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It was midday when Greg stood outside The Cross Keys Inn, watching as Sherlock and John drove away. The wind was playing with his graying hair. His own car stood right behind the Inn, bag already on the backseat. But he felt no urge to drive home yet. Nobody was waiting for him anyway. Most days it was fine but then some days, when he came home it was too silent - too dark in his flat. So it was indeed a nice change to be in Dartmoor. Away from the gray London even though it was summer - away from all the responsibilities. For a moment Greg closed his eyes. He let the warm sun play across the skin.
He would just tell the Detective Chief Inspector the case had lasted longer than it actually had.
A sigh escaped his lips, he turned and got back into the Inn.
"Oh, thought you'd be off 'ome by now, Detective", Gary, one of the innkeepers, said.
"I've changed my mind. A few more days here won't do any harm", he muttered, finger lightly tapping the bar.
"Haven't cleaned your room yet." Gary pushed the keys towards Greg. A smile appeared on his lips as he took it.
"Thanks mate."
Greg took them and got up to his room. He paused by the window. It had a beautiful view over the rolling landscape. For a moment he watched the rolling hills and scattered trees, clouds drifting lazily. He could have stayed there all day. Just watching the scenery.
He fished his phone out of his jacket and placed it on the bed side table. On his way up he had seen a shelf full of books. Certainly there had to be something he would enjoy reading.
He crouched in front of the bookshelf. It stood in the far corner of the inn's lounge. Greg could hear quiet chatter from where he was. His fingers brushed over the spines - a romance novel, a detective story, a local guide... His fingers stopped over a small, very old looking spine. He pulled it out - surprised to find one of his childhood favourites. A smile appeared on his lips.
He remembered cold evenings in his parents house, curled up on their sofa, reading it. Turning page after page, absolutely forgetting the time.
With the book in his hand he stepped out and started to walk towards one of the hiking trails he had discovered yesterday. It was an even path so he could get his eyes off it. The breeze tugged at his hair and the sun played across his face. Still, he was glad he bought his jacket. He wasn't quite sure how long he walked but after a while he came to a small lake. He let himself fall onto the soft, green grass and opened the book. The pages had yellowed over time but Greg could see the book had clearly been loved. His fingers ran over the old page before he began to read.
The words brought him back to another world - one of warm kitchens and second breakfasts. But also about dragons and other creatures. A tale about leaving home, and maybe finding it again.
From time to time, he took a pause, listening to the water softly lapping against the shore. Watching the wildflowers dance in the wind and even getting a hint of their smell now and then.
He could have stayed there forever, but then his stomach reminded him it was time to return. He got up and his eyes scanned the lake once more. Maybe he would come back tomorrow.
He followed the same path back - the trail already starting to look familiar. He was beginning to recognise a few stones and trees that looked like mythical creatures. A soft smile appeared on his lips.
When Greg finally reached the inn, he grabbed his bag and went up into his room. Slowly he unpacking it again. He looked at the clock hanging over the dresser. It was nearly five. Just enough time to have a biscuit and a coffee. He let his phone on the bedside table and went down. Soft music welcomed Greg in the dining area and he walked up to the bar, ordering a coffee and some biscuits. He started tapping to the rhythm of the song that was playing. He recognised it, though the title had escaped him.
"Thanks, mate", he muttered, when a mug and a small plate of biscuits appeared in front of him.
Carefully, he took both and walked towards the fireplace. Thankfully the armchairs were still unoccupied. The wooden floor cracked under his steps.
He made himself comfortable in the armchair and set the small plate on the coffee table next to it. A light sigh trembled out of him as he closed his hands around the warm mug. He watched the dancing fire and inhaled deeply. Smelling a mix of his coffee and the fire. From the far corner of the dining area he heard soft laughter. Greg tried one of the biscuits. They were clearly handmade and a match in heaven - walnuts and caramel. Sweet but not too sweet. He let himself sink a bit more into the armchair, shoulders relaxing. For the first time in weeks, Greg allowed himself to just sit, doing nothing except being present.
Somewhere around seven, coffee and biscuits long done, a serving of vegetarian Shepherd's Pie appeared on the side table. A generous portion.
"Want a beer?", Billy, the younger Innkeeper, said. Greg straightened and cleared his throat.
"A pint of ale, please", he muttered, the savoury smell of the Shepherd's Pie already in his nose. With a growling stomach, Greg grabbed the plate and scooped some of the pie onto his fork. His eyes fell shut and a hum escaped his lips. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten something this good. The crusty top and the soft potato mash right underneath it. Every bite made him feel warm and brought back memories of his grandma. She had made Shepherd's Pie quite similar. Always with the warmest smile and a dessert already prepared just for him.
He cherished every bite and didn't even notice when the beer he ordered, was set on the coffee table.
When Greg had nearly finished the pie, he finally noticed his ale. He paused for a moment and took a sip from the cold beer. Soon after he set the empty plate back on the coffee table. He leaned back, the beer in hand, he started to feel sleepy. Surely a combination of the fire, food and the beer.
He pushed himself out of the armchair, a yawn escaping his lips. He walked over to the bar and placed the empty glass and plate down.
"It just hit the spot", Greg said as Gary stopped at the opposite side of the bar.
"Glad it did", Gary said with a warm smile on his face. Greg suppressed a yawn.
"Gonna head up", Greg mumbled, nodded at the other men's goodnight and walked towards his room.
He got ready for bed and let himself fall into it a few minutes later. A sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes for a moment. The mattress was soft, and he sank into it just the right amount.
His phone buzzed.
Four missed calls
Nine missed messages
He huffed, his free hand rubbing over his face.
One call and two messages from Donovan.
One call from John and two messages from Sherlock. Then came two calls and five messages from that one person he really tried to avoid at the moment.
But did he want to read them now? Certainly not. It would do his sleep no good. He stared at the screen for a moment longer before setting the phone back on the bedside table a little harder than necessary. He pushed the thought of his phone aside and turned. He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.
When Greg woke the next morning the sun was already shining through the window. A hint of a smile spread on his lips as he slowly sat up. His eyes wandered to the clock and a laugh escaped him.
8:36
He had nearly slept for twelve hours. His body had clearly needed it. Warm feet met the cold floor, and a shiver ran down his spine. Quickly he reached for a pair of socks, tugging them on before padding into the small bathroom to get ready for the day. The dark bags under his eyes had nearly vanished and he felt like a new man - or at least as close as he could get to that.
Fully dressed, he grabbed his phone and hewent down to get breakfast.
He wasn't even half down the stairs when voices reached him.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I won't be able to tell you anything about our guests", Gary said, trying to sound firm but Greg noticed the slight tremble in his voice.
"I'll repeat myself one more time", started the speaker, who Gary had been talking to. He knew that voice. "You will immediately inform me if Detective Inspector Lestrade is still staying here." His voice was cutting, allowing no objection. Greg suppressed a groan. Mycroft.
"I'm... really sorry, but I really can't do that", Gary stammered. "Don't want to get into trouble." For a moment, Greg couldn't hear a thing.
"You will get in trouble if you don't", Mycroft's voice had gotten lower and Greg had trouble understanding him. "With one phone call I can close this Inn. You and your partner would never find work again."
With a hammering heart, Greg took the last few steps.
"That's enough, Mycroft!" Both men turned towards him. Gary looked pale, his eyes wide. Mycroft, on the other hand, looked composed as always. But for a split of a second Greg saw something flash over Mycroft's face.
"Ah", Mycroft said, standing up straighter. "So you are still here." Greg let out a huff and stood up straighter as well.
"You can't just walk in and threaten people", Greg hissed, closing the distance between them. His shoulders tight.
"He withheld information I needed," Mycroft bit back, the hand around his umbrella tightening. Greg looked at Gary and offered him a smile, hoping it looked calming. When he looked back at Mycroft, the other man was still staring at him.
