Chapter Text
There was a cough.
It had started in his lungs a few months ago. It was a bothersome thing. It wasn’t even a full cough. It was a constant thing puffing up like a spasm in his lungs. He didn’t even open his mouth when it happened.
At first, it was just a little thing. He was able to ignore it for a good long while.
Later, it became a constant.
A thing that was always there.
By the time he got around to seeing a doctor, they told him the cancer was far too advanced for surgery. It had spread considerably because it was now in his blood. They could only offer experimental treatments that showed promise; maybe they could extend his life by a few months.
Six months, if he was lucky.
Maybe.
The fun really began when he researched the treatments that might extend his life. Every single medication and so-called treatment would turn him into an idiot. There was no hope to work and undergo medical treatment. The treatments were guaranteed to lessen his quality of life. The pain was unavoidable; and he was assured that there would be pain.
A great deal of it.
In the end, he decided that it wasn’t worth a few additional months or even a year of life, if he wasn’t mentally present to enjoy it.
Enjoyment came only from one thing.
Work.
He only had his work.
His family was long dead. He’d never developed a significant relationship with another human being. There had never been children. No one would mourn him.
And then the real blow came.
It was a normal day.
It was almost seven in the evening, and he had been called to a meeting. An odd enough occurrence that he hurried to the conference room. He’d expected an emergency situation, a terror attack, a coup in another country, a stock market crash…something.
Even more perplexing, he was met with a spectrum of looks from dour to happy.
The announcement was made that his successor had been made. In one week’s time the transition of power would be complete, and he would be fully retired.
“How on earth are you justifying this idiocy?”
The reply given to him was, “Due to your health concerns, old boy. You haven’t been yourself, Mycroft. You’re forgetting things. And quite frankly, the medications that you will be on to treat-
“I’m forgoing treatment.”
“That’s too bad. They’ve made such advances in the last years that-
“Spare me!” Mycroft said harshly. “I neither want, nor need platitudes and justifications.” He looked around the room. “Let’s call this what it is. A coup. You all see your chance for advancement and the knives are out. I’m what’s standing in your path to changing laws and scrambling for coins. Cutting deals. Securing more power.”
Mycroft stood to his full height. Age had bent him over. His hair and fallen out long ago. He was highly aware at that moment that he’d recently lost a considerable amount of weight.
He coughed…as usual.
He felt his mind scramble desperately.
He walked to the window that he had so often looked out of over the course of his career. London sprawled out beyond the glass.
“If my services are no longer needed, so be it. I shall be ready to go in a few days to ensure a smooth transition of power.”
“Mycroft I’ve known you for years. The idea that you would willingly walk away from your office-
Mycroft wasn’t listening.
He was already walking away.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mycroft didn’t go home. He never did.
He spent his time at his desk.
His memory had been eidetic all his life, but he could no longer rely on it. He knew that he was better in the mornings than he was in the evenings. He highlighted every case that he wanted to review. He downloaded everything onto a portable drive.
Mycroft pocketed the portable drive and then went out to his P.A. All of his P.A.s had been men. Always had.
The latest P.A. arrived immediately, “Sir? Do you need something?”
“Yes,” Mycroft said easily without bothering to stop. “Bugger off, traitor!”
Mycroft walked passed the man and began what he knew would be a long journey.
Mycroft stopped at the office of one of his biggest rivals. They’d never seen eye-to-eye.
Mycroft walked passed the secretary.
The woman P.A. scrambled after Mycroft insisting, “Sir! Sir! He’s on the phone!”
She followed Mycroft in.
Mycroft stood in the man’s office. He was on the phone.
Sir Patterson waved at his P.A. He quickly ended the call.
Sir Patterson stood smoothing his tie down as he buttoned his jacket.
“Mycroft,” he said smoothly. “This has nothing to do with me. I assure you-
“No,” Mycroft said with a wave. “I’m not here about that Jeffery. I’m here to ask you questions. I’m here to find out what you know about the past.”
“I know there are rumors that you’ve had issues with your memory-
“Shut up,” Mycroft said easily. “I’m not here as a senile old man. I’m here wanting to ask questions. To answer what I don’t know.”
Sir Patterson shook his head saying, “I wasn’t sure there was such a thing.”
Mycroft walked to a chair and sat down carefully setting his body into it. “Why were we always on opposite spectrums of….
“Everything?”
“Precisely,” Mycroft responded.
“Thinking back,” Sir Patterson said taking a seat. He became quiet for a while. Finally, he said, “I suppose because there has never been any give and take with you. You’ve always been such a hard liner. Nothing is ever so black and white. It always felt as if there had to be someone to play your devil’s advocate. And then, after enough time had gone by….”
“It became a habit.”
Patterson nodded.
Mycroft reached out and patted the man on his knee. “In that case, you’ve done a fine job of it.”
Mycroft re-ran memory after memory through his mind.
“Mycroft?” Sir Patterson inquired.
Mycroft held up a finger.
When he was done thinking it through, he turned to Sir Patterson and said, “It’s Wendell. He started all of this years ago. After I made him my Personal Assistant, he began to do favors for ‘friends.’ Friends that were able to advance through his little network.”
Mycroft turned to Patterson, “Let me guess, my replacement?”
It wasn’t a question.
Sir Patterson’s grey head lowered a bit. He let out a sigh. “Everyone has felt his strangle hold, this new emerging administration. There isn’t a person that doesn’t owe him. Whereas you’re not willing to negotiate at all, he’ll negotiate with everyone…if it benefits him.”
Mycroft went to stand. It took effort. Sir Patterson helped him.
Once his feet were firmly beneath him, Mycroft said, “Thank you for your time, Patterson.”
“Mycroft, whatever your thinking, don’t do it. He’s too well protected. He’s too well entrenched.”
Mycroft bothered to turn to the man. He smiled and asked, “What’s the best way to stop a problem?”
“Confront it directly?”
“No,” Mycroft easily corrected. “You stop it before it becomes a problem.”
With that Mycroft left.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He slept that night because he needed a clear head. He needed his mind to work properly.
The next morning, he went through the portable drive. He refreshed his memory on all the pertinent details that had happened since he took the job. That meant going through all major political events, terror plots, and all world-wide events which impacted his decisions for the last fifty years.
When the small alarm on his phone went off as a reminder, he stopped. He knew that he’d start to get fuzzy with time. He needed to work as fast as possible.
He called one of his cars. He wanted to go to his office at the Office of Transportation.
He had business.
‘Professor Holston Stapleton Stamitoles-Trotman certified nut and accidental genius,’ this is how Mycroft thought of him.
Mycroft took the elevator down to the very bowels of the building.
He’d always seemed a bit suspicious in his claims. It always felt as if he’d been trying to con his way through his career. Occasionally, the man was astoundingly brilliant when he wasn’t entrenched in debaucheries and scandals.
Mycroft couldn’t help the smile. As the years went by, Professor Stamitoles-Trotman had gone from a bit eccentric to almost completely barking mad. From occasionally drinking from a secret flask, to being a complete drunk. From having an occasionally inappropriate slip, to being a completely disgusting individual.
Five years ago, Mycroft took him completely off the payroll. As far as the world was concerned, Mycroft had fired him and retired Stamitoles-Trotman into obscurity. In reality, Mycroft had been paying the man out of his pocket and funding his latest project.
His greatest project.
Mycroft got off the elevator.
Standing ahead of him was one of his secretaries Alice Haddock. She was crying. She looked guilty. Her dark brown hair was shot through with gray these days. She had no phone in her hands, which was a concern.
Mycroft simply said, “They know.”
Her eyes quickly filled with tears.
“You told them where I was,” he said simply.
“My son. Sir, they have-
He waved her words away.
“Buy me time!” he commanded. “I need fifteen minutes!”
Mycroft walked faster.
“Yes, sir! I’ll will!” she called after him.
Mycroft went the end of the hallway. He stopped at the biometrics scanner. He scanned his eyes and his hand. He gave his verbal password: “The game is on.” The computer analyzed it. Once done, he quickly locked out the computer at the door hoping that it might buy him a few minutes.
On the other side of the door, Mycroft called out, “Holston! Holston! Where are you? You lunatic!”
A small old man, with a shiny bald head came out of seemingly nowhere with a letter opener in his hand.
“Who are you?” the old man demanded. “I’m armed!
“I don’t have time for this Holston! Gather your brains, man! We have ten, maybe fifteen minutes before big men with guns show up to stop us!”
Holston pointed at him and said, “Mycroft!” The man looked a little worried as he confirmed, “Yes, you are Mycroft.”
“Yes! The answer to the question 'who pays for the beer and the kerb crawlers' that you think I don’t know about! Now, turn that damnable machine on!”
The little man scuttled about saying, “One-way! One-way!”
“Did you set it?” Mycroft asked.
The much older man struggled for a moment as if the thoughts were fighting him. “The further back you go, the shorter your time there. Fifty years is the edge of what I dare to do, Mycroft. Anymore and you won’t live long enough to do anything.”
Mycroft didn’t like hearing those words. Still, he said, “Beggars can’t be choosers. Do it! And, hurry!”
Mycroft walked forwards and sat at the center of a machine that spanned half the room. At the center a thing that looked like a glass coffin tilted back. Wires, conduits, and copper wrapped magnets littered the outside and stretched out in various directions creating a thing that looked like a prop out of a horror story, or an imaginative modern art exhibit.
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to climb up into it. He felt a bit like a rotisserie chicken.
Like the mad scientist that he was, Holston put on a protective eye mask with dark tinted lenses. With the white lab coat and his tooth gapped grin, he looked absolutely insane.
“One way!” Holston yelled out.
He started the machine by throwing a series of switches. The power in the entire building and the surrounding neighborhoods was rerouted for this one act.
The little man became a whirl of activity.
Mycroft felt as if there were a thousand ants scrawling on his skin. His hands and feel balled up as the electrical current amped up. It felt as if it were slowly increasing ever more and with it the ants turned into pain. A constant and even pain spanned the entire surface of his body.
He couldn’t stand it as the current began horribly contract his muscles. He began to cry out at the intensity of it as every muscle on his frame curled and twisted at the same time. Just as he thought that he’d die from the agony of it, the pain ended.
A moment later, Mycroft was unceremoniously dropped back onto a wet concrete floor. He lay on the ground groaning. His body hurt. He was wet and cold. His entire body felt as if he’d been put through a grinder.
Mycroft opened his eyes and saw the night sky above.
Lifting his head was too much to ask for, so he turned his head to one side.
He was at a construction site.
Despite the pain, he smiled and hoped that he’d gone far enough back to effect change.
Chapter 2: Imparting Wisdom and Knowledge
Chapter Text
Greg had just put a slice of toast in his mouth when there was a knock at the door.
He set it down and quickly went to the door. An image of his landlady instantly popped into his head for the weekly barrage of complaints.
Greg pulled the door open already saying, “The music is off-
It wasn’t the landlady in a ratty house coat, cigarette on her lip, and chipped tea mug in her hand that smelled suspiciously of whiskey. Instead, it was an old man. An older, distinguished looking man, a gentleman based on how he was dressed. He looked sickly. His eyes a pale, watery color.
“Sir, can I help you?” Greg asked feeling a bit foolish. He was technically out of uniform because he hadn’t gotten to his tie yet. And, he usually didn’t feel ‘official’ till he had his P.C. hat on. He was rushing this morning, still hadn’t found his keys, and now this.
The old man coughed a few times. He looked a little unsteady on his feet. He took a moment to breathe in when he breathed out, he said, “You joined the police force because you believe in what you’re doing. You’ve always been an honest man. I could always count on-
Greg reached out as he saw the man’s eyes roll into the back of his head. His body collapsed as if someone had cut his strings.
Greg caught him quickly. The man was tall but not heavy. Despite the time crunch, Greg pulled the elderly man inside and sat him on the couch. He quickly checked the man. He was breathing. He had a pulse.
“Sir,” Greg said shaking him gently trying to wake him.
Greg rushed to the kitchen and fetched the man a glass of water.
When he came back, Greg picked up the man’s limp hand. To his relief the elderly man opened his eyes.
The man smiled and said, “Movie. We discussed it once. Back into the Future.”
Greg smiled. “Yeah, good flick.”
“I’ve come back to the past, Gregory. You and I are…friends. Or rather, will be.” The man coughed a few times. When he was able, he said, “I need you to help me convince my younger self that I’m telling the truth.”
Greg smiled. “So, who put you up to this? Was it the fellas down at the station? Is this because I got one of the new candy cars?”
“What’s the date?”
Greg shook his head. “Okay, I’ll play along. Today’s date is July 12, 1994.”
“July ‘94. That’s around the time that East End Strangler began his work. He killed 31 people in all.”
Greg went still.
“No,” Greg insisted. “There was a strangulation in the East End last week, but it was isolated.”
“The man’s name is Jim Butler. He works at a chippy on Lane Street. He was a primary suspect in the first death. The police let him go for some reason.”
Greg thought for a long moment about the man’s words. He sounded sincere. But, it was a ridiculous thought.
Greg shook his head saying, “Look, I appreciate a joke as much as the next bloke, but I’ve got to get to work. I really can’t be late.”
“The strangler works and lives on Lane Street,” the man insisted. “Now, take the day off and take me to…me.”
“Look, Mister…
“Holmes, Mycroft Holmes. I would be twenty-four years old right now. You were born on January 31, 1970, so you just turned 28. Your parents: AnnMarie and Henry Lestrade. You were born in the East End less than a mile away. Have you met a woman by the name of Patricia Gray yet?”
Greg wasn’t sure. He hesitated but finally answered, “My girlfriend?”
“You marry her. She cheats on you. You reconcile. She cheats again. You divorce. You remarried her a few years later only to restart the cycle. The woman was never worthy of you.”
Mr. Holmes began coughing hard and had to pull out a handkerchief. And embroidered expensive looking swatch of crisp, white cloth. He wiped at his mouth and then said, “You told me once that you were bi-sexual.”
“Hey,” Greg said suddenly unsure about having this man in his home. “I don’t know what’s going on, but that’s enough.”
Mycroft wilted a little. “The Same Sex Marriage Act didn’t pass until 2013. As a P.C. you can’t come out, can you?”
Greg was so stunned by the man’s candor that he could only shake his head.
“Gregory, I’m calling on your nobility, your innate sense of righteousness. Help this old man get to his younger self. I must warn him. I must right so many wrongs. Yours is only one of the many lives.”
Greg looked the man right in the eyes and said, “You know that you sound like a nutter, right?”
Mycroft nodded. “I have to try, Gregory. I’m living in an apartment; it’s too far to walk. I didn’t bring funds. Take me there, please.”
Greg shook his head as he considered it. His primary thought was that he was going to get written up by his Sargent, who already hated him.
Greg pulled a foot rest over and sat down directly in front of the elder. He said, “Okay, for a moment let’s pretend that I believe you. Convince me.”
“Your badge number is-
“Something personal. Something not in my jacket. Something I’d tell only to my friend.”
“You like beer. For some reason I don’t understand, you hide the fact that you prefer wine. You love French culture. I’ve always suspected that you speak it fluently, but you hide that too. Your vacations are always in the South of France. You always come back as dark as a nut,” Mycroft said with a smile. “But, you never talk about them. However, you always talk about the food. Croque Madams are your favorite in this world next to duck fat fried chips, but not with vinegar. You prefer homemade aioli. Your mère would add parsley into the sauce and one half of a fresh, leaf of sage.”
Greg was sure that the dumb look on his face was an answer for the man.
“We have to hurry before he walks out to work.”
Greg looked down at his watch. “It’s only five forty-five in the morning.”
“He’s out at six thirty, sharp.”
Greg popped up off the foot rest in search of his keys. He found it and his tie near his phone which sat prominently on the kitchen wall. He dialed work as he tied his uniform tie on. He made his excuses saying that his granduncle was sick, possibly dying, as he put his wallet into his back pants’ pocket.
Greg helped the old man up out of the chair and out the door. Greg locked the door behind them.
His car was parked outside. It was small and a piece of crap, but it ran. He loaded the old man into the car and adjusted the seat to accommodate his long legs.
Greg drove as quickly as he could. The traffic started to get thicker twenty minutes into their commute. The last five minutes turned into fifteen.
They pulled in front of the building as Mr. Holmes checked his watch.
“Five minutes, boy. It’s best if we catch him inside his apartment. He’ll think that this is all trickery. This conversation is best had inside.”
Greg parked. As he pulled the parking break up, he said, “If anyone asks, you’re his granduncle. You have a touch of dementia. I found you wandering around.”
Mr. Holmes nodded and opened the door. Greg rushed around to help him out of the small car.
There was a door man. Greg’s uniform got them passed him. Inside, there was a concierge. The lost, dementia-riddled granduncle story got him passed that man.
Apartment 301.
They took the elevator up. The apartment wasn’t hard to find.
Mentally, Greg couldn’t help but think, ”Hi, I’m your future chum. This old codger is you in fifty years. Let’s all sit down and explore the space/time continuum without causing a paradox!”
Greg suddenly realized that he’d watched to many sci-fi movies.
They were standing at the door. Greg had his hand up ready to knock when the door opened.
The first thing that caught Greg’s attention was the determination in the man’s steel grey eyes. They were bright and sharp. For a glimmer of a moment, he knew that he was in the presence of intelligence and authority. His chest actually felt a little tight.
“Yes, Constable,” the younger man asked confused.
“P.C. Lestrade,” Greg answered out of habit. Since he wasn’t sure how to break the topic he began with, “I’m sorry to bother your morning. May we come in?”
“No. What’s this about?”
“Stupid, boy,” Mr. Holmes huffed out. “I was always paranoid, you know.”
Greg turned to Mr. Holmes and said, “You’re not helping, sir.” Greg turned to the younger man. As he pulled out his identification, he showed it saying, “We really do need to come in. This conversation shouldn’t happen out here.”
“Stop wasting time,” Mr. Holmes said. He leaned forwards towards the younger man and said, “Red beard. Eurus, the east wind; a great and powerful force that destroys all in its path. Do you really want me to say more?”
Younger Mycroft paled a little. Still, he hesitated as his quick mind calculated what was or could be happening.
After fourteen seconds had passed, the young man stepped aside and allowed them entry.
They walked into a neat and sparse apartment. The overall feeling was that the young man made a good living but had no time to buy anything. As they walked in there was a rather large kitchen on the right. There was mail on the kitchen counter and a myriad of menus on the refrigerator which claimed the space as lived in. There was a living room right after. It seemed huge because the only things present were a living room sofa and chair set. Nothing else. There was nothing on the walls nor a dining table to eat at.
The only other personal items were a few boxes sitting off to one side with books, and a few personal items that stuck out.
Mycroft walked the elderly Mr. Holmes to the one large chair. He helped him down into the seat.
Greg turned to find the younger Holmes watching him carefully.
Greg didn’t hesitate to say, “I really am a copper. He showed up at my door this morning. He knew enough to convince me to bring him here.”
“Convince you of what, pray tell?”
“Me,” Greg answered simply. “He knows my habits. The kinds of things that only someone that I’ve spent time with would know.”
The younger Holmes was unmoved. His face a placid mask.
Greg turned to the elderly man and said, “Whatever you’ve got to say, mate, say it.”
