Chapter Text
Mycroft follows Gregory into the changing room, feeling in a lot of ways like a man walking death row. As his companion closes the door after him, Mycroft considers his options: he’s not above begging at this point, truth to be told, but maybe he should wait to hear what Gregory has to say, before resorting to such dramatic measures.
He sits down on one of the chairs, careful to look calm and collected, hands linked over his lap in an effort to not start fidgeting. Gregory paces the room, talking to himself in hushed tones and Mycroft takes another deep breath, before clearing his throat once.
He does not wish to talk, naturally, but he figures that at this point that barely matters. And the sooner they talk, the sooner he’ll know where they stand and whether or not he needs to panic.
Gregory turns to him then, expression a tad guilty. “That was probably an unadvisable move, wasn’t it? God! I should have waited… oh god, I’m sorry Mycroft, I didn’t--”
“It’s fine,” Mycroft interrupts because while the timing could have been better, all he really cares about is the end result. “What’s bothering you?”
Gregory chews his lip and Mycroft tells himself not to get distracted by the memories of what biting those lips felt like. Last night is still a bit blurry inside his head, but he does remember there was a lot of kissing involved, some kisses more tender than others.
“So, about last night--” Gregory begins and Mycroft holds back a groan. “Do you... umm… do you remember what I said?”
Mycroft frowns. “Are you looking for a particular answer?” he questions, leaning back on his seat. He does remember there wasn’t much talking involved, except--
I love you.
But no. That didn’t happen, certainly not outside Mycroft’s treacherous fantasies, did it?
“You do remember,” Gregory sentences and Mycroft wonders when did he get so good at reading his expressions. He’s always prided himself on his perfect blank mask and yet it seems Gregory can read him like an open book.
“I do not believe I do,” Mycroft replies after a beat. “I… I remember something, but I’m also fairly certain that never happened.” He scrunches his nose in displeasure, shaking his head. “It simply can not be.”
“And why’s that?”
Mycroft glares at nothing in particular, quickly growing annoyed. “The terms of our arrangement--”
“Mycroft--”
“I need you to marry me,” Mycroft interrupts sharply, clenching his jaw as soon as the words are out. “Nothing more and nothing less. When I asked you… you agreed to… We had an agreement!”
A tense silence follows his words and Mycroft doesn’t dare to look at his companion. The words came out harsher than he intended and while that’s the truth, it also feels… wrong . These last few months have been so good; he’s never been happier and to reduce them to a simple arrangement… a deal of sorts…
“We did,” Gregory agrees quietly and his voice sounds weird, perhaps a tad watery and Mycroft has to look up, frowning after seeing Gregory’s expression. “And I will complete my side of the bargain. I just… I thought…” he sighs, shaking his head. “Nevermind. Feelings were never part of the equation, were they?”
Mycroft sighs, looking away. “They weren’t. And you need not to worry, I don’t… my feelings are my problem, not yours,” he murmurs softly, sadly.
“Your… wait a minute,” Gregory says, coming to stand right in front of him, scrunching down so they’re eye to eye. “You remember what I said last night, right? Because if you do… what you’ve just said makes zero sense.”
Mycroft frowns, puzzled. “What do you think I remember?”
“Oh, good god, Mycroft, you know what I mean! Are you really going to make me say it again? Particularly considering… well, since you obviously don’t feel the same way, what’s the use…”
Oh. Oh? “Do you… did you really tell me that you loved me?”
Gregory groans, standing up abruptly and covering his face with his hands. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. Which is why… I mean, I understand if you don’t feel the same way, that was never part of our deal but I thought… I hoped…”
Mycroft stands up, even though he feels like he’s being crushed by the weight of the revelation. Is it true, can it be true? Is this really happening? “You love me?” he repeats, breathless and full of wonder and Gregory groans once more.
“Yes, yes, I do. Must you--” but Gregory doesn’t get to finish the phrase, since Mycroft steps into his personal space, cradling his face with all the tenderness in the world, still in awe at the revelation. “Mycroft?”
