Chapter Text
So he went there again after two days. It was still hot, but it wasn't as unbearable as it was before. Myc took a cotton t-shirt and trousers, the colour of beige.
He came inside, but there was no one behind the counter. While he was waiting, he properly thought through his order and took out a book. He was quite surprised by the cold in the room. He didn't feel it as much, but he had goosebumps after a few minutes in such a temperature. When there wasn't anyone even after some minutes, he decided to let them know about him with a small cough, at least. And it obviously helped, because there were audible steps in the other room. He recognised them.
Greg wore grey trousers, a white t-shirt, a blue-orange checkered oversized shirt, a leather belt and the same shoes as last time. His hair was a bit combed, but a few naughty strands fell into his forehead. Immediately, he started the flow of his eager apologies.
"'m so sorry, hope you don't wait too long. So, what do you-," he stopped with pleasant surprise on his face, when he laid his eyes on his customer, "want?" In addition, Mycroft received a smile. That just made him blink.
"Iced coffee, please," he said and wandered with his sight on him. He had to find out what made him think about such a common human. It was ununderstandable. It had to be something very obvious, what he and his complicated mind missed.
He stood and waited for his freezy drink. He didn't go to the backspaces. Holmes watched and tried to find out, what was right in front of his eyes, yet unseen, instead. After a while, he caught himself watching the employee's hands, which danced around machines and cups. He looked concentrated. Yet Mycroft didn't know, he was like this, so he didn't have to look at him.
"Here ya go," he handed him his drink with a smile after the endless minutes of silence. Holmes just nodded a finally set off to his seat. Firstly, he sipped on his coffee and then laid it on the table next to the bowl with sugar. He opened the book.
He tried to pay attention to the text, but the words were like in a fog, and even if he tried to concentrate on each sentence, it took him too long to understand it. The letters jumped all across the page. He hated when his body did such things to him. He should learn how to manipulate this. One day, when he would finally get a job, he would need to-
"Oi, c'mon! Y'know, you can't go in there," he poked him. The naughty thing of a cat couldn't help itself, and when Mycroft didn't pay his full attention to it, he needed to find another way to get it. So Lestrade was bringing him out from indoors. He unwillingly cooperated. The two of them secretly watched the sitting person.
Good. Holmes needed to admit, that he'll cast aside this topic for another time.
"Ehm... What's this book?" Greg tried the first step to a conversation, in the end when he had seen the book on the table, the name was upside down for him. He wanted to get to know him better. Maybe he wouldn't admit it out loud, but every day he had hoped to see the ginger head in the door. And he also wore his 'better' clothes the past few days.
Mycroft looked quizzical when he talked to him. Although, perhaps, he should've expected it. After the biscuit. But it still surprised him. Right, if he wanted to talk to him, he would try to solve the puzzle, that his brain had made for him.
"Kafka, The Castle. I've just started," he said simply. Another thing, he didn't expect. Normally, he was filled with unbelievable communication skills, but now, he didn't know, what to say.
"Well, that's quite hard, isn't it?" He asked after a moment of nodding. He didn't want to mess it up and chase him away.
Mycroft just fuzzily shrugged his shoulders.
"As I said before, I've just started. But I've already read a few of his books," came out of him a bit suffocated. What the hell was going on!? He cleared his throat and straightened his back, to seem more confident.
"And...are you reading something at the moment?" He got all that intelligence and bravery of his and this is what left his mouth. But at least something. He registered, that the object of his attention reacted positively and with newly charged energy, he started creating another sentence.
"Well, not much, right now. I probably should," he cringed. "Last time, I read Visions of Cody by Kerouac." Holmes was surprised. He couldn't believe, that he could be interested in such things. It made sense though. The freethinking and passion captured in those books worked with him.
"Beat generation?" He asked then. He was into a bit different genres, but even this kind of literature was fascinating in its odd way. This conversation was going very unusual way.
