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Chapter Text

Nineteen year old Greg Lestrade was nowhere near the top of his class. He hadn’t been at school, and he certainly wasn’t that now that he was studying to embark on his mission. Though the Church Elders would never say so aloud, each and every one of them agreed: Greg Lestrade was a terrible Mormon.

Greg knew that everyone thought that, and he honestly tried to do better, but he just wasn’t cut out for memorizing scripture or paying attention during services. 

“Gregory!” The leader of the class snapped, causing Greg’s head to shoot up. 

“What?” Greg asked, breathless. 

“It’s your turn? We’re going around the room reciting the Articles of Faith.” 

“Right,” Greg said slowly, “and which one are we on?” 

“Eight,” the Bishop pinched the bridge of his nose, focusing on his breathing. It had been a long time since he had ever felt that a young person may never be properly prepared for their mission, but more and more Greg was displaying a startling inability to handle even the most basic requirements. 

“Right…eight.” Greg paused for a long moment. “And that’s the one about God, right.” 

“I can’t handle this right now,” the Bishop sighed. “Mycroft, can you please recite number eight?” 

“We believe the Bible to be the word of God as far as it is translated correctly; we also believe the Book of Mormon to be the word of God.” Mycroft Holmes recited, characteristically flawlessly. Greg slid down a little in his chair, his face flushing. 

Mycroft Holmes was new to their temple, having shown up hardly two weeks before preparations for this year’s mission began. He was posh and quiet, with dark red hair and freckles. He only participated when made to, but he was always perfect when he did. Greg had mixed feelings about the boy. His apparent perfection was hugely frustrating, but there was something about him that was absolutely entrancing. Maybe it was the soft voice that was haunting Greg’s dreams, or that smug little smirk that made his stomach do somersaults, or the freckles that begged to be lovingly counted…

Greg shook his head minutely, snapping back to reality. Thoughts like that were sinful, Greg knew that, but he couldn’t help them when Mycroft was around. He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, pushing back the uncomfortable feelings. His one saving grace was that missions were set to begin in a week, and then he wouldn’t have to see Mycroft for at least two years.  

~~~

The day of mission assignments Greg woke up in a cold sweat. All the weeks and months of training that had been leading up to this day felt like a blur, and Greg was terrified that he might not actually know what he was doing. Or, perhaps more accurately, he was absolutely certain that he had no idea what he was doing, and he was terrified that other people might find out. 

But if he was being honest, there was only one person in the class whose opinion mattered at all to Greg. 

“Greg,” his mother, Delores, said softly as he picked at his eggs at the breakfast table, “is there something wrong, darling? You’ve been looking forward to your mission your whole life, I would have thought that you would have been excited.” 

“I am,” Greg quickly explained, “there’s just a…well, I don’t…Mum, do you believe that Heavenly Father would make people a certain way and then not love them because of it?”

“No, sweetheart, of course I don’t.” Delores sighed. “And no matter who you love your father and I love you so much.” 

“Mum,” Greg muttered, hiding his flushed face. “I didn’t say…I’m not…” 

“It doesn’t matter to us, Greg, it really doesn’t.” Delores reached out, brushing Greg’s hair, already starting to gray at the edges, out of his face. 

“Should I really even go on a mission?” Greg was chewing on his bottom lip now, his food long forgotten. “Should someone like me be trusted to spread the Gospel?”

“Greg, you know your father and I couldn’t care less if you go on a mission or not.” Delores smirked. “In fact, if it weren’t for your insistence that you wanted to, we probably would have stopped going to the temple at all.”  

“Mum!” Greg gasped, though now that she was saying it, it did make a lot of sense. His parents were some of the least devout people he had ever met, he had often wondered why they had bothered to bring up their kids in the Church at all. But, despite his doubts and his questions, Greg believed wholeheartedly in what the Church told him, and he had always wanted to share that faith with the world. 

“Whatever you choose, you will be extraordinary, Greg,” Delores promised him, reaching out and holding his hand. “Whether or not you go on your mission, whether or not you stay in the church, whether you fall in love with a girl or anyone else in the world, we will always love you, and you will always be absolutely extraordinary.” 

~~~

Greg stood stiffly in the line of young men and women getting ready to receive their mission assignments. His hands were shoved in his pockets so no one could see the way they trembled. Next to him one of the kids he had grown up with, Philip, was blathering on about how excited he was and how much he wanted to be stationed in Blackpool where he was sure Heavenly Father most needed him. Greg bit his cheek to keep from calling him out for wanting to spend his mission riding roller coasters. On the other side of Philip, Mycroft Holmes appeared to be doing the same. He caught Greg’s eye for a moment, smirking at the shorter boy in between them. Greg smirked back, but inside his pulse had begun to race and he knew his face was bright red. 

“Elders, sisters, it is my absolute honor to announce your mission locations today,” the Bishop was beaming and clutching the list of mission partners and locations as though it were a missive from Heavenly Father himself. “Please, when I call your name, step forward to receive your assignments.” The room was painfully silent as the Bishop retrieved his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and balanced them on his thick nose. Beside Greg Philip let out a little squeak of excitement. 

“Alright now, up first we have Elder Conant and Elder Franklin.” Two young men stepped forward, grinning up at the Bishop. Greg couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to where his fellow missionaries were assigned, except to smirk for a moment when Philip was assigned to a small city in a particularly dull country in central America. The rest of the assignments faded into a sort of background drone as he came to terms with the fact that as more and more missionaries were assigned, Mycroft Holmes remained in line, his impassive gray eyes trained on the Bishop. 

“Elder Lestrade,” the Bishop called after what felt like years. Greg stepped forward, his heart hammering in his chest. There were still five unassigned missionaries, it didn’t have to be Mycroft. 

“Anyone but Mycroft ,” Greg silently prayed as the Bishop seemed to slow his movements just to prolong Greg’s agony. “ Anyone but Mycroft, please.” 

“And Elder Holmes, please.”

Chapter Text

Mycroft and Greg were assigned to Yugoslavia, specifically the city of Zagreb.  They attended their intensive language training class, which saw Mycroft fully fluent in Serbo-Croatian after just a few hours, and Greg able to piece together a somewhat intelligible sentence after two weeks. Mycroft had encouraged Greg in his quiet way, slipping children’s books in Serbo-Croatian into Greg’s bag and never saying a word about it. Greg had thanked him when he returned the first one, but the recognition and appreciation only served to make Mycroft blush deep scarlet and mutter something about being busy, so Greg had returned them silently from then on. 

Mycroft’s crippling shyness made him difficult to get to know. Greg constantly tried to initiate conversation with him, but the only information that Mycroft had ever given up was that he had lived most of his life up until then in County Durham, he had at least one parent, and he had once had a dog. Three weeks of practically begging for information, and Greg felt like he barely knew the basics. 

The day that they were set to travel to Yugoslavia, Greg and Mycroft both arrived at Heathrow with a single bag each and a copy of the Book of Mormon under their arms. Greg’s entire family, even his obnoxious little sister Kathy, had come to see him off. His Gran was fussing over his tie, beaming at the young man. His dad had an arm around Greg’s shoulders, giving some last minute advice and support. His mum was clearly trying not to cry. 

Meanwhile, a meter and a half away, Mycroft stood with an older, heavyset man in an expensive suit who looked remarkably like an age progression photo of Mycroft. The man was speaking softly to Mycroft, but none of the words seemed to inspire the young man much. The longer he spoke, the less at ease Mycroft appeared. 

