bubblegumlizard

As he took a step away, he cried out, stumbled, and then dropped to the floor.  The pain in his back was too great, he couldn’t ignore it.  Annoyed, he slammed his fist on the floor, turning his head as well as he could, trying to figure out a way to get back onto the couch.

Sherlock’s door opened, no doubt disturbed by the noise, and John swore at himself.  He had just managed to convince Sherlock that sleep was a necessary biological function, now Sherlock had an excuse to be awake.

“John?” Sherlock asked from above him.

“Yes, Sherlock?” John asked, not looking up at him.  It was embarrassing, being unable to move in front of a magnificent physical specimen like Sherlock.  Sherlock never threw his back out.  No part of Sherlock was ever anything but perfect.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“You’re the detective, figure it out,” John snapped, annoyed at the situation.

“Ah,” Sherlock said quietly after a moment.

John heard Sherlock walk away and his door shut and sighed, pleased that he was deemed unworthy of further attention.  He didn’t want Sherlock to see him as helpless and he certainly didn’t want Sherlock to think of him as an old man.

After a few minutes, Sherlock’s door opened again, making John look up.  Sherlock stooped and turned John over, scooping him up.  He stood, holding John as if he weighed nothing at all, like John was some damsel in distress.

“What are you doing?” John demanded, trying to struggle, wincing as another spasm of pain shot through his back.

“Be quiet, John,” Sherlock said, carrying John up the stairs to John’s bedroom.  “You should be in bed and you’ll hardly be able to get yourself there.”

He gently set John down on the bed.  John expected him to leave then, but instead Sherlock knelt by the bed and began untying John’s shoes.  When they were set neatly by the bed, where John kept them, Sherlock moved up and began unbuckling John’s belt.

John reached out and grabbed Sherlock’s hands.  “Sherlock!” he said, much louder than he intended, horrified.

“Sleeping in your trousers would be very uncomfortable,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly.  “Are you going to remove them yourself?”

John thought about it for a moment.  Sherlock was right, he didn’t want to sleep in his trousers and he certainly wasn’t in a position to remove them himself.  “I suppose you have a point,” he said finally, looking up at the ceiling.  The sight of Sherlock removing John’s trousers would undoubtedly affect John in a very embarrassing way that John wanted to avoid.

Sherlock was very gentle as he pulled John’s trousers off, covering his legs with the blanket and then sliding his hands up John’s sides and pulling his jumper up and over his head before beginning to unbutton John’s shirt.  John closed his eyes, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as he was undressed.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Sherlock said conversationally.  “You’ve seen me in various states of undress.  You’ve even undressed me, when I’ve been hurt and needed help.”

John nodded.  He supposed that was true.  That was different, though.  John could never see Sherlock as helpless.  There was no other word to describe John at the moment, however, and it was more than John could bear.

John felt a hand on his chest and opened his eyes to see Sherlock slowly running his hand down John’s chest, a strange smile on his face.

“Sherlock?” John asked, his breath catching in his throat.

Sherlock’s looked up and locked eyes with John.  “I never see your bare chest.”

John couldn’t help himself, his eyes darted to Sherlock’s t-shirt covered chest as he thought about how regularly he saw Sherlock without a shirt.  John swallowed thickly and bit his lip, flushing bright red as he returned his gaze to Sherlock’s face.

“I’m going to roll you over,” Sherlock said suddenly and deftly flipped John onto his stomach.

“Why?” John asked weakly, all indignation at being treated like a doll faded to a vague sense of unease.

“So I can massage your back,” Sherlock said.  As he spoke, John felt strong hands begin to gently rub, probing up and down his back to find the sore spots.

John let out an embarrassing groan as Sherlock found the right spot and began to massage with a skill John didn’t know he possessed.  He pressed his face into the pillow to muffle any more noises and tried to imagine it was someone other than his gorgeous flatmate whose hands were all over his back.

“Do you mind if…” Sherlock trailed off and his weight on the bed shifted as he swung his leg over John and sat on John’s bum.

“That’s fine,” John mumbled.  If he were honest, the weight on his rear end was very comfortable.

After a few minutes of massage, John turned his head away from the pillow.  “Where did you learn this?” he asked.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment and then smiled.  “Did you know that Mycroft has a bad back?  He always has, since he was a child.  That’s why he carries that ridiculous umbrella everywhere.  If he always carries it, it’s less noticeable when his back is out and he uses it as a cane.”

John thought about that for a moment.  He never would have had any idea that Mycroft had back issues.  Mycroft seemed so polished and perfect, like a statue that could move and talk.  The thought of him being unable to move from back pain was ridiculous.

“He always tried to ignore the pain and keep moving, the fool.  Without fail, it would get worse and worse, until he could barely move.  So I learned massage.”  Sherlock ran his hands firmly down John’s back and began gently rubbing John’s hips, making John bite his lip and try to force his blood to stay in its proper place instead of rushing south like it wanted to.  It didn’t help that Sherlock was revealing a new, tender side to himself, a side that made John want to throw his arms around him and hold him forever.

“In time, I could help him avoid the major pain altogether.  Until recently, he would call me when his back started to hurt and I would massage it away for him.”

“Mmm,” John said noncommittally, trying to think about Mycroft instead of the strong hands that were moving lower and lower.

Without warning, Sherlock slid his hands back up to John’s upper back.  John was briefly sad, until Sherlock’s weight on him shifted as he leaned forward to put his mouth next to John’s ear.  “Massaging you is much nicer.”

John froze.  Something hard and obvious was pressing into him when Sherlock leaned forward like that.  Before he could react, he felt gentle kisses under his ear, moving to the back of his neck as Sherlock continued his massage.

John moaned in pleasure, not sure what he was reacting to, but enjoying all of it.  “Sherlock…” he said breathlessly as Sherlock trailed light, gentle kisses down his back, following strong hands.

When Sherlock reached John’s lower back, he reached up and helped John roll over.  Feeling much better, John was able to prop himself up to look down at Sherlock, who was in a very interesting position.

Sherlock locked eyes with John, smiling as he reached up and slid John’s pants down.  John gasped as Sherlock lowered his head.  When Sherlock’s mouth was almost on John’s hard cock, close enough that John could feel his hot breath on his shaft, Sherlock froze and looked up at John.  

“This is wrong,” Sherlock said, sitting up.

“What’s wrong?” John asked, bewildered.  He could see nothing wrong about the situation.

Sherlock smiled and crawled up the bed so he was practically laying on John, his legs on either side of John’s, his arms resting on John’s pillow, around John’s head.  “We haven’t kissed yet,” Sherlock told him quietly.

John couldn’t help but break into a wide smile.  “You’re right, as usual.”

Sherlock lowered his head, fitting his lips firmly against John’s.  John moaned into the kiss, letting his eyes drift closed so he could enjoy how talented Sherlock’s mouth was.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Sherlock murmured between kisses, his hips twitching and bringing their erections into contact.  Sherlock pulled away for a moment, wiggling out of his pajama bottoms and kicking them off.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” John said thickly, pulling Sherlock down into another kiss.  He gasped again as Sherlock moved his hips against John’s.  “I’ve never wanted anyone more.”

Sherlock smiled, moving in for a deep, exploratory kiss as his hand drifted down and began stroking John firmly, just the way John liked.

“I think I can imagine,” Sherlock said when he broke off the kiss so they could breathe, his hand speeding up and making John unable to concentrate on kissing.

John threw his head back, his hips bucking as Sherlock moved to kiss John’s neck, his hand moving faster and faster, until John was crying out, gripping the bedsheets tightly as his eyes slammed shut and he came with an intensity he had never before experienced, shouting “Sherlock!”

As he came down from his orgasm, John turned his head to see Sherlock sharing his pillow, smiling sleepily at him.  “What about you?” John asked, stifling a yawn.

Sherlock smiled.  “Taken care of.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t—” John was cut off as Sherlock kissed him.

“You looked so sexy, that was all I needed,” Sherlock whispered.

“Are you telling me that you came just by watching me?” John asked, pulling away to look at Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock smiled and kissed John again.  “Is that okay?” he asked quietly after a moment.

He felt completely spent, but at the thought of Sherlock’s reaction to John, his cock started stirring again.  “You have no idea…” John said, sliding his hand around to the back of Sherlock’s head and holding him tightly as he thoroughly kiss him.

Sherlock laughed when John released him.  “I think, Doctor Watson, it would be wise for you to remain in bed for the present.  For your back.”

But it wasn’t enough.  John loved Sherlock in a way that was definitely more than friendly and he needed to tell Sherlock.  He wanted to fall asleep wrapped in Sherlock’s arms and wake up with him the next morning, giggling as they both tried to hide their morning breath.  He wanted to kiss him gently when he said something particularly Sherlock and stroke his hair when he was stressed out about a case.

Not finding Sherlock anywhere on the first floor of the house, John went upstairs to his bedroom.  The party was at his house, which was why Sherlock had agreed to come to it.  John had told him that he could always escape upstairs if the party was too overwhelming, which seemed likely.  Sherlock had never gone to a party before, but John had begged him to attend just this one party that his housemates were throwing.

John smiled as he entered his room and saw Sherlock sitting on the bed, looking uncomfortable.  John sat down next to him without saying a word and sighed contentedly.  He liked just being in Sherlock’s presence.

“It’s so crowded out there,” Sherlock said.

John frowned.  There was something off about Sherlock’s speech.  He leaned over Sherlock and picked up a disposable cup that was on his bedside table, taking a drink.

“Sherlock, have you been drinking this?” John asked, setting the cup back down. It was ostensibly a mixed drink, but John was sure that the ratio of cranberry juice to vodka was a bit different than what someone might serve in a pub.

Sherlock nodded.  “Your sister gave it to me.  Harry.  You didn’t tell me she’d be here.”  He swayed slightly, smiling faintly.  “You have a lot of friends, John.  Everyone was asking where you were.  I didn’t know, which made me sad, so Harry gave me a drink.  To calm down, she said.  I didn’t like the taste of it, but I wanted all of your friends to like me.”

John made a mental note to punch Harry in the morning and shook his head.  He had never seen Sherlock drunk before, it was very strange.  Harry had been right about something, he was calmer.

Without warning, Sherlock lunged at John, throwing his arms around John’s neck and kissing him.  Before he knew what he was doing, John responded, moaning as he returned the kiss and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s lean form.  The kiss was forceful and insistent, like Sherlock’s personality.

When he came back to himself, John pulled backwards, stopping the kiss.  He held Sherlock at arm’s length, internally screaming at himself for stopping something that he had wanted for months.  It wouldn’t have been right to allow it to continue with Sherlock so drunk, though, so he forced himself to stay strong.

Sherlock stared at John, his eyes wide.  “I’m so sorry,” he croaked in a small voice.  “I’ve ruined everything!” He put his head in his hands and muttered to himself.

“Sherlock, Sherlock,” John said, trying to turn Sherlock to look at him.  “Sherlock, look at me!” he said in a firm, commanding voice and Sherlock turned, tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, John.”

“Sherlock, how long have you wanted that?” John asked gently, trying not to get his hopes up that this was anything other than a drunken mistake.

“Forever,” Sherlock said sadly.

John smiled.  “Good.”  He stood and laid Sherlock down on the bed, pulling his shoes off and dropping them on the floor.  He pulled the blanket over Sherlock, tucking it securely around him.  “You go to sleep.  I’m going to be right here at my desk and we can talk in the morning.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but John just shushed him and rubbed his arm gently.  Before long, Sherlock’s breathing was deep and even and John sat at his desk, pulling out some schoolwork.  He watched his friend fondly for a moment before starting his work.

Mycroft made a face.  Was he really so lonely that he was jealous of Sherlock?  That would just not do.  He poured himself another drink, thinking about trying dating again.  His last disastrous attempt had been several years before, when he had gone on four terrible dates with four atrocious men.  The experience had been enough to turn him off the idea of men entirely, making him avoid even flirting.  He had decided that he didn’t need someone that badly, which was, of course, ridiculous.  He wanted someone waiting for him at home as much as the next person. His phone chimed and he looked at it. Is December over yet?  I’m ready for the new year to be here already.  GL He chuckled.  Greg always knew exactly how Mycroft felt.  He was lucky to have him for a friend. Not looking forward to the customary Lestrade family gatherings?  MH Greg’s family had several gatherings over the month of December.  They were all very close and that closeness had turned into a month of Christmas dinners.  Greg liked his family, but Mycroft still did not envy him. You have no idea how little I am looking forward to them.  My happily married brother and his three perfect children make me look terrible every year.  GL Your brother?  My brother is now hopelessly in love with a man my parents like.  Considering they thought we would both die alone and miserable, I look like the lazy brother now.  MH You win, you’re being shown up by Sherlock.  My condolences.  GL We should boycott family gatherings.  MH Or at least come up with something good to tell our families about what we’ve been doing with our lives.  GL What on Earth could compare to our brothers?  MH We need boyfriends. GL Mycroft blinked at his phone.  Greg had never shown any interest in being in a relationship with a man.  He had been married to a woman for years and had dated several terrible women, about whom he complained to Mycroft.  But never a man. Mycroft would have noticed if his best friend were bisexual.  After thinking a few minutes about how he was going to address what Greg had said, he realized that he was being silly.  He and Greg had always been totally honest and unafraid to ask each other questions.  It was probably why their relationship had lasted so long. Boyfriends?  Have you come to the dark side, then?  MH That was good, a pop culture reference.  Greg would laugh and be totally unfazed by the question, as usual. I’ve always straddled the...uh, line.  Haven’t dated a bloke in a while.  Maybe that’s what I need to try.  GL Mycroft thought about it for a moment.  An idea had popped into his head, the sort of idea that would be the plot of some vapid seasonal romantic comedy that Greg would love.  It was probably a silly idea, but it was interesting enough to suggest it. Do you want to be boyfriends for the month?  Just around our families, so we’re not the failures of the gatherings.  MH Greg’s response was slow in coming, which made Mycroft worry that he had crossed some sort of line he didn’t know existed. That sounds brilliant.  We can discuss specifics when I come over tomorrow night.  :-)  GL Uh oh.  He had used one of those terrible smiley faces.  That meant that he was excited about this.  Wondering what he had gotten himself into, Mycroft returned to his work.  Perhaps this would be an interesting month after all.

Wednesday, 2 December 2015

Greg arrived at Mycroft’s house at the usual time for their Wednesday dinner.  Because they both had such hectic schedules, they ate dinner together every Wednesday, which was usually the best days for them to meet.  It was their time to put work to the side, spend some time with a friend, and relax.  No matter what was happening, they made it a priority to meet for at least half an hour to talk.

Stress was fairly low for both of them at the moment, so they had all night to hang out.  Greg brought a bottle of wine, Mycroft had ordered their favorite takeaway, and they had several movies to choose from for entertainment.  It was going to be a good night.

Well, Greg was hoping it would be a good night.  If he could manage to make it through the night without cocking it all up, it would be a fantastic night.  It was getting harder and harder to sit on Mycroft’s couch next to him every Wednesday and not do something stupid.  He tried his hardest, but every week he was a little bit closer to snapping.

He supposed that was life when you were in love with your best friend.

Greg knew how Mycroft felt about relationships.  Mycroft had no interest in being in a relationship.  He found dating miserable and didn’t want to experience it ever again.  That didn’t make it any easier for Greg, who was dying to take a firm hold of Mycroft and snog him senseless.  Every time Mycroft made a comment about how terrible dating had been, Greg wanted to whine, “But that’s because you weren’t dating me!”

It was pathetic, really, to be his age and have a crush.  He hadn’t even told Mycroft that he was interested in men until the day before.  They had been best friends for years and Greg had worried that if he mentioned it, Mycroft would realize how badly Greg wanted him.  But Greg hadn’t been able to manage anymore.  He announced that they both needed boyfriends and Mycroft had suggested pretending with each other.

It was dangerous.  It was stupid.

It was stupid and dangerous and it was bound to ruin their relationship.  When Greg was unable to stop pretending, when Mycroft realized that it hadn’t been an act for Greg, Mycroft was sure to tell Greg that they couldn’t be friends anymore.  And then where would Greg be?  He would be even more miserable than he was now.  Well, perhaps Mycroft would forget and Greg could pretend the conversation never happened.

Greg really hoped Mycroft didn’t forget.

As Greg let himself in (they were far past the stage of friendship where they rang the bell), he took a few deep breaths to steady himself and then walked into the kitchen, where he knew Mycroft would be waiting with the food.

He was totally unprepared for what he saw.

Mycroft was standing in the kitchen shirtless.  His jacket, waistcoat, tie, and shirt were slung over the back of a nearby chair and Mycroft was wiping up red wine, which had evidently just spilled all over the counter.  Greg thought he might have a panic attack.  Or worse, a noticeable erection.

“What happened?” Greg asked, trying to stop himself from staring.

Greg looked up at him, the corners of his mouth quirking in one of Mycroft’s sexiest smiles, his “I can’t believe I’m friends with such an idiot” smile.  “I spilled some wine, Greg,” he said, nodding at the obvious puddle on the counter.

Yes.  Clearly.  Moron.

To distract himself, Greg picked up a cloth and started to help wipe up the wine.  “It’s supposed to go in the glass, Mycroft,” he teased.

“Thank you for that extremely helpful and timely advice,” Mycroft replied with a chuckle and Greg relaxed.  If Mycroft could laugh, everything was okay.  Greg hadn’t completely embarrassed himself.

“Movie tonight?” Greg asked as he started laying the table for dinner.

“I thought we might just talk.”  Mycroft opened the bottle of wine Greg had brought and carefully poured it into glasses, adding a little flourish as he filled the second one, demonstrating his wine-pouring prowess.

Greg wanted to bend him over the counter.

“Oh?  Any subject in particular?”

“Well, one did spring to mind during our conversation yesterday.”  They sat down to eat, portioning food out onto their plates and tucking in with gusto.

“And what was that?”  Greg hoped that if he acted like he didn’t know, Mycroft might forget it.

Mycroft fixed him with a piercing stare and Greg tried to deflect it by looking extremely interested in his plate.  “That we might pose as boyfriends at our family gatherings this Christmas season.  Of course, if you don’t want to, I understand…”

“No, I want to!” Greg said quickly, cursing himself for being so eager.  “I thought you wouldn’t want to.  It really would be nice to not be the only single person at the dinner table.”  And to show you how great we would be as a couple, he finished silently.

“Then it’s settled?  We’re going to do it?”  Mycroft looked like he was brokering an international treaty, not making plans to do something with a friend.

“We’re going to do it,” Greg agreed.  He smiled at Mycroft, happy to get a smile in return.

This was sure to ruin everything.

