A/N: I was pretty surprised to discover that this was the last chapter- I somehow thought this was going to stretch out a bit more- but the completion of this project simply means that I'm free to work on other things, which probably means more one-shots. And if anyone has a prompt they would like for me to consider doing, of really anything in the Sherlock fandom, feel free to send it along. Otherwise, my darlings, enjoy this last chapter! Au revoir for now!
~Wings
After their weekend together, neither man seemed to have time in their schedules, between a rather vicious series of murders and a civil war in a country Mycroft was not-at-liberty-to-discuss-thank-you-very-much, so it was nearly two weeks later, at Sherlock and John's wedding, that they managed to see one another. Even then, between the rather antiquated practice of preparing the grooms, the ceremony itself, and then the obligatory toasts that began the reception afterward, the most they could do was make faces at one another for the better part of the day.
It was only when the guests had finished their meals and the music started up that the two were able to escape their duties as Best Men temporarily—especially considering the two grooms had mysteriously disappeared about ten minutes prior and had yet to return—and actually talk.
"Enjoying the party?" Greg chuckled as Mycroft expertly spun the two of them past a few of John's older relatives who were making comments about the "scandalous" nature of disappearing from one's own wedding.
"This is certainly a step up from the political parties I occasionally have to attend. You would not believe the 'scandals' at those. Men cheating on their wives, women cheating on their husbands, and instead of having it out, they simply carry on with petty little revenge games behind closed doors and never discuss the problems that are ripping them apart from the inside out."
Mycroft's distaste for that lifestyle was written on his face, and Greg kissed his cheek, drawing him back to the reception. A grateful smile, probably the first genuine smile he'd ever seen Mycroft give anyone in a public setting, had his heart skipping a beat, and he wondered if it would make things worse for the Best Men to disappear as well.
"Well, unless John's Great-Aunt Matilda is planning on converting to lesbianism or something, I'm pretty sure this party isn't going to be like those. Sherlock and John sure picked a beautiful night for this, too. And the venue is pretty amazing."
The politician blushed a little at this, and Greg had to bite back a grin. He knew Mycroft had purchased this piece of property for them as a wedding gift, offering them both the perfect venue and the perfect place to retire to, someday. John was the one who'd told him, not his lover, so Greg assumed he hadn't wanted anyone else to be aware of his generosity. Now, however, he would be able to judge that the game was up by the amusement in Greg's eyes.
"It's not a half bad idea, growing old in the country with someone you love more than anything else in the world." Greg's tone was contemplative, perhaps a little wistful, and Mycroft found himself thinking of their own upcoming wedding. They'd settled on autumn, as neither of them wanted anything elaborate and they wanted the ceremony to happen soon, and Mycroft had been hard at work figuring out what he wanted to give Greg as an engagement present. He knew the idea was old-fashioned, but as the perfect gift came to mind, he found he couldn't resist the idea.
The party lasted long into the night, and when it was over, the guests left, the workers Mycroft had hired quickly took care of clean-up, and then Mycroft and Greg went home while the newlyweds celebrated their first night together in the gorgeous cottage they would someday call home, before getting on a plane for their honeymoon.
Greg spent the night with Mycroft, but the politician was called to the office at four in the morning. He left a note on the pillow and crept out while Greg slept on, subconsciously reaching out for his lover in a way that broke Mycroft's heart a little.
He was gone for three days, and there was no opportunity for him to get in touch with his cop at any time during that period. When he was finally able to come home, he checked CCTV and found out that Greg had been spending quite a lot of time at work, and that he was sleeping at the Yard. Mycroft smiled softly, guessing his reasoning. He didn't like to sleep at his own flat anymore, because his bed was empty, and he probably hadn't fancied returning to Mycroft's flat, no matter that he had a key to it, because that bed would be equally empty, and probably smell like his lover, too.
Greg was the practical sort, not the type to mope about. Instead, he put his energies into his work, which was one of the reasons he made such a good DI. He mightn't have had the intelligence of a Holmes, but he had the heart and spirit of a warrior, and would doggedly pursue any lead until the end. He was proof to Mycroft that a human could be extraordinary without being born to it, no matter what his parents had preached when he was a boy.
