It was only two minutes later, as the loud sound of air raid sirens wailing broke the silence. A loud crying dragging them roughly out of their thoughts, the world which had been standing still suddenly beginning to turn again. Gregory heard the sound of people running out of their houses, trying to see whether the alarm was a test or if they already were attacked.
Gregory and Mycroft probably were one of the only people not even moving an inch. Mycroft lay in his arms as he inhaled air sharply, the sound of his breaths being muted by the incredibly loud sirens. Only two minutes after the war had been declined, at 11:27 AM, loud yells and screams reached Gregory's ears.
He stood up, feeling numb and shocked, his body getting cold and hot within seconds without any sign. He heard his own heartbeat, almost as audible as the sirens and the commands being shouted by men out on the streets. Wetting his lips, feeling the sour and bitter taste of alcohol suddenly stronger than before, the DI stopped in front of the window, looking out.
From their flat, they had a normally nice view on the Hyde Park Barracks in Knightsbridge, the Hyde Park only slightly visible. He could even see the Buckingham Palace, its beauty completely ridiculous now in this moment. There it stood, strong and big, the perfect target for bombs and jets the Germans would send soon. A shiver ran down his spine, but was ignored rather quickly.
The Barracks always have been an eyesore, its presence here ruining the park. But in this moment, on the stretch of green turf by the Barracks, with the row of steam shovels biting out mouthfuls of earth, it never had been this shocking to see. People were hoisting the earth aloft, dumping it into lorries to be filled into sandbags there to protect the important buildings - why the Barracks were considered as one was an enigma to Gregory.
Soldiers were walking amongst the people who desperately were clinging onto their sanity. No one cried, eyes puffy, cheeks wet, but out there with the sirens breaking the silence, no one dared to appear weak.
An arm was wrapped around Gregory's waist and he leant against his lover, relieved to see he had gained back his control. He wasn't used to see so many emotions in Mycroft's face, especially if they were of a bad origin, sadness, anger, pain or fear; Mycroft hid them to the point where he couldn't tell when he felt them anymore.
"London prepares for war", Mycroft commented on the view of soldiers giving each civilian gas masks, muttering instructions of how to use them, "Soon, they will start to turn out every electricity in the night to herder the people out of the city."
Gregory turned his head towards Mycroft, narrowing his eyebrows. But didn't seem to notice it, continuing to talk about the plans and coming events as if he was reading out a file aloud. Eyes fixed on the people outside, but glance unfocused, being too deep in his thoughts to be aware of his surroundings anymore.
His mind palace, probably, or just the attempt to stay strong for Gregory. Either way, it didn't work and as the first civilians put on their gasmasks, some walking around with cardboard cartons in which they kept the masks, Mycroft bit his lower lip for an instance. Long enough for Gregory to notice that something was wrong.
Mycroft never has been one to show his emotions, preferring to keep them hidden in order to make decisions on a logical basis. But those little displays betrayed him - when he was angry, he would purse his lips briefly, when he was scared, he would bite his lip. All those little things no one would notice, Gregory had memorised them all.
While they had helped him to survive living in here together with an extraordinary man like Mycroft, it now had found a new use. One of which Gregory would have never thought about, yet here he stood, turning Mycroft and pressing his lips upon his lover's in the middle of a sentence.
"- to the evacuation trains", Mycroft ended, blinking in surprise at the sudden contact, the corners of his lips curling up a bit to reveal that he was suppressing a smile.
Gregory smiled at him, trying to bring back a little bit of normally in this chaos. It was the attempt of a desperate man to keep everything like it was. With a bit of luck, the policemen had to stay in their position which would save him from getting called to the front. Mycroft, however, didn't have a position which officially protected him from getting chosen for the war.
His influence might have been strong, and maybe he even was pulling the strings of dozens of countries, all dancing under his command but always in the belief they were controlling themselves and were free - but in war, who could have known that the government was up to. Mycroft had an extraordinary mind, a mind worth the money he got paid for taking care of Britain's little problems.
A strategist. Someone who could be useful during the war, when tactics had to be made; whenever the Colonels and Captains couldn't make decisions on their own anymore. Unfortunately, someone who could be of use at the front.
So Gregory prayed to whoever was listening, prayed that Mycroft would be able to do his work from London's offices. That he would be able to stay here with Gregory, where the latter could make sure that the younger wouldn't be harmed. He had no one left except his lover, without him, he would be lost.
"London will be evacuated, right? Because the Germans would attack the capital first to make as much damage as possible."
