Work Text:
Work is, for a lack of a better word, shit. Suspects getting off on technicalities, Sherlock causing his usual array of problems, and a rookie spilling hot coffee all over Greg and his freshly signed paperwork all come together to make sure Greg is having one of the worst days of his career.
After resigning what seems like 800 pages of legalese and getting ready to go home, the world gives Greg one last screw you and the moment he steps out of the office it begins to rain. Not just a light sprinkle. No, that would be too easy. Greg gets one foot out the door and a dam breaks. It’s a downpour, water filling the streets and soaking everything in sight.
Greg, dressed in a coffee-stained white button up and slacks, is not prepared for the weather. He doesn’t have a coat or an umbrella or even a random binder to cover his head. He’s screwed and as if his life doesn’t suck enough already, he’s wearing brand new shoes. Brand new, Italian leather, cost-more-than-3-months-salary shoes that Mycroft bought him just last week. Greg didn’t even bother asking the price because he knew he’d hate to hear it, knew it’d be too damn much. He’s glad he didn’t because ruining shoes is one thing, ruining shoes he knows cost more than 15 months of rent is another.
Ignorance doesn’t feel like bliss when he finally steps out into the elements.
The car park is only a short walk away. He’s just got to make it 400 meters and then he’s scot-free, so he starts running. His shoes — such nice new shoes — squeak against the pavement as he tries desperately not to fall. He’s almost there, car insight and keys in-hand when something makes him stop. A strange sound comes from the alleyway, almost inaudible against the pounding sound of rain.
He moves rather slowly towards the trash bins, distracted and curious. It’s a soft sound, a rustling followed by little whines. Greg pushes aside one of the bins and reveals something entirely unexpected, a tiny black kitten. It’s fur is matted and wet and it looks quite pitiful. It looks up at Greg with wide yellow eyes and lets out the sweetest mew Greg has ever heard in his life. The scrawny thing all but leaps into Greg’s arms, tiny claws digging into the damp fabric of his shirt. He isn’t sure why he takes the kitten with him to the car, or why he lets the feeble ball of fur sit in his lap the whole ride home, and he truly has no clue why he dries it off before he bothers to get himself some clean clothes.
Greg can’t keep the little thing. His flat isn’t big enough for an animal to roam, none of his windows get direct sunlight so the kitten couldn’t sunbathe, he doesn’t own any supplies, and he works far too much to take proper care of it. None of these facts keep Greg from sitting a small saucer of milk on the floor and happily watch the kitten lap it all up.
He shouldn’t let himself get attached, but it’s so cute and helpless and the first good thing to happen to Greg since he woke up this morning. He can’t keep it — her, he thinks to himself. She’s definitely a little lady.
“Lady,” He murmurs, hands pressing gently against the kitten’s plush ears. “I’m gonna call you Lady.”
Lady responds with a pathetic squeak and paws at the now empty dish. Greg giggles and picks her up, only needing one hand to lift her tiny body.
“Sorry, Lady, no more milk for you. I’m gonna text Myc and see if he can pick up some cat stuff.”
The pair walk over to the couch and Greg talks about how good Myc is and how he’ll adore Lady. Lady, who is an astonishingly good conversationalist, listens and responds with her own little meows. She’s more energetic now that she’s warm and fed, pawing at Greg’s chest while he waits for his partner to message him back. He lets her gnaw at his fingers and bat playfully at his hand.
She gets rightfully upset when Greg has to stop playing to let answer his phone, plopping down unhappily on his thigh.
“Hey, Myc, what are you up to?”
There’s a short pause followed by the sound of a honking horn. He must be on his way home —
He isn’t sure when he started referring to his place as Myc’s home but he doesn’t really care. That’s a conversation for a different time.
“Nothing, darling, just on my way to your place. Now, what is this I heard about a cat?”
As if she understood that the conversation is about her, Lady mews. It’s a squeaky sound that makes Greg laugh. She sounds like a dog toy, a fluffy little dog toy.
