Water is deadly by itself, but it can change, become also mist, and ice, and snow.
Delphine was a little bit like that. The other Aquitian Rangers too, but there was this thing about their leader that Tideus noticed in calamity.
She could be very much more violent than he and the others. On Earth it was especially prominent in what she sometimes did to herself and a training room when they were technically off duty.
He recalled a broken wall once. Her knuckles a mottled mess damn near down to tendon and bones.
He sometimes thought about if Dark Specter got his malice through the void to lay claim to her; what she could do if her mind was turned.
The lot of them--himself especially--would be considered lucky if she only killed them.
Their child was the kind that had a fifty-fifty shot of ever making it out alive in the world. A tiny little two pound bundle left in a Safe Surrender hub, surrendered to the state that Amelia did a story on for Buzzblast, dragging Javi along so he could hold the little guy and give him hugs and cuddles. It prevented Failure to Thrive, as the nurses put it; and by the time they'd gotten their pictures and their quotes, Javi was almost forced to put the baby down.
Javi kept going back, volunteering to hold and cuddle and sing and feed the child for months--even after he was transferred to a group home.
Amelia couldn't stand to see her husband so sad, so she registered them for adoption papers for the child dubbed Bridge Carson by the system.
First thing they did after they got him into their home and registered him as their child, they went to this old school fortune teller at a crappy little boutique with dried flowers in the window and a crystal ball being used as a paper weight for old tarot cards.
The woman told him that green was his color.
“I will not be in attendance this year. Send mummy my love.” Mycroft was sitting against the wall on his bed, flipping through his journal trying to find an acceptable reason of his absence. Sherlock’s in bloody Siberia. Written hastily on page 76 seemed like a great excuse, but he’d rather not reveal the classified information. “I’ll be flying out of the country soon, and I must prepare...sorry. It’s in my schedule.”
“It probably was, but your mum nearly screamed the house down when I told her you won’t be coming. She hadn’t given me that much abuse in years-- I don’t think I deserved that.”
“You’ll handle her just fine on your own.”
“No-- I really won’t.”
“Are you afraid of my mother? She’s hardly dangerous.”
“We both are.”
Mycroft sighed.
That little tidbit was frustratingly true. Mycroft had hoped mummy could see reason if it came from his father’s mouth. Alas, his father was not able to tame the maternal beast. For a mathematician his mother was frighteningly illogical.
“I haven’t tended to my foreign office in a year,” he said, a pang of dejection filled his chest when he admitted the lapse. “I didn’t fly to my post in Eastern Europe during my last moment of free time because well-- the Korean elections.”
Judging from the silence that not enough to get him out of it.
“I realize I said I’d be able to visit for her birthday. I may have even promised, can’t remember. But, I am sincerely busy-- and that excuse might very well be childish, however--”
“I understand, Mycroft.” His father sighed, it sounded like resignation over the phone. “But, your mum, she keeps saying ‘you never know if I’ll live to see another birthday!’ over and over. We’re old! How do I respond?”
“That’s cheap.” Mycroft gripped the strap of his leather bound journal tightly. “Tell her she’s in impeccable health and that I need to go to Europe!”
“Ooh, just be honest? Be honest that you’ve had her youngest son shipped off to god knows where for the past two years of his life while you have everyone thinking he’s gone and killed himself, and now feel sorry when you’re around her for too long-- because that’s truthful.”
“Father, it was the only way to keep Sherlock from getting torn apart by Moriarty.”
“But, I don’t see why taking your mother to the morgue and making her think he was really dead was the only way.”
“Mummy can’t keep a secret.”
“Funny, because me and your mum both have plenty.”
“We are not having this conversation again. Soon it won’t be as terrible as it sounds.” If I could just get to Siberia, he thought.
“Believe me, I told myself that for months as I held your mum while she cried herself to sleep.”
I’m a coward, Mycroft thought to himself before changing the subject, “You’d love Russia. I know that you and mum are conversational in russian, heard you with the neighbours when I was a child. Didn’t the old babushka in the house ask us all to replace her family and let her adopt us?” Mycroft allowed himself a grin. That had all been before Sherlock set the poor woman’s rose bushes on fire.
“Yeah...she did.” His father replied slowly, still cross with him.
“I was surprised she didn’t call the cops on Sherlock for his little stunt,” Mycroft said, and he cursed himself for the soft inflection that filled his voice when he mentioned Sherlock’s name, how mortifying. He was caring for some reason and-- that was no good.
“The son in-law looked like he was thinking about it,” his father said, chuckling softly. “He slapped Sherlock, and then looked furious and hid in his house for the rest of the day.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “That’s what happens when you vandalize a Detective Inspector’s house.”
“Of course,” his father said breathlessly. “Have talked you to Detective Lestrade since-- well, Sherlock?”
“Yes.” Mycroft felt his cheeks warm. He was exceptionally glad that his father couldn’t see him through the phone. “He likes to catch up with what I’m doing and remember Sherlock. I think it helps with the mourning.”
“It is still considered mourning if they drive you home in their car afterwards? Or dating?”
Damn Anthea.
“That was once.” He’d spent hours, with Greg talking with him patiently throughout the afternoon, his voice was warm against Mycroft’s ear and neck as they both leaned in a bit too close over the table at the tea house. “It was expected really, after all that time spent comforting him.”
“I know, Anthea told me.”
“How my assistant chooses to gossip hardly concerns me,” Mycroft said, feeling a full body flush cover his skin. “Greg is good company.”
His father snorted.
“I’ll visit if two things happen simultaneously. You confirm with MI6 that there is some type of family emergency keeping me from Moscow.” Mycroft preferred not to be on the other end of that angry phone call to his superiors. ‘“And--”
“Wait what?”
“You’ll have to pick me up, gave my driver the month off. Seeing as I shouldn’t be in London during that time.”
