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Truth, Please?

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I twisted around yet again, wrapping my legs completely in the sheet.

“Shit,” I gasped, clambering out of bed for the seventh time that night to straighten the sheets. I could feel the sweat drying on my back, pricking at my skin. I worked my shoulders back and forth, rotating my scapula to pull at the kinks. When the pain started to recede I glanced at my watch. 3:30. No point in trying for a few more hours of sleep now. I wound my way to the bathroom, splashing a little cold water on my face. There was a face staring back at me from the mirror, dark circles under the eyes, hair entirely grey, some deep seated sadness pulling at his heart. I sighed and turned away, shambling, still half asleep, towards the kitchen. From the refrigerator I snagged a beer, and continued into the sitting room. I snuggled into the leather of the settee, grabbing a case file from the end-table. The poor woman’s body, lying ot against the pavement, eyes blank and staring. Eyes so familiar. I spun on the spot, thrusting my knees into the seat to look deep into the painting behind me, the one encased in a glass, the one in which I could see my own blank eyes boring back deep into my soul, reprimanding my own listlessness. I sighed again and sat back into the sofa, taking a long draught from the bottle.  Another groan passed my lips before I set the bottle down on top of the file. I curled my legs up next to me and set my head down on the arm of the settee. Before long I felt my eyes slip closed, the darkness enveloping me, a welcome respite from the horrors of the real world.

His hands ghosted along my cheek.

“Wake up Love,” came the words murmured into my hair, just as he settled behind me on the sofa. He wrapped his arms tightly around my shoulders.

“Where’ve you been, Myc?” I asked, pulling away from his grasp. “I expected you ages ago.”

“You know I can't tell you that, national secrets and all.”

“You don’t have to keep lying to me My, I know you’ve been to see her.”

“Gregory Lestrade!” he rebuked. “You take that back, right this instant, nothing could ever-”

“-Have you seen me lately?” I cut him off, practically shouting in his face. “I’m old Myc. All I do drink and work and turn greyer.” His eyes blazed.

“I do believe you meant ‘more grey,” he chucked

“Myc, I’m serious. Why are you still pretending to be with me? I’m a grumpy old copper.” My voice was flagging, why didn’t he understand this of all things. It’s not as if he was honestly still interested in me. “I understand, there are more important people for you to be around.”

“Gregory.”

“No, I get it. I know in you bid for world domination you can’t have anyone holding you back “

“That’s not what I’m trying to say at all” he shouted.

“Then why did you say it”

“I didn’t.”

“Are you calling me a liar, you’re crazy old lying lover, the one you get to leave home for weeks on end, like I’m the mistress to be put up at  the summer estate.”

“I swear to god, Gregory, Don’t make me do something I will regret.”

“What like asking me to move in with you, it’s too late for that.” I shouted, my voice cracking with emotion. “Just say it Mycroft, It’s been a long time coming.”

“Gregory , you’re not yourself,” he whispered, “please don’t do this.”

“Say it, Mycroft.” I knew it was for the best. I knew I was saving myself months of hardship, but it still hurt. He had yet to respond, I could see the emotions swirling beneath the surface of his eyes, clouding his judgement. “Fine, I’ll say it. We aren’t good for eachother. This needs to stop. We need to stop.”

I heard the click of the door closing and I bolted up-right. I felt the pain burning through my cheek as I ripped it off of the leather armrest, and I cried out.

“Shit.”

“Gregory, is that you?” he moved into the sitting room, and I saw him for the first time in almost a month, battered, covered in bruises. He came and sat down gingerly next to me. “What’s the matter, Greg?” he whispered as I was coming to my senses. As I mustered up more strength from my tired bones I replied.

“Their eyes, Myc, I have their eyes.”

“And who are they, I must thank them,” he chuckled deep in his chest, “for you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.” I grimaced up at him, before sitting up and leaning back against the arm I had been sleeping on.

“Myc,” I whispered, “I’m scared”

“Of what?” He seemed to understand what I needed, just an ear to burden with my troubles.

“Of what’s happening to me, that you’ll leave me.”

“I would never leave you.”

“I had a dream-” He shushed me.

“Nothing could ever take me away from you, I love you Gregory, more than anything in the world.” I sighed as his fingers stretched out to caress my cheek. “I love you more than Sherlock says I love cake.” I laughed, scootching towards him and leaning against his side.

“I love you too, My.”

“Good,” he chuckled. “Now why are you sitting out here? I had planned to snuggle with you in bed this morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” I could feel him taking in the empty beer bottles scattered around the room, “I’m sorry Myc, I meant to clean up before you got home, but I didn't expect you until next week.”

“It is of no importance, I came home for you not the flat.” I smiled up at him again, just basking in the man that was Mycroft Holmes.

“Do you want to head into bed?” I asked, moving to get up. His hands grasped my waist.

“I’m comfortable here,” he murmured, pulling the afghan from the back of the settee and wrapping the two of us in it. “Sleep, darling, sleep.” came the voice, his lips pressed to my scalp, before he pulled my head into his lap.

“We don’t both fit lying down.” I mumbled, already sucumbing to the wearininess borne of too many days of fitful sleep.

“Then it’s a good thing leaving Iraq early made extra work for me to do.” He ran his fingers through my hair and started to hum, lulling me to sleep feeling warm and loved.

“Night, My.” I mumbled to his knees.

“Sleep well, Gregory. I love you.”