"O dear sweet rosy
unattainable desire
...how sad, no way
to change the mad
cultivated asphodel, the
visible reality...
and skin's appalling
petals--how inspired
to be so Iying in the living
room drunk naked
and dreaming, in the absence
of electricity...
over and over eating the low root
of the asphodel,
gray fate...
rolling in generation
on the flowery couch
as on a bank in Arden--
my only rose tonite's the treat
of my own nudity."
The words of the poem slowly flowed out of his mouth. Mycroft just watched the gentle motions of his lips, he swallowed empty and admired his expression. Right, there was something about him. The pieces started coming together. But even though he could recite someone's poem, it didn't mean, that he needed to think about him before he went to sleep, right? He tried to rebuke himself internally, but his fascinated face didn't change a bit.
After a while, when Allen's words flew away to the unknown, Greg dared to speak again.
"I asked Harry 'bout you," he said with a crooked smile. He watched the curl, that naughtily fell to the other lad's forehead.
"And? Something interesting?" Maybe even cheekily, he sipped on his iced coffee. Suddenly, a wave of confidence came across him. He crossed his legs and looked into the eyes full of sparkles. The employee of the café swallowed, his Adam's apple jumped and he straightened, too.
"Well, Mycroft," he took care pronouncing his name, "heard that you're pretty smart. You're gonna go to university and...um, that's actually all." The note about how not often he talks to people was left unsaid. He was quite proud of his privilege.
"Hmmm. That's all true," he convicted. Should he ask about him? Should he tell him, that he heard his name on his previous visit?
"Prove it," he smirked and stopped his thoughts. It paralysed Holmes for a minute.
"Wha-what?"
"That intelligence of yours. I wanna know, how she meant it." He had the urge to put his hand in the hair, shining like gold in the afternoon summer sun and touch the smooth milky skin on his cheek with his fingertips. Oh, how, with his words, of course, he would like to make it turn red.
He felt fire in his veins. Something ecstatic.
"Three point one, four, one, cinq, neuf, deux, seis, cinco, tres, quinque, octo, novem, sapte, noua, trei." He finished, without a blink the row of numbers and slightly raised his eyebrows.
"Was that...pi?" Greg thought for a moment. Suddenly, he felt clever, when recognizing it, but stupid at the same time. Next to him. Compared.
"Its first sixteen numbers in English, French, Spanish, Latin and Romanian. And I can do it in more languages if you want," he stated proudly. He wanted to get to know about his intellect, so here he has it. He hadn't shown off like this for a long time and it was surprisingly satisfying. It made him lift his chin.
"Well, that sounds remarkable, but anyone could learn this, right? Tell me something nobody else would know," he tried again. He was already amazed at how fastly and smoothly he could talk in so many languages, but his friend claimed, he can do even more interesting things.
"If you think so," he thought for a moment about what he shall say.
"Well, then. What should I...you live with two flatmates, play football, umm... you also play the guitar and you're probably studying at a more humanitarian-oriented school. Nothing connected to science or technology," the ginger finished his monologue and looked with an expectation to the chocolate eyes. The other lad had just opened his mouth and got a bit shocked face.
"That...who told you?" The brown-eyed chap was interested. He didn't know, that they would have any other common friend than Harry and, even for the good relationship they had since the first day, she didn't know who he lived with.
"Why would somebody tell me? If you wanted to prove, that I'm 'pretty clever', then I would certainly not only repeat something someone else had told me," he tilted his head with a smile and watched how the face of the person, who didn't pay attention, if new people were coming, changed.
"H-how?" Greg wondered when his brain woke up from restart. This ginger was far more interesting than he imagined. He could listen to his silver tongue for hours.
"Football - you have strong legs, which implies some sort of sport. But your arms are not very muscular. I don't really know the ropes in this topic, so the thing I thought of as most probable was football. And it also is a team sport and, well, anybody would guess you are not entirely a solo type. Plus behaviour I'll talk about later. Guitar - nails. Slightly different on each hand. I can tell you're right-handed, too. Then, it's absolutely clear, that when you work here, you study at a college or a university and thanks to your uncertain typing about pi, you don't excel in mathematics. Everybody, who would be interested in those things would know it immediately. From what I could see, you're not awkward around people and you're healthily self-confident. The thing you study has to do something with communication. Theoretically, you could want to use your said physical abilities. Do you want me to continue or do you believe me now?" He asked with hope in his voice. He was so sure of himself right now. It was weird with his previous behaviour. He probably won't understand a thing today. At least his eyes were a part of a body, that didn't protest to co-work with him for a moment. Sadly, it meant that his thoughts were overwhelmed with not very appropriate things.
