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It had been a very early morning. Leave it to Sherlock to figure out the identity of the murderer at 5am, making Greg and his team drive out all the way to the southern coastline to catch him at his mother’s holiday home. But at least now the case was closed. The man was apprehended and heading to London - his team had been told they had the rest of the day off as soon as the man was in custody in the city, and they had made haste to get home.
Greg didn’t blame them. He had even given himself some leave upon completion of the case, after all. But somehow, if he was already in the south, he wanted to take the chance and enjoy it for a while. It was a beautiful, sunny day in late August, after all, and the area surrounding him looked like a scene that could’ve come from the brush of a certain painter. Happy little trees, indeed. It was, all in all, bit on the warm side that day, but manageable by his standards. He’d assured the others that he could make it home by public transport, so they left him in the sleepy little seaside village, which he had already forgotten the name of. Not that it mattered.
He strolled from the holiday house, which was on the outskirts of the village, to the centre, in the search of some lunch. It wasn’t a very big village, but there was a large-ish church on one side of what could be called a plaza, and a pub on the other side. There were tables on the pavement outside, and no cars going by. It was almost picturesque. Greg sighed. How long had it been since he had the opportunity to just enjoy a day like this?
Lunch was quickly ordered from a menu of a decent pub food selection. He was surprised to find a number of patrons already seated, but figured it was holiday season, and even a small village like this got their fair share of visitors when it was at the sea. Maybe he really should take a hotel room for the weekend - it was Friday after all. He was feeling a particular sort of whimsy, induced by his location, the elation of bringing the case to a close and the sunny weather. Why not indulge a little? He certainly earned it.
Suddenly there was a louder noise, as if a motorway was nearby. It went on for quite a bit, until it faded out. As Greg asked the pub owner about it, he laughed and pointed at the other patrons.
“Aren’t you here for the meetup?”
“No, actually I’m here on business. Was here on business. Now it’s just pleasure. What meetup?”
“Oh, these gents come here every year with their fancy oldtimer cars. It’s always a spectacle seeing everyone arrive. They drive through here and then behind the church. There’s a small, unused practice race track for the more adventurous and a large yard for the ones that rather sit and look at their car than have it scratched. I’d take a look if I were you. There are some beauties,” the pub owner explained, and some other patrons nearby nodded in agreement.
“Thanks for the info, mate,” Greg answered and smiled. “I think I will.”
After a lunch of surprisingly good fish and chips (Greg mostly goes for the classics - they never let him down) he sauntered over to the church with a spring in his step. What had been an abysmal week was now turning itself around in the best way. Just as he got closer to the red-brick building, he heard the cars again, this time much louder. Another round on the race track then, he thought, wondering what kind of cars he’d encounter. He had never been a car nut, but he appreciated the old, elegant designs all the same. They had a certain air about them that you just didn’t find anymore.
But as he turned the corner around the church he stopped dead in his track. In front of him was Mycroft Holmes himself, leaning against the brick wall, casually smoking a cigarette. He was wearing an incredibly elaborate, fancy suit, which seemed almost Victorian, in a dark blue, complete with silk cravat and a cream-white shirt. Most remarkable was his hair, which had come partially loose from its usual style, and was now flowing in gentle waves on Mycroft’s head, moving in the breeze. Cigarette in one hand, he was holding a silver pocket-watch with the other, evidently checking the time. Greg had never seen that particular pocket-watch before, but leave it to Mycroft to match it with the suit.
Mycroft hadn’t seen him yet. Greg was about to turn away, but then decided that it was his weekend to have some fun, so he walked close enough to surprise Mycroft, when he addressed him with a smile in his voice.
“Smoking? Really? I thought you said you stopped.”
Mycroft almost jumped as he heard Greg’s voice and turned around with wide eyes. He was momentarily stumped, blinking as he processed what had just happened. It took him much shorter than Greg had hoped, but then he was treated to Mycroft smiling at him and taking a long, exaggerated drag, exhaling the smoke high up into the air. How did he manage to do everything with an air of elegance?
“Yes, well, you caught me. In more ways than one, as it seems, detective inspector.”
“Please, it’s Greg.”
“Very well,” Mycroft replied. “Then it’s also Mycroft.”
“Can do,” Greg said and smiled in response. “In what other way did I catch you?”
Mycroft gestured into the general direction of the cars that were lined up under the trees on the nearby yard.
“Why, at my secret hobby, as you can clearly see. I just stepped away briefly to take a phone call. How in the world did you find me here?”
“If I tell you it was pure chance, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”
“You’re not a liar, Gregory. Of course I’d believe you.”
“Oh, thanks,” Greg said and felt his ears grow a bit red. “That… came out of the blue, but thanks. I appreciate you seeing it that way.”
“Don’t mention it,” Mycroft stated in a tone that didn’t allow contradiction. He briefly narrowed his eyes, as if he had to contemplate something, but then extracted the last bit of smoke from the cigarette and disposed of it in a nearby bin. “Please don’t tell anyone. I only smoke about ten of these in a year. It shouldn’t even count.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, Mycroft. Both of them, I swear.”
