Work Text:
Mycroft wasn’t sure exactly when it happened. His mind attempted to play games when it came to memories with Gregory, everything before his presence in his life felt like an alternate life Mycroft barely felt the need to relive through memory. Now as he searched through his bank of memories, he couldn’t recall the date or time or otherwise concrete and factual details of the day he fell in love, only the sensations and the touches and the more intimate aspects of memory which made it truly and uniquely his own.
He recalls one night, over dinner. Most likely sixth or seventh date, posh place with the excellent lobster which his dearest was allergic to. Mycroft ordered a filet mignon medium rare with a side of asparagus, an attempt at a stupid carb free diet which Greg later called silly given asparagus tasted like feet and potatoes should be considered vegetables. Regardless, Mycroft was a man who believed in impressions and wanted to appear as a healthy individual to Greg. Silly him.
Greg ordered some variation of lamb in a red sauce with extra roasted potatoes on the side and steamed carrots. They drank wine. They chatted. Their feet rested comfortable next to each other under the table, calves occasionally brushing against each other as they conversed and laughed and stole shameless looks at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking.
And then the food arrived and it happened. Mycroft cut a piece of his steak with his practiced elegance and as he was about to place the piece of juicy meat in his mouth, his eyes caught sight of Greg’s hands placing a fairly sized chunk of lamb and scoop of potatoes onto his plate before stealing a slice of meat off his plate. Mycroft froze in time as Greg took a bite of the juice steak and furrowed his brows while nodding excitedly.
“Oooh that’s good” He half moaned as he finished chewing his piece. “Try some of mine, Myc.” He urged with an easy smile and Mycroft gulped audibly and placed his own chuck of meat down in favor of tasting Greg’s offering.
Mycroft was perplexed. A million questions running through his mind.
Why…why would he do that?
Is he not satisfied with his own election?
I thought we each ordered our own plates?
“Mycroft…?”
Do…do people share food?
Was I to share mine with him first?
Is this what “together” people do?
Are we “together” people??
“Did you not enjoy your dish?” Mycroft began, “Because we can send it bac-”
“What?” Greg looked at him confused, “No not at all, I just figured we could…ya know share a bit, I saw you eyeing the potatoes”
“Oh.” Mycroft nodded and felt in the pits of his stomach a blooming warmth. Yet again more confusion, what was that feeling and why did it make him feel like he was… loved? . “Thank you.”
He took a spoonful of potatoes and shoved it in his mouth paying little attention to his table manners which dictated to take small delicate bites. Greg looked at him through twinkling eyes and smiled softly.
Later as dessert arrived, they shared a cheesecake with strawberry topping. Their spoons danced around the cake as they took shy bites of the creamy delight, a comforting silence draped over them as their eyes spoke to each other. Their spoons got closer to the center and clashed with the sharp sound of metal as they shared the treat. As Greg licked the last bits of strawberry jam off his utensil, he looked at Mycroft with deep fondness and said:
“You have the last bite.”
And that, Mycroft realized later, was love.
----
From first glance, Mycroft was a stoic man. A rather cold hearted individual, just as Sherlock was but despite being better mannered seemed a bit more heartless. When Greg first met the Holmes brothers, he decided for the rest of his life he would never be the same after dealing with such insanity on a daily basis. At some point in time, things sifted. Mycroft was still the same posh, uptight man he had always shown himself to be, but an occasional look at Greg would cause the most minute of changes in his eyes and he’d turn away as soon as Greg caught sight of that softening look. Of that cold heart melting.
And for reasons unbeknownst to him, Greg allowed himself to be wooed by Mycroft Holmes. With cups of coffee when he needed them the most and car rides when rain hit. It was easy to feel cared for.
Mycroft for the most part hadn’t changed his mannerism or demeanor. But he changed around Greg, when in private. He let his stiff shoulders sag just a little and he let his features soften when sparing Greg small glances. It was fascinating to be able to witness such a man let down some walls for him.
Greg knew exactly when he’d fallen for the incredibly insane man. He knew Mycroft very well, there were few things he would sacrifice for other beings, and yet he had for Greg. You see, Mycroft was a man who showed his care and affection through actions. Oftentimes this would include inserting himself in situations he had not been asked to intervene.
If Greg got scolded by his boss, Mycroft would intervene.
If Greg needed a warrant, Mycroft would intervene.
If Greg was “in danger”, well he would intervene.
At first, it was cause for rift in their relationship. Greg would get upset for Mycroft getting involved with everything and Mycroft would feel hurt that his efforts were not appreciated. Eventually they worked things out, and Greg got used to loving such an intense man with a presence like Mycroft’s. But it was rare that Mycroft let Greg in as much as Greg let him in. He didn’t blame the Holmes, it was a rather innate quality in both brothers.
One fateful day, however, he found that Mycroft did truly love him as much as Greg loved him. For as long as he could remember, Mycroft's commitment to work was just as fervent as Sherlock’s. His office was a sacred place and rarely did he admit anyone in there. Greg simply assumed he was not to be welcomed there either. That day, though, he found himself out of options.
He’d been messaging Mycroft all day and had received no response from the Holmes. Usually, Greg would not seek to intervene further given Mycroft did not like to be interrupted at work. He needed to reach him, though, because Mycroft would be departing for a long trip the following day and Greg demanded they always see each other before he went away. Thus he decided to put himself in the line of fire and attempt to visit Mycroft at his office. He was wary, but decided it was time to fight for what they had.
Anthea looked amused but not fazed as he approached the heavy looking doors of Mycroft’s office. Greg outside of it for a second and thought once more about his decision making skills, perhaps Sherlock was right about his abilities after all-
“Detective Inspector Lestrade Mr. Holmes is in fact in his office at the moment.” Anthea said in a low drawl never tearing her eyes from her computer.
“Ah…um” Greg stumbled and hesitated. “Yes thank you.”
He knocked carefully on the door and waited.
“You may come in.” Came the smooth and controlled voice from the other side of the door. Greg pushed the door open and stepped inside, watching as Mycroft finished closing a file and quickly set it aside as his eyes fell on Greg.
“Gregory.” He said as he rose from his chair, walking around his desk and standing before Greg.
“Hi” Greg murmured softly, “Sorry to barge in but-”
“You’re always welcome here.” Mycroft cuts him off. Greg smiled and leaned in for a quick kiss.
“You weren’t answering me, I got worried.”
“I-” Mycroft started as he shuffled closer and laced his hands with Greg. “I didn’t see it I’m sorry, I got caught up-” Mycroft paused for a second and in that moment Greg saw the gears in his head making calculations he couldn’t even begin to understand.
“Actually, it can wait.” Mycroft said after a moment. Greg looked at him with wide eyes. Mycroft just leaving his work off like that? To spend time with Greg?
“You sure love? Aren’t you busy-”
Mycroft shook his head and reached out for his umbrella and briefcase.
“Let’s go, allow me to take you out for dinner?”
Greg smirked and nodded, “Yes please, anytime.”
As they left the office, he turned back and saw the abandoned file on the desk. A heartwarming feeling washed over him.
That’s what you call love.