Chapter Text
The quiet hum of Mycroft’s townhouse was disturbed only by the occasional clink of silverware as he and Greg sat across from each other in the dining room. The warm glow of the chandelier illuminated the table, casting a cozy light over the remnants of a meticulously prepared dinner. Mycroft had excelled himself tonight: a four-course meal accompanied by a rare Bordeaux.
Greg leaned back in his chair, his smile easy as always. “You’re spoiling me, Myc. If I start expecting this every time, I’ll get insufferable.”
Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “I thought I had made it clear that you are to expect nothing less, Gregory. My standards do not waver.”
Greg chuckled, brushing crumbs off his shirt. His phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up momentarily. Mycroft's gaze flicked to it out of reflex. The name “Mon Coeur” appeared, followed by the words: Love you too.
The soft smile on Mycroft’s face froze. He blinked once, twice, his sharp mind whirring at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
Greg, oblivious, picked up his phone and glanced at the screen. He quickly typed something before setting the phone back down. “Sorry about that.”
“Of course,” Mycroft said coolly, though his stomach churned.
Greg didn’t seem to notice the sudden tension. He continued chatting, recounting a bizarre case at Scotland Yard, his laughter ringing warmly. Mycroft nodded in all the right places, his responses polite but mechanical.
Inside, his heart was cracking apart. Mon Coeur. The words echoed like a mocking refrain in his head. My heart. And “Love you too”?
The night continued, but Mycroft's mind spiraled into a labyrinth of assumptions. By the time Greg kissed him goodnight and left, the fortress Mycroft had so carefully built around his emotions was crumbling.
The next morning, Greg arrived at Mycroft’s townhouse, two coffees in hand and a warm smile on his face.
“Myc,” he greeted as Mycroft opened the door, “thought you might need a caffeine boost for your morning meetings. You’ve got that ‘save the country’ look about you.”
“Gregory,” Mycroft said, his voice clipped, “we need to talk.”
Greg’s smile faltered. “Oh, uh, okay. Sure. What’s up?”
Mycroft stepped aside, allowing Greg to enter, but his demeanor was cold. He led Greg into the sitting room, gesturing for him to sit. Greg frowned, setting the coffees down on the table.
“Did something happen?” Greg asked, his concern evident.
Mycroft remained standing, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He stared at a point over Greg’s shoulder, his jaw taut. “I believe it would be best if we ended this... arrangement.”
The words hit Greg like a punch to the gut. “What?” he said, his voice cracking slightly.
“Our relationship,” Mycroft clarified, each syllable precise and devoid of warmth. “I fear it has run its course.”
Greg stared at him, dumbfounded. “Run its—Mycroft, what the hell are you talking about? Things were fine last night! We were fine!”
Mycroft’s gaze didn’t waver, though his heart screamed at him to look away. “I have come to the conclusion that this relationship no longer serves us both.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Greg snapped, standing now. His voice was loud, full of hurt and confusion. “What’s really going on? Why are you doing this?”
“I am simply acknowledging reality,” Mycroft replied, his voice icy.
Greg ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “Mycroft, please. Don’t do this. If something’s wrong, just talk to me. We can work through it.”
“There is nothing to discuss,” Mycroft said, his tone final.
Greg’s shoulders slumped, the fight leaving him. He looked at Mycroft, his eyes filled with anguish. “If that’s what you really want...”
Mycroft nodded, though the gesture felt like a knife twisting in his chest.
Greg lingered for a moment, as if hoping Mycroft would say something, anything to take it back. But when silence stretched between them, he turned and left.