5. post scriptum

Back in his house, Mycroft is feeling rather happy. Something he hasn't been familiar with in this way for far too long. His mind casts back to earlier in the evening, when he was sitting on that bench near the river, with a gentle wind blowing yellow and brown leaves around, and he was holding Gregory in his arms. That was the best bit, of course. Being able to touch him, and even better: kiss him… Kiss him for a long, long time, familiarising himself with his mouth, his face from such close proximity, his scent, the way his hands would hold his own body… And Gregory seemed as happy, breaking down barriers and reluctance, allowing himself to thoroughly enjoy this new act, these different sensations. He was himself taking it slowly, wanting to savour every bit of his endeavour to get to know the man that turned his heart inside out, made it do funny rhythms whenever the Detective Inspector was around. Not that he had given himself any chance, he knew Greg was married, but the way he noticed him looking back at him, or looking at him when he thought that Mycroft was doing something else – that was not the look of someone who was left cold by his appearance… DI Dimmock, for instance, never looked at him that way… Some of the diplomats and private secretaries he met had, but not many of them were much cop compared to Gregory.

He went to bed with a smile on his face, and thoughts of this evening filled his mind, before he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The house was lifeless when Greg returned, just after midnight. He'd stretched his time with Mycroft for another hour, feeling emboldened by their talk earlier, not wanting to leave him behind, wanting more time in his arms, kissing and touching and just being... It had felt wonderful.

Anna lay curled up on the sofa, with mascara smeared eyes which gave her the appearance of a forlorn panda. The tv was still on, quietly in the background. Greg found his wife like that, and felt a pang of guilt as he assumed how upset she must have been for having been left, again, all evening. He looked to where the tartan throw was, grabbed it and draped it over her. He wanted to turn the telly off, glanced at the coffee table to find the remote, and that's when he noticed the letter from Mycroft.

Well, he noticed a scrunched up ball of paper next to the envelope with his name written on in curls and assumed that she must have found it (going through his stuff?) and read it and came to the only conclusion probable.

Shit…

Next to the ball of paper was an empty wine glass. The bottle was on the floor, half empty. Or half full, whatever. Greg was feeling a mixture of anger and confusion now. How did she get that letter? It had been amongst his stuff, in his briefcase, last thing he remembered. Which had a number-lock on it. Could she lock-pick now?

He sat down on the armchair next to the sofa to process this all for a minute. The memories of kissing Mycroft flooding back in the middle of it. Wonderful, gorgeous, delicious Mycroft… It was all so confusing.

He heard a rustle on the sofa.

'Oh, hi, you're back,' he heard after a few minutes.

Greg looked at Anna, who was blinking and smiling in his direction.

'Hi, you okay?' he spoke, trying not to let his irritation and confusion overtake, doing his best to find 'concern' in his collection of emotions available.

'Yeah, fine. Did you have a good evening?' she carried on as if nothing was the matter.

'Yes thanks. You?'

Wow, that was flowing well, Greg thought to himself.

"Yeah, I guess…' she smiled, getting up to a sitting position. 'Interesting evening, so far. Bit boring at first, but then I um, I did some research… It's fascinating what you can find out about people that you presume you know, after 14 years of being married to them… Isn't it, Gregory…?' The tone of her voice was even, though she pronounced his name very demonstratively. Obviously emphasising the way Mycroft had written it in the letter…

'I suppose so,' Greg replied, waiting to see where this was going.

Anna bent down to pick up the ball of paper from the coffee table and un-scrunched it as best she could.

'When were you going to tell me, Greg?' she said, holding up the letter.

'How did you get that?'

'It was amongst some papers on your desk. I needed to find the stuff for getting the car serviced and suddenly I saw… this…'

'The car stuff is in the drawer under the phone, what were you doing in my desk?'

'I couldn't find the papers there, I thought they might be with your things, so I looked there. And then I found this… I was curious, Greg, thought it was from another woman, going by that handwriting. But this… Mycroft… He's a guy, isn't he?'

Greg nodded.

'He's the brother of that Sherlock guy you've been helping for the past few years, right? That junky that slept in our spare bedroom for a week?'

Again, Greg nodded. 'Yes.'

Anna was still fairly calm, but her voice was breaking at times.

'Do you love him?'

Greg looked at his wife, confused.

