This chapter came out of nowhere today. I wasn't planning on writing anything for this till later in the week when I had a better idea, or had a better scenario that came off my little thought that usually propelled my chapters. I hope you like this chapter. See ya.
"That's odd," Greg said as he was sitting on the couch looking at his bare feet.
Mycroft looked over at him briefly before returning to his paper work. "What is?" he asked. He didn't sound like he was really listening but Greg knew he was.
"The scar on my foot," Greg stated, "it's gone."
Mycroft turned around; taking off his reading glasses, and gave him a weird look. "You have a scar on your foot, from what?" he inquired.
"My dad accidently stabbed my foot with an ice pick," Greg told him. "I had the scar since I was twelve, now it's gone." He was trying to get Mycroft out of his wide eyed trance.
Mycroft nodded sharply turning back to his desk. "Perfectly normal," he said. "When you come here all your scars from your life on earth disappear."
Greg bit his lip and continued to look down at his feet. He was silent for a few moments, just listening to Mycroft's pen glide over the paper. Greg stood up and went to loom over Mycroft's shoulder. He was still silent but he could see the Holmes's writing falter momentarily.
"Yes Gregory, is there something that you wanted?" he asked, sounding more amused than annoyed.
Greg poked his neck with his forefinger. "You have a scar on your neck," he told him like the man didn't already know. "How did you get it?"
Mycroft covered the old scar with his hand rubbing it slowly. "Bar fight," he said quietly, returning back to work quickly.
Greg gave the back of his head a confused look. "Bar fight?" he questioned in disbelief. "You're Mycroft Holmes you don't get in to bar fights."
Mycroft twirled around in his chair and looked up at the silver fox. "Well, it wasn't really a fight since I let the person overpower me for the sake. I was also just in the bar for a few seconds before I was attacked," he explained. He watched as Lestrade tried not to laugh. "I don't see how that is funny."
Greg shook his head, he didn't know either. "So they have bars here?" he asked.
"Yes," Mycroft said quickly. "Now I want to hear about the ice pick incident."
"Don't you have work to do?" Greg asked in a playful tone.
Mycroft waved his hand. "It's not like I'm going to get fired for making someone else do it," he told him. He raised his eyebrows in realization. "In fact I can't get fired, but that's not what we're talking about now. Ice pick, I want to know how it got in to your foot."
Greg chuckled softly before turning to go back to the couch. "It was around Christmas," he started. He felt Mycroft grab his wrist drawing him back towards him on to his lap. Greg got comfortable and leaned back in to Mycroft's chest. "It was around Christmas and my dad took me out to get the tree. My mom didn't go because she had to work, so my dad decided to make it special.
We usually just went to tree farms for our trees, but that year he took me out to the woods to cut down our own tree ourselves. When we got to the woods my dad went in to the back of the truck and couldn't find and ax. So he got an ice pick."
"Which makes sense," Mycroft interjected. "He wouldn't have an ax but an ice pick."
Greg waved off his comment before continuing with his story. "We walked around for a few hours, trying to find the best tree. I almost gave up and had my dad carry me around but we found the tree," he said. He looked down at his hands; somehow they were entwined with Mycroft's, and laugh. "He started hacking at the bottom of the tree with the pick. He was working really hard, and getting very frustrated because he was getting nowhere. He threw the pick down and in to my foot. I stared down at it in shock as my dad had no clue what he just did."
Mycroft's face was priceless, his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were unblinking in shock. "That's an amazing story," he told him after being silent for a minute. "How come you never told me that?"
"You've never seen my feet, so you never asked," he was told.
"I've seen your feet many times," Mycroft pointed out, "but I think that's because you always ended up sleeping at the end of my bed." He nuzzled his face into Greg's shoulder, breathing in his scent like it would be the last think he inhaled. "Gregory, how are you feeling?"
Greg kept his mouth shut; he wasn't sure how to answer that. There was the fact that he died a few weeks earlier, or that he lost his family, that could make him sad or angry, but there's also the moment he was in now. He was happy to be sitting on Mycroft's lap, in his arms, reminiscing about old times. He wanted to say that he was sad but he couldn't, because he wasn't. "Happy," he simply answered with a smile.
Mycroft's arms tightened around Lestrade's waist as he kissed his neck. "I'm glad," he whispered in to the fabric of Greg's pajama top. He smiled fondly when he felt hot breath on his cheek. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
"So if I was a crying mess you wouldn't have me?" Greg asked jokingly.
Mycroft held him tighter. "I would fix it," he told him, leaving out the obviously.
They were silent again, both listening to the other breath. Greg started absentmindedly playing with Mycroft's fingers. Picking one up and dropping it before going on to the next, he felt like a child doing it but he didn't care. Each finger he could feel a whole life time pulsing through them, a life time he wished he lived in. He wished he could have held this fingers for the pass twenty years and now it seemed so wrong for it to be so simple to touch them.
He brought them up to his lips and kissed every individual one. The skin was soft against his chapped lips; it made him feel warm with every small kiss. He stood slowly keeping Mycroft's hand in his. He pulled the elegant looking man from his seat and on to his feet. "Mr. Holmes would you like to dance?" he asked, a smile playing at his lips.
"I don't hear any music," Mycroft told him softly, but he was getting ready to dance.
Greg shut his eyes taking in a deep breath. "You don't?" he asked cocking his head to the side. "I can its sounds so beautiful. Buh bum, buh bum, buh bum."
Mycroft was being led around the living room to a heartbeat. Everything around them became white and the only thing that seemed to matter was the man in front of him, holding on to his hand and waist. He was swept away in the easy rhythm, in the way that they moved with each other so smoothly. It felt as if they were dancing in water, he could feel everything rush between them with every motion.
He pulled Greg closer to him so he could whisper in to his ear. "I love you," he said, his voice was barely audible.
"I love you too," Greg said back.
Mycroft put his head on his shoulder and shut his eyes, trusting Greg to keep him up. He smiled, finally happy that he got his Gregory back.
So did you guys like it? I know it was shorter than the others but that's alright, this one works well as short, no need to add extra. Well I hope you enjoyed it. BYE!