I know this one is basically just filler, but I felt it was necessary to establish that Mycroft's job is an obstacle for them, but one they overcome, not one that I ignore because it's inconvenient. I'll be going straight back to actual plot in the next chapter, but I wanted to give Greg a chance to be clever and wanted to show how they can flirt without flirting, thereby making the relationship work without putting either of them in unnecessary danger. I know it's short, and I'm sorry if you're disappointed, but I do hope you enjoy this!
Greg loved the sound of Mycroft's voice. He could easily listen to it all day without ever getting bored, and that was saying something. For a man who always liked to be doing something, and rarely embraced the idea of downtime, it was surprisingly easy for Greg to fall into bed with Mycroft at the end of the day and do nothing but cuddle for hours at a time. The sex was beyond brilliant, but the moments when he simply got to hold his lover and listen to him complain about how moronic some people were was easily on his list of top five favorite things to do.
Sometimes, however, Mycroft couldn't be at the flat, or even in London at all. This was the trip of real length that he'd taken during the course of their relationship, and wherever he was, there was very poor cell service. Normally, both men preferred phone calls, both because they could hear one another speak and because they were both old fashioned enough to feel that texting was more impersonal, but they'd only managed conversations of a minute or two before the call would cut out, and Mycroft usually couldn't get service again for an hour or more afterward, leaving Greg worried and waiting by the phone.
To solve this, the cop had decided that no matter how hard it was not to hear Mycroft's voice, it was better for his peace of mind to simply text. So he began, sending a short, to the point text that only Mycroft would understand.
Nobody puts Baby in a corner -GL
To anyone else, it was just a movie quote. To both Mycroft and Greg, it was a reminder of the night they'd first declared their love for each other, and he knew the younger man would get the message instantly. They were careful, always, to not use the words when they could be overheard, and Greg didn't want to risk texting the word love in any context on the off chance that someone else ended up with his phone. Maybe they were overly careful, but with Mycroft's line of work, if you weren't overly careful, your sloppiness could cost you more than your job.
It was nearly two hours before he received a return text, time he'd filled by working on old reports. He'd just been called to a murder scene, and was about to fire off a message to Sherlock when his phone buzzed in his hand. He smiled when he read the name on the screen, and smiled even wider when he read the text, even as he scrambled to follow its direction.
Check your left desk drawer –MH
Greg wasn't sure how, even so many miles away, Mycroft knew exactly where he was, but the man always seemed to know, even when there was no possible way he had surveillance on him, or rather, no possible way he had current access to that surveillance. However he did it, Greg found a neatly folded note on some sort of thick, creamy cardstock sitting on top of the brick a brack that was scattered in the bottom of the rarely used drawer. Without being pointed to it, Greg could have been oblivious to its presence for weeks.
"I love you," the elegant script read, and even though there was no signature on the card, the cop felt a rush of warmth flood him. For someone who'd never fallen in love or attempted romance before, Mycroft was incredible at it, and it was just another reason that Greg was hopelessly head over heels. He grinned, fingers flying over the keys in reply.
I never know quite what to expect from you- GL
The DI had been on the scene for approximately four hours before another text signal dinged on his phone, and he hastily turned his laugh into a cough, lest people start accusing him of giggling at crime scenes like John and Sherlock so often did.
I could say the same of you. I was surprised to find something in my jacket pocket this morning- MH
Greg had, in a moment of mischievousness, given Anthea a bag of chocolates to occasionally hide randomly for Mycroft to find. If the PA was still able to play like that, Mycroft was obviously in good hands, even if he was in the middle of nowhere. Greg quite liked Anthea—she was wonderful at her job, and took good care of Mycroft when he wasn't around to do it—and was glad she'd agreed to help him. It wouldn't do, he felt, for Mycroft to be the only one romancing his lover.
The chocolates were, in addition to being a sweet luxury for Mycroft who was always on a diet despite being in good shape, expressions of affection in their own right. An American invention, the little treats were called "Kisses," and the meaning was impossible to miss for Mycroft, while someone else might simply think that he favored the chocolates, and knew how unlikely it was that he would come across them anywhere but in America.
Not being stupid, Greg had worked for a solid week on coming up with a way to express his affection, so Mycroft could feel his love no matter where he was in the world, without being obvious about it. Finally he'd settled on the "Kisses," a gesture Anthea had not only agreed and assisted with but applauded, and Mycroft had, from that point on, been finding them everywhere, whether he was in London or far away.