“I’m from the future,” the elder said with a hint of smile. He held up his long arms a bit, not very high, and exclaimed, “Huzzah!”
Greg couldn’t help the laugh as he shook his head. “We’re about to get kicked out and your making jokes?”
“We’re not getting kicked out, boy. I have one weakness, a pressure point that is utterly complete.” The elder looked at the younger said, “William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Eurus is insane. Uncle Rudy didn’t hesitate to put her in Sherrinford. I told our parents that she was dead; I know exactly how dangerous she is to Sherlock and I didn’t want her manipulating or attempting escape.”
The younger man didn’t hesitate to say, “You have me at a disadvantage, sir.”
“Yes, I do.” The elder wiped at his mouth with his handkerchief. “I’m you, fifty years removed.”
“I need you to go,” the younger man said crisply.
“Holston.” Mr. Holmes coughed into his handkerchief. “Professor Holston Stapleton Stamitoles-Trotman.”
“He’s a nutter,” the young man snapped out. “He also about to lose his position and rightly so. That lunatic was caught with a…woman of questionable repute in one of the office closets. At least we think, it may have been a woman.”
Mr. Holmes only smiled. “That’s the horrible part about him. Ninety percent of the time he’s fiddling his way through, playing a shell game as he tries to get ever increasing sums of money for research.” Mr. Holmes clarifies by saying, “That research is usually rented by the hour and prone to S.T.D.s.”
Mr. Holmes wiggled his finger in the air. “Right after he got caught in that closet there was an explosion in the Financial District. His genius only kicks in right after a tragedy. He upgraded the computers and tied them into the phone systems. We were able to find the culprits before the last bomb exploded.”
The young man fell silent.
“Yes,” the elder said with a little nod. “It was IRA. I remember shipments of cleverly separated components that had been brought into the country. They made me suspicious, but I didn’t feel comfortable going to my superiors at the time. You’re much, much smarter than them, Mycroft.” Mr. Holmes coughed again. “The goldfish take time to catch up with you. They will think you are inexperienced, delusional, even crazy. Even if they don’t believe, you must say something. The regret and pain at that silence is… ever-lasting.”
The younger Mycroft walked to the sofa and slowly sat. “When does that bomb go off?”
“Tomorrow. Financial District. Morning. That one exploded. The police tripped over the one on a commuter train. The last target should have been a hospital, but we stopped them before it could be set. We found the culprits trying to flee via fishing boat.”
The younger Mycroft fell silent as he again fell into thought. This time his thoughts were a bit far more evident on his face. His jaw tensed.
The younger man said, “You expect me to believe that Holston, of all people-
“Sherlock died,” the elder man responded. “Eurus will have Jim Moriarty kill our brother. Both you and Gregory are devastated by it. We leaned on each other greatly. I think that I didn’t kill myself because of you, Gregory.”
“How?” the younger Mycroft asked quickly.
“I used her intelligence for my benefit. I paid her back with small privileges and gifts. Surprisingly, she did a lot of good. But she is much smarter and more highly manipulative than you or me. She wanted five minutes alone with Moriarty and I granted it as a Christmas present.”
“That’s so stupid,” the younger Holmes spat out harshly.
“Hindsight’s 20/20, mate,” Greg said easily. “So, you got any tea?”
The younger Holmes looked at him with a little annoyance on his face. Still, he said, “Kitchen. Help yourself.”
“He’s right,” Mr. Holmes said. “She became invaluable to my work and I was willing to give it to her. After she killed Sherlock, Eurus disappeared into her mind. Gone.”
Mr. Holmes sat back. He thought carefully as he said, “As I was preparing for this trip, I couldn’t help but think. Sherlock had a friend, a partner. Perhaps if they’d met earlier, say after John had returned from service. Having him there might have made a difference.”
“John what?”
“John Watson, doctor, army, medically retired. He was an adventurer, fearless and willing to follow Sherlock straight into hell.”
“Then, why wasn’t he there?”
“Sherlock’s drug use starts when he’s eighteen. It gets progressively worse. He has periods of sobriety over the years. He drove John away. They hadn’t known each other too long, so it wasn’t hard to do.”
The elder man wiped his eyes. The effort and emotion of it seemed to be bubbling up.
The elder shook his head saying, “I’ve spent my life in service and have nothing to show for it. All my family is dead. Yesterday, I was forcibly retired.”
Whatever bout of self-pity was about to come forth, it ended with the words, “Your instincts are going to tell you to hire Wendell. You both seem much alike; it endears him. It was a tragic mistake. He’s usurped my power and place, undermined me.”
The elder waved his handkerchief at the youngers saying, “Patterson. The devil’s advocate. You’ll hate him, but you need him. He tempers you. He’s committed and loyal. Don’t surround yourself with sycophants.
“There are two PAs that you need to be aware of. Vivian Norbury was relegated to a mediocre position; she also sold secrets under our noses for years. Redirect her energy to spy work. But, watch her carefully. The other is Patricia Gray. You can rely on her. She is loyal.”
Greg arrived carrying a mug of hot tea which he put directly into the elder Holmes’ hand.
Greg made sure that he had it firmly in hand before releasing it. “I was thinking of ordering some breakfast. I only had a bite of toast.”
“Food,” the elder said in agreement. “I don’t want to die on an empty stomach.”
“You’re dying?” the younger man asked a bit surprised.
The elder smiled. “Cancer was trying to kill me. Completely inoperable, of course. I decided that this trip was worth the effort since it is literally a suicide mission. I have a few hours at most.”
The elder calmly sipped at his hot drink. When the mug came down, he said, “You have to memorize everything I say. Oh.”
Mr. Holmes dug around in his inside jackets’ pocket. He pulled out a small item and offered it saying, “It’ll be a few years before you can put this into a computer with a USB slot so that you can access the information.”
Mycroft studied the small item. “This is a…Compact Disk equivalent?”
“A flash drive,” he said with a nod. “Gregory order the food, please. I have ten years of information to give this boy.”
Greg walked away to the kitchen. He brought the younger Mycroft a mug too, milk and sugar. He didn’t seem to like the idea of drinking it, but he didn’t complain.
Greg pulled the menus off the refrigerator and found a place that did breakfast. He ordered enough for all three of them.
He stepped out of the kitchen. The two men in the living room were busy. The elder man was talking. The younger man was in complete awe hanging on every word that was said.
Greg didn’t bother them. He simply left quietly.
Greg left the building and drove to the restaurant. His order was waiting for him.
He paid.
Greg got back into his car and began the short trip back to the younger Mycroft’s apartment.
Along the way he stopped at a light. His eyes wandered as he sat waiting.
Across the street, sitting at a café, was his girlfriend Patricia. She was sitting with some bloke. She was laughing and twirling her hair playfully.
By the looks of it, she was still wearing last night’s clothes.
Greg rolled down his driver’s side window.
“Pat! Oui! Pat!”
Patricia turned her head and realization settled on her face as she recognized him.
“Just letting you know that you’re a slapper! We’re broken up!”
Greg turned to find that the light had turned green and he drove on.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Greg made sure that both Mycroft’s ate. He wasn’t shocked that neither of them ate much.
The old man was sick. He stopped frequently to cough. He looked pale. He looked weaker then when Greg had helped him inside.
Still, the information flowed out of him from one breath to another. Names. Dates. Places. Events. Mostly, ugly events. Attacks on their nation, bombings, troops movements into war zones complete with kill ratios, and names of enemy agents working in-country. He even gave a list of people that would turn traitor in different ways.
And the young man, was captivated by the information that he was receiving. The attention was absolute and focused. He only interrupted from time-to-time to ask a question or two. Isn’t that an ally? Why would that invasion happen? Why should we negotiate at all?”
It was nearing eleven forty when the elder Mycroft dropped his head back on his chair. He coughed but made no move to cover his mouth.
He stared up at the white ceiling. Slowly, he said, “I think I know why. I refuse to compromise. Out of fear of failure. My downfall.”
The elder turned his head a little, enough to see Greg. He said, “Gregory watch him. Don’t let him fall into that trap of absolute certainty. He will start to believe the minions and lickspittles around him. Love him enough to keep him grounded.”
Greg reached out for the man and held his hand.
“Promise,” Mr. Holmes insisted harshly.
“I promise,” Greg said easily. “I won’t let him get too big a head.”
“And you,” he said to the younger man. “It’s not about being right and putting yourself at the center. It’s about doing the right thing. Save Sherlock. Save Eurus if you can.”
The elder man started coughing again. This time there was pain. He had a harder time breathing in. Somehow, he chocked out the words, “Greg…is…future…my-
They both heard the man’s last breath leave his body.
His watery grey eyes looked out unseeing.
Greg covered the man’s hand with both of his and held him for a moment. He carefully put the man’s hand down next to his body. Greg reached out and closed his eyes.
Greg turned to Mycroft and asked, “Where do you want to be buried?”
“Me?” the young man said a bit spooked. “Yes. I suppose.”
Mycroft fell silent and thought before finally saying, “Our family home. Eurus burnt it down. The family cemetery is still on the grounds. It’s abandoned. Mummy and father couldn’t bear to go back after what happened.”
“What happened?” Greg asked because he couldn’t stand the idea of quiet at that moment.
“Eurus was five. She burnt it down trying to kill Sherlock. She most probably killed Sherlock’s friend."
“So our mission right now is to bury him and then try to save your junkie brother?”
“He is not a junkie!” Mycroft snapped out quickly. “My brother is only seventeen years.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to calmly respond, “I know plenty of seventeen-year old’s on the pipe, love.”
Mycroft didn’t respond.
Greg felt as if he’d said the wrong thing. He sighed and said, “Later, yeah? Right now, we need to get him out of here. Do you have a big piece of luggage? What about rope?”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They wound up having to go out and buy the supplies that they needed. They also rented a car because the trunk that they purchased could never have fit into Greg’s car. Greg insisted that Mycroft spend the extra money on the largest trunk that they had because it had wheels.
Greg drove the rental. A station wagon because it had the largest amount of space to accommodate the trunk, and other supplies.
As they drove out of London, Greg stopped off at a store. He bought a gallon of water, some drinks, and food for the journey. Then he hit a drive-thru so they could have a hot lunch to eat on the way.
With their food literally in hand, he directed the car out of the city.
They drove for two and half hours without stopping.
Mycroft gave him directions at the end. They drove right up an overgrown, cobbled driveway to an burnt out, shell of a house. It had been made primarily of stone and most of the stone walls still stood. The wood had burnt in what had probably been a fantastic fire. It left behind only charred, skeletal remains, some of which were still even in their original place.
They drove past the charred manor as Mycroft solemnly said, “Musgrave Hall.”
The cobbled stones gave way to a dirt road that twisted back around the house. It turned a few times until it came to rest near several crypts that rose up out of the overgrown field. Greg got as close as he could while trying not to get bogged down in soft, wet ground.
Greg got out of the car and went directly to the back. He opened the back and pulled out the shovels.
“Let’s get the hole dug. It’s going to need to be at least five feet deep.”
Mycroft turned and walked quietly.
“Hope the ground is nice is all nice and soft,” Greg said mindlessly as they proceeded towards the crypts.
“Is anyone ever going to be buried out here ever again?”
“No,” Mycroft responded. “Mummy wants to be buried near uncle Rudy. And father will be buried with Mummy.”
Mycroft walked around until he finally pointed at a spot and said, “Here. This is my grandmother. I loved her beyond all words. I would happily be buried here.”
Greg walked up and handed Mycroft a shovel. Then, he slammed the blade of the shovel down into the soft ground.
Greg saw the way that Mycroft looked at the shovel. He had to laugh. “You don’t work with your hands much, do you?”
“Work? No. I detest labor. I’ve been accused of being lazy. Rightly so.”
“That’s fine for any other time, mate.” Greg reached up and took his tie off. “Right now, I need your help or we’re going to be out here all day and all night. I’d rather sweat it out and drive back as soon as possible.”
Greg threw his tie aside. He tossed his tie over a nearby grave stone. He reached up for his shirt buttons as he said, “If you plan on sleeping in your bed tonight or even being at work tomorrow, I suggest you dig.”
Greg removed his uniform shirt and threw it on top of his tie.
Greg picked up his shovel and started the work of digging out a hole.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mycroft detested physical labor. The idea of sweating for living was abhorrent. But, the man made logical sense.
Mycroft swallowed hard and reached up for his own tie.
As he undressed, he realized that the other man was already digging. He was a fine figure of a man. Broad shouldered and quite fit.
Mycroft did his best to avert his eyes.
Mycroft’s fingers lingered as he realized that he still hadn’t been able to lose all the weight that he’d gained over the holidays. The stress of the new job had taken its toll. The strain of uncle Rudy suddenly dying. Not only his uncle, he’d been Mycroft’s mentor. He’d been the one person that he knew that he could trust in a denizen of vipers. That protection had died with his uncle. Now, he was on his own.
As he worked his cuffs, he was highly aware of the fact that he’d had to go up a pants size last month. His ‘fat’ pants. And, to his horror, they were fitting a bit snug.
When he put his shirt down, Mycroft bothered to take off his belt too. He looked down and realized that his Italian leather loafers were going to suffer unknown horrors this day. And, there was nothing for it.
He picked up the shovel and took his place near the handsome P.C. He stabbed at the ground and wondered why the man had thought it to be soft ground.
“At an angle,” the P.C. instructed. “Slice in.”
Mycroft stabbed the ground as he was instructed. “Ah, we’re reducing the friction.”
Mycroft worked next to the other man until the hole that they needed started to take shape. When it was three feet or so deep, Gregory stopped.
Greg stepped back and said, “Take a break. Go to the car. Bring back water; I’m parched.”
Mycroft pulled back without question. He was sweating profusely. His breath was labored. His hands hurt. In fact, every major muscle group on his body hurt and was protesting.
He stiffly took a few steps back and watched as Gregory took the opportunity to sit at the edge of the hole for a rest.
Mycroft walked away towards the car. He retrieved two flavored drinks, and the gallon of water.
Mycroft felt the sting of something bit him on his arm. He slapped it away.
As an afterthought, he also grabbed the lantern. The day was quickly fading. Soon night would fall, and he hated the idea of being out in the darkness.
Chapter 3: Getting to Know You
Chapter Text
Mycroft Holmes was buried with a quick prayer from Gregory.
Mycroft stood by with a confused and sad look on his face.
When they were done, they returned to the station wagon. They loaded everything into the back and shut all the windows. They did everything as quick as they could because there were starving bugs attempting to make a meal of them both.
Sitting in the dark car, Greg said, “I’m exhausted.”
“Yes,” Mycroft responded.
“I’m going to take you home. I don’t care how tired you are. You get rid of every smudge of dirt on your body. Those clothes and shoes, pitch them. I’ll clean out the car and take it back. In a week, I expect you to meet me. There’s a nice restaurant on Park Ave and Lloyd called North Grand. I’ll meet you there Friday, at six in the evening.”
“Why there?”
Greg smiled a little. “I like their wine selection. And they have a good menu. It’s a good place for our first date.”
Mycroft fell quiet and blushed hotly in the dark.
“This week is going to be crazy for us both,” Greg continued to say. “I have a strangler that’s on the loose and you have a bomb to stop.”
“So do you. The older…me-”
“Granduncle Mike,” Mycroft corrected.
“Yes, good. Granduncle Mike, instructed that there were a series of bombs planned for this week. I already have evidence to that effect; he was telling the truth. There will be a bomb on a commuter train tomorrow.”
“Which one?”
Mycroft shook his head. “I haven’t the foggiest.”
Greg exhaled long and slow.
Without another word, Greg turned the key. The engine turned over and he began the long slow process of driving out and off the abandoned Holmes estate.
Once they were on a paved road, he drove only stopping once so they could relieve themselves on the side of the road.
In London, Greg pulled over when they drove near a phone booth. He checked his pockets and found a coin.
“I need your handkerchief.”
Mycroft handed his clean handkerchief over without a word.
Greg dropped the coin into it and began to carefully clean it. “I need you to go over to that phone and call in a tip. Tell them that there's a man named Jim Butler. He works at a chippy on Lane Street. You were sitting in a pub having a drink. The man was drunk and bragged about strangling a woman. A phone cord. He used a phone cord. Said he was going to do it again.”
Greg offered Mycroft the handkerchief wrapped coin saying, “Don’t put your prints on anything. They will dump the slugs and dust every inch of the phone box. Don’t give them any other information.”
In a pretty good imitation of an East End accent, Mycroft said, “’Ay, gov. I’ll dog and bone the bobbies.”
Greg just smiled.
Mycroft got out stiffly. He walked to the pay phone, used the handkerchief to open the booth door, and made the call. He hung up the phone quickly, giving no other information other than what Greg had instructed.
After, Greg drove Mycroft back to his.
Sitting outside his apartment, Mycroft reached for the door latch.
“Friday,” Greg reminded him. “Six in the evening, The North Grand on Park Ave and Lloyd.”
“Eidetic memory,” Mycroft reminded the man.
“Bears mentioning,” Greg replied. “No excuses.”
Mycroft nodded and left the car.
He took a few steps towards the door and then stopped. He stopped and turned. He looked after the car as it drove off. He briefly wondered about the man in the station wagon.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The next morning, Mycroft went into work even earlier than usual. He moved slowly because even after taking pain killers his body was stiff, hurting, and not cooperating. He hadn’t slept more than two hours in total because his mind wouldn’t quiet down.
Most of the people that he interacted with in the office immediately asked about his appearance. He waved them off. He knew that the bugs had feasted on him. His usual clear skin was marred by angry little bite marks. He knew that he looked tired, and grey from lack of sleep.
He managed to muscle his way into an executive meeting because he’d walked up to the Director’s secretary’s desk and saw that the name plate read: ’V. Norbury’
“Ms. Norbury?”
A severe looking woman bothered to glance up at him. She was easily early forties and looked rather bland.
“I need to get into this meeting Ms. Norbury. And before you begin giving me excuses, I want to make a deal.”
“Sir,” she said in an unimpressed tone.
He quickly cut her off by saying, “I already know who and what you are, Ms. Norbury. You’re probably the best agent in this office. You’ve been over looked, passed over, and marginalized.”
Mycroft saw that he had her attention. Her entire demeaner was changing before his eyes.
“Get me into that meeting, Ms. Norbury. There are three bombs about to go off in this city. If you can get me in, I’ll make sure you get away from this desk.”
For a long moment, she only stared at him intently. Finally, she said, “It’s not being held in the usual conference room. Changed at the last moment. 3rd floor, Conference room 2. It’s in progress.”
Mycroft quickly walked away from her and practically ran for the elevator.
When he got to the third floor, Mycroft didn’t hesitate to make a beeline for the conference room.
Mycroft walk right inside. He didn’t hesitate to walk in as if he owned it.
Loud enough to get everyone’s attention he immediately said, “You have my apologies, Director. We have an emergency situation. I have evidence to suggest that there are three bombs that have been planned and are about to go off sometime this day.” As he walked around the conference table, he said, “At least one, will go off this morning.”
One of the Section Chiefs didn’t hesitate to respond, “Who the bloody hell are you?”
Another Section Chief exclaimed, “How dare you interrupt! This is a closed meeting! Leave!”
“Now!” the first Section Chief insisted.
