Work Header

Post-it Notes from You

Chapter Text

It was a bright yellow sticky note stuck onto the fridge that caught Mycroft’s eye as he walked into the kitchen after a long day in the office.  It stood out horrendously against the stainless steel fridge door and the old and well used take away menus. 


Mycroft did not give the note a second thought as he removed his coat,  placed his briefcase on the floor and cracked his back with a groan. Greg had the habit of placing notes around the flat for himself in scrawled handwriting. They were mostly shopping lists for himself or small lists of errands that he needed to do. He hardly used them and favoured his phone of the back of hand for his todo lists. 


Mycroft switched the kettle on and placed a tea bag in his favourite mug, a birthday gift from Greg that was decorated with goldfish. He rummaged around in the cupboard for the packet of emergency custard creams and let out a heavy sigh when he realised that he had nibbled through the whole packet to console himself after a  dreadful breakfast meeting that lasted four hours. 


He had been in a foul mood the whole day and realised that he needed something stronger than biscuits to console himself.  He had woken up to an empty bed that morning, not the for the first time that week.  He had hardly seen Greg over the last few days, work had kept them apart, only allowing them to have a few precious hours together. 


Mycroft opened up the freezer and rummaged through the bags of frozen vegetables and pulled out the tub of peanut butter ice cream that he saved for emergencies.   He knew that it was rather undignified to eat ice cream from the tub with a spoon but he could not be bothered to dirty a bowl.  He had averted an economic crisis and had been dealing with EU negotiations all day and felt that he very much deserved to eat ice cream guilt-free


With a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, Mycroft inspected the takeaway menus on the fridge door, taking careful consideration for what he would order for dinner that evening.  He glanced at the post-it note on the fridge door as he took another spoonful of ice cream. 


Don’t know when I will be home, important case.  

There is dinner in the oven, needs to cook for twenty minutes.  Please don’t eat ice cream for dinner. 

Please buy milk in the morning. 

Love, Greg. 


It was more of a set of bullet points than a note.  A text message would surely suffice instead of a sticky note on the fridge door.  Mycroft rolled his eyes at Greg’s instruction for him not to eat ice cream for dinner, he had only done it once after a having too many glasses of good scotch at a function with some colleagues that he had tolerated. 

He put the ice cream into the back of the freezer behind the bags of frozen vegetables as if he was hiding it from himself before he switched on the oven without even inspecting to see what Greg had made for dinner. 


As he waited for the food to heat up, Mycroft went into his desk drawer and rummaged around for a set of post-it notes. 

Greg was not sure where the idea of his had come from, he felt that he might have been inspired by a film or something that he had read in a book.  He had always missed the days when he used to get handwritten letters and notes from people, it always felt so much more personal than a text message or an email. 


People had told him that he was stupid for getting into a relationship when he often went days without seeing his partner. Having a relationship that was a long-distance relationship half of the time as Mycroft did travel often for work, often at the drop of a hat, depending on the situation that he was having to deal with. 


His job kept him at the office or in the crime scene longer than he would have liked to.  The fact that he was a bit of a ‘workaholic,’ according to Karen and with previous partners had been a cause of conflict in past relationships. It had been the main reason that his marriage had ended and why Karen had to take comfort in the form of a PE teacher. 


Upon starting his relationship with Mycroft, Greg found many benefits of having a relationship with someone who was also partly married to his job.  Mycroft understood his commitment to the job and did not huff at him when he was called away during a date night or in the middle of the night. He did the same with Mycroft, they only ever squabbled about it when he was worried that Mycroft was not eating or sleeping enough.  


The two of them always had something to talk about when they saw another and conversation never lulled.  Mycroft always brought home some new recipes  for what he could make for dinner after he had been out of the country.  Greg was never much of a homebody and he always preferred to be out and about, he still liked to have his own life even if he was in a relationship. He thought of Mycroft’s flat as being the hub of their relationship, it was a place where the two of them could come together and connect. They could live in domestic bliss within the walls of the flat. 


Greg often thought that his relationship was the best of both world,  and it suited him and Mycroft rather well.  It was an easy relationship that he had fallen into and he had never been happier. He liked to think that Mycroft felt the same. 


Mycroft was the first partner who understood him, not just with his commitment to his work, but for who he was as a person. In return, he did the same for Mycroft without a moment of hesitation, accepting him fully with his heart.


