Fever

independent

It had been three weeks since they had last seen each other.
Three fucking weeks.
It had simply not been possible to meet each other, either Mycroft couldn't spare the time or Greg had too much to do.
But now it was that time again.

They had sat together in that sweet little pizzeria and had eaten deliciously. Greg had had Spaghetti Napoli; he had held a fork full of it in front of Myke's lips, who had taken the delicious pasta, but Greg had quickly taken a loose, hanging spaghetti end between his lips and slowly slurped it in until their lips met.
"Like Lady and the Tramp," he had giggled. Myke had uncomprehendingly looked around, and Greg just growled "Oh, boy!", and decided which movie they would soon watch together.
He wondered what Myke would say if he showed him a Disney cartoon. He could already imagine the sceptically raised eyebrow; the expression on his face that would express himself clearly:
"All right, Greg, but just for your sake," but he would probably enjoy it in the end.
Greg grinned again.

Then his eyes fell on his partner. And he noticed that Myke seemed kind of tense.
"Myke? What's wrong?"
"Well, Gregory, I've done something where I'm not sure if you'll be happy about it or if you'll be mad at me."
Greg swallowed. He felt his stomach start to rumble.
"Okay," he said, and his tone ranged from stern to frightened.
"What have you done?"

"I've quit my butler."
"But why?"
"Don't worry, Gregory. I've already found him a new position. Just as well paid as mine."
"Myke, I don't understand."
"Well, he couldn't stay in my house, after all, I sold the place. To the next month."
"You what? Sold your house?"
"Yeah, what am I supposed to do with two houses..."
"Mycroft Haggerty Holmes, you tell me what is going on, right now!"

If Greg was using Mycroft's hated middle name, which he'd given away in a fit of tenderness, and which no-one else knew, except Sherlock, of course, then Mycroft knew he'd better back off now, because Greg was about to be seriously pissed off.
And an angry Greg... well, Mycroft just liked it better when there was harmony between them.
So he explained.

"Greg, I've bought a house. Much smaller and much less pompous than my old one. But still big enough to offer some comforts. The bill of sale is perfect. All that's missing is one last signature. Yours. I want us both to be registered as owners of the house. That it belongs to both of us."
He took a breath.
"Because I want you to move in there with me."

Wow. Now Greg really had to swallow.
Moving in with Mycroft sounded great, his heart pounded with joy at the thought.
But...
He wasn't quite sure whether to just enjoy the surprise, or whether he was annoyed that Mycroft had decided the whole thing over his head. Without consulting him.

And besides... he made quite a bit of money as a Detective Inspector, there was enough for everything he needed, plus a little luxury or two.
Nevertheless, he suspected that a house, as Mycroft Holmes saw fit, still afforded him a price range that was beyond good and evil for his possibilities.

Mycroft had bought the house, which meant he was prepared to pay for it entirely on his own. And propably it was child's play for him, a tip from petty cash. And Greg was sure Myke enjoyed it.
But... ...did he himself? It didn't seem right.

"Listen, Mycroft. I would very much like to come and live with you. I've had a wonderful week with you. It felt good to have you around me, it felt warm and familiar. But..."
The look in Mycroft's eyes was now impenetrable, as if a shadow had been cast over it.
"Myke, I don't want you to think that I'm being a kept man, kept by you. I'm on my own two feet, after all, and I'm quite capable of..."
He was silent. He did not find the right words, but he was sure his darling understood him as well.

"Nobody gets that impression," Mycroft said.
"Especially not me. I know who you are and what you can do. But I also know what you can't do. And I want to live with you. I promise you, I will try to interfere in your life less than anyone else's. But let me do this. Please. I want to move in with you. I want to come home to you at night, I want you to come home to me after long, hard days. You mean so much to me now, I don't always want you only visiting. I want us to be partners in life, with everything that this word implies. Please."

Greg swallowed.
To get such a romantic declaration of love, especially from the "ice man" Mycroft Holmes, who hasn't been an ice man for Greg for a long time, that was damn nice. And exciting.
Gregory chewed on his lower lip, then he took his wine glass, drank his last sip of red wine, and said:
"Well, we'll see. I'm paying for dinner. No arguments. And then we'll go to the house and you'll show me around. And then I will decide how I feel about the whole thing, all right?"
Mycroft sighed.
But at least Gregory was not angry and if he interpreted the slight lines of smirk around his eyes correctly, there was a good chance he would agree.