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“Gregory,” Mycroft said with a sigh, trying to focus.
Greg had draped himself across Mycroft’s shoulders, his arms loosely slung around the taller man’s neck, his chin resting on the top of Mycroft’s head.
“Mycroft,” Greg’s voice was warm, teasing. “You’ve been sitting there looking all stern for the past hour. Don’t you think it’s time for a break?”
Mycroft let out a long-suffering sigh, his fingers still typing away at his laptop. “Gregory, your presence alone is sufficient distraction without resorting to physical interference.”
Greg grinned, undeterred, and wrapped both arms around Mycroft from behind, his stubble grazing the back of Mycroft’s neck. “Come on, live a little. I’m just trying to spread some joy in that overworked brain of yours.”
“Joy,” Mycroft said, his tone as dry as the Sahara.
Greg only tightened his hold, leaning his chin on Mycroft’s shoulder. “Admit it. You like this.”
“What I like,” Mycroft began, “is efficiency and peace. Two things you are single-handedly obliterating.”
“You’re grumpy.” Greg poked his side playfully. “Admit it. You’d miss me if I stopped.”
Mycroft sighed, finally turning to look at Greg. His pale blue eyes were sharp, his patience evidently worn thin. “Gregory, must you be so needy? It’s becoming quite tiresome.”
The words were spoken with more bite than Mycroft intended, but they landed with precision.
Greg’s playful grin froze, his hands falling from Mycroft’s shoulders as though burned. For a moment, he stood there, his smile faltering before disappearing entirely.
“Right,” Greg said, his voice quieter now. He took a step back, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to annoy you.”
He stepped away, his movements slower, almost hesitant. Mycroft barely spared him a glance, his attention returning to his screen.
The next few days were different. Noticeably so.
Greg still smiled, still spoke to him with the same warmth, but the affection that had once come so naturally—the spontaneous hugs, the teasing touches—was absent. The light-hearted touches, the teasing jabs, the spontaneous hugs? All of them gone. Greg was careful, polite, even distant.
It was maddening.
By the third evening, Mycroft couldn’t bear it any longer.
That evening, Mycroft found Greg in the kitchen, brewing a pot of tea. He was humming softly, but his usually vibrant energy seemed dimmed.
Mycroft hesitated at the doorway before clearing his throat.
"Gregory, might I have a word?"
Greg turned, his smile polite but not as bright as usual. "Of course, Mycroft. What’s up?"
Mycroft stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back. "I’ve noticed that you’ve been… distant as of late."
Greg chuckled dryly, pouring two cups of tea. "Didn’t think you’d mind. You said I was being too needy, so I figured I’d back off a bit."
The simplicity of Greg’s statement struck Mycroft like a blow. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came. For a man who excelled in language, he suddenly found himself utterly bereft of the right words.
“Gregory,” he said finally, stepping into the room, “I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, you did,” Greg interrupted, though his tone wasn’t angry. “And it’s fine. I get it. I’m not your kind of…person, I guess. You need space, and I don’t want to—”
“Stop,” Mycroft cut him off, his voice unusually soft. He moved closer. “You misunderstand me. What I said was… unkind. I was irritated, but not with you. I value your presence—your affection—more than I can adequately express.”
Greg blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You’re saying that now?”
“I should have said it sooner,” Mycroft admitted. “You bring light into my life in a way that I neither anticipated nor deserve. And if I ever made you feel unwelcome, Gregory, I deeply regret it.”
“I was... insensitive. Your affection—it is not something I am accustomed to, but that does not mean I do not value it. Or you.”
“I miss you,” Mycroft said, the vulnerability in his tone catching even himself off guard.
Greg stared at him for a moment, his guarded expression softening. “You really mean that?”
“I do,” Mycroft said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not always adept at showing it, but… I care for you. Deeply.”
Greg raised an eyebrow, watching Mycroft carefully. "So… you don’t mind me being all over you?"
Mycroft stepped closer. "On the contrary. I have come to realize just how much I rely on it. On you."
Greg’s eyes softened, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "That almost sounded like an apology."
"It was an apology," Mycroft said with a faint smirk. "And a plea for you to resume being your insufferably affectionate self."
Greg laughed, the tension finally melting away as he pulled Mycroft into a tight embrace. "You’re lucky I can’t stay mad at you, Holmes."
"I am fully aware," Mycroft murmured, leaning into the warmth of Greg’s embrace.
They stayed like that for a moment before Greg tilted Mycroft’s chin up, his lips brushing against Mycroft’s in a gentle, lingering kiss.
When they pulled apart, Greg rested his forehead against Mycroft’s, a grin tugging at his lips.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Greg murmured.
“Undoubtedly,” Mycroft agreed, pulling Greg into another kiss.