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Mycroft Holmes was not a nervous man, usually. It was a disadvantage in his line of work; however, he was still just a man. A human with all their quirks, flaws and attachments. That’s the very reason why he was currently standing outside his partner’s gates, his hand shaking ever so slightly, frozen. It was a weird feeling; it wasn’t like the Moriarty family was averse to his and Albert’s relationship, otherwise he wouldn’t even be here, yet his breathing cut a little bit too much, and walking was just a bit too hard.
Mycroft had never regarded himself as social per se. The existence of the Diogenes club was proof of that. He was a diplomat, sure, but outside of his family, his relationships were limited, to say the least. For that very reason, he could not bear if tonight was to go unwell.
He checked everything yet again. Posture, straightened and professional. Not intimidating, he reminded himself. Hair, slicked back, well, except for the one or two strands that wouldn’t comply as per usual. Suit, straightened, sleeves cuffed well. Tie, tight, almost uncomfortable, but he’d deal. It was perfect, it had to be perfect.
Despite his anxieties, he took another step forward. The Moriarty mansion was nothing short of glamorous, but not in the overcrowded manner that was typical of those trying to flaunt their wealth. He’d only ever seen it in newspaper columns and the occasional photo. In its design, it was much like many other places he’d visited; however, there was a certain air of warmth to it that was unlike the homes of aristocrats in the usually gloomy London.
The garden was extremely well-kept, and the trees surrounding the area made it seem more detached from the city than it already was. What really caught his eye, however, was the rose gardens. Albert had mentioned them in passing, praising Porlock’s work and maintenance. He could see it now, through the last rays of the sun, it was truly beautiful. Simple, but beautiful. Mycroft’s eyes did not linger, however, as he finally reached the front door. It took only two knocks for the sound of faint footsteps to approach.
It was a brief moment before Albert opened the door, and to say he was stunning would be an understatement.
He was dressed far more casually, when compared to Mycroft, but not underdressed by any means. Even in his own house, he carried himself with particular charm and allure that Mycroft could only attribute to him.
“Punctual as ever.” Albert smiled at him warmly “It’s great to see you, Mycroft. Do come in.” Albert opened the door wider so they could both stand side by side.
Mycroft's shoulders, straighter than ususal, did not relax even inside the house.
His weariness, though not apparent to the untrained eye, could not hide from Albert.
“Are you quite alright?” Albert said, cornering him before they stepped any further into the house.
“I’m alright, perhaps a little bit nervous. You know of my quirks and habits, so to speak.”
Albert put his hand on Mycroft’s shoulder, squeezing it as a form of reassurance. He looked at him in a way far more genuine than usual
“You’re a particular man, but not a bad conversationalist at all. At least I wouldn’t say you’re unpleasant company, plus you’ve met my brothers before, try not to think of this as any different.”
“This is a more personal affair.” Mycroft stopped and loosened his tie slightly, needing space to breathe. “Plus, I doubt my impression was a particularly good one.”
Though the two had been civil on all accounts when meeting with Mycroft after the affair with Adler, he had his doubts about how much was acting and how much was genuine respect. Through his time with Albert, he'd picked up how good of actors the Moriartys could be.
“You’re underestimating yourself, Myc.” The nickname was soft on his lips, and for just a moment, Mycroft believed him.
As the two finally made their way to the dining room, Mycroft was met not only with the sight of the Moriarty brothers but seemingly everyone on hand at the manor. Other than William and Louis, he vaguely recognised former Colonel Sebastian Moran, Miss Moneypenny and the man who now went by James Bonde. He gave them a quick but deep bow. It was William who took the initiative of greeting back, with Albert gently letting go of Mycroft and sitting down near the empty seat reserved for him.
“It’s lovely to finally meet you like this, Mr Holmes,” said William, a small smile on his face.
Louis followed with much the same sentiment and was the one to invite Myroft to his seat. At that, he finally felt his feet move and took his seat.
