Work Text:
Greg had half-heartedly expected that Mycroft wouldn't even open the door when he rang the bell at a quarter past eleven. But when the door opened and Mycroft stood in front of him, his mind betrayed him. He had known exactly what to say. Had laid the words out in his mind but now it was gone.
"Detective Inspector?" Mycroft asked, eyebrows furrowed and confusion tinting his voice. One of his hands held onto the door handle as if it were an anchor. "How may I help you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Greg cleared his throat and smiled, hoping it looked warm.
"A little birdie told me somebody had a really rough Christmas dinner at home," Greg explained. His hands felt sweaty as he held up a bag of marshmallows and a small box of cocoa. "My mum always made me cocoa with marshmallows after those asshole 'rellies' had left." Mycroft ran a hand through his already messy hair.
"A birdie?" Greg let out a sigh and shook his head. Of course that was all Mycroft had heard. He should've known.
"It was John who called me," he explained. "Now will you let me in? It's freezing." Mycroft stared at him for another moment, then stepped aside. Greg slid in and closed the door behind him. He sighed softly as the warmth finally hit him. It took him some time to wrestle out of his coat, his hands numb from the cold.
"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere more important than here?" Mycroft asked, his voice quiet, hesitant. When Greg looked up, Mycroft avoided meeting his eyes.
"At this hour?" Greg chuckled, a smile tugging at his lips. As he walked further into the townhouse, his eyes wandered over the dark wood, the old paintings and the colourful but elegant looking wallpaper. His fingers softly brushed over the floral design. He hadn't seen it in so long and had never really noticed it.
"Sherlock always implied I should change it," Mycroft muttered. Greg turned, not quite understanding, until he saw Mycroft's eyes on the wallpaper. "He said it doesn't suit me."
"I call that bullshit!" Greg said, eyebrows furrowed. "It does suit you. The house is cold on the outside but soft and warm on the inside." Mycroft's gaze flickered towards Greg, eyes wide and his lips slightly apart. Even from a distance, Greg was able to make out the reddening of Mycroft's cheeks. Soon Greg himself felt his own cheeks warming. As he cleared his throat, he looked away.
"I'll prepare the cocoa. You should rest," Greg said and walked into Mycroft's kitchen.
It had been a while since he last stood in this kitchen. He filled the teakettle with water and set it onto the stove beside a pan of milk to warm.
The last time he'd been in this kitchen, he'd been so sure they were so close to becoming more. More than companions, brought together by Sherlock's messes. More than friends. Then Sherrinford had happened. After that he'd only been able to watch Mycroft slip out of his reach.
With a sigh, Greg shook his head and filled their mugs with the mix of water and milk. The rich flavour of cocoa started to fill the kitchen. Then he scooped a generous amount of marshmallows into the mugs, watching them as they floated atop the steaming drink.
With slow steps, Greg walked into the small sitting room. Mycroft sat in front of the fireplace, staring into it. He was wrapped in a warm-looking blanket. Mycroft only looked up, when Greg stopped beside him. His eyes were half-lidded, dark circles clung under them and lips drawn tight.
"This one is yours," Greg muttered as he held out the mug. Mycroft stared at it for another moment. Then his hand closed around the mug slowly and their fingers brushed softly against each other.
"Thank you." Greg let out a soft hum and sat down next to him. When he looked at Mycroft again, the other had his eyes closed, mug against his lips. A soft huff escaped Mycroft.
"I think your ability to measure used to be better," he said after a moment. Greg raised an eyebrow with a chuckle.
"You think so?" Mycroft's gaze flickered towards him, lingering a moment too long.
"Yes... Gregory."
Greg felt a sudden pull in his chest. He had forgotten how his name sounded when the other said it. So unexpectedly soft and melodic.
Greg didn't trust his voice so instead he sipped his cocoa. The soft marshmallows brushed his lips.
"I think my ability to measure is perfectly fine." He took another sip. "Just the right amount of marshmallows."
