Work Text:
If this is my last night with you
Hold me like I'm more than just a friend
Give me a memory I can use
Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do
It matters how this ends
'Cause what if I never love again?
+
The room was quiet save for the soft hum of the London rain outside the window. Mycroft stood in the center of his study, his usually impenetrable demeanor faltering. That night, he lost his younger brother. That night, he lost his Sherlock. He looked outside the big window, the rain pouring stronger and stronger. Perhaps even the sky was mourning his little brother? This time, he couldn't bear the silence. He was alone. For the first time in his life, truly and utterly alone.
Sherlock was gone.
Mycroft sighed as he sat at his desk, but the weight of his own body felt foreign, as if he were merely a specter haunting the shell of a man he used to be. The reports were already coming in witness accounts, official statements, useless words scribbled in ink that did nothing to change the truth. His brother had fallen into the Thames with no other than William James Moriarty. There had been no body found. No certainty, only the gaping, all-consuming void left in his absence.
Mycroft exhaled shakily, pressing his hands together as if in prayer, though there was no god he could appeal to, he forgot about him a long time ago. His fingers trembled before he curled them into a fist, nails biting into his palm. Sherlock had always been the reckless type. Always walking the razor’s edge between brilliance and destruction. And Mycroft had spent his entire life holding him back from the fall. This time, he had failed. The image replayed in his mind with sickening clarity even if he wasn't there to witness it in person: his little brother, standing on that bridge, defying logic, reason, and every damnable attempt Mycroft had ever made to protect him.
He had spent years orchestrating, maneuvering, ensuring Sherlock’s safety from the shadows. Even when his brother resented him, even when he pushed him away, He had remained steadfast. Watching. Guarding. And now there was nothing else to guard. No one had ever seen Sherlock the way he had. Not just as the great detective, the insufferable genius, the enigma that London both admired and feared. Mycroft had seen him as a boy, too small for his own coat, eyes too sharp for his own good. A boy who never fit, never belonged, but who had always been his. His responsibility. His burden. His only real family. And now, just like that, he was gone.
No chance to fix what was always left unsaid. Just the cold, unrelenting truth that the last person in the world who truly knew him had vanished beneath the waters of the Thames. That's right... his younger brother, the only person who had ever been able to rival him in intellect, had willingly thrown himself into the abyss for the man he loved.
Love.
The word felt bitter on his tongue. He had never understood the hold William had on Sherlock, had never understood how his brother, the most unsufferable yet brilliant man Mycroft had ever known, had fallen for a criminal. A man who had orchestrated chaos and revolution, who had turned London into his personal chessboard. Or is he just lying to himself again?
He saw it: the shift in him, the way he became softer. Sherlock wasn't the type to catch a train first thing in the morning just to see a person. He wasn't the type to have a lovefool expression talking about someone. He didn't try to change his mind when the final problem was approaching: he said 3 words, and if his brother noticed his trembling voice, he didn't point it out.
'Don't die, Sherlock' Please, don't be reckless as you've always been all your life
And yet, Sherlock had followed him. Foolish, reckless, sentimental. But wasn’t Mycroft just the same?
He exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the truth clawing its way to the surface. Because he, too, had fallen for a Moriarty. Albert James Moriarty. It was ironic, really. While Sherlock had chased William into the fire, Mycroft had tried to keep Albert from burning with it. Albert...so poised, so brilliant, so infuriatingly beautiful with those emerald eyes and that damnably composed smile. The man who had played his part to perfection, the noble who had become the architect of a revolution. The man Mycroft had once called an ally..the man he could never allow himself to call more. He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temple.
This was madness. Yet the memories wouldn’t stop. Albert, standing across from him in the government office, those emerald-green eyes glinting with amusement. Albert, his chocolate curls slightly tousled from the wind, his voice smooth and teasing. Albert, fierce and unwavering, his limited loyalty a quiet, unspoken force that Mycroft had come to rely on far too much. He had always known he was trouble: a criminal, a schemer, a man who played with fire. And yet, he’d found himself drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.
There was something about Albert’s sharp wit, his unyielding determination, the way he challenged the very foundations of the world Mycroft had sworn to protect. They’d danced around each other for years, each meeting charged with tension; a lingering glance across a crowded room, a hand that brushed against another’s for a moment too long. He had tried to ignore it, to bury it beneath duty and responsibility. But Albert had a way of getting under his skin, of making him question everything he thought he knew. He exhaled yet again, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand. He knew this hellish day was not over yet.
The door would open soon, and Albert would step inside.
And Mycroft would be ready. Or so he told himself.
And then, as if on cue, there was a soft knock at the door “Come in" Mycroft called, his voice calm but laced with a faint tension.The door creaked open, and there stood Albert James Moriarty, illuminated by the dim golden glow of the room’s lamps and fireplace. His auburn curls framed his face damp from the rain, and his emerald eyes held a quiet resignation that made Mycroft’s stomach twist. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. He looked as composed as ever, every movement deliberate, but the older could see the weight he carried in the slight droop of his shoulders.
“Mr.Holmes,” Albert said softly, closing the door behind him. His voice was steady, but the faint tremor betrayed his inner turmoil. “I’ve come to say goodbye.” The words struck Mycroft like a physical blow, and his composure, meticulously crafted began to crack. “Goodbye?” he echoed “Albert, what nonsense is this?” The other walked further into the room, his steps measured yet hesitant. “I’ve made my decision,” he said, his tone firm yet tinged with regret. “I will surrender myself to the Tower of London. It’s the only way to atone for my sins.”
“You’re certain about this, Albert?” Mycroft’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a barely restrained intensity that he rarely allowed to surface. His eyes traced the lines of his face, the sharp jaw, the way his hair fell just so, framing his features with a careless grace even when he looked so empty. It was maddening.