“She was in the rubbish outside the Yard. I know I can’t keep her forever but… I’m a little attached.” He pats her head with his fingers, grinning as she purrs her approval.
“Of course you brought home a stray.” His voice is filled with faux annoyance but Greg knows he’s smiling, can almost hear it in his voice.
Lady squeaks again, seemingly upset that she’d been called a stray. Greg soothes her by scratching softly behind her ears. She chirps happily, very talkative for such a small creature.
“Yeah, well, last time I brought home a stray it was your little brother so just bring me my cat stuff.”
Mycroft scoffs but acquiesces nonetheless. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Try not to catch any diseases in my absence.”
Greg doesn’t get a chance to defend Lady’s honor before Mycroft hangs up. He pets her gently, letting her rub her head across his hand. She purrs, a tinny rumble that vibrates her whole chest. He pets her and tells her about how nice Myc really is and how she shouldn’t believe him when he says mean things. She doesn’t seem to be listening, eyes shut tight and paws kneading his thigh, but he talks anyway — He could talk about Myc all day.
The door swings open about 15 minutes later, revealing Mycroft in a bespoke suit and his incredibly confusing umbrella-gun-sword contraption. Greg and Lady both look up at the interruption, one very excited to see the other man and the other vaguely confused by his arrival.
Myc sits a bag down on the table before walking into the living room, eyes locked with the puff of black occupying his lover’s lap. He reaches out, offering his hand for the tiny void of fur to sniff. Lady bats at the hand and hisses, hair standing on end. Mycroft pulls his hand back and shoots Greg a bored look.
“This is the creature you made me spend money on?”
Greg pulls Lady back into his arms, letting her snuggle into his chest. “She’s just frightened, My. She’ll like you more when she knows you better.”
Mycroft shoots daggers at the little kitten, eyes cold. Lady glares right back almost mockingly. Greg sighs. This is going a lot worse than he hoped for.
“Sit down, Myc, so she can get to know you. I’ve been dying to introduce you two.”
Mycroft obliges but keeps distance between himself and the cat. Greg groans and scoots closer, bumping his shoulder against Myc’s.
Greg picks up the little kitten and moves her closer to Mycroft’s lap. She gives the other man another sniff, this time not hissing but still not very happy. She taps her paws on his leg, claws catching at the fabric. Mycroft reaches out again and runs his hand over her head. Lady pauses under his touch, deciding if it was acceptable or not, before rubbing her cheeks over his palm.
“See? She just needed to get to know you.”
Mycroft rubs his thumb gently over the kitten’s face, stroking her velvet soft fur absentmindedly. “I supposed she isn’t all that bad, but she does need to see a vet before I let her come home with me.”
Greg pauses, shocked at the other man’s declaration. Mycroft glances up at him, still petting the kitten. He cocks his head to the side in question. Lady purrs almost comically loud in the silent room, happily kneading Mycroft’s pants. All of her earlier aggression has disappeared and it makes Greg smile.
Mycroft did say he was a cat person.
“I didn’t know you were going to be taking her home.”
Mycroft rolls his eyes like Greg just said the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. “You mentioned you couldn’t keep her but that you were attached. Of course I am going to take her.”
Lady purrs even louder, rubbing herself all over Myc’s clearly expensive suit. The other man doesn’t even pay attention to the mess she’s making and instead gives her all the attention she could ever want. It’s so endearing. Greg wishes he had his camera and that Myc would let him take a picture. The British government head-over-heels for a dirty kitten. Truly a sight to behold.
“Oh really? That’s why you’re gonna take her? It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’re clearly in love with her?”
Myc, snuggling the tiny kitten to his chest, acts like Greg is the dumbest man he’s ever met.
“That’s ridiculous. I can’t love an animal I just met. I’m simply keeping her because I know how sentimental you can get.”