“I’ll imagine you don’t have a driver’s license out of necessity, not laziness.”
Mycroft glanced over at the cars passing down the street outside his window. “Yes, I had it taken for amazingly reckless driving.”
Siger sighed. “Terms accepted, I’ll be there at 10:00 to drive you on Friday. See you then.”
“It’ll be nice to see you,” Mycroft said, and strange part of him meant it.
A raggedy red truck unworthy of the asphalt in his postal code pulled in front of his townhouse the next day, Mycroft walked down his stairs briskly and held his hand out for his father after the man got out the car.
Siger brushed the hand aside, instead pulling his son into a hug.
“Hello Mycroft,” His voice seemed tight as his arms clamped down on Mycroft. “I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Mycroft mumbled, face smashed against his father’s chest, desperate to get out of his arms. “It’s been too long.”
“My, you look dead inside so it couldn’t have been that long,” said a voice in a cadence Mycroft found familiar. He felt a rush of something hearing the nickname. Mycroft pulled away from his father as Gregory Lestrade cracked open his passenger side window. “Hey.”
“Hello Gregory,” Mycroft said back, it came out more like a small squeak rather than two words. He felt heat cover his face. “Hello.” He corrected.
“I invited him,” his father explained. And the old man hadn’t thought to tell him? “The entire NSY seems to be on vacation now, Greg would have been by himself for most of the summer holiday, and that’s no good.”
Damn Anthea.
“He insisted I pack a bag,” Greg said, shrugging as he climbed out the vehicle. Mycroft didn’t doubt it, members of the Holmes family could be incredibly forceful when need be. He also had no doubt that it hadn’t taken much to convince Greg not the spend the next week or two holed up in the nearest pub with John Watson trying to have something resembling friendship with the broken man. He was probably grateful for the escape.
Now Mycroft had to deal with silver hair, pink lips and terribly kind eyes for the entirety of the trip.
“Wow,” Greg said, eyes flicking up and down Mycroft’s body. He was wearing brown loafers, beige wide leg slacks, and a normal white dress shirt. Mycroft wanted to snort. It was summer, after all, he wasn’t dressed out of the ordinary.
Greg on the other hand, had a worn a t-shirt that was clinging to his chest and arms showing Mycroft that, yes he did work out a bit. It was an elegant black and did everything in its power to compliment the simple jeans he wore, nothing like the D.I.’s normal attire.
“Sherlock always called you a ginger. But, your hair actually looks very red today.”
“I usually put brown tint over it,” Mycroft replied, eyes finally flicking from Greg’s surprisingly tone arms to meet his gaze. He cursed himself, he was being undone by a simple piece of casual clothing.
“You’ve kept up with the diet I see.”
“Yes, I did.” He forgot how to breathe properly for a moment. “I run on the treadmill.”
“I can tell,” Greg said, glancing at Mycroft’s legs. Mycroft forgot how to carry a conversation, leaving a noticeable pause. He looked down at his own legs. Were they slimmer? Hard to tell in such wide pants.
“Let’s get your luggage in the truck, Mycroft.” His father interjected. Mycroft suddenly felt grateful for him.
He stepped forward and passed most of his bags off to Greg who'd taken to standing by the boot. He tried not to stare too hard while the other man did manual labour.
“You brought a lot of stuff,” Greg said exasperated but didn’t so any signs of tiredness as he placed the last of the bags into the truck.
“Exhausted already, Gregory? I have some biscuits in of my bags, allow me to--”
“I can grab them,” Greg said, turning back toward the boot. “Which one?”
“Small black bag,” Mycroft said pointing to the little piece of luggage with the combination lock on the side.
“What’s the combination?”
“8-7-4-0”
Greg took the box of lemon biscuits and they all piled into the truck. Mycroft on the passage side next to his father and Greg with the back to himself.
Mycroft was sure it would be an unpleasant car trip for all parties involved. It puts him on edge when the travel seems to be agreeable. This being because Greg fell asleep 20 minutes into the trip.
His father looked up in the mirror at Greg, a smile spreading across his face. Mycroft frowned, that was abnormal.
“So, Gregory,” Siger said suddenly. Mycroft braced at the subject change.
“What about him?”
“He seems...like a nice boy.”
“Father, he’s forty-six.”
“Nice man.”
Mycroft doesn’t dignify him with a response. He’s not having that conversation.
“Mycroft, what’s that man over there on his way to do?” Siger said as they came to a stop at a red light, nodding at the man crossing the street.
Mycroft paused to think, then turned to his father. “Are you trying to play the deducing game with me?”
“No,” his father said, looking caught. “I just want to know what he’s thinking.”
“That’s not how deducing works.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I say he thinking about going to the bank,” Siger replied as the light turned green. They moved slowly through the intersection and Mycroft could see the man in question was only a few meters from entering the bank, clearly walking in a straight line toward that direction.
“Cheater.”
“Observant,” his father corrected.
“Well, I’m not playing this game with you-- it not 1978 anymore.”
Mycroft thought he heard something similar to a laugh behind him, but a quick peek behind him proves Gregory is still asleep. His face is soft looking now, the stress of waking hours washed away by dreams. Mycroft resisted the desire to pull on the piece of biscuit that was limply hanging from the D.I.’s lips, not even ingested before the man fell asleep.
“You’re as cruel as always,” his father said, Mycroft wasn’t sure how much he meant it. “Missed that.”
“Mikey!” His mother screamed in that idiotic french lilt like his grandmother used to do. His mother was English why wouldn’t she just say it like she was English? She pulled him into a hug and he was left to awkwardly pat her back. He managed to mumble happy birthday in her ear before pulling away.
“Mikey...” Greg said slowly rolling the word around in his mouth before looking up at Mycroft questioningly.
“Don’t you say a word.”
“Fine,” Greg said. But, one look in his direction and Mycroft could spot the lie.
