Late Love

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/55737601.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandoms: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Relationship: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Anthea
(Sherlock), Original Male Character(s), Lady Smallwood (Sherlock)
Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Kidnapping, Post-Episode: s02e03 The
Reichenbach Fall, Inspired by Poetry, Suicidal Thoughts, Post-
Season/Series 04, Family, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-05-07 Completed: 2024-06-19 Words: 74,175 Chapters:
20/20
 Late Love
by fabricdragon, SpeculativeCorvid

Summary

How dull the lot that are not in love.

Their clothes shabby, their skin lustreless;
how clueless they are, hair a mess; how they trudge
up and down streets in the rain,
remembering one kiss in a dark alley,
a touch in a changing-room, if lucky, a lovely wait
for the phone to ring, maybe, baby.
The past with its rush of velvet, its secret hush
already miles away, dimming now, in the late day.

Late Love, by Jackie May, 2005

Omega Mycroft Holmes and Alpha Gregory Lestrade would never admit their (mutual)
attraction- Greg was married, Mycroft all but married to his work. Now many years of
working together later and they finally meet for dinner…
 Those evening when the light sang/In eyes hands hearts and
goblets
Chapter Summary

And I know that of my footsteps nothing will remain

But a trace a cluster a drop
To recall along the paths I’ve chosen

Wine, by Pierre Martory, 1961

Mycroft Holmes... was tired.

He was so so very, very tired.

He'd spent the majority of the day in back-to-back meetings, ending with an utterly miserable
three-hour-long interrogation where he was forced to defend and explain his reasoning
behind making a decision that was well within the realm of his authority. That was the third
meeting in as many months where he had been questioned, his logic and insight doubted...

He had never been doubted in such a manner before. His fellow Ultra Clearance had always
considered his word to be factual, his plans to be as close to perfect as they could be. His
reputation had been strong, his record nearly perfect (barring a few incidents that could, quite
literally, not have been predicted). And then...

Then he'd started to become fallible.

He'd started to crack, to show his age, things slipping through that never should have slipped
at all.

His brother. Moriarty. Magnussen, Eurus, Norbury…

And then the people around him began to doubt.

His reputation had taken hit after hit over the years, dwindling now to a point where he knew
he was in danger. He was sent to attend meetings, conferences, to provide insight in person-
the sort of travel that would have been beneath him before. Now he was questioned, asked if
he was sure- who were his sources, what led him to a certain conclusion...

And he was so very, very tired.

It was all leading up to the inevitable- eventually, it would be decided he was more trouble
than he was worth, and he would be removed. He did not kid himself that he might be
allowed to peacefully retire; frankly, he wasn't quite sure what 'peaceful retirement' might
even mean to someone like him, but he certainly would not allow that fate to come any faster
than it already was. The paths his life could take were finite, and he had tracked them all in
the late evenings and the early hours of the day as he lay alone in his bed, following each to
its inevitable conclusion.

Though he accepted what lay at the end, he refused to hurry down any of those paths.

He continued to work, adding in small projects as he did. He finished the reorganisation of

his numerous bookshelves in an order that would show which tomes were more treasured. He
created numerous documents, both digital and physical, and stored them neatly in his various
filing systems. His PA- Anthea- would most certainly need them once she took his place. He
righted wrongs over the months; reevaluating the people who worked beneath him and fixing
several positions that needed minor adjustments to run more smoothly, ensuring his personal
affairs were in order, and arranging for the promotion of a particular Detective Inspector to
Chief Detective Inspector. He should have never allowed the man to be demoted from his
position as DI back to Detective, but things had been quite rocky, and... it was the best choice
to make, at the time.

He ensured his personal affairs were in order, as few as they were, and began to work to fulfil
promises given- it would simply not do to break his word, even though most would forgive
him regarding the reason why.

One such promise had been made to that same particular Detective Inspector; a shared... joke,
almost, between the pair over the many years they'd been acquainted.

And so it was after he took another dose of his medications- one for his head, the other to
bolster his suppressants before such a meeting- that he decided to ring DCI Gregory Lestrade.

After all, he had once promised the man dinner- owed him it, even- and he had no intentions
of leaving any promises to be broken.

+++

Chief Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was exhausted, and worn out physically and
mentally.

It had been an absolutely horrible few weeks as they dealt with what eventually turned out to
be both a serial killer and a domestic murderer (a husband killing his wife and trying to make
it look like the serial killer did it). Sherlock helped- sort of- in the sense that he managed to
coax a few clues out of the crime scenes that would otherwise have been missed, but right
now the police force was mostly not doing well and dealing with Sherlock was well past their
limits; even the more subdued Sherlock post-Eurus

The force wasn't doing well because almost everyone was out sick, trying to work while sick,
in recovery from being sick, or taking care of sick family… The only people who weren't
sick at all? were Greg and the handful of Alpha's or Omegas on the force (mostly Alphas)
and of course Sherlock Holmes- being an Alpha- was also highly resistant to most illnesses.
Which meant that Chief Detective Inspector that he was? He was back out in the field filling
in for all the sick fellows.

Doctor Watson couldn't even come with Sherlock to keep him in check because, with half of
the medical clinic out sick? He was working overtime...

Once again Greg wondered if John wasn’t an Alpha that got missed somehow, but it didn't
matter: what mattered was that he was a doctor, and he wasn't sick, so he was working.

They had arrested the serial killer yesterday, and the husband- copycat- today, and he wanted
nothing more than to go home to his empty flat and fall down, but he had gotten an invitation
to dinner from the one person he would put off that appointment with his bed for: Mycroft
Holmes.

+++

“Chief Detective Inspector,” Mycroft greeted the man warmly- or as warmly as he could be
described as greeting someone. In truth, DCI Gregory Lestrade was one of the few people he
did feel a sort of… warm admiration for. The Alpha had many admirable traits not found in
many people at all anymore, it seemed, regardless of their secondary sex. He was protective
and fiercely loyal, as evidenced by his guilt and grief after his brother’s supposed ‘death’ and
everything else the man had done before and after it. He was remarkably quick-witted and
had a sense of humour that was, to Mycroft, actually humorous. He very much reminded
Mycroft of a character straight from older movies, a sort of classic rugged elegance to his
appearance and his mannerisms.

There was something deeper, as well, resting below the surface. A young man who loved his
classic rock n’ roll, smoked when he knew he shouldn’t, pushed boundaries and buttons as
much as he could without ever crossing the line. The last had almost gotten the man fired or
demoted more than once- a dogged insistence of some fact or case that he refused to let up
on.

He was… admirable.

Mycroft would never dare admit such a thing- god no- but he would, at least, think it. It was
one of the many reasons why he’d entrusted his brother’s long-term care and wellbeing to the
man, and… well, more than one night he’d laid in bed and been quite weak, wondering how
it might feel to have the protective nature and loyalty projected towards him.

Utterly ridiculous thoughts, of course. Doubly so because DCI Lestrade was, last he knew,
married (albeit unhappily to a Beta woman who repeatedly filled their empty marriage bed
with others), and was attending sessions with yet another marriage counsellor. That had been
more than seven months ago, however, but… so much had occupied his time and… he tried
to dig as little as possible into the man’s personal life. That level of respect was deserved, at
least, at this point in their working relationship.

“Apologies for such short notice- I found myself with a remarkably clear schedule this
evening and newly-found determination to fulfil past promises made. I believe you stated I
owed you a proper dinner- and,” a wry, faint smile, “-I believe you will note it is not in a
warehouse and there were no unmarked vehicles involved.”

He’d chosen a restaurant that would hopefully not unsettle the man, being on the lower end
of the scale of places he normally ate at. DCI Lestrade looked like he felt- tired, the man’s
salt and pepper hair leaning more towards salt than pepper, but… there was still that bright
twinkle in his eyes that made it obvious that it was stress that had aged him so quickly, and
not time.

--

Greg always loved Mycroft's sense of humour. It was buried deep, but very dry and... it
always made him smile.

"Really? You didn't just have a warehouse redecorated to look like a restaurant?" Greg teased
back. The poor man looked... exhausted, not that it was a shock after everything. "I had
assumed you just told all the secret agents to pretend to be patrons... and obviously a few of
them snuck in their wives or girlfriends..." He couldn't stop the grin, even though he tried for
a straight face.

He enjoyed the appetiser- some fancy thing he couldn't even name- and watched Mycroft: his
hand had tremors that hadn't been there before, and he had lines on his face and circles under
his eyes...

"You... really need to take a vacation." Greg blurted out, and then tried to recover, "Of course
I could use one too: I doubt you have fond memories of a summer trip to Brighton though..."

--

“Good god, no,” He was entirely unaware- and completely incapable of stopping- the
involuntary wrinkling of his nose. “Ah… not to insult your choice of ideal vacation spots-”
Mycroft set down his fork, sipping at the singular glass of wine he’d allowed himself to have.
He had restrained, greatly, since Eurus- in truth, he strongly suspected that she had been
influencing him and pushing him further into the arms of his bad habits; a single glass,
however, during a dinner in which he was using as an excuse to relax? He would allow that,
at least. He most certainly deserved it after the day he’d had today.

“Unfortunately, any potential fond memories of summer beach vacations in Brighton were
thoroughly ruined by the fact that I tend to burn terribly in the summer sun. Especially so
being near or in the water.” And that was just one more piece of ammo that could be used
against the know-it-all fat boy, wasn’t it?

He refused to let any childhood memories ruin this one dinner, however. He wasn’t sure if
there would be many more meetings with the Chief Detective Inspector- the man insisted,
every time, on being called Gregory, but thankfully hadn’t pushed the point yet- and it was…
honestly, the most relaxed he had been in months.

“I tended to hide under the safety of beach umbrellas and copious amounts of sunscreen,
trying to keep an eye on my brother and make sure he didn’t drown himself or get swept out
to sea or something. I believe one summer he was quite set on fashioning a vessel of some
kind to try and sail- I can only assume that the fact that he couldn’t manage it is proof of
higher power existing and blessing me, in that moment.” He asked politely, “I imagine you,
though, must be the sort that never burns and only tans- perhaps you can take a vacation to
Brighton for us both.” He knew Gregory didn’t burn; he’d met with the man after a vacation
before and it had been… distracting. Terribly, utterly distracting.

He tried to focus on his appetiser, even as the waiter brought out their entrees and took their
empty plates.

--

I bet you would get adorable freckles… was the thought that crossed his mind before he
managed to censor it.

"You are correct- as always-" Greg commented after spending a bit too long trying to find a
way to say something without being too forward, "You have the kind of skin, though, that is
likely meant for those terribly artistic foggy moors, and a castle somewhere." He chuckled,
"Suits, I suppose: you being the poshy sort in the modern day castle- office- and me being the
equivalent of the hunts-master or the sheriff..." A memory suddenly popped to the surface
and he paused, fork halfway to his lips... "Huh... Sherlock called me sheriff- I think the
sheriff of Nottingham? once, way back in those early days when he was sobering up after...
well, after."

He shook his head and finished eating the bite of entree. "This is delicious, by the way."

--

“Is it? Excellent- I had hoped to uphold my promise, I’m glad it suits your distinguished
palette.” Another small, teasing smile- somehow, Gregory Lestrade managed to pull quite a
few of those from him. He had to imagine it came from the fact that the man was quite blunt
and honestly spoke his mind, which was utterly refreshing in a world where no one said what
they meant anymore.

“You know,” The memories- inspired by DCI Lestrade’s words- swirled into focus, pulled
from smoke and turned solid in his mind, “-Sherlock was once quite obsessed with Robin
Hood. He spent a fair number of summers declaring me the Sheriff of Nottingham and
threatening to shoot me with his bow.” That got another smile, a slightly broader one as he
recalled less complicated times. “It was a very poorly made thing; he couldn’t have managed
to shoot more than five feet with it, but I foolishly suggested he have Da take a look and see
if he could, perhaps, tinker with it…”

Mycroft sighed heavily, “As the one who was previously called the enemy of Robin Hood, I
should have made sure he did not try to aim his newly constructed bow at me. Unfortunately,
I did not think to emphasise that. In Sherlock’s defence, he was quite adamant he was aiming
behind me- he just had quite bad aim.”

--
Gregory's eyes widened, "He… hit... you with an arrow?" He blinked several times and then
slapped a hand over his face, "Forgive me," he said from behind his hand, "But I must be
more tired than I thought: I was about to ask if you were alright, and if I needed to call a
doctor... as if he hit you now..."

He tried to pull himself together, "Obviously you are alright now… I hope you were not too
badly hurt then?"

--

In truth, Mycroft wasn't entirely certain if he was alright now or not.

He certainly knew, at least, that he felt better now than he had before.

The logical part of him- the part he nearly always listened to- rather calmly and factually
explained that it was pheromones. Despite the chemical suppressants that blocked his heats
and made his own scent glands somewhat useless, his nose did not stop working (though his
sense of smell was dulled), and neither did the parts of his brain that picked up the scent and
pheromones of various Omegas, Betas, and Alphas he came into contact with. DCI Gregory
Lestrade was an Alpha, albeit one who did not fit the stereotypical profile of an Alpha, with a
Beta wife he could not Bond, and… he was an unbonded Omega. It was a natural physical
response to feel at ease around the man.

He breathed in, his brain sparking and throwing off signals and it did not recognise marriage
as a valid bond- it recognised a viable mate and it recognised that he was… very swiftly- if
not already past- what would be considered his ‘prime’, or the last likely chance he would
have to have a bond.

His brain recognised chemicals and pheromones. Mycroft recognised that odd scent of…
well, doughnuts, almost, the type that were left in the break rooms of offices. It was a shallow
smell, thick, dense pastry dough and papers and warm ink from printers, and he knew it was
half association from knowing Gregory Lestrade’s work. The other half came when he dove
deeper- flakey, buttery croissants with a hint of rich chocolate, the warm, light pastry of a tart
with the tang of a sweet fruit sauce…

He pulled himself away from his thoughts, knowing he’d been getting dangerously close to
slipping away for a time. That was a clear sign that he and Sherlock were brothers- while
Sherlock fell into his Mind Palace so much more often than he did, it did not mean he
couldn’t...

“Apologies- I was thinking back to that. I am, of course, fine now- I have a scar,” he reached
his hand, gesturing towards his shoulder- beneath the fabric of his jacket, his waistcoat, his
shirt, his undershirt, was a pale white ‘star’ shape on his shoulder. “And I imagine if it were
seen, I would be asked to tell the story of such a peculiarly shaped thing, but other than that,
I’m no worse for wear. It was, of course, utterly miserable at the time to have to sit and wait
for the doctor to trek out to the estate, but I think I fared better than Sherlock. Mummy made
him sit at the table and wouldn’t let him leave until he ate his entire dinner- it was some sort
of casserole we both despised.”
--

"I don’t like your parents." Greg blurted out, and then winced. "Ok, I am entirely too tired..."

He ate another bite of the delicious food, and braced himself- no point in lying to a Holmes,
but he owed the man an explanation. "My apologies for... saying it, but it’s true. Well, I don't
like your mother- I don't think I know your father very well, but your mother… did not do
well by either of you as a parent." He finally managed a polite statement.

"I wouldn't normally say anything so personal," he sighed, "But since I was... rude enough to
say it, I thought I owed you the explanation." He looked up, "You've been responsible for
Sherlock since he was a child, from everything I ever heard, and... that’s asking too much of
even a brilliant older brother."

He stuffed another forkful in his mouth before he could say anything else.

--

Mycroft blinked.

That was the sort of blunt honesty that was so unexpected and rare in his line of work- it
meant Gregory Lestrade had a sort of advantage of him that others didn’t; he had the ability
to surprise or stun Mycroft Holmes…

Mycroft blinked again, then cleared his throat before reaching for his wine. There was very
little left in the glass and he drained it, shaking his head as the sommelier gestured to pour
him more. “I… hm,” he considered his words carefully, “I… do not think you need… to
apologise for saying it. It could, perhaps, be seen as rude, but I think you’ve quite earned the
right to say what you will about my family. If I didn’t want you to do so, I should not have
involved you in any of our family matters,” Mycroft pointed out.

“Our parents… would likely have been much better off not having children, but I suspect
Mummy was either pressured by the Vernet line- that’s her side of things- and Da has always
been the sort to agree with her unless he had strong opinions otherwise. Children were
expected to carry on the family line, so children were created. I imagine they are pinning
their hopes on Sherlock procuring them another heir in some fashion, but they apparently
quite like young Rosamund Watson, so they may at least be satisfied with… subtle pushing
and prodding.” Mycroft frowned, “Neither of them were suited for raising children. I can
only imagine how my brother might have turned out had I not attempted the task myself.”

He sipped his water, thinking on his words…

“I… do not take offence to your words, Chief Detective Inspector- I find myself agreeing
with them. I don’t quite like my parents either, though the feeling is most assuredly mutual.”
He paused, then added, “I had not intended to ask, but since he has come up in conversation-”
Which he’d known would happen. Sherlock was the thing that connected them, really,
considering how rarely they’d spoken while the man was ‘dead’. “And I’m sure you do not
see him nearly as much considering your new position, but… how is my brother doing?”
--

Asking about his brother... both because he hasn't likely seen him much since that mess, and
because he's been all but the man's father...

"Well, I am glad you don't take offence, but it was still... not something I would have chosen
to bring up over a nice dinner: I'm just tired." He cleared his throat, "And the reason I am
tired is why I have seen your brother lately- and a bit more than I would otherwise."

Before Mycroft could do more than raise an eyebrow, Greg went on: "You see there's been a
nasty bug going around- you probably get reports or something- but it’s been pretty bad
among the officers, so a lot of the desk set have been having to go back to field work to pick
up the slack."

He lowered his voice, "As... I am certain you are aware... Well, Alphas- and Omegas for that
matter- tend to have stronger immunity, so..."

He shrugged as he got back to the point, "So we had a serial killer- technically, he hadn't
gotten as far as he might have- and a copycat trying to hide the murder of his wife. Sherlock
helped, and I was out in the field because so many folks were ill."

And it suddenly hit him that Mycroft hadn’t known that, and even when Sherlock wasn't
talking to him he always knew what Sherlock was up to?

"Ah... I know you can’t tell me much, but I assume... you've been busy- busier than usual?"

--

A very small, primal part of him wanted to tell the protective, loyal, nice-smelling Alpha
about all his problems and then let him take care of it.

He carefully nudged that poor, sad little creature aside so he could focus on enjoying dinner.
That was the problem with instincts- no amount of training or tutoring or drugs could truly
remove them. “I have been quite busy,” Mycroft admitted, “Things have been changing, and I
unfortunately have not been able to check in as often as I’d normally like.”

He’d been… somewhat forbidden, actually.

The small, weird ‘quirk’ that people had forgiven before of him using government resources,
agents, time, and his power to look over his brother had been stripped from him.

His logic was questioned, he was attacked from all fronts and forced to defend himself in the
most ridiculous political displays- he was no longer afforded the privilege of watching over
his brother that he’d once been allowed. No one had said as much out loud, god no, but it was
obvious- the raised eyebrows, the murmurs…

“I had heard something was going around, but I suppose I’ve been quite lucky to avoid it,”
He started, “I do hope it clears up so you get more of a break.” Sherlock had helped on a
case- good. Worry over his brother had plagued him, the stress eating at him. He could never
just… go to Baker Street and see for himself, no, his brother would posture and spit and flair
his feathers and tell him nothing. He’d tried, once, after a few weeks had passed after Eurus’
death.

He had not returned since. Sherlock had made it painfully clear that his presence was not
tolerated.

“Chief Detective Inspector-” Mycroft paused, then carefully corrected himself, “Gregory,
if… I may. I would ask a favour of you, one that is… unrelated to your work, and more
related to your friendship with my brother. Sherlock is-” His lips pinched together, his nerves
shining through the carefully crafted shields he wore daily, “I worry about him. Terribly. I
would not insult you by asking you the same thing I did years ago,” I could never ask you to
spy on him. You were fiercely protective of him even then, not knowing anything that would
come.

“I have been quite busy at work as I am preparing to leave the position I currently hold. I am
not sure if that will be this year or the next, but it is unlikely that I will be able to watch my
brother as much as I did before. I have not been able to spare the time now to do much more
than check in on him, and I imagine it’s quite obvious I haven't managed to do even that in a
good while. I would ask a favour of you, to please keep an eye on him and to be there for him
when I am not able to do so myself.”

--

Greg's immediate thought was, He's retiring? Good for him! and then... he quietly started
being concerned. Mycroft was young to retire, and from his limited exposure to the level of
things that Mycroft usually dealt with? 'Retired' was often a euphemism...

"I have always, and will always, keep as much of an eye on Sherlock as he permits..."
Gregory tried to choose his words carefully, "Just as he asked me to... keep an eye on you
after... that incident."

Gregory didn't want to say it, but he was now starting to worry very much about Mycroft
Holmes. Suicide was a very real risk in police officers, whether of the more obvious methods,
or the 'accidents' in the course of duty, and he had seen more than a few police officers
'fulfilling obligations' and tidying up affairs when they either expected to be forced out of the
force, or take themselves out of life. He said he was fulfilling past promises...

"Mycroft- if I may..." he put it forward carefully, "You sound as though you expect things to
get worse, not better, and... I would hope you would let me help keep that from happening."

--

He couldn't help the faint smile that slipped past his carefully maintained persona of being
quite cool and collected. That slight ray of protection and loyalty being cast over him...

"Oh, they most certainly will get worse, of course, before they begin to get any better. There
are so many messes to clean up that have been left for far too long... and of course, I've had to
figure out how to condense the information I simply know into something that can be left
behind for my replacement. I will be recommending Anthea as she is the most suitable, but I
imagine you know how difficult it can be to convince a group of people with conflicting
opinions to agree on anything."

They were offered a dessert menu and... while he would normally decline, he did request one
of the rather delicious chocolate turnovers- and of course, he ensured that DCI Lestrade
would get something as well. He always was weak for a bit of pastry after talking with the
man, and... truthfully, he recognised that there was not much worthwhile about keeping up his
normally strict diet.

--

Gregory's worry went into overdrive when he saw the man order a pastry, and dig into it
without concern. He didn't want to say anything- God knows the man should enjoy a dessert
every now and then!

But in this case, on top of everything else? It implied... a lack of concern about his diet that...
was worrisome, rather than good.

He made mental notes to talk to Sherlock and... get this all fixed.

...all too soon they were going back to the car, and Mycroft... gave Greg's old address through
the intercom.

"Ah... no." Greg put his hand out and kept the button pressed. "Sorry, that's my old address."
He gave the new one and let the communication close.

"You have been busy," Greg tried to smile, "But... the divorce- and our son going off to
university- meant we sold the house. I'm staying in a flat that's convenient to the office."

--

Mycroft blinked.

That was twice in one night, twice during the same meal even, that he'd been surprised by the
man. Perhaps it was proof of how tired he'd been lately, how little restful sleep he had...

He leaned back, "I... apologies. I clearly have shown that I have not been able to keep myself
as up-to-date on things as I once had been able. I do hope... ah-" What do you say to someone
who has finally divorced the horrible woman who kept them chained to a marriage dead and
dying? The words fumbled in his mouth and eventually what came out was, "Well, she
certainly did not deserve you, and I am certain you will find someone, should you wish, that
would treat you with the admiration and respect you so rightfully deserve."

Of course, then he was stuck- thinking- about... Gregory Lestrade, a... very much available
Alpha, one with an alluring smell-

Mentally, he picked that small, sad little creature up and locked it in a box and locked the box
in a larger box. What utterly appalling and uncivilised behaviour. The man just ended a
rather serious, long-term relationship!
--

Greg, not for the first time, wished that Mycroft Holmes showed any signs of being available.

He was trying to find a way to ask: 'do you know anyone, oh, just like you but... available?'
when he started smelling the oddest smell... It was an almost medicinal scent... He looked at
Mycroft to ask and saw Mycroft with his nose wrinkled up- which looked absolutely
adorable-

...

Lord Holmes had called him in, and was asking him to go find his brother- who had gone
running off over the moors with that local Scottish boy…

--

Mycroft had just enough time to be concerned as the fog overtook his mind, a single worry
that he'd done something horrible by inviting DCI Lestrade to dinner...

And then he was out.

He woke- or... well, drugs to knock him out had never quite worked as expected on him; a
mix of Omega hardiness and the unfortunate side-effect of being naturally ginger- and it
was... so utterly confusing...

His mind couldn't spin fast enough to understand what was being said; another language, and
he focused on trying to move his fingers, his toes, to get some movement in general back as
he memorised what was being said, the tones, the different parties involved--

And then someone barked something and he was jabbed with a needle and he was... floating
in darkness again…
 The fruit is in flames upon the vine
Chapter Summary

For wine cannot quench the land lit on fire;

Only rain quells the pain of those parched by desire.

The Land of Fire And Wine, by Michael Walker, 2017(?)

When Mycroft woke next, he was in pain.

His wrists were scraped raw, his shoulders screaming at him from how roughly they'd been
pulled behind his back. Cold, rough metal kept his hands in that painful position and his head
was pounding, a headache heading into migraine territory. The cold, hard concrete beneath
him was a solace for his pounding head but the dryness of his mouth was unbearable, his
tongue sticking to the rough of his mouth. He was sore, like he'd been dropped or rolled
down ten flights of stairs and--

Mycroft managed to roll away from where he'd been lying as the nausea hit him and he was
glad that the only thing that managed to come up was watery bile- he had no desire to lose
the calories from what may have been his last meal so quickly...

Status report, quickly-

Nothing broken. Bruising, scrapes. Nausea- the knockout gas... an additional sedative
administered later, so they planned to keep me unconscious for some time.

Foreign language- He scraped over the fragments of memory that he had, blurred by fog...
Russian? Talk of securing the target, me-

He'd been lying with his eyes closed, trying to fight off the waves that alternated between
pounding at his skull or trying to get him to lose his dinner, when he realised something he'd
missed--

DCI Lestrade!

His eyes shot open, taking in the space. A small room, ten, twelve feet wide, equally deep. A
single door, metal, no windows. There were two panels- one higher, one lower, likely for
delivering food or for looking in. The lights were bright, flush to the ceiling fluorescents that
burned his eyes when he looked at them, the wall, ceiling, and floor the same plain grey
colour... chipped paint... a rather disgusting-looking cot in the corner.

A cell, then, and he was alive. Unfortunately, that was... the worse option, if the other had
been death.
And there- restrained in a similar manner, was DCI Lestrade, laying motionless...

Fuck!

Gritting his teeth he managed to move into a sitting position, ducking his head from the harsh
lighting.

And this is why I never asked the poor man to dinner.

--

Greg always had vivid- hallucinatory- dreams under anaesthesia: his dreams in normal sleep
were usually more... bits and pieces of the day, memories and ordinary things.

He dreamed of Mycroft Holmes as some sort of Scottish Lord...

He dreamed of himself as Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca…

There was a truly... utterly... bizarre dream where some overdone Russian- cartoon like-
morphed slowly into a... sort of film where he was... in a cell? Or a prison? And Sherlock
Holmes was telling him to wake up and take care of his brother...

And then he actually did wake up. Enough that he realised he was waking up from drugs-
anaesthesia or... Mycroft? Dinner… car? And his arms were pulled behind his back...
handcuffs: the heavier ones that an Alpha had to work to break, but they used the same lock
mechanism.

He very carefully opened one eye just a crack, to see Mycroft Holmes sort of hunched over
near the wall in... what was an appallingly bright room.

Greg very carefully groaned in a 'might be waking up' fashion, and shifted position, before
'falling back into unconsciousness': but he'd extracted one of the many handcuff keys he
carried, and moved enough to allow him to unlock a cuff…

--

Mycroft kept his eyes closed to try and keep the nausea from overwhelming him as he
thought, his mind whirling and sprinting and spitting out hundreds of options and paths to
choose from, each with its own unique ending. Some paths led to happy endings- where they
both survived. That was… quite a small selection, though. The majority ended up with the
death of one or both of them, and that was… unfortunate.

Gregory Lestrade made a noise- he cracked open his eyes, looking at the man…

He’d moved and… A very practised attempt at playing dead. Excellent. There were worse
people he could have done this to- Gregory, much to the poor man’s detriment, was probably
one of the better options.

“There are no cameras, or microphones that I can tell. The cell was prepared solely for one
occupant that they expected little to no resistance from, or that they expected to be able to
control,” it was an effort to keep his voice calm and steady. “They’re Russian. We may be out
of the country- I was dosed twice and I suspect they dosed you a second time as well.
Something to knock us out in the car, another to keep us asleep.”

He cleared his throat, wishing he had some water to drink.

“I… apologise. Deeply- I had not… I had no inkling that this would occur, or I would not
have invited you to dinner.” And now, more than half our paths lead to you- or both of us, at
least- dying here. “I know it is likely to be very little reassurance, but I have gone through
dozens- possibly hundreds- of training scenarios and simulations in preparation for a case
like this. I will do everything I can in my power to ensure that you leave here alive,
Gregory…”

--

Greg had figured it was Mycroft's business, not his, but it sounded worse than he thought.
Russian? That might explain the weird dream about cartoon Russians...

"Well," he spoke quietly, because voices carried when you didn't want them to, "These are
heavy restraints but I had a handcuff key..." And then there were noises at the door and Greg
let his eyes close to just barely seeing through his lashes, and started breathing exercises... It
wasn't the first time he'd done this, but this was playing in new leagues.

The door opened and it was a good thing- a very good thing- that he was practised at this
because the first man in was a Beta, but the second man stank of Alpha.

It was considered very rude for an Alpha to not at least make some attempt to subdue their
scent, since they tended to intimidate people if they didn't: this man smelled like he had just
come from a heavy workout, and not showered, or... well, he stank.

--

Mycroft made no attempt to pretend he wasn’t awake. He was, of course, incredibly

impressed with DCI Lestrade’s acting skills and his forethought to carry around multiple
handcuff keys (and it was very telling that they had not been stripped of their personal
belongings, other than their phones)- but there were much more important things to focus on
now.

The Beta was armed- the Alpha was not, but… he didn’t need to be. He was large, with dark
hair and eyes, a neatly maintained beard and various patterns of dark ink coming down his
arms and hands. Gang tattoos, some with historical and cultural significance… Like most
Alphas, he was built rather sturdily, but it was obvious that he took pride and care in his
appearance, and…

Oh yes, definitely spends quite a bit of time in the gym…

It was a common myth that there were such things as ‘soulmates’ or that an Alpha with an
appealing scent would be a better mate than one with a worse scent. The truth of it all was
that some people were more genetically ‘aligned’ with you than others. They would have a
better chance at producing healthy children, though that was a fact of the past. A good smell
did not mean a good person, or a good mate… You could be very happy with someone who
did not smell as appealing as someone else, because part of that came down to having a
choice and freedom that was not offered decades ago.

This Alpha smelled… not unpleasant- truthfully, he could see the appeal of his scent, if it
weren’t so overwhelming and if the lights weren’t burning his eyes…

Pine forests. Rich, old-growth woods with a thick bedding of pine needles and mosses
underfoot. A mist or fog on a cool morning that would fade as it got warmer, towering trees
that offered strength and protection…

The smell of pine was… overwhelming, though. His nose wrinkled up involuntarily and the
Alpha grinned as they both approached him- the Beta kept a close eye on Gregory…

“{Mycroft Holmes},” The Alpha spoke, his voice deep and rich and that was Russian-
specifically, he could recognize an accent and pinpoint it to the southernmost tip of Adygea
Republic… “{A pleasure to finally meet you}.”

“{I don’t think I’ve made your acquaintance before},” He politely replied, “{May I request
the name of my host?}”

The Alpha laughed, “{Very polite! They said you would be. And you speak well, too.
Excellent. My English is not the best},” he knelt, lifting a hand and resting it on Mycroft’s
head, patting like you would a pet.

It made his skin crawl unpleasantly.

“{My name is Shabalin Yakov. My friends call me Yasha- you may call me that too},” He
smiled, his teeth a little too sharp and white for comfort, “{But first, I would like to know
about your friend. He was an accident.}”

His mind raced.

Possessive, friendly. ‘They told me you would be polite’- working with someone who knows
me.

His words had to be chosen very carefully. The wrong choice could end with Gregory being
killed…

“{Alpha Yasha},” He nodded politely, adding the honorific that was normally dropped. It was
obvious the man took pride in his status as an Alpha, and that, at least, could be manipulated.
They wanted him alive, likely for information…

He had told Gregory he would do his best to get him out of here alive. The truth behind that-
the thing he hadn’t said- was that most of his training stressed a very important thing.
Mycroft Holmes could never give up information on the country, could never be turned
against them. The secrets and knowledge he held would need to die with him- he could
never, ever be allowed to speak.
His training covered knowing when to attempt escape… and when to ensure his death so his
information did not fall into the wrong hands.

He made his choice quickly, “{He is a high-priority target, like me. He is also my friend- a
Beta. I will cooperate more if you do not hurt him.}”

Yasha considered, turning his head to look at Gregory- still giving a reasonable attempt at
playing dead before he spoke to the Beta, instructing him to get a room prepared for the man
once they left. “{He is not important to us},” The Alpha dropped his hand, reaching into his
pocket. “{But if you are good, he will not be hurt. Otherwise,},” He pulled out his hand,
neatly uncapping an injector and grabbed Mycroft’s jaw, twisting his head to the side with
strength that couldn’t be fought against.

He held still- the needle was in his neck before he could try to fight and he had no desire to
cause more damage by moving… and the injector was plunged…

The Alpha forced him to look at him in the eyes- dark, predator’s eyes. “{You are not my
type, Omega, but we will see if that changes}.” Mycroft’s heart sank, the blood draining from
his face as the man smiled, “{I will see you in an hour, little flower. Be good}.”

He barely noticed as the pair of them left, the Alpha giving orders regarding the cell needed
for their ‘new Beta’- his head was swimming, his vision blurred, and it was only years and
years of practice that kept him from falling into a panic attack.

As it was? Things were worse- much worse- than he’d calculated. He’d never considered…

And that tiny, poor little creature that he’d locked up in a box, in another box- started to
scratch, already wanting to be let out.

--

Greg recognized Russian, but only understood a few words. He did understand that Mycroft
had identified him as a Beta, and the (obvious) Alpha as an Alpha… but the Alpha said
something about an Omega?

Did they think Mycroft was an Alpha they could… suborn with an Omega?

They gave Mycroft a shot, and left...

As soon as the door closed he was on his feet, and over to unlock Mycroft's hands.

"If they think you're an Alpha like your brother, that explains the restraints..."

--

“Yes,” Mycroft absently confirmed- incorrectly- while he fought through the fog that
threatened to cover his mind entirely. His wrists hurt, his shoulders burned… he rubbed at the
raw skin of his wrists as he thought, “Ah- apologies, I was…”
He was trying very, very hard to remain cool, calm, collected. Like ice- the frozen glacier that
changed the landscape around it, impervious to all…

It was very hard. He couldn’t yet feel the effects of what they’d given him, but he knew what
it was, or what it had to be. Omega.

They knew, somehow. Someone he knew, someone close to him, had planned this. They
planned for him to be taken, had talked about him, spilled secrets he thought he kept so
tightly clenched to his chest…

His hands shook and he had to lean back against the wall to keep himself from collapsing.
Chief Detective Inspector must be given priority.

“I was… yes- well,” he straightened, looking the man in the eyes, concern evident in warm
brown and he could almost feel that poor little thing inside of him trying harder to escape. He
clamped extra locks on that box and sat on it, steadfast in his refusals to acknowledge
anything. “We have one hour, at most, before they return. I estimate that allows us forty
minutes to attempt to get you as far from here as possible- unfortunately, I suspect I will start
to become a liability after thirty, so we shall need to move quickly. Are you alright? They did
not hurt you?”

--

"I’m fine," Greg assured him, trying to help rub some sensation back into his arms and help
his shoulders.

"An hour before they come back for me? I don't speak Russian well but I thought I heard a lot
about a Beta and a room... I figure they'll come back to get me out before... whatever they
gave you takes effect."

He hesitated, "Hopefully it's just Betas that come to get me since they think I'm a Beta- not
like anyone could smell me over that guy."

He looked grimly at Mycroft, "I… assume we need to plan to use lethal force..."

--

“You… speak Russian? That wasn’t in your file-” Now isn’t the time, he chided himself,
“Right- of course. It’s likely there will only be Betas here- he will be the only Alpha.” Your
Alpha, and he felt another wave of nausea start to overwhelm him…

Several deep breaths helped him push through it.

“They had not intended on taking you. Unfortunately, you were… there, and they were not
sure if you were a high value target. I assured them that you were, that you were a Beta, and
that I would be more cooperative if they did not harm you. I… may have said we were
friendly- I believe that doing so will allow you more protection, should we not manage to get
you away. Yasha-” he corrected himself, “The Alpha stated that they would not harm you as
long as I was… cooperative. Lethal force is…”
Mycroft paused and took another carefully measured breath, “Chief Detective Inspector-
unless they return rather shortly to attempt to take you elsewhere, it is unlikely I will be able
to assist you past a certain point. I would like to try and get you out of here before they
return…”

Every time he tried to think, he kept getting stopped by a measure of panic, fear- I don’t want
to be here. I don’t want this-

It took increasing effort to smother that as he headed towards the singular door, looking it
over carefully. It was, unfortunately, terribly sturdy and tightly shut- locked from the other
side.

“They do not think I am an Alpha. They will only be expecting any resistance from you, so I
suspect we can overwhelm them. Lethal force will be required. If at any point we are
separated, it is of the utmost importance that you focus on getting yourself as far from here as
possible. You have a child waiting for you who would be very upset to lose their father- I
request that you focus on getting back to them and to not spend any time lingering on noble
ideals.”

--

Right, still suicidal, at least passively.

"My son," Gregory said firmly, even as he went back to his position and put his hands behind
his back again, "Would be very sad to lose me, so you are going to do your damndest to keep
up. Besides I don't speak Russian, I understand some important words and phrases and can
ask if they need a medic or an interpreter."

He gave Mycroft a firm look before playing at 'groggily waking up', "You speak Russian,
which means I need you to get out of here, remember that."

And then the door opened to a couple of… soldiers? He feigned a hungover dazed look,
which he was very practised at. "Wrr? Wha?..."

And then they were hauling him like a sack of potatoes, and he pulled the sidearm from one
of their holsters, even as Mycroft moved…
 Spellbound
Chapter Summary

The night is darkening round me,

The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.

Spellbound, by Emily Brontë, 1837

Mycroft was remembering why he disliked good people. You could at least count on a bad
person to be bad- a good person like Gregory Lestrade tended to stubbornly stick to their
moral code, and he was damnably right about needing a Russian translator…

Their guards- two of them, more than enough for a Beta who had been drugged and a docile
Omega- came in and Gregory let himself be manhandled and used his momentum to get a
hold on one of their guns…

He lunged and managed to get one of them to the ground- they hadn’t expected an attack and
had been turned away from him- by knocking him off balance. Mycroft put his defensive
training to use, using his weight and that hidden strength he didn’t look capable of having to
keep the man pinned while Gregory brought down the other.

He stripped the one he held down of his gun, speaking calmly even as he used their cuffs
against them. “{Where are we being held?}”

The Beta said some very unflattering things about him…

Mycroft would not describe himself as a cruel man, but he was a man who acted out of
necessity. The Beta did not seem inclined to talk and they didn’t have time to play nice- there
was a knife sheathed on the man’s belt and he pulled it free and promptly drove it into Beta’s
thigh, making him scream out. “{I will repeat myself. Where are we being held?}”

That got him answers.

--

Greg flinched, but got it under control fast enough: he was having odd flashbacks to his
undercover days, having to stand by while people did various unsavoury things... and earlier
than that when he was still playing sports, before he'd found out he was an Alpha and most
sports were forever off the table...
"We... need to get out of here." Greg said, finally, "I have no idea what you asked or he said,
but I hope it was useful... we... could probably shove the rest of them in here if it's a small
enough team?"

He was trying to remind himself that he had to shoot to kill- hard enough to remember to use
an actual firearm these days, but...

He put an arm around Mycroft to support him because he... looked very ill and unsteady (for
Mycroft) and as proof of how unwell he was he leaned on him briefly before starting to pull
away.

"Hey, lean on me..." Greg spoke quietly, "First of all, if they want you alive they will hesitate
to shoot, and secondly... you want them to think you are more incapacitated than you are,
right? If I see anyone I'll be 'barely standing' and holding you up, right?"

--

He did not want to lean on Gregory. His nose was starting to become more sensitive- he was
certain of it. He could smell the iron in the Beta’s blood, the man’s faint scent clinging to
Mycroft’s clothes, normally something that would never get past his mental filters. When he
was weak and leaned against the man, he could feel the warmth that radiated from his skin,
the hidden strength that wasn’t brought out until needed because DCI Lestrade was so much
more than pure brawn.

He made sure they gathered the soldier’s weapons, a knife on each and an accompanying
pistol, but…

Mycroft stood suddenly and his head swam for a moment before settling.

“We… cannot wait for them to return here. We must make a break for it now.” How long had
it been? His mental clock had luckily not broken- twenty-two minutes to get off this base, if
I’m being generous. Thirty-two until I have to insist he leave me behind.

“We are on a decommissioned air base outside of Novoselki- a small village, thankfully not
too far into the country. If we get to a vehicle, we can attempt to make our way elsewhere
and… possibly call for assistance, but… we cannot stay here- it… Yasha-” His hands felt
clammy, his chest warm, and he ended up leaning against the man. “Gregory, if we are here,
he will be able to find us.” Me. He’ll be able to find me.

“It will be cold right now- you will want to find a larger town, where they might… speak
English. I will give you a number to call… and the code phrases…”

--

"I'll take the phone number and code phrases- just in case-" Greg said firmly, "But we are
both getting out of here."

He had the oddest memory of helping one of the other young men off the rugby field after an
injury... The smoke of bonfires in the distance, thinking about the hot chocolate he would
have when he got home: he could almost smell it. He took a deep breath and they went out,
closing and locking the door behind them.

"If we are going to get out of here... the base should have... outerwear, something like a coat
room? Those guards and the Alpha were not dressed to go outside."

Mycroft shot him a look of gratitude and... also looked like he was upset he didn't think of it.
"Yes, of course..."

"Mycroft, you've been drugged- repeatedly. Do you know what they gave you that last time?
Some kind of hypnotic or interrogation drug I would expect, but it can't be helping you think
straight..." And then he heard movement and they ducked into a room, hiding behind boxes
and papers...

Greg began wondering if they had a fire outside? Didn't soldiers often have fires, like some
officers did, in old metal barrels... because he was still getting whiffs of woodsmoke. "If we
have to, we start a fire, and add confusion that way..."

--

“Yes, I do.” He didn't elaborate.

Mycroft Holmes could see the future as well as any one man could. He could see the paths
each choice made, branching and branching into infinity- he was focused now on paths that
might get them out of here.

He was more focused on the paths that would get Gregory Lestrade out of here.

Thirty minutes until I am a liability. The clock was ticking- he could tell they were running
out of time based on how the Alpha’s nostrils flared, almost instinctive, the memory of a
smell tinkling his olfactory cortex, pheromones drifting…

Gregory Lestrade was, unfortunately, a good man. It would be difficult to get him to leave
anyone behind, regardless of whether or not that person was Mycroft Holmes.

If it became known he was an Omega? Well, take those odds and double them.

An in-heat Omega?

He would never leave.

Mycroft scraped at his mind for what information he had that would help- “They’re not
rushed, yet. Footsteps steady. A patrol, likely. Best to be avoided.”

A fire, though… That could cause confusion…

And mask my smell.

He was more grateful than he ever had been for his bad habits and for the egos of Alphas. He
hadn't been stripped of his belongings other than his phone, and the small field lighter he
carried- for those weak moments when he couldn't stop the temptation- caught the paper
easily, the dry things catching on fire with ease.

Before long- before they even had a chance to move out of the storage room- alarms were
blaring across the facility, all triggered by the singular alarm that had been activated by the
heat.

“A coat closet would be on the outer walls of the facility. Old Soviet bases like these nearly
all followed the same blueprints-” makes it easier for soldiers transferring locations… and
for escapees. “We… were in isolation. It’s likely our exit is ahead of us- on the opposite side
of the building.”

