The Secrets You Keep Hidden- Chapter One {Mycroft Holmes x Reader}
A/N: The house that I have described as Mycroft's manor is the actual house that he lives in throughout the BBC Sherlock show. (I have photos if you are interested in seeing it. Leave a comment if so!)
You weren't surprised when it suddenly wasn't raining on you anymore, even if there was still rain coming down around you. Without having to look over at the person who had caused the rain to be shielded from you, you knew who it was.
They hadn't said anything, letting you both stand in silence to grieve for the time being. You knew the silence wouldn't last, it never did, but for now, you let it settle over you like a soft blanket in the midst of winter.
That would have been rather nice right now, to sit on your settee, a blanket wrapped around you with a warm cup of tea in your hands as you watched some old movies. However, that wasn't what was happening, instead, you were standing in front of your best friends grave with raindrops- or maybe those were tears? -streaming down your cheeks.
A year and eight months still hadn't been enough time to stop grieving, and really you didn't know if any amount of time would be.
The silence was broken the next moment when a loud roar of thunder and lightning flashed through the air. It was a surprise to the man standing beside you that you were the first to speak.
He would have rather heard you make a comment as to how he knew you would be there, or that he should be at work, but what he got were all broken words.
"Do you ever think that if we had been there when he jumped that we could have persuaded him not to?" you asked, your words ending in a choked sob that you had covered up with your hand.
Mycroft, the man beside, made a slight rustling sound beside you as he reached into his breast pocket to pull out his pocket square. He held it out to you, bowing his head a little as if he were nodding at it and telling you to take it.
You made a small, soft chuckle between a choked sob and took the cloth from him, whispering a weak thank you before clenching the pocket square in your hand. It would do you no use to wipe your tears at the rate you were crying in, and Mycroft knew that.
He had not a single clue on how to comfort someone when grieving- actually, he had no idea how to comfort someone at all. You knew that he was trying his best and appreciated his efforts even if they weren't the most effective form of comfort. At least he was able to make you laugh, even if it was only in playful pity.
Another roar of lightning and thunder flashed, causing you to jump a bit at the un-expectancy of it. A rustling sound came from beside you before a trench coat was held out in front of you.
Knowing that Mycroft wanted you to take it from him, you looked at him, opening your mouth to protest only to close it again when he gave you a sharp look.
"You've already stood out here long enough to get a cold, I'm trying to lessen the chance of you getting the flu. I won't take any sort of protest." Just by the tone he had said it, you could tell he wasn't in the best of moods.
With a bit of reluctance, you took it from him, murmuring a small thank you yet again as you slipped your arms into the sleeves of the navy blue material. It was still warm from when Mycroft had worn it, the smell of his musky cologne and hints of earl grey tea, and the most prominent smell of cigarette smoke lingered on it.
You felt your heart clench a little at the realization that he was smoking again, even after he had stopped for the bit of time you forced him to. It was three years ago when you were visiting his office that you saw the ashtray that already had two cigarettes burnt out in it, and one in his hand. You threatened to never return back to the office if he continued to smoke, especially in his office.
With time, he began to limit the amount he smoked, but the clear smell on his trench coat was enough to let you know that he certainly had had more than one cigarette that day.
Even with the awful smell, you couldn't help but turn the collar up and find comfort in the warmth of the soft material that was loosely encased around you. The coat was clearly far too large for you, your hands barely making it out of the sleeves, and the bottom of the trench coat padding your knees.
It was larger than the one Sherlock used to wear- which even to this day you still wear it when you grieve at home -but it's much more comfortable than Sherlock's. Maybe it was because Sherlock's coat now only brought sadness and despair whenever you wore it when Mycroft's brought you comfort and hope.
Hope was the only thing that had seemed to be missing from your life now, and it had since the fall, so the sudden surge of it caused a shiver to run down your spine. Mycroft has mistaken it, thinking that you had gotten cold and made a suggestion that you should both head home.
You didn't protest, knowing that it was getting late and you should be heading home, but the thought of going homemade you feel uneasy, uncomfortable knowing that you'd be alone. You froze where you stood for a moment, feeling a tremor rush through you before, as the rain began to pelt down on you as Mycroft continued to walk a few more steps before realizing you weren't beside him.