Despite that Sherlock often thought that he was an idiot or somewhat slow, Greg was not stupid and he always knew a good thing when he saw it.  He wanted to make it work with Mycroft even if the lack of time they spent together, often days apart was a challenge. 


The main threat was the lack of connection and communication.  Not wanting that to be a problem, Greg left a sticky note on the fridge.

It was hardly anything that Shakesphere would write but it would be enough to the do the job. It was far more personal to tell Mycroft to eat dinner and buy milk on a piece of paper than through a text. 


He had been surprised to see a  large post-it note in Mycroft’s tidy handwriting stuck on a pint of milk in the fridge when he made himself a coffee at six in the morning.   Mycroft was asleep when he had come in from work in the evening and Greg did not want to wake him.  Mycroft left the flat at four in the morning, they had a short conversation when Greg was still half-asleep but Mycroft sent him back to bed with a kiss and a promise that he would be home soon. 


Dear Greg, 

I’m having to do business with America and I am not sure how long I will be. 

The dinner that you made last night was delightful and I do hope that you make yourself something just as good for yourself. 

I  bought the milk before my car arrived and please water the plants when I’m away. 


All my love, 



 Greg smiled to himself and started to scribble down a note on the pile of post-it notes that were left on the kitchen counter. 


With great care, Greg wrote several notes and started to scatter them around the flat for Mycroft to find.  One in a coat pocket, another on his desk;  a post-it on the packet of emergency ginger nuts that were kept in the desk drawer, and one by the toothpaste and with several more hidden around the flat. 


He just hoped that Mycroft would find them soon. 


Chapter Text

Mycroft had gotten into the habit of looking for the bright yellow post-it notes around his flat. They were not always just in the flat, occasionally they would make thier way into his office or into a coat pocket.  On a few occasions, they ended up in whatever part of the world that he was currently in, he never asked how they managed to get to America or Sweden, but was rather thankful that they were there. 

Regardless of where they were, Mycroft spent part of the day actively looking for the bright yellow post-it notes. He never told Greg that he did so and often pretended that he did not know what Greg was talking about when they were brought up in conversation.


 He certainly did not tell Greg that he kept them all in a wooden box inside his desk drawer or that he kept a few of his favourites with him all times and looked at them to cheer himself up when he was having to deal with mountains of paperwork and listen to goldfish in the office. He could never let that information get out to anyone, not even Greg, it would embarrass him horrifically if anyone knew that he was soft. 


 He often had to pretend that he was not disappointed in the office when he saw a bright yellow sticky note on a file or his desk, only to discover that it was not from Greg and instead of a pointless memo about a meeting that he needed to attend or a note about what mischief his brother ended up getting involved in. 


After being severely disappointed about those post-its on several occasions, Mycroft requested that his work memos be written to on green or pink post-it notes one morning in the office.  Yellow post-it notes were to be strictly forbidden in his office unless they came from  Gregory Lestrade. 


Whenever his assistants and staff asked about why the yellow post-its were prohibited, Mycroft fibbed and claimed that he thought that yellow was ‘ too cheerful ,’ to have in his office. He could never tell anyone the truth, if any word that he was somewhat soft, it would surely ruin his reputation!

Mycroft counted the minutes of when his breakfast meeting with Australia would surely be over. He had found himself still terribly jet-lagged that morning and he found it impossible to even pretend to be the slightest bit interested in the matter of trade negotiations. 


He had been in an awful mood ever since he had received the phone call in the early hours of the morning and it had dragged him out of bed.  He was only meant to be away for a day or two at the most and he had been away for almost a week.  He missed Greg so much that it physically ached. 


As he picked at his somewhat cold scrambled eggs and his toast that was more well done than he liked, Mycroft considered slowing down or at least spending more time closer to home. He nearly dropped his fork in shock once he realised what he was thinking about, he had never considered cutting back on his work for anyone. He had been completely monogamous with his work ever since he had first stepped on the career ladder.  


He had admittedly started to see the appeal of a life outside work ever since he had Greg had started to be involved with another. He had become a somewhat changed man and had even started to enjoy lie-ins on a Sunday morning and had even started to think about retiring. It had concerned him at first, he had never thought that he would retire. He had always imagined that he would work as long as physically possible and die at his desk from a heart attack in his late eighties or at least from an assassination. 


Anthea slipped into the meeting and passed him a file wordlessly.  Mycroft placed it down on the table and did not give it a glance for several minutes until something caught his eye. 