"Out," Greg ordered, pointing towards the front door. He tried to suppress the slight tremble in his hand. Surprise flashed over Mycroft's face, but he didn't move. "Bloody hell." Greg turned and walked out of the Inn without looking back. But he could hear steps following him.
A dark car was standing at the opposite side of the street, empty. Strange. He walked a little way down the road, then turned abruptly. His jaw tightened.
"What on earth are you doing here?", Greg questioned.
Mycroft stopped a few steps away. Instead of answering directly, he said:
"You were unreachable." Greg huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Have you considered that I didn't want to be reached?" Mycroft shook his head lightly. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You can't just go offline, Detective Inspector. That's not acceptable!" A car drove by, stopping Greg to reply immediately. He took a deep breath.
"As you can see, I did just that", he said, his voice sharp. Mycroft's back straightened.
"That's why I'm here." Greg's eyebrows furrowed.
"What?", he asked. He pitched his voice up, staring at the other man.
"You have to come back to London."
"Absolutely not," Greg snapped, shaking his head.
"You will!" It sounded like an order, not a suggestion.
"Don't use that voice on me!" Greg pointed a finger at the other man, blood thrummed in his ears. "I'm not your brother, Mycroft." For a moment neither of them said a word. Then Mycroft stepped closer a bit.
"A mercy, then, that you are not."
"And I'm also not your chess piece you can move where you like", Greg said, though the bite had vanished from his voice. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, head tilting slightly.
"Pardon?" Greg let out a sharp, muffled 'mmm' of
irritation.
"You know exactly what I mean, Mycroft!" Greg snapped, turning his head sideways. "To order me around. To have me chase after Sherlock. Then the holiday I had in Spain... Or rather didn't have. On the second day, your assistant called, telling me I'd be needed in an undercover operation. Not even you - your assistant!" He started to feel rage bubbling up again. "And now sending me here, not a call, just a text. On my free weekend! That was the cherry on top!" Greg shook his head violently, fist clenched. "And now you order me back. Not a thank you. Nothing." Mycroft just looked at him. For a moment, Greg thought he saw genuine surprise flicker over Mycroft's face, but it was quickly gone. His lips opened but no sound came out. Greg let out a huff.
"I... thank you, Gregory", Mycroft whispered after a few more beats of silence. Greg closed his eyes and inhaled deeply - forcing himself to calm.
"Better late than never, I suppose", he muttered and started to walk towards Mycroft, who froze, his gaze following every step Greg made. Greg passed him without a pause. Mycroft turned after him.
"Where are you going?" Greg turned his head, but kept walking.
"Getting breakfast." He heard Mycroft mutter something under his breath.
Once again Greg heard Mycroft's footsteps behind him. Despite his still lingering anger a smile tugged at his lips. He had Mycroft Holmes follow him around twice within an hour.
In front of the Inn Greg stopped and pointed at the dark green oldtimer. Was it a Bentley?
"Tell your driver he should park behind the Inn", he said when Mycroft had stopped next to him.
"Pardon?" Mycroft tone was mild, almost puzzled. Greg frowned, searching his face.
"Is it not yours?", he asked. He had assumed it must. An Oldtimer was exactly what he had pictured Mycroft owning. The car screams posh.
"Oh, it is mine indeed", Mycroft started, chin high. "But there is no driver apart from me." Greg had opened his mouth to reply but then Mycroft's words sank in.
"You can drive?" Mycroft let out a huff - it almost sounded amused.
"I'm very capable of doing so, Inspector." Greg felt the slightest pull in his chest as he stared at Mycroft. It wasn't just that he could drive, it was that he had chosen to. Mycroft, who could have easily send someone to collect him, had sit behind the wheel just to come here.
"You drove here all by yourself?", he questioned. Mycroft raised one eyebrow.
"Doesn't 'there is no driver apart from me' already indicates that?" Mycroft sounded amused and there was the slightest upwards curl on his lips. Greg rolled his eyes, but felt his cheeks warming. He cleared his throat and nodded.
"Well then, you should park behind the Inn. Unless you want to drive back to London now, which I doubt."
"Why would you think that?", Mycroft asked, head slightly tilting sideways.
"Because the Mycroft Holmes would never leave something unfinished", Greg answered matter-of-factly.
"Am I really this obvious?" With a low chuckle, Greg nodded, a soft smile on his face. Mycroft let out a huff but his shoulders were relaxed.
"Park your car behind the inn. I will be waiting inside", Greg explained but didn't move just yet. He watched Mycroft walk up to his car and getting in with one elegant move. Greg swallowed hard and looked away. When he heard the car driving away, he turned and stepped into the Inn again.
"Two breakfasts, a Darjeeling and a coffee with milk", he ordered at the bar. Gary still looked a bit shaken up. "Sorry about him." But Gary just shook his head.
"Not your fault", he said with a half-smile. "Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes." Greg nodded and walked into the dining area. He chose the table next to one of the windows and sat down. A sigh escaped his lips and he rubbed his neck. He still couldn't quite make sense why Mycroft was here personally.
From his seat Greg was able to see Mycroft standing in front of the Inn, talking into his phone. With his free hand he gestured in the air. Greg wondered what Mycroft was saying and to whom. He didn't look too happy.
The smell of breakfast reached Greg before he even saw Gary and his partner bring it in. The plate was large, probably meant for sharing, and was placed in the middle. Greg received his coffee.
"Thanks, mate", he said with a big smile. Just as the two started to leave, Mycroft stepped in, eyes immediately landing on the plate. On the scrambled eggs, the bacon and baked beans. Grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms and the small sausages. Freshly cut fruits, yogurt and small pastries. Mycroft had stopped in his tracks. He tried to look indifferent but Greg had sat through enough crisis meetings about Sherlock over food to know better. This wasn't really a breakfast Mycroft would ever order for himself, not because Mycroft didn't like it, but rather because he thought it would be a threat to his waistline. Something Greg had never quite understood. With a smile tugging at his lips, he waved Mycroft over. With slow, careful steps, he crossed the room, stopping in front of the table.
"Isn't it a bit much for just one person?", Mycroft asked, raising one eyebrow. Greg leaned back, coffee in hand and looked up at him.
"Who said it's just for me?"
"I... am not hungry", Mycroft tried to reason, but Greg was having none of that.
"It's not even nine o'clock and the drive from London is at least three and a half hours", Greg stated, gesturing towards the empty seat in opposite him. "So sit down and eat with me!" For a moment, Mycroft didn't move but then he nodded, placing his umbrella on the side and slid into the empty chair. Long, lean fingers wrapped around the teacup.
After a moment Greg leaned forward, placing a bit of everything on his plate. He hadn't had this kind of hearty breakfast in a while. Back in London, he was lucky to get his coffee down before work.
He let out a satisfied hum, when the taste of baked beans and bacon spread in his mouth, eyes closing for a moment.
"You have to try something, Mycroft", Greg beamed. "It's spot on." Greg saw the hesitation in Mycroft's eyes, the way his fingers toyed with the serviette. When Mycroft didn't move, Greg did instead. Slowly he spooned some of the scrambled egg, ready to pull back at the slightest sign of discomfort. Mycroft's fingers stilled and even without directly looking at Mycroft, Greg noticed him sitting up straighter. He placed the scrambled egg on Mycroft's plate. Grilled tomatoes and mushrooms followed. Their smell watering Greg's mouth.
"They get the eggs from their neighbours who have a few chickens and the tomatoes and mushrooms are from a local farm", Greg explained, turning his focus back to his own plate. He forced a smile down as the soft clatter of cutlery reached him. A breath he had held back, trembled out of him and he felt his shoulders soften. Mycroft hummed as he ate his first bite, his hands softly shaking up and down. Greg had seen this kind of move when his niece have had one of her favorite cakes - excitement.
"The chickens must be happy. The scrambled eggs taste quite good", Mycroft muttered after a moment. Greg looked up and raised one eyebrow.
"You can taste that?"
