7. shadow play
And so it went on, from a new romance to an established relationship, and slowly those involved in our lives started to cotton on to there being more going on between us than me and him having to sort out my consulting detective, who just happened to be Mycroft's brother.
Sally Donovan's sharp observational skills, for example, deduced that the black Bentley that seemed to often be parked outside the building, dropping me off, or waiting for me to finish work, was never there before… And I appeared just a little too cheery and contented for there not to be anybody in my life that was making me happy…
Um, could I not just have found happiness within me, like, joined a Taoist meditation class, or something like that? Why should it always be a lover of some sort? She wasn't having it… All there was to find out was the identity of my new woman. All eligible female colleagues passed her scanner, and failed the Bentley test (who would earn enough for a car like that?! My Super Intendant is a woman, well within the earning-frame, but she was living with another woman, so off Sally's tick list).
'Maybe it's not a woman…' is Sgt Wilkinson's addition to the speculations, which I can hear going on within earshot outside my office.
'Nah…' Donovan replies. 'He can't be… He was married, for Christ's sake…'
'Yeah, and he would be the first bloke in history to switch teams… Think about it, Donovan: he never talks about it, he gets picked up in a bloody Bentley, that looks rather a lot like the one that belongs to that brother of your mate, the Freak, when he comes to poke his nose into our business at a crime scene. He smells of very expensive aftershave, one that I certainly can't afford, something by Yves Saint Laurent or Gucci…'
'…Oooh, you know your brands… Been fishing for some for your birthday, Edward?' I hear Sally tease her colleague. 'Oh, alright, it could be a guy, although I find that very unlikely… But who then?'
Silence returns to the room, only to be followed by Donovan's 'Aaaah! That would make sense…'
'So, are you going to ask him then?' Wilkinson teases, 'Put your theory to the test…'
'Just give me a bit, need to check a few things first…'
And then I hear her tapping on the keyboard of the computer for a good few minutes, and I return to my own work, as there's enough to be getting on with. Phone calls to the Manchester office for conformation of details they've sent on a murder case that's been cold for three years, reports that need finishing this afternoon, a text from Mycroft, asking me if I've made a decision yet…
In my afternoon break I decide to go to the deli-café around the corner for coffee, a roll and the crosswords, which makes a very nice break. It's windy outside and I feel it blows cobwebs away, empties my head a little. It's filled with so much right now. Work, of course, and my mother who rings me up every so often, needing a few comforting words, and there's Mycroft's question, that's been bugging me for a while.
Seen as I spend so much time in his house, and it seems silly to keep paying rent on a flat I'm hardly using, and he's felt so happy for the past few months, that there's someone to come home to, who welcomes him and asks him about his day, and pours him a glass of wine, and smiles at his stupid jokes (his words…), it would make him so delighted if I was to move in with him… Please!
I'd like to.
It would make sense… It would make things easier, having all my stuff in one place, and not divided between two, always wondering if a certain dvd or file, or my suit is in his house or my flat, but it it's also quite nice to just be in the flat, sometimes… Not to have to talk to anyone, just to chill out, and listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers at full blast, or Pearl Jam, or Nirvana, stuff I'm pretty sure Mycroft wouldn't be too charmed by (then, neither are the upstairs neighbours, but they're in even more sporadically than I am, and Mr Gardner isn't too bothered…).
I said this to Mycroft, who understood, and smiled politely, hiding his disappointment barely. I said I'd think about it.
Back at my department in Scotland Yard, Sally smiles at me rather mischievously, as I walk by her to go into my office.
'Anything you'd like to share with me, Sergeant?'
'Maybe…' she grins.
'Okay, I'll hear it when you're ready, then,' I say, flinging her a confused smile, then go to open my door.
My chair in front of the desk has it's back turned to me, and just above the headrest I see the hair of someone very familiar to me – the ginger curls of Mycroft peep out, and as he hears the door open, the chair creaks into action, slowly turning around, to reveal my significant other, umbrella in one hand, sun hat in the other. Sally's curious head popped around so I quickly closed the door behind me.
'Hello my sweet, whatever brings you here?' I say, hiding my surprise. I close in to kiss him, then lean against my desk.
'Just wanted to see you… Hoping you're okay after my little pathetic display yesterday…' he answers, sheepishly. He still looks a bit forlorn, like he was desperately trying to hide the night before, not wanting to have me know how apprehensive he was feeling.
'Course I'm alright… Silly, why wouldn't I be? You showing me how you feel isn't pathetic… It's sweet… You're sweet…' I smile and lean down for another kiss, this one longer than the one I greeted him with. He pulls me down onto his lap, which makes the chair creak a bit more.
