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It is quiet now, with everyone gone. Greg stares into the empty room - except that it isn’t empty. There are cups everywhere, confetti, crumbles of crisps and spilled liquor in places it definitely shouldn’t be. Greg knew it would be messy to host a halloween party in his shared flat. He has assumed, however, that his flatmates would be there to help him clean up. They are both out cold, now, and he is left alone with the chaos.
He runs his hands up through his hair that is still sticky with hair gel, and down to rub his tired eyes, only to remember he is still wearing eyeliner. He takes great pleasure in taking his fake moustache off. It started itching a while ago, but it is the only thing that makes his costume recognisable. Without it, he is just a guy in tight jeans and a muscle shirt.
With a sigh, he checks the clock that is miraculously still hanging on the wall – it is half past five in the morning. He opens a window to get rid of the smell and the humid warmth. A few months earlier, he would be hearing the happy chirping of the birds announcing a new day. At the end of October – or the first of November, as it is – there are no birds, the sun is still a few hours away and the cold is creeping into Greg’s bones even through the hazy daze of booze. Outside, the street lights reflect on the wet pavements.
“This shouldn’t be happening,” he mumbles to himself as he pushes a pile of confetti together with a broom. He thinks about getting himself one last beer to make this more bearable, but he feels that he is sobering up and realises he would regret it in the morning.
He is not mad at his flatmates. Kidane has blocked the bathroom for nearly two hours and Greg is just glad he’s finally stopped vomiting and fallen asleep. John, on the other hand… well, when Greg went to check, he was snoring softly next to the lean boy he has spent all night with. Greg could hardly blame him. Next time, it might be John playing the wingman for him, and he’d be the one going to bed early.
Just as he is done emptying all the cups into the sink, the doorbell rings. Short once, then, after a pause, long twice. It sounds urgent. Sighing, Greg moves to open the door. He has been kind of expecting this. One of the guests left their jacket lying around, and it is freezing outside – not to mention the uncomfortable drizzle. However, as he looks into the hallway to find out who it is, he finds an unfamiliar face.
A young man his age hurries up the stairs, panting with what seems more than just the effort of climbing the steps. His hair is clinging to his forehead and his cheeks are bright red from the cold. He must have been outside for some while.
“Mycroft Holmes,” he introduces himself quickly, out of breath, as he glances past Greg into the flat. There is a short pause, like something threw him off the track. Greg is sure it is the mess first, but he soon realises it is the silence. Decidedly, the stranger’s eyes fix on Greg’s. “I’m looking for my little brother, Sherlock. I think he visited your party yesterday.”
Greg’s eyes widen as he realises who the stranger is talking about. “Sherlock. Yeah… uh, yeah, he was here-“
“Do you know where he’s gone?” Mycroft interrupts him hurriedly, glancing past him into the empty room, and suddenly Greg understands. He’s anxious. From what he looks like, Mycroft must have walked all the way from wherever he lives to this place just to find his brother. He is panting not only because he walked fast, but because he is scared. Christ.
“He’s here,” Greg says quickly to reassure him. “He had a bit too much so he’s crashing here, but he’s fine.”
Apprehensive grey eyes snap up to his own and he holds the gaze, calmly. Greg can see the transformation clearly. Mycroft’s eyes fall closed for a moment and the hunched shoulders slowly relax. He clears his throat, trying to find his voice. “Thank you. I… appreciate that information very much.”
The man looks uncomfortable, unsure what to do. With a last glance into the flat and an awkward nod, he turns to go. Greg suddenly feels very sorry for him. He came all the way up here to find his brother, and now he would have to walk back home in the cold. “Listen, uhm-“ He watches Mycroft turn back to him, eyes appraising. “Maybe you’d like to stay for a tea or a coffee? Wait for the next bus. The station is right in front of the house. It’s ridiculous for you to stand in the rain when I’ve got this cozy flat. Well, not so cozy right now…” Greg grins, and for the first time Mycroft does not seem able to look back into his eyes. He stares to the ground instead.
