a/n: slightly angsty, this one... hope it's bearable...
thanx once more for reading!
3. wired
Dreams and musings keep me awake
Night after night after night
Until I can finally feel your touch
My days don't seem to feel right
I don't want to go back
To how it used to be
The nights I was lonely
The days I was free
The guys I have stroked
Unloving and cold
The men that desired me
Too callous, too old
The backstreets, the bedsits,
The houses, so grand
The faces, the senses,
So loathsome, so bland…
None made me feel
The way that you can
When looking my way
When touching my hand,
When lips graze so lightly
On sensitive skin
My senses awaken
Resistance is thin
So dreaming and musing
Is all I can do
Until my arms feel
The wonderfulness that is you…
His leather bound notebook snapped shut, and Mycroft put it down with his fountain pen on the table next to his armchair. He slumped back, and his eyes shut in tandem, the long day gliding away into the nothingness that he felt his life had become.
It had been two weeks since he sent Gregory that letter, two weeks since he made a fool of himself, two weeks of agony and loneliness. He felt drained, and all the excitement that he normally could find in his days didn't make up for the fact that the man he wanted, the man he was so much in love with, was unattainable, married. Unhappily so, but still – what chance did he have…?
He had found himself trying to blank out how sad that made him feel, looked for thrills, ones that his introverted self could handle. And when temptation came in the form of a sweet blond intern, who looked like a young god, and smiled like an angel, he managed to withstand his blatant flirting for about two days. The blond god had followed Mycroft into the gents, hell-bent on getting what he wanted, and without even knowing his name, he was kissed and caressed, for a short while all was so bloody wonderful… Afterwards he felt dirty, cheap, and the beautiful blond intern left without much fuss. Mycroft sank even deeper.
The glass of whiskey was empty, and he considered filling it again. Contemplating getting up, he heard a knock on the door.
'Yes,' his doleful voice uttered.
'Mail for you sir,' said George, his servant, who entered the room quietly, handing Mycroft an envelope.
At this time of the day?
"It had arrived earlier today but I didn't know you were in until now.' He smiled. 'Hard day, sir?'
'You could say that, George. Dull, nonetheless… Thanks for this, you may go now.'
'Goodnight, sir,' George replied and left.
Mycroft looked at the envelope in his hands. It was heavy, containing more than one sheet of paper. Unless there were attachments, like an official document, but the handwriting wasn't very official. It looked familiar.
It was Gregory's!
Mycroft thought about ripping it open, devouring whatever it was he'd been sent, but restrained himself. He got up to find his letter opener and carefully sliced the top of the envelope. The handwriting of Gregory Lestrade emerged and Mycroft found himself running his thumb over it, as if this way touching him in person.
NSY, 19/9
Dear Mycroft,
Many things have crossed my mind since you sent me that last, god-awful letter, stating that you would leave me alone, and the most persistent thought is: what the fuck?! How is it possible that in your first letter you declare your feelings for me, you say how much you long to have me in your life, and signing it with Yours, if you want me… and now you're leaving me high and dry? You cold, harsh, horrible man!
Is taking a risk that much of a terrifying thought for you? Is trying to win me over of so little importance to you, that you drop out at the first hurdle? Where have I stated that I want you to leave me alone? That I don't want anything to do with you and your Feelings for me?
Having read your first letter I realised that I may have been harbouring stuff for you as well. And believe you me: this is much more of a risk for me, I have far more to lose than you ever will… You aren't married to a woman who thinks the world of you, you don't have a life with relations who have invested in you, who think they know you... You have figured out your preferences a long time ago, and knew that that was it for you… I still feel thrown every time I look into your eyes…
The past two weeks have been hell for me. First there was the shock of reading what you wrote to me, then the confusion over what that meant, and why I felt so happy, and strange, and excited. Then every time I look at my wife I feel I betray her trust for even considering enjoying your attention. What if I actually want you rather than her? What will that do to her? How come I only now realise that I might be gay? Or bi? Do I even know myself…?
But all those questions are pointless, because you wish to leave me alone. Because you don't want to take a risk and pursue me, the man you appear to like rather a lot. Are you considering my feelings here, or are you that much of a coward?
To be fair: I must also thank you. It was because of that first letter that I had to be honest with myself. And honesty is an important thing with me – for all his faults, my father has taught me that at least… If I have these kinds of feelings for you, if you can get me this excited, this alive, this confused, then that must mean something… I should probably tell my wife. Tell her that our marriage is finally over. But I can't… I can't break her heart. Not yet…
So Mycroft Holmes, if you are at all the man I think you are: come out fighting… Or leave me alone for good…
Yours, if…
Greg
A mixture of insane joy and anxiety was coursing through his veins. He read the letter over and over again, trying to figure out all its implications. Gregory was open to his interest… Okay…
Mycroft reached for his phone, found the name he seemed to have tattooed into his brain and started tapping the keys.
~ received your letter. dinner tomorrow evening? – MH
A pling sounded half a minute later.