#360mg

"Is this a bad time?" Mycroft's voice was husky and intimate.

Greg shut and latched the door behind him. "No. Just getting in. Long night."

The way Mycroft cleared his throat and hummed told Greg this wasn't news.

"But then you knew that, didn't you. You watching me again, Myc? Keeping tabs on me?"

"'Again' would imply I had ever ceased to do so."

"Ah." Greg tossed his keys on the hall table and shuffled out of his shoes. "'Still' then."

"'Still' would be more accurate."

"Why?"

'That's what he said.'

A conversation between John and Greg reveals a change to Greg and Mycroft's relationship.

To nail, but to not bail in AO3 [T] - warning: violent bloody crime scne

For September 12, 2022

"I appreciate your concern.”

(from @love-me-a-good-prompt)

The game is to write a flash fic this weekend and post it here (or with a link to the fic on AO3) on Monday with the hashtag Mystrade Monday. Flash fiction is a complete story that is less than 1,000 words. Please spread the word.

"I can't breathe."

Greg tapped on the door frame to Mycroft’s home office. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

Mycroft finished wiping his tender nose and binned the tissue. “Miserable. I can’t breathe,” he complained. He closed the file on his desk. “Palestine and Israel aren’t helping either.” He looked Greg over with a critical eye. “How are you?”

“I can breathe.”

“Bastard.”

“Well, I took my cold medication, unlike some people in this room.” Greg gave the untouched tablets and glass of water on the desk a pointed look.

In honor of Gatiss Wednesday, but more because it was really windy today, I wrote a 360MG thing, partially inspired by this old set picture.

There’s something oddly soothing about the never-ending cycle of seasons, Mycroft muses. While all else falls apart and crumbles, winter gives way to spring, just like it always does.

Work is all-encompassing, but in the rare moments of peace, Mycroft has taken to opening all the windows. He leans on the windowsill, as far as he dares, and closes his eyes under the sunlight. Sometimes, he stays still, until his skin is both chilled by the wind and warmed by the sun.

Wrote this for @mystradepromptsandscenarios Mystrade Monday prompt: Are you going to talk to me? 

Using @oneblueumbrella ‘s 360MG format. 

Thanks to you both for the inspiration! 

Also up on AO3. 

Talk 

There had been a fight. First there had been a gala.  Mycroft had oozed around with a fake smile and fake laugh and made vague nonsensical conversation with stuffy, obnoxious aristocrats. Greg had trailed after him, miserable and bored, and had perhaps had just a touch more scotch than was actually a good idea. When Mycroft discreetly pointed this out to him, Greg had switched to sparkling water but had bristled and fumed and been even more miserable until Mycroft said it was time to leave. 

“Well that was thoroughly horrid,” Mycroft said once they were in the back of the black car with the privacy screen up. 

“I am capable of handling myself, you know!” Greg snapped. “I didn’t need you mother hen-ing me!”

“And I did not need you visibly intoxicated while I was working.”

It had devolved from there. 

By the time they reached the house, nothing was resolved, but they were both smarting and angry. They trudged up to the bedroom and removed their formalwear and got ready for bed in silence. As he slid on an old cotton t-shirt and flannel bottoms, Greg felt an almost physical weight lift. Perhaps the evening hadn’t been that bad. 

Greg frowned when he realized Mycroft was heading for the door instead of the bed. “Are you sleeping in the guest room?”

Mycroft turned to face him. “Are you going to talk to me?” 

Greg heaved a huge sigh. “I don't - I need more time to make sure that the words coming out of my mouth are the ones I want to say.”

“I suppose that’s for the best,” Mycroft fiddled with the hem of his silk pajama shirt. 

“But I love you, and I want to hold you tonight if you’ll let me. And we can talk in the morning?” 

Mycroft swallowed, considering, then nodded. 

They turned out the lights and climbed into bed. Mycroft lay down on his side, facing the wall, and Greg slid up to his back, molding his body around Mycroft’s and tucking his arm around the slim waist. Greg kissed the back of Mycroft’s neck, earning a squeeze on his wrist.