Chapter Text
Mycroft Holmes entered NSY. There were certain files that he needed to drop off. Well not specifically him - but ever since a certain DI and he had taken their relationship to the next level, the British Government found reasons to drop by the Yard if his schedule allowed for it. So now he made his way up to the right floor, the file under his arm and a cup of real coffee in his hand.
“Myc?”
He stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn’t heard that particular voice in over two decades. Turning around he saw an all too familiar face under a crop of still full, blonde hair. The man had aged well. Life had been good to him if the obvious fitness, well-fitting, expensive clothes, and laughter lines were any indication. The only distracting factor was Sally Donovan currently holding his arm.
“Oliver?”
*
Mycroft started university relatively late. He was already seventeen when he enrolled. This made him about a year younger than most everyone else. A year was the limit Mycroft had deemed acceptable. Anything more would have marked him an outsider - a freak - right away. Most of his serious studies would be done on his own anyway. Uni was a place to establish contacts and develop his social abilities among peers. Unlike languages or numbers, social interactions didn’t come naturally to Mycroft and his first few attempts ended predictably in disaster. But he was willing to invest the time and effort - unlike his little brother he was willing to learn society’s rules and live by them as much as necessary.
His official schedule was as light as he could get away with, which left Mycroft a lot of time to visit higher year seminars or lectures that piqued his interest.
He first lay eyes on Oliver in a seminar about Bentham. The second year blonde caught his attention the moment he entered the room. Mycroft was immediately convinced that he had never seen anyone more beautiful. He didn’t remember a thing about that day’s discussion but nevertheless he didn’t consider his time wasted.
Oliver McIntyre studied English literature but similar to Mycroft he made sure to visit quite a few extracurricular events and activities such as the philosophy seminar. McIntyre was also a member of the rowing team - a sport he enjoyed thoroughly even if he would never be one of the school’s top athletes.
Mycroft knew that Oliver was gay by the end of their first shared seminar. He took a whole week to make absolutely sure that Oliver actually knew that he was homosexual and wasn’t living in denial.
Now he just needed a way to approach him.
Mycroft started to study Oliver and his habits the same way Sherlock conducted his experiments at home: with patience, care, and an incredible attention to detail. He began to frequent the same off-campus locations Oliver’s friends visited and he managed to stay quite inconspicuous. Looking back later, Mycroft recognized that this had been the foundation for his short but very successful undercover career. He could never muster the same level of motivation for doing the legwork for any of his professional appointments though.
If McIntyre had proved himself to be a fool or a rude bully, Mycroft would have been able to shake off his obsession. But at every opportunity Oliver behaved perfectly polite and nice, not only to his friends but to random people like waitresses or clerks. He seldom spoke in the seminar but when he did his contributions were well thought out. Mycroft was convinced that he had found the closest thing a human being could be to perfection before he had even turned eighteen.
Objectively Oliver McIntyre was indeed a nice young man but most people wouldn’t have looked at him twice. His face was more interesting than beautiful in the classical sense. People liked him for his quiet yet open and friendly personality. He got along with practically everybody. From Mycroft’s perspective that was its own kind of genius and one completely foreign to his own.
*
Oliver McIntyre was a successful author of supernatural crime fiction. Being almost fifty now, success had come relatively late in life. He had never minded though as long as he did something he loved. When he’d started the book series about Wolfgang Hart - a werewolf detective in contemporary Liverpool - fame had practically come over night. The noir atmosphere, the snark, and an ensemble of supernatural supporting characters hit a chord with the - mostly young - readership. Sally had read a couple of the novels and had thoroughly enjoyed them. But that didn’t mean she would cut McIntyre any slack.
“Come on now.”
The man didn’t give an inch.
“A moment please, Sergeant.” He turned towards Holmes the elder. “What are you doing here, Myc?”
Holmes blinked. “I was just dropping off some files.”
“So you stuck with that government job? Good for you.”
And there it was again, that absolutely gorgeous and totally genuine smile. Twenty odd years and Mycroft was as helpless as he’d been the very first time he’d seen it. He turned towards the woman holding Oliver’s arm.
“DS Donovan, why is Mr. McIntyre here?” His voice was perfectly polite if a bit breathless to his own ears.
Sally frowned. She never knew how to deal with him. He was the ‘freak’s’ brother, but he was also a man in a position of power and he was her boss's live-in boyfriend.
“He’s here in connection to the Moorcomp murders, Mr. Holmes”
Now it was Mycroft’s turn to frown. “Surely not as a suspect?”
Donovan’s facial expression told him differently. He was just about to protest, when another voice chimed in.
“More like a consultant - Hello, Mycroft.”
Hearing Gregory’s voice, Mycroft felt heat crawling up his neck. Luckily no one seemed to notice as the DI turned towards the author. “Mr. McIntyre, glad to see you came - DI Lestrade.” He offered his hand.
Oliver took it. “Your DS gave the distinct impression that I didn’t have much choice in the matter, to be honest.” Still he was definitely more amused than angry.
“We always have a choice.” Mycroft said quietly. Lestrade was surprised to see him weigh in at all.
“How very existentialist of you, Myc.”
Greg turned from McIntyre to the elder Holmes, his eyebrow raised in question.
“You know I always appreciated Sartre, Oliver.” The government official didn’t take his eyes of Greg’s ‘consultant’.
“Donovan, why don’t you lead Mr. McIntyre into room 3? I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Sally nodded. “Of course.”
Before she could lead him away, the author had pulled out his card and put it into Mycroft Holmes’ hand. “I’m in London for a couple of weeks - call me.” Then he followed the DS without waiting for an answer.
Lestrade took Mycroft’s arm and gently lead him into his office. The other man still seemed dazzled by the accidental run-in. Once he’d closed the office door, Greg turned towards his lover.
“What are you doing here?”
Mycroft blinked as if he suddenly remembered where he was. “I had to drop off some files.” He dropped the papers on the DI’s desk. “And I brought you some coffee.” He offered the cup to the policeman with a sheepish smile.
Greg took it and placed it on the desk. “And what was that all about?”
“I was a bit taken aback. I didn’t expect to run into Oliver at your work of all places.”
“I didn’t know you knew any semi-famous authors.”
“Is he?” Mycroft naturally had no idea. He didn’t care about bestseller lists or popular fiction in general.
Greg had to grin at his partner’s cluelessness. “Sure. Oliver McIntyre sells… wait… Don’t tell me he is that Oliver.”
Mycroft managed a small smile. “He used to write poetry.”
Greg leaned back against his desk. “Blimey - my boyfriend used to shag a suspect.”
Mycroft frowned. “Didn’t you say, he wasn’t a suspect?”
“Well, it’s far more probable that the murders are the work of a deranged fan. But some evidence does point his way. We’re not ruling anything out at the moment.”
“Oliver wouldn’t murder anyone.”
“How long has it been since you last saw him?” Seeing the protest forming, Greg quickly added: “Look I’m not saying he would. Just - twenty years is a long time. And people change.”
He was sounding perfectly calm and reasonable and for a tiny moment, Mycroft hated him for it.
“Well then get on with your job and I’ll get on with mine.” The government official left, giving the DI no chance to say anything else.