--

Greg made a point of kicking a few more flammable things toward the fire, and then he and
Mycroft set off again. This time they had to shoot another guard. Greg was grateful Mycroft
thought to get his equipment because... he didn't. Greg wasn't used to 'combat' like this: it had
been a long time since he was in anything like gang fights or mass fire- he was usually
investigating, or at worst facing off with a lone shooter.

Clearly he had forgotten just how horrible it was.

The smell of smoke was clinging to everything, and somehow he smelled something like
chocolate, and wondered if it was his memory playing tricks on him, a chemical that... just
smelled like chocolate, or someone's chocolate melting somewhere in the vents... people do
put things in the vents.

Mycroft moved and turned as though he knew the routes. Greg pulled him into a room one
more time to let a group of panicked men go by with fire extinguishers- running back toward
the fire.

Then they took off again. Mycroft still giving directions, but he was more clearly ill, panting
and out of breath from whatever they gave him, staggering occasionally and leaning on him
more and more.

They came out into a garage-like room, with vehicles, and gear- heavy overcoats, boots and
everything you could want...

Unfortunately the Alpha was there too.

--

He could smell the Alpha before he could see him. His stench was overpowering, even with
how close he was to Gregory. But that was adrenaline, sweat, the anticipation of a mate going
into heat…

It made his head spin and if he wasn't being supported, he would have fallen.

As it was, he was thanking any possible higher power for helping keep the other physical
symptoms at bay- logic and science told him that was adrenaline fighting against the heat
inducer. He was going into heat, but he was scared- terrified, even- and that confused his
biology just enough that even though he was starting to pant and feel warm, sweat rising on
the back of his neck, he at least hadn't had the worst symptoms start. The cramps, the slick,
the pain…

Yasha saw them and grinned with his too-white, too-sharp teeth. “{They said you were
clever, Omega. I should have expected this. How does it feel?}”

The Alpha took a step towards them and Mycroft willed himself to lift his arm and fire- he
physically couldn’t.

Yasha seemed to be able to sense his inability to act and the man puffed up, speaking in
broken English, “I can smell you, {little flower}. Come here.”

--

Greg heard the Alpha- Yasha?- and if he was interpreting the accent correctly he said
something about 'clever' and repeated 'Omega' but Greg didn't have time to try to translate
anything, because Mycroft was leaning heavily into him and... unfortunately... his right arm.
Whatever they'd given him he wasn't even able to fire the gun...

The order to 'come here’' was said with an Alpha push behind it, and... with Mycroft under
the influence of some hypnotic? Well, if he could have moved he would have, but instead he
just sagged more, almost falling except for Greg holding him up.

Greg looked over the Apha: very fit- no donut-eating desk cop there- and covered in tattoos…
Greg didn't know what they all meant but he recognized several: and if they meant what they
had meant twenty years ago when he was dealing with the Russian mob? Well... Alphas were
usually easy to provoke into being stupid...

"I don’t speak much Russian," Greg called in English, "But I recognize an-" and here he
switched to Russian insults that if he pronounced them correctly should set the man to pure
rage: "{-uncultured son of a whore who was only let out of jail to get on his knees for some
official}-"

Oh yeah, that did it.

--

Mycroft had a half-second where it almost seemed time stood still- the utter ridiculousness
that had come out of Chief Detective Inspector Lestrade’s mouth was… well, if he could
have laughed he would have. As it was, he managed a gasp and a laugh even as Gregory
shoved him out of the way.

A good thing, too, because even as he fell, the Russian Alpha was roaring, the large man
barreling towards Gregory with his hand clenched tight in fists, “{How fucking dare you-!}”
The larger Alpha shouted, and…
That was the worst thing that could have happened, and Mycroft knew it, even though the
logical part of his mind was bemoaning his fate.

Two Alphas, fighting, over him~! Every muffled instinct was scratching at the cages he kept
them in and he nearly doubled over from the overpowering, sudden rush of heat that arced
down his spine as fear was very nearly beaten out entirely by instinct and the chemically
induced heat…

Yasha snarled something- Mycroft had the vaguest idea it was… something about fucking
him over Gregory’s corpse, and that was enough to make him grasp the gun tight. He didn't
think he could shoot at the Alpha- his aim wouldn't be steady enough, too much of a risk to
hit Gregory…

But he could at least manage to get it into position to shoot himself- he hoped- if Yasha won.

--

Greg had shoved Mycroft aside because the Alpha did exactly what a pumped-up hot-headed
Alpha did when insulted by a Beta: he roared outrage- intending to overwhelm the Beta, or
even a lesser Alpha- before charging in to rip him limb from limb.

Greg wouldn't have stood a chance against this man in a 'fair fight': he was too old, and
unlike this idiot, he didn't spend all his spare time working out... but he had decades of
training in staying cool under threat...

And a gun.

He got one shot off, before the Alpha ploughed into him, but after he was knocked down the
Alpha didn't grab him, or hit him... He lay on top of him scrabbling against the floor and
gasping for air as blood bubbled out of his mouth.

Greg pushed him off of himself and crawled toward Mycroft. "Never... bring fists... to a
gunfight..."

--

The gun slipped from his hands and thankfully, he had barely managed to lift it in the first
place so it didn't fall far.

His body was at war, reminding him of his biological duty- never mind the fact that he was
much too old to even consider such things as raising children- even as he tried to reign things
back in the best he could. His mind was a command centre with every flashing light and
alarms blazing and he was trying to turn as many of them off as he could...

His Alpha had won.

Gregory Lestrade is NOT my Alpha. He is an Alpha, yes, but he is most certainly not mine!
He is a grown adult with the ability to make conscious decisions and consent to a number of
things, and he was absolutely not consenting to me!
Yes, the previously tiny, sad little creature inside of him now sat up and preened proudly, very
nearly purring at the display of intelligence (despite the poor Russian), My Alpha...

"Your Russian... is passable," Mycroft managed, and he thought Gregory might have
laughed... "Thank you- you... a car... are you able to drive? We'll-" Waves of scent hit him,
nearly overwhelming him. Rich, nutty layers of flaky baklava... the sweetness of honey. The
light layers of a danish pastry, the tang of fruit in the centre, the creamy filling and the
chocolate glaze of an eclair--

He had to swallow and it was hard to keep from drooling all over the poor man as Gregory
helped him up. "Coats- we need... coats- lots of coats, any you can find- they won't... follow."
If he was going to go into heat in the back of an old Russian army vehicle, then he was at
least going to have a decent nest to keep himself from wanting to die. They could, possibly,
even form a barrier between them...

Poor Gregory, Mycroft quite honestly felt sorry for him as a man and as an Alpha, If we
survive, I'll need to send him a gift basket with my deepest apologies...

--

"Right..." Traitorous adrenaline letting him down now that the Alpha was... well, dying.
"Take the coats and they won't be... able to chase us, good idea."

He loaded every coat and all the boots into the back of a vehicle that looked like... well, like
it drove like a car or lorry did, and had a full gas tank. He also spotted what he was fairly
certain was a med kit and emergency rations in another car and loaded them.

Then he loaded every petrol can except one, poured THAT one all over the pile of tires,
opened the garage bay door... (the cold bit at him even in his stolen clothing) and lit a rag...
and then drove out of there like the place was on fire- because it was.

Mycroft was curled over clutching his guts... "Please tell me you are going to be alright,
because we really don't have any major medical." Greg was trying to remember prayers, but
about all that came to mind was 'Please let us get out of this alive'- he figured it would do.

"And... which way am I trying to go?"

--

Mycroft tried to keep his face pressed against the cold glass of the window, but the road was
much too rough to try it for long.

Gregory's scent was filling the vehicle, fueled by adrenaline and his nose was so sensitive it
was all he could focus on--

In an attempt to keep the sharp, cramping pains that had started at bay, he cracked a window,
letting the biting chill inside. Of all the places he could have picked, a beat-up old vehicle in
Russia in the middle of February with a man he'd- admittedly- harboured a bit of crush on
before was not the place he'd pick for riding out a heat.
The cold helped, but it likely only did worse in the end, the cold air swirling his own scent
throughout the vehicle. "West- avoid... people, anywhere with people- we can't-" He let out a
gasp and doubled over, squeezing himself tight, as if that would help. He could feel it, now,
the heat that prickled everywhere, slowly curling and rising hotter and hotter at the base of his
spine, the very beginnings of slick starting to form-

"Fuck!"

He rarely cursed- in front of people, at least- but this was an occasion that he felt deserved it.

"If- anywhere deserted, if you can find- if there's anyplace we can hole up, just... just for a
few days- I'll be fine," he panted, eyes screwed tightly shut.

--

Greg most certainly did not want that window open: it was bitingly cold, and yet? it did
nothing to clear the smell of wood smoke from their clothing. Then Mycroft doubled over
and swore- and whatever could make Mycroft Holmes resort to something as common as
"Fuck!" was very bad.

"Mycroft..." he had to pause as he took the vehicle over yet another rut, and began to realise
that this might not be a road anymore... or maybe it was just a very poor one. "I can tell it’s
not anaphylaxis, and if it's appendicitis we have serious issues... a couple of days and you'll
be fine?"

And then, because apparently luck was not with them: it started snowing- heavily.
 The Snow is Deep on the Ground
Chapter Summary

The snow is deep on the ground.

Always the light falls
Softly down on the hair of my belovèd.

The Snow is Deep on the Ground, by Kenneth Patchen, 1943

Luck was, thankfully, with them- it started snowing, heavily.

As Gregory drove, the vehicle's tracks slowly filled in. Slowly at first, then more quickly- the
roads were already bad enough to drive, especially in the outdated vehicle they were in, and
the snow obscured them almost entirely. The only thing that kept them on the road was the
fact that the forest that had sprung up around them made the pathway forward painfully
obvious- it was, of course, the only clear place to even drive...

"I don't have my appendix," Mycroft groaned as another sharp cramp overcame him. The
window was doing nothing, now, and the heavy coat that Gregory had thrown over him was
suffocating and he threw it off...

And that helped, a little...

He worked on shedding his tie, next, then his jacket- the overwhelming smell of flaky dough
and rich cremes and chocolate icing very nearly distracting him from watching the road for...

"There!" He blurted out, and Gregory nearly lost control of the vehicle. A side road, small,
unused- they were in the woods, surrounded by small villages, barely even able to be called
towns. It was the dead of winter... and what do people who mostly farm do for food in the
winter?

They hunted. And hunters needed shelter.

There had to be shelter, because he couldn't imagine surviving for however long his heat
would last in this tiny vehicle, trapped with an Alpha... Poor Gregory...

He was betting everything on there being some sort of shack or cabin or something at the end
of that road, used for hunting season...

"That damned shot-" the vehicle bounced over a particularly rough spot on the road (if you
could call it a road) and Mycroft felt the rush of slick gush out of him, "-put me into Heat!"

--
Gregory had nearly gone off the road when Mycroft shouted and pointed. Then he did go off
that road and down... well... a path between trees? And then Mycroft- clearly feverish- was
throwing off the coats and undoing...

Well THAT was too damn distracting, so Greg forced himself to keep his eyes forward. "No
matter how feverish you feel it's not a good idea-" he was saying and then Mycroft said
something that made no sense at all, and there was a smell of chocolate? and campfires, and...
dark berries? wine? and his mouth started watering...

did... he... say... no, no he couldn't have said that?

Greg drove, more and more slowly by necessity, and it was as he realised that that wasn't a
'hill' but a small house or hut, and he had no choice but to stop the truck next to it...

"Did... I'm sorry Mycroft but I must have misheard you... did... you say you were going into
Heat?" He cleared his throat, "Also, I think that's a house or something."

--

Thank god I'm right.

He very, very rarely thought something like that, but the sight of that small... cabin? House?
Thing- was enough to make him nearly weep.

"Heat," Mycroft repeated, panting, as he tried to figure out how to work the complex
mechanism that made up the handle of the car door, "I'm... sorry, Gregory- it's..." he managed
to figure it out eventually- apparently you just pulled, like any other handle, and his Heat-
addled brain was... complicating things.

The snow was cold and felt wonderful on his burning, flushed skin.

He felt like he could breathe, finally, no longer suffocated solely by the delicious, mouth-
watering scents of treats he'd always tried to deny himself.

It brought clarity back to him, just a bit- just enough to feel the guilt that lanced through him
as he turned back to look at the man, still sitting in the vehicle.

"If it's any consolation," he apologised, "It's going to be an... uncomfortable few days for
both of us."

--

Greg stared out the door as the snow stopped for one perfect moment to let him see Mycroft
Holmes, en déshabillé, with his shirt undone, and his skin flushed... hair curling and wild...
and then the snow was falling again and Gregory cursed vehemently in French and hustled
him into the building. It was a single room, and... what looked like a hatch down into a cellar,
with a fireplace.

"I will deal with everything else after we get a fire started!" Greg firmly put everything else
out of his mind and went back to his training: whatever else was going on would wait. There
were tasks to be done that would not wait.

Somehow he hauled in all of the coats, blankets, food, first aid kit and so on.

He luckily found that there was some firewood piled up next to the house and he brought a
good bit inside.

Then, because this was an emergency, he used a bit of the petrol to get that fire started!

Then, and only then, did he turn his attention back to Mycroft Holmes, who was curled up
with gritted teeth with one of the blankets... "You... are an Omega? And.... they knew that,
didn't they... the shot was meant to do that..." His mind raced back over what he had seen and
heard... Yasha had been the only Alpha there and had meant to...

"Oh he died too fast..."

--

"I am... inclined to agree-" The cabin had been cleared out for the season, holding only a
small stock of dried wood inside and he'd tried to help the best he could as he attempted to
ignore the very unpleasant effects his biology was having on him. Once the slick had started,
it had not stopped- creating an uncomfortable sensation as he put what dry wood was stored
inside in the fireplace for Gregory to then light...

And then he'd mostly tried to stay out of the way and think as he wrapped himself in
something that didn't smell like cinnamon or pastel de nata.

Coats, blankets, an unblocked chimney and fireplace... A cellar...

The cellar would likely hold preserves of some kind, food for when whoever owned this
place would venture out and stay for a time, hunting. There were several metal bits of
dishware by the fireplace, likely used for cooking, so they at least had water, and...

I do hope there are candles for the cellar.

The idea of going down there in the dark to ride out his heat was utterly awful- it was, at
least, likely to be better for both of them. Chief Detective Inspector Lestrade- he hoped that
using his title in his mind, at least, would make this seem less horribly awkward and
uncomfortable- would more than likely hear him either way, but it would at least save him the
utter embarrassment of having to know the man saw him...

If we survive, I will have Anthea send him the largest apology gift basket I can. And then I'm
leaving the country so we never accidentally meet again.

"I... apologise for anything you may hear-" He winced as another cramp- this one sharper,
now that his Alpha--

No! Not my Alpha! Good God!

--was further away. "But I should be able to make a suitable... nest, of sorts, in the cellar,
which would--"

--

"What?!" Greg stared in disbelief. "You think... no, absolutely not! If you... would prefer not
to have me... about, then I can see if the cellar is habitable, or I can... just... put a blanket wall
up? But you need to stay near the fire and..."

Greg would forever blame the next things that came out of his mouth on being very tired,
having been drugged, and the absolutely intoxicating idea of Mycroft Holmes as an Omega:
"Just because I am an Alpha doesn't mean I am a brute, Mycroft: I had a horrid crush on you
when I thought you were a Beta and I didn't... Oh God, I said that out loud, didn't I?" Greg
slapped his hand over his face.

--

"Good god, no- I would never imply that you would..." His mouth slowly closed as his Heat-
addled brain finally did more than just hear what the man had said, but actually...
comprehended it as well.

Comprehended it very poorly, obviously, because there was no way...

He wasn't sure if it was the heat that seemed to be making his skin flush such a shade of pink
or...

It was his Heat. Obviously.

Obviously.

"I..." For god's sake, spit it out- you are Mycroft Holmes, trapped in the middle of Nowhere,
Russia, with a very attractive Alpha that you've admired for years!

"I've... admired you for quite some time," his tongue felt heavy and leaden and he kept
talking, eyes darting to look at anything but the man in front of him, "But I would never...
you are- were," he corrected, "-married, and... so utterly ridiculously out of my league that
the very idea of even... thinking of anything coming of it was laughable even without the rest
of the mess I've dragged you into over the years..."

His tongue darted out, wetting dry lips, "I hadn't... intended to imply you were a brute of any
kind- rather... spare you the unpleasantness of... well," he rather lamely finished, "-me."

--

Greg listened in increasing incomprehension as...

"Mycroft..." He shook his head and slowly- with a deep fear that he would wake up and find
out this was some really bizarre hallucination- walked over to sit down closer to him.
"Do you mean to actually tell me, that you are delusional enough, to think that I am out of
your league, and not... the reverse?! How do you manage what you do when you apparently
lost your self-esteem years ago!" He sputtered, "I could only DREAM about someone like
you fancying me..."

--

Oh dear lord, the man was getting very, very close to him...

And he could almost taste the apple strudels or feel the slight crunch of fried bomboloni
between his teeth, the powdered sugar coating his tongue...

"Were you aware of the fact that you smell like every delicious pastry I have ever had the
delight of tasting?" Mycroft blurted out and flushed an ever deeper shade of red- if that was
possible. Just having the Alpha close helped tremendously; that sharp ache, the slowly
growing desire and want and need going from a bonfire that threatened to burn him from the
inside out to something more containable... mirroring the fire in the fireplace nearby.

"Ah... if... my brother heard you say that, he would say that you had not spent nearly enough
time with me if you thought that..."

This... was not real. It simply couldn't be real. Obviously, Gregory had been dropped off at
home and then he'd been kidnapped and... this was just his mind trying to protect him from
the horrible things Yasha was likely doing to him.

--

"Sherlock... is not the best judge of relationships, or interests, or... you, honestly." Greg
dragged a hand through his hair. "You are his big brother, but you are also a parent, and that
would be enough conflict, but... oh good lord!" Greg stared at him, "I had put a lot of the
problems down to him being an Alpha and you being a Beta, but... he's going to be having the
instincts saying he should try to be in charge even worse...." Greg groaned.

After a pause he- well, to be truthful he more or less babbled- "I've had a horrible crush on
you since... well... for a long time, but... married." Greg shrugged, "Always thought it was
funny how my wife was convinced I would cheat on her for being bi, and then convinced I
would cheat on her for being Alpha, but she was the one always cheating: the counsellor said
she was trying to prove she was still... attractive? I dunno... but... um... Mycroft, if I had even
the slightest hint that I had a chance with you... I would have been on your doorstep the
instant the divorce was final." He paused, "Even without... you smelling like spices and
sweets and a glass of wine in front of a fireplace."

He glanced sideways at him, "Most people tell me I smell like doughnuts- always thought it
was... kind of funny, my being a cop, smelling like doughnuts..."

Mycroft didn't seem to be in as much pain? "Does... it help or hurt to have me closer by?
You... seem more comfortable...?"

--
There was... so, so much to address that he truthfully didn't even know where to start.

He decided, in the end, to just pick his way through as he let his mind chew on the more
complicated pieces of what Gregory had said. "You... help- quite a bit. You... you are an
exemplary example of an Alpha even before today, and..." Just thinking about it- running his
mind over their escape now that he could truly take the time to analyse it, the cool, collected
attitude the man had when most would have panicked...

And... in the garage...

He swallowed, and in a moment of insanity that he would blame on his Heat, he scooted a
touch closer. "From a... biological point of view, you... repeatedly demonstrated that you are
the best possible candidate to protect an Omega and any future children- and... that was
before you demonstrated the absolute filth you are capable of saying in Russian and killed an
opposing Alpha in battle. For... me." The scent of pastries increased, and he could smell
doughnuts in there- the delicious, warm ones that were handmade every morning, chocolate-
glazed or raspberry-filled or even a perfectly baked plain cake doughnut...

The moan slipped out unexpectedly and he clenched the blanket he held tighter, trying to
ignore it. A simple biological response. Completely understandable.

"Speaking scientifically-"

Oh... oh to hell with scientific and biological and--

"Not being close to you causes more pain, because my instincts have decided you should be
my... my partner, for my heat." He hurried on, "Which is- it's not... required, I'd never- you
are... you deserved much better than her, you know, and I always thought so but I'd swore to
myself I'd never intervene too much because that would be meddling and... oh, oh damn, I
can't bloody think straight because doughnuts are pastries to a degree and anyone who smells
you and thinks the extent of your scent ends at a chocolate glaze is utterly noseblind!"

--

Greg was only human. Praise of any kind had been in scarce supply the last few years, and he
soaked it up like someone pouring red wine on a white carpet... or maybe that was him
thinking about how nice Omega smelled- MYCROFT smelled.

Greg tried to make his brain function. "I... haven't ever... um... I haven't ever been a Heat
partner for anyone before... and... right now all I know is that... you smell wonderful and you
look amazing and... I really don't want to take advantage of you, because I know you were
drugged..."

He was fairly certain all the internal dialogue about how you would be helping and so on was
just justification.

--
"I... would not want to take advantage of you," Mycroft admitted, "I was... more worried, I
admit, of... making you uncomfortable than... anything else."

I smell wonderful and look amazing.

He could count the number of times he'd received such an honest compliment on one hand,
and it sent a flush of warmth down his spine, a warm sensation that was utterly wonderful in
comparison to the licking flames from before...

"Drugged- yes, and I've... had partners, before, since it's paramount to my health to have a
natural heat at least once a year, but... it's..."

Somehow he'd started looking at the man's lips...

They were very nice lips. He imagined they would taste lovely, too...

"Drugged, but I managed to keep my... senses to help get us here- which is more than most
would be able to say, I think, in a similar case, and... if... I had known- I would have asked
you before." The lips were closer- had Gregory leaned in?

No...

He'd leaned in!

"Gregory... would you be my partner for this heat?"

--

"Yes!" He answered and then dragged his brain back to something resembling order. "Um...
but you... ok, you have some experience with... a heat partner." He forced himself to think
straight. Maybe. A bit, anyway. "I... only got the... most of the studies were based on my
being a cop who might have to deal with... issues... um... you'll have to... tell me what... I
mostly want to kiss you all over and find out if you have freckles..."

He turned a colour that would be the envy of a tomato, "Good God, I am far too old to be...
this..." and somehow he was kissing Mycroft Holmes, and he tasted like cinnamon dusted
cocoa by the fire, and mulled wine with spices...
 Drink to me only with thine eyes
Chapter Summary

Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine.

Song: To Celia [“Drink to me only with thine eyes”], Ben Jonson, 1616

Every delicious pastry he had ever denied himself was gifted to him in the form of a single
kiss.

Every calorie-filled, diet-forbidden treat that he craved so much, kept away from him by
every sharp comment from Sherlock or Mummy or any of the number of children growing
up-

Gregory Lestrade tasted exquisite, like the things he'd denied himself for most of his life.

His lips were chapped from the cold and his face was a bit rough from stubble and just that
single touch of their lips coming together was enough to take the warm fire resting in a hearth
into a blazing bonfire. Not the out-of-control flames that threatened to devour all but
something that lit up the darkness, brought out the sparkle of the stars in the sky.

S'mores were not pastries, he didn't think, but he almost thought he could taste them...

His fingers brushed through salt and pepper hair with one hand, the other grabbing his shirt
and pulling him closer.

Gregory smelled like hard work, the well-earned evening after a day of endless, tireless
labour...

"It's... simple-" his lips were buzzing when he pulled back, like the bubbles from champagne
were popping on his lips, "You have a son, Gregory, I'm certain that means you at least know
the movements..." His tease died and rose again as a moan and Gregory was tasting that,
then, and...

Somehow he ended up on his back and it truthfully didn't matter that he had only a few spare
blankets and numerous stolen coats, or that they were in a cabin in the middle of Nowhere,
Russia, or that it was freezing outside and they needed to get home...

Because his entire body was singing and thrumming as the Alpha looked at him with nothing
short of wonder and admiration in his eyes, and he tried to help remove his waistcoat and his
shirt and damn! Why do I wear so many layers?!

And he got to see the expression as Gregory realised that he did have freckles- hundreds of
them over his chest and shoulders and arms... He'd thought of them as irritating pockmarks
before, blemishes at best...

He meant to offer some sort of advice- kiss me. Touch me. Skin-to-skin contact as much as
possible. Make sure I'm prepared before--

But there were lips on his clavicle, tasting freckles, and Gregory very clearly did not need
any sort of refreshers as he touched and tasted...

--

Greg was utterly delighted to discover that indeed, Mycroft had freckles- lots of freckles- and
they all tasted like wine by the fire and spices, and if Gregory Lestrade had his way he was
going to taste each and every one, and compare their varied different notes as though each
was a tasting glass. This one- or perhaps this moment- had more cinnamon notes, and that
one more blackberry, and each one was delicious.

He looked up at eyes full of clouds and snow, reflecting the firelight and his hair was like
banked embers...

Greg had been a middling student, a sports fanatic with only the oddity of his French
relatives to give him a hint of culture: he didn't know poems. He was certain there should be
poems, and that somewhere out there were fancy words about wine by the fire and...

Very suddenly the poem? song? that his ex wife had not wanted at their wedding, came to
mind: "...leave a kiss but in the cup, and I’ll not look for wine..." He pulled himself up that
incredible body and kissed the man, trying to make it plain how very long he had secretly
wanted to do just this…

--

Poetry…

Mycroft adored poetry, adored the nonsensical literary romances of older times, though he’d
never had said such a thing. That was the romantic in him, nestled in its small cage next to
the Omega in him, locked away tight because they were a liability…

If his brain wasn’t melting, he would have replied in kind- he’d never had poetry spoken to
him by the lips of a lover and… just the man’s tongue and lips against his skin had his brain
melting…

Oozing through his fingers like thick honey…

It was wonderful and terrible because it was simply not enough- not enough touch, not
enough skin, not enough poetry and every idle fantasy he’d squashed before coming to life
now.
He grabbed at Gregory’s shirt, fingers fumbling with buttons as the man kissed him and then
he was even closer. Gregory’s thigh slipped between his legs and just the contact and touch
alone sent a wave of heat washing over him as Mycroft touched and grasped at his shoulders,
gasping and arching.

His fingers were the most awful things ever- clumsy in a way his hands never were before
and he pulled the man down, chest to chest, and that skin-to-skin contact was enough to send
a fresh wave of slick gush from him and at any other time he would be embarrassed or
uncomfortable but now…

“Please-” He gasped, and there were too many layers and pants between them still…

--

At this moment in time, Greg wasn't able to think much beyond 'why do I have all these
clothes on'. And this gorgeous creature was in need and how could he possibly refuse?

Somehow more clothes were removed. Somehow Greg was nosing and kissing and… the
scent was headier and more intoxicating... and thankfully Omega was well wet enough,
because he had no idea where to buy lube at this hour or country...

"You alright with... me on top, beautiful?” He managed to ask.

--

Beautiful.

He’d… been called many things, before, but he could not ever remember being called
beautiful. He had past heat partners before- it was so much more convenient than dealing
with the pain of being alone. Someone to make sure he was cleaned, fed, to make sure he
didn't ache or hurt.

But that was… they were hired, professionals for the rich Omegas who could afford their
services, and it had been a service. He had never asked to be lied to- never wanted promises
or for them to say the things that soothed the sad, aching part of him that earned for a partner,
a mate, a bond…

Beautiful…

Some part of him worried that it was hormones and pheromones and a buried crush coming
to light and he’d be heartbroken later, but Alpha was nuzzling into his neck, licking at his
gland, hands touching and caressing and beautiful was said with such reverence that he very
earnestly felt the tears rise to his eyes, even if they did not yet fall.

“Yes- please- Gregory,” He moved his legs the best he could, feeling like a newborn foal for
his ungainliness, and wrapped his arms around the Alpha, nuzzling him back. “I do not…
think my knees would be happy with this floor,” he admitted, lips pressed against sweat-
damp skin, the taste of lemon tarts on his lips and he allowed himself to succumb, fully, to
those instincts and dreams. “Perhaps a… better nest, next time, Alpha.”
--

Next time... Gregory would give almost anything for there to BE a next time...

"I'm... a 'forever after' type," he admitted, knowing that it was so very unlikely that he would
ever have this again. "And... yes, I think we would both be a lot better off in a bed," he
couldn't help but grin, "Although you sure make this pile of coats smell good..."

And then he was biting his lip, and trying to be slow, and careful... "God... if this... is a
dream..." I hope I never wake up.

--

Forever after.

Mycroft had never considered a ‘forever after’. He had plotted the paths and courses for
nations and for many people. He’d watched his own paths lead to the same end, repeatedly,
but this… was something he had never seen.

If this is a dream…

He clung tight to Gregory as the man pressed against him- into him- slow and insistent and
Alpha was so careful and gentle, despite the strength that coursed through those limbs.

Despite the instincts to thrust and fuck and claim, despite how utterly wonderful it felt for
Mycroft (and certainly it had to feel as wonderful for Gregory)-

Gregory was large- he’d been with Alphas before but had often preferred a Beta partner for
his heats. There was less smell to worry about after, his instincts less frantic, worried by his
age and his lack of a bite or bond. But he never felt nearly as satisfied as he did with an
Alpha and all the air was surely being pushed from his lungs. “Oh- oh god-” he gasped and
moaned as the man slowly came to hilt and they were connected and the Alpha above him,
panting, straining to keep from moving too soon (a gentleman! Kind! Nice! Wonderful
Alpha!) was Gregory Lestrade.

More than a few tears slipped, unbidden, from the corners of his eyes as he clung to the man.
If this is a dream… “I hope I never wake up.”

--

"Same,” Greg tried to say as they kissed, and he thanked god they were both tall and
Mycroft's extra height was in his legs, because he could kiss the man, and catch glimpses of
those cloudy sky eyes even now...

He did his best to hold his own orgasm off, knowing that the more Mycroft could get that
drug out of his system the better- he would have to ride out the Heat, but he could at least get
some relief...

"You and those incredible legs-" he groaned into Mycroft's ear when Mycroft tried to
apologise or something about them. "You'd move your legs sometimes when you were
seated..." He lost a few words to sensation but he thought Mycroft got the gist of it, "Socks...
sock garters! Long sexy legs..." He bit back any mention of Sherlock because that was not
sexy talk.

Of course that was when he was giving the man a chance to catch his breath, and then... "Not
going to be able to hold back, beautiful!" and then he was so so glad that Omega were built
for this and he didn't have to worry about his strength...

And the hormones did their job, and they were locked together for a short time...

But honestly by the time he could have moved? He was drifting in that post orgasm glow
and…

+++ Meanwhile, Back in London +++

It was early morning at Baker Street- or somewhat later by most other people's time tables-
when Sherlock Holmes' phone rang. He ignored it. A few minutes later it rang again, and he
was vaguely contemplating whether to answer it, throw it out a window, or possibly
experiment as to how many pieces it would break into under sufficient pressure...

When John stalked over and picked it up, grumbling something about, “Ignoring it won't
make it go away-” which was false in Sherlock's opinion…

“Sherlock Holmes’ cell,” John answered, glancing at the man- he hadn’t moved a bit all
morning which was unfortunate because he was trying to do the sweeping up before they had
to get Rosie after nursery school, and she hated the sweeper with a passion after Sherlock had
accidentally sucked up one of her toys, and she’d been watching.

“Is Mister Holmes available?” A masculine, calm voice asked- John thought the man
sounded a bit like an assistant, or something.

“He is,” John glanced at Sherlock again- he didn't seem to care about the call at all. “But if I
try to give him the phone, he’s likely to chuck it out the window. Who’s calling?”

“I presume, then, I am talking to Doctor Watson?” The man asked, and John frowned.

“Yeah- and you are?”

“My name is Agent Barnaby. If possible, I need to speak to Mister Holmes.”

“Right, well, like I said- Sherlock won’t talk to you if I did hand over the phone, so… I can
take a message or you can risk seeing how durable this model is.”

Apparently the Agent was either growing annoyed, or… simply had instructions to pass the
information along, because he didn't push it further. “At 7:45 this morning, Mycroft Holmes
was classified as ‘missing’ after not coming into work. You will be updated as information is
uncovered, and we will be sending a team to relocate the occupants of 221B Baker Street to a
secure location until it is determined what group is behind this. Thank you for relaying the
message.”
And then the call ended, leaving John Watson standing with the sweeper, cell phone in hand.

--

Sherlock hadn't reacted to John answering the phone, or what he had said, but he did react to
John being very quiet... He watched him slowly put down the phone. "What... Did they leave
a message?" And it didn't look good...

John looked concerned, and then repeated the message...

"Mycroft... didn't go to work?" Sherlock looked- and felt- scandalised, "-and he didn't call
in?!"

It was easy to forget, when Sherlock was unmoving for hours at a time, that he moved very
fast when he finally did move: he was up and pulling on his coat in a flash. "Quickly John!
Get your things, we have to go!"

"Go... where? The agent said-"

"That they were going to dump us in a secure holding facility while they completely bungle
the investigation, yes, exactly!"

And with that, John was chasing after him.

+++

"This is your brother's house?" John peered up the side of the brick building- they'd climbed
over a fence in the back and crept through the rather plain backyard. "I... almost assumed he
might live in a castle somewhere..."

Sherlock snorted as he finished getting by the lock on the back door. The whole house was
rigged with biometrics and numerous security measures and he was, of course, programmed
into them. It had always been more fun, before, to jimmy the locks, however.

It was... a little less fun, this time.

The house smelled like his brother- or, rather, how his brother smelled when he wasn't
medicated. It sometimes reminded Sherlock of being a child again, sitting in one of the too-
large leather chairs in the library at Musgrave Hall in front of the fireplace, reading one of the
priceless books in the library without much care, nibbling on a bit of chocolate he'd snagged
from the kitchen...

This time, though, there was an overwhelming... staleness to the air. Not like it hadn't been
lived in recently, but rather those undertones of inactivity, like the whole home had been
washed over in grey.

Sherlock sniffed worriedly. "He definitely was not home last night."

John looked around, "No sign that people... searched the house or anything...?"
Sherlock shrugged, "They can't get in: I'm coded into the biometrics, and since I gave the
right code for you being a welcome guest..."

John stared at him, "Why did you pick the locks then?"

"I don't have a key, John," Sherlock said in a tone that implied it was obvious, "I just don't set
off the alarms and defences!"

John... decided to stay very close to Sherlock while they searched the house.

--

The master bedroom was located upstairs, along with the man's main office. A second, guest
bedroom was located on the first floor, however it was rarely- if ever- used. As far as he was
aware, Sherlock had been the only one to ever use it, and... it had been many, many years
since he'd been forced to stay in his brother's home.

The first floor also held the living room, the kitchen, an entryway/mud room, and a passage
to the garage as well as a secure, carefully hidden panic room.

There were no signs of... anything, really- Mycroft's home was neat and tidy and they
carefully went through the first floor...

Sherlock frowned when he got to the kitchen, opening and closing the larger pantry door and
the fridge, "A distinctive lack of baked goods."

"You have said he's on a diet before," John pointed out- he was half-tempted to move some
things from their obvious homes and put them in new ones, partly to annoy the man when he
got home and... partly because he thought it might make Mycroft just appear in front of them
to scold them both.

"Mycroft stress-bakes," Sherlock explained, shutting the pantry door. There have always been
baked goods. Frozen ones, at the very least...

"So not much stress then lately," John suggested, "That's a good thing. Narrows down
suspects, I imagine? Someone who was upset with him, but also someone he didn't think was
an issue?"

Sherlock didn't respond. Lack of baked goods- loss of appetite and interest in a common
hobby. Depression?

They headed upstairs.

--

John was beginning to be concerned about the state of things when he noted that there was
actual dust on some things. Not much, certainly in anyone else's home it wouldn't be notable,
but Mycroft's?
He pointed it out to Sherlock, who grimly said he had noted it. Sherlock also noted that the
books hadn't been opened lately, and he hadn't had much interest in baking or cooking, "What
would that normally suggest, Doctor?"

"Loss of interest in hobbies and... lack of typical levels of cleaning? Depression..." John
hesitated, "The... situation... with your family..."

--

"Astute observation," Sherlock frowned, and they entered into the master bedroom. He would
never, ever admit that he was worried- if there hadn't been any signs of the man ever coming
home, then he might have considered... well, suicide, but... "Mycroft is too annoyingly
smothering to just kill himself," he muttered as he opened the door.

The bed was untouched, neatly made. This room smelled more of his brother's 'natural' scent
than any other, but it was also his bedroom- if this were any other Omega, he would have
found this exact level of smell to be worrying. His brother, however? He knew his brother's
habits. The man was not a nesting Omega and he had a full list of medications to control his
bodily instincts and scent. The fact that this much scent even existed in the house itself just
spoke to the amount of time the man spent there, alone, for it to build and sink in.

"Check the bathroom for anything unusual?" Sherlock suggested as he headed over to the
man's closet, "There will be a number of medications. If this was a kidnapping, they will still
be here. If they are not, then this could have been... an escape attempt, perhaps. Although I
can't imagine Mycroft running away and starting a new life..."

--

John nodded and went to the bathroom- he was pleased to find that the actual 'medicine
cabinet' by which he meant the place where actual medication was stored- was just outside
the bathroom. "Glad someone knows enough to not store their medication in the hottest and
most humid room in the..."

He walked back with a bottle in his hand, "Sherlock? Nothing looks missing or... anything...
but... uh... this... is for Omegas..."

--

Sherlock had been digging through his brother's ridiculously organised closet- he came out
and shut the door behind him. "Yes, Mycroft is an Omega. If his medications are here, then
that confirms what I had already suspected. He was abducted and did not run away or commit
suicide."

He briskly headed towards the hallway, "His main office is on this floor. His desk will most
certainly have information on who he has been working with most recently."

John, by now treating this as a crime scene had turned to put the medicine back in its place...
wait, what? He put the medication back- turned to face backwards so it would be obvious
which one he touched- and chased after Sherlock.
"Wait! He's an Omega? Mycroft?! Pushy, arrogant... neat freak... baking... mommying... Oh
hell, why didn't I realise that before..."

--

"Because it's a secret, of course," Sherlock frowned, slowing a touch. "Uncle Rudy-
Mycroft's mentor- found it incredibly annoying considering the possible consequences of his
work finding out. And Mummy found it disappointing in another way entirely.
Grandchildren, heirs, all that."

"I imagine relating to his work, only Anthea knows... and likely other members of Ultra
Clearance who have figured it out. It does, however, also add a new level of urgency to
finding and retrieving him."

The office door was opened and he stepped inside.

Immediately, several things stood out to him. Mycroft's desk was immaculately clean
compared to the rest of the home- he'd obviously been here recently, though that was...
somewhat expected. The second thing that stood out were the books on the shelves; they
were carefully dusted and organised rather recently, and... not in any discernible order that he
could note.

Two books did catch his eye, however, carefully separated from the rest of the collection.
Treasure Island and Robin Hood, identical copies to the ones that had been in their parent's
library at Musgrave- ones he had scribbled in and turned the pages with dirty fingers and
hands...

He opened one- Robin Hood- and... felt oddly disappointed that there were no scribbles
inside, even as he logically knew those copies had burned…

--

John froze in the doorway to the office, "Oh... oh hell... he's on suppressants: if he misses too
many doses..." And then, because it had been a long time since he had been in the military,
and he had buried those memories deep, he was blindsided by a flashback...

He had been just behind the action- as usual- but this time with a unit on stand-by because
the advanced forces were taking out a weapons depot. The comm links fell silent, ominously
so, and then there was chaos...

John staggered, grabbing the doorframe to stay upright- no longer seeing the room, London...
Sherlock turned and lips parted and he said something but John couldn't hear him.

When he stopped shaking, Sherlock was right there, hands on his shoulders... John looked at
him grimly, "Call Anthea- whatever her name is: call her NOW!" He gritted his teeth and his
jaw muscles tensed. "If they don't know, and his suppressants run out... and they have Alpha
guards, it's bad. If they do know; it's worse."

--
Sherlock froze, hands on John's shoulders, as the Doctor- Captain- gave him a very firm
order.

He was very good at pretending Mycroft was not an Omega; it already stressed his more base
instincts to allow his older brother to spy and coddle him, but to add in the fact that the man
seemed always think he was in charge of Sherlock... and was an Omega on top of that?

Well, he treated it as an inconvenient fact and ignored it, largely.

He'd... somehow managed to let the inconvenient fact of his brother's secondary sex slip by
him entirely, however, in relation to his kidnapping.

Mycroft is an Omega. If he has Alphas guarding him and his suppressants fail-

Worse, as John said- if they already know...?

He immediately dialled Anthea.

 Morgan Le Fay
Chapter Summary

For all her looks were full of spells,

And all her words of sorcery;

Morgan Le Fay, Madison Cawein, 1899

'Anthea' was not in charge of the response. If she was, she would certainly have known better
than to warn Sherlock that they were about to try to lock him down. However, no one asked
her so she conveniently didn't offer advice.

It was, however, a bit of a surprise to have Sherlock call her... She stepped aside to take the
call.

It was fortunate that she had some experience interpreting Sherlock: this was certainly much
better than when he was high or injured, but he didn't exactly tend to... unpack his
assumptions. She did get the idea that Mycroft had not been home last night, which... was an
issue. And something about his suppressants...? And Alpha guards...?

She froze as the implications hit. "His kidnappers are a threat... but so potentially are any
search teams, if they aren't vetted..." She forced herself back to questions about evidence:
"What we have on the tracker for his car is that he was picked up from dinner with Chief
Detective Inspector Lestrade, and-"

Sherlock asked, "He was at dinner with... Lestrade?"

"Yes, a scheduled dinner. The car went to Lestrade's home, and then to Mister Holmes'... but
you are saying he never got inside?"

--

John listened intently, trying to shake off the memories and chill clinging to him. "Did Greg
go to work today?" He asked, "If Mycroft didn't get home, then are you sure he did?"

Sherlock echoed the concern, "Your assumption previously was that Mycroft either was taken
from his house last night after being dropped off, or this morning. As long as the tracker
made it to Mycroft's home, then he could have been taken as long ago as when he left the
office originally."

Anthea, did, at least confirm that they knew he had dinner, "-and after the vehicle stopped by
Wellik street--"
John interrupted her, "Wellik? Greg doesn't live there- the house was sold in the divorce
and..." He swore, "But anyone pretending to be a driver wouldn't know that because he hasn't
exactly advertised the move..."

--

"I will verify if Chief Detective Inspector Lestrade made it home," Anthea said tersely-
utterly infuriated by the fact that no one in the investigation proper had caught that. "If we
cannot find him quickly we have to assume they were taken when picked up at the
restaurant..."

Sherlock unhappily pointed out, "If the car didn't go to Greg's actual home, then he didn't get
home: he wouldn't have gotten out at the other address, or at Mycroft's home."

"That... should have been noted earlier," Anthea admitted.

Sherlock frowned, "Tell Lady Smallwood- she's the least likely to be... actively trying to aid
and abet his kidnapping or murder. I... also have to point out that his house... shows signs of
severe depression, and... he may not be in the best condition to deal with an incident right
now."

--

There was a moment's hesitation before Anthea spoke, "Mister Holmes had me arrange a
meeting with his solicitor several weeks ago. He claimed it was to ensure that Rosamund had
a proper trust arranged as he assumed you hadn't thought of it yet. I..." Her voice trailed off
for a moment, "Severe depression. I can't help but wonder if... he perhaps knew about
something happening, but did not anticipate when. I can't imagine Mister Holmes would
willingly put Chief Detective Inspector Lestrade in danger. I will inform Lady Smallwood
and we will readjust our plans. Oh," She added, "-The agents are camped outside Baker
Street at the moment, so I would avoid returning home for a bit longer."

She said her goodbyes- very short and brisk- and hung up the phone.

Sherlock stared into space for a long moment, then turned to look at Mycroft's desk.

"Severe depression, meeting with his solicitors. Passively suicidal, perhaps," he considered,
and it felt... very odd to think of his brother as... wanting to die.

It also rankled his instincts as well- Mycroft was an unbonded Omega, which, technically,
made him the man's protector, even if they had never lived by those archaic rules.

"If... he had known of an attempt being made on his life," Sherlock proposed, moving to the
man's desk, "Then..."

He opened the top drawer- and yes, there... it all was.

A thick folio of neatly stacked and bound papers- he recognised it for what it was
immediately and... his heart sunk in a manner that had rarely happened before. He pulled that
out first, setting on the desk for John to see- his brother's will, incredibly thick and detailed...
And there were letters- two of them, to be precise. The careful handwriting of his brother
instructed one to William Sherlock Holmes, and the other to Doctor John Hamish Watson.