Thursday, 3 December 2015

Good morning, lover.  GL 7:12 AM

Don’t call me that.  MH 7:25 AM

Sweetie?  Snookums?  Baby?  Love?  GL 7:28 AM

I don’t hate the last one.  MH 8:45 AM

Love it is, then.  I like it.  Good morning, love.  GL 9:03 AM

You should be working.  MH 9:29 AM

Too busy thinking about my new boyfriend.  I’ve been doodling “Mr. Gregory Holmes” all morning.  GL 10:10 AM

You have too much free time.  MH 10:37 AM

There aren’t any cases that need me.  GL 10:38 AM

I can remedy that.  MH 11:04 AM

Are you offering to murder someone for me?  GL 11:10 AM

Perhaps.  Maybe I will just murder you.  MH 11:13 AM

No.  You would miss me too much.  GL 11:26 AM

Nonsense.  MH 12:07 PM

Where was our first date?  Might come up in conversation.  GL 1:22 PM

Dinner?  MH 1:24 PM

Should have known you’d be boring.  :-)  GL 1:25 PM

Where was our first kiss?  GL 3:46 PM

The mouth?  MH 4:15 PM

HAHA.  No, I mean at the door, in the car, in bed?  GL 4:20 PM

You’ve had first kisses in bed?  That seems a little fast, Greg.  MH 5:06 PM

Fine.  It was outside my flat when you dropped me off.  GL 5:54 PM

Very well, if you’d like to be a cliche.  MH 5:58 PM

What side of the bed do you sleep on?  MH 9:38 PM

Getting into the spirit, eh?  I like the left.  GL 9:40 PM

We’ll have to discuss that one later.  MH 9:42 PM

Do you like to bottom or top?  GL 10:30 PM

I will not dignify that with a response.  MH 10:37 PM

You’re no fun.  GL 10:38 PM

I’m glad I didn’t murder you today.  You were right, I would miss you.  MH 11:57 PM

Friday, 4 December 2015

Emergency at work.  My apologies.  MH

Greg stared at the text, disappointed.  Mycroft’s work emergencies weren’t unusual, but he had been hoping that they would be at a minimum this month.  He had been hopeful to spend some extra time with his friend, but now Mycroft had canceled on him already.

He told himself that Mycroft’s work was far more important than dinner with Greg.  Getting their stories straight for their parents was obviously less important than running the country, but it didn’t feel that way to Greg.  He had been excited about their dinner, and having it canceled made him sad.

Look at him, acting like some lovesick girl.  Sometimes plans fell through.  He needed to be more adaptable.  It was certainly likely that Greg would have to cancel plans sometime, with his line of work.  And they weren’t even in a real relationship.  If Mycroft had canceled on a real date, not a fake date where they were getting the details of their fake relationship sorted, that would be a bigger deal.  He was just being silly.

So Greg left work for the night, stopping to pick up dinner, and ate in front of the television, eventually falling asleep with his fork in his hand and the television on.

His phone rang and he started.  He scrambled to reach it, nearly knocking his food container to the floor.  “’ello?” he asked groggily when he managed to get the phone to his ear.

“Good evening, Greg.  Did I wake you?”  Mycroft’s voice was as smooth as silk.

“No, of course not,” Greg said, stifling a yawn.  “Just watching telly.”

“Ah, yes.  Through your eyelids, probably still holding your fork.”  There was gentle teasing in Mycroft’s tone and it made Greg smile.  Mycroft knew him so well.

“To what do I owe the interruption to my very important television watching?”

“I just wanted to apologize again for tonight.  I was looking forward to dinner, but I had to attend a meeting to avoid an international incident.”

“I’m sure that was more interesting than dinner with me.”

“Nonsense.  While it was interesting, in its way, the companionship would have been much better with you.”

Greg smiled, always feeling a warmth in his chest when Mycroft said something nice like that.  “Well, we can try again tomorrow.  Same time, same place?”

“Our usual,” Mycroft agreed.  “Good night, Greg.  Try to make it into bed this time.”

“Okay, I’m going now.  Good night, Mycroft.”

Greg hung up the phone and smiled at it for a moment before realizing how idiotic he looked.  He couldn’t wait for dinner the next night.

Saturday, 5 December 2015

Mycroft arrived at their usual restaurant precisely on time.  He smiled to see Greg sitting at their table, waiting for him.  Obviously Greg had been eager for their dinner.  He wasn’t normally so punctual, but it was nice when it happened.  Mycroft sat down, greeting Greg and then gesturing to the waiter to bring them their wine.

Once they were settled and were waiting for their food, Mycroft took a long drink of his wine and fixed Greg with one of his more piercing looks.  Even after being friends all these years, he knew that that particular look unnerved Greg and he wanted some answers.  Mycroft hadn’t known that Greg’s sexuality included same-sex relationships and he was wondering if there happened to be anything else that Greg was hiding from him.  

“What did you want to discuss tonight regarding our plan?”

Greg cleared his throat, a usual tic when he was uncomfortable.  “Well, I thought we might discuss how our ‘relationship’ began.”

Mycroft set his hand on the table less than an inch from Greg’s hand.  Greg looked at their hands and then looked back up at Mycroft, his eyes widening slightly.  “Well, there must have been some turning point in the relationship.  Some catalyst that lead us to a romantic relationship.”

“Yes, of course.  But what?  Did one of us pine after the other?” Ah, that was an interesting idea, Mycroft thought as Greg continued speaking.  “Did we get pissed one night and do something foolish?  Or did we just wake up one morning and decide to try sex with each other?  What could cause such good friends as we are to begin dating?”

Mycroft thought about it for a moment, tracing a pattern on the table and led his finger brush against Greg’s hand.  Interestingly, Greg wasn’t moving his hand.  “Perhaps something happened that made us realize our feelings.”

“Such as?” Greg flinched slightly as Mycroft’s finger touched him again.

“Well, one of us could have nearly died.  Perhaps we were at some event and it was necessary for us to dance with each other.  Or maybe we were forced to share a bed and woke up intertwined with each other in the morning.”

Greg’s cheeks colored slightly and Mycroft smiled.  He was rather enjoying this.  There was something wrong with Greg.  He wasn’t sure exactly what, but he knew that something was weighing on his friend’s mind.  Was he worried about their plan?  Perhaps he should offer Greg a way out of it.  Yes, that was it, he would give Greg a way of gracefully extricating himself from the situation.

“If you would rather not go through with this, I understand,” Mycroft said carefully, softening his gaze slightly.

He expected that as he lessened his stare, Greg would relax and perhaps smile.  Instead, Greg’s eyes flew open and he leaned forward, taking hold of Mycroft’s hand.  “No!  No, I want to go through with it.  I just want to make sure we’re prepared.”

Mycroft nodded slowly, studying Greg’s face.  He was sure that there was something wrong now.  There was no reason for Greg’s current state of agitation.  As Greg relaxed, leaning back in his chair, and they continued their conversation, Mycroft noted that Greg avoided making eye contact with Mycroft.

And he didn’t let go of Mycroft’s hand until their meals came and they were forced to part.

Sunday, 6 December 2015

“Hello, Mum.”

“Good evening, Gregory.  How’s my lad?”

“Not really a lad.  More middle aged these days.”

“Poppycock.  You’ll always be my wee lad.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Gareth and Cecilia are coming to the house tomorrow night to decorate the tree.  Will you come?”

“Of course.  You know I’d never miss decorating your tree.”

“And do you have a special lady friend you’ll be bringing?”

“Not quite.  I am dating someone, but he isn’t a ‘lady friend.’”

“What?”

“I’m dating a man, Mum.  I thought you kne—”

“No, no, love.  I don’t care that he’s a man, I’m just surprised that you’re dating at all.”

“Should I not be?”

“No, you should.  You just don’t.”

“Well, Mycroft and I decided to start dating and I’d like to bring him tomorrow.”

“Mycroft?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Your friend Mycroft?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“You’re dating him?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Oh, I’m sure you two are perfect for each other.  After being friends with you all these years, I am sure he knows exactly what to do to take care of my little Gregory.”

“Not little, Mum.”

“Don’t worry, dear, I wasn’t insulting your manhood.”

“Ew.  That’s my cue to hang up.  Love you, Mum.  See you tomorrow.”

“Love you, too, Gregory.”

***

To: Mummy, Father, Sherlock Be advised that I am dating Greg Lestrade.  He will be attending all family functions as my boyfriend.  MH

Monday, 7 December 2015

Mycroft gripped the bottle of wine he was holding tightly.  Greg had told him that they were expected at Greg’s parents’ house to help decorate the Christmas tree, a traditional gathering that Greg had been attending his entire life.  Mycroft wasn’t sure why he and Greg were expected to attend, but he had agreed to attend all of the Lestrade family functions, so he went home after work, freshened up, picked out a nice bottle of wine, and directed his driver to Greg’s house.

Greg climbed into the car, fidgeting nervously as he sat in his seat.  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Greg asked as the car slowed to a stop, looking anxious.

“Of course,” Mycroft said with a smile.

“There—there is one thing I wanted to say,” Greg said, licking his lips.

Mycroft watched him think about what he wanted to do and then chuckled.  Mycroft leaned forward, caressing Greg’s cheek with one hand and kissed him gently on the lips.  He didn’t pull away immediately, but waited to see what Greg was going to do.  Greg seemed stunned, so Mycroft slid his hand around to the back of Greg’s head, holding it firmly in place as he deepened the kiss, tugging at Greg’s bottom lip with his teeth.  Greg’s mouth dropped open and Mycroft probed it with his tongue.  After a heartbeat, Greg responded, moving his mouth to complement Mycroft’s actions and wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s neck, holding him tightly.

When the broke apart, several minutes later, Greg’s cheeks had a pink tinge to them.  “What was that?” he asked breathlessly.

Mycroft watched him for a moment, making mental notes of his reaction.  “You were going to say that your family might expect us to show affection in the form of a kiss.  Now we’ve kissed, so it won’t be awkward in there.”

Greg stared at him and then lunged forward, swinging his leg over so he was straddling Mycroft.  He held Mycroft’s face in both hands and kissed him again, moaning softly.  When they finally broke apart, it was Mycroft’s turn to be breathless and surprised.

“What…?” he asked, staring at Greg, who was grinning.

“You surprised me, so I thought it was only fair that I surprised you,” Greg told him, and got out of the car.

Mycroft waited a few moments, giving his blood a moment to redirect to the correct parts of his body, and then followed Greg.  “Now we certainly won’t be awkward if they expect a show of physical affection.”

Greg nodded.  He was still slightly pink, but he looked very handsome that way, so Mycroft didn’t mind.  Finding his mind wandering to a dangerous area, thinking about how handsome Greg was, he forced it back on track.  He needed to remember that they were only pretending to be a couple.  There was some risk of him developing actual feelings for Gregory beyond his friendly feelings, and that risk needed to be monitored so they didn’t have a problem.  He certainly didn’t want to ruin his friendship with Greg over a silly crush, so he needed to keep his feelings in check.

Greg opened the door and led Mycroft inside, a large smile on his face.  Mycroft knew that Greg liked his family, no matter how much he tried to claim otherwise when complaining about his brother’s perfect wife and children.  Mycroft had always been slightly jealous of that relationship, considering how dysfunctional Mycroft’s relationship with his family was.

“Gregory!” a short, plump woman exclaimed, rushing to greet them.  She wrapped her arms around Greg and gave him a hug and then turned to face Mycroft.  “And you must be my boy’s Mycroft.”

“Yes, Mum.  This is Mycroft.  Mycroft, this is my mother,” Greg introduced them.

Mycroft gave his best smile.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lestrade.”

“Oh, call me Mum!” she said, taking Mycroft’s hand and leading him into the living room, which was full of people.

Slightly uncomfortable, Mycroft handed the bottle of wine to Mrs. Lestrade and then his coat to Greg, who had followed them into the room.  The scene looked like something out of a magazine.  Everyone in Greg’s family was very attractive and they were all wearing brightly colored Christmas jumpers.  Mycroft, in his usual dark suit, felt very out of place.  When Greg returned, Mycroft reached out and gripped his hand tightly, feeling thankful that Greg was in his usual dark shirt and trousers.

“You okay?” Greg murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

“There’s a lot of people here,” Mycroft responded.  He felt strangely out of his depth.  If he had been in a room full of politicians, he would be able to take charge immediately and would feel totally comfortable.  In a situation like this, a room full of happy, celebrating people, he had no idea how to act.

Greg went through the introductions, which were nearly too numerous for even Mycroft to remember, and then explained to Mycroft how they decorated the tree every year.

“He’s making it sound much more complicated than it is,” Greg’s brother Gareth said with a big, Lestrade smile.  “I’m sure you’ve decorated tons of Christmas trees before.”

Mycroft shook his head.  “I’m afraid not.”

“You’ve never decorated a Christmas tree?” Mrs. Lestrade asked, staring at him.

Mycroft wasn’t sure how to answer, but Greg saved him.  “Mycroft isn’t like us, Mum.  He doesn’t let people bully him into silly traditions, like we let you bully us.”

She made a face at Greg and tweaked his ear.  “Don’t speak to your mother like that.  Well, Mycroft, since it’s your first time, you can put the star on top.”

“Ah, a coveted responsibility,” Greg told him with a grin.

Mycroft smiled, blushing slightly.  “You have my gratitude.”  He followed Greg to big boxes of lights and ornaments and was about to ask what went on first when there was a hush in the room.  Greg turned to him with a resigned look.

“What is wrong?” Mycroft asked.

Greg pointed up and Mycroft looked up to see mistletoe above them.  Mycroft blushed, but he didn’t hesitate as he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to Greg’s lips.

“That’s it?  Ah, youth is wasted on the young,” Mrs. Lestrade said, throwing her hands up in the air.

Greg started to respond to her, but Mycroft decided to take action.  He put his arms around Greg, pushed him backwards in a low dip and kissed him with passion.

When he righted him again, Greg was bright pink and everyone else was laughing.

It looked like Mycroft was going to be able to make a good impression on Greg’s family after all.

Tuesday, 8 December 2015

Greg looked up with a smile as Mycroft entered the office and sat down across the desk from Greg.  “My family loved you,” Greg said, setting his pen down and leaning back in his chair.  “You really impressed them.”

“I am pleased that I was able to make a good impression.  I am hopeful that you will be able to return the favor Thursday night,” Mycroft said, fixing Greg with his usual stare.

“Of course, mate.  Just tell me when.  Though I doubt your brother will like me as much as mine likes you.  At least, not from all the messages I’ve been receiving.”

Mycroft chuckled.  “Has he been texting you as well?”

Greg held out his phone, showing Mycroft the several dozen texts that Sherlock had sent over the past few days.  It seemed that Sherlock was less than pleased with their charade.  “Do you think he’ll tell your parents that we’re faking?” Greg asked.

Mycroft shrugged.  “One can never tell with Sherlock.  He may tell out of spite or he may keep that information to use later.  I suppose it depends on his mood.”

“Well, hopefully he’ll keep his mouth shut.  I do control his access to crime scenes.  If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay quiet.”

“That’s my Greg, always so protective of me,” Mycroft said with fake devotion in his eyes.  What Greg wouldn’t do to have the look Mycroft was giving him be real.

Forcing his mind from all the sweet ways that Mycroft could show him he cared, Greg looked at his watch.  “Would you like to grab a quick lunch?”

“Of course, Greg.  We are dating, after all,” Mycroft said, standing.

“I suppose we are,” Greg said, leading the way out of the office.  It was getting harder and harder to stop himself from treating like he really would a boyfriend and throw him up against the wall to snog him senseless.

It’s not real, it’s not real, Greg repeated over and over again in his head as they went to lunch, to remind himself.  It’s not real.

He really wished it were.

Wednesday, 9 December 2015

Mycroft puttered around his kitchen nervously.  He had been anticipating Wednesday dinner with such anxiety that he left early and cooked dinner himself, something he rarely had time for.  Everything was ready early, so he was just waiting, hoping that Greg arrived before the meat cooled too much and he had to ruin it by reheating.  Just as he was about to collapse in despair for his lamb, he heard Greg entering the front door.

Greg came into the kitchen, sniffing theatrically.  “It smells delicious in here!  Did you hire a private chef?” he asked, looking around at the food and the beautifully set table, which was a far cry from their normal setup.

Mycroft blushed.  “I was in the mood to cook.”

“You made this?” Greg asked, spinning to look at Mycroft, his eyes wide in amazement.  “I knew you liked to cook, but you’ve never made anything so extravagant for me before.”

Mycroft felt his pulse quicken.  He wasn’t sure how to explain his sudden foray into fine dining cookery.  He had been planning to tell Greg tonight, to tell him how he hadn’t been able to get his mind off those kisses, how he thought constantly of Greg’s body and the things he could do to it.  It was too early in the evening to tell him now, however.  In case Greg decided that he wanted to just be friends, or worse, that he didn’t even want to be friends anymore, Mycroft wanted a nice dinner together.  He had even considered setting the dining room table, but that would have been too hard to explain.

“I wanted to try a recipe,” Mycroft said, hoping that the silence while he decided on a plausible story wasn’t too long.

Greg seemed to accept it and he smiled.  “Well, let’s tuck in before it cools!” he said, sitting down at the table with a smile.

After dinner, Greg leaned back in his chair with his hands on his stomach.  “That was unbelievable, Mycroft.  You are a talented man.”

In rooms other than the kitchen, too, Mycroft said silently, but bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying it.  “I do have many talents,” he said eventually, looking up at Greg through his eyelashes, his face trained on the table.  It wasn’t the most obvious method of flirting, but he could have sworn Greg blushed.  Maybe there was hope after all.

“I brought a film,” Greg said with a smile, standing up and starting to clear the dishes.

“Leave that,” Mycroft said, reaching out and grabbing Greg’s wrist.  Greg stopped, looking down at Mycroft’s hand, a strange expression on his face that Mycroft couldn’t read.

Mycroft had noticed that rather often, an emotion he couldn’t decipher on Greg’s face when he looked at Mycroft.  He had assumed that it was some sort of friendly emotion that didn’t matter, but now he was wondering.  Mycroft would be the first to admit that he wasn’t wonderful at identifying emotions, especially emotions other than rage or fear, but this made him wish he were better.  It was starting to be worrisome, especially since it lately seemed to be tinged with sadness.  

Mycroft never wanted to see sadness on Greg’s face.

Greg set the plates down and led the way to the living room, putting the movie on the television and sitting down on the couch.  Mycroft sat next to Greg, closer than he normally did.

Greg glanced up at Mycroft’s proximity to him, but he didn’t say anything.  He just leaned back casually, resting his hand on the small space between them.

Mycroft smiled, trying hard not to show how happy he was to be sitting so close to Greg, and watched the movie.  Eventually, as the movie progressed, he inched his hand closer and closer to Greg’s, until their pinky fingers were touching.

After a few minutes, Greg slid his hand on top of Mycroft’s and just let it rest there, covering Mycroft’s hand.  He didn’t hold Mycroft’s hand, he just covered it.

