Chapter Text
Mycroft grumbles as he walks along Bournemouth pier. He hates going to a meeting outside London and finding the participants not ready to negotiate or unprepared with all the information. His umbrella is up to protect his pale skin from the blazing sun and not because it’s raining. He has his left hand in his pocket and he can tell that someone is watching him from behind, but he doesn’t feel threatened at all. It’s a familiar presence that has been following him since arrived. “Join me, Detective Inspector Lestrade. Don’t skulk over there watching me.”
“Well, if anyone knows about skulking it’s you, Mycroft Holmes. What’s up with the umbrella?”
“Trying not to get sunburnt. I have very delicate skin.”
“Well, you do spend most of your days in a cave-like office, so that doesn’t surprise me at all. What are you doing here?”
“Summit meeting with the leaders of the EU, but a couple of them were not prepared to talk today, so the meeting has been put on hold until Monday. It’s frustrating. I can’t go back to London in case one of the delegations needs my advice, so now I’m stuck in a beach resort town with nothing to do for three days. What about you? Why are you here?”
“I was forced to take some of my vacation time. John recommended Bournemouth. I said I wanted to be somewhere warm with a nice beach.” Despite the face that it looks bizarre to see a man in a three piece suit on the pier Grey thinks he looks stunning and sexy even if he looks like an idiot with an umbrella over his head.
“You look fabulous in your casual clothes, Detective Inspector. It’s rare to see you so relaxed.” Mycroft is surprised to see Gregory wearing khakis and a short-sleeved blue cotton button down shirt.
“If you don’t have anything else to do today why don’t you spend the day with me? I was going to take in the view and get some lunch. After lunch I was going to go down to the beach and walk along the shore.”
He puts his umbrella down and turns to fully face him. “Remarkably, considering how much I hate the beach, that sounds lovely. Thank you, Detective Inspector.”
“I’m on vacation. It’s Greg while we’re here. Did you bring casual clothes with you? This is a little formal for lunch and a walk on the beach.”
“Remarkably I didn’t think I would have much personal time. I packed my three-piece suits, a tuxedo, a raincoat, and one casual outfit. I’m staying in the hotel across the street. Come with me if you want.” He turns and begins to walk down the pier leaving him to watch him for a moment before he catches up with him.
“What about a swimsuit? Did you bring one of those?” He asks teasingly.
“Why? Hoping to see me in my swimsuit, are you, Gregory?” He flirts easily with him.
“Maybe. You look amazing in your bespoke suits. You’re fit and gorgeous. I can’t imagine how amazing you would look in your swimsuit. I imagine it would be a shade of blue.”
“Have you imagined me in my swimsuit often, Gregory?” He asks teasingly as he opens the door to his hotel room and lets him in.
“More often than I should, although most of the time when I think of you it’s dressed like this in a three-piece suit carrying that umbrella. I never thought of suit as sexy until I met you.”
He blushes. “Give me five minutes to change and I’ll be right with you. So, swimsuit on under my trousers?”
He swallows heavily. “Uh, yeah. We can swim after our walk on the beach maybe.”
He smiles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll be right back.” He disappears into the bathroom, leaving him standing awkwardly in the middle of the elegant hotel room.
He takes a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. He can’t believe he’s actually flirting with Mycroft Holmes, the man who makes politicians quake in their shoes. The man who once intimidated him so thoroughly during a case briefing that he had stuttered through his entire presentation.
The bathroom door opens and he emerges wearing navy swim trunks that fit him perfectly, accentuating his lean physique. Greg’s mouth goes dry.
“Ready?” He asks, seemingly oblivious to the effect he’s having on him.
“Uh, yeah. You look... great,” he manages to say.
“Thank you,” he replies, a hint of vulnerability crossing his features before he masks it. “I don’t often have reason to wear such... minimal attire.”
He clears his throat. “Well, you should. You look fit. I mean, good. You look good.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Shall we head to the beach before you become completely tongue-tied?”
As they leave the hotel, he notices how Mycroft’s shoulders relax slightly in the warm sun, the tension he always carries seeming to melt away. They walk side by side, their arms occasionally brushing against each other.
“So,” he says, desperate to break the silence, “do you actually know how to swim? Or is that something you’ve avoided learning?”
He chuckles. “I can swim, Gregory. Quite well, in fact. I simply prefer not to expose myself to unnecessary risks.”
“Like sunburn?” He teases.
“Precisely.” He pauses, considering his next words carefully. “Though I must admit, there are certain risks that might be worth taking.”
He glances at him, noticing the slight flush on his cheeks that has nothing to do with the sun. “Like what?”
“Like this,” he says, gesturing between them. “Like spending time with someone who sees me as... well, as more than just a government functionary.”
His heart skips a beat. “You’re more than that to me, Mycroft. You have been for a while now.”
They reach the beach, and he watches as Mycroft tentatively removes his shoes, his toes curling in the warm sand. The sight is unexpectedly endearing.
“I haven’t done this in years,” he admits, looking out at the ocean with something like wonder in his eyes. “The last time I was at a beach, Sherlock was still in school.”