“Thank you for having me, it's nothing short of an honour.” His words were perhaps too theatrical, but his tone - not so much. It was steady, much the same as it would be in a professional setting.
Mycroft’s eyes darted around the room, not in a way a hurt animal’s would, but in a more inquisitive manner; however, the others’ gazes seemed to be glued onto him. His seat being near the very head of the table made that very easy.
Holmes had hoped for the possibility of a quiet dinner, where he'd speak as needed. It defeated the purpose of the meeting partially, but it was what he was used to, what he liked.
It didn't take long for that hope to be shattered.
“So, Mr. Holmes. I feel it's necessary to ask: how did you get interested in Albert?”
Moran asked, taking the initiative.
It was not exactly an unexpected question, yet the speed at which it came at Mycroft made his chest tighten.
“It is through your dealings with the opium organisation that was spreading around England that I first took notice of him. The plan for MI6 had existed beforehand, but I did not feel it appropriate to give it to someone whose morale could be easily swayed by the promise of a selfish reward.”
Mycroft hoped that would be the only question directed at him. Simple, bureaucratic, practised. That's where his element stood. Nothing about personal dealings or emotions. Oh, how sorely mistaken he was.
“And I suspect we’ve confirmed your initial impression?” William added as soon as Mycroft had stopped speaking.
“My opinion stands firm, and so does my vow of silence to you. I believe in your resolve and goals, all the same.” Thought closer investigation and countless hours spent with Albert, he believed in them even more. Perhaps they could bring about the change that Britain truly needed.
Though William went to respond, Moran cut ahead of him.
“That’s great n all, but we know all that. I’m askin' bout Albert as a person.”
“Oh.”
Mycroft took a moment to compose himself, at least externally. Yes, of course, that was the meaning. He’d come here as Albert’s partner as much as
“Well. . .” He started, his tone even, but not as clinical as before. It held a certain amount of fondness for Albert “I suppose it's something that happened naturally through the course of us working together.”
“We’re both often at banquets and the like for various reasons, they gave us plenty of time for conversations”, Albert interjected, seeing Mycroft’s initial worry.
“Taking up with Albert so quickly, that’s a surprise,” Moran responded in an almost teasing tone, at which Albert shot him a glare.
“Well, wouldn’t you know, Colonel.”
“Now, now, no need to fight with Albert.” Bonde’s voice rang above the others’, though the man was clearly trying to suppress his laughter at how offended Moran seemed. Bonde then continued speaking with a question of his own.
“So, Director, which part of London are you visiting us from tonight?”
There it was. By all accounts, a question that Mycroft dreaded. About himself and him alone. That was the point of the dinner, yet that didn't stop him from absolutely despising them. He hesitated to answer for a moment, not yet sure if he could trust those at the table with such deeply personal information. He had to remind himself that these people were no longer his enemy - they were allies and he ought to treat them as such.
“Mayfair.” His answer was short and simple, barely a whisper. Mycroft’s voice felt caught up in his throat somehow, as if he didn’t have quite enough breath to say his words fully. It wasn't a new occurrence when it came to questions of his heart or person. In other situations, he'd excuse himself unceremoniously, but he knew that was barely an option, not if he wanted the respect of those closest to Albert.
“It's a fairly lovely neighbourhood. No doubt served a good childhood.” Miss Moneypenny chimed in. She’d lived there for a short while when she first worked in MI5, upon Mycroft’s request. She never seemed to sway much either way on it, but Mycroft felt grateful knowing her thoughts now.
However, these praises did not make it directly to Mycroft. Her words had started going past his ear and melting together, yet still, he persisted.
Even so, the statement was incorrect.
“Oh, I’m not actually from London,” Mycroft said, more as a correction than an attempt to continue the conversation. His heart had started to pound fast, every breath felt too short, yet he persisted with brief answers.
“Where then?”
“North riding.” His fingers stiffened around his fork as he continued to speak, “My mother never fancied herself much of a city woman, so we didn’t mingle with many people of high status.”