"Well... hmmm...wow. I...guess I believe you. Definitely. It's only...strange. Fascinating." He looked at him, charmed, and Mycroft, again, started to feel uncertain. To hide it, he took the drink up to his lips.
"I'm Greg, by the way," the dark-haired boy lifted his hand when he woke up.
"I know," responded Holmes with a squeeze of the hand. Electric. Really. One of them must have been charged with static electricity, so the both of them split up after a brief moment with silent 'au'. It made the atmosphere lighter and they comfortably sat in their chairs with a smile.
"And you know this how? Stains on my shoes?" He joked and took the furry one to his lap. He stroked him everywhere possible and a very pleasant purr came to answer.
"I heard it, when I was here before," answered Holmes with a playful roll of his eyes. Lestrade just secretly hoped, that he hadn't heard everything and played with him. But he wouldn't do that, wouldn't he? So he tried to go even further.
"'nd you remember that?" He teased. But he couldn't else way. He talked with him. Shit, that guy recited pi and deduced things from his privacy to him. Of course, he bloody liked him. Brilliant and pretty. He didn't bump into such people every day.
"I remember everything," the other lad said sharply. Yes, he remembered everything except for things, that he had purposely deleted. Tried to pull aside. But it was impossible with information about Greg. Like he repeatedly couldn't hit the landfill of his mind and it was coming back like a boomerang. Greg thought, that now he couldn't be certain in any way in front of him. But if he was still sitting here...
"Was I right?" He asked suddenly. He guessed, his deductions had been pretty exact, but one can never be hundred per cent sure. Man must learn.
"Um, yeah. Everything. Even the school. I wanna be with the police. Make a difference, I guess" Greg answered still a bit charmed. There was a proud expression on Mycroft's face. They looked at each other thoughtfully.
Suddenly, there were audible steps from the inside together with giggling and talking. Customers. How gladly would Lestrade stay here and talk with him for a while longer, but work is work.
"Well...nice talking to you," the dark-haired boy stated, while he was getting up. The cat wasn't very pleased.
"I know," Holmes silently laughed and smirked. Adrenaline rushed through his veins when Greg only bit his lower lip and went inside to serve the people. Luckily, he wasn't alone. The tubby cat started to pester, so he allowed to take him to his lap. Anyway, he would be unable to read a sentence. It was annoying. He wanted to read.
After a quarter an hour, he decided to set off.
Immediately, when he came in, he noticed a group of four, probably sixteen-year-old, girls, loudly talking, sitting close to the counter even though the café was mostly empty. It was incredibly annoying just to look at them. From time to time, one of them looked in the direction of the dark-haired boy, who was not paying attention and humming to music playing on the radio. He looked deep in his thoughts.
So Mycroft, today for the second time, coughed to get attention. Greg fastly blinked and interestedly looked at him. He smiled and ran his hand through his hair. Holmes waved with money in front of him.
"Oh, yeah... Thanks. Is it all for today?" He asked like with every customer. But this was different. He normally didn't wish the person would get something else, to stay and talk, even though it's not exactly allowed.
"Ummmm... No," he replied simply and started to turn on his heel to go. Why did he not want to leave? It had never happened, that he had gotten along with someone in such a short while. In many aspects with such an ordinary human. And the worse, someone so handsome. Which was of course irrelevant.
"Wait!" Nearly shouted Lestrade, when Mycroft was halfway out of the coffee-smelling building. Their conversation stopped even the loud girls. He blushed and flustered for a bit when the ginger turned to him. He didn't think he could be any cuter. But not cute like other people. Some people would say he was not handsome at all. He was different, yet... Greg couldn't resist his wonderful looks and mind. He couldn't help himself.