--

John picked up the letter addressed to him: Sherlock was staring blankly at his own. When he
opened it, he saw the same precise handwriting that Mycroft usually had- this had not been
dashed off in a hurry.

Doctor Watson,

I believe we both have plenty of experience in dealing with my brother to know this: I have
left him a series of detailed instructions regarding things that are quite important to me, and
the odds of him doing those things are quite low, doubly so considering I asked him to do
them.

I request that you please ensure Sherlock fulfils my wishes, as he is much more likely to listen
to you.

Additionally, I have attached my solicitor's card. You will need to get in contact with him to
discuss the trust I have arranged for Rosamund.

Finally, I request that you continue to be there for Sherlock. He does not do well on his own,
as you know, and I worry for him, constantly.

Thank you for caring for my brother.

M. Holmes

He looked over to find Sherlock still standing, hands on the desk, head slightly bowed... John
cleared his throat. "The letter to me mostly... asks me to look after you and... try to make sure
you follow his requests." He cleared his throat, "-and he says he set up a trust for Rosie."

Sherlock looked as if he was gathering his strength- or trying not to cry, so John asked,
"Would you... like me to look at the letter first?"

"...please." His voice betrayed the emotions he was feeling. "If... you could."

John opened the letter and looked at the handwriting- the same as his own:

Sherlock,

I have documented and updated what remains of my affairs in my will. There are, however,
several things I had hoped to entrust to your care.

You will note that the books in my personal library have been reorganised; everything on the
top left-hand side is going to private collectors. I have included a list below, along with the
details of what they will be receiving. The top right and the two shelves below it are being
donated to a series of libraries and museums- those have been listed as well. I ask you to
handle this as I feel Da would end up squirrelling them away for his own reading.
Two books, of course, are for you- I trust you will be able to identify which ones. Do take care
to not wipe your fingers on the pages of these.

Additionally, there is a desk-safe in the lower left-hand drawer of my desk. The contents and
the safe itself should promptly be given to my PA, Anthea- if any of them protest, please
remind them that she is my successor, as was previously agreed upon. There is no, as they
say, 'take-backsies' on that. She will know the code. The contents will ensure that she does not
end up on the same path I have found myself on.

I outlined this in my will, however I ask you to please ensure my wishes are followed: if my
body is recovered, do not allow Mummy to inter me in the Vernet cemetery. I have already
promised my brain to the Royal Society and wish to be cremated, and after, you may dispose
of me how you wish.

My solicitor has already arranged for the remainder of my estate to, upon my passing, be
split and sold as required. If, by chance, there is something you would like to keep, you may
do so. The funds are arranged to be entrusted to a trust for young Rosamund.

I know I was never the brother you wished to have, or the one you needed, however I am still
quite proud of the man you have become.

Mycroft

Sheriff of Nottingham

John cleared his throat, "He... says those two books you picked up are for you, and there is a
desk safe in the lower left-hand drawer of the desk that we have to get to Anthea- the whole
safe, apparently she knows the code. Ummm... he says it might help her avoid... whatever
happened to him?"

He put the letter down and hesitantly rested a hand on Sherlock's shoulder- he hadn't moved
from leaning on the desk. "The rest is how he wishes things to be disposed of, and... personal
to you. I never would have believed it... before... but he does always sound... isolated."

John had no idea how to address the incredibly bad family dynamics- hell, he wasn't one to
talk, so he left it for the letter.

"Oh," he smiled and nudged Sherlock gently, "He signed off as the Sheriff of Nottingham,
so... I guess he liked Robin Hood while you liked pirates?"

Sherlock's voice was very rough as he answered, "No, Mycroft, if anything, was fond of King
Arthur and such: the Robin Hood reference was mine... I... shot him by accident with an
arrow... as a child..." And then he was gone in his memory, reliving carefree days long, long
gone.

John tried to get his attention, but quickly realised he couldn't. He took the phone and called
Anthea back...
"Mycroft left a desk safe for you," John spoke with the cool business-like professionalism of
a doctor and soldier who won't let himself fall apart while things need to be done.

+++

Anthea made it to the house in record time- John and Sherlock were still waiting upstairs
while she let herself in, being one of the few people who could bypass security and had a key.

She found them both in the office, Sherlock still frozen, lost in his mind in a way she had
seen before; the two brothers were... oddly alike, despite all their differences. John Watson
stood, composed in such a way that reminded her of his status as Captain.

"I have notified Lady Smallwood of what was discovered. Before I left, she was working on
rounding up those who were on security detail during dinner, and the man who was Mister
Holmes' driver last night." She stepped further into the room, the evidence she had already
seen as she made her way upstairs slowly mounting to the same conclusion.

Anthea came around the edge of the desk and John showed her the drawer- the safe inside
barely fit and when she lifted it, was decently heavy. She set it on the desk, careful not to
scratch the wood. It was an older model of safe, one with a keypad and a finite number of
combinations- this code would be eight digits...

"Sherlock's letter said you would know the combination," John stated, frowning at the safe.

"Yes," Anthea paused, "I should." Mycroft Holmes expected her to know quite a lot of things,
and she had strived to never disappoint. There was only one thing she could think of that
would match the digits needed, and she carefully keyed it in. Doctor Watson looked at her
quizzically, and the safe unlocked with a soft 'click'. "That was the date that Mister Holmes
showed up on my doorstep, and refused to leave until I agreed to work for him."

Anthea... wasn't certain what would be in the safe. It was most likely paperwork, or a thumb
drive, or... information, but on the off chance that it was anything more immediately
problematic she asked John if he could take Sherlock out of the room. "I don't know what is
in this, or if it includes anything that may be even more of a memory trigger..."

John nodded, and steered Sherlock out of the office.

Anthea braced and opened the safe. There was a letter to her- dated modestly recently-
pointing out the increasing levels of harassment and doubt, the cutting off of privileges, and
the fact that he doubted they would permit him to retire. She had been named as his second
and successor, however, long before the current issues, and with the information and
passcodes she already had, plus what was contained in the safe? she should be able to take his
place quite seamlessly.

"No one can do everything you've been doing, Merlin," Anthea fell back to the name she first
knew him as, "Even your uncle did three persons worth of work at least, and you did more..."

She went through the safe, briefly, efficiently: it was all there, updated codes, blackmail on
several members of the Ultra Clearance and other high-ranking intelligence agents,
information on who was very likely a double agent- or at least talking to the wrong people...
as they both knew very well, that could be used as long as you knew...

She couldn't help but glance at the two letters on the desk as she re-secured the safe to take
with her...

Sheriff of Nottingham, she smiled sadly- she was likely one of very few people who had seen
that scar and heard the story of it.

She opened the door and called both men in- Sherlock looked much more present-
"Gentlemen, as of my possession of the contents of the safe... until or unless we find Mister
Holmes I hold the seat formerly held by Antarctica."

Sherlock nodded, "I understand. I hope you understand that I intend to find him."

She nodded even as she set off back to her car- gesturing for them to come with her-
"Mycroft Holmes was one of the finest men I have ever known- and the only one still alive: I
will do everything in my power to ensure he is retrieved, alive. He has given me the authority
to force the issue, but..." She glanced at Sherlock, "I will need help."

She ushered them both into the armoured car- one virtually identical to Mycroft's car. "Oh,
and as of now my code name is Morgaine."
 Trust
Chapter Summary

It’s like so many other things in life

To which you must say no or yes.
So you take your car to the new mechanic.
Sometimes the best thing to do is trust.

Trust, Thomas R. Smith, 2003

A hunger forced him awake.

Mycroft cracked winter-sky eyes open, the cabin lit by the embers in the fireplace. Their fire
had not died, but it had decreased greatly- he tried to remember if they had put wood in it
before falling asleep, but...

Well, he couldn't quite recall falling asleep at all, so he suspected not.

The blankets and coats beneath him were warm from the fire and their body heat, shielding
them from the floor, and Mycroft felt a pang of loss over his suit. It would be unsalvageable.
But I think it's probably more of a concern on how to get home.

Gregory was laying with him, pressed close, and he resolutely put any thoughts of things
regarding them going forward out of his mind. Their combined scents filled the cabin in a
way Mycroft had rarely ever gotten the chance to enjoy before; the tart of lemon pastries, the
dark rich hints of chocolate and wine enjoyed in front of a roaring fire...

It made him hungry- his stomach wanted food- and it made him hungry...

A fresh wave of heat rolled down his spine and he bit his lip against the moan, pressing back
further against Gregory--

The Alpha's body apparently understood it had a job to do, even if Gregory was still asleep.

He wanted to let him sleep, really- the poor man was trapped in the middle of Russia and had
likely been awake for nearly a day before their kidnapping and escape... but he could feel the
Alpha's growing interest and...

He was older, yes, but he was still an Omega and still in heat- his heat might not be as
overwhelming as they were when he was younger and he certainly didn't need a knot every
second of the few days they lasted, but he still needed.
Gregory mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep, lips against the back of his neck and
it sent shivers down his spine, stirring embers into a blaze.

Mycroft rolled and somehow ended up straddling the man without waking him- truly that was
a sign of how utterly exhausted he was, and he shouldn't... he really shouldn't… Alpha
swelled further beneath him as he rocked and tried- futilely- to sate himself that way, but--

"Oh Gregory..."

--

Greg wasn't exactly awake when this got started. To be fair, he would tell you if you asked
that he had, on occasion, probably filled out paperwork, eaten and gone home without being
awake, exactly... but when Omega Holmes called his name while rocking desperately against
him? Well then he was AWAKE!

And unlike any time he could recall before, he woke with a smile, looking up, "Good
morning beautiful..." and he did his best to satisfy the immediate needs...

--

Other than the 'being trapped in Russia with an unknown number of people after us' part, this
was easily the best morning Mycroft Holmes had ever had.

Gregory called him beautiful- again- and opened those lovely warm brown eyes and
immediately settled his hands on his hips and thighs, touching and caressing and helping
support his weight so Mycroft could rise and--

Oh good lord-!

If he had thought the Alpha was sizeable before, he truly felt the full length of him now,
perched on him as he was. And Gregory just gave him the most wonderful smile- that boyish
one that had made flying insects of some kind flutter in his stomach before- and touched
him...

Any control he tried to keep flew out the windows of their cabin, and Mycroft started to
move.

--

Oh this was the best morning ever- he was laying in bed, just waking up, and there was this
magnificent man right there... He did his best to help steady him, and tried to warm his skin
with his hands, and then he tried to thrust- and found that he was clearly not doing much that
way...

So he let Mycroft ride, and he babbled at him, "Beautiful, glorious, I don't have words... God
you glow like firelight..."

And eventually Mycroft fell against him and he wrapped him up in his arms.
--

How utterly embarrassing!

He'd just... jumped the poor man like he was some... some sex fiend!

And yes, Gregory had let him, encouraged, even- and... oh he'd been utterly wonderful and
saying the sweetest, kindest things and he had held him and...

Well, they were certainly stuck together now, so the best he could do was burrow his face in
the man's neck and pretend he'd not been so damn rude.

He nuzzled apologetically against the man's scent gland and- at the urging of his instincts-
licked him, as well. "I'm- oh, I apologise, that was... you were sleeping! You need your rest! I
shouldn't have taken advantage of you-"

--

"Oh yes you should!" Greg protested immediately.

"First of all, it's not your fault we both went into this underslept... if we had planned to spend
a heat together I assume we... wouldn't be here, and I would have napped first, and I would
desperately like a real bathroom..." He chuckled, "However, you are very welcome to wake
me up that way anytime you like- in Heat or not."

--

"My house has a very real bathroom," Mycroft confirmed, and just thinking about it made
him realise how sticky he was...

He put any thought of that firmly out of his mind!

"And a very real, very soft bed. And..." His stomach made an unpleasant growling noise and
he frowned and pressed in closer, covering them with a blanket. "Well, that. A very real
kitchen..."

Mycroft sighed, considering- "It is probably lucky that neither of us are the young things we
used to be. I can't... imagine we'd fare well if we were trapped entirely by hormones and I
was trying to-" He flushed, and nuzzled into the man's neck again, "-well, it would be quite
difficult to move or think or focus on things we need to focus on."

--

"We have winter gear to change into, and pots and pans to melt snow, and a box full of
emergency rations," Greg assured him, "It's certainly no five-star resort, but we'll manage."

He sighed, "As much as I was cursing the snow at the time, I expect it very well removed our
trail, so... all we have to do is... figure out where we are, or at least... where to go... and try to
get there." He looked off at the roof of this- shed? shack? cottage? he decided to go with
cottage- "But given that you are Mycroft Holmes, and not Sherlock- Mister solar systems are
irrelevant- I wouldn't be at all surprised if you could navigate by the stars or something, so I
will just worry about food and shelter and warmth and leave the rest to you..."

--

"You are... quite extraordinary, you know," Mycroft commented- he'd originally thought it,
but decided it needed to be said aloud. "I'm not... unused to fieldwork, but it's many years
since that time of my life, thank god. It was... rare to find an Alpha agent willing to listen and
follow the instructions of a supposed Beta- let alone an Omega. They preferred to spend time
puffing up their chests and trying to convince me I was wrong rather than just accepting my
directions."

He supported himself a bit on his arm so he could look at Gregory and... oh dear. His lips
were terribly close, and...

"Mm," Mycroft hummed contentedly when he pulled back, the taste of cinnamon rolls on his
lips. "Sherlock can, actually, navigate by the stars. Pirates need to know such things, of
course. He just doesn't care much for the long-term use outside of that." He raised an
eyebrow, somewhat haughtily, "And yes, I also can navigate by the stars. Who do you think
taught him?"

And then he added, feeling a touch mischievous, "And unfortunately for us both, I also taught
him pickpocketing and lockpicking..."

--

"No!" Greg feigned shock.

"I actually figured, given that you didn't seem at all surprised, or ask him where he picked up
the habit." Greg snickered, "I can't pick pockets, but I can pick a basic lock- my hands aren't
as fine as yours for detail- and I could hotwire a car, back when they weren't all
computerised." He paused, "I AM shocked he can navigate by the stars, but I suppose I
shouldn't be..."

He kissed Mycroft back, slowly, taking his time and enjoying the taste of him, but
eventually... "I think I should get the fire built back up, and get us some food and water and
all... and um... well, no one enjoys using an outhouse in this weather, but when you gotta
go..."

+++

Gregory insisted that Mycroft wrap up and stay by the fire while he took care of things- first
going out to use the restroom (which led to the man coming in and complaining bitterly about
using snow to clean things), then working on getting the fire back up to blazing and bringing
more wood in.

They had several different-sized pots and pans that the hunters obviously kept here, and
Gregory filled several of them with snow so they could melt in the room. "It's not a warm
shower, but-"
Mycroft kissed him, preventing him from saying much more. He was still feverish, his heats
less intense and requiring less constant coupling than if he were younger, but they would
likely be safe to attempt to leave the next morning, unless... things went south.

He also went outside in the bitter cold to do his morning business- hating every second of it-
and managed to get a generalised idea of their location. He hated generalised things; his
mental clock and maps were askew from how strongly he'd been under the effect of his heat
in the vehicle as Gregory drove, so he couldn't figure the right distance, but he knew their
general location from the man he'd stabbed.

The question was, however, if they would be safe venturing further west in hopes of finding a
larger town and therefore someone who might be able to connect him to his people...

And then, if it was safe to contact his people. My driver was in on it- of course, so either he
was instructed by someone he feared more than me or was a willing participant.

Idly he wondered if anyone had informed Sherlock yet, and if- by chance- they might have
managed to keep the fool from getting into trouble.

He got back inside and Gregory had dug into the things they'd taken (or, well, that he'd taken-
Mycroft would admit he'd been very little help in escaping once they'd reached the garage)
and...

"Oh, god bless you-" he nearly fell to his knees as he crept closer to the fire, pulling one of
the many coats around him, "Is that tea?"

--

"It is." Greg grinned up at him, "They had some of what I can't read but know looked like
military rations, which included tea of... some quality... AND I spotted some of the universal
boat emergency ration bars? So someone probably brought them because they like them..."

Mycroft read the Russian- or translated it for him- and they made up a truly horrible tea, but
it was strong and hot and caffeinated: Greg made sure they had some for tomorrow. They ate
a good bit of the rations, and Greg insisted they eat a few squares of the oddly not quite
lemon-flavoured bars for dessert. "You need the calories! And it's cold, we will both be
burning calories just to stay warm."

And then Greg took one of the rags, and the now warm water, and did his best to clean
Mycroft Holmes up, in lieu of a shower or bath... When Mycroft tried to insist that he didn't
have to spoil him, Greg grinned, and held him, and whispered in his ear, "I know you have
more money than I do- not that that is difficult- so once we get back home, and everything is
settled- ish- you can spoil me by taking us both to someplace a lot warmer... ok?"

--

Oh dear...
Mycroft was... fairly certain he was melting away into nothing- the Iceman, Antarctica finally
conquered and heated to a boiling point by a man no one would have ever suspected of being
capable of doing so...

He had a feeling that despite Gregory's insistence on cleaning him, they would end up getting
just as messy again in a short while... especially if the man continued to speak to him in that
same low, smooth voice...

"I shall endeavour to change my plans immediately," he tilted his head, letting the man have
more access to his neck, "Here I was, thinking you might have wanted to see more of
Russia..."

Mm, somewhere warm, however... He had seen the man tan before and could only imagine
how lovely he would look now that Mycroft had the ability to touch him. "I thought you
looked very nearly edible when you returned from your vacation abroad. It took everything in
my power not to say anything."

--

Greg grinned, "I always suspected you had tasty, tasty freckles... and you do! So I would
suppose that you will want to keep under beach umbrellas and big hats while I get some sun,
and then we can both... oh..." Greg trailed off... and smiled... and made sure Mycroft was dry,
and pulled him to stand in front of the fire. "I bet you dance beautifully- you and those long
legs..."

And they took turns, humming and singing, and Mycroft did indeed dance beautifully, and
while Greg was a surprisingly good dancer Mycroft outshone him effortlessly... and
eventually they were back in their nest of coats…

+++

"The problem of returning home comes with the issue of not knowing who was behind this,"
Mycroft spoke more or less into Gregory's chest, several blankets and coats pulled over them
as they lay, that heartbeat of want and desire stemmed (for now). "I have an idea of where we
are, give or take several miles, however... it brings up several things to consider..."

He outlined his concerns- it was lovely to have a sounding board and truthfully, he felt it was
only right for the man to know the full extent of their issues considering Mycroft had dragged
him into this.

"We head towards civilization and get access to a phone. I will be able to contact my people
for evacuation, however... I have no idea how deep this betrayal runs. It's very possible that
any rescue team would instead be sent to finish the job. My driver was compromised- that...
should not have happened. But..." His words died out as he tried to think of a way to say what
he knew without... stressing the man.

"Gregory, it is... unlikely that even upon my return, I will be allowed to continue as things
were before."
--

"We get to a phone," Greg answered calmly, "And you call Anthea, or Sherlock, or both...
and let them worry about making sure the rescue team is solid... or we get to the border on
our own and get home."

He pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, "Continue as they were? Well, it didn't
seem like you were happy, or doing that well, so change is a good thing: tell me what we
need to do to make it work out for the better and... we do it." He shrugged, "I haven't gone
wrong putting my faith in a Holmes yet."
 One Day
Chapter Summary

Everyone knows that the trees will go one day

and nothing will take their place.
Everyone has wakened, alone, in
a room of fresh light and risen
to meet the morning as we did.
How long we have waited
quietly by the side of the road
for someone to slow and ask why.

One Day, Philip Levine, 1994

+++Twenty-Four Hours Later +++

Anthea had been called many things in her long and varied career; the most common, when
she had been an agent, was 'bulldog'. Upon going to work for Holmes, she had earned that
same name again- once the woman got something in her jaws, she refused to let go.

The disappearance of Mycroft Holmes was in her jaws, and there was hell to pay for every
man and woman who knew anything about it.

Mycroft's fellow Ultra Clearance threw fit upon fit when she returned and it took several
hours alone to handle the mess. She had been appointed before Antarctica's 'obvious
shortcomings' had been addressed, and clearly, they could not trust his judgement.

Anthea calmly stepped to the side for that one, and allowed Sherlock to reduce the man's
colleagues to a fine, guilty, paste.

John seemed content to watch as well as Sherlock dragged every person involved over barbed
wire for their actions- and inaction- against his brother. He wasn't exactly a therapist or
anything, but he'd read a lot of books in the past few years, and... he was pretty sure he could
recognise guilt and worry transformed into indignant rage when he saw it.

On the upside, they did locate and place several suspects into holding. Mister Holmes' driver
had been compromised- the man showed obvious guilt, but admitted that he had been told via
orders from a higher-up that Mycroft was... being removed.

Chief Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had been an accident, and he had been unable to
make his fellows aware of it, so both men had been taken. He then completed his route as
planned.
The problem arose, however, when they tried to track down the man's orders. They could find
no messages or evidence that such orders had been given of any kind, which only reinforced
the idea that it was an inside job...

And pointed the finger right back to the remaining Ultra Clearance.

--

Anthea had not expected nearly all of the Ultra Clearance to object to her stepping up. The
objections ranged from mild- something like insisting she re-prove herself- to severe-
outright refusal because she was associated with Antarctica. The only one who had no
objections was Love, and given her own obvious issues she was not in as strong a position as
she should have been.

However she was not the helpless, harmless, Personal Assistant that she often appeared to be.

She let Sherlock Holmes find and attack their weaknesses, throw the entire group into
disarray, while she watched... and waited... and gathered evidence quietly... until there was
one last meeting...

"The orders for Antarctica's kidnapping came from somewhere in your ranks." She said
suddenly during a lull in the infighting and arguments. "No matter what any of you may
choose to say about Mycroft Holmes' 'shortcomings', he was never a traitor."

She smiled her friendly, 'customer service' smile- every bit as false as most of them, "Even as
much as many of you tried to force him to justify every decision, hounded him for his
failings... not one of you has ever put forward better solutions: like most critics, you can pick
apart the play but you cannot write one. In any event, the time to criticise him is long over.
You all act as though you will be permitted to choose his replacement, when the only one of
you not currently under suspicion of treason is Love."

Her smile stopped having the pretence of being a 'friendly' smile. "Allow me to be plain:
Antarctica was taken, alive, and is currently missing. With one exception- Love- you have all
been actively blocking his recovery, or the verification of his death. That, alone, is at least
potential treason. One or more of you is responsible for permitting him to be taken by some
other power..."

She gestured and Love gave her a grim look and opened the secure door.

The men- and one woman- that entered were armed, and businesslike, and every member of
the Ultra Clearance Committee save Anthea- now Morgaine- and Lady Smallwood- Love-
were pulled from their seats, patted down, and handcuffed. They protested, vehemently, with
a few declaring her actions to be treason.

She permitted John Watson and Sherlock Holmes into the room: Sherlock looked as though
this was not unexpected, John looked startled but then grim.

Morgaine looked at all of them, "As I said: you are all under suspicion of treason- permitting
Antarctica to be assassinated would have been bad enough, but permitting him to be taken
alive? All of your PAs and senior staff are also detained... and Love and I will go through
your communications, one at a time. If you are cleared? You will be released."

There were still grumbles and protests of treason, of being treated poorly- a sharp reminder
that this was protocol and that the more complaining they did, the more guilty they looked,
quickly shut the mouths of the few complaining parties.

After ensuring all parties were brought to secure, isolated holding chambers, the search
began.

+++

Over the hours, numerous things were uncovered. The majority of which were unrelated or
unimportant to the investigation at hand, but still rather... juicy.

While his colleagues had been so harsh in their crackdown on Antarctica using his privileges
to watch over his brother, they had quite obviously been hypocrites.

At least two cases of embezzlement of government funds, several cases of using insider
knowledge to manipulate the economic market for their gain, bribes taken from contractors
wanting specific jobs... Numerous affairs- funded and maintained through the use of
resources available to the Ultra Clearance members in custody.

"You know, I never did quite mind the... affairs and such," Lady Smallwood commented after
discovering yet another, "However, I wish they had the tact to not do such things in the
office! How am I ever supposed to go into those rooms again knowing the things Herschel's
been doing in there?!"

--

The woman once called Anthea stared at the evidence before them, "I want those rooms
disinfected, and I want to know what the hell kind of vitamins the man has been taking to
keep that up!"

Lady Smallwood snickered, Anthea laughed, "Well, that too..."

Sherlock was not cleared to go through the actual Ultra Clearance materials, so he had been
sent to go over the assistants and aides and other people of rank and influence but not that
much influence. At about the time Morgaine and Love were reluctantly conceding that there
was no evidence of them being involved in Antarctica's kidnapping- even if there was plenty
of evidence of them acting against the man in other ways- Sherlock came in, looking
somehow pleased and grim at the same time.

"You found something, then?" Lady Smallwood asked, already knowing the answer. The man
was much easier to read than his brother, and just looking at his face made it clear he'd found
something. That mix of pride at being the one to find the clue and the grim expression of
knowing was absolutely not a good thing to find...
Sherlock presented his evidence and the idea of a plot slowly fell into place. The perpetrators
were still largely unknown, but what Sherlock found was good enough to start with.

--

Once they had a lead, they could justify combing through the suspect's home, and once they
did that the evidence was plain and clear, even if incomplete. All but one of the Ultra
Clearance members were released...

"Gentlemen, you here are cleared- thus far- of the current crimes, although I assure you we
will be having words about what we did find." Morgaine took a breath, "We have hard
evidence linking one of the peripheral aides- one of the newer ones assigned to Antarctica
against his wishes- being directly involved in the order to his driver. He, in turn, was talking
with the direct aide to the currently still detained member of our number."

Love spoke up, "He may or may not be directly involved, but it certainly is... suspicious...
that he was the one who selected the new aide for Antarctica, even if, unfortunately, everyone
was pushing to have their people in position."

"Warwick's PA was involved?” Herschel asked- Lady Smallwood was reminded,

unfortunately, of the absolute filth the man was capable of apparently writing (and doing),
and tried to banish those memories to someplace she’d never remember them again. “He
manages most of our security!”

“His PA was involved,” Love repeated, “We found no evidence that Warwick himself was
involved, however, knowing he handles the security for many of us, he has been kept
contained for further questioning and until we can get a more comprehensive idea of the
plans sent into motion. As of now…” She paused, “Evidence was found that shows
communications between a Russian agent and both aides.”

Chaos was an insufficient term for the result. Most of them acted entirely shocked that any
such thing could occur, while simultaneously scrambling to check their security...

Morgaine waited until everyone was at a full fever pitch and pointed out, "Of course the aides
likely thought they would get away with it- and at least one be promoted to Antarctica's
position- since after all, how many of you had made it clear you wanted him removed?"

Love nodded, “Ah, 'will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?' indeed."

“Do we know of his location?” Another Ultra Clearance member- Porlock- asked, “We need
to send a retrieval team immediately! Taking Antarctica alive… the information he knows is
enough to ruin everyone in this room, let alone the country.”

“We are still working on that,” Morgaine coolly replied, “Unfortunately, both aides are being
quite tight-lipped, for now.” Her gaze was frosty- nearly freezing as she looked around the
room, the expression reminiscent of the blistering looks Mycroft Holmes was capable of
producing. “I remind you all of the training and procedures that all members of Ultra
Clearance have had to take and review regularly…”
Several members turned pale; worried expressions on their faces. To be taken alive was… a
horrible thing- and it had been agreed upon again and again that if rescue seems untenable or
your captors seem to want information… There was only one path forward.

An honourable suicide.

“In this case,” Love added, “We may be lucky that Chief Detective Inspector Lestrade was
also taken. I do not believe Mycroft Holmes would kill himself and leave the Chief Detective
Inspector behind- so we must find them quickly, and hope that DCI Lestrade was not killed
immediately upon leaving the country.”

Morgaine put her hands down on the table, and appeared to study her nails for a long moment
before looking up and addressing them again. "It is easy to put from mind something that,
unfortunately, I believe everyone here present knows- even if they should not. Mycroft
Holmes was- is- an Omega. As Doctor Watson pointed out, his Heat suppressants and scent
blockers will have worn off and the danger to him multiplies... and that... is if they did not
know that when they took him."
 Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Chapter Summary

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening , Robert Frost, 1923

Leaving the cabin had an air of finality to it that Mycroft did not like.

In truth, he knew they had to leave- they had a limited supply of rations and wood to burn,
and eventually they would either freeze to death or run out of food. The lack of food was
more of a concern, really, because they'd been burning a lot of calories dealing with his heat,
and... even in the best of circumstances an Omega and their partner would go through quite a
bit of food…

And so the next morning- once his heat had... finally died down and poor Gregory was no
longer being taken advantage of, they gathered remaining rations, cleaned themselves as best
as possible using a rag and melted snow over the fireplace, and then left.

They luckily had a mishmash of winter clothing to wear and everything else was aired out
while they packed- Mycroft was utterly embarrassed by the idea of driving about trying to get
home while they both wore clothing completely soaked in the scent of his heat. He was...
more than a little mortified by... all of it, really…

And Gregory certainly didn't help!

The man was... utterly charming and seemed just as happy to leave as he had been staying
there, and he was smiling and whistling and opened up his door for him…

"So," Gregory hummed as they went over a rather rough patch of the road, "Favourite
flowers? I need to know what to buy you..."

Mycroft blinked, "Ah- is... there a particular reason you're... going to be buying me flowers?"

Greg smiled out the windshield, "Well, I admit it's a bit arse backwards, but you deserve to be
courted anyway, even if it's after the fact..."

Mycroft turned a very fetching shade of pink.

They drove, taking turns driving and napping and asking each other questions. Mycroft
discovered that Gregory thought fountain pens were charming, that he was far more fluent in
French than Mycroft had known, and that he had chosen the insults to that Alpha because of
old knowledge from Russian mobsters. Greg discovered that Mycroft felt he had more
control with a fountain pen, and the letters looked better- even if he was forced to use a
ballpoint on some things- that Mycroft's French was completely fluent, and he sounded posh
in that too, and that he truly appreciated the way he had taken down that Alpha.

Sometimes they had to hide the vehicle under cut brush and snow because they saw, or
thought they saw, another vehicle. They refuelled from the petrol cans, but eventually? they
were going to be out of fuel, so they had to risk contacting people- assuming, now that they
wanted to find people, that they could…

--

Mycroft had very few people that he could trust with his whole being. That list was made
even shorter if he specified that he trusted them to help him with their whole being.

He considered that list as they drove and talked, trying to weed out suspects. This had
obviously been orchestrated by someone close to him. Someone who knew he was an Omega;
that narrowed the suspects considerably, but… there were a shocking number of the Ultra
Clearance who knew his secret and pretended they didn't. Confronting him would have made
things worse- either they followed old sexist thoughts or they lived with the knowledge of an
unbonded Omega within their group and the danger that knowledge posed…

He could call Love- Lady Smallwood. Her position had been rocky over the prior few years
and she’d gained a measure of his respect by refusing to allow her husband’s troubles to
drown her as well. She was likely trustworthy because she needed allies, and of all the people
gunning for him, she hadn't outwardly shown to be against him.

He could call Sherlock. Or Doctor Watson.

The problem though, was that while he suspected they would at least attempt to assist, the
odds were… leaning more towards them hanging up the phone before he got the chance to
explain. Or in Sherlock’s case, not answering the phone at all. My team would have told them
I’m missing. And I’m positive that Gregory would be missed. They would have told both of
them, possibly attempted to secure them, and…

He sighed, and Gregory made a questioning noise.

“I was deciding who to call, once we are able. Anthea will be the best option, of course- she
is trained to replace me and knows the most about me. I considered Sherlock, but I suspect
he’s more likely to just not answer… I will have to hope that she has discovered more about
this plot than I’ve been able to.”

Gregory looked like he might have something to say about his brother, and Mycroft rather
expertly distracted him. “You know, you didn't answer your own question regarding flowers.
What if I wanted to return the gift?”
Mycroft had said orchids, of course. They were beautiful and surprisingly hardy and horribly
mistreated by most who bought them. Kept for their blooms until they died and then the sad
care instructions often caused the poor thing to die when it could have flourished with just a
bit more care…

--

"Your brother wouldn't answer if he thought everything was fine- because it’s Sherlock and
he's difficult that way- but he absolutely would answer if he knew you were in trouble, and he
still had his phone." Greg pointed out firmly, not letting himself be distracted, however then
he turned his attention to flowers...

"As to flowers? Well, when I was young I was trying to be a sports guy... and then when I
was older, well..." He shrugged, "And most of the time I looked at flowers I was buying for
someone else, you know? But... my uncle has a farm, and I travelled a bit too... and... I like
the flowers I saw on the roadsides, and in the trees. They're hardy, and often medicinal or
edible or... something unexpected, and they look a hundred times more real than the flowers I
buy at the florists, you know?" He shrugged again, “I don't know what most of them are
called."

--

“Well then,” Mycroft glanced out at the rather desolate and cold plains that surrounded them,
“We best endeavour to get home even more than before, so that you can take me on a drive
and I can teach you the name of all those pretty country flowers.”

He had started a bit of a mental list, not only to keep him going until they got back, but to
keep himself going after they got back.

In truth, he was more than a little terrified. It was one thing to say sweet things when drunk
on Omega’s heat and another to say them after, and yet another to say them still once they
were finally home!

But then Alpha Gregory’s words about how it was obvious he was unhappy with things as
they were before… and change would be better- they would fix things…

Well, it made the Omega in him- he no longer tried to keep the poor creature locked up out of
sight- preen quite happily, and… that was enough to relieve some of his worries. One day at
a time.

“I think-” He paused, then leaned forward, trying to see better, “I think that might be a town!”

And indeed it had to be, because soon enough they were passing a worn sign so covered in
snow he couldn't even begin to attempt to read it.

--

"Well, it better be a town," Greg pointed out, "Because we don't have any more petrol. I think
we can make it actually INTO town without having to walk- barely- but only because one or
both of us is lucky as hell..."

Their luck held, because the vehicle coughed, sputtered, and stopped... in front of what
appeared to be the only inhabited- or at least lit- building in town. Several men- well, Greg
assumed gender but as bundled as they were who knew- came out... and they were holding...
cups?

Greg grinned, "Beautiful? If our luck is holding, we just ran out of petrol in front of the pub!"

+++

They did not run out of fuel in front of a pub.

They ran out of fuel in a mining camp/military… base(?) charged with maintaining the
border between Finland and Russia.

Thankfully, however, most of the bundled-up men seemed to be drinking and thankfully
hadn't brought out their arms; they seemed more confused about the poor underdressed fools
in a Russian military vehicle than anything else.

“Let me handle this one- just look happy to be here and smitten,” Mycroft said to Gregory
before he got out of the vehicle.

“Easy to do, beautiful,” The Alpha grinned and Mycroft very nearly snorted at his antics.

One of the men shouted at them- first in broken Russian, and then again in Finnish…

Finland. Thank god.

Of course he couldn't help but mentally map their position- estimated- and realised they must
have quite literally driven over some deeply frozen lakes as the snow fell… and gone off-
road.

He decided to not tell Gregory about that potential brush with death.

“{British},” he tapped his own chest, holding his hands up in the universal ‘we come in
peace’ gesture, and replied back in Finnish, purposefully speaking a bit poorly.
“{Honeymooners, just married. We came to visit Russia, but… we made poor choices.
Trusted people who were not friends, got sent to… someplace, to work? We managed to
escape, barely, and… drove until we ended up here!}”

The story seemed to be believed, one of the men muttered about English tourists and
someone else laughed, but the man who’d spoken first silenced both of his companions.
“{Come in. It is cold out. We will see about contacting someone.}”

“{Oh, oh yes, thank you…}”

He relayed the conversation to Gregory as the men escorted them inside the small- and
blessedly warm- building.
--

Greg had long ago learned to assume that the least likely people understood English- or
whatever language you were speaking- and usually when you didn't want them to, so once
Mycroft told him their cover? Well... he obviously had to play it up...

"I don't speak Finnish, and I only speak enough Russian to insult people," Greg smiled in the
universally understood 'hapless husband' manner. "{Does anyone speak French?}"

While they were getting communication set up- military communication of some kind, Greg
thought it looked like shortwave but who knew- they had a conversation as best as they could
in their shared languages, with Mycroft translating... and his 'Omega husband' turning quite
pink as he asked how you said 'beautiful' and 'clever' and all those other words probably
helped sell it.

Apparently it wasn't uncommon in Russia to encounter people who were very bigoted against
male Omegas, so it was extremely believable that they ran into trouble...

But they were finally connected to some higher command, and then Mycroft simply gave
them a phone number and a message... and looked anxious as hell because after that all they
could do was wait, and find out if they were going to get back to London safely, or be
dumped over the north sea.

Greg, meanwhile, figured his job was to take care of that food, and heat and shelter part... and
when Mycroft came back from the 'phone call' he took him aside, "I have arranged for three
very important, critical things: my absolute duty as your husband." He nodded solemnly, "A
shower, something hot to eat, and an actual bed."

--

“Oh! Oh,” Mycroft thought he might very well collapse into the man’s arms at those words.
“A shower… and a real bed?” The promise of a hot meal was also tempting, but a shower! A
real shower with soap and running water… “Oh that’s… utterly wonderful- can we do them
in that order, please? A shower, a warm meal, and then a bed…”

A bed! With a mattress and sheets and pillows!

Gregory seemed to think that was a perfectly fine idea, because he immediately swept
Mycroft off to the showers and even bragged about the change of clothes he’d begged off
someone. They had extras in a communal sort of hub since the weather could change so
drastically…

The water was blissfully hot on his skin and Mycroft nearly melted entirely and went down
the drain like cotton-candy getting wet, dissolving into nothing…

He sagged back against Gregory, eyes shut, “This… is wonderful. Do remind me to introduce
you to the shower at my home… I think the only thing mine has over this one is that mine is
back in London, and we’d have to have the privilege of being in London to use it.”
--

Greg's smile could have lit the room. He wants me to use HIS shower, in HIS home, in
London!

"And once you show me your kitchen I will happily bring you breakfast in bed, so we can
enjoy the bed longer." He apologised for pulling them from the shower so soon, "I don't know
how long that hot water will last and it would be horrible to use it all up for our hosts." He
dried Mycroft off first, and then himself, and pulled blessedly clean clothing onto them- Greg
suspected they were supposed to be winter long johns, but it was enough.

Greg was delighted with the hot stew, it was on the plain side, but hot, and meaty and served
with actual bread- the noises Mycroft made over the meal were very distracting... He
immediately resolved to learn to bake bread.

The bed- with clean pillowcases and sheets, yes- was sadly sized for one... "I can sleep in the
other one," Greg pointed out that it was narrow enough to be a real risk of falling out of it if
they attempted to share a bed...

Mycroft looked at the beds, "They are not fastened down, merely heavy and sturdy..." He
smirked at Greg, "Can you push two beds together, Alpha?"

Just on that sentence alone, Greg picked up the other bed and put it down next to... ok, he
pushed it a bit, but it moved! And then they both lay down and if they couldn't precisely curl
up together? They could at least touch…

+++

It took time for the message to get where it needed to go. They'd arrived at the camp in the
late afternoon and by the time they got settled and a message was relayed out... Well, then it
was time for a shower and dinner and sleep...

And... eventually- after passing through the hands of several lower people who knew nothing
other than to relay such a message higher up, and then higher up still...

It arrived in safe hands, carried by a young agent previously under Mister Holmes' employ,
now under Morgaine's. "We've received word, Ma'am, from what appears to be a... Finnish
border outpost?" Junior Agent Eric passed over the envelope containing the message's
contents. "Our department was notified as it contained keywords that triggered a positive hit
in relation to Mister Holmes' disappearance."

--

It took nearly all of her will to calmly take the envelope, and thank the agent, when she
wanted to tear it from his hands and rip it open. She willed her hands not to shake and opened
the envelope...

Alive- and Lestrade as well. She felt as though a weight fell away from her- not entirely in a
positive way, since she almost had to grab the desk for support. She went into the 'operations'
room, where Sherlock was terrifying several analysts- including two of the Ultra Clearance
personnel.

"Gentlemen, Lady," She nodded at Love, "We received a message: our primary, and his
associate, are alive- status otherwise unknown- however, they are awaiting pickup in friendly
territory." She didn't dare say anything more distinct with the number of people here- even
though all were working on Mycroft Holmes retrieval, she no longer trusted that they were
entirely dependable.

As she escorted the Ultra Clearance and Sherlock - and Watson, who had been there in
support of Sherlock- into the secure room, she muttered, "They all spy on people for money,
indeed."

--

Sherlock did his best to not look anxious, but he was- John could tell that easily enough and...
so could everyone else in the room. "A message? What message?" He asked the moment the
doors shut behind them, "Where are they located? You've confirmed both Lestrade and
Mycroft are safe?"

"Sherlock," John tugged his sleeve, "Give her a second, yeah? I'm sure Anth- Morgaine is
going to tell us."

Morgaine nodded her thanks at Doctor Watson and unfolded the note. "Mister Holmes and
Gregory Lestrade have been recovered and are in safe hands. They are currently located at a
remote outpost that borders Russia; I have no details on how they got there, however, we did
get coordinates from the Finnish officers who are located there, as well as assurance from
Mister Holmes that he is alright--"

"What assurance?!" Sherlock snapped- Morgaine stared at him coolly.

"Mister Holmes asked them to contact his 'sister', Morgaine," she started, well-practised at
ignoring the man's lashing out. It was understandable- she had wanted to lash out a dozen
times during this as well. With a faint smirk she couldn't quite hide, she said, "And relay the
message that 'Merlin and Gawain are safe'."

--

Sherlock stilled for the first time in a very long time: torn between sagging in relief, and
demanding to know exactly where they were...

John smiled a quirked smile, "Merlin and Gawain, huh... suits, I guess..." He nudged
Sherlock, "Gavin, Godfrey, Gawain..."

Herschel spoke up crisply, "We need to get a rescue team and medical out immed-"

Sherlock interrupted, "I'm going."

Love and Herschel tried to protest, but Morgaine held up a hand, "That... is actually quite
sensible. With the issues with our security and our people..." She glanced at Sherlock and
then at Watson, "Outfit both of them, Doctor Watson has field experience. As to anyone else
being sent for security? I want people pulled who do not normally work together in teams..."

+++

The ‘rescue’ mission was arranged over the course of several hours, even as a reply was
written and sent back to the border outpost that Holmes and Lestrade were at. It was short,
not revealing too much other than noting that a small security group would be coming to
evacuate them and bring them home. It did well enough to disguise the fact that Holmes was
a high-priority asset, making them instead look more like a couple of silly Britishmen who
got all fumbled up on their honeymoon after ending up on the bad side of a Russian town…
and their country bailing them out.

Sherlock and Doctor Watson were allowed and to go and given very strict orders- the only
information they had was that the pair were safe, nothing regarding their condition or
anything else, so as far as the Finnish military in the area was concerned? They were simply
the medic and a high ranking officer to escort their countrymen back home.

The remaining security was carefully picked- while it would have been easy to just grab the
best of the best, they also had to consider the fact that Antarctica already had the best
guarding him before… and this had happened.

In the end, however, they had a small team of six (including Sherlock and Doctor Watson)
ready to go. They would fly into Finland and then, weather permitting, take a chopper out to
the outpost. From there, the pair would be escorted back home and the debriefing process
would begin.

+++

If Sherlock's anxiety and concentrated will could have pushed the plane to Finland- they
would have been there in minutes.

He did manage to play the bored diplomatic attaché- to some extent- as they waited for the
helicopter: the fact that John Watson was very clearly exactly what his identification said- a
military doctor- helped.

Every minute spent waiting for weather and clearance and so on, however... John was
honestly beginning to be a bit concerned that Sherlock would hijack a helicopter and try to
fly it himself. So he spent a great deal of time 'pestering' (distracting) Sherlock with questions
about Mycroft's medical background, and Greg's.

"What makes you think I know anything about Greg's medical history?"

"Gawain..." John reminded him.

"The one time no one wants me to call him by his actual name," Sherlock grumbled, "What
makes you think I know his-"

"Because I do not for one minute believe you didn't sneak access to look at it?"
Sherlock tried to look offended. John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock grumbled, and started
reciting Greg's near entire medical history…
 Tears
Chapter Summary

I saw my brother cry today.

