Work Text:
The club was nearly empty. Mycroft sat alone by the fire, the last lingering guest. The lights had been dimmed, the staff started to clean. Still, he remained — motionless, staring into the flames, his phone in his hand.
Five past eleven. No calls. No messages.
Except for Anthea, of course — but that was duty, not affection.
He told himself that it didn’t matter, he didn’t care. Which was a lie.
He was forgotten by his own family year after year. He should have gotten used to the disappointment but it hurt still.
A light touch on his shoulder alerted him to a visitor. Work, no doubt. What else would come calling at this hour?
But it wasn’t work.
By the front desk stood Greg Lestrade, shifting awkwardly.
“Mycroft,” he said — and then caught himself, lowering his voice. “Sorry. Forgot.”
Mycroft took his coat from the attendant, and gestured for Greg to follow him outside. The night was cold and quiet.
“How may I help you, Detective Inspector?” he asked once the door closed behind them.
There had been a time when it was Gregory. When he’d kissed him, held him close. Before Sherlock’s return had soured everything. Before that final, bitter fight that neither of them truly won.
They hadn’t spoken since.
“I know it’s late,” Greg began. “There was a new development in the case—”
“My brother could surely assist you," Mycroft interrupted smoothly.
Greg shook his head. “It’s not about that. I made you a promise once. That you wouldn’t spend a birthday alone.”
“I remember…everything.” Mycroft whispered. He didn't expect Greg to keep it after the breakup.
Greg gave a small, crooked smile. “Bit late, I know. But I’m here to keep it.”
“It isn’t necessary.” Mycroft’s answering smile was polite.
“It is,” Greg said gently. “My car’s this way.”
“It’s rather late,” Mycroft murmured, though his protest lacked conviction.
“Then at least let me drive you home.”
Mycroft hesitated. It hurt, seeing Greg again. And yet — he wanted to. He missed him.
“All right,” he said at last.
Greg smiled. “This way.”
Greg cleared his throat, they’ve been sitting in silence. “I’ve actually wanted to talk to you for a while… to apologise. For the way I behaved.”
“It is understandable,” Mycroft replied, his tone was calm, almost detached. “I betrayed you.”
“Yeah,” Greg said softly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Still, I acted immaturely.”
“I repaid your loyalty with secrets,” Mycroft murmured. “I deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t.” Greg shook his head. “You were scared, trying to protect your brother. I get that now.” He glanced at Mycroft briefly. “Secrets I could’ve handled. Lies—less so.”
They drove another stretch in silence. The rain had begun to fall, light and steady.
Mycroft’s gaze drifted toward the window. “Yes,” he said quietly. He convinced himself Greg wouldn’t mind, he’d be happy that Sherlock returned and life would remain the same. That false idea cost him dearly.
They drove another stretch in silence.
“I never stopped caring, you know,” Greg said at last. His voice was low, hesitant. “Even after everything. I tried not to, but…I missed you.”
“You should not say things you don’t mean.”
“I do mean it,” Greg said simply. “I just wanted you to know.”
Greg parked and turned off the engine. The sudden silence felt heavy between them. The rain tapped softly against the windscreen.
“I didn’t come here expecting anything,” Greg said finally. “Just… thought maybe we could talk. Be civil again. I’ve missed talking to you. Properly, I mean — not through official channels or awkward silence at Baker Street. We both made mistakes. Let’s just call it even and start over, yeah?”
For a moment, Mycroft said nothing. These past months without Greg had been unbearable — lonelier than he cared to admit. He wanted…needed him back in his life, even if only as a friend.
“I would like that,” he said at last.
Greg exhaled, a quiet sound of relief. “Good.”
The tension between them eased a little.
“Friends, then,” Mycroft said, his voice soft but sincere.
“Friends.” Greg offered his hand.
Mycroft took it.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” Greg smiled at him. “Really. I was worried, you know. After everything ended the way it did.”
“I am… mostly all right,” Mycroft replied. “Work has always been a convenient distraction.”
“Yeah,” Greg nodded. “Same. Though, maybe it’d be nice to have a bit more than that again.”
“Perhaps,” Mycroft agreed.
"Are you free on Monday?"
"Usual place, usual time?"
"Only if you want to."
"Yes." Mycroft answered quickly.
“Happy birthday, Mycroft,” Greg said quietly.
“Thank you,” Mycroft replied. After a moment, he added, “And for keeping your promise. It means more than you know.”
Greg smiled. “Then I’ll make sure it’s not the last promise I keep.”