THE LOST LANGUAGE
Written on 5/24/2015
You know I'm quite fond of this duo. I should be persuaded to do more with them but here's this little fun nearly smutty thing that I wrote early last year. It was so fun to write. Hope you like it.
much love,
day
Greg never knew what to do in front of Mr. Holmes. He had this demeanor about him that made him revert back to his school days as rugby jock who was shy around anyone he found remotely attractive. He actually hadn't thought about him in that context. Not because he couldn't see the appeal of him, he was just a bit older than him and a colleague.
He had always the mind to never get involved with any of them out of professional courtesy but Mycroft Holmes had gotten his attention. The first time they crossed paths he was talking in Slavic tongue to a young chap. The boy probably in his ninth year.
'Myslíte lepšie nabudúce, kap.' (Do better next time, chap.) Then he had noticed him staring and mumbling, 'Pozri niečo, čo sa vám páči?' (See something you like?)
He hadn't understood at first but the phrase had stayed with him for the rest of the day to the point that he had to pull up an app on his way back home after work was over to figure out what he had told him. When he did, he decided that perhaps he might have. If that was his answer, he'd have to figure out how to speak in this tongue. His own being rudimentary and simple; Spanish.
Greg had learned is strictly because it was easy and it managed to pay the bills once he got his teaching license. His admirer unless joking was using Slavic tongues something extremely more difficult especially for a slightly bright man like himself.
He started slow anyhow, muttering his reply to the forgotten question the next time they crossed paths in the hallway. Another smirk from the older gentlemen who dressed quite nice for a teacher's salary. It was all very appealing to him. He replied while stepping around the kids to meet him. He stood close enough to tower over him something that he had noticed immediately.
The man was at least a head taller than him but they still spoke. "You're Gregory Lestrade."
"Just Greg." He told him, nodding at him before taking his outstretched hand. "Mycroft Holmes, right?" The other man smiled before leaving him there.
The next time they met Greg was getting ready to leave again. This time he was slightly more prepared for the man who spoke in tongues he was only beginning to learn. Mycroft surprised though, not speaking in that language at all but the one he knew. Espanol.
'Aquí nadie más que nosotros. Que podía hacer las cosas para usted, pero esto es apenas el ajuste, ¿no?' (No one here but us. I could do things to you but this is hardly the setting, no?)
Greg took a deep breath, no knowing if he was being serious or not. He always had this look about him that made it seem like more amusement than anything else. Did he amuse him?
'Nie.' (No.) He paused a moment wondering if he would just leave like all the other times but he shut the door, locking it in place before moving over to him. He had his hands on his tie before he could do anything else. Greg could feel the rush of blood flooding to his cheeks.
Mycroft Holmes was a bold man but he was partial right too. No one was left here. He had to know that in order to come at him in such a manner. He always figured him a private man who kept his matters secret at best. He had to be, to want to do this here; now.
Before his mouth brushed against his he mumbled, 'Pero es la opción más segura.' (But it is the safest choice.)