Mycroft nodded, watching as a jeep with some soldiers whose gas masks slung neatly in knapsacks over their shoulders passed, the people jumping to the side as they headed to Whitehall. By the insignias on their shoulders, Gregory could tell they were admirals. This only had been a test, those sounds of sirens, yet they still made their loud, whining sounds, muting the screams and cries of the people on the street.
The sound of their phone ringing caught Gregory off-guard. He flinched, turning around and expecting anything, an enemy, a bomb having been thrown into their rooms. But there was nothing. Only their black phone standing on a tiny table next to the entrance door, the shrill sound painfully reminding Gregory of the sirens outside.
Mycroft hurried to get to it, picking the receiver up and pressing it to his ear.
It was either someone from Mycroft's work or from the Yard. None of them had any relatives which would bother to call. Sherlock and John were both in America, safe and far away from the events in Europe. As long as the Germans wouldn't decide to try their luck by fighting against the United States, they were safe. John sometimes wrote letters, but recently, none came through anymore.
Gregory had his brother, but the younger was a soldier and about to be sent to Germany. His other brother, three years his senior, didn't talk to the two younger anymore. His children were with their mother, Gregory's ex-wife, somewhere in the country; out of Gregory's reach. He didn't have their number and his wife had erased his out of her address book the moment after the divorce, the money he had to pay her for the children was always sent to an address he didn't know nor could find.
They were on their own.
Gregory didn't mind the fact, however. He enjoyed being alone with Mycroft, it meant they could be who they were, not having to hide their love. Now and then, Mycroft had to invite his assistant to keep up the cover of being in a relationship with her. She knew the true nature of their relationship, but still, Gregory never had the courage to show his affection when she was around.
It gave her power he didn't like someone having. Would Mycroft have to fire her because of any reason, then she would have enough material and information to blackmail and ruin them. It was a risk both were ready to take, for the sake of their relationship, but while Mycroft seemed to not even consider this, Gregory constantly worried. He had never liked the assistant whose real name he didn't even know, Mycroft never told him.
Maybe it was paranoia, maybe Gregory felt something Mycroft didn't. This was highly unlikely since Mycroft always noticed everything days or hours before Gregory did, but still. He never let his guard down when he was in company of someone else with Mycroft. Not even shy brushes, everyone was paying attention to those signs which would identify a 'faggot'.
Mycroft had been silent the whole time, listening to whoever was speaking at the other line. Gregory watched as he took a piece of paper to write down a number in his perfect, elegant handwriting, even with his hand shaking slightly. Regardless of how much he tried to hide it, Gregory knew him far too well to not notice such things.
It was concern and worry, maybe about Britain, maybe about Gregory or his brother. But if Mycroft Holmes worried about something strongly enough to slightly loose the control he had over his body, then it definitely was something bad.
Mycroft hung up quickly, fingers moving over the dial plate. He put his finger in the corresponding finger-hole and rotated the dial clockwise, faster than usually as if he was in a hurry. Gregory turned his head towards the streets again, seeing a woman breaking down as she realised the situation. Children were tugging at their parents' clothes, asking what 'War' was and why those noises were so loud. Gregory felt glad for a moment he wouldn't have to explain the situation to his children.
The sound of the dial being returned to the resting position by a spring caught his attention, the pattern repeating several times until he could hear Mycroft's quiet voice, speaking to a person without saying the name out aloud.
"Balloons might be a very obvious decision, sir", Mycroft said quietly, and Gregory was able to feel the other's glance upon his back, "A balloon barrage could be considered as a threat and it might be better to not use them yet. As far as we know, they might prove to be mildly effective against the V-1 flying bombs the Germans might use…"
Gregory took his coat and put it on, quickly pressing a kiss on Mycroft's lips as the other wasn't talking. He quickly left, trying to ignore the amount of people out on the streets as he headed to Scotland Yard. He knew better than trying to listen to the conversation Mycroft was having. It probably was about politics and about decisions which had to be made and while Gregory certainly was curious, he knew that - would it be important - Mycroft would tell him.
He always did, eventually, sometimes after hours of pleading and whining from Gregory's side.
Gregory pushed the door open, stunned by the sight. Normally, most of the officers never actually showed up. No one noticed since no one really paid attention and most cases were solved more than quickly - well, not since Sherlock had been 'forced' to leave London a few years ago anymore, but still quick enough. There mostly was no use for more than twenty officers to sit in the office all day.
