Previous part of Winter's Tale.

***

"Gregory, I have something you should know..." Mycroft stopped in the doorway, unable to formulate the words. They all fled his brain when he laid eyes on his detective inspector. Greg was sprawled face down across the bed, the covers having descended to his waist and perilously close to revealing parts that Mycroft would rather were not revealed just yet. The soft t-shirt had ridden up and the pajama trousers had done the opposite, revealing bare skin from mid-back down toward his hips, revealing an enticing curve of that rather attractive rear. Mycroft was having a hard time taming his thoughts concerning the man, considering his advances were, against all the odds, being returned in kind. This is...adding insult to injury. Or rather heaping frustration on frustration. I must wait until Gregory is well again, despite his teasing words. It was not fair to pressure the man when he was still recuperating.

Greg groaned in his sleep and rolled over, revealing an expanse of chest, along with an enticing trail of dark hair which disappeared below the sheet. Damn the man! "Gregory? I have been somewhat remiss." Mycroft carefully tugged the covers up before he could wake fully and realise. Greg grumbled something inarticulate and opened an eye but he brightened when he saw who was there.

"Mycroft? I'm sorry. Did I fall asleep again?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, Gregory. I forgot to tell you something. Anthea called to consult me on it barely a half hour ago..."

"Which would be?"

"I am entertaining guests this New Year."

"Oh, right. New Year bash, hm? Family and friends, or colleagues?"

"Some of both, I'm afraid..."

"And you want me to piss off before the day, hm? I can understand if..."

"What? No! Of course not! I was merely wanting to forewarn you, that is all. If you would rather not attend, then I won't pressure you into agreeing but I was rather hoping you would say yes."

"Really?"

"Yes, Gregory. Really. If we are going to be together, then I expect you to take an active part in all aspects of my life. I would like nothing better than to show you off, if you will permit."

"Is that wise?"

"If you are worried about what people will say then please do not fret unnecessarily. My bosses are fully aware of my orientation, and so are my parents. I am neither pilloried nor am I disowned. I am 'out and proud' as I believe the euphemism goes."

"Well, I'm not, just so you know."

"Oh, well then, please do tell me how you want to proceed. Do you expect a negative reaction to our alliance?"

"Not exactly the point. Fact is, I don't really care what people might think because it's none of their business, but the Press would have a field day. I can just see the headlines. Detective Inspector Turns Gay for Hatman's Brother... Doesn't that bother you?"

"Hardly. My dear, what is the good of a minor position in the British Government if one cannot exercise a little power now and again. Suppressing the press on delicate matters pertaining to National Security is not difficult, merely an inconvenience."

"Matters pertaining to National Security? How in Holy Hell does our relationship pertain to National Security?"

"Quite simply, I assure you. If we are in a relationship then my position in the Government is such that should anyone threaten you to get to me, then that is a matter for National Security, and I will not have it being bandied about by the tabloids that we are partners in case your safety is compromised, and thus, as a knock on effect, my safety and that of the Crown and the Nation too."

"Well, I've never been a security risk before."

"Gregory, you are not a security risk in yourself..."

"Well, sounds like if they reveal anything about me and you, I will gain that dubious status."

"Which is why they are not going to be allowed to. Therefore your argument is irrelevant because you will not be mentioned in that context, ergo no security risk. Do not let it trouble you. I do not."

"Yeah, but I'm not so cool headed that I'd get brain freeze by looking in the mirror, unlike someone who is referred to as the Ice Man behind his back."

"A regrettable epithet but one which is quite apt, nevertheless. I do endeavour to remain cool in adversity."

"And yet, you go all dithery when someone suggests you should sleep with them."

Mycroft sighed softly. "Gregory, I do not dither. However, I will admit to a measure of uncertainty when dealing with your request. I...I should admit..." Mycroft fell silent as if not sure what to say.

"Admit what, love?" Greg prompted. "Seems to be the day for confessions."

"I am...I have never...actually done anything...before, with a man...With anyone, actually." He watched Gregory as he processed that statement, and cringed inwardly. Gregory would think him inexperienced, gauche even, where matters of the bedroom were concerned. Maybe that would put the final nail in the coffin of their attempt to become companions.

"I have been told I'm a good teacher."

Mycroft turned to look at the impossible man, sitting there in the bed, so accepting of his shortcomings. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Mind? Are you daft?" Greg lowered his voice. "Are you telling me you're a virgin, Mycroft? Really?"

Stiffly, Mycroft nodded. "I have never actually engaged in intercourse, so yes, I suppose I am."

"Then I'm honoured." There was gravitas in the reply, the soft voice deep with emotion.

"You're what?"

"Honoured, Mycroft." Greg repeated and reached to take Mycroft's elegant long-fingered hands in his and held them gently. "I feel honoured that you would trust me to be your first."

Mycroft looked down to where the big warm hands engulfed his own, and he found himself speechless. Gregory's acceptance took his breath away. Moreover, the man wasn't just accepting but actually proud that Mycroft had placed his trust in him. Proud and pleased.

"Just say the word, My. We go at your pace, when you are ready, not just when I'm well again. If you aren't ready by then, I expect you to say so. Is that clear?"

"I...yes, Gregory," Mycroft replied, meek in the face of such concern. Nobody had ever treated him this way. Nobody had ever seen fit to place his needs above theirs. It was a wonder and no mistake. Gregory was smiling at him, that patient, slightly-exasperated smile that Mycroft had often seen directed at his brother.

"There you go again, using that big brain of yours and coming up with something..." Greg's eyes narrowed. "I would say you were probably wondering why someone can feel like this about you..."

"Very good, Inspector. Not quite right, but not far off the mark."

"What did I not get right?"

"Your choice of wording is interesting."

"Stop avoiding the subject."

"Oh, I shall get to the subject, eventually, but I am interested to note, where my brother would have said 'what did I get wrong?' you ask 'what did I not get right'. While on the surface the two statements ostensibly mean the same thing, your choice of wording is the more positive. I wonder what that says about you?"

"Might have more to say about your brother."

"Oh?"

"He's more used to getting it right. When he does get something wrong, he's inclined to be a touch more negative about it. How's that for a deduction?"

"Informative, Gregory. Now, as to your question, the answer is simple. People do not usually put my needs before theirs, as you just did. I simply took some time to assimilate how it felt, that was all. It is, I find, quite a novel experience, following as it did close upon the heels of your revelation that you are honoured to be my first lover, rather than repulsed by my lack of experience. I am, I confess, rather overwhelmed." And there was another blinding smile from the man who was surprising him greatly today.

"If you need some time alone..." Greg suggested, seeing the look in Mycroft's eyes and judging it correctly. "Sounds like you've got a lot to think about. I'll miss your company, My, but I do understand. I'm fully in agreement with being seconded to your department for a few days, whatever it does. About time I started looking after myself a bit. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth after all, so we'll have plenty of time if you want some time to think things through now. As long as you don't go all negative on me and start thinking you don't deserve to be happy. You mustn't do that."

It was Mycroft's turn to smile at the vehemence in Gregory's tone. "Then I shall promise I will not consider that avenue, Gregory. However, you are correct. I would like to perhaps order my thoughts for a while. I do have a few phone calls to make. I need to bring Anthea up to speed and allow her to contact your superiors. I also need to check my emails and make sure there is nothing pressing to stop me enjoying the rest of my...of our day. I should call my barber too, book him to visit us and spruce us both up for New Year. We also need to decide what to wear..."

"Jesus, nothing is simple for you, is it? You work too hard, even when you're off duty. Come here and kiss me, then I can let you go."

"Certainly, Gregory. I can do that much at least." Mycroft bent and kissed his Gregory with as much tenderness as he could muster. "I appreciate your concern, and I shall see you later."

"Get gone, love," Greg insisted, watching the man head reluctantly for the door. After the door closed behind Mycroft, Greg let another sigh loose and relaxed back against the pillows. Bloody Hell, this is going to be a ride and a half, he thought, wondering at Mycroft's revelations and reactions. Somehow, though, he felt he was going to love every damn minute. Even the inevitable ups and downs. This was Mycroft Holmes he had chosen, the Ice Man himself. Who was thawing nicely, it seemed. Hang onto your hat, Greggy-boy, he thought. I've got a feeling you ain't seen nothing yet!

***

The following morning dawned wet, grey and dismal, unseasonably mild and somewhat depressing. Greg lay in bed wondering whether to get up or stay warmly ensconced in his snug nest. The nest won. He dozed, enjoying the rare luxury of being unhurried, of not needing to rush off to work. The house was quiet, the muted morning sounds of cars outside a soft background murmur. Then he remembered it was Sunday and bound to be less busy than a weekday anyway. Somebody looked in on him at some point but withdrew without comment, and whoever it was had gone by the time Greg registered the sound of the door closing and opened his eyes.

He was alone again. Whether Mycroft had spent the night in his bed or not he couldn't remember but he would have thought not, considering recent events. He missed the man's presence, his vitality, because Mycroft Holmes was a vital man, radiating personal power and confidence on a grand scale. His vulnerable moments did not make him less in that regard. More so, in some ways, because it gave him more layers to his character, made him more three dimensional, more human. Greg also knew that it was playing with fire to enter into any kind of relationship with the man everyone called the Iceman. If things don't work out between us, the fallout might be somewhat spectacular. No earthly point thinking like that though. Greg wanted to remain optimistic.

The next time the door opened it was Bennett with a tea tray, disappointingly set for only one person. "Mr. Holmes sends his regrets, sir, but he's been called into work again. Something about a small crisis in North Korea. I regret to say he was not optimistic of a quick resolution... How is sir feeling today?"

"Sir is not feeling too bad, actually, Mr. Bennett, thank you." Greg watched Bennett serve him his tea. "Does he do this a lot?"

"To what would Sir be referring? Mr. Mycroft's absence?"

"Yes, exactly that."

Bennett smiled. "He does spend a lot of time at work, but with good reason, sir. Mr. Mycroft works hard and long, but I am confident he does so for the very best of reasons. He has left instruction that I am not to let you leave the premises until he returns, and to tell you that you are more than welcome to treat the place as your own. Moreover he has given me to understand that I am to treat your good self as I would treat him, sir. I am at your disposal for the duration of your stay."

"That's kind of him."

"May I speak freely, sir?"

"You're not in the army, Mr. Bennett, nor am I your employer. Feel free."

"Mr. Mycroft speaks very highly of you, sir. Furthermore, he has never, to my knowledge, allowed anybody else the same liberties as he allows you."

"Liberties?"

"Yes, sir. The hospitality of his home, for one. He rarely has anyone stay here, apart from his younger brother, when the lad needed somewhere safe to stay. On those rare occasions when he has allowed it, he has never had anyone to stay past a single night, and never spends the night with them, if you understand my meaning."

"I think I do."

"Mr. Mycroft both likes and trusts you, Inspector, and that is a very rare thing. I hope you understand that, sir. Mr. Mycroft values you greatly, it is plain to see."

"That is...flattering, Mr. Bennett."

