WHEN IT’S OVER - MYCROFT HOLMES
PROMPTS - ww2 au + 9. “end of the war” kiss + “i love you and i couldn’t imagine a life without you.” +
A/N: hello! another mycroft fic woop woop! i’ve been wanting to write this for a while even if it is just a modge podge of random prompts and ideas. i just hope you all enjoy and if you do please like or reblog or comment. my last lindir fic flopped really freaking hard and it kind of makes me sad because i spent 3+ hours on that fic so that i could give you all some new content. please don’t let my smol sweetheart mycroft flop. please? also the gif isn’t mine, its from wattpad, i don’t remember where. credits to the editor
WARNINGS: mentions of war i guess
WORDS: ~2000
The low hanging clouds remained ever constant as the scenery outside the rattling train changed from rolling green hills with the occasional village to the bustling city of London. The train kept nearing the station, the survivors kept living, the rubble kept crumbling. The city would suffer and lament its losses, but it would endure just as I had.
I had been a nurse during the war, caring and treating the salvageable and the doomed victims alike. And all the while I sat wrapping bloodied appendages in gauze and apply antibacterial salves, I thought of him.
I thought of the man who looked absolutely ravishing with his side swept curls of russet and his soft sprinkling of freckles. The man who could bend his enemies' will to match his own with nothing more than a look but who could also comfort me with sweet words spoken in his hushed and poshly-accented voice. The man whose tall form and welcoming embrace smelled of clean tweed, old sweaters with a note of expensive cologne, aftershave and the warmth of a hot cup of earl grey. The man who gave me his heart and who in return cared for mine with all the world’s delicacy and sweetness. Mycroft Holmes, my fiance, who I had left behind at the beginning of the war.
He had proposed to me two months before the war when I had no clue I would be sent to the fields and the clinics to care for England’s wounded soldiers. Looking down at the thin and simple but elegant band around my finger, memories of the calm afternoon drive to the countryside, the warmth of the sun and the happiness that had overwhelmed my heart and soul in a singular, blissful moment ran through my head.
I hadn’t seen Mycroft since the beginning of the war. I hadn’t seen him for 5 years. 5 whole years. We had written back and forth when we had found the time, and in fact I still had the bundle of wax-sealed letters written in curling, elegant script in my bag, but unfortunately, we had found ourselves occupying busy and stressful jobs: him being a high-ranking government official and me being, well, gone. The war had split us apart, but my love for Mycroft was what kept me going each and every day filled with wailing and crying people, newly-orphaned children, and the other casualties of war.
I just hoped he hadn’t moved on, hadn’t found someone to replace me in my absence. Although, I could hardly blame him if he had.
These thoughts swam around my head as the train finally pulled into the bustling station, steam from the train’s engine billowing up and fogging the windows that made up the high, vaulted ceilings.
After gathering my belongings, I made my way to the exit at the end of the train car I had shared with countless others returning from where ever the war had scattered them. And as I stepped out of the car, the calling of names and the whistling of the train and the crying of London’s people instantly flooded my senses.
Anxiety bubbled in my chest, constricting my throat as my nervousness grew. What if Mycroft didn’t bother to show? What if he had found someone prettier and moved on? What if the war truly had come between us?
And then from across the bustling mass of people, I see him standing near one of the tall stone supports that reach to the ceiling like flowers to the sun. I began to fight my way through the crowd, while the thought of his name echoing through every facet of my mind. And when I had finally made my way through the majority of the crowd, I stopped, a small gasp leaving my mouth at the sight of him.
He was dressed in his finest Shetland wool sweater, the delicate linen and silk of his cream button up and tie peeking out from beneath the taupe neckline, and brown tweed pants and his chestnut-hued oxfords. His russet curls were mostly combed back; a small bunch of the reddish locks fell down the slope of his forehead and ended just above his eyebrows and glinting grey eyes. He was clean cut and the usual air of professionalism hung about him as always, but his dress gave him a softer edge.
He was just as handsome as the day I left.
“Mycroft!” I called. His tall figure turned and happiness seemed to shine through the confusion and the cloudiness that lingered in his gaze. I watched as his lips parted in a wide grin that revealed the shining whiteness of his teeth. It was a genuine smile, one that he only let slip onto his wonderful face when I was the only one around.
“Y/N! Oh, you’ve returned!” He exclaimed, his pale, freckled hands flying from his pockets like birds from a cage as he rushed towards me. I dropped my bag and welcomed the familiar curling of his long arms around me, the softness of his skin and hair against my own and the solidity of him against me. The warm scent of his aftershave and cologne intoxicated my senses, the memories of all the long days remedied by embraces such as this one flooding the forefront of my mind. My heart soared with the happiness and the familiarity and comfort of it all and I found myself burying a smile of my own into the warmth of his shoulder, the wool of his sweater tickling my cheek.