The two families gathered together as the boys approached their gate, introducing themselves and making uncomfortable small talk until their boarding was announced and the two young men made their way onto the plane. 

“Your dad seems nice,” Greg informed his companion once they were settled in their seats. 

“Rudy’s not my dad,” Mycroft replied, not looking up from his copy of the Book of Mormon, which he had pulled out and began to read as soon as they sat down. “He’s my uncle.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just figured…” Greg paused as Mycroft’s jawline twitched. “Are your parents…” 

“They’re alive and well,” Mycroft answered, lowering his book and glancing at his companion. “They just aren’t particularly interested in all this.” 

“I get it, my parents aren’t particularly devout either. I can’t believe they didn’t come see you off though.” 

“Our relationship is imperfect,” Mycroft shrugged, absorbing himself in the book once again. “Heavenly Father allows all things for a reason.” Greg studied his companion, looking for some sign of sadness at his own parents refusal to come see him off, but there was nothing. It was almost like Mycroft didn’t feel anything at all. 

“Do you have siblings?” Greg asked after a moment, but Mycroft seemed not to hear him. “Or pets? I just have my sister. I’ve always wanted a dog, but my parents always said I couldn’t get one until after my mission, you know, because they didn’t want to deal with the dog while I’m away all that time.” 

Mycroft made a non-commital noise, his eyes never leaving the page but Greg’s anxiety about the mission had begun to rear its ugly head and he found himself babbling. 

“My parents always said that it was up to me whether I wanted to go on a mission, and I always did, but at the same time, I’m not sure I’m going to be good at it. I’m not like, well, I’m not like you, I guess. You were probably great at school, I just can’t keep all that information in my head. And I can’t sit down and just read, it’s so hard for me. I’m just not really cut out for…it feels like anything some days…” 

“That’s foolishness,” Mycroft replied, his eyes still not leaving his book. “You obviously have ADHD, that’s not a death sentence, you just have to find strategies that work for you.” 

“You think I have ADHD?” Greg asked. 

“I’m not a doctor, that’s just what it seems like to me,” Mycroft shrugged one shoulder, his eyes still flitting over the page. 

“What would I do if you’re right though? What do you mean by ‘what works for you?’” 

“There are strategies you can employ to make your life easier,” Mycroft sighed, putting down his book and actually looking at Greg for the first time since sitting down. Greg’s mouth went dry as Mycroft’s piercing gray eyes studied him. “If you can’t sit down and read something, maybe a book on tape would be better. Maybe you could try mnemonic devices or other memorization techniques. You have plenty of good qualities, Gregory, I have no doubt you will find a job that suits you.” 

“What do you consider to be my good qualities, then?” Greg asked teasingly, hoping that he had disguised the longing in his voice with the joke. 

“Certainly your ability to remain silent is not among them,” Mycroft sighed quietly, smirking at his companion and going back to his book.

~~~

Their plane landed just after sundown and the two young men got their first look at the city that would be their home for the next two years as they made their way to the youth hostel that would serve as their home for the first week. The city was quiet, nothing like the constant noise of London. The people who were on the street were walking fast, keeping their eyes down as they passed the boys. 

“Is it just me or does everyone look super suspicious of us?” Greg asked his companion softly. 

“The country isn’t particularly politically stable,” Mycroft replied even softer, forcing Greg to lean in close in order to hear. “I imagine many of them are suspicious of each other as well.” 

“This doesn’t seem like a good place to find souls to save.” Greg muttered as a few window curtains twitched as they went by. 

“On the contrary, my dear Gregory, it’s in a place like this where the souls most need saving.” Mycroft wasn’t looking at Greg as he spoke, his eyes fixed on a piece of graffiti on the wall just ahead of them. Greg narrowed his eyes at it, as though that would allow him to read the words. 

“What does it say?” He asked Mycroft quietly. 

“It says Brotherhood and Unity are dead . Brotherhood and Unity is the slogan for the Communist party in this country.” 

“Is it safe for us to be here?” Greg bit his bottom lip. “I mean, I get the church wanting me dead, but you actually know the scripture and all that. You would think they would send you somewhere safe.” 

“Relax, Gregory. You’re perfectly safe with me,” Mycroft’s voice was a soft, silken murmur, and it was all Greg could do not to swoon.

Chapter Text

Within the first couple of days of their time in Yugoslavia, Greg had started to notice that Mycroft was a drastically different person when they were alone than when they were around other people. It wasn’t as though he was chatty, or even particularly expressive with Greg, but he definitely let his guard down in a way that Greg never would have expected based on his extreme shyness. 

Not that Greg minded, of course. He actually really enjoyed the long talks he and Mycroft would have as they walked from home to home, knocking on doors, and being rudely shooed off of doorsteps. 

“Do you ever wonder if this is really a worthwhile endeavour?” Greg asked one day after being chased out of a doorway by an angry woman with a broom. “We’ve been here two weeks and the closest I’ve come to baptising someone is when that lady dumped her dishwater on us.” Mycroft lowered his face slightly to hide his smirk. 

“Maybe they aren’t ready for God to come into their lives,” he conceded softly. “But someday they may need Him, and perhaps they’ll remember the day two very kind and obviously quite handsome young men came to their home and wanted to bring God’s light to them. We will have made a difference.” 

“Yeah,” Greg agreed, kicking at the gravel as he and Mycroft made their way down the street. “Were you always so…devout, I guess? It just seems weird that your parents don’t believe, but you know so much and care so much about sharing the word.” 

“There’s no requirement that you’re born Mormon to believe, Greg,” Mycroft shrugged, his eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance. “The Church has provided what I need.” 

“What do you need?” Greg asked, but Mycroft didn’t answer, too busy watching the horizon uneasily. The cause of his uneasiness came into focus the next moment, and Mycroft grabbed Greg’s collar, pulling him into some thick brush by the side of the road. A pickup truck laden with crates rolled by, the passenger scanning the area suspiciously, an assault rifle cradled in his arms. 

“What was that about?” Greg asked once Mycroft had released his arm and they had continued on the gravel road. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just grab you like that,” Mycroft continued scanning the area nervously, “I just wanted to get you out of danger. I didn’t like the look of that truck.” 

“I didn’t either,” Greg assured him, “I’m not upset that you grabbed me, I was asking about the truck, what do you think was in there?” 

“Certainly nothing that we want to get caught up in.” 

~~~

That night Greg retired to the washroom in the tiny hotel room he and Mycroft were sharing to get ready for bed. He had just finished washing his face and turning the tap off when he realised that in the main room, Mycroft was speaking. He moved a bit closer to the door, pressing his ear against the crack in order to hear better. 

“Heavenly Father, are you there?” Greg pressed his lips together as he realised that the other boy was praying. For a second he struggled within himself, trying to stop listening, but he couldn’t. He leaned even closer to the door, straining to hear the words. 

“Today was a hard day,” Mycroft admitted quietly. “Many of those we wished to visit were not there. No one who was home was very welcoming.” Greg quietly let out a snort of laughter. That was an understatement. 

“Around 3pm we encountered a strange truck,” Mycroft continued, “travelling southwest near Medvedgrad Castle. Light grey, with a number of crates in the back. A man in the passenger seat was holding a Zastava M70.” Mycroft paused for a long moment. Greg waited, perfectly still, hoping Mycroft wasn’t silent because he had realised he was being eavesdropped on. 

