Warning: There's some Latin text in here. I'll give you a translation at the end.


Darkness had engulfed the Holmes Manor and Gregory was somewhat lost. Mycroft had left him in his childhood room over half an hour ago and he couldn't stand it any longer. After scanning Mycroft's bookcase and looking at the photographs upon the mantelpiece of course. So now he was walking down the eerie corridor in search of Mycroft.

In all honesty he never expected to be there in the first place. It was another one of those spontaneous trips Mycroft liked to spring on him with nothing more than a day's warning. That was how he had found himself sitting at an obscenely large dinner table trying to impress the mysterious Mrs Holmes. Dinner hadn't exactly been the most entertaining thing he had ever had to do. Interviewing serial killers was less intimidating. The glances she had given him felt like they could reach into his very soul and rip it out. He had tried his best though. For Mycroft's sake.

After they had retired to Mycroft's room the man had been insufferable. He had paced around the room and looking for something that obviously wasn't there. Gregory was worried to say the least. So when he had left the room in a somewhat nervous panic Gregory was left to think the worst. He didn't know what was wrong but to see Mycroft act like that, he knew it was bad. He had finally buckled under the thirty minute mark and took to searching the halls.

So far his searching had been unsuccessful. He had managed to avoiding bumping into any furniture that lined the halls, which was a plus side. He was going to give up, hoping Mycroft would return to his room soon, when he saw it. The beam of light glaring at him from a crack in the door. Feeling like he had nothing to lose Gregory crept over and glanced inside. He didn't get much of a view. He could just make out two figures standing by a desk. Assuming it was some kind of study Gregory drew his attention back to the figures. The one facing away from the door clearly belonged to Mycroft. He knew that form anywhere. The other was tall and slim. Feminine. Mrs Holmes.

From inside the room Gregory could hear them talking. What about though he didn't actually know. Although he could hear them they didn't seem to be speaking English. Typical. He couldn't tell what language it was but at least he would be able to understand what was going on. He may not be the most observant person but Gregory prided himself on being able to understand vocal tones.

"Amor?" The sharp voice of Mrs Holmes asked. Her voice was drenched with disgust as she spat out the short question.

Mycroft nodded, standing up straight before replying firmly. "Etiam."

"Ita?"

There was a slight hesitation as Mycroft didn't reply straight away. He was losing the confidence he usually had. "Etiam," he confirmed at last. "Non credis mihi?"

Gregory had to cover his mouth. Mycroft had sound almost hurt. As if he was accusing his mother of something. He had never heard Mycroft sound like that. He was always so strong. So in control. Yet here he was in front of his mother sounding like any other person. Instead of doing anything Gregory stood there watching, almost frozen to his spot.

There was a pause after Mycroft had spoken. Then a bitterly sarcastic laugh from the elder Holmes. "Quid hoc sibi vult?" She asked, almost as she had lost interest in the conversation. Gregory watched as she moved herself around the desk. Although obviously a question Mycroft showed no intention of actually replying. He lowered his head and refused to look her in the eye. Taking the characteristics of a child who had just broken their mother's rules. "Oh."

"Me paenitet, Mater!" Was blurted out quickly afterwards. As if a sort of plea. It didn't look like it mattered though. Mrs Holmes appeared to be moving towards an exit.

"Quid novi?" She snapped, not turning round to do so. It was clear she was done with the conversation.

"Nihil," Mycroft whispered. Just loud enough for it to travel through the room to be heard. Satisfied with her answer Mrs Holmes disappeared, leaving Mycroft to stand there trying to recollect himself. Gregory watched him for a while. Unsure about what had just happened. It was an argument. No doubt about that but the way Mycroft talked about his mother he couldn't think of a single thing it would be about.

After about five minutes watching Mycroft just stand there, unsure how to act, Gregory slowly opened the door and made his way into the room. Mycroft didn't turn when he entered. He didn't expect him to. Unsure what to say Gregory just took hold of the other man's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Mycroft didn't squeeze back but kept his eyes on a fixed point on the floor. He was trying to calm himself down. Trying to control his emotions. Gregory didn't deserve to see him like this. A wreck.

"Mycroft?" The soft familiar voice hit his ears, bringing him back into the real word. It was a bitter relief. Possibly the only person who would be able to console him was the person reasonable for the talk with Mother in the first place. Looking up he saw the concern etched on Gregory's face. It caused the breath to catch in his throat. Gregory had heard. Of course he had heard. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Mycroft shook his head. That was the last thing he wanted. He would make himself forget. It wasn't important. Mother would calm down. Eventually. There was no point worrying Gregory. "Forget it," he breathed. "It's nothing."

Raising an eyebrow Gregory didn't question him. Instead he smiled weakly and squeezed Mycroft's hand again. "Let's go to bed. Everything will be better in the morning."

Not putting up much of a fuss Mycroft followed Gregory back to his old room. He remained silent as he got changed. His mother's words still circling within his head. Unable to shift them. Of all people he thought she would understand. That she would be proud. He had managed to do something people deemed impossible. He had apologised. Of course she had reminded him of all his other failures in her own little way. No matter what he did or what people said; she was never proud of him.

Sleep came easily to him that night. He clung on to Gregory, his head buried within Gregory's chest. Gregory didn't say anything about it and he was grateful. He just wanted comfort. It was a rare occasion and one that would never be mentioned. Mycroft Holmes, British Government, did not curl up for emotional support. He would deny it if anybody insinuated otherwise. Yet he needed that night. He needed to feel and to hold and to let go. In the Holmes fashion anyway. It was releasing all the torment and emotion he had built up over the years. His entire life really.

Gregory didn't quite understand it but he went along. He held Mycroft close, watching the man sleep within his arms. He knew something happened in that room. Something sour. He knew it had an impact on Mycroft and he knew it changed things. He also knew it had something to do with Mrs Holmes. The best thing to do with keep quiet and let everything fan out. Gregory allowed himself to sleep an hour after Mycroft had done so. Only after he was sure Mycroft was safe.

In the morning everything was not at all better. The atmosphere distasteful as they departed. No goodbyes were given. Mrs Holmes was left ignored. Gregory didn't say anything. It was the best thing. Once back home in London everything began to slot back into place. Even if slightly different from before.

The weekly updates to Mother stopped. Gregory noticed that first. Mycroft always contacted his mother. Yet the oddest occurrence was the relationship between Sherlock and Mycroft. Their petty feud became much less. Sherlock began to accept calls more. Complied every now and then. Gregory could only sit back and watch.

Almost a month after the incident Mycroft said 'I love you' for the first time. Gregory never found out why yet he definitely had his suspicions.


Okay. So here's the translations of the phrases used for you if you need them.

Amor: Love

Etiam: Yes

Ita?: Really?

Non credis mihi?: Don't you believe me?

Quid hoc sibi vult?: What does this mean?

Me paenitet, Mater: I'm sorry, Mother

Quid novi?: What's new?

Nihil: Nothing

I hoped that helped for you and I hope you liked this.