“You don’t have to do this,” Mycroft continued as Albert didn't answer as he just laid his resignation letter on the desk. His director's voice was low but firm, his tone carrying the weight of both command and plea. Albert shook his head “It’s atonement, Mr.Holmes" his answer was determined yet his voice couldn't help but betray a slight tremble. “For what?” The other demanded, stepping around the desk to stand before him. “For a plan that you executed to perfection but bore no enjoyment in? For doing what was needed? For doing undeniable good to our country?”
“For existing,” His - now former- M said quietly, his voice breaking just slightly and his eyes looking empty. For a moment, Mycroft had no response. "I started all of this. The blood is on my hands, no matter how noble the intent. I should've been the one deep in the cold water or the Thames. It shouldn't have been him....i killed him." His voice faltered for a moment before he steadied himself. “There’s nothing left for me out here.” Indeed, Albert James Moriarty felt like a ghost in a world that no longer needed haunting. The purpose that had once anchored him was gone, leaving him untethered, a man without a place, without a future, only the weight of what he had done, only the weight of what he had lost.
Mycroft’s breath hitched, and he stepped closer, his composure cracking further with every word spoken. “You think you’ll make amends by locking yourself away? By disappearing?” Mycroft’s hand shot forward before reason could restrain him, his fingers closing around Albert’s arm with a force that surprised even himself. He was not a man who touched others, but with him everything felt natural. Albert did not flinch, did not pull away, but Mycroft could feel the tension beneath his palm, the faint tremor just beneath the surface. His grip tightened: not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor. Enough to make him feel it, to remind him that he was still here, still tangible. Still bound to this earth, whether he wished to be or not.
“You’ll destroy yourself, Albert. And what about the people who care for you?” Albert’s smile turned bittersweet. “Who would that be, Mycroft? Louis probably hates me now... I killed his brother after all” His voice broke on his brother’s name, and he quickly looked away. “It’s better this way.” Mycroft wanted to argue, say how he didn't kill William, and how Louis needs him. But as those lifeless emerald eyes looked at him, when the sparkling eyes he came to love so much were now incredibly empty. He could just give up any argument.
“Don’t,” Holmes said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the plea in it was unmistakable. “Don’t you dare speak as if you’re disposable. Not to me.” Albert’s lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. “You sound like Louis” he murmured, his voice tinged with a wistful sadness. “And you sound like a man who has given up,” He shot back. “Is that what you’ve become, Albert? A man who gives up when the pieces fall apart?” That's wrong. That's not what he wanted to say. At that, the younger flinched, his composure wavering for just a moment. He looked away, his gaze drifting back to the fire. “You wouldn’t understand” he said quietly. “Then help me understand,” The other urged, his voice softening.
He stood close enough now that he could see the faint shadows under Albert’s eyes, the tension in his jaw. “Explain to me why you think locking yourself away will fix anything.” Albert’s shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he looked impossibly small, as though the weight of the world had finally crushed him. “Because I am tired, Mycroft,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tired of carrying this burden. Tired of pretending I am strong enough to bear it. I just... I need it all to stop.” The admission hung in the air like a fragile thread, and Mycroft felt something twist painfully in his chest. He reached out, his hand brushing against his arms in a comforting motion. “Albert,” he said softly, “there are other ways.” Moriarty turned to face him, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Not for me,” he said, his voice breaking. “Not anymore.”
The elder noticed Albert's eyes wandering, not meeting his gaze. A small silence followed, before ìhe spoke again. “You should hate me. I gave the order that led us here. I built the path that both our brothers walked. You should despise me, Mycroft.” Mycroft sighed through his nose, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second, his voice a silent whisper. “Yes,” he admitted. “I should. But I can't." the younger let out a slow breath at the confession. “I should leave already” he said, though he made no move to do so.
Albert was now being unreasonable. Mycroft knew grief when he saw it, knew the slow, consuming weight of it, but this...this was something else entirely. He spoke as if he were already gone, as if the world had moved on without him, as if he had ceased to exist the moment his brother’s body hit the water. It was maddening. Unacceptable. Mycroft's hand moved before his mind could catch up, slipping from Albert’s arm to something far more intimate. His fingers brushed against soft brown locks, hesitant at first, then firmer as they curled slightly, testing the reality of them. The contact was unfamiliar, foreign even, but something he always craved. His touch was firm, an unspoken declaration, a refusal to let Albert drift further into the abyss he had carved for himself.
Mycroft had spent years perfecting the art of denial. It was second nature to him: an instinct as sharp as his intellect, as cold as the world he had built around himself. But as his fingers curled deeper into Albert’s hair, as he felt the warmth of him beneath his touch, that carefully constructed lie unraveled. The temptation had always been there, lurking beneath carefully composed words and measured glances. He had told himself it was nothing, a passing intrigue, a curiosity to be crushed beneath the weight of logic. But logic was failing him now.
Even when he had dismissed it as nothing more than a fleeting thought. Even when he had spent countless nights convincing himself that the heat pooling in his gut whenever Albert met his gaze was nothing, nothing at all. And yet, here he was, fingers tangling in those soft brown locks, feeling the way he exhaled beneath his touch. It was intoxicating. It was maddening. He should let go. He should step back, bury this moment along with all the others. But he didn't. Because the truth, filthy and unshakable, had already sunk its claws into him.
He had thought of Albert this way before. Too many times. Too many nights spent alone, fists clenched, thoughts straying where they shouldn’t. Too many locked doors as he melted on his chair, thinking about those emerald eyes of his. It had been shameful then, thinking lustfully about his subordinate, about a person he should still watch closely. But it was unbearable now. Because now, Albert was here: within reach, vulnerable, looking at him with those piercing eyes.
And Mycroft Holmes had never been weaker.