He saw the top of a yellow post-it note peeking out from the side of the file. 


It was almost pavlovian how he had received an odd feeling in his chest, a warm feeling that settled in his middle, almost as if he had taken a sip of tea. He wanted to smile but he cleared his throat and pretended that he had to read a very official and dry document.


I’m missing so terribly and I can’t wait until you are home.  

You’ve got this and you are doing brilliantly!


Love, Greg.


P.S. You have the most fantastic arse ;)


There was a second note that was rather suggestive and flirtatious in nature about what Greg was going to do to him when he got home.   It instantly managed to make Mycroft’s ears turn pink and his cheeks started to burn.


“Are you feeling alright?”  The politician who was sat next to  Mycroft asked. 


Mycroft quickly closed the file and adjusted his collar. “It is rather hot, isn’t it?”  he managed to utter out, his voice considerably tight. 


The politician made a noise of agreement and passed Mycroft the water jug. 

It was even more impossible to concentrate on his breakfast meeting after reading that particular yellow post-it note. 

Chapter Text

The case he had been on was gruelling and it had been an absolute disaster even if they had caught the man that they were looking for.  Greg wanted nothing more than to go home but he had a large pile of paperwork to make his way through before he could even think about leaving the office. 


He had been caught in two downpours of rain and had been completely soaked and Greg wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a meal that wasn’t just a coffee and a bag of crisps and to go to bed. The thought of doing paperwork at the moment with the mood that he was in seemed like hellish punishment.   If he knew that there was going to be this much paperwork in policing when he joined, Greg knew that his younger self wouldn’t have joined the police. 


As he went into his office, Greg noticed that there was a paper bag on his desk with a bright yellow post-it note on the top.  The grin had made his way to his face almost instantly. 


Dear Greg, 

I believe that this very much deserved from what I heard about the case. 


I have cleared both of our schedules for a few days to spend some time together, providing I do not need to prevent a war from happening. I am sure that you understand fully. 


I have missed you terribly and I’m thinking that we go for dinner tonight. 


All my love, 




Greg opened up the bag and quickly devoured the posh doughnut and almond croissant that Mycroft had gotten for him at his desk. It had been hours since he had something to eat. He had never been so moved by baked goods in his life and they were the much-needed motivation to get through the mountain of paperwork. 

He had not expected Mycroft to have been so taken up with the yellow post-it notes.  He had not expected for Mycroft to write little messages for him. 


Mycroft had not said anything directly to him about the post-it notes other than a comment over the breakfast table that their supply was running rather low and that Greg should pick up several more packets when he was shopping that day. 


Greg had tried to bring up the notes or make reference to whatever was written in one by Mycroft, but Mycroft acted ignorantly towards the matter. There was always a small smile that crept on Mycroft’s face whenever Greg talked about them. It would only be there for a moment before it would be quickly tucked away, almost as if it was a secret that he could be touched by something simple as a message from a post-it note. 


Anthea had told him about Mycroft’s request that no yellow post-it notes were to be used in the office unless they were from him. He had also caught Mycroft rummaging around in the flat for post-it notes on multiple occasions. 


Mycroft’s ears went pink every time that he had been caught and there was always a vague excuse about what he was doing; ‘I was just looking for where you have hidden the emergency stash of ginger nuts, Gregory.’

It never stopped being endearing, no matter how many times that he had caught Mycroft searching for the post-it notes or trying to stash his notes around. 


Mycroft left him post-it notes and other messages around the flat or tucked away until they were ready to be found. He had also moved onto writing messages on postcards when he was out of the country for work. Greg kept all of the notes that Mycroft had written for him, the one that reminded him to buy milk, the note that Mycroft had tuckaway in his lunchbox to tell him of the dinner plans that they had evening.  There was the note that Mycroft written in the bathroom mirror when he was in the shower, just a reminder that he loved him. 


He had often teased that Mycroft about his two hundred years of British emotional suppression and his lack of abilities with emotions. How in the early days of their relationship, Mycroft seemed to be unable to function after being given a particular compliment and his brain seemed to freeze and had to reboot like a virus filled computer system when Greg had first confessed that he loved him.  Or how Mycroft had confessed to him that he thought that he was having a bad case of indigestion or a heart attack with how much he physically missed Greg. 


Mycroft had grown ‘softer,’ over the time that they had been together and over time, it had become easier for him to show and tell Greg of his affection for him, the post-it notes seemed to free him considerably. 


