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Greg Lestrade wasn’t supposed to be home. It was a Tuesday night, after all. For as long as he could remember, even before he was married, he had always worked Tuesday nights. It just so happened that tonight was slower than it had been in months. No outstanding investigations, no new calls coming in. So slow, that the chief called Greg into his office and told him to go home.
“Get out of here, Lestrade.” The older man had said, shuffling some papers that were on his desk. “No sense in two of us being here. Go spend some time with that pretty wife of yours.”
He plopped down on his worn leather armchair, sinking into the the indentation that years of wear had caused. He stared absently at the television, not really caring what was going on. He was numb. Whether that was from the glass of scotch he was nursing or the new information he had just acquired, he wasn’t sure. He brought the glass he was holding to his mouth and held it there, enjoying the feel of the cool glass between his lips. Greg took a small sip, simultaneously grimacing at fiery trail the amber liquid left down his throat and admiring the flavor, and laid his head back to rest on the back of his chair.
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It was half past eleven when his wife finally walked in the front door of their flat. Her face was flushed. From the cold or from...other activities, he wasn’t sure, but given the circumstances, his money was on the latter.
She didn’t notice him right away, why would she? She was smiling and her hair was a bit damp from the light drizzle falling outside. And If he wasn’t mistaken, she was also humming.
She removed her boots first, followed by her scarf and coat--shaking it in attempt to rid the material of water droplets, before hanging it up on the coat rack. That was something Lestrade never bothered to do. He just threw his things over a chair in the sitting room.
When she finally turned around and caught sight of Greg settled in the chair, she let out a startled yelp and brought a hand to rest on her chest. “Jesus Christ, Greg! You scared the heart right out of me. What are you doing home?”
Greg chuckled darkly at her choice of words. “It was slow down at the station, the Chief gave me the night off. Thought I’d make something nice out of it.” He gestured toward the kitchen table. There were two places set--folded napkins, tablecloth, placemats, the whole shebang-- a bouquet tulips arranged carefully in a vase, two candles already in their holders waiting to be lit, and as a final touch, a bottle of his wife’s favorite wine.
The bottle, which was once situated upright in a metal container of ice, lay sideways in a pool of water.
“Where’ve you been? Surely book club doesn’t last until,” A quick glance at his watch. “Eleven-thirty at night.” He eyed her with an accusatory glare, wondering if she would simply admit to her rendezvous or keep up the charade.
She answered quickly, almost too quickly, as if she had the lie prepared specifically for a situation like this. “Drinks. I went out for drinks with a friend.”
Greg raised an eyebrow. “A friend, huh? What’s this friend’s name?”
“Evelina.”
“Evelina.” He repeated.
“Yes, Evelina.” She crossed her arms defensively as if daring him to question her.
Greg shook his head. “You can cut the shit, Catherine. I know.” He was surprised by how calm he was being about this whole mess. Maybe because he subconsciously suspected something all along, maybe this was just the confirmation he needed.
“Know what? What are you trying to say?” Her voice became louder, defensive.
Instead of answering her, Greg reached over to where the answering machine was situated on the table, and pressed play. “Message received Tuesday, second of November, two-thousand and twelve, ten thirty-seven PM.” The automated voice recited. There was a slight pause before a man’s voice carried through the room. “Hey, dove. You’ll probably realize it before long, but you left your mobile here. Found it under the bed. I wonder how it got there....” The man trailed off, you could almost hear the suggestive smirk on his face. “I guess that means you’ll just have to come see me again. And soon. Tonight was incredible, I miss you already. Just you wait. Next time I’m going to have you bent over my---” Greg cut the message off. He really didn’t need to hear it again.
A few moments passed where neither of them said a word. It was Catherine who finally broke the silence. With a sharp exhale, she began to speak. “Greg,” She began, but he held his hand out in front of him and shook his head, abruptly standing up.
“I can’t believe I fooled myself into thinking you’d change. You are disgusting.” He spat out, voice rising slightly. “Who was it this time? Did he even know you were married?”
“No. He didn’t.”
Greg chuckled darkly. “Wonderful. I don’t know if that should make me feel better or worse.” He was just torturing himself with the questions, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. He wanted to know, wanted to understand. Why wasn’t he good enough for her? “How did you meet him?”
“I met him at the library. He came in at the same time everyday, asking me for help locating certain volumes for his classes. It all sort of escalated--”
“Wait a second, you met him at the library?” Greg said, processing the new information. “That’s fantastic. A professor, huh? ” He should have known. With her working at the local university campus library, she was bound to meet someone more intelligent and intriguing than he ever was.
Catherine fidgeted nervously, twisting her hands together. “Not a professor.” She said.
Greg’s eyes widened in realization. “A student?” He asked incredulously, not quite believing what she was telling him. “How old?”
She bowed her head, “Twenty.”
“Twenty? Jesus Christ.” His wife had stepped out on him for a twenty year old. “I can’t do this.” He scooped up his jacket that was thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch, and began to shrug it on. “I’m done.”
