AN: Yeah, later than I have hoped - I was so consumed by a different fandom the whole summer that I could not make myself as much as edit a chapter, seriously, these things are addictive - but the penultimate chapter is here.

I promised myself to upload the final one the day after tomorrow, to make up for the long wait, but knowing myself, there's only like 50% chance of that actually happening. Because I am a terrible person.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mycroft was going on with his day as usual, but at the back of his mind, there was constantly his novel experience.

It turned out that sex which involved emotion was very different from that cold, impersonal variety he'd been used to practising.

So different, in fact, it was like a different activity altogether.

And it awakened something in him, too.

Thoughts of Mae kept swimming though his head all day. Of course he could compartmentalize and concentrate on his work, but still, it had never happened before.

Caring is not an advantage, his own words teased him.

He knew that, he felt it very acutely in case of Sherlock, and yet he'd never really wished he didn't care.

So, was it so different in Mae's case? It was one more liability, of course. And he still didn't know if he could trust her, and likely he never would.

Inadvertently, he thought of Sherlock and Irene Adler. His brother didn't know if he could trust her either – in fact, he knew he couldn't – and he still went and saved her life and let her move into his flat and cared.

Could he, Mycroft, do the same thing?

Would he still be himself if he did the same thing?

Was there a way to keep national security not compromised if he entered into an emotional relationship? He had already put it at risk, by as much as spending time with Mae. Surely it would b a much greater risk if he did more?

But then, the emotional impulse came from her first. She would be putting herself at risk as well, and her country. They would hold each other in check.

But they had held each other in check before, too, and she still broke into his office.

Mycroft was unable to settle his mind, and that irritated him to no end.

He was beginning to think it would be worth it to try, just to regain some peace, because he found himself unable to completely ignore the topic for days.

They got through dinner, rather awkwardly, on their next date. The journey to Mycroft's house was silent. The moment the door was closed behind them, however, he pushed Mae to the wall and kissed her hungrily.

"Mycroft?" She said, a little out of breath. "What are you doing?"

"Yes, we can't ever be completely honest towards each other or completely trust each other," he said by way of response, "but does it have to matter?"

They found that no, ultimately, it didn't have to.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mycroft was, at his more than forty years of age, discovering a new world.

Half of the time, he was irritated with himself. He felt like a teenager, like a love-sick puppy. His thoughts were continually and randomly disturbed by thoughts of another person. Was that how normal people felt like all of their lives? How very uncomfortable. This was not the peace he had hoped for.

The other half of the time, though, he felt...joyful. Everything was easier to deal with now, Olivia's stubbornness, Vernon's pompousness, Edwin's arrogance. Everything. In fact, the biggest chore was concealing the change from his co-workers.

While the time with Mae had been pleasant before, now it was another thing entirely. He had never felt so completely calm and satisfied before as he did now when he rested after sex, embracing her.

His work benefited enormously too, because while they still did not trust each other completely, many barriers have broken down and they were able to consult with each other and brainstorm and give each other advice.

Olivia, especially, had many questions. "How did you know about that?" "Who could have possibly given you that tip?" "That was top secret!"

"My dear Olivia," he replied to the last one, "it is my business to know top secret things."

"Oh, I did not mean it like that – not top secret in the sense that every noname in the government and his grandmother knows. I meant truly secret."

"So are you admitting," he asked in that mellow voice of his, "that you have been keeping secrets from me, in spite of claiming that I always found out anything anyway?"

"You know perfectly well that I have," she replied. "You've always known, and you have never been able to find out what I wanted to keep really private – until now!"

"That was chiefly because you took care not to try and keep the truly important things from me," he pointed out.

"True. But that does not answer my question – how did you find out?"

"You did not really expect me to answer your question, did you?" He smiled again, and Olivia huffed.

Elizabeth Smallwood, at least, was more appreciative.

"You have always been incredible," she said, "but lately, you are outdoing yourself, Mycroft."

"I have had a bit of luck recently, yes."

She laughed at that. "Luck, certainly. Well, call it whatever you want, I am very grateful for your recent discoveries and progress. It makes my work easier."

He knew he had been right to be glad when Elizabeth, some years ago, gained the position she had now. She was extremely easy to work with.

Almost as easy as Henry, who showed an uncomfortable degree of insight when he commented: "You are cooperating with Miss Ollivier."

Mycroft hesitated for a moment, then inclined his head.

"I will not embarrass myself by asking if you are sure," Henry continued. "At any rate, it seems to be having marvellous results so far." He paused. "I feel stupid saying this, but – be careful. If it should backfire, you would go down with a bang, and I do not want to imagine the chaos that would ensue."

No, neither did Mycroft. That was why he was glad Edwin never made the connection – he had a feeling this beloved colleague of his would try to bring him down. However, the notion of cooperating was so foreign to the secretary that he remained oblivious, though highly envious as well. "That thing about China," he said, "could not have been discovered by honest means."

Mycroft elected not to answer, because truly, what could he say to that?

The questioning phase, thankfully, did not last long, and his colleagues easily got used to an even more omniscient Mycroft.

"How has France reacted to the change?" He asked Mae one evening, as they sipped their port seated next to the fireplace.

"It was very helpful," she said. "There had been many questions asked about my move to Britain. Now everyone assumes I had a lead, and finally managed to follow up on it, and as long as I am delivering, no one will doubt my motives for staying here."

"So your countrymen did not know, then?"

"Please," she rolled her yes. "Do your colleagues know about your relationship with Sherlock?"

"God, no. What a terrible thought."

"Precisely."

Mae finished her glass, got up from her armchair and walked behind his, embracing him from behind. "The less they know," she muttered into his ear, "the happier they are."

"Don't you mean the happier we are?"

She laughed. "That, too," she admitted. "I would certainly be very unhappy if they knew about this," she added, and kissed his neck.

Mycroft found himself suitably distracted from thinking about work.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Not too long afterwards, Sherlock had his long-postponed revenge on him by using their mother's regular autumn presence in London to announce that Mycroft had, as Sherlock had phrased it, "a serious girlfriend."

"I never thought that would happen!" She exclaimed when she saw him next.

"Yes, well, neither did I," he muttered.

"You must of course bring her home one of these days and introduce us," she continued. "Or better yet – you can bring her for Christmas, but we should go out to eat in London while we are here."

Mycroft was not entirely certain the idea of another family dinner would not discourage Mae from the entire relationship venture. The one with Sherlock had been horrifying enough.

But his mother was not one to be dissuaded once she conceived of an idea, and so, two days later, they were headed to dine at Hibiscus. Mycroft was vainly hoping that the haute dining atmosphere would serve to restrain his mother a little. That had been naive of him, of course.

She chatted at Mae a mile a minute, and Mycroft only had time to be grateful that this had not happened before their relationship progressed to the truly personal stage. Sherlock's most calculated attempts at embarrassing him had nothing on his mother's well-intentioned conversation.

"Myke has always been so consumed by his work," she was saying now, "I am glad he finally found the time to have some fun as well!" Mae looked politely interested. "And what is it you do, my dear?" His mother asked.

"I work at the French embassy as a second secretary," she replied. "Not very exciting, really."

"I hope you do not mean it in the same way Mycroft does when he says he has a minor position in the government," his mother commented fondly.

Mae cast him a quick glance, clearly unsure how to react.

"And how do I mean that, mother?" He asked archly.

He received an intent look in response. "You are impossible," she said at length. "But very well, no more talk about work. I would much rather have an honest conversation. Surely," she added, turning back to Mae, "you can at least tell me about your family?"

Mycroft drank deeply from his wineglass. This was going to be a long evening.