“Thank you,” Mycroft said with a gentle smile. “Well, I suppose you’ll want to see the car I brought with me, no?”
“Can’t wait,” Greg confirmed and grinned. This was turning out to be a much better day than he could’ve ever hoped for. Mycroft lead the way. As he followed the man, Greg couldn’t help but observe him moving with all the grace of a cat, in this ridiculously fancy suit. Hell, he even had funky cufflinks in the form of a lion’s head, for god’s sake! Greg felt like absolutely no match for Mycroft in his plain work suit, as he trailed along between the rows of cars and other - probably very wealthy enthusiasts - talking among the vehicles, which were polished to such perfection that the reflecting sunlight hurt his eyes.
He had almost complimented Mycroft on his look, but then he had caught himself, commenting on the cigarette instead. But, damn if Mycroft didn’t look amazing. It wasn’t only the suit - it helped a lot - but the way he carried himself so different, away from London. A spring in his step, a gentle smile present on those kissable lips… Greg shook his head. No, no way. Not going there.
“Here she is,” Mycroft said and pointed to a low car with an exaggerated gesture.
It was a beauty. A low two-seater, looking very classic with it’s elongated body, no roof and even a leather suitcase bound to the back instead of a trunk. It was dark blue, sparkling in the sun. Greg realised that Mycroft had chosen his clothes to compliment the car, as the leather was just of the same creamy white hue as Mycroft’s shirt. Everything was offset in chrome, meticulously clean - not even one fingerprint. Greg almost didn’t dare touch it, just walked around once and leaned in to observe the classic interior with a minimalist display.
“It’s a Morgan,” Mycroft finally said as Greg looked towards him. “It looks old, but it’s actually only about 5 years… It took me a while to put it together, and I couldn’t resist driving it out here, rather than one of my actual classic cars. It’s quite a bit faster.”
“Wait. You put all of that together? The whole car?”
“Yes. It took me a few years, though. You can buy the car pre-assembled or put in the work to complete the world’s most complicated Lego model,” he answered with a smirk. Greg decided immediately that he had to see that joyful expression again, no matter what.
“That’s… impressive. Really. And with everything else you’ve got going on? Wow.”
“You’re too kind.”
Mycroft touched the small car door gently, almost caressing the leather on the finish. Greg could immediately see that Mycroft was very proud of the end-product, but would never brag about it. He wondered how many other things Mycroft did, that he didn’t know about. Truth be told, he knew very little about the elder Holmes brother… and had just assumed that the man did nothing but work and sleep. He was a very private person, and Greg almost felt bad for having him exposed like this, if only accidental. But Mycroft was polite. He’d never send Greg away, even if he was a bother.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your weekend like this, if it’s any consolation. I didn’t mean to pry. I can be out of your hair, if you like. This was nice. Thank you for showing me.”
Mycroft looked up, suddenly surprised, almost a bit fearful. “You’re leaving?”
“I had planned on getting back to London tonight… and you know how reliable Southern Rail is.”
“Yes. I really should have a talk with someone about that. But you don’t have to feel obligated to leave. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”
Greg shook his head. “Not at all. It’s me, who’s intruding. After all, didn’t you tell your mother on the phone last week that you were out of the country this weekend? I overheard you at Baker Street. If you’re that cautious, I can’t imagine you’re keen to have company.”
“On the contrary. I feel quite elated to have met you here, Gregory,” Mycroft said with careful consideration. “In fact, I’d like to invite you for a drive, if you’re up for it.”
Greg looked at the car between them, then back to Mycroft with a grin on his face. “Really? That’d be great! I’ve never been in one of these.”
Mycroft seemed relieved to hear Greg’s response, as the tension melted from his shoulders. As Greg started to walk to the other side of the car, Mycroft stopped him and held out his hand. Greg realised that he was handed the keys.
“You can’t be serious.”
“There’s no one else I’d trust with this. If you like…”
“Like? I’d love to! If you’re sure, of course.”
“Very.”
Greg took the keys from Mycroft’s hand. As their fingers brushed, neither of them pulled them back instinctively, like Greg would’ve done with many other people. Instead they both looked up and caught the strange emotion in the other’s eyes. Greg swallowed. Mycroft wasn’t… no. That couldn’t be.
They both got into the car, which was a bit of a logistical nightmare for Greg. The door was tiny and despite the missing roof he felt like he was occupying more space than the whole car had available at any time. He wiggled into the low seat, only to see that Mycroft had no such trouble, and could even fit his long legs without problem.
“I see you’re more experienced.”
“I worked hard at making it look so easy.” Mycroft laughed. “There’s nothing worse than arriving in such a beautiful car and then falling over all the time because you’re unable to get in or stand up.”
In interior was tiny. Mycroft showed Greg the most important things, but there really wasn’t much to learn. Then he pointed under the central console and told Greg to lean down. As he did so, he saw the one modern part in the whole car. A radio, mounted where no one could see it from the outside.