“I love you too,” he whispers, leaning down to place the lightest of kisses on his partner’s lips. Gregory makes a soft humming noise, half confusion and half approval and Mycroft chuckles, overwhelmed with emotion. “It’s been so difficult,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to his companion cheek. “To live with you, to sleep with you… having you so close and yet not close enough. I thought… I didn’t dare to believe…”
“Oh god,” Gregory says, a soft chuckle escaping him too. “Are you telling me… all this time...?”
“Yes, yes,” Mycroft agrees, still kissing him, thinking he’ll now never be able to stop. “I needed your help me desperately but I wanted… I hoped… and yet I didn’t dare to imagine…”
“Me neither,” Gregory whispers back, his arms now around Mycroft’s neck, pulling him closer. “I thought… remember I told you I was rubbish at flirting with men? I’ve been wanting to ask you out for ages and then you went ahead and proposed…”
“I’ve been so foolish… so blind…”
It’s hard to talk and kiss, Mycroft soon finds, so he abandons all attempts of the former in favour of the later, figuring there’ll be time to talk later. There’s still quite a lot to figure out but for the moment... for now they have each other and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?
They should have done this ages ago.
The talking, Greg means, not the kissing although if they had done the talking, there certainly would have been a lot more of kissing involved and a lot less of pining and hurt and mixed messages.
All that time wasted, really!
Not that it matters, not right now. It’s hard to think anything matters in this moment, really, not with Mycroft kissing him back so enthusiastically. While the start had been tentative, slow and tender, it soon turned heated and there’s a voice in the back of Greg’s head warning him against the potential dangers of rushing things, but it’s hard to focus when everything he wanted is finally within reach.
The knock on the door then comes on a most appropriate moment really, since it stops him from tearing his partner’s clothes off him, leaving them in quite a precarious situation considering there’s still a rehearsal to attend, with their friends and family as witnesses.
“Yes?” Greg asks, breathless and Mycroft arches an eyebrow, amused. Greg glares, pecking Mycroft’s lips, earning himself a lazy grin and another kiss.
“Is everything quite alright?” Sally’s voice comes from the other side of the door and she shortly tries the door handle, which of course prompts a panicked response from the couple, who spring away from each other right away.
“Yes!” they both cry out at the same time. “We’re perfectly fine! We’ll be out in the a bit, do not come in!” Greg adds, rushing for the door and just when did they become such a tangle of limbs? He nearly falls headfirst into the ground in his attempt to rush for the door which just prompts a soft chuckle from his companion.
He looks down at himself, noticing the state of his clothes and he blushes furiously, hurrying to rearrange his shirt tails and wondering where the hell did his suit jacket go. Mycroft just watches him, evidently amused, too self satisfied to care about what people might say, apparently.
They hear Sally huff on the other side of the door and Sherlock’s disgusted ugh! as he stomps down the hall. After a beat, there’s the sound of Sally’s heels walking away too and they turn to look at each other once more before breaking down into giggles.
“This is most inappropriate,” Greg informs his companion, finally finding his suit jacket and putting it on once more. “People will talk.”
Mycroft hums and how does he manage to look that regal with his shirt unbuttoned and untucked? “Well, you did interrupt our wedding vows just so you could have your way with me, darling. How can you expect people not to?”
“I did not-- that was not-- Mycroft!”
His companion laughs, evidently high on oxytocin, looking quite pleased with himself. “It’s not my fault you find me so irresistible, my dear,” he argues good naturedly, standing up on unsteady legs. He chuckles as Greg glares and then proceeds to press a quick kiss against his lips. “Come on, let’s get back to the rehearsal. We can resume this… conversation later.”
Greg arches an eyebrow, amused. “Are you really going to walk out looking like that?” he asks. “Haven’t you had enough of people teasing you about that hickey?”
