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Greg knew it was not his place, but he could not bear to watch him suffer any more.
He did not deserve what happened to him. Not one iota of it. He didn't deserve what was put on him as a child. He fuck sure did not deserve what happened to him all those weeks ago and the lingering discontent in its aftermath.
He deserved none of it.
None!
This needs to be fixed and now. It's almost Christmas, and he is not starting a new year with this hanging over his head. I won’t let him.
In the immediate aftermath, so much was happening that Greg did not truly have time to give thought to it. Now, weeks later, he understood things more, and he was livid about what was going on.
He needed to have a conversation, and the things he wanted to say had to be said in person, not over the phone.
Thus, he made the long drive to the cottage up country to have a talk with the ones he felt most responsible.
The parents.
He introduced himself and was grateful they already knew him as a cop and as someone who knew their children. Well, two of them, though he had seen the youngest under the most insane circumstances possible. He warned the parents they were not going to like what he had to say.
And with that warning, he spoke.
Spoke? No. That was not accurate.
He had started out speaking, but near the end, Greg pretty much spewed as he had all but yelled at the elder couple. And they let him, taking the vitriol.
"You were the adults! He needed you to be a parent to him then, and you failed him. So, he became the parent to his little brother because you failed him too. I do not bloody CARE how mature he was as a child. He was a CHILD! A child now forced to be the adult neither of you could be so arsed to be!” Greg had put his teacup and saucer down carefully in fear he would break the delicate porcelain as he continued. “And now you have photos of her all over this room rubbing in his face. How could you?!”
Greg had asked, knew the answer: because no one can love you like family; and no one can hurt you like family.
“Of course, he hid her and lied about it. He only continued with the lie that was already in place. You tried to calm the storm by pretending it never happened. Why would it occur to him to change the status quo? And now you crucify and punish him for it? Absolutely NOT!” Greg had thundered, then quickly lowered his voice as he paced the family room in his agitation. “No. I cannot continue to let you do that to him. No.”
Greg turned to the matriarch.
“He won’t tell me exactly what you said, but I know it hurt him. It hurt bad, and he did not need that. You are going to fix it with Mycroft. Do you hear me? Fix it!” Greg pointed fiercely. The woman blinked at the finger inches from her face. “Mycroft Holmes may damn well be the most powerful man in the world, where all fall at his feet with a mere quirk of his posh eyebrow, but at the end of the day he is still your little boy, and you hurt him. He will never admit how much he is silently suffering right now, never. But I see it every time he tries to hide it. Mycroft has maybe a generous dozen people on this whole godforsaken earth that know and understand him. But only five that truly love him for who he is, foibles and all, three of whom are in this room…”
Greg stopped short as he saw their reaction to his words.
Greg knew he was in love with the Mycroft Holmes. He had been for over a year.
However, he had not told said man as much.
And while secure in the hard-won friendship he and Mycroft now shared, Greg was also sure the love he felt for the man could not be returned, and had kept that love buried within himself.
It’s out in the universe now. Heaven help me.
“I know you’re understandably shocked and very angry, but Eurus is… where Eurus… is. Did you raise a meddlesome pain in the arse? Yes. But you also raised a brilliant man. A good man. You raised a man who learned to always protect his family at all costs. At. All. Costs. He is the one who has been paying the piper all these years; he alone. And when the inevitable happened…? Whatever you said or did to Mycroft after Sherrinford, whatever it is you’re still doing now…? It's a chasm that the love Sherlock has for him, and yes, the love that I have for him, cannot heal, Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes… It’s Christmas, and for all that he loathes it, it is a time for family. You and Sherlock are all the family he has, and this is what you’re doing to him! It must stop!”
Mr. Holmes had looked at Greg, stunned. Greg had the impression it had been a long time since the Holmes patriarch had been addressed thusly by someone who was not immediate family. Sherlock and Mycroft’s ability to keep a stoic face was certainly learned at Mrs. Holmes’ knee, as the woman merely raised a brow when she finally deigned to look at Greg at all. Her expression was so completely inscrutable that, if she opened her mouth, Greg honestly did not know whether it would be to compliment or condemn him.
Greg glanced around the family room. The lit fireplace – its mantle with stockings and pine garland. The huge Christmas tree in the corner, gaily lit with its zillions of baubles, lights, bulbs, and bows. Holiday photos of the Holmes throughout the years were around the house.
On the surface, it all looked perfect—a big happy family around the Christmas tree, mother, father, two sons and a daughter.
Though Greg had never been to the Holmes’ cottage before, he knew these photos of Eurus as a child had not been seen in decades. That they were out now, as though they had always been, just added to Greg’s ire.
It was foolhardy of me to come here.
He knew it was, but he had sat at home alone and thought about Mycroft and all that went down. It enraged him. The next thing he knew, he was ringing the bell at the Holmes Brothers' childhood home- well, the cottage the brothers came of age in- without warning or invitation, when he finally thought it might be a bit not good.
At that point, it was in for a penny, in for a pound, and he came in anyway.
If found out, oh, who am I fooling, WHEN he found out, all he could do was pray Mycroft would accept it in the spirit it was meant and not kill him for speaking to his parents thusly.
Having said his piece, a part of him felt better, yet a part of him still seethed that it had to happen.
“Look…” Greg ran a rough hand over his head, setting his silver hair awry. “None of that came out the way I wanted it to. I’m only apologizing for the delivery of the message – not the gist of the content. I meant every word of it. Even what I did not mean to say…” Mrs. Holmes gave a slight nod at that. “I’ve said all I came to say. I’m heading back now…” Greg put his coat on and made his way toward the door. “…And I so want to say don’t tell him I was ever here, but I know better. Just try to fix the rift with your eldest, please? Don’t let the new year begin with this still festering. He needs you…”
Greg had put his hand on the door just as an all too familiar voice cleared its throat from above.
