Mystrade - The Call - from The Personal Journal of Mycroft Holmes

Chapter 5

        Forgive him? I lost myself in his eyes for a moment. He mistook my silence for hesitation.

        "Mycroft, I took you for granted. I guess I just assumed that, no matter what, you'd always be there. And that's the stupidest thing. Because you're -you're you. I mean, I know you're not out shoppin' 'round or anything, but God - who wouldn't be in awe of you?" Before I could even consider replying, he continued. "Do you remember when we met?"  His hands were trembling again. My failure to reply quickly to his plea for forgiveness made him excitable.

        "I do."

        "You were trying to be all mysterious. Sending a car to take me to your office."

        "Perhaps a slight power complex," I admitted.

        Greg leaned in and kissed the back of my hand. Smiling, he continued. "I'd heard of ya', but didn't know what was true and what wasn't. And, of course, I knew Sherlock. But, when I walked into your office, and you started talking and trying to manipulate me, I got sucked in. It was your eyes. You act important. Well, you are important. But, your eyes give you away. Every emotion that you won't talk about. Everything you worry about. Everything that hurts you or makes you happy. You can keep a straight, proper face all day, Mycroft, but your eyes - they show your hand. People think you're cold, but you're actually the opposite."

        I stopped him talking by placing two fingers against his lips. He wanted me to forgive him. I suppose I already had. This moment was a perfect example of why I had spent every night of the last year thinking - or dreaming -about him. Whenever I tried to be angry with him, he said or did something that made me want to be with him until my dying day. I ran my fingers through his hair, starting at his forehead and landing at his crown. "So, what do my eyes show now, Inspector?"

        He leaned in again, this time kissing my neck slowly, from chin to collarbone. Maybe Heaven wasn't the ridiculous fantasy I believed it to be. This could undoubtedly be Heaven. Greg was, at least, my own version of it. Then, speaking incredibly slowly and quietly, he offered, "That you are a damn beautiful man who couldn't actually be angry with me if his life depended on it."

        "Perhaps you do have the gift of deduction, after all," I quipped. "You're forgiven, Greg, but we still have a lot to talk about."

        "Right. You're right." The more relaxed he was, the more distinct his Estuary accent became.
"All the years you were away from your wife, and one night- one hour's experience - just one bloody phone call - drew you back. I need to know it won't happen again. I can't invest in this if-"

        He interrupted me. "It won't happen again, Mycroft. I don't know why I did that. I promise..."

        "Greg, you did it because you and your wife have survived on toxic codependency since you met. It's quite a simple psychological diagnosis."

        "Mycroft, don't do that."

        "Do what?"

        "Explain. I'm more than happy to accept the fact that I'll always pour my heart out to you, and you'll say something sort of pleasant in return. And you can tell me how to do my job all you want. And you can prove time and again how much more brilliant you are than me. But don't explain me to me. Not anymore."

        Is that what I did? Did I treat him that way? Is that how he saw me?

        "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I spent a year hurting you, and now I'm criticizing you."

        "Greg," I began, "if I have ever treated you in such a manner, I am truly and deeply - sorry." It may have been the first and only sincere apology I'd ever spoken in my life. I suppose I could be arrogant from time to time, but I certainly never intended to make Greg feel lesser.