Mycroft wasn’t sure what to do.  Was this the right time to declare his undying love?  He had never told a best friend that he wanted to fuck him into a mattress before, he wasn’t sure the proper etiquette for that conversation.  He hesitated, waiting until he was given an opening to say something.

After a while, he felt Greg’s head drop onto his shoulder.  He looked over, surprised, and saw that Greg had fallen asleep.  

This had never happened before.  Greg had fallen asleep before, he often did, especially after late nights at the office, but he was always on one end of the couch, not on Mycroft.  Not wanting to disturb him, Mycroft relaxed and turned his attention back to the movie.

He had to admit, it was very nice to sit there with Greg’s weight resting on him.  It was downright relaxing.

Mycroft yawned, resting his head on Greg’s head.  As his eyes started to drift shut, he told himself that he should wake Greg up and send him home, but he was too comfortable to move.

Thursday, 10 December 2015

Greg shifted and stretched, realizing that something was wrong before he even opened his eyes.  He wasn’t in his bed and someone was sleeping next to him.  He opened his eyes and looked around to see that he was lying on Mycroft’s couch and Mycroft was slumped on top of him, snoring gently.

He smiled and shook Mycroft gently.  “Mycroft, we fell asleep,” he whispered.

Mycroft groaned and opened his eyes.  “What?”

Greg checked his watch.  “It’s nearly seven in the morning.  We slept here all night.”

“It’s that late?” Mycroft asked, all color draining from his face.  “I need to go.  Please let yourself out and don’t forget about dinner with my parents and Sherlock tonight!” he said, jumping up and rushing from the room.

Chuckling, Greg stood, gathered his stuff, and went home, thinking about how nice Mycroft looked when he slept.

***

Greg checked his reflection in a car window for what was easily the tenth time.  He couldn’t help it: Mycroft’s parents had come into the city for a visit and were currently at Mycroft’s house, waiting to meet him and have dinner.  When Mycroft had sent his notification of his new relationship status, his mother had insisted on a visit to meet her elder son’s “love”.  Hearing of this dinner, Sherlock had decided that he longed for familial companionship and wanted to attend.  It was going to be the first time that Greg saw John and Sherlock since they found out about his “relationship” with Mycroft and he was nervous about what Sherlock was going to do.  He was confident that he could fool Mycroft’s parents, but he was sure he wouldn’t be able to fool Sherlock, who knew him so well.

Not wanting to let himself in, he rang the bell.  After a few moments, a woman opened the door and stared at him briefly with wide eyes before exclaiming, “You must be Gregory!”

Greg nodded and she reached out and took his arm, pulling him into the house.  “Come in, come in!  Why are you ringing the bell?  Surely Mikey doesn’t force you to stand outside in the cold and wait for him.  That’s preposterous.”

Greg looked up at the end of the hallway, where Mycroft was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his eyes wide.  His mother prattled on and Greg couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.  Mikey, really?  He was sure he was going to pass out from holding in his laughter.

When they approached Mycroft, he reached out and took Greg’s hand, pulling him away from his mother.  “Good evening, Mikey,” Greg said, snorting.

Mycroft glared at him and Greg let out a howl of laughter.  “Mycroft, sorry,” he apologized, wiping tears from his eyes.  Mycroft let out a disdainful sniff and let go of Greg, walking back into the kitchen with his head held high.

Greg briefly wondered if he had actually upset Mycroft, but when he entered the kitchen, Mycroft flashed him a brief, brilliant smile that sent chills down Greg’s spine.  He loved when Mycroft smiled at him like that and hoped to earn many more such smiles in the future.

“Hello, Graham,” Sherlock said from the table, where he was writing in a notebook.

“What are you writing?” Greg asked, wandering over.  He looked over Sherlock’s shoulder, unable to read Sherlock’s abysmal handwriting.  “Mr. Sherlock Watson.  Aw, and you’ve put a little heart around it.  How lovely,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Shut it, Greg,” John said, standing up from his seat next to Sherlock and pulling Greg into a hug.  “I hear congratulations are in order?” he asked, looking from Greg to Mycroft.  The expression on his face looked more disbelieving than congratulatory, but Greg just clapped him on the back and nodded.

Mycroft ushered everyone into the dining room and Greg was seated between Mycroft and Sherlock.  Once they were all seated and had began eating, Sherlock’s onslaught began.

“So, Lestrade.  When did you realize that you were a homosexual?” Sherlock asked without looking up from his plate.

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, giving him a look that reminded Greg of his own mum.

“That’s okay, Mrs. Holmes,” Greg told her with a smile.  “I’m not homosexual, Sherlock.  Surely you’ve made that observation.”

“Then you’re admitting that this is all a charade?”

“’A charade’?  You sound ridiculous.  Speak like a normal person, for once.  And no, it isn’t.”  He waited until Sherlock looked up at him before finishing, “I am very much in love with Mycroft.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.  Greg assumed he was trying to figure out how Greg was being perfectly honest when he said that and bit back a smile.  He was a little worried that Mycroft would figure it out, but he was sure he could claim that he had been practicing lying to Sherlock.

Greg turned to look at Mycroft, who was giving him a very odd look.  Greg smiled and Mycroft just watched him, probably trying to read Greg just as much as Sherlock was.

“So when did you decide to begin a relationship with my brother?”  Apparently Sherlock wasn’t going to take as long to recover as Greg had hoped.  He hadn’t even finished his soup yet.

He did also notice that Sherlock didn’t refer to Mycroft by his name, but rather as “my brother.”  That showed a level of possession that Sherlock didn’t generally claim of Mycroft.  Could it be that Sherlock was afraid that Mycroft might get hurt?  It was a possibility, but unlikely if he actually thought the relationship was fictional.  Why would Mycroft get hurt in a fictional relationship?

Greg considered the question carefully.  He wanted to answer as close to the truth as possible, so as not to cause suspicion.  “Well, Sherlock, I’ve always been attracted to him, and when the thought of a relationship was suggested recently, I jumped at the chance.”  He turned his head slightly and looked at Mycroft out of the corner of his eye to see his reaction.

Mycroft was staring at his plate, but he was clearly listening carefully to everything Greg said.  Well, that should give him plenty to consider, Greg thought before returning his attention to Sherlock, who was asking another question.

Dinner continued like that, Sherlock firing questions at Greg rapid-fire and Greg answering them as truthfully as he did.  The approving expression on Mycroft’s face when dinner was finished told Greg that he had done well and Greg was pleased with himself.

After dinner, when Greg was preparing to leave, Mrs. Holmes pulled him into a tight hug.  “Father and I didn’t have an opportunity to speak with you.  I suppose Mycroft planned that with those silly seating arrangements.  We’ll solve that with dinner tomorrow night.  If you’re free?”  She smiled up at Greg and Greg found himself smiling back.  Mrs. Holmes was decidedly not what he had expected.

“I’ll clear my schedule.  Allow me to take you and Mr. Holmes out for the evening.  And I suppose Mycroft should be permitted to tag along,” Greg told her.

She beamed at him and then moved away so Mycroft could say goodbye.  Since Greg and Mycroft had barely spoken or touched each other all evening, Greg had a plan.

“May we please have a moment alone?” Greg asked the group who had come out to see him off and Mrs. Holmes shooed everyone into the living room, even Sherlock, who didn’t want to leave.

Greg put his hands on either side of Mycroft’s face and pulled it down so his forehead was resting against Greg’s forehead and they were staring into each other’s eyes.  Greg smiled and turned his head slightly so Sherlock couldn’t read his lips from where he was watching them, the doorway to the living room and whispered, “Just play along, Mycroft.”

“As you will,” Mycroft murmured back, smiling as well.

Greg pushed Mycroft up against the wall, holding his head steady as he pressed their bodies together and kissed him.  Greg took his time exploring Mycroft’s mouth, savoring the kiss, as he knew that they probably didn’t have very many more to share before Christmas and things would go back to normal.  How he would go back to normal with Mycroft after this, however, he would never know.

He pressed his hips into Mycroft’s thigh, allowing himself to buck his hips gently, moaning softly at the contact between his hard cock and Mycroft.  Mycroft gasped and pulled back slightly, his eyes searching Greg’s.

Greg could have easily let his feelings show in his eyes, but he wasn’t ready for this to end.  He knew that Mycroft didn’t have that sort of interest in him and he didn’t want to ruin their friendship by letting his true feelings be known.  At least not yet.

Knowing that it would fool Mycroft, Greg winked and gave his best cheeky grin.  Mycroft smiled back, but it looked strained.  Had Greg overstepped?  He had been trying to fool Sherlock, but had Mycroft been able to tell just how real it was?

When Greg left the house, he immediately pulled out his phone to send a text before going home.

Was that okay?  Did I go too far?  GL

When Greg went to bed several hours later, he still hadn’t received a response.

Friday, 11 December 2015

Mycroft looked at his phone as the text alert sounded.  It was the third time that Greg had texted him since the night before.

Please talk to me Mycroft.  What’s wrong?  GL

He stared at the phone.  There wasn’t really anything wrong, at least not anything he could tell Greg.  He was simply having an internal crisis because of his romantic interest in Greg.  Now sure that he was falling in love with Greg, he wasn’t sure he could handle many more incidents like their goodbye the night before.

For a second, a beautiful, amazing moment, he had thought that Greg shared his interest.  The way he kissed Mycroft and the hardness Mycroft felt against his leg while they were pressed together seemed to imply that he wanted Mycroft as much as Mycroft wanted him, but that grin after, that “look how clever I am, they’re totally fooled” grin hit Mycroft in the gut, making him realize how silly he was being.  Of course someone like Greg could never have an interest in someone like Mycroft.  Greg was gorgeous and sexy and Mycroft was...well, Mycroft was certainly neither of those things. He supposed that if he wanted a real relationship, he would have to adjust his standards to someone more appropriate.  Mycroft was nothing if not a realist.

He began to type a message in response and then deleted it, staring at the phone.  He didn’t want to end his friendship with Greg, but he wasn’t sure he could handle any more pretending at the moment.  What was the best way to get out of dinner that night?  Mycroft was sure he wouldn’t be able to organize a murder that would become Greg’s case on such short notice, though that would be the easiest way.

Everything is quite well.  My parents needed to leave unexpectedly.  We will have to postpone our dinner plans.  MH

There, that was done.  He would still need to explain to his parents, but they knew that Greg’s job had terrible hours, like Mycroft’s.  Mummy might cause a fuss, but that’s mainly what Mummy did, so that was to be expected.  Things were looking up.

Okay.  I’d still like to see you if I can.  GL

Mycroft sighed, staring at his phone.  He wasn’t expected Greg to want to spend time with just him.  It wasn’t really that much of a surprise.  After all, they were friends.  His hopes that he could have some time away from Greg to figure out what he wanted to do were more difficult than he had anticipated.

I am afraid I have scheduled a meeting for tonight.  My apologies.  Perhaps we can find time to meet this weekend  MH

There.  Perfect.  A resounding no, with vague plans to meet in the next few days.  Nothing would stop him from not meeting Greg at some point over the weekend.

***

That night, as Mycroft relaxed in his study, drinking a nice cup of tea, Sherlock climbed in through the window ands at down in the chair across Mycroft’s desk from him.

“You know, brother, this house is quite modern.  It’s even equipped with doors,” Mycroft said, not looking up from the paper he was reading.

“There’s security at the doors,” Sherlock said, stretching his legs out and watching Mycroft.

“There’s security at the windows, too,” Mycroft said, gesturing to the door as men in suits burst in, holding guns.

“I could easily have killed you by now.”  Sherlock watched as Mycroft dismissed his security with a wave of his hand.

“Of course you could have.  Did you need something, little brother?”

“Lestrade.”

“Well, I don’t have him here.  Perhaps his own flat may contain him.”  Mycroft had a feeling that he wouldn’t like how this conversation was going to go.

“We’re going to talk about him.  He’s in love with you.”

“Of course.  He is my boyfriend, after all.”  Mycroft kept his voice even, his face blank as he continued to read the paper.  He wasn’t really reading, not anymore, but he kept his eyes scanning the lines of text so that it wasn’t obvious that he had stopped reading.

“No, I don’t mean that.  Obviously you two are faking that for some reason.  He really loves you.”

Mycroft looked up at Sherlock, taken aback.  He would never expect Sherlock to be one to have a conversation like this with him.  Perhaps the younger Holmes was a bit more sentimental now that he was in a relationship of his own.

“What is your reasoning?”

“It’s clear from the way he looks at you.  And he wasn’t lying when he said he loves you.  He’s a good actor, but no one is that good.  All of the signs are there.  If you weren’t so caught up in your obsession with hating yourself, you would see it as well.”

Mycroft snorted.  He did not have an “obsession with hating himself.”  That was ridiculous.  He merely had a healthy, realistic view of himself.

“Leave, Sherlock,” he said, finding himself annoyed at Sherlock’s attempted interference.  This was clearly some plot to gain the upper hand in their relationship, nothing more.

Though if it were true…

No, it was impossible.

Sherlock left without another word.  Mycroft was slightly surprised, expecting an argument.  Maybe Sherlock wasn’t lying after all…

He would need some time to think on it and to make some observations of Greg.

Saturday, 12 December 2015

Greg was in a foul mood all day.  He hadn’t heard from Mycroft since the previous day, when Mycroft had blown him off.  He had tried to text him, but the responses he received were frustratingly vague.  He wasn’t sure what was happening with their arrangement, if they were still pretending to be in a relationship for the benefit of their parents.

He spent the day angrily cleaning his flat, accomplishing very little.  In the late afternoon, he was moving clutter from one side of the room to the other when there was a knock at the door.  He opened it to see Mycroft standing there with a big smile on his face.

Greg stepped aside so Mycroft could enter, frowning.  “What do you want?” he asked as he shut the door and followed Mycroft into the living room.

“I apologize for yesterday. I…I overreacted to something that was mostly in my head.”  Mycroft looked vulnerable in a way that Greg had never seen him before.  It was as if he were being open with Greg rather than hiding everything behind his Mycroft I-am-the-British-Government Holmes facade.  

“Overreacted to what?” Greg asked, wary for a trick.  He trusted Mycroft, of course, but lying and playing a part was instinctive to Mycroft at this point. Greg knew that occasionally Mycroft would lie to him and manipulate him, usually when their work lives intersected, and he was okay with that, because he trusted Mycroft to do what was best for the country.  He was less likely to be forgiving about manipulation when it was personal, however.

“That isn’t important right now.  We can discuss it on the way.”

“On the way where?”  Greg narrowed his eyes, studying Mycroft, whose body language had switched from open and vulnerable to confident and cheerful.

“My parents’ house.  They went home this morning and invited us for tomorrow, since we had to miss dinner last night.  We would leave in a few hours and be there for the night.”

“For the night?  As in, staying over?”  Greg was surprised.  This was nothing like what he expected Mycroft might say when he stopped being evasive.

“I know it’s short notice, but you don’t work today or tomorrow.  Mummy was very eager to spend some time with you.  I would appreciate the favor.”

Greg considered it for a moment.  He was sure that the closer it got to Christmas, the more things he would have to ask Mycroft to attend, some of them extremely boring or embarrassing.  It wouldn’t hurt to have Mycroft owe him for this.

“I suppose that I can clear my schedule and do this,” Greg said slowly.  “If you will be as open-minded when my family is acting mad in a week.”

Mycroft smiled.  “I think I will be able to accommodate any madness.  We will be arriving after Mummy and Father are normally in bed for the night, so we will be spending the morning with them rather than socializing this evening.”

Greg nodded, standing.  “Good.  Now, since I’m playing your dutiful boyfriend, please help me pick out appropriate attire for this visit.  I wouldn’t want to make a bad impression.”

Mycroft stood as well, smiling.  “I thought you’d never ask.”

Sunday, 13 December 2015

By the time they reached Mycroft’s parents house, it was nearly one in the morning.  Greg had fallen asleep on the drive, slumping against the window and snoring lightly.  Mycroft reached over and gently shook his shoulder.

“Greg, we’re here,” he said quietly, and Greg stirred, opening one bleary eye and then groaning.

“What time is it?” Greg asked, stretching his neck.

“Late,” Mycroft said, opening the car door and stepping out.  The front door of the house opened and his mother appeared in her dressing gown, waiting for them.  He picked up both bags and led the way, leaving Greg to stumble after him sleepily.

Mycroft wasn’t sure if he was making a mistake with this.  He couldn’t stop thinking about what Sherlock had said, wondering if he had been right.  Was Greg harboring secret romantic feelings for Mycroft?  It seemed too good to be true, but Sherlock was very perceptive and had known Greg for quite some time.  If he said it was true, it was probably true.  As long as he was being honest, of course.  

There were too many things to consider and Mycroft knew that he needed some time to spend with Greg and observe him.  That was why he had concocted this plan, after all, to spend the day together at his parents’ house, away from all of the distractions of London.

Mrs. Holmes showed them in, thrilled to have them despite the late hour.  “Now, Mikey, you know where your old room is, of course, I’ll let you boys get some sleep so you’re ready for a nice big breakfast in the morning.”

“My old room?” Mycroft asked, turning to look at her with wide eyes.  “You want us to sleep in the same room?”

She looked at him like he was an idiot, one of the looks that Sherlock inherited from her.  Of course, she didn’t mean it quite as nasty as Sherlock did, being Mycroft’s mother and all.  “Of course, love.  Where else would you sleep?  You’re in your forties, for heaven’s sake, there’s no need to be prudish at this stage.”

He stared as she left them, heading to her own bedroom, where Father was probably already sleeping.  Mycroft turned to Greg who suddenly looked very awake.  

“We can share a bed,” Greg said quietly, following Mycroft to the nicely decorated spare room, which looked nothing like it had when it was Mycroft’s bedroom.  “We’re adults and it’s plenty big enough.”

“Of course,” Mycroft said, setting their bags down and looking around the room anxiously.  It had been some time since he had shared a bed with anyone and the handful of times he had done so had been extremely awkward.

“Well, I suppose we should change,” Greg said, pulling pajama bottoms out of his bag and beginning to strip.

“There’s an en-sui…” Mycroft said, the word dying on his tongue when he turned to see Greg without a shirt on.

Greg grinned.  “We’re friends, right?  No reason to be silly.  Do you mind if I sleep shirtless?  I don’t sleep well with a shirt on.”

“No, I don’t mind at all,” Mycroft told him, trying to be subtle as he licked his lips.  He was actually salivating as he watched Greg strip to his pants and pull the pajama bottoms on.

Coming back to himself, Mycroft cleared his throat and changed into his own pajamas, feeling Greg’s eyes traveling over him as he stripped down to his own pants.  “I normally don’t wear anything to sleep,” Greg said casually as he pulled down the covers on one side of the bed, “but I thought that might be rude visiting your parents’ house.  It’s a good thing I brought pajamas, isn’t it?”

Mycroft turned away to reach for his own pajama bottoms, taking deep, steadying breaths and hoping that Greg wouldn’t notice the effect his words were having on Mycroft.