"It is not my place to say, sir, but...please...I beg of you not to break that trust, sir. Forgive my forthrightness but Mr. Mycroft deserves some happiness in his life, and you seem to be the one he has chosen to try to find that happiness with. I do hope, sir, that you both find that together."

Greg smiled. "I hope so too, so don't fret yourself, Mr. Bennett. I do understand what's at stake here and I promise you, I'll be careful with him."

"Thank you, sir. If that is all..."

"Yes, of course." Greg watched the man open the door but then called him back before he withdrew.

"Yes, sir?"

"Mr. Bennett, would you perhaps know Mr. Holmes' preferences where...certain things are concerned?"

"What exactly did sir have in mind?"

"I wanted to get him a present, because he was generous enough to give me something at Christmas. I just wondered if you might have some idea of something appropriate. However, I'm not a beggar but my funds are nothing like Mr. Holmes'."

Bennett pondered for a moment. "I think I may be able to suggest the very thing, sir," he said after a short silence. The thing Bennett suggested made Greg smile. "That's perfect, but I'm not sure when I'll be able to go shopping...specially if you're under orders not to allow me to leave." Bennett smiled. "If you will allow me, sir, I shall be happy to do so on your behalf at my earliest opportunity."

"Kind of you, Bennett."

"Not at all, sir."

When Mycroft still had not returned that night, Greg began to worry. He asked Bennett but the man smiled and told him that Mycroft's behavior and lengthy absence was in no way unusual. "I shall send a message to his assistant. I often ask for an update, and she will let me know how things are. Do not worry unduly, Inspector." True to his word, Bennett appeared a few minutes later with a full tea tray and the message that everything was alright, Mr. Holmes was alive and well, but the situation warranted his complete concentration and he would most likely not be home that night, possibly not for the next couple of days.

"And this is usual?"

"I am afraid so, sir. If I may be frank again?"

"Go ahead. I have a nasty feeling you're going to tell me something I am not going to like."

"If you and Mr. Mycroft are serious about your relationship, sir, then I should warn you that you will need to prepare yourself for this kind of behavior on a regular basis. I suspect someone in your line of work would be sympathetic to his situation though?"

"Oh yes, I am," Greg replied ruefully. "I understand all too well. However, I also understand how much it takes out of you. I hope he understands that I will insist on caring for him if he comes home knackered, whether he wants me to or not."

"I believe he will agree to such, sir, even if he protests the opposite. It is too long since Mr. Mycroft had anyone to care for him."

"He has you and his staff, doesn't he?"

"Of course, sir, but...I very much doubt he would allow us to care for him in quite the same way as you will."

Greg chuckled. "Point taken. Well, I'd better be a good lad and hit the sack early. If he calls...?"

"I will inform you as soon as I know any more, sir. Rest assured."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Nothing changed the day after. Greg was left kicking his heels and 'resting' again, alternatively watching the television and checking his emails, ending up watching football matches on one of the on-demand services. Bennett served him his meals, but he was left alone to enjoy the comfort of Mycroft's home. Alone. He finally went to bed, both bored and unhappy. He could but hope Mycroft managed to resolve the problem quickly. 

***

Sixty hours after he had stepped out of his residence, the front door finally opened to let Mycroft back into his home, but Greg was shocked at his appearance. The man looked exhausted. He was full of apologies for the inconvenience of foreign powers flexing their egos, and taking up his valuable time.

"Gregory, my dear, how are you? Has Bennett being taking care of you?"

"Of course he has. More than his life is worth not to." Bennett smiled and withdrew with Mycroft's coat over his arm, leaving the two men alone. "But how are you, love? You look like...well, death warmed up, actually. What on earth happened?"

"Alas, I am not at liberty to discuss the details, but..." Mycroft sighed dramatically. "Crisis averted for now. I am at liberty to rest."

"Then rest you shall, love. Here with me. Right now. Come here."

"Gregory, there is no need to fuss. I am fine."

"You will be," Greg agreed. "After you've rested."

"I require tea, some peace and quiet to still my mind, and then I shall retire. Not until then, my dear. It is a process I am familiar with, rest assured." Mycroft sat on the bed beside him. "So, how are you?" he asked.

"Not too bad really. You, on the other hand, look like shit."

"Thank you for such an eloquent assessment, Gregory. I am actually tolerably well, given the circumstances and the dismal weather. Do you feel like getting up? We could have tea in the conservatory, before I collapse into bed and sleep the rest of the day away. The conservatory is heated at this time of year. I grow orchids, you see."

"Conservatory? You have a conservatory?"

"And a modest garden as well. Have you not had opportunity to see the house? I did leave Bennett with instruction that you should treat the place as you would your own..."

"Oh, he told me, yes, but this is your place, Mycroft. I didn't want to go poking my nose everywhere without you there."

"I appreciate your respect, Gregory. So...how about a tour then?" Mycroft's enthusiasm was infectious and belied his tiredness. He suddenly had the air of an eager pup.

"Later, Mycroft. Only when you've had a decent sleep, love. I'll agree to the tea though. You might have to help me, a bit." Greg swung his legs out of bed and sat up with a soft groan. "Oh, I'm still aching."

"Take things steady, Gregory," Mycroft said gently, offering a hand to help him stand up. "Slowly now, otherwise you may experience dizziness. I believe John would call it postural hypertension. There, that's it."

Greg stood, hung on to Mycroft until the world settled and then made his way to the bathroom. When he emerged, freshly washed, ten minutes later, it was to find Mycroft sitting in a chair reading the morning paper; elegant legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, jacket unbuttoned. Greg briefly allowed himself to imagine liberating those long feet from shoes and socks and giving the man a foot massage. Maybe he would soon. He needed to encourage things to move on a little.

"Gregory, are you quite alright?"

"What? Yes, yes of course. I'll just throw on some clothes..." He hunted out the soft tracksuit trousers and polo shirt, noting that Mycroft averted his eyes as he dressed. He shoved his feet into the slippers and turned to his host. "Ready when you are."

The house really was lovely. It was a classic mid-Victorian London townhouse; Mycroft told him that there were plenty of large bedrooms, a drawing room leading off a spacious dining room, and even a small ballroom, with mirrored walls, gilded like something out of an historical novel. They would be using that for the New Year party. Greg had experienced the comfort of the living room, and apparently the kitchen complex was below stairs, along with Bennett's office. The conservatory was attached to the back of the house with a garden leading away to a clump of well-established trees. Greg had no difficulty imagining a summer garden party held in its splendor. "It's beautiful, My, really gorgeous. What a place you have here."

"Modest by some standards, I can assure you. However, I like it. It meets my current needs more than adequately."

"Well, it's a really beauty. I'm impressed."

Mycroft smiled and lead the way to the conservatory. Orchids nodded their lovely heads against a backdrop of ferns and other foliage plants. The temperature in there was pleasantly warm and they sat in comfort on cushioned basket-woven chairs for a very civilized and traditional cream tea. However, although there was plenty of tea, cucumber sandwiches and fruit scones with jam, Mycroft apologized for the lack of cream. "It plays havoc with my diet."

"Mycroft, why do you....? Nope, sorry, none of my business really. I'll shut up."

"Gregory, what were you about to ask? Please, I don't mind."

"Your diet, that's all. Why, apart from Sherlock taunting you, do you feel you need to diet? I mean, you don't listen to that daft git, do you?"

"Sherlock has always taunted me about my weight. I admit I was rather chubby when I was in my teens. I had a hard time losing weight, and I was very conscious of it."

"Were you bullied?"

"Yes, frequently. However, I knew I should lose weight to be fit and healthy. I am not now and never have been naive about that, but disappointingly I am afraid it is a constant battle."

"Because, just so you know, you look very...well, fit right now, and I would hate for you to feel you didn't look good, because you do..."

Mycroft looked at him, half a scone poised in midair, curiosity etched in his expression. "I do...I mean, I do?"

"Yes, you do. Look at you; slim, tall, elegant. Just gorgeous, Mycroft, gorgeous..."

"Well, I...I hardly know what to say." He put the scone down, lest he risk choking on crumbs. His mouth had gone suddenly dry so he reached for his teacup.

"Don't say anything more," Greg said. "Just let me look."

"Let you...? Gregory, what on earth...?"

"You're worth looking at, Mycroft Holmes."

"I am?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Then...look all you like."

"That had a ring of finality to it," Greg suggested. "You know, look all you like but don't touch?"

"Ah, I see. No, the inference was purely accidental."

"That's good because...." Greg leaned in closer.

"Because?"

"Because if I touch you, I have no idea what might happen, that's all. Mycroft, enough beating about the bush. I am really attracted to you, and I want to...you know..."

"You want to what, Gregory?"

"Get to know you better. Much, much better." That made the British Government quite breathless it seemed. Greg dropped his voice to a husky whisper. "Much, much better. I know we've kissed, and we've slept in the same bed, but I think it's about time things went a little...further. In fact, when I'm done, I want to be able to say I know you inside..." Greg let his lips brush the shell of Mycroft's ear, "...as well as out." He drew back a little, and kissed Mycroft gently on the lips. It was a soft kiss, with the promise of a whole lot more.

Mycroft felt the situation running away with him. Greg was taking charge, subtly easing him into taking things to a new level. Not that he did not trust the silver-haired Inspector to keep him safe, and teach him what to do, but he did not readily trust anyone. It was ironic that his first meeting with John Watson had revealed the man's trust issues. If John had known, then he would no doubt have said it was a case of kettle calling pan black. Mycroft found trust was a very hard won but frighteningly easy thing to lose. He submitted to the kisses and caresses but he was wary, and he resisted going further in such a spontaneous way.

Eventually, Greg cottoned on and stopped necking to gaze into Mycroft's eyes. "Okay, spill. What's the matter? Talk to me, love. I can't mind-read."

"I'm sorry...I...This is difficult. I find the spontaneity is...out of my control and therefore out of my comfort zone. Oh, I know it negates the impromptu nature of our encounter, but I am...uncomfortable, and as a result, I am not...turned on, as you might say."

Greg chuckled. "That's okay, love. You're knackered too. Hardly a good combo. So, apart from sixteen hours sleep, what would make you more comfy?"

"Maybe if this were more...planned? If we were going to bed, for instance. If we...well, made a date, as it were. If I knew to expect it... that might help."

"I see. Too early for being off the cuff?"

"Somewhat." Mycroft paused. "You understand." Yet again the man surprised him.

"Yes, I do. Really. I don't want to push you into anything you are not ready for. So, come on then. Let's make a plan right now. Bed?"

"It's the middle of the day..."

"And you are knackered. This is also a day that is under our...your control. So you can go to bed any time you goddamn please. You are Mycroft Holmes, and if you want to go to bed, is there anybody to tell you that you can't? No, there isn't."

"Put like that... "

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"So, what then? Shall we?"

Mycroft took a deep breath and let it out in a slow controlled way before he spoke. "Very well then. Lay on, McDuff, and damned be him who first cries 'Hold! Enough!'."

