Breaking the ice {Mystrade}

Chapter Four - An evening at Ledbury Road

Greg paced back and forth across his small bedroom. What on Earth was a person supposed to wear to dinner with Mycroft Holmes, the bloody British Government himself?
Smart casual, Mycroft had told him. But what was Mycroft's version of smart casual? A three - piece suit without the pocket watch? No waist-coat? A special type of bow - tie only tailors know about?
He knew he'd feel stupid wearing the whole dinner jacket thing. Besides, payday was on Friday and he wasn't sure his budget could stretch to an expensive suit before then - particularly seeing as he was supposed to be saving up to watch a football game abroad with the guys at the yard.
All the same, he knew that nice jeans, a shirt and pullover certainly weren't appropriate.
It didn't help that Mycroft hadn't said exactly where they were going, just the road it was on, so Greg wasn't able to look it up online to get a feel for the place.
In the end, he decided just to go for his best long sleeved shirt, a black jacket and smart black trousers. Greg prayed he'd look smart enough - although at least he felt like himself, not as if he was playing dress-up.
Despite the fact that he wasn't willing to pay for a new suit, Greg did go to John Lewis to buy some men's perfume. It was an unusual purchase for someone like him, but he felt it was suitable for the type of place he was going to. Having very little previous knowledge of perfume, he simply picked the first one he saw, which happened to be Eau de Lacoste. Whether or not it was popular, he had no idea, but it was moderately expensive and smelt nice enough.
His transportation arrived at twenty to eight - a dark-windowed, black Mercedes. Greg smiled to himself as a Chauffeur gestured him into the car - he could get used to this...

****

Mycroft was nervous. Yet again.
In the past he'd always been able to put on a mask and carry himself through any situation - even when, aged eight, his parents didn't talk to him for two weeks because they were too focused on baby Sherlock, he continued as usual, contenting himself with piles of books.
However something about Gregory made his legs go all funny, and his stomach feel all fluttery. If he knew Greg's... preferences, he would be tempted to push for something more. He had an idea from the minute they shook hands (he'd felt Greg's pulse) but he wanted to be certain to avoid embarrassment. With any luck, he would be able to fully deduce Greg over dinner, then he could decide what to do.
Relationships had never come easily to Mycroft Holmes, and it was especially difficult in his youth. Coming out to his parents aged 21 was awful - his mother ordered him from the house immediately, tears streaming down her face. His father was red with fury, screaming about the Holmes family name, that he was a disgrace to his family, that he would never be welcome again.
Shortly, the black car pulled up on the kerb, and Mycroft broke into a smile as Greg exited it.
"Good evening!" Greg strode towards Mycroft and shook his hand firmly. In this close proximity he smelt it again - that beautiful, earthy perfume.
"How are you, Gregory? Well, I hope?"
"Not too bad, thanks. So, where is it we're going?"
"Just across the road - the restaurant is quite literally called The Ledbury." Mycroft smiled at this - he found the strangest little things amusing.
A waiter took their orders and poured two drinks - red wine for Mycroft, white for Greg. Greg was pleased to find that he's dressed correctly - opposite him, Mycroft wore similar clothes - a pale blue shirt with silver cuff links and a well-fitted, navy suit-jacket. It was strange to see him without his usual tie and waistcoat, but definitely not unpleasantly so.
"Glad too see there's no publicity here - it must be very difficult for you at the moment." Greg said, sipping his wine.
"Like hounds on the scent of a fox they are. That's partially why I've hardly left the house recently. I can't stand them clicking away with their cameras."
"Tell me about it - I got snapped the other day just as I was about to sneeze. I probably looked like I was being possessed!"
Mycroft laughed, genuinely. It surprised Greg terribly, but he couldn't help but think how attractive it made him look.
As their dishes arrived, Mycroft studied Gregory carefully - it was easy to deduce that Greg liked him, he certainly didn't dislike him. However, whether Greg was interested in the 'different sort of like' was harder to tell. Mycroft noticed that Greg was wearing perfume, which he hadn't yesterday - he could deduce that he didn't wear perfume to work, but did in the evening. Except this was ruled out by a further deduction that the perfume had been bought recently - he could see a few large droplets on his shirt collar, which indicated that the perfume hadn't been used before (the first spray always splattered a little). From this, he deduced that Greg hadn't ever purchased any perfume before: otherwise, he would've known to spray it away from himself first a couple of times to free up any stiffness in the cap. So why would a man who hadn't bought perfume before suddenly buy perfume? It would seem illogical, unless...
"Is there anywhere you were particularly interested in going this week?" Greg asked.
"Well there is currently an intriguing exhibition at the Tate Modern. Quite dark and macabre."
"Oh really? In what way?"
"You see, it's a sculpture artist. He creates these marvellous pieces which portray humans, except they're not quite... right. The piece is supposed to portray the character, not the physical being, so the result is often rather unnerving..."
Greg's heart was racing at a billion miles an hour. Just listening to Mycroft's voice, hearing his passion for the art gave him strange and wonderful thrills. It was so confusing, so unexpected. Greg knew he wasn't straight as a pole, but this was something else.
"Sounds fascinating, although I didn't imagine you'd be interested in that sort of stuff." Greg forced himself to reply - he was becoming rapidly nervous about speaking in case his words might reveal his infatuation .
"Quite the contrary. Although I may despise true gore, it is a rather thrilling concept when placed in a fictional environment."
That was it for Greg. They way Mycroft lingered over 'thrilling', his sly little smile, the way he bit his lip at the end. He closed his eyes for a second, and breathed in and out slowly.

