Mycroft fiddled absently with his cufflinks, then his pocket watch, and then the buttons on his waist coat before Lucia looked up from her phone. She had decided (much to Mycroft's embarrassment) that he needed an escort back to London to ensure he actually went. Lucia had a talent for stalling any meetings they were going to be late for, he'd never asked what she did to make it all ok with the leaders of the free world but he assumed it was just another one of the infinite ways she had become integral in his life (She flirted mercilessly with every single one, and they all flirted back. It shocked her at first when she received a reply from the queen but why not?) "Sir if you keep fidgeting I may be forced to give you a mild sedative." she chided, smirking at the latest message from the French president. "It will be fine, I'm sure Greg will understand." Mycroft sighed and looked out the window, watching as the familiar shores of England came into view "And what," he asked candidly, "will I do if he doesn't?" She gave him a half smile that he caught in the reflective surface. "We'll keep on fighting for him until he does sir, but I doubt it will come to that." Mycroft was not so certain of that. He'd acted in a way that was not befitting of a man of his station and treated Gregory horribly, all because he was afraid of getting hurt himself. The irony was not lost on him. "I hope you are right." he sighed and picked up his umbrella as they began to descend. Nervousness was clawing uncomfortably at his stomach, and with the genuine fear of rejection and resignation to the latter Mycroft was a veritable bag of heightened emotion, the majority of which he never felt in his everyday life and most certainly not to this extent. 'You stop wars and fight terrorists' he thought to himself 'this is a mere trifle compared to some of the things you have done'. But it wasn't, this was so much bigger than that, this was the only person he had loved outside of his family - which included Lucia, and perhaps his horses. Sentiment. "Oh Gregory what have you done to me?" he muttered softly and rose, disembarking straight into a black sedan. "Home please David, thank you."
Greg was cold. Bloody freezing actually, as polar winds swept through London with malice and carrying frost to boot. He'd decided long ago that weather, unless extreme and dangerous to his person in general, would never be an acceptable excuse to avoid exercise if he had the time. Since he didn't have work and he wasn't sure if he had Mycroft, he had plenty of time to run. The extensive grounds of Mycroft's home were perfect for it, idyllic forest trails and stony lake front were rather picturesque running spots. It was good to clear his head after a case, and right now his head was filled with anxiety about the state of his maybe nonexistent relationship. He sighed wearily, watching his breath as it curled away from him in smoky tendrils of warm air. He sighed again, it would be really nice to get a week where everything was easy and straight forward for once. Snorting at the ridiculously low likelihood of that ever happening Greg kept his pace up in time with the music blaring in his ears, loud enough to drown out his own thoughts. Ever since he had started working as a beat cop he'd taken great care to exercise as often as possible, the stamina and general fitness were reward enough without even thinking about the physical benefits, and he'd developed a routine that was the same now as it had been years ago, but with some different music choices and new scenery. The forest flew by him as he ran, leaves and twigs cracking underfoot. If he was honest, which he was, he had to admit that the main reason behind his impromptu burst of activity was the absence of Mycroft in the house. It was, after all, Mycroft's home, and at the moment it seemed as if he'd driven the other man out. Not that it would have changed anything if he had, because it was not possible to do anything in the house without thinking of him, Greg hadn't slept in their bed the entire time Mycroft had been away, it was too cold, too quiet without him there. Yes, they'd both had their fair share if nights alone but this was over a fortnight, and communications were down between them, leaving Greg feeling the cold on all fronts (he wondered absently when the other side of the bed had become the empty side in his mind.) Steeling himself for the very real possibility of a callous casting aside by Mycroft was more difficult than he'd anticipated, he mused as he stretched at the lake front, admiring the low blanket of mist that hung over the still lake while warming down. It was a bit shite, but he resigned himself to the fact that the situation was not going to change until Mycroft came back to confront him and probably kick him out. God this was going to be awkward, he could only profess to having truly loved about three partners in his life, a girl he'd dated in Uni, his ex wife and now Mycroft. The girl he'd dated in Uni had simply emigrated to India to teach and never returned, and his wife had been a fiasco, constant work and her tendency to stray just crumbled what had once been a wonderful relationship. Mycroft… They'd just barely begun seeing each other after Sherlock and John finally got together, and apart from being naked, in riding gear or clad in pyjamas Greg hadn't even seen the man out of a suit, but he was invested in this whole heartedly, and now they would part without Mycroft ever knowing that he loved him, regardless of whether he wanted that love or not, and they'd gotten so close too. Greg shook his head as if that would somehow dislodge the thoughts and images flitting across his mind and hopped twice on the spot before sprinting off, heading back to the house to shower.