***

Greg roused from a very sound, very comfortable sleep. It was dark, and he was warm, and he was reluctant to relinquish unconsciousness. The bedside clock said 4.15pm. He smiled. Well, that had been...satisfying. He rolled over, admiring Mycroft's slumbering form lying beside him. He spooned against the man's back, tucked one arm around him, and pressed close enough that the other man could not ignore the hard length pressed against his bum. Mycroft murmured appreciatively and pushed back against his lover, encouraging the contact. A shiver traveled the length of Greg's spine, pooling rather deliciously somewhere south. He traced the freckles across Mycroft's shoulders with a gentle finger, joining the dots, chuckling as Mycroft squirmed.

"Ticklish?" he inquired.

"Gregory, you abominable tease...Stop it!" Mycroft rolled to face him, a forbidding frown on his face, but Gregory smiled and he couldn't keep up the pretense of being angry. Instead Mycroft shifted, straddling Greg's body and pinning him to the bed with strong hands around his wrists, forcing his arms above his head.

"Ooo, forceful!" Greg grinned at him, watching Mycroft's eyes turn dark with desire. "Taking command there, love?"

"I find it necessary on occasion."

Greg shivered again and grinned back, anticipation making him twitch. Having Mycroft in such a dominant position was a pleasant surprise. He glanced down, admiring the long legs straddling his hips, and the obvious erection, long and slim to match the man himself. Greg twisted one hand free and reached up, sliding it around Mycroft's neck and drawing him down for a kiss that left them both breathless and wanting more. He rolled them over then, until Mycroft was on his back stretched out beneath him to admire and caress. He ran gentle fingers over creamy skin, tracing the soft almost-invisible chest hair, letting his thumb caress each nipple and tease it to hardness. Greg moved into a better position to swipe his tongue where his thumb had been, hearing Mycroft's gasp and soft breathy moans at the touch. He lifted himself up again, positioning his body carefully, aligning their cocks to rub together. The slow roll of his hips was both sensuous and gentle, and Mycroft climaxed rather quickly, with a soft moan, head thrown back on the pillow, face flushed and eyes full of surprise and amazement. He was immediately embarrassed at his lack of stamina.

"Not to worry, love," Greg reassured. "Doesn't matter. It's to be expected anyway, if it's been a while."

"But...what about you?"

"What about me?"

"You haven't..."

"I know, but I don't have to..."

"Lie still." It was Mycroft's turn to take control. Greg watched him position himself further down the bed. "I may not have had proper intercourse with a man before but I was told a long time ago that I was particularly good at this," Mycroft said, a touch of pride in his voice as he bent to his task. "Time to see if I still have it." The warm wet pressure of Mycroft's mouth on his cock as his lover swallowed him down was almost more than Greg could bear.

"Oh, Christ, you..." Greg gasped. "Bloody hell, you really are..."

Mycroft smirked and swirled his tongue, eliciting another series of obscene sounds. It wasn't long before Greg's back arched and he shuddered through a more intense orgasm than he'd had in ages. He relaxed bonelessly back onto the bed with a satisfied grin.

"That was.... amazing, love. You see, you're not the only one with a lack of stamina" He nuzzled sleepily against Mycroft's neck and inhaled. "God, I love how you smell. So good..."

"Oh, Gregory..." The whisper against his skin was almost reverent.

"Shh, let's get some more sleep." Greg yawned. "Plenty of time for more later."

 

-------------------------

 

"Hello, love. You okay?"

"More than merely okay, my dear."

"I don't want to get up."

"Neither do I, but I am certain I should check in with Anthea and possibly eat something. We did expend a little energy after all."

"Yeah, we did, didn't we?" Greg gave him a suggestive grin and nudged him with an elbow. "I think I burned off the remains of my fever..."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and smiled indulgently. His Gregory was as lusty a lover as he'd always imagined, and Mycroft had a very good imagination. "Thank you, Gregory. I find it difficult to trust, as you know. I...I could never have hoped for better." Greg beamed another smile that lit the room never mind his own face. Mycroft's heart lifted and he smiled at the sight. "What now though, Gregory? Do we have more ahead than just this encounter? I mean...are we compatible enough to wish for more?"

"Time will tell on that score, My. Let's say I feel pretty positive right now." Greg rolled onto his back and stretched with a groan. "Oh, I ache... but in a good way."

"I think I may be able to help there. Face down please."

Greg raised an eyebrow but complied with the polite request. He heard the bedside drawer pull open and heard the pop of a bottle cap. The next moment he felt those long-fingered hands kneading his shoulder muscles. He let out a moan that sounded rather obscene and buried his head in the pillow. Mycroft continued to smooth and knead his sore muscles, his hands oiled with something sweet-smelling.

"Almond oil, with cinnamon, ginger and chamomile," Mycroft replied to the question. "I find it is efficacious for easing sore muscles. I have it made specially for me."

"Oh? And when do you get sore muscles? You been holding out on me, Mycroft?"

"Not at all. I ride, but I tend to get a little sore when I haven't been in the saddle for a while..."

"You ride? As in horses?"

"Yes, gregory. I ride horses."

"Bloody hell, Mycroft. Just the thought of you in riding gear...."

"Getting you all hot under the collar again, Inspector?"

"Well, yeah. What d'you expect?"

Mycroft smiled. "It is a common enough fantasy I suppose. Horses, motorcycles..."

"Have to admit that's more my style..."

"It is? Would you happen to own such a machine?"

"Of course, but I rarely get to take her out. Kawasaki Ninja. She's an old lady now, but she still goes. I don't get as much time on her as I want."

Well, that effectively derailed Mycroft's thoughts. "Similarly, my dear, the thought of you in biking leathers is probably doing the same for me as the thought of myself in riding gear is doing for you."

"Yeah, well, we'll have to wait a bit for that though. This time of year isn't fantastic for riding anything..."

"We shall make a New Year resolution, Gregory."

"We will?"

"Yes, we will. At the first opportunity that this year gives us, we shall share our respective fetishes for riding gear."

Greg laughed appreciatively. "Okay, okay, first chance we get...Hey, why wait for good weather? We could simply get dressed up. After all, we don't need to actually go riding. I mean, what we'll want to do to each other as a result is something for the bedroom anyway."

"Point taken, Gregory. I suppose I shall have to brush off my jodhpurs then."

"Well, only a couple of days to New Year. You could make your New Year do into a fancy dress party... What?" Mycroft's expression had turned to one of horror.

"Oh, my God, the reception!" he said, looking mortified. "That foreign business took me away from my preparations. I can only hope that Anthea has carried on where I left off..."

"Well, don't worry. I'm sure there's still time..."

"Gregory, these events need planning and I am only half-done. The invitations have gone out but.... You need something to wear. My tailor cannot run up a suit at such short notice, at least not one worth wearing. We shall have to go shopping on the high street. And I promised you a session with my barber. Are you up to leaving the house?"

"God, yes. I've been cooped up too long anyway."

"Good, then tomorrow we shall venture out to get you something that will turn heads. Fear not, Cinderella shall go to the ball!"

"Just watch it, Myc. I'm not going to wear a ball gown for anybody!"

***

New Year's Eve dawned wet and grey yet again, but Greg couldn't care less. He was going shopping with Mycroft. There were the final few steps that Mycroft wanted to implement to make his New Year preparations complete and he was insisting on purchasing new clothes for Greg a well. Thankfully, Anthea and Bennett between them had taken up the reins and had most of the rest of the event under control, so all that was left for Mycroft to do was to add his own personal touches to the evening.

Greg had always trailed reluctantly after his wife on shopping trips, carrying the bags and wishing he was in front of the telly watching the Saturday afternoon match and downing a couple of beers with his mates. She had never involved him in the process, really. He was just there as a pack horse. She would ask his opinion and he was always careful about giving it, not least because an honest answer always got him into some kind of trouble. Despite his diplomatic answers to the classic "Does my bum look big in this?" she would never believe that he was telling the truth whatever he said. And in truth, her bum had been one of her best features.

Truth was, he couldn't win with her. So it was with some trepidation that he waited for Mycroft in the hall. His coat had been dry cleaned but it wasn't the best of things to face the weather in at this time of year. At least his shoes were now dry, but he knew they leaked.

"Gregory, are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

The sound of his lover's voice was anything but positive. "Oh? Are you not feeling well enough?"

"I'm not really dressed for this..."

"Then that is something we must make a priority. I shall remedy your lack as soon as humanly possible...."

"Mycroft, no. I can't have you spending money on me like that."

"Why ever not?"

"Because. Look, I have my pride, you know. I feel like I'm taking advantage."

"Gregory, please. It would give me the greatest of pleasure to do this for you. Honestly. You need better clothes, my dear. It is in your interests to dress warmly, to maintain your health. Let me do this for you?"

"You know, you've perfected the puppy look, haven't you? Do you turn that on Anthea when you want her to do stuff for you?"

"God forbid, Gregory. Anthea would never allow me to do so anyway. She is impervious."

"Good for her, but I'm not, just so you know."

"Excellent. Here we go then." He lead the way to the car.

A man slid into the front seat beside the driver, a man Greg hadn't yet met.

"Norman," Mycroft said, by way of introduction. "I am afraid he is a necessary evil. Another of my minders as you like to refer to them."

"Ah. Okay. As long as he's legit."

"Oh, there is no need to worry there. I can assure you, he's very legit. One of my best close protection agents, for that matter. He'll keep his distance, and he isn't here to carry our bags, but he is here in case we have urgent need of help, whatever form that might take."

"What, you mean, bodyguard help?"

"Precisely, Gregory."

"Norman, hm?" Greg eyed the man, sitting impassively in the passenger seat. In a nutshell, he was big; Broad and heavily muscled, the kind of man who really looks uncomfortable in a suit, as though it isn't cut properly for him. He actually looked like the sort of man who should be wearing a WWF belt and screaming obscenities at the audience. This was going to take some getting used to.

They traveled through the early morning traffic in comfort, and Greg decided to try quizzing Mycroft on his guest list for the party.

"So just who is coming tomorrow night, Myc?" Greg asked, trying to engage him in revealing the details. Greg tried to convince himself he just wanted to be prepared, but in truth he was nervous of being presented to Mycroft's friends and family.

Mycroft smiled. "My inner circle," he replied enigmatically.

"Seriously, you have an inner circle?"

"Of course. This is no mere diplomatic event, Gregory. This is my...this is far more intimate. I only invite those people I have the highest regard for, I suppose you could say."

"You said family and friends, as well as what, diplomats?"

"A few, yes. Prince Ahmed Ibn Ibrahim Ibn Mustafa will be there..."

"An actual prince?"

"Yes, Gregory, an actual prince. He is a dear friend and someone I have known since university. He has saved my skin on more than one occasion, believe me. My parents will also be there, in fact you can meet them tonight..."

"Hell, My. I'm going to meet your folks? Really?"

"Yes, really. They always come up for New Year. They stay with me for the duration."

"Hang on, I thought you said your dad died when you were younger...?"