“Tomorrow we plan to cover 6 streets.” Another small pause. “I’ll continue to look out for Greg. I don’t think his Serbo-Croatian is getting any better. I get the feeling he doesn’t understand half of what I say to the people.” Greg stifled a laugh, and he could have sworn that a note of genuine fondness had snuck into Mycroft’s voice. “It’s just as well, he doesn’t understand the religion all too much. He’s a nice companion, a good conversationalist, charming…” Mycroft’s voice trailed off for a moment. “But anyway, I digress. I’m here for a mission, not to make friends. I will get up tomorrow and continue my work. Thank you, Heavenly Father.” 

In the bathroom, Greg was pressed up against the door, his heart fluttering in his chest. Did Mycroft like him? He knew that the other boy enjoyed their talks, but to think that he actually found him to be…what was it he had said… charming?  He took a couple of heaving breaths, trying to stop the butterflies in his stomach from flapping their wings. He shouldn’t think about such things, Mycroft would never…he was so proper, so devout, there was no way he could possibly even think…

“Are you alright in there, Greg?” Mycroft’s voice asked from the other side of the door, “I can hear you breathing from out here.” 

“Fine!” Greg answered, too loud and too fast and far too out of breath. Mycroft chuckled softly and Greg’s face turned beet red at the realisation of what Mycroft assumed he’d interrupted. 

“Sorry to interrupt then,” Mycroft continued to chuckle to himself. “Hurry up though, I’d like to shower before bed.” 

~~~

The next day, Mycroft and Greg continued their ministry. By the time they paused for lunch they hadn’t gotten anything more encouraging than a thin smile. Greg in particular was feeling discouraged, and could scarcely do more than nibble at his sandwich. Mycroft tried to comfort his companion, but his mood just continued to sour as the day progressed. 

Shortly before they gave up for the night they came to a small home set back from the road. When they approached the door they could see curtains fluttering, and Greg’s mood dropped even more. 

“They aren’t going to answer the door,” Greg sighed. 

“Have faith, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly, smiling as he pressed his finger against the doorbell. To Greg’s great shock, a woman opened the door. 

“ Hello!” Greg greeted her brightly in his atrociously accented Serbo-Croatian. “ My name is Elder Lestrade, this is Elder Holmes. And we would like to share with you this Book of Jesus Christ .” The woman looked both of them over nervously, and Mycroft tilted his head welcomingly. 

“ You have a charming home, ” Mycroft told her in his impeccably accented Serbo-Croatian and she seemed to instantly relax. 

“ Please, come in. ” 

~~~

Mycroft was speaking far too fast for Greg to understand, but the woman seemed to be absolutely enraptured. Mycroft had handed her a copy of the Book of Mormon that she was now holding to her chest like it was a beloved family treasure. 

Greg kept a bright smile on his face even if he couldn’t understand a word that was being said. He didn’t have to force the smile though, he was truly overjoyed. Here he was, after weeks of walking in horrible weather and sleeping on an awful mattress and missing his family, and he was finally able to be a part of bringing a woman to Heavenly Father. A woman who clearly needed something in her life, and here he was, bringing it to her. 

When they left that evening, she hugged them both, and Greg had to blink back tears as he overheard her whispering Thank you , over and over, in Mycroft’s ear.

Chapter Text

After their first success, the days seemed to progress much more pleasantly for the two young missionaries. Sure, there were still people who would refuse to open the door and others who would chase them off of stoops, but the momentum had shifted. 

Mycroft was chatting with a woman who had welcomed them in and served them lunch. Greg could understand bits and pieces of the conversation, nodding contemplatively whenever a word he recognized was uttered. Greg did an admirable job of pretending to follow the conversation, while actually being fairly absorbed in the soup and sandwich in front of him.  

If he was being honest, the sandwich wasn’t the only thing drawing his attention. Mycroft was perched on the edge of his chair, leaning forward slightly as he conversed. His long, elegant neck rose from his collar, pale and beautiful and almost begging to be softly kissed. His long fingers grasped his spoon gently and Greg was nearly overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and grab his hand, kissing each of his fingers, then his palm, then up his pale, freckled forearm…

“Elder Lestrade?” Mycroft interrupted his spiralling companion. “Are you finished with your lunch? We should be continuing on our way.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Greg stammered, blinking back to reality. “Yes, I’m good.” He switched to his broken Serbo-Croatian for a second to thank the woman for the food and the two of them left, on to the next home. 

~~~

“I want to ask you something,” Mycroft said softly as they walked along a sparsely populated road, “but I worry that it may be a touch insensitive.” 

“You can ask me anything,” Greg insisted, but his voice gave away his nervousness. He felt like he knew exactly what Mycroft was going to ask but he didn’t want to be right. 

“I am a gay man. I’ve known that for a very long time. Regardless of the Church’s troubling views on it, I do not believe that Heavenly Father condemns men like me. If he did not want me to love those I do he would not have made me this way.” Mycroft looked truly nervous essentially for the first time since they had finished their classes. “I get the feeling that you may feel similarly.” 

Greg froze. Other than the vague conversation with his mother he had never come out to anyone. Of course Mycroft had been vague as well…was he asking whether Greg was gay or whether Greg also believed that Heavenly Father refused to condemn Mycroft for being gay? His mouth was unbelievably dry, he would have gladly killed for a glass of water. 

“I don’t believe Heavenly Father condemns you for being gay,” Greg croaked. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, reaching into his backpack and handing Greg a bottle of water as though he had read his mind. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being gay, and I don’t think any less of you, I promise.” 

Mycroft raised both eyebrows, watching Greg expectantly for a few moments. His face fell minutely before he forced it into an expressionless mask. They continued along their way, much quieter than before. 

~~~

That night Greg couldn’t sleep. He kept running the conversation through his head, his brain refusing to allow a moment of sleep before he had dealt with it. He knew he had to deal with it, even if it meant waking Mycroft up. 

He slipped out of bed, tiptoeing the three or so steps to Mycroft’s bedside and knelt down, in the very same place Mycroft would kneel to pray each night.  

“Mycroft,” he whispered urgently. “Mycroft, wake up.”  Mycroft shot up with a gasp, his hands immediately up to protect himself as he searched for whatever threat could have justified Greg waking him. Finding none he laid back down with a groan. 

“What could possibly be so important?” 

“I needed to ask you something, I’m sorry, I’m not going to be able to sleep if I don’t ask.” Mycroft moved over in the bed, making room for Greg to clamber up and sit back. 

“You have about three minutes before I fall asleep,” Mycroft grumbled, gathering his blankets tighter around himself.  

“Earlier today, the thing that you told me…” Greg took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Did you tell me that for a reason?” Mycroft sighed deeply, sitting up and leaning against the headboard so he and Greg were side by side. 

“Yes, I did.” 

“Why did you tell me that?”

“Because I thought it might interest you,” Mycroft replied blandly. “I thought you might like to…” he scrunched his face up for a moment, trying to think of the right words. “I thought you might like to do something about it.” 

“You,” Greg squeaked out before catching himself and taking a couple of breaths. “You thought I might like to…and with you…” 

“Greg, I’m sorry if I misread something, but you have been, well quite honestly ogling me .” He turned a deep shade of red, biting his lip. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I wanted to tell you that if you are interested I am too.” He finished with a bit more force than was perhaps necessary. Greg stared slack jawed at him. 

“You would be interested?” 