"Well... yeah...", Mycroft replied, a healthy color spread across his cheeks. He cleared his throat. "The eggs I get in London never taste like this, even if they're... meant to be the very best." Greg chuckled at Mycroft's words.
"Guess you will have them delivered to London from now on."
"Too much trouble to arrange. I'm afraid... But I will remember these scrambled eggs", Mycroft said with a shrug, but Greg knew better than that. He felt a soft pull in his chest, the warmth spreading. He liked it, when he witnessed something Mycroft enjoyed. It made him far more human.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence. From time to time Greg placed something new on Mycroft's plate and then, when only the small pastries were left, Mycroft cut each of the four pieces in half. His long fingers placed them on Greg's plate in pairs. Then he did the same for his plate. Greg stared at Mycroft and was caught off guard. It's been a while since someone had done something as simple as serving him. Had Mycroft felt the same when Greg had done it earlier? The same pull inside, the tingling in the fingers, the same quickening of the heart?
"This way we can taste every flavour and deduce which one is the best." There was a faint shimmer in Mycroft's eyes as he explained and a smile tugged at his lips.
"Is that so?", Greg asked with a chuckle, head slightly tilted to the side. Mycroft looked up from the pastries - a faint flush rising in his cheeks. "I knew you had a sweet tooth", Greg said, pointing at Mycroft.
"It's a guilty pleasure of mine, one I try to indulge in as little as possible", Mycroft confessed. With a soft smile, Greg nodded.
"Pastries are the best", he agreed. "With which do we start?" For a moment Mycroft stared at the pastries and then pointed at the one with sliced strawberries on top. Greg leaned forward, taking a generous bite of the strawberry pastry, a soft hum escaping his lips. They moved from one pastry to the next, sharing each in turn. When they had finished, Mycroft leaned back, resting his hand lightly on his middle.
"It's been a while since I allowed myself such a generous breakfast", he muttered. He didn't look directly at Greg, as if he was embarrassed about his confession.
"Well, don't worry...", Greg said with a grin. "I will not tell anyone, you enjoyed yourself." To Greg's surprise, Mycroft started to chuckle - sipping the last bit of tea.
"I like your laugh. It suits you", Greg blurred out. He felt heat rising in his cheeks. Ready to take it back, to shove these words right back into his mouth - until he saw Mycroft's small smile. It softening him in a way Greg had not seen yet. The silence lingered between them, not heavy, rather comfortable.
When their cups were emptied, Greg slowly rose from his chair. Mycroft did as well, gaze never leaving Greg.
"What now?", Mycroft mumbled. He didn't say it but Greg could almost hear the thought that didn't leave Mycroft's lips... London. Greg cleared his throat, surprised of how close Mycroft suddenly was. Their shoulders touching gently.
"Now? Well...", Greg breathed. "I thought of taking a walk." Mycroft didn't respond right away. Greg heard a low exhale and turned his head. Mycroft nodded, as though trying to smooth away any reaction.
"Very well", Mycroft said then. Neither of them moved for another moment, shoulders still touching. When Greg started to step away, he was painfully aware of the sudden loss of warmth against his shoulder. He swallowed and kept walking.
"I'll just change my shoes, then we are good to go", he explained and already getting up the stairs.
Greg only realised Mycroft had followed him upstairs when he stopped at the doorway. Watching him.
"You are not in London anymore. Nobody here will give a damn about ties and three-piece-suits", Greg muttered, a smile tugging at his lips. Mycroft looked down on himself, gently tracing the fabric. "It does look nice on you", Greg continued, fearing he had overstepped. "But the armour won't be needed in the nature." For a beat Mycroft said nothing, finger lingering on his waistcoat before drifting to his tie. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his eyes, as he began to loosen his knot - fingers less steady than usual.
"It must be...", he confessed, "close to a decade since I last set my 'armour' aside."
"About time, don't you think?", Greg replied, walking up to Mycroft and taking the tie from his hands. The tie felt softer under his fingers than he had expected - warm, as if it was still carrying Mycroft's warmth. With care he placed it over the back of the armchair. When he turned back, Mycroft was looking at him - quiet, unreadable but the faintest tint of pink on his cheeks.
"I guess", Mycroft answered, slowly unbuttoning the soft green jacket. The jacket slid from him, revealing lean shoulders. The waistcoat hugged his frame in all the right places and Greg couldn't look away even if he wanted to. Mycroft's fingers ghosted over the fabric once more before falling to his sides. "I will keep the waistcoat on", Mycroft said as he looked up. "Just a tiny bit of 'armour' can't be wrong, right?" Greg nodded with a chuckle escaping his lips. With care he took the jacket as well and placed it on a hanger.
"Right", he answered and stepped through the door - their sides softly brushing against each other. "Let's go."
Greg decided to walk in the opposite direction from yesterday, hands in his pockets. Mycroft fell into step beside him.
"Where are we going?" Greg turned his head, looking at Mycroft. He shrugged.
"Haven't decided yet. Let's just see where the road leads." Mycroft's eyes widened as he stared at Greg. "Not something you are used to, I guess?", Greg asked with a grin on his lips, softly bumping his shoulder. To his surprise, Mycroft pushed back slightly and then hummed. A laugh escaped Greg's as he stumbled to the side.
"What was that for?", he asked, still chuckling. Mycroft didn't respond but one corner of his mouth was turned up and looked suspiciously like a smile.
They walked in silence for a while, having left the village long behind them.
At a bus stop a ginger cat lay in the sun, eyes closed. When Greg and Mycroft approached, it slowly opened its eyes, following every move. Greg loved cats but sadly they often didn't like him. He had just passed the cat when Mycroft stopped in his tracks. He turned to see Mycroft kneeling.
"Hello my dear", he muttered, extending his finger towards the cat. Greg swallowed hard. Mycroft's voice was soft and low, so unlike everything Greg had ever heard from Mycroft. The cat eyed Mycroft's hand for a moment before slowly closing the distance, sniffing his fingers and then leaning in. A faint smile spread as he began to pet the ginger cat. Greg turned his head away, but the warmth in his chest only spread further.
"What a beauty you are, sweetheart." The ginger cat began to purr, pressing even more against Mycroft's hand. He was going to die, Greg thought.
When Greg looked back after a few moments, Mycroft's eyes were on him. Greg raised one eyebrow. Mycroft softly nodded towards the cat, an invitation. Greg's finger twitched but he didn't move right away.
"Cats usually don't like me", he uttered as he knelt down next to Mycroft, shoulders brushing. Greg held out his hand, just as Mycroft did a few minutes ago. To his surprise the cat didn't hiss. Slowly his fingers traveled to its chin and started to scratch it. The ginger cat still showed no signs of discomfort. A wide smile spread on Greg's lips.
"It would seem you've been accepted", Mycroft mumbled, and when Greg turned to him, he found Mycroft already smiling at him, a soft, tiny smile but it was there.
After a few more rubs, the cat seemed satisfied. It stretched, gave a soft yawn and walked away, tail high, disappearing down the road. Greg watched her leave. Then he pushed himself up again.
"Didn't know you were this good with cats", Greg said as they continued walking, hands in his pockets.
"During uni I had taken in a straying cat", Mycroft explained. "Barely alive when I found her but I gave her the best food and soon she was well again." A sad smile appeared on his lips. "She lived with me for sixteen years. Simply replaying her... didn't feel right."
"Sixteen years... she must've meant a lot to you", Greg whispered, afraid that he would scare Mycroft away if he spoke any louder. Mycroft didn't respond right away. Then he nodded. "How did you name her?"
"Minerva... but I often called her Mini." Mycroft let out a sigh.
"After the roman goddess of wisdom? That's a beautiful name... fitting." A tiny bit of sparkle appeared in Mycroft's eyes, and Greg knew he had said the right thing.
