put in charge of, since Sherlock had been the person to create the crime to begin with. “Well, I just wanted to inform you that I have had some major changes to my schedule and will be required to travel quite a bit in the next few weeks.”
“Oh.”
“I apologise for the short notice, but I will be leaving early tomorrow morning for France.”
“How early?”
“My flight leaves at four.”
“Will you be coming home tonight, then?”
“Of course. I have a few things to collect before the flight.”
Gregory sighed and Mycroft cold feel him shaking his head. “Yeah. Alright. I guess I’ll see you at home then.”
Mycroft was confused as to why Gregory sounded so upset. “I’m sorry if I upset you, however I am required to go away quite frequently.”
“I know, Mycroft. We’ve been together for quite a while.” A sad chuckle. “I’ll leave you to your work so hopefully you can make it home earlier than recently.”
Mycroft nodded, feeling the small pang of guilt again. “I will have my revised schedule sent to you as soon as the flight times and details are finalized.”
“Thanks. I’m here if you need me.” That was their new usual parting since Sherlock’s death.
“Thank you.” Mycroft hung up for he never quite knew what to say when Gregory said things like that. He appreciated it, certainly, but did that mean he was required to tell Gregory everything that went on inside his head?
He leaned back in his chair and sighed as he rubbed his face. Gregory had noticed that Mycroft had been putting in quite a lot of hours since Sherlock’s death. He hadn’t even been doing anything. He just couldn’t face going home to a potentially empty flat, nor could he go home and face Gregory’s sadness. It was too much for Mycroft, so he would leave his office and head down to the Diogenes Club for a few hours. He’d read the paper occasionally, but mostly just locked himself in his office there and allow the silence to surround him.
Mycroft knew that was not appropriate behavior for someone in a relationship; however, it was the only way he knew how to handle himself. He had allowed Gregory to see him break down twice during the whole event, and it could not be permitted to happen again.
Yes, Gregory always said that he was there to do whatever Mycroft needed. He was there to be the person Mycroft turned to when he was upset, but Mycroft had never had anyone like that before, so how could he know if Gregory was being truthful. Perhaps he would leave if Mycroft showed too much weakness. Or worse, use his weakness against him.
When Mycroft was honest with himself, which he only ever did when locked away from the rest of the world because honestly brings vulnerability, he would admit that it was this fear that had stopped him originally from turning to Gregory.
He had always been a self-sufficient man, never needing anyone else because he had everything under control. If he didn’t, he would shut himself away until he did again. He had never allowed anyone to see him weak since his first relationship had ended badly. Why would he want to give someone that power over him again?
Then Gregory had been with him through Sherlock’s Overdoses. The first was because he had been required to give a statement, the second because Gregory had actually wanted to be there for him. Gregory had just held him that night, refusing to let go even when Mycroft said he was okay.
That was the first time Gregory had ever truly seen Mycroft vulnerable, whether he had known it or not. Mycroft had remained awake the whole night, wrapped in Gregory’s arms as he thought through everything that had happened. He hadn’t wanted to shut his eyes because dreams were things Mycroft could not control. And he knew what his dreams would be. So he remained awake out of fear for his brother and what Gregory might do with this information now that he had it.
It had taken a while, but now Mycroft knew that Gregory would never intentionally use his weaknesses against him or to gain anything. However, that didn’t take away the fear that eventually Gregory will have had enough and leave him. After all, there was only so much one man could take within an eccentric partnership.
That was why Mycroft had made the decision to remain alone, in the safety of his own club, rather than face the potential reality of Gregory calling him weak and walking out. It had been the better option.
Mycroft shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell on his relationship with Gregory. He had footage to look through to figure out what had become of his brother. He opened up all the files that held the footage from on top of the roof. There were a few different camera angles, so he would have a lot to go through. Even though he had already watched this, it was best to begin from the Act before branching out into the smaller acts or new avenues of information.
He opened his notepad and set his pen on top of it, ready to write down little things at they appear. He didn’t need to physical reminder, but it made him feel better to know that there was a documentation of the work he was doing.
He sat back and pressed play.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Greg Lestrade slowly walked into the flat, feeling the pressure of the last few weeks drain him of energy.
Everyone was convinced that Sherlock had been a fraud, creating the criminal mastermind of “Jim Moriarty” after hiring the actor Richard Brook. That his intention had always been to create this super-hero type persona for himself, even if it meant he had to create a few crimes in order to solve them.
He was a joke down at the Yard now, because he had worked with Sherlock Holmes.
Greg could have handled the jokes, but he couldn’t handle the way he was treated as a pariah now. He had busted his arse to get to where he was now and all because of some bogus story all of his credibility was being questioned.
Yes, he had used Sherlock for the past few years, but he wasn’t consulted on every bloody case! What about all the cases he solved before Sherlock? The cases he handled without Sherlock? Does all the good he had done without Sherlock count for nothing?
