Archive of Our Own

Greg forced his steps to be even and steady. It was late but the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. Morewind was a small village and there were times when he already felt suspicious eyes on him and his love. But that would soon end. With each step he moved closer to the man he loved and their escape to freedom.

“Captain Lestrade!” The voice that called out to him made his heart jump to his throat and his steps stutter. He froze but he tried to hide his fear. He cared not what the others said about him, but he’d be damned before he let the nosy villagers besmirch his lover with gossip. Hurried footsteps caught up with him and when he saw the face they belonged to, he did his best to hide his scowl.

Theodore Morgan approached with a slight smirk on his face. Bastard, Greg thought. Always after his beloved, he wondered how much he’d harassed him while Greg had been gone to sea.

“How are you this fine evening?” Morgan asked and his voice grated against Greg’s very skin, down into his soul.

“I’m well,” he answered guardedly. “And yourself?”

“Alas,” he sighed dramatically, “I cannot sleep. I hoped that being so close to the sea would ease my mind. Perhaps you would like to join me? The sound of the water is very soothing this time of night.”

Greg tried to find a way to refuse, but Morgan’s path was the same one he was following, the one that led to the Holmes cottage. He could find no way to refuse and he was still moving toward his love besides. So he nodded his assent and together the two men started a slower trek along the path.

Greg stayed silent as Morgan prattled on about one thing or another. He was too focused on reaching his beloved. Which was why, when they came to the point in the path closest to the cliffs, he never saw the blow coming. Morgan’s fist connected with his temple and he staggered towards the precipice. He was just cognizant enough to reach out and grapple for something, anything to save him from the jagged rocks below. His hand closed around Morgan’s arm and the man grabbed him in return. But not to rescue him from certain death.

His hand closed around Greg’s throat and he stepped closer to the edge. Greg tried to scream, to reach out and pry the man’s fingers off of him, but he was still dizzy from the hit and the hand squeezing the air from his body didn’t help.

“You’ve been nothing but a nuisance,” Morgan snarled in his face.

No! Greg tried to cry out as he realized too late the mistake he made in underestimating this rich man from the city.

“He’s mine and you won’t stand in my way any longer.”

And with all the strength the man possessed, he hurled Greg over the edge.

“Morrissey!” He choked out, once the fingers left his throat. But it was too late. His last thought was of his one and only love and then Gregory Lestrade hit the rocks below.

~~~

When Greg was aware again, it was still night. But he was in the garden. Morrissey’s garden. The roses permeated everything with their sweet scent and he could discern every single part of it. Then he realized the color of the roses. Never had they been so beautiful, so many colors, lush and vibrant. But how could they have changed so much? He hadn’t been at sea that long, had he?

And then he heard a small sound. It was the sound of a heart breaking, the soft sobs ripping pain through his own soul. He looked around and there he was, the man Greg loved more than life itself. But sorrow clung to Morrissey like a black cloak. Greg could see it darkening his very skin and he rushed over to him, not quite realizing that his breath didn’t quicken. That his muscles didn’t strain in his haste.

“What’s wrong, my love?” He said as he reached the man, but Morrissey didn’t turn at the sound of his voice. He reached out to touch him, to get him to turn into Greg’s arms, but Morrissey didn’t so much as flinch. It was then that Greg saw it. Though his hand was on Morrissey’s shoulder, it wasn’t flesh and blood at all.

“No,” he breathed, his heart cracking in two.

“I’ll come back for you,” Morrissey spoke to the wind, completely unaware of Greg beside him, dying a thousand deaths as he came to a horrifying realization. “One day, my captain. I will come back for you.”

Morrissey walked away, leaving Greg’s hand hovering in the air. Greg’s spectral hand that matched the rest of his phantasmal body.

“Morrissey,” he called out to his love. But he didn’t stop because he couldn’t hear him. Greg took off after him, intent on going with Morrissey no matter what, but once he reached the gate, he met an invisible barrier that he could not break. “No!” He cried out. “No! Morrissey!” But the man he cried for didn’t stop and soon he disappeared from sight, leaving Greg completely alone.

He crumpled to the ground, unable to hold himself up or keep the truth at bay any longer. Where his love was going, he could not follow. No matter how much he called, his M could not hear him. He was stuck there because he was dead. And there was nothing he could do about it.

