Blue light filled the room, Mycroft grabbed his phone and answered it before it had time to start buzzing.
"Mycroft Homes speaking."
"Heeeeeeey My – Mycroft," Greg slurred.
"Gregory? Is something wrong?" Mycroft sat up in bed and switched on his bedside lamp.
"Nah, everything's fantastic really," he said before hiccupping. "Me and John went to the pub to watch the match, you know John's a really great guy I don't really know what he sees in your brother. Oh, no offense My, but you know how he can be." At least that's why Mycroft thought Greg said, he couldn't be sure because it was all terribly slurred.
Mycroft smiled. "Gregory, you sound rather intoxicated right now."
"Naw, I'm totally fine. So listen, I'm outside your flat right now. Any chance you could let me in?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes and got out of bed. "You could have started with that, you know."
Greg giggled.
Mycroft hung up his phone and went to open his front door.
Greg stood unsteadily before him with bloodshot eyes and rumpled hair. Even completely pissed he still looked devilishly handsome.
"Oh Gregory," Mycroft chided lightly, allowing the other man into the apartment.
"You aren't mad at me are you? I don't want you to be mad at me. I really don't drink much, honest. You aren't mad, are you?"
"Of course not. I'm actually finding this quite amusing," Mycroft said with a smirk.
Greg smiled dopily and walked over to Mycroft, giving him a big hug. "I love you Mycroft," Greg said, nuzzling Mycroft's pale neck.
Mycroft chuckled. "I love you too."
They held each other for several moments, until Greg hiccupped violently.
"Gracious, how much did you have to drink?" Mycroft asked, stepping back and guiding Greg to the couch.
Greg flopped down and then attempted to count on his fingers. He stared at his extended fingers before shaking his head. "No clue."
Mycroft ruffled Greg's hair, and Greg leaned into his touch. "I wonder how our friend Mr. Watson is doing right now," Mycroft mused.
"Aw, he's alright," Greg said with a yawn. "He's got Sherlock,' doesn't he?"
"Yes, I suppose he does."
Greg let his head slide down Mycroft's arm until it settled onto the politician's chest.
"Just like I've got you, right My?"
Mycroft looked down at the inebriated detective and wrapped his arms around Greg's slim frame. Greg sighed contentedly.
"Yes, Gregory. You've got me mind, body, and soul."
He felt Greg smile against his chest, and soon the detective was snoring softly.
Mycroft rested his cheek against Greg's hair and whispered softly, "And I'm taking this to mean that I've got you too." Hearing no protest, only the gentle sounds of Greg's snoring, Mycroft allowed his eyes to drift closed.