He seemed five years old
it did not seem to me that he was six feet tall.
He lost a thing he treasured,
I saw it in his eyes.
To see my brother hurt,
It made me want to cry.

Tears, Margaret A. Collins, 2006

Mycroft was... quite anxious. He was worried about who would be sent to retrieve them, who
had started this plot against him, who- on his level- had supported them...

He trusted Anthea to ensure he'd get home safely, certainly, but... she was the only one he
could trust, and how deep did the deception spread? Would they board the helicopter and be
whisked away to their deaths? What about the security? He'd been set up by his own security,
and now he needed to trust more?

Gregory could obviously smell his distress- he whispered sweet nothings, trying to reassure
him... They were so close to home, and then... a warm shower, or bath, in Mycroft's own
shower. With his products, not the rough military bar soap that made him feel dry. And his
bed, all big and soft...

He was finally relaxing when they got word a chopper was spotted, and then they bundled up
in their thick coats and headed outside to watch it land...

And... no- is that... Doctor Watson?

And then his brother stepped out of the craft and Mycroft froze so suddenly and went so
tense a breeze could have snapped him in two.

--

Greg had been, honestly, faking a lot of confidence for Mycroft's sake. He had also been
concerned about who might be sent, and if they could be trusted... but where Mycroft tensed
at seeing John and Sherlock, Greg finally! could actually relax.

"Oi! Here! Oh thank God..." Greg waved and half-hauled Mycroft with him as he ran over.
Sherlock snapped his head over at Greg's voice, and then locked onto the other bundled
figure being pulled along with him... and without thinking he stepped forward to grab hold of
Mycroft, scanning his face and eyes for any sign of damage, trauma... "You're alright? You...
I was..." terrified "-worried."

--

Mycroft... didn't quite know how to react. His brother was... here! In Finland! Coming to...
rescue him? And... the concern on his face was... real, and Sherlock was... grabbing him
and... saying he was... worried?!

He honestly thought, for a moment, that perhaps he was still unconscious in the car and
would be waking up soon, because that seemed too unbelievable to... believe.

"I..." Sherlock's eyes darted over his face and Mycroft lifted a hand to pat his brother's hand
gently, the action one he was somewhat unused to. "I am perfectly fine, as always." A
conflicting mess of emotions swirled in him; his brother was concerned, which was...
touching, and... Sherlock's never concerned over me.

Not quite sure what to think, Mycroft cleared his throat. "I suggest we depart shortly- I would
hate to linger on our host's good graces for much longer."

--

John gave Greg a look as if to ask if he believed this? but Greg was just nodding, and he put
his arm around Mycroft!?!

"Merlin, you know I don't speak Finnish, so let's thank everyone and... get home, right?"

Sherlock looked as though if he just blinked enough some of this would make sense, as
Mycroft turned and thanked everyone and then asked if they brought clothing, and pointed
out they were wearing borrowed clothing... and Greg and Mycroft took the clothes and went
into a building 'so they could give the gentlemen their clothes back'.

Sherlock very quietly asked John, "John? I... am sober, right? You saw that too, didn't you?"

--

"Yes?" John questioned, though he didn't think Sherlock was questioning the same thing as
he was. He was more in surprise over seeing Sherlock act so... obviously affectionate towards
his brother!

But Sherlock... saw something else, apparently?

"Ah- no, I think I missed what you saw..." He corrected.

"Gr- Gawain," Sherlock frowned, watching the building the two men had gone into, "Put his
arm around Merlin!"
"Oh," John considered, "Well... that makes sense, doesn't it?" Sherlock looked like that did
not make sense, so he continued, "He's an Omega, and... judging by his scent and the house?
He's unbonded, and... was in a situation where that could be a very bad thing. Gawain's an
Alpha, yeah? So you've got instincts in play to keep Omega safe, and it's a good disguise to
keep people from sniffing too close. Dating or something- plenty of rural places still aren't
fans of unbonded Omegas running about..."

--

Greg, as they were changing, commented, "I know it's awkward to have the doctor be...
well... John, but honestly it's the safest choice to send those two!" He carefully bundled the
borrowed clothes, and stripped the beds, and then walked Mycroft back to Sherlock and John.

"You get settled in the helicopter, beautiful, and I'll run all this stuff to the laundry... be right
back." He waved at John and Sherlock and trotted off.

Mycroft was turning an interesting, probably-not-yet-catalogued shade of pink. "We... are

honeymooners," he explained, "-who ended up in a poor situation due to a kidnapping, and
made our way here."

"Ah," John nodded- glancing at Sherlock, Of course it's a disguise.

Sherlock very much looked like his brain could be throwing sparks or something as it tried to
decide what was happening.

"Ah... Doctor Watson- I'm certain the secret is good and out now, but were you perhaps given
any of my medications? Or am I to wait until we've landed back in London and been cleared
by medical before I'm cleared to ingest anything?"

--

John immediately went back into 'doctor' mode: "Ah... I am sorry, but what we brought with
us was medical to treat emergencies... I wouldn't want to give you anything until we verify
what you were exposed to, reactions and so on..."

He somehow got them into the helicopter to sit down, and Sherlock- still looking a bit
stunned- handed him a thermos of tea and a sandwich...

"All we knew is that you were alive and well enough to send a message." John looked at him
seriously, "I assumed you were drugged to be kidnapped? And were you exposed to anything
we need to test for or worry about immediately or can it wait?"

--

"Yes," Mycroft confirmed, accepting the thermos and sandwich almost by habit. The whole
scenario was... still quite odd- he tried to reason that it was because people who knew him
were here, and not strangers. He would be less affected if it hadn't been people he normally
kept a facade up in front of... "We were drugged twice. A gas, to start, in the car. A shot later
on, likely to get us out of the country and to keep us asleep longer. An additional shot was
given to me at a later point once I was awake, however..."

He paused, "Gregory and I will be questioned at length once we arrive home, so I will answer
your question as simply as possible seeing as we will have to retell the story another dozen
times. I always did hate debriefings after such things," Mycroft sighed, "Nothing we were
given should have any longer-lasting effects, however it's best if I see my personal physician
once home. Not to offend you at all, Doctor Watson, but they know my personal medical
history in much greater detail and... it would be a great deal less awkward for all of us after."

Gregory came bounding up, then, a wide grin on his face as he climbed into the chopper, and
Mycroft immediately passed him the thermos and the sandwich. "Here- eat this. You've
expended far too many calories the past few days and not replenished nearly enough of
them."

--

Greg took both by reflex, and then frowned, "If there isn't enough for each of us we will
share."

Sherlock, still looking as though he might imminently faint or something, silently handed
Mycroft another thermos and sandwich.

John cleared his throat, "If we are good to go?" and got them to buckle in. As soon as the
pilot had clearance they were taking off at speed. The noise was surprisingly muffled from
Greg's experience, and he said so.

John grinned, "Yeah, the typical military helicopter doesn't have much soundproofing, but I
think this one is halfway between a military chopper and a passenger one." He had to raise
his voice, but not like he would in the military evac choppers.

John looked at Mycroft, "We transfer to a plane for most of the trip home, more
comfortable." And he didn't try to say much else until they got to the airfield.

Sherlock kept looking at Mycroft- you... are alright? and being baffled by the fact that
Mycroft kept turning pink and kept busy drinking the tea in his thermos and avoiding looking
at him.

Greg obediently ate his sandwich and had tea, and then once they landed he helped Mycroft
out of the helicopter and up into the plane...

--

This was horribly awkward. It was one thing to have a... potential suitor (and wasn't that a bit
of a terrifying, wonderful thing to fully admit?) with him, going back to their lives where
they both were expected to behave in a certain manner, and it was another for that suitor to be
Gregory Lestrade, a man his brother had quite plainly called 'dibs' on before! Sherlock was
already looking at him and...
Well, his brother certainly wasn't stupid. He knew. Sherlock knew and Mycroft knew that he
knew, and Sherlock knew that Mycroft knew that he knew!

The only saving grace was that Sherlock hadn't said anything yet, which at least gave him
time to try and... gather his bearings. He'd... expected a bit of time to try and talk with Alpha
Gregory about things; yes, he'd... well, he'd rather like it if they courted. He admired the
Alpha quite a bit and not only because of his secondary sex- he had many wonderful traits.
But that had been in the middle of Russia, not London, not...

And he has a son! What if his son dislikes me? That was a given, of course. Most people
disliked him, not that he let it bother him. And Sherlock will be so annoyed. He was already
annoyed when he realised I was talking with Gregory about him...

His little brother got quite possessive over 'his' people.

And...

It would be so, so stressful dealing with the mess of Ultra Clearance and Gregory. They
barely tolerated him as an Omega (though they really shouldn't have known it at all), how
would they react to know he was being courted? That he may have an Alpha that would, in
the primitive way of thinking, have power over him and the knowledge he carried? It would
be utterly horrible for Gregory! The stress, the security reviews...

And... considering that up until the past few days I figured I'd be dying alone, I haven't made
any plans to make this easier on him!

He managed to get the man alone- ish- on the plane, requesting a somewhat private
conversation under the guise of, 'verifying information for a debrief'... They were still stuck
in the same cabin as Sherlock and John, but they could at least sit further back and he... Well,
he was simply being a good person, really, in warning the man and offering him an out. It
would... most certainly sting and hurt, but that was nothing to the torture that could lie ahead
for them both if things proceeded- sentiment was, as he'd said before, not... an advantage.

"Sherlock knows," was all he said to start, because that was certainly enough, wasn't it?

--

Greg smiled, "Well, he did ask me to look after you, even if I don't think this is what either of
us expected of it..."

Mycroft sputtered, and Greg looked thoughtful, "I take it you would prefer I fill him in?"

Mycroft tried to protest that this wasn't what he was trying to say at all and "I was trying to
warn you that the... security, and the difficulty of dealing with my fellows is something I
cannot ask of anyone-"

Greg put a finger very gently on Mycroft's lips. "Mycroft... you aren't asking me: I'm asking
you... and I've been at the periphery of enough to have some idea what I'm getting myself
into."
Sherlock, meanwhile, was apparently attempting to become a turtle.

"What on earth?" John stared at him, bewildered.

--

Sherlock mumbled something, and John looked at him confused… and then at Mycroft and
Greg…

And Sherlock finally blurted out, “He’s courting my brother!”

John looked stunned and an expression of pure dismay was written on Sherlock’s face… and
then at Mycroft and Greg again, and Mycroft was... turning… pink? “What?”

The secret was well and truly out now.

For a moment, Mycroft wasn’t quite sure how to react- his first instinct was to pull away in
an effort to appease his brother and to hide the obvious public display of affection, but…
Gregory was sitting by him, their knees touching, and his hands were warm and his smile
bright and despite having been drugged and dragged all over the Russian countryside the man
was happy.

“Yes,” he said aloud, and cleared his throat as he faced both his brother and Doctor Watson
head on. “Gregory Lestrade is a very fine, good man, and I have admired him for the many
years we have worked together. I knew he was an equally admirable Alpha, but had no
intentions of… approaching that. Since the attempt on my life- our lives- Gregory has made it
clear he wishes to court me, and I have accepted.”

Straightening his back he continued, “I have not been satisfied or happy in my personal or
work life in many years, and it has been brought to my attention-” he glanced at the Alpha,
who was utterly beaming, “-that I deserve to try and achieve such happiness and personal
satisfaction. I expect that makes you uncomfortable or you dislike it, and I apologise for how
you feel, but I will not apologise for that pursuit, or for anything that comes of it.”

--

Greg was indeed beaming at him. He then looked at Sherlock... "I expect Sherlock is...
uncomfortable with it in the same way as it’s... awkward to think of your parent dating: from
what both of you have said, Mycroft, you all but raised him."

John really thought he should have been used to feeling behind- well behind- when dealing
with a Holmes, but somehow it always snuck up on him. "You're... an Alpha… right," He
cleared his throat, "Do you know I didn’t know until I got your medical information out of
Sherlock? Um... how... long have you two been seeing each other?"

Sherlock put a hand over his face, and reached out for his own thermos of tea. "It's insanely
awkward. I don't want you to apologise for it, Mycroft, but what I do ask is that... you give
me some time to... adjust and try not to... involve me in it." He then muttered, "Good god,
he's courting my brother..."
He glanced up at Greg, "Thank you for taking care of him, I absolutely positively do not want
to hear anything about it- or at least no more than I need for the case. You are an acceptable
in-law, and you are far too good for him, but I suppose you don't see it."

Greg beamed at Sherlock, knowing- especially given he was blindsided by it- that was his
blessing on it. He put his arm around Mycroft , "Yes, I am courting Mycroft." He looked at
John, "Hard as it is to believe? We apparently both had some interest in each other and...
didn't even think the other one would be interested, so neither of us was going to jeopardise
the friendship..."

Sherlock groaned and got up to get a hamper- with an oddly tied string around it- "Here! It's
food! I didn’t trust anyone so I ordered it carry out, and... please eat and stop… that."
Sherlock scuttled off to sit facing a wall in the front of the plane.

--

John was still interested, even if Sherlock had decided he was done with the topic. He hadn't
had a clue Greg was an Alpha before today- the man didn't look like the typical Alpha and he
didn't present himself like one (but neither did Sherlock)… and god knows he’d never really
been the best with his nose, especially since he got back from the sandbox. “But… we found
out that you were taken after having dinner…”

Mycroft accepted the hamper, thanking his brother softly. He… was thankful, really- and
quite shocked. Maybe it had been the way things were heading over the years but he had
expected more of a fight, a childish tantrum and a ‘how dare you’ over his admission of
wanting to be happy. Some days it seemed like all his brother wanted was to make sure any
sliver of peace or happiness he had was gone- it was easy to forget that Sherlock was never
truly malicious…

“It was somewhat a… running joke between the two of us that I owed Chief Inspector
Lestrade a good meal at a good restaurant as an apology for all the kidnappings and
warehouse meetings. I had decided, that day, that… I should pay my debt to him. I already
apologised numerous times that I would have never invited him if I had known what was
going to happen that evening…”

--

Greg had been smiling, but as Mycroft explained he got very serious. "We'll have to debrief
about it all, but it turned out to be a very good thing that if Mycroft was going to be
kidnapped, that it happened then, and that they took me along." He shrugged, "They didn't
know who I was, apparently, and... better safe than sorry, I guess? By the time we woke up in
Russia somewhere, Mycroft convinced them to keep me alive..."

He glanced at Sherlock- well, Sherlock's back- and looked back at John, "I had no idea
Mycroft was an Omega, and luckily? I don’t look like the stereotyped Alpha- maybe more
than some, but... it was believable I was a Beta, and not knowing I was a cop? I was in
Alpha-level restraints, but I still had at least four handcuff keys on me."

--
Mycroft would always be apologetic for unknowingly risking the man’s life; it was just in his
nature. Doubly so for it being Gregory Lestrade’s life that had hung in the balance- a rare,
good man.

The Alpha’s arm was around him and in a show of great bravery considering Doctor Watson
was looking at them, he leaned in and very softly rested his head against the man. “I am
incredibly lucky that Gregory was taken with me and that they kept him alive. I would have
been dead otherwise, if I was lucky, and truthfully, it was his insistence that we both would
be leaving the facility together that ensured our mutual escape was possible.”

--

John Watson nodded slowly, "We... had to go into your house and look for clues: we were
told you had been taken home and were missing from there." He held up a hand, "Found out
otherwise, but uh..." He glanced over toward where Sherlock was very much not listening!
"We were both pretty concerned, and glad it looked like someone was with you."

He nodded at Greg, "I'll just give you two some time to decompress and... right." He got up
and went over to Sherlock, and they talked about Rosie, and other things until they were on
final approach home.
 Alone
Chapter Summary

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody,
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, Maya Angelou, 1975

They landed at the private plane airfield and Sherlock hurried off the plane first. Mycroft
knew, and Greg did not, that private planes and this airfield had... extremely poor memories
for him. John walked down the stairs just in front of them- ever the medic, making certain
they didn't tumble down the stairs.

Greg kept a hand on Mycroft quietly and subtly in a show of support. He was tense, and
trying to look as though he hadn't been through what they had just been through.

There were a number of identical cars waiting at the tarmac. There were a lot of people that
Greg's practised eyes recognized as SIS security, a man he... didn't recognize but looked like
he was in charge somehow, and then...

Standing next to one of the identical black cars were two men who didn't fit at all: one a
small mountain of a man, and he'd probably been more so when he was younger, and another
older man who looked... possibly northern African and was wearing Muslim style clothing.
He could tell when Mycroft spotted them because he actually stopped briefly on the stairs, his
eyes turned that way, and then he relaxed- relaxed enough that Greg almost worried he would
fall.

"Those two men are trusted- absolutely-" Mycroft spoke softly as they continued down the
stairs, apparently certain Greg would know who he meant. "Anthea must have recalled them:
they are both retired. The other man you do not know is Herschel, one of my colleagues."

As they reached the ground Herschel came up to greet them. "Antar... Mister Holmes,
Mycroft, I am glad to see you well: Mister Lestrade? If you could-"
Mycroft corrected him, "Everyone present knows I am sometimes called Antarctica,
Herschel... and this is Chief Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Ah... yes, of course... DCI Lestrade? If you could come this way: we need to debrief Mister
Holmes: you will both be taken to-"

Greg kept a hand on Mycroft's back and shook his head slightly. "No."

"...I beg your pardon?" Herschel stopped, as did the security man who was coming up to take
Greg aside.

Greg's voice took on just a hint of an Alpha rumble: "I don't take orders from any of you-
triply so since there have been both active and indirect threats against Mister Holmes' life. If
Mycroft wants me to debrief separately, or travel separately, then I will, of course, but
otherwise?" He shook his head again, more firmly this time. "Besides, we were together the
entire time, so it's not like I don't already know everything that happened."

--

Herschel looked astounded by the impudence of the Alpha; his eyes widened ever so slightly
and darted between the two, as if questioning whether the man spoke for Mycroft Holmes or
not.

"DCI Lestrade is quite right," Mycroft nodded, "Until I am reassured that the active threat
against me- and potentially against our fellow Ultra Clearance- has been handled, then I
would prefer to keep company with those I trust to do me no harm." He raised an eyebrow,
"Additionally... I have been drugged no less than three times, escaped a heavily guarded
facility-" a bit of an exaggeration, but it served the purpose he wanted it to serve, "-while
ensuring DCI Lestrade was kept alive, and then we both trekked through the frozen Russian
wilderness to get to safety over the course of the last few days.”

"So no, Herschel, I will not be heading into the office for a debrief. I will be journeying to my
home, accompanied by Agents Markham,” and Mycroft nodded in the direction of the two
men, “-and Patel, as I trust them to have not been compromised. Once I have recuperated
from the trials of the past few days, I will come in and debrief. Until then, however, I will be
accepting no visitors other than those I already accept in my home.” He tilted his head, lifting
his chin slightly as if daring Herschel to protest and added, “Considering Alpha Lestrade has
announced his intent to court me, he will, of course, be joining me.”

--

DCI Lestrade grinned and immediately nodded, "Quite right, apologies... Mycroft Holmes is
in no state to debrief." He nodded firmly, failing to get the grin entirely off his face. "And
besides, he promised me a real shower and a comfortable bed when we got back to London,
and I intend to collect."

He nudged Mycroft gently with his shoulder, "And as much as I enjoyed dinner last time I
think ordering in or cooking might be safer."
Mycroft actually smiled: Herschel looked dumbfounded.

Greg gave a full on Alpha glare at the security agent and he backed up immediately, and then
it was just Greg again. "So you shall have to introduce me to those two," he said as he
escorted Mycroft to the car with the two men, "I don't believe we've met... although..." As he
got closer, "Pardon, but... weren't you Mycroft's driver back... oh, wow... years ago?"

Agent Patel raised an eyebrow, "Good memory... ah, yes, DCI Lestrade: I used to be one of
Mister Holmes' drivers: currently retired, please call me Huzaifa."

Sherlock and John, meanwhile, were not quite so fortunate: Herschel managed to snag both
of them and start demanding "some explanation for this?!"

Sherlock groaned, "It’s… they..." then glumly, "They're courting. And Greg is far too good
for him, but I suppose it was inevitable..."

+++

It was truly a Herculean task to keep his laughter smothered until he- and all three men- were
safely secure in the vehicle. “Oh dear lord, did you see his expression?” Mycroft shook his
head, trying to smother his grin. He and Gregory had slid into the back seat with Huzaifa and
Douglas manned the front- he rarely kept the privacy window that separated the two sections
down, but his driver also hadn't been Huzaifa Patel in… years!

He leaned forward, lowering the window, “Whatever are you both doing here? I imagine
Anthea must have reached out, but I thought you were both happily enjoying retirement!” He
smiled- and wasn’t it novel to have so many good things to smile about considering the plot
against him- and gestured to the men. “Agent Huzaifa Patel, formerly my driver and guard,
and Agent Douglas Markham, another close guard. Gentlemen, may I properly introduce
Alpha Gregory Lestrade, Chief Detective Inspector.”

“A pleasure,” Rumbled the larger man, Douglas, and he turned enough to reach a rather
meaty hand through, shaking Gregory’s. “And yes,” He met Mycroft’s eyes before turning
back around, “Morgaine reached out.”

“Ah…” Mycroft cleared his throat, “Doctor Watson did say they… investigated my home.”
Gregory had a questioning expression and he clarified, “I left explicit instructions for Anthea
should anything happen to me. Going by ‘Morgaine’ means she received them, and has taken
over my position.”

--

Greg was momentarily alarmed at 'taken over my position' but then realised, "Ah, right, that's
why she had the... authority to take over the rescue." He nodded.

He put his arm firmly back around Mycroft- having leaned forward to shake hands with a
very evident Alpha, or maybe two Alphas in an agent suit, "Mycroft said you two were
absolutely trusted... given we were abducted by having the driver drug us... well... it's good to
have you here: sorry you had to interrupt your retirement."
Huzaifa chuckled from the driver's seat, "Oh, WE can be trusted with Mycroft's safety... I
think we had it in mind to make sure Mycroft was alright with you..." He glanced up at the
rearview mirror to see Mycroft leaning into the man, "But that looks to be a bit of a moot
point..."

--

A rush of warmth climbed his neck to his cheeks as Huzaifa's eyes met Mycroft's in the
mirror. "Oh, damn you..." He looked away and sighed, "Gregory is... trustworthy. He has
proven himself multiple times in my eyes, and did so again on our... trip."

"Your trip," Douglas repeated, "Myc... what have you gotten yourself into?"

The teasing name- he'd absolutely protest if anyone else called him such a thing!- made him
sag, slightly. The weight of so many troubles and untrustworthy allies and enemies had
settled over him and it was... only with that nickname that the weight of his burdens eased
ever so slightly. He had allies, still- Morgaine, Douglas and Huzaifa, Gregory... Doctor
Watson and his brother.

There would be more, he knew, and they would find them and hold them close to their chests
as they examined the battlefield.

But that was for tomorrow. Today? They were alive and heading home.

"I anticipated a move would be made against me," he verified, "-but I did not expect it would
happen so quickly. The plans I left behind should have provided some protection to
Morgaine, but... I have clearly made quite a few people angry if they would react against me
so swiftly, and..." Mycroft frowned, "They knew of my status as an Omega."

--

Both men reacted: the car moving slightly to one side before Huzaifa corrected, and Douglas
turning in worry... and looking suspiciously at Greg.

Greg pulled his arm free of Mycroft enough to put his hands up, "I didn't know he was an
Omega! I only found out because... they gave him a shot, and they had some..." He put his
arm back around Mycroft protectively. "They could have at least picked a damn Alpha that
would have had a chance in hell of being suitable...."

Rather gruffly Greg muttered, "Anyway I shot him, and we got out of there before Mycroft
got... too badly off."

--

Mycroft sighed deeply and leaned ever so slightly closer in to rest against Gregory.

"Why do I feel like you're not telling the whole story," Douglas frowned...

"Gregory is simply skipping the unimportant bits. They had not intended to capture both of
us, only me, and kept him alive as they weren't sure if he was a valuable asset. Upon waking-
" Mycroft relayed the story, leaving only a few details out of their escape; he went over the
events factually, detailing how Gregory had given him the idea to start a fire and provided the
means for their escape from the cuffs... "-and he drove, of course. It was..."

He paused, "Now, I assure you both that Gregory was a perfect gentleman- he didn't have a
clue until I had to very bluntly tell him, and then he was apologising and offering to lock
himself in a cellar!"

Greg immediately retorted, "You were going to try to lock yourself in a cellar! Ridiculous!"

Douglas and Huzaifa were two men who probably knew Mycroft personally better than
anyone. They were both glancing at each other, listening to the story and without words
coming to the conclusion that this needed to be sitting down with at least tea...

Huzaifa commented, "Ok, so... we both want the whole story- in fact, I insist- but I also think
it needs to be told in your house, with tea... and maybe some baked goods if you still bake..."

Douglas nodded firmly, "So... Myc… do you actually want Alpha Lestrade in the house
tonight? It wouldn't be at all unusual for you to want a night alone even if you like the guy:
we can escort him home..."

Greg very firmly stated, "If Mycroft wants me to go home I will, of course!"

Mycroft sniffed, "I want you to go home- with me- as I said." He then started fretting, "How...
How bad is the house? I know Sherlock and Watson broke in, but... was it cleaned up?!"

Huzaifa started with, "I'm sure Anthea- Morgaine- left it in good shape..."

Douglas rumbled, "We'll come in with you and check. If nothing else we need to do a
security check."

Greg pulled Mycroft in against himself, "I'm sure it’s fine... it was a crime scene! Sherlock
is... actually pretty good at those!" And then he suggested that he would wait in the car with
Mycroft with those two inspected the house... just in case.

--

It was a good thing that Gregory offered to stay with him while Douglas and Huzaifa checked
his security and ensured his brother hadn't ransacked the place. He hadn't considered it until
they were pulling up to his home and once he did start thinking of it, he could scarcely get his
imagination to stop presenting him with horrific scenes of disorganised shelves or... "They
went through my desk!" He slumped against the Alpha, "Crime scene or not, I doubt my
brother paid any attention to my filing preferences..."

He sighed heavily, resolving himself to the mess that must await him. "I will ignore it the best
I can until I get a moment to straighten up. You'll have to forgive any messes."

Of course, it wasn't very long at all until both men returned, verifying that his home was
secure and blessedly clean.
They made their way inside- Mycroft sniffing ahead cautiously, like they might have lied to
him, but other than his brother's inoffensive scent (and faintly he could tell Anthea had been
around, as well as Doctor Watson), the place was remarkably untouched.

"Excellent-" He considered, then headed towards the kitchen. "Tea first, I imagine... The
grand tour will have to wait until after I'm afraid," Mycroft smiled apologetically at Gregory,
"I think if either of us try to postpone telling the story of what happened, we'd be in real
trouble..."

His kitchen was as he'd left it last and he looked through the rather barren fridge, then
freezer... "I haven't had nearly the time or energy to bake recently, but I do know I kept some
things I could pop in the oven if the mood struck..."

--

Greg nodded, "We can... I assume there is some cleared place to order in while you hunt
down the things you put away?" He caught the absolutely stunned and worried looks on both
men when Mycroft confessed to not baking recently... so he thought he might need to
intervene- Mycroft was stressed enough.

Upon being assured by both agents that they would vouch personally for certain foods, and
would in fact go pick things up... an 'emergency shopping list' was put together, a good meal
ordered, and Douglas and Huzaifa left to go ick it all up personally...

With the understanding that they expected to get the full story when they got back.

That, at least, left Greg and Mycroft alone to have a cup of tea while something heated in the
oven to tide them over... Greg interrupted his apologies with, "You have nothing to apologise
for! I shudder to imagine the state of my flat right now..."

--

Mycroft could... only imagine- he hoped the man was relatively tidy, otherwise... Well, that
alone could be a... dealbreaker, really. "I can be somewhat... overly fastidious," he admitted,
"Although I think that's a habit learned from chasing after Sherlock and cleaning up his
messes."

It was also a rather stereotypical 'Omega' trait- he'd always despised the association. A clean
house, a clean nest- everyone should want a clean space and strive to maintain it! There was
nothing gendered about that at all!

"Please don't let Douglas and Huzaifa's protective demeanour intimidate you," he refrained
from apologising, barely, "They both worked with me for many years. I'm... surprised to see
them again. Anthea-" He corrected himself, "Morgaine must have pulled several strings to
have them allowed for this case." He sipped his tea and smiled a bit apologetically, "They're
likely to drag you off and give you a very scary speech about burying you in my garden or
something if you hurt me. Try not to laugh too much- they take that sort of thing very
seriously."
"I'm glad," Gregory smiled. "Actually I shooed them off to get food because... I didn't want
them to start crowding you about your depression until you at least had some tea."

Mycroft nearly spit up his tea. As it was, he sputtered in a manner that was terribly
unflattering and hurriedly wiped his mouth with his napkin, "My... what?"

--

Greg sipped at the truly excellent tea. "You make a fine cup of tea," he sighed happily. "The
things I usually get... oh well."

He arched an eyebrow, "You were clearly preparing to die, Mycroft- I was worried as hell at
dinner, and that's before we got kidnapped! You had all the earmarks of 'just tidying up loose
ends' and 'preparing things'... I was already going to be talking to Sherlock the next day
because I was worried. And then your friends? Those two?" He gestured toward the door,
"They heard that you haven't been baking lately and they looked downright panicked!"

--

"That wasn't depression, that was..." Mycroft bit at his lower lip unconsciously- it was an
oddly cute nervous gesture- as he considered what he could say...

And then realised that... it didn't matter. Or rather, he simply didn't care. If he was planning
on resuming his work in the same position as he had before then yes, it would matter, but he
wasn't. They wouldn't have let him and frankly, he didn't want to.

"Gregory, that wasn't... depression. That was... the life cycle of a man in the position I was in.
Retirement isn't something that many people in my position get the opportunity to enjoy," he
admitted, "In the past few years, I have repeatedly shown to have... made markedly poor
decisions when it came to my brother. My judgement is under question, my logic- they doubt
my work, now. I admit that when I invited you to dinner I did so with the ulterior motive of
'tidying up promises made' and with the intention of asking you to watch over my brother
should something happen to me, but I had thought I had more time to do so. Another year or
two, at the most, before someone made a move."

"Preparing for the inevitable is not depression."

--

Greg reached out and put a hand on his hand. "Preparing for the worst isn't depression...
unless you have given up any hope of anything better. Now... you are absolutely not going to
allow yourself to get killed, because just like I said before: we get out- or go on- together.
Right now if you just give up and let someone get rid of you, they are going to get rid of
Sherlock- after all, Anthea- Morgaine- called him in and I bet he showed just how tenacious
he can be... and obviously Morgaine would have to go..."

He sat back and finished his tea, "And of course they would have had to take me out pretty
early on..."
--

"I..." His hand was warm where Gregory had held it and he looked at that incredibly cocky
man leaning back in the chair across from him, "I have no intentions now of letting myself
get killed. I would not have fought very hard before, however, I admit." A somewhat sad
smile crossed his face, "Previously I saw... very little reason to continue fighting. My brother
has never... Well, suffice to say, our relationship was sour after dealing with Moriarty- it only
worsened after Eurus and truthfully, I did not think my loss would affect him nearly as much
as his would affect me."

"I am very lucky, Gregory, that you were taken with me. It's a terrible thing to say that I'm
glad you were, but I am: my training otherwise would have led to my suicide in order to
protect the information I know. Hopefully prior to me being bonded against my will, but my
end would have been inevitable either way."

"I have no intentions now of letting myself get killed. While stressful, I have spent the last
few days in wonderful company and companionship, and... that makes me quite happy,"
Mycroft admitted, ducking his head slightly.

--

Greg leaned forward, recapturing that long fingered hand. "I'm glad: you deserve to be
happy." He brought Mycroft's hand to his lips and kissed his fingers gently, "And while I
could wish for better amenities than the cabin and the barracks... honestly I've heard worse
stories of first trips together or honeymoons."

He shook his head with a wry grin, "Every trip my ex wife and I took together was in a great
hotel or vacation spot, with all the amenities as promised…” He looked around the kitchen,
smelling the baked goods heating and then looking back at Mycroft, "Didn't enjoy any of
them half as much as spending time with you- even if the food and the bathing facilities left a
lot to be desired." He then very solemnly stated, "However that doesn't mean we couldn't
enjoy things at a place with much nicer weather and a real hot tub!"

+++

Huzaifa and Douglas were quiet until they were halfway to picking up groceries and
takeaway. Huzaifa finally broke the silence: "Too depressed to bake before he got
kidnapped?"

Douglas rumbled, "I know... and did... you notice? There was dust on the top of some of his
taller shelves."

"You may be the only person I know taller than Mycroft," Huzaifa pointed out. "There was?"

"Yup. Never saw him not dust the tops of his bookcases, or the top of the picture frames."

"Suicidal?"

"Seems like." Douglas nodded grimly, "We... are going to have to take care of him."
They were silent except for discussion of groceries and so on until they were driving back.

"Well..." Huzaifa pointed out, "He... seemed happy with that Alpha... maybe that will help?"

Douglas nodded, "Not how most folks get together, but... kind of suits the man, don't you
think?"

And then they were back and hauling in groceries and unpacking take-away.

--

They didn’t get into any deeper conversations before Huzaifa and Douglas returned- Gregory
asked about his baking and Mycroft admitted he’d always had a weakness for good food,
desserts particularly, and that he found it rather stress relieving to bake. Tarts, scones,
croissants, cakes, pies- the problem was getting rid of the things once he made them…

Luckily he didn’t have to dive too deeply into why it was horribly problematic that baking
was his escape- it sounded like a very Omega habit to have, but he’d always struggled with
his weight and… the added temptation of delicious things made in a kitchen he knew was
blessedly clean was an issue.

Douglas and Huzaifa started unloading groceries and pulling out food and Mycroft stood and
worked on getting them tea and fresh drinks for everyone, as well as pulling out plates and
napkins and other various needed things.

“Is that- ooh,” he all but hovered over the bags like he was in a cartoon as the food was
pulled out, “I haven’t had Indian food in ages! Let me get out more napkins…”

--

Huzaifa scolded him- gently and in a friendly fashion- "You don’t get Indian food because
you don’t tell the people getting you food what you like!"

Greg nodded, "That's a problem I have noticed: if Mycroft is certain about something he'll
give an order, but he isn't good at giving 'soft' directions, like telling people a few choices..."

Mycroft blinked, "I'm not?"

Greg smiled apologetically, "I am a detective, beautiful: I notice habits. I always suspected
you didn't like looking indecisive or soft about anything, but it does mean if you don’t think
to ask for Indian food... people won’t get it for you." He laughed, "Also probably figure you
don’t like anything but haute-cuisine."

The two agents both had their eyebrows go skyward when he called Mycroft Holmes
'Beautiful' and then further elevated with Mycroft Holmes blushed.

Greg glanced at the two men, "Why don't we leave Mycroft to fuss in his kitchen without us
in the way, and you can threaten me while he sets up a nice dinner, ok?"

Huzaifa protested, "I wasn't going to threaten you-" Mycroft snorted in disbelief.
Douglas rumbled, "Well, I was..."

"Shoo!" Mycroft waved a kitchen towel, "Go clean up and get the... territoriality growling
over with."

Since Greg didn't know his way around, the two men escorted him to a 'study' to talk.

"Looks... very secure..." Greg said quietly.

"It’s a fully outfitted panic room and secondary office," Huzaifa nodded. "Very secure, and
soundproofed."

Greg leaned back on a bookcase that was clearly heavier than needed- he assumed it was a
safe of some kind. "So?" He grinned, "Damn... could have used you when we got
kidnapped," he gestured at Douglas, "-but no way they would have mistaken you for a
Beta..."

Douglas sighed, "Sadly? No. From what little I heard I would have been left behind or
killed."

"I got taken because they didn't know who I was, or if I was a high value target," Greg
nodded grimly, "They didn't have orders for if he was with someone. By the time I woke up
we were in a cell in Russia- not that I knew where we were yet- and Mycroft was telling them
I was a Beta, and valuable, and... that he would be more likely to cooperate if I was
unharmed."

Greg smiled, "Brilliant man- I mean I knew that, but..." he shrugged.

"They knew he was an Omega?" Huzaifa asked, "There was an Alpha there?"

"I didn't know what was going on, I'm afraid- I woke up a bit late in the story and… was a bit
groggy, but... they gave him a heat inducer."

Both men- the Alpha and the Beta- growled. Huzaifa was making what sounded like dire
threats in a language Greg didn't speak: Douglas was clenching and unclenching his fists...
and very quiet.

Greg waited, "I... reminded him I didn't speak Russian- a few words, but not to... find
directions or anything, and... if he didn’t make it out I wouldn't get out. I... look, he was
showing all the signs of being passively suicidal at dinner: I was already going to be calling
Anthea- she was Anthea then- and Sherlock... and he really seemed to think it was hopeless
until I shot the sonofabitch Alpha."

Douglas rumbled, "He's dead? Pity. Was he the brains? Or just-"

Greg almost choked laughing, "Oh god no! That’s why I said it... he wasn't even a good
choice as a match! Pretty purely chosen for being able to manhandle people and... being loyal
and grateful to whoever gave him the prestige job. Once we get back to Mycroft he can tell
you more, and I can go over what the tattoos he had used to mean- dunno if they still do."
"So the people behind this are still out there." Huzaifa said flatly.

"I assume so, and... they know he's an Omega- obviously." Greg looked grim, and then
smiled, "And it turned out we both were interested in each other for quite a while, and figured
the other one wouldn't be..."

"What?"

"Why would a poshy elegant fellow like Mycroft be interested in me?" He shook his head
with a truly besotted looking smile, "I had no idea, and somehow he had no idea I was
interested in him!"

The two men looked at each other, "So..." Douglas said slowly, "You... were interested in
each other before, but..."

"No clue it would be... welcome? So why ruin a friendship." Greg nodded. "Anyway," he
puffed up proudly, "He's given me permission to court him!"

+++

Mycroft was quite worried. He didn’t think Huzaifa or Douglas would hurt the man, and he
didn’t think Gregory would hurt either of them, but lord only knew what sort of conversation
they would have…

He fretted, bustling around the kitchen and getting place settings ready for them all, along
with drinks and everything else… He set out the food- it smelled delicious, but looked
messy- and… finally heard them coming back towards the kitchen; he’d left the door propped
open so he could hear them.

Gregory led the way, chest puffed and looking terribly proud and smitten.

Behind him was Huzaifa and Douglas, both men looking a little shell shocked…

“You’re all intact and there’s no mess to clean up, is there?” He asked, looking the trio over
before nodding, “Good. Now sit and eat- I doubt either of you were taking care of yourselves
once Anthea reached out…” Mycroft frowned, “I suppose I should get in the habit of calling
her Morgaine again.”

At seeing the inquisitive expression on Gregory’s face, he explained- he found himself...

much more willing to tell Gregory things than he might normally find himself. That was
obviously because the man was simply wonderfully likeable...

"Anthea previously went by Morgaine when she was a field operative," Mycroft clarified,
"And I went by 'Merlin'."

--

"So that's why you were Merlin and... you figured everyone would understand who Gawain
was," Greg nodded, "Oh. I had thought it was just initials for us, but then I was wondering..."
He laughed, "But then we had actual hot water and I stopped thinking!"
He looked around the kitchen slowly, "You'll have to show me the organisation, and at least
how to make a cup of tea and a cup of coffee..."

Huzaifa cleared his throat, "So the... outpost you got to- somehow- was the first time you had
hot water?"

--

Mycroft had been ready to explain the further joke behind the name of Gawain- Sir Gawain,
rescuer of women, the 'Maiden's Knight'... making Mycroft the maiden in their story, but alas,
Huzaifa cleared his throat and was clearly fishing to be told more of the story...

"It won't do any good to start from the middle, unless Gregory already told you the first
part?" He asked, and Douglas gave a so-so gesture. Mycroft nodded, "Right, then. I shall
rehash the beginning to ensure we're on the same page..."

"We awoke in a rather secure cell. After some time, an Alpha entered- he introduced himself
as Shabalin Yakov, but stated that I would be allowed to call him Yasha, as his friends did."
He skipped over much of what the man said- it would only make the three men angry, he
knew, and the story would already be upsetting to Douglas as an Alpha. "He asked about
Gregory-"

At the knowing nods, he skipped that as well.

"He made it quite clear he knew my secondary gender, and dosed me with a heat inducer,
with the promise to return in an hour. He also made it clear that Gregory would be moved
elsewhere, before then, so I knew we had limited time to try and escape." Mycroft sighed,
"Gregory escaped his cuffs and undid mine, and then argued with me for far too long. I was
trying to make it clear that I would likely become dead weight after a certain period of time,
and he would need to leave me- I would be trackable by my scent, and I had no intentions of
letting my heat progress to a state where I would want the Alpha. I would do my best to
ensure he got to safety before that point, and then spend what time I had left ensuring my
own suicide..."

Mycroft looked at Gregory, still a bit baffled, "And... he refused to accept that he may need to
leave me behind- even without knowing I was an Omega! I stated he would need to,
repeatedly, and he refused."

--

Gregory sputtered, "What?! There was no way I was leaving you! I wouldn't have left you
behind in any case- even if you did become dead weight, which you never did!"

"I would point out that I was utterly useless by the time we got to the garage," Mycroft did
point out, "Shabalin Yakov met us there- he called me clever and knew that was where we
would head. By then, we had acquired several guns and I had hoped to be able to wield one,
as needed, but I had no chance to do so."
He looked at the Alpha, raising an eyebrow, "I believe you fought Alpha Shabalin Yakov by
yourself and bested him in combat while I sat like some poor Heat-sick Omega on the floor. I
wouldn't call that anything but dead weight..."

Douglas and Huzaifa exchanged looks, and Douglas spoke up. "He fought and killed the
Russian Alpha- the only other Alpha?" The big man nodded, "That explains it then."

"He didn't know they were fighting over me," Mycroft shook his head, "Not that my instincts
cared much either way."

--

Greg snorted, "You were not much direct help in the fight, so? He was easy to provoke and I
got him to charge straight at me, and I shot him. HOWEVER!" His voice took on a firm
authoritative tone that had seldom if ever been aimed at Mycroft. "You helped keep us on
track once we were in the vehicle. You- YOU- spotted the small road that successfully led us
to the cabin: I didn't! Oh, and I also wouldn't have even known what direction to drive in,
since I couldn't ask anyone where we were- you did that."

He nodded firmly, "Like I said, I handle the food, fire, and things like that, and you handle
the strategy and all the brainy things."

--

Huzaifa brought a hand up and hit his forehead. "Ohh... Not useless like a normal person; you
were 'useless' for Mycroft..."

Mycroft frowned.

"There's a big difference, Myc," Douglas agreed. "A normal, civilian Omega wouldn't have
gotten to the garage, gotten a location from someone and been able to give directions in a
small, enclosed vehicle with an Alpha who had just proven themselves as a suitable mate.
That's impressive for anyone else- you're used to being able to do even more, so you felt
useless."

Mycroft sighed, "The car ride was... awful, but I managed to help guide Gregory to
someplace secure. I was practically guessing and playing odds near the end, but the idea of
trying to spend my heat in such a small space without offending him was... was mortifying!"

--

"Offending me..." Greg groaned and put a hand over his face, "He tried to convince me that
he was going to lock himself in a root cellar! Because somehow he thought he wasn't an
incredibly attractive man that..." He groaned, "Just pass that food over will you? I have a
great need for real actual hot London food, and I have been promised a hot shower with lots
and lots of hot water, and a big comfy bed with a beautiful intelligent Mycroft in it."

"Oh, yes- you need to eat!" Mycroft nudged a takeaway container towards him, scooping a
healthy amount out onto the Alpha's plate, "You expended far too many calories and didn't
replace them-" He glanced at Douglas and Huzaifa and spoke rather proudly, even as the two
men looked a bit amused over it all, "He insisted on ensuring I was fed first..."

Greg muttered something that might have been "Of course I did."

Huzaifa was hiding the smirk behind forkfuls of food and bits of bread, but Douglas started
grinning. "Well, it’s the damned strangest way I think anyone ever met a GOOD mate: I was
worried as hell, you know. But you two... well, I can’t tell about anything else, but..." He
looked seriously at Mycroft, "He respected you- still does- and didn’t force the issue-"

Greg tried to say "Of course not!" and nearly choked on his food.

