Work Text:
Mycroft Holmes could control anything. He controlled the British government, unbeknownst to the world and even most of the politicians from said government. He controlled the secret service – a power he sometimes used for more selfish purposes than he should. He controlled his younger brother, at least to a certain degree; he knew to use that power more sparingly lest Sherlock might catch on to it. And he controlled his emotions – inside and out. His job demanded his true feelings be unreadable from his face and sometimes emotions be readable even if he didn’t feel them. On the inside, his childhood had taught him how to lock away unwelcomed feelings – either for good or until he had the time and space to deal with them.
Now however, neither of the two seemed to work. After a slowly building acquaintanceship he found himself more and more smitten with a certain DI who had caught his eye and, apparently, his heart. Locking these feelings away for good seemed like the logical step, given that they’d complicate their alliance and were unlikely to be returned at best. But he’d been daydreaming in an alarming frequency; he had to come to terms with the fact that his control crumbled. Dealing with them, then. But that didn’t help either. Whenever he tried to sort them out, he found himself even more enarmoured. So now he had to resort to something he never had had to before. Action.
You control anything. You can do this. He had told himself that throughout their entire dinner. Work dinner. He was working up the courage to ask for a real date; the mantra didn’t help though. He knew this was out of his control and entirely up to Gregory. He still hadn’t asked when they were already leaving again. Well, maybe next ti- Beautiful. The setting sun put Greg in a marvoulous light, reflecting out of his brown eyes, making them look like molten chocolate. „What?“ Had he said that out loud? „Gregory, would you like to have dinner with me? As a date?“ Greg looked surprised but also astonishingly pleased. „Thought you’d never ask…“ He smiled. „Gladly, Mycroft.“