Do You Like Me?
Mycroft Holmes looked at the paper he pulled out of his pocket in utter confusion.
He knew what it was: three-holed, loose-leaf paper. The type of paper every school-aged child was familiar with. He felt an odd sense of nostalgia simply holding the paper with its college-ruled lines. His brain began to swim with deductions:
Carefully halved -its smooth torn edge telling him the person likely used a ruler to do so.
Folded to create a square.
Wrinkled as if having been balled up to be binned but then smoothed out again.
All of that, while its own level of bafflement, was not as dumbfounding as what was written inside.
It's Valentine's Day. I like you. Do you like me? Yes ⬜ No ⬜
It was evident the giver started on this quaint, middle-school note-writing path, realized the ridiculousness of giving him of all people such a thing, and was going to throw it away, but then changed their mind and slipped him the note anyway.
It was unsigned but Mycroft recognized the writing and could hear the voice of its author in his mind.
He has not seen him in nearly a week. How? Why NOW?
Then he recalled a conversation from a year ago.
It was the week of Valentine's Day. He and Gregory Lestrade had met for their monthly Sherlock update, which stopped being about Sherlock long ago. Gregory was recalling how he felt when, as a spotty young teen, he slipped such a note to a girl he liked but forgot to sign it. The girl in question presumed it was from another classmate that she fancied and approached him with it. The classmate, seizing the opportunity, claimed the note was his. By the time Gregory realized what had happened, he was too heartbroken and ashamed to say anything. He had not sent a Valentine again until he was married, and they both knew what happened there. Mycroft was just coming to terms with realizing he had fallen in love with Gregory and convinced himself Gregory would not be interested in him. Thus, kept his feelings to himself. He could not admit then that he would have never made that mistake were Gregory to send him such, and he would have checked off Yes. Instead, Mycroft casually mentioned he had started uni by then. Not that he thought of such things then, but he was much too young for his intellectual peers. And that same intellect had cut him off from what should be his social peers. He had not said the words, but he knew Gregory understood it meant he had never sent nor received such a thing. So, in true Mycroft fashion, he blew the whole conversation off in fierce snark about the sentiment surrounding the time of year and quickly changed the subject.
Now, a year later, Mycroft stared at the paper in his hands.
He was grateful none could see how his heart lurched, for surely could not hide his wonder.
Here he was, a grown man, a near middle-aged man at that! -receiving his very first Valentine!
For a little piece of paper, it carried a lot of weight. One he never expected to bear.
And it's from Gregory!
The enormity of what it meant! That Gregory, who would never toy with him on such a thing knowing who he is, has done this?
Could it really be that simple? To have everything by answering a Valentine?
The thought utterly gutted Mycroft.
Mycroft was not a man for romantic overtures; he simply was not. Still, he knew he had to do something. There are only two people who could get close enough to him to deliver such and he has not seen his brother in days.
"Anthea?"
"Sir?"
Mycroft held out the note. "Please reverse the travel of today's delivery."
Anthea barely suppressed her smirk as she slipped the note into a pocket without looking at it. "Yes, sir."
Mycroft gave it two hours.
Ninety-three minutes later, his phone buzzed.
TEXT: This is faster. She or whoever was sent is good. I just found it in my pocket. –GL
It was a photo of the original note, now with Mycroft’s response added, plus another text.
It's Valentine's Day. I like you. Do you like me? Yes ✔ No ⬜ It is MORE than like. YES ✔
TEXT: If you could have 24 hours with me and I couldn't say no, what would we be doing? –GL
Mycroft nearly dropped his phone as far too many visuals, clean and… otherwise, suddenly crashed in his mind.
It was heady to realize what he once never dared to dream could be on the verge of becoming reality.
TEXT: Be my Valentine and find out. I’m at Diogenes. The clock will begin upon arrival. Come and kiss me. –MH
TEXT: I’ll be there in an hour, depending on traffic. –GL
“Anthea?”
“Shall I clear your schedules for today, Sir?”
Mycroft could not find it in him to even pretend annoyance at her presumptuousness; she was his aide-de-camp for a reason.
“Today and tomorrow,” he looked at his phone, “Actually -hold that thought…”
Emboldened, Mycroft sent another text.
TEXT: Can you be enticed to double the time if you’ll allow me to reverse the order? –MH
He mentally grinned at the thought of Gregory's face upon reading it.
TEXT: Consider me enticed. I’ll be there in LESS an hour! –GL
Mycroft’s eyes playfully narrowed on a smug-looking Anthea. “Make that today, tomorrow, and the day after.”
“Of course, sir.”
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