At his unexpected touch, Albert did not recoil. For a moment, the air between them was taut, heavy with something unspoken. The youngers breath hitched, his usual composure crumbling as he couldn't look the other straight in the eyes. “Don’t do this,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “Please. Don't allow me to be selfish once again”
At Albert's plea he got closer, his self restraint disappearing. "Please do, tell me what you want. Whatever it is. For once in your life, let yourself want something" his fingers caressing softly the youngers face, tentatively. Albert leaned into the touch, his emerald eyes searching Mycroft’s face as if committing it to memory. “Hold me,” he whispered, echoing the unspoken longing in the room. “Like I’m more than just a friend.” Mycroft’s hands framed Albert’s face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear threatening to fall as his breath got caught. "Albert...You know what you're asking of me?" He nods quickly "One night," he whispered, his voice rough, breaking through the heavy air of the office. "That’s all I’m asking...just for tonight."
The air between them thickened, charged with years of suppressed desire and unspoken words. Mycroft’s gaze dropped to his lips as his hands twitched, as if fighting the urge to reach out, to touch. "You don’t know what you do to me." Albert got closer, whispering against his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. "Then show me," he whispered, his voice rough with need. "Show me what I do to you." Mycroft looked into his eyes and before he could think better of it, he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips softly against his. The kiss was tentative at first, a gentle meeting of two souls seeking solace. But as Albert responded, his hands sliding up to rest on his chest, it deepened, becoming a silent confession neither had the courage to voice. When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the quiet.
Mycroft switched their position, Albert's back now against the hard wood of the desk, his hand dropped from the youngers face as he lifted the others hips to make him sit, his fingers then trembling as he reached for the knot of his cravat. He loosened it with a sharp tug, the fabric falling away to reveal the delicate column of his throat. Albert watched, his breath hitching as his superior began to unbutton his waistcoat, his movements deliberate. "Take off your coat," Mycroft said, his voice low and commanding. "I want to see you. All of you."
Albert dived back in as he unconsciously arched his back to get closer to Mycroft, tongues fighting for dominance for mere seconds as the younger gave up quickly. Albert’s hands moved without thought, fumbling with the buttons of his coat until it slipped from his shoulders and pooled at his feet. His shirt followed, revealing the pale expanse of his chest: he seemed delicate like a flower, made of easily broken porcelain. Mycroft’s gaze raked over him, dark and hungry, and Albert felt a shiver run down his spine. "You’re beautiful," he murmured "God, you’re beautiful." The youngers breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached for Mycroft, his fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. "Then take me," he said, his voice rough with need. "Chant my name instead of God's" Mycroft’s hands came up to frame his face, his touch gentle despite the hunger in his eyes. And then, with a low, almost pained sound he closed the distance between them, his lips crashing against Albert’s in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and desire, different than the previous uncertain one.
“ You’re so beautiful, ” Mycroft murmured as he parted, his eyes drinking in every detail of his face: his high cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the way his plump lips parted as he breathed. Albert’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away, suddenly self-conscious. “ You don’t have to say that, ” he muttered, his voice tinged with vulnerability. But Mycroft wouldn’t let him hide. He caught his chin, gently turning his face back towards him. “ I do, ” he insisted, his voice firm but tender.
“You are the most exquisite creature I have ever beheld,” The older' s voice was steady, yet laced with something perilously close to devotion. His fingers ghosted along the other’s temple, his touch deliberate, reverent, as if he feared the moment would slip away like smoke if he wasn’t careful. “Your mind, endlessly intricate, a labyrinth I could wander through for eternity and never tire of its turns. You have ensnared me, Albert, in ways I never thought possible. So tell me…how do you expect me to simply walk away? How do you wish me to exist in a world where you are not?”
Albert’s breath caught, and his eyes widened in surprise. ‘How cruel you are, to say such things. To make me long for something I have no right to keep. You are a fool, Mycroft Holmes. A fool to want me, a fool to hold me like this, to look at me with eyes that strip me bare. If you had met me before all of this, would I have been worthy of you? If I had been someone else, someone purer, would you still have looked at me this way? Or is it the tragedy of me that holds your gaze?’ He opened his mouth to speak, to actually say something, but no words came out. Mycroft took the opportunity to lean in, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment.
His eyes fluttered shut as his hands clutched at Mycroft’s shoulders as the world around them dissolved into nothing. There was only this: only the heat of Mycroft’s body against his, the taste of him on his tongue, the sound of his name whispered against his lips like a prayer. The rough hands discovering his body, his own hands doing a messy work on undressing the elder. Mycroft shoved his trembling hands away, undressing himself quickly as he hovered over him on the desk, both their clothes now a mess on the floor. Albert scanned him: his whole figure was even better as he expected, and his hands started to navigate on his well built body. Mycroft let out a satisfied sigh, smirking at him. "Albert" he breathed, his hands roaming over the youngers body. "I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you."
Albert’s head fell back, a soft moan escaping his lips as the other's mouth trailed down his neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. "Then have me. Ruin me, make me forget." The older's hands slipped lower, his fingers working at the buttons of Albert’s trousers with practiced ease. "I’ll ruin you, if that's what you want" he murmured "But I’ll put you back together after. Every piece. I’ll put you back together." Albert’s breath hitched, his hips pressing forward as Mycroft’s hand wrapped around his cock, firmly stroking as he squirmed against him. "Yes," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he panted. "Yes, Mycroft. Please." The fire in the hearth crackled, the sound mingling with the soft gasps and moans that filled the room. Mycroft’s lips found Albert’s again, his kiss desperate and consuming, as if he could erase the pain and the loss with the heat of his body alone.
Albert clung to him, his fingers digging on his back as he was consumed by the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure. Mycroft’s hands moved on the others length, his touch firm and unrelenting as he guided him toward the edge, only to pull him back, over and over again. Albert covered his mouth to avoid moaning too loud, a gesture that was quickly interrupted.
"Albert, why must you silence what is already mine to hear?" he said, his voice low and commanding. "Indulgence is not a sin tonight. Let me know you’re here, that you feel this." At that, Albert’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting Mycroft’s with a intensity that took his breath away. "Mycroft if you continue I'm going to-" at that, the elders hands stopped. He closed his eyes as he panted. Mycroft breath was warm against his ear as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below the lobe.