He was drawn to the large, floor to ceiling windows. He looked out over the city before turning back and saying, “Sir, what part of three bombs didn’t you understand?”
Mycroft watched the men gathered sitting at the large imposing table. He went to open his mouth when he heard the explosion. The room in front of him lit up briefly in a slight flash.
Every person present went quiet with horror.
Mycroft held up two fingers saying, “Gentlemen, I’d like to amend my previous statement. We now have two active bombs in London. This is an IRA attack. That bomb just went off was in the Financial District. The next one will be on a commuter train. That bomb will probably detonate later today. The last bomb will be headed to a hospital.”
The Director stood. He managed to keep his composure. He buttoned his jacket as he stepped closer.
“You’re Rudy’s boy.”
“His nephew,” Mycroft corrected. “Mycroft Holmes.”
“You have evidence?”
“And independent confirmation aside from the tragedy that just occurred.”
The Director took an impossible ten seconds worth of thought to actually think it through. He actually had to think. Mycroft stared back at the man in wonder.
What must it be like in that funny little brain?
Then, Mycroft simply wanted to laugh at his own conclusions. Somehow, he managed to keep it off his face.
“Very well,” the Director finally said. “We shall send men. Contact the police.”
“I took the liberty. I already have them searching the train lines in the busiest stations, zones 1 through 9. A few calls from you will speed things along since right now it’s considered unconfirmed and not the highest of priorities.”
The Director smiled unpleasantly, as if he’d smelled something rancid. “I’ll get on that. Is there anything else that I can do to facilitate this situation, Mr. Holmes?”
“Yes,” Mycroft said in all seriousness. “I need Professor Holston Stapleton Stamitoles-Trotman he has a technical device that we are desperately in need of.”
“That cad!” the Director yelled out. He got a hold of himself. The took a moment to calm himself and then more civilly said, “That man is being fired.”
“Tomorrow perhaps, but not now. I need him. He’ll help us find the terrorists. I know that they will make their escape via ship, but I don’t know where. Or, what type of water vessel.”
The Director’s face was quite expressive. Mycroft could see every thought as it rattled around inside his skull.
Finally, after much vivid deliberation, the man said, “Very well but-
Mycroft turned and walked away quickly before the rest of the sentence could come forth.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He’d gotten to the Chief Superintendent Howell to listen because Greg hadn’t bothered to sleep and had shown up to work three hours early. He’d explained the situation to the night Captain who happened to have had the Superintendent’s home number.
Greg called and had explained that there was a bomb on the tube. Nothing official had come down…yet. The search had to start as soon as possible.
“And where did you get this information P.C. Lestrade?”
“A friend in MI6. They think a bomb is going to go off in the Financial District soon. The second will be on the tube. I was told to immediately start searching.”
The Superintendent had chuckled.
He chuckled!
“Sir, it’s IRA. The tip is good. There are three bombs planned for this week. The third will be in a hospital somewhere in the city.”
Greg couldn’t see the man, but he hadn’t thought that he’d gotten very far in convincing him.
“Put the Captain back on,” the man said tired.
As the Captain spoke to the man, Greg thought that maybe he could convince someone else to go with him…maybe.
In the end, the Captain hung up the phone, looked at Greg and said, “He’s going to make a call to the BTP. Take two P.C.s with you. That’s all I can spare. Unless this becomes official.” He emphasized, “Be polite. Do not start a panic.”
“Yes, sir,” Greg said already scrambling.
Less than thirty minutes later, P.C. Gregory Lestrade walked into the underground with two other P.C.s. They reported directly the British Transport Police who were not happy to see them.
Greg repeated everything that he knew. IRA bomb, one of three. Commuter train. Today. He even explained that a bomb was set to go off in Financial District that morning.
They were made to wait. After about five minutes, Greg went from impatient to angry.
He found the BTP Captain talking to his shift. Greg walked right into a morning briefing and asked, “Sir! What about the bomb that I have dutifully reported to you? The bomb that’s currently on one of your commuter trains!”
The BTP Captain’s eyes budged with anger. “I don’t give a shite who you work for! You don’t come into my meeting-
Something harsh like a small earth quake shook the entire room. They all felt it under their feet. Dirt and dust even dislodged from above the ceiling tiles and HVAC ducts above and rained down on the entire shift of BTP officers.
The second that Greg had recovered he shouted out, “Captain! I believe that was first bomb set to explode today! It went off in the Financial District! The second is on board one of your trains! Can we start the search for it now?”
Things proceeded much faster after that point.
Greg and the other two P.C.s went from sitting around to searching trains and commuters. They didn’t say anything. Didn’t really have too.
Word spread fast over the BTP raidos all around him. Greg even heard it start over the Scotland yard radio at his shoulder. Everyone was now aware. P.C.s were being redirected to help the BTP for searches of the trains. The stations were being evacuated.
Greg was standing on the platform as one of the last trains arrived. He stepped in and crouched down, just as he’d been doing every time that he entered one of the trains. Immediately, he saw something under a bench seat.
A brown cardboard box.
“Don’t move,” he called out to a young woman sitting with her back to the window. A large businessman was one seat over on the same bench. “Both of you keep your seats!”
Greg moved closer and got down to get a good look under the girl’s seat. He reared his head up just to ask them both, “Did either of you put a box under this seat?”
The girl looked scared, she stiffly shook her head. The large man mouthed out, ‘No.’
“Do not move,” he said just for the two of them. He pulled his radio and said, “Suspicious package found at King’s Cross, zone 1.”
He heard one of the BTP coppers relay the same message over his radio.
Lestrade stood up and said, “Excuse me, I need everyone to please exit this train in an orderly fashion. Gentle steps. No running.” Greg emphasized, “Gentle.”
The entire car went quiet. Then several people started to exit quickly. Several even followed his directions and left gently.
Greg got back down on the floor.
The other guy said, “We should wait for bomb removal.”
“Do you have a torch?” Greg replied.
The BTP cop handed his torch over easily.
“Don’t leave,” Greg instructed the nervous looking BTP. Greg turned the torch on and studied the box. The box was just small enough that he could see over it. Greg even moved the girl’s legs aside, so he could see on the other side of the box. He didn’t see any wires connected to the bench.
When he was done with his visual inspection, Greg announced, “It’s not connected to the seat.”
Greg handed the BTP the torch as he stood up from the floor.
“We’re going to count to three and pull them up off the bench.” He looked at the two people who looked very frightened. “Then all four of us are going to walk out of here nice and gentle.”
BTP was watching the large man. “Switch?”
BTP was a smaller than Greg, so he switched with him quickly.
The two coppers took the hands of the two passengers on the bench.
On the count of three, they pulled the two passengers up. They walked out gently. Once they hit the platform, Greg said, “Run for it!”
They hustled out of the station. Greg made sure to stay behind the large man, who was the slowest, but by no means determined to get out.
As they approached the tube station doors, he and the BTP slowed down and stopped. They ran into a group of officers. There were both BTP and Scotland Yarders present.
“Those two were the last civilians. They were sitting on the bench over the box that we found.”
The BTP Captain happened to be there. He didn’t hesitate to ask, “You didn’t touch it, did you?”
“The box doesn’t have any wires coming out of it. It’s sealed with tape and white twine. I didn’t touch it. We pulled the two passengers off the bench quickly, and then we escorted them out.”
Greg searched the crowd of Scotland Yard uniforms. A sergeant was the highest rank that he saw. He went up to the Sergeant and immediately said, “Sergeant we need to redirect our people.”
The man looked at him confused.
“There’s another bomb, sir. A hospital. We need to have a strong presence at every hospital in the city. Please call Chief Superintendent Howell over the radio. He already knows the situation.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
For a few hours it had felt as if Greg had been alone in the world. He felt that he was the only person that knew anything about the imminent deaths that were about to rock the city. A commuter train at peak hours. A hospital full of sick people. It was a type of stress and panic that he’d hardly been able to reign in.
Then, the first explosion.
In a whirlwind of activity, everyone at once realized.
The call for re-deployment to every hospital in London was done with authority and urgency. Greg could only smile. Instinctively, Greg knew that Mycroft was somewhere behind it, leading the momentum.
Greg didn’t get off duty till late that day. He informed his section chief that he was unfit to drive home. He was directed to go to the crib.
Greg walked into the small room where several metal bunks were kept for officers. He dropped on the closest bunk still wearing his uniform. Even his boots were still on.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Friday, Greg got off work early compared to the rest of the week. When he hadn’t been running around the city like a lunatic, he was running around searching people and places. All of that was followed by a whirlwind of reports and debriefings. The days had started to blur together, until Friday at quitting time.
He had just enough time to get home, shower, and dress. He knew that Mycroft liked to dress up. So, he took one of the shirts that he’d bothered to dry-clean; it hung in his closet for the eventuality of interviews or important engagements. He wore it with a nice pair of slacks. He even shined his good shoes till they had the ideal mirror shine.
He showed up ten minutes early and found them a nice booth. He even waited for one that was towards the back in a less brightly lit section of the place. It was in an awkward place and offered a little privacy.
When he finally sat, he ordered two beers out of habit. Then, just as quickly he said, “Wait. Never mind the beer. Can you get us a good bottle of red?”
The waitress asked him, “French, Italian, or German wine, sir?”
Greg smiled happily and went through the wonderful process of choosing a drinkable wine that he could enjoy.
The wine arrived before Mycroft did. The wine had breathed. Greg had even taken a first sip and then waited. Then, he waited a little more.
Finally, he saw Mycroft at the hostess stand.
Greg got up and stepped out, so he could wave at him. They both smiled happily when their eyes met.
Mycroft walked over looking a little tired. He was smartly dressed in a three-piece suit. It looked like it cost more than everything Greg owned put together. The umbrella in the young man’s hand just seemed to finish off the look of him.
Then there was that awkward moment. When they were close enough, Mycroft held out his hand to Greg as Greg went to hug Mycroft. They both stopped at the same time, awkwardly trying to maneuver the moment.
“Sorry,” Greg responded a bit self-conscious. “Thought we were… hugging.”
“I…” Mycroft said awkwardly as if he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.
Greg reached out and took Mycroft’s hand in his. He added a second hand and carefully said, “I’m really glad that you came.”
Mycroft’s face was unreadable. He only watched Greg.
After a moment of silence, Greg said, “I got us a bottle. I hope you like red.”
They moved towards the booth and sat.
Mycroft opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“What?” Greg asked. “Please. After the adventure that we’ve already been on, I think that we can be candid.”
Mycroft looked thoughtful for a moment. He settled on saying, “I would have thought of you as an ale man.”
“I love a good brew,” Greg assured him. “Sometimes, I like wine more.”
The waitress arrived with menus.
Greg didn’t hesitate to ask, “What’s the special?”
She smiled and said, “Traditional roast. It’s ever so good tonight.”
“I’ll have it.”
“I’ll have the same,” Mycroft said easily.
Greg quickly when back to saying, “My parents weren't married. My father hated the fact that my mére was French. I still love all things French. Granduncle mentioned that I hid that from you the first time around. I’m trying to be more open. That is not easy for me, so be patient. I grew up facing severe penalties for doing anything…French.”
Mycroft’s only response was to pick up the glass in front of him. He smelled it deeply.
Greg leaned in and watched happily as it was evaluated.
Mycroft held the glass to the light. He swirled it around checking the color. Finally, the taste. He slurped in mixing air with the wine in his mouth. A gentle swish.
Greg could only call it refined. He marveled that Mycroft swished in a refined manner.
Last came the swallow.
“And the results?” Greg asked.
“Not bad. Not excellent,” he clearly stated.
“But it’s drinkable,” Greg agreed. “Not too bad for a German bottle. I don’t normally drink German wine. My mére would certainly have an opinion on the matter. But, I thought, why not?”
Mycroft gave him a little smile. It was tight and felt...fake.
“What’s wrong?” Greg asked.
“Nothing,” Mycroft said quickly.
Greg watched the man in front of him carefully as he thought about ‘Granduncle Mike.’
“It’s your work, right,” Greg finally asked. “Something happened. After what happened on Tuesday…in my life I had to answer a lot of questions. I told them I had a friend in MI6 that gave me a 411. I didn’t say anything else.”
Mycroft nodded.
“You probably had the same happen. Made you antsy?”
Mycroft looked thoughtful. Greg wanted to press him. He wanted to reassure him. But, decided to let the man have the space to think.
Mycroft took a drink from his glass. He swallowed and then carefully, he said, “I am not liked. Uncle Rudy was a great man. A cross dresser that distressed my mother greatly, but a great man.”
He played with the stem of his glass as he said, “Uncle Rudy was essentially preparing me to be his successor. I’m still too young and inexperienced, but I was already working in our…department.”
Greg nodded. “Course they hate you. You’re going to show them all up and take everything. All their dreams are about to get mucked up.”
As the warm flush filled him, Greg didn’t hesitate to add, “I’m already proud of you, and you haven’t even gotten it yet.”
Greg smiled and reached for his wine. As he drank, Greg noticed the look on Mycroft’s face break momentarily.
Mycroft looked away quickly.
“You’re really trying to control your facial reactions, aren’t you?” Greg watched him carefully. “You’re upset and maybe a little…angry?”
Mycroft’s mouth curled a little. “Not angry. Suspicious maybe. Granduncle mentioned that you were my best friend-
“Future,” Greg corrected.
Mycroft went silent. He looked down at the table.
Greg noticed how suddenly stiff the man was. His eyes darted towards the aisle, and it made Greg think that the man was about to go.
“Please let me say what I have to say. I found Granduncle Mike to be hilarious. I think he had already reached that place in his life where he stopped giving a shite about what people thought of him. He was still good looking for a man his age. And, he was literally the smartest, most regal man that I’ve ever met.”
Greg leaned in a little and said, “I don’t expect anything. We’ll go as slow as you want. I know you’re worth it.”
Mycroft hesitated a little, finally saying, “I know that I’m a homosexual, Gregory. I have no interest in women.”
“I do,” Greg replied. “But I choose awful girls. You have no idea. Glad I’ve got better taste in men. Also, I think I understand the kind of job you’re in. I expect Fridays, Mycroft. I want a call if you can’t make it, but I expect you to try. I will too.”
Greg reached into his pocket and pulled out the Nokia that he’d recently bought. Since it was the latest model, it was small enough to fit in his pocket. He put it on the table saying, “I got this, so you can get ahold of me whenever. I’ll give you the number.”
Mycroft reached into his pocket and pulled out a similar type of phone. He showed it to Greg saying, “It’s vital in my work.”
Greg smiled. He then checked his pockets for a pen. Then, he realized and picked up the little phone. He started fiddling with it until he could start typing in Mycroft’s name.
Once the name was in, he realized that the young man might not like it. “You want your name in here or something else?”
Mycroft smiled a little. This smile was real.
“Something else would probably be best.”
Mycroft pressed the pad of his phone and erased the names. Greg thought it through.
Greg pressed out the word, ‘Nephew.’
When he looked up, Mycroft was offering him his phone. They exchanged phones and typed in their information.
“I’ll always have it nearby,” Greg assured him. Greg handed Mycroft his phone back saying, “Call whenever. Whatever you need.”
Mycroft put his phone away saying, “Uncle Rudy assured me that friends were not something to have in this line of work. Unfortunately, everything that I’ve seen to date has proven him right.”
“I’m not in your line of work. I’m also not them. I’m…your best mate. I’m going to always try to be there when you need me. Something tells me that a lot of this is going to be one-sided.”
Mycroft looked down again saying, “I can’t share much. You have no clearance.”
Greg nodded. “I’m more interested in how you’re doing then what you’re doing. Your state of mind. Problems. Talking things out helps.”
Mycroft was looking at him when he said, “You are very kind.”
Based on the worry lines that were deeply etched into Mycroft’s forehead, Greg said, “But” for the younger man.
Mycroft frowned a little. “I don’t think that I’ve ever had a friend, other than my brother. I can’t explain this without seeming as if I’m bragging.” He leaned forwards a little saying, “I’m not.”
Mycroft sat back into the booth. “I’m smart. I don’t mean that in the way that common people use the word. My younger brother is considered a genius. And, I consider him a bit…slow.”
Greg opened his mouth and thought better. He thought carefully before he asked, “Define genius in the way that you are using it.”
“I’d rather define slow. My brother was speaking in full sentences by the time he was a year old. He was capable of solving quadratic equations by the time he two and a half. He learnt to play the violin in two days’ time.”
“And, that is slow to you.”
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to nod. “I’ve always been smarter than him. I’m afraid that I gave him a bit of a complex until we met other children.” Mycroft shook his head saying, “That was a horrid experience. Sherlock and I do not get on with others. The…ordinary people.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to say, “Amazing. You actually used the words ‘ordinary people’ the way other people would say pillock, plonker, or tosspot.”
Gingerly, Mycroft said, “I’m not trying to insult.”
Greg shook his head. “Not insulted. I’m gonna be the first to tell you that I’m a bit of a stupid sod sometimes. But, according to Granduncle we found common ground at some point.”
The waitress arrived with their food. Two Sunday roast dinners with rosemary roasted beef, carrots and parsnips, crispy potatoes, creamy horseradish sauce, and warm gravy were set down.
“Nice one, love,” Greg complimented the waitress.
Greg didn’t hesitate to pick up his knife and fork. He was cutting his meat when he realized that Mycroft was still looking at his plate of food.
“Don’t you like beef? You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
“I didn’t know that it would be this much food,” Mycroft said unsure.
Greg couldn’t help the frown. “Tell me that you’ve been eating well this week. Cause I can tell you that I haven’t. I’ve missed meals, and lost sleep. What about you?”
Mycroft hesitantly picked up his fork saying, “You should probably be aware that I was quite portly as a child. I tend to gain weight rather easily; Food is emotionally comforting. I still have twenty pounds that I can’t seem to lose.”
“I like the way you look,” Greg said simply.
Mycroft went on to say, “Granduncle looked quite thin.”
“He was sick,” Greg hissed. “That is not a look to emulate. Besides men should be a little thicker.”
“Easily said when you’re an active person.” Mycroft gave him an unusual lopsided smile. “I like being lazy. And, I live behind a desk.”
Greg shrugged. “Then I’ll make sure you get regular workouts.”
Mycroft blushed quite pink.
Greg smiled and winked at him cheekily.
Mycroft’s blush got even darker, spreading down to his neck.
“You are quite brash, Gregory.” Mycroft began cutting his beef with his utensils. He neatly cut his food to size until he finally said, “Very well, Gregory. I promise to be here Fridays. We shall try to find that common ground that Granduncle spoke about.”
Greg swallowed the food in his mouth. “Well, we like wine.”
Mycroft speared a piece of beef. “And, we care about the common good of the British empire…in our own capacities.”
Greg nodded. “I think your bloody peng.”
Mycroft froze. His fork was half way to his mouth.
Greg lowered his fork a little rebuking himself, “Every time.”
Mycroft shook his head. “You’re beautiful. Fit. You could have anyone that you wanted. Why on earth would you want to be with me?”
Greg didn’t hesitate to answer. “The first thing that I noticed about you was your eyes. I actually had a moment where I couldn’t breathe. I knew right there that I was going to say or do something stupid.” Greg shrugged. “I usually do when I meet someone I’m drawn too.”