As they kept walking, Greg noticed the sun dipping lower again. When the road curved, Greg realised with surprise that it was the same road he had taken to the inn the first day. A few miles yet, he reckon, but they were on the right track. The familiar road put Greg at ease. Yes, he had suggested they just walk and see where the road led. But it would’ve been a pain in the arse if they’d had to double back the whole way. He glanced at Mycroft a few times, noticing how he had set into the same pace as Greg without complaint. By the time they reached the inn, the sun hung low.
"Blimey, we were out longer than I thought", Greg said as he looked at the clock. Next to him, Mycroft stiffened, staring at the clock as well. He cleared his throat.
"It's getting late", Mycroft said, adjusting his waistcoat. "If we leave now, we could be back in London shortly after ten." Greg shook his head, a low chuckle escaping him.
"Still not letting that go?", he asked, hands on his hips. "Go on then. Head back to London if you so desperately want to... but I will stay here." Mycroft opened his mouth, eyebrows furrowed, as if ready to argue. But then he closed it again, fingers rubbing against eachother. He nodded softly.
"Alright", he uttered, turned and left the inn. Stunned Greg stared at the spot were Mycroft stood just second a ago. There was a pull in Greg's chest, but this time, it was unsettling. He closed his eyes for a second. He had been stupid to hope Mycroft would play along, would stay with him longer. Mycroft had way more important responsibilities than getting Greg back to London.
Greg turned and slowly walked up to the bar. He was about to order a pint when someone next to him spoke.
"A room for the night, please."
Greg's head snapped around. Mycroft stood there, a small holdall in one hand. He felt his heart flutter.
"You bought luggage with you?", Greg questioned, one eyebrow raised.
"I always keep a bag in the boot", Mycroft explained, eyes on Gary, who took his time checking whether they had a room available. Greg chuckled and shook his head.
"Always prepared I see", he muttered. His cheeks felt warm. Mycroft was staying. He was not heading back to London. He was staying with...
"Sorry, we don't have a room available", Gary uttered, shoulders hunched, as if he waited for a blow.
"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft's voice was sharp, icy even. He gripped the edge of the bar, eyes locked on Gary.
"All rooms are booked out for the night", Gary replied, eyes flickering towards Greg - eyes wide. For a second Greg thought Mycroft would jump over the bar, checking it for himself. His hand found Mycroft's wrist, grip firm.
"We can share. It's a big bed, plenty of room for both of us...", he suggested, speaking before the thought had even fully formed. His eyes went wide and his mouth went dry, as the full weight of what he had suggested settled in. Had he really just said that? Brilliant, bloody brilliant, Greg thought. Slowly Mycroft turned his head, lips slightly parted.
"I...", he attempted to speak, cheeks turning bright red. He swallowed hard. His hands fiddled with the hem of his waistcoat as he looked away for a moment. "If you are certain..." Greg cleared his throat.
"I... wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. I mean-", he cut himself off, heat rising in his neck. He rubbed at the back of it, as if he could rub the words away.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
"Thank you, Gregory", Mycroft muttered, giving a small, soft nod. Greg's shoulders eased when he heard the words.
"Yer suppers be on the house, then", Gary breathed out, shoulders relaxing. "I'll fetch it up when 'tis ready." Greg directed a smile at Gary.
"Thanks, mate." Greg's eyes fell on Mycroft, who had his head still turned and a strong grip on his bag.
Slowly Greg turned and walked up the stairs. He didn't hear Mycroft's footsteps right away. Greg pushed the door open and let it ajar for Mycroft. Just as he had gotten out of his shoes Mycroft appeared at the doorway. He stopped there, waiting. Greg raised an eyebrow and a faint grin tugged at his mouth.
"Come in. It's your room as well now." Mycroft stood there for another moment before he placed one foot into the room. And then the other. He closed the door behind his back and looked up.
"I would like to thank you once more, Gregory", Mycroft muttered, eyes not quite meeting Greg's. With a tiny smile, Greg nodded and stood, closing the distance between them a bit.
"Blimey, you sound like I saved your life. It's just a room, Mycroft", he said. A beat of silence followed. "Still I'm glad you are here." Finally Mycroft's eyes found his. They were widened. His lips parted softly. The words hung heavy between them. But not in a way that unsettled him. Greg cleared his throat, breaking their eye contact first.
"Right... I'll just go change before supper shows up." He heard Mycroft noticeably inhale, as if he wanted to say something. Greg waited. But when Mycroft didn't speak Greg turned with a grin, grabbed his pyjama and walked into the bathroom.
As soon as the door closed behind him, he let out a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. His hand ran through his hair. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he couldn't ignore the flush in his cheeks and cursed under his breath. What on earth was even happening right now? He felt his fingers slightly trembling when he fumbled with his pyjama. Greg heard Mycroft's footsteps on the other side of the thin door - slow and steady. He took deep breath, trying to ground himself.
Then he opened the door again. The first thing he saw was Mycroft, dressed in a dark blue silk pyjama. They made him look so different, softer around the edges but still undeniable Mycroft. He looked almost... approachable. Mycroft froze in his motion as he noticed Greg enter. Hand paused mid-motion to fill two glasses with what looked suspiciously like scotch. That's when Greg noticed the two plates with neatly stacked sandwiches.
"I will definitely need to eat something first - or I will be drunk in ten minutes", Greg joked with a loop-sided smile. He walked up to Mycroft who was still staring at him. Under his gaze, Greg suddenly became aware of his own pyjama - one of his favourites, though the green-and-blue plaid was already fading a little. He rubbed the fabric between his finger, all too aware of how ordinary it looked compared to Mycroft's dark blue silk. Even sleepwear looked bloody elegant on him. For a few seconds neither of them spoke. But then Mycroft's voice, only a whisper:
"That looks... well-loved." Greg wasn't sure how to take it. He glanced at himself once more. "Comfortable", Mycroft added after a beat, one corner of his mouth going up and his eyes relaxed.
"Yeah... well, they've seen better days, but still comfy", Greg replied as he felt warmth spreading through his whole body. His shoulders eased and his fingers stopped to fiddle with the fabric. He sat down in one of the armchairs, letting himself sink in deeply. A sigh escaped him.
"Good chairs. Not quite up to the ones in your posh club but they'll do", Greg chuckled as he looked at Mycroft who still stood next to the other chair. A faint curve of Mycroft's lips made itself known.
"Posh, perhaps. But do you imagine you'd be as comfortable there in plaid pyjamas?" Greg's chuckle turned into a full hearted laugh as he shook his head. The smile on Mycroft's lips grew and even reached his eyes. Greg couldn't help it. It was probably the first time that he saw Mycroft smile. Really smile. It suited him. Made him look younger. Reachable.
Slowly Mycroft sank into the other armchair and he let out an acknowledging sigh. "Not too bad." They looked at each other for another moment, both smiling.
Greg reached for his sandwich first, avoiding the scotch for now. He'd had enough birthdays now to know that it would just lead for a pretty hard hangover.
They ate in silence - watching the sun set through the window. There was the slow steady ticking of the clock and the faint sound of the inn from downstairs. He nearly wolfed down the sandwich, only just realising how hungry he'd been. He let out a puff as he leaned back, hand on his full stomach. His eyes wandered to Mycroft who had still half of his sandwich left. Mycroft was eating slowly, though Greg noticed it felt forced - as if he was holding back. With a gentle smile, Greg laid back and eyes still on Mycroft. Greg waited until the other man had finished his sandwich before he reached for the two glasses, offering one to Mycroft. With a nod he took a glass and brought it to his lips. Greg watched him, as Mycroft took a sip, Adam's apple softly bouncing as he swallowed.
"Excellent flavour", Mycroft muttered, looking over his glass towards Greg. Greg took a sip as well. Warming him from within - rich flavour of oak and a hint of something sweet. For a moment he closed his eyes and then nodded.
They stayed in silence for a while, finishing their glasses. Outside, the last sunlight faded, tinting the room into soft orange, shadows growing longer. Greg set down his emptied glass, legs stretching. He stared out of the window for another moment, until he heard the soft click of Mycroft's glass settling on the table.
