Based on a prompt by the lovely columbine-and-asphodel.
Greg let out a huffy sigh and flopped down on the sofa. He was bored to the point where he could almost sympathize with Sherlock's shooting-the-walls-during-fits-of-ennui habits.
Mycroft was in his study, on the phone with some world leader on a bloody Sunday afternoon, something that irritated Greg to no end.
Greg sighed again. Mycroft's office was soundproofed, so the flat was eerily silent. He debated turning on the telly, but just the thought of Sunday afternoon telly made him roll his eyes. His eyes flitted over the stereo. Might as well make it a Clash afternoon.
He hoisted himself off the couch and crossed to the beautiful stereo. He grabbed London Calling off the shelf and opened the tray. Mycroft had left one of his discs in. Greg glanced at it and nearly fainted dead away. After the initial shock wore off, he closed the tray back up and pressed play, a wicked grin crossing his face.
Mycroft entered the room several minutes later, looking weary but satisfied. When he heard the music blaring from the stereo he glanced around wildly, his cheeks pinking.
Greg laughed heartily from the couch.
"Please, please tell me Anthea or somebody left that here."
Mycroft suddenly became very interested in his shoes.
"Mycroft, are you a closet Marilyn Manson fan?"
Mycroft opened and closed his mouth before making a shrugging gesture. "Honestly I cannot explain it. I didn't even know of the man's existence until about two years ago, some disgruntled teenager sent me a death threat using his lyrics."
The mirth left Greg's face at the word "death threat", but Mycroft waved it off. "A childish prank, nothing more. But I had to research the Manson fellow thoroughly to make sure he wasn't a threat himself."
He seated himself on the couch, listening to a few bars of the song (Beautiful People) before continuing.
"At first, I thought it was a cacophonous racket. To this day I cannot listen to Angel with the Scabbed Wings without getting a small headache."
It took every ounce of Greg's self control to not fall into absolute hysterics at this last sentence. He mentally pictured the stabbing victim they had found in the Thames earlier in the week before to keep a straight face.
"But the more I listened, the more I understood," Mycroft said slowly. "The sheer delicious anger expressed in song…" he smiled wistfully. "It's just the exact opposite of the Holmesian attitude towards self-expression."
He finished and looked over at Greg, who was biting down hard on his own knuckle to keep from bursting out laughing. Greg tentatively extracted his knuckle from his mouth and attempted to speak. Instead, a choked guffaw came out and he broke down laughing.
Mycroft's face fell and his shoulder slumped. He stood up and walked out of the room while Greg desperately tried to compose himself.
"Wait, love!" Greg called, furiously wiping away his tears of mirth. He followed Mycroft into the kitchen and caught him by the waist. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft's middle tightly and burrowed his face in his shoulder blades.
"I'm sorry My," he mumbled into the politician's back.
Mycroft didn't say anything but allowed Greg to spin him around so that they were facing each other.
Mycroft still looked terribly embarrassed, which Greg found to be very endearing.
Greg chuckled lightly. "I'm not laughing at you, love. In fact, I absolutely love the fact that nearly a year and a half into our marriage you can still surprise the hell out of me. But just the mere image of the great Mycroft Holmes coming out of a phone conference and describing his love for Marilyn Manson. I couldn't help myself."
Mycroft quirked his lips a little, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Greg sighed. "Time to bring out the big guns, I suppose."
He dropped his hands and walked out of the room, leaving a very surprised Mycroft in his wake.
He came back in a minute later, a silver iPod in one hand.
He extended it to Mycroft wordlessly.
Mycroft looked at him quizzically.
"Look through some of my most played albums and artists."
Mycroft dubiously took the small device and began scrolling through the artists. After a few moments, a smile began to cross his face. The smile quickly turned into a grin, and the grin turned into ear-to-ear beaming.
"Yeah, Diane was a bit of a thespian in high school, and I'd go to all her shows and stuff. She's got a great voice actually, don't tell her I told you that. But I don't know, she'd have all these soundtracks lying around, and they're actually really good. Les Miserables always makes me cry though." He took a deep breath. "Basically what I'm saying is that your husband is a closet showtunes fan."
Mycroft bit his lip as he began to giggle. "We make quite the pair, don't we?"
Greg smiled. "Yes, yes we do."
They both laughed a little before Greg pulled Mycroft back into his embrace. "are we alright now?"
"Yes, we are alright."
"Shame. I was half considering throwing on some eyeliner and leather if you hadn't completely forgiven me."
Mycroft's eyebrows shot up. "Well now that you mention it, I am harboring a small bit of resentment…" he said, obviously enjoying this mental image.
Greg laughed and lightly swatted Mycroft's behind. "Cheeky boy. But I'll se what I can do."
