"Sorry I´m late. About five people arrived half an hour before my shift ended," announced John as soon as he caught sight of Greg´s silver head siting in the corner of the crowded pub.
"No worries. We should relocate, though, it´s impossible to talk here," answered Greg just as quite a bulky man bumped into him. The muttered ´sorry´didn´t get him feeling any better. When he chose this particular establishment after John asked for a meeting, he was planning to have a pleasant conversation over a pint in a not-that-much frequented pub. What he didn´t account for was the special offer night, which encouraged half of London to go here to get their beer for half the price.
"Good thinking. Where to? Have you ever been to Angelo´s?"
After about half an hour of navigating through the irregular web of London streets, both men managed to get into the pleasant restaurant and fend off the overly happy owner.
"I get it you know him?" Greg smirked just as Angelo finally went to serve other guests.
"He owes Sherlock a favour."
"I see. And how are you? I hope you are OK, what with the Milverton blow-up..."
"Lovely pun," John smiled and Greg gave him a teethy grin. "You know, he saved my life there. Sherlock, I mean."
"For a while, it looked really not nice."
"I guess I just got used to these impossible situations."
Lestrade smiled and then sniffed curiously. "This is a very lovely place. I think I just might get something to eat."
"Didn´t get to a proper lunch?" John asked knowingly.
Greg just shrugged. "What these guys are having looks good."
"I don´t think Mycroft would appreciate the garlic."
The policeman shot him a look and then sighet in resignation: "Bloody Sherlock."
John smirked: "One doesn´t have to have the Holmes´powers of observation to figure you two lovebirds out."
"All right, we might be together. Any problem?"
"Not at all. And before you ask, Sherlock is OK with it too."
"Now that is a surprise," Greg chuckled just before the flow of conversation stopped, because Angelo came to ask them if they were ready to order.
"So how is it?" asked John just as Greg tucked into his gnocchi.
"Warm. Not in need of too much chewing. Heavenly."
"Don´t be daft. Not the food. You with Mycroft."
"I´m not gonna give you a detailed description of what we do, John."
"Do you love him?"
"Yes." Greg didn´t hesitate for a second. Good, John thought. It is always pleasant to find out your assesment of someone´s character was right.
"In accordance to a very old tradition I was asked to inform you, that if you break Mycroft´s heart, I will break both your armes and make your life a living hell," said John half-seriously.
"Are you giving me the ´you hurt him, I hurt you´talk? Isn´t it Sherlock´s job?"
"Mycroft omitted it completely."
"Well, I think it was implied heavily, wasn´t it?"
John smiled. "It´s good you two are together. I think Mycroft is much weaker than he looks."
"Than you need to work on your powers of observation, Dr Watson."
"Oh, don´t get me wrong. Both of the Holmes´ are less strong than what they would like to believe. And they certainly need to be protected."
"There is power in weakness," said Greg quietly.
"Oh! Look at the cop getting all philosophical!" mocked John good-heartedly. And for the rest of the vening, both men let the issue drop and talked about all and nothing, until they were both ready to go home.
Greg thought that Mycroft would be asleep already when he arrived home, but he was proved wrong by a soft stream of music coming from the library. It was beautiful, just a seemingly simple orchestral piece. Greg hoped that he recognised the leading instrument correctly as oboe, as it was softly an full of melancholy leaping ahead all other music - there was certainly quite a lot of strings.
But it wasn´t sad per se, it felt like a bit of hope was creeping from behind a bush, if that made any sense and Greg supposed it didn´t. As he was following the source of this to the library, he was greeted by a look at Mycroft reading, a few wrinkles above his nose, a thick and well-used volume.
As he moved into the doorframe, not-quite-stealthily enough, Mycroft´s eyes raised and a bit of that intensity with which he were previously reading focused on him. If anything, the look in his eyes was questioning.
Oh no, not again. Greg did not liked very much when he had to repeat how he felt, as if it weren´t true the first time. And if Mycroft were to start doubting this again...
"It´s Morricone," announced Mycroft softly.
It took Greg a moment to figure out that Mycroft meant the composer of that beautiful music. He must look up the name on the internet, there could be more of this beauty there.
"You didn´t have to wait up for me," Greg said. Mycroft didn´t react, but instead continued to leaf through the book again, moving his fingers diagonally across each page in a very quick way.
"I was wrong," announced the elder Holmes after a while. When he saw Greg´s expression, he quickly added: "About the book."
"What is it?"
"Spinoza. All these years... I didn´t see..." Mycroft seemed really upset about something, but the policeman couldn´t get a hold of what.
"Calm down, My..."
"There´s... hope. Beneath all those layers, he says that if you keep going, try to be unselfish, you´ll get your reward. And all those years... I read it and didn´t understand."
"You do now."
Mycroft really tried to reign all those emotions fighting inside, but he found out he couldn´t. He´s trying to understand. Do not close off, Mycroft. Try to explain.
"It´s you. You... give me hope. It´s irrational, and stupid... but I need it. You, I mean. I need you. Please, don´t go anywhere. I don´t think I can be... alone... much longer." Oh great. Now you are crying. How very unbecoming and stupid. He´s gonna leave, you know? Who would want to be with such an emotional wreck?
Greg´s heart clenched at the sight and even more at the words. He is so scared. "Never, Myc," he mumbled just as he has thrown his arms around the taller man.