When he had finished dressing, he climbed into the free side of the bed.  Luckily, when his parents redecorated the room, they had bought a bigger bed.  It would be extremely embarrassing to be sharing the tiny bed that was Mycroft’s when he last lived in the house, even if he would have enjoyed the proximity to a shirtless Greg.

“Goodnight, Mycroft,” Greg rumbled sleepily and Mycroft smiled, turning out the light.  He wished they were really sharing a bed as boyfriends.  He would like nothing more than to fold Greg into his arms and hold him while he fell asleep.

***

Mycroft woke up with his face buried in Greg’s bare chest.  His skin was cool under coarse chest hair and Mycroft rested his head there for a moment before pulling away.  It was still dark, so he checked his phone: 4:20.

He sighed and rolled over, throwing his arm over his face and trying to go back to sleep.  He normally slept so little that he struggled to sleep in on days that he didn’t have to be working.  With luck, he would be able to get himself back to sleep and wouldn’t have to find something to do by himself for the next three hours.

As he was trying to clear his mind so he could sleep, Greg shifted, his arm snaking around Mycroft’s waist and pulling them close together, Mycroft’s back pressed up against Greg’s front.  Mycroft froze, unsure of what to do.  Greg was asleep, obviously, and Mycroft didn’t want to wake him.

As Mycroft debated what to do in his head, he felt his eyes get heavier and heavier.  Eventually, he fell asleep, still held tightly in Greg’s arms.

When Mycroft awoke again, there was still an arm around his middle and a warm form at his back.  He reached for his phone to check the time, doing a double take.  Eight thirty?  That couldn’t be right.  Mycroft never slept past seven, and he usually only slept that late when he was ill.  

“Good morning,” Greg said very close to Mycroft’s ear.  Neither of them moved, staying still for a moment.  “I should have warned you that I’m a cuddler.  Old habit, hard to break.”

“That’s quite alright,” Mycroft told him in a voice that wasn’t as shaky as he thought it was.

“Still, it’s nice though, isn’t it?” Greg asked with a sigh.  He gave Mycroft a squeeze and rolled away.  “It’s been too long since I slept so well.”

“I found that I slept better than normal as well.”  Mycroft sat up, avoiding turning to look at Greg.  “If you’d like to shower, I can show you where.”

“A shower sounds lovely,” Greg said.  

Mycroft could tell by the movement of the bed that Greg had stood.  After a few moments of pretending to check something on his phone, Mycroft stood as well and turned to smile at Greg.  “This way,” he said, showing Greg to the shower.

By the time the two of them were showered and dressed, Mycroft knew that his mother would be antsy, so he led the way downstairs to the kitchen.

“There you boys are!” Mrs. Holmes exclaimed as they entered the room.  “I was wondering when you would make an appearance.”

“Good morning!” Greg said brightly.

Mycroft sat down next to his father and picked up the paper while Greg and Mrs. Holmes chatted pleasantly.  He tried not to be obvious as he listened to their conversation, analyzing everything Greg said.

“Did you sleep well?”  

“Yes, rather well, Mrs. Holmes.”  That didn’t really tell Mycroft anything, but at least Greg wasn’t complaining about having to share a bed with Mycroft.

“It’s nice to have you boys here for the day.  Father and I have cleared our schedule so we’re able to spend the morning together.”

“I hope you didn’t go to much trouble.  I’m really not that exciting.”  That could be pleasant, Mycroft told himself, or it could be that he doesn’t think it matters if they get to know him, because we’re only pretending to be together and there’s no chance of a real relationship.

“I am sure you are plenty exciting for Mycroft.  For him to introduce you to us, he must really care about you.  I wasn’t sure we’d ever meet one of Mycroft’s boyfriends.  Not that he’s ever had many.”  Good, Mummy, Mycroft told her silently with an internal sigh, tell him all about my disappointing dating history.

Mycroft could feel Greg looking up at him and knew that he was smiling.  He kept his face trained on his paper, making an effort not to look up.  “That’s because London is full of idiots, Mrs. Holmes.”  Oh.

They spent a day with Mycroft’s parents that was very pleasant, if a bit dull.  Mycroft was as bored as he could possibly be while with Greg, and he was happy when it was time to leave.

While Mycroft was driving, he noticed that Greg was watching him with a smile on his face.  “You’re different around your parents.”

“Am I?”  Mycroft glanced at Greg, unable to decipher the expression on Greg’s face.  It was happy, but other than that he had no idea what his friend was thinking.

“You’re more quiet.  Other than sniping at your mum, of course. Though she gets her own jabs in, so I don’t blame you.”

Mycroft stayed silent, unsure if Greg was being critical or complimentary.

“I prefer you when it’s just you and me alone.  I like you all the time, but it’s best when it’s just the two of us.  You drop your walls a bit.”

“I trust you,” Mycroft said quietly.  He was worried that he might be saying more than he should, but he wanted Greg to know how he felt.  Maybe not the depth of his feelings, at least not until he was sure Greg felt the same way, but certainly that Mycroft cared for Greg as a friend.

“I’m glad you trust me.  I trust you, too.”  Greg’s hand reached out and squeezed Mycroft’s knee.  Luckily, Mycroft had received extensive training on controlling his reactions and managed to not lose control of the car in surprise.

Maybe Sherlock was right...

Monday, 14 December 2015

Greg’s arrangement with Mycroft was getting to be very frustrating.  He was starting to think that Mycroft had feelings for Greg, but was ignoring them for some reason.  He wasn’t sure why Mycroft wouldn’t want to explore their feelings, but he knew that he needed to do something to convince Mycroft that they would make a good couple.

He had done his best while he was with Mycroft at his parents’ house, even going so far as to cuddle Mycroft for half of the night.  Mycroft seemed to think that Greg had done that in his sleep, which was fine by Greg if it made things less awkward.  He hadn’t been asleep, however, he had simply been too tempted by the thought of holding Mycroft in his arms.  The speed with which Mycroft had relaxed and fallen asleep was gratifying as well: it meant that he was certainly receptive to the idea.

Now, Greg just needed to stick with his usual seduction plan: increased “casual” touches, suggestive comments, and spending every possible moment together, so that Mycroft could see just how much he could love Greg.

Actually, now that he thought about it, this might actually be fun.

Tuesday, 15 December 2015

I can’t wait for our dinner tomorrow night.  GL

Really?  Is something special happening at tomorrow’s dinner?  MH

Perhaps.  Do you want something special to happen?  GL

What are you offering?  MH What would you Every night is special when you’re there. Whatever you want, Greg.  MH

Wednesday, 16 December 2015

Greg was nervous.  Really nervous.  He had always been extremely confident with both men and women, but there was something different about this.  He had his usual method of seduction, but it didn’t seem like enough.  He didn’t want to risk the whole relationship by doing something stupid, it was far too important to leave to his usual methods.

But that meant that he didn’t know what to do.  If he wasn’t doing his normal seduction, he had nothing.  No idea how to deal with the relationship.  Thoughts of just coming out and saying that he was interested crossed his mind, but he was worried that might scare Mycroft off.  He certainly didn’t want that.

When he arrived at Mycroft’s house, he was more nervous than he had ever been when seeing a man before.  He took several deep breaths before letting himself in, trying to calm himself enough so that he didn’t look like a fool.

“Good evening, Greg,” Mycroft said with his normal smile when Greg entered the kitchen.  Mycroft looked perfectly cool, of course.  Damn him for being so suave.

“Evening,” Greg said, sounding as uncultured as humanly possible.  He attempted a smile, which he was sure looked terrible, and then reached out and squeezed Mycroft’s arm.  It was a gesture that could be interpreted as either romantic or friendly, depending on the recipient’s mood.

Hoping that Mycroft understood all of the filthy implications behind the touch, Greg helped himself to the bottle of wine that Mycroft had opened and set out.  “Thai tonight,” Mycroft said, gesturing toward the table.

“Mm, lovely,” Greg said, not taking his eyes off of Mycroft.

He was sure he was about to burst into flame at any moment.  He was sweating bullets.  His normal flirting was happening on schedule, but for some reason he was so worried about it and he didn’t know what to do.  He felt warm and uncomfortable, and he was sure that he was making Mycroft uncomfortable.  Noticing that Mycroft was giving him a strange look, he tore his eyes away from Mycroft and looked down at his glass of wine.

Lifting the glass to his mouth, he looked up at Mycroft, freezing when he saw the smile on Mycroft’s face, a smile that meant that Mycroft knew something.  He wasn’t ready for Mycroft to know anything yet.  Mycroft was supposed to be oblivious until later in the plan.

Starting to panic at everything going wrong, Greg set his glass down and turned to walk toward the table, trying to figure out what to do.  Why would it be a bad thing if Mycroft knew?  A voice in his head asked.  You know he’s interested in you and you’re interested in him.  It’s a perfect match.

You know Mycroft, he responded to himself.  If you want this to be something that lasts, you can’t rush it.  You don’t want to scare him off with your silly emotion.

Just as he reached the table, his phone rang.  He answered it, frowning.  His frown deepened as he spoke to the person calling, but he did a little dance inside.  This was perfect.  This would get him out of there before he did something really silly.

“I’ll be right there,” he said and then put the phone back in his pocket, giving Mycroft a resigned look that in no way matched his inner excitement.  “They need me on a case,” he told Mycroft.

Mycroft looked disappointed.  “We’ll have to reschedule, I suppose,” he said quietly.

Greg nodded.  He took a few steps toward Mycroft and then hesitated.  He wasn’t sure if this would be too much, but he really wanted to touch Mycroft.  Meeting Mycroft’s eyes, he smiled and pointed up at the ceiling, where some mistletoe was hanging.

“Where did that come from?” Mycroft asked, staring.

Greg shrugged.  He wasn’t going to tell Mycroft that he had dropped a box of mistletoe off at Sherlock’s flat and offered him some cold case files if he hung it around Mycroft’s house.

“You don’t need to…” Mycroft started and then trailed off, watching Greg come closer.

“Come now, Mycroft,” Greg said in a playful voice.  “It’s tradition.”  He closed the gap between them, placing a quick, soft kiss at the corner of Mycroft’s mouth before pulling away.  He really wanted to grab hold of Mycroft and kiss him for all he was worth, but he was sure that would scare him off, so he restrained himself.

Thursday, 17 December 2015

Mycroft stared at his phone, willing for it to chime his text alert.  He hadn’t heard anything from Greg since dinner the previous night, when Greg had been called away on a case.  Anthea checked on the case and learned that Greg had been out working it all night, so Mycroft was sure that Greg was in no position to text Mycroft.

He worried about Greg, even though he could see Greg any time he wanted on CCTV.  He wished that he and Greg had the sort of relationship where Greg would call him during stolen moments while working, just so they could hear each other’s voices and connect for a few moments.

They didn’t have that sort of relationship, however, and Mycroft needed to continue to remind himself of that.  He was just being silly, pining for a love that he would never have, spending his time wishing for things to be different when they never could be.

Mycroft put his phone in a drawer in his desk and shut it, not looking at it again for the rest of the day.

Friday, 18 December 2015

Greg made one last final check of his desk, ensuring that all paperwork was completed, and then left his office.  The case that he had been so happy to be needed on ended up lasting nearly two days.  He now had a family dinner and he hadn’t confirmed plans with Mycroft that they were both attending.

With only two hours of sleep over the past two days, Greg was relieved when he saw a familiar black car waiting for him outside.  Mycroft stood by it with a smile on his face.  “I thought we might stop at your flat so you may change and then go to your brother’s house,” Mycroft told him.

“You’re amazing,” Greg said, almost leaning in to kiss Mycroft, but stopping himself at the last moment.  Right.  Not a real relationship.

“Boss!  Wait!” Sally Donovan asked, running out after him.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…” she trailed off, looking curiously at Greg.

“Ah, I will leave you to your business.  When you’re ready, Greg,” Mycroft invited and then climbed into the car himself, leaving Greg and Sally standing awkwardly outside.

“Is that your…boyfriend?” Sally asked quietly.

“Does he look like my boyfriend?” Greg asked curiously.

Sally blushed.  “He does, boss.  Sorry if my assumption was wrong, you two just looked.  Well, there’s tension.”

Greg chewed his lip and studied her for a moment.  Were his feelings for Mycroft really that obvious?  Perhaps he needed to do a better job of hiding it so he didn’t make Mycroft uncomfortable.  Well, that could wait for the night, they were supposed to be a couple while at Greg’s brother’s house.

Greg signed the paperwork he had missed, sending Sally back inside.  When he got into the car, Mycroft was watching him a strange little smile on his face.

“She thinks there’s tension between us?” Mycroft asked.

Greg looked sharply at Mycroft before realizing that he shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that Mycroft knew the details of their conversation.  Mycroft could probably read lips or something like that.

“Apparently so.”  Greg looked out of the window so he didn’t give himself away.

“We must be very good actors, then.  Right?”

Greg could feel Mycroft’s eyes boring into the back of his head.  “Right,” he said, his voice containing a lot more confidence than he felt.

Saturday, 20 December 2015

Mycroft watched the streets of London go by as he was driven home, thinking about the previous night.  Dinner with Greg’s family had gone well, even as Greg was exhausted from his case.  Greg’s family certainly liked Mycroft and seemed to approve of the relationship and Greg himself seemed very pleased with their relationship, taking every possible opportunity to touch Mycroft and even kissing him twice under the mistletoe.

Their conversation in the car on the way home had been strange, considering how well the dinner had gone.

“That was nice,” Mycroft had said, settling into the car with a smile on his face.  He noticed the sad look on Greg’s face and asked, “Is something wrong?”

“I feel badly about lying to them,” Greg said quietly.

“We can stop and tell them the truth, if you want.”  It was the last thing that Mycroft wanted to do, but he couldn’t help himself from offering it.

“No, I don’t want that.  That will just ruin Christmas for everyone.  I just feel like an arse for faking a relationship.  We don’t really love each other and we’re acting like we do.”

Mycroft had just stared at Greg, unsure how to answer that.  Eventually, he looked away from Greg, unable to stand the pain of looking at the man he loved, who had just confirmed that he didn’t love Greg back.

It was strange, Mycroft thought, back in his car, but alone now.  Greg had been flirting with him, and not just when they were around other people, but when they were alone as well.  Mycroft knew that he wasn’t imagining the lingering touches, the flirty texts, or the suggestive phrasing that Greg had recently been employing.  But he had explicitly said that he didn’t love Mycroft, and no amount of flirting could change that.

Mycroft curled up into a ball as best he could, wanting to find a hole to hide in.  He would come out when Christmas was over, if ever.  It hurt when Greg said that he didn’t love Mycroft and Mycroft wasn’t sure he could face Greg again after that.  What was even worse was that Greg didn’t know that he had hurt Mycroft and he could never find out.  It would have destroyed good, sweet Greg to know that he had hurt his best friend and Mycroft couldn’t let that happen.

He would just have to better protect his heart from now on.  Now that Greg had explicitly stated where they stood, he could work to end these ridiculous feelings of love that had developed.

Sunday, 20 December 2015

Is everything okay?  GL 10:23 AM

Of course.  MH 11:56 AM

Good.  I wouldn’t want my fake boyfriend to be mad at me.  :-) GL 12:02 PM

Silence like this makes me think I’ve done something wrong.  Normally you at least respond that you’re busy.  GL 4:16 PM

Why do you need me to respond to that?  I’m simply your “fake boyfriend”, after all.  MH  4:32  PM

Okay, definitely something wrong, then.  You know I’m an idiot who needs things spelled out for me.  What did I do?  GL 4:34 PM

You did nothing, Greg.  I am overreacting to an imaginary slight.  I apologize.  MH 5:00 PM

I still want to know what I did, even if you think you’re overreacting.  GL 5:07 PM

Do you want to stop this, is that it?  Our relationship isn’t real, we can call it off at any time.  GL  10:39 PM

I’m going to sleep now.  If you decide to let me know what’s wrong, you know how to reach me.  GL 11:54 PM

Monday, 21 December 2015

Mycroft watched Greg on the computer screen, stumbling out of the pub.  John had left moments before, heading in the direction of Baker Street.  Now Greg was heading to his own flat, obviously in no better state than John.

Why was Greg drinking?  Could it be because of his relationship with Mycroft?  There was hardly anything there to drink about.

No, that was clearly wishful thinking on Mycroft’s part.  He needed to start being honest with himself, which involved telling himself that Greg clearly wasn’t interested.  Over the last month, Greg had insisted countless times (well, 24 times, Mycroft counted) that were not really a couple, that it was all a ruse.  It was time for Mycroft to admit that this had all been a terrible mistake, the whole idea of pretending to be dating for the sake of their parents.  Hopefully, they could walk away from this without Mycroft completely destroying their friendship.

Hopefully.

Tuesday, 22 December 2015

Greg looked up as Mycroft entered his office, sitting down in the chair across from him.  He had a headache from the previous night and wasn’t interested in whatever mind games Mycroft was currently attempting.

“Can I help you?” Greg asked, sounding a bit crankier than he intended.

Mycroft’s face was unreadable as he looked at Greg, of course.  There was no guessing what was going through his mind at the moment and Greg didn’t feel inclined to try.  “Am I unwelcome here?” Mycroft asked quietly.

“Why would you be unwelcome?  We’re friends.  You’re always welcome in my office.  In my life.  I don’t understand what the problem was the other day and I still want to.”  Greg rubbed his face with his hand, feeling exhausted.  He knew that he had done something wrong, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it was.  Things seemed to be getting more complicated, not easier as he had hoped.

“It is unimportant.  We need to confirm plans for this week.  My family has a dinner tomorrow night.  I believe you have plans with your family?”  Mycroft’s tone was businesslike, different than it usually was when talking to Greg.

“Dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  If you’d rather not go to both, that’s fine.  I can use your family as an excuse to skip one.  I don’t mind.”

“You love spending time with your family,” Mycroft pointed out.  “Why would you want an excuse to skip a dinner?”

“You know that this lying thing is getting hard.  I told you that.  The sooner this is over, the sooner we can ‘break up’ and everything will be back to normal.”

“Is that what you want to happen?”  The softness of Mycroft’s voice made Greg frown.  If Greg didn’t know any better, he would have thought his friend sounded sad.

Greg shrugged.  “Well, we have to end it somehow.  Unless you were planning on moving in together and getting married to continue the lie.”  He was joking, but as he said the words, he realized that he sounded cruel.  Mycroft looked hurt, which was a very unusual look for Mycroft, normally so stoic.  Greg couldn’t imagine anyone hurting Mycroft and now it seemed like he had.

“You’re right.  We didn’t plan for the future when we decided to do this childish thing.”  Mycroft stood to leave.

Greg jumped up, reaching out and grabbing Mycroft’s wrist.  He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but he was sure that he didn’t want Mycroft to leave on that note.  “I’d be a lucky man if this were real.  But it’s not, so there’s no use making it any harder on ourselves, right?”