“In the morning, certainly,” Mycroft grumbled. “Will that be all? Can I go back to sleep now?” He didn’t wait for a response, sinking back down beneath the covers and getting comfortable. Greg didn’t move, deep in his spiralling thoughts for a moment. Mycroft liked him. He had all but admitted it, he liked him. All the daydreaming of sweeping Mycroft off his feet and kissing him until they’re both breathless and now here they were, Mycroft liked him, the time was now…

And Greg was blowing it. 

“Mycroft,” he whispered urgently, sliding down so he was lying face to face with Mycroft. “I am interested.” 

“I know,” Mycroft replied, opening his eyes and smiling thinly. “You haven’t been subtle.” 

“And you’ve been too subtle! How was I supposed to know?” Greg smiled fondly, resting his head on Mycroft’s pillow. They were inches from each other, breathing the same air. Greg was experiencing it with his whole body, that gentle smell that could only be described as Mycroft , the stiffness of the hotel sheets against his skin, the warmth that Mycroft was radiating, the radiator against the wall creaking and Mycroft’s slow even breaths. He was overcome, he wanted to live in this moment forever. There was a new sound, Mycroft’s quiet laugh, at which point Greg realised he had been saying all of that aloud. 

“I’ve wanted you this close to me for a while now,” Mycroft murmured, his impossibly soft hand reaching out for Greg’s. “Get under the covers, it’s too cold in here.” Greg did what he was told, keeping a firm grasp on Mycroft’s hand even when it became very impractical to do so. 

Greg couldn’t come up with words to express how he felt, instead choosing to communicate it by leaning forward and brushing his lips against Mycroft’s. Their skin hardly touched, but it was enough to set Greg’s soul on fire. Mycroft reached up and cupped Greg’s cheek in his hand, his thumb lazily tracing Greg’s cheekbone.

“I’ve wanted this for a while too,” Mycroft whispered, leaning forwards and pressing his lips to Greg’s. Greg’s hands were suddenly on Mycroft, searching out some open skin. Mycroft’s chest was rendered partially visible by his haphazardly buttoned pyjama shirt and Greg ran his fingers through the soft hair he found there. Every point of contact between them sent shockwaves through Greg’s body. 

They were still kissing, their bodies getting closer and closer to each other until they were pressed flush together. One of Greg’s hands tangled into Mycroft’s hair and the other found its way to his waist. Mycroft’s fingers were up Greg’s shirt, fingertips caressing his abs. 

“I think you’re very beautiful,” Mycroft whispered against Greg’s lips. “I thought so the moment I saw you.” 

“I begged Heavenly Father not to pair us together because I didn’t think I could resist you for two years.” 

“You made it five months,” Mycroft laughed softly. “Very impressive.”

Chapter Text

Out in public Mycroft and Greg flawlessly played the part of two upstanding young Mormons, sharing their faith with the world. Behind closed doors they were two nervous, young lovers engaged in a slow, meticulous study of each other. 

That first night they hadn’t gone any further than soft kisses and hesitant, fleeting touches. They stayed up for hours, whispering back and forth. He learned that Mycroft had grown up with a little brother who he adored, but who had grown to hate him. Greg told him about his little sister Kathy and her resentment of his never ending quest to keep her safe and away from people who he thought weren’t good enough for her. Mycroft had talked about his fear of getting back to find that his family had been happier without him and Greg confided his uncertainties about his future. 

“If you ask me,” Mycroft had whispered, so close to Greg that their noses periodically brushed against each other, “I’d say that any job would be lucky to have you. And you will be wonderful at anything you set out to do.” 

“Even if I decide to do missionary work full time?” Greg asked, his face splitting into an impish grin as Mycroft groaned at the thought. 

“Are you quite sure there isn’t anything else you might enjoy doing? Anything at all really. Ballet dancer, perhaps? Acrobat?” Mycroft’s thumb stroked Greg’s cheekbone reverently, smiling adoringly at the other boy. “Of course, if it’s really what you want, I want you to do it. I’d travel with you. I would go to the ends of the Earth with you.” 

Greg hadn’t managed to respond verbally past the lump in his throat so instead he settled for pressing a long, deep kiss to Mycroft’s lips, endeavouring to eliminate any centimetre of space between their bodies. 

The next night they had hardly made it through the door before Mycroft’s hands were tangled in Greg’s hair, holding his head steady as they snogged each other breathless. 

~~~

Greg had fully expected that someone would notice their fledgling relationship and send them back to England  in disgrace, but the day didn’t come. They attended meetings with other missionaries, attended services, and met privately with the local bishop, but no one seemed to have noticed. 

“I can’t believe I haven’t given us away somehow,” Greg murmured one night, about ten months into their mission, his nose buried in the crook of Mycroft’s neck. “I thought for sure I was going to slip up by now.” 

“The people in the Church don’t want to think that it's possible, so they won’t be looking for it. It is generally quite easy to hide things from those who don’t want to see them.”  Mycroft’s long fingers were stroking through Greg’s thick brown hair. “I’m jealous of your hair.” 

“It’s already turning grey.” 

“And mine’s already thinning,” Mycroft shot back. 

“I suppose we won’t have to wait long to grow old together,” Greg giggled, savouring the feeling of Mycroft’s laughter tickling the curve of his ear. He took one more deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of Mycroft. He tilted his head up, pressing his lips to Mycroft’s. The kiss was slow and gentle, neither of them were in any sort of rush, both just happy to be close to the other.  Mycroft’s hands toyed with the hem of Greg’s shirt and Greg broke their kiss for a moment to allow the offending garment to be wrenched over his head. This was a common occurrence, they had kissed in some state of undress at least once a day since that first night, but it had never gone any further than that. Mycroft, ever the gentleman, had allowed Greg to decide when he was ready for that, and so far, Greg had chickened out every time the opportunity presented itself. 

Greg managed to remove Mycroft’s shirt, his hands exploring across the now familiar landscape. Mycroft’s skin was almost unbelievably soft, stretched over lean muscles. Soft curls of ginger hair coated his chest down to his abdomen, darkening as it trailed down from his navel to the waistband of his sleep pants. Greg’s fingers stalled there, combing through the short hair, itching to slip under the band and finally get his hands around the part of Mycroft’s body that had dominated his thoughts in the past few months. 

“As always,” Mycroft murmured, his lips grazing Greg’s ear, “you are more than welcome.”  

“Are you sure?” Greg nearly whimpered as Mycroft’s tongue teased a sensitive spot on his neck. 

“Please, Gregory.”  Mycroft’s voice was rough, and his breathing was shaky as Greg’s hand slowly slipped into his pyjama pants, brushing against the hard flesh he found there. Mycroft moaned indecently as Greg’s fingers encircled him, trying a few cautious strokes.

With his free hand Greg reached out and grabbed Mycroft’s hand, guiding it to his own waistband, feeling a surge of courage he never would have expected out of himself. Mycroft took the hint and took control, leaving Greg to melt into a puddle of sensations and pleasure. He could hardly remain conscious as Mycroft took both of them in hand, the rest of the room blurring as all of his senses were fully absorbed in the feeling of Mycroft’s long, talented fingers. 

Greg felt like a man possessed. The noises coming from his mouth were unfamiliar to him, he had never felt this way before. His whole body felt like it was on fire, but they weren’t the scorching fires of Hell he had been afraid of. He had never felt further from Hell in his life. This--lying in a cheap hotel bed with Mycroft, engaged in a horrifying sin--this was heaven. 

