Chapter Text
Greg smoothed his hair down nervously. He had been wanting to go on a date with Mycroft Holmes for years and this was finally his chance. After years of rejecting his advances, Mycroft had sent him a text asking him out for coffee. Greg had agreed, but then a case had come up and he hadn’t had time to go home and change his clothes. He was afraid that if he postponed Mycroft might get cold feet, so he decided to just go without the nice clothes he had picked out, in his work clothes.
The first time he had asked Mycroft out, the man seemed completely taken aback.
“What?” he asked, looking at Greg suspiciously.
“I asked if you might like to go on a date with me some time. You know, dinner, drinks, something?”
“Why would you want that?”
“Why…? Well, I think you’re physically attractive and intellectually interesting and I’d like to know you better.” Greg had been sure that he had said something wrong, because Mycroft had stared at him for a moment and then walked away.
Greg had been so confused about it that he had asked Sherlock what had been wrong.
Sherlock looked like he had been punched in the gut. “Mycroft doesn’t date.”
“Why not?”
“Not my place to tell. But you should keep trying.” His voice was soft and Greg was sure that he was seeing a side of Sherlock that most people never saw, a side that really cared about Mycroft.
So Greg had asked ever few months. Nothing too extreme, just a simple, “Feel like having that date yet?” every few times they saw each other.
Every time, Mycroft said no, or rather, he walked wordlessly out of the room and never answered. Greg never gave up. He dated other people, of course, but those relationships always ended and Greg asked Mycroft again.
This last time, eight years after the first question, Greg had expected the usual response. He had even turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk, expecting Mycroft to show himself out. Instead, Mycroft cleared his throat and Greg looked up, surprised.
“Yes. I will go on a date with you. Coffee, Friday night, seven o’clock. I will text you a location.” He left the room before Greg could react.
Now it was Friday and Greg was nervously awaiting the date. He arrived at the coffee shop five minutes early and was unsurprised to see Mycroft waiting for him.
He smiled warmly as he approached. Mycroft looked like he was being forced to be there. “Hello!” Greg said cheerfully, sitting next to Mycroft at the small table. “I’m really glad you agreed to do this.”
Mycroft nodded. “Before we go any further, I wanted to ask what you want out of this.”
“Want out of this?”
“Yes. A relationship? Sex?”
“I’m not really a casual sex type of person. I like to wait until I’m in a relationship for things like that. If anything, I want a relationship.”
“Good, good. Before we get involved in any way, there’s something you need to know. Look up a file on Roger Berry. There will be some interesting information in there for you.” He stood like he was going to leave.
“Why so cloak and dagger about it?”
“It will be clear when you see the file.” He turned and left, leaving Greg sitting there alone, watching him.
Greg hurried back to his office to look up the file. He found information on Roger Berry, beginning twenty years earlier and ending fifteen years earlier. When he pulled up the picture, he was surprised to see that he was looking at a young Mycroft Holmes.
Not only that, the man in the picture had been severely beaten. He had bruises all over his face and he looked like he had a broken nose. Greg read the entire file. It seems that this man, Roger Berry, had been the victim of domestic abuse.
When Greg reached the end, the last incident listed, he felt sick. This man had been kept locked in a basement for nearly a week, starved, tortured, and repeatedly raped. Finally, the man’s supervisor in the government office for which Berry worked called the police enough times that they stormed the house and found Berry near death.
The man’s partner was nowhere to be found, having fled the area. There was no more mention of Berry anywhere. Greg stared at the last page of the file for what seemed like hours. Eventually, someone knocked on the door. He looked up to see Mycroft standing in the doorway awkwardly.
“You know, then,” he said softly.
Greg nodded. He pointed to the chair across the desk from him. “Have a seat. You haven’t dated since?”
Mycroft shook his head sadly. “He was my first relationship. We started dating when I was seventeen and we were together ten years. The abuse was only during the second half. Well, the abuse that I reported.”
“I understand why you don’t date.” Greg was choosing his words carefully. He was still interested in Mycroft and he was sure that he could deal with any special circumstances. “I am interested in you romantically. I would like to date you.”
“Even knowing all of this?”
Greg nodded. “My interest in you is based on you, not your past. I have my own issues, I’m sure you have yours.”
“Mine are a bit more extreme than the average.”
“Mycroft, everything about you is a bit more extreme than the average.” The corners of Mycroft’s mouth twitched a bit, which Greg took as him returning Greg’s teasing smile.