Mycroft was the first one to stand. Slowly he walked up to the bed, stopping in front of it - waiting. Greg pressed himself out of the chair, food heavy but comfortable in his stomach. A yawn escaped his lips as he closed the distance between him and Mycroft.
"You can have the side closer to the door", he muttered. Mycroft turned his head, lips slightly parted, surprise written all over his face.
"Control. All about control", Greg answered Mycroft's silent question. Grinning, proud that he had gotten it right.
After a moment, Greg rounded the bed and slipped beneath the blanket. The warmth enveloped him, loosening his muscles. A long sigh escaped him. Even slipping under the bedding looked elegant when Mycroft did it. Greg suppressed a chuckle and shook his head lightly. When he looked back at Mycroft, their eyes met.
"Ready?", he asked, hand on the light switch. Mycroft let out a soft hum and Greg turned off the light. "Good night, Mycroft."
"Good night, Gregory." Mycroft's voice was soft and low and Greg was happy the light was already off. He let out a breath and turned his back to the other man. He hoped sleep would find him rather sooner than later.
When he woke, it was still dark outside. At first he couldn't quite grip why he had woken up. As sleep faded, he noticed the sound of rustling blanket and heavy breathing. He turned. Mycroft was asleep. But he looked stressed. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes pressed together. A thin layer of sweat.
"Mycroft?", Greg breathed. Was he having a nightmare? Greg hesitated for a moment, then he placed his hand on Mycroft's arm. It was warm even through the fabric. "Mycroft." Greg couldn't wake him, but Mycroft seemed to calm under his touch. His breath evened out. Greg lingered, hand still resting on Mycroft's arm. Greg looked at him for another moment, before he eased back into his own pillow. With a low sigh Mycroft turned towards him, Greg's hand slipping from his arm. Greg felt his hand turn cold. He suppressed a sigh. But then lean, soft fingers touched his. His breath caught and he stared into the dark. Greg knew that Mycroft was still asleep - the now steady breathing gave it away - but that didn't change the fact that Greg's chest tightened, warmth spreading from his hand through his whole body. Carefully he placed his free hand over Mycroft's, wrapping it in between his hands. A soft sigh escaped Mycroft's lips and Greg couldn't hold back the softest chuckle. More relief than amusement. He laid awake for a while longer, listening to the night and Mycroft's breathing, until sleep pulled him under again.
The first ray of dawn crept through the curtains when Greg woke. The other side of the bed was empty but still warm. He sat up slowly, blinking the sleep away. Just then the bedroom door opened and Mycroft stepped out. He gave Greg a soft nod when he noticed him sitting in bed.
"I hope, I didn't wake you", he muttered, as he sat down on his side of the bed. His side... bloody hell. Greg shook his head lightly at his own thoughts.
"Nah you didn't", he replied, waving his hand with a soft smile. For a moment neither of them spoke. Mycroft's shoulders seemed relaxed but even with his back towards Greg, Greg saw Mycroft fiddle with his cuffs. Greg tilted his head, keeping his eyes on the motion for another beat. Was Mycroft nervous? But why would he be nervous?
Slowly Mycroft turned his head. Nearly making eye contact with Greg. But just nearly.
"May I make a suggestion for today's activity?", he asked after taking a deep breath. Greg's breath caught, surprised by Mycroft's offer, but then he nodded. "I should like to suggest Plymouth. I believe it might suit us both." Greg felt his heart quicken in his chest.
"Haven't been to Plymouth... sounds good", he breathed, surprised by Mycroft's suggestion. Mycroft had followed him on the hike, yes - but this was different. Greg hadn't expected him to not only go along but to propose a day trip himself. With his hands pressed against his knees, Mycroft stood up.
"Good", he muttered. "I already asked for sandwiches. We can take them with us." He walked over towards his bag.
"Of course you would", Greg laughed, shaking his head. "In pajamas?" His grin widened as a soft flush appeared on Mycroft's cheeks.
"Not my brightest idea, I must admit... though everyone was still asleep, aside from the innkeeper." With his grin still wide, Greg stood and collected the clothes he wanted to wear today.
"I will get dressed and then we can head out", he suggested after a moment of silence between them. Mycroft let out a hum just as Greg closed the bathroom door.
Greg lingered in front of the mirror. He knew he should get dressed but for a moment he just stared at his hand, still feel the ghost of Mycroft's touch. A chuckle escaped him, quiet and almost embarrassed. He shook his head. God, he felt like a teenager who'd brushed his crush by accident. When his toes began to feel cold, he gave in and started to change - socks first, to chase away the cold.
A few minutes later he opened the bathroom door once more. Mycroft stood next to one of the armchairs, dressed as well, phone in hand. Greg blinked, then blinked again as he took in the sight. A soft looking pullover with dark trousers, the neat edge of a collar shirt peaking through. It was, Greg noticed, the first time seeing Mycroft in something other than a suit. He looked softer. Greg fingers twisted at his sides and he felt the sudden urge to reach out - to see whether the fabric was as soft as it looked. Or maybe even Mycroft himself.
Greg cleared his throat, warmth spreading in his chest. Mycroft turned his head.
"Ready?", he asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. Greg let out a soft hum as he nodded. He watched as the other man turned and opened the door, only then Greg walked up to him. Mycroft's led the way out of the inn and towards his car, only a short stop to gather their sandwiches.
"You sure all of this isn't just a scheme to get me into your car so you can haul me back to London?", Greg asked, hand resting on the door handle. Mycroft looked over the roof of his car, one brow raised and a faint smirk ghosting across his lips.
"I suppose you have to trust me." It was meant as a joke, Greg know that. Heard it in the Mycroft's tone but somehow, it cut deeper than it should have. Their eyes lingered on eachother for a beat longer before Greg broke the contact. He slid into the car and heard the leather beneath him creak. The door felt heavier than expected as he closed it. It seemed that the Bentley had seen a few years already - polished but lived-in. Something he hadn't quite expected. How Mycroft had still time to drive his own car with all the work he had, was a mystery to Greg.
It wasn't until they've been on the road for a while, that he started to notice a few smaller things. The smooth sound of the engines, near-silent. Quieter than he had expected from such a car. The dashboard, old-fashioned, but soon Greg noticed a few too many panels and buttons for a normal car. He raised one eyebrow and looked out of the window instead. The window glass was thick. His warm fingers pressed against the cool pane. A low chuckle escaped his lips.
"You know, you can dress it up all you want, but I bet my pension this thing's bulletproof", he uttered, tapping the glass. Mycroft didn't answer right away, eyes still on the road, but the slightest twitch of the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
"Course it is! Should have known you wouldn't settle for anything less than a rolling fortress." This time, the sound Greg heard was unmistakably a laugh - soft and warm. A smile spread on Greg's lips as he stared at the other man for another beat. The sun was dancing across Mycroft's face, catching in his ice-blue eyes and turning his hair a shade redder than Greg had ever seen. Mycroft looked younger like this. Lighter. Like there was no burden he had to hold. And Greg couldn't look away even if he wanted to.
The rest of their drive to Plymouth was uneventful - soft music playing between them. But it was not uncomfortable. Rather the opposite. He had missed these quiet drives, the kind where silence was easy. A soft sigh escaped him as he layed his head against the window. Half an hour later Mycroft stopped the car. Greg turned his head, studying the other man.
"And what exactly have you planned?", he asked, one of his hands holding up his head.
"Why do you assume I have planned anything? It was a rather spontaneous suggestion." Greg raised a sceptical eyebrow. There was a short pause, then: "The gin distillery in Plymouth hosts testings. I thought this might be something you would enjoy?" Mycroft rubbed the back of his neck, before meeting Greg's eyes. Greg grinned.
"Wanna get me drunk?", Greg joked, his fist softly bumped against Mycroft's shoulder.
"That's..." He turned and picked the neatly wrapped sandwiches from the backseat. "Why I requested the sandwiches." He held one out towards Greg, who took it and followed him out of the car. They walked in silence, just the sound of quiet chewing.