What can I say? I'm every bit as much of a ninja as you seem to be. And what's life without a little surprise every now and then?- GL
Mycroft smiled at his phone as the small chocolate melted on his tongue. He and his PA were the only people in the room at the moment, because the other officials had decided they needed a break. The time stamp showed that Greg's text had come through seventy four minutes ago, and while the politician was sorry about his sporadic texting, when it took Greg very little time to get back to him, it simply couldn't be helped. He would make it up to him, when he was back in London. For now, he would have to content himself with the little notes he'd left lying around for Greg to find. It had been a response to the suddenly omnipresent "kisses" he suspected Anthea of helping his lover to give him.
Only she, after all, would think to hide one in the boot of his car, knowing that when he opened it to transport a prisoner whose existence the British Government would neither confirm nor deny, he would spot it there. Greg wasn't aware of half the things he got up to, and it would have to stay that way. Still, the gesture wasn't lost on Mycroft, who understood it was reciprocation for the roses, and all the other little things.
I have never claimed to be a ninja, though I suppose I do often dress in black. And you're quite right; it is nice to be kept on my toes occasionally- MH
Sighing at the sound of footsteps outside, Mycroft slid his phone away, while across the miles, Greg pulled his out, chuckling quietly since he was now at his own flat, the television on low for background noise as he sipped at a beer. He'd invited John to the pub, but he and Sherlock were apparently chasing down a lead on their first private case since Sherlock's return, so he had opted for a night in, alone, with only the occasional text for company. And that was okay. It felt good to have some downtime after a long day, and though he would have preferred Mycroft's flat, where the pillows smelled like him, he'd practically lived over there whenever Mycroft was in London. If he was going to keep his own flat, he should occasionally use it.
Black suits you—and yes, that was supposed to be a very bad pun. Any idea when you'll be back in London?- GL
Greg turned his attention to the simple meal of pasta and vegetables he'd made for himself and an old black and white movie on the telly, wondering what time it was where Mycroft was. He hoped the younger man was sleeping. He usually came home even from short trips looking exhausted, and Greg usually had to threaten not to have sex with him to get him to rest. Anthea protected his life and was an excellent PA, but she didn't consider it her purview to, as she called it, "mother him." She wouldn't think to make sure he ate or slept enough.
Trying to quell his worries, the cop turned the volume up, determined to try and enjoy the movie. Normally, he loved crap telly, but he wasn't getting into it tonight, apparently. He had nearly dozed off when his phone went off, startling him into a sitting position. It was, he knew, for the best. His back would be off for the next week if he slept on his lumpy, generally uncomfortable couch. He didn't even know why he kept the old thing, except that it was the first thing he'd bought for himself after the divorce, and was stubbornly proud of it.
You succeeded admirably. I may have cringed. Officially, I've no idea when I shall be back. Unofficially… a few days, I think- MH
Smiling, because Mycroft was rarely wrong, Greg made his way to his room, sending off one last text.
Wonderful, and wonderful. Sherlock's been a very busy boy these past few days; we have a lot to talk about- GL
The observation about Sherlock and the comment about talking were separate, but that wouldn't be obvious to anyone reading their texts. It was his way of inviting Mycroft on a date when he returned, as well as telling him he missed him, though the last part wasn't quite as obvious. With that, he decided to turn in for the night, fully prepared for another long, boring, Mycroft-less day when morning came, always too early. He plugged his phone in, changed into lounge pants, and climbed into bed, though it took him a long time to drift off, even with his phone clasped in his hand, fully prepared to wake up when the next text came through.
Some things were worth losing sleep over, and a chance to communicate with Mycroft, even if he couldn't hear his voice, was one of those things. If text were all they could share for the next few days, he wouldn't miss a single one.
Mycroft, in an undisclosed location, smiled softly at his phone. He was in a hotel room, alone, and had already done his own sweep for recording devices, after his team, and then Anthea, had had their turns. Since he hadn't found any, he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, to let his thoughts wander to the moment when he would be reunited with Gregory. Texts were inefficient, but communication with Greg was always a treat, no matter the medium. He closed his phone, closed his eyes, and drifted to sleep for a couple of hours, phone clutched in his hand on the off chance that he might receive a "good morning" text in a few hours, when dawn shone golden over London and lit up Greg's face.