~~~

Time passed and Greg waited in the garden, among the roses. He assumed that his love had gone to London for his education, as had always been the plan. When he’d been alive, he made his own promise to wait for M all through their lives and into the beyond. Now he was dead, but Morrissey said that he would return for him. So Greg would wait. He waited in vain.

One day, he was standing at the garden gate, watching the sun rise, when he realized something felt… different. Greg didn’t have to draw breath, he only did it out of habit, but now it was difficult to do so. His chest hurt and his entire being felt heavy and sluggish. It felt as though he was in agony, but didn’t know why. It worried him as the feeling lasted, but there was nothing he could do and he spent many frustrated hours trying to figure out why felt that way. None of his conclusions were comforting.

A few days later, after his usual walk around the small space, Greg heard shouting in the cottage. As this was not the norm for Morrissey’s brother and his family, Greg slid into the house. He cautiously walked to the kitchen where he saw Morrissey’s brother and sister-in-law in the middle of a heated argument.

“What else am I supposed to do?” Morrissey’s brother was saying, clearly frustrated.

“You do nothing,” his wife hissed in return. “He was an aberration, an invert.”

Greg’s heart filled with dread. He didn’t want to hear anymore. He couldn’t force himself to move away.

“He may have been, but Morrissey was my brother. I have to at least bury the poor chap,” the man said sadly.

The words cut into Greg like hot knives.That feeling that settled into him returned full force, his worst nightmare confirmed. Morrissey, his beautiful, beloved M, was dead.

“Fine then,” the wife stormed at him, “go to London, in the filth, and bury him. But I won’t hear another word about him. We’re lucky to finally be rid of the wretch.”

At her words, Greg felt a fury rise within him that he couldn’t contain. His love was dead and all that horrible woman did was hurl insults at him. If Greg had been alive, he would have grabbed her by the shoulders and shaken some sense into her. As it was, holding things was still difficult for him. Including his temper.

It became a living, breathing thing that suddenly filled the house and without meaning to, he shattered the teapot on the table, a glass beside the sink, and the window nearest him. The married couple jumped and the wife screamed. Shattered glass flew everywhere and Greg’s chest rose and fell with the exertion.

The man and woman looked around, wide eyed at the mess and he could tell they were trying to come up with a rational reason for what just happened. He didn’t care what they thought, didn’t care what excuses they came up with, all he cared about was Morrissey.

“I’ll… get the broom,” the husband said, still in shock but not knowing what else to do. “I’ll leave for London tomorrow and then I promise you, we’ll speak no more of this.”

“Good,” his wife’s voice trembled and Greg relished in her fear. But it didn’t stop his heart from breaking yet again.

His sweet Morrissey was dead. Died in London. Had he been alone? Had he been scared? In pain? Greg tried to draw breath but it came out as a sob. The brother stopped in his tracks as he went to get a broom but Greg paid him no mind. He should have been there for his love. He should have held his hand, petted his hair, eased him through the pain. He should have been there when he took his last breath and crossed over to him.

Suddenly he wondered, if Morrissey was dead, where was he? Surely he would come back here, back to where Greg was waiting. Or was it more complicated than that? Greg knew nothing of the afterlife beyond his own limited experience. He didn’t know if he lingered at the cottage because of his love or because he died so near the garden gate. If Morrissey died in London, did that mean he was stuck there? Forever waiting for Greg as Greg waited for him in return?

There was movement around him as the husband and wife cleaned up the mess and fixed a wooden board over the broken window. He didn’t pay much attention, too wrapped up in his thoughts. Morrissey was dead, of that there was no doubt. But what Greg couldn’t doubt either was the promises they made to each other. He promised to wait; his sweet M promised to return.

