Chapter Text
“Gregory, what are you—”
The midnight quiet broken by the sleep-garbled question, Greg jumped away from Mycroft’s foot as if burned. The pen torch he’d had clamped between his teeth clattered on the hardwood floor, and the measuring tape reeled in toward his palm with a zzzzzip.
Pushing the duvet aside, Mycroft sat up, blinking and squinting.
Sat on the floor, groping for the torch he hoped wasn’t broken, Greg couldn’t help smiling at the disheveled pinstriped pyjamas. The sight of eternally pristine Mycroft sleep-rumpled and unkempt was a singular pleasure, one he was still cautious about taking for granted.
“Gregory? Are you all right?”
Greg sighed. “I’m fine. I was just—“
“Measuring my foot?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Might I ask why?”
“You don’t need to. You already know.”
“Come back to bed.” Mycroft didn’t actually say, Don’t pout, but Greg heard it all the same.
“Just how long have you known I was planning to knit you socks for your birthday?”
Mycroft patted the mattress. “Please?”
Greg crawled up the bed, leaving the missing torch for the morning. “I just wanted to surprise you,” he said, “for once.”
Mycroft kissed him, then sat back, eyes wide and intense. “You surprise me every single day.”
“Liar.”
“When necessary,” Mycroft allowed. “But not in this.”
“Special, am I?”
“Gregory,” Mycroft sighed, “of course.”