~~~

The next day, Mycroft and Greg were practically giddy as they began their route. It was the first day since they had begun their secret nighttime activities that neither of them had needed to wank in the shower to mitigate the unimaginable frustration brought on by being constantly aroused but unable to satisfy themselves the way they wanted to. 

Their morning had gone well. They had given away a few copies of the Book of Mormon, and one lady had sent them on their way with a baggie of pastries for their travels. Greg was in such a good mood that at first he didn’t notice that Mycroft was growing increasingly on edge. His eyes were frantically scanning his surroundings and Greg couldn’t get him to engage in any conversation at all. 

“Mycroft,” Greg said softly, stopping for a moment and lightly gripping his companion’s arm, “you’re freaking me out.  Is something wrong?” Mycroft looked frozen for a long moment, then, shaking slightly, nodded his head. 

“Behind us is a grey pickup truck,” he explained, nudging Greg forward. “It’s been following us for two days.” 

“Do you think it’s someone from the Church? Do you think they figured out about us and now they're trying to catch us in the act?” 

“No, this is far worse than that. They’re militants, Christ this is bad.” Mycroft turned down a side street, Greg following after him. 

“What do they want with us?” Greg asked, starting to feel a bit panicked. 

“They don’t want us, Greg, they want me.” Mycroft glanced over his shoulder, his face falling as he watched the pick up take the turn and continue their slow pursuit. “You need to run. Please Greg, get out of there. They’ll leave you alone, they only want me.”  

“What are you talking about Mycroft? Why do they want you?” Greg reached out and gripped Mycroft’s hand, desperate for something to make the fear in his eyes go away. 

“Because of the mission,” Mycroft whispered, his voice shaking. “Please Greg, just run. Go back to the hotel, there’s a pager under my mattress. Send an SOS to the number saved in it.”  

“I’m not leaving you. This is our mission, Mycroft, if someone wants to hurt you because of it they’ll have to go through me.” 

“Not our mission, Greg, my mission,” Mycroft steered them into an alley as the truck began to pick up speed. “I’m sorry, Greg. I didn’t want to keep lying to you, but I couldn’t. If you knew, it would have been too dangerous.” 

“What are you saying?” Greg choked out, terror and sadness constricting his throat. 

“I’m saying I’m sorry,” Mycroft breathed, pushing Greg down behind a rubbish skip. “And I love you.” 

From his vantage point on the ground, hidden from their pursuers, Greg could see the shadows thrown by the pickup truck’s headlights as it turned into the alley. Mycroft’s silhouette stood out starkly against one of the walls of the alley, and Greg watched in horror as a shot rang out and the silhouette, and presumably the man attached to it, crumpled.

Chapter Text

Eighteen year old Mycroft Holmes walked into the office of the head of MI6 with an unwavering aura of authority and power that was unusual for a man of his age and relative inexperience, but made perfect sense after only a short conversation with him. Mycroft Holmes was, without doubt, the greatest mind military intelligence had to offer. He was not overly fond of field work, and most of the agents he worked with strongly suspected that he was simply biding his time until he aged enough that no one would think twice about him ruling the world. 

Behind a sturdy wood desk, a stout man sat reading a file with a frown. He didn’t acknowledge Mycroft as he entered, and Mycroft didn’t push the issue, simply sitting in front of the desk, waiting to be noticed. 

“You look well, my boy,” the older man stated after a few minutes. 

“Thank you, sir. You’re looking well yourself.” 

“It’s only us here,” the man sighed fondly, “you don’t need to call me ‘sir’. I was your uncle long before I was your boss and I will remain your uncle long after they cart my elderly arse out of this place.” 

“Alright then, Uncle Rudy,” the young man smiled back at him. 

“Much better. Now, I have a potential assignment for you, but I wish to discuss it before it is officially assigned.” Rudy Holmes placed the file down and leaned forward slightly. “This assignment will likely take you out of the country for over a year.” 

“That’s fine,” Mycroft replied. “I don’t have much keeping me here.” 

“You will have to feign interest in religion.” 

“I’ve feigned interest in less interesting things.” 

“And you will have to pretend that you are straight.” 

“That’s a requirement?” Mycroft asked with a put-upon sigh. “I thought I was done with that when I moved away from home.” 

“Well, we wouldn’t want your life to be too easy, would we?” Rudy smiled ruefully. “Are you able to do it?” 

“Yes, obviously. Tell me about the mission.” 

“You’ve been following the situation in Yugoslavia, I presume?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“What do you make of it?” 

“War is inevitable. I give them fifteen months. The country will break up, resulting in either six or seven independent republics, the wars between which will prove to be especially cruel. U.N. peacekeeping forces will be sent in, but that will likely bring its own host of problems, sex trafficking in particular, I imagine the area is in for a very long and fraught recovery.” 

“I quite concur,” Rudy nodded approvingly. “We have quite a few people in the region that I would very much like to get out. We also have certain supplies we would like to ensure make it into the correct hands. We are struggling, however, to get messages and visas to our people on the ground.” 

“So you’d like me to be a messenger boy?” 

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds so dull! You will be delivering messages, yes, but I would like to think I’ve come up with a very clever way to do it.” Rudy’s eyes were glimmering and Mycroft was increasingly sure that he wasn’t going to like his uncle’s plan. 

“You need a way to get me into the country and allow me to deliver messages to a number of people without drawing suspicion.” Mycroft pursed his lips for a moment, thinking the problem through. “A missionary of some sort? Yes, it would have to be. Messages stashed in bibles, handed to people of importance without anyone knowing that there was anything more important than the so-called word of god hidden in the pages. Clever.” 

“Very close, my dear nephew, very close indeed. You won’t be handing out the bible.” He reached into his filing cabinet and pulled out a crisp, new book, laying on the desk in front of the young man. “You’ll want to read this fairly thoroughly. I hear the adherents to this particular faith actually do bother to read their own scripture.” 

“Well isn’t that just lovely for me,” Mycroft grumbled, picking up The Book of Mormon, and heading back out the office door.

~~~

One week into his missionary training, Uncle Rudy came and visited the flat where Mycroft was staying. 

“So, my boy,” Rudy began, unpacking the take away he had brought as a peace offering. “Do you feel close to the Lord yet?” 

“The preferred term is Heavenly Father,” Mycroft mumbled, grabbing a plate and filling it with rice and curry. 

“Heavenly Father,” Rudy chuckled. “I like that. I think that will be my code name while you’re on the mission.” 

“Oh yes, because you certainly need that boost to your ego.” 

“Oh hush before I write you up for insubordination,” Rudy grumbled teasingly. “But really, how is it going? Have you identified who you want as a mission companion?” 

“I believe so, yes,” Mycroft took a large bite of his naan and chewed contemplatively. “Gregory Lestrade. He is kind, well meaning, and does not know the first thing about the religion. I have no doubt he will utterly fail to notice anything amiss.” Rudy pressed his lips together, tilting his head. 

‘You have anything else you might like to share about young Mr. Lestrade?” Rudy asked after a few moments. “Any sort of alternative motive for choosing him?” 

“Uncle Rudy…” 

“The Mormons are not forgiving to people like us, Mycroft.” Rudy placed his fork down and looked sadly at his young nephew. “You need to be convincing, Mycroft. You can’t be pining over this boy. And you especially can’t allow feelings for him to cloud your judgement. Beyond my love for you as my nephew, you are my best agent. Losing you would personally break my heart, and professionally be a nightmare from which the country may not recover. You cannot be distracted.” 

“And I won’t be. I can find a man attractive without derailing a mission over it. I have no intention of replaying the mess you got into in central Africa.” Mycroft stared his uncle down with steely determination and between the look in the boy’s eyes and the bringing up of one of his greatest failures, Rudy was unable to respond. “Gregory Lestrade is the one. He is gullible, naive, and sees only the good in everyone. He is the perfect companion.” 

“Alright!” Rudy replied resignedly, throwing up his hands. “I’ll make it happen.” 