Mycroft smiled. "My birth father did, yes. Our mother remarried fifteen years ago, found a rather nice man who dotes on her. Peter puts up with her eccentricities admirably. He's rather like John in a way; patient, practical, pragmatic. No matter our ages, he has always acted like a real father to both Sherlock and myself, as much as we let him of course. I do think of him as my father, despite the fact that he did not bring us into the world. He looks after mummy and I cannot fault him for that."

"Sounds like a good man. So, do you invite Sherlock too? And John?"

"I have invited them but they do not always come. Sometimes, Sherlock's mood doesn't let him..."

"Damn him. Mycroft, you know your brother can be an arse sometimes."

"I know, but I understand him, where not many do. They think he spurns me, and yet, honestly, I think he simply cannot bear to be around too many people for too long. He is a solitary person, which is why John is such a surprise. That he has let another into his life at all is a miracle."

"Yeah, well, he has issues but he's still your brother." Mycroft smiled and nodded. "So then," Greg added, "is this a very big do?"

"Not a such, twenty two this year I believe."

"Twenty two? Jesus, that's massive."

Mycroft smiled again. "Not at all, not when you are used to hundreds at most of the do's I attend."

"My family parties amounted to about ten tops, and that was a good day."

"Well, this is one occasion when Anthea gets to let her hair down, as they say."

"So she gets to go to at least one party then, and not on duty?"

"Not on duty, no. It's the least I can do to reward her diligence and loyalty."

"Nice. That's a nice thing to do." Greg's approval washed over Mycroft in a most unexpected and pleasant way. Not that Mycroft had ever needed anybody's approval but finding he had Gregory's was...very nice. He smiled at the realisation and continued,

"Charles will be there."

"Prince Charles?"

"Heavens, no. Charles Graham, the actor."

"Bloody Hell, Myc. Charles Graham? Really? He's actually probably more famous than Prince Charles."

"Yes, really. We were also at university together. Cambridge fringe and all that. He got a part in A Touch Of Frost and went from strength to strength, thank God. He was always better than a mere support actor. Ended up in the RSC for a while. Next thing you know, he's in Game of Thrones, even if he didn't last more than a few episodes. Nobody seems to in that series."

"I do know who he is, Mycroft. Only one of the best known actors in the whole damn world...So, who else graces your ballroom then?"

"Gregory..."

"Look, Myc, I don't feel...comfortable, without knowing who to expect. I...really want to be there, but..."

"You will be out of your comfort zone, it seems." Mycroft sounded a little sad.

"Yes, I will, I admit it, but I do want to be there for you. I just...I could do without any surprises, that's all. I don't want to get tongue tied."

"Gregory, please be assured, you will be more than a match for everybody there. Do you not know your own charm and abilities?"

"Charm? Me?"

"Oh, come now, Gregory. You cannot make me believe you are unaware of your...talents in that regard?"

Greg sighed and gave him a sidelong look. "Okay, I know how to turn it on to achieve what I need to in the course of an investigation but...charm, really? I'm into footy, motorbikes and beer, and I'm not...well, I have rough edges..."

"Gregory, you have an innate ability to put people at their ease, you know. You can talk to people far more easily than I can, you can navigate social waters with no trouble at all..."

"Hardly. Mycroft, my intellectual capacity is a bit stretched when it comes to discussing art and politics."

"You know, really, beneath the veneer, the people you will meet tomorrow night are probably more comfortable discussing football and beer than the latest Turner or Booker prize winner."

"And you speak from experience?"

"I do. Trust me. My father, for instance, enjoys chatting about fishing while I ended up last year in a three-way argument on who was going to win the six nations, closely followed by a discourse on the merits of the latest Britain's Got Talent winner. Turned out to be some niece twice-removed of one of my political contacts. Highly entertaining, I do assure you. The discussion, I hasten to add, not the niece."

"I'll take your word for it." Greg frowned suddenly and fixed Mycroft with a stern look. "You have this big soiree for New Year..."

Mycroft heard the change in tone. He glanced over at his lover, wariness replacing geniality. "I do, yes. Your point?"

"Well.... I thought you said you were alone for Christmas."

"I did not lie, Gregory. I was alone for Christmas."

"But you didn't need to be. I mean you let me think you were lonely, Mycroft, that you were alone and unloved, but you could have invited your folks, or gone home, considering that you obviously get on well enough with them. So...you picked me up, rescued me... Why, Mycroft? I mean...you didn't need to be alone for Christmas, did you?"

Mycroft hesitated, trying to formulate the correct response. He would not upset everything he had built up between them with ill-chosen words. However, Gregory would require nothing less than the truth. He was not a man who suffered being lied to. "I suppose not, no. Yet in this instance, I was. Everyone else had other arrangements this year. However, I..." He paused, unsure how to continue. "The truth is, Gregory, I..." Mycroft broke off again and sighed, heavily. "In all honesty Sherlock is right when he accuses me of being lonely. I am a solitary being, through circumstance rather than anything else. Christmas is not my favourite time of year. It has...very negative connotations. With you, I hoped it would be different. Rescuing you was fortuitous, because it gave me the chance to change that negativity into something positive, even if the outcome had been different and you and I had not...found each other, if that is the correct way to describe it? It would still have been enjoyable, positive, something to remember fondly in the years to come."

"I see."

"Do you, Gregory?"

"I think so, yes. At first I was a convenience, company at Christmas, someone to share your Christmas pud with, but then..."

"Then it became something I had not even let myself think about, much less hope for. I mean, Gregory, honestly, I am hardly a handsome debonair catch, after all. No, hear me out..." because his Gregory had opened his mouth to refute his words and Mycroft wanted to face the matter head on. "I was in love once, or at least thought I was. He was sweet and kind at first, but then, over time, he changed. One day, he said some...unkind things and I... well, it was Christmas, and I thought I was in love and..."

"You believed him." Mycroft nodded sadly. "How old were you?"

"During my early years in the Civil Service, my later twenties. He was ten years older. I honestly thought we were going to be together for the rest of our lives...And then he broke it off, quite brutally. It quite destroyed my confidence in myself."

"Did you ever find out why he did that?"

Mycroft nodded. "Eventually. Only after too many years had passed. I was working for MI6 by then and I found archive files..." Mycroft fell quiet and Greg reached out and laid a hand on his thigh.

"Don't tell me if it hurts to talk about it."

Mycroft laid his hand over Greg's. "It hurts less, now. And I want you to know, to understand. I had no idea that he was a spook when he dated me. I found someone who had known him, and he told me the whole sorry tale. Jeremy had been ordered to break our relationship or leave the service. I was apparently a security risk at that time, which in all honesty I suppose I was. He chose the service over me."

"No chance you could have got back together when you were less of a security risk then?"

"Alas, no. Jeremy died on an MI6 mission in the late 90s, shortly before I began working with them.

"Aww, that's unfair," Greg sympathised. "Hang on though. I am having problems thinking of you as a security risk...I mean, the great Mycroft Holmes, a security risk? What on earth classified you like that? What were you up to?"

"I was working in the office of a certain MP who was known for certain sympathies. So he was being observed, rather closely. I left his service shortly after I found out. However, by then the damage had been done."

"So that's why Christmas isn't very good for you?"

"Alas, yes, although now I do have something positive with which to combat those darker connotations, for which I must thank you, Gregory."

Greg smiled. "I do hope," he said softly, "that I'm not a security risk?"

Mycroft turned to look at his lover with concern. "Let me reassure you, Gregory. You are about as far from being a security risk as it is possible to be. Besides, considering it is now part of my remit to determine what constitutes a security threat and what does not, I think I am amply qualified to say that you are not on my current list of risks to the safety of the Realm. So, you may relax. I am not about to break up our fledgling relationship for Queen and Country."

"That's a relief," Greg replied. "Good job I trust you."

"You should. Ah, good timing." Greg was sure he could hear relief in Mycroft's voice. "We have arrived at our first destination. Let me introduce you to Dougal."

Dougal turned out to be the owner of a Turkish-style bath house. The man had a broad Glaswegian accent and muscles like The Rock, but he admitted them into his domain with courtesy and pleasantries, and the two men spent the morning as Mycroft had promised, being groomed and pampered until Greg finally felt more like himself again and less as though he had been through a mincer. They began with a steam bath, followed by a full-body massage, ending with a proper haircut and a very close shave. Greg did not recognise himself when he glanced in the mirror. He caught Mycroft casting admiring glances his way and grinned. "Well, you did say he'd make a new man of me."

"You do scrub up rather well, my dear," Mycroft complemented, looking pleased as he lead the way back out.

"Er...you did pay, didn't you?" Greg murmured, ignoring the complement, which in truth had made him feel slightly embarrassed.

Mycroft chuckled. "I settle at the end of the month, without fail. I have had an account with Dougal for a long time now. He's quite the best in the business. I do not walk out without paying for things, Gregory. You must try to curb your policeman's instincts, my dear."

"Ah, okay. Well then... What now?"

"Now we go shopping."

Mycroft got into the waiting car and once Greg was seated, he rapped the screen between them and the driver. "Piccadilly," he ordered and the car moved gently into the midday traffic.

Shopping with Mycroft Holmes certainly proved to be an experience. London was in its post-Christmas sales mode, decorations still adorning the streets but large SALE notices up in most of the shop windows. At least, they were in the high street shop chains. Mycroft's taste went to more exclusive shops and brands. With his pay packet, even if a DI's pay made sure he wasn't a pauper, Greg certainly could not afford to frequent establishments such as those Mycroft Holmes preferred.

The car dropped them off right outside the doors of each place they went to and picked them up again in the same place, so at the very least, Greg got neither very wet nor very cold despite the shitty weather.

"I think a little off-the-peg shopping may be in order," Mycroft suggested, having murmured to his driver their next destination. They stopped in front of a modern glass fronted store in Sloane Street.

"Mycroft."

"Gregory?"

"This is Tom Ford."

"Yes, Gregory."

"Tom Ford who dresses 007."

"I believe so."

"Mycroft..."

"Gregory?"

"You cannot be serious about this."

"Why ever not?"

"Because. This is Tom Ford. A coat from here will cost more than my car..."

Mycroft suppressed a smile. "Then you need to considerably improve the quality of your car, Gregory."

"No, you are absolutely not buying me a car, Mycroft..."

Mycroft's smile was broad. "Of course not, you require a coat first and foremost. Although your own car broke down, did it not?"

"Mycroft, I'm warning you. A car is going too far. I couldn't accept it. I mean...no. Just...no. Really."

"Are you quite sure? I was thinking a smart Audi..."

"Of course I'm bloody sure. You are not buying me a car."

"Of course not, Gregory. I am buying you a coat, which presently is far more practical. And possibly shoes, and a sweater or two. Come on."

Mycroft insisted on a new warm overcoat and soft cashmere scarf, two cashmere sweaters and several shirts. He also insisted on new shoes, although the price tag nearly gave Greg heart failure.

"Nonsense, Gregory. They are superbly made; quality that will last. You owe it to yourself to dress well..."

"Yes, but..."

"But nothing, Gregory. They fit you well. You are having them. Please do not be difficult."