And so Greg decided, as he returned to the garden to lay amongst the roses, he would wait for him. For he knew their love to be stronger than any force in the world. He would wait for his love to return, even if he had to wait until the end of time.

~~~

The years passed and still Greg waited. Sometimes he waited while being amongst Morrissey’s family members. Sometimes he waited in an empty cottage. Sometimes he waited for days on end in the garden of roses. He watched the seasons change, the roses wither and die only to bloom again in the spring. He watched Morrissey’s family change, the children grow up and age.

The little nephew he remembered from his days with Morrissey soon became the only visitor to the cottage. He would only stay for short periods of time. Sometimes he would bring a lover with him. A male lover.

It was at those times that Greg tried to be as respectful as possible. Yes, Greg was a ghost and he supposed that one could say he haunted the cottage and the garden, but when little Rudy, who he couldn’t believe was all grown up, brought a companion, Greg kept the inexplicable incidents to a minimum. Sometimes he couldn’t help himself, he was getting marginally better at manipulating the world around him; honestly, he enjoyed the practice. But the last thing he wanted to do was disturb what little amount of peace Rudy tried to find at the cottage.

He remembered all too well the hatred the boy’s mother had for Morrissey. He could only imagine what she would be like if she found out that her son was the same way. From what he understood, Rudy’s little brother grew up and married a woman, even had children. But Rudy stayed a dedicated bachelor.

As Rudy aged, he came to the cottage on his own more and more and Greg made himself known at those times. The man seemed to find it amusing that the cottage was haunted and he would guess aloud the truth of Greg’s identity. It was quite fun, if he was honest. When he guessed wrong, Greg would make the lights go out for a moment. Rudy would huff, swear he’d guess right one day and then move on as though a ghost in the house didn’t bother him one bit.

During one visit, Rudy brought a photo album to live among his books in the study. While the man was sleeping, Greg decided to look through it with one purpose in mind. His breath caught when he found the picture of his beloved M. It wasn’t the best, he was in the background, his face turned to the side, but it was him. Greg still found him to be the most beautiful creature in the world.

He stared at the picture all night. There were moments that he couldn’t keep the tears at bay. He missed Morrissey so much, it was an ache in his soul that wouldn’t go away. Some days the waiting grated on him. He wasn’t always the most patient man, even when he was alive. But at least then he had certain assurances, like the letters they exchanged while he was at sea. Now all he had were promises exchanged long ago and an undying hope that he would see his M again.

The next morning, Greg watched as Rudy found the photo album and the page it was opened to.

“It seems you were busy last night,” he mused and Greg chuckled. “My my, I haven’t seen this picture in years.” He looked down at every person in the photograph. “Good god, is that Morrissey?”

“Yes!” Greg shouted in surprise and patted the album over and over again, hoping that Rudy would know he was there. The man jumped a bit at the sudden noise and looked around wildly.

“Morrissey? Is that you?”

Greg sighed and started messing with the lights.

“Alright,” Rudy looked around in the dark. “Not Uncle Morris.” Greg let the lights come back on. “Then why on earth would you get excited about a picture of him?” He mused aloud. “Did you know my uncle?” He asked.

Greg patted the album again. Though they had an effective way of conveying “no,” they hadn’t yet needed a way of saying “yes.” He improvised in the moment.

“You knew Morris. Did you know his… preference for men?”

Greg gave his answer for yes again.

“My parents refused to speak of him, beyond the vitriol my mother used to spit at me about it. He was the reason why I never told them about myself.”

Greg felt his heart break for Morrissey’s nephew. He knew all too well the need to hide one’s true self from the world. How exhausting and demoralizing it was. “I’m sorry,” Greg whispered, before he could stop himself. There usually wasn’t much point to speaking out loud. No one heard him anyway. Usually.

“That’s quite alright, my dear, I-“ Rudy stopped mid sentence and Greg froze.

“You heard me!” He breathed.

“Hello? Are you still there?” Rudy asked and Greg deflated. He slammed his hand down on the table and Rudy jumped. “No need to be so fiesty.” Rudy rubbed his chin and hummed. “Interesting. Very interesting.” He might have said more, but he looked down at the picture and became distracted. “Poor Uncle Morris,” he murmured. “Damn, I never realized just how much Mycroft looks like him.”

~~~

Eventually, even Rudy stopped coming to the cottage. Once a week, a girl from the village would come to clean and maintain the place, despite the rumors of it being haunted. Greg always thought she was brave and once again tried to keep his presence hidden so he didn’t scare her.

As more time passed with no sign of Rudy, Greg began to wonder if he too departed from the world. Those were the worst days for him. Always alone, staying hidden every moment. Never had keeping the faith in Morrissey’s return been so difficult. But he persevered. He kept the faith in the face of complete loneliness.
And one day, his wait was finally over.