“I do not-… You are clearly busy, I do not want to cause any inconvenience-“
“It’s not like I can go to sleep any time soon. My flatmates fucked off to bed so it’s up to me to clean this mess up. You’re not bothering me. ‘s actually nice to have some company.” Greg’s eyes are warm with amusement. He steps aside to let him in, and after a moment of hesitation Mycroft dries his shoes on the doormat and enters.
“You can put up your jacket over the heating, maybe it can dry a bit before you leave again. Coffee or tea? You must be freezing.” Greg bustles over into the kitchen while Mycroft hesitates in the hallway. He takes so long that Greg comes back to check. He finds Mycroft carefully arranging his jacket over the heating. As their eyes meet, the strange boy looks away quickly.
“Coffee or tea?” Greg repeats, more slowly, and he’s grinning.
“At this ungodly hour? Coffee, I guess…” says Mycroft quietly.
Greg cannot help but laugh.
“Good choice. I think I could have some myself, actually…”
He watches Mycroft’s careful steps into the kitchen out of the corners of his eyes as he puts the machine on. “Sorry.”, he mumbles and takes a box with wine off the kitchen chair so Mycroft can sit.
Greg wonders if the boy is always so stiff. He sits primly on the chair despite the obvious exhaustion in his face. Nevertheless, his eyes roam the room with what looks like interest rather than discomfort – until he notices that he is being watched. Mycroft’s gaze finds the ground again, and this time Greg is sure there is a blush on his cheeks.
Adorable, the thinks shortly and puts the coffee mug down in front of him. “Here you go. Milk or sugar?” He has both on the table before Mycroft can answer.
“Thank you,” Mycroft says with some hesitation. He goes for the sugar eventually, not meeting Greg’s eyes.
Greg fights a smile but decides not to make the boy uncomfortable. He turns his back on him and starts rinsing the plastic cups that survived the party. “So what’s all this about, then? Your brother doesn’t seem much of a troublemaker.”
He can hear Mycroft give a wry huff of amusement. “I’m sure many people would beg to differ.”
“Well, he can rub people up the wrong way, can’t he? I didn’t talk to him much, but I think it’s how he met John. Told him he’s- uh… things that he did not want to admit to himself. He was raging about it when he came home.” Greg smiled wryly to himself as he remembered the talk that has followed. He was pretty proud of the outcome.
“Is John…?” Mycroft begins but apparently decides to stay quiet before Greg turns around, encouraging him with a smile. “Is John his friend? He said he would go to a friend’s party… Is that him?”
Greg grins a bit. “I guess so. I’ve only seen him around John tonight, I think. He told you, then? That he was going to a party, I mean. You seemed pretty worried about him.” Greg still doesn’t really understand why.
Mycroft presses his lips together and looks down again. For a moment, Greg worries he might not respond. “We had agreed he would be back by two o’clock. I waited for longer than that… He likes to provoke me. But by three o’clock I had to start looking for him,” Mycroft explains finally, long fingers wrapping around his mug of coffee.
Greg frowns gently. “I get that you worry about him. He’s your little brother. And he’s broken your arrangement. But he’s going to university. Isn’t it time that he thinks for himself?” It is a subtle suggestion, but Greg does not judge. It is not his place.
Mycroft still looks offended – enough to make him look back into Greg’s eyes again. “He’s only sixteen,” he hisses sharply.
“Wait- what? He’s… underage? I thought John met him at university!”
Mycroft nods, once. “He skipped a few classes,” he explains simply.
Greg does not know what to say. “I… Crap. I’m sorry, man… I wouldn’t have – I mean, we’ve all been drinking, I didn’t know…”
Mycroft shakes his head quickly. “No, not at all. It’s not your fault,” he says quietly and looks up.
