The Call

       I found myself seated on a wooden chair in the corner of my sitting room, staring out the window. It felt as though it'd been hours since Greg had called. After checking my pocket watch, I realised that not even one hour had passed. 

        A police car pulled into the drive. "Still on duty, then," I determined aloud and then made my way to the sofa.

        "Hi." Greg was out of breath, less from hurrying into the house and more from anxiety.

        "What's going on?"

        He sat down next to me, throwing his jacket across the tea table. His hand was cold as ice and unsteady as he rested it on my knee. "You tried to talk to me, and I wouldn't listen."

        "I try never to talk to you, Greg. What did I try to talk with you about?"

        "Somehow you knew - you always know - you knew this would happen."

       I took his hand in mine. "Greg, breathe." I paused, allowing a second for him to gain composure. "Start at the beginning of the story and walk me through what's wrong."  He didn't need to tell me.  I could see it in his eyes - in his demeanor.  We'd been found out.

        Still half breathless, he expounded, "the pub. When I had you meet me after work for drinks."

        "What about it?"

        "You knew that someone would see us together eventually. You said it."

        "Did I?" I genuinely couldn't recall.

        "Of course you did. And you were right. He saw us. And now I have to undergo an interrogation tomorrow."

        "Slow down. Who saw us?"  Clearly, it was someone Greg felt held significant power.

        "The Deputy Commissioner."

        That was a rank high enough that I could impose some control.

        "He's going to question me," Greg reiterated, becoming frustrated at my lack of reaction. "What am I going to say?"

        "The truth."

        "They're never going to trust me again."

        "Well, if you feel that way, Greg, you have two options, really."

        "What options?"

        "We can end this, and you can tell them that it was an isolated social call set up by my brother. Then, they'll have full trust in you. Nothing will change."

        "Are you a barmy fool?" His voice was rising to a shout. "That's not an option at all."

        "Alright, then. There are no options. You tell the truth." I matched him in tone and volume.

        He let out a huff of air. "This is a mess."

        "Greg, people are going to find out. It won't be easy. Coming out as bisexual after you've been married to the opposite gender is a very different animal than other things. It does have to happen, though."

        "I know that. I'm not worried 'bout that. I don't care about that." He finally stopped to breathe. "I don't care one whit if the entire world knows that I like being fucked by a man. I'll proudly tell them that I am irrevocably in love with a man." His voice was suddenly steady and calm. "But when that man is Mycroft Holmes," he was almost whispering now, "that's something else."

        "You won't be interrogated."

        "Yes. I will. They assume I'm working for you behind their backs. They think I have classified information."

        "You won't be interrogated. I'll call the Deputy Commissioner over for a little chat."

        "That will just make it all worse, Mycroft. Your power is what they're worried about."

        "It won't be a power chat. It will be a chat, among all three of us, about reason."

        "Three of us?"

        "Go finish your shift, then come back, change your clothes, and be ready to talk with him over dinner."

        "You're going to cook dinner?"

        "I'll have Anthea order something in. It will all be fine."

        "You're sure you want to get involved with this?"

        "I don't think either of us has much say in that matter. Given our positions, this has to be dealt with." One thought stopped me for a few seconds. "Unless you want to go back to hiding."

        "No. I've made a lot of promises to you, and I plan on keeping them."

        "Then follow my lead on this, Greg."

 

***

 

        I was not in the habit of welcoming people to my home. Generally, if I needed to do business outside the office, I'd have the necessary parties delivered to the Club. If I wanted the Deputy Commissioner to understand Greg's relationship with me for what it indeed was, though, it couldn't be discussed in an official or particularly formal setting. The table was set. The bar was polished. I'd lit the lights in the garden that were angled to perfectly illuminate the stained glass of my dining room. Anthea had even brought three large floral centerpieces for the table that I had mixed about with crystal candlesticks.

        "Are these my clothes?" Greg walked into the dining room, tugging at his waistband.
        "They're certainly not mine," I jested, looking up at him. "If they were, that jumper would be near to your knees."

        He was striking. I heard myself blow air out of my pursed lips. "You are positively peng."

        "I didn't know I had clothes this nice." He looked around the room. "Are you sure this isn't all a bit much?"

        "Oh, it's more than a bit much. That's the idea."

        "I don't follow."

        "If I show my status, my power over him, by the home he's entering, the table he's sitting down at, the meal he's eating, then it never needs to be spoken. Our conversation really can simply be an admission of what's going on between us. In the back of his mind, though, he'll remember that he doesn't want to rock any boats of which I may control the buoyancy."

        Greg shook his head slightly as he walked toward me. "You are a dangerous man, Mycroft Holmes."

        "You don't want to cross me, Inspector," I recommended, leaning down and snatching his lips with mine.  

        He bit my lip playfully as he pulled away. "Maybe getting me all flushed before he gets here is a bad idea."

        As I began to laugh, there was a knock at the door. "Ready?"

        "No."

        "Just trust me, Gregory. Sit. I'll be in with him in a few minutes."

        Anthea had stayed to help with appearances. I waited near the stairs as she crossed the foyer and answered the door. Her beauty was, without question, the best set-piece I had in my arsenal of power and influence. I could count on most men losing at least half of their cognitive function after initial interaction with her.

