Chapter 12 – Part I – This Hollow Chest Of Mine

Oh when I look to the shape of my heart

It's separated only by scars

That cut in and cut out

Oh and leave me without

A heart that functions at all

But when I look to the shape of the sky

I give thanks for this hollow chest of mine

That I no longer feel

The great weight of ordeals

That can make this life so unkind

If there's any love in me, don't let it show

If there's any love in me, don't let it grow

- Shape of My Heart, Noah and the Whale

Greg carefully moved the tonearm from its resting position to the first track of the record. He took a step back from the stereo and closed his eyes as he listened to the familiar crackling noise from the LP. A few seconds later, the tones of Mis-Shapes sounded through the living room.

'I've decided to move some of your books and magazines over to the shelves by the opposite wall to make room for my records. Is it okay with you, Myc?' shouted Greg as he started to take out piles of leather bound books from one of the chestnut shelves.

'Yes, it is fine with me.' The politician's answer came from the study where he was working with preventing some kind of environmental catastrophe by the coast of Cornwall, if Greg remembered it right. Greg couldn't figure out how Mycroft had managed to convince his employers (whoever they might be) that he could work a bit more from home, but he was without any doubt very happy for it. During the past week Greg had worked quite a lot, there had been a murder in Camden and even if they had caught the killer quickly there had been a lot of paper work involved in the process. Mycroft had also worked, and about as much as usual, but he now arrived at home around six o'clock every evening and then he had worked there for a few hours. Even though his boyfriend spent most of that time in his study, Greg was happy that he was at home. He had treated the other man with a small break for tea the evenings he had been able to, which had been appreciated by both of them. During the well-earned breaks Greg had tried to make Mycroft tell him more about the cottage he had recently bought, but the government official had been very secretive, almost a bit smug. The only thing Mycroft had actually told his boyfriend was that they were about to visit the cottage as soon as possible, in the end of the month if everything worked out smoothly.

As Greg lifted out a big pile of what seemed to be old magazines about 19th century fashion, something fell to the floor from the brittle sheets of paper. He put the pile in the chaise longue in front of the fireplace and picked up what seemed to be an envelope. Greg had a quick look at it, it seemed to be at least ten years old, but it could as well have been far older than that. It was made of what seemed to be really expensive, thick paper, and there was a small emblem on the back of it, which looked like an 'H' inside a little circle. Judging by the weight of the envelope Greg assumed that there was something inside it, probably a letter or document of some kind. He was just about to open it up to see if he was right, when Mycroft suddenly appeared in the doorway.

'I would prefer if you would not open that, Gregory.'

The detective inspector could hear sadness in his boyfriend's voice, but the expression on his face looked resolute, almost commanding. Greg took a few steps towards the politician, stretched out his arm and offered him the envelope. Mycroft slowly took it, but made sure not to look at the envelope, and put it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

'What is it, Myc?'

'I would prefer not to talk about it.'

The government official stepped over one of the cardboard boxes with Greg's records, and sat down in one of the armchairs, crossed his legs and moved up his left hand so it partly covered his mouth.

'You know you can talk about anything with me. I might be able to help you out, you know.'

Greg turned off the music with the remote to the stereo and then sat down in the sofa next to Mycroft and tried his best to give the other man his most encouraging and reliable smile.

'I know, my dear, but I am afraid that there is not too much to do about the problem. In fact it is not even a problem anymore. Just an unfriendly reminder of my past.'

'Then there can't be much harm in talking about it, don't you think?'

'Maybe not.'

Mycroft took a deep breath, and Greg could clearly see that he was nerving himself. He rested his right arm on the armrest of the armchair and Greg took his boyfriend's hand, in his own, and to his delight he felt Mycroft pressing his hand gently.

'Many years ago, when I was only an adolescent, I feel in love. He was a teacher at the boarding school I went to, and I had been in love with him for about two years when I finally decided that I wanted to tell him how I felt. But I was not, as I still not am, very good at dealing with my emotions or how to express them, so I figured that the easiest why for me to do it was by writing him a letter, which I would give to him when I left the school at the end of my last year.'

The government official stopped and swallowed hard. Greg softly began to stroke the back of the other man's hand, and then said:

'But I assume that you never gave it to him.'

'No.' Mycroft stretched his neck and looked up at the ceiling, and then continued. 'I never really thought that I was going to do it, but then Sherlock came into play, and it became a fact that I never even would consider giving it to him.'

Greg noticed how his boyfriend said the words about his brother with deep bitterness, he almost spat them out.

'As you know, my brother is very good at finding other peoples' weaknesses, and even better of taking advantage of them and make one aware of them.' Mycroft made a snorting noise, almost as if he was at the edge of starting to laugh. 'He did not have to make much effort to find out that I was in love, and with a man, in the bargain. My dear brother was not more than about eleven years old when he figured it out. He talked with me about it, about me being weak and "like normal people". He was right; when I was in love I found it harder to concentrate on things that mattered, which was a huge disadvantage. But that was not the only problem. I went to a very strict and conservative school where homosexuality was considered to be one of the worst 'sins', and my brother understood what it would do to my education and reputation if it came out that I wrote letters declaring my love to a male teacher. My marks went down as well, which upset my parents very much, and after an argument I never spoke with my father again. Neither of my parents knows that I only take interest in men, and it would break my dear mother if she found out. Sherlock made me realize what things in life I should stick to, and what things that it would be for the best to just disregard. And I never fell in love with anyone else from that day. I did not have the time for it, and neither was I ready for it. Until I met you Gregory.'

The detective inspector met his boyfriend's gaze and kept stroking his hand. Greg decided it would be for the best to let Mycroft finish his story, because he could see in the way that the other man nervously licked his lips that there was more to be told.

'The only thing that Sherlock could not understand was how much this not only would come to affect me, but also him. And as you know Sherlock has not really trusted anyone, and much less expressed his feelings to any other human being. At least not until recently, when he finally seems to have learnt to do so, to some extent, thanks to Dr Watson.'

The other man nodded slowly as he listened, and then he said:

'Come over here.'

Greg gestured to Mycroft to sit down by him in the sofa, and his boyfriend did so. The politician smoothly sat down close to his boyfriend, and Greg put his right arm around the other man and pulled him close to his shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Greg slowly playing with the other man's hair, and Mycroft listening to the sound of his boyfriend breathing.

'The only thing that I can't understand, Myc, is why you've kept the letter all this time.'

'I suppose that I somewhere deep inside, wanted to be able to remind myself what love is, and not just think about it as a disadvantage.'

The detective inspector sharply inhaled, and couldn't help but feel very touched by these words. They way that Mycroft had said them had not been in a vulnerable way, he had spoken with the voice of someone who just had stated something most ordinary, like what the weather was like outside, or the colour of a piece of furniture.

'But I do not need the letter to remind me of love anymore, because I now think I know what love actually is. And every time I see you, talk with you, touch you, or even think of you, I am remembered of the meaning of love, and all it advantages and disadvantages.'

Greg put his left hand under his boyfriend's chin and lifted it up so he could kiss him.

'I love you, Mycroft.'

The government official met the other man's gaze and gave him a genuine smile.

'And I love you, Gregory. More than I ever will be able to comprehend, or explain.'