I am not lonely [Mystrade]

CHAPTER 17 : Grievances

Mycroft was carrying a football ball in his arms, watching his son running around him a stick in his hands imitating a sword. They were walking in the forest and the little boy was having a good time jumping in the puddles, splashing water and mud all over his yellow boots and red raincoat.
The toddler ran back to his father, shaking his stick wildly. "Daddy, look ! I am pirate !" he smiled to him. The official placed a kiss on his son's forehead, grinning at him. It was already late and the sun was low in the sky but he didn't care. He didn't want to go back home and just wanted to walk, trying not to think of anything. He had picked up Alden from Lestrade's parents's place on his way back from Norfolk and didn't even get back to his house, asking to his driver to drop him before they reached London. Greg had looked worried to let him go like this but he didn't had said anything. The auburn knew that he will have to go home soon and that he will have to face his own thoughts but at the moment the only thing that was important for him was his son running on the pathway.
He put the ball on the floor and kicked it, sending it to the little boy a few meters away. Making their way down the path kicking the ball the two of them were laughing without caring about the mud that was ruining the official's precious suit and shoes.Mycroft had absolutely no idea where they were or where does the path was leading them to but the little boy started to feel exhausted and wanted to go home. The official lift him to his shoulders, the baby's boots covering his suit jacket in muddy foot prints and picked up the ball from the floor.
He walked for half an hour more, the balance of his paces rocking the little boy who felt asleep. He finally reached a car park near a little road and grabbed his phone to call his car. Putting carefully his son down from his shoulders, making sure not to wake him up, he sat down on a tree stump, the toddler in his arms. The sun was now completely hidden behind the trees and the forest was growing darker.
Two lights finally appeared on the road and a black car parked in front of the man and his son. A driver in black suit and white shirt exited the vehicle and opened the backdoor for his boss, helping him to strap the asleep boy in his booster. The auburn climbed in the car beside the kid and the employee closed the door and sat himself back in front of the wheel.
"Home sir ?" he asked, looking to his boss in the mirror.
"Yes please." replied the other man fastening his seatbelt. His muddy shoes and suit had covered the beige leather in stains and he was feeling sorry for his employee who will have to clean the mess as he was feeling sorry for his dry cleaner who will have to make his suit immaculate again. Even if he didn't show it often, Mycroft cared quite a lot about his employees and always tried to be fair and nice with them, knowing that if you want them to remain at your service and to do their best, you have to give them a reason to.

Watching his son snoring by his side, the official remembered oneself of his childhood. He recalled himself of how he always looked after Sherlock, always being here for him when he was crying or feeling unwell. He remembered clearly the day when his brother had been kicked out from the house by his parents, days after he turned 15. Mycroft was 22 at the time. He was studying laws at the Imperial College of London and he wasn't living with Mr and Mrs Holmes anymore for 4 years, staying in a small but comfortable flat in Chelsea. He remembered his brother knocking at his door late in a January night, asking him if he could stay with him for a couple of day after being in a argument with their parents. Despite all what the auburn had said to them, despite the fact that he had nearly begged them they had refused their son to come back or even to speak with him and since then they always acted as if Sherlock never had existed.
The young boy had stayed with his brother until he had his own job after his PhD in chemistry but something had been broken in him on this winter night. The nice and cheerful kid had become cold and distant and started frequenting craby places and people, always willing to put himself in trouble and danger. It's at this moment that he started using drugs but despite all his disapprovals for his brother behaving, Mycroft had never let him down, picking him up of any back alley where he was overdosing and any custodies he ended up in, knowing that the youngest Holmes was not the one to blame.
Sherlock had become distant from him, pretending that he didn't needed him and that he didn't felt anything for his brother any more, but the auburn had always knew that it was a facade, the character that the black-haired was putting together, pretending not to have any feelings for anyone to prevent himself from being hurt like he had been by his parents.
Even when his brother left his flat, Mycroft always had kept an eye on him, making sure he always had all he needed and always making sure to help him out of trouble every time something bad happened to him, capable of putting his interest before those from the nation or to leave a high security meeting to pick his brother up from a misery place where he was overdosing if it was needed.
But despite all what he had done over the years for his little brother, he never had stopped seeing his parents either. He had paid them regular visits nearly every months since he had left the house for college and until he had started getting involved with Gregory a little more than two years ago. He never had really enjoyed this visits but he had been raised to respect his elderly and despite all they had done to his brother, he had considered it his duty to visit them, his only indiscipline consisting in trying to keep them updated about Sherlock's state and studies then job while they pretended as much as they could pretend, that he didn't exist.