Mycroft still held back on him on occasion and sometimes was still rather reluctant to be soft around him.  There was something behind his eyes and a certain look that he gave in those moments as if there was something that he was wanting to say and it was at the tip of his tongue but he was unable to get the words out.


The post-it notes freed Mycroft considerably and he did not hold back as much.  He had discovered that Mycroft found it much easier to express himself through writing.  He somehow managed to make a reminder about going to the shop to pick up bread almost romantic and poetic. 


There was a second post-it note that caught Greg’s eye when he booted up his computer. It had been tucked away, stashed behind his pen pot. 


Dear Greg, 

It is ineffable how much I adore you. 




“How was your morning?”  Mycroft asked, his reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he read the newspaper in bed. 


Greg threw his coat onto the chair and kicked off his shoes before he threw himself onto the bed, not bothering to get changed.  “I’m just so happy about being home,” he grumbled.


Mycroft’s fingers made their way into his hair without a moment of hesitation, running his fingers through it absentmindedly as he turned the page on his newspaper. “ I am so very thrilled that you are home,” he said. “I have told everyone that I am not to be contracted unless nuclear war is to happen.”


“I am very glad about that,” he grinned, his voice slightly muffled from being pressed into Mycroft’s side. “I’ve missed you too much. I was trying to get my work done after I saw something interested in my desk. The baked goods helped massively.”

“I have little idea what you are talking about,”  Mycroft said, almost as if he said something ridiculous. 


Greg snuggled up closer and wrapped his arm around Mycroft’s middle in the attempt to make himself comfortable. “Regardless,” he said. “It is ineffable how much I adore you too, Myc.”


Even though he was not looking at Mycroft, Greg could tell that his ears had gone pink.

Chapter Text

It had all started over a pint of milk and it had dragged on for days.  


He and Mycroft rarely argued it was one of the reasons why he believed that the two of them worked so well together.  Arguments were a common occurrence every day in his previous marriage with extended deafening silences that were only broken by the slams of doors.   He and Mycroft only argued once in a blue moon, Greg did not even consider them to be arguments, it was more like bickering that died down after a few minutes. 


Greg was not sure who had started the argument or why it had escalated the way it did.  Someone had forgotten to buy a new pint of milk from the shop and left the empty one in the fridge.  It could have been resolved in a matter of minutes, ten at the most, enough time for one of them to walk to the corner shop, buy the milk and walk back.  It would have been much easier to do than not talking to another for days. 


The two of them were making tea at four in the morning before they ended up going to work. Greg started at six but wanted enough time to get to work without a hurry, have enough time to get his work organised for the day and chat about the football scores with his mates at work.  Mycroft had a meeting with Hong Kong at five in the morning and it would probably be the only time that they would really have together that day.  It was why Greg willingly woke up earlier than he needed to and did not lie in during his days off. 


It had started over the milk and it had escalated quickly.  Mycroft had complained about how he had left his clothes on the floor and did not stick on a wash as often as he did.  He had accused Mycroft of being lazy and had brought up the argument they had over Mycroft’s suggestion about getting a cleaner.  He had accused Mycroft of not caring as much about their relationship as he did and that was why he was constantly away. 


Greg instantly regretted the words as soon as they had fallen out of his mouth. He could hardly believe that he could say anything so acidic and cruel. He saw Mycroft’s blink and you’ll miss them tears. He opened up his mouth to instantly appologise  but Mycroft’s face had turned into an emotionless mask. Wordlessly, he put on his coat and picked up his briefcase,  and icily told Greg to have a good day in the office  before he left. 


 The two of them overtired from working and strained from not seeing another for almost a week and barely having any time together.  Greg knew that it wasn’t going to be all roses being in a relationship that was half long distance and both of them had demanding careers that kept them away for another. They managed to make it work the majority of the time, but he would be lying if he said that it was easy and that he never struggled at times. 


“It is because you’ve not had a shag in some time,”  a junior officer had commented that morning in the staff kitchen. “Do you mind passing a spoon? You are blocking the drawer.”


It had taken all of Greg’s strength to not tell the junior officer where to stick it sideways.  He did not want to give himself more paperwork than required that morning, it would make his mood even worse.  He yanked the drawer open, the cutlery rattling loudly, and handed the spoon to the officer. 


Greg noticed that there was a  post-it note attached to a pint of milk when Greg had opened up the fridge when he had arrived home from work that afternoon.


