Greg was glad to have a couple hours between work and his date with Mycroft. He had showered and shaved when he first got home and now he was standing in his pants in front of the closet, trying to decide what to wear. He knew that in all likelihood this evening would be no different from any other dinner they had shared—they were just changing what they called it. That didn't mean he couldn't try to look like the sort of bloke Mycroft would be proud to be out on a date with. He didn't think he was spending that long getting reading, but he barely had his shirt buttoned when he heard knocking.
Greg opened the door find Mycroft's face almost hidden by a bouquet of sunflowers. He grinned, but spoke hesitantly.
"You brought me flowers?"
Mycroft heard the hesitance and his own smile wavered for a moment before he could control his features.
"If you don't like them you can throw them away." Mycroft stepped into the flat and started moving towards the kitchen to bin them. Greg stopped him with a hand to his arm and took the flowers from him.
"No, I do! Nobody's bought me flowers before."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Greg shrugged. "I guess men aren't on the receiving end of flowers much?"
"I don't think of you as fulfilling the female gender role." Mycroft looked panicked as he blurted it out. He had thought bringing flowers would be a nice addition to the evening that made it clear that this was different from every other dinner they'd been to together. Flowers were traditional. He hadn't thought at all about the fact that his date was male and that that made flowers less traditional.
"Good?"
"In case you thought that was why I bought them"
"Right. Well, I didn't. I'll just put these in something and we can go?" Greg handed the flowers back to Mycroft while he grabbed a glass and half-filled it with water. There might be something better suited somewhere, but he wasn't up to rummaging around for it now. Mycroft had promised dinner and he was starving. He took the flowers back and put them in the glass. He looked over to Mycroft who looked markedly uncomfortable still, and favoured him with a bright smile.
"Thank you, Mycroft, I love them."
Mycroft let out a breath and returned the smile, a real smile this time. He motioned toward the door.
"The car is waiting outside."
When they got out to the car, Greg made to get in the back, but Mycroft opened the front door for him. He looked up at Mycroft questioningly—Mycroft was acting a little odd tonight, he could have just opened the wrong door. But Mycroft nodded so he got in and when he did he noticed that the driver was absent. He turned to question Mycroft, but the door was already closed and Mycroft was climbing in the driver's seat.
"You're driving us?"
"Yes, I thought you might prefer it."
Mycroft recalled the comment Gregory had made about him being driven around all the time, and hoped that it would be an appreciated gesture. Now that he was driving, he remembered why he so rarely did it himself. It was terribly stressful. He clenched his teeth and glared ahead.
Greg was carefully watching Mycroft out of the corner of his eye. He looked awful. Greg would have assumed that he didn't want to be there, but he had been the one to suggest it and Greg suspected that Mycroft Holmes was never anywhere he didn't have to be unless he wanted to be there.
"Mycroft?"
"Yes, Gregory?"
Greg had been about to ask if everything was okay, but he stopped himself. Asking a Holmes a question with an obvious answer was never a good idea. Asking what was wrong would probably not be much better if he was hoping for a straight answer. He reached a hand over to rest on Mycroft's leg and changed his question.
"Where are we going?"
That was not the question Mycroft had been bracing himself for, but he found it much easier to answer.
"Japanese restaurant. I haven't eaten there yet, but it comes recommended."
"Sounds good."
Their table was ready for them when they walked in the door, and champagne flutes were filled as soon as they took their seats. Greg chatted nervously through dinner and was painfully aware that Mycroft was not talking much. He was only vaguely aware that he was eating and that the food was enjoyable. He was terribly uncomfortable. He wondered how much longer they would be there and hoped it wouldn't be too long. When Mycroft asked him if he wanted to order dessert, he refused.
"We can go back to mine. My mum sent me home with a whole cake when I visited—I'm going to need help eating it."
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but requested and paid the bill. The ride back to Greg's flat was marginally less tense than the ride to the restaurant, but Greg was more uneasy now. Mycroft noticed, but said nothing. He started to offer his hand to Gregory, but pulled it back. He did not know what was wrong, and had no desire to make it worse. He was glad that he had not planned something for after dinner.
When they got inside the flat, Greg turned the kettle on and took the cake out of the fridge. It had been neatly wrapped when his mum gave it to him, but he hadn't put it back together so well so when he took the cover off the frosting was a bit smashed. There were already two slices gone and he sliced two more and put them both on a plate before halfway wrapping it up again.
"Do you want your own plate? I still haven't bought little plates."
"We can share." Mycroft's voice was smaller than Greg was used to hearing. "Go sit down—let me tend to the tea."
Greg paused a moment and regarded his friend, wondering if they had made a mistake. He grabbed two forks and carried them and the cake in to take a seat on the sofa. He couldn't tell if Mycroft wanted him gone, or was just wanting to make their tea. He closed his eyes against his growing headache, so he didn't see Mycroft's look of concern. He didn't look up until he heard Mycroft speaking softly.
"I didn't mean to send you away. I had assumed we were staying at the table."
Well, that answered that question. Mycroft was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, seeming unsure if he should take his usual spot next to Greg or sit in the armchair. Greg held out an arm in invitation and Mycroft sank into the sofa next to him and handed a mug to Greg. He wrapped an arm around Greg, who snuggled into him, sipping the tea carefully. Neither spoke until the cake was crumbs and the tea gone.
"I fear that I gave you a poor example of a proper date."
"No, it was good."
"Then why didn't you enjoy it?"
"I was nervous."
"You still are."
"You are too."
"I am."
Greg was glad that they were sitting as they were—he didn't think he could handle eye contact now.
"Don't want to mess us up."
"Neither do I."
"You didn't seem like you wanted to be there."
"I did want to be there. And I wanted you to enjoy it. Will you let me try again?"
Greg hated how… sad Mycroft sounded. Apparently he was just being cautious in deference to the unease Greg was showing. He nodded into Mycroft's chest.
"You know, we've sort of been on a dozen dates. We just didn't call them dates then. They were always comfortable."
"Would repeating one of those have been sufficient tonight?"
"Yes." Greg laughed and added, "I do like those sunflowers though."
"So if I bring you flowers, you'll consider takeaway and a movie to be a date?"
"Mmhmm. I would without the flowers too, though."
"What, then, is the difference between before and now?"
"Your chances of getting kissed have increased."
"I like that difference."
"Is it enough?"
"More than."
"So this is going to be okay." Greg spoke timidly. He was too afraid to ask Mycroft if he was sure. "Yes." Mycroft spoke confidently and carded a hand through Greg's hair. Greg held his other hand tightly and was more certain when he spoke again.
"This is good."
"It is."
Mycroft reclaimed his hand and tipped Greg's chin up, so that they made eye contact. "I believe you mentioned something about kissing me?" He smirked. Greg nodded and smiled before leaning into a kiss.