“Who is this?”Mummy said. She gave the inspector a leery stare. “It’s my birthday, shouldn’t I get to choose whether or not I want strangers coming to my home, Siger?”
“I didn’t plan it this way! It just happened!” His father answered loudly raising his arms in a surrendering gesture. Greg turned to shoot Mycroft a look of panic. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, mummy was acting just as volatile as father had said.
“Why are you here?” Mummy asked and Mycroft wondered if his father and Greg would have to make the return trip sooner than expected.
“I was invited,” Greg said with confidence.
“Mummy this is Gregory’s only option. It was either this or finding him drunk out of his mind in a gutter two weeks from now. Do you want that?” Mycroft wondered how Greg felt after being described as so terribly pitiful. Though he wasn’t wrong was he?
Mycroft was astonished as Mummy side stepped him and wrapped her arms around Greg in a fierce hug. “Sorry, love,” She gave him a little squeeze in her arms. “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting one of Mycroft’s boyfriends. I was caught completely off guard!”
“Again, it was a rather spontaneous decision for him to accompany us,” Mycroft said, and he rushed to add. “For the record, me and Gregory-- are not together.”
“Oh come on! I can tell this man here is special to you. I don’t mind it you know-- haven’t since I found you with the neighbour’s boy when you were 15. Of course, I never expected you to bring someone home so late in life!” She pulled back from her embrace with Greg to stare at him fondly. “Real silver fox you’ve got!”
“Mummy!” Mycroft cried loudly. Greg seemed to be standing dumbstruck as he struggled to formulate a response. “We’re still standing in the heat. May we please come it?”
“Sure, sure just unload the car first. You’ll help won’t you Gregory?”
“Of course, Ms. Holmes and happy birthday,” Greg said affectionately and Mycroft almost thought he meant. His mum held a hand to her mouth to keep from turning into a giddy school girl as she retreated back into the house.
“You and Adam Taylor, eh?” His father asked as they reached for their respective bags. “That explains some things.”
“Like what?” Mycroft asked but didn’t look Siger in the eye, instead pretended to admire the scenery. “My sexual orientation?”
“No, that’s obvious.”
“Well, then what?”
“Why your mother’s vine trellis below your window was always broken every few days.”
Greg burst out laughing holding his sides, “Oh my god, My!”
Mycroft felt a flash of heat course through his body, causing him to sweat more that he already was.
“Honestly, if you had just told me it would have saved me a lot of time doing unnecessary work wood,” his father said giving him a look. “Which connects to the fact that you two should tell my wife that her relationship radar isn’t as good as she thinks.”
Mycroft sighed, and stepped away from the truck turning to his father “Your right.”
They shut the boot. “No need to look so sad about it. You can be fake boyfriends for the whole trip for all I care.”
Greg let out a huff of laughter, “I don’t mind,”
“No, no we’re not doing that,” Mycroft said sternly. “That’s completely ridiculous--”
Greg’s arm looped around his and dragged him in close. “Why don’t we go inside, love?” Greg said, a stupid smile on his face. Mycroft wasn’t sure when his existence became such a terrible joke to the universe. But he can’t seem to will himself to pull away.
Holmes gatherings were always more an ordeal than a comfort. This tradition dating back to before even Mycroft was born. At least in his branch of the family reunions were kept small. Other more extended family members refused to step foot within a 50 kilometer radius of London, that his parents home just happened to be inside of. Since their move after retirement to be closer to the kids that meant no Uncles, Aunts or cousins naturally, not that Mycroft minded.
Since Sherlock’s tragic death it was only Mycroft and his parents.
It was a small affair of people leftmost impacted by the consulting detective’s demise, minus John Watson of course. Even in death Sherlock still seemed to have the unnatural ability to make everything about himself. His death managed to drive his mother to the brink of depression and destroy Mycroft’s relationship with his father for months, even now they weren’t back to what they used to be, and they never would be. After the first year of pure torture watching his parents struggle with losing a son. Losing a son that choose to leave them. They’d all started to slowly move past their anguish of various causes.
“You don’t have to play my romantic partner,” Mycroft whispered. They were sitting together on the sofa, sitting impossibly to close while his mother went to retrieve her favorite dishes from the oven. Something about looking convincing Greg had said to explain it as he shifted closer. Mycroft tried not the focus on their two thighs pressed together. “She won’t kick you out.”
“It’s fun,”Greg said, tone light. “Besides shouldn’t you be able to tell your mum you don’t have a boyfriend, My?”
Mycroft looked away, thinking. “It shouldn’t be much of a shock really. The worst thing that could have happened to her has already happened.” A comforting hand covered his knee. Mycroft’s eyes snapped to Greg as the D.I. made a face creased with concerned, thoughts of Sherlock crowding his mind. “But, you’ve made her happier than I’ve seen in a long time. I’m quite sure my parents didn’t expect much romantically from me or Sherlock. So telling her I broke up with my handsome cop friend a few days after this trip would be the kindest route. Don’t you think?”
The warm hand left his knee and Greg’s mouth opened in shock. Mycroft realized his mistake. “My apologies. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable by saying--”
Greg gripped him by the shoulders and kissed him on the forehead. His mother squealed in delight as she walked into the room holding a large roast. His father gazed at them strangely and then shook his head.
“For your mum’s sake,” Greg whispered in Mycroft’s ear before moving away from his space.
Mycroft had never gotten up to offer his mother help in the kitchen so fast in his life.
“How did you two meet?” His mother smiled at the two of them before shoving a spoon full of vegetables in her mouth, prompting them to say something.
“Actually, we met through Sher--,” Greg started before cutting himself off. He looked to Mycroft hurriedly to check if this was the right way to swing the conversation. If he should by reminding Mrs. Holmes of her dead son so soon. Mycroft nodded, his mother had come along way. “Sherlock...Yeah, Sherlock.”