Dear Gregory, 

I have taken the time out of my day to buy the milk, unlike you. 

I thought that I would also take the time to inform you that there isn’t a milk buying fairy who lives in the flat. 

I have also written out  instructions on how to use the washing machine and have picked up the clothes you left on the chair. 


You can thank me later, 


Greg picked up a pen and a packet of post-it notes and started to scrawl one and slammed it on the bottle of washing up liquid after he had dinner alone that evening. 


With a groan, Mycroft placed his coat on the kitchen chair and his briefcase on the floor when he walked into the kitchen that evening.  He had been in a foul mood all day and he had kept replaying the fight in his head.  The rare feeling of regret lingered around him all day like a dark cloud, he regretted some of the things that he said. 


He had tried to apologise to Greg after is morning meeting and he had only recieved a sarcastic message in response about the milk.  The only sensible thing to do in response was to write a post-it note, give it to Anthea and ask her to buy milk and put it in his fridge. 


Mycroft debated about having dinner, he wanted nothing more than to go to bed after the day he had.  He had three back to back meetings, dealt with a terrorist threat, resolved a potential economic crisis from happening,  lunch with the Prime Minister, and his favourite mug ended up getting broken. A rather terrible day if he had to be perfectly honest. 


Anthea had the ridiculous suggestion that if he and Greg had intercourse and that their problem was because they had not spent much time with another recently.  He had spent ten minutes telling Anthea that what happened in his bedroom was none of her business and that he would exile her if she did so again. 

Mycroft glared at Anthea across his desk, the look normally made people almost shrink in their chairs out of fear.  Anthea looked unimpressed with him and barely looked up from her phone, it bothered Mycroft more than he would like to admit. 


“I would recommend that you do not say that word again,” Mycroft said, icily. “I have exiled people for less.”


Anthea looked up from her phone momentarily. “What word? Shag?”  she said with a smirk. 


Mycroft wrinkled his nose in disgust at the word, it was so awfully common . “I am warning you that I could make your life very difficult.”


“And you don’t do so already?” Anthea asked. “I’ve just had to buy a pint of milk, put into your fridge, and place a passive-aggressive post-it note on it just because you’ve fought with your boyfriend. You are being a drama queen again.” 


Mycroft shrank into his chair and regretted the day that he had too much champagne and mentioned to Anthea that she was his closet friend and liked her honesty.  She did not hesitate to tell him when he was being overdramatic and she and listened to his relationship worries, in return, he accompanied her to events and agreed to be her matron of honour at her wedding whenever it happened. 


“Do you need a cup of tea?” She asked. “The emergency bourbons as well?”

Mycroft nodded. “Just bring the packet,” he uttered out. 


As he refilled the kettle to make himself a cup of camomile tea, Mycroft noticed the post-it note on the washing up liquid. 



I have washed the dishes for you and when you are free, I’ll show you how to use the sponge. 

There is dinner in the fridge. 

I’m sleeping in the guest bedroom, you won’t need to worry about my snoring waking you up. 




Dear Gregory, 


I have noticed that you have eaten the ice cream in the freezer.  I just thought that I would remind you that it is kept for emergencies. 


I will forgive you this time.  I will not hesitate to exile you the next time  I discover the empty container in the bin, no matter how much I apparently love you. 




I just thought that I should let you know that your appointment to get your hair done has been cancelled.  I’ve bought your hair dye from Boots and I’m willing to do it for you, only if you stop being a tosser and admit that you did not buy milk. 



Dear Gregory, 


I will take you up on your suggestion of having intercourse.  It has been two weeks and I suppose that you will make me do all the work. 


I will happily do it  if it proves to you that I am not ‘lazy.’ 


You will need to buy milk first, as I certainly did not leave an empty bottle of milk in the fridge. 




Greg was not entirely sure when the argument stopped or at least things had become fixed enough to be as good as they were before.   They hadn’t said anything about the truce they had made, they didn’t need to. The normal rules did not apply to them, Greg liked to believe. 

He was not sure who apologised first, he liked to believe that they had done so at around the same time, only moments apart. 

As he had placed a yellow post-it note on Mycroft’s favourite mug, there was one waiting for him on top of his lunch box for work.


On both post-it notes, there were the same two words written on them:


I’m sorry.


Somehow those two words were enough to make everything feel alright again.  It also helped that there was never an empty bottle of milk left in the fridge again.