~~~

“You’re helping him,” Rudy shot accusingly at his nephew as the young man opened the door to his flat, sighing as he saw his uncle seated in the kitchen, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s embarrassing how much he is struggling. If anything I’m saving myself from having to apologise to every person he mistakenly insults while trying to say hello.” 

“You understand, of course, that the less of the language he knows the easier your job will be. And here you are actively assisting him.” 

“Giving him a few books about Clifford the Big Red Dog is not going to make up for a genuine lack of ability to learn languages, Uncle Rudy,” Mycroft sighed. “He’s dyslexic, he can barely manage the languages he does know, he’s not going to get the hang of another one right now.” Rudy stared him down for another long moment and Mycroft sighed. “Not every display of genuine human kindness is evidence of some huge crush I have on him.” 

“I worry about you, Mycroft. Constantly. I need this to go well.” 

“I know,” Mycroft sighed. “You can trust me, I’m not going to sabotage the mission. Now did you just come here to pester me or did you bring something to eat?” 

~~~

“I want to hear from you every night. He’ll have no reason to believe you aren’t praying, so there’s no excuse.” Rudy was standing beside Mycroft at the gate as they waited for his flight to begin to board. His hand was tightly clasped around Mycroft’s upper arm, the only hint that the man was in any way distressed. He appeared perfectly calm and unemotional, but he was clearly struggling. 

“Are you nervous right now, Uncle Rudy?” Mycroft scoffed. “Honestly, this isn’t my first assignment, I’m going to be fine.” 

“I have a bad feeling about this, my boy,” Rudy sighed, rubbing his nephew’s shoulder. “That’s not common for me. I’m not used to feeling unsure about things.” 

“I’m going to be fine, Uncle Rudy,” Mycroft assured him, but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anxiety in his own gut. 

“Remember, I need to know anything suspicious that you see, You’ll be a valuable source of information on the movements of different groups…” 

~~~

“Heavenly Father, are you there?” Mycroft said softly, his comms unit clasped between his hands as he assumed a stereotypical prayer position beside the bed. 

“I copy, Elder. ” Rudy’s voice fed directly into his ear through a small earpiece.

“Today was a hard day,” Mycroft admitted quietly. “Many of those we wished to visit were not there. No one who was home was very welcoming.” 

“They were all aware you were coming.” Rudy’s voice sounded tired. More and more of his people in Yugoslavia were unable to be found, and it was weighing heavy on his mind

“Around 3pm we encountered a strange truck,” Mycroft continued, “travelling southwest near Medvedgrad Castle. Light grey, with a number of crates in the back. A man in the passenger seat was holding a Zastava M70.” 

“Excellent, I’ll pull it up on the satellite imagery. Well done.” 

“Tomorrow we plan to cover 6 streets.” 

“That will bring you into contact with target 11813.“ Rudy paused for a moment before continuing. “Please take care of yourself, things are getting less stable by the day. Do you have any reason to believe Gregory suspects anything?  

“I’ll continue to look out for Greg. I don’t think his Serbo-Croatian is getting any better. I get the feeling he doesn’t understand half of what I say to the people.” Mycroft fought to keep his voice from betraying his fondness for the other boy. “It’s just as well, he doesn’t understand the religion all too much. He’s a nice companion, a good conversationalist, charming…” 

“Mycroft…” 

“But anyway, I digress. I’m here for a mission, not to make friends. I will get up tomorrow and continue my work. Thank you, Heavenly Father.”

“Be safe, my boy.”

Chapter Text

Cowering behind the skip, Greg listened as the truck’s engine roared, the reflection of the headlights revealing that it was moving deeper into the alley. Greg realised why in nearly the same moment as a sickening crunch filled the air, and it took everything he had within him not to vomit as he realised that despite being literally run over by a truck at that moment, Mycroft wasn’t making a sound. That could only mean one thing. Greg had never been so scared, and he had never felt so alone. 

The truck reversed out of the alley, tyres screeching as it sped off. Greg was frozen in place, shaking and silently sobbing, until a rasping moan of pain ripped him out of his own mind and brought him back to the real world. 

“Mycroft?” He gasped, scrambling out of his hiding place and racing to his companion’s side. “Oh God, Mycroft…” Mycroft looked bad. The gunshot wound in his abdomen had stained his crisp white shirt dark red. Brown dirt from the truck’s tyres was smeared across his perfectly pressed black trousers, and Greg could tell without any further investigation that both legs were badly broken. 

“Greg,” Mycroft moaned and Greg’s stomach lurched. It hadn’t even been 24 hours since Mycroft had moaned his name under very different circumstances. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Greg whispered, his hands shaking as the bloodstain on Mycroft’s shirt grew. “Please Heavenly Father, don’t let him die. Please protect him…” 

“Praying won’t do anything,” Mycroft hissed. “Weren’t you a boy scout? Stop the bleeding!” 

“You pray every night!” Greg shot back, but he did tear his shirt off and press it to the abdominal wound. 

“Heavenly Father…” Mycroft groaned as Greg increased the pressure, “...is my handler’s code name.” 

“I should have known,” Greg murmured, trying to inject a little levity into the situation even as tears began dripping along his downturned face, falling onto his companion’s shirt. “I didn’t think Heavenly Father cared about the strange trucks we saw.” 

“I wouldn’t think so, no.” 

“So, you’re a spy? MI6?” Mycroft managed a small nod. “You have a panic button or something?”

“Already pressed it.” 