“Do you trust me?” Mycroft’s voice was low, a whisper that sent shivers down Albert’s spine as he opened his eyes. “I do,” he murmured, the words barely audible. “I trust you completely.” “Good,” Mycroft said as he touched Albert's neck. “Because I’m not going to le you get away anytime soon.” The youngers breath hitched as Mycroft’s lips trailed down his neck, the scrape of teeth against his sensitive skin making him shudder. His body arched instinctively, seeking more of the heat that the elder was offering. It was not enough.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling with need. “Please, Mycroft.” The others understood what that meant and his only response was a low hum of approval, his hands moving from Albert’s wrists to his waist, gripping him with a firmness that made his toes curl. Mycroft guided him to turn slightly, his movements deliberate and unhurried, his gaze scanning the younger throughout as if appreciating a work of art. “You’re so beautiful,” Mycroft murmured, his lips brushing against the nape of Albert’s neck. “Those eyes of yours… they’ve haunted me from the moment I first saw you.” Albert’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest as Mycroft’s hands slid down to grip his hips, pressing his body firmly against the edge of the desk. Then with one smooth move, the elder made his pants completely fall off, now completely naked at Mycroft's mercé. The cool air of the room kissed his whole exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Mycroft’s gaze as he took in the sight of him. “Mycroft…” Albert’s voice was barely audible, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and desire. The older's response was a soft, almost inaudible gasp as his hands slid up Albert’s thighs, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. “No, you are more than just beautiful" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “you are something that consumes me, body and soul.”
Albert's breath hitched as Mycroft’s fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, his body shivering with anticipation. As Mycroft first made move to retreat, Albert caged him with his legs. "Don't" at that, the older brushed away a rebellious curl on his face, smiling. "Love...if we want to go further i do have to take something to prepare you. I will be back before you even notice it" Albert scoffed as he let him go, following closely every movement he made as he opened a cabinet near the bookshelf, appreciation every single feature: His hair, usually so composed, were now a dishevelled mess. His bare chest broad and defined. All it's beauty was hidden under the usual suit. Then his pants, still on, formed an -incredibly?- big bulge, showing Albert how hard he was trying to restrain himself.
He took something from the cabinet, a small glass bottle as he got closer to the younger again that quickly caged him, pulling him so close that he felt his length against his rear. It sent a shiver through Mycroft as he opened it with a soft clink. Understanding , Albert gasped “Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling with need. “Please, I need you.” The older's lips curved into a soft smile, as he oiled his hands, his fingers moving to gently part Albert’s cheeks, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through him.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice a low, reassuring whisper. “I’m here, Albert." His eyes fluttered shut as Mycroft’s now coated fingers teased at his entrance, the gentle pressure sending waves of pleasure rippling through him. His breath came in shallow gasps, his body trembling with need as the other’s touch became more insistent. “Mycroft…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. The other's response was a soft hum of approval, his fingers working gently to prepare him. “You’re so tight." he murmured, his voice thick with desire. Albert’s breath hitched as his fingers pushed deeper, the sensation both overwhelming and intoxicating. His body arched instinctively, seeking more of the pleasure that Mycroft was offering.
“God..” he whispered, his voice trembling with need. Mycroft’s fingers continued moving with deliberate slowness as he continued to prepare him. “In all my life, I have never beheld anything as utterly captivating as you,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper that was tainted with a veil of sadness. Albert started to moan as he inserted another finger, the pleasure making him shake. Mycroft’s lips brushed against the nape of Albert’s neck, his breath warm against his skin. “How is it that you, of all people, have reduced me to this?” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper. Albert moaned at Mycroft danced inside him. "B-because fate is cruel, and yet, for once, I do not resent it."
Suddenly, his body quivered as Mycroft’s fingers withdrew, leaving him achingly empty: his breaths were shallow, ragged, the weight of his sorrow momentarily eclipsed by the burning need coursing through him. Mycroft’s hands steadily settled on his hips, his touch both possessive and tender. Albert’s heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat of anticipation and longing, as he felt the warmth of the others body press closer behind him. “You’re ready,” Mycroft murmured, his voice low and velvet-soft, brushing against Albert’s ear like a secret shared only between them.
Albert’s breath hitched as he watched Mycroft’s fingers move to the buckle of his belt. The room was quiet, save for the soft clink of metal and the sound of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. Mycroft’s movements were deliberate, slow, as if he were giving Albert time to process, to adjust. But Albert wasn’t sure he could adjust. Not when every nerve in his body was alight, not when the air between them felt so thick with tension he could almost taste it.
Mycroft’s gaze never left Albert’s, and he felt exposed under that stare, as if the older could see straight through him, past the walls he’d built, past the pain and the guilt and the regret. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his mind racing. The belt came undone with a quiet hiss, and Albert’s eyes dropped to Mycroft’s hands as they moved to the buttons of his trousers. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the calm exterior he was trying so hard to maintain. Albert’s mouth went dry, his pulse quickening as Mycroft pushed the fabric down, revealing the hard length of his cock. The younger's breath caught in his throat: Mycroft was thick, the veins running along the shaft catching the light in a way that made his stomach flip. He felt a surge of panic, his mind racing with doubts. How is that even going to fit? But beneath the fear, there was something else. A need that clenched deep in his gut, making his own cock twitch in response.
Mycroft stepped closer, his hand coming up to cradle Albert’s cheek, his touch so gentle it made Albert’s chest ache. “Look at me,” Mycroft murmured, his voice low and steady, grounding Albert in a way nothing else could. Albert’s eyes flicked up, meeting Mycroft’s gaze. There was something in those eyes, something that made Albert feel both safe and utterly undone. “I’ll take care of you,” Mycroft promised, his thumb brushing over Albert’s cheekbone. “Just let me" Albert nodded, though his heart was still pounding, his body trembling with a mix of fear and desire.