Mycroft concentrated hard on the man and his words. Finally, he said, “My father often says that Sherlock and I are social idiots. He’s not being malicious. He’s right. I understand people and their motivations in the political sense; they usually follow Maslow’s basic hierarchy of needs. Those motivations can be countered, like chess moves.”
Greg pointed with his fork saying, “You have the same needs.”
Mycroft suddenly looked confused.
“You’re not an alien,” Greg assured. “You need love and companionship like anyone else.”
Mycroft didn’t answer.
“Okay,” Greg said carefully. “Let’s make this easier. I need those things. I don’t think that I can wait around for twenty or thirty years, being in love with you for most of our lives. On top of that, two divorces to the same bird, getting my manhood kicked in repeatedly as she kerb crawls her way through town.”
Greg heard the hurt in his own voice.
Mycroft’s sharp eyes flashed. “You don’t care to be deceived.”
“Or, being made a fool.” Greg shook his head. “I’ll wait till you’re comfortable with the idea of being with me. I’ll give you all the space you need to think about it. Just meet me here on Fridays.”
“One condition,” Mycroft countered.
“What is it?”
“My brother. I would like your help with my brother. He’s seventeen years and five months. He’s far too close to the eighteenth year where he’s supposed to become an addict. I’m actually uncomfortable with the idea of this conversation.”
“Mycroft,” Greg said leaning in a little. “I already planned on being there. I haven’t met him yet, but apparently, he’s going to be a good mate. The faster we can nip this in the bud, the better.”
Greg speared meat and potatoes on his fork. As he dredged his food through the gravy, he said, “The only question that I have is, how? He’s not like other people, is he?”
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to shake his head. “I dare say, that you’ve never met anyone like him before. I love Sherlock greatly, but he is incredibly annoying. Challenging. Intelligent enough to always be right.”
“A pain in the arse, and a know-it-all,” Greg said with an understanding shake of his head.
“He will immediately look at the both of us and deduce that we are in a relationship. This will be followed by him telling you horrible facts about me, my past, my love life, so on, and so forth.”
“Rivalry,” Greg shrugged.
Mycroft dropped his fork and sat back. “How do I explain properly?”
Mycroft looked around the dining room. After about twenty seconds, he turned to face Greg again and said, “Look there next to the hostess stand. Do you see the gentleman?”
Greg nodded.
“He’s the current Manager. He’s married and has a girlfriend that works here. That little blonde girl at the North end of the room. He and his wife are in a tight financial spot, so he’s been forced to embezzle from this restaurant.”
Greg snorted a laugh as he tried to chew.
“I know that he’s married because he has a tan line on his left ring finger. His shoes are polished to a high-mirror shine; they are well-worn, not expensive, but impeccably cared for. The white shirt that he’s wearing has a stain, not recent. He’s married and yet his wife didn’t get the stain out. Odd since the rest of his clothes are well mended and cared for. Still, she allowed him to wear it.”
Greg stopped chewing. His mouth was still full of food. Mycroft knew that he had his attention.
“Conclusion, they can’t buy a new shirt at the moment, which implies a financial problem at home. He’s recently colored his hair darker and has lost weight. He’s also at the right age for a mid-life crisis. That blond waitress is half his age with a real diamond bracelet on her wrist. She also keeps looking at him and smiling. A bracelet isn’t a gift that you give for commitment, it’s more of a thank you gift. Don’t you think?”
Greg sat motionless staring at Mycroft.
“I taught my brother how to be observant too. How to draw conclusions from the evidence provided.”
Forgetting that there was food in his mouth, Greg said, “My-
Greg caught himself and struggled to finish what was in his mouth. He turned at watched the Manager. With a good look he realized that he had dyed his hair recently. And, his belt had been secured onto a new notch.
Greg turned a bit more and saw that the cutest blonde waitress did have a diamond bracelet. She did glance back at the older man.
Everything that Mycroft had pointed out was there. He simply hadn’t observed properly or drawn the obvious conclusions.
Greg turned back to Mycroft and said, “You are going to rule the world.”
“I doubt that.”
“I don’t.” Greg shook his head saying, “So what are your brother’s weaknesses.”
“He gets bored easily; we both do. He’s a little eccentric, but I think all mentally enabled persons are. He’s quite antisocial.” Mycroft nodded as he said, “He has more difficulty with social cues than I do, but that’s mostly because he could care more. He’s also quite egotistical in his own abilities.”
“That doesn’t help me much. What about interests?”
“Scientific experiments that further his knowledge. He fancies himself a detective. Solving mysteries is a passion of his.”
“Ding. Ding.” Greg chirped. “So… I’m his new… nanny, right?”
Mycroft’s face was a placid mask.
“Don’t do that,” Greg said easily. “I get that your smarter than me. Leaps and bounds. All you really had to do was ask. I’m not one of the people in your office that you have to maneuver around.”
“Gregory-
“Ask,” Greg replied.
Greg noticed that Mycroft suddenly looked slightly uncomfortable as he played with his fork and shifted in his seat. Greg only watched without making it easier for him.
“It had occurred to me,” Mycroft finally said still playing with his fork. “That your profession might be of interest to my brother. Nanny, is not the title that I would have given you.”
“Minder?”
Mycroft had enough sense to lower his eyes and look slightly ashamed.
“Perhaps,” Mycroft responded.
Greg leaned towards him and said, “Whatever you need, you ask. That’s all you have to do. I’m not them. I’m your boyfriend. You get that into your head.”
Mycroft blushed bright pink and nodded.
“One condition,” Greg added. “Teach me to do that. To be more observant. Draw fantastic conclusions from very little evidence.”
Chapter 4: A Brat by Any Other Name
Chapter Text
The next week, they met for their usual Friday night dinner.
Greg even asked, “How’s it going? The search for Sherlock? Still dodging you?”
Mycroft’s face pinched together tightly. His lip curled as he said, “He did drop out of university. I’m still searching for him. If he doesn’t want to be found, I know that he can evade me.”
“You want me to file a missing persons’?”
Mycroft smiled a little as he shook his head. “It wouldn’t do any good, but thank you, Gregory. I shall continue my quest, and I will find him.”
Later that night Greg insisted on walking Mycroft home. As they got out of the car, Greg said, “You have until we get to your door to think it through.”
“Think what through, Gregory?”
“Whether or not you’ll let me kiss you,” Greg said seriously.
Mycroft froze in the process of adjusting his coat. Two seconds later, he finished what he was doing.
“We’ve been on two dates, and one…outing in the country,” Greg said walking round the car to join the other man. “I’ve all but proposed to you.”
“I don’t recall that at all,” Mycroft said as he fell into step with Greg.
“Really? Because it’s plainly obvious, even to a dullard like myself, that we are going to be together for the rest of our lives.” They were walking slowly towards the front of the building. Greg carefully said, “Soon as I can afford a ring. Maybe a romantic dinner. Wine. Roses.”
“I actually prefer gardenias and jasmine.” Mycroft looked at Greg and explained, “They smell nicer.”
“Gardenias and jasmine,” Greg repeated seriously and committed it to memory.
“I wonder,” Mycroft said casually. “Why should you propose?”
“I don’t know,” Greg answered as they came to the door. The doorman opened the door and tipped his cap to them.
They passed him.
A few steps later, Greg said, “I guess I always thought I’d propose all romantic like.”
“Would it be so terrible if you were proposed too?”
“Guess I never thought I’d marry another fella…till now”
“I see,” Mycroft said pressing the button to call the elevator.
The elevator doors opened immediately.
They stepped inside.
“We’re awful close,” Greg reminded Mycroft. “Made up your mind yet?”
Mycroft didn’t answer. He simply looked straight ahead.
Greg didn’t hesitate to remind Mycroft, “If you don’t want me too, you will have to say something. Because, I have it set in my mind that I’m kissing you before I leave you this time.”
Forty-six seconds later, the elevator doors opened on the third floor.
They stepped out together and turned towards Mycroft’s door.
“Only a few steps left.”
Mycroft smiled a little.
Mycroft stepped to his door. He turned and faced Greg. “Do you always talk this much?”
“There have been times when I’ve been accused of being a gobshite.”
“Please shut up,” Mycroft said softly. He grabbed Greg’s jacket and pulled him close.
Greg happily stepped into Mycroft’s personal space crowding him till his back was against his front door. He pressed his body to Mycroft’s and put his hand up on the door behind the man.
“Last chance,” Greg said within a hair’s breathe.
“You just don’t stop,” Mycroft said staring into the man’s chocolate brown eyes.
Greg brushed his lips across the skin of Mycroft’s forehead.
Mycroft’s eyes were close. There was a happy look on his face as he said, “Not what I was imagining.”
His words were soft. They had no real heat.
When Greg saw his face, Mycroft’s eyes were closed.
Greg smiled happily and found himself gently rubbing his face against Mycroft’s. For a man, Mycroft’s face was incredibly soft. He found the feel of it to be intoxicating.
Soon, he found Mycroft’s lips. Soft and yielding. Greg pressed against him making first contact. Mycroft made small sounds of encouragement.
And Greg fell…completely.
He wasn’t sure what it was. His taste. The way he was welcomed. The way that the other man’s body eagerly conveyed joy and desperate willingness to be explored.
Greg wanted to know this man.
He realized easily that Mycroft Holmes was going to be his utter triumph or his ruin.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Two days later, Greg’s phone rang. He noticed the caller ID and picked up immediately.
“Heya,” Greg greeted.
“I found him,” Mycroft replied. “I brought him in and have him in custody.”
“Bit much, innit?”
“He’s already tried to escape once. So, no. I just need him to hold still long enough to get all three of us into the same room. I don’t suppose you remembered the files?”
“In my car. I’ll get permission to leave work for a few hours. Family emergency. I’ll be down to you as soon as I can.”
“Understood.”
Greg managed to get permission from the Shift Captain over the phone. Traffic was light. Greg didn’t even slow down for anything but a red light. He was there in record time.
It actually took longer to get a parking space and to get passed security in Mycroft’s building, then it did for him to drive there.
“Department of Transportation, my hairy arse,” Greg grumbled as he walked away from security.
Mycroft met him in the hallway ahead. They fell into step together.
“I’ve just been told that I can get another thirty minutes and then we’re getting kicked out the interrogation room. Apparently, they have real issues to deal with.”
“Got it. Make it quick. Drive the point home.”
Mycroft entered the room first and walked directly to the seat opposite Sherlock.
Greg walked in and closed the door. He saw the brother with his head down on the interrogation table. Unlike Mycroft, Sherlock had a riot of black, curling hair. He looked dirty. There were dried grass bits in his hair. And he stank up the room the way that most junkies usually did.
B.O. never aged well.
“Sherlock,” Mycroft called out trying to get his brother’s attention.
Greg didn’t hesitate to walk up and slam his hand down on the table as hard as he could.
Sherlock jumped up and fell back into his chair.
Greg walked around to stand besides Mycroft on the man’s right side.
“Oh,” Sherlock said in relief. “I thought this might be important. I was wrong.”
The young man scrubbed at his face and blinked his bloodshot eyes against the light in the room.
“What are you on?” Greg asked quickly.
“A chair,” Sherlock snipped. He turned to his brother and said, “This is tiresome. I have things to do.”
“None of which are university or your studies,” Mycroft said calmly.
“Boring,” Sherlock replied with a roll of his sharp eyes. “I’m younger than everyone there and I hate it. None of it is interesting. I was under the assumption that it would be challenging. The realization was horrid.”
Greg cleared his throat. “What are you on?”
Sherlock dropped his head back so that it hung back as his shoulders slumped forwards. His eyelids were half closed. He smiled a little as he asked, “You’re just starting to gray…prematurely.”
“And you’re ratarsed. What’s your monkey?”
Sherlock laughed a little.
“He’s right,” Mycroft marveled as he leaned forwards for a closer look. “You are intoxicated.”
Sherlock leaned forwards too and calmly explained to his brother. “Just a little slows everything down. And, then I’m not bored anymore. My mind doesn’t race and spin about.”
Sherlock stopped. He froze for a moment. He stared off into the distance beyond his brother. A few seconds later, he added, “My own concoction. It’s cleaner than what the poison that was sold on campus. Remarkably easy to do. I’m amazed more chem students aren’t in the business.”
Sherlock became distracted by Gregory. He looked at Greg as if he’d only just noticed him there. He even leaned over so he could get a better look at him, his boots, and then his hand. After a moment, Sherlock scrunched his face up, twisting up tightly.
“Ughh!” Sherlock finally exclaimed. “You two!” He turned to Mycroft and asked, “A P.C.! A bit of rough!” Then Sherlock laughed. “Mummy will be ever so proud when you bring home a fella! I think she’s the only one that doesn’t know!”
Sherlock laughed heartily before falling back in the chair again and saying, “You know that he’s completely OCD, alphabetizes his ties, he only wears underwear once, constantly putting on weight….
Greg pulled a photo out of the folder as he said, “I can tell your brain is set to thick, slow, and below ordinary. Probably a bit pickled at the moment too. You should have seen that I’m your new brother-in-law right off.”
Greg threw the picture onto the table. “Get a good look.”
The smile on Sherlock’s face faltered.
For any ordinary person, Sherlock’s reaction of interest would have been quick. But, he wasn't ordinary. And, he wasn't quick. Greg noticed that one of the boy’s eyes closed, and he had to force it back open. He seemed to be willing himself to think. He even shook a little.
“It’s a murder,” Greg informed him.
“Yes, thank you!” Sherlock demanded. “I can see that!”
“You see the problem with the crime scene, then,” Greg replied unfazed.
Sherlock continued to look at the picture tottering like a drunk.
Greg couldn’t help the smile; it held no humor. “Bit of a problem, innit? If you’re brother’s bit ‘a rough can see it and you can’t.”
Sherlock gave a look of frustration.
Finally, Sherlock set the picture down and said, “It’s the curtain.” He slumped a little looking tired. “The woman’s house was immaculate. Perfectly, staged. One of the curtain pulls is missing. The killer took it because he used it to tie the victim.”
“That really took it out of you. Need a rest? A pillow? A shawl?”
Sherlock’s head snapped up to the P.C. “I’m fine!”
“You’re starting to come down and you want more,” Greg said easily seeing the sweat on the young Sherlock. He’d seen this before. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna keep ya. Just know that if you take whatever you have, you can’t come back to me till you’re able to piss clean. If you piss hot, I won’t see you for a month.”
Sherlock turned to his brother and said, “Is this your idea of a minder?”
“Yes,” Mycroft said calmly. “I’ve made sure that Gregory has access to the cold cases archive for Scotland Yard. He’s going to be pulling cases to entertain that volatile mind of yours. If you decide to indulge this habit, then find something else to entertain yourself with. One month at a time.”
Sherlock’s face went red. “I won’t be controlled!”
Greg walked around the table. He picked up the picture and put it back into his folder. He leaned in and said, “I’m so sorry to have burdened you.”
Greg walked to the door and opened it saying, “It was nice to meet you, Sherlock. I’m sure that you have a lot to do. When you’re ready, I’ve got a stack of these cases. Unsolved. Ridiculously difficult. No one has been able to crack them.” Casually, he said, “Good bye.”
“You’re manipulating me too!” Sherlock screamed. “You’re in on it!”
“Yup,” Greg responded. “If you want your treat of mysteries, miscellaneous murderers, and serial killers, drop by in a month. Clear it out of your body. Clear your mind. Piss clean and we’ll talk.”
Sherlock looked at his brother and opened his mouth.
“Don’t bother,” Greg said quickly to the younger man. “He and I already agreed. I’m taking this off of his shoulders. He doesn’t need you fucking up his life and emotionally manipulating him. Little brother always needs, and bit brother provides. That’s how it goes, right? Not anymore.”
Sherlock made an attempt to get up quickly. Perhaps it was meant to be a big dramatic rise with a flourish of his coat, but it really petered out. It looked a weak showing. He had to steady himself before fully standing up. His first steps were unsure.
“P.C. Gregory Lestrade.”
Sherlock looked at the man confused.
“My name is P.C. Gregory Lestrade, you idiot junkie.”
“Smarter than you,” the young man sneered.
“Prove it, shite-for-brains,” Lestrade shot back.
Sherlock looked at him bleary-eyed unable to reply.
Greg quickly said, “Now, piss off, ya stupid tit! I got real work to do!”
When the young man didn’t move fast enough, Greg opened the door. Then he reached for Sherlock. He grabbed his filthy coat and threw him out. They saw him fall to the floor unceremoniously and slide across the floor into the wall on the other side of the door. Then, Greg was able to slam the door shut.
Mycroft instantly went to his feet. Greg held a hand up to quiet him.
Greg immediately went to Mycroft’s side.
“I know,” he said quietly to Mycroft. “But, you can’t baby a junkie. He needs to make the decision to get clean on his own. It has to be his decision. Force equals failure.”
“Gregory,” Mycroft huffed out painfully.
Greg reached up and smoothed his dark red hair back. “Please trust that I can do this. Please trust that I can do this for you.”
Chapter 5: As Couples Do
Chapter Text
Greg got stabbed around two in the afternoon.
He and his partner had eaten a quick bite. Then, they returned to their candy car.
His partner, P.C. Waters had been on the job for ten years with no interest in doing anything but finishing his day.
Greg learnt how to live with him while on the job. It wasn’t that he was old. Usually, the vets were solid, old-school coppers that knew their stuff. Waters was simply a... fuzzy. Greg didn’t hesitate to write their reports, step up the way the senior officer should have, and stay late when he had too. Because he knew that Waters wouldn’t.
His partner was a nice guy, but a total CHiMPS (Completely Hopeless in Most Police Situations).
A fact that became evident that day.
A man suddenly ran out of an alley, a half second before a woman screamed out, “He’s got my purse!”
Greg ran forwards without noticing that Waters wasn’t at his side.
The man ran right into Greg knocking them both over. Greg felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. His head hurt from where he hit the concrete with the back of his head.
Greg opened his eyes and saw the kid’s face. Sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. Black hoodie. Scared.
The kid jumped up and ran.
It took Greg a moment to realize that the kid had left a knife behind. He saw it sticking up out of his shoulder.
Greg looked around and found that Waters was still a dozen steps behind.
Frozen.
Useless.
Greg reached for his radio’s mic at his shoulder and he called ‘officer in distress, ambulance needed.’ He gave his location and he identified himself.
“Get over here,” Greg demanded.
Once Waters had complied.
Greg quickly said, “Don’t touch the knife. It’s evidence. Help me up!”
A candy car with its yellow and blue colores arrived almost within the minute. Greg was just leaning back against a parked car when they pulled up with their lights flashing.
The moment the others jumped out, Greg called out, “Pull your first aid. I got cheffed!”
They had gauze and pressure put on the wound before the horizontal taxi did to give him a lift. Greg was awake. He felt fine, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding. So, he shut his gob and got in.
It was when he got to the Emergency that Greg realized and reached for his phone. He was clumsily trying to dial his phone when Mycroft called him.
Greg answered saying, “Mycroft, I’m fine.”
“I was told you’re hurt and in the hospital!”
“Fine. Some kid ran into me; he was holding a knife and I got stabbed.”
Mycroft fell silent.
When Greg realized what it sounded like, he very quickly added, “In the shoulder. Not vital. No surgery. I’m probably going to get a few stiches and pat on the head, love.”