"Do you have a plan?" Lucia asked softly from the seat next to him. "Of sorts." Mycroft replied, aiming for nonchalance and missing the mark by far. "Apologising for my actions of late will obviously be the first port of call, after that… Well." and Mycroft shrugged a shoulder, falling silent. "You should tell him how you feel - sir" Lucia quipped, adding on the term of respect only because of the presence of another in the car. "And why on Earth would I do that? Why open oneself up to ridicule and pain in that way? You say that Gregory will not be cruel, but all people are cruel with the hearts of others" Mycroft spat, his nervousness giving way to anger " I have seen it everyday, people making false declarations of affection, born of greed and lust for power when in actuality they are mocking their partner. I refused a long time ago to allow that to happen to me, and up until this point I have kept to my beliefs. All lives end, all hearts are broken and caring is not an advantage." Lucia gave him a sidelong glance, her face a picture of melancholy. "But you do care, and so does Greg. An Iceman is a man nonetheless, and this particular Iceman has been granted the unbelievably good fortune of finding someone who sees past the icy exterior and cares for you anyway, and deserves to know that he isn't alone in it. Just… Don't discount it yet. Talk to him." Mycroft snorted and turned away from her once more, but he didn't say he wouldn't do it, and that was enough for her. Pulling up to the manor Mycroft gritted his teeth against the memories it sparked, how Gregory had stared pink cheeked and open mouthed at the grandeur— "No." he admonished himself as he slid gracefully from the car. "I'll be back from Vienna within the week, text if you need me" Lucia smiled softly and closed the door, and Mycroft watched as the car drove away from him from the same spot on the driveway. There was nothing to do but go inside and apologise, he had to, but God if his heart beat any faster it would probably explode. 'Wouldn't that just be hilarious' he thought to himself as he turned his key in the lock 'to be constantly sought after by mercenaries, terrorists, foreign officials, only to die of an impromptu heart attack because you're terrified to confess to the man you invited to live with you. Good show Mycroft, really, that's a fitting way to die.'
Try though he did to keep the noise made by the door to a minimum, in the relative silence of the house he may as well have slammed it. Gregory did not appear at the sound, in fact no one did. Mycroft looked around, observing his home for a few minutes. "Dust is eloquent" Sherlock's voice reverberated in his mind as he flicked from one thing to the next. Clearly Gregory had been there only a few hours ago, but that didn't mean he was here now. He started for the kitchen, but thought the better of it a step later. Perhaps the kitchen was better left alone, for if it were to be empty, Mycroft would honestly not know what to do with himself. These days it was Gregory who make sure it was kept stocked with whatever he needed to cook for them both and he would not have left any perishable food behind him, simply because that would have been wasteful, most definitely not out of any lingering affection he held for Mycroft. No. Instead Mycroft decided that he needed to go upstairs and sleep, any of the guest rooms would do, he would not be able to bring himself to sleep in their bed.
Greg arrived back at the manor sweating steadily even with the cold and traipsed wearily in through the back door, wary of trecking old withering leaves into the foyer because he had told the cleaners Yolanda and Samuel that they may as well take a week off and the sweeping brush was hidden somewhere that he had yet to discover. His fingers burned slightly at the sudden transition from one extreme temperature to another, but he relished the feel of warm air on his skin again and it helped him to resolutely ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his being forced to leave Mycroft. He gulped water straight from the tap before heading up to shower. All the bathrooms in Mycroft's house were top quality, ivory tiled utopias of fine design and equipped with large showers and the occasional bathtub. The shower could comfortably hold at least three people at a time and Greg snorted a laugh to himself when he tried to imagine Mycroft having a threesome. The man had been astounded that Greg had wanted him in the first place, he didn't seem like he'd be comfortable showing such vulnerability to two people, he was very sensitive about his body, though Greg could not fathom why, all that pale, freckled skin... There was that sick feeling again. Greg stepped into the spray and cleaned himself thoroughly, Mycroft had thought himself sly when he'd surreptitiously placed Greg's preffered brand of body wash into every single one. Once he was clean and clothed a bit more Greg dumped his sweaty clothes into the wash and put his earphones back in while he dried his hair with his towel and sang along quietly. "Can't start a fire, can't start a fire without a spark, this gun's for hire, even if we're just dancing in the dark" Greg bobbed along to the music and didn't notice when someone opened the door.