Chapter Text

Mycroft found himself unable to part with any of the post-it notes that Greg had written for him and kept them in a wooden box in his desk drawer.  He knew that it would only be a matter of time until he would have to look into finding another storage space for them, perhaps getting an album for them.


He knew that he should clear out some of the post-it notes, the lid on the wooden box had become tight to close and had become somewhat jammed, making it a pain to open and times. 


Mycroft knew that he did not need at least twenty post-it notes from Greg that told him to buy milk after work. He did not need to keep fifty-two post-its that reminded him to have dinner and that not just biscuits and tea. He certainly did not need to hold on to the note that reminded him about a particularly awful dentist appointment that he wished to forget.  Greg had to frog march him into the car and then fussed over him terribly after his root canal, the procedure had gone longer than expected and he had been in the dentist chair for several hours. 


He knew that he should part with at least a few of the post-it notes but found it impossible to let them go.   He had a small pile of post-it notes that he had found around the flat during the weekend,  Greg had stashed away extra for him as he was away in Ireland for a stag-do for a friend of his. 


Unable to part with any of the notes after much debate, Mycroft found an empty shoebox and placed the notes in there and hid the box at the top of the wardrobe.  It would do until he found a new place for them or at least had the strength to have a clear out. 


Once that business had been dealt with, Mycroft sat at his desk and wondered how he would ask Greg a certain question.  It had been on his mind for months and it had caused him a great amount of stress.  


 He had never proposed or had even thought about proposing to anyone before and he just wanted it to be utterly perfect for Greg.   Greg deserved nothing less than perfect especially after willingly given his love to him and had become a conductor of light into his life.   Mycroft also believed that a less than perfect proposal was an omen for an unhappy marriage. He had never believed or cared much for superstition before, but he had found himself inclined to believe them these days. 


He was not sure what inspired him to ask or why he suddenly decided that he would rather quite like to marry Greg.  The thought had come over him suddenly one morning and found himself walking past a jeweller trying to find a suitable ring for Greg. 


It had surprised him considerably and he wondered for a moment, that he had possibly gone rather mad. He had told himself for years that he was not going to get married or that he had little desire to. He had doubted that anyone would be interested in being attached to him for the rest of his life, let alone be interested in him in the slightest. For years he told himself that he was not lonely and rather happy being on his own for more times than he had hot dinners. 


He had made a list of pros and cons for marrying Greg in his office after he had impulsively bought a ring from the jewellers that same morning. He could only make a list of why it was a rather splendid idea to get married to Greg. It anything, it was the most sensible decision that he had to make in his whole career. 


He had a ring in his desk drawer but he had little idea of how he would like to ask. He wanted to have the right moment to ask Greg but could not define what that ‘right moment,’ was or where it would be. He had spent more time than would care to admit reading wedding magazines and websites and asking his married and engaged coworkers how they popped the question or how did they get proposed to and where.  


He had tried to ask Greg before, several times actually,  but found himself terribly tongue-tied and unable to produce a sound.  When he could finally utter a sentence out, he asked Greg to pick up more milk from the shop, embarrassed that he had reverted to the quiet child that he once was and had not fully grown out of his shyness. 


He had tried to prepare and spent time asking Greg to marry him in front of the bathroom mirror when he got ready for work in the morning.  The sentences fell awkwardly out of his mouth, he stuttered or he had been unable to do get the words out.   

If he could get a sentence out, the words were often jumbled and were far from perfect. He often sounded like a nervous university student asking someone to sign a petition, or he was demanding Greg to marry him. 


He knew that he would never get around to asking if he could hardly speak or produce a perfect sentence.  


Anthea had told him that he was just nervous and that he shouldn’t worry so much when he had reluctantly confessed to her about his problem.  She tried to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about as  Greg would love to marry him. 


Mycroft tried to work out the mathematical likelihood of Greg agreeing to marry him in his head. He was fairly certain that there was a small percentage that Greg would say no to him if he proposed, but there was a greater chance of Greg wanting to marry him and saying yes


He knew that the probability of Greg saying yes or no did not matter at the moment, he would have to actually be able to ask him first. 


He looked at the post-it notes on his desk and wrote down four words in his best handwriting;


Will you marry me? 


He frowned at it and sighed, he wished that he had a better way of proposing than using a yellow post-it note. 


He tried to think of the best location to place it and found himself nervous about the prospect of Greg finding it.   