--

It was Mycroft’s turn to swell with pride as he ate and boasted, “Gregory was a perfect
gentleman. I explained I was an Omega and my worries about making him uncomfortable,
and he started working on solutions- letting me know he’d lock himself in a root cellar or put
up a curtain of coats and blankets we’d stolen, or whatever I wanted, but he insisted I stay
near the fire…”

“By then, I was experiencing the more…” His face coloured slightly, “-physical symptoms,
but his presence helped lessen them considerably, and we… ended up having a rather candid
talk regarding things. I had… always found Gregory to be an admirable man and Alpha, but I
would never have even considered approaching him- he was married, as far as I was aware,
and…” Mycroft sighed, “I have never- and never will- fit the stereotypical ‘desirable’ traits
for an Omega in today’s society, and with my work it’s much too taxing and dangerous-”

Gregory immediately started to protest what he said about ‘desirable traits’, and Mycroft
reached to pat his hand.

“But we talked, and discovered we had… both admired the other from afar and were under
the same opinion of not being suitable for the other. At no point did he make any allusions to
us spending my heat together, or anything of the sort- in fact, I asked him if he would be
willing to… ah-” His cheeks pinkened further, “-assist.”

--

"I was mostly concerned… that he had been drugged and… wasn't sure about..." Gregory
dragged a hand through his hair. "Well, that's when we ended up confessing that we were
both interested before."

He blinked and looked at both men, "And my divorce was already final, so… no, I'm not
married."

--

“Good,” Douglas gave a firm nod, “Mycroft is too good to be anyone’s ‘side piece’.”

“I would never have asked him if he was still married-!” Mycroft flushed, “I may not have…
agreed with his choice of life partner, but I would never have tried to interfere like that!”
“Well of course you wouldn’t,” Huzaifa shook his head, “But that was a worry, since last I
knew he was married…”

Mycroft shook his head, “Yes, well- getting us back on track- we talked, and when my heat
ended, worked on getting home. Luckily Gregory had ransacked the garage before we left;
we stole all their winter gear and many rations so as to prevent an extended search… and
headed west the best we could when we left. It had snowed heavily during the days spent at
the hunting cabin, and I’m fairly certain we didn’t even drive on any roads…” He couldn’t
help but look at Gregory apologetically, “I hadn’t wanted to say in case it worried you, but I
am fairly certain we accidentally drove over a frozen lake at one point to end up where we
did…”

--

Greg winced, "Probably the clear flat part of the drive, right?"

He polished off the plateful, "I was too busy to think about it, but that makes sense." Nodding
firmly he continued, "As far as what all happened? Luckily we were able to inhibit pursuit by
setting a fire and stealing all their coats and things, plus I grabbed all the rations I could find-
had no idea how long we would be getting to help." He flashed a terribly smitten look at
Mycroft, "He kept us on track, and found us the cabin to take refuge in. Luckily my uncle has
a farm so I knew how to chop firewood without cutting my own leg off! But there was a good
pile of wood ready."

He looked thoughtful, "All in all? It... wasn't that bad once we got away from the captors..."

Greg shook his head, "But a distinct lack of hot showers and soft pillows; still, could have
been far worse."

Grinning at Mycroft he added, "Something to tell people years from now when they ask how
we got together, yeah?"

--

"Indeed," Mycroft agreed, moving his own empty plate aside. "Now," he looked at both
Douglas and Huzaifa apologetically, "I hate to be a poor host, but truthfully, there is nothing I
want more in the world right now than to parboil myself in my own shower, change into my
own clothes, and then sleep in my bed."

Douglas and Huzaifa both grinned at him and the larger man rumbled, "I expected to be
kicked out sooner..."

"I'm not kicking anyone out," Mycroft corrected him, "You are both more than welcome to
stay in the guest room. There is also the larger couch in the second office, of course, however
I suspect that might be somewhat uncomfortable-"

"Thank you," Huzaifa interrupted him, "But unless you don't feel safe and need us here... I
think we're going to head to where we've been staying. The perimeter security team is one
we've screened, so I wouldn't be worried there." He cleared his throat and looked pointedly
between Greg and Mycroft with a raised eyebrow, "And I suspect privacy is of the highest
requirement..."

Mycroft wasn't used to anyone knowing about his sex life- he was a very private man by
nature- but he was starting to think he might slowly turn a more permanent shade of red, like
a broken chameleon!

Greg smiled, and then cleared his throat, "While... you make your farewells... Mycroft? Can I
borrow a phone or a computer to call my son? I am hoping he didn't even know anything was
wrong, but I'd like to tell him-"

Mycroft startled, "Oh, oh of course! My apologies, I hadn't even considered..." He looked to

both Douglas and Huzaifa, and Douglas passed what was obviously a burner over to the man,
"I hope he wasn't worried- and we'll need to ensure the Met knows you're safe as well, I
imagine the SIS had to tell them you were... gone..."

--

Greg nodded, "I'm less worried about my job, but... I should call them too."

He started sending a few messages, and phoning, and leaving a couple of voicemails, while
Mycroft escorted the other two men out. When Mycroft came back he was listening to the
phone... with an odd look on his face. He hung up and then looked up at Mycroft, "Hey, I
don't mean to bother you, but could you please arrange for my boss to get some kind of
official notice? He apparently got a sort of 'don't report him missing yet' note and that's it. Oh,
and no one told my son anything, but he had wondered why I hadn't returned any of his calls-
I explained I was on assignment and my phone got taken."

He grinned, "He wanted to know if Sherlock pinched it."

--

Mycroft covered his face with his hand, "My brother's reputation precedes him always," he
shook his head, "I would hope that... he might do so less going forward, but knowing
Sherlock, he'll likely do it more."

He dropped his hand, "I will have Morgaine inform your place of work that you are
unharmed and safe- and in London- although it's unlikely either of us will be allowed to do
much over the next few days." A pained look flashed over his face, "The debriefing is going
to be utterly horrible. I'm sorry in advance- I shall endeavour to make it up to you in other
ways." It had been a long time since he'd flirted with someone and he might be a bit rusty at
it, he suspected, but he still knew the music and the dance... and couldn't resist the wink at the
end of his sentence.

"For now, though, I believe I promised you a wonderfully hot shower and a soft bed. A short
tour, first, then, ending in my bedroom. And it's a shame we didn't think to send anyone for
clothing for you, but I am certain you'll fit in mine, should you need any." He added, "We
might have to cuff the pants legs..."
--

Greg sat up straight- in every sense of the word- and grinned, "Well... it might be a good idea
to let me wear some of your pyjamas when they deliver food, and try to debrief us..." Then he
grinned wickedly, "I did once threaten to take the 'debrief' literally if they didn't get me a
chance to sleep and some coffee first..."

--

“A shame then, Chief Detective Inspector, that I did not press the issue further previously-"
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "I can think of several debriefings you gave me where that would
have improved my mood drastically."

He offered his hand to the Alpha, "Although I think I may end up having to clean up a few
fights if you try such a thing during the upcoming debriefs. I'm better at sharing than my
brother is, but I don't think I could bear the idea of sharing that."

Greg laughed and took his hand, "Not that much of an exhibitionist, in truth, although some
stories from back in the day might imply otherwise." He nudged the Omega gently with a
shoulder, "What? You don't want to see all their faces as you, oh, send in your first debrief by
video conference with me in the background singing in the shower or something?"

--

"That is awfully tempting," Mycroft admitted as he led the man out of the kitchen- pausing
briefly to show him the living room, the dining room, and the view of the backyard.
"Herschel's face when we came off the plane and you defied him was... wonderful by itself- I
can only imagine how they might react to that..."

He led the man upstairs, pausing to show the guest room and the music room- he frowned at
the layer of dust that was... plainly evident to him on the piano, but didn't mention it. I need
to clean.

And... eventually- though he did try to keep them both moving along- they were at the
bedroom, his hand on the doorknob, and Mycroft paused. "I... feel the need to warn you that
I'm not exactly the... nesting sort- or I've never felt the need of it here," he explained as he
opened the door, "I find it safer and easier to attend to my heats elsewhere, especially if I
chose to have a partner. It was much more secure than inviting them into my home..."

--

Greg nodded- he's a bit self conscious about that- and then very solemnly, put his hands on
Mycroft, stopping him before he entered. "If you will excuse my being a bit silly, and a bit
forward?"

And he picked Mycroft up and carried him over the threshold into the 'nest'.
 [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
Chapter Summary

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in], E.E. Cummings, 1952

Mycroft could count the number of times he'd been picked up and held on one hand- in fact,
Gregory had actually met the last man to do so; Douglas. That had been a rescue, however,
his legs too weak and injured to hold him up...

He banished those dark shadows away as Gregory lifted him-

Although he couldn't stop the faint squeak of surprise as he was raised, his arms lifting to
wrap around the man's neck. "Wah- Gregory!"

--

"Neither of us was in shape for me to carry you into the cabin..." Greg pointed out. "I figured
I should carry you into some nest!"

He took the requisite three steps (under long repealed law that dictated the minimum distance
an Alpha had to carry away his Omega for mating) and then a few more steps to gently put
Mycroft down next to his bed.

"That bed looks extremely tempting... but I think we both want to wash up before we touch
those sheets!"

--

Yes, he was going to be pink or red forever.

"I- yes, agreed..." He cleared his throat and tried- and failed- to compose himself. It had not
escaped his notice that Gregory had been very deliberate in ensuring he followed old courting
customs; the Alpha had made it clear before that he intended to court him properly...

It was utterly flustering and made his heart skip a beat, in truth, as silly and childish as it
sounded. He had never quite thought himself a 'proper' Omega, even in the rather forward-
thinking times they lived.
"A shower," he repeated, and then pinkened further as Gregory grinned at him.

He grabbed the man's hand, pulling him along to the bathroom. It was a lovely bathroom-
he'd insisted on it. Heated towel holder, a decently large bath for when he needed to warm
and stretch old injuries or wanted to relax further... And a rather wonderful shower; there was
very little in the world better than a good, hot shower after a trying day...

Perhaps a bit of a chocolate sweet, but...

Well, now he had both- the warm shower and a chocolate treat behind him.

That emboldened him, and Mycroft moved first to turn the water on so it would be the right
temperature when they entered the spray, then gestured to the Alpha's clothes. "May I?"

--

"Truthfully? I have been counting the seconds until we both got out of these clothes..." Greg
admitted. He desperately wanted to peel Mycroft out of his clothing, but if Mycroft wanted to
take the lead on this? then by all means.

By the time he had his shirt taken off, Gregory Lestrade was using all of his willpower not
not... jump the man, or... rip his clothing... or... something! Instead he stood at attention- and
stood at attention- letting Mycroft strip him.

He seemed to take forever...

--

He had not intended to tease, but...

"In my weakest moments," Mycroft admitted as he stripped the man of his shirt and trailed
his hands down over Gregory's chest, soft curls of chest hair he hadn't even known the man to
have before their... 'trip', "I would imagine something like this. I would let myself fall into a
fantasy where I had your affection..."

His hands trailed lower, undoing the man's trousers and they fell- with some slight assistance-
to the floor, followed by his pants...

With a low voice, he gripped the Alpha and the responding muffled moan was music to his
ears, "Where I was the object of your lust."

--

Greg held back from doing the first, oh, two dozen? things that crossed his mind by force of
will. It did take a lot of work to be able to speak, but when he could... "Any time I... had
fantasies that wandered in your direction- which was unfortunately frequently- I tried to
distract myself, or... remind myself of the fact that..." he trailed off with a whimper and a
moan as those long fingers...!

--
Those long fingers curled and stroked even as he brought his other hand up to tangle in salt
and pepper hair- he hadn't intended for the years of piano lessons to pay off in such a way, but
he wasn't upset about it all.

"Yes, DCI Lestrade?" He smirked against the man's skin as he leaned in, utterly glad that
while they weren't the same height, they were close enough that he only needed to tilt his
head to brush his lips against the man's scent gland, nipping as he went. "It's terribly rude to
not finish a thought once you've started it."

This... was power- oh, he had held a position that many had envied, dined and eaten with the
true rulers of countries, spoken to royalty and made deals that started and ended wars...

But this? This Alpha- this beautiful, handsome man that he had admired from afar... having
him in his home, beneath his hands, listening to him gasp and moan and whimper?

Knowing it was all because of him?

He was heady with the knowledge, the thrill, the power of it all...

And what affected him more than anything was the knowledge that this was power given to
him by Gregory Lestrade. Nothing taken, nothing bargained, nothing forced...

--

If Greg bit his lip any harder it would bleed.

Mycroft clearly was enjoying torturing him, and while Greg might normally object to being
'toyed with' or teased? He didn't mind so much from Mycroft... and... it... made him happy
seeing Mycroft enjoying himself, looking genuinely happy! It was like the sun came out, or
one of those poetic statements that always seemed so ridiculous when he was a young man...

Finish my statement? "I have... no idea... what I was thinking..." He gasped out, "-thinking...
um... oh God! Mycroft!" And he ended up whining and holding his own arms, nails digging
in... as hands... did two different things- completely different! How?! And the man was
licking and nipping... and-

God Greg wanted to bite. He wanted to pick the man up and throw him on the bed and....
ravish him- ravish was the right word.

"Ravish!... God... please?" And he was all but drooling from the scent of him... wine by the
fireplace, and campfires with fruit and chocolate on his lips and…

--

“Of course,” Mycroft nuzzled into the man’s neck, nudging him towards the shower. He very
rarely felt a sense of pride in his secondary gender- there was nothing shameful about it, but
for all his life it had been treated as something inconvenient, something that held him back,
something to be hidden so he could do his duty…
It was… it was wonderful to see how much he affected Gregory, it was wonderful to know he
was wanted so deeply…

“Let me take care of you, Alpha,” he murmured as the warm spray covered them both,
already working to wash away the grime of travel… “Let me clean us… and then you can
take me to bed and the only things I’ll smell will be you,” Gregory groaned and Mycroft was
glad he’d had grab bars installed in his shower- he had old injuries that acted up some days
after hours spent at his desk or in meetings and having something to help support him had
been paramount when he had the bathroom updated.

--

If it weren't for the grab bars- and later Greg would wonder about that- he would have fallen.

"This time!" He gasped out. "Next... time... oh... I want to wash you and... taste... and
freckles! God I love freckles..." He was babbling, and could only hope Mycroft didn't mind.
The hot water was glorious, and momentarily distracted him...

"Absolutely right... much nicer shower..." Greg managed to recover a handful of wits, "Any
shower with you is good, but.. yeah, much nicer than the last one..."

He carefully reached out and brushed a curl back, "Your curls are so wonderful- I wish you
could have seen yourself... like an angel... surrounded by snow, the light on your hair, and... I
wish I could paint..."

He leaned forward and caught those lips with his own, the taste of Mycroft, and he suddenly
realised why all the food they had shared had been so much better...

"No wonder..." At Mycroft's curious look he smiled, "Even the plain food you got for me in
the warehouse always tasted like heaven- I could never figure it out... even got the same thing
from takeaway once, but it didn't taste right..." He kissed him again, the blessed heat and
humidity soothing his lungs and his chest. "Wine, and a fruit and cheese platter, and good
friends by firelight..."

--

Whine…

It took everything in him to not drag the man to bed right that instant!

“You… flatter me,” Mycroft panted, pressing close enough that the warmth of the man’s
body against him almost overpowered the warmth of the shower spray, “Although I did look
forward to our meetings… you were such wonderful company, even during the worst
times…”

Somehow they were kissing again and he could taste lemon tarts, the sweetness of the crust,
the tang of lemon…

“And now I get to keep your company whenever I desire it,” He sighed against the man’s
lips, hands sliding over slick, soapy skin. “You have no idea how intoxicating you are- how
wonderful you taste and smell… I want nothing more than to wrap you in my bed, to keep
you there until it smells like you and you smell like me. So everyone knows you are courting
me, my Alpha…”

--

If he didn't get all this soap off, and get both of them into bed...

"My Omega... I never ever thought I would have someone to say that to... My... croft," he
grinned, "Mycroft sounds better, I suppose because that's who you are... my... croft. My
Mycroft." He sighed and tried to rinse more soap off the man, while kissing him- it didn't
work well. "My. That’s all of it. My, it’s for Mycroft and My omega, and... just all of it."

The scent of a- "Candlelight dinners and fruit platters and baklava- do you like baklava? I
love it but it's sticky..." An evil glint appeared in his eyes, "Oooooh... I'd have to lick it off
your fingers..."

--

The idea of food and crumbs(!!) in his bed was not an appealing one, but any protests he had
at that got buried by the mental image of Gregory Lestrade, laying stretched out on his bed, a
mound of pillows and blankets… A plate of crispy baklava, the sticky, sweet honey that
would dribble down their fingers…

“Gregory,” Mycroft moaned, sweet words flowing over him just as easily as hands moved
over his skin, petting and stroking and god, for as wonderful as his heat had been- despite the
meagre surroundings they'd had- to hear the want in the man's voice now... To know he
wasn't swayed by... by pheromones or instincts- he wants me...

"I... I think we're-" The man's lips trailed over his jaw, down his neck, and Mycroft reached
behind him, fumbling to turn off the shower, "-clean enough!"

--

"And I want to get you dirty and do it again, beautiful," Greg sighed happily, inhaling and
honestly licking a bit at Mycroft. "But in a bed- definitely in a bed..."

They made it to the bed after towelling off in warm towels- towel heaters being the best
invention since the coffee and tea, Greg was convinced- and were kissing, and licking and
petting each other as they tumbled into...

The softest, cleanest bed- with sheets that made all the other sheets he had ever slept on feel
like cardboard- and he pulled the blankets up, and they were laughing about how spoiled they
were now, compared to coats and a fireplace...

And they both fell asleep before they knew it.

+++
It had been quite a long while since Mycroft had slept so well and so peacefully. Gregory's
presence while they had been abroad had been comforting and he had been running on fumes
most of their journey, but he had still slept lightly. It had been trained into him over the years
to be aware of his surroundings and it wasn't until he had fallen into his bed... in his house...
that he truly felt safe enough to rest.

Regardless of what either of them had planned or wanted to do, they had both slipped into
sleep before anything could be done...

And Mycroft woke hours later.

It was the oddest thing to not wake up to an alarm shrieking at him or his phone yelling.
Instead he woke up to the soft sunlight streaming in through the specially-made 'glass'
windows of his room... and he woke tangled together with Gregory Lestrade...

And that was almost dream-like enough to make him consider the idea of him still being
asleep.

Gregory mumbled something in his sleep and the arms around him tightened, making him
smile. How long has it been since I could say I woke with a smile on my face?

Too long, he suspected...

His bladder was yelling at him and it took some coaxing but he managed to untangle himself
from the many, many limbs that Alpha apparently grew in his sleep in an attempt to keep him
close. From there, he took care of his morning needs and dressed... and made sure to set some
of his pyjamas aside where Gregory would find them.

In an occurrence just as rare as him waking up with a smile, Mycroft purposefully chose to
ignore the medications in his cupboard. His 'secret'- as much of a secret as it had been- was
well and truly out and Gregory made it clear he enjoyed his scent…

And he suspected he could wield such a thing against his colleagues.

Now dressed, he considered the state of his kitchen and the Alpha sleeping in his bed... and
knew just the solution for when the man woke up.

+++

Gregory Lestrade woke to the smell of... something like cinnamon raisin? and coffee... and...

his first bleary thought was that it was their combined scent... but coffee? he slowly got up-
his back truly appreciating the bed- and saw that Mycroft had left him pyjamas... so... he put
them on, and indeed had to roll up the pants leg a bit- lovely leggy bastard that he was- and
he gave up on buttoning the shirt, due to his broader chest.

And went down to find, delightfully, Mycroft Holmes making breakfast and... humming. he
leaned in the door and just smiled, soaking it all in.

--
He'd started with a loaf of 'breakfast' bread- the dough was easy to make and soon enough he
had a cinnamon raisin loaf baking away in his bread maker. And then there was coffee, of
course, a strong and aromatic blend brewing away that would match the sweetness of the
homemade cinnamon rolls he'd made, now in the oven.

He was working on the glaze- that delicious icing that would top the rolls- when he turned to
check the oven and...

"Oh!" He fumbled- nearly dropping the bowl, but caught it all the same. It was set on the
countertop and he wagged a finger at the Alpha who had surprised him, "I am going to have
to put a collar and bell on you," he threatened teasingly, a smile already growing on his face
to match the one on Gregory's. The man looked perfectly at him in the doorway of his
kitchen, wearing his clothes...

The Omega in him preened as he looked over the Alpha, in good shape for his age, wearing
his clothing, the legs of his pants rolled up adorably, his shirt open and showing off the broad
expanse of his chest and curls of hair that he ached to run his hands through...

And the Alpha smelled of him- his scent coated the man, claiming him.

"Well, I knew you were gorgeous, but honestly? Gorgeous man, beautiful voice, delicious
smells... oh, and food and coffee too!" Gregory came in and slid his arms around Mycroft,
careful of his consent, "Ooooh, a collar and bell? That would raise some eyebrows when you
call in to work..."

+++

John was honestly feeling relieved, even if Sherlock wasn't. The worst of everything was
behind them, he expected- Morgaine and the cleared Ultra Clearance were handling clean up
on the attack and kidnapping of Myroft Holmes, Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade were
back safe and sound...

And apparently were courting, which had ruffled Sherlock's feathers.

That wasn't the only thing, though, that seemed to be weighing on the detective's mind.
They'd been allowed to go home after the scene on the landing strip and promised to return in
the morning to give a debrief of what they had seen. Sherlock had collapsed almost
immediately and John had done the same soon after- he'd only stopped to check in on Rosie
and Mrs. Hudson before falling into his bed. The kind woman had agreed to watch her and
make sure his daughter got to her nursery while they handled things, thank god.

"They're both fine and safe," John repeated, feeling like he'd said it a hundred times, "All
that's left is to handle the mess here, Sherlock..."

--

"The mess here..." Sherlock finally said as they prepared to go in, "-verifiably includes
people trying to sell him into slavery: it is a temporary reprieve at best until we root out
the..." He paused, and finally selected the word, "-troublemakers."
John frowned- he had been a bit focused on retrieving them. "I thought you and Anth-
Morgaine- had... narrowed that down a lot?"

Sherlock sighed, dramatically (of course), "We did, but they are refusing to talk- which
implies they think there may be a rescue, or... something worse if they do talk. The obvious
option is that they think the agents trying to get rid of Mycroft will win out and pardon
them."

They were quiet for a time on the way in, John and Sherlock finally getting cleared through
to Morgaine and getting a bit of light breakfast. While they were waiting John pointed out,
"Well, I was pretty well expecting the worst, you know, so getting them both back alive and
well? We're well ahead."

Sherlock agreed, but added, "They planned it, John: they knew... and they planned to force...
this was planned and information that should never have gotten out was used." Very grimly,
"It is not over yet: we just got appallingly lucky in the first round."

+++

"We have already been briefed by Herschel," Lady Smallwood frowned, "About the events
that occurred at the airfield. We have also gotten the reports of the men who ventured with
you, however, we wanted to get another view of what happened at the border base in
Finland."

Morgaine added, "It has been decided to give Mister Holmes and DCI Lestrade some time to
recuperate before asking them to come in." Of course, it had been Mycroft who decided that,
but she had ensured they would be allowed to rest undisturbed. The only exception was that
she had agreed to send a message sometime before lunch to ask them to join them.
Considering the fact that Mycroft liked her the most of all their fellows? She expected a more
favourable reply to her message than if it had come from anyone else.

She also was glad the man had insisted on getting some rest first.

John nodded, "Well, I told them both I'd like to see them get a complete medical check, but
by their own admission, neither of them had any injuries. They... ah- had been drugged..."

--

"Do we know with what?" One of them- Herschel- barked, "Was he questioned?!"

Sherlock spoke up, "He was never interrogated. They were both gassed- drugging one- then
given an additional sedative to keep both of them unconscious- drugging two- and..." He
glanced at Morgaine dubiously, "I... since he said he was drugged an additional time, I
assume it was a Heat inducer."

John winced, "I... thought that's what you meant. Luckily then they managed to escape
before... we had to deal with that." John looked at everyone else, "I was frankly expecting
someone to be dragging a force-bonded Mycroft back- in some shock from having his rapist
mate killed- or... retrieving his body. I was relieved as hell when I found out they were both
alive."

In the meantime, there had been dead silence after Sherlock's statement- just long enough for
John to speak- and then chaos.

--

"Bonded?!" Porlock exclaimed, and several other Ultra Clearance members echoed similarly.

People spoke over each other- some asking if the man had been Bonded, others questioning
how anyone knew if he had or hadn't...

"He was with an Alpha," Herschel spoke up in a brief moment of peace, "DI Lestrade- do we
know if he Bonded the man?"

"The cop's an Alpha?" Someone- John shot them a dirty look- asked.

"Greg's an Alpha, but they're not Bonded," John interrupted, "Yet, at least."

Sherlock drily stated, "Yes, Gregory Lestrade is an Alpha. He... is currently courting my
brother and... my brother asked him to come to his home which... he never does."

He spoke right over any attempts for anyone to interject, "They both were adamant that they
had never been separated- that DCI Lestrade, who has a very high-security clearance- was
with him at every step." He arched an eyebrow, "If Mycroft was bonded to anyone, DCI
Lestrade is an excellent choice, even if I think he is far too good for him, however, they... did
not smell bonded."

"Bonded!" Porlock- also known as Sir Edwyn- repeated, "He can't Bond with anyone,
regardless of their clearance level."

"What?" Asked John, "Why not?"

"Because," Porlock looked rather annoyed at having to explain the concept- or perhaps he
was just always annoyed in general, "Mycroft Holmes is an Omega. More than that, he is
Antarctica, and holds countless years of knowledge and sensitive information- a Bond would
put that in jeopardy as whatever Alpha bonds him could coerce him to giving that
information up much more easily. It's the exact reason why we were worried he'd been
forcefully bonded in the first place! Who does the bonding isn't important- regardless of the
circumstances, his Alpha would control him--"

"Would you be of the same mindset if he were an Alpha wanting to Bond an Omega?"
Morgaine swiftly countered.

"Of course not! That's different!"

Sherlock was preparing to rip all of them to small pieces- verbally at least- but then John
laughed.
"Oh... oh you are funny," John shook his head at Porlock, "I thought they said you had
something to do with MI6?" And then before Porlock could answer he said, "But I must have
misunderstood, because if you did have anything to do with intelligence work you would
know that the very best honeytraps are Omegas, and the special operations group of MI6
pretty much only hires sociopaths out of fears that an Omega will get their hooks into one of
their Alphas and turn them."

Porlock started to sputter- he reminded several other members of Ultra Clearance of a tea
kettle on the verge of exploding.

"Both of you," Lady Smallwood shook her head, "-are talking in extremes. This is not a case
of espionage or agents. Porlock, your views- while holding some merit, are outdated and
sexist at best. Doctor Watson, you have also made a good counterpoint. The case, however, of
Antarctica possibly choosing to Bond is a unique one. I do not think any of us- or even our
group as a whole- could deny the man that right. If we did consider doing so?" She raised an
eyebrow, looking at the few Alpha members of the group, "I would want to impose similar
restrictions upon any other Omegas or Alphas in our group- including the casual dalliances I
know you to have."

That obviously startled the Alpha members of Ultra Clearance, and they promptly went
silent.

Sherlock smiled- it was not the cold smile of Antarctica, nor was it the affable smile of John
Watson: this was the broad smile of someone who was willing and able to do something
unimaginably horrible to you... "Oh, my! Casual dalliances? Well, however casual I assume
they are all closely vetted and security checked given the risk of you being drugged, or
otherwise compromised..."

--

The rest of the meeting with the Ultra Clearance went... as smoothly as any such meeting
could go. With it having been pointed out that it would cause drastic problems for several
other Ultra Clearance members if they chose to take a stand against Mycroft Holmes, most
discussion of the man's possible intention to Bond with Alpha Gregory Lestrade was... tabled.

For now.

As it was, the topic swiftly turned towards their current issue of resolving who all was behind
the mess to begin with...

Of course, that was quickly forgotten when the message was received that Mycroft Holmes-
and the Alpha- would be willing to come and debrief after lunch.

+++

Greg had the rather odd situation of having to: call one of his team, reassure them he was ok,
ask them to go to his apartment and get his good suit... while fending off Mycroft's attempts
to apparently stuff him full of food until he wouldn't fit in said suit.
"Beautiful, honest! I appreciate the food- although you need to eat too- " But then he was
having some sort of rice dish…

He finally figured out that Mycroft was nervous about going in, and quite possibly nervous
that Greg would change his mind now that they weren't alone and in danger...

"Mycroft, I am not going to change my mind! As long as you are willing to have me? I'm
here!" He finally took both the man's hands, "If you wanted to do so, I would run off and get
married, and arrange a bonding ceremony and all that immediately, but... you deserve to be
courted, and... we both deserve a chance to get to know each other now that... we aren't
hiding."

There was a slight delay in leaving the house after they both got 'dressed'. Mycroft had to
admit that he bought Greg the new outfit not only because Sherlock had ruined that old suit
of his, but because he thought- correctly- that a properly fitted suit would look quite dashing
on him.

Luckily their driver was Huzaifa, and he let himself into the house- in some concern- only to
find them slowly moving toward the door while kissing....

Mycroft was still a bit pink, and Greg couldn't wipe the pleased grin off his face, even as they
finally arrived at Mycroft's office.
 Music, When Soft Voices Die
Chapter Summary

Music, when soft voices die,

Vibrates in the memory;

Music, When Soft Voices Die, Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1821

Saying Mycroft Holmes was ‘stressed’ would be an understatement. He was more than
stressed- he had Alpha Lestrade on his arm in a very finely tailored suit (and it had taken far
too many years to get the man in one where he could see it!), he had his brother and John
Watson waiting in a room with the rest of his colleagues (now including Morgaine), and he
had to give in explicit detail a debrief of the events from when he was kidnapped until they
were recovered. Meaning, he had to tell everyone that he had lots of wonderful sex with the
Alpha beside him… and tell them in front of his brother!

More than once in his life he’d weighed how bad it would truly be if he ran away and
defected to… Sweden or Canada or something!

He was considering that again, now, only his options were ranging more into the tropical
since Gregory had mentioned he liked beaches.

They were walked into the building and, on their way to the conference room where they
would be giving their statements, were stopped first by Anthea- now Morgaine- waiting for
them both in the hall.

Mycroft couldn’t help but smile- while she looked tired, Morgaine was clearly healthy and
well, and had managed things wonderfully from what he knew… He had expected to be
dragged back in if things were going horribly wrong, regardless of his statement on the
matter at the airfield- his duties came before himself, always, even if he’d been kidnapped…

“Gregory,” Mycroft gestured towards her, “May I re-introduce you to Morgaine.” He had
briefly explained it before, but with all that had been happening… “Upon my… departure
and after coming into possession of my access codes, Anthea was appropriately promoted.”
He looked at her, “Since we were allowed some rest before being called in, I assume none of
my- pardon, our- colleagues have died or been removed?”

Morgaine had a solemn expression as she answered, though a twinkle remained in her eyes
upon seeing Mycroft was- as much as could be said- well. “Unfortunately not, Sir.”

He sighed, “You will, unfortunately, have to get used to that disappointment…”

--
Sherlock walked in at that point, "I believe Warwick is still... What term did they use? 'In
quarantine', since we cannot prove or disprove his involvement, only his aide." He glanced in
an awkward fashion at the two of them and then focused his gaze back on... the wall
apparently. "Neither of the two senior aides are talking, which to me implies that they think
they will be rescued or released by their connections, but I haven't been allowed to interview
them directly."

Greg could honestly smell how distressed Mycroft was being- well, stressed anyway- the
woodfire or candlelight scent getting sharper and a bit more acrid, and the wine and chocolate
scents taking a lesser role. "I know it’s not my place to make a decision on it, but... a
suggestion? Since you don't know if Warwick is... culpable- or anyone else is, really- why not
pull him in for the full briefing? If he's guilty he won’t have a chance to tell anyone anything
new, and if he's innocent he won’t need to be ... briefed later. Also, if he is innocent it’s... a
gesture of friendliness?" He shrugged.

--

“Gregory makes a very good point,” Mycroft agreed.

Many people saw the man and took him at face value; he was jovial, kind, and fairly clever
(coming from a Holmes, that was practically shouting the man’s intelligence). But many
forgot the amount of ‘soft’ skills needed to achieve the position Gregory had achieved in life-
he had just been a ‘good cop’ he would never have made it as far as ‘detective’, let alone
Chief Detective Inspector. There was paperwork and people- and for some reason, dealing
with people was a skill that many overlooked.

"It would be best to have everyone gathered together- including Warwick. Besides giving our
debrief, there is an announcement I would like to make only once."

Sherlock looked a little curious- but didn't question him regarding what he was planning to
announce. It was obvious- to Mycroft, at least- that his brother suspected it had to do with
Gregory courting him and didn't want to dig into that.

He was only half-right, however.

Morgaine didn't pry. "Shall we continue, then?"

"Please," Mycroft agreed, letting her lead the way.

--

Greg quietly pointed out to Mycroft, "Incidentally, all those... heat blockers and other
medication? They dull your sense of smell a lot. You may get more information that way than
you are used to... Before I was working in London, one of the forensic techs was an omega,
and I'd bet her nose against a lab test any day."

And then they were going into a conference room and there were a couple of people he knew-
by sight at least- big wigs in MI5 and MI6... and John Watson. And a side table with the usual
coffee and tea and so on. Greg leaned in toward Mycroft, "Can we trust the coffee at least?"
--

Mycroft frowned. That... was something that had slipped his mind; he'd been taking his
medications for nearly as long as he'd been classified as an Omega, stopping only as directed
by his physicians for his health, or on the rare cases he had no access to such things.

"The drinks, at least, should be safe. It would be a poor move to try and assassinate or drug us
after we've raised our guard..." He leaned in, murmuring to Gregory. "Would you bring me
some tea?"

They waited several minutes as people talked amongst themselves and got refreshments, but
soon enough people settled into their seats... and after a moment, Warwick was led in- a pair
of guards watching over him.

"Ladies," Mycroft nodded at Lady Smallwood and Anthea, "Gentlemen," to the rest, "I wish I
could say I had a relaxing trip, however I am sure we all know that would be a lie." He
glanced about, "It was quite disappointing to hear, however, that you all expected to drag me
in for a debriefing after just landing back in the country- I think I, at least, would have
allowed any one of you time to rest after such a taxing event."

--

Greg didn't know these people. He'd seen... honestly? He thought he had seen almost all of
them, whether in person or on television, but he didn't know them with the exception of
Anthea, now Morgaine. They all- all the men, at least- looked... less than trustworthy.

Herschel, the man who met them at the airport, was protesting about "Debriefing while it was
fresh in your mind!" and "Trying to make certain you weren't kidnapped- again!"

The rest of them- minus the women and Warwick- reacted with either vaguely guilty looks,
or agreement with Herschel, or... that sort of evaluating look like they were just waiting for
you to slip. Greg fought down an atavistic urge to growl at them, but he did move a bit closer
to Mycroft.

Warwick- the man under guard had to be Warwick- mostly looked angry... and Greg thought
a bit scared.

Morgaine very coolly pointed out, "Fortunately I was able to recall a few of the trusted
guards and drivers from retirement, and Antarctica's home is extremely secure."

--

"And we are, of course, very glad for that!" Herschel tried- desperately, it seemed- to dig
himself out of the hole he'd started to bury himself in. "Of course, now that you are here, we
should handle what business we can so you and... DCI Lestrade can rest further."

"Of course," Mycroft agreed, nodding politely. "I shall begin by stating a fact: while this
attack against me might not have been executed by any of our immediate number, I do know
that you all- whether organising together or by separate plans- were arranging to remove me.
I have not forgotten this in your attempts to find and retrieve me. Whoever arranged this,
however many there were? They just worked faster than the rest of you." There was a sharp
edge under his voice, even while he spoke with a learned politic ease.

Several members of the group had the sense to look ashamed, while others simply looked
guilty...

And others still seemed to take the knowledge without much care at all.

"I do hope you will all take this as a lesson learned- regardless of your position, you will be
turned against and fed upon by the rabid creatures you call 'colleagues' the moment you
misstep." He smiled, a cold smile that reached his eyes in a manner that led anyone who saw
it to believe he would enjoy watching such a feast occur.

"But enough about that. Chief Detective Inspector Lestrade and I stayed together the entire
trip- I therefore feel comfortable in giving an overall account, however there were times that
he will need to clarify as I was... not as well as I am normally."

Mycroft began with dinner, of course, and continued from there.

And of everyone in the room, it was likely only he who noticed the way Gregory's scent-
normally the sweetness of pastries, the warmth of a bakery- sharpened ever so slightly, the
tart scents of glazed fruits turning acidic as he talked...

He continued talking, even as his gaze wandered throughout the room, and... there.

A guard- one who stood by Warwick, a schooled expression on his face- Gregory was
looking at him...

And even while he spoke Mycroft was sorting through his memories of the past few days,
trying to figure out why, exactly, this man unsettled his Alpha.

--

Greg hadn’t paid too much attention to the guards when they came in- there were so many
new people- but... why does that guy look familiar? Mycroft was talking about the dinner,
and then the kidnapping- he had been aware of more of it, it seemed.

It was when Greg remembered the 'cartoon Russian' of his anaesthesia dream that it suddenly
occurred to him that the guard... looked... a bit? like one of the friends of the Russian
mobsters he had dealt with while undercover. Surely just a coincidence of appearance- they
wouldn't allow someone with those kinds of contacts in here?

Unless he had been undercover too?

Mycroft was talking about them being awake, Gregory playing unconscious, and the Alpha
coming in. Gregory spoke up: "If I may?" startling everyone- it seemed- except Mycroft.
Mycroft gestured for him to continue.
"I don't speak Russian, just so you understand, but I know what I will call 'emergency' words
in a lot of languages: Alpha, Omega, and Interpreter being three of them." He smiled, an easy
friendly smile: the smile that he had been reliably told made him look very approachable and
a bit dumb. "I misunderstood the discussion they had at that point, thinking the fellow was
calling Mycroft an Alpha, and perhaps offering some Omega honeytrap as a companion. It
didn't seem right, but it explained why the cuffs were the heavy Alpha restraints."

Several people were nodding, a few with some confusion as to why he spoke up just then.

"However, as I said, I have a good memory for keywords, and I have learned some very
important phrases in my work as a policeman." By now he had been watching the man out of
the corner of his eyes as he spoke, and... yes, that was a brief, alarmed, flash of recognition.

"I was going to go into sports," Greg said idly, reaching down and picking up the heavy glass
tumbler he'd used for water. "Discovering I was an Alpha rather took that off the table." He
hefted the tumbler as though emphasising his words.

Almost everyone looked more than a bit baffled and annoyed. One of the men cleared his
throat, "And this is relevant how?"

"Oh, when I was a younger man in the force I worked undercover a lot. Obviously I was
never in the Russian mob, but I dealt with them a bit-" the guard to Warwick's left, the man
who looked far too much like someone from the Russian mobsters' group of friends, the man
who had recognized Lestrade once he gave him the clues... reached for a weapon- just a
twitch of his hand, possibly reflex...

Greg pitched the tumbler at him with frightening accuracy and full Alpha strength- it hit his
shoulder hard enough to shatter... glass and shoulder both.

--

To say that things ‘kicked off’ would be an understatement- the moment that Gregory made a
move and the glass tumbler left his hands, the remaining guards leapt into action, weapons
drawn.

They were, unfortunately, aiming at Gregory- a reasonable response, considering that to

perhaps everyone other than Sherlock John, and Mycroft the man had acted erratically by
interrupting to tell an anecdote before assaulting a man. The three not surprised, however,
knew that he must have noticed something- Gregory wasn’t the sort to launch into anecdotes
or stories without a purpose…

As the guards drew their weapons, demanding Gregory ‘stand down’, Mycroft stood as well.
With one hand on the Alpha’s chest he nudged the man back with barely any effort (and
wasn’t it lovely that the man just followed his wordless request?) and stepped in front of him,
standing between Gregory and the various weapons pointed at him.

“Stand down,” he ordered, his voice cold and biting. “I would suggest you point your
weapons at that man there instead of this one.” It was a standoff, then, as the guard that
Gregory had thrown the tumbler at clutched his shoulder, breathing ragged and jaw clenched
tight against the pain. But after a moment where several guards were clearly hesitating… they
listened.

“Chief Detective Inspector Lestrade is an expert in his field and has shown, repeatedly, that
he has excellent situational awareness. Judging by what he said, I would confidently state that
whoever that guard is? He is certainly not an ally- and was likely actively working against all
of us.”

--

John Watson, meanwhile, had drawn the gun from Sherlock's pocket- he had been fairly
certain the man was carrying against orders where he himself wasn't- and pointed the firearm
firmly at the man holding his shoulder. "Yeah, about that... someone do restrain the man,
because I saw him reach for his gun before Greg threw the glass: and I'll point out that Greg
isn't armed."

"How do you have a gun?!" Someone- Herschel, it sounded like- yelped, "You were
searched!"

Sherlock rather drily stated, "You didn't search me, since I have been previously cleared- he
just took mine."

Greg was mostly just hoping no one shot any of his friends- or Mycroft- but eventually
enough people backed down (and someone disarmed the guard) and he wasn't certain who
bellowed at him demanding an answer, but...

"Oh, I recognized the man. He was good friends with several of the Russian mobsters back in
the day when I was doing undercover work. Now, I was debating about whether he was a
problem or had been working undercover himself, so I tested it by dropping enough hints that
I recognized him..."

He looked at the man and smiled tightly, "If he'd had a legitimate reason for being there, he
either wouldn't have reacted or would have identified himself. Instead, he very obviously
recognized me, looked a bit frightened, and then twitched toward his weapon when he
thought I was about to identify him."

He looked over at Mycroft- barely bit back addressing him as 'beautiful' and asked: "Mycroft,
you told me somewhere in one of the drives- maybe over that lake- that you had heard voices
before they gave you the shot when we were kidnapped: I get oddly vivid hallucinations
under anaesthesia and I remember thinking there was a cartoon Russian... were they speaking
Russian? Would you recognize any of their voices?"

--

Mycroft considered Gregory’s question carefully as the guard was disarmed and carefully
restrained- he watched him absently, his mind elsewhere…

Not their car; they were slumped in another vehicle, a van, judging by the space they had in
the back. His vision was blurred and his hands were restrained behind his back. He couldn’t
feel his fingers or toes well and struggled to move them- to get any sort of movement back to
shake off the drug…

A voice, talking-

Who’s the other one?

Russian. The same accent as Yasha had; that same region in the Adygea Republic. He hadn’t
been able to understand it before and had only focused on memorising what was said, the
tones and words… but now he could slow things down, pulling his mind away from the
physical sensations he’d felt and the fear and focus on the important things…

Not sure- but we should keep him. He could be valuable.

Some more noises, shuffling and something opening-

Need me to hold them?

Nah. I can do this bit. Make sure the pilot’s ready.

Gregory touched him, lightly, and Mycroft was pulled back to the present. “Yes,” he cleared
his throat, “I will be able to identify them by their voices, and their accent. The two who I
overheard- not counting the ones at the facility where we were kept- had an accent from a
very specific region.”

--

Greg nodded and stepped back. He looked at Morgaine with a clear 'take care of him' look:
Greg knew from Sherlock that it took time to pull his mind out of memories...

He strode across the room, people who were not used to him seeing for the first time how that
casual-looking movement ate up space. Not for the first time John thought he would have
been a brilliant football player- or rugby- but at least now he understood why he had given it
up.

"So!" Greg smiled at the former guard with the badly damaged shoulder. The guards had his
hands cuffed in front of him- and not well- as they tried to avoid further damage, but with the
bad arm more or less braced to his body for support he wasn't likely to try anything. His
partner guard- who still looked stunned- was being held aside, protesting that he had no idea!
Warwick was being treated for a few glass fragments that had cut him.

"I think you should walk- or be walked- over to Antarctica and explain your part in this."

"You're completely insane! I was never anywhere near any 'Russian mobsters'!" His voice
was strained but clearly English. "I don't even speak Russian!"

