A/N: This is not a songfic but it has song lyrics in it. I tried to lessen the amount of lyrics and poems, but they were necessary for the story. I'm worried about this chapter, but I hope you'll like it. There are a lot of lyrics and there are poems, which I left the way I found them, so I hope this chapter is not too difficult to read.
Also I'm not good with classics (and I don't mean classical music here). I just chose some old love songs that fit in the story.
And here I also would like to thank those reviewers who I can't thank directly. Thank you, dear anonymous reviewers!:)
Beta: OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles
Disclaimer: I do not own the songs: Everything I Do, I do it For You by Bryan Adams, P.S. I Love You by The Beatles, Love Me Tender by Elvis Presley, Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra and poems: A Red Red Rose by Robert Burns, Desire by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
The twenty first change taught Mycroft to be more straightforward and, maybe even, romantic…
Romance
Mycroft watched the small device on his desk. He knew what it was, of course he did; the thing he struggled to understand though was the reason it was there. Well, that wording wouldn't be precise either. The thing was on his desk because Lestrade had left it when he dropped in earlier in the morning. Mycroft had no use of it; if he wished to listen to music he'd use the small but good sound system he's got in the office. This however was something he did not want to use. Of course iPods were popular nowadays, a fashionable and probably useful gadget, but, as it was stated before, Mycroft personally had no use of it. He didn't expect Lestrade to own one either, though that thought was, he had to admit it, completely illogical.
When Lestrade slid the shiny device over the polished surface of his lover's desk Mycroft only lifted his brow in question.
"Just…look through the songs when you have time," Lestrade shrugged. Then he stood up and nodded in the direction of the iPod with emphasis; only after Mycroft gave an answering tentative nod of agreement did he circle the desk, plant a gentle kiss to his lover's cheek and leave.
Which left Mycroft in this predicament. He lifted the device carefully and turned it on. Scrolling through the short list of songs he wondered why someone would buy something with a large amount of memory if you were going to put less than a dozen songs in it? On the other hand, the way Lestrade insisted on him listening to this music made Mycroft suspect that the choice of songs was not random.
He slid his finger over the white circle gently, then stopped and, not looking at what song it had stopped at, pushed 'play'. The entry of the song was a melodic, soft piano tune flowing from the ear buds. As the lyrics started, a soft voice with slight hoarseness, Mycroft recognized the song; it was old and nice and very…romantic.
He leaned back in his leather chair, humming softly and repeating the closing lyrics of the first verse – the only words he actually remembered.
You know it's true
Everything I do I do it for you
He liked that song, one glance at the iPod screen reminded him of the name of the song and the singer – Everything I Do, I do it For You by Bryan Adams. And then came the next lyrics that always touched his soul, no matter how many times Mycroft listened to that song.
There's no love – like your love
And no other - could give more love
There's nowhere - unless you're there
All the time - all the way
It was a song of such devotion, such love; Mycroft wished he'd have a love like that in his life. This made him think of Gregory, who had already subtly changed Mycroft's life in so many ways, and maybe his presence would bring this one, the most desirable, the most wonderful change…
Don't tell me it's not worth trying for
I can't help it there's nothing I want more
I would fight for you - I'd lie for you
Walk the wire for you - I'd die for you
You know it's true
Everything I do - I do it for you
The words ended, leaving the gentle music behind for Mycroft to enjoy the melody. When the last note turned into silence he opened his eyes, absently looked around the room. The paper pile on the desk reminded him of the load of work still waiting to be done, returning him back to the present. Pushing 'stop' on the device, he put it away and reached for the first document of the lot.
The next time Mycroft managed to look through the playlist Lestrade had left him was in the late night; he was still in the office having a small break before he'd have to leave for a late business meeting.
A very familiar tune started, recognizable from the first notes, and Mycroft was a little surprised to hear it. Guided by the notion that it was his lover who gave him the device with his choice of songs he resisted switching to the next songs in hope for something new. Furthermore the song was nice, maybe not suitable for his current mood, but still…
Love me tender,
Love me sweet,
Never let me go.
You have made my life complete,
And I love you so.
Mycroft had not been a huge fan of Elvis Presley; he respected the singer and his songs but personally he had always been the classical music type of person. Most of the times he found lyrics unnecessary as music was enough to convey the feelings without distracting the listener from the original beauty of the masterpiece. Most people disagreed with him, Lestrade being one of them. His lover always insisted that the lyrics complemented the music, conveying what music could not.
Mycroft's wondering mind was brought back by the song.
Love me tender,
Love me true,
All my dreams fulfil
For my darling I love you,
And I always will.