Mycroft delicately removed Greg’s hand from his wrist and turned to leave, not saying another word to Greg.

Well, fuck.

Wednesday, 23 December 2015

My family dinner has been canceled this evening.  MH 8:15 AM

Oh?  I’m sorry to hear that.  Are you still able to attend my family dinner tomorrow?  GL 8:19 AM

Of course.  We have an arrangement.  MH 12:39 PM

Are we okay?  I don’t want to ruin our friendship.  GL 12:41 PM

We’re fine.  See you tomorrow.  MH 1:02 PM

Your friendship is important to me.  GL 1:05 PM

Mycroft looked at the last text and set his phone down.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  Friendship.  His friendship was important to Greg.

He just wished he could stop this pathetic pining and that friendship could be enough.

Thursday, 24 December 2015

Mycroft and Greg were silent on the ride to Greg’s parents’ house.  Neither of them were particularly looking forward to the dinner, but Greg didn’t want to ruin the holiday by telling his parents that day that he had been lying to them, and Mycroft had agreed to go, so he went.

Things were fine for most of the evening, but Greg and Mycroft barely spoke to each other and when they did, it was extremely awkward.  It was fairly easy to hide their tension around Greg’s family, which was extremely loud.

After dinner, Greg’s mother cornered him in the kitchen.  “What’s wrong with you and Mycroft?” she asked, watching him carefully.

Greg hesitated.  He wasn’t sure how much he could tell her without giving everything away.  “Nothing, Mum.  We had an argument.”

“This doesn’t seem like an argument.  This seems like you’re just trying to get through the holiday.  I don’t want to see you break up after Christmas.”

Greg felt tears spring into his eyes, but he couldn’t stop them.  “I’m not sure I have much say in that, Mum.”

“You think he’s going to break up with you?” she asked quietly.

Greg put his face in his hands, doing his damnedest not to lose control in his mother’s kitchen with his entire family and Mycroft in the next room.  “I have no idea.”

“You do want to stay with him, don’t you?”

Greg looked up at her.  “I want to be with him more than anything, Mum.  I love him so much, I just—I keep making a mess of things and I don’t know how to fix them.”

She wrapped her arms around Greg, holding him tightly and patting his back.  “Just tell him that, love.  Communication is the most important thing in a relationship.  As long as you tell him exactly how you feel, everything will be okay.”

“I can’t tell him.”  It was close to blowing the whole situation, but Greg didn’t care.  He was too upset to care at the moment.

“Nonsense.  He obviously feels the same way about you and I bet he thinks he’s at fault, too.  Just talk to him.  Talking to him will solve everything.”

Friday, 25 December, 2015

Mycroft arose early, turning off his alarm and spending a few minutes lying in bed, thinking about how he wanted the day to go.  With any luck, by the end of the day he would be much happier than he had ever been, connected romantically to a man he was now sure he had loved for years.

It was strange, his love for Greg.  He had thought that they were just friends, that his best friend was the most important person in the world to him because he was his best friend.  Though Mycroft was gay, there was never any suggestion of romance between Mycroft and Greg because Greg wasn’t gay.  It would have been silly to develop romantic feelings for a man who wasn’t interested in men, and Mycroft Holmes wasn’t silly.  When he had discovered that Greg did, in fact, have an interest in men, it was as if a secret compartment of Mycroft’s mind had been opened, letting emotions pour out that Mycroft had never realized he had.

He had dated, of course.  He was a healthy man in his forties, he had gone on his fair share of bad first dates, but nothing had ever gone past that.  His sexual appetite, while normal, wasn’t such that he felt compelled to continue dating for sexual release.  With a handful of sexual partners in his past, he was sure he had experienced nearly a full range of sexual acts and his knowledge in that department wasn’t lacking much, so he was content with his level of experience and didn’t feel a need to increase that experience.  Over the past month, since Greg had become a potential sexual partner, Mycroft had started to want like he had never wanted before.

Now he was on a mission to get what he wanted.  After the past few days, during which things had become very complicated, he knew exactly what he was going to do to fix everything.  The conversation he had witnessed the previous night between Greg and his mother convinced him that he was doing the correct thing.  Greg wanted him as much as he wanted Greg, of that he was sure.  It was simply a matter of telling Greg that their desires were compatible.  Being Christmas, and knowing Greg better than anyone, Mycroft knew exactly what he needed to do.  It was a bit of cliche, but the “grand romantic gesture” was what this situation required and Mycroft was willing to give Greg just that.

Before he left, he rang Anthea and gave her some very clear instructions.  By the time he arrived at the first shop he needed to visit, the owner was there, looking sleepy and annoyed, but pleasant enough for Christmas morning.  Anthea stood nearby, typing rapidly on her phone.  She looked as professional as ever, like it was nine o’clock, rather than not quite four.  Mycroft knew that she was organizing their visits to the next shop Mycroft needed to visit, so that they would not be delayed by waiting for shop keepers.  He decided to give her a Christmas bonus worthy of her, as long as he could afford it.  Money was never an issue to Mycroft, but Anthea was proving how invaluable she really was.

Finishing at the shop as quickly as he could, Mycroft made a last check of the items he was buying against his mental list, ensuring that he wasn’t missing anything.  He paid, adding a handsome gratuity for the inconvenience of the hour, and was on his way to the next shop.

He made quick work of his shopping, finishing all four stores within the hour.  It helped that traffic was at a minimum, which allowed for quick travel, and he knew exactly what he needed.  There was a clear picture in his head of what he was going to do to tell Greg how he felt, all he needed to do was put it into action.

When he had finished, he returned to his house, where he began baking.  He had been saving this meal for a special occasion and now he was using it, hoping that it would stay delicious on its travels to his final destination.  Soon his kitchen was full of a variety of baked goods, comprising a breakfast worthy of London’s poshest kitchens.  He packed it all up carefully and then went to change his clothes.

He discarded the clothes he had worn preparing the food and took a hot shower, using his sweetest-smelling soap and shampoo before dressing in his finest suit.  Looking at himself in the mirror, he was rather pleased with his appearance.  He had noticed that he received more attention from men and women when he wore this suit, which fit him like a glove.  If this didn’t do it, nothing would.  

During the car ride, Mycroft ensured that Anthea knew he was not to be disturbed before making a final check that all of his plans were in place.  He was starting to feel nervous, worried that he had misunderstood what Greg had been saying and that he wouldn’t receive the response he was expecting.  He was about to tell his driver to return home when his phone chimed.  

Greg loves you, you fat idiot.  If your nerve fails you now, you’re even more worthless than I thought you were.  SH

Mycroft smiled at his phone.  Leave it to Sherlock to say something sweet in the nastiest of ways.  It was strange how Sherlock had reacted to this situation with Greg.  Mycroft knew that Sherlock considered Greg a friend, even if he refused to admit it, and it was nice to know that Sherlock was in favor of Mycroft dating his friend.  Deciding to trust his brother’s words, Mycroft took a deep breath to strengthen his resolve, not telling the driver to abort the mission.

When he arrived at the darkened building, he was careful not to make a sound as he carried the bag of food to the door, where he picked the lock and let himself in.  The flat was completely dark and he set up a very small light so that he could see what he was doing.  He returned to the car and carried everything into the flat himself, setting up everything silently in the near dark.  He was careful to not make too much sound, but he still made some noise, freezing in place every time he dropped something or ran into a piece of furniture in the dark.

Eventually, he was sure that everything was in place.  With luck, Greg would barely recognize the flat when he awoke and would be pleasantly surprised.  Mycroft was fairly sure that it would be a good surprise, even though someone breaking into one’s flat and redecorating it in the dark was probably a bad thing.  It was completely in keeping with Mycroft’s character, though, so he was hoping that would work in his favor.

As the sun rose, Mycroft warmed the food and put the finishing touches on the table setting.  He knew that Greg normally awoke early, so he was sure his time was running out.  He didn’t know what to do with himself, so he spent his remaining time puttering anxiously around the kitchen until he heard a shout from the living room.

He took a deep, steadying breath, and then stepped out of the kitchen to see Greg, wearing nothing but his pants, staring at the Christmas tree that hadn’t been in his living room when he went to bed.  Greg turned to look at Mycroft, his eyes wide and confused.

Forcing himself to act before he lost his nerve, Mycroft quickly crossed the room and pulled Greg into his arms, kissing him with every ounce of passion he had been repressing for the past month.  It had been a long time since he had really let himself go while kissing someone, if he ever had, so he may have overdone it a bit when Greg responded to the kiss by sliding his arms around Mycroft’s neck and tipping his head up so Mycroft had better access.  He pressed Greg into the wall with his body, sliding his knee between Greg’s thighs and bucking his hips, moaning when his hardening cock contacted Greg’s hip, causing the slightest bit of friction. The way that Greg moaned into Mycroft’s mouth dispelled any lingering fears that his affection wasn’t returned and Mycroft lifted him up by his thighs, Greg immediately wrapping his legs around Mycroft’s waist and tightening his arms around Mycroft’s neck.  They stayed there for several minutes, snogging up against the wall, Mycroft dressed in a full suit and Greg nearly naked.

Eventually, Mycroft carried Greg to the couch, dropping onto it with Greg on his lap.  Mycroft leaned back, enjoying the change in their heights as Greg leaned down to kiss him, rutting gently against Mycroft’s stomach and making Mycroft push his hips up, looking for more friction.  

“Mistletoe,” Mycroft said by way of explanation, panting, when they broke apart ages later, pointing at the doorway, where he had hung mistletoe.  He had hung mistletoe in every doorway and was rapidly forming plans to take advantage of all of them.

Greg cupped Mycroft’s face in both hands, smiling at him.  “You don’t need an excuse to kiss me,” he whispered and leaned forward, kissing Mycroft sweetly.  He pulled back and nuzzled Mycroft with his nose.  “You can always kiss me.  You’re the only person I want to kiss me.”

“Good,” was all Mycroft could manage, feeling a bit overwhelmed at how well this was going.  Tears were threatening, making Mycroft blink his eyes rapidly and clear his throat, unsure how to avoid a display of emotion.  He had never put himself out there like this, professing his undying love for someone.  Never having felt so strongly for anyone, the whole experience was completely new.

Greg chuckled, stroking Mycroft’s cheek before kissing him again and then standing, taking Mycroft’s hand and pulling him up.  “Show me everything you did before you embarrass yourself,” he murmured, slipping his arm around Mycroft’s middle and looking at  the living room, which was completely changed.

Before, there had been no indication that it was Christmas.  Greg never decorated for Christmas, he hadn’t since Mycroft had met him.  Now the room was covered in seasonal greenery and decorations, including a large Christmas tree that was beautifully decorated.  Under the tree were several colorfully wrapped presents and hanging on the mantle were two stockings, one for each of them.  The whole scene looked like something out of a film, a perfect example of a room decorated for Christmas.  Mycroft was very proud of his efforts, which had changed the room so drastically and had all been done in just a couple hours, in darkness.

Greg went into the kitchen, pulling Mycroft after him.  He gasped when he saw the table, beautifully laid for breakfast and piled high with baked goods, which all smelled heavenly.  “Did you cook all of this?” he asked, looking at the variety of foods on the table.

Mycroft nodded, beaming with pride.  He had never baked for Greg, usually eating everything he baked himself, and he was pleased that he was finally able to share this side of him with Greg, giving him more of an insight into Mycroft’s life.  He wasn’t in danger of crying anymore, but he began blushing furiously as Greg muttered in amazement and listed everything that was on the table.  

“Is it too much?” Mycroft asked, suddenly unsure of himself.  He wanted a grand gesture, not to come on too strongly.  It would be very bad if Greg found it weird instead of endearing.

Greg turned to smile reassuringly at him.  “Everything about you is too much.”  He leaned in for another kiss, lingering a bit this time.  “And don’t think I didn’t notice that you’re wearing my favorite suit.”  He let his gaze slide down Mycroft’s body, full of promise as he licked his lips subconsciously.

“I thought you rather enjoyed me in this one,” Mycroft said, glowing with pride that he got that detail right.  Lately he had noticed Greg’s lingering glances when Mycroft wore that particular suit, and on one memorable occasion, he had been sure he had seen a bulge in the front of Greg’s trousers when they parted.  It didn’t take a genius like Mycroft to find the connection between the meetings.

“That’s going to be my favorite present to unwrap,” Greg murmured, leaning his cheek against Mycroft’s, letting his hand trail down Mycroft’s chest and stomach, finally resting on his hip, which he gripped tightly.

Mycroft closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.  “You didn’t need to wait until Christmas to unwrap it,” he said quietly, willing some of his blood to return to his brain so he could come up with some better responses.

“Look at me,” Greg said and Mycroft opened his eyes again.  “I love you, Mycroft.  Everything that happened, everything I said about not being together, not being a real couple: that was an act.  I’ve loved you for so long, I just didn’t know what to say.”

Mycroft felt the tears well up again, but he didn’t try to stop them.  Instead, he wrapped his arms around Greg and held him tightly.  “I love you, too, Greg.  I thought you might feel the same way, but you were so firm in our friendship, so vocal that we were just playing at a relationship.  I started to think that I had deluded myself.  It seemed like wishful thinking, the thought that you might want me as I wanted you.”

“No delusions, just me cocking up the seduction of Mycroft Holmes,” Greg said with a chuckle.

“You were trying to seduce me?” Mycroft asked, horrified.  Very little over the last month had suggested that any sort of seduction had taken place, which made him wonder exactly what parts Greg had considered part of his master plan of romance.

“Majorly cocking up, okay?”  Greg shook his head at himself, blushing and looking away from Mycroft in embarrassment.

“Do you always seduce men by constantly telling them that you could never have feelings for them?”  Mycroft pulled away from Greg and pulled a chair out for him before sitting down himself.  He was feeling amused now, thinking of Greg’s failed attempt at seducing him, which he didn’t understand.

“I flirted with you,” Greg said defensively, though he was smiling.

“Yes, you did.  There was sporadic flirting interspersed with reassurances that your interests in me were nothing other friendly.  I wouldn’t have thought that your seductive abilities would be so abysmal.  I thought you were more experienced than that,” he teased.  Of course it was clear that Greg was the more experienced of the two, both with romance and with relationships, which should have made him an expert, in Mycroft’s mind.

Greg turned bright red.  “Never you mind how ‘experienced’ I am.  And my seductive abilities are just fine.  You try seducing Mycroft bloody Holmes and see how you do.  It’s a wonder you’ve ever had a successful relationship.”

“I haven’t,” Mycroft pointed out.  “Unless you are very kind with your definition of ‘successful’.”

“I thought you’ve dated?” Greg asked, cocking his head to one side.  They had rarely discussed their relationship histories.  Mycroft had mentioned dating to Greg and had even gone on a few dates since the inception of their relationship, but they hadn’t discussed them at length.

“I’ve dated.  I haven’t dated the same person more than once, but I’ve dated.”

“Then, have you…you know?”  Greg was trying to be delicate, asking casually while he loaded his plate with Mycroft’s offerings.

Mycroft chuckled.  “I’ve had sexual relationships.  Depending on your definition, yes, I’ve had sex.”

“What does that mean?  ‘Depending on your definition’?”

Mycroft cleared his throat, busying himself with his own plate of food.  “I’ve done many sexual acts.”

“But you haven’t…?” Greg asked leadingly, clearly trying to get some detailed information.

“Had penetrative sex?  No, I have not.  It has never seemed appropriate for my relationships, so I haven’t.”  He didn’t look up at Greg’s face, unsure of how Greg was going to react to this news.  It was a bit embarrassing to admit that he was over forty years old and had never participated in that particular act.

“Well, you just haven’t found the right man,” Greg told him quietly, with a shy smile.  Mycroft looked up at him with a grin, pleased at Greg’s response.  Leave it to Greg to respond perfectly to that revelation.  “Until now?” he asked.

“Until now,” Mycroft echoed, biting his lip and coloring slightly.  “I—I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.  I want you so badly that there are times I cannot focus on anything other than having you.”

“You are so sexy,” Greg breathed, staring at him.

Surprised by the compliment, Mycroft dropped the piece of toast he was holding into his lap.  He picked it up and set it on his plate, dabbing at the jam that was now on his best suit.  Making a small displeased noise in his throat, he dropped his hand onto the table, knowing that he wouldn’t accomplish anything by himself.  His cleaner would have to work his magic, like usual.

“Oh, no, did that leave a mark?” Greg asked, sounding awfully insincere.  “We should get that off and straight into the wash so it doesn’t stain.”

“The wash?  Please, Greg, tell me that you do not put your suits in your home washing machine,” Mycroft said, appalled at the thought of such a terrible thing.  

Greg didn’t make eye contact, making Mycroft worry for his clothing.  “Of course I don’t.  We should at least get it off of you, even if you’re not going to wash it right away.”

“It’s just a bit of jam,” Mycroft said, not sure why Greg was so concerned about it.  His suit seemed like a strange thing to be worried about while they were having a nice breakfast, especially one that Mycroft had gone to such trouble to prepare.

“Jam attracts bugs,” Greg said, nodding confidently.  “We don’t want bugs swarming you.  It will ruin breakfast.  And we can’t have your amazing breakfast ruined.  No, we shouldn’t risk it.  Up you get.”  He stood and pulled on Mycroft’s arm, leading him into the bedroom.

“Why are you so—” Mycroft was cut off by Greg kissing him as he slipped Mycroft’s jacket from his shoulders, tossing it onto a nearby chair.  Mycroft moaned as Greg brushed his hand over Mycroft’s hardening cock and began to work at the buttons of Mycroft’s trousers.  Oh, that’s what he wanted.  Mycroft would happily oblige him there.

Mycroft let Greg undress him to his pants, so they were both standing there, nearly naked.  Then he took the lead, turning Greg around and pushing him onto the bed, climbing on top of him and straddling him while he leaned forward for a long, slow kiss.

Mycroft let one of his hands trail down Greg’s bare chest, covered in the sexiest chest hair Mycroft had ever seen, down his soft stomach, until he reached the waistband of Greg’s pants.  “May I?” Mycroft asked, hooking one finger under the waistband.

“Please, yes,” Greg groaned, pulling Mycroft’s head down in another searing kiss.  As Mycroft’s hand wrapped around Greg’s cock, Greg bucked his hips up into it, breaking the kiss to moan and throw his head back into the pillow.

Mycroft stroked firmly, enjoying the expressions of great pleasure that flitted across Greg’s face.  He shifted positions, laying down next to Greg and continuing the movement of his hand.  Putting his mouth next to Greg’s ear, he whispered, “I want you to fuck me, Greg.  I want to feel you inside me, feeling me up.”  He increased the speed on his hand as he spoke, receiving the desired reaction from Greg, whose moans were increasing in volume and intensity, as he recounted his favorite dirty fantasy about Greg.  “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t sit without thinking about your for a week.  I want you to grip my hips so hard as you pound into me that you leave bruises.  I want you—”

Mycroft stopped speaking abruptly as Greg came all over Mycroft’s hand with a shout, shuddering with the force of his orgasm.  Mycroft stroked Greg through it, whispering, “I love you, Greg.  I love you so much,” over and over again until Greg stilled, looking at Mycroft through sleepy eyes with a smile.