Mycroft was still quite silent.
“Love, if I thought it was bad, I’d tell you. Don’t forget, it’s date night. I’ll meet you at the restaurant, yeah?”
“No,” Mycroft snapped. “You will go directly home, and I will bring takeaway. You will need rest.”
Greg dropped his head back onto the very flat thing that the hospital called a pillow and thought it through. “You sure?”
“I shall be there as soon as I’m finished with work. I expect you to be resting.”
Mycroft arrived later that evening.
His fellow officers had made sure that he’d gotten home. His bloody uniform was still sitting in a hospital bag by the front door. He’d simply walked in. Dropped onto the sofa and kipped out.
That’s where Mycroft found him when he came over with a brown bag of takeaway and a shopping bag full of various drinks.
Mycroft looked stressed out when he entered and saw him.
Still, Greg smiled at him and said, “God you look bloody fantastic! I’ve missed you!”
Mycroft looked at him. There were unshed tears in his eyes. When he spoke it was to say, “I’ve decided that I hate your job. I need a key to your apartment so that I can gain access without bothering you. And, I brought you soup.”
“There’s a spare key in the bowl on that little table. Can’t do anything about the job. And, I’d love a bowl of soup. Thank you, darling.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to hold his hand out to Mycroft.
Mycroft walked over slowly and a bit unsure.
“I’m fine. It’s the right shoulder and it’s not that bad. Just a little headache is all. Afraid I don’t tolerate pain killers well.”
When Mycroft was close enough. Greg reached for his hand and pulled him close. He held the younger man and murmured soft words to him. Mycroft only shed a tear or two. But his body was tense, so Greg held him for a good while until the other man was ready to pull away.
“You can help me change the bandage later,” Greg said cheerfully.
Mycroft only nodded.
He left Greg on the couch and walked to the small kitchen. He portioned out their food.
When he retuned to Gregory, he brought a big bowl of soup, and a generous slice of fresh baked bread which he had buttered. Mycroft also put six different bottles and a gallon sized bottle of water on the coffee table.
Greg didn’t comment on the amount of supplies except to say, “Thank you. You’re very thoughtful.”
Mycroft sat next to Greg and watched him eat.
Greg smiled one or five times. He dutifully ate finishing everything that he was given.
Mycroft in turn didn’t eat much.
When the time came, Mycroft helped him take his white t-shirt off.
Greg groaned saying, “Stiff. The muscles hurt more than the actual stabbing.”
“I’ll get you a pain killer when I’m done.”
Greg allowed Mycroft to pick at the medical tape and peel it off. The bandage came away easily. It wasn’t a big thing. The stab wound was deep, not long. It had only taken ten stiches to close. It wasn’t bleeding much. There wasn’t much leakage either. The area was stained with antiseptic, and shiny from ointment.
Mycroft began to gently clean the area and reapply ointment.
Greg watched him carefully.
“Remove all thoughts from that evil little mind of yours,” Mycroft said in a no-nonsense tone.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Greg replied as he stared at Mycroft’s crotch.
“I know exactly what that little smile of yours means. And, no. Absolutely not. You were stabbed.”
Seriously, Greg said, “I will grit my teeth and-
“Break the stiches. Wind up at the Emergency bleeding…again.”
“Worth it.”
Mycroft leaned in.
Greg tried to kiss him.
Mycroft pulled back a little and said, “You are simply pathetic. You’d really give in to base desires, rather than wait for just a few days.”
“Days! Mycroft, I’m fine! This? This is... an inconvenience!”
“No,” Mycroft replied.
“We’ve been dating for a month! I was hoping…
“Yes. But, things have changed. You are wounded.”
“It’s a scratch.”
“Gregory, they don’t send opiates for a scratch. I can see the prescriptions on the coffee table. You were given a week of rest and I think that we should respect that.”
Greg stared at him blankly. “A week is an eternity!”
Mycroft sat next to Greg. Seriously, he said, “For me as well. But, I don’t want to worry about you in pain. Please, Gregory. Just until they pull those stitches.”
“Myc,” Greg whined.
“For me as well.” Then more chipper, he said, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
Greg laid his forehead on Mycroft’s shoulder saying, “I’d rather have you naked in my bed begging. I want to fuck you all night in every position that I can think of.”
Mycroft went quiet. He stared at the wall ahead.
Greg looked at the younger man. “You’re not blushing anymore. This was easier when you were blushing. It was easy to tell myself a story and sit on my hands.”
Mycroft swallowed a big lump in his throat. He turned to look at Greg and easily said, “I think that I should go, Gregory.”
“Why?”
“Because, I want to stay with you. But, you’re in no position for anything physical. You have a headache from the blood loss. You’re in danger of dizziness, confusion, weakness, and a host of other symptoms until at least tomorrow. You need rest.”
“Damn your logic and nobility. Don’t you know that I’m vulnerable and easily manipulated onto my back, right now?”
Despite the situation, Mycroft laughed. When the humor of it passed, he said, “Then, it’s too bad for you that I’m in love with you.”
“Yeah, too bad,” Greg said with a smile of his own.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Due to his injury, Greg had a few days off.
Mycroft was released from work early on Saturday. The moment that Mycroft’s leather shoes touched the sidewalk, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Gregory.
“I’m free,” Mycroft announced.
“Bloody awesome,” Greg replied. There was background noise.
“Why does it sound like you’re outside?” Mycroft asked, already upset. “I will remind you that you are wounded!”
“And, I will remind you that I love you!”
“You will not distract me, Gregory.”
“I had to get out of that apartment. The walls were closing in. Besides, I had to pay my phone. And, then I remembered that I had to file that report on the incident.”
“I thought you said that the Captain was willing to give you until you returned?”
“He did, but I needed to see the mug shot books while that kids’ face was still fresh in my noggin. I took care of the incident report while I was there.”
“Did you find him?”
“I did. And, I’m headed to my car as we speak. You want me to pick you up?”
“Yes. Might I suggest that we do something that couples do?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I haven’t the foggiest. I was hoping you had suggestions to draw upon.”
“I’ll think about it on my way to you. Be there in a few.”
Greg’s little car turned onto the right street and he spotted Mycroft’s tall, well-dressed frame instantly. Mycroft walked closer to the curb. Greg only slowed down long enough for the man to jump in.
Once they were moving along with traffic, Greg easily admitted, “I was thinking back to the activities that I usually invite people out to do.” A little bit ashamed, Greg admitted, “Turns out, I date a lot of morons.”
Mycroft laughed. It was a pleasant sound that filled the car.
“I came up with a few. Museum. Bookstore. Specialty tea shop.”
“Specialty tea shop? Interesting.”
“Yeah, I had the luxury of being able to read the paper yesterday. There was an article about it and some of the events they have planned this month. They have tea from all over the world. Handmade teapots. They even have tea flavored snacks and foods.”
“Now, I’m curious,” Mycroft said happily.
“Good. We’ll save the museum for some other day. You can explain all the paintings that I don’t understand.”
In the next breath, Mycroft asked, “How’s the shoulder?”
“A little stiff. Pains all but gone. I haven’t bothered with the pills. Figured, if I need it; I’ll take it tonight, so I can sleep.”
They drove to the Tea Shoppe and walked right into a small event that was amassing.
“What luck,” Mycroft said as he read the posted sign for a lecture on, ‘Global Tea History: Ancient Origins to Today’s Tea.’ Perhaps there is a pique of interest to be had.”
Greg wasn’t sure about attending a lecture, but he sat down. He figured that, smart as Mycroft was, Greg was going to find himself in this situation more than once. Might as well get used to it.
They both ordered a lovely pot of tea and a few biscuits.
They had odd sounding flavors like: Olive shortbread, lavender shortbread, chocolate cayenne cinnamon, corn with lime glaze, and strawberry cheesecake. Greg did like to try new things, so he ordered one of each. They wound up splitting the biscuits in half and sharing them. It was amazing to them how similar their tastes aligned: both liking and disliking the same biscuits.
The tea was excellent.
The lecture was even interesting. They both enjoyed it.
Afterward, they perused the shop. Mycroft bought a few teas. Greg bought a new mug since his favorite was stained and chipped.
As they walked out of the Tea Shoppe, Mycroft didn’t hesitate to say, “I was truly surprised. I never imagined that black pepper could compliment the sweetness of a biscuit.”
“Eye opening revelation, love.” A moment later, he added, “But that thyme was god awful.”
“Dismal.” Mycroft smiled and bumped his shoulder against Greg’s saying, “Let’s get dinner and go back to mine.”
Mycroft walked for another three steps before he realized that Greg wasn’t at his side. He turned to find Greg staring at him.
Greg swallowed hard and said, “They take the stiches out tomorrow.”
Mycroft mirrored his smile. “I think we should get dinner. Those biscuits weren’t very big or very many. We should get dinner…then…” Again, he repeated, “We go back to mine.”
Mycroft watched the man.
Greg smiled. He was sure that it was one of those filthy, little smiles that Mycroft could read easily. Greg hoped that Mycroft was reading a great deal into it at that moment.
Greg had been in the mood for Indian food. Now, he decided against it. He didn’t want hot and spicy anything on his fingertips this evening.
“Fish and chips? I know a good chippy. They change the oil often enough that it’s pretty reliable.”
“What about that soup and salad place where I got you that soup? I liked the menu. A nice soup and sandwich maybe? They bake their own bread every few hours.”
“That was good bread,” Greg agreed. “Lead me there.”
Mycroft called the restaurant and ordered their food. When they got there, Mycroft went in and got their food. The drive back to Mycroft’s apartment was excruciatingly long.
Mycroft spent the trip with the brown paper package balanced on his knees as he stared at Gregory’s profile. He marveled at the place where he’d found himself.
“If you stare too hard,” Greg said. “I might disappear.”
Mycroft smiled. “I’m just admiring my handsome boyfriend.”
“Fiancé,” Greg corrected. “Soon to be your husband.”
“Fiancé,” Mycroft whispered out. He smiled. “I like the way that sounds.”
They made it as far as the elevator. The doors hadn’t even fully closed before they began to kiss. Long deep kisses that made them forget where they were. They reached the third floor and were so busy that the doors closed. They realized when the elevator began moving down.
Greg laughed a little as the annoyance and embarrassment rose. He slammed his hand down on the third-floor button. This time he only watched Mycroft as the doors closed yet again. He fell back against the elevator wall. His breath was hard to catch as if his lungs were refusing to work. The ride up took hours.
When the doors finally opened on the third floor, Greg reached out and pulled Mycroft out harshly. They fell against one another sloppily kissing again. Their teeth gnashed against one another.
They tasted each other.
They stumbled down the hall almost falling against one another several times. Apartment 301 was supposed to be relatively close to the elevator. Around to the left and at the end of a short hall, the width of Mycroft’s apartment, with the emergency exit doors at the end.
It was a length of space that was easier to walk when you were facing the direction of travel. Walking it backwards or even sideways was awkward. Neither of them actually saw the door, they really just fell back against it.
Greg took advantage of the solid surface and pushed Mycroft back against it with his body. Quickly, instinctively, they were both rubbing their bodies against one another.
Mycroft threw his head back and moaned. Greg took it as an invitation to kiss that long, pale column of skin. He was intent on exploring it. He found several freckles that he hadn’t expected. Beautiful little clumps that needed kissing.
As the heat began to pool, their world tilted over. The door their only support was suddenly taken away.
They both fell unceremoniously onto the floor.
Greg landed on top of Mycroft. Instantly, a white, hot bolt of pain shot from his shoulder down through his groin and to the base of his spine. Greg grit his teeth and groaned out.
“Gregory,” Mycroft cried out as he reached up for him.
Greg breathed out and long slow breath.
“I’m fine,” Greg huffed out before he was sure.
The pain passed quickly, but the surprise of it. And his willingness to move both of his arms took just a moment longer.
Greg finally did get up on his knees.
A harsh tapping sound caught his attention.
An old woman was standing in front of him with a fancy, dark-stained, wooden cane in her hand. The woman had heavy jowls and a large hawkish nose. She looked down at him and said, “MYcroft HOLmes, what on EARth are you doing?”
Unlike Mycroft’s clean, crisp accent this woman ran entire constantans through her sinuses breaking up words into emphasized things that were drawn out like a low tuba pushes out music. She spoke slowly placing emphasis on parts of words which seemed to get caught in her sinuses; a place where the sound began to resonate, bouncing around until finally finding its way out. It was a stopped up, obstructed sound that screamed out class, position, and utter snobbery.
Then she chirped several sounds, like an extremely small Yorkie chirping or yipping. The chirping came from her throat.
“Nanny!” Mycroft said suddenly in a shrill, little voice that Greg had never heard before.
Greg struggled up to his feet. He held a hand out to Mycroft and helped him up.
Mycroft nervously turned to the elderly woman and said, “Coming home from an outing with my friend, Nanny. We picked up dinner.”
“NONsense,” the woman emphasized. Slowly, she said, “I made dinner, BOY.”
“Yes,” Mycroft replied. “It sounds lovely.”
Greg stepped out and found their dinner on the floor, in the hallway. He picked it up and walked back inside.
“Good evening, madam,” Greg said trying to be pleasant.
“Nanny, this is my friend Gregory Lestrade.”
“What?” the woman said dumbly. There was a hump on her back where age had bent her. Still, she raised her head as high as she could to get a better look at Mycroft.
“Friend, you say,” she drawled out slowly. She yipped again like a Yorkie.
“Yes,” Mycroft said easily. “I’m allowed to make friends. We went to a tea shop for a lecture. I think you will appreciate the teas that I bought.”
She lowered her head back down and promptly announced, “I have made steak and kidney PIE.”
She turned away slowly towards the kitchen.
“I bought a salad, Nanny.”
She stopped and slowly turned to face Mycroft. “Don’t be REDICulous. That is no dinner for a grown man.”
The elderly woman walked into the kitchen.
“Smells good,” Greg said to Mycroft.
“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Mycroft stated. “Not around her.”
“I’d think it was weird if you could. Nanny, huh?”
Mycroft leaned in a little saying, “Ninety-two and doesn’t understand that she’s supposed to be retired. We are not children anymore.”
Mycroft saw the elderly Nanny walk towards the oven with an oven mitt in hand and Mycroft rushed forwards.
“I shall help!” Mycroft cried out as he dove into the kitchen.
Nanny allowed the oven mitt to be taken from her as if it was a regular occurrence.
Nanny stood in the kitchen leaning on her cane as she enunciated, “You have no DINing table, Mycroft.”
Mycroft paused with the steak and kidney pie in hand as he said, “I don’t entertain much, Nanny.”
“SHAMEful. I SHALL speak with your PArents.”
Mycroft set the pie on the stove top saying, “Nanny, I assure you that I am perfectly fine. I’m hardly home. I’m usually here only to shower and sleep.”
She walked passed by him stooped over and slow; but still with her hawkish nose high in the air.
Greg smiled brightly.
When Mycroft came close enough Greg said, “This woman answers so many questions that I had.”
Mycroft in turn hissed, “Get our food.”
Nanny sat on the couch. She carefully and slowly looked around before eloquently enunciating the words, “UTTerly SHAMEful.”
Greg smiled at Mycroft and said, “Maybe the next time we see each other I’ll run you by a furniture store.”
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to respond, “You are not helping and not as comical as you might imagine.” Then he smiled artificially and asked, “Steak and Kidney pie?”
“I love steak and kidney pie.”
Greg served himself a plate of food.
Mycroft gave him a bowl of soup and said, “Please, give it to Nanny.”
Greg delivered the food to the coffee table.
He turned to the elderly woman and said, “Mycroft’s brewing a pot of tea. He should only be a minute.”
He placed the bowl in front of Nanny, saying, “The steak and kidney pie smells quite good.”
She looked right at him and asked, “What KIND of lecture?”
“I was about the history and evolution of tea; black tea mostly. There was an interesting slide show where they showed how it’s picked and processed. I didn’t know that there was such a thing as tea oil.”
“Camellia sinensis,” the lady responded haughtily.
“Yes. The leaf oil is supposed to be medicinal, but the Chinese use the seed oil for cooking. I didn’t even know that tea seed oil existed. And they use it on their noodles and salads.”
Mycroft arrived with a TV tray. He opened it and placed it in front of Nanny.
“You do have a dining table,” Greg said with a smile.
Mycroft gave him a dirty look as he reached for Nanny’s bowl of soup. “This should make eating soup easier, Nanny.”
Again, Nanny simply said, “UTTerly SHAMEful.”
“Offer stands,” picking up his plate of food. “I can take you to the shops. They deliver and set the furniture up for you.”
He breathed in and released it. Then, he bent over to come eye-to-eye with Nanny asking, “If I buy a dining table, will it satisfy you?”
The woman easily responded, “For the MOment.”
Mycroft stood to his full height. “Very well then.”
They ate quietly.
Greg excused himself after dinner. Mycroft walked him out. Greg managed to pull him into a short kiss. Then, it was over.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
That same night Greg arrived home.
He was still a bit upset that he hadn’t been able to stay with Mycroft. He was still dwelling on it as he walked through his apartment when his foot hit something hollow that went skittering across the floor.
He looked down and noticed that he’d accidently kicked one of his pill bottles. Greg walked over and picked up the empty bottle of antibiotics that he’d been prescribed for his shoulder. He looked around a little confused. He’d left the pill bottles together next to the mail, on the counter. He walked over and realized that the painkillers were gone.
Even though he knew that he hadn’t dropped anything earlier, he checked the floor.
His painkillers were missing.
Greg immediately checked every window in his apartment. They were all shut tight, even the small one in the bathroom.
Greg moved with purpose towards the front door. He checked the door carefully.
When he got down to eye level with the doorknob, he saw small scratch marks on the lock face that hadn’t been there before.
Greg stood as he reached for the phone in his pocket. He quickly dialed Mycroft.
“Yes, Gregory.”
Greg closed the front door as he said, “I just noticed that someone picked the lock of my front door. So far, the only thing taken were my pain killers. I was wondering if your brother-
“Yes,” Mycroft replied. “He’s known how to pick a lock since he was a toddler. The mechanism fascinated him. He dedicated himself to them wholly until he figured them all out. Padlocks and safes as well.”
Greg bit his lip. “Guess he did this just to be an arse, but he saw the pills.”
“As I said, he can be challenging. There are times when he breaks into my apartment, just to move my furniture a half inch off center so that nothing is at right angles to the walls. He’ll even walk into the pantry and turns all of my food tins upside down.”
Greg couldn’t help smiling. “That’s sounds horrid.”
“I know that you’re humoring me, but it irks me.”
“And, I’m sure that’s why he does it, to get your attention. If you want it to stop; don’t fix it next time. If it doesn’t seem to bother you, it won’t be worth the effort.”
Mycroft fell silent. When he spoke it was to say, “He broke in to learn about you, your habits, your secrets.”
“Too bad for him. Don’t have any secrets. My habits aren’t that interesting. And, if he wants to learn about me all he has to do is ask.” Carefully, Greg said, “Lock your door. Don’t give him anything. Nothing has changed.”
“Yes. Good. I will.”
“Don’t forget to tell Nanny about him.”
A muffled and a bit lower, Mycroft said, “She doesn’t know. I haven’t told my parents either.”