He stopped himself, turning his head to look back at you before noticing the way your e/c eyes looked almost hollow with no emotion. Mycroft was quick to tell what was wrong, and as he moved towards you he offered his hand in a rare moment of outward affection.
Looking down at his hand, you took it in yours instantly feeling a sudden tightness in your throat as if you were going to cry again. He carefully brought you closer to him so that you weren't standing out in the rain anymore.
"How about we go to my house?" Mycroft suggested although he didn't give you enough time to respond. "I'll have somebody grab your clothes for 221C if you're comfortable with that, or we can go get them together, so you can stay the night in one of my guest rooms."
You couldn't even form words to argue with Mycroft as to why you shouldn't stay at his house, nor did you want to. You just gave a nod of acceptance and let him lead you to the town car that had driven him here.
"I'd prefer if we stopped at Baker Street together before heading to your house if that's alright," you mumbled after getting yourself situated besides Mycroft in the back of the car.
He all but made a sound of acknowledgment before telling his chauffeur where to go. He seemed to Shevardnadze no patience in his tone, and you suddenly felt bad for making him come out in the rain to ensure you wouldn't get sick.
Knowing that it was best to apologize for it, you looked over at him and spoke in a soft voice. "I'm sorry for making you come out in the rain," you started, your words being a filled with guilt. "It wasn't my best choice to visit Sherlock's grave at this time," you concluded.
Feeling a sudden pain in his head before a headache settled in, he groaned before replying in an almost hoarse voice. "Yes, it probably wasn't your best decision." Although he hadn't said it in a harsh way, it still made your stomach turn in an uncomfortable manner before all you did was a nod and look out the window.
Tears once again threatened to spill from your eyes. You hated disappointing Mycroft, but that's all you seemed to be doing after the passing of Sherlock. Nothing was the same, and although you never expected it to be after such an event, you wish it hadn't changed in the way it did.
Everything was different now. Mycroft was even more closed off than he was when you first met. To you, he no longer felt like a friend and more like a babysitter that was constantly watching you. You not only felt his disappointment, but you felt your own which only made the tears harder to keep back before you couldn't anymore.
You couldn't have been more thankful when the car arrived at Baker Street in the next moment. Mentally letting out a sigh of relief, you removed the seatbelt from its position around your shoulder and torso before opening the door.
"I shouldn't be more than five minutes," you informed Mycroft, not looking back at him as you spoke, trying to keep your voice as level as you could.
You heard Mycroft let out a 'hmph' as if to let you know that he heard you before you exited the car and walked into the rain again. Pulling out your key, you unlocked the door and made your way upstairs to 221C where you quickly scouted to find a bag to put all the clothes and other essentials you would need in.
Grabbing some comfortable clothes for the night and the following day, as well as your bathroom needs, you made your way towards the exit of your flat, locking it and walking past 221B. The sight of the closed door and the silence that filled the stairwell made you feel unsettled, and as you wiped the tears from your eyes, you walked back down the steps to enter the car again.
Mycroft has taken the time that you were gathering your things to think to himself. He hadn't seemed to be able to catch a break in a long while, between government cases and his brother's updates, he was constantly focusing on different things. This only added to it.
He wished that you only knew that the suicide was planned. That Sherlock wasn't dead. Boy wouldn't it make his life a whole lot easier.
It was sad to think that he'd only wished that you'd known to make it easier on himself, and had he actually allowed himself to realize how much he truly cared for you he'd see how awful he was thinking what he just did. But he couldn't help it. Caring would always be just a disadvantage to him. It would always be a useless emotional reaction that he wouldn't allow himself to feel.
The sound of a car door opening only to close a few seconds later caused his focus to shift from his thoughts to you. He glanced over at you as you put on the seatbelt again, struggling when you accidentally got it caught on inside of his coat while you weren't paying attention.
"Do you need to make another stop or are we ready to resume our ride to my house?" Mycroft asked, looking at you with his blue eyes that even in the cloudiest of days, reflected some sort of light back to you.
After holding his gaze for a moment, you blinked and nodded, swallowing the embarrassment you began to feel down. "I am," you announced softly, looking down at the coat and fiddling with the bottom of it as if you were smoothing our a wrinkle to distract yourself from the man beside you.
He nodded, one which you didn't see but knew that he had, looking at his driver through the rearview mirror. It didn't take more than a second before the car was going down the road again.