“Done? No!” Catherine said, moving to grasp the coat in attempt to keep him from putting it on. “You’re not going to leave me.” Catherine said desperately, stepping in front of him, and placing her hands on his chest. “You’re not.”
“I am.”
“We’ve gotten over this before. We can do it again. I know we can. We can go to therapy, get help. Please.” Her eyes were wet, but Greg didn’t let that phase hime. Not this time.
“We shouldn’t have to get through it again! Five times, Catherine. Five times that I know about. I don’t even want to think about the ones that I don’t.” He was positive there were more. He always knew. This was just the last straw, the last ditch effort to save their marriage. “Why am I not good enough for you?” He asked, voice breaking.
She let out a sob, then, moving her hands away from his chest and up to cover her eyes. “Greg, please. I’m so sorry I did it. I was wrong.” She said pleadingly, looking up at him eyes wide and still glistening. “I’ll end it. I won’t do it again, just please, Greg.”
“You say that, Catherine, every single time, and you just do it again! How am I to carry on like this? I can’t-- I just can’t do this anymore. I should have left after the first time. After Paul.” He pulled out of her grasp and walked into the kitchen. He scooped up his wallet, keys, and mobile and turned toward the front door. ”I should’ve known that if you would sink so low as to sleep with one of my closest mates, you wouldn’t have trouble bedding anyone that gave you a bit of attention.”
She gasped and let out an angry huff. “You know, you’re sure quick to put the blame on me! You were never home! What did you expect me to do? Always at work, double overtime. Or if you weren’t there you were out with that friend of yours.” She yelled. “Maybe if you weren’t such a shit husband, I wouldn’t feel the need to run to someone else!”
That stopped Greg in his tracks. Of all the things she could have said to him, she chose the one thing she knew would get under his skin.
“Fuck you.” He growled forcefully, not even bothering to turn around. He threw open the door and hurried down the steps. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the street that he realized what time it was and that he had nowhere to go.
Greg silently swore to himself as he pulled out his phone and dialed the first person that came to mind, the person he knew he could rely on. His best friend.
The phone rang a few times and Greg thought it may go to voicemail, but finally, a groggy voice answered. “Hello?”
“Listen, I’m really sorry for waking you. I know it’s late, I know it’s an imposition, but do you think I could crash at your place for a few days? Catherine and I....It’s not good.” Greg ran a hand over his face, waiting for the man on the other line to respond.
There were a few moments of silence before the man spoke again, and when the voice did come through the receiver, it was fully alert. “Of course. It’s no imposition at all. You know you are always welcome here.”
Greg exhaled, not realizing he was holding his breath waiting for the answer. “Thank you, Mycroft.”
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“Greg,” Mycroft said sadly when he opened the door and took in his friend’s appearance. He looked wrecked. Then and there, Mycroft cursed Greg’s wretched wife. He had never gotten on with Catherine. Partly because he knew what she was up to, and partly because she was simply a vicious woman. She had never liked Mycroft and she made that particular fact well known.
“I know.” He replied softly, not able to meet Mycroft’s eyes. “You can say, ‘I told you so,’ if you want. Because you did, multiple times. And I still didn’t listen.”
“I was only trying to protect you. You know that I only have your best interest at heart.” Mycroft shook his head as he stepped back and motioned Greg inside. “Tea?” He offered, already making his way toward the kitchen
“Please.” Greg called after him. He shed his coat, hung it on a hook by the door and then followed Mycroft into the kitchen. He sat himself on a bar stool and watched the taller man prepare the tea.
Mycroft remained silent. Over the years, he had learned that Greg would speak when he was ready.
“I just,” Greg began, then paused, “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everything. I’m not happy, haven’t been for years. I feel like it was all a waste of time, you know? Like I failed. Well, I did fail.”
Mycroft sighed and pushed a mug of tea toward Greg. “You cannot place the blame solely on yourself. You aren’t the only one in the equation. All you focused on is her happiness. And how does she repay you? By sleeping with every willing man. You worked those hours so you could afford the home that she insisted on. So she could buy the things that she desired. You never deserved that. You deserve someone who begs you to come home. Someone who would shower you in affection. I’ve experienced the way she talks to you, and if she speaks to you in such a manner with company present, I can only imagine what went on behind closed doors. She mistreated you, Greg. You’re a great man, one that deserves the absolute best. And she is nowhere near the caliber of what you truly deserve.”
Greg was at a loss for words. He simply stared at Mycroft, still dumbfounded by the man’s words. It was what he really needed to hear in that moment, and of course Mycroft would know just what to say. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He had to take a moment before he was able to string together something somewhat intelligent. “Thank you.” He said simply, his gratefulness evident in his tone. “I--”, Pause, deep breath. “I want to end it. Can you help me?”
Mycroft had to hold back the surge of elation that ran through him. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was cruel, but he had waited for years to hear those words tumble out of Greg’s mouth. He had to force himself to keep his face neutral. “Absolutely.”
