Thirty three months after Sherlock was pronounced dead, Mycroft's phone went off in the middle of the night. John blearily opened one eye and groggily inquired: "What time is it?"
Mycroft, already up and about to start brushing his teeth, glanced at his watch and replied: "It's 4.23."
"Isn't it a bit rude to call someone at four thirty in the morning?"
"Yes, yes it is," Mycroft agreed. "However, it's not four thirty in Abu Dhabi."
"Naturally," said John, rolling his eyes, a gesture Mycroft missed, as he was busy putting his clothes on with inhuman speed.
John had a theory that Mycroft only had two settings: fast asleep and wide awake. Where John was stumbling about like a blind hedgehog in the morning before he had had his shower, tea and toast, Mycroft could get ready to deal with any matter of national security in a few minutes, no matter at what ungodly hour he was roused. John once told him: 'You don't sleep, you wait' and when Mycroft failed to understand the reference, started to laugh much louder than was appropriate. Mycroft had sulked for the next two weeks and refused to contact him. When confronted, he pretended he had been busy preventing a war.
John felt soft lips brush over his and saw Mycroft grabbing his umbrella from near the door with one hand and high-speed texting someone with the other.
"Go back to sleep, John." Then the bedroom door shut with a soft click.
Getting back to sleep proved harder than expected. John´s thoughts started wandering to when he first moved into his flat, how different things had been back then. He had changed jobs more often than he cared to remembered since then, changed girlfriends too, changed furniture, changed clothes, even friends. Surprisingly, Mycroft of all people, had been the only constant in his life.
A few days after their first frantic fumble against the door, Mycroft had come back under the pretence of retrieving his umbrella, both of them knowing he could have sent Anthea or anyone else to do that and that he had not actually forgotten it in the first place, but pretending otherwise. John had offered tea again.
They had actually managed to reach the bedroom, at some point at least.
Over time, Mycroft´s visits turned from sporadic to regular and John was surprised how much he looked forward to seeing him and how much he enjoyed unravelling Mycroft´s character traits bit by bit.
Mycroft was a man of mystery, his secrets both his strength and his weakness.
Sherlock had conceded that Mycroft was clever, very clever. A proper genius, like him. But he thought he lacked ambition and was lazy. John found that was not really the case. Where Sherlock needed an audience, needed to prove to the world at large how good he was, Mycroft was much more interested in making himself both indispensable and invisible. Yes, he did like the power he possessed, but he did not feel the need to flaunt it.
Mycroft did not want to be at the mercy of others. If difficult choices had to be made, he preferred to make them himself. This of course put the weight of the world on his shoulders, or at the very least England and Wales. It made romantic entanglements difficult, near impossible. Mycroft could not talk about his work, worked long hours, had to be out of the country for long periods of time at least once a month and could be called away on an emergency at any given time. Not to forget, the risk associated with his position. While he was not a famous public figure, people who mattered were well aware of who he was and his influence, especially when this influence had been detrimental for their position. Of course, being with Mycroft was not nearly as dangerous as being with Sherlock-reckless-target-practice-Holmes.
However, while a very responsible person, Mycroft was not a self-sacrificing man. He liked his job and fully enjoyed it's perks. He liked luxury, fine dining and expensive clothes. He also loved the Queen and Country, something John, as a soldier, could really relate to, even though he suspected that his England was different from Mycroft's England. Where John's life had football, pints in the pub with friends, crap telly, that he secretly enjoyed, and fry-ups on Sundays. Mycroft belonged to the elusive and almost extinct class of true English gentlemen. He loved his country, the traditions, conservatism, composure and politeness. He felt fiercely protective of it and its values. John suspected Mycroft secretly liked James Bond films, though so far, he had not been able to find any evidence for that. He had, however, discovered that in addition to his love for classical music, Mycroft secretly enjoyed show tunes. With enough cajoling and good whiskey he could even be persuaded to play some for John on his piano.
Mycroft was also a surprisingly attentive lover, be it in or outside the bedroom. He never pushed, never coerced and had the patience of a saint, actually enjoying taking things slow, savouring the act. He knew when John's or his close relatives' birthday was or when something happened to distress John. Every time John would lose his job or girlfriend, either voluntarily or not, Mycroft was there to surprise him with dinner at a place that charged half his monthly salary or a weekend getaway to a ridiculously posh hotel. When asked, Mycroft pretended he had no idea anything had happened and that he had simply wanted to see John. John did not pursue the argument further and was secretly touched.
John, himself was used to be accommodating. After Sherlock, Mycroft could hardly be considered demanding. John made sure he did not ask questions about work, knowing that Mycroft would share tidbits of information if he was able, but outright questions would be met with suspicion and irritation. John was also not a needy, nor an overly affectionate person. Whenever his girlfriends wanted to cuddle on the couch, he would indulge them, even enjoyed it himself, but he did not instigate such behaviour himself. He was perfectly content in keeping physical affection restricted to the bedroom and so was Mycroft. Their domestic moments, if one could call them that, took place on mornings after John had stayed the night at Mycroft's flat. Mycroft would usually be up before him, already dressed and working in his study. John would get up, take a shower, and make them both breakfast. Mycroft had a housekeeper of course, whom he would send away on days John stayed over. John was aware of this, but he enjoyed taking care of people and Mycroft would always let him. The rest of the morning would be spent in relative silence, John reading the paper, occasionally making a remark on something he had read, and Mycroft typing away at his computer or signing papers.
Even though there were days when John missed the danger, the thrill of a chase and his completely mad best friend, but those days were getting less frequent. So were the girlfriends. Overall he was content.