Greg smiled in an icy fashion worthy of Mycroft Holmes, "Thank you for your cooperation."
He turned to Mycroft, "Well, Beau-" he sighed, "Sorry, ah... did you hear enough of his
voice? Was he there?"
--

Mycroft smiled thinly. "Thank you, Gregory. And yes- that was enough. Ladies and
gentlemen, may I present to you one of the men involved in our kidnapping."

Morgaine stood, placing her hands on the table in front of her. "Gentlemen, please escort him
to holding." She glanced at the other guards about the room, and picked one in particular,
"You will replace him, for now, while we determine his connections. DCI Lestrade, do you
recognise anyone else?"

"No." Greg shook his head. "That... doesn't mean they weren't one of the people involved in
the kidnapping- after all, I didn't recognize him from that." He glanced back at Mycroft, "I
would recommend having each person here recite something with... sufficient sounds in it to
be identifiable."

--

"An excellent idea," Herschel agreed, "Everyone, gather up..."

Whether it was good that no one else was discovered to be a traitor amongst them or bad, it
was the truth. Mycroft carefully listened to each guard and assistant in the room; the Ultra
Clearance members had already been proven 'clean' of involvement, or at least clean of
involvement in the kidnapping directly, but slowly they proved that at the very least, no one
else in their midst had been present when Mycroft could have heard them.

That left one party unidentified, however... that easily could have been any of those already
isolated; he had not heard enough from any of the parties who had been identified so far...
and he would not know if any of them was the missing party who had assisted in their
kidnapping until he heard them again.

--

Greg sat next to Mycroft and put his hand on his hand below the table and gave it a
supporting squeeze while personnel were shuffled about. "Well, now that we know no one
here was... well, at least speaking in front of us? I need to know if we are finishing the
debriefing... or if you want to put it on hold while you..."

He bit his lip and looked around at everyone. "I... know a lot happens at this level of
intelligence and spy stuff that... I am very grateful not to be involved with."

He stood up, resting his hand gently on Mycroft's shoulder. "I'm a policeman, and that means
that we have rules about how we can interrogate someone, and... I know enough to know you
lot don't have to follow those." He shook his head, "I won't tell you not to do things, but I will
tell you I will not be party to it. If you want to stop the debriefing to... question people, or do
whatever investigation needs doing? Then I will want to take my leave until you need my
testimony."

Love cleared her throat, "Perhaps... it would be best if we got some... quick answers from the
two of you, and then we could discuss what we need either of you for immediately?"
Warwick- still under guard, although it seemed things might be going in a better direction for
him- now bandaged from glass shards, spoke up: "If I am following the matter- and I may not
be as I wasn't here for all of it- I think the urgent matter would be if... Antarctica was bonded-
and if so to whom- and also if he was ever in a condition such that he..." He reached for a
diplomatic way to put it, "-might have given information away because of his condition."

Greg smirked, "No, and he was completely lucid the entire time, and the only information he
gave up was his favourite flower and flavour of ice cream... oh, and what books he read as a
child, but I suspect the various code names give that away..."

--

Mycroft supposed it was a very good thing he had no plans to continue his career- if he had,
they would have been utterly and hopelessly dashed against the rocks as Gregory, the
charming bastard, smirked and talked about flowers and--!

He could feel the flush spreading up from the collar of his shirt to the tips of his ears, turning
him a pink shade that would be utterly ridiculous looking on him...

All these years building and solidifying my reputation as Antarctica, and a single man melts
it within a week.

"Those are very valid questions, and I will answer them. In short," Mycroft refused to let the
fact that he was red as a tomato keep him from talking, "-my age was a blessing, as was my
intelligence. My Heat was not nearly as strong as it would have been had I been younger, and
I am practised at ignoring physical discomfort in order to focus on the problem at hand. We
managed to arrive somewhere safe that we could hide for several days, and DCI Lestrade
offered- without any prompting- to remove himself from the equation by locking himself
away."

"I am not senseless- even in Heat. I was not Bonded, though we did-" Is all the blood in my
body rushing to my face?! "-partner during my Heat. It was after that that Gregory Lestrade
made his intention to court me clear: I did, of course, accept." Mycroft had no chance of
hiding the pride in his voice as he spoke, "He is a fine Alpha- a very admirable one. If there is
anyone that would match me, it would be him."

"I expect we will Bond, eventually. However that is likely to happen after things have
settled," He cleared his throat, and added rather casually with a faint smile, "And after I retire
properly."

--

No one was thrilled with Warwick speaking up, but those were the... urgent questions. When
Greg said what he did about flowers and ice cream, several people had to cover their mouths,
or suddenly look at their paperwork: Morgaine arched a very expressive eyebrow at
Antarctica...

And then Mycroft... Mycroft Holmes... Antarctica... the man who just came in here and all
but showed icy fangs at them after being kidnapped and rescued...
blushed

There were several people here present who would have sworn cold that the man was
incapable of such a feat, but there it was. Love's eyebrows elevated rather a great deal and
Morgaine looked like she was studying a heretofore unknown miracle of science… Sherlock
was mostly trying to study the wall...

Mycroft answered steadily enough- although he was still blushing- and several people were
rather impressed by an Alpha offering to lock himself away from any Omega in Heat (even if
most of them couldn't quite process the word 'Heat' in concert with Antarctica)

The pride in his voice as he called DCI Lestrade a 'fine Alpha' was... uncomfortable for some,
fascinating for many, and quite bewildering for everyone.

Then Antarctica admitted that he thought the two of them would Bond (even if they had not
under field conditions) 'after things have settled' and people were having the usual thoughts
about that: some of the opinion that 'settled' was a euphemism for never, really, while others
were worriedly considering having to deal with this very odd Alpha at some point... (and yes,
at least one was contemplating whether DCI Lestrade would need to be removed, for security
reasons).

In fact, everyone almost missed the word 'retired' since it was combined with some nebulous
future event...

Morgaine's head slowly turned toward him with a stunned look...

It was Sherlock that broke the silence: “Retire...?" He looked suspicious, "That... didn't sound
like one of your usual threats to retire, brother..."

--

Mycroft, now slightly less pink that the topic was changing, nodded. “That is because it is not
a threat. I will be retiring, once this mess has been taken care of.”

“You- you can’t retire,” Herschel sputtered, clearly in shock.

Mycroft looked at him, a vaguely amused expression on his face. “And why can’t I? Do I
need to remind all of you that this very situation occurred because I was actively being
plotted against by nearly everyone in this room? Do I need to point out the fact that for years
now, you have been distrusting of my opinions and insight? Shall I request the meeting
minutes of the last hundred meetings we’ve had where I was forced to defend every statement
and choice I wanted to make while you lot wheedled and picked and did everything you
could to undermine me and reduce my power to nothing?”

His voice hardened as he looked about the room, locking eyes with nearly every Ultra
Clearance member. “I have been prepared to die based on the judgement of the people who
sit in front of me, but that will happen no more. I have not felt the satisfaction of a job well
done in years and I have not enjoyed any of this work in just as long. My death was planned-
I don’t see why anyone here would be more upset over the fact that I wish to retire now
instead of allowing you lot to kill me before the year has passed. At least this way, you have
the option to ask politely for my insight in the future, should you desire it, and should I be
interested in providing it.”

--

There were a few people- Warwick among them- with the good grace to look guilty. There
were two people- Herschel and Porlock- with the sheer unmitigated gall to protest their
innocence. The rest either looked as stunned as they felt, or were trying desperately to figure
out how to respond.

Morgaine shot a glare at Herschel and Porlock that would have killed them if there was any
mercy in the world. "I just spent a great deal of time going over all the private records as well
as the records of the meetings that Antarctica was in- and the ones he was not. The only one
of you with the slightest chance of protesting your innocence is Love."

Lady Smallwood- Love- cleared her throat, "I will not claim innocence. I had no interest in
harming Antarctica, nor in forcing him out or arranging his death- as I hope he knows- but I
will not claim I was not party to... unwarranted doubts of his fitness." She sat up very straight
and looked at Mycroft, "I apologise, Mycroft, for my part in any of it."

She then looked coolly back at the rest of her fellows. "However, given everything Antarctica
has been through- and that we have put him through- I have to agree that he should be
permitted to retire if he chooses to..." She sagged slightly, "And I am not too proud to beg
you to be available to consult- at least during the transition."

Anthea- now Morgaine- actually paled at the thought. "You wouldn't abandon me like that,
would you?!"

Mycroft reached over to pat at Morgaine's hand gently, "No, no... I assure you I shall be
available to assist you: it’s the rest of them that need to start grovelling."

Sherlock appeared to be malfunctioning in some fashion- blinking and his eyes tracking some
mysterious internal collection of strings and images as he attempted to make sense of his
brother retiring.

John just nodded, "Good. I may not know much about what you lot do, but it’s pretty obvious
that Mycroft- Antarctica- is long overdue for some time to recover and enjoy life."

Greg's grin threatened to escape his face entirely, "Right! So... You lot can go interrogate
each other and figure out who to stab in the back now that Mycroft isn't going to be about as
a target- I don't recommend either of the ladies, as they seem to be pretty adequately
prepared- and I'll take this lovely intelligent long-legged fellow off to get him some flowers
and ice cream, right?"

He smirked at John, "Oh! Hey, John? Look up high SPF sunscreens for me, will you? We
agreed to go someplace warm after our trip in the cold, and I wouldn't want Mycroft to
scorch..." And he put his hand gently on Mycroft's back and escorted him out.
 Dedication
Chapter Summary

Inscribed to a Dear Child:

In Memory of Golden Summer Hours
And Whispers of a Summer Sea

Dedication, Lewis Carroll, Unknown

Mycroft managed- barely- to keep his composure until they were out of the room… and then
he burst into laughter. “You,” he wagged a finger at the man, trying to smother a smile,
“Gregory Lestrade, are incorrigible! You are quite lucky I had decided to announce my
intention to retire before we walked in there, or I would have practically been forced to do so
by the things you were saying.”

His scolding was largely softened by the twinkle in his winter-sky eyes and the way he
moved in closer to wrap his arm around the man’s waist. “We will need to stop by your flat to
pick up spare clothing for you on the way home-” he paused, “Ah… unless… you prefer to…
stay there?” Mycroft hoped not. He didn’t think Gregory would want to separate for the rest
of the day, but he did think there could be a possibility that the Alpha would want to have
him come back to his flat instead of returning to ‘his Omega’s’ home…

And perhaps Mycroft might not have minded that, but… he stated it was messy! What if it’s
too messy?

--

"Oh! Good idea!" He nodded, "And I can pick up a few things- see if you mind the smell of
my shampoo and so on."

He grinned, "Also I know the florist not far from my flat..." Mycroft turned delectably pink.

Once in the car Greg got to listen to Mycroft telling Huzaifa and Douglas his version of the
story of the guard and the water glass- he interjected a few times pointing out Mycroft's
contributions. They drove fairly directly to Greg's flat- allowing for the usual security
detours- and then Greg was allowing Mycroft up to his flat… (with Douglas, because his flat
wasn't considered secure).

"Now bear in mind I hadn't been home for longer than enough time to fall over in days before
we got kidnapped..." Greg warned him, knowing how fastidious Mycroft was. He hoped it
wasn't too unpleasant or upsetting for him... and he unlocked the door for Douglas to step in.
Of course then there was a shout of, "Who the hell are you?!” from inside... and Douglas' low
voice telling whoever it was to keep their hands in clear view...

Greg pushed in and got between Douglas and the 'intruder'. "That's my son! It’s ok! I just
didn't know he was here!"

--

Mycroft entered and Douglas was already apologising- both to Gregory and to the young man
standing a bit further into the flat, hands on his hips and a suspicious look in his eyes…

Brown eyes, to be precise- the same warm brown eyes of his father, though now they were
narrowed as the young man looked between the two strangers.

Mycroft… was not good with children. He had never been good with children, even when he
was a child! He knew that he would need to meet the man’s son eventually, but he had
expected that to be further down the road, and after Gregory had time to talk to his son about
their relationship… And then they might have a nice meal together, as was customary, but-
but this was a surprise!

A horrible one!

Worries about if the child wouldn't like him swarmed and he fought to keep them down; this
was Gregory’s son and he was a young man, not a child…

“Apologies for frightening you,” Mycroft smiled diplomatically- or attempted to. “You must
be Gregory’s son, Samuel-”

“Arthur, actually,” The young man’s eyes narrowed further, taking in his neat appearance,
“And who’re you?”

!!

He’d- he’d been wrong?! No! He was- he was almost certain the boy’s name was Samuel. He
hadn't done the research himself, though, and had delegated it to an aide, but… how
mortifying!

He was unaware of how easily the worry and utter horror at being so blatantly wrong- and
even worse, being blatantly rude- showed on his face. “I- my apologies, I had thought-”

And then Gregory was scolding the boy- warmly, and not too seriously- about ‘scaring him’
(Mycroft) like that.

--

"Arthur..." Greg sighed, "Hold on..." He turned to Mycroft, "Arthur's full name is Samuel
Arthur Eddison Lestrade. So you were not wrong: his name is Samuel- he just doesn't use
that name."
Then he walked over and put an arm around Mycroft, carefully escorting him up, "Exactly
like William Sherlock Scott Holmes, eh?" He pulled a rather startled and bewildered-looking
young man in with his other arm, "Arthur... Mycroft here isn't used to young folks- or
civilians I think, and... we just both got back from being kidnapped, so bear with him, hmm?"

--

Mycroft had an equally bewildered expression at being pulled forward…

Samuel Arthur Eddison Lestrade- known as Arthur- shook his head under his father’s arm. “I
was just teas-”

And then he blinked… and yelped, “KIDNAPPED?!”

--

"Uh huh." Greg nodded easily, an arm around each of them. "And I have no idea what they
did to my phone, but I did tell you Sherlock didn't pinch it. Arthur? This is Sherlock's big
brother Mycroft!"

"Kidnapped?!” He repeated and tried to wiggle free- failed. "You told me your phone got
taken!!"

"It was!" Greg protested with a smile.

"You lying liar!" Arthur sputtered, sounding more worried than angry. "You were
KIDNAPPED? Who would kidnap a..." Then he stopped, peered around Greg at a rather
mortified Mycroft. "Wait... Sherlock's big brother? The poshy one with the umbrella you
have a crush on?"

Arthur got his wish as Greg let go of both of them to slap a hand over his face.

--

Douglas- damn him!- burst out laughing.

Mycroft, on the other hand, perfected his self-camouflage… if he was standing in front of a
tomato stand, that is, as he turned red from the top of his head very likely to the bottom of his
toes as all the blood rushed to the surface of his skin.

“Arthur-” Greg groaned, and his son grinned.

“What? You’re single now, maybe he’s interested.”

Somehow, Mycroft turned even redder… and Douglas appeared to be having issues
breathing, which he deserved.

--
Arthur looked at Mycroft Holmes turning a truly astonishing shade of red... and back at his
father who... was unusually pink? "You... were both kidnapped? Like... together?"

Greg cleared his throat, "Yes. And we were very lucky to get away, but it took us a bit to-"

Arthur looked back and forth again, and looked at Douglas- clearly about to die of trying to
cover the laugh. "Wait! So... you got together already?! Like a ruddy spy movie?!"

--

"Ah..." Mycroft cleared his throat and in a moment of bravery, stepped closer to Gregory,
wrapping an arm around the man. "Your father is a very admirable and brave man. I admit
that I did... 'have a crush', as you put it, on Gregory for some time before, but... neither of us
acted on such a thing or allowed any feelings to come to light until... well, we were
kidnapped."

He looked apologetically at Arthur, "I am deeply sorry that your father was put into danger
because of me- he would not have been involved at all if he hadn't been with me."

--

Arthur stepped back and looked at both men, he pointed at his father, "You are seriously not
hurt?"

Greg made a 'cross my heart' gesture, "We were knocked out- by drugs not being hit- and
handcuffed a bit uncomfortably, but they wanted Mycroft in good shape and they weren't sure
who I was so I got the kid gloves treatment too." He was, of course, drastically
oversimplifying, but he didn't want him to worry. "Honestly we broke out of there pretty
quickly and then our main issue was getting to a safe place."

He grinned, "And yes, it turned out we were both attracted and we both figured the other
fellow wouldn't be..."

Arthur grinned, "I told you! I told you you should tell him!"

Douglas was clearly about to asphyxiate trying to stop laughing. Greg rolled his eyes at him,
"Well... maybe, but in any event Mycroft has given me permission to court him-"

"Aren’t you a bit past courting?" Arthur asked.

Greg firmly stated, "Mycroft deserves to be courted properly! Besides I kept having date
nights with your mom through the whole marriage- or trying to." He sighed, "But stuff like
this- kidnappings, emergencies..."

Arthur rolled his eyes at Greg- he looked just like him doing that, “Right. But you two are
both ok? And... courting... wait..." His eyes went a bit wide as he looked at Mycroft Holmes,
"You're an Omega? He’s had a crush on you for all this time and... he didn't know, did he..."

--
“No,” Mycroft confirmed with a smile, “He didn’t. He was completely unaware until I rather
bluntly told him." He looked over to Douglas, who finally looked like he might be breathing
alright, and then back at Gregory. "I know we had planned to gather some of your things and
return, but a change of plans would be amenable if you would prefer to stay and have dinner
with your son- I would understand."

He nodded at Douglas, "Douglas, would you be alright staying with Gregory? Huzaifa should
have no issues with ensuring I get home safely, and you would be able to make certain that
Gregory would get there as well, if he wished..."

--

Greg was torn: he had courting to do, and time to spend with Mycroft, but he also wanted to
catch up with Arthur.

Arthur, however, made the decision for them. "Nope!" He said popping his terminal 'p' in
exactly the way Greg did. "I had no idea Dad had been kidnapped- I thought he was just
exhausted after a bad case so I was going to come over and see him and make sure he ate. If
he's exhausted, but he has a meal planned and a date?"

Arthur grinned, "Then I can call a couple of people and catch up... but I absolutely require
bribery!"

Greg looked touched, and then grinned and ruffled Arthur's hair. "You know where I keep my
cash."

"I wasn't going to take it without permission!"

"I'll get you some money- and I have to pack a bag of clothes..." He looked back at Mycroft,
"I'll be right back?"

Arthur called over his shoulder, as they headed to Greg's bedroom, "-and I want the whole
story!"

--

Douglas had finally composed himself and Mycroft looked over to him, seeking reassurance.
"Do you think I did well?" He asked quietly, unsure of how thick the walls were here and
fairly aware of the cracked door leading to the bedroom. "He is Gregory's son and... appears
to share his temperament, but..." He's young! And he's a normal person. I don't normally care
about the opinions of normal people, but this one is Gregory's son and... that makes him very
important!

The faint smile that had remained on Douglas' face slipped away as a more serious
expression replaced it. "You did well. His dad likes you, and Arthur clearly wants his dad to
be happy. And you... make Greg happy."

The worry he'd held melted away. Douglas was right, of course- he was just overthinking and
worrying... That had been his job for many years and he was an expert at both. Arthur wanted
his father to be happy- if he didn't, he wouldn't have been so obviously happy himself at
hearing they were together, or courting.

"Thank you," Mycroft said, and he meant it- it was far too easy to get wrapped up in worries
and anxieties and miss the simple facts.

Of course, then Gregory and Arthur were returning, and he smiled at them both. "It was a
pleasure to meet you, Arthur- we will have to have you for dinner, sometime, so we can
properly get to know one another and so Gregory can tell you the whole story of our
kidnapping..."

--

Arthur insisted on getting the whole story, "Once you get some... rest..." and he nudged his
father.

Greg groaned, "Arthur!" he then turned to Mycroft, "Anyway I... packed a weekend bag, and
Arthur is going to stay here while he's in town, so once I get a new phone- which I should do
soon-we can arrange dinner."

Then he grinned, "But not at a warehouse."

Arthur protested, "No! Warehouses are for dates!" And then ducked away from his father
swatting at him.

Greg was quiet, and a bit pink, most of the trip down to the car.

--

Mycroft was a gentleman until they got back into the car. There, he sent a request to
Morgaine

(she had gifted him a replacement phone) to ensure that Gregory got a phone, and settled in
next to the man.

"It was a pleasure to meet your son, Gregory," he started, and then- rather cooly and not
unlike his moniker he asked with an arched eyebrow, "I find it troubling, however, that you
were discussing confidential matters regarding things such as myself or our meetings with a
civilian..." His hand found its way onto the Alpha's thigh as he finished, "You'll need to tell
me everything you told him about Mycroft Holmes..."

--

Greg started protesting... "I didn't say anything confidential, but he di-" and then trailed off,
looking at Mycroft suspiciously "Are you..." He then looked up, yelped, and very quickly
gave an address to Huzaifa, "We need to stop there!"

He then looked back at Mycroft, "I... may have ranted- a bit- about you when you tried to
bribe me: I had no idea at that point you were... anything but a very pushy older brother or...
something. After that, well... that Sherlock Holmes had an older brother who... worried about
him and... may have gotten off on the wrong foot with me..."

"Oh?" Mycroft's eyebrow raised further, "So merely complaining, then, about a pushy older
brother... Hmm... Somehow... I don't see how that could come across as having a crush..."

"Well... ah... no that was later..." Greg was certain he was absolutely purple from flushing.
"My... ex... at one point accused me of cheating- yeah, I know it was projection, or well... I
know now- because of one of the times I got home late since you... ah, had me picked up to
talk. So I had to explain that Sherlock's brother was talking to me... and... she actually
accused me of cheating with you..."

"You?!" Mycroft was appalled, "She accused you of betraying your marital oath, knowing
how loyal and honourable you are?" His shock quickly turned to anger. "That... that utter
floozy! To insult you in such a manner when she was out betraying you- and to assume so
badly of my character?"

Both agents were appalled, and even as Huzaifa pulled over- at the address given, which
turned out to be a flower shop- they were both thinking about how many 'accidents' could
happen to such a person.

Greg squeezed Mycroft's hand. "Yeah, my... I went to a couples therapist with her and...
ended up seeing someone after and... they both said some stuff about that, but... later- oh god,
over a year later- Arthur asked me about you: it turned out he had heard his mother's
accusations and... he also... I found out later after that? That he had found out she was having
an affair. I told him the truth: that you were a fine and wonderful fellow, and if I was single I
might even work up the nerve to ask you out, but..."

He grinned, and ducked his head, "I couldn't even begin to think you would return the
interest. Now... I have to go in there and get you flowers..."

--

Flowers...

He tried to remember if he had ever been given flowers- certainly he had, but... those were
arrangements from diplomats, gifts of celebration or the occasional token of gratitude. All
political, all for work, none from anyone he trusted, let alone liked.

Mycroft caught the man's hand as he opened the door, lifting it to his lips. "She did not
deserve you. Truthfully, I am not sure that I deserve you either. However, I shall work each
day to ensure that you are treated as you should always have been."

--

Greg floated into the flower shop.

He wasn't even noticing, but every single one of the shop folks could all but see the hearts
floating over his head. He got a bouquet of Mycroft's favourite flowers, and added white and
red roses... paid, and went back to the car.
 A Bunch of Roses
Chapter Summary

Roses ruddy and roses white,

What are the joys that my heart discloses?

A Bunch of Roses, Banjo Paterson, 1894

In the meantime, Douglas turned to Mycroft: "She was cheating on him? And he didn't
cheat?"

"An utterly horrid situation," Mycroft sighed, looking out the window towards the shop.
"Gregory is much too honest and loyal to do such a thing- his ex-wife, however, was not. I
had his family investigated once he was dealing with my brother, you understand," Douglas
and Huzaifa nodded when he met their gaze. "She cheated on him, with several partners,
throughout their marriage. From what I learned, I... believe that it stemmed from insecurity-
Gregory is an Alpha, his wife a Beta. She displayed- according to what I read- the hallmark
signs of a Beta partner who believed that their Alpha partner would leave them, inevitably,
for an Omega."

"Self-fulfilling prophecy, that," Huzaifa commented, "Driving him to divorce..."

Douglas mostly looked more annoyed than understanding, "He even said in the flat that he
kept trying, with date night? And things..." He glanced at Mycroft, "She could have an
accident..."

"No," he smiled sadly, "She could not- as kind as it is of you to offer, she is still the mother of
his child, and I would not deprive a son of his mother. Instead, I will endeavour to treat
Gregory as he always should have been treated. As he deserves to be treated- for as long as
he would have me."

--

Greg was hoping that Mycroft would be cheered up by the flowers. He handed them into the
car carefully before getting in.

"There you go, beautiful, and I added some roses to the bouquet because they had some that
looked good..." He looked around at the expressions- and honestly the scents- of upset,
"Please don't let old history upset anyone..."

--
The scent of fresh flowers filled the car as a bouquet was handed to him. It was simple but
full-looking, white roses and red dotted with several white orchids...

Pure love, eternal loyalty displayed in the white rose. Red- for passion. White orchids- for
new beginnings, for respect and reverence...

Mycroft took the flowers, his cheeks heating as he did. "Beautiful- yes, they are..." Gregory
was grinning, though it had faded a little as he took in the moods of Douglas and Huzaifa,
and Mycroft leaned in to kiss the man gently, on the cheek. "I have never been gifted flowers
before. Thank you."

He cleared his throat and pulled back slightly, "They both agree you should never have been
treated poorly, but do not worry- nothing will happen to your ex-wife. I made it clear she
should not have any accidents."

--

Greg looked around and then winced, "I hate the fact that I know you are serious..."

He sat up looking very serious and shook his finger at them, "No accidents to my ex! Bad
spooky people! Bad!" Then he smiled in an abashed fashion and dragged his hand through
his hair, "In all honesty? Thank you for... ah... defending me, but at this point I think the best
revenge is... living well."

He put his arm around Mycroft, "How happy can she be if she keeps hanging about people
cheating with married women? And..." He sighed, a bit sadly, "I found out during the final
therapy sessions, and the divorce proceedings that Arthur... not only found out she was
cheating? He had to witness some of it. She lost whatever respect he had for her."

--

Mycroft leaned against the man, his flowers resting on his lap as he tilted his head to lay
against Gregory’s shoulder. “I am sorry that you and Arthur had to feel that pain. Neither of
you should have had to ever deal with such a thing… I admit, however, that I am glad it led
you to me.”

The car was filled with an array of scents- pastries (warm chocolate-glazed doughnuts topped
with rainbow sprinkles, a secret indulgence he adored), the warm cosy scent of a low fire in
hearth and a glass of wine, the floral scent of fresh roses and orchids… and even the content,
somewhat subdued mossy wood scent of Douglas as the Alpha subconsciously reacted to the
pheromones emitted by a content Omega that he considered in his care.

Conversation mostly settled until they arrived at his home and Mycroft waited until they were
safely in the garage, away from potential curious ears.

“Morgaine will likely let you know, but I think you both deserve to hear it from me, first,” He
said to Douglas and Huzaifa, “You have both been with me for ages, as both guards and…
friends,” Mycroft admitted, “You both came back from retirement for me! And you’ve both
saved my life a dozen times each, so I think you’ll both be relieved that you won’t need to
worry nearly as much about my safety anymore. After this matter is somewhat more settled, I
will be retiring. I announced as much today- at most, I will consult if politely asked and if I
am interested. Otherwise, Gregory has made plans to keep me covered in SPF 100
somewhere warm and sunny, as awful as that sounds for my complexion.”

--

It was a very good thing they were out of the car, because Huzaifa might have driven off the
road otherwise.

"What?!" Huzaifa sputtered.

"Retiring?" Douglas rumbled, "Can... you... do that?"

Greg put his arm around Mycroft more firmly, "Mycroft will need security- for a good while
to come- because the information he holds won't be invalid overnight, and... well, that brain
won't stop working just because I manage to get him on vacation!" He then leaned in and
kissed Mycroft on the cheek, "But over time the risk will get less..."

Huzaifa leaned into a garage wall. "Retiring? Seriously?" He looked at Mycroft, "You've
needed a vacation since we first met but... I admit I never thought..."

Douglas perked up, "Hey! Retiring...? Going someplace tropical?" He glanced at Huzaifa and
grinned, "He'll need security for that..."

Huzaifa stopped and slowly looked at Douglas and then back at Mycroft, "Why... yes, yes
you would! Especially if it's any time soon! Now your perimeter security can be just anyone,
but your close security... should be people who don't look like typical security... possibly
arriving ahead of you..."

Douglas' grin broadened, "Get a tan so we don't look like new arrivals..."

--

With an amused expression, Mycroft said, “Retiring is… a very rare thing. It’s much more
common for someone in our position to die before that. I believe the last one who managed to
do it was my Uncle Rudy, and he only retired because I could no longer continue to do field
work.” He glanced over at Gregory, “It was actually how I met Morgaine- she was the agent I
was most often partnered with.”

Addressing Douglas and Huzaifa again he added, “And yes- Gregory is quite right. It will
take time- years, likely- for some of the information I have to become invalid. It would be
best to have some measure of security for that period of time. Of course, I’d prefer to go with
a team I’ve employed privately, composed of people I can trust wholly during that time...
Two, perhaps, to start with...?"

He leaned into Gregory, "They would have to accompany us most places if we were to do any
sort of travelling, oftentimes heading in ahead of us. It would be a terribly arduous task."

--
Douglas very solemnly nodded, "As we said sir, but I believe I speak for both of us in
volunteering- especially for tropical locations."

Huzaifa nodded, "We can go ahead, work on scouting locations, buying up the sunscreen..."

Greg laughed, "Oh, well that's sorted then! I can think of a few people I know who would
love to assist..." Then he nudged Mycroft, "And as an apology to John and Sherlock for
having to fly to Finland and not even getting to see anything, you can send them on a few
'scouting assignments' to find good locations, right?"

--

"Only to countries that you would be comfortable being blacklisted from," Mycroft shook his
head, "I'm not certain it would be a good idea otherwise. We're more likely to find ourselves
either chased away once we've arrived or paying bail to get them out..." He tilted his head,
"Although... they do have young Rosamund- they couldn't possibly get into that much trouble
with her at their side."

--

Greg nodded, "And... I know that it's tough with, you know, family, but Sherlock really has
gotten far more responsible." He smiled, "You just raised him so he is perpetually a kid, and
of course, just like most kids he reverts to childish behaviour around his parent anyway..."
Greg sighed, "Seen it with so many grown adults- put them back home and they turn into
teens at best."

Douglas gestured, "I assume the security was all in place? Do you want me to do a sweep just
to be sure? After that if you two promise to stay home we can make ourselves scarce- the
house is secure against most problems."

Mycroft let Douglas do a security check for his own nerves, as well as protocol, and then
they were alone in the house...

Greg very solemnly commented, "As proof that we are both mature responsible adults... did
you have an urge to run off and do something unsecured? Or was that just me?"

"Mm," Mycroft raised his bouquet, sniffing appreciatively. "I admit, I have been restraining
the urge to do several things- however they're not unsecured things..." He turned, heading
towards the kitchen so as to reach a nice vase to place his flowers in, a teasing smirk on his
lips as he went. "I suppose, then, that they wouldn't be of much interest to you..."

--

Greg laughed, "I suspect I am interested in spending time with you, and anything you were
thinking of doing is likely a great idea."

He held the flowers as Mycroft got down a vase that likely cost more than Greg's monthly
salary... He took another look at it, "Two months, at least... anyway! I admit I would love to
take you dancing, but no, it doesn't have to be tonight."
"Dancing?" The vase was filled with water and he carefully undid the paper holding the
flowers together before arranging them neatly. Wistfully he added, "I haven't properly gone
dancing in... years." Mycroft set the vase on the island, "If... you already had a place in mind,
then do let Douglas and Huzaifa know- otherwise..."

He rounded the island, settling his hands on the Alpha's waist as he slid in close, tugging
Gregory against him. "Do you enjoy jazz?"

Greg flushed as Mycroft's scent of candles and wine mingled with the smell of the flowers...
"I don't know..." His voice roughening into the Alpha rumble he usually tried so hard not to
show. "I've only ever heard a few pieces- they were nice, but I don't think you could dance to
them..."

--

"I know a place," he dipped his head in, nuzzling against the man, "If you were interested. I
enjoy jazz- Mummy always insisted I put my piano lessons to use in a more classic,
highbrow sense... While Sherlock was off rebelling in his ways, I rebelled in my own."

This close to the man's neck, Gregory was all he could smell- a bakery, warm and
comforting, cinnamon and sugar glazes... The low rumble under the Alpha's words, vibrating
his chest, awakening a quiet purr that had barely been used...

"You can dance to jazz... it's wonderful, sensual music-" His lips brushed against the man's
scent gland and that smell of sugar and spices thickened, deepened. "You were very
impressive today. Wonderfully impressive- it was everything I could do to not puff up like a
proud hen when you stood and pointed out that traitor... that throw... And the flowers... the
cabin... So many times you have demonstrated your worth. I meant what I said, that if there
was someone to match me, you were him."

He nipped- lightly, a tease more than anything even as his tongue lathed over the spot on
Gregory's neck, soothing it. "I would quite like to take you to bed and show you that, if you
would allow me..."

--

Greg was trying to focus on what Mycroft was saying about jazz... but then his lips brushed
against him and all he could think about was how many candlelight dinners he had missed...
The taste of wine on Mycroft's skin- bare hints of chocolate...

I was impressive today...? He couldn't really remember anything impressive- except Mycroft
being impressive, cool and in command and putting all those other people in their place-
remembering voices from when he was drugged...

Pointed out the traitor- that throw... "Oh," he started to say and then Mycroft was mentioning
the flowers, and the cabin? But before he could say or ask anything Mycroft nipped and said
something about taking him to bed...
Greg scooped the man up, even as he buried his nose into the scent of wine with a meal by
the fire and chocolate and... berries? Berries dipped in cream and chocolate...

"You just direct, Beautiful, because I will happily take us back to that big comfy bed..." He
wasn't entirely certain about how they managed the stairs- but obviously they did, because
they had been in the kitchen, and now they were in the bedroom.

"YOU were impressive," Greg rumbled as he licked and nosed at whatever part of Mycroft he
could reach. "Remembering what people said, identifying voices- I knew you could- and
putting all those people in their place..." He chuckled into Mycroft even as he helped peel
him out of some clothing, "I expected a bunch of them to grow tails so they could tuck them
between their legs..."

--

"Impressive to you," Mycroft gasped out as a nose tickled at a sensitive spot on his chest and
a tongue snuck out to taste a freckle or three, "You... you keep finding ways to astound me-"

They ended up on the bed, somehow, soft mattress beneath them and even softer blankets and
pillows and while nothing would ever hold a candle to that very first kiss and night together
in Russia, their bed of coats and stolen blankets... This would be a good replacement.

Gregory was on top of him, touching and kissing and stroking, and Mycroft found the
strength to push his desire to let him do so to the side, using his training to flip the man-
carefully- reversing their positions.

"I... have lived my life always thinking poorly of myself for my secondary gender," His
hands rest on the Alpha's chest, "It was unsuitable for my line of work. I was unsuitable in
my appearance, too tall or too gangly or too..." The words caught in his throat and he dropped
his eyes, watching his fingers toy with the man's chest hair, "-fat. Or too freckled or ginger or
too clever or cold, or... too much me."

"However you... before even knowing I wasn't a Beta, you admired me for the things I found
unsuitable. You had dinner with me, you laughed at my jokes and made your own. And in
Russia- your bravery and loyalty, refusing to leave me, to even entertain the idea. Caring for
me, melting snow, assisting in making a nest. Food and comfort and care and every manner
of thing that I have never truly gotten to enjoy. Flowers and dancing and showing how
impressive you are..."

He was rambling, and he knew it- his tongue running away from him... "I am trying to say-
however poorly- that you truly are a fine man and an even finer Alpha." Mycroft moved,
careful as he climbed down the man's body, his knee slightly protesting until he settled into a
more comfortable position. "And I intend to... demonstrate my feelings regarding such
things." His voice was a throaty purr rumbling from him as he looked up at Gregory through
lowered lids, "Many, many times over, in fact."

--
Greg couldn't see how... anyone would think any of that? He finally managed to untangle his
wits enough to speak. "Too tall? It's a poor insecure man- or Alpha- who can't cope with his
partner being as tall or taller than he is, although I know it happens. Gangly?" He shook his
head, "Maybe for a few months when you were growing: you are elegant and graceful and...
somewhere there's poems and all that, but... all the famous movie men of the classic age were
gangly, then, if you are. You were never fat that I knew you and... ginger? Freckled?" He
smiled down at Mycroft, "If there are fools out there who don't appreciate a redhead that's on
them..."

And then he stopped talking, or thinking, as Mycroft proved he would wield that tongue in
ways other than words.

--

Gregory... was a truthful man- that was what made his words so touching, really. Mycroft was
a master of telling when someone was lying; he would have died ages ago if he hadn't been.
Every bit of praise settled onto him like petals from flowering trees, soft and delicate. The
anxiety and worries he held close to his chest- all his insecurities, built up from years and
years of being told he was not enough... Not a good enough Omega, not a good enough
replacement for his Uncle, not a good enough brother or son--

Somehow... Gregory managed to wash those things away.

It no longer mattered at all, because Gregory... Alpha- his Alpha- wanted him, long limbs, dry
humour, receding hairline, freckles and all...

Something swelled in him; more than gratitude, more than admiration- a desire he'd never felt
before. To protect his Alpha, to care for him, to support him so that he could be supported in
turn...

It was easy to express such a desire. Gregory was there, nude, beautiful and charming and the
grin on his face wiped clean away when he leaned in, tasting and touching and allowing
himself to get used to such a thing again. It had been quite a while since he'd felt the desire to
pleasure a partner in such a way; Heat partners were there to help, discretely hired to care for
him... their own pleasure unimportant in their duties...

But on occasion- those rare instances when he was younger, a little more free and a little
more outwardly rebellious...

Well, Mycroft Holmes was not one to pick up a skill or talent and not perfect it. Although it
had been years, the scent and taste of the man filled his senses so utterly that there was
nothing- nothing- other than Gregory... Alpha... my Alpha... Moaning and praising and
touching him, gasping and wanting...

And that made him very enthusiastic indeed.

--
Of all the things Greg had ever expected, Mycroft Holmes- not out of his head in Heat-
giving an utterly filthy fantastic blowjob was not one of them! Greg was very quickly
reduced to incoherent noises and occasional random words like "god!" and "fuck!' and
"Mycroft!"

He never even had a chance to warn Mycroft he was close- not that he seemed to object...

Greg was still blinking the fireworks out of his eyes when a rather smugly satisfied Mycroft
came into view... the thought rather incongruously crossed his mind that it smelled like a
candlelight dinner and the desert tray at one of those terribly expensive places... "Can you
even imagine?" Greg only realised he had said that last part aloud when Mycroft made a
querying noise...

He kissed the man- indeed, the dessert tray and wine at that horribly expensive place...

"I was thinking- as much as I could think, which isn't that much- that it smells and... tastes...
like a candlelight dinner at that horribly expensive place... the one with the fireplace too, now
that I think of it. I remember you called me in because of Sherlock, of course: you'd been
meeting someone there- and he'd left, and I got to sit there looking like... well, me... as they
brought round the dessert tray."

Greg smiled wistfully, "I was still married and trying so hard not to notice how damn fine you
looked- and everything smelled wonderful, more than usual- and I was trying to be annoyed
that you wanted me to go to Baskerville and bail them out, but... I couldn't even work up a
good annoyed..."

He sighed and nosed into Mycroft's skin, "And it smelled and tasted exactly like that moment
in time only... somehow better, and... I admit I was thinking it was a good thing we were here
and not doing that under the tablecloths..."

--

Mycroft returned the gesture, nuzzling into the man's neck as they lay, tangled. "You...
remember that?"

He'd met with the man so often he expected for some of their meetings to be forgotten- yes,
that one had been more memorable than others, but...

"That evening, I had a- well, I suppose it could be called a 'date', of sorts. Sherlock has a sixth
sense for ruining what time I devote to myself, it seems. On that occasion, I was off my
suppressants. I told you before that I was always advised by my physician to have at least one
heat naturally every twelve months or so; that was dinner, so that I could properly meet the
partner for my heat..."

He melted slightly into the man, that dessert tray between them tasting of flaky tarts and
pastries and he'd indulged far more than he'd meant to, but...

"I suppose I did, in a sense, though it was a bit premature..."

--

Greg blinked, and blinked again... "Oh... Oh!" He smiled, "No wonder... no wonder! It was
the same smell, and..." He laughed happily, "Oh! Yes, a bit premature...."

He lay there chuckling and nosing into him, "Do you know," he admitted after a while, "I
could never figure out why I could never get a dessert that tasted right? I even got a sample of
the dessert from that restaurant once- and that was a crazy amount of trouble- and it didn't
taste right. I just figured they had changed chefs or... gotten their pastry from someone
else..."

In a tone of wonderment, he smiled and said, "It was you."

 Travel
Chapter Summary

I should like to rise and go

Where the golden apples grow;--
Where below another sky
Parrot islands anchored lie,

Travel, Robert Louis Stevenson, 1913

"I know you don't want to talk about it," John pointed out long after Rosie had been tucked
into bed. "But... he's home safe now, to a degree, and... someone needs to warn Greg that he
might be..." He fumbled with his words, trying to decide the kindest way to say it, and then
decided to take a page from Sherlock's book and just be blunt. "He was suicidal before they
were kidnapped, and... I don't think that gets fixed in a week. No matter what happened
during that time."

Sherlock was stiff, sitting still as could be, the nerves and discomfort rolling off him in
waves... Even John could smell it, that odd scent that reminded him of moody, stormy days as
a child.

"He... made a trust for Rosie. I called the solicitor, like he'd written, and he did. I didn't even
think he liked Rosie."

--

Sherlock muttered, "He doesn’t know what to do with... children... until they are old enough
to talk to- even then..." He finally looked at John, "Yes, we need to tell him..."

After a long pause he sighed, "It's the responsible thing, isn't it? I don't know, it feels wrong-
like... like I’m telling on him, or... " He trailed off, "-something." He rubbed his eyes, "I don't
know how to deal with Mycroft- everything... everything changed, everything... it's all upside
down, and... I don't know if that's the good thing to do? Or it would be meddling and...
sabotaging his chances..."

--

“It helps,” John admitted, “Having someone else. A distraction. To remind you about… all
the good things. I know that from experience, and Greg can be that distraction, but… it’s still
there. Under the surface. It takes time and… work to help, no band-aid fixes. Greg stayed
with his ex for years because he’s stupid loyal and as long as I’ve known him I haven't seen
him as damn happy as he looks now.” He looked over at Sherlock, then reached to touch the
man’s knee, a gentle and light hold. “You’re… his brother. I know you want him to be happy,
even if he doesn't know that fully. I know you want to protect him, too.”

He bit his lip, adding carefully, “Mycroft meddled a lot in your life. And some of it was bad,
yeah, but a chunk of it was because he didn't want your chances sabotaged. And now you're
returning the favour. No matter how content or happy he looks now, if he doesn't get help,
then he could always relapse and… it could be worse- much worse- than just passive, next
time.”

Sherlock nodded, at first a bit shakily and then firmly. He reached for his phone and then
looked at the time- his nose wrinkled up. "Oh... it's... late." He frowned, "If he's sleeping- or
worse! not sleeping, I don't want to... cause issues."

He frowned, "Maybe I should just break in and deliver breakfast?"

John snorted- he couldn't help it. “Maybe let’s not break into your brother’s house… and we
could ask to come around for tea instead? You nicked that giftcard from your brother once,
for that bakery? We stop by there, get something to use as a bribe or a… ‘I’m glad you’re not
hurt or dead’ gift… I can see if Mrs. Hudson would mind watching Rosie.”

Sherlock reluctantly agreed that it sounded reasonable (although he thought breaking in and
leaving them breakfast sounded more comfortable) and he sent a text to Mycroft, and after a
few moments thought he sent one to Greg as well. Then they both went to sleep...

It would shock Sherlock- later- to know they got up earlier than Greg and Mycroft did. Of
course, while Sherlock was suffering anxiety and lack of sleep during the time his brother
was missing, he at least was warm, and as well-fed as he ever was, so it shouldn't be as much
of a shock as it was that Mycroft Holmes was catching up on some sleep...

(in addition to not having actually gone to sleep for some time after being in bed)

But old habits of thought are hard to shake, and when Mycroft hadn't answered by the time
Rosie was settled in Mrs. Hudson's flat? Sherlock was quietly panicking. Out of sheer self-
preservation, John agreed to go by the bakery and pick some things up, and go over to
Mycroft's house "and knock, Sherlock!" much earlier than tea time.