“And what did you say to each other?” Mummy asked, her eyes flashed but she hardly showed the sadness at the mention of her youngest.
“He called me a shite brother,” Mycroft said impassively.
“I did?” Greg asked in surprise. A piece of roast fell off his fork.
“You’d already found Sherlock...incapacitated three times by then,” Mycroft said glancing down at his gravy and away from the faces of anyone at the table.
“I remember now,” Greg said slowly. “I was angry.”
Mycroft hummed in agreement. “I was being arrogant about the whole situation, putting it in the context of the Holmes family reputation and you cursed me out for it. Then sat with me and brought me tea until Sherlock woke up.”
“You were horribly selfish back then.”
“Then I stalked you when I realized how much Sherlock cared about you and your work,” Mycroft said allowing his lips to twitch at the thought his desperation to track down the D.I. while Sherlock was in rehabilitation. Maybe just maybe if he could find Lestrade things would be different? “I pretty much kept putting him in your path before you finally took him on.”
“I knew I was seeing that man an unnatural amount of times on my cases!” Greg screamed in revelation. “I couldn’t find anyone who could solve cases faster… Are you the reason he met John Watson?”
“I wish I could take credit but alas-- Sherlock made a friend,” Mycroft said honestly, and Greg laughed at him, unguarded. Mycroft had to suppress the urge to chuckle along with the man.
A dusting of light pink settled across Greg’s cheeks. “Well, your brother owed you a lot and I do too. It was a real privilege to be stalked by you,” He said and it came out incredibly mushy. He kissed Mycroft on the cheek and pulled back from it to give him a look so gentle, Mycroft forgot how to think properly for a moment.
God-- were they still playing a game?
“Mum, I’m going to go admire your garden for a bit. Food was excellent,” Mycroft said suddenly, words spilling from his mouth in a flood. He wasn’t looking at her, he was still staring deeply into Greg’s eyes trying to figure out just what exactly the inspector thought he was doing.
“I’ll go too,” Greg whispered loud enough for Mycroft’s parents to hear, making Mycroft want to slap him for his idiocy. Couldn’t the man see he needed to be alone? That he was barely keeping this fragile stage play together?
“I’ll go three!” His mother chirped happily, getting up to join them. His father got up without a word slowly bring up the rear of the party.
Suddenly they were all out in the garden. His father broke out the watering hose and Mummy pointed out the different flowers in her garden to Greg while he bent to smell each one. Mycroft hung back from the three of them under a rather large tree. It had been his idea to come out here, but he wanted to minimize the amount of painful sunburn if possible.
Mycroft was doing breathing exercises while facing the daisies in the opposite direction of the others in an attempt to compose. It was clearer to him now, Gregory was toying with him. He wanted him to be torn and temperamental over this for some reason. Gregory wanted him to look at him and-- want him. Well, he was breathing deeply to compose himself and not peek at Greg’s arse after all. Then, his mother yelled, “Happy couple take a picture!”
“What?” Mycroft looked over at where she was now positioning Greg in front of her large blooming rose bush. “I’d rather not.”
“Think of it as your present to me,” She said calling over to him. “I don’t want a deposit in my retirement account. I want a picture of my son with his lover!”
“Mummy,” Mycroft said, it sounded more like a whine. He stalked over anyway. “Gregory and I aren’t ones for photos.”
“It’s just one picture, Mikey!”
“Fine,” Mycroft relented, scooting closer to Greg. “Take it.”
“I want you to be kissing in it!”
Mycroft blanched, “Mummy.” Greg made a noise of surprise.
“Maybe they only like kissing on the lips in private, love,” his father said. Mycroft appreciated the effort.
Greg turned Mycroft toward him leaning in close. “For your mum’s sake,” He repeated in a low hushed voice.
He gripped the sides of Mycroft’s face and kissed him on the mouth, it was the best kiss Mycroft can recall having. The sound of a camera shutter cuts the air but Mycroft doesn’t care. Greg’s lips are warm but rough, and so perfect. Mycroft pushed close to him and gave a desperate tug at that infuriatingly sexy t-shirt that hugged Greg’s body. He had to restrain a moan.
“That was adorable.” His mother said when they finally came up for air. “You’ll treasure this photo in a few years!”
“I’m sure they will,” Siger said amused. “Little keepsakes certainly are useful.”
Greg finished the kiss with a soft look on his face that quickly turned tense. Mycroft just knew he had an expression of fear on his own face as Greg pulled him into his arm and turned his head so his mum wouldn’t see.
Mycroft excused himself from the garden quickly, leaving mummy to fond over who she is sure will be her son in-law. He now sat in his father’s armchair flipping between stations of crap telly deducing the people on screen and wondering how he was going to fire Anthea for this disaster of her construction.
His father’s the first one to re-enter the house. “Don’t come to gloat,” Mycroft warned. “I know the only one that caused that was me.”
“Don’t think that overzealous cop is not to blame as well.” Siger sat on the sofa across from him.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Their eating cake out there. If you don’t go and claim some plum cake your mum will think you're dying.”
“Tell her I’m tired, some of us still work.”
“Gregory is out there looking a little too apologetic,” his father said. Mycroft shut off the telly.
“As he should be, he shouldn’t have done that. That was-- too much.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” his father said sternly. “Not with how over the moon you both are for each other.”
Mycroft blinked in surprise. “We’re just friends.”
Siger sighed. “Anthea said you were hopeless.”
“My former assistant doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
Siger ignored the emphasis on the word former. “All this build up. What’s keeping you two apart? Sherlock?”
Mycroft felt himself grow defensive, “Caring is not an advantage.”
“You've always cared a little too much, Mikey.” He didn’t say it with the same dumb thrill as his wife.
Before Mycroft could rebuttal, Siger continued. “Mycroft. I want-- No, I need you to let yourself be happy of once.”
