When Greg finally appeared in the living room, he stood motionless. His face, usually so warm and expressive, now seemed drained of life, marked by an unusual pallor.

"Greg?"

Seeing that the detective wasn’t moving, Mycroft put down his book, stood up and went to meet him.

"You look like you just saw a ghost." Mycroft said gently once he reached Greg.

Greg flinched slightly and finally met Mycroft’s gaze. He swallowed hard and began to unbutton his coat, his hands trembling imperceptibly.

'"You could say that," Greg replied, his voice hoarse, lacking its usual liveliness.

Mycroft didn’t ask for details right away. He knew better than to overwhelm someone in Greg’s state with questions. Instead, he simply helped Greg take off his coat, his hands brushing the detective’s shoulders with infinite gentleness. 

After draping the coat over the back of a chair, he returned to stand in front of Greg and gently took his hands in his.

"Come," he said simply, guiding him tactfully towards the large leather sofa. He sat down and pulled Greg close, offering him a place to seek comfort if he needed it. Greg took him up on the offer, snuggling up against him as he wrapped his arms around him. 

"I was walking near Scotland Yard," Greg began after a few minutes, his voice monotonous. "There was this man. He was wearing an old overcoat. He... he turned his head; he straightened his shoulders in that particular arrogant, cold way."

Greg paused, then continued in a trembling voice, "It hit me like a slap in the face. For a second, I thought it was him. My father."

Mycroft stiffened imperceptibly and instantly tightened his arms around Greg. He knew the story, and the invisible scars that man had left on Greg’s soul. 

"He’s been dead for twenty years," Greg continued, clearly trying to convince himself. "Twenty years, Mycroft. I know that. And yet, that posture… the way he stood… My heart stopped. I saw the kitchen again as it was back then, the sound of breaking glass, my mother’s silence so as not to upset him further. It’s ridiculous. I’m a grown man. I lead a team. I face crime every day. And yet..."

"It’s not ridiculous, love," Mycroft interrupted, his voice firm yet tinged with tenderness. He brushed a strand of hair from Greg's forehead and pressed a lingering kiss there.

 "Trauma isn’t bound by time. He may be gone, but the impact he had on you hasn’t disappeared. Seeing someone who reminded you of your traumatic past was bound to trigger a reaction, and in my view, you reacted perfectly normally." 

Greg closed his eyes, a single tear escaping. 

"For a moment, I felt so small. As if I were still fifteen and just wanted to disappear."

Mycroft gently pushed Greg back so that he could see his face better. With his thumb, he softly wiped the tear from Greg's cheek.

"You’re not that child anymore, Greg," he said tenderly. "You’re here with me. You’re safe. That man has no power over you anymore. His only hold lies in those memories, and we’re going to chase them away one by one until they become nothing more than background noise." 

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Greg’s, first gently, then more passionately as Greg responded. 

Greg sighed against his lips and buried his hands in Mycroft’s hair.

Mycroft didn’t stop. Enveloping Greg in his whole being, he cradled him and planted kisses on his neck and jaw. Forcing him to focus on the physical sensations, he made him feel the warmth of his breath on his skin and the touch of his hands.

As soon as he sensed his lover’s mind wandering, he whispered against his skin, "Look at me, love. Feel me. Just me."

Greg obeyed, searching for Mycroft’s face with his eyes. In Mycroft’s eyes, he saw no judgement or pity, only raw adoration and unshakable certainty.

"There’s no room for him here," Mycroft continued, gently stroking Greg’s back, soothing his frayed nerves. "There’s only us. There’s only you and me. Only you, so lovable, so perfect. My Greg."

Gradually, Greg’s breathing became more even. The images from the past faded and dissolved in the face of Mycroft’s physical presence. He let himself sink into the arms of the man he loved, acutely aware that the past could not reach him there.

Burying his face in the crook of Mycroft’s shoulder, Greg whispered, "Thank you."

"Never thank me for that, Greg," Mycroft replied, holding him even tighter and pressing a long kiss to his hair.

Greg snuggled closer to his lover, letting the ghosts of the past fade away and feeling safe in his comforting embrace.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Mystrade masterlist here

Mystrade one shots here

He was a faithful husband to the end, valiantly attempting to hold a marriage together that had never been a two way street to start with. When the papers were finally signed, he was more relieved than anything else. He had long since mourned the death of anything resembling love between them. The second he returned to his lonely apartment after what he hoped was the last time he'd ever see her, he had called Mycroft without a second thought. He'd given up on overthinking it.

Five months later, Greg got the call. He was caught up in rushed explanations on Eurus and everything that had happened. He didn't ask the thousands of questions on his mind. If he owed Mycroft anything, it was to hear all this from the man himself. He did, over far too much whiskey while sleeping more nights in Mycroft's guest room than his own bed.

The three months Mycroft was out of the country were awful. He couldn't answer phone calls most of the time and texted about once a week. Greg could tell he was exhausted, which reflected how he felt pretty well. He admitted to himself that he had feelings beyond friendship towards Mycroft during the time away. He was determined to say something the next time they saw each other.