“Then we should make the most of it,” he finishes, feeling a surge of protectiveness toward this usually unflappable man who now looks almost vulnerable standing in the sand.
He nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “I believe I’d like that very much.”
They walk along the shoreline, the waves lapping at their feet. He can’t help but notice how his eyes light up each time a particularly large wave approaches.
“You know,” he says, “for someone who hates the beach, you seem to be enjoying yourself.”
He considers this for a moment. “Perhaps it’s not the beach I dislike, but rather the idea of it. The reality is... different. Better, even.”
“Different how?” He asks, genuinely curious.
“Less crowded in my head,” he admits quietly. “Fewer calculations. Just... this.” He gestures to the ocean before them.
He understands exactly what he means. There’s something cathartic about the rhythmic crash of waves, the endless horizon, the way the ocean makes human problems seem small and manageable.
“Come on,” he says impulsively, grabbing his hand. “Let’s get our feet wet.”
His eyes widen slightly at the contact, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he allows Greg to lead him deeper into the water until it reaches their knees. The cool water contrasts pleasantly with the warm sun on their shoulders.
“I never thought I’d see Mycroft Holmes willingly getting his trousers wet,” he teases, watching as a wave splashes against his thighs.
“These are swim trunks, Gregory. They’re designed to get wet,” he replies with mock indignation, though his eyes sparkle with amusement. “Though I must admit, I feel rather... exposed.”
He laughs. “You look good, Mycroft. Really good.”
His expression softens. “You’ve said that several times today. I’m beginning to think you might actually mean it.”
“I do mean it,” he says, stepping closer, the water swirling around their legs. “I’ve meant it every time.”
His gaze drops to Greg’s lips for just a moment before returning to his eyes. “In that case, perhaps I should be more receptive to... beach excursions in the future.”
The air between them seems to crackle with possibility. Greg can feel his heart pounding in his chest, louder even than the crashing waves.
“You know,” he continues, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that always makes Greg’s knees weak, “I’ve always found your directness rather refreshing, Gregory. Most people dance around what they want.”
“And what do you want, Mycroft?” He asks, emboldened by the moment.
He hesitates, a rare moment of uncertainty crossing his features. “I believe I want the same thing you’ve been hinting at all afternoon. Perhaps I should be more direct as well,” he says, his voice barely audible over the waves. “I find myself drawn to you in ways that are... inconvenient for someone in my position.”
He steps closer, the water swirling between them. “Inconvenient how?”
“Because you make me want things I’ve convinced myself I shouldn’t have,” he admits, his usual composure cracking slightly. “Because when you look at me like that, I forget all the reasons this is a terrible idea.”
“Maybe it’s not such a terrible idea,” he suggests, reaching out to brush a drop of water from his shoulder. “Maybe some things are worth the risk.”
His eyes darken. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Gregory. My life is... complicated.”
“I’m a detective inspector, Mycroft. I’m used to complicated.” He smiles, his thumb tracing small circles on Mycroft’s arm. “Besides, I think you’re worth the complication.”
His breath catches. For a moment, he looks almost frightened, as if Greg has offered him something too precious to accept. The waves crash around them, the salt spray cooling their heated skin.
“I should warn you,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically unsteady, “that I’m not... I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing.”
He smiles, feeling a rush of tenderness. “With what? The beach? Dating? Relationships?”
“All of the above,” he admits, a self-deprecating smile playing at his lips. “I’ve always considered personal entanglements to be... distracting.”
“And now?” He asks, his heart in his throat.
He looks at him, really looks at him, and Greg feels seen in a way he never has before. “Now I find myself wondering what I’ve been missing all these years.”
Without thinking, he leans forward and presses his lips against . The kiss is gentle at first, tentative, as if they’re both afraid of breaking whatever spell has brought them together. His lips are surprisingly soft, tasting faintly of salt from the ocean spray.
For a moment, he stands perfectly still, as if he’s processing this new sensation. Then, with a small sound that might be surrender, he leans into the kiss, his hands coming to rest on his waist.
When they finally break apart, he is relieved to see something like wonder in his eyes rather than regret.
“I’ve wanted to do that for far too long,” he admits, his voice husky.
His fingers tighten slightly on Greg’s waist. “As have I, though I was convinced it would remain nothing more than an unattainable fantasy.”
“Well,” he says, grinning, “I’m real, and I’m right here.”
“So you are,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing patterns on Greg’s hip. “And I find myself rather... overwhelmed by that realization.”
A particularly large wave crashes against them, splashing water up to their chests. He laughs as Mycroft sputters, pushing wet hair back from his forehead.
“Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere slightly less... aquatic,” he suggests, though he makes no move to step away.
“Good idea,” he agrees, reluctantly releasing his hold on him. “I’m starving anyway. How about that lunch you mentioned?”
He nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “There’s an excellent seafood restaurant not far from here. I took the liberty of making a reservation when I realized I might have some free time.”
“Of course you did,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Even on vacation, you’re planning everything.”
“Some habits are difficult to break,” he admits, following him back toward the shore. “Though I find myself surprisingly willing to... “...abandon my usual routines when you’re involved,” he finishes, his eyes still fixed on him.