“Fair point,” Mycroft agrees, coming to stand in front of the mirror and making a face at his ruffled appearance. “You’re a total savage, Gregory Lestrade. This is italian silk, you know?”
Greg laughs, coming to stand behind his fiancé and wrapping his arms around his middle, resting his chin on his partner’s shoulder. “Didn’t you know what you were getting into when you asked me to marry you?” he replies easily, grinning from ear to ear.
“I did not, actually,” Mycroft murmurs, gazing at him fondly. “But I’m glad I asked.”
Greg grins some more, kissing his cheek softly.
Neither knew what they were getting into, truth to be told.
But neither is complaining about the outcome, for sure.
The rest of the rehearsal passes in a bit of a blur, Mycroft trying his best to focus on what’s going on and not on what has just happened. Their short conversation still feels surreal: he’s half convinced that he’ll wake up any minute now, that he’ll find out this is nothing but an elaborate dream, a cruel trick of his overactive imagination.
He finds himself staring at Gregory every now and then, which isn’t something terribly uncommon; he always found a little hard to believe that such a perfect man could actually exist and now, to think that he actually wants to be with him…
Well. Mycroft is still processing it.
Gregory beams at him for the rest of the rehearsal, earning them both several talk downs from Ms. Donovan, who’s quickly losing her patience at their absentmindedness. Neither is paying attention really, both keep messing up their lines and missing their cues, giggling like a couple of teens and so by the time the sun sinks, Ms. Donovan abandons all attempts to get them to actually rehearse and sends everyone home.
It’s for the best really.
“I was thinking we could do dinner?” Mycroft suggests, sliding closer to his fiancé, who smiles brightly at him.
“I am a little hungry,” Gregory agrees, eyes dropping to Mycroft’s lips and Mycroft bites his lip, ignoring the warmth spreading across his body. “Is Sherlock staying with us tonight?”
“I could ask Mrs. Hudson to babysit,” Mycroft replies, although in fact he does not know if she’d agree. If not, he assumess he could always beg Mrs. Watson, but--
“Oh, no, none of that!” Hugh exclaims, appearing out of thin air and throwing an arm around Greg’s shoulder. “Bad luck to see the groom before the wedding!”
“Indeed!” Olivia says, showing up out nowhere, backing her husband up. “Terrible luck! And this wedding has gone through enough setbacks, don’t you agree?” she adds, sending a pointed look in Gregory’s direction which makes him blush. “Better not to risk it.”
“But--” Mycroft starts protesting, just to be interrupted by Theodore.
“None of that! You obviously can’t be trusted to be left on your own, so if we want the wedding to happen as planned, you obviously need to spend the night apart or you might not show up on time!”
“You better show up on time!” Ms. Donovan exclaims, hands on her hips, a most put off expression on her face. “I did not spend so much time planning the wedding for you to ruin it because you can’t keep your hands to yourselves!”
“Well said!” Nellie agrees, grinning. “Worry not Mycroft, we’ll bring him back in one piece and right on time.” She winks and Mycroft sighs,sharing a despairing look with his fiancé.
“It seems we’ve been outnumbered, my dear,” he says with a soft smile and Gregory throws him an apologetic look. Mycroft shakes his head: it might be better this way. If nothing else, it’ll buy him some time to sort through his feelings before they take any further steps.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gregory says, leaning forward for a quick kiss. “And we’ll continue our conversation,” he adds, squeezing Mycroft’s arm meaningfully and he nods slowly. Hugh makes a comment too low for Mycroft to hear but judging by the colour Gregory’s cheeks adquire, he imagines it well enough.
He waves his fiancé goodbye, watching him go with his family, before turning to Sherlock, who’s waiting for him with a mighty frown on his face.
“I’m going to need new headphones,” Sherlock tells him, tone deadly serious, arms crossed over his chest. “I somehow doubt my current ones will work now that you and your fiancé are officially together.”