“I’m not sure if I’m interested in sex. I haven’t felt that sort of desire in a long time.”
“Life isn’t about sex. I’ve always felt like you and I have a connection. From the first moment I saw you, I felt like I understood you. I want to spend time with you as a person, not just your body.”
Mycroft looked like he could burst into tears at any moment, a very strange look on Mycroft, who was always so controlled.
“I’m different in my personal life. More vulnerable.”
“I’ll never purposely hurt you. You know me. It’s been years. You know I could never do anything intentional to cause you pain.”
Mycroft nodded. “I do know you. That’s why I’m considering this. It’s been fifteen years since it happened and I haven’t had a date. You keep asking and Sherlock keeps telling me how wonderful you are.” Greg let that sink in for a moment: he never expected to have Sherlock telling anyone he was wonderful, let alone his brother. “I’ve felt the connection as well. You and I complement each other very well. It is still terrifying to think that I might put myself in that position again.”
“I don’t want to cause you any stress. I want to be with you, but if thinking about it is too much, let me know.”
“I want to date you. A real date, not like tonight.”
“Wonderful. Did you have anything in mind or would you like me to plan it?”
“You may plan it.” Mycroft stood, nodding at Greg. “I await your text with the details.”
Greg remained at his desk after Mycroft left, doing some work. He heard his office door open again and Sherlock walked in, sitting down across from him.
“I know of several different acids that can completely dissolve a body within a few days. Interesting, isn’t it?”
Greg grinned. “Very interesting. Incidentally, I will be going on a date with your brother.”
“Oh? I had no idea.” Sherlock seemed disinterested, but there was an intensity to his eyes that Greg had never seen before. It looked almost protective.
“He’s safe with me, Sherlock. I’ll never hurt him. Physically or otherwise.”
“I know you won’t, Lestrade. But in case something changes, just know that I’m here in case you do.”
Greg chuckled as he left. Sherlock was perhaps the last person he expected to hear the “hurt him and I’ll kill you” speech from. Perhaps from Mycroft’s assistant, but not Sherlock.
Just then, his phone chimed.
Hurt him and I’ll kill you. Anthea
Greg chuckled and stood, going home for the night. He was happy that Mycroft had so many people looking out for him.
***
Greg picked out the best restaurant he knew: a romantic, intimate Italian place with enough light that you could see your surroundings clearly. He wanted to make sure that Mycroft was completely comfortable. He was amazed that after all these years Mycroft had made the decision to trust Greg enough to date him. He felt like he needed to make sure that he didn’t mess it up.
Of course, Mycroft knew Greg and knew what kind of person he was. They had a friendly relationship that spanned several years and they had spent quite a bit of time together. Whether going out for dinner to discuss Sherlock’s drug use, or meeting in each other’s office to discuss a case that went particularly well or poorly, they had both always enjoyed their meetings. That was why Greg had thought they would do so well together romantically. Now that he knew about Mycroft’s history, he was even more convinced that he was the man for Mycroft.
Greg did a final check in the mirror, picked up the single red rose he had bought, and set off for the restaurant. It was close to his flat, so he had the opportunity to walk, which would settle his nerves. When he arrived at the restaurant, Mycroft’s black car was outside. The window rolled down a few inches and he smiled at Anthea, who narrowed her eyes at him before rolling the window back up. He supposed that he should be nervous to know that he was being watched by her and who knew how many security people, but he was really just happy that Mycroft had people to watch over him.
He walked into the restaurant and to the table he had reserved, where he smiled and held the rose out to Mycroft, who rose to greet him. After Greg handed him the rose, Mycroft seemed to freeze. Greg just smiled and held out his hand.
“Good evening,” he said with a smile, pressing the hand that Mycroft gave him warmly.
“Good evening.” Mycroft sat back down and Greg did the same, smiling nervously. “Have you eaten here before?” Mycroft asked, looking around.
“Oh, yes. It’s one of my favorite restaurants. It’s close to my flat.” He saw a look of panic pass through Mycroft’s eyes and chuckled. “I’m not inviting you back or anything. I come here a lot because it’s convenient.”
Mycroft nodded, but he didn’t relax at all. “Forgive me. I feel a bit foolish admitting this, but I have never been on a first date before. When my relationship with… when my previous relationship began, I was at university and our relationship was inappropriate, so we did not go into public together.”
Greg nodded. “Well, I have been on far too many first dates for my liking. I’ve never been a big fan of the getting-to-know-you chatter. You and I won’t need much of that talk, though. We know each other quite well already.”