Mycroft’s words soothed him, but they also stoked the fire burning inside him, that desperate need to forget if only for a little while. Mycroft leaned in, his lips brushing against Albert’s in a kiss that was achingly tender and reassuring . Albert sighed into it, his hands coming up to grip his shoulders as their mouths moved together, slow and deliberate. Mycroft’s tongue slid against his, and Albert moaned, the sound low and needy. He could feel the heat of his body pressing against him, feel the hard length of his cock brushing against his thigh, and it made his head spin. But when Mycroft pulled away, Albert felt a pang of loss, a whimper escaping his lips before he could stop it.
Mycroft chuckled softly, the sound warm and affectionate, and pressed a kiss to Albert’s forehead. “Patience, love,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Albert’s spine. Mycroft moved a little and Albert shivered as he could feel his cock pressing against him, the thick head stretching him open, and it was almost too much. But then Mycroft pushed in, just a little, and Albert gasped, the sensation overwhelming.
“You’re doing so well,” Mycroft murmured, his voice rough with desire. His hands tightened on Albert’s hips, and he began to push in further, slowly, until Albert felt like he was being split in two. It hurt, a deep, burning ache that made tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t want it to stop. He needed this, needed to feel Mycroft inside him. When Mycroft was fully seated, Albert let out a shaky breath, his body trembling with the effort of holding still. Mycroft leaned over him, his chest pressing against Albert’s back, his lips brushing against Albert’s ear. “just as I knew you would” he murmured, his voice low and raw. “So perfect...” Albert shivered, his cock twitching at the words, and he let out a soft, needy whine. “Please,” he breathed, his voice trembling. “Move.” Mycroft didn’t need to be told twice.
He pulled back slowly, the drag of his cock making Albert gasp, then pushed back in, harder this time. Albert moaned, the sound echoing in the quiet room, as Mycroft began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one driving the air from Albert’s lungs. It was too much, and yet not enough, the way he filled him, the way he moved inside him, hitting that spot that made Albert see stars. Albert’s hands clawed at the desk, his body trembling with the force of his pleasure, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach. “Mycroft,” he gasped, his voice breaking, “please, I need—” Mycroft’s hands tightened on his hips, his grip almost possessive, as he leaned down to murmur into Albert’s ear. “Tell me what you need,love, and I’ll make it yours.” His voice was low yet sweet. “Faster.” Albert gasped, his nails digging into the edge of the desk. His body arched, every nerve alight with the intensity of Mycroft’s thrusts.
He obliged immediately, his pace shifting from slow and deliberate to something harder, faster. The force of it drove Albert forward, his back pressing against the cool surface of the desk as Mycroft’s hips snapped against his. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, sharp and rhythmic, punctuated by Albert’s breathless moans. "Yes,” Albert choked out, his voice breaking as Mycroft’s cock hit that spot inside him again and again. His vision blurred, his body trembling with the overwhelming sensation of being full.
“Yes, just like that... you fit so good inside me” Mycroft’s breath was ragged, hot against Albert’s neck, as he pressed a kiss to the curve of his shoulder. “You’re perfect” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You take me so perfectly, my love.” His thrusts grew more erratic, his control slipping as he chased his own release. Albert’s head dropped forward, gasping for air. His cock was achingly hard, leaking against his stomach, and he reached down to stroke himself, desperate for relief. But Mycroft’s hand caught his wrist, pulling it away.
“Not yet.” Mycroft growled “Wait for me.” Albert whined, his body shaking with the effort of holding back. He gripped the edge of the desk tighter, his knuckles white, and let out a shaky moan as Mycroft’s pace became impossibly faster. “Look at me,” Mycroft commanded, his voice firm but tinged with tenderness. Albert turned his head, his eyes meeting Mycroft’s, and the intensity of his gaze made his breath catch. Mycroft’s eyes were dark, almost black with desire, but there was something else there too something soft, something loving.
Albert felt himself melt under his stare. “If you vanished from this world,I would spend the rest of my life searching for you." Mycroft whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. Tears welled in Albert’s eyes, a mixture of pleasure and the unbearable weight of their shared sorrow. “I don’t want to leave you.” he confessed, his voice barely audible.
“Shh,” Mycroft interrupted, his thrusts slowing for a moment as he leaned down to press a kiss to Albert’s lips. It was tender, achingly sweet, and he melted into it, his body trembling with the intensity of his emotions. When Mycroft pulled back, his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. “Dont think about that. Not now" he kissed Albert again, deeper this time, their tongues tangling as he resumed his relentless pace. Albert moaned into the kiss, his body arching as Mycroft’s cock drove into him over and over. "Mycroft,” Albert gasped, his voice breaking as he clung to him. “I’m c-close” Mycroft growled as he reached down between them, his hand wrapping around Albert’s cock and giving it a firm stroke. Albert cried out, his body shaking as he teetered on the edge. "Me too..." Mycroft’s thrusts became desperate, his control slipping as he chased his own climax. “Albert,” Mycroft gasped, his voice breaking as he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he finally let go.
The sensation of Mycroft coming inside him pushed Albert over the edge, his own release surging through him like a wave. Albert’s vision went white as he came, his body convulsing with the force of his orgasm. He cried out, his voice raw and broken. When the aftershocks finally subsided, his body went limp, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
Mycroft’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close as he pressed soft kisses to his neck and shoulders. “I love you,” Mycroft murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “God, Albert, I love you so much.” Albert tensed. A fraction of a second, no more, but Mycroft felt it under him. A breath drawn too sharply, a blink that lasted just a moment too long. Slowly, Albert turned his head to look at him, expression unreadable. His lips parted, but the only thing that escaped was a quiet breath. Then, at last, the question:
"Why?"