Lady, who’s currently tapping Myc on the jaw with her little paw, mews softly at the obvious lie. Myc turns to her and smiles so wide it makes Greg smile too. Now receiving the attention she deserves, Lady bumps her head against Mycroft chin happily. Greg’s heart skips a beat when Mycroft, his beautifully sweet Mycroft, nuzzles his own face back against the kitten.
“Yeah, obviously.” He tries to come off as sarcastic but he can’t keep the love out his voice. Mycroft looks at his lover, eyes soft as they meet with Greg’s own.
Greg reaches out and takes Myc’s hand, bringing up to his face and placing a small kiss on the knuckles. Mycroft moves his hand over and cups Greg’s face, thumb stroking over his jaw the same way he stroked Lady’s cheek earlier. It’s a saccharine movement, so inherently kind that it makes Greg’s chest hurt in the best way possible.
Lady decides that it’s been too long since someone’s paid attention to her and jumps into Greg’s lap, effectively ruining the moment.
Greg chuckles and Mycroft pulls his hand back, huffing a small laugh under his breath. Greg wiggles his fingers at the kitten, letting her paw at him eagerly. She tackles the hand and nips gently at his calloused skin.
“What a vicious little thing.” Mycroft says through a smile, blue eyes following the kitten’s movements. She does a little twist and sinks her tiny fangs into the meat of Greg’s thumb.
“Ow! Lady, cut that out!” Greg pulls his hand away causing Lady to flop over on her side, tail swishing behind her.
Mycroft’s voice grabs his attention away from the miniscule wound. “Her name is Lady?”
“Yeah, I know it’s kinda dumb but I think it fits.” He mumbles sheepishly, trying to hide the blush rising to his cheeks. It isn’t the best name for a cat, but he thinks it’s a lot better than something like Fluffy or Whiskers.
“I think it fits her perfectly. The cat we had when I was younger was named Charlotte. Sherlock named her. I think Lady is a far more appropriate name for a kitten.”
Lady jumps off the couch and tumbles back into the kitchen. She screams — A very squeaky, high pitched scream but a scream nonetheless — from her place on the tile floor. She paws aggressively at the empty saucer. A very, very chatty cat indeed.
“I assume you picked up some cat food?”
Mycroft stands, offering a hand to help Greg up. “Of course, dear. It seems we have to feed the tiny tyrant. Can you grab the saucer? I left the bowls in the car.”
They pour out some food for the kitten and watch as she takes hilariously huge bites. She gets food all over the floor but Greg can’t find it in him to mind. Her paws slip out from under her as she crams her face into the dish, ears flat against her head. He can’t blame her for her gluttony. Her ribs are sticking out awkwardly and she’s clearly underweight. It’s a little sad to think that this might be the first real meal she’s had in ages.
“She’s quite voracious, huh, darling?” Mycroft places his hand on Greg’s lower back, fingers splayed wide over his spine.
“Yeah, she’s so little but so sweet. I doubt she was born feral. Someone probably tossed her out a few weeks ago.”
Myc pulls him into his side, comfortingly. “It’s highly likely, dear. You seem upset about it. Do you wish to talk?”
Greg smiles, leaning his head against Mycroft’s shoulder. He’s gotten so much better at expressing himself and communicating since their little fight a few months back. It’s great even when it’s hard and talking about one’s feelings is almost always a difficult task.
“It’s just been a rough day. Apparently for the both of us.” He gestures to the ball of black fluff, spread eagle on his kitchen floor.
Mycroft kisses the top of his head and sighs. “Are you feeling like a stray, dearest Gregory?”
“I don’t really know. Some douchebag got away with beating his girlfriend this morning because she refused to testify. Anderson and Donavan were being themselves which meant your brother was basically throwing a tantrum at a murder scene. Then some rookie dumped his coffee all over me and my paperwork which meant I had to redo all my work that day and my shirt is ruined.”
He stops, taking a deep breath. Myc pulls him tighter into his side. “I’m sorry your day has been so hard.” It’s an honest and kind response — Which means so much more knowing it’s coming from a man like Mycroft Holmes.