'Hm, I'll have to get that looked at, I suppose,' I mumble into his mouth, and wrap my arms around his neck. We carry on caressing each other's lips for a while, relieved that the tension between us has ceased. There's nothing more heartrending than a melancholy, nervous Mycroft, it appears…
The knocking on the door makes us break our kiss. I get up quickly, hope I don't look too dishevelled, or excited, walk up to the window and tell whoever is at the door to come in.
Sally Donovan.
'Sir, the files have arrived from Manchester, I thought you might want to have a look…' she walks on to put the folder on my desk, then smiles at Mycroft and turns to leave.
'And…?'
'And? Nothing… That was it…' she almost giggles. 'Speak to you in a bit, sir. Good day, Mr Holmes.'
'Goodbye Sgt Donovan,' Mycroft replies, smiling his most professional smile at her, which is returned by a knowing sort of glance, then one goes my way. I decide to follow her out of the room, making a 'just hang on a sec' sign to Mycroft.
'Sally, could you tell me what's going on?' I ask my Sergeant.
'I don't know what you mean, sir,' she smiles, pretending to be busy with research.
'I heard you and Wilkinson talking about my supposed love-life, and it appears that you've come to a conclusion… Could you disclose your information to me?'
'Surely this isn't beneficial to the work we do here, sir?' Donovan is close to bursting into giggles, but carries on staring at her computer screen.
I'm about to turn around, when she jumps up and catches my arm. 'I know, sir… I know that you and Mr Holmes… That you are… That he…'
'Yes?'
'That you two are involved…' she whispers.
'And you've come to this conclusion, how?' I wrap my arms in front of my chest in an attempt to look impressive, and wait for Donovan's explanation.
'Well, we sort of worked it out between us, and then I checked the number plate of the car that keeps picking you up, and noticed that it was impossible to find anything out about it… Wilkinson was fairly sure that he'd seen the car at crime scenes whenever Sherlock was involved, and your Mr Holmes had turned up occasionally… I was pretty certain that it must've been him, until he walked into your office, just now, and I recognised him from before. And then when I saw you two snogging each other's face off through the window, well, that sort of settled it for me…' she cracked a heroic smile. 'It's okay sir, we're all fine with it…'
'All?! Who else knows?'
'Well, Wilkinson, obviously, and I mentioned it to Anderson, as a cross-reference…'
'Cross-reference? Am I a case now?' I'm feeling a bit daft there, being talked about like this.
'No, of course not, I just wanted to be sure, that's all. Look, it really doesn't matter, okay, it's fine… Now both Holmes guys are in a happy relationship, surely that should make life a little easier for all of us here? I mean, since the Freak got it together with that poor Dr Watson, he's not half the handful he used to be… And you could've done a lot worse than him…' she grins, with a hint of approval dropped in.
'Um, well, thanks, I suppose,' I stumble and smile. I turn around quickly and go back into my office, feeling a little strange.
'So the cat is out of the bag then,' I hear the voice of Mycroft, with a definite amused undertone. 'That was quick, even for her…'
'Yeah. I got her consent, it appears…' I say, raising my eyebrows. 'All is well now…'
'Ah, that's good to know. Now all we need is for Anthea to be okay with us, and we shall live happily ever after…'
He gets up from my chair, putting the hat that he'd placed on my desk on his head, and smirks.
'Nice hat, sir… Care to tell me what that's about?'
'My darling Gregory, I was going to ask you, before we were interrupted by your charming sergeant, if you would care to join me on a short holiday to Cyprus, as I'm forced to go there tomorrow for some silly business on the Prime Minister's behalf – which is all I'm going to tell you, so don't bother asking me – and it would delight me intensely if I had some nice company for a change… Your Super Intendant said it was okay…'
'You already asked her? Oh, okay… don't bother asking me first…'
'I just wanted to be sure that you could join me…'
'So you go around organising things behind people's backs, without their consent or knowledge? Is that how it works in your family?'
I feel a surge of anger welling up in me, something I haven't felt with him since we got involved, so that's pretty new.
'No… Yes… It's okay, if you don't want to come along, Gregory, don't worry… I thought you might like it, that's all…' he looks at me almost in despair. 'I'm sorry if I insulted you…'
I sigh deeply, close my eyes and sit on my chair, putting my hand on my face, wishing to shut the world out for a moment. I just need to think…
Is it that bad what he's done? Isn't it just really quite sweet? Why then am I feeling hurt in my pride? Am I so proud? Is this where the buck stops where the wooing and being cared for by this man is concerned?