It wasn’t the teasing Lord who had once wrapped men around his finger. It wasn’t the self-assured revolutionary who had charmed the world before deciding to set it ablaze. This was something more fragile, something hesitant, as if, despite all his brilliance, he truly could not comprehend the answer.
Mycroft smiled as he took his hand, kissing his knuckles softly. “Because my mind has always been my strongest weapon, and yet, it is utterly powerless against you. You have unraveled me, Albert, and I have no wish to be whole again if it means losing you.” He continues as he kisses his wrist, the one he pinned before as they were getting overwhelmed by pleasure.
“Because you have given your life to others, shaped a better world with your own hands, and yet, you refuse to allow yourself even the smallest piece of happiness. You are impossible, insufferable, and the only thing I have ever truly wanted for myself”. He then went higher, kissing his cheek softly, brushing away a stray tear. “Because for all your carefully crafted illusions, for all your calculated moves, you are the most honest thing I have ever known, Albert. You think you hide yourself well, but I have seen you. And I love you. I have been helpless against you from the very moment I first saw you.”
Albert’s heart ached, tears streaming down his face as he turned to bury his face in Mycroft’s chest. That man was indeed too sweet for his heart. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I always will. You're buried in my heart” Mycroft stared at Albert, his heart pounding in his chest as the weight of those words settled over him. The finality in his voice was a dagger, twisting deeper with every passing second. He tightened his arms around Albert, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush against one another, skin still slick with sweat from their earlier passion. The room was now quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath them.
Mycroft’s fingers traced lazy patterns along Albert’s spine, his touch feather-light, as though he were afraid to break him. Albert sighed, his breath warm against the older's neck as he buried his face in the crook of his shoulder. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of the world had lifted, if only for a moment. He could almost pretend that this was all there was: just the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms, with nothing to fear and no one to answer to.
But he knew better.
The weight of him, warm and close, should have been reassuring. And yet, Mycroft could feel the shift—the way Albert’s breath came just a fraction shallower, the way his fingers curled, restless, into his own hair.
Something was pulling him away.
“What are you thinking about? ” Mycroft finally asked, his voice a quiet murmur against the hush of the room. Albert stilled for half a second before exhaling, his breath warm against his skin. “Nothing.” A poor lie. Mycroft’s lips curled slightly, though his fingers never stopped their gentle motion along the othert’s back. “You used to be better at that.” Albert let out a soft scoff, shifting slightly against him. “I used to have better material.”
“You still do.” Mycroft’s hand moved up, threading lazily through Albert’s chocolate locks that were now completely undone, tugging lightly, just enough to make him look up. Their eyes met in the dim light, and Mycroft studied him,really studied him. The flicker of hesitation, the unspoken weight. “Tell me what ’s troubling you ” he said, quiet but firm.
Albert sighed, tilting his head just enough that his nose brushed against Mycroft’s collarbone. A moment passed before he finally spoke. “ You are.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow, looking at him confused. “Me?”
Albert’s fingers absently trailing along Mycroft’s ribs. “You take up far too much space in my mind.” The older chuckled, kissing his cheek softly “I should think that’s only fair, given how completely you have consumed mine.”
Albert’s lips curved slightly at that, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. His touch became more deliberate, fingers pressing lightly into Mycroft’s side as he admitted, barely above a whisper “It frightens me sometimes.” The other thought for a second, before nodding. “Good.” Albert blinked, startled, and Mycroft smirked, pressing a slow kiss to his temple before murmuring against his skin. “Because it means it’s real.”
Albert smiled warmly at his words, yet he felt incredibly sad. He pressed his forehead against Mycroft’s collarbone. “You make it sound so simple.” “ Because It is.” The older shot back, his fingers tracing the curve of his spine, steady, patient. “The world is complicated. You and I… are inevitable.” Albert let out a quiet laugh, breathless and bitter all at once. “Inevitable?” Mycroft hummed, his lips brushing lightly against Albert’s temple. “You were always going to find me, and trap me, and I was always going to let you.”
Albert swallowed, his grip on Mycroft tightening. He had spent a lifetime crafting illusions, wrapping himself in careful detachment, convincing the world and himself that he was untouchable. And yet, here he was, undone by the one man who had never been deceived by any of it who had seen through every carefully crafted illusion, every mask he had ever worn, and still, impossibly, refused to turn away.
He might have sunk deeper into his own thoughts had Mycroft not chosen that moment to press a kiss against his jaw. Warm, deliberate, pulling him back from the corridors of memory with a quiet certainty. He hadn’t meant to get lost in it, but the past had a way of creeping in when the present felt too unreal. Albert barely had time to register it before another followed, this time against the corner of his lips, softer, lingering.
A breath hitched in his throat. Mycroft knew what he was thinking about. They rested for a bit like that, Albert smiling at him as his hands ran on Mycroft’s broad back, the other looking at him lovingly. Nothing could break the idyllic moment between then, the quiet solace they found in each other's arms. Or maybe not?
The sound of the clock echoed through the room. A single chime, crisp and clear, followed by another. Then another. Eight in total. Eight o’clock. The spell was broken. Albert’s hand stilled on Mycroft’s back, his heart sinking. He closed his eyes, as if he could will the clock to stop, to give him just a little more time. But the chimes kept coming, each one a harsh reminder of the world outside. Of the duties he had to fulfill. Of the life he had to leave behind.
Mycroft stirred, lifting his head slightly to look at Albert. His eyes were heavy-lidded, still soft with the remnants of satisfaction, but there was a tension in them now. A flicker of something darker. “Albert,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. Albert didn’t respond immediately. His throat felt tight, his chest heavy. He turned his head to look at the clock on the wall, its hands mocking him.He had to go. He didn’t want to. God, he didn’t want to. But he had to.