"Take this," he handed him a paper bag with a biscuit. The same as last time, although today he hid there a little surprise. He hoped it wasn't foolish and that his blue-eyed angel wouldn't take the delicacy only for decency's sake and then bin it behind a corner. Although he wouldn't mind this part. He only hoped that he would look inside.
"Why?" Asked confused Mycroft with a surprised face. Why would he do that? Did he look like somebody, who wanted biscuits? Of course, he didn't care at all, but why? Was it a gesture of affection? Did this person want to befriend him? Or...
"Wrong?" The other boy uncertainty replied with another question. What the hell should he say? I hope you'll notice, that I like you and thanks to how different and posh you look I'm afraid to give you my number in person? That I've never met someone like you, so I don't know how would you react to normal flirting? God, that sounded stupid.
"Um, no. Th-thank you," he hesitated with a question in his eyes. "So... Bye," he said in the end and lifted a corner of his lips.
"Bye," Lestrade, now fully red, repeated. That was pretty awkward.
Today, he wasn't lucky for an empty flat. There were some other people. Two, no three, girls. So he started to think, if he should go away and sleep somewhere else, because, well, he knew the two lads too well. He just wanted to lock himself in his room and just be alone.
The first thing he heard was loud music. The Undertones. The group of youngsters drank and crawl onto each other in their kitchen slash living room. Should he even say hello and let them know about his presence?
"Ehm... Hey!" He decided to shout over the music. It was hard, but Tobias noticed him. The boy was wrapped in a pair of woman's arms. However, he somehow managed to wave him.
"Don't you wanna stay with us?" Asked with a shining smile one of the girls. Blond, quite tall, slim, grey eyes. He admitted that she was pretty attractive, but he was missing something. Like she would be the only one in a crowd of identical people. Although there were sparkles in her eyes... It just wasn't it.
"Umm... No, sorry, have some things to do," he apologized with a fake disappointed smile and turned to the way out of the room. The girl only disappointingly shrugged her shoulders but returned to the passionate, not just conversation, with Alec and one of her friends. He wasn't even worth persuading?
He knew, that even if he would close the door, he would not be in total silence, but at least something. As it would not be enough, a song that was laughing at his situation started to play. It wasn't even five hours, but still!
You've got my number
Why don't you use it
You know my name
You won't abuse it
Finally, he laid down on his bed and put his hands behind his head. He started to think.
It was silly. Bollocks. Absolute bullshit. Mycroft (just the name!) couldn't be interested in someone like him. He didn't want to be pretentious to think Mycroft would look at people according to how educated they were and how expensive clothes they could afford, but, come on, he was way out of his league. He would be bored with him. Greg had felt so good, when he was accepted to quite a good school, but next to him... He felt unbelievably stupid. Dull. After a while, they would run out of conversation tropes.
And next to, him, he looked, in his oversized t-shirts and shirts, like rubbish. Of course, he was wearing it, because he liked it and couldn't imagine he would wear something elegant on daily basis, but when he looked at him, he started to reconsider his taste. When he thought about it deeper, it seemed like crap, but... God!
And what if he was taken? He wouldn't be surprised at all. Everybody would like to have someone like him. Was he even into boys? He didn't know. He didn't know, in difference from him, who could read many details of his life only from his clothes, anything. Maybe he had a gorgeous girlfriend, who studied philosophy at prestige uni and in the evenings, they read thick old books by the light of their luxury fireplace... Ugh! He should stop thinking about this. And once again, he heard a bit of the playing song. It seemed like they wpurposefullyully mocking him.
And I don't wanna get over you
It doesn't matter what you do
I just can't get over you - over you
You say the boys with the bikes and the leathers like to beat you to hell
And the girls where you work don't treat you too well
What if he was allergic to something? What if he couldn't stand gluten? Lactose in chocolate? And he had given him a biscuit. Was it worth asking? Was it inappropriate? Had it bothered him when he had talked to him? It hadn't looked so when they have been talking, but perhaps he is a good actor and hadn't wanted to offend him. What else, that he hadn't told him, had he noticed? Did he know, he was interested in him?
