Work Text:
A Map of the World
January
Greg threw his pen down and pushed his chair back from his desk. It had been a long day at the end of a long week and he was more than ready to get out of the office. As he gathered his bag and coat and headed for the door his mind was already on the night, and weekend ahead. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it too much during the day for fear of jinxing it. Weekends off were few and far between and he knew that allowing himself to look forward to it was a sure-fire way to ensure a nasty case cropped up. But lo and behold it was 7pm on a Friday night, only one hour later than he’d planned to leave, and his door had remained un-knocked and his phone mercifully silent. He had made it to the car park and was just opening his car door when he felt the buzz of his mobile in his coat pocket. Grimacing as he fished it out, his expression lightened as he saw the caller ID.
“I’m just getting in the car now sweetheart,” he answered, “I’ll be home soon and we can get our weekend underway.”
The pause that followed was long enough that Greg pulled the phone from his ear to check the call hadn’t disconnected.
“Mycroft, you there?”
“Greg…..I’m so sorry to do this…..” Mycroft replied, his voice soft and hesitant.
“No, no, no,” Greg sighed, “please don’t tell me you’re still at work.” His shoulders slumped as he got into the car and slammed the door shut.
“It’s rather worse than that I’m afraid, I’m on my way to the airport now, something’s come up.”
Greg could hear the genuine regret in Mycroft’s voice but he couldn’t stem the anger he felt at news that yet again their time together was being cancelled.
“Mycroft, please don’t do this, we’ve barely seen each other in weeks,” Greg pleaded.
Mycroft sighed before replying, “I know Greg, I am all too aware of how much my work impinges on our time together, but what do you suggest I do?”
They’d had this argument many times before and Greg knew it was unfair to lay the blame solely at Mycroft’s feet. The demands of Scotland Yard meant he too had often cancelled plans at short notice. Mycroft wasn’t the only guilty party. He certainly didn’t want to start a fight when Mycroft was about to head off to god knows where.
“I’m sorry love,” Greg replied, “I know it’s part and parcel of your job. Can you at least let me know where you’re going or how long you’ll be away?”
“You know I can’t tell you where I’m going Greg; I hope to be back within a fortnight.”
Greg couldn’t hold in his outburst, “Two weeks!”
“Gregory, please, don’t make this more difficult than it already is,” Mycroft pleaded, “I was looking forward to this weekend as much as you were. I used every means possible to try to deal with the situation without leaving London but my presence is vital on the ground. I am truly sorry.”
Greg took a deep breath feeling his anger fade, “I know you are love, I’m sorry too. I just miss you when you’re gone. I love you so much.”
“I love you too Greg,” replied Mycroft, “I will do my utmost to stay in contact whilst I’m away however….”
Greg interrupted him, “I know, it’s not always possible or safe for you to use your phone.”
“Quite,” replied Mycroft, “but know that I will be thinking about you constantly and missing you terribly.”
Greg could feel his eyes growing wet, his voice breaking as he replied, “Be safe Mycroft, just come back to me as soon as you can.”
“As soon as I can,” agreed Mycroft before hanging up.
It was quite a few minutes before Greg felt able to start the car and drive home.
February
Greg walked down the busy street, dodging around the shoppers with their multitude of bags. He scowled as he passed a happy couple with their hands entwined, wrapped up in each other and oblivious to the world around them. Mycroft was away. Again. Greg had had tried to occupy himself at home but the empty house was just a constant reminder that Mycroft wasn’t there with him. He had ventured out to central London in an effort to distract himself from the loneliness he was feeling.
On a whim he popped in to the large Waterstones on Leicester Square, maybe a book would help him while away the time. He had a cursory glance at the newly released books but nothing looked appealing, instead he found himself wandering in to the travel section.
When they had started their ‘dalliance’ as Mycroft had called it, Greg had put Mycroft’s secrecy about his job down to the lack of trust between them. As their relationship had grown and strengthened he had come to realise that Mycroft really couldn’t share certain things with him. As much as he understood that it was for his, and Mycroft’s safety, that didn’t mean he had to like it. Every time Mycroft travelled Greg was left behind to wonder and fret about where exactly he was and what he was facing. As he browsed the shelves he couldn’t help but wonder what Mycroft was experiencing at that moment. His fingers brushed against a travel guide to Afghanistan and he pictured Mycroft in an armoured vehicle, surrounded by soldiers as he travelled to a remote village for negotiations. His eye was drawn to a book on Russia and his thoughts turned to Mycroft in a featureless conference room, speaking in fluent Russian to shifty looking officials. Sometimes Greg couldn’t decide if the not knowing was better or worse. Not knowing meant his fears couldn’t be confirmed and he could even pretend Mycroft was simply on another run of the mill business trip, staying in crappy Travelodges somewhere up north. Chuckling softly at the image of Mycroft being forced to make small talk over the breakfast buffet, Greg made his selection and took it to the till to pay.
