Greetings, my gentle readers. I am so pleased by the support and encouragement I have received from everyone; I can't begin to thank you. You have been most patient during my long absences, which, barring further chaos, should be a thing of the past.
Warning: There is some minor description of 'injury' in this story.
This is the second in a series of one-shots, which takes place in my "Falling" verse. This, and all other one-shots to follow, take place after "This Doesn't Feel Like Falling," has completed. They can be read individually, or as part of the larger series. I hope you enjoy.
Love is Kind
He'd gone the wrong way again. He'd been living with Mycroft for a little over three months now, and his brain couldn't seem to wrap itself around the fact that Mycroft's home was now his home too. It was a bigger house than Gregory had ever dreamt of living in, but Mycroft made it feel like home.
Greg had even been welcomed into the townhouse Mycroft kept up for those particularly busy periods of his work. They didn't stay there very often, but they had still managed to make it part of their home.
Sometimes Mycroft asked Gregory to remain at the estate without him, depending on how consuming his work was. The Detective Inspector only relented when Mycroft's work was excessive, not when it was dangerous. They had several long and pointed talks where Gregory had made it clear that he was no wilting flower, and he had his eyes open about the risks inherent in a relationship with Mycroft. He'd only managed to catch Mycroft providing him with covert security twice. Considering Mycroft's obsessive-compulsive need to control things, Greg figured this was a good start in the British Government learning to let go. ...That didn't mean that there hadn't been a few domestics about said unwanted security teams.
It didn't take more than five minutes to course correct. He hummed to himself as he drove towards a winding driveway with a large manor attached, and someone very special waiting inside.
When he arrived, the Detective Inspector strode up the walk, through the front door, and began jogging up the stairs towards the master bedroom-their shared bedroom. He met Anthea and Ryan on his way up. They were arm in arm, speaking quietly to one another, and Greg grinned at them shamelessly.
Anthea had lost her first love tragically, brutally, and no one had been more uncertain than her if she could love again. Over the past year, Greg had seen Ryan woo Anthea. He wooed her very patiently, and very thoroughly. Although he was not privy to their private lives (it was not his place) he was deeply pleased to see Anthea so happy. At times she appeared reluctantly happy, as though she wasn't sure of what she was feeling, or if she ought to do anything about it, but she was happy nonetheless.
Greg, despite all the hardship he had seen in his life, believed that a new beginning and healing was always possible. Some days that insistent faith was the only thing that kept him sane.
Greg nodded politely to the couple, intending to head straight past them and up to the master suite, to Mycroft, when Anthea's hand on his arm halted his forward progress. Greg blinked quizzically at her as she reached into the neat bun at the back of her head, and retrieved a supple pin. A pin which she then handed to him.
"You'll need that," Anthea explained. "His appointment didn't go well, and he's got the idiotic notion to hole up in his rooms alone until he's fully healed. I told him that I wouldn't make excuses for him, not to you."
Anthea was one of perhaps, six people who could get away with speaking so bluntly and irreverently about the British Government. Greg had been surprised and pleased to see that Mycroft and Anthea did not stand on ceremony when alone. Their unique partnership, however, was the last thing on his mind at present.
Icy fear crept into his veins, and he blinked at Mycroft's assistant once more. "What appointment?" Greg knew that Mycroft often met with other diplomats and many unsavory characters. Much like his younger brother, Mycroft lived dangerously.
Anthea's face softened sympathetically and she patted Greg lightly on the arm. "Fear not, Detective Inspector. His appointment today was with his dentist. It became necessary to extract two teeth." Anthea pointed first to the area of her bottom left molars, although she did not open her mouth, then to the skin covering the teeth in the front of her mouth, slightly to the left of where her incisors would be.
Greg winced in sympathy of the pain that must have caused, and glanced worriedly upstairs.
"He intends to get implants as soon as possible, especially for the canine," Anthea explained, and Greg nodded in understanding. Being at the front of the mouth, it would be impossible for Mycroft to hide a missing tooth, unless he refrained from speaking altogether."
"And he doesn't want to see me," Greg mused aloud, still looking up the stairs as he turned the hair pin over and over between his fingers. "Idiot," he breathed.
Anthea smiled gently. "I told him you'd say that."
After a momentary pause Greg looked over to Anthea and raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'Continue.'
"He threw a pillow at me," Anthea replied, a smirk fighting to appear at the edge of her lips.
Greg shook his head and gave Anthea's shoulder a light squeeze. "Thanks for the warning. I'll deal with him."
Athena nodded sagely. "I thought you would. Have a pleasant evening, Greg." Ryan nodded at him also, waving with his free hand.
