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When Mycroft arrives home from a weekend conference on Sunday, he is welcomed by a singular sock on the ground of their sitting room. He leant down to pick it up and saw yet another further down.
What in heaven's name?
Upon noticing, there was a small trail of garments leading down the hall and into their bedroom. Mycroft tensed.
It couldn’t be. Gregory would never do such a thing.
Mycroft refused to believe the worst. His lover would never cheat on him….although Mycroft had put on a couple pounds...
Did Gregory not find him attractive anymore?
Mycroft thought, picking up a bright pair of red pants and continued down the path. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see what was at the end of it.
I shouldn’t have eaten that last slice of cake…
He scooped a shirt and pair of trousers, making of the discarded clothing a small collection. Mycroft stopped when he got to the door of their bedroom, sighing deeply and closing his eyes as he bumped his forehead against the door. He wasn’t sure he was ready to see the sight of his lover, naked on their bed, with another man. The Holmes swung the door open, eyes sad, but was met with something he hadn’t been expecting.
“Gregory, can you please explain to me what you are doing this instant?!” Mycroft asked, horrified at the sight.
Greg was huffing as he carried probably 3 loads worth of laundry in his arms, dumping it all on the bed unceremoniously. Socks, pants, ties and handkerchiefs flying all over the floor and on the bed as he did so. He sighed, panting a bit still from the small journey it took to go from the laundry room up the stairs to their bedroom.
“Hey you’re back!” Gregory exclaimed happily, it’d been a couple days of not seeing his partner. The bed was starting to feel lonely. Mycroft frowned slightly, dumping his own small pile onto the bed and walking into Gregory’s outstretched arms for a warm embrace. He had to admit, he was relieved his Gregory was fully clothed and alone , though part of his brain did want to see him naked. “What do you mean what am I doing? Where’s my genius, huh, left him in Norway? The laundry of course!”
“But...why?” Mycroft drew out, clutching Gregory even closer, smelling his hair and feeling the familiar warmth of his skin.
“Why?” Greg asked incredulously, “Because clothes get dirty…”
Mycroft didn’t say anything, only focusing on the feeling of having Gregory back in his arms, where he belonged.
“Hey you’re worrying me, what’s the matter with you?” Gregory asked, pulling away and looking at Mycroft with knit brows in concern. “If you’re concerned about your bespoke shirts, don’t worry love, I hand washed them-”
“Why would you do the laundry when we have dry cleaning service?” Mycroft cut in quickly, not acknowledging the fact that Gregory had been so attentive to hand wash clothing as if it were the 16th century.
“Uh...um...I…” Greg stumbled over his words, blushing a very deep shade of red, “I don’t know babe! I’m not really used to takin’ the laundry to the dry cleaners…” he said looking down at his feet shyly.
“But Gregory-”
“Plus I don’t think we need to, love. I can do it, it's easy enough.”
“Is that why I found a trail of clothes all over the house?”
Greg rolled his eyes and giggled, “Well I’m only one man.”
“So you will insist on doing the laundry yourself?”
“Yes.” Gregory nodded and snuggled himself back against Mycroft, wrapping his arms around his neck.
“Alright then…” Mycroft murmured, returning the embrace and resting his chin on top of Greg’s graying hair. “We’ll be doing the laundry then.”
The corner of Greg’s lip tugged into a smile and he closed his eyes, this was their new domesticity.