“You need to tell them, Mycroft. Sherlock is going to need money…soon. Think of every pound in his hand as a clump of brain cells lost and an extra week of recovery time.”
Chapter 6: The State of Nanny
Chapter Text
The week of rest and recovery was up soon enough. Greg made sure to get his head on straight and was ready to get back too it.
The moment he entered the Yard, he realized something wasn’t right. There are a lot of conversations around him that ended quickly. People were giving him odd looks. Several people walked out of his path or simply walked away when he went to the kitchenette to get a cup.
When he walked into briefing something was still off. Nothing in particular. It simply felt as if everyone knew something that he didn’t.
Greg also found it odd that he wasn’t given an assignment when the roster was called out. Instead, the Captain said, “Lestrade, my office afterward?”
Greg simply nodded.
Greg left the briefing room and waited outside the Captain’s office. It took about fifteen minutes, the Captain had to finish answering questions and handling the thousand little things that only he could do for their shift. He arrived finally, and Greg stood up straight from where he’d been leaning on the wall.
The Captain didn’t hesitate to ask him to wait.
Greg agreed and went back to leaning on the wall.
It was five minutes later that he saw the Department Superintendent walking down the hall. That was when a tight ball gathered in Greg’s stomach.
“Morning, sir,” Greg said when the man passed him and walked into the Captain’s office.
The man said a polite, ‘Morning’ and continued walking.
Under his breath, Greg said, “Explains why I’m not getting an assignment.”
A moment later, Greg began playing with his P.C. hat.
After two minutes of talking, the Captain called, “Lestrade, do come!”
Greg straightened out and made an effort to not play with his hat. He walked in and stood at attention.
“I read your report, Lestrade. You do realize that by signing it, you made it an official document?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there anything in this incident report that you want to change?”
“No, sir.”
“The victim and witness statements don’t match up with your report. Do you want to change your report?”
“No, sir.”
“We caught the perpetrator. His confession doesn’t match up with your report either. Do you want to change your report?”
“No, sir.”
“Both the victim, witnesses, and the perpetrator’s statements’ match closer to each other, than what you wrote. Are you sure that you don’t want to change your report?”
“No, sir.”
“Last question, Lestrade. You’re partner, P.C. Waters has been chinwagging to anyone who’ll listen that you are pink ink.”
Greg looked at the man seriously. After a moment, he realized that he’d spoken to Mycroft right in front of Waters. Perhaps he’d said something obvious.
The Captain didn’t hesitate to add, “Are you an anal astronaut, snowflake queen, a ginger beer, switch hitter, swallower, or an arse bandit?”
Greg smirked a little. It was mostly anger. He didn’t hesitate to reply, “None of your God damned business, sir.”
Completely unphased the man then asked, “Do you care to change your report, Lestrade?”
“No, sir,” Greg said just as calm as before.
The Captain turned to the Department Superintendent and said, “I told you.”
The Department Superintendent stood from where he’d been sitting and said, “P.C. Lestrade you are being nominated to a special task force that is being put together to combat violent crimes in the gay community. It’s come down the line from the highest levels. We’ve been getting a bit of bad press. It has to stop.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to respond. “So you’re putting together a snowflake squad? And I’m supposed to be your poster boy? Sir, I take my job seriously. I do it and I think that I do it well.”
“And I came up working with P.C. Waters, son. I already know that your report is total horse shite. That blighter stood by as four ruffians kicked my arse in sideways. I already know that’s what happened to you.”
“Respectfully, sir. I’m not taking another officers job.”
“And that is what I did too.” Again, the Superintendent said, “I’m nominating you because I need officers that will protect each other and this department. Most important, I need to know that they will actually do the fecking job.”
The Superintendent took a big breath in and added, “Think it through before you turn it down.”
And then, the man left.
“He’s right, laddie.” The Captain leaned back in his chair. “Pink squad or naught, it’s an opportunity to do something that can make you stand out.” The Captain shrugged. “You did mention you wanted rank. You make it by excelling and making a name for yourself.”
“Not sure if department queer is the name I want, sir.”
“Then think of it as the first special task force, not the defining one. I know that I can count on you, Greg. But you still have a road ahead to travel, son.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was later that week, that Greg got a phone call that he hated from the first words that were spoken.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit the green call button. The moment he held it to his ear, he heard the distinctive tuba sound of, “GregORY, HELp me!”
This was followed by a low, vibrating rush of air and noise that could have been a hard gush.
“Nanny!” Greg called into the phone like a child. “Where are you? What happened?”
“MYcroft won’t ANswer the phone. MY Arm, GregORY. I CANn’t move my Arm HUrts. SHERlock. SHERlock.”
Greg’s stomach tightened at the mention of the name. She sounded calm, but her voice was odd. Probably in pain.
As calmly as he could, Greg said, “I’m calling an ambulance and I’ll meet you as soon as possible. Don’t worry. Keep the phone in your hand.”
“Nanny?” P.C. Waters said with a smile.
Greg hung up as he quietly, “Fuck yourself with a sandpaper dildo, Waters.”
Waters didn’t hesitate to answer, “Thought that was what you lot did.”
He walked away towards their police vehicle already reaching for his radio. He called in a physical assault on an elderly woman and gave Mycroft’s address.
His next call was to his Captain. “Sir, it’s P.C. Lestrade, I have an emergency. I just called it in over the radio. I’ve got a family member in distress. I’m headed to the hospital. No one else is available right now.”
“Call in off duty and have Waters drive back to finish his shift.”
With that order, Greg yelled at Waters, “Get in, you lazy tosser!”
He called in as instructed as he started the car. On the way he called Mycroft’s phone but got no answer. Just in case, he left a message telling him that he was handling it.
Greg drove them to the hospital. Greg put the car in park just outside the emergency. He left the car running and went inside without another thought. He didn’t look back.
At the desk, he found out that the ambulance hadn’t arrived yet.
Greg walked out of the emergency and went to stand out in the ambulance bay. Two minutes later the ambulance arrived. The moment the paramedics opened the back, Greg saw Nanny strapped down on a gurney.
“I’m here, Nanny. Don’t worry. I left a message on Mycroft’s phone so that he doesn’t worry. Mycroft has people monitoring my radio calls. He’ll already know that something’s wrong. He’ll call when he can.”
Nanny released a low, guttural moan. Greg marveled at how snobbish it sounded. Deep and full of reverberation.
The first call from Nanny had come just before 09:00 AM. Greg kept in contact with his office until he was sure that he wouldn’t be returning to duty that day. It spanned an x-ray, two nursing shifts, and one 2-minute visit with an ER doctor, before Nanny was given a room. By 5:00 PM, Mycroft still hadn’t called.
Greg left Nanny twice during their stay. First, he went out to get her a good cup of tea from the Tea Shoppe that he and Mycroft had visited on a date. He bought them both tea and a few biscuits; He chose the best one’s that he thought she’d like. And then, he ordered food and had it delivered to the Main Entrance. He met the delivery person and brought their dinner up to the room.
Greg pulled her plate out of the bag and placed it in front of her saying, “This should be better than what hospital calls food.”
She yipped like a Yorkie twice as she stuck her nose up. She surveyed and evaluated the food before she picked up a fork.
Nanny had just put a bit of food in her mouth when they heard Mycroft call, ‘Nanny’ from the doorway.
Greg turned and smiled with relief. He turned back to Nanny and said, “Eat. I’m going to make sure he knows what’s happened. Don’t want to worry him, do we?”
Nanny nodded and allowed him to go.
Greg walked to Mycroft. He put his arm around him and led him out into the hallway.
Greg quietly said, “Sherlock went to your place.”
Mycroft looked away and covered his face with his hand.
Greg had to tell him. “He asked her for money. Guess she was willing but wanted to lecture him first. So, he snatched her purse.”
“Did he harm her directly?”
“She said it was accidental. The fall. I’m having trouble believing it. She has a broken wrist and bruises from where she fell. She couldn’t get a hold of you-”
“I had to turn off my phone!” Mycroft insisted.
“Fine,” Greg said calmly. “It’s fine, honey. She called me. She couldn’t get up off the floor with one hand. I handled it. I got her tea and biscuits. I got her a nice dinner. She’s eating. The nurse wanted her to eat before giving her the pain medication. It will zonk her out.”
Mycroft slumped against the wall. He shook his head saying, “This is my fault.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes,” Mycroft said with certainty. “Nanny never stays this long. She drops by occasionally to check on me. It’s her excuse to visit her late husbands’ grave here in London. Then, she goes back home to my parents.”
Mycroft wiped his face with his hand. “She stayed because she thinks I’m being led astray by you.” Mycroft quickly added, “My behavior would seem strange. All of a sudden, I have a friend. We go out together. And, she isn’t stupid. She knows that I’m gay, just like Uncle Rudy.”
“So, I’m tempting you down the wrong road and it’s her job to set you straight…no pun intended.”
“I suppose,” Mycroft answered through a veil of exhaustion.
“Mycroft, have you told your parents about Sherlock yet?”
Mycroft went quiet. Finally, he admitted, “I don’t know how.”
“Pick up the phone,” Greg said simply.
“My brother has one sharp arrow in his quiver that he will use.”
Greg didn’t have to think long. “You haven’t told them about you, let alone us.”
“And Sherlock knows that I can’t do anything to him, without revealing all that to my parents.”
Greg shook his head. “I’ll do this any way you want. It’s your family. Think and let me know what you decide.”
Mycroft looked away. “Thank you for being understanding.”
“I need a shower and a change of clothes. I’m going home. I’ll catch you later.”
Greg walked away.
Greg only got as far as the kerb outside the hospital.
His phone rang. He knew that it was Mycroft.
He answered the phone saying, “I’m not angry or disappointed or anything else going through your head.”
Greg saw two police cars parked not far from the Emergency, and he began walking towards them.
“I’m sorry,” Mycroft said quietly.
“You don’t need to be. I know that is something you say and then can’t unsay. The one thing that I’m going to say is, being paralyzed with fear only enables your brother’s habit. You’re the smartest person I know, find a way to tell your folks while keeping your secret. I love you and don’t worry about me or us.”
“You’re sure.”
“Baby, I know that you’re worried. But don’t make our relationship one of the things that’s weighing you down. I’m going to be here for you for the rest our lives. Except for right now, cause I need a shower and a change.”
“Thank you,” Mycroft replied. “I’m fortunate that you’re patient with me. I will call you later.”
Greg found the coppers that the cars belonged too easily. He used them for a free ride back to the Yard where his personal vehicle was parked.
The next day, Greg called the hospital and had his call transferred to the fifth-floor nurses’ station. Since he didn’t know Nanny’s real name, he described her. They knew exactly who he was talking about.
Nanny wasn’t scheduled to be released till 11:00 AM.
Since it was Greg’s day off, he drove straight to the Tea Shoppe.
He ordered three large cups of good tea. He was assured that the pasties and the cookies were fresh. Greg ordered a box of beef and lamb pasties, and a second smaller one of biscuits. He got the olive shortbread and chocolate cayenne cinnamon because Nanny had liked them; and, the a few black pepper butter cookies because he and Mycroft had preferred them. As an afterthought Greg also grabbed a small box of tea bags, just in case they took longer than expected.
It was more than he was used to paying, but he paid for it happily. The way he figured, Mycroft was worth it and only the best for Nanny.
He picked up his purchases and drove straight to the hospital.
When Greg walked into Nanny’s room. He was five steps in when he noticed that Mycroft and Nanny weren’t alone. Two people, a man and a woman were sitting by Nanny’s bed. Instantly, Greg realized that Mycroft’s parents had arrived.
“Hello and good morning,” Greg said continuing to the rolling hospital tray.
“Is that MY tea?” Nanny asked quickly.
“Course,” Greg replied. “You don’t keep beautiful women waiting.”
Greg handed her a large cup saying, “I got a few of those biscuits you liked.”
She yipped like a Yorkie with a little smile on her face.
It made Greg smile.
“Gregory,” Mycroft said crisply. “I’d like to introduce you, Violet and Siger Holmes, my parents.”
“It’s very nice to meet you both. I’m sure you need a cup of tea.” Greg pulled out Mycroft’s cup and handed it to him.
“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Lestrade,” Mrs. Holmes began. “Our son tells us that we owe you much thanks.”
“Mr. Lestrade is my father, mum. You can call me Greg. And, you don’t owe me anything.” Greg picked up a paper cup that was sitting on the rolling tray. He poured the tea out equally for Mycroft's parents.
“Still,” Mr. Holmes said, “Thank you. We were already nervous about Nanny traveling so far on her own, but she insisted.” Siger Holmes wilted a little. The guilt was clear. “We had this trip to London already planned…so we could bring her back, you see.”
Greg walked the two cups over to them saying, “There isn’t anything to worry about. The doctor said so. Clean break. Have something to eat. Like my ma used to say, ‘if you’re cold, tea will warm you; if you’re too heated, it will cool you-
“if you’re excited; it will calm you,” Mr. Holmes finished with a nod.
“Yes,” Greg said a little shocked.
Mr. Holmes nodded saying, “William Ewart Gladstone. I believe that was 1864-
“1865, dear,” Mrs. Holmes corrected.
“Ah, yes.” Mr. Holmes crossed his legs as he explained, “William Ewart Gladstone was a liberal politician and a stateman. He served as prime minister for four terms.”
Greg was a little amazed. “Didn’t know ma had nicked it. I just thought it was a wonderful thing that only she said.” In the next second, he dismissed it.
Mycroft quickly said, “Gregory, I’m glad that you’re here. I think that I’m going to take your advice on what’s happened. Your expertise is still needed.”
Mycroft turned to his parents and said, “Please try to remain calm. Gregory and I are already trying to handle this situation.”
“What situation?” Violet asked. She finally tried the tea. “Oh, my. That is nice.”
Mycroft thought before he said, “Approximately two months and two weeks ago, I received a bit of hearsay that Sherlock might be experimenting with drugs.”
Both Siger and Violet made sounds of disbelief.
“My bright, little boy?” Violet asked as if Mycroft had lost the plot. “No. You heard wrong.”
“My thoughts exactly, mother. I know the kind of mind that he has. He should know better. I began to look for him and found him absent.”
Mycroft waited.
Violet didn’t hesitate to say, “You know that he gets bored.”
Siger leaned in and said, “You know how he likes to disappear. Experimentation of the scientific kind.”
When they were done, Mycroft said, “Sherlock dropped out of university. He cashed out the money that he could and vanished.”
His parents were speechless.
Mycroft continued. “My investigation led to a dirty, rundown tenement where my people found him living like a vagrant. I had him brought in. That was when I called on Gregory.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to say, “We’ve done two things. First, I showed Sherlock that I can get access to old crime scene cases through The Yard for him only if he’s clean. I told him that he has to take a urine test and pass it. If he fails, he gets nothing for a month. Second, I told Mycroft to cut him off. No money, access, shelter, food, or attention.”
“No,” Violet said quickly.
“Mummy-
“No!” Violet insisted much louder. “My son does not take drugs!” She calmed herself considerably to add. “You are mistaken.”
“Mrs. Holmes, I’m a police officer-
“I don’t care if you’re the bleeding Queen of England. You don’t know my son.”
Just as quickly, Greg shot back. “I know junkies!”
She went to open her mouth, but Greg cut her off saying, “Junkies will hit an old woman over the head for a quid.” A little slower, he asked, “Where are we right now?”
Violet’s face fell. Her lips quivered.
Greg didn’t hesitate to say, “You need to face the fact that your son needs help, or this is going to get bad. Worse, it’ll get bad and stay bad for a long time. Wishes and hopes won’t cure him. He needs to reach a point where he realizes that it’s just not worth it. That isn’t going to happen with Mummy and Daddy bankrolling his drug habit.”
“Mycroft,” Violet said sternly. “I do not want this person talking to me like this!”
That was when a low sound rose up like an orchestra. A long, drawn VIO which ended with a higher, more normal human sound of, ‘let.’
Everyone turned towards the old woman in the bed.
Nanny sniffed and said, “I LIED for SHERlock’s sake. He PUSHED me and STOLE the HOUSEhold funds, which MYcroft gave to me.”
She smacked lips a few times and then drank from her tea.
Violet could only cover her mouth.
Siger tuned to Mycroft and said, “He’s…why would...”
“He’s bored, father. Mummy, you know that boredom. Sherlock will do anything to end it. It drives him close to madness if he can’t entertain himself with something.”
In a weak gasp, Violet said, “And these drugs slow his mind down.”
“Yes. I hate this as much as you both. The only bright spot is that we’ve caught this quite early. The quicker we can adapt to not catering to his habits, the faster he can start to recover.”
“What do we do?” Siger asked.
“Nothing,” Greg responded. “It’s the hardest thing for a parent. Don’t talk to him. Don’t give him money. Don’t listen to the manipulation, threats, and the begging. He will come to you with anything that he thinks might work. He’s going to go after your weaknesses. He will steal what he can.”
Mycroft added, “He already broke into Gregory’s apartment.”
“He only took a bottle of pain killers that were sitting on the counter. That’s a good lesson for everyone present; lock up your medications and any valuables.” Greg thought hard about his place. “A junkie needs quick dosh or access. I don’t keep money. Even if he stole my credentials, he can’t do much with them.”
The moment he said the words the thought struck him. Greg turned to Mycroft and said, “Mycroft if Sherlock stole your-
The words weren’t even out of Greg’s mouth, when Mycroft got up, reaching into his pocket for his phone. Mycroft hit a preprogramed button and started walking out.
“Yeah,” Greg said, “access to anything chemical or monetary.”
Greg turned to Nanny who was still sipping quietly on her tea. He asked, “Are you rich? Would Sherlock know where your millions are tucked away?”
Nanny looked up from her cup and laughed a little which was followed by a few high-pitched yips.
“Gregory,” Mrs. Holmes said leaned forwards a little. “She was my nanny. I never wanted her to leave me. We’ve given Nanny our word. She will live with us till end of her life, and then we will make sure that she’s buried next to her husband.”
“So, no millions,” Greg confirmed. “Then, he really did just want the pocket money that Mycroft gave her.”
Siger easily said, “We always give Nanny money. She likes to do the shopping. It gets her out of the house.”
Greg easily said, “Isn’t it funny how children always know their parents’ habits and capitalize on them. If you were home right now, would you come all the way to London just because Nanny was hurt? Even if, Mycroft told you that everything was fine?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Violet insisted. “She’s been a part of my life since I was a child. She raised me after my parent’s died. She helped me raise my children.”
Siger smiled a little and added, “Violet wouldn’t have given me a chance if Nanny hadn’t stepped in.”
“So,” Greg replied. “Sherlock knows that with Nanny in the hospital your home is wide open. Easy pickings.”
The Holmes’ went quiet.
“Do you have money or jewelry? Anything that Sherlock knows is worth something? Something that he can sell quickly for quick cash?”
“He wouldn’t,” Mrs. Holmes demanded.
“Right now, that’s not your wonderful, genius son, who makes you proud every time he opens his mouth.”
Violet gave a nervous little laugh, “You clearly haven’t spent time with Sherlock.”
“No,” Greg admitted. “I haven’t. But, I have spent time with junkies that would kill their own kin for just one more hit. The absolute desperation makes them dangerous and unpredictable.”