"Difficult? That's rich. You're doing the insisting."

"Yes, I am. Gregory, please. You have quite honestly saved me," Mycroft admitted softly. "I am doing something I want to do, for you, to say thank you, if for nothing else. I want to do something to make you happy, and this...well, the cost is a drop in the ocean to me, really. I have never had the opportunity to do this, not for anyone else. I know that you like the recent 007 movies, and Tom Ford has provided Mr Craig's suits. I want you to feel amazing, Gregory. And you will...Please, I really do not know what else to say."

"Okay, Mycroft. Have it your way if it makes you happy, but we're not going to any more menswear places, okay? You're handing over what amounts to a small mortgage for me, and that...well, no more, okay? I wouldn't be comfortable with it."

"Are you sure? There is so much I would love to see you dressed in, Gregory."

"Really?"

"Yes, and... and undressed, too," Mycroft murmured softly.

Greg grinned. "Yeah, I'll bet there is."

***

They made a few other visits before a late lunch; a jewellers' shop ("Last minute gift for Mummy."), a florist's ("Flowers for the table tomorrow."), and a leather goods shop ("Driving gloves for our father."). The baby and toddler clothes shop was a surprise though. When Greg looked curious, Mycroft explained that his housekeeper's daughter had just given birth and he wanted a baby gift for the little one. Greg smiled at that. It was pretty clear Mycroft valued his staff, and they were almost considered his extended family.
Greg picked up a couple of things to send to his sister and brother for their youngest kids and wondered about it all. There were his siblings with their traditional marriages and 2.4 kids, good jobs, nice cars and a mortgage each, and here he was, divorced, no kids, a small flat, a clapped out car and about to venture into what he hoped would be a rewarding relationship with a man.
"Penny for them?" Mycroft murmured, smiling.
"Oh, just wool gathering."
"So I see. Nothing distressing, I hope."
"You know it wasn't. You'd have been able to tell from my squint or something."
Mycroft chuckled. "Well, I detected no 'squint' so am I to assume you are perfectly fine?"
"I was thinking about my sister and brother, that's all. How traditional they are, and look at me, whoop-de-do, I'm a divorced single bisexual male, now with a man..."
"Doubtless you will now tick some more of the Met's diversity policy boxes."
Greg barked a laugh. "Doubtless. That wasn't my point though."
"You are an individual, Gregory. You are not your Brother, nor your sister. Your life is your own, and so are your choices. Stop measuring your success by your siblings' achievements. Are you happy?"
"Actually yes, I am."
"Then you have no need to compare yourself with anyone else."

Everywhere they went, bags got handed off to one of their shadows, a big silent man named Johnson. He had drawn the short straw, obviously having been designated to protect their shopping for the day. He stoically accompanied them, taking charge of the bags and stowing them in the car after every shop. In fact his sole purpose seemed to be bag carrier.
"He's part of my close protection team," Mycroft admitted, "But he isn't actually on duty. They designate one to do the job so we don't become encumbered. If in the unfortunate instance that we need to evacuate, it means we can move quickly, and whoever gets the role of package handler is not part of the immediate protection detail, thereby not reducing the team surrounding us. Merely a practical solution."
"You think of everything, don't you?"
"I do my best. I can rely upon Anthea fill in any gaps."

Visiting Fortnum and Masons was an education. Mycroft was aiming to secure last minute treats for the New Year food and drink. He picked several choice items and then waited while some hampers were made up for him, their contents carefully chosen.
"Who are the lucky recipients of those then?" Greg enquired.
"Bennett and Mrs Lewis, and Janet, among others. They look after me so well throughout the year, they deserve some decent reward for their labours."
"Aw, that's nice. You're a really decent bloke, Myc."
Mycroft really didn't have a comment to make at that one so he stayed quiet, basking in the warmth of the fact that Greg thought him a decent man.
"Myc, sorry, but I need the loo..."
"Ah, very well." Mycroft nodded toward the entrance. "You'll pick up the signs through those doors. I shall stay here and wait for you." Greg nodded and departed, disappearing from sight. He had an ulterior motive but he knew he didn't have much time. It would take all his skills to make sure Mycroft did not suspect anything.

Mycroft considered his shopping list. if they visited a couple more artisan sweet shops and chocolatiers, doubtless he could manage everything he wanted. Mycroft wanted to order gifts for his guests; small boxes of hand-crafted chocolates, tied up with tiny bows and topped off with delicate silk flowers. He glanced over at the door, aware that one of their invisible 'minders' had peeled away from the wall and followed Gregory (at a discreet distance) toward the men's room.

The moment Greg was out of the door he stopped, wondering which was the better way to go. That was when he realised he had a tail. He sighed and turned. "Do you fellas have to follow us everywhere?" he barked, annoyed at the intrusion. Instead of staying silent though, the man smiled.
"Sorry, sir. Mr Holmes orders, and I'd rather jump off a cliff than disobey him." His rueful tone left Greg in no doubt as to the consequences, should the man ever not follow orders.
"Look, this is awkward. I want to buy the daft git a present, but...well, I wanted it to be a surprise."
"We are the soul of discretion, sir. That is why Mr Holmes picked us. If you wish to buy him something, he won't hear it from me. Ms Mallory will, but that's protocol."
"Ms Mallory?"
"Anthea Mallory, sir. Mr Holmes Personal Assistant."
So that's her name. Greg smiled. "That's fine. She won't tell him either, unless it's a matter of National Security, and I have a good idea that macaron won't come under that..."
"Sir, let me do it for you. I'll tell control, but nobody will miss me for ten minutes, I can put them in with the other bags Johnson is carrying, and you'll just need to fish them out at the townhouse, sir."
"That would be great," Greg said. "Er...are you guys supposed to do that?"
"No sir, not at all," the man replied conspiratorially, "but because you're here, we have an extra detail and I'm using my initiative to prevent escalation of a situation, sir. If Mr Holmes realises you're missing, all Hell will break loose, but if I simply go buy you the requisite goods, then we should be fine."
Greg passed him two twenties. "Take it out of that and keep any change, and no telling me you aren't allowed to, okay?"
The man chuckled. "Very well, sir. What'll it be?"
"Just get me Fortnum's chocolate biscuits and some macarons, however much that gets you. I arranged with Mr Bennett to purchase something else as well, so if you do this, I'm sorted."
He watched the man walk away and returned to Mycroft.
"Refreshed, my dear?"
"Yes, thanks. All done. How about you?"
"Nearly done. I thought lunch at The Square..."

The rest of the day went quickly. Greg realised he could get used to the life Mycroft lived but it was something of a culture shock. He didn't entirely feel comfortable allowing Mycroft to pay for everything, despite the natural way in which he proffered his credit card (bloody platinum for God's sake) without hesitation everywhere they went. They returned home mid afternoon with their purchases and Greg managed to ask Bennett to put his purchases aside for him without attracting Mycroft's notice. Things were underway to prepare the place for visitors and there were two more maids going to and fro to the dining room.
"We begin preparations today, rather than leave it all last minute. My parents are due in..." Mycroft consulted his watch, "...fifty minutes..."
"Bloody Hell, Myc. That's less than an hour!"
Mycroft paused at Greg's outburst and smiled. "Last time I looked, fifty minutes was less than an hour, yes. You will have more than enough time to prepare for it, my love. They are given drinks in the library when they arrive and Bennett sees to their needs before ever I turn up. They're used to it by now. You can retire to your room and nap if you need to, fortify yourself for what is sure to be my mother's third degree."
Greg groaned. "Oh, God. What if she hates me?"
"She will not hate you, Gregory. There is no universe in which my mother would not love you. Good grief, you are a Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police. You could only have done better had you been a doctor."
"I might need one after this..."

"Mickey!"
"Mummy, how are you?"
"Fine, fine. Well, we've both had a touch of flu, tummy bugs, the odd runny nose, you know how it is. Not getting any younger... but you're looking positively radiant, my dear. Your new man looking after you?" She dug him gently in the ribs with a conspiratorial grin and earned a shy frown from her son and a tutting noise from his father.
"Come now, dear, don't tease. You'll have ample time to chat later. I dare say you could use her, son. Your mother's interrogation techniques are second to none."
"Gregory is resting at present. He wasn't well over Christmas and I have...Well...he's been staying with me."
"Good grief, Mikey..."
"Mother, Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could struggle to the end of it..."
"Oh, pish, Mycroft, you mean to tell me, you have been looking after someone?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Why shouldn't you? Mycroft, of course you should, but...he really must be something special then?" Mummy's voice had gone soft. Mycroft looked at the floor and then up, meeting her gaze.
"Yes, he is," he said simply. Mummy's smile widened and she squeezed his hand.

"Now or never," Greg muttered to himself, facing the door to the Library. Bennett had been up to fetch him, to find him pacing the floor.
"I promise you, sir, Mrs Holmes doesn't bite," the butler had said. "She's really very nice when you get to know her."
"But I'm cour..." He stopped. Courting her son? Was he really? Am I? Courting Mycroft? Bloody hell...
He steeled himself, then opened the door..Three sets of eyes settled on him as he walked through. He tried to smile, to brazen it out, as he did with every occasion that overset him.
"Oh, Mycroft." Mrs Holmes exclaimed, her voice loaded with pleased surprise, then she smiled and extended a soft hand toward the newcomer. "You must be Gregory."
"Yes...I mean, call me Greg, if you like. Mycroft insists on calling me by my full name but honestly, nobody else calls me that." He took the offered hand and smiled his usual easy smile.
"Yes, well, Mycroft likes full names, don't you dear?"
Greg glanced up and their eyes met, Mycroft's wary gaze almost pleading with him to understand. "Gregory, this is my mother, Marion Holmes, and my father, Peter."
Peter stepped forward and shook hands with Greg, a warm smile plastered on his genial face.
"Good to meet you, son. So, this is the man who has finally thawed our Mycroft, eh? Welcome to the madhouse, m'boy."
"So, Mycroft tells me you are a policeman, Gregory..." Marion said.
"Yes, Mrs Holmes. Detective Inspector, here in London..."
"So you have to tell me how you met..."