“I have to leave” Albert whispered, the words barely audible. They felt like ash in his mouth. He was doing his best to get up, but Mycroft’s body pinned him on the desk as his gaze hardened, shaking his head. “No”, he said, his voice firm. “No you don’t, not yet. Just stay some more” Albert’s heart ached at the plea in Mycroft’s voice. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to stay, to forget everything else, to lose himself in Mycroft again. But he couldn’t. He had to go. He had to make amends for all the wrongs he did.
“I can’t,” Albert said, his voice trembling. He reached up, brushing his fingers against Mycroft’s cheek. “You know I can’t. You know what i want to do” Mycroft’s jaw tightened, and he leaned into Albert’s touch, his eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again, they were full of pain. “I thought i could’ve been able to convince you” he asked, his voice raw. “Let me help you. Let me… let me fix this in some way. Just let me think-” Albert shook his head, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. “You can’t fix this, Mycroft. No one can. It’s too late for that. Let me get up.”
“It’s not too late,” Mycroft insisted, his voice rising slightly. He pushed himself up, his hands braced on either side of Albert’s head, his face inches away. “It’s never too late. Not while you’re still here. Not while I can still touch you.” Mycroft’s hands slid down to cradle Albert’s face, his thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “Stay,” he said again, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Please. Just… stay.”
“I have to go,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.” The olders lips found his in a kiss that was desperate, hungry, full of all the things they couldn’t say. Albert’s fingers dug into his shoulders as he kissed him back, pouring everything he had into it. Every regret. Every longing. Every ounce of love he couldn’t put into words. Mycroft’s hands slid down Albert’s body, his touch firm and possessive, as if he could memorize every inch of him through touch alone. He gasped into the kiss, arching into Mycroft’s hands, his body responding despite the ache in his chest. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. He clung to Mycroft, his fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
Albert exhaled as they parted, his body still warm from where Mycroft had held him, from where he still did. But the world outside this room was waiting, and no matter how much he wished otherwise, he had to go, both for himself and the other man. He shifted, testing the weight of Mycroft’s arm around him. It didn’t budge. Fingers now traced over his ribs, slow and possessive, a silent argument against the inevitable. He wasn’t just holding him, he was caging him, keeping him pressed against the desk, against the lingering heat of their moment. Albert could feel the restraint in him, the quiet war between want and reason, the rare selfishness curling at the edges of Mycroft’s composure. The younger let out a breathless chuckle, though his heart ached for it. "I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching again for the scattered remnants of his clothing. "Let me get my clothes."
For a moment, Mycroft didn’t move. For a moment, Albert could see all the thoughts going through his mind.
Then, slowly, he felt the shift. The fingers at his side loosened, the warmth of the older’s body withdrawing by inches, but the resistance remained in the air between them. Mycroft clenched his fists, knuckles white, as if physically restraining himself from reaching out again. Albert retrieved his shirt near the desk, but he could still feel the weight of the older's gaze on him, burning, unreadable. He didn’t look back. If he did, he wasn’t sure he would leave at all. He pulled his shirt over his shoulders, the fabric cold against his skin compared to the lingering warmth Mycroft had left behind. He could still feel the ghost of his touch,on his waist, his wrist, the nape of his neck…all places the other had claimed without words, without permission, but never without meaning. He reached for his trousers next, shaking them out with practiced ease, though his hands were not as steady as they should have been. The weight of silence pressed down on him, thick and suffocating, yet Mycroft said nothing. He only watched.
Albert dared a glance in his direction.
The sight nearly undid him.
Mycroft had moved—just slightly. He was no longer bare, having pulled on his shirt with slow, deliberate motions, though he hadn’t bothered to button it fully. The fabric hung open just enough to expose the curve of his collarbone, the faint marks Albert had left upon his skin. A careless illusion of composure. He sat at the edge of the desk, still perfect in the dim candlelight. His fingers remained curled into fists against the polished wood, his shoulders tense, his chest rising and falling with measured restraint. But his eyes, his eyes betrayed him.
Regret. Frustration. Longing.
Albert swallowed against the knot forming in his throat. He had seen Mycroft wear many expressions, had studied them with the precision of a man who dealt in manipulation and strategy. But this,this unguarded vulnerability was something else entirely. Something Albert wasn’t sure he had the strength to face. The Director had never been one to beg, not with words. But now, in the unbearable silence between them, he might as well have.He turned away too quickly, pulling his pants up with more force than necessary. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Mycroft didn’t answer.
The silence stretched, unbearable.
The moment Albert reached for his coat, Mycroft moved;fast, determined. His fingers wrapped around his wrist, firm but not cruel, his breath sharp as he forced the other to face him. “Do you think this is the end?” Mycroft’s voice was lower now, rougher, his usual composure nowhere to be found. “That I would simply let you walk away and vanish into the the day? That I wouldn’t— ” He inhaled sharply, steadying himself, though the fire in his eyes remained. “There is no place on this earth where I would not find you, Albert. No border I wouldn’t cross, no wall I wouldn’t break. You have made me that kind of man.” Albert’s chest tightened. It was so terribly rare,to see Mycroft like this. Unguarded. Fractured. He had spent so long believing that Mycroft Holmes was untouchable, unshakable. But now, in this moment, he saw the truth.
He had ruined him. He had once again ruined someone.
Albert’s lips parted, but Mycroft didn’t let him speak. “If you leave,” the older continued, his grip tightening just slightly, “I won’t give up on you either way. You are not beyond my reach, nor will you ever be. No matter how far you run, I will always be close behind, even if not phisically.” Albert stared at him, breathless at his words. This was madness. This was love. And it terrified him.
Albert let out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh, but there was no amusement in it,only exhaustion, only sorrow. He looked down at where Mycroft’s hand still held his wrist, as if by sheer will alone he could keep him here. “Mycroft,” he murmured, softer now, a plea wrapped in resignation. “You say that now, but in time… you’ll forget.” The other's grip tensed, his brows drawing together, but Albert only shook his head. “You will,” he insisted, his voice gentle, as though he were trying to convince himself just as much as Mycroft. “The world will demand your attention. There will be matters greater than this, greater than me. And one day, you’ll wake up and realize I am nothing more than a distant memory,something faded, something that no longer stings .”