Mycroft re-entered the room. He returned to his seat as he said, “I have made sure that he can’t access anything of mine. I also have additional security on my apartment.” He turned to his parents and said, “I have men going to your home as well. There will be surveillance cameras placed. I have given the safe’s combination to them so that they can secure its contents. Don’t worry Mummy, I told them where your everyday jewelry resides.”
“Medications?” Greg asked.
“Yes.”
“Alright, the defenses are up. We wait and see where the weaknesses are and then plug them up too.” Greg fell into thought. “I’ve had to do this before, Mycroft. One of my uncles. At the time no one really knew how dangerously addictive his pain meds were. All we could do was watch as he self-medicated with one thing or another. We knew the cause.”
Mycroft’s face fell. Then, he smiled.
That smile made Greg’s stomach tighten up into a knot.
“Please don’t ask,” Mycroft said in a bit of a lower tone. Then, a little louder, more cheerful, he said, “We will help Sherlock back to health. He will be himself again.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to say, “Why does that sound like a good dose of self-delusion? Junkies are junkies for a reason. If you don’t understand why, there is no recovery. They have to deal with why they became a junkie in the first place.”
“Leave it alone, Gregory.”
“Mycroft the people here are his support-
“Gregory this isn’t something that we need to discuss!”
“Denial isn’t going to help your brother. You need to be just clear about his past, present, and future; or, this is all going to fall apart.”
Angrily, Mycroft barked out, “Gregory!” Mycroft closed his eyes and breathed in and our a few times. “Stop, please.”
A little gentler, Greg said, “Two parent household, your parents are kind, they have education and money. Neither or you were deprived. Experimentation and boredom are clear reasons for his drug use. But, your reaction screams pain…what happened?”
Mycroft looked away. He was quiet and clearly uncomfortable.
Greg gently said, “You can’t expect me to help with my hands tied while Sherlock holds all the cards?”
When Mycroft didn’t speak, Greg asked, “Do you really think that will work?”
“Guilt,” Violet Holmes said with tears in her voice. “He probably thinks that his sister’s death is his fault. And, trauma from Victor’s death.”
Siger reached for his wife’s hand. The couple looked at each other without speaking; it seemed that they didn’t need to.
When Violet looked back at Greg, she had heavy tears in her eyes. “Our little girl, Eurus killed his best friend. She never told anyone what she did with the body. Sherlock forgot it all…we thought….
Greg quickly asked, “How old was he?”
“Six,” Mycroft said a little mechanically. “Eurus was five.”
Slowly, Greg breathed out, “Shite.” Greg shook his head. “I managed to forget my uncle knocking me across the room to get to a fiver in my hand. For years, I honestly didn’t know where the scar on my shoulder came from. Then, I started to remember when I was about thirteen.”
“I took steps,” Mycroft insisted. “So that he wouldn’t remember.”
Greg shook his head. “I’d wake up crying for almost a year and didn’t know why. Once I remembered that my uncle hurt me, the crying stopped.”
Mycroft inhaled as he pulled his shoulders back. “You’re insinuating that this is all my fault.”
“I’m insinuating that A, B, and C are connected. What would really happen, if you told him the truth?”
Mycroft shook his head. “Sherlock is a child in a man’s body. He can’t process it. Besides, I can’t tell him that the only friend that he’s ever made was killed!”
Greg held Mycroft’s eyes. He leaned in a little and said, “Not his only friend. We both know that’s not true.”
Mycroft looked away. He shook his head, “John’s in university. There’s a long road before-
“Why? Put them together. We help Sherlock into recovery, if John had some business at the recovery center... With a little luck they fall together as good friends. And John becomes another support. Once he’s clean enough, I can start feeding Sherlock cases to keep his mind occupied.”
Mycroft fell silent.
Greg’s mind scrambled along. “Is John on a scholarship? Maybe, he needs extra credit? What about an internship?”
Greg saw a faraway look in Mycroft’s eyes. He was amazed that he could hear the little wheels turning in Mycroft’s head.
“Gregory,” Mycroft said after a few long seconds.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think I like it when others think of something that I’ve missed.”
“Then, do better.”
Mycroft turned to look at Greg with an annoyed look on his face.
Greg smiled back happily.
Violet cleared her throat loudly.
All eyes turned to Violet Holmes. She didn’t hesitate to ask, “Would someone mind explaining what is happening?”
Mycroft easily replied, “Mummy, whatever do you-
“Save it,” she snapped. “You don’t have friends; my brother made sure to counsel you on that point. Who is this man really? Why is he involved in our family matters?”
Before Mycroft could answer, Nanny echoed, “REally, VIOlet. You ARen’t, stuPID, girl.”
Mycroft had a moment of hesitation, but then he held his head up and said, “Mummy, this is a difficult time for all of us. I don’t want to add to it, but you should probably know that Gregory and I-
“Ah,” Violet said letting go her husband’s hand and grabbing her head between her hands. “I can’t. I can’t do this, right now. First, Rudy and now you.”
Siger’s shoulder’s slumped down visibly. Glumly, he said, “The entire way here we were discussing the possibility that you might have met someone. Your mother sensed it in your last conversation.” Siger leaned forwards and emphasized, “A nice girl. Grandchildren, Mycroft. You’re at the age.”
“Age for what?” Mycroft asked dumbfounded.
“Stupid, boy! Marriage,” Violet harshly spat out. “I want a grandbaby! Eurus is dead! And your brother is…failing.” She began to cry a little as she sputtered, “You’re our only hope.”
Violet stopped talking. Her face tightened. She fought against the tight gasps and tears that threatened to bubble up.
Mycroft slowly said, “No, I don’t think-
Violet sobered quickly and said, “Then, I don’t approve and refuse to give my blessing!”
Greg felt intensely guilty at that moment. He quietly said, “I’m going to go.”
Greg took two steps towards the door. He stopped and turned. “I am going to do what I can for Sherlock. Anything that I can do to help.”
“A grandbaby,” Violet insisted like a petulant child. “I want to die surrounded by fat grandchildren. Looking at their beautiful faces.”
“Not dramatic at all,” Mycroft said dryly.
Greg ignored Mycroft and asked, “Do these grandchildren have to come from a woman that’s married into your family?”
Violet looked at up at Greg and asked, “And where else would they come from?”
Greg turned to Mycroft and said, “I’ve never bothered to ask, do you have money? Are you rich?”
Mycroft shrugged a little. “I have a comfortable salary.”
Greg began backing out of the room as he said, “We may have to move in together.”
Greg walked out of the room as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“I refuse,” Violet said. “I won’t give my approval. And, you may not come to any family gatherings. Christmas is canceled!”
She folded her arms in front of her and crossed her legs. She shook her head slowly from side-to-side.
“Do stop the act,” Mycroft insisted. “You did this same…thing when we tried to change the color in the foyer. I remember you crying then too. Shaking your head.” In a high-pitched voice, Mycroft said, “I shall shimmy in through the study window rather than walk in through that monstrosity of a room!”
“My dearly departed mother chose that mint color!”
“It faded and chipped, woman,” Mycroft shot back. “Is it ever a wonder where Sherlock gets his melodrama from?”
She pointed her finger at him insisting, “You will behave, young man! Or, I shall take you over my knee!”
“I’m a grown man,” he said suddenly annoyed. “Don’t wiggle your finger at me.”
Violet stood slowly like something evil as her eyes bore deeply into Mycroft. He wilted visibly.
She opened her mouth and inhaled.
Greg walked in saying, “Okay, I-
Greg saw the scene in front of him and went quiet.
Violet closed her mouth and looked at Greg angrily.
For a moment, Greg wasn’t sure what do. Finally, he decided to share the news. “I called my cousin, Amy. Don’t know if I’ve mentioned her, she’s at uni.”
“No,” Mycroft said quickly. “You haven’t. Tell us more.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to say, “She wants to be a doctor. She works two jobs and goes to school full time. I help her out when I can, but you know I don’t make much.”
Mycroft nodded encouragingly, but there was an odd, tight look on his face.
“I asked her to meet with us tomorrow. Maybe we can ask her to be a surrogate. It would keep everything in the family.” Greg shrugged. “Maybe closer than I want to admit. We’ve always liked to joke that we’re brother and sister; truth is…maybe.”
Mycroft stood up. He looked into Greg’s eyes. And, then Mycroft shook his head. “No. This is simply Mummy’s hysterics. She does this regularly. We simply don’t pay her any mind.”
“Mycroft!” Violet barked.
Mycroft jumped a little but refused to look at her.
“All Amy wants is to become a doctor. That’s why I suggested moving in together. It’ll save me paying rent, and I’ll give her most of my pay. If she quits working, it’ll make school easier.”
“Gregory think about what you’re saying. At best, we get three hours together every week…and I love you! A child is a ridiculously awful idea!”
“Horrible,” Greg said agreeing.
“Gregory, I don’t…parent.”
“Really?” Greg said confused. “That’s all you seem to do with Sherlock.”
Mycroft shook his head, “That just…
Mycroft shook his head some more. After a while, he stopped.
Greg said, “I’m terrified at the idea too. Fuck’s sake, we haven’t even had sex yet.”
“Really?” Violet said happily.
Mycroft turned to her and sternly said, “That’s not something to cheer over!”
Violet smiled saying, “Agree to disagree, Mycie.”
“How about,” Greg said slowly. “Tomorrow we meet with Amy. I’ve got seven hundred quid that I’ve been saving up to give her anyway. We all have lunch. We talk it through. If she agrees-
“To what exactly,” Mummy asked. “I’m not following the intentions of this conversation.
Siger smiled a little and agreed, “I don’t understand either, gentlemen.”
Mycroft held his hands behind his back as he said, “A surrogate agreement. She would agree to have my biological child and then give up her parental rights. We would sign a contract and we would agree to pay her a sum of money. We’d pay for her medical costs associated. At the end…Gregory and I would be…parents.”
Violet looked spooked for a moment. She looked at the two men and quickly said, “Two grandbabies. A boy and a girl. Your father and I would be more than happy to help with costs.”
Mycroft smiled coldly. “How generous. Unfortunately, I’m not ready for this. I spend too much time at work. I’m never home.”
“And probably never will be,” Greg stated. “Of the two of us, I’m probably the more…domestic. Least I know how to cook for myself, Mr. Takeaway.”
“Children touch things. They are…sickly all the time!”
Greg nodded. “We’d need a nanny.”
Mycroft easily said, “They are vile, needy, dirty things!”
Greg smiled. “Sound a lot like sex.”
Mycroft almost smiled. He managed to hold his face in a serious and stern expression. “This ’endeavor’ is foolish. Everyone in this room understands that on some level. I am simply far too busy to become a parent.”
“Or a husband?” Greg asked.
The mask that Mycroft wore slipped. “I think that I can make just enough time for ‘us.’ A child, children, they…where would I find enough time for so much.”
“Mummy,” Greg said looking to the woman with big, hope filled eyes.
She turned to Greg. There was already a smile on her face.
Greg didn’t hesitate to ask, “Do all the words that keep coming out of his mouth sound like fear and excuses to you?”
Greg turned to Mycroft and said, “I’m scared too.”
“I can’t keep a plant alive, Gregory!”
A bit ashamed, Greg admitted, “I’ve buried a lot of pets in my life. Trust me, I’m not hopeful either.”
“We’ll be rubbish parents,” Mycroft said already ashamed. He carefully said, “I think I’m too selfish to be a good father.”
“You'll be great; same as with your brother? That’s all you need to do.”
“Enabling him, repeatedly digging him out of trouble that he causes on purpose, and bearing the brunt of his sharp-tongued abuse.”
“I was going to say, being loving, supportive, and always watching out for him.”
Mycroft fell silent.
“Tomorrow,” Greg said. “Lunch. Nothing’s going to happen that quick. We meet with her and see where it goes.”
Chapter 7: Dopehead, Doper, Fiend, Hophead, Junkie, Zombie….
Chapter Text
It was late when Greg walked in through his front door.
He smiled as he closed the door behind him. He turned the lights on, turned, and came to a halt.
The smile melted off his face.
Sherlock Holmes was sitting sloppily on his sofa. His eyes were wet and bleary. His face was a little gray. He still carried the stink of a wild animal and the dirty clothes of someone who was accustomed to not caring. There were a few cans of soda and beer on the table. What little candy he kept in the kitchen had been eaten, as evidenced by the crumpled wrappers.
“This is breaking and entering.”
Slowly, Sherlock said, “Don’t be boring.”
“I don’t have any medications. I don’t have cash on me or in my place.”
“Obvious,” Sherlock said with absolute certainty.
Then Greg realized, “I put the files back. You haven’t passed a drug test. No clean urine, no files.”
Sherlock wiped his face with his dirty hands. His finger nails were too long and jagged. They were blackened with grim, and a bit discolored. “You are so predictable. Why does is my brother wasting his time? Is he that pathetic?”
Greg stepped closer to the younger man and easily said, “If you talk about him like that, I’m going to hurt you. I’m not saying that I’m going to cut you; but skinny as you are, shouldn’t be too hard to break those hollow, little bird-bones of yours.”
Sherlock perked up, “Did you…meet with my parents?”
“And we got their blessing.” Greg walked to the kitchen and got the wastebasket. He came back with it as he said, “Incidentally, don’t come back here. My cousin is going to be moving in and I don’t want you bringing your problems here. I’m moving in with Mycroft. Call my phone. Shouldn’t be too hard to get that number for a genius.”
“Already have it,” Sherlock replied smugly.
Greg smiled a little. Stress mostly. He thought about the phone number as he cleaned up the sticky wrappers and empty cans. “I keep the current months bills by the phone. Guess you peeked and memorized, huh? Don’t come to our apartment; you’re not meant to be embarrassing your brother. You need to trust me, you’re nothing but embarrassment right now.”
Greg walked the wastebasket to the kitchen and washed his hands.
Greg returned to the living room.
Greg walked around and sat on the sofa saying, “If you get lice on my sofa, I won’t hesitate to shave your bleeding head. You should know that you really stink.”
Sherlock looked at him slightly unfocussed. His skin was grey. More than the last time.
“You going up, or coming down?”
“Down,” Sherlock said slowly. His head fell back against the cushions as he exhaled, “I hate it.”
“Not supposed to be fun. That’s what addiction is. You only get to disappear and forget for a little while, then there’s nothing but reality and pain waiting for you.”
“I’m going to take a shower,” Sherlock declared staring at the ceiling.
Greg waited a few moments. When nothing happened, he said, “How it works is, you go to the water. It won’t come to you.”
Sherlock huffed out something similar to a laugh, but not quite.
After a few moments, Greg said, “Imagine that you’re at the bottom of a deep and very dark well that you can’t get out of.”
“Don’t have to imagine,” Sherlock said listlessly.
“From down in that well you can’t see what’s at the top waiting for you. You dream of adventure. Challenge. People and situations that provide that mind of yours with everything it craves.”
Sherlock’s eyes turned slowly towards Greg as he spoke.
“You want opponents that are worthy of you. Doesn’t matter if they’re real, imagined, people, or things. Doesn’t matter as long as you’re distracted from all the stupid people, right? Am I close?”
Sherlock lifted his head a little.
“Problem is that you’re a spoiled brat. You’re used to your brother just giving in. I’m not lettering him do that, Sherlock. You’re going to work for privileges. You’re going to prove to me that you’re clean and staying clean. That you’re an adult; handling responsibilities, relationships, and doing what you need to do.”
Sherlock easily replied, “I can easily solve puzzles when I’m high.”
Greg thought before he said, “If I can get a Ferrari, why would I settle for a three-wheeled Reliant?”
Sherlock quickly insisted, “I can see things-
“Ferrari! I want a God damn Ferrari! A shiny one! With an engine that says power, precision, and speed.” Greg shook his head adding, “Right now you can't turn worth a shit without rolling. 40 bleeding horsepower, called ‘em Plastic Pigs for a reason, mate. I’m not setting for that. Who would?”
Slowly, Sherlock replied, “Car analogies. Tiresome.”
Greg leaned towards Sherlock and said, “Go wash your arse. You stink like something crawled up there and died. Wash your disgusting hair. Don’t steal anything just to be an arsehole. I will pat you down before you leave. However, at the moment I r-e-a-l-l-y don’t want to touch you.”
Greg pointed towards the bathroom saying, “Everything that you need is in there.”
Sherlock slowly got up and started moving towards the bathroom.
“While you’re in there realize that everything at your parent’s place was secured. They now have security, anything of value was removed. I warned them that any help they give you, even the smallest crumb, retards your recovery by months. And, every moment that you’re desperately getting high, you’re risking death.”
Sherlock stopped at the bathroom door. He put his filthy looking head against the white paint.
“Now comes the part where you realize that you have to beat up old women for each quid and each dose.”
Sherlock turned and snarled, “I didn’t mean to hurt her! It was an accident!”
“Doesn’t matter,” Greg said calmly. “You’re still going to hurt people. You have no choice. Become a petty criminal or get clean.” Greg growled out, “Fight. Hard. Every day.”
Greg sat back and easily asked, “So are you lazy too? Probably. Little brothers always follow their brothers. Want to be just like them. So, I guess this whole endeavor depends mostly on you wanting to be able to use your mind again.”
“If you gave me a case!”
Greg laughed. “For what? Your brains are a right mess. Junkies are unreliable. You’ll forget, disappear, or fall down dead in the middle of the case.”
Greg shook his head. “Too bad. There was a serial killer fifteen years ago. He liked to cut his victim’s hair as souvenirs.”
Sherlock perked up. “The Mayfair Barber!”
Greg nodded. “I got a copy of the case. The Chief Superintendent himself put in a call for me so I could get a copy cause I took a task force job for him. So, right now I’m going back in time looking through all the gay bashing and deaths looking for commonalities. Things that might have been missed, cause no one was looking. I’m pretty sure I’ve got something there too. A serial that no one knows about.”
Seeing the younger man’s sudden interest, Greg added, “This one likes to kill his victims and poses them, splayed out, arms extended sideways. I’ve got three crime scene pictures. Putting the pictures side-by-side it looks like they’re all holding hands.”
Greg smiled a little. “Too bad you’re not available. I wouldn’t mind consulting with you on puzzles. Most serial killers are really smart-
“No, they aren’t! They think they are! But they always make mistakes, if you know what you’re looking at!”
Greg smiled. “Careful, that fire might actually get you sober.” Greg watched him carefully. “I know that you want to disappear. How bad do you want challenges? Puzzles. Mysteries. The cases that only Sherlock Holmes can solve.”
“Or,” Greg said sweeping his hand towards Sherlock. “You can be the smelliest thing on the street that no one wants to look at cause you’re too fucking pathetic to contemplate. In that version of Sherlock Holmes, you’re going to wake up in thirty or forty years and wonder what happened. Don’t, because we’re answering that question right now.”
Sherlock started to cry. His shoulders slumped, and he slid down the bathroom door till his bum was on the wooden floor.
“I tried,” Sherlock said. “When I came here the last time, I wanted to show you up.” Sherlock held his head. “I couldn’t see the answers.”
“How long have you been getting high?”
“What month is this?”
“It’s September 1st, Sherlock. That’s why there’s a bit of nip in the air.”