March
When Mycroft announced he would yet again be travelling for work Greg wasn’t overly surprised, it had become such a regular feature he knew there was no point complaining. It would only lead to arguments and recriminations, not how he wanted to spend their precious time together. He also had his new plan to help him cope with it. In an effort to try to make their time apart bearable Mycroft had promised Greg he would try to be in touch at least once any time he was away and Greg was eagerly awaiting his call. It came just as Greg was getting home after a relatively quiet day at work. As he answered the phone he made himself comfy on the living room sofa, his recent purchase set out in front of him on the coffee table.
“Gregory, can you hear me okay, I don’t think the signal is very good,” Mycroft’s voice could just be made out through the static.
“I can hear you Mycroft, it’s not great but I can hear you,” Greg replied, “before you get cut off I want you to tell me where you are.”
Mycroft sighed, “Greg, we’ve been over this, you know I can’t divulge that information, especially not over an unsecured line.”
“I know you can’t tell me where you actually are love, but I’ve come up with an idea. Just give me a number”
“What are you talking about Greg, what number?” asked Mycroft.
“Just give me a number Mycroft, anything between 1 and 50 will do. Please Mycroft, just humour me”.
“Very well, number 46”
“Okay, hang on, hang on,” Greg leant forward and started paging through his book on the coffee table whose title read ‘World Travel Atlas’, “okay I’ve got that, now give me a letter from A-H and a number from 1-6”
“Greg, I rang to talk to you, not spout numbers, what on earth is going on,” snapped Mycroft.
“Please Mycroft, just give me a letter and number, I promise I’ll explain in a minute,” Greg replied.
Mycroft sighed again but answered, “E 4.”
Greg ran his finger over the page in the atlas until it came to rest on the square marked as E4. He let out a quiet laugh before speaking, “Well I hope you’ve taken your winter woollies, must be cold there.”
“Gregory, I’m starting to lose patience, what are you talking about, where must be cold?”
“Antarctica,” Greg replied happily, “according to my atlas and the details you’ve just given me you are currently enjoying a winter break in Antarctica. Say hello to any penguins for me.”
There was a long pause until finally Mycroft spoke, “Greg, I’m not entirely sure what you’re doing, should I be concerned, do you need a doctor?”
Greg laughed, “I’m fine, really, I just thought this would be a way for you to tell me where you are when you disappear.”
Mycroft started to respond but Greg was quick to interrupt, his voice growing serious, “I know I’m being stupid, and I know you can’t tell me anything about your work or trips, I just get so worried when you’re gone. Not knowing where you are or what you’re doing, my brain just comes up with every worst case scenario it can. I keep waiting for a call to tell me you’ve been injured or worse in some god-forsaken desert. I saw the atlas when out shopping and figured if I can choose a place and imagine you’re there I can trick myself in to believing you’re safe and maybe I’ll cope a bit better with you being away.”
Greg pressed the phone harder against his ear and held his breath as he waited for Mycroft to say something. When nothing was forthcoming he started to worry, “Ok, ok, it was a daft idea. I shouldn’t have said anything, I know you’re busy, I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Gregory, I, I, I’m lost for words,” Mycroft’s voice was shaking, “I knew you disliked it when I travelled, I had no idea you worried about me so much.”
“Of course I worry about you, you daft eejit, I love you.”
“Gregory, I love you too, you must know that, and if this atlas plan will help you when I’m away then okay. You are correct of course, I’m in Antarctica.” Mycroft said the warmth in his tone evident.
“Well tell me about it then,” Greg replied, “is there an issue with the penguins that you’re having to smooth over?”
Mycroft laughed, “Yes I’m afraid I’ve been called in to mediate between the penguins and some fur seals who have been encroaching on their territory.”
“That does sound tricky, have you tried some ice-breaking techniques to bring them together,” teased Greg.
Mycroft groaned at the terrible pun before launching in to an account of his supposed Antarctic adventures that had Greg creased up in laughter.
April
Greg’s phone buzzed with a text message on the side of the sink where he had left it whilst brushing his teeth. Clamping the brush between his teeth he lifted the phone to read it.