Just as he said it a white van sped into the alley, screeching to a stop in front of them.  

~~~

  Several hours later, Greg sat in a cold, clinical feeling room on an uncomfortable plastic chair. His undershirt and trousers were stained with Mycroft’s blood and in the couple of hours he had been sitting there no one had come in to offer him so much as a glass of water. Not that he would have been able to drink it, the only reason he hadn’t vomited yet was that his stomach was empty.  

The room was eerily quiet so Greg jumped when the sound of footsteps came down the hall. Tears sprung to his eyes as he recognized the footfalls as being those of his mum. 

“Oh, my darling,” Delores sobbed as she entered the room and Greg launched himself into her arms. “Oh sweetheart, oh my love.” Completely disregarding the fact that Greg was nearly a foot taller than her, Delores gathered him into her arms. “Are you okay, sweetheart? Are you hurt?” 

“No,” Greg whispered against her shoulder. “It’s all his blood.” Delores held him tighter, turning her head to look at the man who had walked in with her. 

“Is he…?” Delores asked softly and the man shook his head, no. 

“He’s expected to survive. Largely due to your son’s quick thinking.” 

“You really ought to put my son on your payroll then,” Delores sneered. “Would you care to explain what exactly you were thinking?” 

“Perhaps that is a question I should answer,” a tired sounding voice from the doorway sighed. The three occupants of the room turned to face the voice, which was attached to a tall stocky man with receding ginger hair and an expensive suit. 

“Heavenly Father, I presume,” Greg greeted him, with a heavy dose of hostility permeating his words. 

“Ah, I see you figured that one out,” Rudy Holmes sighed, taking the seat across from the two Lestrades. “You’re cleverer than I initially thought. Davidson, you can return to your post, I can handle this.”

“Yes, Sir,” the agent who had accompanied Delores in quickly complied, shutting the door behind himself. 

“Mycroft told me,” Greg admitted quietly. 

“At many points in my life, listening to Mycroft has been the cleverest possible decision.” Rudy smiled softly at the boy. “I want to thank you, Gregory. Your actions today saved my nephew’s life.” 

“He really is your nephew then?” Greg asked, “I figured he had lied about that too.” 

“I would venture to say that the vast majority of things he told you were true. He’s never been one for unnecessary lying.“ Rudy handed Greg a granola bar and a bottle of water from his bag, then pulled a file out and laid it on the table. “I was informed by my nephew that I was to answer any questions you may have.” Greg looked down, studying the wood grain of the table for a long couple of minutes. He had questions, so many questions, but none that Mycroft’s uncle could answer. 

“I don’t need to know anything, sir.” Greg finally replied. “I understand it’s all probably above my clearance level.” 

“If you’re sure…” Rudy studied the lad for a moment, his eyes softening. “I will need you to sign something, the Official Secrets Act, I’m sure you understand.” Rudy opened the file and slid a piece of paper and a pen across the table to Greg. “Obviously this didn’t go the way we planned it. The British Government owes you a great debt, and we will endeavour to repay it. I will provide you with referrals to therapists who specialise in this and any bills will be covered. We will also be paying you what we would have paid an agent on assignment for this length of time.” 

“You really don’t have to do that,” Greg mumbled. “I honestly didn’t know anything.” 

“I do not doubt that Gregory. I also know that, for whatever reason, my nephew doesn’t care in the least about his own wellbeing, but cares greatly for yours.” Rudy took the signed form back, tucking it into the file and handing an envelope that Greg guessed contained a paycheque to Delores. “I have spoken with the Church. You will be assigned a new mission partner and can continue your mission. For safety reasons you won’t be able to stay in Yugoslavia. The Church is offering a lovely position in southern Ireland.” 

Greg suddenly felt sick. They expected him to just continue on with a new companion? As though Mycroft had just quit? As though he hadn’t just had the man of his dreams tell him he loved him, only to be shot and run over before Greg could say it back? He couldn’t do it, but all words of protest died in his throat. 

“Okay,” he heard himself saying, “that’s fine.”

Chapter Text

Greg’s new companion was named Kenneth. He had been left alone after his mission companion had slipped on a slick walkway and broken his ankle. Greg dutifully repeated the cover story he had been told, claiming with a perfectly straight face that Mycroft had been clipped by a car while riding his bike and had broken his leg. 

He couldn’t bring himself to muster any sort of excitement as he set out with his new companion. He made it through the days, but he had lost the passion he had for ministry. He went from house to house, mindlessly repeating the dialogue, no longer feeling that rush of joy he used to get from sharing the gospel. It was almost as though finding out that Mycroft, the smartest person he had ever met in his life, didn’t truly believe made the whole religion seem outlandish and silly. 

Kenneth was nice enough, but he was dull. There was no other way to describe it, and by day two Greg was starting to theorise that his first companion may have intentionally broken his ankle just to get away from him. He seemed fascinated by the sound of his own voice and could talk without taking a breath for what felt like years. 

Every night Greg lay in bed, lonely and cold without Mycroft at his side, and wondered about Mycroft. Was he okay? Rudy had had the decency to tell him that Mycroft was expected to make a full recovery, but Greg wasn’t quite sure what that really meant. He was certain that Mycroft had to be scared, and probably in horrible pain, and…

Greg rolled over forcefully, burying his face in the pillow to muffle his tears. 

~~~

“Can I ask you a question?” Kenneth asked quietly at breakfast the next morning. He didn’t wait for a response to continue. “Did your old companion really just break his leg?”

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

“Not really, I just…was there anything else that contributed to why you had to be moved?” 

“Why are you asking me that, Kenneth?” Greg set his jaw, staring stonily back at the other boy. 

“I heard you crying last night, Greg,” Kenneth smiled softly at him as he spoke. “My da passed when I was just a kid, and sometimes, in the middle of the night when she thought the lot of us were asleep, my mum would cry all by herself, and that was the cry I heard last night. That’s the way a person cries when their whole world has been ripped away from them.” 

“I don’t know what you’re implying…” 

“Yeah, you do,” Kenneth chuckled, almost to himself. “You shouldn’t be here when your heart is somewhere else. Is he dead?” 

“No.” Greg admitted. 

“Then go get him. I’ll get another companion, go, be with your world.” 

~~~

Greg stood in front of St. Thomas’ hospital, hardly able to breathe. He had gone straight to the Bishop after his conversation with Kenneth and quit on the spot. He hopped on a train, then another, spending the better part of five hours making his way from Killarney to Dublin. Once in Dublin he boarded a ferry which took nearly eight hours to bring him back to the British mainland. He then spent another three hours on a train to London, at which point he found a payphone and phoned his mother, who did nothing to hide her amusement as she pointed out that she gladly would have bought him a plane ticket. 

After all that, Greg had made it to the hospital, but found himself utterly incapable of walking inside. 

His hands were shoved in his pockets, trying to stop their shaking. His feet were suddenly too heavy, rooted to the spot by the crushing weight of his anxiety. What if Mycroft didn’t want to see him? What if he had just been something to pass the time to Mycroft, and his confession of love had just been another lie?  He already knew that Mycroft had lied to him, why not lie about that too? 

“Gregory, is that you, young man?” Greg turned his head toward the voice, equal parts relieved and stressed to see Mycroft’s uncle walking up to him. The man seemed to have aged considerably since the last time Greg had seen him. “I’m very glad to see you here.” 

“You are?” Greg asked, furrowing his brow.

“Of course I am,” Rudy chuckled ruefully, “maybe seeing you will lift his spirits. He was absolutely devastated that he didn’t get to see you before you left.” 

“He wanted to see me?” Greg asked, his brow furrowing even more. 

“My lord, lad, you really have no clue how much he cares for you, do you?”  Rudy shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “Come on then, I’ll take you to see him.” 

~~~

Rudy insisted that Greg go in alone, chuckling to himself and rolling his eyes when Greg asked if he was sure that Mycroft wanted him there. 

Greg entered the room slowly, half expecting to be laughed at. He must look so pathetic right now, he mentally scolded himself. Standing there in a hospital room of a man who probably hadn’t given him a second thought, no matter what Rudy claimed. 

“Greg?” a strained voice from the bed called out, snapping Greg out of his spiral of self-pity and self-doubt. 

“Mycroft,” Greg whispered back, his courage restored enough to rush over to the other boy’s bedside. Mycroft smiled wide when Greg dropped down into the chair next to him, grabbing his hand. 

“They told me you went to Ireland,” Mycroft whispered. Talking was clearly painful, which led Greg to wonder how recently Mycroft had started breathing without the help of a ventilator. 

“I did. I thought that was what I was supposed to do. That I should run back to the Church and be the good Mormon I’m supposed to be. But I didn’t care anymore. Ministry work doesn’t matter to me anymore. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Greg bit down hard on his lip, physically forcing himself to stop talking. 

“I wanted to talk to you before you left,” Mycroft murmured, squeezing Greg’s hand. “I wanted to explain, but I still couldn’t fully breathe on my own. They only took the vent out two days ago. The bullet nicked my lung.” He paused for a long moment, studying Greg. “You’re real, right?” 

