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holmestice2021-06-17 04:45 pm
holmesticemods) wrote in holmestice2021-06-17 04:45 pm
Entry tags:
Treat for fridaythegowerstreetcat: The Thought Of Settling
Title: The Thought Of Settling
Recipient:fridaythegowerstreetcat
Author: REDACTED
Verse: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairings: Mycroft Holmes & Anthea’ background Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade and mentions Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Summary: Mycroft was asked if he wanted to move in with Greg and he thinks about it in Anthea’s company.
Author’s Notes: Hi! I’m your original author, who had to drop out because of RL issues that just got too overwhelming. This isn’t the story I started for you; it’s a Mystrade case fic with Anthea and the homeless network that just got away from me. When I get it a little more roped in I’ll post it and gift it to you. But I got some time and I figured I’d write you a little treat. It’s not much, but I hope you enjoy it!
This was a First, with a capital F. He didn’t want to ask his brother for advice; though John Watson had domesticated Sherlock many years earlier, it wasn’t the same thing. Sherlock had had dalliances with others. This was his own very first relationship...ever. As a child and teenager, the extra weight he carried had been offputting to members of either sex, and as he grew and lost that extra weight he realized he had little interest in relationships with men and far less interest in relationships with women...and good old Thatcher had made sure being out as a homosexual publicly would lead to a virtual stoning, especially for a government worker.
Power came with the higher positions in government, and position came to the Ice Man easily, but at a cost.
Even after Section 28 was battered into the ground by activists and more modern thinking lawmakers in 2003, he’d secured enough power at the cost of any relationships aside from his friendship with Anthea, and there was no point in showing the world his sexual preference, should he have had the urgings. She was the only one he trusted because she had given him no reason not to. She had helped him, and nights unwinding in his office with a tumbler of good scotch, her heels kicked off and on the floor and his necktie loosened, had provided him with all the companionship he had thought he needed.
So she would be the one he turned to with his...conundrum.
She accepted her glass of scotch and kicked off her heels, the red-painted bottoms of her Louibitons a stark contrast to his dungeon-like office. “He asked you to move in with him,” she said.
Mycroft nodded. “We’ve been in a relationship for three years now. I’ve managed to get past the initial distaste of sharing my sleeping quarters. But to share my whole home?”
“I thought he wanted you to move in with him,” Anthea said, pointing at her boss and friend with the glass of scotch.
Mycroft scoffed. “He has a nice bachelor pad. I have a place we can be safe.”
“And safety is a priority, especially with his daughter still being young.”
“How did you know he was pursuing custody of Danielle?”
“You have me spying on your brother from time to time still. Ever since he and Watson got together, he’s more tolerable, acts more normal. I sometimes eavesdrop on his conversations with Greg just to make sure things are running smoothly between them.”
“Are you checking up on my boyfriend?” Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not at all,” she said smoothly. A small lie, but it warmed his heart that she cared. He took a sip of his scotch and leaned back in his chair. He knew from Lestrade’s files, files he had personally vetted before he suggested he accept Sherlock as a consultant, that he had been in the queer punk scene before he got roped into the Narcotics division of Scotland Yard or go to jail for peddling dope. There were sketchy details about his proclivities, but it had been a fair assumption he was bisexual and kept his attraction to men hidden.
Mycroft had been totally prepared to blackmail Lestrade with that information, but on their first face-to-face meeting under a bridge on a rainy day, Lestrade offered him a cigarette and essentially swept him off his feet without even knowing. Mycroft had not understood the feeling of love at first sight, had scoffed at it really, but it was lust at first look and love at first laugh and Lestrade had had no clue whatsoever.
It had been almost painful to have weekly meetings with Lestrade, to hear his woes with his wife. But he had gone, sharing Chinese or Thai and a few cigarettes and more conversation about their personal lives than the work Lestrade did with Sherlock. He started to look forward to those meetings. In fact, his mood would always be considerably brighter when he’d seen Lestrade, and then he’d go home to a cold shower and erotic images flashing through his mind. He’d been a boy in boarding school and had his young experiences with buggering, but he had the feeling with Lestrade it would have been tender, caring. Loving.
It wasn’t until after Sherlock faked his death that his world flipped upside down when Lestrade suggested dinner on a night outside of their meeting. He wasn’t wearing his wedding band, that was a very obvious sign that the evening would be different. There had been serious conversations about Sherlock (his lover was smart and had figured out it was all faked...he didn’t want to know the how or the why, just that Sherlock was safe), serious conversations about love and lust and trust and heavy drinking. Perhaps that was why they had fallen into bed together and he had been proven right that Lestrade was quite the considerate lover.
And now, three years later, he wanted to take the next step. Danielle was a preteen, she understood all about how her father was bisexual and his boyfriend was not a replacement for her mother but someone her father had fancied for a long time and waited for. And Mycroft actually found Danielle to be a good child, very different from him or his brother. He liked her.
So if they were going to do this, damn straight they’d live with him where it was safe. If anything happened to them he didn’t know what he’d do.
He set his drink down but Anthea spoke before he could. “You look like you’ve made a decision. Should I pick up Danielle and have her redecorate the Blue Room?”
“You know her tastes well. That has the view of the yard.” He picked up his drink again. “How did you ever get to read me so well?”
“Because I’m your friend,” she said with a soft smile, knocking back the rest of her scotch and them picking up her heels and slipping them back on. “Call him. Tell him that tomorrow he gets to start packing up his flat.”
“And tonight he gets to stay in our bed.” He knew it wasn’t the alcohol that was warming his chest; it was the feeling that he was settling, and that was good. He wouldn’t be the Ice Man anymore; he’d be Mycroft Holmes, boyfriend of Greg Lestrade, maybe husband of Greg Lestrade in the future, and that was all he wanted in life now.