Mycroft nodded. “Then what do we discuss?”
“Well, I like to stay away from work discussions or anything too serious. There’s always books, television, movies, that sort of thing.”
“I’m afraid we won’t have much in common there.”
“I usually don’t with people. Other than the odd sporting match, I don’t watch much television or movies. I read quite a bit, chiefly non-fiction.”
Mycroft stared at him. “What kind of non-fiction?”
“Mostly history. I quite enjoy military history.”
A light that Greg had never before seen came into Mycroft’s eyes and he began talking excitedly about a book he was reading. Surprised, Greg realized that he had just finished the same book. They talked animatedly about the book until the waiter came to take their order and they realized that neither of them had looked at the menu.
When the waiter left after they hastily made their selections, Mycroft smiled the most genuine smile Greg had ever seen on his face. “I had no idea that we enjoyed the same reading material.”
“I didn’t either,” Greg told him, shaking his head. “Very few people in my life share that passion.”
“You’re not the only one. I always had to sit through Christmas dinners with Sherlock prattling on about his chemistry books. The fool never cared one jot for our country’s illustrious military history.”
“Ah, so that’s the knowledge I can use to embarrass him.”
Mycroft’s eyes crinkled at the corners. Greg had never seen him so sincerely amused and he liked it. It was incredibly sexy that Mycroft responded to him that way.
“You have a very sexy smile,” Greg murmured before he realized that the compliment might be unwelcome. Mycroft stiffened slightly and then looked down at the table, his smile fading. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have said---”
“No, no. It was a compliment, a very nice one,” Mycroft interrupted him, looking back up. “I will try to react better in future.”
“You don’t need to try to react any way. You react how you react. If anything, you need to work on the underlying reason that you react badly. In any case, you shouldn’t do it for me, you should do it for you.”
Mycroft smiled again. “I am doing this for me. It’s been far too long that I have lived as a shadow of a man because of what happened. There’s a man I trust, a good man, an incredibly attractive man, who wants to date me. I would be a fool to deny myself a relationship any longer. At least, that’s what the rational part of my brain says. The part that can realize my fears are silly.”
Greg put his hand in the middle of the table so that Mycroft could hold it if he liked. “Your fears aren’t silly. They’re founded in things that happened. Letting them affect your life to that degree may be silly, but having them is certainly not.”
Mycroft looked at him for a moment and then reached out and slid his hand into Greg’s. Greg smiled at him, squeezing his hand gently.
“Very few people see my situation that way.” Mycroft looked away, but he didn’t pull his hand away, so Greg was happy.
“Perhaps I’m special. Or perhaps I just understand that you need to heal after something traumatic like that and everyone heals at different rates.”
“Who was it?” Mycroft’s eyes suddenly bored into Greg and he had a sudden feeling that Mycroft was reading his mind.
He knew that Mycroft wasn’t actually reading his mind, but what he was doing was close enough that Greg called it that in his own head. They were friendly enough that Mycroft didn’t normally use his talent for reading people so intensely on Greg and it made
Greg feel uncomfortable.
Greg tried to make his face neutral, but Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Greg knew that there was no hope for it. “My birth parents. My father abused my mother my entire childhood.”
It wasn’t something that Greg normally spoke about, but he supposed that Mycroft was as safe a person as any to tell. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t find the information out if he wanted to, so Greg might as well be candid.
“And he eventually abused you?” The gaze was softened, but Mycroft was still reading him.
Greg closed his eyes. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Mycroft. “I’m not sure if you saw this when you did whatever background check you did on me when I first met Sherlock. I hid it as well as I could.”
Mycroft took the paper and read over it. It was a report about an incident involving a young man, thirteen years old, who had been beaten and left for dead by his father. The name was crossed out with a heavy pen.
“The name was offensive to you?”
“That boy had his father’s name. He ceased to exist that day.”
“And the new name?”
“You know that,” Greg said, and Mycroft nodded. “You know I was taken in by a lovely couple when I was fifteen and that I took their name as soon as I was able.”
“You understand how I feel.”
“Not entirely. I didn’t experience quite everything that you experienced.”
“I wasn’t betrayed by blood.”
“I never loved the man who did that to me.” Greg held tightly to Mycroft’s hand, happy that he had something comforting to ground him. “I have no fear about that happening again. My father — the man I consider my father, who adopted me as a teenager — could never hurt me like that. Even if he wanted to, I’m an adult now. I don’t have that sort of fear. I don’t understand that. I see it, now, on the rare occasion that I visit my mother.”