“It’s alright now. I’ve got my beautiful boyfriend and a cute new cat to take care of me.”
Mycroft pulls away, scrunching up his face is mock disgust. “I think we’re both too old to be calling each other ‘boyfriend’.”
Greg pushes his chest softly, glad the mood has changed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. What do you call me then?”
Mycroft shoots him a sly grin, eyes sharp with mischief.
He places a soft kiss on Greg’s nose. “My darling.” Another small kiss on his left cheek. “Light of my life.” The right cheek. “My better half.” His forehead. “Lover.” The corner of his mouth. “Angel.” One final kiss on his mouth, a sweet press of lips that makes Greg forget all about his shitty day. “My Gregory.”
“You’re a fuckin’ sap, Mycroft Holmes.”
Mycroft laughs, pulling away to give Lady a small bowl of water. “Perhaps, but no-one will ever believe you.”
Lady laps up her water just as eagerly as she scarfed down her food, practically shoving her whole face into the water.
“You are a menace, Mr. Holmes. I’m not sure I trust you with the life of my new kitten.”
Mycroft doesn't even hesitate before responding. “Then move in with me to ensure her safety.”
Greg freezes, eyes wide. They’d been together for over a year now, having gone through much more stress than the average couple does in decades. He’d been to Mycroft’s place often, spent the night more times than he can count. He’s got a drawer in Myc’s dresser for his work clothes. He’s got a toothbrush on his marble sink.
Earlier he’d thought of his place as Mycroft’s home, but now as he’s thinking about it, he supposes that their home is with each other. It didn’t matter if it was in his tiny flat or in Mycroft’s massive townhouse.
“You mean that?”
Mycroft turns and the patter of the rain echoes from the window. It must be freezing out there, the downpour soaking everything in London. Wet and cold and absolutely miserable.
It’s warm in here. A rich politician with a closet full of skeletons, a detective inspector with nothing much to his name except a divorce, and a malnourished kitten with too much personality for her tiny body. They’re a family, a warm and dry and happy family.
“Of course. It would save me the drive and you’d have access to a kitchen that doesn’t make me want to vomit.”
“Sounds like you’re gonna get more out of this than I will, but I guess,” He says it like he’s giving Myc some great gift, but he’s so excited it's hard to stand still. “I mean you clearly need me around.”
Mycroft just grins. “Yes, I do.”
Greg pulls the man in, leaning up on his toes to place a long kiss of the other man’s lips. “You know my lease ends in 3 months. We can make some moving plans then.”
Mycroft kisses him again, forced to lean down to reach Greg’s slightly chapped lips. “I’m Mycroft Holmes, darling, if I wanted your lease to end, your lease would end. Whenever and however I’d like it to.”
“Good to know I’ve agreed to move in with the most powerful man in London.”
He doesn’t deny it and goes back to kissing the other man softly, listening to the quiet sounds of the rain hitting the flat’s roof.
Suddenly, a hacking sound pulls them apart. Lady coughs and gags, having drunk her water far too fast for her little body to handle. Greg pushes Myc out of the way and snatches the tiny cat up, putting her over the sink just in time for some of the water to come back up and splash against the basin.
“Myc, be a lamb and go get the litter box. If this cat gets any more bodily fluids in my house, she’ll be moving in without me.”
Mycroft practically sprints to get the litter box, not sure if Greg is joking or not.
Greg laughs at his lover and holds the kitten close to his chest. She glances up at him with wide yellow eyes, whole face wet from where she shoved her face into her bowl. He watches as Mycroft sets up the litter box in the floor by the living room and everything just feels right.
A genius politician, a kind detective inspector, and a tiny tyrant all shut in a shoebox sized flat, trying to make life easier for one another, trying to make each other smile. The rain trickles down the window and Greg decides that tonight is a good night to put on some of Mycroft’s favorite tea and watch a bad black and white films and just exist together, just let his terrible day melt away into one damn good night.