The ride was spent in silence, as you two focused on other things. Mycroft answering a few emails on his laptop which he had pulled out knowing that the ride would be longer than usual due to both the rain and the time of day. You, on the other hand, were focused on the view outside the window.
Mycroft lived outside of London, and although you had been to his house on more than one occasion, it wasn't enough for you to actually take in the sight of the area he lived in. It was just as you had expected it'd be, even if you didn't already know what it looked like.
Houses seemed to be miles apart from one another, each one designed to look like a Victorian house with the architecture being made mostly out of the local bricks that seemed to be around when these houses were made. Each house had a different design, but all together looked as though they were built back in the eighteenth century, even if some had a more modern feel to it.
It wasn't until the car turned into a driveway that you realized you had arrived at Mycroft's house- manor being a better term to use for it. The outside of the manor was made of the same white stones that were smoothed down against each surface. A few stairs with curved stone railings on each side led up to the front door. Flowers were placed on either side of the staircase with a bush located on the right side of the front of the manor that wrapped around it to the other sidewall.
Twenty sets of windows were located at the front of the house, each window having the curtains draped across the top corners off to the side. The lawn was perfectly cut and flower bushes rested near the front of the lawn, towards the street.
To describe the manor in simple terms, it was fit for royalty, and most certainly not for somebody who lived alone.
Entering the house, you walked into the house you were met with another staircase, this one made of wood with a red carpet leading up to the second floor. The ceilings were beautifully designed, the cream color complimenting the wood that was around the entire room. Paintings and sculptures were filled around the room, and most definitely scattered around the house.
To describe everything this manor offered would take hours, and to visit explain every detail inside and out would certainly take up a whole day, if not more.
Even after visiting Mycroft's manor numerous times, you couldn't help to gape at it even now.
The slight chuckle that came from around the opposite side of the room was a welcomed sound to your ears, and as you let it warm your heart for a moment, you looked at who the sound came from.
Mycroft, who was looking back at you with an almost amused smile upon his face, nodding towards the stairs.
"Why don't you go and pick out which room you'd like to sleep in tonight. Neither of us have eaten dinner yet, I'll prepare something for the both of us," he stated, giving you one last glance before he turned his back towards you and walked towards another room. "If you get lost just give me a shout," he added.
Your cheeks flushed a little in color before you did as Mycroft had suggested and made your way upstairs. While you spent the time searching for a room to stay in at for the night- getting a bit distracted while admiring all the paintings -Mycroft was in the kitchen.
He opened a drawer, grabbing out some medicine that he knew would help rid him of the headache he had gained earlier in the car. Mycroft poured himself a glass of water before taking down the pill and closing the drawer again.
Hearing the creek of the floorboards as you moved around upstairs, Mycroft began to gather some ingredients to make a dinner in which he knew that you would both enjoy.
It didn't take long for you to join him either, wrapped up in a warm sweater that you had brought to change into so that you could get out of the wet clothes. You brought down his trench coat, hanging it on the coat rack you had noticed on the way inside the manor.
"Thank you for letting me borrow your coat, I've left it on the coat rack to dry a bit," you informed, cautiously, in case he didn't want you to, taking a seat at the island table.
Mycroft's back was turned to you as he stood by the stove, prepping and cooking whatever food he planned to serve you.
"No need to thank me," he replied. "I should let you know that there is some cough medicine in the bathroom down the hall upstairs should you need it at any point. It's in one of the drawers in the cabinet underneath the sink."
With a bit of a rueful smile, you gave him a small hum. "Thank you, remind me to buy you some more if I need to use it, would you?" you asked, the question clearly rhetorical and in a playful manner.
Mycroft only smiled at you in reply as he set a plate down in front of you before grabbing his own. Placing to glasses down at the table, he filled them with wine that you knew was far too expensive for you to ever afford, before placing them down in front of you both and sitting across from you.
Sitting in comfortable silence with the occasional topic of work or something else thrown in the mix of things, you enjoyed your dinner. Offering to do the dishes after such a delicious meal, you watched as Mycroft places everything away in their designated spots before walking with one another upstairs. Saying a quick goodnight, you both parted and made your way to separate rooms, getting ready for the first good night's rest that you've had in a long while.
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