“Not counting today, three months. At first, I was injecting cocaine. A 7% solution was nice at first, but my tolerance grew. I used my chemistry skills to create something more potent. I’ve been using it ever since."
“Three months is less than what I thought. Are you willing to go to recovery?”
Sherlock stared off. There was no real response in either direction.
“Maybe,” Greg said carefully. “Maybe. I might be able to trade one page of the Mayfair Barber case in exchange for entry into recovery and an additional page each month after.”
Sherlock blinked a few times. His eyes were still glassy, but interested. He took a while to process the information. After some time, he said, “Five pages up front and one page a day.”
Greg spoke slowly so that the younger man could follow. “One-page up front, and then one page a week. Reports, or pictures.”
Sherlock thought for almost a full minute. “All pictures up front. One page of report upfront. One additional page every week.”
Greg shook his head. “One page and a picture upfront just for going. Then, one picture and one report page per week for staying.”
Sherlock opened his mouth, but Greg cut him off saying, “That’s more than I planned, mate. Cut your losses while you're ahead.”
Sherlock was silent.
Greg was amazed at how similar he was to his elder brother. He could see that mind working. Like a computer. All powerful and far too fast for mere mortals to comprehend.
“I’ll even throw in a bonus. Every time you take piss test and pass, I’ll add a report page.”
Sherlock didn’t think long before he said, “Tell Mycroft I need my clothes, hair products. I want Italian leather shoes. Mine were…stolen at some point.”
Greg looked down and saw the dingy pair of no label sneakers on the man’s feet. One of the soles look like it had come unglued. There were holes in both shoes.
Sherlock struggled to his feet. It was a gargantuan effort. He almost fell over several times.
Greg made no move to get up and help.
He watched Sherlock cloak himself in his own self-important dignity, like a cat. As he turned towards the bathroom, he said, “I’ll need something soon. I need a distraction or I’m going to go out and buy a grams’ worth of distraction.”
Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom.
Greg reached into his pocket and dialed Mycroft’s number.
“Yes, love.”
“I think that I just got your brother to agree to go to rehab. Please don’t get your hopes up. Usually takes a few times. He’s requested clean clothes, hygiene, and leather shoes…Italian.”
“Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft responded. “I shall try not to smile regarding this recent turn of events. Is there anything else?”
“We’ve agreed on a price based on access to cases. Do you still have the Mayfair Barber case?”
“I have it here in my office.”
“Good. Bring over one of the pictures and one page from the report copy. I labeled the copies meant for Sherlock. It’s what he gets for agreeing to go.”
“Where is he right now?”
“Shower.”
“I’ll have a car there in ten minutes.”
“Love, you may want to find that friend of his.”
“Already in the works. I’ll see you soon.”
“Can’t wait. I’m gonna annoy you when I move my stuff in.”
Greg heard the smile in his voice as the other man said, “I’m looking forwards too it. Must go now.”
Greg heard the call end. He put the phone away while his own smile played on his lips.
Greg made himself busy. By the time Sherlock came out of the bathroom dressed in Greg’s robe, Greg was able to drop his slippers in front of Sherlock's long, bony feet. There was a hot cup of tea sitting on the coffee table, a bowl of sugar, and a few biscuits. Because junkies always loved sugar when they were coming down.
“Put something in your stomach, yeah?”
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to reach for the sugar and start spooning it into his tea.
“As promised, I called your brother. He’s sending what you need. One picture, one page.”
“Mayfair Barber?”
“Yes. If you’re still there next week, I’ll bring you the next page and picture myself. On the off chance that you figure the case out, I’ll have the second case ready to go.”
Sherlock snorted in frustration, but he did pick up the cup of tea.
“Didn’t add any milk in case it aggravates your stomach.”
Sherlock swallowed a bit of tea. “I made sure that my current mix didn’t give me diarrhea. I left a trail behind me the last time. Hard to replace clothes in a flop house. Most of those people have fungal and skin infections.”
“Don’t forget MRSA, crabs, lice, scabies, hepatitis, HIV, AIDS! The free prizes at the end of a hot needle!”
Sherlock scratched at his neck and reached for a biscuit to dunk in his tea.
Greg didn’t hesitate to say, “If you’re there in a month I’ll bring you a congratulatory list of suspects.”
“Autopsy,” Sherlock said with a full mouth. “I’d rather have a competent autopsy report.”
“We shall see…if you’re there in a month.”
Sherlock drank from his cup as he stared back at Greg with a predatory gaze. “Tell me about this task force.”
“Gladly. Once you’re well on the road to recovery, tell you anything you want. Right now, information is wasted on your idiot brain.”
The tea cup went down. Sherlock’s pale, grey face reddened considerably. His eyes were harder.
“Well what do you call it when you can’t think straight? You’ve said it yourself it slows your mind down. That means you are a fucking idiot, a mouth breathing, knuckle dragger…” Greg remembered how Mycroft used the word like a weapon; he made sure to accent it with malice when he said, “Just like all the other ordinary people. Actually, you’re a little closer to village idiot than you’re to ordinary, mate.”
Sherlock took a deep breath and said, “You’re right handed. Haven’t dated men ever, or in a long time. You have, however, been seeing a blonde woman recently. You’re going prematurely gray, but you like it. Probably think it makes you look distinguished. One of your family members has had addiction problems. Let’s see the village idiot do that!”
Greg yawned a little. “You were rummaging around in my bathroom. We recently broke up; haven’t gotten around to throwing her crap out. Like her hair brush. You know I don’t like pain killers; I was stabbed but only took two. I was going to turn in the ones you stole back to the chemist. And if I had been dating men, I’d already be shagging your brother…nightly.”
Sherlock made a face.
Greg didn’t hesitate to add, “You haven’t impressed me. Not yet. I’ve seen your brother do that too. Little clues, right? Extrapolating behavior from small details. Observation.”
Greg shook his head. “You can’t slow or speed your mind up on command. You have to either respect the brilliance of it or let it go. Reside to the fact that you may never be able to string a competent sentence again. You'll never be the one to solve an impossible murder. You can’t do both. Despite the careful calculations, the chemistry, the math, and whatever else is rolling around in your head, it won’t happen.”
Greg stopped to think carefully. He remembered and said, “Don’t trust other junkies. Always remember that. If they give you drugs, it’s because they want to fuck you. If you plan on passing out, make sure it’s somewhere safe. You’re nothing but a hole to fill once you’re out.”
Sherlock shook his head. He even had a little smile on his lips.
“Sherlock this isn’t a lesson you want to learn. You waking up in a dark alley somewhere, in pain, as it slowly starts to dawn on you that ten zombies shafted you. There’s doing stupid cause you’re bored, and then there's just being a slapdash mug.”
He wasn’t sure if he was getting through to Sherlock, so Greg asked, “Is it logical to trust an addict?”
Sherlock’s brow creased. His mind turned the question.
Slowly, Sherlock shook his head.
“You don’t share needles, drugs, or your personal safety. If you seem slow, then that lands the rest of them somewhere below rabid animal.”
Sherlock nodded. The look on his face was serious and a bit worried.
Greg sat back saying, “All this worry. This is coming from all the people that love you. You have an entire family that loves you.”
Sherlock quickly insisted, “Show your love with cases. Interesting ones. I don’t like wasting my time!”
Greg instantly snapped back, “Wasting your time is all you’ve done for the last three months!” Then, in a more civil tone he added, “Aside from building a tolerance and demineralizing your teeth, what have you accomplished? You hadn’t even figured out how to protect yourself from rapists yet.”
There was a knock on the door.
Greg got up and answered.
When he saw Mycroft standing at his threshold. Greg didn’t hesitate to smile. He went to him a little slower than normal, so that if he didn’t want to kiss, he’d have time. Apparently, he did, because they met in a kiss. Brief and sweet. It was nowhere as deep and slow as he would have liked.
“Must have rushed,” Greg said looking at a slight fluster on the man.
“I did.” Mycroft turned to Sherlock and said, “Your things are in the car.”
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to ask, “Am I to be arrested again?”
Mycroft smiled. “Not this time. You will go under your own power, for your own good. Or, for a page and a crime scene picture of an interesting case. I don’t know if I care your reasons, but you will take yourself there.”
Sherlock smiled a little, sat back, and then he put his long, slippered feet up on the coffee table. “I like it here,” Sherlock said a moment before he took a sip from his mug.
“No,” Greg replied.
“You’d throw me out?” Sherlock demanded. “You’d throw a minor out into the cold!”
“Yes. Leave the robe and slippers.” Greg turned to Mycroft and explained, “I’ll burn them later. I’ve seen him scratch more than once. Probably lice, so no hugging.”
Insulted, Sherlock insisted, “I don’t have lice!”
Mycroft calmly said, “If you want to get in the car, then lets. Otherwise, I have things to do.”
Greg added, “You’re leaving one way or the other, mate. Take the last swallow of that tea and go.”
Sherlock quickly whined, “I need-
“Nothing from me,” Greg insisted loudly. “On your bike!”
Sherlock loudly slammed the mug down petulantly splashing tea.
“Rehab has warm beds, food, and cases,” Mycroft replied pleasantly.
Sherlock stuck his tongue out and then said, “I see you’re wearing your fat pants.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to rush forwards.
Sherlock flinched curling in on himself as he was mercilessly grabbed. Greg hauled him up and headed for the door.
Mycroft opened the door and stepped aside.
Greg didn’t hesitate to toss the skinny boy out into the hallway, arse over elbows.
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to close the door. Then he turned to Greg and said, “That was simply masterful, love. Very virile. My heart is still pounding.”
Greg smiled a little. “Originally, I threatened to break a few of his little bones. Next time. Meanwhile…
Greg didn’t hesitate to lean into Mycroft and kiss him. A real kiss this time. The kind of kiss that he’d been wanting for days.
Mycroft pulled away after a moment and said, “Can’t right now. I have to go see if he made it into the car.”
A moment later, a car horn began honking, as if a child was playing with it while their parent was away.
“That answers that,” Greg murmured. “I’m going to guess that we’re tabling this till tomorrow?”
“Regrettably. I shall take him to the rehab facility. If he goes inside. I shall hand him the pages that I chose. I numbered the pages for you to hand them to him in an order that should keep him from guessing who the killer is for at least three months.”
“If he stays.”
“If,” Mycroft agreed. “I shall try not to get my hopes up too high.”
Mycroft opened the door, he stuck his head out and yelled, “I’m coming!”
Mycroft turned back to Greg and said, “It’s incredible how no one in this life can get under my skin like he can.”
“I’m getting off early so I can move tomorrow. Won’t be bringing much. We’re having dinner at home. Romantic like.”
Mycroft blushed slightly and left.
The horn was still honking and now there were neighbors yelling at the dark car sitting out in front of the building.
Chapter 8: Marriage As A Journey
Chapter Text
Greg explained to a few mates at work that he was moving. He asked around a bit until he found someone that needed a few more hours. They went to the Captain together so that there would be no interruption in the schedule.
Instead of an hour early, Greg got off four hours early so he could move.
When he got home, he found that Amy already at his place. She was unpacking her clothes from boxes and then putting his into the empty boxes. They worked together to get him out.
In less than two hours. Greg had two suitcases and two boxes filled with his personal belongings.
As he was leaving, Greg pulled his keys out. He kept the two keys that he used at work and left the rest with her saying, “The car is a rusty, little box on wheels, but it runs. I’ll keep the insurance up, if you put it in your name.”
She smiled excitedly. Amy didn’t hesitate to give him and big hug and kiss.
Amy drove him to his new place. When the pulled up the apartment she gave a whistle.
“I know,” Greg replied. “It’s all a bit intimidating. But, he’s the love of my life.”
Amy didn’t hesitate to say, “If it goes sideways. I’m there. Far as I’m concerned it’s still your flat, Greggie.”
He kissed her check and left the car.
The door man didn’t hesitate to run over and help him with his belongings.
In less than ten minutes, Greg was standing in his new home. His two old suitcases that he’d picked up second hand at a rummage sale and two ratty boxes. The sum total of his existence.
In his hand he had his uniforms. He’d bunched the hangers together. Amy had poked a hole at the bottom of a trash bag and looped it through the bunch of hanger hooks.
Once the door was closed, he went the bedroom with his uniforms still in hand. He checked the closets and discovered that Mycroft was a bit of a clothes horse. There were two walk-in closets. Both were full, but immaculately organized. Every item had a place, fancy hanger, or specially selected spot.
His shirts were perfectly dry-cleaned, and perfectly ironed. The shirts alone were lined up like soldiers. They were arranged by color. He took a closer look at the white shirts and he realized that they were also arranged by fabric thickness. Items in boxes up on shelving was labeled in long descriptions, with proper labels not just a bit of marker.
The suits were perfect. They were hung beautifully.
Greg’s shoulders slumped, and he felt tears in his eyes as he saw the closet. It was the kind of closet that he’d only ever seen in magazines and on TV.
He moved around a little more and saw a big box sitting on a chair next to the bathroom door. It out of pace, so he lifted one of the outer cardboard flaps. It was a box full of underpants. They were all the same style, size, and color.
Apparently, Sherlock hadn’t been making things up. Apparently, Mycroft did only used underpants once.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mycroft came through the door and noticed Greg sitting on the couch. He was staring off so focused on his thoughts that he didn’t notice Mycroft at all.
Mycroft had imagined another homecoming. A kiss. Touching. Perhaps even a smile.
The smile melted off Mycroft's face.
He approached carefully.
Gregory noticed him and jumped.
“I’m sorry.” Mycroft said quickly. “I called to you when I came in. You were a million miles away.”
“Sorry,” Greg exhaled still a little spooked. “I didn’t go shopping, so I ordered. I should’a asked Amy to run me by the shop first. Forgot.”
“You sound…miffed.”
“No,” Greg said quickly. He felt his mouth turn down. He made an effort to not suck his lips or twist his mouth. He did try to sound a little more upbeat as he said, “I ordered from the soup and salad place with the nice bread. Apparently, they change the menu every day. Carrot-ginger soup and sourdough.”
Greg tried to walk passed but Mycroft grabbed him. Mycroft didn’t hesitate to wrap around the man.
For a few long minutes they simply held each other.
Finally, Mycroft quietly asked, “Is this about the box of underpants?”
Greg laughed. He had too.
Still leaning his head heavily on Mycroft’s shoulder, Greg said, “No. You can have all the boxes you need. I don’t care.”
“I find it repulsive,” Mycroft said quickly. “I can’t wear them more than once.”
More, slowly, Greg said, “Don’t care.”
Greg swallowed hard and pulled away enough to say, “I think I’m just being a self-conscious, class-conscious twat. I’m afraid that I’ll disappoint you or be hell to live with.” Greg shook his head, “I’m not neat. I don’t organize thigs like you. Your closet’s a bloody work of art.”
A bit uncomfortable, Mycroft admitted, “My closet is a result of having nothing better to do. No friends. No boyfriend. The nervous energy must go somewhere. There’s nothing enviable about my existence.”
Greg took Mycroft’s hand and said, “Agree to disagree. You need your dinner.”
“I want you,” Mycroft said quickly. He pulled away enough to look at the other man. Then, he simply said, “I need you with me.”
Greg pulled Mycroft into the kitchen.
They portioned out their plates.
They returned to the living room with their food.
As Mycroft sat with his plate, he said, “I shall clear sometime this weekend so that we can go shopping for a table.”
“I don’t mind it.”
“Neither do I. However, the moment that Nanny is up and wandering around, she will arrive for an inspection. I won’t hear the end of it.”
Greg smiled. “If we go table shopping early on Saturday, then that evening I’ll try to get out and look for a new car.
Mycroft had food in his mouth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out something. He handed it to Greg still chewing.
Greg held out his hand to receive the item. A key with a BMW logo looked back at him. “What’s this?”
When Mycroft had swallowed, he said, “I’m entitled to a car in my position. I don’t drive so I’ve never taken advantage. I actually drove that thing home.”
Mycroft thought before he said, “It was monstrous. I may be smart in certain aspects of my life, but I’m shite at driving. Thankfully, the doorman ran out and parked the car for me. Good thing too. I had no idea how to park it.”
Greg laughed.
“Green go. Red stop.” Mycroft shrugged. “I deciphered the pedals.”
Greg laughed harder.
“Good,” Mycroft said. “You needed to laugh. You were a bundle of anxiety.”
“I don’t know if I want to drive something this nice.”
“You haven’t seen it,” Mycroft insisted. “It’s not the latest model, even has a scratch.”
“It’s extremely generous, thank you. We’ll celebrate by going out to buy a table, so Nanny doesn’t spank you.”
“She and Mummy think I’m still six.”
Greg pushed his salad around for a while. He gave up after a while and put his plate down. “I have a question to ask. If you decide not to answer for any number of reasons...fine.”
Mycroft waited.
Greg thought quickly about how he was going to phrase his question. Finally, he said, “The way you were talking about her. It felt like your sister was alive. Your parents, they’re under the impression that she’s dead. It’s been bothering me; I don’t want to say the wrong thing with them.”
Mycroft bit off a large piece of bread and chewed. He chewed for a while.
After a few long moments, Greg decided that it was going to be one of ‘those’ topics that he simply wasn’t going to get a response too. He decided that his best option was to eat his salad and chew on a little bread.
After they’d continue to eat in silence for far longer than was right, Mycroft said, “There are aspects of this that I can’t answer. All I’m willing to say is that I don’t want to lie to you. As far as my family is concerned, she is dead.”
Greg opened his mouth.
Mycroft held up his hand saying, “Very few people are alive on this planet who actually scare me, Gregory. Very few. She is easily the first on a very short list.”
Greg’s brow furrowed.
“She’s much smarter than I am. Insane. And, her only thought is to kill Sherlock.”
“Bad combination.”
“Gregory, she’d happily burn down the British empire if it meant getting to him. I hate putting you in this situation. This is why certain things-
“Are better left unsaid.”
Mycroft could only nod.
“Mycroft, you really are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. No wonder you hate the idea of kids. You have enough to deal with, don’t you?”
Mycroft didn’t answer.
“I can’t do anything about her, but I can do something about the brat. I’ll get him clean. One way or the other. I swear that I won’t give up on him.”
Mycroft smiled a little. It was a real smile that reached his eyes and made him look much younger. “That was the best thing that you could have ever said to me.”
“Here’s another. I’ll push your mother off for a few months by telling her we want to find a good nanny first. It’ll be a long, drawn-out affair while we get proper nutrition into Amy. Heathy surrogate and all that. We’ll get their advice, listen patiently, and if we can find a service, I’ll even send her nanny resumes to obsess over.”
“Don’t be shocked if she finds one for us.”
Greg shrugged. “S’long as we all get along and the kids like her.”
“Three months,” Greg said. “I’m going to push her off for at least three months. That gives us time to come together and learn more about each other. Then, we can make a real choice about the rest.”
Mycroft reached out. They held hands for a few seconds before, Greg said, “Now finish eating. I ordered chocolate cake for pudding and we’re having it in bed after sex. I plan on feeding it to you with my fingers. Like sex, it’s going to be very messy and you will be begging for more.”
Mycroft quickly stopped chewing as he stared hopelessly. His mind stopped as if his brain simply gave up.
Then in the next moment, he stared back at Greg. A few moments later, he began to chew with true determination.
FIN.
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