From: M Holmes
To: G Lestrade
15/04/17 1100 GMT
Unable to telephone. Pg 41/ L3
Greg finished rinsing his mouth and padded from the bathroom to the kitchen where he had left the atlas sitting on the breakfast bar. Smiling softly he checked the page and replied.
From: G Lestrade
To: M Holmes
15/04/17 1224 GMT
I’ve always wanted to visit New York. I want to get a hot dog from one of those guys on the streets, I’d get everything on it, even that greeny looking stuff x
From: M Holmes
To: G Lestrade
16/04/17 0241 GMT
I will leave the hot dog tasting to you. I believe you are referring to sauerkraut. Do not expect any intimate behaviour after you eat that. Home soon I hope x
From: G Lestrade
To: M Holmes
16/04/17 0735 GMT
Spoilsport! You know you can’t resist my kisses, even after I’ve eaten pickled onion crisps. Miss you. Come home safe xxxxx
May, June & July
Throughout the summer months Mycroft’s trips away came thick and fast. As hard as it was to be apart from each other, Greg had come to enjoy their little conversational sojourns around the globe. Mycroft seemed to have an inexhaustible knowledge of every country and no matter where the atlas placed him he could always come up with something interesting to share with Greg about his ‘destination’.
May saw Mycroft enjoying some Tuscan sunshine in Florence and he and Greg spent a happy phone call discussing the best toppings for pizza, the recklessness of Italian drivers and a conversation about what exactly Mycroft would do with a naked Greg and tub of the finest gelato that brought a blush to Greg’s cheeks.
June was a luxury yacht moored in the South Pacific. Mycroft assured Greg he would bring him there some day and they would spend their days swimming in the crystal clear waters and their nights making love under the stars.
In July Mycroft’s tales of the African savannah had Greg longing to go on safari and sleep under canvas with Mycroft as his guide.
August
Greg stood with his hands on his hips as he waited for Sherlock to finish examining the body lying face down in the mud. It was only 9.30am and it was shaping up to be another sweltering day in London. Greg had long since shucked his suit jacket and loosened his tie but already he could feel sweat forming under his arms and at the base of his spine. He raised a handkerchief to his nose as the smell from the corpse wafted up to him. The past week had seen temperatures hit 31° and it would appear this body had been hidden amongst the trees for a day or two at least. How Sherlock was getting so close to it without gagging he had no idea. Just then his phone started ringing and he was surprised but happy to see Mycroft’s name flash up. Normally Mycroft’s calls from abroad came in the evening, when theoretically Greg should be off work. He turned his back to Sherlock, and the body, as he answered.
“Hi love,” he said softly, conscious of being overheard, “is everything okay.”
“Apologies Greg, I know you’re at work but it was the only chance I would get to speak to you for the next week.”
“You never have to apologise for wanting to talk to me Mycroft,” Greg replied, “unfortunately I don’t have my atlas with me so we might not be able to discuss your location.”
“Yes well I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of checking the atlas before I left and I find myself to be on page 42, E8”
Greg was delighted, he had thought Mycroft would tire of this little game and abandon it but he seemed as keen as Greg to keep it going.
“Oh really, and where exactly does page 42, E8 find you,” asked Greg “I find myself in Buenos Aires, Argentina and I’m thinking of you as I tuck in to this delicious steak.”
Greg wasn’t sure what reaction Mycroft was hoping for but he could guess it wasn’t for Greg to gag.
“Eugh, I’m sorry love, it’s just I’m currently standing over a fairly ripe corpse and the thought of food is not a particularly welcome one,” grimaced Greg.
“Ah, I see, well then what else can I tell you about my trip,” Mycroft pondered, “perhaps you would enjoy hearing about the traditional folk dancing and gaucho demonstrations I witnessed at the local street fair.”
“What exactly is a gaucho,” asked Greg ignoring Sherlock’s snort in the background.
“A gaucho is an Argentine cowboy and their horse riding skills are really something to behold,” Mycroft explained.
“Riding skills eh?” Greg asked, “is that something you’re interested in?”
At that moment Greg’s phone was plucked from his hand.
“If you must attempt to engage in phone sex with my brother, can I request that restrain yourself in my company,” Sherlock complained, “It’s making me feel more nauseous than this rotting corpse.”
He tossed the phone back to Greg and stalked off. Glaring at Sherlock’s retreating back, and mentally making a list of all the officers now snickering in to their sleeves, Greg said his goodbyes to Mycroft and got back to work.
September
Greg balanced his phone between his ear and chin as he pulled the atlas onto his lap. It was mid-morning and Greg had been taking advantage of his first Saturday off in weeks to enjoy a lazy lie in. The only problem was Mycroft wasn’t snuggled up in bed beside him but at least he could speak to him and hear his voice.
