Chapter Text
When the door opened, Mycroft didn’t hear it.
He was buried under papers, completely overwhelmed.
And, for once, it was entirely by choice.
He just wanted to stop thinking.
About all those years spent mourning Sherlock, who was very much alive.
About his heart, broken by the loss of his brother, who had finally returned. His heart in turmoil.
About Albert.
Oh, Albert…
When the door opened, Mycroft must not have heard it.
Or perhaps he had ignored it.
Yes. That was it. Mycroft had ignored Albert.
And yet, even though he ignored him, Mycroft Holmes had never looked so handsome to him. Oh, he had missed him so much…
Seeing Mycroft Holmes, after all this time, made him happy.
Ah, what a selfish man he was.
“Mr. Holmes ?”
Mycroft looked up immediately. He hadn’t heard the door open.
He opened his mouth to say something—perhaps an apology—but then he saw who was standing there.
He froze mid-motion, his words dying on his lips.
Albert.
Albert was there.
His eyes widened, wide, wide.
A stifled sigh escaped his lips.
Albert.
Albert really was there.
Anxiety tightened around Albert’s throat, but he managed a forced smile.
Of course, ignoring the frantic beating of his poor heart.
Ah, what a fool he was making of himself, really.
Once again, nausea rose in his throat.
He swallowed it down. Or at least, tried to.
“Albert ?”
Mycroft stood up too quickly.
That much was certain.
Was Albert really there ?
Or was this yet another illusion conjured by his simply exhausted mind, which was focused solely on work and on the man standing before him ?
He walked round his desk and approached just a little, barely a step.
Too affected.
“A-Are you really here ?”
The question took Albert by surprise.
And Mycroft’s state was worrying, to say the least, for anyone who claimed to love him – or even know him ! Mycroft was a walking heap of exhaustion, that was all.
“Yes. Well…” he laughed half-heartedly. “Perhaps part of my soul has remained in the Tower, who knows.”
No, not perhaps.
His entire soul had remained in the Tower. Imprisoned in a hope of love. Albert smiled wryly. If his soul carried on like this, it would remain there forever.
In any case, he was certain she was there, trapped between two blocks of stone : otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to speak to Mycroft Holmes so calmly.
“I—” Mycroft’s voice broke, no, it exploded.
This wasn’t right at all.
Mycroft wanted to take Albert in his arms, to cry, to laugh, to scream, to die, to kiss him.
Bloody hell.
Albert was there !
Right in front of him !
And Mycroft Holmes couldn’t find the courage to tell Albert all the words he had in his heart, all the words written in letters never sent, in dozens, hundreds of letters.
He was going to cry.
“Are you all right, Mr Holmes ?”
Albert had asked another pointless question. He smiled. Bitterly. Weakly.
He had to tell Mycroft that he loved him.
And die.
To hell with William’s return ; his decision had been made years ago.
Even a brother’s return cannot dull the relentless pain of love.
“I-I… I don’t know,” Mycroft said, his voice trembling. “I- Good heavens, it feels so strange to see you again…”
Strange, that was it.
His heart beating so hard it felt as though it might burst from his chest and circle the globe seven times over.
The sweat beading on the nape of his neck.
His eyes scanning Albert’s figure, trembling, to make sure he was real.
Or rather, because he had missed that figure so much that he needed to soak it up with his senses, to etch it onto his retina.
He wasn’t about to hold back from staring at Albert.
“What do you mean ?”
Albert was at a loss. And Mycroft didn’t look weak, but simply devastated.
“Do I scare you?,” he asked absently.
“No,” Mycroft’s voice trembled, “I’m scared you might just be a ghost.”
Albert laughed. Without energy.
“Yet, it seems to me that I am real.”
And he seized the opportunity.
“And I have something to tell you.”
Mycroft blinked, truly hanging on Albert’s every word.
The brown-haired man smiled. An empty smile. The smile of someone about to fall into Hell.
He was going to leap into the flames.
“I love you.”
Huh ?
What ?
What what what what what ?
“For a long time, you know. Finally. ”
Wait, what ?
“It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Wait, what did you just say ?”
Mycroft’s heart was beating only on hope and caffeine.
Albert blinked, clearly taken aback.
“I said I loved you.”
And he said it as if he hadn’t just turned Mycroft’s whole world upside down, his heart beating far too fast.
Mycroft raised his hand to his mouth out of sheer politeness, to spare Albert the sight of his mouth hanging open in surprise.
“Wait—” Mycroft’s voice broke. “Albert, please, tell me that you—”
“Oh, no, I’m not lying.” Good heavens, even after three years, Albert hadn’t lost any of his marvellous wit. Mycroft almost felt himself falling in love all over again, and Albert smiled. “Well, that’s just what I thought, Director. I can die in peace, reject me, go on. ”
Pardon ?
Oh, yes, Albert needed that rejection so badly.
If Mycroft rejected him, he would finally have every reason in the world to die.
(And yes, Albert was quite the masochist, after all.)
Mycroft was going to do it.
The Director took a breath.
Albert smiled.
Inside, they were complete wrecks.