It was a lovely song and if this was another one of Lestrade's attempt at introducing him to the world of songs it was, if not working, then at least certainly helping Mycroft relax. It also reminded him of his lover, which was indeed a wonderful addition.
He didn't pay attention to the remaining words of the song, just enjoying the music and the voice, allowing his own imagination to wander. The laziness crept on him and, combined with the exhaustion, resulted in drowsiness and an unbearable unwillingness to spend another second working. Unfortunately, slacking off was not an option, so as the song ended Mycroft put the device away and called for the PA.
He got a call from Lestrade on his way back home, both of them too exhausted to have a meaningful conversation. So after an exchange of sentimental phrases they disconnected, thus leaving Mycroft to the lulling silence of his car. Sprawled on the backseat, pretty much ungracefully but he supposed he could be excused for not feeling self-conscious at the end of a difficult day, he reached for the iPod. He had just enough time for another song until they'd arrive home. This time he scrolled through the short list of songs thoughtfully, purposefully stopping on a song he felt like listening to. It was a nice easy song, melodic but quick, livelier than the previous ones; just right to keep him relaxed but not too slow to lull him to sleep. The Beatles always had that effect on him.
As I write this letter
Send my love to you
Remember that I'll always
Be in love with you
This time he didn't let his eyes drift closed or his imagination take over; he looked outside the tinted window instead at the night London streets.
Treasure these few words
Till we're together
Keep all my love forever
P.S. I love you
you, you, you
The idea that Lestrade's choice of songs was somewhat surprising, maybe even suspicious occurred to him but Mycroft didn't dwell on it, his tired brain refusing to make any half-complicated logical connections in that state. He simply listened and enjoyed the song.
As the car slowed down and then came to a stop the last lines echoed in his ears.
I'll be coming home again to you, love
Until the day I do love
P.S. I love you
you, you, you
you, you, you
I love you
His third romantic song for the day had ended, making him feel less lonely than he always was when entering his dark empty flat. He thought of Gregory, alone at his home as well but warmed by the thoughts of his lover. It was strange how, even in complete solitude, Mycroft didn't actually feel lonely. The lyrics of the song still lingered in his mind as well as the catchy melody that was difficult to forget.
The next time he decided to listen to those songs was when he was waiting for his lover in the café for their daily Sunday meeting. The weather was wonderful – summer at its best, with the shining sun and the cloudless sky.
This time he paid more attention to the name of the song and the singer he chose and, as a familiar melody started he leaned back in the chair, relaxed and content.
Fly me to the moon
Let me sing among those stars
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby, kiss me
The smooth voice of Frank Sinatra washed over him, his mind for once concentrating on the words.
Fill my heart with song
Let me sing forever more
You are all I long for
All I worship and adore
Mycroft felt movement near him and opened his eyes to see Gregory taking his place across from him.
In other words, please be true
He smiled in return to his lover's grin and caught his eyes. Warm hazels were staring right back with affection and…
In other words, I love you
"Good morning," Lestrade greeted.
At that moment Mycroft finally understood the meaning of all those songs. It was so simple and yet it took him this long to understand.
The iPod was safely hidden in the depths of Mycroft's desk while the man contemplated his next course of action. The sudden epiphany he had the day prior left an undefined feeling in its wake. The second he realized…he felt happy, gloriously and stupidly so. But when the logical part of his brain had processed the information, happiness was joined by confusion, curiosity and a need for solid proof, confirmation that he had not misunderstood. With the whole list of love songs waiting for him to be listened to it was difficult to misunderstand but in Mycroft's mind there was always a place for doubt. He listened to the songs, all of them; each processing an undying love. Mycroft didn't believe in undying love, but as his mind conjured the images of Gregory with every song he felt his resolve weaken and a desire to simply give in to chance grow.
Another thing that bothered Mycroft was the question of why the other man hadn't said anything. Why choose such an elaborate way to confess, if words, just three little words said by him, would be enough? Maybe this actually was Lestrade's attempt to introduce his lover to the music he liked, nothing more, and Mycroft was making a fuss over nothing.
Two days after that, early in the morning, he got a clue he was waiting for. It came in the form of a small note, put neatly at the center of his desk in the office. After a brief questioning the secretary admitted, blushing and giggling all the way, that 'Mr. Lestrade was here in the morning. He said he wanted to leave a surprise for you.' Which was followed by a worried 'I hope I didn't ruin it.' In fact, she had not, especially since the questioning happened after discovering the note.
It was pretty plain, cream paper with lines of text styled like old fashioned hand writing.
Desire
Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Under the poem there was only one sentence written.
These words may not belong to me but they express my feelings towards you perfectly.
