Upon reflection, Greg really shouldn't have been so surprised. At least not as surprised as the rest of the population of Great Britain had been. The motion had been discreetly put forward, the law quietly passed and the announcement tactfully made just hours later, changing an entire country's definition of marriage.
All because Mycroft Bloody Holmes couldn't stand the thought of being civil partnershipped.
He'd nearly finished a long and grueling shift at the Yard, and had been hacking his way through reams of paperwork, when the first clue interrupted the terribly fascinating report.
Sergeant Donovan poked her head around the door and grinned at him. "Congrats, boss. Your lot must be thrilled." She winked and slammed the door before could even he could form a question.
Why was Sally congratulating him? Was it the murder they'd just wrapped up? (Without Sherlock Holmes, thank you very much.) Donovan had been working on another case at the time of it's solving, so maybe it was a pat on the back for that? That would be out of character. Sure, they respected each other, but it was more of a curt nod, slap on the back, and appreciative grunt sort of relationship. Neither of them were particularly demonstrative.
Whatever. He was too tired to think about it right now.
He tried to turn his attention back to his work, but it kept swimming out of focus. He needed to go home and sleep. He'd been up for far too long.
After grabbing his coat from the back of his chair, he tidied the paper-strewn desk as much as he could, and headed toward the lobby.
That was where he got his second indication that something, he didn't quite know what, had happened.
The Yard was bustling as usual. The sounds of phones ringing, keys and handcuffs jingling, and voices murmuring were familiar and comfortable. The biggest difference was that, as he passed his fellow officers, a couple of them flashed him cheeky smiles. More than a couple. He looked down at himself, expecting to see a stain of some kind, or something equally embarrassing, like an unzipped fly. Nothing jumped out at him, however, so he shook his head and walked a little faster toward the door.
A broadly grinning DI Gregson stopped him just before he'd made it out the door. He clapped Greg on the shoulder, and waggled his eyebrows. (Not a good look for him.)
"Just heard the big news. Kind of out of the blue, wasn't it? Great, though, yeah? Are you planning anything already?"
God, he was too knackered for this conversation.
"Sure, it's great. I'll see you later, alright?"
Obviously, he'd missed something. He figured he'd rush home, check his email, and there'd be some new development in a case, or a favourable news article to read.
That's what he'd expected. But, that wasn't what happened.
He'd left his vehicle in an underground car park around the corner from the station. Climbing in, he regretted bringing it in the first place. He should've taken the tube, since he knew he'd be out all night. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the stiff seat. He'd rest for 5 minutes, and if he wasn't awake enough after that, he'd leave his car here and cab home.
His short nap was disturbed when he heard echoing footsteps slow and stop not too far from his vehicle. He opened his eyes and a man came into focus. He was standing by a metal rubbish bin, apparently finishing up a newspaper. The headline was bold enough that Greg could read it from where he was, and it took nearly 10 seconds for his brain to stall and comprehend what he was reading...Oh. Jesus.
The man started to close the paper and fold it up, and had almost tossed it in the empty bin before Greg pushed open the car door and shouted, "Oi!"
The man looked up, startled, as Greg jogged up to him, his hand extended.
"Are you finished with that? Can I have it?"
"Um, sure, mate. Be my guest." The strangers eyes were only slightly suspicious, until he saw Greg devour the front page story. Then they turned downright hostile, but not at Greg.
"It's a travesty, ain't it? Lettin' gays marry? Christ, what's this country comin' to, eh?"
Greg's only response was a noncommittal grunt. He'd barely heard a word. He was too busy absorbing the news. It must have broken while he was tied up with his last case. He'd been so rushed, he hadn't looked at a telly for hours. Suddenly all his co-workers' interest made sense. He was numb with shock, the paper hanging limply in his grasp.
That's when he noticed the photo that was printed alongside the article. It was a picture taken during the announcement that morning, all sorts of important Government bigwigs, all proud of themselves for upgrading some basic human rights. No one else would have noticed the tall, lanky figure standing behind the officials, his face averted from the camera.
But Greg noticed him. Oh, God. Mycroft couldn't...well, yes he could. But he wouldn't-.
He had to see Mycroft. He needed to go there, right this minute. He abruptly realized that Mr. Talkative Stranger was still on his rant.
"...a terrible thing, I mean, what's next? Animals? Relatives? I try not to think about it, but-"
"Thanks for the paper, mate."
"You're welcome. Glad to see someone agrees with me."
"I don't. You're a twit."
"You don't-. Hey!"
Greg didn't stay to hear his spluttering indignation. He was already in his car and starting the engine. His second wind appeared to have kicked in, so he was no longer worried about driving safely.