Mycroft laughs good naturedly, ruffling his brother’s hair affectionately, earning himself a scandalized not you too! and he laughs some more.
Today took a most unexpected turn.
But it wasn’t an unwelcome one.
“What were you thinking Greggie?! Interrupting the rehearsal like that! Nearly gave mom a heart attack, you did.”
Greg rolls his eyes, if only they knew-- “I’m sorry mom,” he says, keeping his head down and his mother pats his cheek affectionately, shaking her head.
“Oh, I wasn’t worried,” she says with a small smile. “I raised no fool. I knew you wouldn’t run from the love of your life.” Greg smiles, thinking of how blind he was-- how is that everyone could see how madly in love he and Mycroft were, but them?
It’s like something out of those ridiculous rom coms.
“Oh, I don’t know, mom,” Theodore says, ruffling Greg’s hair. “This one is pretty thickheaded. I wouldn’t have been surprised. Horrified, yes, but not surprised.”
Greg rolls his eyes dramatically and his mother just smiles indulgently, just patting his cheek once more before announcing is time for bed. Considering everyone's a little hangover, no one protests too much and Greg follows his family to the big suite they’re renting. “Did Sally choose this too?”
“Fancy, huh?” Hugh tells him, grinning. “Your fiancé definitely has big pockets and your friend spare no expense.” Once more, Greg rolls his eyes, thinking he’ll need to have a conversation with Mycroft about all this. It’s nice, of course, but he’s not exactly comfortable and while he’s aware Mycroft can afford it all without a care in the world, he’s still not happy about it.
“Son,” his father says, startling him out of his thoughts and Greg realizes his siblings have already retreated to their respective rooms, although he can still hear them joking and generally being rambocus.
“Sorry dad,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his head. “I… I guess I’m a little distracted.”
His father smiles, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see. Some nerves are perfectly normal. But you’re sure of your decision, aren’t you?”
Greg can’t help the smile that comes unbidden to his lips. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, dad.”
His father smiles once more, nodding. “Don’t let go, son. One never lets go on real love.”
No, Greg supposes you don’t.
This is it. The big day.
Mycroft stares at his reflection for the longest time, trying to make sense of what he’s feeling. He’s feeling a lot of things, actually, so it’s hard for him to make sense of it: is he excited? Yes, he thinks so. Is he also terrified? Why, indeed! Is there a part of him that wants to run for the hills and never come back? Of course!
But there’s also the part of him that can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with the man he’s madly in love with, especially now that he knows that, wonder of wonders, the feeling is mutual and their marriage doesn’t have an expiration date.
It doesn’t, does it? They certainly didn’t discuss it and a mutual interest doesn’t necessarily translates onto the decision of staying together forever more, but Mycroft is hopeful. Which is funny, because just a day ago he wouldn’t even have believed Gregory actually felt something for him and now--
He can’t help the little giggle that escapes him. He feels young and childish, but he can’t help his excitement. He’s happy, more than happy and why shouldn’t he get to scream it to the world? Why should he have to hide it?
He remembers all too well what his mother used to tell him, the importance of not showing what he felt, of always keeping his cards close to this heart. Or even better, not to feel anything at all, not risk caring because caring is not an advantage. Caring is something that can (and will) be used against you.
Oh, Mummy would be so disappointed.
And yet she was the one who pushed him into this situation, wasn’t she? If she hadn’t added that ridiculous clause on the will (and that was Mummy, no doubt about it-- controlling as father was, that idea has Mummy written all over it). What she exactly expected to accomplish is hard to say-- make his life miserable, no doubt, not imagining Mycroft might find someone he’d actually want to spend his life with, someone who’d make him happy. Mummy would have never predicted Mycroft would find someone to love him and truth to be told, Mycroft himself hadn’t thought that was a real possibility and yet--
I love you.
“Are you quite done with… whatever you’re doing?” Sherlock asks, standing by the door, arms crossed over his chest and Mycroft wonders how long he’s been standing there. “Do you really want to be late to your own wedding? After yesterday’s stunt do you think that’s a good idea?”