Mycroft looked down at his hand, which was covered in wet stickiness.  He brought it up to his mouth and licked experimentally.  It was a strange taste, one he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but not unpleasant.  He licked a bit more off his hand for more analysis and then realized that Greg was staring at him with wide eyes, watching him taste Greg.

“I’ve never tasted it before,” Mycroft told him, blushing slightly.  “I was curious.”

“You’ve never… What exactly have you done?” Greg asked, looking suddenly guarded.

Mycroft chuckled.  “Don’t worry, I’m not completely inexperienced.  I’ve never been in any sort of committed relationship, so I’ve never performed or received oral sex without a condom.  Safety is important, Greg.”  He looked at the mess between them, thinking that perhaps he should have discussed safety with Greg before taking the leap of swapping fluids, but Greg was trustworthy and Mycroft knew he was clean.

“’Committed relationship’?” Greg asked, looking like the phrase caught him off guard.

“It may be a bit presumptuous, but I had thought…” Mycroft trailed off, watching Greg’s face carefully.  Had he misunderstood?  It would be terribly embarrassing to think that they were beginning something that they weren’t.  He wasn’t sure if he would be okay with a relationship with Greg that wasn’t committed.  Finding out something like that now, after getting his hopes up so high would be terrible.

“No, of course!” Greg said quickly, sitting up and pulling Mycroft to him in a kiss.  “I thought saying something like that might freak you out.  I didn’t expect you to want to be committed right away.  I know you said that you love me, but I thought the words might scare you.  I was worried about coming on too strong and then you go and say that, it caught me off guard.  I’m thrilled to be committed to you.  Really, very pleased.”

“Emotions do not scare me, Greg.  I feel emotions just as anyone else does.  If I tell you I love you, that means that I am ready for every aspect of a relationship.”  He smiled and looked down at his hand.  “I should wash my hand.”

“Will this do for now?” Greg asked, handing Mycroft the shirt Greg had been wearing the previous night, which he picked up from the floor next to the bed.  “I wanted to show you something.”

“Oh?” Mycroft asked, wiping his hand with the shirt and dropping it back onto the floor.  While normally he would never consider using a piece of dirty laundry to clean himself, he was intrigued by Greg’s words and wanted to know what he could possibly show Mycroft.

“Yes,” Greg said with a grin, pushing Mycroft down into a laying position.  He kissed Mycroft’s lips passionately, taking Mycroft by surprise.  He then kissed his way down Mycroft’s body, taking his time to explore Mycroft’s nipples, flicking his tongue out to tease them and pulling deep groans from Mycroft that turned into a shout when Greg reached up with a hand and pinched the nipple he wasn’t currently licking.  When Mycroft was panting and nearly whimpering with need, Greg moved lower, kissing all over Mycroft’s stomach and thighs.  Eventually he pulled Mycroft’s pants down and settled his body between Mycroft’s legs, licking up the underside of Mycroft’s erection before doing anything else.

Mycroft gasped and bucked his hips involuntarily.  He hadn’t expected how different that would feel without a condom in the way.  It felt so much better, so much wetter and warm without thin latex blocking the sensation.  As Greg took Mycroft’s cock fully into his mouth Mycroft moaned, shutting his eyes and surrendering himself completely to pleasure for the first time in his life.  He had allowed himself to feel pleasure before, but never let himself go completely, never trusting his partner to witness him so vulnerable.

Greg licked and sucked Mycroft expertly, reaching down and rolling Mycroft’s testicles gently in his hand, adding just a bit more sensation that sent Mycroft plummeting over the edge of his orgasm, bucking his hips into Greg’s mouth as he came harder than he imagined possible.  He heard himself repeating Greg’s name over and over again as Greg sucked him through his orgasm, swallowing every bit of semen and moaning like it was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced.

When he had finished, Mycroft half-heartedly pulled at Greg’s arm, wanting him snuggled up against Mycroft’s shoulder.  Chuckling, Greg did as Mycroft wanted and crawled up to cuddle Mycroft, resting his head on his shoulder and throwing his arm around Mycroft’s chest.

“That was amazing,” Mycroft said quietly, feeling drowsy.  “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Took a class,” Greg said with a smile.  “They called it ‘university’.  I was quite the little slut in those days.”

“Sh,” Mycroft said, pulling him closer.  “Don’t make me jealous.  I don’t want to hear about your sexual partners.”

“Of course not.  What sexual partners?  I’m pure as the driven snow.”

Mycroft kissed the top of Greg’s head.  “Of course you are.”

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the cuddling.  “Can I ask you something?” Greg asked suddenly.

“Anything,” Mycroft told him drowsily.

“What made you do this today?  I understand why you went over the top with it, that just seems right for you.  But why did you suddenly decide to kiss me and tell me that you love me?”

Mycroft suddenly felt very awake.  He wasn’t sure that he wanted to tell Greg he had been eavesdropping, but it seemed like a bad idea to lie to him right at the beginning of the relationship.  “I heard you talking to your mother last night.  You sounded so upset about the situation, I started thinking about everything that had happened and resolved to tell you the truth at the earliest opportunity.  Then I decided to make the earliest opportunity.”

“Do you always listen in on conversations that don’t involve you?”  Mycroft couldn’t be sure, not being able to see Greg, but he thought that Greg was smiling.

“Always.  It’s a habit of mine, not necessarily a good one, but a habit.”

“Well, I can’t fault your honesty,” Greg told him with a deep, contented sigh.  “We should go eat now.”

“I’d rather stay here a while,” Mycroft told him, yawning.  He didn’t normally return to sleep once he was up for the day, but he had missed some of his normal sleeping time, preparing for Greg’s surprise.

“Okay, love.  Sleep a bit, then we’ll eat.”  He rolled over so his face was buried in Mycroft’s side and was soon snoring lightly.

Later, when they were finally eating the breakfast Mycroft had cooked, dressed in nothing but dressing gowns, Mycroft looked at Greg curiously, asking a question that had been bothering him for some time.  “Did you mean what you said when we had dinner with my parents?”

“What did I say?” Greg asked, trying to remember.

“You said that you loved me.  Sherlock was asking you about our relationship and you told him that you loved me.  When he came to see me, he pointed to that as evidence of your feelings for me.  He said you weren’t acting.”

“When he came to see you?” Greg asked, frowning.  “What are you talking about?”

“After that dinner, he paid me a visit to tell me that you were actually in love with me, not acting.  I thought he had ulterior motives at the time, but looking back on it, he seems sincere.  Strange for Sherlock, but perhaps not entirely out of character.  He is rather fond of you.”

Greg thought for a moment and then broke into a wide grin.  “Your brother really is a good man, Mycroft.  He’s the one who hung the mistletoe in your house for me.  He seemed very eager to do it, I assumed that he simply wanted an excuse to break into your house.  And yes, I did mean it.  I’ve loved you for a long time.”

“How long?”

Greg cleared his throat and looked down at his plate.  “It may have been mentioned during my divorce as an excuse for my ex-wife’s affairs.”

“What?”  Mycroft was shocked.  He hadn’t been expecting to be have been involved with Greg’s divorce in any capacity, certainly not as a reason for his wife’s cheating.  Of course the thought of attempting to excuse an affair by talking about extra-marital romantic feelings was ridiculous, but it was still shocking.

“To be fair, I had been distant for some time, because my interest was elsewhere.  She knew that it was you.  I’m not sure how she knew, but when I found out about her last affair, she told me that she needed to have an affair because I was too busy pining after you to remember I had a wife.  That’s when I realized that I was in love with you.  I didn’t know until she shouted it at me.  Everything made sense then, how much I wanted to spend time with you, fantasies I had, always comparing my wife to you...”

Mycroft thought about Greg, just after finding out that his wife was cheating on him, realizing that she was right, that he was in love with Mycroft.  It made Mycroft wish he could go back in time and sweep Greg off of his feet, never letting him feel pain like that again, certainly never putting him through the uncertainty of the past few years or the drama of the past few weeks.  He wished he had known sooner, he could have made everything better by realizing how much he cared for Greg that much earlier.

He reached out and took Greg’s hand, which was resting on the table, and held it.  “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked after a few minutes of heavy silence.

Greg shrugged.  “I didn’t want to lose your friendship.  I had never been in love with a friend before, I didn’t want to destroy what we had without certainty that we would be together.  I needed to know that you felt the same way.  When did you know that you wanted me?”

“I didn’t,” Mycroft said quietly.  He wanted to be honest, but he felt awful about how Greg’s feelings for Mycroft had negatively affected his life.  “I’m now sure that I have loved you for years, but I didn’t know until recently.  I think I didn’t want to admit it to myself, which is reasonable, considering that I was unaware you had an interest in men until recently.  I thought you were straight, so I wouldn’t want to allow myself to feel things that would hurt me regarding you.”

“Well, as long as you know now, we’re fine,” Greg told him, giving Mycroft’s hand a squeeze.  “And we can easily make up for lost time.”  He was eager for the presents, wanting to know what Greg was going to say about everything Mycroft had for him.

Mycroft smiled and looked at his watch, realizing that they had slept much longer than he anticipated.  “I think it’s time to open presents.”

“Let me fetch yours,” Greg said, standing.

Mycroft was surprised.  “You have something for me?”  He hadn’t been expecting gifts from Greg.  They had never exchanged gifts before, Christmas not playing a large role in their relationship.

“Of course I do.  It’s Christmas, after all.”  He disappeared into the bedroom.  Mycroft went into the living room, sitting on the floor by the fireplace, which had a lovely fire in it.

When Greg came back into the room, he smiled at Mycroft.  He carried some small boxes with him, setting them on the floor next to the presents under the tree, sitting down near enough to Mycroft that they could hold hands, but far enough away that they wouldn’t be distracted from their gifts.  

Mycroft accepted his first gift from Greg with a smile, handing one to Greg at the same time.  They opened the gifts together, both delighted when they realized what they had, chuckling at the similarity of the gifts.  They had given each other early editions of some of their favorite books, both books that they had discussed at great length.  Mycroft thought that it was a sign of their compatibility, that they had decided on very similar presents for each other.

“Open this one now,” Greg said, handing the smallest box he had to Mycroft.  “I want to watch you open it.”

Mycroft smiled at him and opened it, gasping in delight at the beautiful pocket watch sitting nestled in the box.  “This is amazing,” he said quietly.  It was rather old, but had been very well treated.  Mycroft liked pocket watches, wearing them regularly.  He had some nice antique pieces, but nothing as nice as this.  He took it out of the box, turning it over in his hands to look at it.

“It was my grandfather’s.  My mum gave it to me to give to you.  Her mother gave it to her father when they were young.  They were rather poor, but Gran saved for months to buy it for him.  She always said that a man wasn’t fully dressed until he had a quality watch.  The inscription is a coincidence, but appropriate.”

Mycroft looked closely at it, for the inscription.

For my dearest M. Yours always, G.

He looked up at Greg with questioning eyes and Greg smiled.  “My grandmother was named Georgina and my grandfather was Michael.  Mum said that when she learned your name for the first time, she knew we were meant to be.  When she gave it to me last week, she said that a sign like that had to mean something, so she knew that she was doing the right thing.  She’s a bit silly and superstitious, but I’m hoping she’s right about this one, personally.”

“Didn’t she know my name before we told her that we were dating?” Mycroft asked, unable to stop himself from smiling broadly at the sweet sentiment behind the gift.

“Mum said that she has known how I felt about you since I first mentioned you all those years ago,” Greg said, blushing.  “I suppose I was a bit obvious.  Everyone knew but me, at first.”

Mycroft laughed.  “Not obvious to me.  I wish you had been, it would have saved us a bit of bother.  Thank you for this, I’ll treasure it always.  Heirlooms are plentiful in my family, but none of them have such nice stories behind them.”  He leaned forward to give Mycroft a kiss before putting it in the pocket of his dressing gown.

Greg colored slightly, making Mycroft’s smile widen.  He loved when Greg was obviously affected by Mycroft’s words.  Greg tried to distract him by picking up another gift.  “This one is from the whole family.  They wouldn’t tell me what it was, but they said that you needed to open it before the dinner tonight.”  He handed Mycroft a fairly large box and Mycroft knew immediately what it was.

Mycroft tried to act surprised anyway, unwrapping it and gasping in false excitement when he saw the bright red and green of a Christmas jumper.  It wasn’t an ugly jumper, by any means, but it was decidedly not Mycroft’s style.  It fit in perfectly with the jumpers that Greg’s family had all been wearing every time Mycroft had seen them, however, so he was pleased with the gift.  It was as if they were accepting him into the family, telling him that he was one of them.

“You don’t have to pretend to like it,” Greg told him, chuckling.  He was pleased by the gift, doubtlessly for the same reasons that it pleased Mycroft.

“It’s beautifully made,” Mycroft said, admiring the sweater.  He wasn’t lying, it was very well done, obviously a high quality jumper.  Mycroft was sure he would look ridiculous in it, but a happy, family kind of ridiculous that would be new and wonderful for Mycroft.

“You don’t need to wear it today.  Mum will be dramatic about it, but it’s not necessary for admittance to their house.”

“I will absolutely wear it.  I may even find some blue jeans to go along with it.”  Mycroft didn’t mention that he knew Mrs. Lestrade was going to send him a jumper, so he had bought some jeans just for the occasion.  Greg didn’t need to know that much about how Mycroft’s mind worked just yet, there was no doubt that he would soon know that Mycroft prepared for every eventuality.

“If I see you in jeans, we may never make it to dinner,” Greg said in a low, seductive voice that went straight to Mycroft’s cock.

“Ah, yes.  About dinner,” Mycroft said slowly, trying to force his blood back to his brain so he could focus on more important issues.  He wasn’t sure how to break this next news to Greg, so he took a deep breath and just said it.  “I invited your family to my house for dinner.  My family is coming as well, including John and Sherlock.  I hired a staff for the evening, so no one has to worry about cooking or cleaning.  I thought it might be nice if our families met.  If it was too presumptuous, I understand, it just seemed important.”  It all came out very quickly as Mycroft worried that he had gone too far, worry that wasn’t helped by the look on Greg’s face.

Greg stared at him like Mycroft had just said the apocalypse was imminent.  “Why on Earth do you think our families should meet?”

Mycroft bit his lip, not wanting to answer that question just yet.  “Let’s just open the rest of your presents.  We’ll talk about that after, I promise.”  He handed Greg the next box, unable to control his excitement as Greg ripped off the paper.  This gift was very important and personal to Mycroft, containing a piece of his soul.

Greg turned the flash drive over in his hands, looking at it.  He looked up at Mycroft expectantly and Mycroft smiled, reaching for his computer, which he had left nearby.  He opened the computer and plugged the flash drive in, selecting the lone file on it.  Music poured from the speakers, piano music that was joined by a violin.  Greg stared at the computer, looking mesmerized by the sweet, happy melody.

“This is beautiful.  What is it?” Greg asked, looking at Mycroft.

Mycroft blushed, rarely being so invested in what people thought of his music.  “I call it ‘Caring is an Advantage’.  I started writing it several months ago, but I was stuck on it.  Until this month, since I’ve been with you. Or whatever we’ve been.  Inspiration hit me and I finished it.  Sherlock helped me record it.  It’s a love song, I realized.  I couldn’t finish it until I was well and truly in love.”

“Is this you and Sherlock playing?  Together?”  Greg looked completely shocked, which wasn’t surprising to Mycroft.  Mycroft had been surprised when Sherlock had agreed to come over late on Christmas Eve and record a song for Greg, but Sherlock had seemed happy to do it, bursting with joy and happy feelings after his very recent engagement to John.  It was a strange mood to witness Sherlock in, but one that Mycroft was more than happy to add to his catalog of Sherlock moods.

Mycroft nodded, smiling.  “It seems that you and I truly have Sherlock’s blessing.”

“Like I need that idiot’s blessing,” Greg said, but he smiled anyway, delighted that Sherlock approved of the situation.  Greg cared enough for Sherlock that his opinion mattered to Greg, even when it was a nasty opinion.

“Last one,” Mycroft said, holding out a very small box to Greg.  This was the gift that worried him most of all and he was anxious to get it over with.

Greg smiled and unwrapped the box.  Mycroft suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.  This was too much, this situation.  He was sure that this last present wouldn’t go over well at all and he would be once again emotionally devastated by this man in front of him, this man whom he loved so much, which would be too terrible for Mycroft to stand.

Frowning at the small, soft box in his hand, Greg opened it and stared down at the platinum ring.  When he looked up, Mycroft had shifted to his knees.  It wasn’t quite a down on one knee situation, but it was close enough for the situation.

“Greg, will you marry me?” Mycroft asked, putting forth a great effort to stop himself from shaking.  He was sure that he was making a fool of himself and that Greg would throw the ring in Mycroft’s face and order him out of the flat, but he felt such a strong urge to ask Greg that he couldn’t stop himself, even though it was so soon.  They had only been really dating for a few hours, after all, Greg would have to be mad to agree to marry a man he had only recently begun seeing romantically, no matter how well they knew each other.

Greg covered his eyes with one hand and Mycroft didn’t know what to do, unsure if this was a good sign or a bad sign.  After a few tense moments, Greg sniffed loudly, took the ring out of the box, and slipped it onto his finger.  When he looked up, Mycroft realized that he was crying happy tears with a broad smile on his face.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” Greg told him, wiping his tears away.  “I wasn’t expecting any of this.”

Mycroft just barely contained his own tears, smiling like an idiot instead.  “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting any of it either.  It seemed so right.  I needed to ask, because I need to be with you forever.  I’ve never been more convinced that a course of action was the correct one.”

“Oh, come here, you,” Greg said, reaching over and pulling Mycroft to him in a long, searing kiss and ending up pushing Mycroft back into a sitting position, climbing into his lap and rocking them together gently, taking his time exploring Mycroft’s mouth.

“I love you,” Mycroft murmured against Greg’s lips when they finally parted.

“I love you, too.”  Greg looked down at the ring on his hand.  “I would never expect this from you, Mycroft.  This is so mad.”

“You’re the one who said yes,” Mycroft said, smiling and holding Greg’s hand, liking the way the hand looked with Mycroft’s ring on it, like Greg was marked as belonging to Mycroft.

“That’s not surprising, everyone knows that I’m mad.  You’re the logical, reasonable one.  Not the get-engaged-immediately-after-beginning-to-date one.  You’re not sentimental or emotional, you don’t make decisions based on what you want or a gut reaction, you make decisions based on studies and facts.  We’ve barely started dating, I’m supposed to be the one wanting to rush everything while you make us behave sensibly.”