        I allowed him time to gawk, then moved in behind her. "George," I greeted enthusiastically, "how are you?"

        "Mr. Holmes." He matched my enthusiasm and offered his hand. "It was quite a pleasant surprise hearing from you."

        "Well, George, the truth is, I have something quite important I thought we should discuss."

        Anthea headed up the stairs with his overcoat as I walked with him toward the dining room.

        "Mr. Holmes, you know Scotland Yard is always honored to assist in any way we can."

        "I certainly hope that's true," I commented. "I also hope you like a very wet martini." I stopped at the bar and handed him a prepared glass.

        "My wife will never forgive me," he said, drinking half the glass in one swig. "But what a woman doesn't know can't hurt us, right, old boy?" He was an archaic chauvinist, which didn't bode well for the situation he was about to encounter.

        I smiled without acknowledging his comment, slowly guiding him toward the dining room. "I hope you'll understand that I asked someone else to join us this evening as well, George," I said, entering the dining area.

        "Lestrade?" His voice was part shocked, part angry.

        Greg stood at attention immediately. "Hello, sir."

        "What exactly is going on here, Mr. Holmes?"

        "It has come to my attention, George, that suspicion has arisen where Detective Inspector Lestrade is concerned. I would like to take this opportunity to set the record straight," I said. I maintained composure, despite his sudden state of agitation. I motioned toward the chair across from Greg, inviting George to be seated.

        "And how exactly did that come to his attention, Lestrade?"

        "I told him, sir," Greg answered, his voice firm yet hushed.

        "Do you understand the term confidentiality, D.I.?"

        "I'm sure he does," I interjected. "I believe, though, once you understand the situation, you'll no longer feel he's breached it."

        "What is the situation, Mr. Holmes? I have to tell you that having a commissioned officer dealing with MI6 in the dark is upsetting."

        "Well, George, I am not - specifically - MI6, so I can certainly assure you that is not what is happening here."

        "Fill me in, then, Mr. Holmes. Why are you meeting with our guys in secret at pubs?" He glared at Greg as he prompted me.

        "What you saw, George, wasn't a meeting. It was just drinks."

        "You expect me to believe that a man of your status is just a casual friend of a lowly Inspector?  Ya' just meet up for drinks a few times a year to shoot the breeze?"

        I looked at Greg, seeking permission with my eyes. Instead of offering assurance for me to reply, he spoke. "No, sir. We expect you to believe that someone of his status is the paramour of a - lowly Inspector."

        George stared at Greg for a few seconds, then looked at me. "I'm sorry?"

        I clarified, "George, the truth is that what you saw was merely a couple meeting for drinks after work."

        "A couple?" He paused, then looked back at Greg. "You're married." He paused again. "To a woman."

        "I'm divorced, sir."

        "A couple?"

        "We felt it was best that you know the truth of the matter, George, but do, of course, hope that you will respect our privacy as well."  With a man of this sort, the more I used his name, the more he would wither.  

        "You two..." He interrupted himself with silence.

        "Sir, I hope you know that my professional ethics remain the same."

        The Commissioner remembered his concerns. "I have to question that, Lestrade." He looked at me. "Mr. Holmes, I'm sure you have ways to access any privileged information that the Inspector might work with on the day to day. My concern, though, is the level of classified information that you deal with. We can't have one of our guys compromised by that sort of knowledge."

        "George, I assure you that will never be a concern. Classified information is just that, classified."

        "Do you type of people talk?"

        I knew what he was implying but didn't feel the need to give it credence. "Not about classified information, of course, George."

        "I mean. I know you like to...." Evidently he was going to continue to assume that men attracted to men did nothing but shag. "Well, is there pillow talk?"

        "I understand the concerns that you and your office may have. A Scotland Yard Inspector in a long-term relationship with someone in a higher government office is worry making. I will, again, assure you, though, that Inspector Lestrade has never, nor will he ever, have access to classified information. I will also promise you he will never be asked to compromise his duties, confidentiality, or oath for the benefit of my office."

        "Lestrade, I don't want to see you risk your post. Any hint that you've crossed a line, and you'll be sacked."

        "Now, George," I said, making sure to get his name in yet again. "I'm sure you know that he will continue to respect his office." I paused for effect. "In other news, the QPM announcements will be going out soon," I declared cheerfully, passing a dish to the Commissioner. Greg's eyes were wide as saucers as he looked over at me.

 

***

 

        The table was nearly cleared, and Anthea had made her way home safely. Greg brought the final handful of china to me at the sink. He hadn't said a word since the Commissioner left.

        "Did you really bribe him with the Queen's Police Medal?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.

        "I don't know when it will ever sink into your head, Greg."

        "What?"

        "That there's no point in having power if you can't use it."

        He took the plate out of my hand, dropped it back in the sink, and spun me around by the waist. "Thank you," he offered, reaching up to kiss me.

        "I told you it would be fine."

        "You did. So, why don't I reward you by building a fire? This can wait."

        "This can wait, yes. How exactly is a fire a reward for me, though?"

        "You love a good fire."

        "Granted. However, the only reason you like a good fire is to lie in front of it and ask me to read to you."

        "Your point?"

       "So, my reward for saving your job is having to read to you?"

        "You love it." He removed my tie and unfastened my collar.