Mycroft wasn't quite sure how to respond.
“We gave Greg Sherlock’s room. So if you want to talk to him about this later you know where to find him.”
“Alright, I will.”
“And please don’t have sex in our home. I’ll have ground you like we’re back in the 70s and 80s, son,” his father said firmly.
Mycroft managed to tell him to shut up with a straight face.
A simple glance at the clock told Mycroft he had only made the decision to talk to Greg about, well, everything in the wee hours of the morning. Mycroft tip-toed to the other side of the hallway to the room that was once his brother’s. They hadn’t been raised in this house so the room had a more recent use a halfway house to London after each drug overdose. He cracked open the door and took in the sight of his brother’s dresser and bookshelf, still filled to the brim with chemistry textbooks.
One glance at the bed and Mycroft realized Greg was still awake.
“Hello,”Greg said, voice drawing Mycroft closer him. He was lying in the moonlight streaming out the window. Greg was wearing yet another t-shirt, and pants, nothing else. Mycroft swallowed hard.
Mycroft was once again torn between what he wanted to say and what he needed to say. “Hello.”
“It’s been an interesting day.”
“Certainly.”
“We can tell your mum we lied to her in the morning. Maybe even find every copy of that photo and delete if you want,” he offered, a regretful grin on his face.
“I’m not as opposed to more days like this as you might think, Gregory.”
Greg stilled. “What are you saying?”
“I-I’m saying we’re at a crossroad and have to do something.”
“Well, I want to do this,” Greg said, sitting up and grabbing Mycroft by the waist, pulling him on the bed with him, hands coming to rest on Mycroft’s hips.
“And I would like to do this,” Mycroft echoed, kissing Greg from his temple down to his mouth.
Greg deepened the kiss, slowing down Mycroft's rushed, frantic pecks at his face. He groaned in Mycroft mouth as they slid their hands over each other’s bodies. Mycroft gasped when Greg found the sensitive spots of his back and pressed, as if on instinct.
“We’ve waited too damn long for this.”
“And we’ll wait a little longer,” Mycroft said, pushing back off Greg.
Greg decided he wanted to look heartbroken. “Why?”
“We’re not having sex in mummy’s house.”
Of course, Greg just had to suggest they spoon naked together. Mycroft the smaller spoon with Greg curled around him. Mycroft had to turn around and pinch Greg in the nipple when he started rolling his hips against his arse like some type of teenager. In the same breath, Mycroft buried his face in the crook of Greg’s neck to giggle at his antics without setting off his parents. They were both boarding fifty, but damn did he feel young.
As he finally drifted off the sleep a thought crossed his mind.
Better remember to give Anthea a raise.
“Bye, mummy,” Mycroft said two weeks later, hugging her.
“Me and Mikey had a great time here,” Greg said in a french accent that mirrored his mother’s own totally before hugging her as well.
Mycroft can’t decide exactly how loud to scream at his boyfriend.
Sherlock caught the door to the Detective Inspector’s office just as Gavin, Geoffrey, no Graham left for lunch. He quickly found what he needed after over scanning the room.
Badge: Check
Keys: Check
ID: Check
Loose change??...might as well: Check
He stooped down to lockpick the last file cabinet on the right side of the desk, lip poked out in concentration as he worked to bypass the lock mechanism.
He slid open the drawer after a few minutes and reached in for the last item on his list, Lestrade’s phone.
He hit the power button on the iphone idly to check the time when he nearly dropped the device completely.
The lock-screen-- there was...something horribly wrong with it. There, projected on the screen was a picture of his brother and Lestrade kissing in front of what had to mummy’s roses. It was a passionate kiss from the way Mycroft fisted at Lestrade’s shirt and Lestrade held his brother’s waist with a strange tenderness. They were acting like each other’s lifeline.
They looked lovely together
So much had changed such he’d left. Why John was getting married to a woman if that was any indication. But this-- this was too much to be possible.
Sherlock placed the phone back in the cabinet where he found it, hands slightly shaking as he closed the file and made his way out the room.
Greg walked back into his office approximately an hour later and looked around. He couldn’t find anything he needed for work. It had been like that after Sherlock miraculous returned from the death three weeks ago, apparently in Siberia for most of his two year absence. Mycroft went on a trip to Russia about the same time, but Greg didn’t bother to question it. When the Detective Inspector opened his file cabinet drawers he smiled.
Mycroft was right, that photo can keep him away from my phone!
Can you please answer ALL the questions for Butterfly Bog shipping headcanons? I'm well aware I'll be put into hell for asking you this, but it will be so worth it...
Dedicated to mythos-illusions (and also, to the anon who wanted the NSFW numbers!) I hope that this does some justice! I did my best! It just turned out a lot longer that expected. Though, really, at this point did you expect anything less than a novel?
And yes, I cheated. I snagged one or two from the previous fill I did. I mean… I added to them… but I’m so ashamed….
This is going to be a mixture of canon and Human AU. If not specified it can be either/or!
Enjoy!!!
1. Who cooks?
Canon:
Long answer: They fight over who cooks constantly. Marianne is always doing her best to learn Goblin recipe’s and Bog has no real patience to even try and attempt Fairy cooking- it’s complex and so much is based on the performance and the final presentation, everything sweet and made to look absolutely flawless while Goblin food is no doubt more about the taste and how long it can hold you over. So he just sort of stands over her and tells her not to worry so much, and let me do it, and I really can do it, and why aren’t you letting me do it and “cooking” becomes a nice way of saying “Marianne and Bog chasing each other around complaining and whacking each other with wooden spoons.”
Short answer: Both.