Mycroft decided the first room on the left was as good as any and didn't hesitate to open the door. The sight that met him was unexpected to say the very least. Gregory was there, a shock in and of itself, and he hadn't seemed to notice Mycroft's presence at all as he was still singing to himself and nodding his head in time to what Mycroft guessed was something by Springsteen while he dried his hair roughly with a towel. He was not prepared for the impromptu spin that brought them face to face. "Mycroft!" Greg yelped, surprise evident even over the blush. "I thought… Luc said maybe Thursday… Eh… I'll just um… Should I…?" Greg stumbled over words, babbling nearly incoherently, but Mycroft caught the sentiment and rushed to intervene. "No! No. Gregory I… I have treated you in a manner that is truly abominable and I, I apologise. You do not deserve that. You deserve far better." Mycroft held what wanted to come next in his throat, even as Greg's face fell, he couldn't say it. Greg tried to gauge what was happening, but all his theories reached the same conclusion, that this was a variant of the 'it's not you it's me' conversation, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do because he'd not been punched in the gut in a while but if he could remember it correctly it felt a lot like this.
"Um. I accept your apology? I'll just get out of your hair… But Mycroft… I… I eh… I do you know." Mycroft was utterly bamboozled. If he was accepting his apology what was he doing leaving? Wrong! Mycroft's brain was yelling at him. "Gregory…what—" Greg screwed his face up and ran a hand through his hair, barking out a mirthless laugh. "It shouldn't be so bloody hard, you know? I told myself that no matter what I would do this but now it's happening… I want you to know even though you hurt me… Must be a masochist… But I'm going to do it anyway, just for you. You could never accept a compliment, or that I would want someone like you, no matter how often I repeated it, you were always going to be too fat, or pale, or freckled, or cold, or empty for yourself, but not for me. So, even though you're dumping me, and that's not exactly a pleasant thought, you should know that at least one person is in love with you in the world, and I have been for a long time now. Just thought you should know that it is possible." Greg smiled weakly into the silence that greeted him and slid past Mycroft to leave the room and Mycroft to their silence.
He'd packed most of his stuff away anyway, because this, this right here was exactly what he'd expected,didn't mean he felt any less like throwing up. He didn't regret a minute of their time together, and telling Mycroft that he loved him was the right thing to do even though it left him feeling rather empty. The man had to know that he was capable of being loved by someone. Greg rang for a taxi and grabbed his stuff, dumping it in front of the door. He'd hoped, deep down, that Mycroft would rs down the stairs to meet him and tell him that he'd gotten it wrong, that Mycroft loved him too and wanted him to stay, but when the doorbell rang with the cabbie Mycroft hadn't reappeared and he was forced to accept the stark reality of his situation. He closed the door quietly behind him, not wanting to intrude anymore than he already had. "Tufton street please mate." he instructs the driver who took a quick look at him and his ample baggage and drove off in silence. Greg had never been so thankful for it in his life.
Mycroft had frozen when Gregory had professed that he loved him, his mind had shut down within moments, the implication of the statement so devastating that his mind had attempted to connect it to their every interaction, to reconcile with the idea that was even possible after years of being conditioned by his father to believe only the worst of himself. He didn't notice that Greg had left, hadn't paid attention to anything else that had been said until much later. "Wait, Gregory! Gre—" he sprinted to their room and was hit with the realisation that it was empty, All Gregory's belongings were gone, his bedside table cleared, the singular photo of the two of them gone (they hadn't even been aware it was being taken, they weren't posing together at all, it was just of Mycroft watching Greg from across the room with a soft smile on his face as Greg laughed at something John had said). Mycroft fell into an armchair and put his head in his hands. He was an idiot of the highest calibre to have let Gregory go. It was his own fault of course, looking back on their altercation he could not blame him for thinking that Mycroft was trying to, as they say, let him down easy, and when he had confessed that he loved him Mycroft should have been there, with him, telling him that he felt the same way, but instead he'd retreated into his head and screwed everything up royally.