“The speakers are also modern. The radio has bluetooth. Feel free to connect your phone.”
“My god, this is incredible,” Greg marveled. “I love the way it’s hidden. Not like the one over there. Did he actually put furry dice in an Aston Martin DB5?”
“There’s no accounting for taste.”
“Come on. Even a diplomat like you has to draw the line somewhere.”
Mycroft just smiled in response.
“Fine, fine. But I’ll actually leave the music selection to you. I don’t think any of mine would fit now.”
“Oh, I think you would fit just fine,” Mycroft said. “Just fine…”
Greg looked over to the other man with a question on his face, but when he saw the expression of shy longing in Mycroft’s eyes, his breath stopped for a moment. He cleared his throat and suddenly felt a rush of heat. To disguise it, he reached for the keys and started the car. The resulting noise was loud, but elegant at the same time. The car had power, that much was sure. As he pulled out of the yard, carefully driving through the rows of the other cars, he purposefully didn’t pay any attention to Mycroft, as his ears were still burning.
Mycroft really was flirting with him, wasn’t he?
Shortly before they drove out onto the plaza where Greg had taken lunch earlier, he looked over to Mycroft, who had taken to flip through the music selection on his phone.
“Where to, sir?” he quipped with an easy smile.
Mycroft smiled in return and as their eyes met, Greg felt something slot into place that seemed so right, he wondered why he hadn’t seen it before. Mycroft put his phone back into his pocket and a lively 50s song started playing on the speaker system. Then he reached out with his hand and carefully, hesitating for a fraction, put it on Greg’s knee.
“A drive along the coast? There are some cliffs to the east that are worth visiting for the view alone.”
Greg swallowed, the heat from Mycroft’s hand seeping into his skin through his trousers, much more intense than the brilliant sunshine. Yes. Definitely flirting. He didn’t mind. At all. With some courage he picked up Mycroft’s hand with his and brought it to his lips.
“Sounds wonderful,” he said and bestowed a kiss on Mycroft’s hand, before placing it back on his knee. Mycroft looked at him with wonder in his eyes, wearing a dreamy smile.
Greg felt better than he had in a long, long time. The brilliant car, the beautiful weather and the promise of something he couldn’t quite understand, but relish all the same, combined to a high that flowed through his whole body. He felt himself grinning without a reason, enjoying the ride with Mycroft, as the other tapped his finger in the beat of the music on his leg. The car was loud and the wind was rushing past them - the music was barely audible, and any conversation would have to be shouted, but both of them were quite content to simply be in each other’s presence and thinking of the possibilities that this chance encounter had given them. Finally Mycroft pointed to a road that lead away from the main one and Greg followed it dutifully until they reached a secluded parking spot high on a cliff.
After Greg all but rolled out of the car - much to Mycroft’s amusement - they walked a bit until they reached a bench and sat down together, observing the sea, which was sparkling in the afternoon sun. In the distance, small sailboats were dotting the water, and below them there was a little beach, from which they could hear the shouts of children playing in the water. Greg thought it was a bit too perfect, but he wasn’t about to complain.
Mycroft reached for Greg’s hand between them and sighed as Greg readily took a hold of his. They sat in silence for a while, Greg gently caressing Mycroft’s fingers, enjoying this cautious attempt at a more serious connection.
“The sun’s quite warm today,” he said into the silence.
Mycroft hummed his agreement, though he didn’t look to Greg as if he was feeling hot, at all. Despite the full suit and waistcoat, he looked very comfortable. Greg wasn’t. He withdrew his hand with an apology and shrugged of his suit jacket, then loosened his tie so that he could open a few buttons. What he expected was a bit of air circulation. What he got was a wide-eyed hungry stare directed at him, until Mycroft realised what he was doing and smiled guiltily. But then Mycroft looked again, with more curiosity than hunger. Greg immediately realised what he had spotted, so he took of his tie completely and pulled the shirt away so that Mycroft could see his clavicle. There was a small tattoo of a rose positioned just underneath it.
“I know. It’s awful, isn’t it? I was young and romantic once, can you believe it?”
“Not romantic anymore?” Mycroft asked.
“Haven’t had the chance lately.”
“Want a chance?”
Greg smiled and nodded. Mycroft leaned in slowly, but just when Greg thought he’d kiss him, his head dipped lower and caressed the tattooed skin. Feeling Mycroft’s lips on his body had been so unexpected, Greg let out a little moan as Mycroft sucked at the skin. Involuntarily he reached out and fisted one hand in Mycroft’s suit jacket. Then he felt the man smile against his skin, before returning to lick it, slowly wandering up his neck.
“I have another tattoo,” Greg said as Mycroft had reached the sensitive area behind his ear. “A secret one, somewhere on my body.”
Mycroft drew back and looked into Greg’s eyes with a mischievous smile.
“Why, inspector, is that a challenge?”