Thoughts rushed through Mycroft's head. Signals and signs all dashing to and fro as he tried to figure out what Gregory was thinking.
"It should be clear," he thought.
"I once worked out how a man was killed by the angle of his doormat, why should this be such a trial to my mental capacity?". It was painful, so painful as Mycroft observed the wonderful man that sat before him. His beautiful, deep brown eyes held so much emotion, so many feelings that he wanted to unlock.
Mycroft continued his deductions. Greg seemed keen enough to accompany him to the art exhibition, however this could either be a genuine wish to spend time with him, or merely because John had told him to. What else? Well Greg had clearly made an effort, firstly with the perfume of course and secondly, he was wearing a much nicer shirt than Mycroft had ever seen on him before. It was a perfect fit and Greg looked incredible...

Greg meanwhile was toying with an idea. To ask, or not to ask? The question was spring-loaded and potentially dangerous but he yearned to ask it, to possibly inspire an idea which could unfold into greater things. He supposed it was safe enough to ask, though. Surely it was a question which came up in most people's conversations? He took a deep, steadying breath and said:
"So, uhh Mycroft... Have you ever... You know, been married or anything?"
Mycroft nearly dropped his spoon.
"...No?" He frowned at Greg inquisitively.
"Just wondering, that's all... I was married. Divorced now though. Unpleasant business..."
"Well... I'm very sorry to hear that." Mycroft gave Greg the most concerned, caring face he could muster whilst internally he was almost explosive with joy. Unmarried! Excellent.
Except for one thing. He had been married to a woman. That was decidedly less excellent.
"Things just didn't work out... I became so disinterested in her..." Greg, quite unsuccessfully, attempted to subtly put across the message to Mycroft. "So what about you, Mr Holmes? Seeing anyone?" Greg bit his lip cautiously - he wasn't quite sure if he was in his place to ask this.
"Well. No. Lady Smallwood seems interested but I am certainly not interested in her."
Greg merely nodded at this. It was impossible - neither man could fathom how to reveal himself to the other, for neither realised that the other was in fact in the same position.
The evening came to a close fairly shortly after that. Mycroft payed the bill despite Greg's best efforts to offer to do it himself. However he did make sure to leave a generous tip for the waiter - something which caught the attention of Mycroft, who had strong idea regarding manners and etiquette.
As a final attempt to unlock him, Mycroft offered to accompany Greg home in a taxi, however neither spoke throughout the entire journey. Both were deep in thought, contemplating the strange events of the evening.
They pulled up outside Greg's flat, and Mycroft left the vehicle as well to say Goodnight. It was a lovely, cool night - clear skies speckled with billions of silver stars.
Again, Mycroft extended a gloved hand and the two exchanged yet another handshake.
And as they looked up into each other's eyes, it hit them like a bus.
And suddenly, they both knew.

A/N: Hey readers! So... Looooonng chapter... I promise our lovely Mystrade is getting somewhere - it's kinda painful for me to have to not write them as an established couple, but I think for the moment I'm going to have to stick with this kind of back and forth stuff until they know each other a little better... Hope you enjoyed xx