His phone rang, and for a moment he was tempted to let it ring out, but that would just add more issues to the pile he had accrued so he picked up. "Mycroft Holmes" he answered dully, hoping this would be over soon so he could wallow. "What did you do?!" Lucia's voice, tight and strained washed over him. What had he done? "I apologised, but Gregory thought I was breaking off our relationship and confessed that he loved me even still after leaving him and then he left." Lucia ground her teeth audibly "He tells you, as I knew that he would, that he's in love with you, and you just… Stand there in silence until he's gone?!" Mycroft made a small noise of assent. "Do you have any idea— My God sometimes— You don't even— Imagine my surprise when I get a text asking if surveillance on Greg should continue after his departure, I thought they were having me on, and imagine the shock I got when I said yes and asked for the feed only to find that they were being serious and that he was leaving, in a bloody taxi for Christ sake! At least half an hour you had to go downstairs and fix everything but no! I don't… I never wanted to see my friend like this Mycroft." She put herself on hold with that and his text alert pinged, and even though he didn't press anything the message opened to show him a high resolution photo of Greg's face as he was leaving. He was ashen, mouth held in a tight line, but the real kicker were his eyes, always full of sparkle and laughter, they were dead, glassy and vaguely unseeing, giving him a lost look. "You need to fix it Mycroft, go find him and tell him that you love him too and that you're an idiot because you are, and he might not take you back after this but you have to try do you hear me? I've sent the car around, I have a meeting to get to, but if, in the next hour, you haven't tried your damnedest to get that man back, I will kick you so hard you won't remember your own name." She hung up indignantly and Mycroft ran a hand through his hair. She was right to be mad at him of course, she had tried to tell him to swallow his fear but he'd reverted to cowardice and hurt not only himself, but Gregory in the process. The look on his face… There was a burning behind his eyes that he hadn't experienced since his youth and when David arrived he attempted to pull himself together, though the older man's eyes told him that he knew all anyway. Mycroft didn't even have to say the address.
Martha Hudson lifted a large sheath of soft fabric and held it up to Orabelle who nodded vigorously and returned to whispered negotiations with the caterers that were only occasionally recognisable as English. She smiled to herself and let her hands run over reems of silken fabrics in an effort to find the perfect colour scheme for the wedding. Her boys were so different physically, matching colours to both of their skin types was proving to be a task to remember. Not that she was complaining, spending all this time with an old friend while working on something that would make her boys so happy was nothing to complain about at all, and quite aside from anything else she was loving the hours in which the function room at Holmes manor was transformed into a wedding extravaganza for just the two of them to pick and choose over. Today's setup had to be by far her favourite, as the colour scheme was to be decided, so too were the flowers, which meant the heady aroma of flowers permeated the entire building and the vast array of colours and shapes left her feeling as if she'd taken a trip to the botanical gardens by mistake. "That should do it, keeping in mind the strange whims of the Holmes family" the chef smiled knowingly at Orabelle who shrugged "we should be covered. I'll leave you to work then." she dismissed him and glided over to where Mrs Hudson was scrutinizing three swatches of fabric. "What are you thinking dear?" she asked, holding up all three for them to critique. "Well, the unicorn is a must, but the accent will be a more difficult choice." Mrs Hudson hummed in agreement and put the silvery silk to one side, pitting the final two colours against each other. "Midnight blue or Lavender… I think the blue, I mean both of them have these lovely blue hues to their eyes" Martha looked across at her friend who smiled and plucked the blue from her hand. "Perfect, Martha. Silver* for Sherlock's shirt, I won't even bother attempting to get that boy into a tie and Blue for John's with…" the two of them had strolled into the flower forest as they spoke and Belle pursed her lips as she scanned the room for the perfect button hole bloom. "these!" she exclaimed excitedly and plucked two stems from the pile. Martha chuckled. They wouldn't know what hit them come April.
