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“Are you arresting me, officer?” Mycroft asked with feigned concern, a playful gleam shone in his eyes
“You bet. It is illegal to be this bloody gorgeous.” Greg took out the handcuffs.
“Is there no way,” Mycroft purred, his hand trailing slowly down Greg’s chest, “I could avoid incarceration?”
“No,” Greg said, his voice suddenly firmer, eyes darkening. He caught Mycroft’s hand mid-motion, gripping it tightly. “It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”
Mycroft swallowed as he offered his other wrist. “Good choice,” Greg murmured approvingly. He gently pushed Mycroft on the bed. The cuffs clicked around his wrists, binding him to the bedpost. “Now,” Greg leaned in close, breaths hot against Mycroft’s skin, “I must pat you down.”
“If you must,” Mycroft managed, his voice trembling with anticipation.
Greg took his time undoing Mycroft’s many buttons, exploring his body. “What do we have here?” Greg murmured fingers drifting to the waistband of Mycroft’s trousers.
“I…” Mycroft’s voice faltered.
“What are you hiding from me?” Greg teased.
“Gregory,” Mycroft’s tone drew Greg’s attention. He looked up at his lover.
“Take it off,” he whispered, pulling on the cuffs with quiet desperation. “Take it off, please…please take it off…”
Greg’s heart dropped.
Mycroft was paler than usual, his body trembling, covered in cold sweat. His breathing was quick and sallow, his eyes looked past Greg, blown wide with fear.
“Right, shit…sorry,” Greg sobered immediately. Something was wrong, very wrong.
He scrambled off the bed, fumbling in his discarded jeans for the key. “I’ve got you…hang on…here, love.” The cuffs clicked open, and Mycroft was free. Mycroft got up unsteady on his feet, Greg reached out but Mycroft pushed his hand away. He disappeared into the ensuite, closing the door behind him.
He slid down the door, back pressing hard against the wood. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Hands shaking, clammy with sweat. His chest heaved, he couldn’t catch his breath. The air felt thick, like smoke all over again. The walls threaten to close in on him.
Not real, he tried to tell himself. It’s not real.
But the smoke was in his lungs, the fire burning his skin, his brother’s screams echoing in his mind
Mycroft pressed his hands to his mouth to silence the sobs that overtook him. He rocked forward, forehead pressed to his knees, arms clutched tight around his head.
He tried to count. He tried grounding himself but his mind refused to cooperate.
The threat wasn’t real. He knew that.
But his body didn’t care.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, ten minutes, an hour.
Eventually, his breaths began to slow, air filled his lungs again. Felt the tremors in his hands lessen, bit by bit.
Still curled on the floor, he opened his eyes.
I'm safe, he told himself.
Even if it didn’t feel like it yet.
Greg stood in front of the bathroom door, his forehead resting against the wood. He sighed hearing Mycroft’s voice.
“Could you… fetch my dressing gown, Gregory?”
“Of course,” he was relieved to hear his lover’s voice. “My,” he knocked on the door.
“I’m sorry,” Mycroft said quietly when he opened the door. He wouldn’t meet Greg’s eyes.
“Nonsense, love,” Greg stepped closer. “You could’ve said no. It was just a silly little idea, that’s all.”
“I found your idea…very enticing.” Mycroft admitted, voice barely audible. “I didn’t know it would happen. I thought I could handle it.”
“Tea?”
Mycroft shook his head, then reached for Greg’s hand. Together they walked back to the bed, Mycroft’s steps still unsteady.
They sat down, Greg wrapped his arms round Mycroft, holding him close, protectively.
“You never asked about my scars.” Mycroft broke the heavy silence that settled between them.
“I assumed they were from your agent days.”
“Some,” Mycroft whispered. “The family home burnt down when I was twelve. I woke up to Sherlock's screams, my room was filled with smoke, I could hear the cracking of the fire, glass shattering. I tried to run to him but my hand was cuffed to the bedpost. I knew our sister was behind it.” Greg stilled, he didn't know there was another Holmes sibling. “She was angry at me because I kept Sherlock away from her. I had to, she was dangerous.” Mycroft stared at the wall, eyes unfocused. “I had to protect him.” he whispered. “There was nothing near that would help me escape, so I pulled till my hand tore free” Greg took Mycroft’s shaking hand, gently running his thumb over the scarred skin. “I didn’t care about the blood, the pain, I ran to Sherlock’s room.” Mycroft sighed. “We made it out, my parents as well,” he fell silent.
“Mycroft…I’m so sorry,” Greg whispered, his tears falling.
“Don’t blame yourself, my dear,” Mycroft whispered, brushing away Greg’s tears. “You didn't know.”
“How could I not? I gave you a panic attack.”
“You did nothing wrong,” Mycroft said firmly. “I thought I’d be fine. I wanted to be fine. But I’m weak. That’s not your fault.”
“You are not weak. You endured so much and still became such a caring, kind, brilliant good man.” Greg kissed him.
“You always say the most absurdly lovely things,” Mycroft murmured, a tired smile on his lips.
“Because you deserve it,”
Mycroft leaned forward, resting his forehead against Greg’s. “My love for you,” he whispered, “Is indescribable.”
Greg held him tighter, heart full. “And mine for you, Mycroft Holmes, is bloody limitless.”