[Greg slipped into cafe, glancing around hesitantly for Mycroft. Not seeing him, Greg sat down at a small booth in the back and ordered himself some coffee. He was grateful to be the first to arrive. It made the whole situations less intimidating.
So Greg sat and drank his coffee when it arrived.]
*Mycroft entered the cafe and quickly spotted Greg, sliding into the booth and ordering a tea.*
Good afternoon, Gregory.
*Mycroft settled in, not quite sure what to say at this point, and feeling the uncomfortable silence building. He waited impatiently for a moment, but Greg didn’t appear to be bothered at all be the tension.*
I’m sorry. I really am.
I know that does not change anything of significance, but it needed to be said.
[Greg sat his coffee down on the table, looking down at it through half-lidded eyes. He didn’t move for a moment, didn’t acknowledge what Mycroft had said. After collecting his thoughts, and forcing himself to be calm, Greg still didn’t look up, speaking instead into his drink.]
If I asked you to stop, would you?
[Greg paused, hesitating. He felt suddenly and inexplicably ashamed, like somehow he was in the wrong. The shame combined with the anger and nervousness he already felt, twisting his stomach into horrible knots. He just wanted to yell until he felt better, but he managed to keep his voice quiet, his words still having a dangerous edge to them, sounding vaguely like a growl]
If I asked you to stop seeing him, at all, ever, would you? For me?
Gregory…
*Mycroft sat back quickly, withering under Greg’s glare. He took a drink of his tea, the cup cradled in both his hands to help with the shaking *
I don’t think I could.
*Mycroft saw the hurt and confusion in Greg’s eyes, and he rushed through to an explanation, uncharacteristically tripping over words*
I want to.
I want to stop, but it’s like a compulsion.
It’s not that easy to get rid of, and he is one of the few that have been successful in dealing with it.
It’s something I want and hate at the same time.
[Greg watched silently, lips pressed together into a thin line to prevent any interruptions on his part. He could read the desperation in Mycroft’s face, and Greg wanted to be the person who eased that tension. He didn’t want to let someone else do that for him.]
I can help.
I can do whatever it is that you need so badly from him.
I want to do that for you.
*Mycroft nearly choked on his tea, sudden images flashing through his mind. His heart was racing as:
Gregory taking him from behind, a knife pressed to his throat, cuts and scratches burning across his chest, the pain making him moan indiscreetly in the back of the car, shattered glass under his knees and hands, cutting deep. Gregory’s laughing, lapping at the blood on his back, growling threats under his breath, making Mycroft harder. Then he presses the knife-
Mycroft stopped himself quickly, shutting down his brain to stop the onslaught of images. He forcibly brought his breathing under control, then his heart rate. Finally able to look up at Gregory, he shook his head in fear and horror*
No, no you can’t.
This…. this is not something I could bear to see from you.
I won’t ruin you, Gregory.
Please, don’t force it.
I don’t think I could say no.
[Greg watched Mycroft, letting the conversation fall into silence again. He idly played with the cup in his hands, never actually bringing it to his lips. Eventually, he just set the cup aside, reaching out to take one of Mycroft’s hands.]
I want this, Mycroft, us, to work.
But I have no desire to share you with anyone.
So when you can be mine, and mine only, then you know where to find me, but until then….
[Greg’s eyes were sad, he let go of Mycroft’s hand, laying it gently on the table and then just watched it, unable to bring himself to meet Mycroft’s eyes again.]
I’m sorry.
*Mycroft felt a slight tug in his chest as Greg took his hand, enjoying the warm, rough texture of Greg’s skin against his. He was so caught up in the feeling of tenderness that Greg’s touch evoked that he didn’t immediately understand what Greg was saying, or why he was pulling away.
Then, he did.
And he wished, for the first time in his life, to be wholly ignorant.
His brain wouldn’t stop, bringing up every moment he had missed spending with Greg, having to run off to work, or when the Yard called for the Detective. He thought about his car ride with Moriarty, and how he had just left Greg alone, and how their first (and now only, he almost choked on the thought) Valentine’s Day date went. About the wedding and the dance that quickly led to so much more and how he couldn’t stop smiling that entire next morning.
But Gregory was waiting for his reaction, and the desperation Mycroft felt clinging to him suddenly forced his hand.*
Gregory, please, I’ll stop, just don’t leave, I can’t handle that, I need you, I want you, you are so important to me, please just give me the chance, I want to belong to you, only you, I can do it, please, for you, I can, I’ll break it off tonight, right now if you want, just….
please, Gregory…
Mycroft, I don’t think you can…
[Greg refused to look up, instead slowly standing, keeping a careful distance between them. He could feel Mycroft’s eyes on him, burning his skin, and he felt tears and bile rising up in him. Wouldn’t it just be so much easier, nicer, to give in? To press against Mycroft, and cry and laugh and kiss until nothing else mattered. Why should this keep them apart? They were both obviously smitten, and this seemed so trivial, so inconsequential when you thought about everything, about the present and the future and what that could mean. It would be the most natural thing for Greg to just slide into the booth next to Mycroft, pressed together at their sides, holding hands and talking, then going to bed together and waking up together. Maybe Greg could move in with Mycroft, he didn’t have much stuff of his own to take up space, so it wouldn’t be too big a problem. Maybe he would fall in love, and maybe he would make them official. He would get to see Mycroft’s face shining at the altar, laughter and happiness and tears lighting up his eyes and smile. And all of the for Greg and Greg only, for the rest of their lives.
Greg turned painfully around and slipped silently out of the cafe, walking blindly in any direction he chose, losing himself completely until he ended up tucked into a small, dark nook in a back alleyway, tears burning his face.]
*Mycroft watched in shock as Greg walked away, then his mind retreated to its safe room, barricaded in layers of logic and work. He sat at the table silently for exactly 12.45 minutes, staring into his tea, before texting his PA and ordering a car to pick him up. He mechanically left the cafe, settling into the back of the black car, taking the files handed to him and burying himself into his work. He would work and work until he collapsed into exhaustion, then Anthea would force him into bed, and then he would awaken, eat, and repeat for as long as he could.
Who was he to ask for happiness, anyway?*