Mycroft offers his brother the smallest of smiles. “Alright. Let’s go then.”
Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically, but his smile is fond, betraying the fact that he’s happy, even if he’d never admit it out loud.
That’s fine by Mycroft, of course.
He can look happy for the both of them.
“And do you, Gregory Lestrade, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Greg blinks. They’re there already? He must have got distracted, although it’s not his fault really. He already thinks Mycroft looks stupidly handsome in his fancy suits and now he’s wearing a tux and really, how is he expected to focus on anything that’s not how handsome his soon-to-be husband looks?
“Gregory?” Mycroft frowns, squeezing his hands just the slightest bit and so bringing him back to reality in a rush.
“Yes!” he exclaims, perhaps a tad too eagerly, earning himself some chuckles from his brothers. “Yes, of course I do.”
Mycroft smiles, bright at the sun and Greg’s insides melt. God, what did he do to deserve this man?
And to think he almost ruined it all with his foolishness and his incapability to actually hold a conversation like an adult! God, to think that today could be just another chapter in a farce instead of a real wedding…! He’s not sure how he’d have endured it.
Mycroft clears his throat, gazing at him expectantly and Greg frowns, confused. His companion chuckles good naturedly, leaning down for a kiss and it occurs Greg he’s somehow missed another part of the ceremony-- a very important part, in fact.
He stands on his tiptoes, throwing his arms around his husband’s-- husband! -- neck, pulling him close. Mycroft makes a soft approving sound, but pulls away when Greg tries to deepen the kiss, throwing him an amused look when Greg pouts. It’s probably inappropriate, he knows, but what does it matter right now?
“Later,” Mycroft promises, leaning down for another quick peck on the lips, before turning to their guests, all smiles, happiness radiating from him.
Later, Greg thinks.
He can work with that.
“I told you this was a great idea,” Gregory murmurs, lips pressed against the shell of Mycroft’s ear. “Dancing at our wedding. So romantic.”
Mycroft hums, pulling him closer, ignoring the voice in his head that’s telling him that’s not the correct way to waltz. “You were right, of course. But you must know my reluctance came from the fact that I didn’t think I could bear to be this close to you and not do something foolish.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Like this,” Mycroft says, leaning down for a kiss that Gregory hurries to return. They’ve completely missed their steps now, but that doesn’t seem terribly important.
“Oh yes, terribly foolish,” Gregory agrees, grinning at him. “How awful of you, to kiss your husband in the middle of the dancefloor like that.”
“I now know my husband is most amenable to me kissing him,” Mycroft argues good naturedly. “But I didn’t know that until yesterday, did I? I… I wouldn’t have wanted to take advantage of the situation.”
“Always so proper,” Gregory teases, still smiling. “A perfect gentleman, this husband of mine.” He caresses Mycroft’s cheek gently and he hums, pleased. “We haven’t really discussed where we go from here, you know?”
“Is this really the time to be discussing that, though? Wouldn’t it be better to discuss it when we’re alone?” Mycroft asks, kissing his companion’s palm, nuzzling it just the slightest bit.
“There are other things I’d rather be doing when we’re alone, truth to be told,” Gregory argues teasingly. “Although maybe… maybe we should take it slow? Not jump into bed just yet?”
Mycroft pouts and Gregory laughs. “I was rather looking forward to jumping into bed with you,” he murmurs, still pouting and his partner smiles softly at him. “But maybe you’re right. I wouldn’t want you think I’m that easy.”
Gregory laughs some more, shaking his head. “You’re anything but easy, Mycroft Holmes,” he tells him, squeezing his hand. “But I suppose I should seduce you properly first. Take you out, get you flowers… all that jazz.”