When they changed to a different LP, he couldn't bear it and got out his acoustic guitar, tuned it, so his ears wouldn't fall, off and with first distant muted tones of bass he started to strum and silently hum. It always helped him to calm down. Think, but concentrate on his moves. Train muscle memory.
When I was a young boy
My mama said to me
"There's only one girl in the world for you
With a grin, he corrected himself to 'boy'. He could see his fingers rubbing the cat's fur. He imagined them slowly touching his hair.
And he probably lives in Tahiti."
I'd go the whole wide world
Go the whole wide world just to find him
Or maybe he's in the Bahamas
Where the Caribean Sea is blue
Weeping in the tropical moonlit night
Because nobody's talking about you...
He finished the song, hid his head in his hands and started to laugh at himself. He could hear the shut of the front door, so the lads were off now, thank god. He hoped they wouldn't come 'till morning.
This was pure insanity! Just thinking about it and looking at the dial of the phone. His head was racing the whole night. He was interested in him. It was odd. With other people, he could deduce the relationship they had with him easily, but him? As if he couldn't be sure of anything. Perhaps, he doesn't need to know. He would just try to call him and see what would happen. They didn't need to see each other ever again. But what if the note had fallen into the bag by mistake? It was improbable judging by his reaction, though.
Ifwass be possible, that he wanted to contact him, why? Most people found his intelligence annoying and, at least according to Sherlock and a few bullies from basic and high school, his face suited better for better places than the public ones. The toilet bowl, some would say. Other people didn't care about him. Which suited him. However, in those kinds of situations, he missed the experiences.
Quickly, like peeling off a patch, he dialled the number. What if he wasn't at home? What if he had given it to him just because and didn't want him to call just now? He could say he called by accident. But how can someone ring someone's number by accident?
"Lo, thy beauteous soul, I, famished, obsequious, missing thee, fresh as the summer breeze, dazzling me like sunshine and your fair hair, hap, thy vantage-" moaned a veiled dramatic male voice from the place that should have been Greg's flat.
"I'm afraid not," shocked Mycroft shut the unknown man who nearly considered hanging up. When he had already started this, he wouldn't be afraid of a horny flatmate.
"Oi! Oh... Ehm, I, sorry. Who's that?" Sounded from the other end slightly ashamedly. Myc could clearly imagine how the person banged their head against the wall.
"Mycroft Holmes. Is Gregory home?" He asked uncertainly. Shouldn't he ask with his surname?
"Greeeegooooooooooryyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!! God, who calls you that!? For you, it's some... Never mind, here," the ginger heard it all thanks to the poorly covered handset. He couldn't understand what was wrong with calling him his full name.
"Agh...," he rushed to the phone, "yes?" He sounded quite annoyed. He hoped, he wasn't disturbing him.
"Hello," he started uncertainly, "it's Mycroft," he bit his lower lip in worry. He didn't expect himself to be so nervous about one phone call.
"Oh, hi!" The other lad couldn't believe he would call him. It was just a foolish dream. Maybe... He just wanted to know, why the hell he had given him biscuits and his number. After a while, he realised that he stopped talking for a long time because Holmes started to ask.
"Well, do you need something?" He thought, that perhaps he needed to borrow something or such a thing. Logically. "The reason why you gave me your number?" he murmured.
"Well yes, why would I...," Greg was getting lost in his thoughts and his tongue was tied. "You know, I thought, that you, of course, it's just an idea, if you would wanna," he breathed deeply in and out. " A new outdoors theatre is getting open tomorrow and I wanted to ask, if you would go with me," fell out of him quickly.
And Holmes' brain switched off. Why would...? Maybe he was one of many. Joining a bigger group. Or he wanted to befriend him for some reason. It felt nice when they talked to each other, right? He didn't know if he was... Harry thought so. Yet...
"Y'know, few of my friends are working there, so I wanna support 'em. Of course, I understand, if you won't have time. Just...an idea," he said and leaned his forehead on the wall, his left hand playing with the handset wire.
Oh, friends then. Greg was just a good man and wanted to help somebody even if inviting a random creep from a café.
"Yes," slipped before he realised it. He didn't know if he should regret or be proud of himself.