By the time dinner was ready, Marion knew that Greg was born in June 1963 (Oo, a Cancerian, they're very family orientated."), had been divorced ("Well, I'm sure you tried your best, dear."), had been a copper since he was 23 when he had graduated from Hendon Police College ("A career policeman, eh?"), and had met her son because of Sherlock's involvement ("Well, Mikey does worry about him such a lot, you know. Much more than I do, dear."). After dinner, they finally settled into a mutually satisfying discussion about younger brothers over a companionable Glenlivet. If it surprised Greg that Marion's favourite tipple was straight whisky, he made no comment.
"And do you have any siblings, Gregory?"
"Two. I have a sister and a brother, both younger than me. So I guess I know a thing or two about annoying little brothers."
Marion laughed. "I had six, all younger. And Peter has two brothers. They were all men in his family. Mycroft and Sherlock have so many cousins, it's ridiculous. Christmas is a nightmare. Thank God a lot of them moved to France."
"I have French relatives too."
"Ah, is that the reason for that wonderful name of yours?"
"Oh...er...yes, yes it is."
"I thought so. No fooling me." She paused, and looked at them both, Mycroft standing slightly behind Greg's chair. "A pity there won't be any grandchildren, but..." She sighed and smiled. "I would prefer my sons to be happy. Besides, things have changed now. You can always adopt..."
Behind him, Mycroft spluttered. Greg chuckled. "Bit early yet, Marion, but I'm not averse to it."
"Good, good." She glanced at her watch. "Five to eleven. Well, a bit longer before New Year, I think I need the little girls' room. Won't be long." She got up gracefully and made her way out of the door. The doorbell chimed and Mycroft frowned.
"Who on earth is that at this time?"
"No idea, but Bennett will find out." Moments later, the door opened and Bennett peered in.
"Bennett?" Mycroft frowned.
"Sir, your brother and Doctor Watson are here. Shall I show them in?"
Mycroft and Greg exchanged a disbelieving glance and they both shot to their feet. "Of course. Of course. Would you apologise to Mrs Jenkins and ask her to make up the Blue room, please?"
"Already done, sir, I believe." He turned away. "Gentlemen, please go on in. Refreshments?"

"Sherlock, John, to what do we owe this pleasure?" Mycroft reached to shake John's hand while Sherlock swept past him.
"John insisted we come visit," Sherlock replied tartly. "After all, it is the New Year, and you did invite us to grace your halls yet again."
"Well, well, that was very...agreeable of you. Do please sit down."
"Dad," Sherlock engulfed his stepfather in a hug, which was returned enthusiastically, watched by a bemused Watson and a surprised Mycroft. Greg grinned. The door opened again and Marion stepped back in, saw her son and squealed with delight.
"Oh, Sherlock, you came!"
"Mummy," he said, allowing himself to be smothered in a hug from her.
"And John too." She quickly transferred her affections and hugged the doctor as well. "Oh my, this...this is wonderful. My two boys, and their partners...Oh, this is the Best New Year ever! Isn't it the best New Year ever, Peter?"
"Best New Year ever," he echoed, smiling affably.

They went up to the roof terrace to see in the New Year, another part of the house Mycroft had kept secret. It was cold, but they muffled up and huddled together and Greg wouldn't have swapped this for the world. They drank champagne and wished each other Happy New Year, listening to the bells ringing in 2016, and sang an impromptu Auld Lang Syne initiated by Marrion, while a backdrop of fireworks split the air with their sparkling rosettes of splintered sparks. Tomorrow would be the grand reception and New Year Party but Greg couldn't care less. He had Mycroft, his parents seemed to like their son's choice of partner and frankly, Greg couldn't remember a time when he had felt so at home. Roll on 2016, he thought. I'm ready for you.

***

New Year's Day and crime was on hold. At least it was in Greg's book. He had a few more days to enjoy at Mycroft's pleasure and then he would be back to work in the somewhat wetter capital. Snow had changed to rain and it had rained rather a lot over the last week, drowning certain parts of the country with flash floods and sparking climate change discussions in the papers. It hadn't stopped this New Year's celebrants from having the usual shower (no pun intended) of drunk and disorderlies, but on the whole, the serious crimes seemed to have calmed a bit. Nobody had tried summoning him, which might have had more to do with his host than the lack of murders, but Greg was not complaining. Despite his illness this break had done more to recharge his batteries than anything else had since...well, forever. He could return to work and the new year with a new outlook, and a new partner.

Greg took his time in the bathroom, looking approvingly at the new him reflected back in the mirror. The pampering he had received at the Turkish Baths the previous day had improved how he was feeling to the point that he had almost thrown the infection off and his cough had almost disappeared. When he emerged from the bathroom it was to find that Bennett had arrived with a steaming hot cup of tea.

"Good morning, sir. Breakfast is served in the dining room, when you are ready. Mr Mycroft and his parents are already there."

"Thank you, Mr Bennett. Happy New Year to you, by the way."

"Thank you, sir. Happy New Year to you too. I hope the celebrations were satisfactory last night?"

"Yes, they were. I...I wonder...That thing I asked you to get for me..."

"I have it in my office, sir, together with the biscuits and macaron from yesterday."

"Great. Thanks. I was thinking...what's the plan for this evening exactly?"

"Usually, Mr Mycroft and his parents get together for drinks before the majority of their guests begin to arrive, around 18.00 hours in the Library. Usually the only person to join them is Miss Anthea. Mr Sherlock and Doctor Watson also, if they attend of course. Dinner is at 19.00, followed by a sojourn in the drawing room afterwards. That can go on for a long time though."

"I was thinking maybe catch him in the library?"

"May I suggest...?"

"Go ahead."

"I would wait, sir, find a moment to get Mr Mycroft on his own later on. He usually does not care for surprises, you see, and we wouldn't want you to stumble at the first fence, as it were."

"Oh. Okay. Right then, I'll take your advice. Wouldn't want to upset his equilibrium."

"Very good, sir." Bennett smiled and withdrew.

Greg sipped the tea slowly, trying to order his thoughts. He was either going to make a colossal prat of himself, or it was the best thing he would have done in his life, ever.

He was greeted effusively at breakfast, and was surprised to see even Sherlock had stirred himself, although John looked a little the worse for wear. Greg grinned and greeted everyone at table, slapping John on the back as he passed, eliciting a soft moan. "What's up, John? He keep you up past your bedtime?"

John swatted him and then groaned again. "Fu...push off, Greg," he snapped, modifying his language since Mrs Holmes was present.

"Why, Gregory," Marion said, with a barely suppressed smile, "I did not have you pinned for a cruel man?"

"Sorry, John. Marion is right, I should be more sympathetic." He shook his head. "You're a bit of a lightweight, though. You can't have been up much past 2..."

"2.30..."

"What on earth were you drinking?"

"My Talisker," Mycroft answered tartly.

Greg's grin broadened. "Get some breakfast into you, you'll feel better. Drink something, preferably not coffee..."

"I do know what to do, Greg. 'M a doctor..."

"Yeah, right." Greg shoveled bacon and eggs onto his plate and poured himself a generous coffee. He sat down next to Mycroft, leaning in to buss a kiss to the man's cheek. "This," he said, with relish, "looks amazing. Did you sleep well, love?" Since Mycroft's parents were staying, they had decided discretion was the better part of valor and opted to sleep in their own rooms. 

"I did indeed, Gregory. You look chipper yourself."

"I am, thank you. So, what's the plan for today?"

"You can relax, do what you will until this afternoon. You may watch television, read books, go for a walk...although the weather is far from clement for that kind of pursuit. It is up to you what you do. I on the other hand have a list of things to get through."

"Sounds ominous."

"Onerous, but not ominous. Tedious but not terribly so. I shall be done in time for this evening, fear not."

"Let me help?"

Mycroft paused. He had never had anyone offer to help before. He wasn't quite sure what he could delegate. "In truth, Gregory, I am not sure you can. I am a tad too used to doing this on my own. Not to mention matters of National Security. However," he added on seeing the slightly crestfallen look, "maybe there will be something..." He was rewarded with a brighter grin that lit the room. Mycroft realized there was little he would not do to secure the appearance of that luminous smile.

So Greg spent the rest of the morning with his partner (he found he liked referring to Mycroft in that way, even in his own head) reviewing place settings, making sure gifts were packaged and correctly labelled, that rooms were readied for those guests he knew were staying, and that all the extraneous details had been completed to his satisfaction. Mycroft checked absolutely everything; from a sufficient supply of his (and his guest's) favorites in the drinks cabinet (there was one in each room), to the correct placing of the monogrammed towels in the bedrooms. Gregory soon learned that for Mycroft the devil was in the details.

Time flew, and they stopped for lunch in time for Mycroft to catch up on a missed morning's work, reviewing his emails and text messages. The next hour (following lunch) was spent on the phone in his office. That was the only time Greg was banished, because Mycroft argued he needed the privacy. Anthea turned up during this time, suit bag in hand, and went up to the room usually reserved for her exclusive use when she stayed over. Shortly after that Greg went up to his room and decided to nap, knowing Bennett would be sent in search of him when he was needed.

The next thing he knew there was a knock on the door but it was Mycroft, not Bennett, who peered into the room.

"Hello, love," Greg murmured sleepily. "What brings you here?"

"I'm sorry. I woke you." Mycroft sounded contrite.

"No problem." Greg stretched and groaned softly. "Oh, that's...better. Come in, love. Missed you."

"My apologies, I am only sorry that the workaday things managed to intrude on our day. Politics never sleeps."

"Wouldn't know that to go by our present government."

"No comment, Gregory, as well you know."

"Yeah, I know. Come here, you. Did you manage to save the known world again?"

Mycroft chuckled. "I do not hold any illusions, Gregory. I am not the sole arbiter of world peace."

"No, but you do a damn fine job of being part of it." He engulfed the man in a hug which quickly grew heated and they ended up lying on the bed, cuddling and kissing.

"This is...nice." Mycroft stared into Gregory's dark brown eyes, mere inches away, and marveled. How has my life come to this? Strong arms pulled him closer and they lay there for a while, dozing in the drowsy warmth.

A knock on the door a scant half hour later woke them both and Mycroft struggled to his feet, tidying his appearance hastily. "Come in." He had no wish to appear so...so what, content? Could one be mussed with contentment? He sighed, frustrated.

"Sirs." Bennett entered, unphased at finding the two of them together and nodding a greeting to them.

"Ah, Bennett, is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine, sir. I came to tell you that it is approaching four o'clock, and the first of your guests has arrived. Prince Achmed is currently in the Jade room, settling in."

"Ah, very good, Bennett. I shall greet the Prince shortly. Thank you."

Bennett checked his watch. "Magrib is at 16.02 today, sir."

"Ah, yes, thank you, Bennett. I shall of course, wait until later then."

"Magrib?" Greg asked when the butler had exited.

"Salah. Islamic prayer times. Achmed is Moslem and adheres rigidly to his faith. He always has the Jade room when he stays here, it faces east."

"Thoughtful," Greg murmured. "Nobody can say you don't take care of your guests."

"Of course I do, Gregory. Anything less would simply not be acceptable."

Shortly after that Mycroft disappeared to dress for dinner, something he encouraged Greg to do as well. "I know it will be a while yet but these things take a little time," he said before he left. "The family meets early, in the library."

"I know. Bennett told me."

"I want you to be there too, my dear. If you like, I shall send Bennett to check you over. He is a master at making sure you don't miss anything. I don't mean to insult your intelligence, but you expressed a little...lack of confidence earlier, concerning attending the event. I merely wish to save you any doubt that you have achieved the correct appearance?"

"Thanks. I know I'm not well-versed in attending these shindigs, so I will accept. I can dress myself, obviously. I'm a big boy now, but I'll accept Bennett's practiced eye on me when I'm done. I really want to do you credit, you know."

Mycroft cast him a fond look. "I am in no doubt that you shall, Gregory."

