Breaking the ice {Mystrade}

Chapter 22 - Breaking The Ice

As the two of them looked over the illuminated streets of London, from a Ferris wheel, Mycroft leaned into his partner for warmth. Observing the business of the capital and the colour which flooded its streets, Christmas lights glowing from every corner. It was loud down below - traffic and music; shouts from the rides; people. People meeting and parting, people on first dates, people reunited with loved ones. Busy in their own perfect bubbles, Mycroft remarked.
Up here it was different. Quiet and peaceful, a place above the humdrum of the general public. Here Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade were together, and nothing could take them apart.
"D'you think we can see your house from up here, Myc?" Greg smiled at the auburn, and gave him a gentle squeeze with his arm.
"Our house, Gregory..." Mycroft corrected him tenderly. "And... possibly? Is that it, over there?" He gestured towards a brightly lit up street.
"So it is! Can see half of London up here, love...".
"Perhaps half of London can see us?" Mycroft whispered.
"So what if they can? If I would, I'd tell half of London: 'here's my boyfriend, Mycroft Holmes, and I love him ever so much'." Greg grinned at Mycroft's raised eyebrows.
"Well that was quite frankly the soppiest and most... lovely? Thing I think you've ever said to me, darling..."
"True though. Every word - and I'd shout it in the streets if I could!"
"I'm touched - but-." Mycroft struggled to hold in his laughter. "-please don't!"
"And why ever not?"
"Because... it would take away the chance to do it from me!" Mycroft smirked.
"Oh come here, you!" Greg pulled him into a warm hug, which Mycroft caved blissfully into.

Having come to a halt, the pair departed from the wheel, Mycroft holding onto Greg to steady himself. He had never dealt well with either heights or spinning motions. Even as a boy, the roundabout at the park wasn't his favourite piece of equipment, which certainly wasn't helped by Sherlock strapping him onto one and attaching a litre-bottle of mento-fuelled diet-coke to the side as part of an 'experiment'. Nevertheless, he'd agreed to go on the Ferris wheel with his Gregory - after all, no better view of London could be found, and it was a good enough excuse for a hug at the top.
"Where next honey? God those Bratwursts smell good..." Greg closed his eyes and breathed in the smells of the Christmas market. Mycroft knew that all the stalls had ways of accelerating their aromas in order to sell their goods, but this fact he kept to himself, not wishing to disturb the pleasant reaction which they brought to his boyfriend.
"Fancy a sausage then, Gregory?" He winked, to which Greg replied with great enthusiasm - there was something rather magical about a Christmas market hotdog.
Mycroft paid for the food at the small ticket booth, whilst Gregory stood in line to receive the two hot dogs. Just as Mycroft went to join Greg, a voice announced from behind them:
"It's rude to cut in line, you know." Greg span around to give the person a piece of his mind, yet was met by the smiling faces of none other than Sherlock and John!
"John! Sherlock! Good to see you both." Greg gave each man a hug, whilst Mycroft settled for a handshake.
"Good to see you both too! And it looks like Rosie's glad to see you." John smiled down at his daughter, who was laughing in delight at her Uncles.
"Brother." Sherlock nodded curtly to Mycroft.
"Good evening, Sherlock. Dr Watson, I am glad you appear in good health." He leaned over to greet Rosie. "And hello Rosie darling! How excellent to see you this fine evening!"
Rosie smiled toothily back at the funny man.
Sherlock flares at his brother, his eyes darting about as they always did, mid-deduction.
"Stop it." Mycroft admonished - he hoped to avoid any trouble his brother might cause before it began.
"No." Sherlock leaned in close. "Have you deduced it yet?" He whispered.
"What are you going on about?" Mycroft whispered back, aggravated.
"Interesting. Well, I'm afraid you'll have to cancel our early-morning tea-meeting with mother tomorrow. I'm certain you'll be... busy."
Sherlock stepped back, enjoying the confusion and mild frustration which he had left Mycroft with.
Sausages collected, the four wandered towards the ice rink, deciding upon a spin around the ice once the hot dogs had been eaten.
Spinning again, Mycroft thought. Oh joy.

***

Mycroft was wobbly getting into his shoes, wobbly standing up in his shoes, wobbly getting onto the ice, and even wobblier once both feet were planted on it. He had to clutch onto the side to prevent himself from falling, as his legs flailed about on the ice beneath him. Then, from behind, a pair of strong arms steadied him. Greg offered his arm, which Mycroft took.
Together they shuffled around the rink, taking in the coolness of the air and the bright strings of bulbs which decorated the sides. As they glided along, Mycroft sunk into a kind of meditative trance, enthralled by the closeness of himself and Greg and the steadiness which the other man brought him. The ice below was cold, yet Greg brought warmth. Each moment he felt like he might slip, Greg held him up. If they became lost amongst the other skaters, Greg directed him through the crowds. And in that moment, he remarked how the surface of the rink has begun to thaw - indeed, a watery puddle had carpeted the top layer of the ice throughout their time spent upon it. The ice was beginning to melt. And Mycroft knew it would not re-freeze.

***

Bursting through the front door, they spent little time locking up or throwing coats off as the two of them embraced through the hall, empassioned by the romance of the evening and the cool of the night.
All up the stairs, each fumbled with the clothes of the other, a hand here. A kiss on the cheek. A kiss on the neck.
It was only once Mycroft was thrown back onto their bed that a shot of icy dread pierced through him.
"What's up, honey?" Greg asked immediately, positioning himself next to Mycroft. He ran a hand through his auburn hair.
"I... I don't know." Mycroft frowned, chest lifting up and down from their previous fervour.
"Are you afraid? We don't have to do this, my love?" Greg looked into his eyes with earnest.
"No. No, I want to - I just... I love you ever so much. I love you with all my heart and I cannot bear the thought of doing you an injustice."
"An injustice? Oh my darling! You could never do me wrong. I love you. I love you unconditionally, and I love every part of you, every inch."
"You're a beautiful man, Gregory Lestrade." Mycroft whispered.
"All the more beautiful for knowing you." Greg replied, not sure if he was making sense anymore.
"I... I wanted to apologise for something." Mycroft faltered.
"Right now?"
"Yes. The first time you called, I asked you not to waste my 'bloody time'. That was awfully rude, and I am awfully sorry."
Greg grinned.
"That all? Well... how about I show you a time not wasted?" He leaned in closer.
And at that moment, the ice shattered.
And the iceman melted into his Detective Inspector.

A/N:
Well, hello.

So, here I am again. It's 2019 and the last time I published a chapter of this was August 2017. My apologies for that - but I believe you all know me well enough by now to not be too surprised.

It has been an utter pleasure writing these two - a ship which has taken me on a journey, one which has shaped the way I write and the stories which I want to pursue. For that reason, leaving my dear Mycroft and Gregory will be incredibly hard. Yet I must apologise, my dear readers, that for now this chapter is over. As with our much-loved Television-Show, I shall not shut a door upon a sequel, and yet I must admit I have no plans for one at present.

My readers, thank you. Thank you on so many levels: for your ongoing support, your joy, your love. Reading your comments brings me happiness beyond measure, and I am eternally sorry that I do not always reply (a matter which is due to personal reasons I shall not disclose).
Thank you for reading my story.

Ellie x