They spent the late morning at the distillery, glasses in their hands and the sharp taste of gin on their tongue. Greg couldn't help laughing when Mycroft winced at one very strong sample.
"Don't laugh at me", Mycroft hissed, but a smile tugged at his lips. With a chuckle Greg raised his hands.
Their conversations grew easier, more comfortable.
Later, they wandered down to the harbour. The Mayflower steps were surprisingly empty. Greg leaned against the railing, staring at the water.
"Hard to imagine, they actually set off from here", Greg muttered.
"In 1620 the Mayflower sailed from this very point. A group religious separatists, wanting to start over in the 'New World'. Most people remember the courage, the excitement. Few remember the hunger and deaths in the first winter. History rarely...", Mycroft stopped mid-sentence, hands gripping the railing. His jaw tightened. Greg tilted his head, slight frown on his face. He studied the other man for a moment.
"Why'd you stop?" Mycroft cleared his throat and looked at his own hands.
"I assumed you might not care for a history lecture", he explained with a muted voice.
"I would've stopped you otherwise. Please go on." Slowly Mycroft lifted his head, finally meeting Greg's gaze. Greg started to grin, when Mycroft nodded. After taking a deep breath, Mycroft continued, voice softer now. Greg leaned against the railing, eyes on Mycroft.
An hour later, Greg and Mycroft had left the Mayflower Steps, walking down a street with many little restaurants.
"I would love some good pasta", Greg muttered, looking towards a restaurant which had many little italian flags hanging.
"I know an excellent Italian restaurant", Mycroft replied, and to Greg's surprise, reached out. He caught the hem of Greg's sleeve, guiding him through the crowd into a small alley. Greg furrowed his brows, glancing around. This alley looked rather like a place for a crime scene then one for a restaurant where Mycroft would eat.
"You sure about this?", he asked, looking at the other. A soft smirk appeared on Mycroft's lips.
"Appearance", he muttered, opening the plain-looking door, "can be deceiving." Greg stepped in first and stopped in his tracks. He had expected many things but not really this.
The place was small. A handful of tables, covered with white cloths, stood near eathother. A soft hum of Italian chatter and clicking of clutery was to be heard from the open kitchen in the back. Candles flickered in old wine bottles. The whole place looked warm and alive. Like a hug.
"Bloody hell", Greg whispered, still taking in the place.
"Ciao, signori! So good to have you here. Prego, take a seat, wherever you like", a small elderly woman greeted them as she walked out of the kitchen. She picked up two menu's from the bar and walked over.
"Madonna mia... am I dreaming? Alexandro, caro, is that really you?" Greg looked over to Mycroft, one eyebrow raised. Mycroft back straightened, stepping up beside Greg.
"Signora Lucia, it's been so long", he replied, a generous smile spreading across his face. Greg watched as Lucia embraced the tall man, patting his cheek fondly.
“Ah, poverino! Look at you, all skin and bones! You don’t eat, I see! I feed you, subito!” Greg suppressed a laugh as Mycroft let out a small sigh. Then Lucias eyes landed on Greg, her eyes taking him in. When she finally looked back at Mycroft her smile brightened. "Ah, finalmente! You have found someone to take care of you, eh? About time, poverino! Sit, sit, don’t just stand there, eh?" And with that she walked away back into the kitchen, shouting something in Italian. For a moment, neither moved or spoke. Greg blinked, taking aback by her assumption. He looked up at Mycroft, whose cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted.
"I think we should...", Greg started, pointing towards the tables, hesitant. Mycroft nodded, heading towards the very first table. His finger brushed the tablecloth and when he sat down, he leaned his head against the wall. A soft sigh escaped him and he closed his eyes for a second.
"Looks like you did that thousands of times", Greg chuckled, taking the opposite seat.
"Maybe not that many, but at least a hundred", Mycroft confessed, eyes traveling through the room. Greg leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, head on hands.
"Spill."
"It was spring, 1993", Mycroft began, eyes slowly wondering towards Greg. "I was sent here for an undercover assignment."
"Thought you hated legwork", Greg interrupted softly. With a chuckle Mycroft nodded.
"Always did, but this one was... the least objectionable. " Their conversation passed as a waiter brought a bottle of red wine. Greg waited, patient yet inpatient, as Mycroft tested the wine and then gave a small nod. "There were reports", Mycroft continued, as the waiter walked off, "of a small group of organised crime operatives settling in Plymouth. I was tasked to gather information." His fingers brushed the tablecloth absently. "I narrowed the field rather quickly, but it took until late summer to identify them all." With a soft nodded, Greg hummed. He knew just too well how long operations sometimes lasted. "I found this restaurant within my first week here", Mycroft continued. "Only later on I realised that one of the members I was looking for must have worked here. It took me a while to identify him."
"And so you came here every day?", Greg asked curiously. Mycroft nodded.
"Put on nearly eight pounds by the end of my assignment", he said dryly. That got Greg laughing.
Just then, Lucia appeared again, hands full with plates.
"For you, risotto al tartufo, like old times, sí?", she said to Mycroft, placeing a plate in front of him. "And for your amore, lasagne al forno - hearty food for a kind heart, eh?" Greg looked at Mycroft as Lucia placed the lasagne in front of him, forcing down a grin. Mycroft's cheeks were flushed, his lips parted as if to correct her but one glance her way made him close his mouth again.
"Truffle?", Greg asked as Lucia walked away. "I see you were posh even back then." Mycroft froze, spoon mid-air.
"I have to confess, I rarely like truffle. This dish is the only exception." A chuckle escaped Greg and he watched Mycroft take the first bite. Mycroft eyes closed for a moment, a smile appeared on his lips and he nodded gently. "Even better than I remember", Mycroft muttered. Greg's eyes lingered a moment longer, watching Mycroft, before picking up his own fork.
They ate in comfortable silence and when their plates were cleaned and their glasses emptied, Lucia came and brought tiramisu.
"I understand now, how you gained eight pounds", Greg chuckled, one hand on his full stomach but he still scooped a bit on his spoon. A grin appeared on Mycroft's lips as he scooped tiramisu on his spoon as well.
"An indulgence which is hard to resist."
Greg let Mycroft have the last bite, watching him with a soft smile. After a moment, Mycroft stood up, glancing towards the kitchen.
"Let me pay and then we can head out", he muttered, hand softly brushing Greg's shoulder. Where Mycroft's hand had touch his skin, Greg felt a sudden warmth and for a moment he froze. Then with wide eyes, he turned, watching as Mycroft walked towards the kitchen, flexing his hand. Greg heard the other mutter something under his breath but he couldn't quiet make it out.
A grin spread across his face as he watched what seemed like a battle over whether Mycroft was allowed to pay for their meal. To his surprise, it looked like Mycroft was completely losing it. With a loud sigh Mycroft placed his purse back inside his back pocket. They said their goodbyes and slowly Mycroft walked back towards him. He tried to look indifferent but the slightest curve of his lips betrayed him. Greg noticed him place something under the empty tiramisu tray. Two £50 notes. Greg grinned in amusement.
"She's gonna kill you", he laughed as the door fell shut behind them.
"Not if we get away fast enough", Mycroft replied, already moving and Greg blinked, before he run after Mycroft.
They stopped a few streets away. Mycroft's cheeks were red from running and his chest was raising and falling fast.
"Didn't know you had such a childish thing in you", Greg breathed, grinning wide.
"Neither did I", Mycroft replied, still catching his breath.
For a moment, they simply looked at eachother — wide smiles, eyes bright.
Then Mycroft cleared his throat, looking the street up and down.
"I assume you have no intention to return to the inn just yet." Greg hummed, nodding gently. Mycroft started walking once more, but now much slower.
"Has Plymouth changed? Since '93, I mean?" Greg asked, falling into pace next to Mycroft, who let out a soft chuckle.
"I should very much hope so", he replied, "but some corners appear determined to remain as they once were." Greg followed Mycroft's glance towards on an old cigarette vanding machine, a tiny smile on his lips.