2. Who’s the messiest? The cleanest?
Bog is the cleanest. He reigns over Goblin’s in a forest where anarchy and order are constantly flirting. Intimidation is the easiest way of control, but to have that control one must first grasp the idea of the sort of order they wish to instil. He is the cleanest because his entire rule depends on him being organized. The Light Fields, while no picnic to be the Ruler of, are much more relaxed in their methods, so being neat in the physical world when it came to ones self was never the top priority. Maybe number 3 or something. But never top. This is one of the most constant and irrational things they fight about.
3. Who fixes the vehicle after a breakdown?
Human AU:
Long Answer: In a human AU it’s most likely Bog. Marianne’s relationship with her father, the only real parent she has left, is fine, but it doesn’t have what she wants out of it, and though it’s overtly cliche she wishes he had taken the time to show her. She wanted that kind of relationship where it was simply a thing that you did, and she’d be a pro by the time she got her first car. But it wasn’t the way it turned out. Which frustrates her to no end. And learning on her own was enough of a struggle, the patience of going through book after book and doing her best to learn bits and bobs from library pages a headache. So she gave up. Her struggle, detailed to Bog in quiet huff’s and less than gentle suggestions to drop it, was met head on when the car would eventually break down and Bog would drag her gently from her seat, push her towards the hood and say; “Ye see this, love? By the end of today yee’re going to be the one to fix it.” And Marianne thinks it’s just about the sexiest thing he’s ever done.
Short Answer: …. is one really required…?
Canon: By vehicle I will simply assume wings. When it’s windy Marianne will insist that she can fly, but ends up being flung around and nearly hits trees and rocks and has to be dragged out of the sky by a frantic and furious Bog. And when it rains her wings can’t do much for her wet. During these times he has to carry her. But if she’s especially spiteful that he won’t let her do it herself then she’ll just walk and the two of them stomp to where they’re going, grumbling at one another.
Bog, because his wings are attached to joints, has sprained a wing a few times, and he does his best to grin and bear it, but she doesn’t allow it. She can’t carry him, so they either have to walk or find shelter. And though he hates to admit it, it feels amazing being doted on. So that’s always a light in the tunnel.
4. Living space has a leak! Who fixes it?
I’m going to sort of borrow from the lovely dainesanddaffodils. They both do it, but they’re both pretty hopeless about it. Too stubborn to ask Sunny to help -that man has the skills of a million trained men- they just sort of stand over the other shouting directions and what the other is doing wrong back and forth until the leak turns into a full fledged flood. Sunny walks in to see the two of them sulking in ankle deep water and just sighs and goes to find his spare tools.
They no longer have carpeting. It‘s a waste of time when this becomes a normal occurrence.
5 Who buys the groceries?
They both do it. In fact, it’s pretty much become one of their top activities of the week. They both dread chores. So the entire thing has become a game. Who can get all the stuff on the list first. And yes, this totally works with either canon or Human AU because I can see Marianne shoving a scroll into Bog’s fist, spreading her wings, and looking over her shoulder before saying, “First one to get all this stuff picks the place we do it tonight,” and he has never moved faster to find those fucking ingredients.
Short Answer: It’s on.
6. Going out to eat: Who pays? Who orders the most food? And who has dessert?
Marianne and Bog both despise going out. But when they do it’s a battle to get the other to not pay. I’d assume at this point that if the fight turns ugly and lasts over half an hour they’re signature “hot spots” would have a sort of a panic button and the lovely Griselda would be called to put the thing onto her tab and wander down to drag both of them out by their ears.
Marianne eats like a bird- a lot but in tiny portions. Bog just goes for it, and she hates that he basically is the physical embodiment of a black hole. She loves sweet things, so she’d rather just eat desert and he has to near force her with promises of ice-cream later to eat actual food and no waffles topped in whipped cream do not count, Marianne, you’re going to get something substantial because I am not having another dizzy spell or a fainting episode on my hands.
7. Would they go to the beach?
Long Answer: I’m going to assume canon for this and say yes but only to sit on the shore. Bog can go under water. Marianne cannot, and it’s a hassle to tie up wings. So it’s mostly just to relax. They tried to make out there once but sand, they discovered, get’s everywhere.
Short Answer: Screw the beach.
8. Who knows how to swim? Who doesn’t?
Canon: Bog can swim. Marianne can but would rather not. Her wings drag her down and, I’m just assuming, she’s had one or two close calls as a child where she forgot that she had wings -they grow in later or are almost too small to really do anything as children- only to find that when they’re wet they become dead weights on your back and can drag you under all too easily. You can bind them in something waterproof like spider silk or coat them in wax, but it’s a hassle, so it’s rarely done.
Human AU: Marianne hates swimming. But good God, Bog showed her the wonders of the underwater kiss. So it’s not always bad.
9. Is someone multilingual? Do they try to teach another language to the other? How does it go?
Canon: Bog knows the language passed on through the Dark Forest, primarily maintained and held in the Royal Family. Deep, guttural sort of things that are used in council with Higher Goblin’s. So it’s always a shock for Marianne when she attends and can’t understand, doing her best to decipher what’s going on through gestures of claws and flickers of eyes. She get’s so frustrated that she simply asks Bog to teach her, and it’s a great surprise when she’s actually able to pick out one or two words. Though it get’s to be rather tense when she realizes that so much of what the Elders are saying are just slurs and jabs towards his Fairy companion and things get slightly heated (THIS WILL BE PART OF MY FANFIC… JUST YOU WAIT… PART 3 OF THIS STUPID, STUPID TIMELINE…. YOU’LL SEE, YOU’LL ALL SEE!) So how does it go? The teaching goes well! The aftereffects… not so much.
Human AU: (as was said by dainesanddaffodils as well…) He knows some Scottish Gaelic and teaches her what he can. He slips in and out when he’s especially peeved. However, he also slips in and out of it to really annoy her. If they’re having a fight and he wants to truly get under her skin he’ll only speak in Gaelic for hours on end, ensuring that she doesn’t even get to know a word of what’s going on. Out of all of his habits, that is one that annoys her the most and many a fight has started up because of it.