Mycroft shrugs non committedly. “I hardly think that’s necessary seeing you’re already wearing my ring… but if it pleases you, I’m amendable,” he says with a smile. “I… You remember I don’t… you know I haven’t…?” he’s blushing and he hates his light skin right now, but really, could they be discussing a most uncomfortable subject?
“I do remember,” Gregory agrees, nodding. “Which just supports my idea that we should go slow. Plenty of things we can do before… going all the way.” He runs his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, smiling. “I’m very fond of kissing you, you know?”
“So I’ve gathered,” Mycroft says. “I trust you, Gregory. I know you’ll take good care of me.”
He’s said that before, hasn’t he? “Always,” Gregory replies earnestly, smile soft and full of affection and Mycroft smiles back.
All as well then.
“Wow. It looks like Sally truly didn’t spare any expense, did she?” Greg says, looking around the room, taking everything in. “This is ridiculous.”
“I’m given to understand it’s pretty standard, when it comes to nuptial suites,” Mycroft replies airily, dropping their bags at the entrance. “I originally protested against the idea of a nuptial suite, seeing ours was a marriage in name only… I’m just glad Ms. Donovan didn’t listen to me.”
Well, Sally always seemed to know something they didn’t. “I’m glad too. Luxurious as it is… it’s very nice. And now of course I’m beginning to regret I didn’t ask for more days off.”
Mycroft chuckles. “I’m afraid my schedule wouldn’t allow for longer vacations now,” he shrugs, sitting on the entirely too big bed. “Maybe in June.”
Greg hums, approaching him. “A proper honeymoon. Now that’s an idea,” he leans down to kiss his husband, who hums appreciatively. “I love you, have I told you already?”
“Just when you were very drunk,” Mycroft replies, smiling and Greg rolls his eyes. “It’s nice to hear it when you’re sober.”
“I’ll make sure to tell you often, then,” Greg murmurs, pressing his husband onto the bed. “Although I wouldn’t say I’m exactly sober right now. I happen to be drunk in love.”
It’s Mycroft’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re so terribly sappy,” he says, kissing him back, slow and tender. “I… about what you said earlier… should we discuss where we go from now on?”
Greg sighs, rolling off his partner and coming to sit on the bed too. “I suppose that’d be a good idea. Avoid any further misunderstandings and whatnot.”
Mycroft smiles, sitting up too. “I want us to work, Gregory. I want to have a real relationship with you. And maybe marriage… maybe that wouldn’t have been the most advisable step just yet, but given the circumstances… we can make it work, right?”
Greg smiles, running a finger down Mycroft’s jaw, enjoying the way the other man shivers at his touch. “Of course, love. I-- It might not be the done thing, but I do believe we can make it work. We… we’ve got along pretty well, haven’t we? We’ve been happy?” Mycroft nods eagerly and Greg smiles, leaning for another kiss. “Nothing needs to change, really. I mean-- we need to communicate better, certainly but other than that-- we did behave quite couple-y already, don’t you think? Granted, it was mostly for Sherlock’s sake, but--”
“What?” Mycroft interrupts, looking puzzled. “Gregory, Sherlock knew our engagement was fake.”
“No he did not,” Gregory protests, earning himself an amused look from his husband. “Did he?” Oh, that little devil! He’s so lucky Greg has a soft spot for him! “He lied to me!”
Mycroft laughs, shaking his head. “I think my brother might have had watched too many rom coms,” he says. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
Greg huffs, only the slightest bit annoyed at having been fooled by a fifteen-year-old. “I suppose it doesn’t,” he agrees reluctantly. “I really can’t believe it took us so long to figure it out.”
Mycroft shrugs non committedly. “It usually does, in every other rom com with the exact same plot.”
Greg laughs, throwing his head back. “Well, at least we got our happy ending, did we not?”
Mycroft smiles, climbing into his lap in one smooth movement, kissing him deeply. “No, my dear,” he whispers, when they pull away for air, rubbing their noses together affectionately. “It’s a happy beginning.”
Well, he can’t argue with that logic.