"R- really?" Lestrade couldn't believe it. Did he mishear? He wouldn't expect the brilliant angel to be interested in trivial fun such as going to pictures.
"Yep," he replied. His parents would be only glad he would go out with somebody. Hang out. Knock about. He wasn't doing this on daily basis. Why shouldn't he accept?
"Okay. That's cool. Yeah, really...fine," the brunet couldn't stop his blabbering. He didn't expect it to end up like this. His self-consciousness's gone since last night.
"And when?" Asked sharply Myc, whose sympaticus kicked on. Oxygenated blood started to flow from his torso to his legs, which made the legendary butterflies in his stomach. He didn't understand. Perhaps...he would make friends. OK, that sounded odd, even only in his head.
"Let's say...six PM?" Offered Greg, trying to hide his excitement. He nearly jumped. Nearly shouted. Nearly-
"Good. So... Until later," he started to lay the handset when heard: "Six in front of the café!"
"Who was that?" Questioned a welter of curly locks, which peeked from the door. Over the hair, it was nearly impossible to see to Sherlock's eyes.
"A friend," Mycroft replied calmly and with a silent prayer for him to get out. Sherlock was the last he would show his weakness to. He had to be careful.
"You don't call with your friends," he added right back. Smartly and uncompromisingly.
"How could you possibly know?" Mycroft replied with a slight amount of concern. Could he just walk away? Why did he decide to annoy him right now?
"Don't be ridiculous," ironically chuckled the younger Holmes. He hadn't done much of relationships too, so he knew.
"Hey! I've just photo a person, who would like to make this sort of social connection," he still tried to have a poker face and not smile, nor blush.
"And what mental illness does he suffer?" Sherl put on a sarcastically sorry expression. Was his brother making new friends? More than the few classmates he already had? Unbelievable.
"That's not amusing. Gregory's psyche is absolutely alright," the older of brothers started to defend. No one could talk like this about his...future acquaintance?
"There is also something wrong with you," Sherlock seriously mused. There was something different about his older brother, but he didn't know what, yet.
"I beg your pardon!?" Mycroft was immediately surprised.
"Something is different. You don't act like this normally. You bit your lower lip, and your answers were sharp like you would be afraid of what you could say. From my previous observations at school, I found out, that this is not how friends communicate. You were nervous. But I'll find out what it is!" He ran away resolutely and left Mycroft frozen on a spot.
"Yes...yes!" Shouted, when he stepped from the phone.
"You're havin' a date, mate?" Curiously and amusedly asked Tobias.
"Well, sorta," he scratched the back of his neck a bit nervously. Was this even a date? He didn't know. How he would love to know, what was going on in Mycroft's head.
"Sorta?" Laughed his flatmate. "And who is it? Do I know her?" He immediately asked, interested. He was glad Lestrade finally found someone.
"Him. You don't know him," he replied, "luckily," he mumbled to himself.
"Uuuuuuuuuu! And what's the wretch's name?" He leaned on the wall, amusement in his eyes, watching Greg's unusual face. He hadn't seen him this uncertain for a long time. Because of a person. A boy.
"Hey, stop it. He called me," he tried to reverse the statement about his wretchedness, "like, I gave him the number, but... His name is Mycroft."
"The hell of a name is that?" The blond playfully frightenedly frowned his eyebrows. He had never heard this name and estimated to never hear it again.
"Bloody posh. Just like him," Lestrade admitted. He had never met somebody so noble. Even if he wouldn't be so rich. The way he walked, the way he talked...
"Hell, you wanna have something with a guy like this? How did you even meet him?" Tobias was interested. He didn't want to divide people into castes, but somebody with such a name must be...something else. Not on their level.
"He is a customer in our café. Simple," he brightly smiled over the memory, when he had seen him for the first time.
His flatmate stared at him questioningly for a few more moments and then just wished him luck.
He couldn't sleep. Just couldn't. He should, though. But Tobias was right. Why did he want to have something with a wealthy nerd? It was truly daring. Mycroft could think he just wanted to take advantage of his status or money. He wouldn't like that.