Breaking the ice {Mystrade}

Chapter Seventeen - A Winter's Tale

It was just past 11 o'clock at night when Mycroft found himself opening his front door to his partner, freezing cold and soaked by the rain.
It was hammering it down, lashing against the windows and creating a large river in his front garden. Ripples of thunder shook house, rattling the window panes, and very so often, lighting lit up the sky. Mycroft hoped it hadn't struck any of his precious oak trees...
He welcomed Greg in, offering him a towel as he dripped across the floor tiles.
"What a night! Police chase through Brixton." Greg complained, hanging his sodden jacket on the coat stand.
"Oh lord... you're okay?" He motioned Greg into the kitchen and flicked the switch on the kettle. A decent cup of tea was in order on a night like this.
"Half-drowned, but yes, I suppose." He smiled, taking up the hot cup in his hands. "Where'd you learn to make tea like this?"
"When you're given the job to make tea for the Queen, trust me, you learn very quickly." 
"Since when have you had to make tea for the Queen?!"
"Ever heard of a Summer internship?"
"Surely not at Buckingham Palace?!"
"I say internship... more of a thing that her majesty wanted, so it happened. I was sixteen years old, a prominent member of the various societies which my school held. As soon as the opportunity arose, I sought to be the selected one. Highest grades, outstanding contribution et cetera. Little did I know I'd be pouring tea for her Majesty all Summer and having to answer questions about 'the youth of the day."
Greg frowned from behind his china teacup.
"And you didn't make all of that up?"
"I am a man of many secrets, Gregory. As is the Queen... Shall we take this to the living room?"
"Well... I could do with getting dry first."
"You go up then. Fancy some brownies?"
"Do you have time to make them? Or is this another thing you acquired from your time spent with the Queen?"
"Erm... Betty Crocker box-mix, dear."

                           ***
Once the "home-made" Chocolate Fudge Brownies by Betty Crocker™ were in the oven, Mycroft set about kindling the fire in his comfortable sitting room. He nearly dropped a few matches, jumping out of his skin at the violent crashes of Thunder. Once or twice, the windows shook with such force, he feared they'd shatter. He liked storms, but preferred them from a distance: he'd tried the age-old trick of counting between thunder and lighting, and it appeared the storm was directly above his house.
The logs of wood took kindly to the flames, fortunately very dry from sitting unused. From about November onwards, his fire always came into much more frequent use.
He sat down for a minute or two, warm and content in the softness of the leather, and the familiar crackling of the glowing coals.
Then the fire alarm went off.

                                ***
"Stop burning the house down!" Greg called from upstairs, wearing only his underwear and batting at the alarm with a bath towel.
"It's the brownies... they're... erm... 'caramelised'."
"Burnt."
"Caramelised. They'll be chewy. Put some clothes on."
Mycroft rushed to the kitchen to rescue what he could of the brownies. About a third was salvageable, the rest... perhaps could come in useful some day as emergency charcoal. What remained, he chopped into squares (smaller than he would've liked) and arranged them on a willow pattern plate.
"Could dip them in something I s'pose." Greg surprised Mycroft from behind with a side-hug. "They're not too badly burnt." He said, looking at the plate in his boyfriend's hand.
"These are the ones I thought were okay..."
"Oh... how about I make some hot chocolate to dip them in? They'll soften up a bit." He opened the fridge and found the milk in the side door. "Do you ever buy groceries Myc?" he wondered, seeing the cold, white emptiness of the fridge.
"I like ordering groceries in. I just keep forgetting to do it."
"No, you're forgetting to eat. Let's go to Waitrose on the weekend and we'll get some stuff in."
"Too many people."
"Come on honey, it's Waitrose - it shouldn't be too busy."
"On a Saturday?"
"How about Thursday? Look, you haven't even got bread. All you have is tea-making supplies and biscuits!"
"Fine."
"See? This is an improvement!" Greg grinned. He poured the chocolate into two cups.
"I've barely done anything!" The auburn protested.
"You've accepted the fact that you cannot live on tea alone. I think that at least deserves a kiss?"
"Couldn't possibly argue with that."
Their lips met, sweet and gentle, but with a steadiness formed by their familiarity with the other. As Mycroft's eyes fluttered open again, he caught the eye of his lover. These were the moments he lived for - loving, strong. The earlier months were love-struck daydreams, but somehow, every day, it seemed more real.
"Would you read to me, honey? I want to listen to your voice." Greg picked up his cup.
"Why?"
"Because it's beautiful. Fact. Also, it's a dark stormy night and I've been through the wringer this evening."
"Lord of The Rings?"
"The Hobbit? Your living room looks like Bag End, atmospherically it makes sense!"
"Atmospherically it makes sense. Never heard that one before." Mycroft laughed, taking his leather-bound, gilded copy of Tolkien's novel from the shelf.
Mycroft sat himself in the corner of the sofa, next to a shaded lamp, his feet tucked to the side. Greg leaned his head on his shoulder, occasionally sipping his hot chocolate and nibbling at his caramelised brownie.
"The Hobbit or There and Back Again, A Hobbit's Tale, by J.R.R. Tolkien.
In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell. Nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole, with nothing to sit down on, or to eat. It was a Hobbit hole and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door, like a porthole..."
Greg smiled to himself as he listened to his partner's voice, perfectly capturing the beauty of Tolkien's words. He found himself lost in the story, half-dozing as the dwarves arrived and sang 'Far Over Misty Mountains Cold'. Mycroft attempted to sing the songs, but gave up after the second or third verse - after all, 'That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates' didn't lend itself very tunefully in the first place.
By chapter three, Greg was beginning to nod off, and by chapter four he was flat-out cold on Mycroft's shoulder.
Mycroft closed the book gently and placed it beside him on the coffee table. He planted a soft kiss on Greg's forehead and smiled to himself. He was so adorable in his sleep...
"I'm the luckiest man on this damned planet." He said aloud to himself, shifting a little so his numb foot moved from under Greg's legs.
Soon he too fell asleep, wrapped in thoughts of how wonderful things were, and how wonderful he wanted their future to be.

A/N: 🎶🎵 CELEBRATE GOOD TIMES COME ON (DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO) IT'S A CELEBRATION 🎵🎶
I did it!! I actually wrote and published another chapter in one day! Things are looking good, my friends. Things are looking very good ;-)
Btw, despite the fact that it seems like there's some weird chocolate brownie product placement for money or something in this chapter, it's not. I just love Box-mix brownies. #noooooooshaaaaaaameeee
Hope you liked this chapter! Love to you all xxx