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
3 weeks later
Triple murder, all women under thirty, no weapon found at the scene, possible cult ritual. Think S would be interested? GL
I think he would take a case of a missing parrot, right about now. JW
Great. I can be there in twenty with the case-files and dinner. Thai? GL
Perfect. See you soon. JW
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“They were found half four Friday morning by a cleanup crew. Stripped of their clothes and any identification. Location suggests--Would you stop looking at me like that?” Greg said to Sherlock, who was staring pointedly at him from across the room. He knew it was only a matter of time before Sherlock went off, regaling every detail of what had been going on for the past few weeks. Greg sighed, just wanting to get it over with. “Go on, then. Say it then leave it alone.”
John sat on the sofa beside Greg confused, but turned his head curiously toward Sherlock. “You’ve left your wife. For good this time. In fact, I’d say you’ve already received your decree absolute. Which means someone has stepped in. There is no way you could have expedited this on your own, so Mycroft’s involved, yes. Oh!” Sherlock exclaimed, eyes shining bright. “You’ve been staying with him, haven’t you? Yes, why hadn’t I noticed it before? Your clothing’s been laundered with the same detergent. And pressed, which you never bother to do. So his housekeeper’s been tending to yours as well.” He smiled mischievously. “He must be loving this.”
“Sherlock..” John warned.
“Yes, I’m staying with your brother. We’re friends, Sherlock, as you well know. He’s offered to let me stay until I’ve found a place.” Greg said, dropping the file down on the coffee table. “As for ‘loving this’, I don’t know what planet you come from, but typically people don’t take joy in their friends’ misfortune.”
Sherlock’s smile widened. “I’m not referring to your divorce. I’m referring to the fact that you ran to him. No doubt he’s reveling in that detail.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that my brother’s been in love with you for years, and he’s probably deluding himself into thinking that he now has a chance. It’s fantastic!”
“Sherlock!” John reprimanded, shooting him a dirty look. “Greg, listen mate, he shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not---”
“No.” Greg said, standing up suddenly. “I need to go.”
“Greg, don’t do anything you’ll regret.” John said, standing up too.
“Oh please do! I want to see how Mycroft takes rejection.” Sherlock said gleefully, standing up himself and going over to the coffee table to retrieve the file.
Greg gathered his things and left without another word. ‘Mycroft in love. With me?’, he thought, shaking his head incredulously. There must’ve been some misunderstanding.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Greg entered Mycroft’s flat thirty minutes later, not bothering to remove his shoes or jacket. He marched straight into the living room where he suspected Mycroft to be and he was right.
“I was just about to call you,” Mycroft said, head bowed engrossed in a pile of documents. He adjusted his reading glasses before continuing. “I wanted to see if you wanted to go out to dinner this evening or stay in.”
Greg didn’t answer. He waited for Mycroft to look up from his papers.
“Gregory? Did you hear---What’s wrong?” Mycroft inquired, concern clouding his eyes. He removed his glasses, stood up, and dropped his papers on the seat beside him.
Greg didn’t want to beat around the bush, he wanted straight answers. “Are you in love with me?”
Mycroft’s eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly. “I’m sorry?”
“Sherlock said,” He started, swallowing hard, “Sherlock said that you’re in love with me. That you have been for a long time.” When he say Mycroft about to respond, he spoke again. “Don’t lie to me Mycroft, please. Is he telling the truth?”
A pause. Only for a few seconds, but those seconds seemed to drag on for hours.
“Yes. He is.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? We’ve known each other for over five years, and you’ve never said a word?” Greg asked, as he walked a bit closer to Mycroft.
Mycroft let out a harsh chuckle. “What would you have had me say? You were married. Even after each time Catherine was unfaithful, you’d go back to her. What was I supposed to do?” He asked, a bit desperately. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had...I’ve never had a close friend before. I didn’t want to lose you.”
Greg shook his head and did the only thing that felt right in that moment. He walked up to Mycroft and placed his hands on his chest. “I understand, I do. You were never going to lose me, though. I couldn’t not have you in my life anymore.” Greg said softly, moving a hand up to the back of Mycroft’s neck.
Mycroft shivered at the contact. How many times had he dreamed of this happening? Of Greg finally touching him in such a way other than a friendly pat? He couldn’t remember. He breathed shakily, not wanting to ruin the moment by saying anything more. He settled for moving his right hand to cover Greg’s that lay on his chest.
Greg took that as an affirmation and pulled gently on the back of Mycroft’s neck, bringing their lips closer together. He hesitated for a moment, giving Mycroft a second to pull away, but when he didn’t, Greg licked his lower lip and closed the distance, pressing his lips gently against Mycroft’s. He could feel the shudder that ran through Mycroft and smiled into the closed mouth kiss, loving that Mycroft was so affected. He was enjoying it too, more than he probably should.
Greg decided to move things along and pushed his way forward, coaxing his way into Mycroft’s mouth. He let out a low moan of pleasure when Mycroft pushed back, mingling their tongues together.
It was Mycroft who eventually pulled back, breathing heavily, pupils blown wide. “What are we doing?” He asked breathlessly.
“I believe the kids call it snogging.” Greg said with a smile. When Mycroft smiled back, Greg leaned up and pressed their lips together once again.