Chapter Text
Fuck.
“Bloody fuckin bastard.” Lestrade growled under his breath and chucked his cell onto the couch. Unfortunately for him, it bounced off the couch and landed on the floor near Sherlock. The boy snapped upright from his resting position and grabbed the phone before the DI even had the chance to lunge for it.
“Interesting.” The teen smirked at him.
The detective snatched his cell out of the pale fingers and glared. He then switched his annoyance back to the message on the screen.
Gregory, I am so sorry. Please, can we talk? -M
He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to fall deeper than he already has just to be pushed away again. He didn’t want another apology. This time ‘sorry’ wasn’t enough.
*beep*
Another text.
I know I’m not in a position to ask anything of you, but I was hoping to redeem the favor from our bet. -M
Bloody fuckin hell. It took all his self control to not curse the posh arsehole over text. Lestrade luckily still had a very healthy fear of any underground prison cells the government official likely owned.
ur right
ur in no position to ask me anything
It was like Mycroft was two different men. One of these men spent evenings with him laughing over stories of moronic criminals and political figures. The other man seemed to regard him with a feeling slightly more negative than apathy. Both of these men had the ability to absolutely wreck Lestrade.
“You should talk to him.” Sherlock was staring intently at the DI.
“I thought you hated him.” He hated how much he sounded like a whiny teen. Maybe the curly headed boy was rubbing off on him.
The younger one didn’t reply for a while. Eyes closed, he was clearly lost in his own thoughts. “I do, but maybe you shouldn’t”
“Well that's bloody helpful! What's that supposed to mean?”
The teen didn’t respond.
Fuck it all.
fine
but u have to come over to mine
What the hell was he doing with his life?
He couldn't help it. He was a hopeless romantic at heart, and despite how cruel Mycroft had looked earlier that morning, Lestrade was haunted by how vulnerable he had looked the night before.
~~~~
“Brother mine.”
Wide eyed, in the midst of all his worrying about the detective, Mycroft had forgotten the very likely possibility that he would be seeing Sherlock again after a notable amount of time.
“Sherlock.” Softly, then again with a raw emotion neither Holmes could quite identify, “Sherlock!” The ginger pushed the door to the DI’s apartment wide open and wrapped his arms around the teen. Feeling the younger one stiffen, he quickly let go and awkwardly resumed a polite distance.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I just… You look well, brother mine.”
Sherlock’s stance relaxed. “No, no, the hug was fine. Was just surprised is all.” The boy looked up at him, and through his mop of curly dark hair, his eyes were shining.
“Mycroft.” He looked up and saw his silver haired friend standing a few feet behind the teen. His mouth was downturned and eyebrows furrowed, but his big brown eyes were telling him the emotion the other man was feeling was something more complex than just upset.
“Gregory! Oh, Gregory, I am so sorry!” He rushed over to the man as Sherlock closed the door behind him.
The detective took a step back, and deepened his frown. “Sorry doesn’t fix things.”
“You’re right. My apologies.” He steadied himself, internally cringing at the way he had momentarily forgotten how delicate this situation was.
“You have some explaining to do.” The detective glanced at the teen, who was intently studying them both. “Sherlock, if you bugger off for an hour or so, I’ll let you look at the murder suicide file.”
“It’s quite clearly a double homicide, but okay Graham. I will go, only because I will know how this entire conversation went with just one glance at your face.”
Lestrade made a strangled groan as the boy flashed a smirk and popped out of the apartment. The man then turned his attention to Mycroft and ushered him towards the couch. When they sat down, the other man watched him, clearly waiting for him to say something first.
“Gregory, I- I’m not exactly sure h- how to begin all of this.” The words were getting stuck in his throat as the fear caught up with him. The fear that what he felt inside him was all quite laughable. Quite stupid, really.
As he began to shake, the DI’s gaze softened. “I guess I just don’t understand; why were you so mean to me?” His voice was also softer now, but the words stung.
“You’re right. I was quite mean. The words I said are inexcusable, but please know, I did not mean a single one of them.”
Lestrade exhaled loudly. “Then why would you say all that? What could have possibly brought you to say that?”
A pause. “I- I thought it would be easier that way.” More silence.
“Mycroft, you are going to have to elaborate. What would be easier?”
“Well, it’s just… you rejected me, Gregory. And I couldn’t bear the humiliation of your pity friendship.” He paused awkwardly to cough. His throat had become rather dry. “Trust me when I say I truly did not think I was capable of hurting you. I thought a clean ending was what you wanted as well.”
“You absolute daft idiot! Mycroft, what?! What rejection? What pity?!” The man in front of him took a few deep breaths before speaking sadly. “How could you ever think you have no effect on me?”
“Do you not remember? You were going to… bed me… that night. But you didn’t. You changed your mind. I might not be the most socially adept man, but your, ahem, arousal was quite difficult to misinterpret.” He could feel the heat flushing across his cheeks and was making a point to look anywhere but at the other man.
The detective’s hand brushed against his cheek and then firmly, but gently, turned his head so that he would meet the man’s eyes. “You were so drunk that night. How could I have rejected you if you couldn’t even consent in the first place?” The man glanced down at him and unconsciously licked his lips. “Look, there’s no point denying I am attracted to you, I’m sure you figured that one out a while ago, but I couldn’t accept your invitation in the state you were in. You were so… vulnerable, and well, if I’m being honest, I don’t think my heart could have handled being a lay that you would eventually regret.”
The warm palm laying across his cheek had sent Mycroft into a bit of a daze, but those words snapped him out of it. “Attracted to me? Regret you?!” He shut his eyes for a second, trying to quickly process the information just given to him. “I didn’t- I didn’t know.” Suddenly, his body was heaving, and loud sobs were escaping his mouth. As the detective pulled him closer, he buried his face into the crook of his neck and cried for the first time in years.
~~~~
After what was about 20 minutes of Lestrade rubbing the other man’s back and whispering that it’ll be alright, Mycroft seemed to finally run out of tears. The politician cleaned himself up in the bathroom while he changed into a non tear soaked sweater, and they met back on the couch.
His friend’s voice was still shaky, “Gregory, I- I believe that I am on the asexual spectrum. It is quite rare for me to develop sexual interest, and even then it takes time. I thought those with… normal… sexualities do not consider emotions when it comes to intercourse. I didn’t- I didn’t know that my feelings mattered.”
It dawned on him what was being said. That Mycroft never had someone consider his full consent in the bedroom. Suddenly the events that transpired the other night made sense. Why the ginger haired man seemed so terrified at Lestrade’s ‘interest’ in him.
“Oh god, Myc. I would never! I- I’m so sorry.” He started to reach for the other man’s hands then hesitated. The politician noticed and gave him a small nod. Their hands met, and they sat together in a warm silence.