Chapter Text
“Here you are sir - I dare say your partner is very lucky.” smiled the man behind the glass counter in a subtle Boston accent. Mycroft gingerly opened the velvet box and took note of the beautiful, if not subtle, ring he fully intended to be on his partners hand by the day’s end. White Gold insertion around a line of Microdiamonds which swirled haphazardly around the rings center, a thin inscription of both French and Latin in the inside, to be pressed onto skin and to mark the finger forever.
Mycroft nodded politely at the man.
“I dare say it has been a battle well fought on both sides.”
“Ah, ‘Love is like war: Easy to begin but very hard to stop.’”
“H.L. Mencken.” The clerk looked at him with wide eyes.
“You know of Mencken?” Mycroft nodded.
“Yes, I was quite enraptured with his novel ‘In Defence of Women’, however it had some bits I wasn't all too enthralled with.” The clerk happily nodded.
“Ah yes, a man with great knowledge, but his views did have a bit to be desired. Anyway, I do hope you have the best of luck with your partner.”
“Thank you, I dare say I will need it.” And with a surprisingly honest smile from the man who crippled nations, Mycroft left the jewellers with the ring that would change the course of their lives as a couple.
.o0’O’0o.
The meal was prepared - and Mycroft had the burns to prove it.
Each Holmes had their weaknesses - with Father, it was engineering, Mummy was adept at sewing, Sherlock was the solar system, and Mycroft was cooking. Baking was easy, cakes and all sorts were a simple task, but as soon as a hob or a saucepan entered the equation, all ability fled from him. Never the less, the eldest Holmes brother persevered, and after one burn, a singed towel and a red wine stain on his cuff, a meal fit for a proposal was created. He leaned on the counter as he called his three year long partner, and hopefully, his soon to be fiance.
“Hello, Detective Inspector Lestrade - what relative of Holmes is this?” came a tired but comfortable voice from the phone.
“I believe that I am the eldest son, but for all I know, I may as well be your housekeeper.” Mycroft replied lightly, knowing jokes on his desire for a clear and clean home was a source of hilarity for his beloved. Sure enough, a warm laugh fell back through.
“Hey, Mycroft, what’s up?”
“I was wondering when master of the house shall be arriving home?”
“Oh, ha ha,” Gregory replied sardonically “Very funny. I guess I may as well leave now, this is as frozen as a polar bear's bollocks at Christmas.”
“Ah, detailed and classic as always, Gregory.”
“Uh, yeah, sorry about that, but you know, I am getting nothing out of this case. Nothing is adding up and I am chasing my tail.” A shared sigh over the line caused a small rush of static.
“Alright, try not to run yourself to the ground with this - take a break, and if you feel the need to inject caffeine into yourself, come home.”
“Aye, Captain Holmes!” laughed Greg, and he hung up. Mycroft happily left the kitchen and sat down on the sofa after putting the oven on to incubate the meals ready for Greg’s return. A fidget into his trouser pocket, and Mycroft returned the mobile phone and replaced it for the velvet box in his hand.
‘I am surprised the hinge hasn't come undone.’ he thought, opening the case for the umpteenth time and examining the ring. He had polished it twice today already, despite the fact that it was perfectly clean when he got it that morning. The thought of getting a book from the packed shelves on his walls, the hard and paper backing covers on tombs of all genres had appealed to him, but he figured he would wait - Mycroft had a nasty habit of getting to involved in a novels words and storyline, and apparently blocked the world out.
.o0’O’0o.
When Mycroft first went to Somerset to visit Gregory’s parents, the pair had decided to take the train. The actual meeting of his parent went off without a hitch, and two days later, they parted on good terms. Back on the train, a tired Gregory watched Mycroft avidly reading a novel which his librarian father (Mycroft looked like he was to faint when he was shown the double level garage converted into a two floor library with metal winding staircase in one corner, which his dad had spent nearly all of his retirement on, much to his mum’s annoyance) had given him to borrow. It was a relaxing thing, to watch Mycroft be both frantic and zen at the same time, an obvious urge to flick to the end and find out what is happening and a warm feeling of contentment at just reading a story. Greg watched his oblivious Mycroft until the heat from the summer sun through the window and the cooling effect that seemed to always surround Mycroft cast him in a deep slumber.
“My? Wake me up when we have to change over, yeah?” No reply, but that didn't stop Greg from falling on Mycroft’s shoulder and snoring quietly.
However long he was asleep, Greg knew that he had slept well over his change over. In fact, if he didn’t know any better of Mycroft, he would say -
“MYCROFT! WE’RE IN BLOODY BRIGHTON!”