David pulled up to Greg's building slowly, narrowly avoiding mowing down the gangs of youths that were crowding the streets. "Good luck sir." he smiled at Mycroft as he exited the vehicle, smoothing his waistcoat and swallowing the lump in his throat he pressed the buzzer of the apartment below Gregory's, owned by a young lady who had taken to simply letting him up when Gregory was unavailable and pressed onwards. When he finally reaches the door, he hesitated. The only way he had any chance at all of convincing Gregory to come back to him would be if he was truly honest about his feelings. Emotions, sentiment, they were not things he spoke of, or until rather recently, allowed himself to feel. He hesitated. But only momentarily. Knocking on the door he could almost taste his heart in his mouth. Footsteps padded to the door and it opened, and Gregory looked angry for a second but his expression dripped into the resigned annoyance he had shown Mycroft when they'd first met, with a seal of hurt beneath it. "Oh. Sherlock is at home, John's sister died there a few days ago so. If you want an update you should ask him." Greg deadpanned, looking at him emptily. Mycroft nearly choked at that, the callous way in which he had been demoted back to 'The man who I tell about Sherlock and nothing else'. "Gregory—" Greg wrapped his arms around himself "Don't. Don't call me that." Mycroft ran a hand through his hair and looked back at him with pleading eyes "Please, Gregory, Allow me to explain myself. I… Please." Greg took in Mycroft, the dishevellment of his hair, his tie askew, he looked frantic and scared, and Greg had little choice but to let him in. He had to help people, that was why he had become a copper in the first place. Plus, Mycroft Holmes had just begged, and that just didn't happen. Slowly he opened the door and allowed Mycroft inside. Neither one sat down or moved from the hallway. Mycroft shuffled a bit and reached out his right hand as if to clasp the umbrella that should have been there but wasn't because that was his crutch, he needn't be honest as long as he could ground himself with it.
"Gregory. When I apologised for my actions towards you I in no way intended for you to think I was leaving you, I understand totally of course that my lack of communication and the formal manner in which I phrased myself could be misleading. It was not my intention at all." Mycroft spewed out a few lines before stopping, for some reason his treacherous mouth refused to perform it's duties and say what he was feeling. Greg on the other side of the conversation merely frowned, eyebrows low over his eyes. "I texted every bloody day, like the fool I am, and you couldn't have replied once? Sorry but that's something you do when you want to end a relationship." Mycroft blurted a quick "I couldn't reply." To which Greg retorted with an angry "Why the hell not?!" and the floodgates were opened. "Because I realised that I love you Gregory and that you hold such sway over me that I honestly didn't think I would have been able to take it had I confessed this to you and been shot down. You have become something surpassing even this great nation to me and it is terrifying. It's not a situation I have found myself in before and it was… Debilitating to say the least. To have such an obvious weakness… You're my jugular vein Gregory and I see it now. My greatest liability. But a worthwhile one. I was sure that you would feel… Less for me than I do for you, understandably because you are the catch in this relationship, but if I spoke to you, I wouldn't have been able to contain myself, and that would have been wrong too. I just didn't want you to leave, a plan which backfired spectacularly." Mycroft met Greg's eyes, his voice cracking with raw emotion like he'd never allowed before. "I love you Gregory, more than life itself. When you told me that you loved me earlier I had a… Mild malfunction of the mind shall we say. It's just hard to believe that anyone, let alone someone like you would love someone like me. I should never have let you go, and if you see fit to come home, I will not allow us to be parted by any force ever again." Brown eyes met blue for what seemed like a lifetime of silence and Mycroft nodded cordially before spinning on his heel.
A calloused hand shot out and clutched his elbow, twirling him back around within an inch of Greg's face. "I love you too." Greg murmured almost against Mycroft's lips, causing the British government to shiver just before their lips met. It was warm, a passionate caress of silken lips and tongues and Greg wished more than anything that he could preserve this feeling, this elation and hope because one day, who knew when, he would feel the all consuming loneliness that he'd felt that afternoon again, but if he could just bottle up this moment right here, he'd be happy everyday for the rest of his life.
A/N Hola compadres! For a moment there I was thinking of breaking up Mystrade but then I realised WHY THE HELL WOULD I DO THAT?! So yes, they're both idiots too when it comes to feelings, and if everything feels a bit mumble-jumbled that's because they're all mumble-jumbled too (or I'm just terrible at continuity. I like the first explanation better.) And a small dose of two old gals planning a wedding to ease the tension towards the end, also because I wanted to start the old brain thinking about that whole thing, and lemme just say that colour schemes are bloody difficult and while Unicorn is technically *silver, it's much more pale and almost white. So there. Thanks for everything ~S