But then he teaches her, because he was being an ass and he can admit when he’s wrong.
10. Any pets? Or plants?
Both of them hate pets -I already take care of him/her, why do I need another thing on my hands?- but there is a certain fondness for plants. They get a Venus Fly Trap. They name it Jeff.
11. Baths or showers? Together or separate? Any bubbles or bubble fights?
Canon: Because of her wings, making sure that she stays clean is a ritual and a chore. You have to make sure the wings are out of the way, you have to make sure that you clean them later with a dry cloth, you have to make sure that they don’t get wet… the list goes on. Bath’s only for her. Bog could get clean in the fucking rain if he wanted. And this pisses Marianne off. Because goddammit.
Human AU: Marianne is a bath sort of person. Bog likes his showers. But if she’s had an especially rough day dealing with people she’ll come home to a bath already drawn filled to the brim with bubbles and they sit in it together.
A Bubble Fight occurred once. It will never be spoke of again.
12. Can they stand silence? Who talks the most? Who talks the least?
They love silence. I think earlier in the relationship there is some fear that their love of silence is not shared and that the soundless space between them is awkward and not simply peaceful. But one everything between them straitens out it becomes a regular thing for them to just sit side by side in silence, which is nice. I think they both talk quite a bit, especially when they need to vent. And it’s always nice to have someone to vent to.
13. Who stays up late? Who sleeps the most? Does the other have to force them to sleep/wake up?
They’re both stubborn asses when it comes to this. Because both of them so obviously need their sleep. They spend all day Ruling Kingdoms and sparring. So by the end they’re exhausted. Either Marianne has to drag Bog to bed or Bog has to fling her over his shoulder to get her to sleep. Bog is a heavy sleeper and it takes quite a bit of insistence to get him up. Marianne can be out like a light, but it’s deceiving. He once poked her in the side. He ended up with a broken nose and a very frantic Fairy.
We also do not speak of this again.
14. Who is the highest maintenance? Does the other mind?
Neither. Just give them a weapon, a large area and food.
(Sort of Canon) Though it does confuse Bog the first time he sees her putting on makeup- why on earth would she need to cover her face? She’s naturally beautiful -and no Goblin’s do it, so how does it make any sense- but she just sort of shrugs and says she likes it and he says that he kind of likes it too and that’s the end of that.
15. Vacation ideas: who decides them? Where would they go, if anywhere?
Canon: They rarely go on vacations- royal duties are first and they cannot simple leave whenever they desire to travel. However, Bog did request to see the place that Marianne and her Kingdom go once a year to migrate and she was more than happy to show him. That trip ended in mild disaster when, upon arriving, he was met with the locals who had not expected the Princess of the Light Fields to be giving a tour to a giant Goblin, fingers locked together and looking more than relaxed about it. There was much dispute when the King of that particular Kingdom went to meet them for what they believed was simply a cordial greeting but what turned out to be several guards and an insistence to leave before the “vicious creature” decided to devour them all, giving extra precaution to his Princess friend to watch out, because Goblin’s are sneaky and they don’t hesitate to destroy those who trust them. Suffice to say she never returned back to that place. Ever. And Bog was more than happy to help her temporarily move in during winter.
Human AU: They love road trips. They don’t do much flying just because it’s never really something they think about, but road trips are a constant. Both of them have come home many a time from work to find the other has called them out for a week and has already packed the car. Because they both love the outdoors most of their trips are touring the best hiking spots that can be found. So National Parks, caves, mountains, anything that can be climbed. They find themselves setting up tents and camping out in glens, and both of them silently agree that some of the most romantic times they’ve ever had were set up around a campfire, watching the stars flicker above them.
Though they’ll never say it (and they’ve taken an oath of secrecy that shall never be broken), somewhere, buried deep in the depths of a closet, there is a scrapbook filled to the brim with tons of pictures from every trip. Things like them kissing, making funny faces and pretending to fall off of ledges. Stuff that’s so uncharacteristically cliche and dorky that they have promised not to tell anyone (but really, those two… it’s actually so much in character for them. They just hate to admit that they’re dorks who are capable of that level of adorable).
NSFW
1. How often do they have sex, if at all?
They have sex a lot. Like… a lot. But really, those two had a physical relationship from the start, constantly centered around the body and it’s strength and fines. It‘s only natural that once they take that first step, awkward and terrifying as it was, they’d both be so completely lost in loving every part of the other person that the idea of making love was natural. And yeah. I’m using the term Making Love here. Because really, those two could do nothing less.
2. Who brings ideas? Who initiates?
Kind of Canon… Mostly Canon… Kind Of… : It’s rare for Bog to bring ideas, but he does initiate. It’s just… subtle. Marianne is much more forward about what she wants, though it’s done near silently -grabbing his neck and pulling him down for a kiss, hands already wandering happily over scales and spine. Bog is slow about it, pressing tiny kisses against her temple or the inside of her wrist. Though if there is no way that he is going to survive if they’re apart another moment, he’s not below trailing kisses across her jaw, waiting for her to either push him away of be more than happy to take control.
Bog is braver at night, in the dark. It’s the Goblin in him.
3. Any kinks they clash on?
Canon: Not really. They’re both pretty much good with it. Though Marianne does have this love of his teeth and claws and Bog hates/loves that about her. Because he loves being accepted for who he is, and it feels so good to be able to let her see him fully and wholly as the person who loves her. There’s just an issue… she’s a Fairy. Her skin is build for dull nails and squared teeth. And Bog has awoken many a morning to find himself cuddling a very plum-pleased Marianne who, upon further inspection, is absolutely riddled with scratches and bites.
