I am not lonely [Mystrade]

CHAPTER 79 : A detective in the living room

Mycroft was sat in one of the living room's couch, his legs stretch before him, a French novel by Jean-Paul Sartre in his hand and a cup of tea on the nearby coffee table, the warmth of the fire burning a meter away cooling up his feet. He was feeling comfortable like he haven't felt for the entire week and was looking rather forward to the weekend to come. His son was playing on the carpet with a couple of stuffed animal, apparently making them live very elaborate and dangerous adventure.
Gregory was still upstairs, taking a shower after his day at work. He had been forced to interview a suspect for one of his case and the man had vomit all over his shirt before he even had said a word. It certainly wasn't the first time that the detective was pucked on like this, it actually happened pretty much on a daily basis or so, but it always made him very upset, especially when like for this one, it happened at 10 in the morning and he had to carry on for the rest of the day stinking vomit and with a stained shirt. Every time it happened, Mycroft had to repress his laughter, not willing to put his partner in an even worst mood, but finding it incredibly funny, not unlike every member of the DI's team. The auburn knew that if it was to happen to him he would probably find it as annoying as his husband, but from the outside it look as funny as seeing someone fall down on his bum in the street when you are a kid.
The inspector joined his son and boyfriend a few minutes later, wearing only his pyjamas bottoms and wrapped tightly in a navy nightgown. He settled himself down on the couch beside the official and placed his head on the tall man's lap, his feet on the armrest. The elder Holmes looked down to his lover face, putting his book away for a while, and smiled to him tenderly. He could smell the discreet scent of shampoo and the one, strongest, of his partner's aftershave. He ran gently his fingers on the man's cheek, earning himself a little moan of ease, before going back to his book.
Greg slowly closed his eyes, not sleeping, just fully relaxed, the warmth of the fire and of his husband's body comforting him. He grabbed Mycroft's cup of tea on the coffee table and drank a couple of long sips from it, making the auburn cursed him in mid-voice and provoking his own laugh. All the soreness of the day were now long forgotten and even the perspective of a new week to go, mainly occupied by paperwork as always, couldn't upset the policeman. When he had joined the force, he always had thought that his duty would be to arrest, interview and collect proofs, maybe even to patrol, but actually most of his time was now occupied by paperwork and if it wasn't for the excitement he always felt when discovering a new case and for the joy of finally closing a case after having caught the culprit, he probably would have left the police for a job with less officialdom. Still, he was now nearly 51 and had less than 10 years still to serve before being able to retire, even just 4 if he fancy it and it was clearly too late to think about reconverting into something else. He occasionally wondered what he would do once retiring. Sometime he got the feeling that it would be great to be able to take sometime for himself, maybe to get back a little more into sport and all that and he started to fancy taking his retirement as quick as possible but most of the time he would just wonder what he would be doing all day by his own in this big house, his son still being at school and Mycroft nowhere near of letting his job go probably and then he thought that he would probably just ask to work as long as possible.
The detective was still thinking about his work when they heard the doorbell ringing. Due to the state of his partner's outfit, the auburn carefully moved the other man's head and raised to his feet, wondering who could possibly come ringing at his door, especially at this time in the evening. He made his way to the corridor while Greg was stretching his neck, trying to have a sight of what was happening there. The elder Holmes was reaching the door when he heard the bell ringing a second time, giving away instantly the identity of the man behind it.
"Brother dear. What brings you here ?" the official asked, his voice emotionless, while opening the front door.
"Courtesy visit ?" retorted the other one, a naïve look on his face.
"Sherlock." his elder scolded him, not amused. "You'd better have a very good reason to interrupt my evening."
"Interrupting ?" smiled the younger Holmes. "Did I nearly catch you in a compromising position ? I knew I should have use my own key better than trying to be polite."
"What I was to do is none of your business Sherlock." replied the auburn, sighing of exhaustion. "Now, give me the reason of your visit or go away."
"Right. You weren't in compromising position but was indeed planning to be at one point of the evening." nodded the consulting detective. "But I'm not here to care about your arse, brother mine."
"Really ? It actually looks to me like you are here only for that since I've opened this door." remarked Mycroft.
"No. Actually I'm here to see your ... better half, if you would let me in." explained the young man.
"And what business do you want with him exactly ?" questioned the auburn, still not letting his brother in.
"I said it was a business with Lestrade, not with you." grumbled the detective, trying to force his way in.
"And this is my house and I've got the right to know what people are doing under my roof." replied his brother using the same tone.
"And if I say you it's about one of his case, would you let me in ?" retorted the younger Holmes, annoyed.
"Is it about one of his case ?" asked the official.