'Or do you just want to fuck him…? I've heard of blokes who get off on that, get turned on by other guys and have a quick fuck and then go back to their wife and kids… Is it like that?'

Charming, Greg thought.

'No, it's not like that…'

"Well, what's it like then? Are you gay?'

'I don't know, Anna. I feel… I'm in love with him, yes. But I'm not gay… It's just him… I like him…' Greg felt very much on the back foot now. 'A lot…'

'Do you love him…?' Anna asked with a voice that was very close to shattering.

Greg thought about what he was going to say for a bit, then words just spilt out like overflowing water. 'I think I do…'

That was the point that Anna lost her composure. She started weeping, and Greg felt like such a bastard, and he got up to sit with her, to put an arm around her, and she accepted it, leant on him, burying her head in her hands.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, hoping to make it less awful.

They carried on sitting on the sofa, in a strange embrace, for another hour or so. Anna stopped crying after half an hour, and Greg wondered when to start speaking again. He doesn't really want to say anything, scared he will break the spell, but he needs to visit the toilet and is desperate for a cup of tea.

When he comes back in to the living room he carries two mugs and a packet of chocolate biscuits with him. He sits down in the sofa next to Anna and passes her one of the mugs and offers the packet to her. She shakes her head.

'Maybe I sort of already knew, in a weird kind of way…' she says after a few minutes.

'Knew what?'

'That you liked men as well… You were very um… how shall I say it, weird with that Sherlock guy… Like you were drawn to him, you couldn't do enough for him… Is he like Sherlock?'

'A bit… From the same nest…'

'Have there been other guys before?'

Greg shakes his head. 'He's the first…'

'Have you slept with him?'

'No...' Greg's whisper is inaudible almost.

'So how do you know you want to be with him if you haven't even slept with him yet?'

'I don't know, Anna… Maybe I don't… Maybe I just like being with him… We've only kissed… Tonight…'

'When I sent you that text? You were… snogging him?' Anna sees him nod. 'And you liked that?'

'Yes… Yes, I liked kissing him… A lot… I liked touching him and him touching me and Jesus, Anna do we have to talk about all that? I fancy him, okay? I want to…'

'Fuck him?'

'Bloody hell, do you have to say it like that? No I don't want to 'fuck him'… I want to be with him, and to see what happens… I've felt lonely, Anna, for years… We haven't been happy together for ages, and I didn't have a clue how to make you happy, and I tried, for so long, but it wasn't working anymore… I'm really sorry, I really am, but when he told me he was in love with me, I suddenly allowed for all of that to flush through me, and it felt wonderful, Anna… I felt wonderful… Because of him…'

'I know… I can see that, now, when you talk about him… But I love you too, Gregory… I've loved you for the past 15 years, since we go to know each other… Doesn't that count for anything…?'

Greg took her hand and put his other hand on top.

'I will never stop loving you, Anna, but I don't feel what I did in the beginning. Haven't for years… I love you, like a friend,'

'Oh great,' Anna replied sarcastically. 'A friend…'

'I'm sorry, but that's the truth…'

'But I don't know if I can live without you, Greg… I don't want to lose you…' Anna wept again.

'I know…' Greg pulled her towards him again and felt himself well up, noticed a tear stream down his cheek. 'I know…'

Some months passed as Greg and Anna tried to find a way to spilt up amicably. Greg found a flat near work, and carried on seeing Mycroft every now and then for meals and very long talks, and the odd fondle in Mycroft's house, but both men had decided that Greg's divorce had priority over their courtship, and that nothing major would be right for now.

The hardest point came when Anna had had enough of it all, and he found her having taken all of her sleeping pills, and Greg was in pieces, trying to find a way to stop her from trying to take her life again. He stayed with her for days in the hospital, feeling guilt-ridden, and managed to persuade her to seek proper professional help. He got the phone number of a friend of John Watson, who specialised in alternative treatment of mental health issues, and she responded well to it. Mycroft helped him to stop feeling like it was all his fault. Which was pretty hard work.

Anna moved in with her mother after she was dismissed from the clinic, and the house was sold a lot quicker than was assumed likely in these times of crisis, to a couple with two small children. Greg was happy now that he and Anna didn't have any. It had been a bone of contention at various points in their relationship.

