Work Text:
Greg frowns at his desk, too exhausted to think straight. He didn’t sleep well after leaving the restaurant alone on Saturday, then spent most of Sunday composing and deleting text after text. He should thank Mycroft for buying dinner, he thinks, but the right words won’t come. His brain kept spinning far into the night.
His phone buzzes. He sucks in a calming breath before answering.
“I am deeply sorry I had to cut our dinner short the other night, Gregory.”
“You should be. That pavlova was excellent.”
“As was the company. I had rather hoped for a more pleasant end to the evening.”
Greg is glad he’s seated; his knees have just gone embarrassingly weak at the suggestive tone. He clears his throat and chooses his words carefully. “I was… surprised… when you asked me to dinner.”
“I was surprised when you accepted.”
“Were you hoping I’d refuse?”
“On the contrary. But hope and expectation so rarely coincide. I could not assume….”
There is a knock at the door. Donovan. “Sorry to interrupt, but.…” Her look says he’s needed. Immediately.
“This isn’t a good time. But we do need to talk.” He names a cafe and suggests a time he hopes he’ll be able to make. Adrenaline spiking, he wishes he’d had more than coffee and a doughnut for breakfast.