On top of that, there has been more than one incident where things got heated and he had to jump away because she yelped or had to tell him to stop because he accidentally broke skin, and though she insists that it’s amazing that he listens so quickly, and she’s fine, and she absolutely adores everything about him, he’s tossed and turned through dreams where he can’t stop and there’s more than just a few spots of blood on his bed where he’d scratched open skin across her back or bit into her neck. It’s a personal fear of him that she is not totally aware of (THIS IS GOING TO FUCKING BE A PART OF THIS STUPID FANFIC JUST YOU WAIT… HOHMAHGAWD I AM SO FUCKING READY!!!! CAN I GET A WHOOWHOOP!!!!!!!)
Human AU: Not that they know of. Though Marianne has suspicions that his has something to do with the moon… so she’s been investing to get a skylight to see what happens.
4. Oddest place they’d have sex?
Canon: They’ve basically made it a personal goal to do it in every tree in the forest. Which, so far, is not going so well. They’re only about 100 trees in… might take a while. But the oddest place they would have sex would most likely be in a cave. Which had really just been for routine maintenance… but that quickly spiraled away. It wasn’t really all that odd of a place until they rolled into water, Marianne’s wings got soaked and both of them left huffing at each other for being so damn attractive that they couldn’t watch what they were doing.
Human AU: One one particular Road Trip they will have done it at the top of a mountain that they’d been daring one another to climb. It was great until Bog almost fell off and Marianne sprained her wrist catching him. When asked about it they will tell their friends and family that there was a bear and they bravely saved one another. Not that they were having sex on a mountain edge. Like idiots.
5. Favourite positions?
Quarterback…. lol… get it? Quarterba- because I don’t know how to answer this question. So I answered with a football posi… no… not funny? Okay… I’ll be off in my corner now.
6. Dom/top? Sub/bottom? Any switches?
Both Marianne and Bog are dominant people. But once they’ve experienced a bottom position they’ve found that it isn’t all that awful. Actually, it feel awesome being kind of taken care of. But being who they are, the prize of getting to be top has become a sort of a competition for them, and most of their chores are written off with, whoever finishes first get’s to be top. Some days they lose on purpose. They’ll never tell. But they know.
7. Genital headcanons?
Nope. Nope nope nope. I’m not that NSFW yet. Still can’t even write this shit without blushing like a dork.
8. Favourite erogenous zones?
Spine (obviously… is that even a trick question at this point…?). Necks and ears are a tie for second.
9. Quickest turn ons? Immediate turn offs?
Canon… and also sort of not…
For Marianne: His accent, claws, teeth, the buzz of his wings and the clicking of scales at his shoulders are all turn on’s. Her turn off’s- he’s accidentally let one or two things about Fairies that are very much insulting and accumulated over the years in Goblin culture slip out, and those days she’s simply left, steaming.
For Bog: Light through her wings, signing, when she clasps their hands together, her fingers up his spine. Turn off’s- when she tries to crack punny jokes, when she says things about Goblin’s by accident (they’re both at fault here) and when she uses his past actions against him in a fight. He sort of wishes it hadn’t happened from time to time and they met because he wasn’t being an idiot who almost killed her.
10. First to orgasm? Last to orgasm? Who comes the most? Does someone ever end up unfinished?
Not sure. I guess that stuff switches around. But let’s just make it clear that neither one of them let’s the other remain unfinished. Ever. Bog is definitely more adamant about that then Marianne, and she is much appreciative.
11. Favorite romantic gestures during sex/orgasm?
Canon: It’s subtle, but Bog loves to wind his fingers through her hair. He loves the stuff- and she’s the first person he really encounters to have that soft, fluffy stuff growing on her head. And while she also makes hers subtle -though he notices all the time and it turns him on so much- she loves to search out and grab his hand, twisting their fingers together. And he loves it- because if there’s one thing that shows how completely different they are it’s claws against thin, delicate fingers, and to see them bound together with so much complete love sends him over the edge.
12. How are their afterglows?
Pretty damn amazing.
Neither is sure how they’ll do, so when they lay there afterwords, panting and stunned and completely blissful they don’t quite know how to react. Marianne has only had Roland, and he was so busy trying to make sure that he had a good time that he was very much lounging in his own glow after (I’m assuming, like others, that she only had sex once, and it wasn’t even good, so she didn’t really count it). But with Bog there was so much care put into making sure that she had a good time that she can’t believe how amazing it all is. It isn’t sex. It’s making love. And she’s sure to show her appreciation by giving as much as she’s getting and by the end the two are completely and totally amazed.
I’m pretty much 100% sure that afterwords they just sort of cuddle and hold hands. Because adorable dorks.
13. Who’s loud? Who’s quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How?
Both of these two dorks are really, super loud and their voices carry. What Bog does love though is that Marianne is so fucking high pitched and he hadn’t been expecting that at all, so he spends his time trying to make her make those noises again and again. She herself loves how his accent pours out, rolling and growling and snarling, and wants to listen to it as much as possible.
Conclusion: Screw the quiet.
14. Lights on or off? Do they look at each other? Or is someone embarrassed?
Canon: I think that the first few times are lights off. And I think that’s by Bog’s insistence. He’s so scared that she’ll find him repulsive or hideous. And he doesn’t realize that she feels the same- she’s not like Goblin’s under layers of clothing. Her body is one of differences and curves and she’s terrified that one look at her and he’ll leave her for something that he considers normal. So it is also by Bog’s insistence that they do lights on, because he wants to show her that he would never think that, and she’s beautiful and worth the light. And she feels the same for him.
Human AU: It switches. First few times are lights off, but they can do anything after that.
15. Open or closed relationship? Do they sometimes share?
They never share. For a few reasons. The first being that it’s not their thing. The second- both has had heartbreak in the past. To lose their love to someone else is not something that they’re unaccustomed to. And third- Goblins are, by nature, very territorial. He’s not sharing. End of story. And she’s alright with that.