Mycroft made one quick stop on his way to pick Greg up, tucked his purchase into his pocket, and was on his way again, quickly making a call to inform Greg's superiors that, since he'd worked nearly three days straight, he was taking some time off. It amused Mycroft, how they had no objections when they saw who was on the Caller ID. Normally he wouldn't interfere with Greg's life, knowing his love's pride was important to him, but in this case he didn't think that he'd mind.
He woke Greg with a kiss, feeling him tense, then relax, and then get swept away on passion temporarily. When he finally stood up because his back was protesting his bent over position, Greg had a small smile on his face, his eyes aware instead of hazy as he'd half-expected.
"Good morning, love. I don't know if you're aware, but the couch in your office is not the best place to sleep. Care to come home with me?"
Greg didn't grumble about it, but slept peacefully on Mycroft's shoulder the whole ride back to his flat. There were no questions about where he'd been or when he'd gotten back, as the cop was too exhausted for that, and settled in again as soon as they were in the bedroom. He even snored a little, which Mycroft told himself not to find cute but found cute anyway.
He let him sleep until it was truly morning, with soft dawn light streaming in through the partially closed blinds, and then those brown eyes drifted open of their own accord, reflecting the sunny smile on his lips.
"Good morning, Mycroft."
"Good morning again, Gregory. Are you certain you shouldn't sleep a bit more? Something tells me you haven't rested much these past few days."
Greg shrugged, looking a little bashful.
"I feel okay. I don't usually get all that much sleep anyway, between work and spending nights with you, so a couple of hours is usually all the more I need. Don't worry."
"Well, if you're certain… I made you breakfast. I figured you would wake up soon, so I took the liberty of preparing some food. I'm guessing you haven't eaten much, either." That was probably an understatement; he didn't appear to have shaved either, but that didn't bother him. It was interesting, seeing Greg with a few days' worth of stubble, not seeming to care how he looked. He looked completely casual, and that was beautiful to Mycroft.
Greg smiled and tucked in, occasionally tempting Mycroft into sharing a bite in a carelessly intimate way. It was only when he lifted his cup to take a drink, and saw the box that had been resting beneath it the entire time, that his expression turned into a frown of confusion.
"Open it up." Mycroft said, smiling, his face giving nothing away. Greg slowly picked up the small black box, opened it… and stared.
"My? What is this?" He held it up, a strange expression on his face, while Mycroft simply shrugged, placed it in Greg's palm, and curled his fingers around it.
"This, Gregory, is a key to our house in the country. I picked it up when I signed the papers that mean that the property now belongs to both of us. I can't imagine getting old and retiring with anyone else but you, and it seems only practical to have everything in both our names. While what we do isn't as dangerous as the things my dear brother and his doctor get up to, I wanted everything to be settled now, just in case. I don't see why I should have to wait until we're married."
Greg smiled then, face lit with pure radiance, got up and removed a box from his jacket pocket.
"I guess now would probably be a good time to tell you that I decided you needed a proper engagement ring, too." Mycroft smiled back as Greg opened the ring box with his free hand, still holding the key that symbolized so much, and revealed a platinum band with a small engraving on the inside of the band. It was a simple infinity symbol, with their first initials on either side in painstakingly tiny detail.
"It's lovely, Gregory." And it fit perfectly, too. Sherlock must have helped him, and that was a small miracle in and of itself.
"I love you, Mycroft. I can't picture ever wanting to live my life without you. We only have so much time in this fragile eternity of ours, and I want you to know that you mean the world to me. Hell, you are my world. Everything, love. You are everything."
The two men proceeded to prove their feelings to each other, matching caress for caress, stroke for stroke, kiss for kiss until they were coming, together, always together, and falling into that bright white glow with fireworks exploding behind their eyes. And as they fell, they fell together, falling up, up into the dancing sparks and further, joined so tightly they would never be apart again, always in each other's hearts, minds, and souls.