“So where are you now sweetheart,” Greg asked, fingers waiting to turn the pages.
“Page 35, D6,” Mycroft said tiredly.
Greg’s heart clenched as he listened to Mycroft’s tone, realising that for all he knew it could be 4am where Mycroft was and he might not have had much sleep.
“Listen love, you sound a little tired, maybe you should try to get some rest,” suggested Greg.
“No Greg, please, I, I need to hear your voice, I need to know, to know you’re there,” Mycroft stammered.
“Mycroft, you’re worrying me, what’s wrong,” replied Greg.
“Nothing’s wrong, I just find myself missing you very much right at this minute and want to feel close to you, even if it is just via a telephone line,” said Mycroft.
Greg swore he could actually feel a physical pain in his heart at the thought of Mycroft alone and needing him. He wanted nothing more than to wrap Mycroft in his arms and whisper soft gentle words in his ear.
“Okay love, I’m here, I’m always here when you need me,” Greg replied, “we can just talk, we don’t have to play the silly atlas game.”
Mycroft chuckled softly, “I would actually like to continue our silly game as you put it, I find the distraction helps me to cope with our separation better.”
Greg beamed, when he had first thought of using the atlas he had been sure Mycroft would scoff at the idea, or that having humoured him on a few occasions he would soon put an end to it. To hear that Mycroft had actually come to rely on it as method of comfort made Greg’s heart swell.
“Well then,” he gently teased, “What Mycroft wants, Mycroft gets. Let see, page 35 you said, D6?” Greg flipped to the page and found the location, “I’ll give you a clue Not all those who wander are lost.”
“Well assuming I have not somehow found myself in Middle Earth I take it you mean New Zealand,” replied Mycroft drily.
“Yes indeed, land of Hobbits, Orcs and Elves. Best films ever made if you ask me, so much better than the books,” Greg teased, knowing that Mycroft would take the bait.
“Better than the books!” scoffed Mycroft, “let me explain just why the books are superior to the films in every sense imaginable.”
Greg made himself comfortable against his pillows satisfied that he had successfully distracted Mycroft from whatever nightmarish situation he was currently in.
December
Greg was in foul form. It was shaping up to be the worst Christmas he had ever experienced. Even those Christmas’s spent alone after his divorce were better than this. Mycroft had once again been summoned to parts unknown and wasn’t expected to return for a least another week. At least when he’d been single he had been prepared for a lonely festive season. This year he had really kidded himself that he would be spending the time with the man he loved, the man he adored, the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But of course, Mycroft’s job had once again intervened and scuppered his plans. He didn’t know why he was surprised really, there was barely a month this entire year where Mycroft hadn’t been whisked away. Their little atlas game had helped at times, allowing them to pretend they were a normal couple who could talk to each other about their day, instead of awkward phone calls where Greg asked about what Mycroft was doing only to be met with silence.
That hadn’t been the case in November when Mycroft’s choice of numbers had located him smack bang in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Even he had struggled to find anything interesting to say about it. It had seemed to cruelly mirror Greg’s feelings of being lost and adrift without his mate. After that conversation he had put the atlas away in Mycroft’s study and had no intention of looking at it again.
Greg slumped down on the sofa in the living room and flicked on the tv. Not in the mood for any festive offerings he stuck on Sky Sports News and tried not to dwell on the feeling of despair that was threatening to engulf him. Just when he was considering cracking open the bottle whiskey of Sally had given him for Christmas his phone rang. Seeing that it was Mycroft he seriously debated not answering. As much as he wanted to speak to him, he also didn’t want another reminder that they weren’t spending Christmas together.
Letting reason take precedence over emotion he picked up, “Hello Mycroft, Merry Christmas I suppose.”
“Oh Gregory, I know you’re disappointed but please don’t be glum, now have you the atlas handy?” asked Mycroft, sounding entirely too cheerful for Greg’s liking.
Greg groaned a little, “Mycroft, I really don’t have the energy to do this tonight, just choose somewhere to pretend you are…. or don’t……I really don’t care right now.” Greg knew he was sounding like a petulant teen but he couldn’t help it.
“Gregory, my love, I know you’re annoyed and with good reason, but please, get the atlas and turn to page 7, L10. I promise you will not regret it.”
Greg was about to argue back but something about the obvious excitement in Mycroft’s tone made him bite his tongue. He huffed as he dragged himself up from the sofa and headed for the study.
“Okay, okay, I have it now, what page was it,” he grumbled.