He made his way through the darkened streets, his shock swiftly turning to irritation...which morphed, with little provocation, into genuine anger. He pulled up to a posh house, in an even more posh neighbourhood, and parked right out front. The journey had taken far too long, by his estimation, but he took a moment for a deep breath, regardless. When that failed to calm him down, he cut his losses, and grabbed the newspaper from the seat next to him. He charged up to the stately front door, and didn't bother to knock.
"Mycroft!" He shrugged off his jacket and left it in a heap beside the umbrella stand by the door. "Mycroft, I know you're home, could you come over here, please?"
Greg heard the distant creak of a chair, and stood, arms folded across his chest, while the tap of leather shoes on hardwood got closer. As his partner rounded the corner, he straightened out the crumpled newspaper.
"Good evening, Gregory. I was not expecting you tonight."
"What's this, then?" He demanded, and gestured with the boldly printed front page.
"To what do you refer? I expect that you've already deduced that it is a newspaper."
"Oh, come off it." Apparently, Mycroft knew that Greg was spoiling for a fight. He only pulled the Ice Man routine in private when he knew it would piss off his favourite DI. "You know exactly what I"m talking about. Did you make this happen?"
"Oh, come now, I think you overestimate my influence."
He scoffed. "Yeah. Right. Not a chance. You could do this, if you wanted to. I know you."
Mycroft sighed, looking resigned, finally.
"I may have suggested to one or two important people that their support in this matter would not go unrewarded." Mycroft calmly brushed a non-existent wrinkle out of his suit sleeve, as if he hadn't just convinced an entire government to bend to his will, without them even knowing.
"Oh, God. You didn't blackmail anyone, did you?"
"Of course not, this was entirely above-board." His grey eyes flashed with annoyance. "Really, Gregory, do you think so little of me?"
Greg sighed. "No. No.Well, kind of. I just know what you're capable of. But I honestly never thought you'd do something like this." He couldn't stop his hands from gripping the abused newspaper at his side. Mycroft frowned, the first true expression he'd shown that evening.
"Greg, I don't understand why you're so angry. I thought we'd essentially decided-"
"Decided? We had a chat, a month ago, about the vague future. You made that crinkly snooty face, which I usually adore, and said that tax breaks weren't a good enough reason to give ourselves the silly official title of 'partners.'"
"Exactly. I told you that I don't do anything half-way. Why should we settle for a pseudo-marriage?"
"So you go and change a law?!" This man's thought processes sometimes, honestly. "I told you when we first started this relationship that I didn't want any grand gestures. None of that smoke-and-mirrors, James Bond stuff. I'm not dating the British Government, I'm shagging you! That's why I'm mad, Mycroft. This is too much. I don't need you to do things like this. I thought you knew that when I told you not to commandeer me a private jet. Or when you offered to pay for an upgrade to all the unmarked police vehicle's so that I can have a better car. Or any of the other times you've thrown your weight around, including that first time you kidnapped me, don't think I've forgotten that. Honestly, I've had enough, and it has to stop."
There was a deafening silence. The weariness that had plagued him before came back tenfold. Greg immediately regretted his petulant tirade. He wished he could take it back. Sleep for twelve hours before coming over here to talk. But was too late for that, and the other man broke the pregnant pause.
"Understood." Mycroft straightened his already impeccable tie, and shifted his feet, a gesture that was unlike him. "Well, it's too late now to take it back, but I'm sure others of our ilk will take advantage of my failed attempt to..." He trailed off, then took a deep breath. "Right, then. I'll give you those cufflinks back, if you want them, I know they set you back quite a bit-."
"Wait, wait. I don't want the damn cufflinks, what are you-? Oh. Are you...are you breaking up with me?"
"What? No! I thought you were breaking up with me."
"No! God, no! I mean, I'm pissed, but not that much." All the ire drained out of him. "Jeez, I'm sorry, Mycroft. I'm really tired, I probably overreacted."
"No, no, it's fine. I understand."
"Do you?"
"Yes, I do. No more gestures. No more power plays. Just...myself."
"That's all I want, you know. It's all I ever wanted from you."
He stepped forward to grip his lover's hips. Mycroft slumped into Greg's hold and laid his ginger head on the solid shoulder in front of him. He sighed, his voice heavy with relief.
"Lord, I thought I'd botched it all up. I thought for sure you'd go."
"Nah. Who else'd put up with me? Moody, tired, old queen that I am." Mycroft laughed softly.
"I think you sell yourself short, Gregory."
"Yeah?"
"Absolutely."
"Maybe."
They stood like that, enjoying the familiar warmth of each other's grasp, before Greg finally broke the silence.
"So. You gonna marry me, then?"
Mycroft moved his head back to give Greg his patented snarky eye-brow raise.
"Obviously."
"...Brilliant."