They turned a corner and stood in front of a large park. A splattering of trees, a few benches to take a break and at the other end of the park the soft glint of the sea.
"When the weather was kind and I had some time for myself, I often spent them here", Mycroft said softly.
"Probably with a book in front your face", Greg teased, smiling. He imagined Mycroft, years younger, lying in the grass, nose buried in an old, heavy classic, completely unaware of his surroundings. Smiling to himself he followed Mycroft towards an empty bench. They sat in silence for a while.
"Seemed like a good time for you", Greg confessed. A soft hum escaped Mycroft's lips.
"Apart from being alone for nearly five months and... ending it all with a fractured collarbone", Mycroft sighed, "it was, regrettfully, the most pleasant undercover assignment I ever had. It rather went downhill after that."
"Don't tell me it was your first time." Greg turned towards Mycroft with wide eyes. A faint grin ghosted over Mycroft's lips and a second to late, Greg realised how it sounded. He felt the back of his neck grow warm.
"It was indeed my first assignment", he confessed, with a soft shrug, tone mild. Greg shook his head in disbelief.
"Bloody hell! And they sent you alone? What kind of idiots planned that?" His voice rose before he could stop it. For a moment Mycroft stayed silent, watching a couple walked past them.
"My Uncle Rudy - an Agent with MI6 at the time - was eager to see me prove my worth, swiftly and extraordinary", he explained with a sigh. "In retrospect, it was rather reckless. A decision I would've never allowed under my own command."
"Figured", Greg said with a nod. "And you were really all alone?"
"A phone call once a week, and around two hundred and twenty thousand Plymouth citizens", Mycroft replied eventually. "But other than that... I suppose I was all alone." Greg huffed a laugh, but it faded rather quickly.
"Not even a beautiful young woman, that warmed your bed...", Greg asked, voice low, a slight grin of his lips. Mycroft shook his head and Greg hesitated for a moment. Eyes still on the other. "Or... a handsome young man?" Mycroft didn't respond right away, his eyes seemed to search Greg's face, as if to find the answer whether it was safe to share a truth.
"I...", Mycroft stopped himself and cleared his throat. "I must confess, I would have preferred the handsome young man." His eyes drifted away. "But there never had been anyone warming my bed." His voice hesitant. Greg watched Mycroft for a moment - the slight tightness of his shoulders and the fingers brushing against eachother again and again. Greg inhaled slowly, leaning in slightly.
"Guess it's my turn to confess", he said gently. "I've always had eyes for both sides. The character was usually what made me fall first." Mycroft's shoulder eased and his eyes returned to Greg.
"I suppose you made an exception for you ex-wife?" There was a the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Greg chuckled, shaking his head.
"Guess that was my first mistake - getting blinded by her beauty, not seeing her ill character." He laughed, the sound light. Mycroft hummed at Greg's words.
"At least you are free of her now", he muttered, his smirk softening into gentle smile. Greg let out a sigh and nodded.
"Couldn't be happier about that."
A quiet pause settled between them. Only then Greg became aware of how close they had gotten - their shoulders brushing against eachother and they knees touching deliberately. He looked up, meeting Mycroft eyes.
His breath caught.
He searched for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he slowlh reached out, placing his hand on Mycroft's lean, steady shoulder. For a second Mycroft eyes fell from Greg's eyes. Greg felt his heart quicken. He wasn't sure who leaned in first. He felt Mycroft's breath on his lips, faint and steady. A warm hand on his thigh, sending goosebumps down his arms. A soft hum escaped Mycroft and Greg's chest tightened.
The first raindrop fell on Greg's nose. Then another. And another. And within seconds it was raining heavily. Mycroft drew back and Greg looked up at the sky. A laugh escaped his lips and he shook his head.
"Blimey... Good old British weather!"
"If we run we can make it to the car in five minutes", Mycroft expressed, already standing up. With a chuckle, Greg stood up as well.
"Lead the way." For a beat longer, Mycroft looked at him and then, to Greg's utter surprise, gently took his hand. Warmth spread through his chest.
"Ready?" Greg didn't trust his voice, so instead he nodded and they started to ran once more.
Mycroft had been right and within a few minutes they stood in front of his car. Greg felt soaked to his bones nonetheless, water dripping from his hair as he slid into the passenger seat. A relieved sigh escaped his lips.
"The forecast said nothing about rain", Mycroft muttered, turning on the heater. "I would have suggested something different otherwise." Greg chuckled softly, watching as a drop of water ran down Mycroft's temple.
"I had a fun time", he confessed. "And this way we can have tea at the inn and I can finally read the book I had found the first day." The softest smile crossed Mycroft's lips.
"A surprising ending to an otherwise...", he searched for the right word for a moment. "Rather lovely trip." He closed his mouth, pressing the lips together and looked a way. The smile on his lips grew as he watched the back of Mycroft's neck coloring.
"Absolutely", he replied, to which the other let out a soft sigh.
After another beat, Mycroft started his car and pulled out of their parking spot. Warmth enveloped Greg, making him sleepy. He tried to fight it but in combination with the low, steady hum of the motor, sleep won within a few minutes.
When he woke, they were already standing behind the inn. With a low sigh, he straightened and turned his head towards Mycroft, who was typing away on his phone.
"Sorry, I fell asleep", he mumbled, rubbing his face. Mycroft's head shot up, lowering his phone.
"There is not need to apologise", he replied, voice tender. Greg let his fingers slip through his hair.
"You could've wake me."
"We've only just arrived", Mycroft replied, looking out of the window. It was still raining heavily. Greg's eyes drifted to the digital clock on the dashboard. A grin forming on his lips. Mycroft was lying. They'd left Plymouth over an hour ago, and it wasn't a long drive. Both their clothes had already dried off. But Greg kept that to himself. Instead he let out a soft sigh, grabbing the doorhandle.
"Let's get some coffee", Greg suggested. "And for you ... tea." Something smoothed around Mycroft's eyes. He hummed and pocketed his phone. They opened their doors almost in unison and ran through the rain towards the inn. The rain hitting them heavily.
With quiet laughter they closed the door behind them, shoes squeaking on the wooden floor. The air inside the inn was warm and smelled of firewood. Greg shook his head, drops of water flying in all directions. With a sigh, he turned and walked further into the inn.
"With a bit of luck, the armchairs by fireplace are still empty", he mumbled.
"If you like, you can get your book while I order us some afternoon tea", Mycroft suggested, already turning towards the bar before pausing. "Would you like a coffee or tea?" Greg thought for a moment.
"I will go for tea today." Mycroft nodded and then continued towards the bar. Greg turned, heading up the stairs.
In their room, he stopped for a moment, book already in hand. Today had been... odd. Oddly satisfying. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so at ease. Mycroft had even gone out of his way to plan something they might both enjoy.
He'd opened up. And somehow, Greg had felt... wanted. As if he had every right to be there.
With a light smile he shook his head. He was starting to overthink this. Best to be happy while it lasted. Whatever it was.
He found Mycroft in one of the armchairs at the fireplace. On the sidetable two cups of steaming tea and a handful of biscuits. Mycroft looked up as Greg sat down next to him. The firelight dancing across his face.
"Thanks for ordering", Greg said, taking a biscuit. The corner of Mycroft's lips went up.
"A pleasure", he mumbled. Greg opened his book while Mycroft for his phone. They sat in comfortable silence. From time to time Greg heard a light huff, sometimes a low sigh, from Mycroft. The soft crackling of the fire calmed him. Vaguely Greg noticed people coming and going. Faint conversations blurred into one another. After turning the last page of the book, Greg held it in his hands for a moment longer. Fingers brushing over the old cover, a smile on his lips. He placed the book aside, eyes landing on Mycroft who was staring into the fire, phone long forgotten on his lap.