Mycroft sighed good naturedly, “Page 7, L10, quick as you like.”
“Alright, alright, give me a second,” Greg flipped to the requested page before replying, “Page 7, are you sure, that’s England.”
“Quite sure,” replied Mycroft, “And I think you’ll find L10 indicates London as the exact location.”
Greg’s mind reeled, “You mean you’re back, you’re in London, how, where?”
“Yes I am back, and if I could give you even more precise co-ordinates you would find they locate me on a particular street, our street, in fact right outside our…..”
Mycroft didn’t finish his sentence as the front door was flung open and Greg came hurtling down the steps, heedless of his bare feet. Mycroft barely had time to lower the phone from his ear before he found himself with an armful of Greg. When they finally separated both men’s cheeks were wet with tears. Greg couldn’t stop smiling; he brought his hands up to frame Mycroft’s face, his thumbs gently brushing the tears away.
“How are you here?” he asked, “you said you wouldn’t be back until the New Year.”
Mycroft grasped Greg’s hands and brought them down, cradling them in his as he replied, “I couldn’t bear the thought of us spending Christmas apart. I never want to spend another Christmas without you.”
Greg smiled sadly, knowing the likelihood of that happening was very slim, “That would be amazing love but don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Greg squeezed Mycroft’s hand as he turned and led them back in to the house.
Once inside Mycroft divested himself of his coat and shoes and pulled Greg with him to sit on the living room sofa. They cosied up together, legs entwined, hands clasped together between them. Mycroft’s thumbs were stroking gentle circles over Greg’s knuckles.
“This year has been hellish Greg,” he said with a sigh, “before I met you the travelling was just part of the job. It made no difference to me if I was sleeping in a bed in Tehran or Washington or Berlin. They all had one thing in common with my bed at home, I had no one to share them with. Why should I care where I was or where I slept when I was always alone.”
Mycroft paused and cleared his throat, his words thick with emotion.
“Now I find that I have a compelling reason to stay in one particular bed. Our bed. With you beside me. I want to know that when I’ve had a long day at work I can come home to you. Seeing you, talking to you, touching you. That’s the only thing making my days bearable.”
Greg could barely speak past the lump in his throat, “Mycroft, you know I feel the same. I love you so much, when you’re away it feels like my heart’s been ripped out. Being with you has made me happier than I’ve ever known possible, but that makes our separation even harder to bear.”
Greg couldn’t contain himself any longer, surging forward until their lips met in a bruising kiss, trying to show through his actions the full depth of his feelings for this amazing man before him.
Greg would have been happy to sit on the sofa kissing for the rest of eternity but after a while Mycroft pulled back and started to get up, “I just need to get your Christmas present, I’ll be one minute,” he reassured Greg.
Greg sat on the sofa and waited as Mycroft retrieved something from his bag. When he came back to the sofa he presented Greg with a beautifully wrapped gift which Greg opened to reveal a leather backed book, the words ‘Travel Journal’ embossed on the cover. He looked up at Mycroft, confusion evident in his eyes.
“I meant what I said Greg,” Mycroft said as he sat back down beside him, “I never want to spend another Christmas away from you. In fact I don’t want to spend any time away from you. That’s why I have informed my staff that I will no longer be undertaking any work related travel.”
Greg gaped at him, “Is that even possible? Can you really do that?”
“Do that I can, and do that I have,” Mycroft replied, “it’s long past time I stepped back and delegated some responsibilities to my junior colleagues. I have much more pressing matters to deal with at home.”
“Pressing matters, is that what I am?” Greg asked cheekily, “but that doesn’t quite explain the travel journal.”
“Ah yes, well when I said I would no longer undertake any work related travel, that does not mean I will not still be jetting off from time to time. The difference now is that I will not be doing so alone. I suggest you open the journal.”
Greg did as suggested and there on the first page he read,
Travel Journal
T
he Adventures of Holmes & Lestrade
“All the places we talked about this year, all the experiences I described, it made me realise that I may have seen a lot of the world,” Mycroft explained, “but I’ve never had someone to share it with. I want to share the world with you Gregory. I want to buy you your hot dog in New York, share delicious Italian food with you, kiss you under the stars as we drift in the pacific ocean. Everything I’ve supposedly done this year, I want to actually do but with you by my side. Will you let me do that? Will you share the map of the world with me?”
Greg gently placed the journal to one side before taking Mycroft’s hands and pulling him into his lap. Winding his arms around Mycroft’s back and pulling their bodies tightly together Greg peppered kisses over Mycroft’s face before whispering in his ear, “I will go to the ends of the earth with you my love.”
The End