“Oh darling,” Mycroft mumbled into the long curtains of my hair, his posh accent pleasant against my ears. “I’ve missed you dearly.”
No matter how long Mycroft had been practicing, no facade could hide the hint of pain in his voice as he said those words.
I’ve missed you.
And then it hit me. Mycroft really had missed me, probably to the point of near heartbreak. It was clear in the passion with which he hugged me, the genuineness with which he smiled, the desperation with which he spoke. For him to throw his facades to the wind, especially in a place as public as the station, must’ve meant he’d been hurting so much for far too long for him to care about his appearances. It was reckless of him and it made my heart ache. Mycroft, though he pretended he didn’t, felt things deeply and often times, it would always lead to overwhelming sadness and anxiety. Mycroft had hurt endlessly with no one to console his worries for the past 5 years. And with a war to burden him even more…
The thought brought tears to my eyes.
“I missed you too,” I croaked, “so so much, Myc.”
At the mention of my nickname for him, he retreated from the embrace to look at me, his hands still fondly grasping my sides in a desperate attempt to ground himself to me, and me to him. Sadness and worry filled his eyes.
“Darling,” he said, “is everything alright?”
His voice was soft, and I barely heard him over the roar and din of the station. My hands left their place on his shoulders to gently brush over the wool of his sweater and the soft skin of his neck until my hands delicately held his face.
“You’ve been hurting all this time haven’t you?” I asked, my eyebrows scrunching together as the storm clouds returned to cloud Mycroft’s irises. “All this time, without me, you’ve been hurting and you didn’t try to find comfort in anyone. You just let yourself hurt.”
He smiled softly, sadly. A hint of love lingered in his eyes like the few rays of honeyed sunlight that spills through gaps in the clouds as the sun begins to set on a cloudy day.
“You’ve been working on your deductions skills, I see,” he said. A small smirk, perhaps of pride, graced his lips and a brief moment of pause had just begun to settle when he spoke again. “It wasn’t as bad as one would presume.”
I really didn’t see how it could’ve been worse. The war had brought the constant prospect of my death and all the fear and stress that accompanied the thought. Not to mention, Mycroft had one of the most stressful jobs in all of England, and he had to deal with its toils alone, with no one to comfort him.
“Well, it really couldn’t have,” Mycroft said as if reading my mind. “I was rather lonely in your absence and I can’t think of anything worse from being parted from you, darling. You are my light after all.”
Mycroft pulled me close again, this time, with more hesitation. I hugged him tightly despite the delicateness of it all, just to let him know I was there and that I wasn’t leaving.
“Y/N,” he murmured, his lips brushing the tips of my ears, “no one could provide me with more comfort than you, and I’d rather suffer alone for a little while than seek comfort in someone else and potentially dash any dream of ever being in your arms again. I’d rather have you, darling.”
Tears blurred my vision as I hugged Mycroft ever closer. “Thank you, Myc.”
A small murmur of worry-cloaked hope was my response. “You didn’t happen to find anyone either, did you?”
The words pained my heart, and I removed myself from the embrace to look into the grey pools of his eyes. I held his face as reverently as I possibly could and my words were soft and bright in the chaos that surrounded us.
“Of course not, Myc,” I said, the words sweet on my tongue. My hands slid from his face and instead found a home in the grasp of Mycroft’s. My eyes flitted to my ring, and then to his matching one, then to him. “We still have a world to create together, after all. No war could tear the chance of a life with you away from me. I love you and I couldn’t live a life that didn’t have you in it.”
Relief seemed to flood Mycroft’s eyes along with the tears that glossed them. And then, Mycroft did exactly what I had been craving and missing for the past five years. He wrapped his arms around my waist, and mine found their way around his neck and he kissed me.
And in that kiss, there was heat and passion in the way our blushing faces touched. And beneath that fierce cloak of passion, there was a soft fondness that always comes with the absence of a loved one. There was pain and longing, but there was something warm and sweet in the pure love that laid beneath.
When our lips parted, I waited a moment before reopening my eyes to savor the sweetness and the intensity of the kiss. And then my eyes opened and I was met with a wide grin, and eyes that were almost overflowing with tears of pure happiness. I know they would never fall, Mycroft was too restrained for that. But to me, the tears were proof that he still loved me. We had endured our own personal hell during the war. But now, the war was over and we were together again, and nothing could ever come between us again.
“It’s so wonderful having you back,” Mycroft said. His hand drifted to my face, his thumb caressing the curve of my cheek. “And I cannot possibly wait for all the memories we will make, my love.”
And with those words, I kissed him again, quick and sweet. A smile brightened his usually grim face as his hand found mine. My heart thumped wildly in my chest, ecstatic to be back in the arms of the one I loved.
“Come, darling, let’s go home.”