"What time is it?", Greg asked quietly, looking around for a moment. They were the last ones left. Mycroft blinked, slowly coming back to present before meeting Greg' eyes. A smile tugged on Greg's lips at the others slow reaction. Mycroft picked his phone up, faint blue light illuminating his face.
"A quarter past ten", he said. Greg nodded and slowly stood.
"I'm pretty tied", he confessed, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. "If you want, you can stay a bit longer. I will keep the door unlocked." But Mycroft shook his head and stood as well.
Together they climbed he stairs. This time, Mycroft took the bathroom first, changing into his pyjamas. That gave Greg a few quiet moments to do the same. His eyes wandered around the room. His clothes on one of the armchairs, Mycroft's tie on the other and the bed with both sides unmade. The sight made him sigh and he felt a slight pull in his chest.
The bathroom door opened and Mycroft stepped out. The scent of aftershave drifted into the room with him.
Greg had thought Mycroft looked dashing yesterday, but tonight was something else entirely. He wore the same clothes as yesterday, yet his shoulders seemed looser, his hands relaxed at his sides and the slightest frown on his forehead had vanished.
They shared a glance before Greg slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He took his time. When he came back, every lamp was off, except for the small lamp at Mycroft's bed-side table. The light warm and gentle. Mycroft was sitting against the headboard, blanket up to his hip, phone in hands and a faint frown on his brows. He looked up when he heard Greg's footsteps.
"Apologies... work", he muttered, settling his phone on the bedside table. With a hum, Greg slid under the covers, stretching out.
"Don't apologise. They are probably struggling to keep England from catching fire without you in London." Mycroft started to laugh, looking down at Greg.
"Please don't exaggerate my influence." Greg turned to the other man.
"But it's true, isn't it?", he poked, one eyebrow lifted.
"Unfortunately, I can neither confirm nor deny that", Mycroft said with a faint smile.
"So it is true."
"My dear Gregory!", Mycroft scolded but there was a gentleness in it.
With a grin Greg turned around, his back to Mycroft.
"Good night, Mycroft", he muttered softly. He heard quiet rustle, then the gentle click of the lamp switch.
"Good night, Gregory."
Silence settled between them and soon Greg drifted to sleep.
When Greg woke, he noticed a slight weight over his middle and quiet, steady rhythm of Mycroft's breathing. His heartbeat quickened. He opened his eyes slowly, turning his head just enough to see. Laying close behind him was Mycroft. The lines of tensions had vanished. He looked younger this way, almost peaceful. Mycroft mumbled something in his sleep and Greg was drawn closer. He was able to feel Mycroft's chest raise and fall. A wide grin spread on his lips. He tried to force it down but he failed miserably. He pressed his face into his pillow, taking a few deep breaths. The morning sun was already filtering through the clouds, creating a beautiful scenery outside the window.
Slowly, to not wake him, Greg closed his hand around Mycroft's wrist. A soft sound came from Mycroft behind him and Greg froze. When he didn't stir further, Greg gently lifted the arm away and slipped out of bed. The wooden floor cold under his feet. He looked at Mycroft for another moment, before letting go of his wrist and tugging Mycroft's arm in.
He eyes fell on his bag and he let out a sigh. It was time to return London. He didn't mind, not really. The last few days had calmed him in a way many of his past holidays hadn't managed. He felt lighter, as if he was finally able to breath fully again.
Still, a tiny part of him was not ready for it to be over yet. He didn't want to leave this quiet something they had created, far away from London. It was good. Comfortable. Something he hadn't realised he needed.
He looked back at Mycroft, who was still fast asleep. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Mycroft had needed this few days just as much as he did, but Greg couldn't keep him away from his responsibilities any longer. The other man had to go back to London. Greg nodded to himself, turned towards his bag and started to pack up.
It was only a few minutes later, that Mycroft started to stir.
"Gregory?", he asked, slowly sitting up, rubbing his eyes.
"I didn't want to wake you", Greg muttered and walked over, stopping at the end of the bed. "How did you sleep?"
"Surprisingly well", Mycroft confessed. "I have a rather unsteady sleeping schedule... and on occasion, nightmares." He gave a nod. "So tonight was indeed a welcome exception." Greg gave a hum. A quiet part of him wondered whether he was the reason Mycroft slept so well
Slowly Mycroft moved to stand, his lips parted, as if he was about to say something when his gaze landed on Greg's packed bag. He froze, color draining from his face.
"What are you doing?", his voice sounded quieter than usual, almost uncertain and strained. His eyes widened just slightly. Greg blinked, thrown off by the certain shift in Mycroft's mood. He looked from his bag back to the other man.
"I... packed my bag", he stated feeling lost at Mycroft's reaction. Wasn't that, what he had wanted all along? Returning to London? "I can't keep you from your responsibilities any longer." Mycroft straightened his back slightly, a faint tension visible in his shoulders. He didn't meet Greg's glance.
"I suppose you are right", Mycroft said, the softness in his voice from mere minutes ago vanished.
Greg felt it then, the distance between them growing again. Mycroft turned away, taking a step towards his own bag.
"Mycroft", Greg said, before he could stop himself, closing the distance between them. The other froze mid-step. "I've enjoyed these few days very much." His voice just above a whisper. He rounded Mycroft gently, on hand finding his shoulder. Like an anchor, making sure he would stay there. "And bloody hell", he breathed, a laugh escaped Greg's lips, a mix of fondness and fear. "I could go on like this forever."
Finally Mycroft met his eyes. "Just you and me. Staying here. Not giving a damn about what happens in London." Mycroft's eyes widened and his lips parted. Greg sighed softly. "But sadly it's not possible. You have to keep England from catching fire and I have to babysit Sherlock and John. God knows what mess they have gotten themselves into by now." Slowly a soft smile appeared on Mycroft's lips. His shoulders eased.
"I suppose you are right", he said, his voice gentler this time and Greg's heartbeat slowed. "I have to admit...", Mycroft uttered. His hand found Greg's resting one on his shoulder."... I will miss this quiet much." They stayed like this for another moment.
Greg pressed Mycroft's hand gently and let his hand slip down the other mans arm softly. When he stepped aside, Mycroft's warmth stayed. Slowly they started to pack the rest of their things up. When they stepped outside, after taking a slow breakfast, the rain had stopped but the air was still smelling of it.
"Let me drive you", Mycroft suggested, as they stood before their cars. "I will send someone to collect your car." A grin appeared on Greg's lips.
"Showoff", he said, but hoped Mycroft was able to hear the slight softness in his voice. Without complaining, he placed his bag next to Mycroft's and slid into the car.
Mycroft started the engines and they left the inn behind. Greg suppressed a sigh. He wished they could have stayed longer but he knew it wasn't possible. They drove in silence, just the soft radio music between them. Greg watched the nature flying passed him, small villages, woods and winding lanes. After a while Mycroft stopped at a crossroad and Greg knew that turning right would lead them right back to London.
But instead of turning right, Mycroft turned left.
"Mycroft?", Greg asked, turning his head to look back at the road. Mycroft's eyes flickered to him, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Yes, Gregory?"
"That... was the wrong turn", he replied, facing Mycroft.
"I can assure you", Mycroft's voice calm, "it is, in fact, the right turn. London will have to wait a few more days." For a moment Greg stayed quiet, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He must have taken to long to respond, because the car slowed slightly, Mycroft looking over. "Of course, only if you want to continue this..." , he sounded unusually uncertain, his fingers rubbing the steering wheel. "Just you and me." Greg's heartbeat quickened and his cheeks grew warm, flushing.
"Absolutely", Greg finally replied, a smile spreading on his lips. With a sigh Mycroft nodded and turned his focus back on the street. Greg watched him for a moment longer, the calm face with a small smile on the lips and the steady raise and fall of his chest.
Then, slowly, Mycroft reached out his left hand. Greg glanced at these elegant fingers before intertwining them with his own. A soft tingle ran from his fingertips to his arm and his smile deepened. When he looked back at Mycroft, he found him wearing the same expression. And Greg knew, this was only the beginning.