"I've told you it was !" roared the consulting detective.
"No you've asked me a question." replied his elder, apparently enjoying the situation now that he was leading the game.
"You are doing this just to piss me off aren't you ?" bletched out Sherlock.
"I may." smiled the auburn, finally letting his brother in and leading him to the living room.
Greg had sat done properly on the couch and tightened a little more the nightgown around his body when he had heard his name coming in the conversation, understanding the young man was coming for him. Sherlock entered the room behind his brother and approached the policeman while Mycroft was grabbing his son and bringing him upstairs to take a bath, letting his partner and his brother on their own.
"Good evening Graham." nodded the consulting detective with a monotone voice.
"It's Greg." sighed the yarder, wondering why he was still correcting him after all those years of mispronouncing.
Actually the situation in which they were at this exact moment, him, half undress and the younger man in his long coat and blue scarf in this living room late in the evening reminded him from another scene that had happened three years ago.
The inspector had been dating Mycroft for a few months and had already moved in with him. He had been relaxing in the living room, watching Doctor Who on television while his partner was taking a well-earned hot shower after an awful day at work. The only difference with today was that the younger Holmes wasn't expecting at all that the yarder would be sitting around in his brother's living room, and certainly not only in a nightgown, not to mention one of Mycroft's nightgown. He had entered the house with his own key, not bothering to knock and as he had seen some light in the living room, had deduced that his brother was in there, even if the sound of the television broadcasting anything else than the news shall have make him more careful. Without caring, the consulting detective had entered the living room, already starting to expose his theory about a case his brother had asked him to investigate when he had noticed that the man sitting on the couch was certainly not the official, but no one else than Detective-Inspector Lestrade from New Scotland Yard.
Greg remembered Sherlock stopping his exposé right in the middle of a sentence, his jaw hanging in surprise, the unstoppable man for once cut silence by the situation he was probably expecting the less. That his brother had a proclivity for men was no surprise for him, even if Mycroft had never been willing to talk about this kind of thing with him, neither does he would have wanted to, and that he may have a fondness on the policeman was something he was partially aware of but that he finally had let himself go was certainly nothing he would have expected. He was aware that his brother was doing probably all he could to repress any kind of feelings, especially something as trivial as love, and he had no doubt that he had succeeded quite well for all these years and he had no reason to believe he would have fallen for another human being at any time in his life.
The yarder had had the feeling that he could actually see the thought going through the consulting detective mind and if he hadn't been a little frighten by the reaction that the younger man could have got, he probably would have smiled or even laughed at the face the black-haired had been pulling at this exact moment.
The fact of his brother being physically attracted to someone was something that Sherlock could conceived but the fact of him apparently settling down with his lover was really something he could understand. That would have meant that the auburn who was always complaining that he, Sherlock, was slow was able to tolerate being surrounded by one of those people he himself would call goldfishes. Even if admitting that Mycroft could let his heart sometime run his life, which was already highly unlikely, the fact of him hanging around an inferior mind and apparently liking that, the new items in the room and the framed picture of the inspector proving that Mycroft was planning on him staying, was really unthinkable for him.
Sherlock had been standing there for at least five minutes, steady and not talking, his eyes fixed on the policeman, thoughts running through his brain, when his elder brother entered the room, unaware of what was happening. Greg saw him stop suddenly on the door step, in shock, a clear glimpse of panic passing through his eyes, before taking a deep breath and approaching from his brother.
"Sherlock, how can I help you ?" he had asked, gently.
The younger man had finally turned to him, looking at him as if it was the first time he was seeing him before finally coming back to his mind, at least partially.
"Mycroft." he had started, looking rather unsure if it was really his brother standing in front of him. "What is Geoff doing in your house ?"
"I think he was watching television, apparently." had replied the other man, trying to look less embarrass than he was feeling, not for his brother, actually he couldn't care less about what Sherlock was thinking of his relationship, but more because he didn't wanted his partner to think he was ashamed of him.
"But why in your living room ? Why wrapped in your nightgown ?" had continued the consulting detective, starting to come back to who he really was.
"Sherlock, I believe you haven't come here to talk about Gregory so please, let's go in my office and let him watch his program peacefully." Mycroft had retorted, grabbing his younger brother's arm and directing him out of the room before smiling an apologetic smile to his partner and disappearing in the corridor.
"Are you sleeping with him ? Are you living with him ?" Greg had heard asking the consulting detective in the corridor.
"My private life and the inhabitant of my house are none of your concern brother mine, but as you ask, I suppose you had got no problem to deduce that the answer to both of this question may most probably be yes." the official had answered before entering his study and closing the door behind him, not allowing the inspector to hear more of the conversation.