Some time after Christmas it all appeared to have settled, and Greg had invited Mycroft around for a meal together, to celebrate a new beginning. Greg had been busy in his kitchen, cooking Mycroft's favourite dish, and his guest was sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine in his hand, twiddling the stem between his fingers. The evening had been very promising.

'So, Anna was okay then when you took her to the airport?' Mycroft asked form the living room.

'Yup, off and away to New Zealand for six weeks, with her sister,' Greg replied as he leant against the draining board. 'She looked so much happier than I'd seen her in a long time.'

'Oh, good…' Mycroft smiled. He got up from the sofa and walked up to the kitchen, making a slow bee-line for Greg. 'No interruptions, then…'

'Unless work…' Greg tried, but was stopped by a mouth that suddenly covered his. Tenderly Mycroft kissed him, and unlike most of the other times, when going beyond this was not on the cards, he allowed himself to lose his composure, and all the passion he was holding inside came streaming out.

Kissing Mycroft had become his valve, releasing tension that built up from making sure that he handled Anna the right way. She was at breaking point so many times, that Greg lost count, and seeing Mycroft, being held by him, caressed and kissed, would see him through another spell. Mycroft's kiss became synonymous with love, and love was so longed for…

Intoxicated with the taste of Mycroft's mouth, Greg forgot that there was dinner being made. This was so much more fun, and Mycroft's hand under his shirt was way more attractive.

'Maybe you should turn off the stove, Gregory,' hummed the silky voice in his ear.

'Not any more, remember…' Greg hummed back.

'No, I mean the cooker, here in the kitchen… I think we should take this…'

'Ah, get you now…' Greg sniggered. 'Sorry…' He turned around to switch off the fire under the pans and resumed his actions from just before.

'You ready for this?' Mycroft asked in between kisses.

'Not exactly a virgin any more, darling…'

'Not with women, no…'

'I'll go with the flow, My… Let's just take it easy, yeah?'

'Okay, I'll try…' Mycroft murmured and let his lips make contact with Greg's once more. They grazed and caressed, nibbled and nipped, and his tongue licked enthusiastically over Greg's bottom lip, let it reacquaint itself with his company. Mycroft heard Greg's breath get faster and knew he was going to be in luck here. His hands moved underneath Greg's shirt again, pulling it over his head, his hand stroking the chest he now had full access to, so tenderly that Greg's breath hitched.

'Oh, Jeez…' Greg moaned. He opened his eyes for a second, and smiled, wanting to feel all of Mycroft's body. He took his hand and pulled him towards his bedroom, pushed a load of clothes from his bed and started to undo whatever buttons and zips were keeping his hands from touching Mycroft's skin.

Greg very much liked what he saw, and touched every bit he could get his hands on, gently, eagerly. He moved down a bit to be able to kiss his chest and his stomach, and noticed how sensitive the man in his arms was. A shiver interrupted his kiss, and he looked up into the eyes of a man who was somehow unsure. Greg moved back up to kiss his mouth, and stroke his face some more.

'You're beautiful, Mycroft…' he breathed, with as much love as he could find inside. 'To me you're the most gorgeous man in the world…'

No answer came, and Greg looked into his eyes again. 'I love you…'

A smile formed and he felt his head was pulled closer for a searing kiss, and from that he lost track of what exactly happened when…

All he knew was that he was lying naked in his bed, with Mycroft equally naked next to him, lost for breath and words, with a stupid grin on his face, and an arm wrapped around Greg's waist. It all happened so fast, the excitement that took over, the tender caressing that changed into frantic love-making, impassioned touches and a volatile release of both men, almost simultaneously. The groans must've been heard three streets away, but neither man could give a hoot. They embraced each other, exhausted from their exploits, and fell into a short sleep.

Dinner was eaten very late that night, when they were hungry and eager for food rather than each other. For a little while.

The letter that started it all was safely tucked away inside a shoebox with special items that Greg had assembled over the years, which moved into Mycroft's house when Greg gave in to Mycroft's begging him to come and live with him, a few months on. It contained among others his late father's watch, some photo's of his nan and granddad, and the theatre ticket for the first date he had with Anna, as well as his old wedding ring. He didn't get it out much, but he knew it would be part of his life's story. His life that now included a man that would address him as My Dear Gregory...