Right now, everyone was there. Donovan, Anderson (whatever he was doing here in the office), the other Detective Inspectors. Gregory wasn't able to find anyone who wasn't here, sitting behind their desks with phones ringing every second would they hang up the conversation they recently had.
"Scrap at Richmond Park!"
An officer took his cap and hurried away, someone else taking his place to get the information about the newest crimes being committed in this insanity. Gregory walked to his own, private, office and heavily sat down, rubbing his face.
There was a knock before one of the Detective Inspectors entered, his eyes read and puffy, hand clutched to fists.
"'Yer know, people go nuts ou' there", the other said, sitting down on the edge of Gregory's desk and handing him a cup of coffee which the other happily accepted, "I mean, we're at war, yes, but that doesn't mean I can go on the streets and play psychopathic idjit."
Gregory chuckled dryly, lifting his cup to toast to the Irish man. "As if we won't have enough to do now with the war."
The other nodded, sighing and standing up again. "'Yer just have to wait for a bomb, then they'll be silent."
He went out, leaving Gregory alone with his thoughts and his fear. A bomb would be the worst thing which could happen. They had balloons against attacks from above, they had soldiers in London to defeat the city should they try to attack, Britain owned enough ships in case of a war on the ocean. But against bombs, nothing could help. Not even those ridiculous sandbags now covering the streets, the eye quickly about to get used to it. Getting accustomed to the sight.
For a moment, he allowed his posture to sink down, burying his face in his hands as if to hide from the world. Even hours later, as it already became dark, he still sat there between each phone call, trying not to break down due to his desperation.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Gregory was welcomed home by the sound of Mycroft's voice, perfectly cold, calm, smooth. Every word leaving his mouth a perfect example of politeness no one would be able to use this naturally as the DI's lover. So he still was talking, working at… Gregory turned his head towards the clock on the wall, narrowing his eyebrows. Mycroft still was working at nine pm.
He silently walked into the living room, having taken off his shoes to be as silent as possible and to enjoy the feeling of the rug beneath his feet. Mycroft sat on the desk they had inside the room, surrounded by papers and files Gregory would never get to know the content of. He just sat there, talking, listening, working hardly even though it was obvious that he was tired.
This was a routine between them. Mycroft overworked almost on a daily basis, and Gregory would come back home, having to literally drag him into bed every evening. Sometimes, Mycroft ignored him. He would continue to work, for hour after hour until midnight, when Gregory always told him that he would destroy the phone. This threat always worked.
Right now, he didn't dare, however. The situation was delicate, a war, Mycroft certainly was busy and had to plan everything to keep Britain safe. He just sat down in front of Mycroft on the ground, reaching out to take the almost empty bottle of alcohol to down it in one try. Gregory sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to not listen to the words Mycroft was saying.
If he was honest, half were words he didn't know the meaning of. Operation names, titles of planes and balloons, all those things Mycroft didn't have to be specialised in and yet he was. Precautions, he had explained it to Gregory as he once had been reading a catalogue with guns and rifles in it, if it might become necessary to know such things.
Little did they know that it indeed had become essential and vital.
Mycroft finally hung up as Gregory had opened the second bottle, not even trying to safe the beverage for later. It was one of Mycroft's favourite wines, an expensive one of rich, red colour, being drunken by Gregory like cheap scotch out of the bottle. The politician didn't seem to care though.
His head fell on the desk with a silent sound, a sigh leaving his mouth. No explanation was needed, Gregory stood up and went behind him, lowering his hands to massage his lover.
"That bad? ", Gregory asked quietly and pressed a kiss on Mycroft's head.
"We have candles in here, right? If not, we need to buy some. "
"Why? "
As Mycroft opened his mouth to answer, all lights went out. From where he was standing, Gregory could see several cars stopping on the streets, lights going out as well. London was surrounded by entire darkness, no television on - their neighbour's television was silenced just as the heroine was saved by the hero - nor radios nor lights in general.
Gregory hurried to the closet, quickly taking out one of their candles to light it up. In the shine of the flame, he could see dark circles under Mycroft's eyes and sighed, reaching out to take his lover's hand.
"Let's go, you are tired. "
Mycroft followed without protesting, letting himself be pulled into their bed like a puppet, barely breathing and immediately fading out as soon as Gregory wrapped his arms around him. The Detective Inspector sighed, burying his face in Mycroft's hair as he slowly doze off, his dreams accompanied by the sound of bullets shooting through the air and the scream of a man who was hit…
I am looking for a new beta-reader since my last - SilentEyedKat - doesn't answer to my emails anymore.
Anyone who'd be interested, please just contact me through a PM.
