Mycroft listened to Gregory rant about how Sherlock had “some nerve” to call Mycroft a “manipulative, egotistical ass” at work that day. He’d said it John, not Gregory but it had still bothered him evidently. Understandable. Mycroft recognized that he was not only angry about the comment but also feeling insecure, distrustful and it hurt him. Gregory believed in trusting his partner but felt off balance because of Sherlock’s constant berating.
“He doesn’t like me.” Gregory gave him a sad look even though it was a statement of fact. He didn’t have the bond most brothers had, Sherlock didn’t have to like him or treat him particularly well. He preferred he didn’t actually, it helped when he needed to play Big Brother (in every sense of the word.)
“I’m sure he likes you, it’s just…siblings.” Mycroft nodded amicably. It would help Greg sleep at night.
“I confess I have been a bit cold to him. Perhaps that’s why he believes me to be some form of puppet master.” He’d been a bit more than cold. He could remember the two of them as small children, Mycroft mixing a liquid for Sherlock that made him fall asleep instantly. It had lasted two days and Sherlock had to be taken to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. (The boy had gotten him back though, pouring a tasteless odorless concoction into his water that made him hallucinate for eight hours until Mycroft had managed to achieve enough clarity to force himself to vomit.)
“Mycroft? Can I ask you something kind of personal?”
“Of course Gregory, anything.” He was making a map in his head of possible questions, answers, and outcomes. Trying to find the one that would make Gregory the happiest.
“Do you…” He sighed and propped himself up, his voice strong and commanding. “Are you toying with me? Do you have any real feelings for me or do you just see me as some sort of game? Tell me right now. I need to know Mycroft.”
Mycroft tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table top and closed his eyes. Gregory almost accused him of ignoring him but the man began to speak. “I care about you Gregory, immensely. I want for you to be happy and I know I’m not the best at expressing that and I’m sorry.” He paused, stopped everything. It looked like he was frozen. “I’m not a monster Gregory. I don’t see you as a game, you’re a man. A person. And a good one. I’m ‘batting above my average’ with you I feel.”
Gregory felt his face getting warm. It was rare for Mycroft to open up about anything and he clearly had trouble being emotional. It was good to know that he had them though, that he wasn’t a robot. Sometimes he was even worse than his brother, at least Sherlock was callous, agitated, angry. Mycroft could be infuriatingly calm, calculating. But he was being sweet now.
“I don’t want to lie to Gregory so I cannot promise that I’ll change completely or that it’ll be easy for either of us but I’ll try, for your sake. You’re worth trying for Gregory.” Mycroft hadn’t expected to be so truthful. He’d anticipated this route but his typical answer to this was 'it’s a family trait.’ He adored Gregory, he didn’t need to lose him due to going off script. “I apologize.”
“What? Why?” Gregory blinked and reached a hand to touch Mycroft’s own which felt cold.
“I’m…” Mycroft tapped his fingers on the table again and looked distressed in his quiet way. Gregory smiled comfortingly. “Gregory…” He sounded like he couldn’t breathe and his hand squeezed Gregory’s so hard it turned pale pink. Gregory frowned and moved closer to him on the couch, Mycroft made a sound.
“It’s ok. It’s ok, I’m happy you were so honest with me.” Mycroft wrapped himself around Gregory, not shaking or looking anywhere near crying but the tightness of his embrace screamed need. “Mycroft, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t right now.” He replied. He wanted to command Gregory to hold him tighter, until they were chest to chest and it hurt. “Gregory please just..” He wanted to push him away and demand he tell no one, he was a mixture of need and repulsion, trust for the man and experience. He remembered he and Sherlock as children, pinching each other and rubbing knuckles against their skin to feel something. Everything in their house felt stagnant and sterile, no room for anything that wasn’t controlled. He could deal with being boxed in, but Gregory wanted to destroy that box, saw it as an obstruction opposed to a protection. He needed it, he needed it.
“Mycroft you’re shaking. Mycroft? Come back to me love…” He felt safe. In Gregory’s arms it was safe. The rushing thoughts, the conversation webs, they all retreated into the background.
“I’m sorry for such an extreme outburst.”
“It’s fine.” Greg expected for Mycroft to push him away and primly sit back up, continue talking. But he just loosened his grip slightly and closed his eyes. It made Gregory feel pleased, to be so trusted.
