Greg had been rolling around in bed for a while now. He couldn't get what happened at dinner out of his head, and he had been trying extra hard. He had been suppressing a growing urge to kick himself for most of the night, but it was becoming almost unbearable. For the third time that night, Greg got up of bed and headed for the bathroom for a drink of water. He stood there, clinging to the sink for a minute, while staring at his face in the mirror. He shook his head before heading back to bed, resigned to not getting much sleep that night at all.
The knock on his door was almost imperceptible. Mycroft hadn't been asleep –he had never been able to do so with an empty stomach-, but he couldn't help but wonder if he just hadn't heard the noise in dreams. However, soon after, he heard his name whispered in the dark, so he jumped to his feet and opened the door as quickly as he could afford without making too much noise.
-What are you doing here?
Gregory's ruffled his already messy hair.
-What do you mean? Didn't you slide this under my door?
He handed Mycroft a small hand-written note. The paper just read 'downstairs', but Mycroft immediately recognized the hand writing. He couldn't contain a smile while looking at it.
-You are staying in my old room; she must have thought I was sleeping there.
He folded the paper and put it in the pocket of his pajamas.
-I am incredibly confused, Mycroft.
-Come on, you'll see.
They walked down the hall and down the stairs as silently as they could, Mycroft warning Greg when he was about to step on a creaky step, and then he guiding him through the living room and dining room till they arrived to the kitchens. The door was closed, but there was light coming through the gaps. Mycroft pushed it in carefully.
The woman on the other side of the door must have been in her late fifties, Greg thought. When she heard them walking in, she jumped so evidently that her remarkably curly hair bounced in what seemed to be a movement defying the laws physics.
-Oh, Mycroft, darling!
The woman was incredibly big and tall, easily one head taller than Mycroft, and Greg couldn't help but grin at the sight of her literally enveloping his boyfriend with her arms. Mycroft didn't seemed troubled about it, like Greg would have expected –ever since he'd known him, Mycroft had been irked by most physical contact-, he had, in fact, buried his face in her neck, like a child would, and Greg noticed his cheeks had flushed pink.
-They're starving you again, aren't they? That silly mother of yours still doesn't know she's doing more harm than good after all these years, what am I going to do with her, huh?
She kept caressing Mycroft's hair and cheeks as she spoke, seemingly not noticing Greg standing by his side. Mycroft placed his hands over hers and laid a kiss on her cheek. The smile on the woman's face was warm enough to melt the glacial heart of any Holmes in precisely a hundred miles.
Mycroft suddenly blinked himself back into reality and turned his head to meet Greg's gaze.
-Sara, this is my boyfriend, Gregory and…
Abruptly, Greg found himself in the exact same position Mycroft had been only seconds before; with Sara's arms surrounding him completely. His first thought was that he had never been around someone with such an intense scent of vanilla. It was borderline intoxicating, but it was still wonderful. He felt like he had been baked into a cake.
-…this is Sara, my former nanny and our current cook.
She turned around and began piling plates on the marble counter in the center of the kitchen
-Oh, shush! I'll always be your nanny, honey. I wasn't expecting you both, but I trust there's enough food, none the less.
Even if Greg hadn't been completely full, there was probably enough food there for four people more. He didn't even know the names of most of the dishes, and he was only able to recognize the leftovers from dinner earlier.
Sara was a lovely woman, and asked Greg more than he probably knew about himself. She ate a bit from each plate as well as them both.
The swiftness in Mycroft's movements while eating was initially a bit surprising, but then Greg remembered it had been a very long time since he had last gone empty-bellied and was probably not so used to it anymore.
Sara said her goodnights shortly after and headed to bed –she had to prepare breakfast in the morning-, but reminded them first that there was still a bit of ice-cream in the freezer if they wanted some. Mycroft's smile was just beaming.
It always astonished Greg just how neat Mycroft was at eating; in a matter of minutes he had vanished a third of the food of the table without as much as a crumb on his clothes or a stain on the table.
-You were just famished, weren't you?
Mycroft smiled, helping himself to another serving of pears and jelly.
-I was. But it's nothing that hasn't happened before; I would have probably survived till morning. I'm glad I didn't have to wait to find out, however.
-Won't your parents find out there's a bunch of food missing?
Mycroft took his time with the answer, as he swallowed his last bite.
-They don't care much for leftovers, I think we are safe.
-Oh, do you?
The voice that came from behind their backs was terrifyingly calm. They both turned at the same time to face what looked like a very upset Sherringford Holmes.
-Cheating again? Well, I can't say I'm surprised, Mycroft. Simply disappointed… as usual.
Greg could feel his own cheeks flushing. He had to do something this time, or he'd never forgive himself.
-He's not cheating.
The words had left his mouth even before he had thought it through. He didn't regret it in the least, though.
Mr. Holmes gaze met his, and his eyes bared an intensity that was almost sinister.
-I beg your pardon?
-He isn't on a diet anymore, so he can't possibly be cheating.
Mr. Holmes was rendered silent for a second. When he next spoke, his words were but a whisper.
-Says who?
-Says I, father.
Mycroft hadn't moved from his seat. He was still holding the spoon, and he was doing it so hard that his knuckles had become white.
Mr. Holmes eyes went from Greg to Mycroft and from Mycroft back to Greg.
-I'm beginning to think you are not a very good influence, Gregory Lestrade. And you, child,
He didn't look back at his son as he spoke.
-I'd like to see you try explaining to your mother that you'd rather indulge your ever-expanding gut than make her happy.
With that, he turned around and closed the door behind him.
Greg put his arms around his boyfriend, trying to be comforting. Mycroft laid his head on his shoulder.
-Are you all right?
It took Mycroft a second to answer.
-Honestly? I'm not even that upset.
He looked up to meet Greg's gazed and he laid a small kiss on his lips.
-Although… Tomorrow is going to be a really, really long day.
-We should slip a Valium into your mother's glass.
Mycroft frowned in confusion.
-A what?
Greg had to laugh. He kissed Mycroft on the forehead.
-Never mind. Ice-cream, then?
Mycroft's smile found a way back to his face.
-You read my mind.