Recipient:
fridaythegowerstreetcatAuthor: REDACTED
Verse: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairings: Mycroft Holmes & Anthea’ background Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade and mentions Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Summary: Mycroft was asked if he wanted to move in with Greg and he thinks about it in Anthea’s company.
Author’s Notes: Hi! I’m your original author, who had to drop out because of RL issues that just got too overwhelming. This isn’t the story I started for you; it’s a Mystrade case fic with Anthea and the homeless network that just got away from me. When I get it a little more roped in I’ll post it and gift it to you. But I got some time and I figured I’d write you a little treat. It’s not much, but I hope you enjoy it!
This was a First, with a capital F. He didn’t want to ask his brother for advice; though John Watson had domesticated Sherlock many years earlier, it wasn’t the same thing. Sherlock had had dalliances with others. This was his own very first relationship...ever. As a child and teenager, the extra weight he carried had been offputting to members of either sex, and as he grew and lost that extra weight he realized he had little interest in relationships with men and far less interest in relationships with women...and good old Thatcher had made sure being out as a homosexual publicly would lead to a virtual stoning, especially for a government worker.
Power came with the higher positions in government, and position came to the Ice Man easily, but at a cost.
Even after Section 28 was battered into the ground by activists and more modern thinking lawmakers in 2003, he’d secured enough power at the cost of any relationships aside from his friendship with Anthea, and there was no point in showing the world his sexual preference, should he have had the urgings. She was the only one he trusted because she had given him no reason not to. She had helped him, and nights unwinding in his office with a tumbler of good scotch, her heels kicked off and on the floor and his necktie loosened, had provided him with all the companionship he had thought he needed.
So she would be the one he turned to with his...conundrum.
She accepted her glass of scotch and kicked off her heels, the red-painted bottoms of her Louibitons a stark contrast to his dungeon-like office. “He asked you to move in with him,” she said.
Mycroft nodded. “We’ve been in a relationship for three years now. I’ve managed to get past the initial distaste of sharing my sleeping quarters. But to share my whole home?”
“I thought he wanted you to move in with him,” Anthea said, pointing at her boss and friend with the glass of scotch.
Mycroft scoffed. “He has a nice bachelor pad. I have a place we can be safe.”
“And safety is a priority, especially with his daughter still being young.”
“How did you know he was pursuing custody of Danielle?”
“You have me spying on your brother from time to time still. Ever since he and Watson got together, he’s more tolerable, acts more normal. I sometimes eavesdrop on his conversations with Greg just to make sure things are running smoothly between them.”
“Are you checking up on my boyfriend?” Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not at all,” she said smoothly. A small lie, but it warmed his heart that she cared. He took a sip of his scotch and leaned back in his chair. He knew from Lestrade’s files, files he had personally vetted before he suggested he accept Sherlock as a consultant, that he had been in the queer punk scene before he got roped into the Narcotics division of Scotland Yard or go to jail for peddling dope. There were sketchy details about his proclivities, but it had been a fair assumption he was bisexual and kept his attraction to men hidden.
Mycroft had been totally prepared to blackmail Lestrade with that information, but on their first face-to-face meeting under a bridge on a rainy day, Lestrade offered him a cigarette and essentially swept him off his feet without even knowing. Mycroft had not understood the feeling of love at first sight, had scoffed at it really, but it was lust at first look and love at first laugh and Lestrade had had no clue whatsoever.
It had been almost painful to have weekly meetings with Lestrade, to hear his woes with his wife. But he had gone, sharing Chinese or Thai and a few cigarettes and more conversation about their personal lives than the work Lestrade did with Sherlock. He started to look forward to those meetings. In fact, his mood would always be considerably brighter when he’d seen Lestrade, and then he’d go home to a cold shower and erotic images flashing through his mind. He’d been a boy in boarding school and had his young experiences with buggering, but he had the feeling with Lestrade it would have been tender, caring. Loving.
It wasn’t until after Sherlock faked his death that his world flipped upside down when Lestrade suggested dinner on a night outside of their meeting. He wasn’t wearing his wedding band, that was a very obvious sign that the evening would be different. There had been serious conversations about Sherlock (his lover was smart and had figured out it was all faked...he didn’t want to know the how or the why, just that Sherlock was safe), serious conversations about love and lust and trust and heavy drinking. Perhaps that was why they had fallen into bed together and he had been proven right that Lestrade was quite the considerate lover.
And now, three years later, he wanted to take the next step. Danielle was a preteen, she understood all about how her father was bisexual and his boyfriend was not a replacement for her mother but someone her father had fancied for a long time and waited for. And Mycroft actually found Danielle to be a good child, very different from him or his brother. He liked her.
So if they were going to do this, damn straight they’d live with him where it was safe. If anything happened to them he didn’t know what he’d do.
He set his drink down but Anthea spoke before he could. “You look like you’ve made a decision. Should I pick up Danielle and have her redecorate the Blue Room?”
“You know her tastes well. That has the view of the yard.” He picked up his drink again. “How did you ever get to read me so well?”
“Because I’m your friend,” she said with a soft smile, knocking back the rest of her scotch and them picking up her heels and slipping them back on. “Call him. Tell him that tomorrow he gets to start packing up his flat.”
“And tonight he gets to stay in our bed.” He knew it wasn’t the alcohol that was warming his chest; it was the feeling that he was settling, and that was good. He wouldn’t be the Ice Man anymore; he’d be Mycroft Holmes, boyfriend of Greg Lestrade, maybe husband of Greg Lestrade in the future, and that was all he wanted in life now.
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