It was killing him to realize that no one ever really thought him capable to begin with. If they had, his reputation of a damn good copper would have remained, despite his supposed lack of judgment regarding Sherlock.
He slammed his briefcase down on the table the whipped off his coat.
Yes, he was angry, but he was also unbelievably sad. He felt a million different directions pulling on him and he wasn’t sure where to go. Everything happening at the Yard was difficult to deal with enough, but he would get through it. Then he had John who was practically catatonic now who Greg had been trying to take care of, despite his residual anger at the way he had attacked Mycroft. Mrs. Hudson also needed him.
Mycroft even needed him, even if he was too bloody stubborn to admit it.
And the truth was, he needed Mycroft. He needed Mycroft to tell him what he could to make him feel better. He hated having to look at Mycroft and see nothing behind those gorgeous blue-gray eyes of his. It was even worse knowing that Mycroft had put up his walls again that Greg had spent years painstakingly trying to break them down.
Even if Mycroft hadn’t wanted to talk, Greg would have let it be. He just needed Mycroft to be around. To be the anchor to hold onto throughout the night. To remind him that everything would be okay.
That they would get through this.
Greg had always been a practical man and had never truly expected this relationship with Mycroft to last. After all, Mycroft was so closed off from people Greg hadn’t believed it would truly work between them. It had and they almost seemed to have been made for each other, as cliché as that sounded. Mycroft was the stable, steady stream to keep him level while Greg was the raging rapids that caused Mycroft to let go everyone once in a while. While they had their problems, it all seemed to still be going well and he couldn’t quite imagine his life without that man anymore.
However, lately, he seemed to just be waiting for the other shoe to drop.
They had been through so much together: Greg’s mother's death, Sherlock’s ODs, the enormousness that was Mycroft’s job and the balancing act between the two of them. They had always been able to work through it. When his parents had died, Mycroft had handled everything he had been able to for Greg and when he was out of his depth, he waited until Greg told him what he needed. During Sherlock’s ODs, Greg had done what he felt needed to be done since Mycroft insisted he was “okay” and refused to tell him what he needed.
This might be too big for either of them. And it terrified him. Not necessarily because they wouldn’t get through it, but because he would end up being another person that had failed Mycroft.
They had been together for quite a while and Greg had learned about his past and the people that involved. After learning that Mycroft had never relied on anyone, nor had he ever felt comfortable enough with anyone until Greg, he had vowed that he would do everything in his power to never make Mycroft question his decision to let him in.
It would break his heart to find out that he was doing anything that caused Mycroft to shut down or avoid him.
Greg glanced at the clock and sighed. It was already past nine and he was knackered. He had been hoping that Mycroft would have already had been home.
Greg smiled as he made his way to their room thinking about how he would have apologized profusely for being so late tonight. Mycroft would have smiled and shake his head telling him not to worry about it as it was only a night. Greg would have put down the book Mycroft would have been reading, carefully placing the bookmark before closing the book. They he would have grabbed Mycroft’s hands and pulled him up from the sofa where he had been sitting.
He would have gently kissed him hello before leading him to their room. He would have carefully removed Mycroft of his intricate suit, taking his time. Mycroft would have rebuffed him, quietly making his excuse to shuffle off to the loo to change instead of having Greg do it-he was still slightly shy. Even though it annoyed Greg on occasion, he found it mostly endearing because it was such a Mycroft trait.
He would have changed while Mycroft was gone and then gone to brush his teeth and other things before crawling into bed beside Mycroft who always faced Greg’s side of the bed while waiting for him. He would have pulled Mycroft to him, kissing him thoroughly, trying to show him without words how much he loved him and was going to miss him. Even if it was only for one night.
Mycroft would have chuckled at first, as he always does when Greg starts things. Greg thought it was some sort of defense mechanism he had never gotten rid of-as though his laugh was always ready for the moment Greg pulled away and told him it had all been a joke.
They would have enjoyed the laziness of their snog-yes, Greg still called it that-before it turned into something more. Or perhaps it would have just been that and they would have been able to lie there in silence, Mycroft’s head carefully resting on Greg’s chest while tapping out Greg’s heartbeat.
Honestly, either situation was fine with Greg. He had never been the type of man to plan out what nights he and his partner were going to have sex. It just seemed entirely unromantic and really killed the mood, at least for himself. Perhaps there were other people who plotted out exactly when, where, and with whom they were going to do the deed. But they reminded him so much of prostitutes, that he couldn’t do that.
Even if he had been that type of man, it wouldn’t have worked with Mycroft. It had taken the better part of a year before they had finally slept together. Although, to be fair to both of them, it had taken awhile before Greg had had the courage to properly ask Mycroft out. And a bit longer after that for Mycroft to understand that they were something of an item.
Greg sighed as he flopped onto the bed. Now he was exhausted and missing Mycroft even more than he had originally been. Maybe if I just lay here for a while, he’ll arrive and we can still have a gentle night before he has to leave.
However, ten minutes later, Greg was fast asleep.
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