Greg shakes his head quickly and huffs. “And I call myself a policeman…” he mumbles dryly with a quick smile at Mycroft. It is only now in the bright kitchen light that he takes a moment to truly look at the young man. He can detect a few delicate freckles around his nose. I bet he’s ginger, he thinks suddenly and bites down on the low rumble of arousal in his stomach. Christ, Greg, focus.
He blames it on the exhaustion and the rest of the alcohol that must still be in his bloodstream.
“Did you get here alright? It can be tricky, knowing only the address. I’m sure Sherlock didn’t give you directions.”
There is a silence. Greg dries his hand with a cloth and turns around, frowning. “Wait- he did give you the address, didn’t he?”
Again, Mycroft stays silent. He looks down into his cup, then out of the window, until he gathers the courage to look at Greg. He only raises one eyebrow. For some reason, it makes Greg grin. The young face looks so serious. He wonders shortly what Mycroft is doing – is he studying? Is he working already?
“So if he didn’t give you the address, how did you find this place?” he asks, amused.
“I… have my methods. Sherlock’s mobile phone…” His voice trails off, but Greg understands what he is saying.
“You tracked it down?” He cannot quiet believe it, but Mycroft’s reaction lets him know that he has hit the mark. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
“It’s not,” Mycroft says calmly, and Greg couldn’t tell if he was lying or didn’t know the truth.
“Well, I’m studying criminology, and I know it’s illegal,” Greg retorts sternly, but his eyes are dancing with amusement.
Mycroft only huffs. “So is supporting under-age drinking.”
Greg shakes his head, laughing. Mycroft blinks once, apparently surprised Greg has understood the joke despite his serious expression. The corners of his mouth twitch a bit.
“Is this what you do for a living, then? Tracking people down? Hacking into computers?” Greg teases, grinning. Somehow, he can’t really imagine that.
Mycroft raises his eyebrow in disdain and Greg thinks that might be his favourite expression so far. “No, not usually,” he answers carefully. “I am still studying Politics and Economics at the moment. This is going to be my last year.”
“Ah, politician, then. That fits. You’re a good liar.”
When Mycroft smiles, Greg realises he has been wrong.
This is his favourite expression.
It’s gone before long, exchanged once more by worry. “I am not usually-… I would not-… without good reason,” Mycroft finally tries to explain himself. “My brother has… recently developed some interest in things that are not good for him. Substances…”
Greg frowns. “Substances? You mean, like, alcohol? Cigarettes?” He pauses for a moment. “Weed?”
Mycroft shakes his head once, staring ahead. “No. None of these things,” he says sadly.
“Holy shit,” Greg whispers as the realisation sinks in, like a cold stone in the pit of his stomach. “Are you serious?” He keeps his voice low.
Mycroft nods again. He’s given up on looking at Greg.
Greg doesn’t know what to say. He can’t help but admire him for how much he cares.
“You’re a good brother,” he says gently and watches Mycroft’s eyelashes sweep his cheeks as he looks down. “He’s sleeping now, so unless you want to wake him up and drag him home, he can stay here until tomorrow. I’ll tell him to contact you once he’s awake.”
“No, please-!” Mycroft shakes his head quickly, eyes suddenly soft and vulnerable. “He mustn’t know I was here. He is annoyed enough with me as it is… If he finds out I’m tracking his phone he’ll lose any remaining trust in me.”
Greg watches him bite down on his lip, hard.
Greg nods slowly. “Alright. I won’t tell him. Promise. But hey- let me give you my phone number, yeah? So you can just call me and ask instead of coming all the way here to check on him.”
Mycroft looks surprised but pulls out his phone and gives it to Greg. There is that adorable blush again, Greg thinks, and he cannot hold back a smile.
When Mycroft leaves, Greg thinks he catches him glance at his backside, but he’s not sure enough to assume anything. Still, as he watches him through the window, he wonders when they will meet again.
I might even wear those jeans for him.