At that, he heard a light chuckle from William. He seemed far friendlier than at their last meeting at the library. That at least calmed Mycroft down.
“It's almost impossible to tell, I must say you have adapted rather well.” Mycroft didn’t miss the way William’s words shuffled in his brain, as if they were a cypher.
It was true. When comparing him to Sherlock, their speech and manners were night and day. It came with the manner of his work, yet looking back at it, it was in his studies that the change first happened.
“I’ve been around aristocrats and the like since my days in Oxford.” His fellow students didn’t take lightly to those who spoke with a ‘commoners’ accent, as they called it “You pick it up after a while.”
“It was much the same with us.” Albert responded, referring to his brothers, whom he threw a quick glance at before his eyes went to Mycroft. His brows furrowed ever so slightly, as he looked up and down him, as if asking if Mycroft was alright.
The latter just avoided his gaze, staring back at the food, which he'd been practically ignoring until now.
Louis asked him a question. He knew because he saw his lips moving and his eyes darting in Mycroft’s direction, yet the words melted together in such a way that he heard nothing.
Suddenly, it felt like all eyes were on him. He just stayed silent. There was another person speaking, but he could not discern anything. His heart was pounding.
Internally, he started his checklist. Posture: sit straight, shoulders back. Hair: not any messier than before, and yet after that, his mind got quiet, lost, alone.
The questions all melted together, the voices becoming a disembodied symphony. Mycroft needed out.
It would be rude, extremely so, there was no one to blame but himself for that, but he knew he’d suffocate if he didn’t get out.
So, with little triumph in his step, he stood up. He bowed deeply, his head almost touching the table.
“I apologise, but I must take my leave. I-” He attempted to stammer out an explanation, but his legs moved before his brain did. It's over. Positively so. He’d failed on all accounts and purposes. As he fled, in his quiet panic, he failed to even notice the rain pouring on top of him; he simply wanted out.
He relaxed, ever so slightly, just outside the gate, leaning his back on it for a moment. Even so, his breathing did not calm itself; it was a good few moments before his anxieties cleared up, and then the guilt came. It hit him like a boulder, seeding itself deep into his heart He could not blame Albert if he was furious at him after this. It was unlike himself. The panic, the fleeing. He was supposed to be in control. If not him then who?
Inside, Albert looked towards the mansion's exit with worry as his love fled. He exchanged a look of pure confusion with his brothers. There was no anger or offence, simply worry and perhaps the tiniest bit of understanding. The silence was broken by Bonde ushering
“C’mon, can’t let him escape, it's pelting.”
Albert looked at the table and simply nodded.
“We’ll be back soon.”
Albert needn’t hear any more. He rushed out in a far less proper manner, which made catching up to Mycroft all the easier.
He caught him walking hurriedly across the estate's outside
He reached out for Mycroft’s hand, feeling his jumping pulse and stopping feet for just a moment. Finally, for the first time in the evening, Mycroft seemed like the man Albert had grown to love. His hair was messy and his expression crooked, yet still, Albert found the beauty within it. When he went to look in his eyes, he was met with a horror he’d not seen on Mycroft’s face before.
“Albert . . .” That was all Mycroft could mutter before pulling him in. He cupped Albert’s face worriedly. “What are you doing out here? You’ll catch a cold in weather like this,” Holmes's tone was worried, hurried, but genuine. Uncharacteristic, but not unwelcome.
“I’m quite alright,” Albert said with resolve, but he made no effort to push Mycroft away, instead he pulled them both closer to the metal gates of the Moriarty estate.
He did not seem angry, nor annoyed, simply worried.
“What happened?”
It was a simple question, really. Mycroft shouldn’t have had any problem answering it, and yet, his throat closed up when he even attempted to speak on it. After a few seconds of silence, he started slowly, trying to compose his thoughts as best he could.