Mycroft jumped about half a foot in the air and removed his face from the large book and looked around frantically, ice and grey eyes wide before realising where he was and calming.
“Oh gosh, I dare say we are!” Mycroft quickly stood and looked out of the first class window, taking in the scenery of the outer towns of the seaside city.
“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up to change over?” Greg growled, very close to kicking the blasted book out of Mycroft’s hands. Mycroft continued not to speak for a short while, stock still and still taking in the view, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
“Mycroft, this isn’t a bleedin’ taxi, you can’t just pay for their scheduled routes to change!”
“Of course not Gregory, do not be so daft. The trains never run on time anyway, and I don’t think anyone would appreciate someone merely waving money around in an attempt to change something so reasonable solid as the train routes.” After flicking through the notes subtly in his wallet, he closed it again and returned it to his pockets, before pulling out his phone and ringing someone.
“Ah, yes, hello my dear - yes, a lovely time was had by all... Yes, that is the reason - we are being held back due to trainline problems... Yes, I would take an educated guess and suggest two days... yes, of course - tell Angela that I will talk to her when I return... Yes, farewell.”
He hung up and Greg waited a moment before asking.
“It’s not going to take two days just to get back to London, Mycroft.”
“No, it will not. However, it will take two days for train lines in Somerset to clear, and thus our only option is stay put and wait it out.” A few moments later, and Greg was as confused as before.
“I don’t get it.” Mycroft sighed heavily, and crossed the empty carriage to guide Gregory towards the window. He positioned him to face the seaside town flashing past them, and Mycroft slowly wrapped arms around his partners waist.
“So, we will have to wait out two days.” A widening of eyes revealed to Gregory the meaning of his words.
“You want to spend two days in Brighton, because you... missed our stop?”
“No, I wish to spend two days in Brighton because you are with me, I have missed you at work recently and I want you all to myself before we must return to the rigmarole that is London, Sherlock and everything else that we are put through,” Mycroft rested his chin on Gregory’s shoulders “, I am nothing if not flexible with disaster.”
“So, what are we going to do? Just sit in a hotel?” asked Greg, raising an eyebrow knowingly.
“Hmm, no, I was thinking more along the lines of ice cream on the prom, but if you wish to spend our time doing nothing but watching dreary daytime television in a hotel suit, who am I to destroy your wants?” Mycroft shrugged, a little sadly, were anyone to ask Greg, but seeing as no one did, he merely turned around in Mycroft’s arms and pressed a chaste kiss to his nose.
“Ice cream sounds brilliant.”
The two days were spent in perfect happiness, highlights being the moment where Mycroft had to use his umbrella as a parasol as his face flushed a delicious covering of freckles (Greg was only aware of the skin anomalies on his upper arms and back, and the sight of an embarrassed Mycroft with a bright saddle of freckles over his nose was something that was to be scored into his mind for years to come), when Greg won a smiling raindrop plushie in a claw game (despite Mycroft rattling off the precise reasons it was highly unlikely he would even manage to move a toy, let alone win one. When the prize was revealed, a stunned Mycroft found the toy pushed into his hands and a smug Greg leading away to the ice cream stand “we can’t let my brolly boy be without his London rain, can we?”), and a romantic meal (at least, it was until something happened in the kitchen, causing the entire restaurant to be evacuated before they had even ordered their meal. Greg, who had not even wanted to go for a posh meal anyway, dragged Mycroft to the nearest Chippy and got two fish and chip lots, and the pair went and sat down on a bench watching the sunset) before they had to check out of the hotel and return to the station for the journey back. The book was finished and Greg’s dad was happy to hear that at least one of his children’s partners were interested in the hobby turned obsession that was his library.
.o0’O’0o.
Mycroft opened and closed the box a few more times, before he was drawn from his daze by the sound of his mobile going off.
“Gregory?” asked Mycroft, the inflection of confusion obvious.
“Mycroft I could kiss you! I knew I kept you around for something! Listen, I’m not gonna be home tonight, I’ve finally figured out how he killed his brother - G-d, thank you Mycroft! I love you!”
Mycroft slowly removed his phone from his ear at the sound of the dial tone from where Gregory had hung up on him. A dark growl, and Mycroft threw the phone across the room, it then bouncing off the dark wood bookcase and falling to the floor with a light ‘thump’.
“Ugh.” He groaned in annoyance as he got up, putting the box back in his pocket. The phone was picked up off the floor, and after giving it a once over for any damage, put it alongside the box. The meal was put in the compost bin - he would burn an arm off next time and create something freezable - before he merely put the dishes in the washer and switched it on.
Later that night, Mycroft vowed to get Gregory to marry him, even if it was the last thing he could do.