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'Good afternoon, Mr Holmes. Won't you come in?'
Jeeves shook Mycroft's long-fingered hand, then gestured to one of the wing chairs facing his desk. He maintained an expression of cordial deference (one of many such expressions in his solicitor's arsenal), but inside he was bubbling with glee.
His favourite client not only paid generously, but had given him some of the most challenging and engaging cases of his career - a hunt for obsure loopholes in international law, negotiations with various law enforcement bodies over the pardoning of minor crimes comitted for the 'greater good', not to mention officiating the many, many stipulations of a number of tantalising legal contracts. Jeeves was likely to be facing some late nights in the coming weeks, to untangle whatever complex web he would be assigned to. He relished the prospect. After all, despite his client's considerable influence within the British goverment, there were still certain avenues that stayed out of his reach without the expertise of a good solicitor.
'Would you care for some tea? I have a tin of Rasa Sinharaja.'
The same long-fingered hand was held up in polite refusal. 'No thank you, Reginald. My partner has just texted me - he is currently at Caffe Nero, and has informed me that he shall be bringing a "caramel latte" along for the both of us.' Jeeves could distinctly hear the quotation marks placed around the drink name. 'Have you ever tried one? Very sweet, but quite enjoyable on a cold winter's day.'
Jeeves was given reason for pause. By 'partner', Mycroft could easily have meant a professional associate, someone with an equal investment in whatever this case happened to be. But the softening of his eyes and the ever-so-slight pinkening of his pallid cheeks suggested otherwise.
In the years of their affiliation, Jeeves had always nurtured a fond respect for Mycroft Holmes. They seemed, in many ways, to be men cut from the same fine cloth - Mycroft's sharp intelligence, efficiency, and not to mention his appreciation for decorum and bespoke tailoring struck a most harmonious chord with him. However, herein lay a more unsettling thought. Among his colleagues, Mycroft's iciness and lack of compassion were notorious - excessive even for a diplomat with difficult ethical decisions constantly facing him. Jeeves had seen firsthand the ruthlessness with which the man could enact devastating embargoes, sign off on the extradition of political prisoners, not to mention bear witness to vicious interrogations without batting an eye. Jeeves suspected that this was not so much due to any psychopathic tendencies in Mycroft, and more a case of a man with a herculean job burying his emotions in order to function. He hoped.
As for the cherishing of friends and 'loved ones', well, the very idea had previously been scoffed at by the man. In the past, Jeeves had reflexively tallied all his own instances of reserve and coolness and self-isolation, haunted by a vague fear that he would end up just as alone and unfeeling as Mycroft Holmes seemed to be.
Jeeves then thought of Bertie, and warmed.
'We visited the registry office this morning for a marriage license,' Mycroft began, and Jeeves swiftly repressed a double-take. 'However, the 28 day notice period is an impediment that I wish to see dealt with. I have an important summit in Taipei next month that could stretch on for a good fortnight. Also, my partner is a figure of great importance at New Scotland Yard. The windows during which his absence can be afforded are both brief and sporadic. We are both content for a simple ceremony, so I see no reason to hesitate. Do you think you will be able to expedite the process, Reginald?'
Jeeves took a breath, absorbing the information that had been delivered in Mycroft's typical detatched, sedulous manner.
'I assure you that this is no impulsive whim,' he insisted steadily. 'We have come to this desicion with deep surety on both sides, and are in agreement of its merit.'
Jeeves nodded. 'Well, Mr Holmes, there may be certain pathways I can pursue, considering that both of you are government employees of import-'
Here the door opened. 'Myc, love, I got a couple of blueberry-'
Jeeves' innards calcified. The last time he had seen Greg Lestrade, the silver-haired stud had been writhing beneath him, clutching at the bedsheets, as Jeeves bestowed upon him a rather spectacular blow job. Granted, this had been years ago, but it seemed that the memory had been most speedily dredged up for the both of them, if the gobsmacked look on Greg's face was anything to go by.
'Uh, hi,' he offered shakily, sitting down next to Mycroft, placing a paper bag and a tray of coffee cups on Jeeves' desk. 'Got some muffins.'
Mycroft's eyes were darting between his solicitor and his fiance, the deductions settling into place with foolproof efficacy. Jeeves took in his body language: the considerable stiffening of his (already stiff) posture and his slight leaning away from Greg provided ample evidence, and the knot in his elegant brow more than completed the picture. Greg shot Jeeves a sheepish simper, and then turned to his fiance. 'So...' he supplied, desperate to restart the conversation, 'how d'you think we can, um, go about this?...'
The chilling stare that Mycroft delivered shot him down.