“I’m unsure, I apologise, it was awfully uncivilised of me to do this. I’m not one for matters of the heart. You deserved something better this evening, Albert”
The latter could do nothing more than just stare in shock at the statement, before chuckling, just a little.
“It’s not to worry, Mycroft. This evening has not been unenjoyable for me or my family."
Albert pulled Holmes closer to himself.
“Perhaps we miscalculated this, but that’s in no way your fault.”
“You’re just flattering me”, Mycroft said, through low chuckles. Albert had that infectious laugh, he could not help joining in on.
“Nonsense. . .”
They stood in silence, their laughs quieting down, as Mycroft averted his gaze.
“It is a dangerous life you’ll be leading if you choose me as your life partner.”
“My life is already dangerous enough.”
“Not of this sort.”
Albert pulled away only so he could grab Mycroft's hands more easily. His touch was soft, a softness Mycroft did not deserve.
“You’re an ally, an extremely determined and driven one at that. You’ve helped me immensely in the short time I’ve had the honour of knowing you. If anything, I’d argue it's less dangerous to be with you.”
Mycroft struggled for words, but finally, he just sighed, gripping Albert's hands as well. They were rarely ones for touch, yet Albert's fingers on his grounded Mycroft in reality, no matter how blurry everything else was.
“Perhaps my worries might’ve gotten the better of me. I do feel awful for leaving so suddenly; it was exceedingly rude of me. Please do send your deepest apologies to your brothers for the ordeal.”
Mycroft went to pull away, but Albert did not let him.
“You mustn’t worry so much, god knows we’ve done more obscene things. Plus, it's not my place to deliver apologies; if you so wish, you can do it after dinner.”
Mycroft's eyes widened, his lips parting in protest, but before he could, Albert took his hands more firmly and started walking carefully back to their front gates. Though his step was still nervous, his hands were now still, his eyes focused yet again.
“I really do not wish to cause more of a commotion than I already have.” Mycroft protested
“We haven’t even brought out the drinks yet, I assure you, this is no commotion,” Albert reassured him as they both entered. “Let’s get ourselves dried off first.”
He nodded, following Albert up. This time, he could get an actual look at the interior. It was nothing short of stunning. Though he had resigned himself to a far simpler life, Mycroft still had an eye for decoration, and the Moriarty estate had no shortage of them. From pictures of the family to what he could only assume were relics.
It was a short walk to Albert’s room, but an enjoyable one nonetheless. Mycroft opted for waiting outside at first, though his partner was quick to pull him in as well. He gently placed a towel on Mycroft’s head, rubbing it, while his own hair dripped. Once Mycroft's hard work was positively ruined, Albert went to dry his own off as well.
“Feel free to pick out any attire you see fit.”
At that, Mycroft almost choked.
“Don’t you think that’s rather crude, Albert?” His voice held no animosity; rather, it sounded almost flustered.
“You getting sick is far worrisome than us having worn the same clothes. Plus, you’re a gentleman, I doubt they’d get ruined in your care.”
Mycroft resigned. Albert was right, it would be awfully inconvenient for him to get sick at such a time as this.
When Mycroft turned around to face Albert yet again, he saw a man who was nothing short of a saint. Albert had taken on a lovely light green dress shirt that complemented him quite excellently, and when he smiled at Mycroft, the latter could feel the world around them disappear.
“All set up, let us go on”
While walking through the corridors, Albert didn’t let go of Mycroft’s hand for even a moment, only parting their palms when they once again came upon the dining room
Albert was the first to enter, with Mycroft following behind him. Those at the table simply greeted them, not mentioning the previous commotion. An omission Mycroft was beyond grateful for.
Their eyes did not seem like daggers ready to pierce him anymore; they were welcoming and kind. Their voices, though overlapping, rang in a sort of harmony he hadn't seen elsewhere.
The rest of the night was a blur, but a pleasant one. And this time, when Mycroft stood at the door, his heart steady and the night sky clear, he almost didn’t want to leave.