Beta:OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles
The nineteenth change showed Mycroft that it was normal to express his feelings to the people he cared about…
I Miss You
Like it was proven multiple times, Mycroft Holmes did have feelings. He may not have shown it, preferring to keep it to himself, but his mind and soul, or whatever you like to associate with emotions, were bubbling with feelings. Right at that moment it was sweet longing with a pinch of melancholy, sadness without bitterness, overflowed with beautiful memories. Memories of one person and one person only, no matter how cheesy that sounded.
Mycroft Holmes missed Gregory Lestrade. It was the fifth day that they had not seen each other. What left an easy feeling in his heart though was that it wasn't because of some stupid fight and that the feeling was requited. If the constant flow of text messages and night calls was anything to judge by, Lestrade missed him as much and didn't hesitate to show it.
I miss you.GL
It was the last message Mycroft got from his lover. He found himself still looking at it hours later, laying in a luxurious hotel bed, holding the phone in one hand, its screen the only source of light in the room. The timer read 04.16 a.m. and he knew it was around 2 a.m. in London. Lestrade probably was already at home, sleeping away another day of hard work, the message been sent when he was still in the Yard. But those were just guesses based on Mycroft's knowledge of the other man.
It was absurd how Mycroft couldn't bring himself to answer that particular text. He missed Lestrade, but it seemed that it'd be too sentimental of him to admit it. He scoffed internally, imagining himself acting like a love sick teenager sending mushy texts to his crush.
At the same time, Mycroft's mind supplied, it was absolutely normal to tell the person you cared about that you want them by your side. The screen light went out, leaving the man in the complete darkness until he slid his finger over it, reviving his phone again. Lestrade's message stared back at him, unchanged.
He missed Lestrade. Missed his voice, low and scratchy as he speaks and husky as a whisper. Missed how the man always would say 'I'm happy to see you' even if they parted for less than an hour. Missed their talks, light banter over the simple things and even the teasing on Lestrade's part. He missed his touch, gentle and strong, sometimes feverish and hurried and sometimes torturously slow. He missed the kisses, breathtaking and beautiful...Now he actually did sound like a teenager. How disgraceful. With that thought Mycroft put down the phone and turned on his side, away from the bedside table, hoping to get some sleep to gather energy for a meeting the following day. It seemed to be impossible as his thoughts inevitably returned to the text and the man who sent it.
Mycroft turned to lie on his back again, staring unseeingly at the dark ceiling. His hand reached to the bedside drawer, fumbling for the phone. A weak light lit the room again. Mycroft heaved a heavy sigh.
Carefully and hesitantly his fingers found the right buttons.
I
He typed and stalled. For the duration of a minute he just looked at the screen, a number he knew by heart over the start of the message. Not allowing himself time to think, jus relying on his feelings, he continued.
I miss you
Now. Done. Mycroft's eyes ran over the words one time, before he added one more word and pressed Send.
Many miles away, Gregory Lestrade was woken up from his light sleep by the sound of his phone signaling the arrival of a new message, wondering who'd send him a text at 2.37 a.m. He held a thin hope that it wasn't a matter of another brutal murder, since his team had just closed a particularly nasty case that day. Deliberately slowly he reached for the phone and opened the text.
I miss you, too.
Lestrade smiled, noticing the lack of the usual MH at the end, which somehow made the message even more personal. He re-read the simple words, smile not leaving his face. He didn't feel angry at being woken up any more. He put away the phone and fell into a blissful sleep, his last thought of his lover.