A/N: I wrote this at 2am today, so I apologise if it is as awful as I expect that it is. I own nothing and make no profits... Please do review if you like this!
It is- using only one word to describe the feeling- wonderful.
Mycroft cuddles in closer to the warmth next to him, resting his head against Gregory's shoulder. Gregory mutters something about houses and parks in his deep slumber for a fleeting moment, shifting himself so that Mycroft is curled even closer to him. Mycroft, exhausted but determined to stay awake- just for a minute longer, presses his lips to the warm tanned skin stretched across Gregory's shoulder. Gregory smiles. It is amazing, utterly mind-blowing, for Mycroft to have Gregory, legs entwined with his own, breathing gently into his hair is incredible. Gregory is warm pressed against him; Gregory is solid and safe; Gregory is frayed and comfortable. Mycroft cannot believe his eyes, strained as they are, with only the light from the street lamp outside creeping through the gaps in the curtains to illuminate the room. Even so, Gregory is there and real and breathing and safe. Mycroft gently runs a hand across the mark blossoming on Gregory's neck that is visible even in the poor lighting. Well, Mycroft reasons, Gregory had been away for the most part of two days. Mycroft had had every right to remind everyone exactly who owns Gregory Lestrade. Not that Mycroft owns him, as such, just loves him with his entire being. Gregory never seems to mind anyway- he flaunts the marks on his neck with an open collar and the kind of feigned innocence that only a police officer can produce. Mycroft simply stares. He is a rational man, but even he cannot believe the data that his senses are providing him with. He cannot believe that Gregory is really here, in perfect health, in bed, snoring gently and occasionally muttering "Mycroft" swiftly followed by "Love you". So Mycroft carefully caresses Gregory's face, his shoulders, back, sides and chest, resting his hand over Gregory's heart.
That is when things start to go wrong.
There is no heart beat. Gregory's chest is suddenly very still and no longer rising and falling with sleepy breathing. Gregory is rapidly becoming cold to the touch- his skin feeling loose and cool and slippery like satin. There is a hot, sickening feeling rising in his throat and Mycroft pushes himself up onto his knees and stares down in horror as Gregory's face goes slack and seems to almost deflate. He leans in and takes Gregory by the shoulders, shaking him desperately. Nothing. Mycroft feels the terror beginning to take a hold and he flails out a hand to grab his phone. It is not there. Mycroft cannot believe it. He looks between Gregory and the bedside table and again and again until he is dizzy and can do nothing more than sink down and press his face into Gregory's chest and weep.
That is when things start to become very confusing.
A warm hand presses gently between Mycroft's shoulder blades.
"Myc?"
Mycroft knows that it is a lie- an illusion created by his own cruel brain- and he clutches Gregory's limp body, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Mycroft, love, what-?" but the voice is ignored- pushed to the back of his mind, focusing on Gregory lying still in his arms. Though suddenly strong hands are pulling Gregory away from him, and Mycroft cries out and kicks and throws his arms wildly in desperation.
Mycroft wakes with a start and there is a warm liquid dripping onto his face. He blinks and looks up, realising with horror that it is blood falling onto his forehead. Then he realises where he is. Gregory looks down, worried.
"Mycroft?" he queries softly, the blood dripping from his nose giving him a slight lisp. He holds Mycroft tighter in his lap, rocking him ever-so-slightly.
"Gregory?" Mycroft replies, unsure of himself- of reality.
"Hey, baby," Gregory looks just as confused and scared as Mycroft feels.
"Your nose-" Mycroft is not sure what else to say.
"Yeah, you've got a nasty right hook when you're asleep," Gregory smiles slightly, dragging his shirt-sleeve under his nose and mopping up a stream of blood. Mycroft can feel himself wincing.
"I was asleep?" he asks, soothing himself with the warmth of being tucked into Gregory's chest.
Gregory nods, "Completely out of it. I went to the loo and when I got back you were screaming and holding your pillow," Gregory smiles slightly again, "Then you walloped me one for trying to wake you."
"I am so sorry," Mycroft attempts to sit up and examine Gregory, but Gregory hold Mycroft tighter.
"No, don't apologise, love," Gregory tells him, and then plants a gentle kiss to Mycroft's forehead, "Everything is alright now, Myc. You had a nightmare, but I've got you, okay?"
All Mycroft can do is whimper and nod pathetically as Gregory rocks him and murmurs over and over again that everything is alright. Eventually they come to a silent mutual agreement that Gregory needs to attend to his nose, and Gregory pulls Mycroft into the bathroom.
"I'm not leaving you alone in there this time, okay?" it is more of a statement than a question, but Mycroft nods all the same and assists as best he can in stemming the blood flow.
They move back into the bedroom a little while later and Gregory collapses onto the bed, gently tugging Mycroft down into his arms.
"Are you going to tell me what your nightmare was?" Gregory asks into Mycroft's hair, playing with their hands.
"You were in bed with me, asleep and well, and then suddenly you just-" and Mycroft does not dare finish the sentence, irrationally terrified that by verbalising his fears they might come true.
"I died?" Gregory finishes for him, and Mycroft nods, "You thought that the pillow was me?" Mycroft nods again, "And that when I was trying to wake you up I was taking you away from my body?" and Mycroft nods again, thankful that his face is buried in Gregory's chest.
"It was horrible," Mycroft murmurs, "I- I never want-"
"It was just a dream, Myc, I'm not going anywhere," Gregory tells him quietly.
"You cannot promise-"
"I promise that I will not die on you randomly. I will go down in a big shoot out, saving hundreds of lives," Gregory teases softly and Mycroft smiles a little, feeling lips press to his hair.
"I am sorry-"
"No apologies, love," Gregory shakes his head, "You need some sleep and so do I. Have a nice dream this time, yeah? About tomorrow?" and Mycroft suddenly feels extremely guilty.
"Your nose-"
"We can get the photographer to edit out any bruising," Gregory chuckles gently, "Anyway, one of the grooms has to be the not-so-pretty one and I suppose that's my job."
"You're perfect to me," Mycroft tells him honestly.
"And you to me," Gregory smiles, "So come on, rest your pretty little head. I want you looking mighty fine when you walk down the aisle to me."
Mycroft laughs and snuggles closer into Gregory, taking in the warmth and the smell that can only be Gregory and the comfortable solidness of Gregory as a pillow, and he realises the difference between reality and the beginning of his dream.
Reality is so much better.