"And I'm just as sure I won't, but then, we shall see, shan't we? We'll let Bennett be the judge of that." Mycroft only smiled and exited the room.

0000000

"Mikey, whatever is the matter?" Marion Holmes swept up to her son where he was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He was on pins by the look of him, nerves making him shift almost imperceptibly from foot to foot, although no one short of herself, Sherlock and possibly Bennett would have noticed.

"I am fine, mummy. I am merely awaiting Gregory's arrival..."

"Aha, all becomes clear. He will be down shortly, my love, and looking perfect, I shouldn't wonder. So do not fret."

"But..."

"But what?"

"What if..."

"Mycroft?" Marion stepped close. "Do not underestimate your young man. He would never let you down. If you cannot believe that, then you may as well cease and desist right now."

"Mummy, please, neither of us is young."

"Pish. When you get to my age, everyone is young. Now quit fretting, Mycroft. Faint heart never won fair lord." She squeezed his arm reassuringly. The next moment her quiet "Oh my," made Mycroft follow his mother's gaze up the stairs. He froze, eyes widening. Oh my, indeed. The vision at the top of the sweeping staircase could not be real, could not be his. As he watched, Gregory began to descend the stairs like Cinderella at the ball, only this Cinderella was a man, and a very attractive man at that. No, scratch that. Not even 007 could match the suave sophistication in Gregory's appearance. My God, is that a swagger in his step? Could someone swagger down stairs?

"Well, if I were twenty years younger..." his mother murmured.

"And not married to an old fogey like me," Mycroft's father said softly, hugging her.

She swatted him and smiled widely. "Oh you. Don't creep up on me like that, you..."

"Come on, let's go inside. Sherlock is locked in a debate with John and I have a feeling we might need your considerable talent for diplomacy..." They exchanged a pointed look and then the two of them disappeared, leaving Mycroft to welcome his rather well-dressed lover.

Gregory was clad in the Tom Ford dinner suit they had bought the day before. It fit his frame perfectly, showing off his physique rather well. Almost too well for Mycroft's liking, considering it took all his available willpower to quell the desire stirring at the sight of this amazing man.

"Well, I hope I don't disgrace you, love," Greg said gently, leaning in and then pulling back uncertainly. He wasn't sure whether Mycroft wanted an open display of affection or not. He was relieved when the man leaned in for a small kiss.

"My apologies, Gregory. Most of those here tonight are friends but I appreciate your...hesitation. I would prefer small displays of affection when in public, only while we find our feet, as it were?"

"Not a problem, love. I'm happy to go at your pace, you know that."

"I am forever in awe of your patience, my dear," Mycroft said with a soft smile. "May I say, you look stunning tonight, Gregory."

"What, really? Really really?" Greg scrutinized Mycroft's expression for dissembling and found none. "Wow, well, thanks, I think. You can thank Bennett though. He sorted me out a bit. Have to say, you don't look so bad yourself."

"Thank you, Gregory. I...I am glad you're here."

"Me too, even if I do still feel outclassed. I'm here for you, though, not the rest of them."

"I have told you, there is no reason for you to feel outclassed. You are an amazing man, Gregory."

"Yeah, right."

"You still don't believe me."

"No, I don't. I'm ordinary. Nothing amazing about me..."

"We shall have to agree to disagree then. To me, Gregory, to me, you are something I had stopped believing might one day be mine. I had ceased to have faith that anybody might appear who could understand me, moreover I had ceased to believe there could be anyone who might actually want to get to know me, and then to offer me compassion and kindness concerning my life? No, Gregory, no matter your own opinion of yourself, mine is honest, and I do believe the words I am offering you."

"Well...guess I have to believe it then."

"Yes, Gregory. Please do."

"So...you're telling me I'm awesome?"

Mycroft's face split into a soft grin. "Yes, Gregory, you are awesome. If that makes you feel better."

Greg grinned and wrapped an arm around Mycroft. "Team Awesome," he said. "I feel a pub quiz coming on. Team Awesome would wipe the floor with them."

"Now, now, Gregory. Baby steps. You know how I feel about public houses."

"A man can dream, can't he?" Greg's grin widened. "You, me, a couple of pints in the beer garden of the Earl of Essex."

Mycroft looked at the dazzling grin and shook his head in gentle exasperation. He remembered doing the same to Sherlock too many times to count. "As I said, Gregory, baby steps."

Greg's grin didn't waver. He nodded agreeably, then offered his arm to Mycroft and together they went into the library. 

***

"So, Gregory," Marrion almost pinned him in a corner once the family was all present and drinks had been dispensed. She had waited until Mycroft was engaged in conversation with his step-father and Sherlock and John were similarly engaged in a discussion with Anthea before she pounced.

Greg eyed her warily. "Er...yes, Marrion?"

"Do you have...plans, you and Mycroft?"

"Plans?"

"Oh, come, come, my dear, plans. Do I have to be more specific?"

"Well, actually Mrs Homes..."

"Marrion."

"Marrion, we...really, we have only been together a very short while. I have no wish to rush things. Mycroft is..."

"...a ditherer. Mikey has never been one to rush into anything. He is not the least bit impetuous. However, neither is he confident in matters of the heart. Be bold for him, Gregory, please. If he truly has feelings for you, and believe me, he has shown a level of regard for you heretofore unprecedented in his life to date, then seize the day for him?"

"I'm not sure I can, Marrion."

"What? Why on earth not?"

"Because." Greg sighed. "Look, Marrion, I think I'm in love with Mycroft, but...much as I might love him, he needs to realise that on his own. He also needs to understand his feelings before we decide anything more...permanent. We're pretty new to this, both of us. I've been here a week and we decided to give this a go only a few days ago. I was married for a long time, and I am certainly not familiar with dating and relationships. I failed at the first one. I have no desire to do so again. I will give Mycroft all the time he needs, and all the support he needs, but whether he dithers or not, well, that's Mycroft, and if he did things differently, he wouldn't be the man I know, and love. So, I am sorry if I disappoint you, but our relationship will go at the pace we both agree on, because if either of us try pushing things, it'll only end in disaster." Greg met Marrion's gaze steadily, and watched as a smile broke out.

"Whatever else you might be, you are not a disappointment, Gregory. Far from it. You will be very good for my son."

"We'll be very good for each other," Greg replied with a smile. "Rest assured, the moment we make any plans, you'll be the first to know. I promise."

"Gregory, is Mummy behaving herself?"

"Mikey!" She swatted her son none too gently for creeping up behind her.

"Don't worry, love. Your mum has been making sure I don't get lonely."

"Lonely? I fail to see how you could be, considering you know everyone here..."

"Come on, Mycroft," Marrion said. "Refill my glass for me and let's drink a toast to the New Year."

Greg watched Marrion steer Mycroft away and chuckled, draining his own glass and following in their wake. He could certainly see where Mycroft gained many of his mannerisms from.

After their family time in the library, everybody moved to the drawing room to join the rest of their guests. A few had already arrived, including Lady Elizabeth Smallwood and a small cadre of Mycroft's colleagues. Greg noted that Mycroft hadn't come into the drawing room, but as Greg was engaged in a discussion with Peter concerning the merits of fly fishing he wasn't in a position to find out why.

"When you and Mycroft are free to spend a few days, have him bring you over," Peter suggested. "We have the fishing rights to the riverside that borders our property, and I would be more than willing to teach you."

"Is he trying to get you to go fishing with him?" The fond exasperation in Marrion's voice was clear. "He does it to everyone..."

"Yes, and he's succeeded. It's always something I wanted to have a go at."

Marrion rolled her eyes as she passed by them. "Oh gracious, now there'll be two fishing widows in the family. Oh, Elizabeth, there you are. How are you?"

As soon as he could, Greg slipped out the door in search of his lover. He found him loitering in his own hallway. "Mycroft?"

"Yes, Gregory?"

"You not coming in yet?"

"I am awaiting our other guests. As host it is my duty to meet and greet, as it were. You don't have to stay though."

"If it's okay with you, can I keep you company? I mean, I am your new partner after all. Seeing as it's official and everything."

An unexpected bloom of warmth spread through Mycroft's chest. "Thank you, Gregory. That would be most acceptable." Mycroft checked his watch. "I am afraid one or two are a little late..."

On that note, Greg decided to take the opportunity to give Mycroft his gift. He opened his mouth to begin but the doorbell rang and Bennett answered, and then his partner was moving away to greet someone.

"Hetty!" Mycroft enthusiastically greeted the surprisingly little woman whom Bennett had just escorted to the drawing room door. Greg shut his mouth again with a sigh and watched as Mycroft grasped her offered hand and dropped a kiss on the back of it, all while bowing low.

"Never does that to me..." Greg muttered with a grin.

"Tosh, Gregory," Mycroft chided, straightening. "You are neither a Lady nor a colleague. Henrietta is both."

"Ex-colleague, I should say," she replied in a matter-of-fact New England accent.

"Never, Hetty. Once a colleague in this business, always a colleague," Mycroft assured. "Moreover a good friend too, which also thankfully never changes. Gregory, this is Henrietta Lange, Operations Manager of NCIS Los Angeles, fluent in ten languages, and an avid fan of old English churches."

"I find their atmosphere soothing," she said, enigmatically. "Timeless. Let's me know things carry on no matter what. Glad to meet you, young man."

"Pleasure," Greg said with one of his winning smiles, taking the same hand and dropping an equally charming kiss to the knuckles.

"My, my, two gallant young men attending me. I am very lucky. It's good to be back in Blighty, Mycroft. I am sorry to be the late arrival but my flight was abysmal."

Mycroft tut-tutted and commiserated, assuring her it was fine, then handed her graciously on through the door to be met by Marion and swept into the festivities.

"Flight?" Greg frowned. "She's flown over here specially?"

"Oh yes, does it every year. Private jet," Mycroft explained.

"NCIS?" Greg enquired, curious.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," Mycroft explained."United States."

"Never heard of 'em. Do I want to know why you consider her a colleague?"

"Probably not, but please, do not trust her, with anything," Mycroft said unexpectedly. "Unless you are working to a common goal, that is. She's ex- of the Service, a bit of a dark horse and a very, very good operative."

"Make that small, cunning, and deadly," Sherlock commented as he slipped out the room and walked across the hall toward them, John following a step to the left and behind, like a bodyguard. "She has always reminded me of Rikki Tikki Tavi."

"Succinct as always." Mycroft smiled as his brother drew level, and cast an eye over John Watson. "You have your own version to hand," he added in an undertone.

"The small ones are always the most dangerous, as you well know," Sherlock replied softly. "Moreover they are usually the most loyal too."

"I know. Never underestimate a cuddly jumper. Made that mistake years ago." Abruptly he raised his voice again, including John in the conversation. "Why don't you go on back in, brother dear, we'll be with you soon."

"John and I slipped out to..."

"Powder your noses?" Greg suggested. John snorted a laugh and Sherlock glared.

"Freshen up," he sneered.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Greg grinned.

"They are not calling it anything. We were simply wanting a breath of air. Your colleagues are enough to stifle anybody, brother dear."