There was no signature, but in all honesty it was completely unneeded. The first impression of the card Mycroft had was confusion. Yes, it hinted at Lestrade's feelings like he wanted, but it only hinted. What Mycroft awaited was a straight answer to his wonderings. This though made him doubt he'd ever get it.
Later he got a text from his lover, stating that the DI's team was assigned a new case so he wouldn't be able to have lunch with Mycroft. Suspicious if it was actually the reason behind a concealed date or a way to avoid Mycroft because Lestrade was too anxious to see his reaction, the politician let it slide, giving his lover the time he obviously needed.
Romance was never Mycroft's strong side. On the other hand, Lestrade, ever the gentleman and a man who wasn't afraid to straightforwardly admit his feelings, seemed to be a born romantic. Or was that a misconception? Was Gregory Lestrade as…insecure in such questions as Mycroft Holmes?
Leaving this question unanswered, partially because he didn't want to admit his own vulnerability when it came to relationships and love, Mycroft returned to his work.
He had to confront his feelings much sooner than he had anticipated as Lestrade mustered his courage during the day, enough to pay his lover a visit in the evening.
A tentative knock on the door startled Mycroft, breaking his concentration and turning his attention to the door. It opened a little, Lestrade peeking inside and glancing around to make sure Mycroft was alone. Which was pretty useless, the politician mused, since if he had a meeting his secretary simply wouldn't have let anyone in.
"Hello," Lestrade greeted as he entered and closed the door softly. He hesitated there for a moment and then he straightened, gaining confidence and crossing Mycroft's office, stopping before the large mahogany desk.
Mycroft followed his progress with his eyes, noticing a single red rose, held carefully in one hand.
"Good evening, Gregory." He said with a smile. With calmness he didn't feel Mycroft stood up and circled the desk to give his lover a kiss in greeting. He was walking slowly, tracing his fingers over the wooden desk as a gesture of faked countenance.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to see you at lunch," Lestrade apologized, but it mostly sounded like something he had to say, not what he actually wanted.
Mycroft simply smiled – a silent forgiveness. After that came silence, comfortable but laced by nervousness because both men understood that this moment would be the turning point of their relationship, whatever happened would be critical for their future. Never had Mycroft imagined this happening to him. He was always in control but this, this was something he did not have power over, this only depended on his lover's feelings and beliefs and his own, determined by their courage to voice it.
Mycroft was standing stiffly, not wanting to make a move and disrupt the tension in the air; it was unpleasant but whatever was coming should bring more discomfort, he decided. There could be happiness, at the end, but to reach it they had to step over themselves and just admit everything. Admit the shared feelings. But both lacked the self-confidence to make the first step.
Finally Lestrade moved, his gaze not leaving Mycroft's. He offered the other man the rose and a new note. Mycroft took the flower first, mindful of the thorns of the red rose but noticed there were none. Encouraged, he circled his fingers over the stem, smelled the flower – another act to prolong the inevitable – and put it away. He reached for the note next.
"I'm not good with words," Lestrade commented, slightly embarrassed as Mycroft read the words that belonged to another author.
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve'slike the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, myLuve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.
"Robert Burns," Lestrade explained. "I know it's not really romantic to use already written words, but in my opinion it's much better than me stumbling over every third word trying to express my feelings to you."
Lestrade was rambling, same embarrassment now joined by uncertainty, but his words fell on deaf ears. Mycroft read and re-read the words, his eyes once falling onto the red rose lying on his desk.
Love. Still unannounced, but it was there. In every gesture, in each glance, in each word was a small part of it, a tiny hint of the great feeling. It was so obvious, so what was stopping Mycroft from being the courageous and straightforward one for once? Gregory had not outwardly said it yet, because he was waiting for the right reaction from his lover – a reaction Mycroft would not give simply because he was used to been moderate. But now here it wasn't needed. So why can't he just…
"I love you." His voice was quiet, tone soft but confident.
Mycroft's eyes lifted from the words of Robert Burn proclaiming undying love, to Gregory, a man he had just confessed his own love to. Lestrade looked back, stunned with his eyes wide and mouth still open from forming another word of his excusing ramble. After a moment his lips closed and stretched into a tentative smile and, as Mycroft smiled in return, into a full grin. Hazel eyes searched Mycroft's face, taking in every small detail of this beautiful moment.
"I love you," Mycroft repeated, putting aside the note to lie by the rose. His hands now free he reached for his lover, palms sliding up his chest to settle on his shoulders.
Lestrade leaned forward, catching his lips in a gentle kiss. There was not much he could say in return.
"Yeah," he Lestrade breathed out. "I love you too."
A/N: As always, I hope you liked this chapter and, please, review:)