Actions Speak Louder than Words ~Mystrade 2
Mycroft angrily shut the fridge; Gregory had devoured the only remaining slice of cake while he had been away on business. The politician frowned and poured himself a Scotch before padding into the living room and sitting down in front of the fire. Sitting comfortably back in his chair by the delightful warmth of the fire place Mycroft relaxed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, resting it gently on the back of the leather chair. He took a sip of his scotch, it was nice to finally be back home after two long and miserable weeks in America. It wasn't that he didn't like America but it just seemed so wrong. Everyone was always so rude and their accents almost impossible to understand (which is saying a lot because he speaks over 7 different languages). It was always unbearably hot and it never rained enough for him to even have to carry his beloved umbrella. He sighed with relief, pleased he didn't have to go back anytime soon. He let all of the stress leave his body and just as his muscles began to relax someone's hands suddenly covered his eyes. Mycroft panicked, immediately lashing out and striking whoever the offender was directly in the nose.
"BLOODY HELL MYCROFT! WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" Gregory yelled tightly holding his nose and sounding much like a clown.
Mycroft was taken aback at the sight of blood dripping from his lover's nose. An injury the detective had suffered by his own hand. Tears began to flow from the younger man's eyes as he croaked many apologies.
Greg dabbed his bloody nose with his white V-neck, carefully making sure all traces of the wound had been removed from his face. He promptly pulled Mycroft into a tight hug, the taller man shaking with sobs. "Mycroft, it's okay. I'm fine, you didn't mean it. I forgive you." He softly whispered into his lover's ear.
Mycroft shook his head in denial against the DI's warm shoulder. This wasn't okay; he knew he had acted before thinking. It brought back terrible memories of when he once punched Sherlock so hard that he black out and it was all over Sherlock yelling 'Boo!" at him on Halloween. Or the time when he almost shot his partner from the CIA because he had unexpectedly touched his shoulder and surprised him. He had always been one to act before he thought everything completely through, now a days, with the position he held in the government he thought almost everything through and contemplated every possible outcome, because that was his job, but everyone slips up once in a while and there could never had been a worse time.
"Mycroft. Stop crying and look at me." Greg softly demanded, lifting his chin and making sure they were at eye level with each other.
Mycroft slowly lifted his gaze to meet the older mans. Gregory's dark brown eyes soft and filled with forgiveness. He didn't know what to say.
"My, what's wrong?" the detective questioned with worry.
Mycroft hesitated, wiping the remaining tears from his face, "I shouldn't have hit you Gregory. I'm so sorry I cannot even come to find the words to express it." He managed to say without breaking down again.
Gregory smiled softly and shook his head, "Mycroft, you don't need to apologize. It was my fault too; I shouldn't have scared you like that."
Gregory's soft voice made Mycroft feel a tiny bit better but the damage was still done, "I have always said action speak louder than words. I don't understand how you can forgive me." The younger man confessed his heart heavy.
Then, suddenly, the DI pulled Mycroft into a kiss. His soft lips gently pressing against the politicians. Mycroft kissed him back tenderly, his lips still held the traces of scotch. Greg pulled away with a smile, taking Mycroft's hand. "I'm sorry." He whispered.
Mycroft kissed him once more, and when he pulled away he whispered three simple words that spoke louder than anything. "I love you."