Jeeves hoped feebly that Mycroft had discerned the bygone nature of his tryst with Greg. During a drought in which his Grindr account had offered up nary but duds, Jeeves had bumped into Greg one afternoon outside the Old Bailey. While he'd never had much of a fancy for older men, Greg's doe eyes, rakish smile and dry humour had been enough to compel Jeeves into sharing a drink or three. One thing led to another, and once every few weeks, the two of them arranged a rendezvous at Jeeves' flat in Fulham for some truly fantastic shagging. Eventually, the fancy had fizzled out - Greg had lamented excessively about his failed marriage and burgeoning feelings for a not-quite-colleague of his. They parted amiably, and Jeeves promptly plunged into another monk-like dry spell, during which he only had eyes for his enormous workload.
The pleading nature of Greg's posture, leaning into his fiance, contrition writ clearly upon his features, showed without a doubt the devotion he held for Mycroft. Jeeves deduced that it was the vexed diplomat himself who had been the not-quite-colleague Greg had pined over. Obviously, his affections had since been requited, after what would no doubt have been an arduous thawing of the lofty man's defenses.
However, would the fact that Greg and Jeeves had broken it off years previous matter at all? It would take a gargantuan effort to be welcomed into Mycroft Holmes' hermetic heart - it only stood to reason that the smallest injury, intentional or otherwise, would be more than enough to be ejected from it.
Using his best low, sympathising tone of voice, Jeeves asked 'do you two gentlemen wish to discuss this in private?'
Once again, the door opened. 'What ho Reg, are you up for a sandwich at Pret?'
Shifting from frigid anger to pure bafflement, Mycroft took in the appearance of Bertie Wooster as if a mud-stained cocker spaniel had burst into the room and was chummily sniffing at his private parts.
'Bertram, darling,' Jeeves stood and crossed the carpeted floor to grasp his boyfriend by the shoulders. A tight almost-smile was grafted across his face. 'I'm in the middle of a meeting with my clients. Perhaps you can go and share a cup of tea with Bea while you wait for me?'
Jeeves tried to discreetly manhandle Bertie back out the door, but his eyes settled upon Greg, and the young man about-faced.
'Say, I know you! You're one of those detective chappies who was in the news recently. You caught that bloke who was poisoning all those oofy old ladies and collecting their fingers. Grisly stuff. Most impressive that you managed to catch the blighter, but I wish you would have waited til he got a hold of my Aunt Agatha. Not that I'd want her to die, goodness no, but the old harpy could stand to get roughed up a bit...'
'Bertram.'
'Mind you, she's such a terrifying specimen that the killer probably would have run screaming...'
'BERTRAM.'
By this time, Greg's embarrassment had morphed into poorly-concealed amusement as he witnessed the little skit before him. Mycroft levelled another Look at his fiance as he swallowed back a spasm of snickering.
'Didn't Bea tell you that I was currently occupied?' Jeeves insisted sharply.
At this, Bertie deflated a little, realising his gaff. 'Well, no. When I entered, she was having a rather intense discussion with that tall, curly-haired chap...'
The other three men in the room suddenly tensed like deer detecting a predator.
'What curly-haired chap?' Jeeves asked warily.
Like clockwork, the stern and laconic tones of Jeeves' paralegal Bea could be heard outside: 'I told you, he's in a private meeting! Get back here!'
And yet again, the door slammed open, this time admitting the sweeping stride of Sherlock Holmes, tailed closely by Dr Watson.
Jeeves rattled out a strained breath. Every single interaction he had ever endured with this man had ultimately sent him on a beeline for the scotch.
As Dr Watson made a lukewarm attempt to placate Bea, Sherlock wheeled about to stare down his older brother.
'The file on Georgiana Bourke. Now.' He commanded.
Mycroft drew himself up. 'I beg your pardon?'
In a typical show of petulance, Sherlock stamped his Italian brogue-clad foot, and Jeeves held back a derisive sniff.
'I have considerable evidence that Georgiana Bourke has been embezzling funds out from under your own oversized nose. Quite laughable that your department prides itself on intel, really. Perhaps you should rebrand as a government body specialising in heavy dinners.'
'Georgiana Bourke is one of our most trusted and vital agents,' Mycroft insisted. 'I would know if something was amiss.'
'John and I had the pleasure of investigating her husband's imports business last night. Rather impressive front for one of the most promising up-and-coming arms dealers in Europe. Georgiana's last official trip was to Kiev, was it not?'
'Sherlock...' came a warning tone from Greg.
'The file on Georgiana Bourke,' he repeated. 'Or I will track her movements myself until I find what I'm looking for.'
Mycroft sighed heavily, looking to Jeeves. He could do without a headache like that, and it would be Jeeves himself once again doing the legwork to clean up baby brother's mess of misdemeanours.
'On the condition that you do not stalk my employee,' Mycroft responded, 'and that I can call you in for three future favours, I will allow you to look at her file. Only because I am confident you will find nothing of interest.'
'One favour,' Sherlock interjected.
'Two favours.'
'Done,' Dr Watson declared. 'We'll let you get on with your day,' he offered, staring pointedly at Sherlock. 'You can send the file later this evening. I've got to feed this one up, he ate half a custard cream about forty-eight hours ago.' He grabbed his partner by the arm with a stong sturdy hand.