One, with his heart usually closed off to all emotion, a heart now racing with surprise, slight anxiety – Albert had, after all, told him he could finally die if Mycroft rejected him – and, yes, love, overwhelmed by everything unfolding between them : namely Mycroft Holmes, the holder of the title of the coldest man in England !
The other one, a walking emotional wreck, with three years of total isolation behind him, suicidal to the core, a confirmed masochist, the greatest drama queen this earth has ever known, with a thoroughly hollow smile, demonstrating profound mental resilience, yet madly in love with Mycroft Holmes—I am, of course, talking about Albert James Moriarty, the former Lord of Crime !
*(Don’t bother looking. I’m tired.)*
“Albert, I…”
“Yes. Say it, say it, that you don’t love me. Denounce me to your agents, to the police, to Scotland Yard, the Crown, even the Empire, if it takes your fancy! Because I am a heretic, a vile sodomite who has committed no crime other than to love! Tell me you hate me, that you’ll never speak to me again, that you want to see me hanged before sunset!”
Mycroft looked horrified by Albert’s mild hysteria at first. Then he came to see it as nothing more than the monologue of a desperate man. And he let his eyebrows relax, adopting the slight ease he dared to display when he had to calm someone down, though inside, his heart was pounding, he felt like blowing up Buckingham Palace, in short, he was panicking.
Which was silly. He was Mycroft Holmes, for goodness’ sake !
Albert smiled.
Perfect, he thought. Mycroft was going to reject him.
If there had been a crowd, they would have held their breath.
The silence was tense.
Then, with a slowness and an irresistible calm—it is worth remembering that Albert loved this man-, Mycroft said…
Oh, sorry, I almost forgot.
(Boom.)
Amidst all the suicidal urges, the hatred of the world, the social and emotional exhaustion, amidst the chaos in Albert’s heart, there remained a tiny, incomprehensible glimmer of hope.
Which would soon be shattered. Albert gave a bitter smile.
And then…
“Albert,” Mycroft said softly, in a gentle whisper, “I’m not going to turn you in. ”
“Oh ?” Albert looked up, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, as if something were irritating him—which it was, for heaven’s sake, Mycroft was supposed to be rejecting him ! Instead, his eyes were slightly glistening, his lips frozen in the shadow of a smile. “Why ? »
Of course, Mycroft Holmes was going through an emotional storm; it wasn’t as if he was about to make a confession he would have preferred to make under different circumstances. His cheeks flushed – absurd, he was supposed to be unfeeling ! – he swallowed, took a slow breath, then said clearly, loud and clear:
“Albert, I love you too. I—”
“No.” Albert’s face didn’t light up as it would have three years ago ; it fell. All his plans for suicide, for deliverance. Reduced to nothing. “What do you mean ? What ?”
Oh. Mycroft realised instantly that Albert was in the throes of a full-blown panic attack.
A gay panic attack.
“Albert, I love you.” This time, he said it with more assurance, less hesitation.
“No !” Albert’s voice broke. “No, it wasn’t meant to—”
Albert buried his face in his hands, pale as a sheet despite his heart pounding wildly.
He was just supposed to tell Mycroft Holmes that he loved him.
Mycroft was just supposed to reject him.
And he was supposed to die.
Mycroft couldn’t just love him.
Albert gave a nervous laugh.
“Mycroft, you’re lying, aren’t you ? Just to spare my feelings, because you need me again for some menial task or other ?” ”
Mycroft’s eyebrows knitted together, and he took a step towards Albert. But that was already a lot.
“No !” he said too loudly, one hand on his chest. “I love you, Albert, I really do love you !”
“Ha ha. Of course. ”
Albert didn’t realise it, but tears were streaming down his cheeks. Mycroft’s heart ached with bitterness at seeing him like that. He stepped closer still.
“Albert, I swear on the honour of the Crown, of Her Majesty, on the honour of the entire government if need be, that I love you, I love you to death ! ”
And no pun intended.
Albert gasped, horrified to see a man like Mycroft using a tone… well, not light, but, hm, abnormally serious, to swear on something he shouldn’t even think of swearing on, because he was lying, that was for sure.
“But of course. I’m sure that—”
Mycroft simply grabbed him by the collar ; that was enough to silence him.
Before he could understand what was happening, he was kissing him.
It was timid, hesitant, just a light press of lips, a brush of teeth, and yet.
Yet Albert knew that his soul had escaped from the Tower.
It lasted only a few seconds.
They felt as though they had been reborn.
It seemed to them to last for hours.
Mycroft no longer knew what he was doing.
Albert simply wept ; he snuggled up against Mycroft, and the elder responded by holding him tightly.
How long had they been searching for this ?
Mycroft stepped back. Blushing in a way that Albert found utterly delightful.
« That… Did it feel fake to you ? »
Albert raised his hand to his lips, tears streaming down his cheeks, looking dazed.
“ Mycroft. ”
The man addressed wiped a tear from Albert’s cheek with perceptible tenderness, a gentle smile frozen on his lips.
“Yes, my dove ?”
“Kiss me again.”
Outside, the sun had finally risen.