“Don’t be silly.  We’ve practically been dating for years.  The closeness of our association has only been lacking cohabitation and a physical aspect, otherwise it is the same as a romantic relationship.”  Mycroft tried to focus on what he was saying, because thinking about the recently explored physical part of their relationship was rather distracting.

“Oh, you know just what to say to set a bloke’s heart aflutter,” Greg joked, kissing Mycroft again.

Greg stood suddenly, reaching down and pulling Mycroft up with him.  “What are we doing?” Mycroft asked, worried that he had done something wrong.

“I believe you asked me for something earlier today.  I think I am ready to oblige you now.  That is, only if you want to.”  Greg bit his lip, obviously wanting Mycroft to say yes to whatever it was.

“Asked you for…”  Mycroft saw the lascivious look on Greg’s face and grinned, remembering what he had said earlier in the heat of the moment, something he had wanted to do desperately these past few weeks.  “Do you think we have time?  We’re expecting guests at my house in three hours.  And I’d like you to take your time and show me everything.”

“Well, why don’t we go and see what we have time for?” Greg asked leading the way to the bedroom.  “If we don’t get that far, we’ll just have to save it for later.  It doesn’t hurt to try.”

Mycroft chuckled.  “Quite right, it does not.”  He let Greg pull their dressing gowns off, ensuring that his new pocket watch wouldn’t fall out of the pocket as Greg tossed them on the chair with Mycroft’s suit.  

Greg looked Mycroft up and down, which would have made him very uncomfortable, if it weren’t for the look on his face.  He was staring at Greg as if he were some sort of god, as if he caused Greg to be filled with awe.  “You really are so sexy,” Greg said, reaching out and running his hands down Mycroft’s chest, groaning and letting his other hand stray to his own cock.

Mycroft blushed and looked away.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Greg,” he said quietly.

Greg put his hand on Mycroft’s cheek, making him turn his head.  “Look what you do to me,” he said, still moving his other hand over himself, stroking long and slow.

Mycroft licked his lips, watching Greg touch himself while looking at Mycroft.  There was something strangely satisfying about it, about knowing that Mycroft could make Greg want to touch himself.  Mycroft had never felt particularly attractive, certainly not the sort of person sexy men wanked to.

Lunging himself at Greg, Mycroft brought their mouths together and kissed him hungrily, his hands sliding down Greg’s sexy front to stop Greg’s hand from moving, gripping his hard cock tightly and starting to pump.

Greg moaned, letting his head fall back.  “That feels amazing,” he panted.  “Though if you want to do anything else, you might want to stop that.”

“Already?” Mycroft asked, quirking an eyebrow at Greg.  He hadn’t thought that he would have such an immediate effect on him.

Greg leaned forward and kissed Mycroft again.  “You’re lucky I haven’t come already with the way you’ve been looking in that dressing gown.”

Mycroft chuckled.  “Well, I still want you to have your way with me, if you’re willing.”  He bit his lip, slightly afraid that Greg might think it was a bad idea.

Greg gave Mycroft a look that made his toes curl in anticipation.  He sat on the bed and pulled Mycroft to him, nuzzling the soft hair on Mycroft’s belly before slipping his arms around Mycroft’s back and lying him down on the bed.

Mycroft watched as Greg propped himself up on one elbow, leaning down to kiss Mycroft long and slow, both men closing their eyes to savor the kiss.  Greg’s hand traced circles on Mycroft’s belly, working its way lower and lower, until he was stroking Mycroft’s hard cock firmly.

Moaning, Mycroft bucked his hips lightly.  Greg chuckled and cupped Mycroft’s testicles, sliding his fingers around behind them to gently massage his perineum.  He kissed Mycroft as he removed his hand for a moment to squeeze a generous portion of lubricant onto his fingers, returning his hand to Mycroft’s entrance and rubbing gently.

He slipped one finger in, kissing along Mycroft’s jaw, pausing when he reached his ear.  “Okay?” he asked.

Mycroft wasn’t sure how to respond.  It felt different than anything else he had ever felt before and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.  He was about to respond when Greg shifted his finger inside Mycroft and hit his prostate.

At the sensation, Mycroft gasped, his eyes slamming shut as he involuntarily moaned.  Greg kept the movement up, slipping in a second, and then a third finger.  “Are you ready for me?” Greg asked quietly.

“Please, Greg,” Mycroft gasped, reaching down and beginning to stroke himself, unable to wait any longer.  “Please don’t stop.”

Greg chuckled and slicked his erection up, shifting Mycroft slightly so that he could position himself at Mycroft’s entrance.  Mycroft reached up and pulled Greg down into a kiss as Greg pushed in slightly, causing Mycroft to gasp into Greg’s mouth.

“Alright?” Greg murmured against Mycroft’s lips.  He was breathing heavy, like what he was doing took a lot of effort and control.

Mycroft nodded.  “More,” he rasped out, wanting to feel more of Greg’s cock.  His hand had stilled on his own cock, neglecting it as he cataloged the new sensations of Greg pressing into him.

When Greg had pushed all the way in and paused to allow Mycroft time to acclimate to the new feeling, Mycroft moaned, holding Greg’s hips and tugging on them.  “Move, now,” he commanded.

Greg did as he was told, sliding slowly in and out.  Mycroft could feel every inch of him as he slipped in and out, picking up speed.  When he hit Mycroft’s prostate again, Mycroft let out a shout, reaching for his cock.

Greg batted Mycroft’s hand away, slipping his own hand around Mycroft’s erection and stroking in time with his thrusts, so that he hit Mycroft’s prostate on the upstroke, which Mycroft enjoyed more.

Mycroft was lost in a sea of sensation, unable to articulate any thoughts.  He knew he was saying something, murmuring something over and over again, but he wasn’t intentionally doing it and he had no idea what he was saying.

Before he knew it, Mycroft was approaching the edge of his orgasm, with an intensity of sensation he hadn’t known existed.  He cried out over and over again as pleasure built up, until he tipped over the edge with a shout of sheer ecstasy, coming all over his stomach.  He felt Greg coming soon after, panting rough endearments into Mycroft’s ear as his thrusts became uncoordinated and primal.

Soon, Greg was collapsing on Mycroft, sweaty and spent, attempting to slow his breathing.  Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg and held him tightly, feeling blissful.

“That was unbelievable,” Mycroft said when they had recovered a bit.

“Mmm.”  Greg seemed unable to speak, so Mycroft just stroked his hair and whispered sweet things to him.

Nearly ten minutes later, Greg stretched, rolling so he could press a few firm kisses to Mycroft’s jaw.  “You’re amazing,” Greg told him in a sleepy voice.

“Not as amazing as you were.”

“I don’t mean the sex.  Well, the sex was amazing, too, but you’re amazing.  This whole day is amazing.  I have no idea how you planned it, how you did any of it.  All I know is that you did it for me and I don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

Mycroft smiled.  He liked knowing that he had made Greg happy.  “You deserve all of it, my dear.  You are amazing in ways that I will never be able to comprehend.  And you make me so happy.”

“Well, you make me happy too.”

“Good.  I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as I feel right now.”

“I love you, Mycroft.”

“I love you, too, Greg.”

***

They eventually made their way to Mycroft’s house, where they dressed in jeans and their Christmas jumpers.  Mycroft laughed aloud when he saw the two of them in his bedroom mirror, which made Greg laugh and kiss him.  Mycroft knew that it made Greg happy for them to match in their ridiculous Lestrade jumpers, and he loved to make Greg happy.

“How are we going to tell our families?” Greg asked suddenly, looking at Mycroft’s face in the mirror.

“I thought we might just tell them.  Or you could wear your ring and they’ll see it.”  Mycroft wasn’t sure why Greg looked so worried, surely everyone was going to be thrilled about their engagement.

“Not about that.  About the last month.  We are going to tell them that we were lying, aren’t we?”

The happiness inside Mycroft flagged a bit at that, thinking about how upset everyone would be if they told them what had happened.  Mummy and Mrs. Lestrade would be especially upset, which would put quite a damper on the holiday meal.  It didn’t seem right not to tell them, however, and Mycroft knew that Greg had been upset about lying to everyone all month.

“I suppose we should just tell them,” Mycroft said quietly, enfolding Greg in his arms.  “If we tell them now, it will be better than if we leave it.”

“Communication is important in relationships,” Greg agreed.

Greg and Mycroft looked at each other at that and burst into laughter.  “Our shortcomings really aren’t humorous,” Mycroft said, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes.  “It’s sad, not funny, Greg.”

“That’s over with, right?  We’re going to always tell each other how we feel from now on.”  Greg cupped Mycroft’s cheek, smiling so broadly his cheeks had to hurt him.

“Of course, Greg.  From now on we will always tell each other everything, even if we’re afraid it will be upsetting.  We should tell them after dinner, so that if they are upset, we won’t ruin the meal.”

“Then will I need to take this off?” Greg asked, looking down at his hand.  “I don’t want to.  But it might be odd to announce our engagement and then explain that we haven’t really been dating.”

“I’m not sure there’s a way to do this that won’t be odd, to be honest.”  Mycroft shrugged.  “Our mothers are unpredictable, they could go either way.  At least this way, we have a nice dinner before we ruin everything.”

Greg buried his face in Mycroft’s shoulder and Mycroft held him for a few minutes, feeling completely at peace.  He had been longing for this sort of relationship for years, this easy togetherness where they didn’t have to talk to each other or be doing anything in particular to be happy or comfortable.  Sharing a nice silence, taking comfort from each other, was something that Mycroft had never had but had always wanted.

When it was time for the families to arrive, Mycroft fussed around the dining room table, ensuring that everything was perfect.  The staff had done an admirable job, of course, but he wanted everything just so.  Greg was standing nearby, staring into space, one hand in his pocket, hiding his ring from view.  It was clear that Greg was worried about the evening, but Mycroft didn’t know what to do about that.

The doorbell rang and Mycroft went to answer it, wringing his hands.  He was surprised to see Sherlock through the window, waiting patiently to be let in, which was rather strange for Sherlock.  When he opened the door and saw that their parents were also there, talking animatedly to John, it made sense and he invited everyone in with a smile.

When they reached the living room, where Greg was waiting to greet them, Sherlock turned to look at Mycroft with a questioning look.  Mycroft gave him a small smile and nodded, making Sherlock’s face relax.  Sherlock and Mycroft may have had their problems, but Sherlock really did care about his older brother, just as Mycroft cared deeply for Sherlock but would never admit it.  Sherlock made his way over to Greg and murmured something that made Greg’s face break into a rather large smile.

The bell rang again and Greg went to answer it this time, returning shortly with his parents, brother, and brother’s family.  Introductions were made, getting everyone acquainted, and then the chatter in the room fell to a steady buzz as the families talked while Greg and Mycroft got drinks for everyone.

As Mycroft and Greg led the way into the dining room, Mrs. Lestrade gasped and stopped walking abruptly, causing John to walk into her back.  “Gregory Lestrade, what is that on your hand?” she demanded.

Greg and Mycroft exchanged a glance, Greg looking unsure while Mycroft gave him an encouraging smile.  “It’s a ring, Mum,” Greg said, holding his hand out so she could see it.

“A ring?” Mrs. Holmes asked, looking sharply at Mycroft.  “You proposed to him?”

Mycroft nodded, reaching out and taking Greg’s ring-less hand.  “Yes, I did.  Greg said yes.”

“You’re getting married?  Congratulations!” Greg’s brother said, clapping Mycroft on the back, sounding delighted.  “Welcome to the family, mate.”

Mycroft glanced at him, a bit surprised by the very physical congratulations, but didn’t have time to react before Mrs. Lestrade had seized him and was kissing him on the face.  He stuttered through thanks for the kind words as he was released and his mother and Mrs. Lestrade threw their arms around each other, both crying.

Taking a step back so he could stand by Sherlock, who was well away from the confused mass of people shouting glad tidings, he crossed his arms and watched as Greg was surrounded by the group of people.

“I’m please John doesn’t have a family,” Sherlock said quietly.  He held his hand out so that Mycroft could see the ring on it.  “We’re saving all this fuss.”

“I may tell Mrs. Lestrade that you’re recently engaged as well.  What do you think she will do when she finds out not only that, but also that John is mostly alone in the world?  You’ll be ‘part of the family’ as well.”

“You wouldn’t do that.  You like me.”

“Of course I like you Sherlock.  But have you ever met anyone as ruthless as me?  I allowed you to be badly beaten in front of me because it suited my plans.”

Sherlock looked at him sideways.  “Why am I so friendly with you?”

“You’re not,” Mycroft said, looking around for a place to hide as the crowd turned to find him.

“Mycroft, what are you doing over there?” his mother asked, reaching out to take his hand.

“Sherlock and John are engaged to be married as well,” Mycroft said suddenly.  Sherlock turned and hissed out a threat to Mycroft as their mother’s eyes grew wide and she dropped her glass, ignoring how it shattered and spilled wine everywhere, seizing Sherlock’s shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug.

As Mycroft watched this newest news wash over the crowd, he slipped away to where Greg was watching the scene, amused.

“That was cruel,” Greg said, chuckling.

Mycroft pulled Greg into a kiss.  “He would have done the same to me.”

The noise and activity settled down and they managed to get everyone seated for the meal.  Mycroft smiled pleasantly at Mrs. Lestrade, who was sitting next to him.

“I was so worried about you two,” she told him.

“Oh?  Why is that?” Mycroft asked as they began eating.

“Oh, all that fuss last night after dinner.  I was worried that you two wouldn’t get things sorted.  Like I said, communication is very important.”

“Like you said?” Mycroft asked, playing dumb.  He didn’t want his future mother-in-law to know that he liked to eavesdrop.

“When I was speaking to Gregory in the kitchen, while you were listening just outside the door.”

Mycroft looked sharply at her and she smiled brightly at him.  “You knew that I was there?”

“Of course I did, dear.  Very little happens in my house that I don’t know about.  I know when someone is spying on me.  I understand that’s part of your charm, the spying bit, but you need to learn that there is no spying in my house without my knowledge.”

“What do you mean, part of my charm?”

“Isn’t that what you do?” she asked innocently, looking up at him.

“I’m not a spy, Mrs. Lestrade,” Mycroft said slowly.

“No, of course not.  But you’re in charge of them.  Among other duties, I would imagine.  Bit busy, I’m sure, running the government.”

“Who told you that?”  Mycroft was a bit worried.  Greg being honest with his parents about Mycroft’s job wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it was quite a security risk and Mycroft needed to know about it.

“Told me?  No one told me that.  Gregory fed me some line about you being a ‘minor government official’.  Total poppycock, if you ask me.  Any idiot can tell that you have real power.”

Mycroft watched her as she continued talking, explaining the various ways that she could tell everything about Mycroft from a single glance.  He smiled, mildly amused as she continued, pointing out several things about the other people at the table that Mycroft had been sure only he and Sherlock had noticed.

Making a mental note to question Greg about exactly why he was attracted to friends and romantic partners who had heightened observational skills, and reached out to put his hand on Mrs. Lestrade’s free hand, which was resting on the table.

“My job need to be kept secret, Mrs. Lestrade,” he said quietly.  “It’s a security risk for people to know about it, including you.”

She smiled.  “Of course, dear.  I won’t tell anyone about your career.  I’m not an idiot, you know.”

As dinner drew to a close, Mycroft and Greg both became more and more anxious.  It was nearly time to confess what they had done and neither of them wanted to.  They shooed everyone back into the living room for drinks and socializing, taking a moment in the hallway to kiss and hold each other before the unhappiness they were about to cause.

Their mothers were talking in one corner, certainly about Mycroft and Greg, the fathers were talking in another corner, certainly about football, and John was chatting pleasantly with Greg’s brother and sister-in-law while the kids played with what were undoubtedly new toys and Sherlock sulked in the corner, glaring at everyone.

“Everyone, can we say something?” Greg asked, standing by the door.  Everyone had a drink and Greg was as anxious to get the awkwardness out of the way as soon as possible.

The room quieted, everyone finding a seat and looking expectantly at Greg.  Mycroft made his way to Greg’s side, feeling the eyes of their families boring into him.  Stage fright was unusual for him, considering that he regularly controlled a room full of high-powered politicians, but this was different somehow and he was extremely nervous.

“What is it, Gregory?” Mrs. Lestrade asked, looking between the two of them expectantly.  She was nervous, like she had an idea that Greg and Mycroft had something unpleasant to tell them..

Greg took a deep breath and glanced at Mycroft.  “Well, we’ve been lying to you all.”

The assembled people looked around at each other, murmuring in their little groups.  “About what?” Mycroft’s mother asked, frowning.

“When we told you that we were dating, that was a lie,” Mycroft said, avoiding his mother’s gaze.  “We decided to pretend to date so that no one would feel a need to pressure us to find happiness like our brothers have.”

Sherlock and Greg’s brother both smiled and exchanged glances with their partners at that, making Mycroft smile inwardly at the happiness both of their brothers had achieved.  Startling him from his happiness for them, however, were shouts from his mother and future mother-in-law.

Mycroft’s mother shouted “Mycroft Holmes!” and jumped up, glaring at him.

At the same time, Mrs. Lestrade stood and firmly said, “Gregory Lestrade!”

“Wait!” Greg said as the mothers began to advance on them, both looking thunderous.

“Wait, what?” Mrs. Lestrade growled through gritted teeth.

Mycroft stared.  He had thought his mother was terrifying when she was angry, he had no idea that Greg’s sweet, friendly mother could be just as intense and threatening.

“We lied.  We weren’t dating.  Now is another story.”  Greg glanced at Mycroft.  Mycroft nodded encouragement.  Neither of them were very good about talking about their feelings, but they wanted to be clear about how they felt.

“What do you mean?  What about the engagement?” Mrs. Holmes asked, narrowing her eyes.  It really was frightening the number of facial expressions Sherlock had inherited from the woman, Mycroft thought as she looked at them.  Mycroft half expected her to go lie on the couch and refuse to move or speak to anyone.

“The engagement is real,” Mycroft said quickly.  “Please let us explain.”

“I have been in love with Mycroft for years,” Greg confessed, his cheeks flaming red.  “When Mycroft suggested the ploy, I jumped at the chance to try to win his affections.  It was, well, it was a brilliant idea, actually, but it could have ended very badly for me.  And I ended up nearly ruining everything with all of the lies.”  He turned at locked eyes with Mycroft, looking sad.

Mycroft reached out and held Greg’s hand, temporarily forgetting that their families were currently watching them.  He gave Greg a comforting smile, squeezing his hand and trying to convey exactly how he felt about Greg in a look.  Greg smiled back, the sadness leaving his eyes.