“She should have protected you.”
Greg shrugged. “I suppose she did the best that she could. That’s what she tells herself, anyway. I have a real mother, a woman who would do anything for me, even though she didn’t give birth to me and she didn’t meet me until I was a teenager. I’m lucky.”
“Your attitude about this is odd to me. You aren’t angry or scared. You accept it.”
“It happened. There isn’t anything I can do about it. Being angry won’t change it. Being scared will do nothing for me. I can’t see why I would be either of those things.”
Mycroft hesitated, unsure whether he should say what he said next. “You’re angry about what happened to me.”
“Yes.”
“You’d hurt the man who did it, if you could.”
“Yes.”
“You’d kill him?”
Greg didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Understandable, being angry. You’re a protector. Since you started trying to protect your mother as a child, you have always protected people. That’s obvious, anyone who knows your history could tell you that. Why so angry to kill, though? You aren’t a fan of violence, that’s clear. Why has that man in particular earned your wrath?”
“You are the most exceptional man I have ever known, Mycroft Holmes. I cannot imagine what being inside your head is like. Anyone who can see how amazing you are and want to destroy it has my eternal hatred.” Greg didn’t normally make such strong statements, but he felt spurred to be honest, to let the anger inside of him out. Since he had learned about Mycroft’s past, a fire of hatred had been kindling inside him, hatred for someone who could harm a beautiful creature like Mycroft.
Mycroft was looking at Greg in a very curious way as Greg gave his little speech. Greg couldn’t define the emotion exactly. Admiration? Respect? Love, even? Whatever it was, Mycroft was pleased about what Greg had said.
He opened his mouth to say something, but at just that moment their food arrived and Mycroft’s attention was diverted. They pulled their hands apart to begin eating and the intense few moments of conversation were over.
As they ate, they continued their earlier conversation about books. They had read many of the same books and enjoyed the same authors. They had some recommendations for each other that they discussed as well, a conversation which gave them both a great deal of joy.
When they finished their meal, they exited the restaurant to see Mycroft’s car still sitting there. “Has Anthea been here this whole time?” Greg asked with a grin.
“It’s likely. She is a bit protective of me.”
“That’s good. You need someone to look after you.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Mycroft was standing much closer to Greg than he expected this evening. “So you said your flat was nearby?” Mycroft asked before Greg could answer his previous question.
“Just down the road.”
“I thought perhaps we might go back there, if that’s acceptable to you.” Mycroft seemed nervous and hastily qualified what he had suggested. “I’m not suggesting anything untoward, I thought we might continue our book conversation.”
“That would be nice. Perhaps you should let your shadow know.” Greg nodded at the car and Mycroft smiled, going over to explain what was happening.
There appeared to be some sort of minor argument, which Mycroft won. He returned to Greg and gestured down the street. “Lead the way.”
As they walked, Greg was surprised by Mycroft slipping his hand into Greg’s. Greg smiled and held it, pleased with how things were progressing on the date. He was a bit disappointed now at how short the walk was. He would have enjoyed to hold Mycroft’s hand for quite a bit longer.
Greg let them into the flat, which he was quite proud of. It was small, but it was in a good location and it was his favorite place in the world. As he turned the light on, he watched Mycroft’s face to see what his reaction was. Mycroft didn’t disappoint. He looked around the room, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, clearly surprised.
Greg had lined the walls with bookshelves that were filled with books. There were thousands of books in the small flat, making it look more like a library than a home. One door lead to the tiny kitchen and another to the bedroom, with a loo beyond that. Greg went into the kitchen to put the kettle on while Mycroft started looking at the titles on the walls.
“You really do like to read.”
Chuckling, Greg stood in the doorway and watched Mycroft look at his collection. “Books always helped me escape in a way that television never could. They were very important to me.”
“You never wanted to escape in fiction?”
“Not particularly. I wanted to be in the real world. There was no chance of me doing anything in fictional worlds. Plenty of chances for me to do things in the real world. Books like these made me think that I could become something.”
“You have become something. It’s inspiring how far you’ve come.”
“Oh yes. Middle aged, single, and living in a tiny library.” Greg laughed, disappearing to sort the tea.
“You forgot devastatingly handsome,” Mycroft called. Greg could hear the smile in his voice and he liked it.
“I thought I just told you that I don’t enjoy fiction.”