'Oh, and Mycroft,' Sherlock declared. 'I wouldn't worry about Gary and Mr Jeeves. The last time they had sex was two years, five months and three weeks ago. He was using Mr Jeeves as a substitute for his inexplicable attraction to your own pasty visage. Unfortunately your solicitor lacks the bloated physique and outright megalomania that make you so appealing to him. Gary will make a loyal and devoted husband, despite his utter ineptitude as a detective.'
'Sherlock!' Came the outraged chorus of Mycroft, Dr Watson and Greg.
The blunt appraisal continued unabated. Sherlock now indicated Bertie, who had been watching the whole confrontation like a circus act. 'Anyway, this insipid piece of candyfloss seems to have ruined Mr Jeeves for other men, it's obvious from his inexpertly laundered shirt and the frankly ghastly cocktail of David Beckham cologne and Durex lubricant wafting off the both of them.'
'Right,' came Dr Watson's terse response. 'We're going. Good afternoon, gentlemen.'
Sherlock was wrenched out the door, quickly turning pliant under his partner's direction. The good doctor's nagging could be heard fading into the distance as he ushered his charge out into the street.
'Apologies for that little interlude, my brother can be quite indelicate.' Mycroft said this more to Bertie than to the others, who were already accustomed to Sherlock in top form.
'Oh, not at all,' Bertie insisted with an easy smile. 'Actually a bit thrilling to meet a celebrity like him,' he turned to Greg, 'he's the one that solves all the crimes with you, isn't he?'
'Unfortunately,' Greg sighed.
'I think that other fellow was the one that writes the blog about him. Just like mine, don't you know, Reg? Might be nice to catch up with him and compare notes.'
'I'm sure it would, my dearest,' Jeeves responded, once again navigating Bertie out into the reception room. 'However, I am going to be a while in here. Please do go and enjoy some tea with Bea. She bought a packet of Sainsbury's cookies this morning, nice and fresh.'
'Ooh! The chocolate chunk ones?'
'The very same,' Jeeves confirmed, finally able to dismiss his boyfriend and close the blessed door behind him.
In a similar spirit, Greg thrust the bag of muffins at Mycroft. 'I know you skipped breakfast again, Myc,' he stated. 'You're finishing one of these off, and no arguments.'
Mycroft warmed as he obediently plucked one of the muffins from the bag, tore off a dainty piece and popped it into his mouth.
'Back to business, gentlemen...' Jeeves announced, perching behind his desk again.
***
John chewed slowly on a thoughtful mouthful of pad thai. 'I think that kid was the one with the blog.'
Sherlock did not look up from brooding over his sticky mango rice. 'Pardon?'
'The blonde one. You called him an insipid piece of candyfloss?' John offered. 'One of our readers compared the blog to his one and left a link. Pretty silly stuff, mostly just the personal dramas of posh kids, but he always goes on about that solicitor, his boyfriend. Apparently he's a problem-solving genius, too. Interesting writing style.'
'Mycroft and Gary are getting married,' Sherlock replied absently.
John was unfazed, this was hardly the most random non-sequitur he'd ever heard spurt forth from Sherlock. When coming out of his mind palace, it was quite normal for the man to respond to offers of tea and biscuits with detailed descriptions of stab wounds, the atomic weight of all the alkali metals, and once, an entire Keats poem.
'Problem?' John asked.
'Not exactly,' Sherlock murmured, 'but a few years ago, if you had asked me to list the most unlikely events I might ever bear witness to, the dissolution of the British monarchy, the resurgence of Esperanto, and world peace would have all ranked well beneath.'
John smirked. 'You know, Mycroft isn't the emotionless robot you make him out to be. I can't say I'm his biggest fan, but even I was eventually able to figure out that all those... infuriating ways he butts into our life are just a way of showing how much he loves you.'
Sherlock huffed. 'Yes, but Gary? Really?'
John shrugged. 'It sort of makes sense to me. All that time they spent babysitting you before I was around. They would've gotten to know each other in a not-quite-professional capacity.'
'I don't know what he sees in Mycroft.' Sherlock gave an infantile, my-big-brother-is-gross shudder.
Shifting his attention away from the admittedly average pad thai, John reached a hand out to caress his husband's long white fingers.
'There's just something about you problem-solving geniuses, I guess,' he rumbled gently, and though Sherlock did not meet John's gaze, his pupils dilated infinitesimally. 'You're just so...' John indulged in a sensuous inhale, 'elegant and clever and sleek and all the rest of it. Makes a bloke come over all hot and bothered.'
Sherlock grinned. 'I deduce that that insipid piece of candyfloss tops from the bottom.' This earned him a rich chuckle from John.
'Besides,' continued John, and Sherlock looked up into his eyes to behold an enveloping tenderness. 'I think you and I set a pretty amazing precedent for marrying off Holmes boys, don't you?'
Sherlock warmed. 'Yes I do, husband.'
***