Greg nodded and flashed Mycroft's top two agents a quick smile. "You as well." He watched them go for a moment with a wistful look, before bringing his gaze once more to the top of the stairs. "Idiot," he breathed again, shaking his head at his lover's stupidity.
When he came to the bedroom he shared with Mycroft, he was disappointed, but not surprised to find it locked, as Anthea had implied. He heard a muffled voice from behind the door. Mycroft, no doubt, with a mouth full of cotton to staunch the bleeding. Greg raised his voice to ensure he'd be heard clearly through the thick wooden doors. "When I'm done picking this lock, Mycroft, I'm going to give you an earful! What on earth has gotten into your head?!"
Greg promptly sunk to his knees before the massive doors. The lock was complicated, but he'd spent too much time around Mycroft's impossible younger brother not to have picked up a thing or two. The muffled voice continued, but Gregory tuned it out. If he was going to get to Sherlock's equally impossible older brother, it would take all of his concentration.
He cursed loudly, stubbed his fingers often, and just barely contained the impulse to beat the door down with his bare hands-he'd only get broken bones for that attempt. The 'click' when it came, was nearly silent. Greg turned the handle and, sighed with rifle as the door opened. He sagged against the doorframe for a moment in exhaustion, before rising from his knees and entering their bedroom.
The Detective Inspector slipped gracefully out of his shoes, and shut the door behind him. The lighting was very dim now, the bedside lamps were on their lowest setting, but Greg could still make out the prone form on the bed. Quietly, he approached.
Mycroft was silent now, lying flat in their king sized, four poster bed. His elevated breathing, which wheezed through the cotton in his mouth, gave evidence of his recent attempts to dissuade Gregory from entering their bedroom.
Gregory sat on the edge of the bed, his hip resting neatly against his lovers. Mycroft's face was swollen and red, with tiny smears of blood marring his lips. He was on his back, underneath heavy blankets, and a pained expression etched into his handsome features. When Greg laid his hands over Mycroft's, he knew he was feverish.
The Detective Inspector squeezed his lover's hand gently, running his thumb repeatedly across the back of it. "I'm sorry, love," he murmured. He hated to see Mycroft in any pain, regardless of how necessary it may be.
Mycroft's eyes narrowed in an attempted glare. "You're being insubornet," Mycroft mumbled around his gauze, slurring the last word slightly.
"Be sensible, Mycroft," Greg chided softly. "You don't need to be this reticent. Your staff and your family care about you." He lifted his free hand to caress Mycroft's hair and, very gently, the swollen flesh of his cheek.
"I care about you," Gregory insisted. "I love you, Mycroft." Mycroft's eye widened noticeably at his lover's confession, but Greg pressed on. "I don't care if you have all your teeth, or none of them. I don't care if you have diabetes, or not. So help me, Mycroft, one of these days I will convince you of that fact."
The British Government was dumbstruck at his lover's unabashed forthrightness. As much as it chafed and he fought against it at times, he'd grown to find Gregory's openness of character quite... endearing.
Greg gently smoothed his fingers through Mycroft's hair, rubbing his scalp. "Are you done being thickheaded?"
Mycroft blinked, then, very slowly, he nodded.
Greg leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his lover's forehead. "Can I get you anything? For the pain?"
"No," Mycroft murmured, his voice almost a whisper, "I've taken it already."
Mycroft's eyes slid towards the bedside table, and Greg followed their gaze. A slim pill bottle sat just beside the lamp. The Detective Inspector picked it up, read the instructions, and nodded. "Hopefully you'll be feeling some relief soon."
"It has already started," Mycroft said, fighting the urge to nod his head, because that only made the pressure worse.
"Can I get you anything else?" Greg asked, returning his gaze to Mycroft. "Food? Water?"
There was a pause so long, that Gregory was drawing breath to repeat his question even as he felt his lover's hand tighten around his own. "Stay," Mycroft breathed.
Greg smiled and nodded. "Of course."
Standing, he quickly stripped down to his boxers and slid beneath the sheets. His side was pressed gently to Mycroft's, and his head came to rest lightly on Mycroft's shoulder. He was trying to stay close, but in a way that would not aggravate his lover's pain. "Just tell me if you need me to move," Greg insisted.
Mycroft smiled, despite the pain. "Yes, Gregory."
Greg sighed quietly and nestled gratefully into Mycroft's side. He would help Mycroft through this, whether he liked it or not. For the moment, at least, he seemed to have his lover's cooperation. Stifling a yawn behind his hand, Gregory focused on the deep, even sound of Mycroft's breathing.
"I love you too."
Greg smiled into the skin of Mycroft's shoulder, feeling an unreasonable rush of giddiness. In the darkness, their hands found each other, and held tight.