“Of course, I’m real…are you alright? Do you need me to call a nurse?” 

“No, no, it’s just, I’ve been dreaming about you so much, I just needed to know that you’re really here.” 

“You’ve been dreaming about me?” Greg’s heart fluttered in his chest as Mycroft gave a tiny nod. 

“None of it was a lie,” Mycroft whispered, his voice sounding almost childlike. “The only lies I told you were the ones directly related to my mission. None of what we had was fake.” 

“So when you told me that you loved me…?” Greg began optimistically. 

“I meant it then, and I mean it now. I love you, Greg. And I understand that I’ve betrayed your trust in a way that is absolutely unforgivable, and I won’t blame you if you never want to see me again. I deserve that and more, but please do not doubt that I loved you with all of my heart. If I could go back…” 

Mycroft was cut off by Greg pressing a long, thorough kiss to his cracked lips. He pulled away, Mycroft looking up at him with pure longing in his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t want you to do a single thing differently. All of it was worth it, because it brought me you.” Greg pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s forehead, then another one to the tip of his nose. “I didn’t have a chance to say it back last time, but I would have. If we had time I would have told you over and over again. I would have held you and whispered it until you believed me, until you were certain that I would never change my mind. 

“And today, right now?” 

“Today, right now, for as long as you’ll have me, Mycroft. I love you. I love you with all of my heart.” 

Chapter Text

Twenty-three years passed before Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade were legally allowed to marry. In the meantime, a great many things had happened in the world. 

The former Yugoslavia had, just as Mycroft had predicted, split into seven--or six, depending on who you asked--independent nations. The war had been brutal. The Church had first changed the goal of those missionaries remaining in the country to humanitarian aid rather than proselytising before ultimately deciding to pull them from the area all together. Greg and Mycroft watched news coverage of the conflict on the tiny, grainy telly in Mycroft’s hospital room during his months of recovery, keeping watch for buildings and people they recognized. 

Mycroft’s recovery had been long and arduous, but Greg hadn’t left his side for a moment of it. Doctors and nurses would joke that Greg was Mycroft’s second shadow. When Mycroft was deemed ready to be discharged, Greg had proudly taken him to the completely accessible first floor flat that he had purchased with the paycheque Rudy had provided him with. 

“I can walk,” Mycroft had laughed as Greg pointed out how everything could be reached from a wheelchair. “I’m not quite an invalid.” Extensive physical therapy had rendered Mycroft able to walk again, albeit a touch gingerly. For years the old injury would haunt him, especially in poor weather, which would make the once smashed bones ache. 

“Well, to be fair when I bought it that wasn’t a guarantee,” Greg pointed out. “And frankly, I would like to be prepared in case you decide to continue living an unnecessarily dangerous lifestyle.” 

“I’m not going back to field work,” Mycroft said softly after letting Greg’s comment hang in the air for a few moments. “I’ve been offered a job, a minor position in the government, that will be much more conducive to the lifestyle I wish to have.” 

“And what lifestyle is that?” Greg asked, trying to keep his voice light. 

“The kind where I come home at the end of the day and curl up in bed with the man I love.” 

Greg ultimately decided to become a police officer. It was work that he was entirely suited for, and he very quickly rose through the ranks. He did so even quicker once he formed a somewhat symbiotic relationship with Mycroft’s troubled younger brother Sherlock, who was wonderful for Greg’s career. Less so for his blood pressure, but you can only ask for so much. 

Mycroft also rose swiftly within the shadier parts of Her Majesty’s government, soon catching up to and then surpassing his uncle. The day Rudy received notice that he was now a subordinate of Mycroft Holmes was the day he handed in his retirement papers. He escaped to his country home, content to live out his days in relative obscurity, with his longtime partner Ian and a couple of border collies. Greg and Mycroft made a point to visit regularly, and Rudy would be sure to stop by on those rare occasions that he found himself back in London. 

The two young men soon moved on from the little first floor flat in Brixton, Mycroft’s salary allowed them to afford a spacious townhouse on Whitehall Court, scarcely a stone's throw from Mycroft’s office. Greg’s mother had nearly fainted when she saw the price, then again when Mycroft paid for it in full.  

The day that marriage equality was the law of the land in the UK, Greg and Mycroft tied the knot, their families by their sides. They spent a week in Iceland, then returned to their lives, happier than they had ever been. 

Still, in the midst of all that happiness, Greg couldn’t ignore the feeling that there was something missing. 

“Have you ever thought about having kids?” Greg asked Mycroft as he dropped down into bed one night, gathering Greg into his arms. 

“Honestly, no,” Mycroft murmured as he pressed kisses along Greg’s hairline. “It never seemed like much of a possibility.” 

“I used to think that I would have a whole mess of kids by now. I gotta be honest, I never really stopped wanting that.” Mycroft was quiet for a long couple of moments, his nose buried in Greg’s thick grey hair. 

“We’re not young anymore. Do you think we could keep up with a child?” 

“We aren’t dead, Mycroft, we’re forty.” Greg smiled, nuzzling his face into Mycroft’s neck. 

“Forty-two, thank you very much,” Mycroft grumbled good naturedly.  “I just worry that we might not be able to get up with a baby four times a night and still be functional at our jobs.” Greg considered that for a moment, it was a decent point. 

“What about an older kid? School age, maybe?” 

“Maybe,” Mycroft agreed, with a sort of faraway tone to his voice that told Greg that he was already deep in his own head, formulating a plan to make that happen. Greg smiled against his husband’s neck. If Mycroft was forming a plan, it was as good as done. 

~~~

It took three days for Mycroft to compile a file of suitable children. He sat Greg down at the kitchen table and spread out the kids’ profiles. 

“You’ve been busy,” Greg chuckled. 

“My darling husband wants to adopt a child, I find a way to make it happen,” Mycroft shrugged with a shy smile. “I took the liberty to narrow it down to the children who I feel would be the best fit for us. They are almost all local, so we can meet them and further assess our compatibility easily.” Greg glanced over the profiles, his eyes drawn to one in particular. 

“There are two kids in this picture, which one is up for adoption?” 

“They both are. Sibling group, the boy is seven and the girl is four. I know we didn’t discuss the possibility of adopting more than one, but these two caught my eye for a different reason.” 

“Oh, really?” Greg asked, his eyes still fixed on the picture of the two grinning kids who somehow looked so familiar. “Why is that?”

“Because we ministered to their grandmother back in Croatia. She was the first one to welcome us in. Shortly after she fled, coming to London on a Visa I provided in a copy of the Book of Mormon.” 

“Their mother must have been the little girl,” Greg realised with a start, “she was sitting in the next room playing with her dolls.” 

“She was. She passed away earlier this year. Her two children have been in care since then, waiting for a suitable home.” 

“That was one of the best days of my life,” Greg reminisced, running his finger along the edge of the picture. “You were so incredible, the way you ministered to her…”

“I was explaining the best way to escape and reach England…” 

“Don’t ruin the memory for me,” Greg shot back with a smirk. “Do you think we would be a good fit? You didn’t just include them because of the connection, right?”

“Not at all,” Mycroft assured him. “I think we would make excellent parents for them.” 

~~~

Luka and Marija were officially adopted twenty-four years to the day after Mycroft and Greg stepped off the plane in what had since become Croatia. Their home was full of laughter and of love. Of two children who needed a second chance and of two men more than happy to give it to them. Of a former spy and a former Mormon and two children of a child refugee, who had all found their forever in each other.