He went back into the living room with the tea, setting the cups on the side table that sat between the two chairs next to the fireplace. Mycroft was looking at him with that look again, the one that Greg couldn’t define. Greg shrugged it off, assuming that he would figure it out some day and began to light a fire.
“You have a very cozy home, here.” Mycroft picked up his cup of tea, prepared just the way he liked it, and sat down in one of the chairs, correctly guessing the chair that Greg preferred and leaving it open for him.
“I like to think so. After a long day of chasing criminals, it is very nice to come home to a warm fire and a nice book.”
“A book about warfare.”
“Warfare can be very relaxing. As long as our side won.” Greg took his tea and settled into his chair.
They were close enough that they could hold hands if they wanted, but far enough apart that they weren’t forced into contact. The problem with it was that there was no opportunity for accidental contact, but Greg wasn’t sure that Mycroft was ready for accidental contact, so he decided it was best to avoid it.
They sat there for over two hours, talking. Eventually, Mycroft stretched and looked at his watch. “It’s rather late.”
“Would you like to stay the night?” Greg asked impulsively. He hadn’t been planning on anything like that, but it was past midnight. “I don’t mean to do anything inappropriate. Just…it’s been nice talking to you and I don’t want it to end.” He blushed, feeling awkward.
Mycroft smiled. “That would be nice. I would like to stay and continue the conversation.” He pulled out his phone and sent off a text. “There, that should worry Anthea appropriately.”
Greg grinned. “She’s going to hate me.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt that she already does.”
They returned to their conversation. By the time they decided that they should go to sleep, it was nearly three in the morning.
It occurred to Greg that he hadn’t considered sleeping arrangements. He didn’t have a couch to sleep on, so it looked like he would be on the floor. “You take the bed, I’ll be in here,” he said, retrieving a spare blanket and pillow from his linen closet.
“We can share the bed,” Mycroft said, looking slightly uncomfortable.
“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
“It has been a very long time since I shared a bed with someone. It might be nice…” he trailed off, looking away.
Greg smiled and pulled two sets of pajamas out of a drawer, handing one to Mycroft. “Here, these should mostly fit. The loo is through there.” He pointed, slipping into the kitchen to change into his own pajamas. He was grateful that he had received the pajamas as presents at Christmas. He didn’t normally wear pajamas, preferring to sleep nude or only in his pants, which may have been awkward with Mycroft.
When he returned to the bedroom, Mycroft was looking at the pictures on the wall. Greg had filled his bedroom with pictures of his parents, the Lestrades. “They look lovely,” Mycroft told him, pausing at a picture of Greg’s first Christmas with them.
“They are lovely. I was very angry when I moved in with them. They helped me deal with my anger and direct it toward something constructive.” Greg smiled at the picture fondly. “They made me the man I am today.”
“I’m glad. I’d like to meet them some day.”
“I would like that. Mum would love you. She would fuss over you, that’s how she always is with people I introduce to her.”
“They don’t have a problem with you dating men?”
“No. My birth mother does, but I don’t have a particularly high opinion of her taste in partners, so I guess we’re even.” He grinned broadly.
“Did you always use humor to cover up the pain?”
Greg didn’t let his grin waver. He just chuckled, nodding. “Yes. It helps me.”
Mycroft looked at him curiously, as if there were something about Greg that he couldn’t quite figure out. “We should go to sleep.”
Greg climbed into his side of the bed, feeling a bit awkward as Mycroft lay on the other side. He was aching to reach out and hold Mycroft, to wrap his arms around the other man and tell him that everything was going to be okay now that he was there, that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt Mycroft ever again. He thought it might be a bad idea, however, so he held himself back.
Just as he was falling asleep, he heard a small voice from beside him. “Thank you for being so wonderful.”
“Thank you for being you,” Greg responded, opening his eyes. In the darkness, he couldn’t see Mycroft, but he could feel his presence.
“I am normally very anxious sleeping in a new place, but I feel safe here.”
“I’m glad. I enjoy having you here.”
Mycroft’s hand reached over and rested on Greg’s arm. “I feel safe with you.”
“You are safe with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Mycroft shifted closer and buried his face in Greg’s chest. Greg wrapped his arm around Mycroft’s back and let it sit there, not quite holding him in place, but encircling him with his strong arm. Greg remembered how safe he had felt when his mother held him after he was adopted and he wanted to give Mycroft a similar feeling. It must have worked, because in a few moments, he heard light snoring coming from his chest as Mycroft slept peacefully.