+++

'Sleeping in' was something Mycroft had never expected himself to do, unless he was sick or
recovering from an injury, or perhaps even from his yearly heats...

But somehow Gregory had managed to convince him that the world would not burn if
Mycroft Holmes rested, so that is what they did. In fairness, they were both still weary from
all the excitement and their 'trip' to Russia and the subsequent days of heat and travel.

Which is why Mycroft did not hear his phone ping to alert him that he had a message, and
neither did Gregory- the Alpha was pinned beneath him, being used as a rather comfortable
pillow, and had no chance to hear a thing.
He did, however, hear the soft chime that came from his phone as it alerted him to someone
at the front door... Mycroft grumbled, but opened his eyes anyway... "That must be the
grocery delivery," he nuzzled into the Alpha, tasting baklava and honey as he kissed and
licked, "Stay. I want to be able to crawl right back into here as soon as I get back..."

He reluctantly slipped from bed, grabbing a dressing gown to cover himself and headed
downstairs. It was odd, being so casually covered in his own home, but he had meant what he
said about wanting to snuggle right back up against Gregory once he got the delivery...

Mycroft opened the door, and--

"Sherlock?!" Gaping, he blinked and looked between him and Doctor Watson, "You- ah-
you're using the front door? And- oh no, what happened?" He urged them both inside,
shutting the door behind them, "Is everything alright?"

--

Sherlock was standing in shock. Mycroft? That is Mycroft? In a dressing gown? Is that
Mycroft? Am... am I hallucinating?

John blinked, "Oh, apologies we didn't mean to wake you up! Sherlock was-"

Sherlock sputtered, "Hallucination! John? John!?? Do you see Mycroft? Is he here? He-" He
covered his eyes and rubbed hard, "Call someone: I'm seeing him in a dressing gown- JUST
in a dressing gown: I've gone mad or... I don't remember taking anything..."

Mycroft was probably more surprised at his brother's use of knocking and the front door than
his brother was at seeing him in a dressing gown opening the front door- he got them further
into the house before turning to examine his brother. "Sherlock," he touched the man's face, a
rare gesture, "What's happening? Is it Mummy or Da?"

John was looking back and forth, holding a pastry box, being utterly perplexed.

Sherlock- keeping his eyes shut, spoke up a bit shakily, "Mycroft? Apparently I've... been
drugged or…? You... I'm seeing you in a dressing gown."

John, in utter confusion, spoke up, "Sherlock? He's IN a dressing gown- we obviously got
him out of bed!" He turned to Mycroft, "I'm very sorry- we sent texts and when you didn't
answer Sherlock was panicking, so we came over early..."

Mycroft, in utter bewilderment, said, "But... he knocked and used the front door! What
happened?!"

Sherlock cracked an eye open, "Still seeing things."

John, feeling a clue flickering on like an almost dead lightbulb, answered, "He was going to
break in and leave you breakfast, to show he cared? And I talked him into coming over for
tea... but when you didn't answer your texts... he panicked..."

--
Mycroft slowly stilled in his panicked worrying over his brother, dropping his hands slowly.
“You… sent a text?” A faintly confused expression crossed his face and he shook his head,
“I’m sorry- I was sleeping and hadn't checked my phone… I only heard the alert for the door
and thought it was the grocery delivery I had arranged to arrive today.”

He cleared his throat, his cheeks starting to heat as he realised… “My… ah- my intention was
to return upstairs after ensuring things were brought in, so I hadn't seen the need to fully
dress. Sherlock is… likely confused over my lack of proper etiquette- I never sleep in so late
or would answer the door in a dressing gown normally!”

--

Sherlock cracked an eye open, a dubious look on his face: his hands slowly came down and
even more slowly one hand reached out to more or less pat quickly at Mycroft's dressing
gown-clad shoulder... "You... slept... in? You were asleep? After I woke up?!" His voice
started going up.

John cleared his throat, "Uh... I'm sure he was exhausted, Sherlock." He held up the box,
"We... brought over... um... sorry to disturb you? I wouldn't have talked him out of breaking
in if I had known it would be such a fuss..."

Greg's voice came from further in the house (in the doorway behind Mycroft by a bit to be
precise), "I... am guessing I came in on this a bit late? There was a text on my phone saying
you'd be here for tea time..."

Sherlock's head snapped up and over and he started sputtering and turning an odd shade of
pink.

--

"Ah..." Mycroft turned his head, a smile blooming on his face as he caught sight of Gregory.
"Yes- Alpha Lestrade has been staying here, with me. My home is much more secure and..."
Heat slowly rose to his cheeks as he turned back to John and Sherlock, clearing his throat as
he added, "I enjoy having his company very much."

"I apologise for missing your message and for worrying you; let me-" He paused, then
amended, "-us- get around, and we can join you for... tea? Or whatever meal you might call
this." Mycroft's nose twitched as he caught the scent of... oooh! He sniffed, "Is that from
Marie's Delights? We shall be down quite quickly! Please, make yourselves at home-
Sherlock can show you where I keep things for tea, if you'd like."

He turned, hurrying back upstairs to get dressed properly, dragging Gregory with him.

--

John stood there holding his box of pastry...

Sherlock finally stopped sputtering and, pulling his coat collar up, mumbled something about
"kitchen" and "tea" and hurried off.
John slowly followed him, and set about setting up for tea while Sherlock got out plates and
napkins and "things for the pastry". It was oddly quiet until Sherlock finally muttered, "I
thought I was hallucinating."

"I got that, finally." John cleared his throat, "Is it really so odd that he... might... have a
boyfriend?"

"That? That's hard enough to believe," Sherlock protested, "Mister 'Caring is never an
advantage' and 'Sentiment is a weakness'? That was hard enough to fathom, but sleeping in?!"

+++

"My... brother-!" Mycroft sputtered when they got back to his room, "What on earth...?" He
looked to Gregory, "Did his text explain why they were coming? I thought something must
have happened- he's never used the front door and knocked before! He always breaks in
through the back!"

The confusion was writ plainly on his face and Mycroft headed towards his nightstand and
his phone, "Nothing from Morgaine or anyone else- if there was an emergency, surely they
would message me?"

"The text I got from Sherlock was a bit odd but said he wanted to come talk to us, but it was
late. Then I got a second text that said 'John says not to break in and make breakfast so tell
me when is good'. And then I got a text from John that said they would be by at tea time..."
Greg patted Mycroft on the shoulder, "So... Sherlock was going to break in, but John told him
not to."

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief, "Oh- oh, that sounds much more like him... and Doctor
Watson..." He set his phone down again, "But... tea? Wanting to talk? Sherlock doesn't come
to visit me, I most often visit him, but... even then..." He shook his head, "It doesn't matter
now. They are both here, downstairs, waiting for us..."

He brightened slightly, "And they have something from Marie's Delights! I do adore their
pastries- all of them, really... We should hurry and shower and get around... Apparently the
fact that I slept in scared them both terribly."

Greg thought to himself that absolutely nothing told him more about how overworked
Mycroft was, than that Sherlock Holmes was panicked about him sleeping late. He helped
Mycroft get cleaned up and fought the urge to do other things, and they were both dressed
and downstairs fairly quickly.

Sherlock was... pacing? Greg decided to call this sort of aimless box step 'pacing'. There were
some truly wonderful looking pastries set out on plates... that probably cost more than his
clothes- no, his rent- and John was putting out tea...

"Sherlock?" John cleared his throat as they came in, "You said there was a sugar bowl?"

Sherlock blinked a few times and he and Mycroft almost collided as they both attempted to
get the sugar bowl...
John smiled faintly at Greg, "Tall blokes, of course half the things are on the upper shelves
and no sign of a step ladder..."

"Apologies, Doctor Watson- I normally don't have company over, and when I do, I typically
do not permit them to dig through my cupboards..." Mycroft set the sugar bowl onto the table
between them all, "Sherlock knows where I keep things from when he did stay with me, and
from his times where he..." Mycroft shuddered, "-reorganised my kitchen..."

John thought he did a great job holding back a snort, but Mycroft still looked at him a bit
disapprovingly, so... at least that was back to normal? "Well, that's for letting us in... I
suppose you could have sent us home..."

--

Greg thanked John for the tea, and commented, "Mycroft seemed very enthused about the
pastry so I assume it's good?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something about Mycroft and sweets... Mycroft... is ...
upset. He is... not well. He swallowed back his first statement and muttered "Mycroft likes
them."

John cleared his throat- the tension in here was so high- "Normally if everyone was this
stressed I would suggest, you know, that Sherlock and I head home and come back later-"

Sherlock brightened up and started to stand: John pulled Captain John Watson back on- or
maybe Doctor and Captain- and said, "Sit down Sherlock: you agreed we needed to talk to
them."

--

Sherlock... not making the easy comment about my weight?

Something was horribly wrong.

That was only confirmed further by the way Doctor Watson ordered his brother to sit down,
and... ?????

"Ah... you... needed to talk to us?" Mycroft looked to his brother, who was avoiding looking
at him. "I'm sorry- I can't for the life of me figure out what might be the issue... Did
something happen to Morgaine?"

He hoped not- she was a good person, one of the few he would call a friend.

--

John looked around sadly- clearly the longer this was delayed the worse it would get. He
squared his shoulders, "Right! Well it's on me, then. Put simply? Everything we found in the
house pointed to you having some... issues with depression."
He went on quickly before anyone could deny it, "Now given the assorted mess everyone has
dealt with- that I know of- that would be enough reason for anyone to be depressed, but in
your case, Mycroft, it looked like you were... actively planning..."

Greg had realised the topic and the problem before Mycroft- mostly because he wasn't in
shock over Sherlock- and then John confirmed it. He nodded, "Yes, Mycroft was at least
passively suicidal: he certainly expected his so-called colleagues to act against him, even if
not... this."

Sherlock looked dumbfounded, "You... knew already?"

Greg sighed, and put an arm around Mycroft even as he snagged one of the pastries with his
other. "I started worrying about him at dinner- he was talking about tidying up loose ends and
obligations, and... it's a sadly common issue in my line of work..."

--

Perhaps, if he looked at his teacup long enough, this conversation would just end without him
having to acknowledge it at all.

Unfortunately, Gregory seemed to think he should discuss it, and put an arm around him and
started talking...

"It is unfortunate that circumstances led to the pair of you discovering the contents of my
desk. I'm sorry- neither of you were meant to know about the issues with my work--"

"Your- your work?!" Sherlock sputtered, "You were... you weren't baking or cleaning or
dusting and you reorganised your books and you wrote letters about what to do when you
die!"

"And I said I was sorry you saw that, but really, there's no need to be concerned-" Mycroft
started, and Sherlock swiftly interrupted him as he stood, placing his hands on the table.

"So you are allowed to be so concerned about me for years, but I'm not allowed to be
concerned about you even when you're actively planning for your death?!"

It was easy to forget that his younger brother was an Alpha, and even easier to forget that he
was- even in modern times- 'supposed' to care for Mycroft instead of the other way around.
Sometimes, though, he got reminders that jarred that back to the forefront of his mind, and
Mycroft clenched his teacup tightly in his hands. "I was unaware it was something you would
be concerned over."

Sherlock's face crumpled.

--

John flinched and Greg winced. Sherlock was trying to put a 'unconcerned' look back on, and
opened his mouth to make some kind of dismissive comment...
But Greg was the first one to manage to say anything. "Beautiful, you have got to get over
this idea that no one cares! Hell, I've watched you two for more years than I care to count and
you are usually trading barbs and snide comments, but it was obvious you both cared about
each other!"

He let go of Mycroft and stood up, facing Sherlock: "Thank you for coming to check on him-
you had no way to know that i already knew, and obviously Mycroft needs to see that you DO
care about him. I get the feeling everyone has been beating him down for the last while: do
you know he didn't know what was going on with you because those so-called colleagues
wouldn't let him keep an eye on you anymore?"

Much to Mycroft's shock he pulled him up out of his chair, simultaneously putting him in
front of Greg- facing Sherlock- and wrapping his arms around him for support. "I don't know
everything that happened in that prison- I got run out of most of it as 'over my clearance' but
Sherlock asked me then to look after you... and Mycroft had asked me to look after Sherlock
ages ago, and repeated it at dinner..."

He gave Mycroft a gentle squeeze and nosed at him, "You two care about each other so
much... but you are both pants at showing it."

--

Sherlock blinked, looking a bit stunned- he opened his mouth and closed it, then opened it
again… “I… thought you were upset with me- I noticed less surveillance, but… they…
weren’t letting you…?”

His brother sounded small, like he was a child again and trying to apologise for shooting him
with his bow- a wound he’d never truly meant to inflict, more afraid of Mycroft being upset
with him than any punishment their parents could have ever doled out…

Mycroft sagged in Gregory’s arms, turning his head away so Gregory could more easily nose
at him. “I will always watch over you to the best of my ability, regardless of… any personal
issues that arise between us. Unfortunately, that… came under fire- I was accused of wasting
resources and time doing so.”

“It’s… much easier to say to ‘get over’ the idea than it actually is to do- I…” His voice was
quiet but factual as he spoke, his gaze still averted. “Previously, I would have stated that
Anthea was likely the only person who cared. Our parents were upset with me after the mess
I caused with Moriarty, and… that deteriorated even further after Eurus- I have not spoken to
them since her funeral. Douglas and Huzaifa retired years ago and I did not have the same
connection with my current guards as I did with them. You-” he met Sherlock’s pale eyes for
a moment then quickly looked away again.

“Nearly every well-meaning attempt I have made has proven to only cause strife for you or
pushed you further away. Uncle Rudy’s rules that I parroted for years- they were never meant
for you. They have always been meant for me, as I am… genetically predisposed to need
people, to want a pack and connections, and that is… a horrible flaw in the line of work I was
trained to do.”
--

Greg very firmly stated, "No."

Everyone turned to look at him, Mycroft starting to protest....

Greg pulled, pushed, or pointed at chairs until everyone sat down, and then he sat down with
Mycroft. "Uncle Rudy was your predecessor, right? And let me guess, an Alpha?"

When he got confirmation, Greg nodded, "So... he knows how to run things- or thinks he
does- as an Alpha. Of course an Omega trying to run things the way an Alpha would is at a
disadvantage! It’s a miracle you could do it at all, but..."

He sighed, and took Mycroft's hand, "You can't be an Alpha, and so you can't run things the
way an Alpha would-" he shook his head as Mycroft started to agree and apologise or
something, "You are trying to be a left handed person using your right hand- or a right
handed person using your left hand! You can do it- and since you are brilliant you can do it
pretty well!"

Greg lifted his hand to his lips and kissed Mycroft's fingers, "But it’s making everything
more difficult. You should have been taught to run things using the talents you have and the
fact that you are an Omega- not trying to be something you aren’t."

Sherlock very hesitantly spoke up, "But... Heats and… our parents and... Uncle Rudy
always... Omegas can be force bonded- I was..." He finally managed to get out, "-terrified
when he was kidnapped... once John reminded me..."

Greg smiled tiredly, "And Alpha's can be sucker punched by Omega honeytraps... yeah,
Omega's are more vulnerable in a lot of ways, but… a lot of those vulnerabilities can be
negated these days, and... Omega scents tend to be naturally calming, yeah? One of the better
up-and-coming detectives is an Omega: it’s not really public, but… he's really great at getting
everyone to calm down and talk things out- one of the best at interviewing witnesses and
victims..."

Sherlock muttered, "I tend to scare them... if I'm not careful."

Greg nodded, "Omegas aren't weak- they just have different strengths."

--

“I would never describe myself as weak,” Mycroft found himself leaning against Gregory, the
Alpha still holding his hand, lip ghosting over his fingers. “But… I do admit that there are
things that test my limits. Unfortunately, the higher your position in government work, the
more… isolating things can be. Especially so when it’s quite well-known that it’s a bit of a
‘good old boys’ club at this level. Regardless of how modern things become, there are always
those still stuck in the past.”

He dropped his hand and smiled- somewhat sadly- at Gregory before looking to both John
and Sherlock. “Regardless, it will become irrelevant to me, hopefully sooner rather than later.
I… won’t lie and say I wasn’t planning for the worst, but… my work is to determine the path
we should follow to achieve the best outcome. I am much more practised than Sherlock at
ignoring the deluge of information, but when I did look at what paths lay ahead of me? I
calculated that there were none where I survived more than a few more years at best. At…
the time, it… did not seem worth it, attempting to struggle against what would most certainly
happen. Even if I did postpone my death, what value would another few months hold?"

--

Sherlock... panicked: he panicked quietly and efficiently- he had practice- and luckily as his
eyes went wider and his hands started the telltale shaking, wringing, motions... John noticed.

"But you... aren't planning for that now, right?" John said, putting his hand on Sherlock's
shoulder, and squeezing carefully. "We came over because... well, honestly it was very
concerning."

He cleared his throat and looked down at his tea, finally putting both hands on his teacup-
even if that meant letting go of Sherlock's shoulder. "From experience... I can tell you that
even when things get better, depression leaves some..." he tried for words that would make
sense to a Holmes, "-patterns." He nodded, "You wear a rut in your pattern of thought,
develop habits... and... it's not easy to change. Eventually, you start to develop a chemical
imbalance- assuming you didn't start with one- just from being depressed for so long."

John frowned, "I... have no idea how that would interact with an Omega bio-chemistry? We
really didn't cover it much, but in the military, it was pretty well understood that Alphas can
develop some pretty bad brain chemistry from Alpha hormones interacting with depression or
PTSD..."

--

"Truthfully, I don't know either- how something like this might react with Omega hormones
or... anything else," Mycroft admitted, "And lord only knows what... Well, Eurus and I had
interacted for many years." He dropped a hand to rest on Gregory's thigh, trying to focus
more on the smell of chocolate eclairs and cherry tarts than the worried scents that came from
his brother.

"I don't have any plans to kill myself, or... let myself be killed. While we were in Russia,
Gregory made the rather wonderfully clever point that I deserve to be happy, and for once in
my life, I plan on working towards that over anything else. I will be retiring, I will stop
taking the medications I have been on for suppressing my secondary sex, I will allow
Gregory to drag me to whatever warm place he desires- provided I be allowed to hide in the
shade with copious amounts of sunscreen- and I will... be happy. Or at the very least, I will
try."

--

Greg practically poured the happy scents of black forest cake, baklava, and fruit pies over
him.
Sherlock mumbled something about, "Adjusting to," and then finally straightened himself up-
looking a bit dubious at Mycroft, "God knows I can’t speak about therapy or anything, but...
if... you don't feel happy- or you feel... like... that- like you did- then... tell someone? I care
about you." He mumbled that last into his teacup.

John nodded slowly, "I'm... still coping with... well everything myself. I had enough problems
when I left the military and the therapist I've been seeing over Euros... well, a lot of helpful
stuff, but it's still tough to sort out what was me, what was her, and... what's actually both."

Greg sighed, "I know more about that mess than a lot of very grim SIS people would be
happy with- the interview I had after the fact was..." he glanced at John, "-a bit not good,
yeah?"

John couldn't help but chuckle.

“And I’m very sorry for that,” Mycroft apologised, yet again. “If I had been able I would
have stopped them…” He straightened a bit in his chair, eyeing the pastries. He hadn't taken
one yet, not wanting to deal with Sherlock’s comments or the temptation of ‘just one more’
after he ate the first, but…

Gregory smelled wonderful, and the pastries looked as good as the man smelled and he
couldn't resist that, he could never resist that…

Mycroft reached for a pastry, his foot under the table gently nudging his brother’s. “I… do
care about you as well- even if it seems like I’m being overbearing or… mothering you. You
are my little brother, and I would give you the world if I could.” He nibbled on the danish
pastry and the taste of fruit and honey filled his mouth. “In… that line of thought, Gregory
actually suggested I… ‘hire’ the pair of you, in a way. You see, I haven't actually travelled for
personal pleasure, and obviously I could never just go somewhere without it being verified as
‘safe’ first…”

Greg chimed in, "So... you and Sherlock could go someplace, ahead of us, and-"

Sherlock was about to protest- Mycroft could tell- about not taking a makeshift job, but
before Mycroft could assure him it was very serious? John put his hand over Sherlock's
mouth. "We'd be delighted! Someplace warm you said? Sunny? Maybe a bit of nightlife for
the pale folks?" He nodded solemnly, "We would be very happy to get our expenses covered,
and hopefully paid, since it would take us away from work, to check out warm sunny places."

He kicked Sherlock under the table- accidentally booting Mycroft's foot as well, "Right,
Sherlock?!"

“I would, of course, also provide an allowance that would allow you to venture into the sorts
of places I am used to staying at or visiting-” He tilted his head at Sherlock, “My main
concerns are whether the nightlife is safe and if it would be a risk to even venture there at all
in terms of local politics. Especially if Gregory wishes to do something like sailing or
whatnot- some areas can be notoriously brutal on tourists, especially those areas where
pirates or sex traffickers may congregate. Obviously I’d like you both to avoid getting
banished from wherever you visit- as far as I’m aware neither of us exactly had an idea of
where to go…”

Sherlock was, previously, going to grumble a ‘yes’, but… sex trafficking rings? Dangerous
nightlife?

Pirates?!

“If Watson is allowed to come…” Sherlock started, and Mycroft nodded.

“I would insist on it. Gregory stated he had fond memories of ‘beach vacations’. And while I
know next to nothing regarding young people of her sort, I do imagine being separated from
your parents for some time would be heartbreaking or confusing.”

Greg smiled happily, "In fact... look, for me? I only know places in Britain- or close by- and a
few spots in France, and... while those may be good places to go? Sooner or later we will
need to be a bit further away to reinforce the ‘not always available for work’ thing."

He glanced over at Mycroft, "Which... brings up something... speaking of 'not always

available'... I know it’s hard to believe, but I've been with the MET for quite a good while...
and I could, technically, retire..."

--

If the pleased, happy scent of pastries hadn’t been nearly overwhelming, then the sudden
explosion of scent from Mycroft threatened to do that instead. Unlike an Alpha, however, the
scent of a content and happy Omega was much more calming and washed over people in
waves rather than bombarding them.

A warm, flickering fire in a hearth. A fur rug, something soft and comforting. Chocolates-
dark, rich things that melted on a person’s fingertips and tongue, wine-kissed lips…

It did odd things to Sherlock- this was his brother and while he’d grown up with the man, it
had been… years since he really ‘smelled’ the man without any sort of suppressants or
medications in his system. It was refreshing and deeper than his scent had been before and
brought forth uncomfortable feelings of… pride? Being glad that his family Omega was
happy? He wasn’t sure.

“You would retire? Oh- I hope I didn’t… pressure you into deciding that-” Mycroft fretted,
but his smile couldn’t be hidden too long. “But… there really isn’t a need for you to work
unless you wanted to… I’ve made several good investments over the years and you certainly
deserve to be able to rest and do whatever you’d like-”

--

The scent of Mycroft- his mate, as far as all his instincts told him- was utterly delicious, and
delirious, and somehow exciting and soothing at once.

"What I would like," Greg's voice took on the deep rumbling sound of a content and happy
Alpha- harmonising with the lighter purr of the Omega, "-is to make certain both of our jobs
are taken care of, and then spend my time travelling and taking care of you."

Sherlock... was torn. He was truly happy for both of them, but... "Good God, I'll have to go to
work scouting resorts," Sherlock grumbled into his hands, "None of the other detectives will
put up with me..."

--

"I'm sure we can arrange something..." Mycroft idly replied. His brain was... apparently
turning into goop and flowing out his ears- all he could really think about was the fact that
Gregory was right there... smelling so wonderful, smiling that wide, boyish grin at him...

Rumbling and purring and... oooh he was starting to think that maybe... going back upstairs
wouldn't lead to a nap or more cuddling at all...

Gregory rumbled something about the new Omega detective who'd been making waves...

"Oh, oh yes- I'm sure they're lovely to work with, Sherlock..."

--

John looked back and forth between the two men, and then looked at Sherlock- whose
nostrils were flaring and looked very bewildered...

"Right!" John nodded, "Well, we mostly wanted to be sure you knew that... therapy, and
possibly medication can help if... just getting away from the stress doesn't take care of it all.
We will go home and start looking up nice tropical resorts!" And he hustled Sherlock out.

In short order they were standing outside, Sherlock blinking... and then Sherlock muttered,
"I'll text Anthea- Morgaine- that... they won't be in today- not soon anyway..."
 Tradition
Chapter Summary

Since I found you, I see: Nothing’s broken at all. We’re alright, my friends. Strong back.
Stand tall. This panic is a fever. Let is burn itself out. If they want to ring the alarm, it’s
their call

Tradition, Kae Tempest, 2023

Greg couldn't help but chuckle at the obvious 'escape' of the two men. "So, beautiful? They
left us some sweets, and you smell good enough to eat..."

"I smell good enough to eat? You were the one sitting there, tempting me into taking a bite
the entire time... Marie's pastries are a favourite of mine, but... you smelled even more
delicious." His hand ended up on Gregory's thigh, the man warm and solid beneath him as he
leaned in. "I do dread the idea of crumbs in my bed, mon amour, but I would be willing to dig
a set of spare sheets out if it meant I could enjoy the taste of both..."

Mycroft's lips brushed against the man's jaw as he kissed him lightly, breathing in deep the
scents of almond and vanilla bean scones, berry danish tarts, french market beignets...

"And I don't think we'll need any silverware," he murmured.

+++

It was perhaps fortunate that John and Sherlock had woken the two of them up 'early' because
Morgaine couldn't hold off the need for a full debrief another day. However, the penalty the
rest of the Ultra Clearance faced for dragging them all in late that afternoon?

Well, the conference room filled quickly with the smells of wine, and chocolate, berry pies
and sugar glazes...

Sherlock just waved a scent-deadening stick under his nose, but within minutes the attempted
debrief had to be put on hold while everyone ordered in a proper tea... The scents those two
were putting off made everyone somehow hungry, and deeply uncomfortable at the same
time.

John just looked around at everyone, "Well... look, basically? You are pulling the two in
during what is essentially a Bonding retreat... You're lucky you got them both dressed!"

Sherlock groaned into his hands and put his head down on the table: John patted him on the
shoulder.
While they were getting in tea and pastries and in some cases delayed lunch, Greg did his
best to continue 'courting' Mycroft even in the offices by going and getting him tea, and
making certain that they were ordering in what Mycroft enjoyed...

However.... when Greg came back in with the tea, he was wrinkling his nose up... and he took
off his jacket and... sniffed at it?

--

"Thank you," Mycroft accepted his tea- Gregory had even gotten him a small something to
nibble on, if he was inclined. A neat lemon tart lay on his plate, pairing wonderfully with his
tea--

Oh!

"You..." He leaned in towards the man, taking Gregory's hand so he could sniff carefully. "I
don't mean to insult you, mon amour, but..." His nose led him to the man's jacket and sleeve,
"You smell." He sniffed again, "You... reak! Whatever were you doing?" Since he'd stopped
taking his medication, his nose had gotten sharper- he could smell... hazelnuts, almonds,
pecans. Nuts and brown sugar, the scent overly sweet and thick and cloying and...

Posturing.

And on his Alpha!

--

"I think that girl who was asking me for directions-" Greg hung the jacket away in a corner,
his nose wrinkling up even more, "She must have overloaded any suppressants: I told her her
scent neutralizer had worn off and she just looked offended at me..." He frowned at his hand,
"I need to wash my hands and... where do you keep the spray neutralizer?"

Mycroft's brow furrowed, "A girl asked you for directions?"

Several other Ultra Clearance members- most notably Morgaine and Love- looked up from
their tea, eyes narrowing.

“Well then," Mycroft stood, pushing his chair back and straightening his own jacket, "We
should ensure that she arrives at her desired destination. After all, it simply won't do to have
someone wandering about..." Especially not when they're leaving a scent trail a mile wide
behind them...

And rubbing themselves all over my Alpha!

"Come with me, Gregory? You know what she looked like..." Truthful, honestly, but he
wouldn't need to know what she looked like to find her. Perhaps it was the fact that she had
attempted to lure in his Alpha, or perhaps he just had an extraordinary sense of smell when
not medicated, but either way, he could follow her path by his nose... Backtracking where
Gregory had gone and then splitting to follow her trail further...
Greg looked puzzled but went to grab his jacket- by habit- and then flinched... "Uh... is it ok
if I go without the jacket- it smells odd..."

"Of course," Mycroft smiled- it was the type of smile he gave most often when dealing with
simpletons who thought they were clever and could outsmart him...

This woman- an Omega- was one of those simpletons.

"In fact, I insist- it simply smells horrible, and I would much rather you stay by me and pick
up my scent instead."

The pair headed off- she was easy to track, as he'd suspected, and before long the pair had
made their way back to where Gregory had 'bumped into' the young woman. There was no
mistaking it; his Alpha's scent lingered here, tainted by overly sweet brown sugar...

"Ah- she went this way," he sniffed, head bent as he followed the trail, looking much like a
rather poshy and adorable bloodhound.

Gregory spotted her first, though Mycroft smelled her first. The man raised his hand, giving a
wave, and said her name as a greeting- the Omega turned, smiling, and for a moment it
flickered upon seeing Mycroft before turning back on at full force. Got you.

Despite looking very much as though he'd never stepped foot out of his office, Mycroft was
quite well-trained and very fast when he chose to be, like most Omegas. He used that to his
advantage now, and before the nasty woman could even flinch, he had her pinned to the wall.

Brown sugar and hazelnuts melted into burning caramel.

"Samantha, was it?" He asked calmly, a low growl beneath his words.

--

Greg was a bit worried by Mycroft's smell- he seemed very upset- and that smile when he
talked about leaving his jacket... that wasn't a genuine smile. It was likely the fact that Greg
had never, not even for a moment, considered Samantha to be... well, anything but 'some girl
who needs to learn to keep up on the scent blockers' that kept him from understanding the
problem...

Until he waved, remembering she had said her name was... Samantha? He called out,
"Samantha? Did you find the office you were looking for?" and then? Mycroft suddenly
moved at that peculiarly blurring speed that some Omegas could manage in short bursts...
and... he had her pinned to the wall?!

Greg was running up, "Mycroft? Is she..." He was about to ask if she was a problem- another
spy? when she looked at him and yelped "Alpha! Save me!"... and then Greg got it.

"Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me?! " His mouth dropped open and he stared at the smelly
woman in disbelief...

--
"Unfortunately so, Gregory." His voice was cool, his gaze even colder- a disdainful look that
cut through even the toughest armour a person could clothe themselves in.

"I don't-" Samantha sputtered, and Mycroft's eyes narrowed, making her words drop off.

"Now, I suggest you cease with the protests and lies. If I am being honest, Samantha, I am
more bothered by the fact that you attempted to poach my Alpha than by your work. I'm sure
your employer planned to remove Gregory in an attempt to cause me to be distracted in my
final days working here, but I assure you- I am not distracted," he growled, low and
threatening.

"I will forgive this one attempt, however I would make sure you inform your employer and
anyone else who wants to try such tricks of two things: one- no one enters this building
without knowing where they are going, and if they did? They would be very carefully
escorted. And two- the next Omega who comes sniffing around my Alpha will need to be
scraped off the walls and identified by an expert in forensics if they want to be buried under
anything other than Jane Doe."

--

Greg was fairly certain he should be upset? Or... something? But mostly all he felt was a
bubbly happiness of- that's MY Omega! and, he called me HIS Alpha! He supposed it must be
the Alpha equivalent of an Omega getting hormonal over an Alpha fight? However... he was
not a brute, and... he could control this- even if he couldn't not grin...

"I'm quite certain Smelly- I mean Samantha- needs to go take a shower... and probably
change her clothes..." Greg came up and took Mycroft's hand off the woman and went to kiss
it, and then recoiled with his nose wrinkling up... "Beautiful? I think now we both need to
find a sink..."

Then rather abruptly there was security, and... Morgaine? and Love...

"She tried to poach your Alpha, Antarctica?" Morgaine spoke coolly as the guards hauled her
away from the wall. "A rather drastic breach of security that- honeytrap trying to operate
here..."

She looked pointedly at Samantha, "We've already put two Russian spies in interrogation..."

Samatha's face paled drastically. "No! No- I'm not a Russian spy. I'm not with the Russians at
all- Mister Delmor sent me..."

Morgaine's nose wrinkled up, "Gordon Delmor?"

Mycroft sighed. "Mister Delmor has been... upset with me since I was the deciding vote
against his proposal several months back. Apparently his petty acts of disturbance have
escalated."

"He said you were wrong," Samantha tried to save herself by playing into their good graces,
"And... he's been upset since you came back and..."
"And it became well-known that I am an Omega," Mycroft finished for her. "Mister Delmor
is known for his strong and outdated opinions on Omegas,” he explained, mostly for
Gregory’s sake, “He would be furious, of course, to learn that his proposal was called 'foolish
and unrefined' by a simple Omega."

"He... wanted me to take you down a notch or two- I told him it was a bad idea," She added,
"Not that he listened. He never does."

--

Greg actually felt sorry for the girl- a bit. He looked between some of the people and
Mycroft, "Well, since I assume her... Mister Delmor, will be reassigned someplace more
suitable, perhaps one of the actually competent people can take charge of the young lady? I'm
certain no one like I'm hearing described is doing anyone any good- or handling people or
resources well..."

He started to bring his hand up to rub his head and stopped as he got a whiff of his hand
again… "Ah... Mycroft? Could we... leave matters of Samantha to Morgaine? Or Love? Or...
someone with a head cold? Because I really think both of us need to clean up..." He winced,
"Do... do they have the opposite of scent neutralizers?"

Samantha's eyes widened slowly, "Oh! Oh... what... oh, they didn't tell me you were
Bonded?! What are you even doing out of your nest during your Bonding retreat?!"

And with that, Greg remembered the long-ago lectures on how important it was for newly
bonded pairs to have a 'honeymoon" away from any other Alphas or Omegas- other than pack
and family and close friends- because they got very territorial...

--

"Unfortunately," Mycroft arched an eyebrow, even as he stepped back and closer to Gregory,
"We have not yet had the chance to officially Bond due to the circumstances of our return.
Gregory is- quite simply put- a truly remarkable specimen of an Alpha. He is unwaveringly
loyal and his taste is, of course, impeccable when it comes to his chosen Mate." Pride poured
from his voice as he looped an arm around the Alpha's waist, "He will not be swayed by the
scents of any random Omega... and frankly, after they hear of how you failed, they won't
even dare try."

Mycroft nodded at both Morgaine and Love, "Would you mind terribly if Gregory and I
stopped by my office? We can use my private bathroom to wash up a bit, and I imagine even
with you moving in it will still smell of me, to a degree."

"You think I moved in?" Morgaine smirked, "I knew you would be back- why waste the time
moving desks?"

He returned the grin, "And if you send someone with a cardboard box or two, I might even
take some of my clutter home so you can."

--
Greg leaned in carefully- so as not to touch him with his 'contaminated' hand- and kissed him
on the cheek. "As if anyone has any Omega honeytraps that could hold a candle to you,
beautiful..." Privately he was quite pleased to have worked in a nod to Mycroft's candle-lit
dinner scent.

He honestly thought he saw Samantha- assuming that was her name- looking a bit wistful
after them: likely not many romances in her line of work...

Perhaps it was that that distracted him, but it wasn't until they were quite close to Mycroft's
office that he noticed... "Mycroft? Are you hurt? You're..." He was limping? A brief flash of
defensive rage- an urge to find who had hurt him and hit them very very hard- flared before
he managed to beat it down. "Did she hurt you?" The quiet voice- soft, and concerned, didn’t
hide the defensive rumble, not one bit.

--

It took a moment- far too long, which was obviously a downside of all of the Alpha and
Omega pheromones- for him to process and understand what Gregory was asking about.
“Hm? Oh-” They’d made their way to the small sitting area in his office and Mycroft
gratefully took a seat, Gregory sitting beside him, close against him. “Thank you.” It was
wonderful- truly remarkable- to hear such care directed towards him, an Alpha’s protective
posturing rumble, marking his territory and making his affection clear.

“Your concern is touching, but no- she did not harm me. I harmed myself, actually,” he
leaned against the Alpha, taking his hand. “I apologise- I thought… well, I somewhat forgot
in the joy and mess of things, and I assumed you had seen…” Gregory’s hand was carefully
placed on his knee, “Moving as I did, I overstressed my knee. I haven’t had cause to do such
a thing in years…”

--

Greg blinked a few times, "Overstressed... Oh!" he calmed immediately.

“Knees," Greg said solemnly, "Horrible design... they act all nice and sound during your
younger years and then they blindside you when you get older."

He considered thoughtfully, "I... now that I think about it, you had a few scars and..." He
shrugged, "Honestly on your pale skin? They aren’t that obvious. You have a knee injury and
you had surgery? And... when you pushed your speed like that your knee turned traitor." He
nodded.

"Ice pack or heating pad, beautiful? When my back goes its heating pads, and when my knee
goes its ice..."

--

“Ice would be lovely- there’s actually a small pack in the bottom right drawer of my desk.
Inside there are a few ‘instant ice’ packs… This isn’t the first time I’ve had issues at work.”
Gregory stood and went to fetch something for him, and Mycroft cleared his throat, “I had a
knee replaced when I was much younger after a mission gone wrong- most days it is fine, but
most days I’m also sitting and not doing much strenuous activity. And…” He frowned, “Well,
truthfully, I… normally have my umbrella. It’s reinforced and replaces a cane if I need
support, but…”

Their phones hadn’t been recovered, not that he cared much for his previous device. It was
wiped the moment they realised he had gone missing, and they’d likely done the same to
Gregory’s, but… they hadn’t recovered his umbrella, either. He missed it more than his
phone, really.

“I dislike using one of my spare canes- they’re… worse to look at. Especially now, with how
weak my position was.”

--

Greg nodded, brought him the ice pack, and a thermos of tea, and a blanket. (And the spray-
on scent neutralizer and some wet naps.)

"You just rest for a minute, alright? I want to check with Anth- Morgaine on our schedule... If
this sort of thing will keep happening then honestly they aren't ready for us to debrief." He
leaned in and kissed him, "And I'll see if I can get some sandwiches..."

Greg smiled at him and went out.

And then the nice look wiped clean off his face and he strode off to find Morgaine, or Love...

It took a bit but he found them- and a few other people but they were irrelevant at the
moment. "Morgaine? Love? Sorry to bother you, but... you had captured some of the people
who kidnapped us as well as the fellow I identified... and the driver? I need to talk to them."

--

Morgaine looked up- she and a few others, Love included, were going over a few issues
they'd logged with one Gordon Delmor... and determining if this was enough to retaliate in
kind. "Yes. We have the driver as well as several others in holding." She looked him over
carefully, her gaze sharp, "Should I have them move to someplace for you and Mister Holmes
to speak with them?"

"Well..." He hesitated, "I had been just wanting to ask about one specific item..." And then he
thought about how defeated Mycroft had looked, how he doubted he had anyone who
wouldn't stab him in the back because of this...

"On second thought? That might be a good idea." He muttered, "Or a bad one, who knows."
He then looked around at everyone, "Ah... sorry, didn't mean to interrupt?"

"Please do," Lady Smallwood waved a hand, "Frankly, I'm getting tired of finding traitors,
adulterers, and just... overall slimy people this close to home. I don't know what's happened,
but I feel like things have only gotten worse." She sighed, "Gordon Delmor is just another in
a long line of those acquiring power who never should have."
Greg stood up a bit more. "Delmor? The fellow who sent that girl?" He looked thoughtful and
then very slowly asked, "Is... he an Alpha?"

Morgaine sighed, "Unfortunately, yes. That does complicate things. His outdated views aren't
shared by the public at large, but he does have friends who support him, so his removal will
be more complicated than it should be. That's partly why we haven't bothered with him
before, the trouble wasn't worth it quite yet."

--

Greg smiled. No, Greg bared his teeth. "Oh... that's much simpler then... All we need is a
witness: he attempted to entrap me with an Omega in order to break my arranged Bond- to
strike at my Omega, Mycroft Holmes, as an Alpha... Then Alpha to Alpha, for the insult and
the attack and attempt on my Omega and myself? I'm challenging him."

He looked at Morgaine and tried to force his hackles back down. "Could you ask his driver-
his former driver- if they can find his umbrella? It's upsetting him that it's missing, and I
wanted to retrieve it... but I need to take him some tea and explain I have to pound this
Delmor person into the floor..."

--

Morgaine blinked, and so did Love, and... so did everyone else within hearing distance.
"You... ah-" She blinked again, and shook her head, "His umbrella? Is-" She didn't finish her
sentence, but it was obvious- to Gregory at least- that she was well aware of the man's past
injury.

"A challenge?" Love perked up, "Oh, that's wonderful. That will just solve everything, really.
Will you kill him, or just make him submit?" There wasn't a hint of worry or concern in her
voice about the things Gregory had said; rather, she seemed quite pleased about the entire
situation. "I'm certain Mycroft will find it just charming- it's so very old-fashioned, and he
did always seem the type to appreciate a classical romance."

--

Greg wasn't certain if Mycroft would, or would not, find it charming...

He tried to give Morgaine a meaningful look- he wasn't certain but... well, she probably had
better ideas about how to manage his knee than Greg did. "I will go explain matters to
Mycroft and see if he wants to be present... if..." He nodded at Love, "-you could arrange
matters? As to whether I am going to kill him or not? That entirely depends on how well he
apologises to my Omega for the insult..."

He nodded again and went off to tell Mycroft about all of this. (He did get a cup of tea and at
least a bite to eat for him), he tapped at the door and was let in, and once he made certain
Mycroft had everything settled he cleared his throat...

"Ah... so! Apparently several of your associates- Morgaine and Love included- were trying to
figure out how to get rid of this Delmor fellow... but ah... I didn't quite realise he was an
Alpha. I've issued a formal challenge for the insult and interference with a Bond
arrangement... I, ah... do hope you don't mind?"

--

Mycroft had been nursing his knee and resting, going back over what he knew of the
situation with Delmor and the Russians... Gregory is right- if things like this keep happening,
then they simply aren't prepared to handle any further debriefing.

What more was there to debrief that needed them, either way? They had told their story and
frankly, without access to his office and without the full support of his colleagues, there was
little he could do on his own that Morgaine could not handle herself.

He was musing over the idea of stating that fact and focusing more on his retirement when
Gregory came back with a sandwich and tea...

He very nearly choked on the sandwich when the man said... that.

After coughing- and reassuring the Alpha he wasn't dying- Mycroft moved into doing what
he did best; worrying.

"Gregory, I... you challenged him? You could be hurt!" His sandwich and tea was set aside
and he touched the man, largely to reassure himself that he wasn't injured already. "It's one
thing to fight that brute of a Russian Alpha because you had to, but Gordon Delmor is... he's
unimportant! Irritating and yes, I'd truly enjoy watching him get his just desserts, but at the
risk of your own health? For... for me? That's... it's certainly not worth it..."

--

Greg smiled, "He isn't worth it- you are." He leaned in and gave him another kiss, "I... may
have been a bit hasty, but you know what? As an Alpha... if he gets away with this? He will
just keep harassing us- you retiring won't dissuade him, if anything he may figure he doesn't
have to worry about your backup anymore! He just made a big mistake taking this out of
official politics."

He stood up, "So! Would you like to come? I told Love that whether I kill him or just pound
him some depends on how well he apologises to you..."

--

Mycroft blinked, "Now?" And yet he still took Gregory's hand, standing carefully after
judging how his weight felt on his knee. "Wouldn't it be better to... rest first?" He quickly
added, "Not that I think you would need it, of course, but... I worry. I just got you and so
many things have happened and there have been so many risks..."

Gregory's hand was warm and firm in his own and he squeezed, "You never have to prove
anything to me. You proved yourself long ago, and since then, all you've done is reinforce
what I've known. However," he arched a brow, "I won't protest too much once you have
Gordon Delmor on his knees, begging for my forgiveness. Such rudeness- sending an Omega
after my Alpha."

--

Greg smiled, "Normally I advise trying all other methods of resolution first," he placed
himself on the side that Mycroft habitually used his cane, and braced his arm to support him,
"-but from the sound of things? People have been trying 'all the other means' for some time,
and now it's down to pointing out that if you want to hide behind the old Alpha network...?"

Greg smirked, "Eventually the old Alpha might hit you."