The hospital room was somehow too loud and too quiet at the same time. Greg held Mycroft's hand, and Mycroft didn't pull away from him. It was the closest he could get to a confession while Mycroft recovered from the car crash.

Nearly a year later, he finally pulled Mycroft in for a kiss. The next dinner they had was laden with everything that had gone unsaid for years. 

Gentle music played in the background as Greg pulled himself towards Mycroft's chest until his head was resting against his collarbone, "Is it too soon?"

"Hmm?" He could feel the vibration of the questioning hum more than hear it from this close.

"To tell you I love you? That I probably have for years?"

He felt the hitch in Mycroft's breath against his hair. There was a few seconds of silence as Mycroft calculated his reply, a quirk Greg had quickly gotten used to. "Not at all. I think it's long past due."

-

Read on Ao3

He’d only been gone for three days, but they had felt like ten.

His absence should have lasted longer, yet he managed to finalize the agreements fourteen hours ahead of schedule and, thanks to Anthea’s diligence, had been able to catch the first available flight. 

When he entered the apartment, the hallway was quiet, but he immediately saw light coming from the kitchen. He had told Greg he’d be back early and, knowing Greg, he was probably preparing dinner to welcome him home. The thought alone made Mycroft feel warm inside.

He set down his umbrella, overcoat, and briefcase, then kicked off his shoes in a haphazard manner that spoke volumes about his state of mind. When he reached the living room in silence, as if shedding his armor, he took off his jacket and blazer, draping them over the back of a chair. His tie soon met the same fate. 

Guided by the enticing aroma wafting from the kitchen, he unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows.

As a master of discretion, a trait that made him a formidable predator in his line of work, he silently reached the kitchen doorway and paused to take in the sight before him.

He sighed with relief upon seeing the familiar figure bustling about at the counter with his back turned to him.

His Greg. 

His lover was humming an unrecognizable pop tune and singing off-key with an enthusiasm that brought an immediate smile to Mycroft’s face. 

Seeing Greg like this, in the safe privacy of their home and far from police reports and crime scenes, instantly soothed the turmoil in Mycroft's mind and the tension of the past few days. Watching this deeply authentic human being was ultimately what made Mycroft feel at home.  

He realized with Greg that being at home is ultimately defined not by the place, but by the person you're with.

That was when he realized that merely looking at his beloved was no longer enough. The physical distance forced upon them by the three days they had been apart was no longer bearable now that Greg was within reach.

Mycroft took another step forward, slipped his arms around Greg’s waist without a sound, and rested his chin on his shoulder.

Greg jumped so violently that he nearly dropped the wooden spoon he was holding. He let out a loud curse and set the spoon down on the countertop with a trembling hand.

“Damn it, Mycroft!” he growled, turning his head, still out of breath from the surprise. "You know, for such a brilliant guy, you could learn that startling a detective is the best way to get a reflexive punch in the ribs." 

Mycroft gave a soft smile, the rare kind he reserved only for his lover, and whispered in Greg's ear, "I can defend myself, Detective. However, please accept my sincerest apologies for this undiplomatic assault.”

He buried his face in Greg’s neck and took a deep breath, the unique scent of his lover mingled with his cedar-scented aftershave, acting as a soothing balm. Mycroft closed his eyes and felt the throb of Greg’s pulse against his lips. He whispered against his lover's skin, his voice slightly choked with emotion: “No one knows how much I miss you.” 

Greg froze, his reproaches instantly dying on his lips. He turned fully into Mycroft’s arms, resting his hands naturally on the back of Mycroft’s neck and tangling his fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck.

He whispered in turn, "And no one knows how much I miss you when you’re away from me."

He drew Mycroft’s face toward his own and captured his lips in a long, slow kiss, filled with all the frustration of the days they’d spent apart. There was no urgency, only the need to reconnect and erase the loneliness caused by Mycroft's absence. 

When they pulled apart, out of breath, Greg gently traced Mycroft’s cheek with his thumb. His eyes intently studied the other’s face.

"It's hard," Greg admitted, his voice trembling slightly. "It's hard when we're apart. But if we miss each other this much, it must mean that what we have is real and strong, right?”

Mycroft immediately sensed the underlying uncertainty in the question. The need for reassurance that they were both equally committed to this relationship.

Mycroft’s heart tightened at the vulnerability his lover was showing. He took Greg’s hand, which was resting on his cheek, turned it over, and pressed a long kiss into the palm. Then he placed Greg’s hand on his own chest, right where his heart was.

"It is, Greg. It’s real, my love. Never, ever doubt it,” Mycroft whispered, his gaze fixed directly into his lover’s eyes. "You've made a home there in my heart. You’ve put down roots. When I’m away from you, the void you leave there is almost unbearable.”

Greg chuckled softly, his eyes shining with emotion he didn’t hide. Mycroft cupped Greg’s face with reverence and pressed his lips against his lover’s.

It was no longer just a kiss of reunion. It was a vow, a silent confession that spoke to the depth of their love more than any eloquent words ever could. 

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Mystrade masterlist here

Mystrade one shots here