A sigh of relief, mixed with exhaustion, escaped Mycroft's lips as he entered his home. He had been called out to deal with sudden, possibly-calamitous developments in North Korea. It had taken three solid weeks to bring negotiations back up from the deep dive they had taken and to reaffirm their hold over the state of affairs. Once he was sure his representatives could handle it, he grabbed the first flight home.

The worst part about the mess was the speed in which he'd had to leave. Mycroft had been unable to say a proper goodbye to Greg. They had only managed a brief conversation before his flight left and he'd been dropped straight into the fray when he arrived. Mycroft had been able to send a quick "Call later? M" in hopes that Greg would still be awake when he was through with the day's negotiations. When he'd turned his phone back on as he dragged himself into the hotel room at seven a.m., he'd found "I love you. Headed to bed. Be safe. G" To his disappointment it had been sent only an hour before. He smiled at the later hour Greg had kept to just to try and talk to him. Greg normally kept to his own early to bed, early to rise schedule simply so they had more time together.

Halfway through the second week, he'd managed to video chat with Greg. Mycroft could tell from the dark circles under Greg's eyes that his absence was leading to an inability to sleep.

"How's it going over there?" Greg asked, knowing full well that Mycroft couldn't offer any real information.

Mycroft rolled his shoulders and crossed his arms, the agitation and stress wreaking havoc on the already-taut knots in his back. He was sure Greg could've helped, massaging them out while, at the same time alleviating the tension by just being there. Mycroft could not take the risk, however, of bringing him into a country where it was possible for Greg to be used in a scheme to pressure him. "Dreadfully slowly, I'm afraid, though we are getting somewhere at least." He leaned forward towards the laptop and rested his elbows on the desktop, keeping his arms crossed. "How are you, Gregory?" Then, quietly and sweetly, he added, "I miss you…"

"I miss you too, Myc. Badly." Greg smiled, face softening before he continued, "Oh, I'm alright. Tired, but that isn't new." His smile turned mischievous, humour glinting in his eye. "I told your brother off today. He called you, erm, a rude name and I kicked him out of the crime scene. Told him he couldn't come back to the Yard begging for cases for a few weeks." Greg laughed a bit. "Definitely made my day a bit better."

"Good. He needs to learn that he cannot be so brash and outright rude without consequence." Mycroft's mouth quirked a playful smile and his voice lowered seductively. "Defending my honour? How might I ever thank you, my fearless knight?"

Greg laughed. "Thank me by getting home safe. And soon."

Coming back to the present, Mycroft smiled warmly at the memory of Greg's comforting laughter as he dropped his keys on the table in the foyer's and slid his umbrella into its place in the rack. Walking into the sitting room, he noticed that it was spotless. Greg liked to clean when stressed or nervous, which, today (or rather, yesterday, since it was now near three a.m.), he had been both. The weather had delayed Mycroft's flight by just over four hours, not clearing until close to two p.m. London time. His twelve hour flight had passed with an alarming slowness, the anticipation of seeing Gregory compounding the feeling.

Mycroft settled his coat across the back of his chair, taking a moment to gaze at the cold fireplace. He shook himself from his thoughts and stepped into the kitchen, looking forward to a cup of soothing chamomile tea.

He filled his kettle and set it to boil on the stove before lifting the cover on the small dish on the counter. On the dish was a petite cake, the rose petal piping tinged pink with minute flecks of what looked to be shredded strawberry. A small slip of paper was tucked underneath the perfectly crafted dessert, its modestly blue hue nearly blended in with the colour of the plate. Myc, I knew you'd want tea first so I figured that I'd leave this next to your kettle. Missed you. Love you, G. Mycroft beamed, remembering how much he loved this man.

When the kettle whistled he pulled it off the heat and moved to get an infuser to keep from dirtying his teapot. Mycroft found another note, tied with a simple white thread, to a new infuser. The stainless steel, open umbrella, with its little handle, brought tears to his eyes. He admired the little handle that would hook to the edge of his teacup before setting the infuser carefully on the counter. When he untied the knot, he couldn't help but give a small chuckle at the words attached. Knew you wouldn't use your teapot. G. Mycroft carefully folded the two papers together and slipped them into his pocket.

After he'd finished his cake and tea, and cleaned up his mess, Mycroft made his way upstairs in silence. He'd already made up his mind to let Greg sleep. A quick, thorough shower later found Mycroft slipping into silk pyjama bottoms and one of Greg's well worn jumpers. After three weeks in suits, often late into the night, Mycroft was more than ready for the comfort and smell of Greg's pilfered clothing. He sat on his side of the bed, careful not to jostle it and breathed in the scent of home. Soap, coffee, and shaving cream, all things that made up Greg, mingled with hints of his own cologne and the scent of high end wool... things that marked Mycroft's own presence in their home.

A hand pressed against the small of Mycroft's back, nearly startling him. Greg moved to his knees behind him and wrapped his arms around Mycroft. The sleep roughened voice made Mycroft smile.

"And were you planning on waking me up?" Greg pressed his lips behind Mycroft's left ear, his breath warm.

"You need your sleep."

Greg's light laugh sent heat through Mycroft, warming him from the top of his head to his toes. "I need you more," Greg whispered. "I missed you."

Mycroft turned to face Greg, noting in the darkened room just how handsome his husband was, even with stubble and bed hair... maybe especially because of the stubble and bed hair. He smiled and pulled himself into the bed, leaning back until he was resting back against his pillows. Mycroft couldn't help but smile again as Greg went with him, unwilling, it seemed, to let go. He ran a hand over Greg's bare back until he reached the old pair of sweats Greg favored sleeping in, his fingers slipping slightly under the elastic. His voice was soft as he ran his fingers through Greg's hair. It seemed as though it had been an eternity since he'd last had his fingers in the short, silver strands. "And I missed you, my dear."

Stretching up, Greg drew Mycroft in for a slow kiss as they pulled the duvet over themselves. He leaned into the loving touch of Mycroft's hand on his cheek, having missed how his touch sent both chills and heat through his entire body.

The feel of the stubble under Mycroft's hand made him sigh in contentment, the feel of Greg under his fingertips allowing him to relax. Greg's fingers working through his damp hair made his eyes drop closed. When the kiss ended Mycroft pressed his forehead to Greg's, exhaustion settling in.

Though Greg's voice echoed his own exhaustion, it was warm and loving as he whispered, "Welcome home. Myc."