'I understand,' Mycroft whispers, and makes a move to leave, but I quickly grab his hand and haul him back towards me.
'I'm sorry, My… I'm just not used to people organising stuff for me like that, nobody's taken a decision for me since I was 19… I'm not used to this… I've never been with someone who pulls strings and goes through trouble so that they can be with me… It's all new to me, you know… And I need some time to get used to it, that's all…'
His fingers mix with mine, and he pulls me up from my chair.
'So you'll join me?' he asks, quietly, still insecure. I'm now standing very close to him, our chests are touching, and I can feel is heart beating fast.
'I'll join you, and I'll move in with you as well… How about that?' I kiss him slowly, gently on the lips, close my eyes to enjoy what I feel, and then suddenly feel a little nervous, as I remember that the door to my office is still wide open. When I open my eyes, I can see Sgt Sally Donovan discreetly sticking a thumb up into my direction, then walk up to the door to close it.
'Oh Gregory… You have no idea how much this pleases me… I thought that… I just… Oh, come here, you wicked man…' and once more we're kissing, with slightly less apprehension on my part. I feel Mycroft put one arm around my waist, holding me close, and one on the side of my face, tenderly, and i slowly copy his moves, holding on for dear life. It takes all my strength to stop myself from going too far here in my office, on my desk… A boy can dream…
o0o0o0o0o0o
The holiday in Cyprus was very pleasant… Being in a warm, sunny place in March is great, and being there with my lover is even greater. Although it took a bit of time for him to adjust to the change in temperatures, coupled with a similar change in attitudes to life, but when the jacket and tie and waistcoat came off and I saw a mellowing Mycroft appearing to enjoy the more relaxed lifestyle, I vowed to get him to come on extended breaks to Greece or, I don't know, Barbados…
When he's finished with his official stuff, and I've spent some time getting to know the area of Nicosia where the hotel is, we move to a quiet B&B near the south-western coast, and enjoy the beauty of the landscape, the beach near to where we stay, go for long walks, have wonderful meals and I even got my darling Starchy, Repressed Englishman to make love to me on the beach… It was glorious, and quite weird and the look of utter astonishment on Mycroft's face afterwards, having realised what he'd just done, was priceless…
Upon our return to England, I moved my things, whatever I still have in my flat, into the room at the back of the first floor, which has been allocated to me, after I'd expressed the occasional need for solitude, something Mycroft totally understood, he said. The room had previously been used for guests, is fairly big and oversees the lovely garden, and some of the rest of London. I haven't used the room very often, thus far, but the feeling is nice that there is somewhere I can retreat to, if need be…
The evening of my 'official' move, after we have dinner, we discuss possible ways to stop Sherlock from freaking out if he finds out about us, although Mycroft has a sneaking suspicion he already knows and is dealing with it far better than we could even imagine. Mycroft reckons he's gone into total denial… Works for me... John Watson appears none the wiser, and that's fine too. Everyone at work has been informed by Sally Donovan, it seems… Much sniggering happened at first, but that ceased after a few days. Amazing to think how quickly anything can become boring…
The evening is calm, and the fire we sit in front of comfy. Mycroft smells of very expensive soap and curry (which I've introduced him to), and pulls me a bit closer to him. I might doze off in a minute...
'Mummy wants to meet you,' I hear spoken to me, like a bolt out of the blue.
'I'm sorry, what…?' maybe I didn't hear this right…
'I've spoken to my mother on the phone yesterday, first time in a while and she immediately figured that I was in love, from the tone of my voice, and although I tried to deny it, she bullied your name out of me, and now wishes to meet you.' Mycroft looks at me as if I'm a bomb about to detonate. 'I'm sorry…'
'Oh… Okay… Well… Um…'
'You sound very keen…' he smiles.
'Your mum…' I smile back, 'right…'
'She's alright… It's my father you should be scared of… Were he to still be alive, of course…'
'She sounds like a battle-axe… I'm sorry darling, but how you described her, so far, all I can see is some scary Viking woman, with a club… Brunhilda…'
The notion makes me laugh, but I can see that Mycroft is not that amused.
'She's nothing like that, Gregory… Not anymore, anyway… If she ever was, she's pretty mellow now, in her old age…'
'Okay, maybe I should give her a chance… I mean, you seem fond of her, so who am I to piss on that one…'
Brows shoot up in the air at that last bit, but a smile also appears on Mycroft's face, and I reconcile myself with my fate…
Off to Mummy we go then…