John cleared his throat, bringing Mycroft back to himself.  He turned to look at the room, ready to say his piece.  “I have entertained similar feelings for Greg.  I denied them to myself, thinking that they weren’t a possibility, but I believe I harbored similar hopes when he agreed to the ruse.  I, of course, am nearly incapable of discussing emotions.”  He paused, his eyes once again on Greg.  After a several moments, he cleared his throat and looked back at their families.  “We nearly ruined our chance for happiness because we both refused to discuss our emotions.  In that respect, I suppose we truly are perfect for each other.  Everything was surely lost, I was convinced that Greg would never consider me anything more than a friend, and we were simply continuing the charade so we didn’t ruin the holiday.

“When we were at your house yesterday,” he turned to look at Mrs. Lestrade, “I overheard you talking to Greg, heard him telling you how much he loved me and that he was worried he had ruined everything.”  She knew all of this, but no one else in the room did, so he said it anyway.

“That bit was true,” Greg interjected.  “Any time I told anyone how I felt about Mycroft, that was all true.”  He coughed lightly and turned away slightly as eyes returned to Mycroft, surreptitiously wiping away a tear.

“So, considering that, I…” Mycroft turned to look at Greg, whose hand was back in his pocket.  He turned back to their families, smiling.  “I asked him to marry me today.”

There was complete silence in the room.  Greg stepped forward and took Mycroft’s hand and Mycroft could feel the ring back on his finger.  Mycroft was lucky that Greg agreed to take it off while they were explaining everything to their families.

“Are you going to say anything?” Greg asked his mother, who was staring at the two of them.

“Let me get this straight.  You were lying about being in a relationship?” she asked.

They both nodded, Greg squeezing Mycroft’s hand tightly.

“You weren’t really in a relationship?”

They shook their heads.

“But you are in a relationship now?”

Nodding again, this time accompanied by Greg chewing on his bottom lip.

“Not only are you in a relationship, but you decided to get married after being together for less than a day?”

They had just started nodding when she let out a shout and pulled Mycroft into a tight hug, planting kisses all over his face.  Greg was similarly seized by Mycroft’s mother as the room erupted into chaos, everyone talking at once.

Mycroft allowed himself to be kissed, freezing.  Despite the scene earlier, he was still unused to that sort of affection, as he had not allowed it from his mother in years.  It seemed appropriate now, however, so when Mrs. Lestrade let him go and his own mother appeared to hug and kiss him, he did not protest.

The song that Mycroft had written started playing and Mycroft turned to see Sherlock standing by the small stereo.  He nodded at Mycroft, smiling, and then turned to speak quietly to John, whose face was the picture of delight as he listened to the music.

“This music is beautiful,” Mrs. Lestrade said, listening to it.

“I’d recognize my boys anywhere,” Mycroft’s mother said, smiling broadly at her.  “This is you boys, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, Mummy.  I composed it and Sherlock helped me record it.  It’s for Greg.”  Mycroft turned to smile at Greg and took his hand again, wanting desperately to touch him.

“Mistletoe!” Greg’s brother called, pointing above their heads.

Mycroft and Greg both looked up, then smiled and leaned in, kissing each other with every bit of passion in their hearts.

***

Later that night, Mycroft and Greg climbed into Mycroft’s big bed, cuddling under the blankets.  It had been a long, exhausting day, and both of them were happy to be done.

“That went a bit better than I thought it would,” Greg said, rolling over and planting a kiss to Mycroft’s bare chest.  “I was sure they would murder us.”

Mycroft chucked.  “I knew they wouldn’t.  The news of our engagement was too exciting.  They wouldn’t want to risk the wedding by killing one of us.”

“I’m sad that our relationship started out with a lie.”

“Our relationship started out with love, that’s all that matters.  And we’ve learned our lesson, haven’t we?”

“Oh, yes.  Always talk about things.”

“Even things that make us uncomfortable or we think will drive the other one away.”

“Mmm,” Greg mumbled, and Mycroft knew that he was close to sleep.

“Good night, my dear.  Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, love.”

Epilogue

After Christmas was over, after the chaos of the end of the year and beginning of a new one, they discovered that life as a couple was more than just kissing and sex, that it was also very hard.  Greg had been married before, so he knew how challenging relationships could be, but Mycroft was unused to the difficulties of being a couple and so they were particularly difficult for him.

Things were made worse by the fact that they didn’t see each other nearly as often as either of them wanted.  When they had been friends, they had made sure to have dinner together every Wednesday night, because they were so busy that if they didn’t, they didn’t see each other at all most weeks.  Now that they were dating, they wanted to spend more time together, but found it impossible to schedule.

Mycroft’s work was such that he was forced to leave town at the drop of a hat and Greg’s made scheduling dinners difficult, as he was regularly called out at all hours on a case.  Adding to that the fact that the two of them worked far too much meant that they were lucky to see each other once or twice a week.

One day, during a fight about a missed dinner, which Mycroft had gone to great lengths to prepare and had been ruined by the time Greg had shown up, exhausted and soaked from the steady drizzle outside, Mycroft snapped.

“This is unacceptable!” Mycroft shouted as Greg glared at him.  “I will not allow this to continue.  It ends now.”

Greg’s glare faltered as he thought about what Mycroft was saying.  “Are you—are you breaking up with me?” he asked, his voice unnaturally high.

“What?  No, of course not!” Mycroft said quickly.  “I didn’t mean it like that.  I just meant that something needs to give and I know what it is.”

Greg still looked worried, all anger gone from his face as he watched Mycroft shakily.  “What’s that?”

“We need to move in together.  Then we’ll see each other very often and things will be better.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Greg smiled.  “Mycroft Holmes, did you just ask me to move in with you?”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” Mycroft said, returning his smile.

“Lovely.”  Greg pulled him into a hug, kissing him deeply.  “I’d love to live with you, love.  I can’t imagine a nicer person to see at the end of each day, even if it’s only for a few minutes before you go back to work.”

“I’m glad that’s settled,” Mycroft told him, burying his nose in Greg’s hair and breathing deeply, something he did every time they hugged.  “I can’t wait to live with you.”

Things were better then, as they were able to spend much more time together than they had before and could catch stolen moments together, increasing their happiness with the situation.  Life settled down into a happy rhythm, both Greg and Mycroft maintaining their extremely busy work schedules.

***

Mycroft sat outside in the sunshine, watching people walk to and fro.  He had just returned from a very long business trip.  His return was unexpected, and he hadn’t had a chance to let Greg know he was back.  He had decided to surprise him, knowing that Greg regularly walked through the park with some colleagues on his lunch break, so he had settled himself on a bench to wait.

He saw Greg coming from a distance, laughing and joking with Sally Donovan, who was walking beside him.  Mycroft knew that Sally and Sherlock didn’t get along, but that Greg considered her a friend, so he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.  He didn’t move as they approached, wondering if the pair would notice him.

As he watched, Sally stopped walking and grabbed Greg’s wrist, stopping him.  He turned to look at her and she pulled him into a hug, kissing him on the cheek.  Mycroft frowned, wondering what caused this show of affection.  Something was going on, as Sally reached out and took Greg’s hand, holding it as they resumed walking, their pace increasing dramatically.

They neared the bench and Greg saw Mycroft, stopping in his tracks for a moment before dropping Sally’s hand and breaking into a full run towards Mycroft.  Mycroft had barely stood when Greg was on him, launching himself at Mycroft and kissing him.

Mycroft caught Greg, lifting him up with Greg’s legs wrapped around his waist, one of their favorite ways to kiss.  They kept kissing, ignoring the world, until Sally cleared her throat nearby.

“Uh, boss, we’re in public.  If you don’t stop that, I may have to arrest you two.”  Mycroft put Greg down, still holding onto him tightly, and looked at Sally, smiling.  “I’m glad you’re back, Mr. Holmes,” Sally said, returning his smile.  “This one was getting impossible.”

“Didn’t look impossible a moment ago,” Mycroft said, nodding down the path, where he had seen their little display of affection.

“What?” Greg asked, looking distracted by Mycroft’s mouth, where his eyes were trained.

“You were holding hands,” Mycroft said.

Sally chuckled.  “Sorry, sir.  That was all my fault.  I’m in quite an emotional state at the moment, Greg was comforting me.”

“It did look awfully comfortable,” Mycroft murmured into Greg’s hair.  He trusted Greg, but he couldn’t help his possessive side flaring up, wanting to destroy everything that might threaten his happiness, even Sally Donovan.

“I was in a bit of a rush.”

“You were,” Greg said.  “Pulling me along like that.  No idea what you were thinking.”  He smiled, apparently oblivious to the rage monster inside Mycroft, which was screaming.

“Speaking of that, I should go,” Sally said, checking her watch.  “Wish me luck.”

“What was that about?” Mycroft asked, slipping his hand into Greg’s.  “Why did you hug her?”

Greg chuckled.  “Mycroft Holmes, are you jealous of me?”

“Perhaps.  You are mine, after all.”

“Yes, I am.  All yours.  I am, however, Sally’s friend, and she needed one.”

“Oh?  For what?”

“She has an interview for DI.  She’s running a bit late, that’s why she was dragging me behind her like that.  I gave her some advice, so she hugged me, and then she realized the time, so she started pulling me along.”

Mycroft smiled and squeezed Greg’s hand, pleased that he was simply overreacting.

Later that night, they were in bed, Mycroft working on his computer and Greg reading a book.  Mycroft had missed these pleasant domestic scenes when they had been apart and he was pleased that he was back home for the foreseeable future.

Greg set his book down, turning to look at Mycroft.  “Are you always so jealous of me?”

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft asked, looking up at him.

“Today, you thought something was going on between me and Sally and we were upset by it.  Does that happen a lot?  You getting upset at a hint of impropriety between me and someone else?”

Mycroft set his computer down.  “There’s rarely any hint of impropriety between you and someone else, but when it does, yes, I am extremely jealous.”

Greg chuckled.  “Why would you be jealous?  I’m yours, Mycroft, totally.  I will always be totally faithful to you.”

“I know you will, Greg.  I cannot control it.  I see you with someone else and this irrational part of my brain takes over.  I waited for you for so long that the risk of losing you now is so terrible.”

Greg leaned over and kissed Mycroft, dropping his book onto the bedside table behind him and stroking Mycroft’s cheek as they kissed, letting his hand trail down to Mycroft’s rapidly hardening cock, which was covered only by Mycroft’s pants.

“What are you doing?” Mycroft murmured with a smile.

“Proving to you that I only have eyes for you.”

Mycroft moaned as Greg slid his hand into Mycroft’s pants, stroking him lightly.  “I will accept any presentation you have prepared on the subject,” he said, making Greg chuckle.

Greg slid down so he was laying down in front of Mycroft, slipping Mycroft’s pants off and throwing them in the general direction of the dirty laundry.  He kissed the sensitive spot on Mycroft’s thigh, making Mycroft throw his head back as he moaned, and then slid Mycroft’s cock into his mouth.

Mycroft gripped Greg’s hair tightly, bucking up gently into his mouth the way both of them liked.  After several months of a relationship, they were perfectly synchronized in the bedroom, each one knowing what the other one liked so well that they didn’t need to discuss what they were doing.

After his orgasm and his turn making Greg scream in ecstasy, Mycroft lay in bed, thinking about how perfectly the two of them fit together.  He hadn’t expected things to become so easy so quickly, their rhythms, fitting together in a way that worked and made both of them happy.  Mycroft had never experienced such domestic bliss and he had never thought that he would.  Though his home growing up hadn’t been a negative experience, it never made him as happy as his new home, the one he had made with Greg, did every day.

He fell asleep thinking about how lucky he was.

***

One year to the day after they started dating, Christmas Day 2016, dawned gray and rainy on the house that Greg and Mycroft shared in London, which was lit by cheery lights and decorations hung from every available surface.  The weather may have been gloomy, but the air inside was one of a festival.

Greg checked his hair in the mirror for what must have been the tenth time.  He shifted uncomfortably and then reached up to fix it again, wanting it to be absolutely perfect.

“You look great, mate,” John said with a grin from where he sat, watching Greg.

“I need to look better than great.  I need to look perfect.”

John chuckled.  “If I weren’t happy in my own marriage, I would shag you right here.  Is that better?” he asked.

Greg threw a throw pillow at John, laughing.  “I’m out of your league.”

The door opened and Greg’s brother stuck his head into the room, his face glowing with a broad Lestrade smile.  “It’s time, Greg.”

Greg took a deep breath, threw a nervous glance at John, and then followed his brother out of the room and down the stairs.  As he descended the stairs, he could hear Sherlock’s violin start to play and the chatter of the waiting people died down.  

Greg entered the living room of the house he shared with Mycroft by one door, smiling as he saw Mycroft entering by the other door.  They came together in the middle of the room, clasping hands tightly and turning to look at their officiant, someone far too important to officiate any wedding other than one for Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft looked as nervous as Greg felt as they stood there, staring at each other, barely hearing what the man in front of them was saying.  All Greg could see was his beloved Mycroft in front of him, looking sexy in his tuxedo, and promising to love Greg forever.

When the ceremony was over, Greg tried to be stealthy as he wiped the tears from his eyes, but he knew he didn’t succeed.  He turned with Mycroft to face their families and friends, hands joined tightly together.

“You were worth the wait,” Greg murmured to Mycroft when they finally had a moment together, before people started filing out to congratulate them.  He pulled Mycroft down in a kiss that would have been a bit scandalous if they did it in front of their mums.

Well, Greg was hoping it would be a good night.  If he could manage to make it through the night without cocking it all up, it would be a fantastic night.  It was getting harder and harder to sit on Mycroft’s couch next to him every Wednesday and not do something stupid.  He tried his hardest, but every week he was a little bit closer to snapping.

He supposed that was life when you were in love with your best friend.

Greg knew how Mycroft felt about relationships.  Mycroft had no interest in being in a relationship.  He found dating miserable and didn’t want to experience it ever again.  That didn’t make it any easier for Greg, who was dying to take a firm hold of Mycroft and snog him senseless.  Every time Mycroft made a comment about how terrible dating had been, Greg wanted to whine, “But that’s because you weren’t dating me!”

It was pathetic, really, to be his age and have a crush.  He hadn’t even told Mycroft that he was interested in men until the day before.  They had been best friends for years and Greg had worried that if he mentioned it, Mycroft would realize how badly Greg wanted him.  But Greg hadn’t been able to manage anymore.  He announced that they both needed boyfriends and Mycroft had suggested pretending with each other.

It was dangerous.  It was stupid.

It was stupid and dangerous and it was bound to ruin their relationship.  When Greg was unable to stop pretending, when Mycroft realized that it hadn’t been an act for Greg, Mycroft was sure to tell Greg that they couldn’t be friends anymore.  And then where would Greg be?  He would be even more miserable than he was now.  Well, perhaps Mycroft would forget and Greg could pretend the conversation never happened.

Greg really hoped Mycroft didn’t forget.

As Greg let himself in (they were far past the stage of friendship where they rang the bell), he took a few deep breaths to steady himself and then walked into the kitchen, where he knew Mycroft would be waiting with the food.

He was totally unprepared for what he saw.

Mycroft was standing in the kitchen shirtless.  His jacket, waistcoat, tie, and shirt were slung over the back of a nearby chair and Mycroft was wiping up red wine, which had evidently just spilled all over the counter.  Greg thought he might have a panic attack.  Or worse, a noticeable erection.

“What happened?” Greg asked, trying to stop himself from staring.

Greg looked up at him, the corners of his mouth quirking in one of Mycroft’s sexiest smiles, his “I can’t believe I’m friends with such an idiot” smile.  “I spilled some wine, Greg,” he said, nodding at the obvious puddle on the counter.

Yes.  Clearly.  Moron.

To distract himself, Greg picked up a cloth and started to help wipe up the wine.  “It’s supposed to go in the glass, Mycroft,” he teased.

“Thank you for that extremely helpful and timely advice,” Mycroft replied with a chuckle and Greg relaxed.  If Mycroft could laugh, everything was okay.  Greg hadn’t completely embarrassed himself.

“Movie tonight?” Greg asked as he started laying the table for dinner.

“I thought we might just talk.”  Mycroft opened the bottle of wine Greg had brought and carefully poured it into glasses, adding a little flourish as he filled the second one, demonstrating his wine-pouring prowess.

Greg wanted to bend him over the counter.

“Oh?  Any subject in particular?”

“Well, one did spring to mind during our conversation yesterday.”  They sat down to eat, portioning food out onto their plates and tucking in with gusto.

“And what was that?”  Greg hoped that if he acted like he didn’t know, Mycroft might forget it.

Mycroft fixed him with a piercing stare and Greg tried to deflect it by looking extremely interested in his plate.  “That we might pose as boyfriends at our family gatherings this Christmas season.  Of course, if you don’t want to, I understand…”

“No, I want to!” Greg said quickly, cursing himself for being so eager.  “I thought you wouldn’t want to.  It really would be nice to not be the only single person at the dinner table.”  And to show you how great we would be as a couple, he finished silently.

“Then it’s settled?  We’re going to do it?”  Mycroft looked like he was brokering an international treaty, not making plans to do something with a friend.

“We’re going to do it,” Greg agreed.  He smiled at Mycroft, happy to get a smile in return.

This was sure to ruin everything.

Thursday, 3 December 2015

Good morning, lover.  GL 7:12 AM

Don’t call me that.  MH 7:25 AM

Sweetie?  Snookums?  Baby?  Love?  GL 7:28 AM

I don’t hate the last one.  MH 8:45 AM

Love it is, then.  I like it.  Good morning, love.  GL 9:03 AM

You should be working.  MH 9:29 AM

Too busy thinking about my new boyfriend.  I’ve been doodling “Mr. Gregory Holmes” all morning.  GL 10:10 AM

You have too much free time.  MH 10:37 AM

There aren’t any cases that need me.  GL 10:38 AM

I can remedy that.  MH 11:04 AM

Are you offering to murder someone for me?  GL 11:10 AM

Perhaps.  Maybe I will just murder you.  MH 11:13 AM

No.  You would miss me too much.  GL 11:26 AM

Nonsense.  MH 12:07 PM

Where was our first date?  Might come up in conversation.  GL 1:22 PM

Dinner?  MH 1:24 PM

Should have known you’d be boring.  :-)  GL 1:25 PM

Where was our first kiss?  GL 3:46 PM

The mouth?  MH 4:15 PM

HAHA.  No, I mean at the door, in the car, in bed?  GL 4:20 PM

You’ve had first kisses in bed?  That seems a little fast, Greg.  MH 5:06 PM

Fine.  It was outside my flat when you dropped me off.  GL 5:54 PM

Very well, if you’d like to be a cliche.  MH 5:58 PM

What side of the bed do you sleep on?  MH 9:38 PM

Getting into the spirit, eh?  I like the left.  GL 9:40 PM

We’ll have to discuss that one later.  MH 9:42 PM

Do you like to bottom or top?  GL 10:30 PM

I will not dignify that with a response.  MH 10:37 PM

You’re no fun.  GL 10:38 PM