Oh, FUCK me…
“Mycroft?”
Greg dry-swallowed a suddenly much too tight throat at the sight of Mycroft Holmes on the top step.
And by the look on his face, he had heard every word I said.
It was as much for the sight of him after all he had said, as well as Mycroft being there with his sinfully long-legged self, in the most casual clothes that Greg had ever seen Mycroft wear, as he stared agog at the man.
He’s wearing denim!!! And a parka! And a HOODIE?!?!?! Oh. My. God!
“Yes, I own jeans, Mr. Lestrade. Not even I chop wood in a three-piece.” Mycroft smirked at his reaction.
“You said he was a force to be reckoned with when he got a bee in his bonnet, dear.” Mummy came to the family room door, clearly amused at Greg’s mortification.
“You were correct.” Mr. Holmes added, as he joined her. “That… was quite the impressive defense of our son, young man.”
“Young man”? What am I, seventeen again? This is not happening!
“I have three pieces of news for you, Mr. Lestrade…” Mycroft said coolly.
Greg internally winced at the use of his formal name. He understood its meaning.
He’s used it twice now.
I am fucked.
I am so fucked.
I am oh, so bloody fucked.
Still, Greg would not cower under the stare of Mycroft’s cool blue-grey eyes. “And they are?”
“The first news…” Mycroft Holmes smoothly strode down the steps, umbrella in hand, his coat on, and a suit bag over his arm. “Mummy and Dad called Sherlock and me home on Thursday. They apologized to us both, but especially to me, as soon as we got here. And we’ve talked. Sherlock went back to Baker Street on Friday night; I have been here all weekend. We’re… working things out…” Mycroft stopped midway between the door and the family room.
A lot had been said, and there was still some tension between the three. It would take more than a weekend to fix, but whatever talks had happened, the worst of the storm was over. A hint of a silver lining was in the slight relaxation of Mycroft’s shoulders. Greg was happy to see it.
“The second news – Mummy does know me well and got me to admit my love of you just this morning. That we have all just learned, however haphazardly, the feeling is reciprocal, dear man, is the only reason you have not been soundly thrashed. That, and they knew I was here. Also, no one but my brother has ever come so ardently to my defense – especially to my parents, as you have. Even if you had not said the words, we would have known by your actions. You have no idea what that means to me, Gregory….” Mycroft’s soft smile was one Greg had not seen before, and it was all kinds of wonderful. “…Thank you.”
“I had wondered at the relative silence as I went off on them...” Greg admitted as he looked to the sitting room door and shrugged sheepishly.
“But I need to return to London now… Apparently the most powerful man in the world needs to bring a country to its knees again, and Anthea arrived while you were… chatting… I was waiting for you to finish lambasting my parents.”
“You’ll be forgiven, this one.” Mr. Holmes reassured him.
“This. One.” Mummy Holmes intoned with a smile that did nothing to belie the iron behind it.
“Yes Ma’am; sir…” Greg winced.
“Mummy. Da. This is the first time I’ve brought someone home, sort of, since secondary. Do behave.” Mycroft shook an amused head as he walked over to his parents. He and Mummy exchanged kisses on the cheek, and his father gave him a one-armed hug in goodbye. “I’ll call later in the week.”
When they exited the cottage, Anthea had stepped out of the sedan, but then stood by the car with the engine idling when the two stayed where they were.
Greg and Mycroft stood awkwardly buttoning their coats against the winter chill.
“Forgive me…” Mycroft broke the almost uncomfortable silence. “…I have wanted to do something for a very long time, and it seems now I can …”
“What’s that…?”
“This…” He took Greg’s hands and simply held them.
“Oh…”
The two men enjoyed the simple pleasure of being able to touch, hold hands, one person’s fingers playing with the other’s.
“And what was the third news?” Greg asked after a moment... “You didn’t say….”
“Gregory, you have been the solid rock of strength that has gotten me through these past few weeks in the aftermath of Sherrinford. How I’ve been able to withstand the proverbial slings and arrows shot at me… You were correct; it is Christmas, and they are my family. And yes, I love and need my parents, as well as my brother. But…” Mycroft slowly raised Greg’s fingers, telegraphing his moves… “You’re all I need right now.”
Mycroft then gently kissed the fingers he held.
Both men shivered in the contact.
“Mycroft, I’d like to show you how much I need you...” Greg began, “…but first… I also have wanted to do something for a very long time, and it seems I can now…”
“Oh?” Mycroft’s brow furrowed in query, “What do yo…?”
Before he finished the question, Greg gave his answer in a kiss.
Fingers that had gently played together became urgent grasps of lapels, of arms, of necks, of anything and everything that can be easily touched, stroked, caressed while kissing.
“I do not believe we’re snogging…!” Mycroft blushed, blushed(!) “…in front of my parents front door…” Mycroft giggled, HE GIGGLED(!) when their lungs forced a moment for that annoying thing called breathing. “…during Christmas!”
“If you can get someone to drive my car home, are you amenable to finishing this elsewhere?” Greg took Mycroft’s hand and led him towards a grinning Anthea who held the door to Mycroft’s sedan open for them.
“And having the best Christmas season ever?” Mycroft grinned.
Greg laughed when Mycroft tossed Anthea his keys so Anthea could have his car dropped off. He had not felt their removal from his pocket.
“Oh, yes. I… am amenable, Gregory… Quite amenable…”