Mycroft opened his mouth, but Albert didn’t let him speak. “I hope so,” he whispered. His smile was small, bittersweet, barely there. “ I hope you forget me, Mycroft. Because the alternative…” He exhaled shakily, his fingers ghosting over the other’s hand but not pulling away. “The alternative is that you remember. That you hurt. And that, I could never bear.” For a long moment, Mycroft said nothing, and the silence between them was heavy, suffocating, an unbearable weight pressing against Albert’s chest. He wished he would argue. He wished he would refute it, that he would say something sharp, something cruel, something to make this easier.
But instead, he only looked at him,looked at him like he had already memorized everything about him, like forgetting had never been an option to begin with. His grip loosened,not in surrender, but in something far worse. In understanding. In grief. Albert, instead had expected anger. He had braced himself for sharp words, for an argument, for anything that would turn this moment into something easier to walk away from. But this devastating acceptance was Mycroft’s worst weapon of all. “You truly think so little of me,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t an accusation, but a wound laid bare, raw and aching. “You believe I could forget you so easily?” Albert swallowed hard. “I believe you should.”
Mycroft shaked his head in disbelief. He reached for him again, but this time, there was no force, only his fingers brushing against Albert’s, lingering, as if savoring the last touch before it was gone forever. “Then you are a fool, ” Mycroft murmured. “If I were capable of forgetting you, I would have done so long ago.” Albert’s breath hitched at his words, his fingers trembling. “You wished for my silence. I have given it. You wished for my restraint. I have endured it. But this…this, I cannot give you.” he closed his eyes for a brief, fleeting second. When he opened them, Mycroft was still there, looking at him like nothing else in the world mattered. And that was why he had to leave. He took a step back, his fingers slipping away from his grasp. “Then do not give it,” he murmured. “But do not wait for me either.”
Mycroft’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. But he did not stop him this time. Albert turned away before he could change his mind. Before he could betray himself. He reached for his coat again, slipping it over his shoulders with practiced ease, but the weight of Mycroft’s gaze remained, pressing against his back like a silent plea.At the door, he hesitated,just for a moment.
Then, without another word, he walked out: his expression unreadable, his pace unwavering. But inside, he was crumbling. Every inch of distance felt like a knife between his ribs, yet he did not turn back. Mycroft would survive without him, he had to. And if he repeated it enough, perhaps he would believe it too. The other's warmth still clung to his skin, his scent lingering on his clothes, but it was fading, like everything else Albert had ever allowed himself to love.
The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was deafening.
Albert was gone. And yet, the room still smelled like him.
For a moment, Mycroft didn’t move. He simply stood there, staring at the space where Albert had just been, as if sheer will alone could bring him back. But the room was empty now, save for him, and the echo of everything left unsaid. His hands, still half-clenched at his sides, trembled before he forced them into stillness. His breath came slow and measured, though it did nothing to calm the storm in his chest.He had known this was inevitable.
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. He turned on his heel, pacing once, twice,restless, a man who had spent his life constructing walls only to find them crumbling around him. His gaze flickered to the desk. The same desk where Albert had been not long ago, sprawled beneath him, whispering his name like it was something sacred. The same desk where Mycroft had allowed himself, for once in his life, to want. To take. To believe, even fleetingly, that this could be something more.
Fool. He had to be a fool to think that Albert would allow himself something. He had to be a fool, not having locked him in this room, in his arms, where not even his own thoughts could hurt me. And god, he had to be a fool, to have let him go. Albert had always carried the world on his shoulders. He had held it with steady hands, never once allowing himself to tremble beneath its weight. A leader, a mastermind, a man who shaped the shadows to his will. But for all his power, for all his brilliance, he had never allowed himself anything of his own.
No happiness. No peace. Not even love.
Mycroft closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose as a dull ache spread through his chest. How cruel it was,how utterly unfair, that a man like Albert, who had given everything, who had suffered and sacrificed, could not find it in himself to take. Even here, even in his arms, Albert had hesitated. Even when Mycroft had held him, kissed him, whispered against his skin, he had still been half-bracing himself to let it go. To leave.
A sharp breath caught in his throat, and his fingers curled into the desk. Albert had always spoken of himself with such detachment, as though he were merely a piece on the board, a pawn in a game of his own design. He had built a world where others could dream, yet he had not granted himself the same mercy. And he had let him walk away believing he deserved nothing more.
His chest tightened, and for the first time in years, he felt powerless. He had influence over empires, control over secrets that could shake the very foundation of nations, yet none of it mattered, not if he could not reach the man he loved.Even now, with miles already stretching between them, Mycroft knew: Albert would never truly be gone from him. Not in the way that mattered. And that, more than anything, was what hurt the most.
Albert had made his choice. It was not a cruel one, nor an act of selfishness,it was atonement. The kind of atonement only Albert James Moriarty would deem acceptable. A life spent in the shadows, orchestrating a grand revolution, and now, an end befitting the weight he had carried. He had no right to take that from him. But the Tower was no place for a mind like Albert’s, a mind too sharp, too brilliant, too restless to be left alone with itself. Regret was a slow, insidious poison, and if left to fester, it would consume him. No. Mycroft would not let that happen.
His eyes flickered to his desk, and suddenly, clarity struck him like a spark in the dark. His hands moved before he had fully processed the thought, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper, the weight of it grounding him as he smoothed it across the desk. If he could not stand beside Albert, he would reach him another way.
He picked up his pen, the ink bleeding into the page as he began to write. His script was precise, steady; every word carefully chosen, deliberate, unshaken. There were more preparations to make to do what he intended and a certain animal to adopt, but he would start here.
What he wrote was not a plea. Not a demand.
It was a promise.
‘Dear Albert...’