He sometime had dreamed during this last two years that he had got enough courage to say them what he thought of them and of what they've done to Sherlock and that he would have been brave enough to break off with them like his brother had done but he wasn't nearly as dauntless as the consulting detective was and he had never said anything. He had accepted to move to the Holmes's house when his parents had decided to retire in their countryside cottage and accepted the governmental charge offered to him after his father had withdrawn it, being the perfect son the Holmes had raised him to be.

Every night for the last 24 years since Sherlock had knocked to his door, Mycroft had dreamed of being brave and of standing for himself but every day he had to admit that he wasn't capable of any bravery. He could take decision for a country, order cold blood murder and meet the Queen without feeling shy or intimidated, but he couldn't say a single word to his father without feeling like if he was 15 again. And even when he stopped visiting them two years ago, he haven't confronted them in any way. He just had stopped coming to their house or calling them instead of facing them and he had waited until he had no other choice to finally admit that he wasn't as perfect as they thought.

Now he was determined not to talk to them any more, knowing that he wouldn't be welcome excepted if he gave up his boyfriend and that, even if he've done so, he would still be considered as an outcast and a disappointment by Mr and MrsHolmes, but he blamed himself of not being brave enough to tell them all he had dreamed to tell them for so many years. He haven't even barely scratched the surface of all his grievances against them before leaving and he wished he could go back to change the conversation they had earlier. He wished he could have told them about the 271 times he had to take Sherlock to the hospital for his drug use because of them, he would have wanted to tell them about the years he had spent on his own, fighting his own feeling because of their education that have taught him that his feelings were sins and that a man shouldn't feel this kind of love for another man. He would have wished to tell them how he had become a spy to his own brother because he was worried constantly for his life since he had tried to kill himself countless times since his 15. He would have liked to admit that the only person to understand him was the outcasted uncle Rudy. He wished he could have told them about this career that he despited most of the time and that was forcing him to repress his feelings and to take decision nobody should ever have to take. He would have wanted to make them realise that he wasn't happy, that Sherlock wasn't happy, because of their education, because of what they had forced them to become.
He really would have liked to say all this and even more but he had stayed polite and respectful because he haven't got enough courage to stand up for himself and sat in his car, he knew that he would probably regret it until his death. He had loved his parents for more than 45 years, always finding them mitigating circumstances but he was now full of hate and anger toward those who had made him a puppet.
The only thing he was proud in his life was asking Gregory out, losing his mind and his education to his feelings. He had loved him for years, since the first time he had seen him, working on a case with Sherlock one day he had come to visit his brother, but it had taken him a long time before admitting these feelings to himself and even then he had tried to keep himself away from it. He had been taught that homosexuality was a sin and a disgrace and since he first noticed his allurement for men when he was a teenager, he always had kept his feelings away, staying alone even if it makes him sad. During months, he had pretended not to be interested in the detective until he had become physically sick of contending his sentiments toward him and understood that if he pretended longer he would die of it. He had rung the inspector asking him to come to his home as soon as he could and had explained how he felt toward him during a messy soliloquy of nearly half an hour, not even knowing if the detective would be interested in him at all but three months later Greg was moving to the official's house and since then he never had been happier.

Hey guys, I'm really sorry for this second sad chapter in a row but I thought it was needed to explain a bit more of Myc feelings, so yes here you go ... But I can promise you that the next chapter will be waaaay happier . XXX Dan