Mycroft sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately I must agree somewhat with that assessment. George is enough to asphyxiate anybody, his conversation is so dry it is positively airless."

"You better stick around then, Sherlock," Greg suggested. "Looks like you might have a murder to solve."

"That's your division, Lestrade."

"And what's yours?"

"Why, John of course. Now, if you don't mind, we are wasting time." There was laughter barely suppressed as he dragged John to the stairs.

"Well, please be quick about it," Mycroft said, tartly. "I do not expect you to keep our guests waiting."

"Pft," Sherlock spat derisively.

"You know mummy, and father too, would not approve."

"Don't worry, Mycroft. I'll make sure he sticks to the schedule," John called back.

Greg watched them hurry upstairs and disappear around the corner of the landing, feeling envious. He felt like going back to bed himself and the evening wasn't even half over. Silence fell again.

"Mycroft..." Greg began.

"Crofty, there you are!"

Greg swore under his breath as they both turned toward the source of the familiar voice. Charles Graham was striding toward them, holding out a hand to shake, drawing Mycroft in for a warm hug and grinning all over his handsome face.

"Well, look at you. How are you, old man?" He drew back, looking Mycroft in the eyes. "You're different somehow, Crofty. What gives?"

"Charlie, good to see you too. I'm fine, as always. Yourself?"

"Never better. So....spill, Mike. What's your secret? You look..." the man's eyes narrowed, "...content, that's it."

"Charlie, I want you to meet Gregory." Greg was subjected to the famous dark-eyed stare as the Royal Shakespeareian Company actor took in Mycroft's companion from his shoes to his hair in one sweeping glance. Greg stuck out a nervous hand and it was gripped in a firm dry grasp and shaken warmly. "My partner," Greg heard Mycroft say.

To hear himself described like that, without hesitation on Mycroft's part, shook Greg a little. He looked at Mycroft, but the man was focused on his guest. When he looked back, Charles was smiling at him.

"Well, well. I wondered who would eventually grab the daft git's heart. Easy to see why, Mike. Damn it, man," he said to Greg, "I envy anyone who can wear hair like yours." He smiled slyly. "So, Mike, you netted yourself a silver fox, eh? You lucky dog. I look forward to getting to know you better, Gregory."

"Greg, please."

"Nice to meet you, Greg. Don't let him have his way all the time."

Greg watched the man go into the drawing room, captured by Marrion's warm welcome, trying to reconcile what he had just seen with the roles he had seen him play on film. A king in Game of Thrones, a brooding detective in a channel 4 drama, too many historical plays to count, a reputation for outspoken support of the LGBT community and a penchant for speeding; at least if Greg's mates in Traffic were to be believed.

"You see, Gregory, Charles is delightfully normal."

"Yeah, I can see that, for a posh toff actor with a privileged background..."

"Gregory! Do I detect jealousy?"

"Not on your Nelly, Holmes. How could I be jealous of him?"

"Well, you did fanboy a little when I originally mentioned he would be coming."

"Well, yes, a bit. I mean, he's famous, isn't he? He's an amazing actor, fantastic talent, everybody knows his face and wants to know him, but... well, I am one up on him."

"Oh?"

"Well, the way he looks at you leads me to think he may have a thing for you, love. However, you don't reciprocate, or you'd already be his partner, and I wouldn't be here, so either he's never asked, or he's asked and you've refused. Either way, I've got you, haven't I? He hasn't. So stands to reason he should be envious of me."

Mycroft blushed a little at that. It was true that, years ago, Charles had made advances but Mycroft had stepped back, knowing that being partnered to a flamboyant and talented actor could be potentially damaging to his fledgling career, and there was something about Charles that had warned Mycroft not to go too far with the man. Even back then, well before fame had found him, Mycroft had recognised Charles' talent as something that would take him a long way, something that would eventually catapult him into the public eye. His personality was such that self absorption and arrogance were inevitable, albeit with a certain kindness behind them. But...and it was a rather large But with a capital attached, Mycroft knew in his heart of hearts that they would have been very bad for each other; ultimately destructive and possessive and demanding things neither could deliver. He glanced over at Gregory and wondered. No matter how he ran the possibilities through his brain, assessed the potentials and adjusted the parameters, he could find few drawbacks in being with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. At least, he could foresee none of the negatives he had predicted where Charles was concerned.

"Mycroft, my good friend." The speaker was a handsome man with dusky skin over angular features and the typical dark hair of the Arab. He was clad in a very fashionable take on his national dress, sporting subtle gold jewellery and a watch that probably cost more than Greg's house. He was quiet though, a stark contrast to Charlie Graham's over-the-top actor's presence. He was dignified and calm, greeting Mycroft warmly, and leaning in to hug him. "I am sorry not to be down earlier but I had to take an important call. I have no peace, not even here..."

"So good to see you again, my friend." Mycroft smiled and shook the man's hand. "I understand perfectly. The onerousness of one's duty catches up with one eventually. Now I want you to meet Gregory." The man turned interested eyes upon him and Greg was subjected to another scrutiny, but this one was sharply assessing, curious. "My partner." Mycroft again had no hesitation in telling the Prince that. "Gregory, I want you to meet Prince Achmed Ibn Ibrahim Ibn Mahoud. Of the Saudi Royal Family."

"Pleasure, your Highness." Greg held out a hand to shake, and found it gripped warmly.

"The pleasure is mine, I assure you, Gregory. Please, call me Achmed. Any friend of Mycroft's is a friend to me also. We have known each other a very long time." He turned to Mycroft and smiled. "I am pleased to see you move on, my friend. You have been alone too long."

"Yes, well..."

"Forgive me, Gregory, but this man is...the best of friends, my best friend, a loyal man who cleaved to me when others did not. I do not forget such actions. I look forward to drinking your continued health, both of you."

"Do go in, Achmed. We'll be joining you shortly. Everyone is here now, I simply have to inform my staff of a small matter."

"I understand. I will see you later." He turned and swept away, and Greg watched him go with envy.

"That man...wouldn't look out of place in Lawrence of Arabia. He's certainly got more than his fair share of charisma."

"My, my, Gregory, do I detect yet another hint of jealousy?"

"No, you most certainly do not. But he does have something though..."

Mycroft smiled, hit the send button on his phone, and linked his arm through Greg's. "Come, my dear. My staff know we're all here and that we will be starting dinner soon, and we have a party to look forward to."

 

"...straight up, it really was a dust up in a flour factory. Everybody came out of that place covered head to foot in white. Looked like a bunch of extras from a ghost tour. Then the Fire Brigade turned up and let us know how bloody dangerous it was, considering the flash point of flour..." Mycroft watched Gregory hold court with ease, surrounded by an admiring group as he wove his improbable-enough-to-be-true tale, Peter, Achmed, and Charles among them. Hetty stood on the sidelines, observing.

"He will be very good for you, Mycroft," she murmured confidently.

"I hope so, Hetty. I really do."

"Have you told him about Jeremy yet?" Mycroft glanced at her with a slight frown. "If you do, he'll understand."

"Is that your famous judgement talking or an educated guess?"

"Both."

"I told him. And yes, he does understand." Mycroft watched as she smiled back at him triumphantly over the rim of her gin and tonic and drifted away in the direction of Lady Elizabeth Smallwood and Marrion who seemed to be deep in conversation about a new novel.

Several times over the evening Greg found himself touching the small box in his pocket and looking for Mycroft, trying to find a moment to get the man on his own. He had failed before dinner and it took almost all evening to do so, but he managed to corner the elusive British Government when he was pouring himself another drink and everyone else was seemingly otherwise engaged. "Mycroft? Got a minute?"

Mycroft turned to see a rather agitated version of his lover, and wondered what was causing the man such anxiety that he was bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation of...what? An unfavourable outcome, his mind supplied.. "Gregory? What on earth is on your mind? You look a little...confounded?"

"That is an understatement, Myc. Listen...There's something I want to say, but I couldn't find the right time..."

Mycroft held up a hand and then lead his lover to a door, opening it onto the now-deserted library. Once the door closed behind them, Mycroft faced his new partner, put his head on one side and waited, trying to quell his own anxiety that something was not right for the man.

"I went and got you something..." Gregory blurted, then paused, fingering something in his pocket. "Two somethings actually. Look, I think I might be about to make a colossal idiot of myself...but..." He thrust a small box at Mycroft and waited anxiously.

Mycroft decided not to allow his mind to make assumptions, despite the nature of the box in his hand. He levered open the lid and looked inside. Nestled on a bit of cotton wool lay a plain yale key, a brass one, newly cut. "Gregory, is this what I think it is?"

"The key to my front door, yes," Greg replied, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Look, I know it's daft, I mean what on earth would you want to come to mine for when yours is so much better? But...well...it's a gesture..."

"...of trust. I do understand, Gregory, and I am profoundly humbled that I have not yet thought to give you the same. You have opened your heart and now your home to me. This is...It is not a matter of whose house is better or bigger or richer or poorer...This is..." Mycroft sighed, collecting his thoughts. "Again you prove how amazing you are. Thank you, my love. Thank you so much."

"You really like it?"

"Of course I do, and I take it in the spirit in which it is delivered. If it is not too lame a gesture, I will have one made for you as well. I want you to feel as comfortable here as you obviously want me to feel at yours." Gregory suddenly gave him a dazzling smile of relief and joy.

"Thank God, you understand."

"Yes, I do. Gregory..."

"And there's something else, underneath the key..."

"Something else?" Mycroft picked the bit of cotton wool padding delicately out of the box to reveal...oh. A ring. Plain, narrow and obviously gold.

"Gregory...I..."

"It's a promise ring, Mycroft," Greg blurted again. "You wear it on your right hand. I just...I wanted to show you I mean business with regard to our relationship. I am serious about us, and I know that while it's too early for anything else, I hoped you'd see this as a promise of things to come..."

"Oh, my dear. I...I really do not know what to say."

"Just say yes, that's all I need. It's not a proposal, Mycroft, just a promise to see what happens, to try. That's all..."

"I unequivocally accept, Gregory." Mycroft held the ring out and allowed Greg to slide it on his finger. It fit, and Mycroft found himself speechless once more.

"Here's my promise. No matter what, I am going to do my best to be here for you, to build on what we have, and see where this year takes us. Regardless, I am going to see to it you get the best sex you've ever had. Deal?"

"Deal, my dear. I think I should perhaps suggest a redirection of your career. You would make a fine negotiator. In turn I promise you, Gregory, to do everything within my power to move heaven and earth so that we may benefit from our new found relationship. I cannot promise more than that. You of all people understand the demands on my time but...I will try."

"Then we can't say better than that, can we? Come on. Party's waiting. People to tell, including your parents."

"Gregory..." Mycroft pulled him up short.

"What?"

"Thank you, from the very bottom of my heart, for making my festive season...well, festive again."

"Pleasure's all mine, love. And I promise you this. No more lonely Christmases, alright?"

"Alright, Gregory," and Mycroft allowed his new man to lead him back into the party, fully aware that his festive seasons would never be quite the same again.

***

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