At his answer, Mycroft started to laugh softly. When Greg turned his head, the other still had a soft smile on his lips. Their eyes met and for a moment neither of them looked away.
Mycroft cleared his throat and looked away. His eyes fell onto the fireplace, which was crackling softly.
"Today I..." He started, then stopped, blinking a few times. His fingers tightened slightly around the mug. "I realised how utterly wrong I had been." Greg furrowed his brows but kept quiet, waiting. Because he knew Mycroft wasn't finished yet. His eyes returned to Greg. "Pushing you away. Shutting you out after... Sherrinford." Slowly, Greg reached out, gently placing his hand on Mycroft's wrist. "Seeing John with Sherlock," Mycroft muttered. "Even after everything that's happened John is there for my brother... and my brother for him." A tired smile spread across Mycroft's lips.
"John is the heart to Sherlock's mind," Greg whispered. Mycroft nodded.
"And it seems I only now realised I, myself, am in need of a heart to my mind." Greg felt his heart beating strongly in his chest and a shiver ran down his spine. Could Mycroft really mean it the way Greg understood it? Could it be? His fingers tightened gently around Mycroft's wrist. The other sighed quietly and his hand found Greg's on his wrist.
"I would like to apologise for my behaviour after Sherrinford. I... believed I wasn't allowed to show vulnerability."
"Bollocks!" Greg huffed as he shook his head.
"I know that now, Gregory," Mycroft replied, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips.
"Good!" Mycroft's hand on Greg's was warm and heavy. He liked the feeling of it very much.
"Have you..." Mycroft stopped for a moment. He cleared his throat. "Before Sherrinford, I tried to deny it, but I always felt safe with you... warm, comfortable." Greg's smile widened slowly. "I always assumed caring is not an advantage. I was wrong." After a long pause, Greg finally spoke.
"At our last drink before Sherrinford, I thought we were nearly there," Greg confessed. His eyes wandered to the fire and for a moment he watched the flames dance. "I never knew for sure whether you... fancied me, but..." He let out a sigh. "I've fancied you." There was soft movement under Greg's hand, then the quiet click of a mug being set down on the side table. Mycroft's free hand gently brushed his cheek, turning his head.
"I do," he said softly, voice barely a whisper. "And I hope you still do, even after what I did. Pushing you away." Mycroft's eyes were wide.
"I was hurt... I wanted to be there for you and you shut me out," Greg explained, his chest tightened as he thought back to the night right after Sherrinford. When he rushed to Mycroft only to be met with ice-cold words and a face made out of stone. A shiver ran down his spine.
A soft squeeze brought him back into the present.
"But now that I know you simply thought you were not allowed to be vulnerable I understand you better..." He placed his mug on the side table and his free hand found the tangle of Mycroft's and his own hands. "It doesn't erase the hurt I felt... we probably both felt."
"I really am sorry," Mycroft whispered, eyes on their intertwined hands. "But I hope... maybe... we can work it out. Together?" A soft smile tugged at Greg's lips and he let it happen. Then he nodded.
"I would like that."
Mycroft's shoulders relaxed visibly and a smile that even reached his eyes spread across his lips.
"Can I..." Mycroft mumbled, then stopped himself, his eyes flickering briefly towards Greg's lips. "It's alright if it's too fast... but I would like to... kiss you." Greg's smile widened before he leaned in and pressed his lips onto Mycroft's, careful and gentle.
A sigh escaped Mycroft's lips as they parted.
"I quite enjoyed it," Mycroft confessed, his breath ghosting over Greg's lips.
"Me as well." For a moment they looked at each other before Greg leaned in, placing his head on Mycroft's shoulder.
"Merry Christmas, Mycroft."
"Merry Christmas, Gregory."
Later that night, when they had both settled under Mycroft's blanket and sleep tugged at their eyes, Greg sent a short text.
00:47
Greg
He's fine now. Didn't ask questions when I said John told me.
00:49
Sherlock
Thanks for checking on him. I knew it would work.
Greg smiled faintly at his screen. When he felt the arm around his waist tightened, he set his phone down and turned towards Mycroft.