He knew that there was a greater chance of Greg saying yes to his proposal, he had worked out the mathematics after all. The small chance of Greg saying not saying yes, worried Mycroft immensely. 

Chapter Text

 There was something about Mycroft that Greg could not put his finger on.  He had been acting strangely, an unusual nervous energy surrounded him.


Mycroft had been acting out of character and had been doing so ever since he had arrived home from his mate’s stag-do.   He had tried to ask Mycroft if something had happened in the time that he was away but   Mycroft always brushed him off and told him that he was fine or that it just worked stress, that he had been dealing with a  matter that he could not talk about due to confidentiality. 


There was something on his mind,  it was something that weighed heavily and it bothered him.  Mycroft almost seemed to

 be nervous being around him, there was a question that was on the tip of the tongue but he had been unable to ask.  


There was something behind his eyes, no matter how much Mycroft tried to act aloof and if everything was perfectly normal,  his eyes always gave it away.    There was always a particular expression that Mycroft had behind his eyes when he wanted something to say but was unable to get the words out or summon up the courage to speak.   He had that look behind his eyes days before he uttered out that he said ‘I love you,’ for the first time or he had asked Greg to move in with him. 


Greg had the feeling that he had known what Mycroft was wanting to say.  He did not know if he had been jumping the gun or not, but he believed that he knew what Mycroft was wanting to ask him; there were only so many milestones that they still needed to reach as a couple.    


He had tried to find the right moment to talk to Mycroft, to ask him what was on his mind or why he had been rather peculiar about his desk.  He had been almost horrified when Greg had started to rummage around in it   looking for a pen that actually worked   and had insisted that he would get the pen  for Greg, apparently it was to save  his ‘paperwork  getting muddled.’ 


Greg had the feeling that Mycroft wanted to ask him was the same question that he had wanted to ask him for some time.  There had never been the right moment to bring it up, it was not something that he could mention casually as they watched a film together or over dinner. There had to be a right moment for it, he knew that  Mycroft would be rather particular about how or when the question would be asked. 


He had tried to bring it up one morning but Mycroft had to deal with the with Prime Minister.   Greg had tried to bring it up when he was at work but he had been interrupted by Sherlock storming into his office, enthusiastically explaining that it was poisoned communion wine that killed the minister on the case that they were working on.  


He had tried to talk to Mycroft once the case had been wrapped up with little luck, Mycroft had been whisked away to the office, leaving only a post-it note stuck to fridge about his whereabouts and reminding him that he loved him. 


The box felt heavy in Greg’s pocket despite its small size.   He wondered when he was going to ask or when there would be a right moment to do so.  


He didn’t know exactly why he suddenly desired that he wanted to get married again or knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Mycroft Holmes.  He just knew that he wanted to ask and the thought of spending the rest of his life with him felt right.   It felt as if it was the simplest thing in the universe and any other option did not seem possible for him. 


He had a conversation with his friend James at three in the morning when he was in Ireland.  He knew that he was far too old to be up at three in the morning, still caught up in the buzz of alcohol, the evenings felt endless and all possibilities seemed unlimited.   The conversation was surprisingly philosophical and profound as they shared a cigarette, their supposed last one that they would ever have.


The conversation turned into the topic of weddings and knowing when you found the ‘one.’     Greg could only remember snippets of the conversation, he had been rather distracted by the hangover that he had the next morning from drinking like he was in his twenties again, but he had decided that it would incredibly stupid not to ask Mycroft to marry him and that he should stop wasting time as he wanted to start spending the rest of his life with Mycroft as soon as possible. 


He knew that he had to ask tonight, nothing else in the universe felt important. He knew that he had to ask, the world would surely come to a halt if he did not do so. Greg knew that he had been waiting for too long and he could not procrastinate any longer, he wanted the rest of his life with Mycroft to start as soon as possible. 


It was a yellow post-it note that inspired Greg to ask, it had been tucked away in the back of the cupboard, hidden rather carelessly but deliberate enough for it to have possibly gone unnoticed for weeks.  Greg had only found it when he was looking for a particular jar of pasta sauce that he was going to use for dinner that evening. 


The jar fell to the ground, carbonara sauce splattered over the kitchen floor when Greg read what the post-it said.  He barely cleaned up the sauce  before he left the flat to get to Mycroft, only stopping to write a post-it note, placing it on top of the ring box.


 I’ll say yes, only if you  say it too.