 Ozymandias
Chapter by SpeculativeCorvid

Chapter Summary

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Ozymandias, Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1977

There was quite a crowd in the courtyard by the time they made their way there. They were
stopped several times on the way- normally people didn't stop Mycroft in the corridors to
gossip, but apparently Gregory's presence had softened his appearance enough that people
felt it was worth the risk of freezing to ask.

They arrived eventually, however, though they were stopped one final time by his brother and
Doctor Watson. "I heard-" Sherlock shook his head in near disbelief, "An Alpha challenge?"

Doctor Watson echoed his sentiments, "No one had a clear idea what happened- the best I got
was that someone... tried to kiss one of you?"

Mycroft chuckled, "Not nearly as exaggerated as I thought. No; an Omega employed by...
well, I would not call him a colleague considering his level was much lower than my own...
But regardless, Gregory rebuffed her advances and I made it quite clear she was overstepping
her bounds. The challenge, however, was Gregory's idea..."

--

Greg arched an eyebrow at Sherlock, "Apparently he has been causing increasing trouble as
Mycroft's political situation got worse- jockeying for a promotion I guess- and then, because
he's an Alpha-" Somehow Greg made that sound like an insult, "-he apparently couldn't deal
with the fact that the fellow he has utterly failed to get one over on? was a mere Omega..."

He shrugged, "So he sent an exceedingly scented Omega to try to... I dunno whether she was
going to try to seduce me or what, but..." He patted Mycroft's hand on his arm, "Futile of
course. Anyway, I went to see if they had by chance recovered Mycroft's umbrella and they
were trying to figure out if that would let them get rid of him- he has friends apparently..."

Mycroft startled, "My umbrella? You went to find my umbrella?"

Sherlock frowned, "It wasn't an heirloom. If they took it in the kidnapping I'm sure you can
just buy another-"
Greg raised an eyebrow, "Sherlock, how many items in your flat are 'not heirlooms' that you
can't just replace or have some significance to you? You can't 'just replace' the..." he glanced
at John, "-the jumper John was wearing when he totally was not shooting the cabby..." He
nodded, "Hypothetically. Anyway, shall we go find this Delmor person?"

--

"You... truly are lovely," Mycroft gripped his arm a little tighter, "Yes- I'm sure you'll be able
to notice him quite easily... He'll be the one shaking and quivering and regretting his life's
choices..."

Sherlock didn't say a word about it, but he did look at his brother a bit oddly as he and John
followed them into the courtyard.

The building itself was old, the space just as old, though renovated just as much as the
building had been over the years. For some time it had been used as an outdoor sitting area,
though space was always left clear- mostly out of habit- for the square 'ring' that took up the
centre of the courtyard. Long ago traditions had Alpha challenges being ridiculously
common- historians nowadays loved to laugh about how they had essentially handled a form
of 'population control' themselves- and this arena was made just for that.

Now it was much less common, but not unheard of. Some offences were still more than
enough to fight over... and what Gordon Delmor had done? Attempting to poach a Courted
Omega or Alpha?

Well, that was just in poor taste... and Mycroft, despite his worry about Gregory getting
hurt... was honestly quite excited.

+++

Gordon Delmor was not having a good time. He was a very loudly and publicly conservative
and an old fashioned 'Alpha and Omega values' type... but then as an Alpha, he had the good
fortune to be born into an era when he still had some Alpha privilege but didn't face most of
the responsibilities- or threats- that he romanticised so.

Gordon Delmor had honestly not for one moment thought that he would get called out on an
Alpha challenge! Oh, he expected some political manoeuvring, and a good bit of fuss, and
probably that uppity Omega would be upset, but that was assuming they even found out he
was responsible?

Obviously that Omega's fault...

He had tried to bow out, only to find that his firm statement that Alpha and Omega business
was entirely separate from Beta politics? was being used against him: he was quite certain
that a sizeable number of the Betas in his office and department were suddenly on break and
observing... and worse! At least two of his fellow Alphas- the other men he often spoke to
about how it was a pure scandal that Betas and Omegas were taking over running things-
were here.
Greg did not, in fact, have any difficulty picking out Gordon Delmor. In the first place,
everyone was looking between him and Greg, and in the second place, he did indeed look
like a man who was regretting his life choices. He was about Greg's age, but... he had not
aged as well. His hair was dyed over the grey, his skin sagging a bit, and he had the softer
look of someone who mostly sat at a desk. Greg's practised eye noticed that he had poor
muscle tone- for any Alpha- and likewise that he had terrible posture…

He turned away from him and sat Mycroft down on the 'sidelines' with Sherlock and John-
making a distinct point of fussing a bit over him. Mycroft didn't have to do much acting to
play the part- his Omega tucked his pocket square into Greg's collar. Greg kissed him for
luck, and took off his jacket and emptied his pockets- putting all of that down near Sherlock
with a comment, "Now remember! It's no fun to pinch my wallet when I just leave it there!"

Sherlock couldn't help but snicker, and even Mycroft smiled- John outright laughed.

Greg stepped out into the square. "I believe we have more than the required witnesses... As
the insulted party, allow me to make this clear: you will apologise to my contracted Omega,
Mycroft Alexander Holmes- to his satisfaction, or we will settle this by combat."

He had noted the lack of bonding- or even wedding- markers on the man, and took a shot,
"Oh, and if you were half the Alpha you posture at being? You would have challenged me
directly for the right to court him- not sent an Omega to avoid the challenge."

--

Gordon coloured, turning an unsightly mix of blotchy pink and red as he glared angrily at the
man. He was worried, yes, about losing... and did not want to fight- he'd never thought he'd
be challenged, ever!- but he was also growing increasingly offended at the... blatant insult the
man had just levelled at him. Holmes was... he was an Omega, yes, but he was unsightly- far
too tall and long-limbed, far too stern and with a receding hairline, cold temperament and he
was, worst of all, male.

"I assure you- Graham, was it?- if I wanted such an unfortunate-looking Omega, I would
have them. My tastes, however, are clearly much more sophisticated than your own..." He
jerked his head up, turning his nose up at the both of them. "An old, half-blind cop- at least
you are a matching pair."

Next to him on the bench, Sherlock stiffened- a low, upset rumble starting in his chest.
Mycroft, after a moment of hesitation, patted his brother's knee lightly, reassuring him the
best he could. "He knows that Gregory is much more fit than he is, and is hoping to goad him
into making a reckless move. It means nothing."

Greg laid the trap as carefully as any cop who has supervised dozens of witness
interrogations and interviews- every week- could do. "Oh really, sour grapes?" He snorted
disbelievingly, "And why would you send some poor Omega honeytrap after me if you
weren't interested in Mycroft?"

The Alpha sneered, "Someone needs to knock the uppity Omega down a few pegs. Can you
believe it? Politics! Government work! He should never have been in his position and it's that
sort of oversight that led to so many issues- and it's a fact that I'm right, or he wouldn't have
tried to hide his gender for so many years."

--

Greg smiled, "So you admit... that you... an Alpha, attempted to interfere in our Bonding
arrangement... as an attack on an Omega?"

He paused just long enough for the implications to start to set in, and then continued, "And
too much of a coward to challenge me, or face me directly- or even just oppose Mycroft in
business- since you were getting nowhere fast that way." He cocked his head, "I assume you
don't have any family to notify... Oh, I HAD offered you the opportunity to apologise to
Mycroft, but instead you chose..."

Greg bared his teeth, "To further insult my mate- oh, and me." His smile got broader, "Oh,
admitting it was an attack on an Omega in front of his arranged Bondmate, and his family
Alpha? More than a bit stupid. So, are you going to get your cowardly ass into the square? Or
do I have to drag you in?"

--

In a choice between... death (or perhaps just a good walloping, if he was lucky) or...
appearing like a coward...?

I... I could always retire to the country...

Gordon did what any logical, worried Alpha would do- he bolted.

Or rather, he tried to bolt. He turned and ran and didn't even get six steps before someone
blocked him, a guard that... Mycroft recognised from seeing about the building on the
regular. The guard was clearly an Alpha, judging by his general build and the frown on his
face, and being much younger and sturdier than Gordon? The older Alpha bounced off him in
an almost humorous way, if it hadn't been so... sadly pathetic. Gordon rolled about on the
floor as he attempted to regain his footing...

And Mycroft smiled grimly. "Do leave enough to be identifiable, mon amour. I'm sure Mister
Delmor wanted to have an open casket viewing..."

As if on cue, the man began to blubber.

--

Greg had truthfully half-expected it: a good number of these 'old fashioned Alpha values'
sorts were very brave- facing a Beta.

If there was one thing a cop got very good at, it was getting someone restrained on their feet-
basically shoving someone around, knocking them down and so on. So before Gordon could
get back to his feet- or stop blubbering- Greg had his arms behind his back and was half
marching and half dragging him to the centre of the square. He gave Mycroft a quick glance:
want him dead?
The expression and gesture- faint as it was - told him Mycroft didn't care if he actually died
as long as he was not going to bother anyone again...

As had been the case against Yasha: the other Alpha was emotional and out of control, while
Greg was cool and professional. In this case, the opposing Alpha was a cowering blubbering
wreck, and Greg mostly made sure every single person witnessed just what kind of fellow
'Alpha Gordon' really was.

"It's usually cowards that are bullies," Greg said calmly... and then casually broke the man's
right arm backwards- something easy to do from a police hold, when the opponent wasn't
aware of the risks. He screamed, and before he could get enough air to scream again? Greg
threw him into the concrete face first...

He tried to break his fall with both arms... of course...

Many of the audience winced. Sherlock was looking stunned- John's eyebrows were going up
even as he muttered, "Right, used to be in sports, and a bit of a hoodlum, he said..."

--

Gregory was efficiently brutal; each move he made was precise and planned and Gordon
Delmor ended up lying on the ground within seconds of Gregory grabbing the Alpha. He was
quick, cool, and frankly… more than a little bit attractive to more people than just Mycroft
Holmes- not that anyone would admit such a thing considering the circumstances that led
them here…

“Mister Delmor didn't stand a chance- you both heard the descriptions we gave of the
Russian Alpha, Yasha? Gregory handled a man of his calibre with ease. This…” He watched
through lidded eyes, his expression one of admiration and, oddly (to those who had never
seen it before), want. “This is a romantic gesture, proper, old-fashioned courting…”

They would have to leave once this was over. Truthfully, Mycroft was grateful for the sound
and vision-proof barrier that could be raised or lowered in his cars, because he had no desire
to force poor Huzaifa or Douglas to witness the consequences of the things he was feeling.
And it was an odd feeling, even to him, when he recognised it. His desires for physical
comfort had been low most of his life, part of that out of sheer force of will considering the
danger of his work. The other part, of course, came down to the common fact that most Heat
suppressants and scent suppressants often affected the user’s libido, and he was no outlier in
that.

But… well, he hadn't been on his medication in some time and he was being courted and
Gregory was…

Sherlock startled at the sound of his brother’s purring, but fixed his eyes straight ahead, even
as the blood rushed to his face from the mortification and surprise of it all.

--
Greg was hauling the man up and dragging him over to Mycroft when he realised that he was
hearing... Mycroft... purr. It was all he could do not to break the man and pile the pieces up at
his feet- as it was he pushed him down in front of Mycroft and gave him a very polite
ultimatum: "Apologise- to my- Mycroft's satisfaction... or I finish this off by breaking the rest
of your limbs."

Gordon Delmor managed to get on his knees, cradling his broken arm. Tears and snot ruined
his face, mixing with the blood from what was surely a broken nose, and he looked so
pathetically sad in his torn suit and bad hair dye job that Mycroft almost considered that an
apology of its own.

“I- I’m sorry,” the man cried, “Please, I’m… I’m s-so sorry, I shouldn't have d-done it-”

Mycroft tilted his head, looking down at the mess of a man. “Done what?”

“Done…” The Alpha looked frantic, jerking his head back to look at Gregory before giving
his attention back to Mycroft again. “Done… any of it! The… the Omega, that was wrong
and rude and I shouldn't have done it, and I shouldn't have bothered you over the years or b-
bothered anyone else and I’m sorry, Mister Holmes, I’m sorry-”

Gordon tried to say more, but honestly, it was impossible to tell what he was trying to say as
he sobbed and pleaded…

Mycroft was a powerful man before this all began, even if he had been losing some of his
status- but… this? This was a rush of power of the type he’d never felt before. He met
Gregory’s eyes, then dropped his own to look at the shamed Alpha. “You should be proud,
Alpha Delmor. I believe this is the first time you've left an Omega pleased in your life.”

--

There was a moment of silence and then...

"Burn!"- "Oh, that's gotta hurt!"- "Frostbite... definitely frostbite!"- "Truth!"- and more
assorted babble from various people reacting to that comment. Sherlock grinned broadly
(having some knowledge of the vicious snark his brother was capable of). John Watson tried-
failed- to cover the barking laugh. Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, who had been watching Greg
take the man down with a heated gaze, now grinned so sharply you could all but see the
fangs... Morgaine just smiled- a small smile that was all the more vicious in its
understatement.

Most of the rest of the Ultra Clearance were watching from video monitoring... Almost all of
them had revised their assessment of Alpha Gregory Lestrade up during the combat... and
every one of them reacted to that comment. Herschel, for his part, was very grateful that he
hadn't tried to have Gregory separated from Antarctica at the airfield...

Warwick cleared his throat, "Well, Antarctica is clearly feeling a bit better after his...
ordeal..."
Gordon Delmor might- in another time- have gotten his back up and tried to retort or attack
back, but he was in pain, surrounded by people who no longer had any reason to support him,
and being held by an Alpha who clearly was able and willing to break him in half... He just
cowered.

Greg pulled the man to his feet- he had to hold him up as he was quite unsteady- and looked
around the square... there. He marched Alpha Delmor over to the side of the ring- causing a
lot of buzz? That wasn't the way out, or to the guards? And he pushed him back down to his
knees...

In front of a group of people from his department- including Omega Samantha...

"Omega Samantha," Greg stated formally, "You were forced to participate in an interference
with our Bond by Alpha Delmor, and from what I heard you say he was mistreating many of
his staff. However, I cannot speak to his other dealings, but in this he dragged you into his
offence: would you also demand an apology?"

Gordon Delmor was in shock, but before he could say anything Samantha beamed up at
Greg, "No, thank you, but I would very much like to kick him!"

Greg nodded, "That's... reasonable." He stepped back, and Samantha proved she had some
training, by kicking him first in his broken arm, and then as he gasped and fell, curling
desperately around his arm, she kicked him between the legs- hard.

"Thank you," She smiled prettily up at Greg- who was still wincing, like most men- "Your
Omega is very lucky."

--

"Yes," Mycroft spoke up from his spot- he'd taken the opportunity for eyes to be away from
him to carefully stand. His brother eyed him suspiciously and... he suspected it was only a
matter of time before the Alpha said something or asked what was on his mind, and frankly,
he was not looking forward to the conversation. "Indeed, I am very lucky."

The sanctity of the ring was broken, then, the winner clear and the fight soundly over...

And soon enough several guards were coming to gather the crying Alpha on the floor,
wincing even as they helped him to his feet- he remained partly curled, moaning in pain as
they led him away to the infirmary. As the guards approached Gregory and Delmor, several
others approached Mycroft as he stood by John and Sherlock.

"Omega Holmes?" A young man approached him- Mycroft recognised him as being one of
the various workers in the general 'office' space they had. The young man held out his hand,
"It's an honour to meet you, Sir. I didn't know- I had no idea you were an Omega! That's
brilliant- really, it is..."

It was upon shaking his hand that Mycroft caught the faint scent that rose from the man's
skin, something that reminded him of warm beaches and salty waves, perhaps? But his
secondary gender was clear...
And apparently the fact that the young Omega hadn't gotten 'frozen' by greeting him caused
several others to approach…

--

By the time Greg made it back over to Mycroft... Well, all he could do was stand there,
(quietly supporting him) and make it clear that he absolutely wasn't going to interfere...

Apparently every single Omega in the building was showing up to greet him!

Oh, certainly several Betas- and even an Alpha or two- were in the crowd, but there were a
lot of people with heavy scent neutralizers all commenting on how they hoped Mister Holmes
being public would make things easier on 'other Omegas'.

Greg answered the few questions aimed at him, "Yes, I'm that cop from the telly", "Yes, the
one who works with Sherlock", "No, I'm not coming to work here..." And watched and
listened with amusement as quite a number of people seemed to be in awe of Mycroft- and it
was doing Mycroft a world of good to have so many people happy to meet him.

However, when Mycroft shifted his weight again, Greg cleared his throat. "I am sorry to have
to break this up, but Mycroft was injured somewhat in escaping from our kidnappers- nothing
a bit of rest and all won't fix, but I really have to insist he gets to put his feet up and rest."

--

"Yeah," Grinned one of the Omegas who'd greeted the man- and asked rather politely if his
'silver fox' had any single Alpha cousins or brothers, "Rest."

There were plenty of chuckles and knowing giggles and laughter, and Mycroft fought a
losing battle quite bravely as he tried to keep himself from flushing...

"Gregory is-" He cleared his throat, "-quite right, I'm afraid- although it was a... pleasure to
properly meet those of you I have not had the pleasure of meeting before-"

Someone asked if he was alright and he managed to wave off their concern with the excuse of
some bad bruising and a twisted ankle... Sherlock did not look convinced, but when had his
brother ever believed anything Mycroft wanted him to?

"That," John grinned at Greg, "-was impressive, mate."

--

Greg looked at Mycroft, "Mind if I cause a bit of fuss and carry you off, beautiful?" He asked
it quietly, almost without moving his lips, but John and Sherlock could hear him and Mycroft
definitely did- he flushed a bit more but his answer was to put his arms around Greg's neck...

Greg scooped him up, and commented to the assembled Omegas- and a few others, "Right!
Sorry folks, have to thoroughly check his... ankle!" He nodded solemnly then commented to
John, "Catch up over a beer later? and can one of you get the doors- I have my hands full..."
Sherlock went and got all the doors- partly to keep any trouble away from them and partly to
get them out of public as fast as possible!
 My Sweet Companion
Chapter Summary

Companionship;
that’s how I would paint it.
You are my companion.
A glowing bow of my heart has bonded to yours
so that when I muse over you
the breathing patterns
of a gentle creature
rising and falling in my chest cavity
create that warm, taxing heat
of a muscle striving a little more arduously
for a dedicated cause.
Thats how it feels
and it feels good.

My Sweet Companion, Isabella MacDonald, 2013

"It's a good thing I'm retiring for more than one reason," Mycroft said once they were finally
settled in the car- Gregory had carried him all the way to it and Huzaifa had watched with a
look of surprise when they showed up to the car. "I don't think I'd get any work done even if I
wanted to with how many people would be trying to talk to me... or... oh goodness, they all
saw you carry me out-" He patted at Gregory's hand reassuringly, "And it was truly
wonderful, but... they'll all be talking about how I've melted!"

"I expect everyone- especially every Omega- getting abused by their superiors will be talking
to you now that they know it's not going to be overlooked..." He grinned, "Put some of that
on Morgaine? She and Love seemed like they would just love dealing with it..."

He then leaned into Mycroft, "I don't think you've melted yet..." he smirked, "It was pretty
cold in Russia after all, so... we need a hot tub, maybe a nice trip to a spa or hot springs..."

--

"Oh," Mycroft leaned back into Gregory, "A spa... or hot springs..." He sighed, "I haven't
gone and done something like that in ages... My tub, however, will hopefully make do for
now. It should be able to hold both of us. I had it put in after..." He gestured at his knee.

Looking to the man he added, "You were... utterly wonderful to watch, you know... I've
never..." He hummed contentedly, that low purr starting up in his throat again. "You fought
for me. Twice." The Alpha was close to him, their thighs touching as they tried to be as close
to one another as physically possible and he rested a hand on Gregory's thigh. "I'm normally
quite patient and have excellent restraint, you know- but somehow you make the idea of
Bonding before this whole mess is settled all the more tempting every time you go and show
how utterly magnificent you are."

--

"I will wait as long as you ask me to," Greg said, and lifted his hand to kiss his fingers, "But
not one moment longer than that... say the word, Beautiful."

He nosed into him, inhaling deeply of a sort of... berry incense? Whatever scent it was he
adored it. "We can travel... and your co-workers can call up and beg for help... and you can
tell them your consulting rates... " He laughed quietly, "Have them pay for the new hot tub,
and our second and third and maybe fourth Bonding retreat..."

--

"You..." His eyes slipped closed as he tilted his head, giving the man further access to him,
"Incorrigible- utterly incorrigible. I can only imagine the reactions if they tried to call us in
yet again and we dropped the news that we Bonded in the night..." Gregory nuzzled into him
and he laughed as he felt the man's lips against his skin, "I... have to admit I'm tempted- truly,
I am... but... I promised we would do dinner with your son, and... Sherlock and John... they're
supposed to go ahead of us..."

"I won't rush you into anything, gorgeous, but... I don't think any of your work- or your
brother- would be exactly shocked after today..." Gregory chuckled, "Arthur? Surprised,
certainly, but I get the idea he would understand.”

"He... would? I suppose I imagined he would be... more reserved on the idea of you...
Bonding someone so quickly- even if he was quite supportive at your flat." Mycroft cracked
open his eyes; it was a struggle to do so, honestly. "I... know I should have properly asked
you, but I had quite imagined you would... move in? Or... I suppose if you prefer a different
place, we could move, but..." He bit his lower lip, "I have to admit I'm quite... particular?
about things... but I would- and will!- work to accept whatever changes you'd like to make."

--

His first inclination was to take that lightly, but then Greg forced himself to remember that
Mycroft was actually... sweetly insecure about some things- despite his reputation- and
simply commented, "I've moved a good bit in my life, and... while I may make some minor
changes to suit my tastes, that's all things that can be put down to my having a... well 'office'
sounds too formal? A den?" He shrugged. "As long as I have a room to hang up some of my
collectables, and we can put in some coffee, and as long as I have some comfortable chair
where I can put my feet up?"

He sighed happily and nosed back into Mycroft, "Home is people- everything else is
negotiable."

--
Everything else is negotiable...

Gregory was right. They would figure it out- he’d like to stay in his home, especially since it
was… becoming much more of a home now than it had been in the past few years. But…
whether they stayed or left- a room for Gregory, space for his collectables and knick knacks
and things accumulated over the years. A comfy chair that he could lay back on, put his feet
up… He could take the chance to redesign, even- new wallpaper, fresh paint, different rugs
and furniture. Whatever they desired… Things for their home, their nest. It didn’t remove his
anxiety entirely, but changing his thinking to focus on changes for them, not just… disruptive
changes to his habits and lifestyle? It helped.

“I suppose, then, once we return home… we’ll need to send a message out to your work and
to Arthur and my work… and… well, anyone else we should inform.” Mycroft smiled softly,
“So they know not to interrupt our Bonding retreat.”

--

Greg's smile could have lit the entire car. They somehow managed not to interrupt the drive-
frankly, Greg was worried such a shock would cause an accident- but the instant they got to
the house and parked?

Greg helped Mycroft from the car and then spun him in his arms. "We can start by telling
your two friends here, and they can run out and get some flowers and champagne..."

Douglas frowned, "Tell us what?"

But Huzaifa just snorted, "Ah, after that challenge? On top of the fight with the Russian? I
assume you are starting your Bonding retreat now and using up some of your accrued
vacation time..."

When Greg beamed and said, "Yes!" Douglas looked shocked, and then slowly smiled...
"Congratulations... and... if you don't tell your brother and Morgaine..."

Greg almost carried Mycroft into the house, "Oh yes, we have to call everyone! And we need
more flowers..." He spun Mycroft in his arms again, "And if any of your colleagues- or mine-
try to get either of us to work? We sic Sherlock on them!"

--

Mycroft could count the number of times he felt giddy on one hand, but this…? Oh, this
feeling easily blew them all away. “Oh, oh yes- champagne and flowers… and we can have
Morgaine sic Sherlock on anyone who bothers us…” He smiled, broad and true, “Gentlemen,
would you assist Gregory in gathering the things he wants?” A gentle touch was all it took
for Gregory to lower him slightly, and he looked at the Alpha.

“Whatever you desire, mon amour. Flowers and champagne and more groceries. I’ll fetch my
spare cane from the hall closet and while you do that, I will take on the arduous task of
informing Morgaine and our places of work… and my brother.”
“Your spare cane?” Douglas’ eyes narrowed as he tried- and failed- to see exactly what was
wrong with Mycroft’s leg. “You stressed your knee?”

Smiling apologetically, Mycroft explained, “The Omega that attempted to poach Gregory
may have… made me quite annoyed. I pushed the limits of my speed. It’s nothing life-
threatening and I already iced it; I’ll take a lower-level pain reducer so that I can still enjoy
our champagne, and besides…” He arched an eyebrow, “I suspect I won’t be doing much
walking for the rest of the day.”

Gregory looked like he might protest leaving him and Mycroft placed a finger on his lips,
silencing him. “I will be just fine. Go with Douglas and Huzaifa and gather whatever you’d
like.” He smiled softly, “I’m quite partial to strawberries, but I imagine it will all taste
exquisite when offered by your hand. I will stay here… and prepare something equally lovely
for your return… and our Bonding.”

--

Gregory... wasn't exactly certain how he got to the local shop- he assumed Huzaifa drove
him? He had a vague memory of someone (not him) paying as he ran out with the fruit... He
remembered babbling at his son, who told him to call back after he sobered up "and
congratulations!" and he... may have ordered quite a bit of delivered things, with the
understanding that Huzaifa or Douglas would get them in as they arrived...

And then he was outside the bedroom door... and a sudden attack of horrible nerves...

What if he was joking? What if he doesn't like me when he's not in Heat? What if I got the
wrong things?!

But he steeled his nerves and- after moving the basket with the champagne, fruit, and
toppings to his other hand- he knocked... "Omega Mycroft, may I have your permission to
enter?"

+++

Mycroft had, after taking a pain pill, worked as quickly as his body allowed him. He had
never been a nester- his medications suppressed so much of his instincts that he only felt the
urge when heading into Heat anymore, and he was terribly out of practice compared to any
other Omega…

What if he finds me to be out of practice? A sad, washed-up Omega when he could have any
he desired…

“No,” Mycroft reminded himself firmly, stomping such old and familiar thoughts to dust, “He
chose me. I am what he desires…” The words felt odd in his mouth as he worked on making
up the bed into a proper nest, “And I am worthy of claiming him.”

He used numerous blankets and pillows, creating a place soft and warm for them.
A pitcher of ice water, to stay hydrated, because he truly doubted they would leave the
bedroom for at least the next day, if his Alpha brought food. A small first-aid kit, because
even if it was traditional for the Alpha to… lick! the Bond bite to help it heal, all Mycroft
could think of was how unsanitary that was…

He felt… awkward, lying on the nest, dressed as he was. He tried to remove a few layers,
change how he was posed, but… I feel like a beached whale! Nothing he could think of was
flattering, and… Gregory would be back soon.

The answer to his problem was found in his closet. Mycroft rarely shopped completely
frivolously, but he was only human and an Omega, no matter how squished his instincts had
been… and he had spotted this item long ago in a rather wonderful store; the owner thought
he was buying it for a partner, but he’d been tempted by the soft cool silk and how it had felt
on his hand…

The dressing gown was a rich green colour, embroidered with a floral pattern of orchids up
the sleeves. He’d worn it once and- after looking in the mirror- felt horribly foolish to spend
so much on something so… so unflattering-

But that was then, and that was the way he saw himself. He would be a liar if he said if felt
much more confident now, but he could at least recognise what Gregory kept repeating-
wonderful Omega, beautiful, gorgeous…

He was lying, settled comfortably in their nest when the Alpha knocked, polite and wonderful
as always… and the cool silk slid on his skin and for once, he felt rich and decadent in a way
he never had in his suits and his armour…

“Alpha Gregory,” he rumble-purred, “I would be most disappointed if you didn’t.”

--

Gregory came in, head bowed in respect to entering an Omega's nest... not yet his bondmate.
He would do everything he could to demonstrate that for all he wanted the man? this was-
HAD to be- Mycroft's decision.

So he didn't look up until he was in the room, and the door closed behind him... the smell of
candles and wine and... oh, chocolate-covered fruit perhaps? heady in the air...

And he looked up...

He managed a gasping inhale, and then nothing- there was a vision... long pale legs... the
envy of any model who ever walked a runway, green silk and orchids... Those fine and
expressive hands... red hair and eyes that could cut you to the bone... like the winter sky over
Finland...

"God! Beautiful...!" He managed to gasp out and walked forward... the only reason he
brought the basket was that it hadn't occurred to him to let go.

"You... you're like a Northern forest nymph or... oh hell, how did I get this lucky..."
--

That stunned look on the man's face- those lovely warm brown eyes wide and roaming, the
Alpha's gaze on alighting on his skin almost felt physical, like a warm touch that trailed up
and down him. The way Gregory stared, mouth slightly agape, the basket forgotten in his
arms as he made his way closer like a man possessed...

Is this it? How a 'proper' Omega feels? To be so obviously desired and wanted...

A wave of warmth sizzled down his spine, to the tips of his toes- if he hadn't so recently had
a Heat he might have thought...

But no- this wasn't a Heat, it was desire and lust of the most wanton and wondrous type.

"I have asked myself the same thing every day since we returned, mon amour- my Alpha."
He was emboldened, the adoration in those eyes empowering him with a confidence he'd
rarely felt when it came to such things like this. Mycroft stretched, moving slightly, and part
of the silk dressing gown slid along one of those long, lovely pale legs, exposing skin...

"Will you do me the honour of joining me in my nest, Alpha Gregory?" His lips parted in a
teasing smirk, "I shall even move so there is space for your basket, since you don't seem
inclined to leave it behind."

--

Greg was hypnotised as a pale expanse of the longest legs known to mankind slid free of the
green silk...

"Basket?" He repeated, confused for a moment, and then looked down at the end of his arm...
at the basket… he started laughing. "Oh, right! basket!" He looked up with a crooked grin,
"Here I was trying to be all suave and bring you champagne and fruit..." The grin took a turn
for the wicked, "-and chocolate and vanilla cream... for drizzling... on..." He unconsciously
licked his lips.

He carefully put the basket down within reach- not even noticing the other supplies except to
not knock them over, and with near reverence he drew his hand up Mycroft's leg...

"You are the most incredibly elegant man I ever saw, you know? I used to have to think cold
thoughts just watching you write with that damned fountain pen... and here you are legs for
miles..."

--

“If… a fountain pen is so arousing-” Mycroft had to bite back a gasp as the Alpha’s hand
landed on him, warm and solid and it felt like a brand against his skin, sliding slowly up from
his ankle to his calf, his knee, his thigh. “I shall have to play for you sometime- you saw the
piano in the music room?” He reached, his hand landing on the man’s chest, the Alpha
covered so many layers it should be illegal, and his fingers played out a rhythm.
“I admit, Chief Detective Inspector Lestrade,” A low purr poured from his throat, a soothing
background noise as he spoke, “I have always been quite attracted to a man in uniform- I
frequently had to take an extra dose of my suppressant before any planned meetings;
perfectly safe, of course, but…”

His other hand slid up to rest at the back of the Alpha’s neck, toying with silver-grey hair as
he played out the accompanying rhythm that the hand on his chest played. “You were always
so tempting… forbidden fruit, that dessert I could always crave and never have…”

--

Greg was utterly certain his mouth was watering... and it was getting hotter in this room...

"I'll have to..." he was going to say something about a uniform but... mostly he was trying to
strip out of his clothing- trying not to tear it off.

"I used to play guitar- just a bit: it was the thing to do- play guitar or something, have a
band..." The air hitting his skin didn't cool things down one bit. "Watching you play would
have been... a bit much temptation I think... those fingers..." Which were doing things to him
even not anyplace particular.

He was very very glad that the basket had cooling packs in the bottom, because honestly? he
had forgotten about it entirely, as he leaned in to taste chocolate-covered berries and wine
from Mycroft's lips...

--

A band...

His mind was filled with fantasies- a younger, angrier Gregory in his teens. Ripped jeans and
spiky brown hair, maybe dyed some fashionable colour like red or blue...

Mycroft's moans were swallowed, hungrily, by the Alpha. "You-" he panted, "Oh, you must
have been exquisite..." A band? Memories of the few- very few- times he'd snuck out because
he had still wanted to prove himself to the other boys in boarding school. Going to places he
never should have been, seeing garage bands and punks and teen rockstars with more life and
energy than he'd ever felt he'd had himself. His small rebellious actions- shed and left behind
as he'd grown older.

Hands wandered, both his and Gregory's, and zips were undone, buttons unbuttoned, layers
peeled away until the man was beautifully nude before him. The Alpha- his Alpha, his inner
Omega preened happily- was perfect. A soft layer of padding that hid an inner strength that
made so many fools underestimate him, scars and laugh lines and wrinkles...

Somehow he ended up on his back, silk sliding off him, exposing him as Gregory climbed
between his legs. It was nothing to take one of those long legs that the man seemed to find so
arousing and hook it around the Alpha's leg, pulling him in. "I would follow tradition and
properly present for you, Alpha Gregory, however... even if my knee chose not to threaten me
for even thinking of such a thing, I would much prefer to see you." A hand reached, cupping
the man's face, stubble brushing his palm.

--

"I would a hundred times prefer to see YOU too..." Greg tried to be a gentleman, to make
certain Mycroft was prepared... he shouldn't have worried. He entered him slowly...
carefully... they weren't blinded by Heat and hormones, and every moan and groan and plea
for more was kissed out of Mycroft's mouth...

Greg was drunk on wine- Mycroft- and the warmth of a fire...

"I am asking- the last time..." Greg managed to gasp, "Will you be my Bondmate?"

--

Mycroft would never say that their first times together were anything less than magical and
wonderful- yes, it was... less than what he would have wanted, if he could have chosen, but
he had long ago accepted that in his personal life, he very rarely got what he wanted.

This he wanted, though, and got.

Gregory, pressed against him, in him, so close their breaths were shared, their chests
touching. Mycroft clung to him, a drowning man seeking the only bit of safety in a churning
ocean. The Alpha's lips were pressed against his neck, the man panting against his scent
gland- so close...

"Drink to me only with thine eyes," he murmured, eyes slipping shut as he arched his neck,
"And I will pledge with mine."

--

Greg smiled, "And leave a kiss-" he kissed him, deeply, hungrily, and then he moved to the
side, inhaled of wine and candlelight, really letting himself believe that they would be
together and he wouldn't need to just... wish...

And he bit down, and he would swear cold for the rest of eternity that all he tasted was wine.
 Immortal Sails
Chapter Summary

Now, in a breath, we’ll burst those gates of gold,

And ransack heaven before our moment fails.
Now, in a breath, before we, too, grow old,
We’ll mount and sing and spread immortal sails.

Immortal Sails, Alfred Noyes, 1947(?)

Time passed in a way it never had before, for both of them.

The first few days were spent in a wonderful fog- a haze of hormones and lust and love,
neither leaving the other's side for much longer than was absolutely needed. They spent most
of their time either in bed together, whether that meant sex or sleeping or laying and talking,
or in the kitchen, sharing bites of food and coaxing the other to eat.

Their fluctuating hormones steadied slowly as the Bond solidified- that didn't mean they were
ready to greet any guests into their home, but rather that they were unlikely to be immediately
hostile to anyone who happened to arrive.

So, so much occurred- they watched movies (taking turns to pick and share their tastes)
cuddled up together. Gregory got to experience Mycroft playing the piano (they may have
made love in the music room). They cooked together, dancing to the radio as things baked
and their home filled with the scent of chocolate and wine and warm fires, glazed cinnamon
rolls and fruit tarts and rich decadent chocolate cakes...

At some point, Gregory moved in- fully. It didn't take long for them to request more of his
things, and then it was easier to request everything...

Mycroft- who wasn't very interested in football- let the Alpha lay with his head in his lap and
watch a game, a beer in one hand, the other resting on his Omega. He worked on his tablet
during that bit of rest, looking at wallpapers and paint colours and furniture for the much-
needed remodelling of several rooms. Gregory was, of course, consulted, and Mycroft
conceded on several decorating points to make his Alpha happy.

Morgaine and his colleagues had panicked some once the message came that he would not be
returning. "A proper handover!" Porlock had whined, and Mycroft reminded the man that
they had no idea he would even be coming back alive from Russia to begin with. If he had
died then, what would they have done?
At least now, he would consult as he desired- and if they asked nicely. And really, Morgaine
was more than competent enough to deal with it all.

She also had Sherlock... for about a week or so, before he and Doctor Watson were whisked
away with Rosie. Their Bonding had been pushed up and that meant everything- their
Bonding retreat and vacation- had also been pushed up, and someone needed to ensure that
those sandy beaches had enough shade and umbrellas for someone of Mycroft's complexion!

Sherlock made a show of grumbling about the trip- John figured he felt it was obligatory- but
he actually seemed enthused about parts of it... and wasn't very surprised at how fast they had
moved: "Apparently they were pining over each other for ages, and they really Bonded in
every way but one in Russia- and then another Alpha fight in London?" Sherlock snorted,
"I'm more shocked he's actually going someplace tropical..." His voice then took on a far
away pensive tone, "But it does get so very cold..."

John had learned that some things were memories of his 'time away' and eventually they
would need to talk about it... but not now.

Now? Beaches and foreign foods, and fruits and vegetables that they had never had- and
Rosie adored a few of the foods, and there would likely be some ethnic markets in their
shopping futures...

And in addition to scouting out a vacation resort- or two- to see if it would suit Mycroft?
Sherlock managed to crack a trafficking ring! It meant that they had a warm welcome waiting
for them when they were able to come back on vacation themselves, and that John had a
wonderful and 'exotic' (meaning not in Britain) case to write up... To be published after
Mycroft and Greg were done with the retreat of course.

Rosie was utterly fascinated by everything, it being so very different than London. Sherlock
and John had quietly agreed that it would be good for Rosie to travel some- see more of the
world- and probably good for them to get away from England occasionally: neither of them
had realised how many memories were haunting them at home.

However they couldn't be on vacation while Mycroft was on his Bonding retreat- since
Sherlock had promised to stay in London, "In case Morgaine needed help".

Privately he admitted to John that he thought Mycroft was still concerned about someone
kidnapping him- Sherlock, that is- as leverage… so having him stay 'under guard' would let
Mycroft relax some.

And to relax Mycroft while he was away?

Douglas and Huzaifa had landed at their destination some days ago, arriving as Sherlock and
John were departing. They were given a detailed report that Sherlock had… ‘written’-
meaning Sherlock dictated in the evenings when they were not running about, and John
typed.

An identical copy would be given to his brother- a detailed itinerary, suitable for whatever
excursion they desired.
 +++

The mess that had started this all was wrapped up in the month or so that Greg and Mycroft
were Bonding; the final leads followed to their ends, the final troublemakers hunted down
and examples made. It had been as devastatingly simple as it had appeared, and that had
made it all the more clever and easily overlooked. A coup, of sorts, as those without power
sought a higher position and the authority that came with it.

Morgaine- in her brutally cold and precise methods- easily garnered a healthy measure of
respect and fear from the remaining Ultra Clearance and even gained a proper Ally in Love,
something Mycroft had not fully managed to do in his tenure.

But Mycroft had to deal with problems she did not- and she refused to allow such things to
ever become problems again.

Mycroft- once they both sobered up a bit from the hormones- even commented on the politics
shifting to Greg...

"Well, I expect that the two of them working together to get through your kidnapping
helped," Greg mused, "But I've also seen how with women in a 'men's job'? The women
either are at each other's throats or they team up- pretty much no in between…”

Greg's work hand-off was a bit chaotic: unlike Mycroft he hadn't been being forced out, and
while he had left detailed instructions in the event of... well... anything? His kidnapping had
come on the heels of half the force being miserably sick... so losing one of the few healthy
people had been brutal. No one was really prepared to lose DCI Lestrade, and while he
certainly could recommend people to be promoted (including a specific Omega Detective)
the fact remained that the delay in Mycroft and Greg being able to leave on their Bonding
retreat?... was more the MET side than the SIS!

+++

“Maybe… I might have overpacked…” Mycroft fretted- less than he normally might have,
but still to some degree- as a young man assisted in unloading their luggage to take it aboard
the aircraft. He had spent several days sorting through their closets and arranging everything
they might need for the trip and then- after realising he had a… terrible lack of ‘vacation’
wear, they’d gone on an excursion to get him clothing that was much more suitable for such
an environment.

And then he’d had to repack… a few times…

There were plenty of people waiting for them at the airport to see them off. Morgaine had
come, though Love had stayed before to keep any of the other Ultra Clearance members from
getting any ideas about popping up with ‘last minute questions’. Sherlock and John were
there, as well as Gregory’s son, Arthur, and for many, it was the first time seeing the newly
Bonded couple.

John handed off a small folder- “This has a detailed report of our findings, and information
you might need to know.”
Mycroft took it gratefully, “Thank you. It’s very much appreciated.”

Sherlock cleared his throat, adding, “We found a nice little jazz club that I thought you might
enjoy- I made sure to include it.”

Some of the tension that had been sitting on Mycroft’s shoulders- the stress of travelling-
melted away, and he passed the folder to Gregory before stepping in closer to his brother. The
young Alpha stiffened slightly as Mycroft wrapped his arms around him, but his posture
softened after a moment. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

--

Sherlock gave Mycroft an awkward hug, "Gawain..." he said with a faintly amused huff, "-is
a good man- and... you seem happier: you both do." He then stepped back, "Don't get a
sunburn."

In the meantime, Arthur came over and grinned, "You know I'm going to be freezing in a
dorm room while you are off in the tropics? I expect lots of nice sunny photos!"

Greg smiled and ruffled his hair, "I'll send you a lot, but remember no posting them until we
get home!"

"Already got the lecture from your... security? I guess?" He scratched his head, looking
exactly like his father. "Anyway, go on, run for it before someone calls up and needs one of
you for something!"

Greg nodded crisply and went over to retrieve Mycroft, "My son- who is far wiser than his
years- has suggested we run for it before anyone comes up with a job..."

Sherlock grinned, "Very wise."

"Like father, like son." Mycroft agreed, a smile on his face. He gave his goodbyes to
Morgaine, making her promise that she would contact him if anything was going wrong. "I
may be retired, but I am always willing and able to assist you, should you ever need me."

In a rare moment of obvious affection, the pair shared a short hug- and while no one would
ever suggest such a thing, even under threat of death, Morgaine may have had to dab at her
eyes as Mycroft and Gregory boarded the plane.

"Now," Mycroft hummed, settling into the quite comfortable seat. He tugged his Alpha down
next to him and before long they were pressed close together, Gregory resting an arm around
his shoulders. The folder that John had given them was in his lap and he opened it, revealing
a rather thick set of papers, detailing the various places the pair had explored and logged,
with immense detail.

Sherlock had obviously taken the job seriously, despite his grumbling, because there were
graphs and charts and colour-coding and an appendix and a 'chapter' list...

"Where shall we go first?"

--

Greg looked at the report- it was one of the first times he had ever been happy to see a report-
and then at this beautiful man sitting next to him. "However did I get so lucky..." he spoke
quietly.

Then in a more usual voice, he answered the question: "First? Well, first we have to
investigate the lodgings in great detail- especially the thread count- and then? Apparently
there is a spa, where we can both get freshened up and soak in a hot tub and get our hair
done..." He dragged a hand through his hair, "-and since neither of us has to worry about
business standards anymore, you can tell me how you'd like my hair... "

He sat back - still with his arm around Mycroft, "And depending on what time it is? Well, we
either start by you sitting under a big beach umbrella sipping a fruit drink while I go
remember what an ocean feels like, or we go to that jazz club and go to the beach the next
day..." He smiled, "And somewhere in there we sample all the local dishes, and I find out
what goes best with my favourite candlelight and wine..." and he leaned in and kissed him.

"I suspect," Mycroft returned the kiss, lingering close and simply savouring the moment, "-
that you, tasting of baklava and chocolate cake and all other manner of delicious treats, will
pair wonderfully with wine and candlelight..." He smiled, "Of course, I think we'll need to
test such a thing, obviously..."

"Oh, obviously," The Alpha smiled in return, charming and boyish.

"So, we investigate the thread count... and if we manage to tear ourselves away from that
before the day ends? Then we have a spa day, and see where we go from there..." The folder
was closed and set aside as Mycroft leaned against the man, "And if we need more time to
explore? Well, we certainly have the rest of our lives to do so."

And they did.

FIN
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