A/N: This comes from a love of The fault in our stars and Mystrade. You asked for angst, right anon?
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. I write because it makes me happy, and I love filling people’s fic prompts.
Warnings: Mentions of cancer, dying character
“I’m in love with you.”
Mycroft felt every muscle in his body tense. A wave of sadness crashed over him, making him sway unsteadily. He barely believed his ears. Love? How could anyone love him when he was living a half-life, when he was trapped with an illness that left him stuck between barely living and being dead. Then again his Gregory wasn’t just anyone. He understood. He had suffered, was probably still suffering.
“Gregory-“ He began, but he soon found himself being cut off. His stubborn Gregory, always wanting to get his point of view across. Mycroft’s heart was starting to feel light and fluttery in his chest and an unwelcome amount of emotion began to journey through his veins. Normally, he did not allow emotion to rise to his surface. What was the point of crying or showing sadness? It did not change anything and it only showed how weak he really was.
When people hear of the big C they think that you are the bravest person in the world. They think that you are strong and that you are a fighter. The truth is was that Mycroft was the furthest thing from strong. He was crumbling, his body failing, his mind screaming for an escape from the endless pain he endured, his thoughts constantly reaching out to dreams of dying, of everything ending and of falling into oblivion. Death would be a small mercy to both himself and his family.
Sherlock was the one it had hit the most. The small boy did not understand why it was so difficult for Mycroft to play pirates with him. He did not really grasp the fact that Mycroft was so iill. Mycroft felt guilty for that. Perhaps if things were different then he’d be in the garden digging for treasure with Sherlock and Redbeard.
His mother and father could barely look at him anymore. It was like they were afraid of him. They weren’t of course. They were fearful of the disease that plagued him, terrified of losing their eldest son.
Gregory was perhaps the only one who really knew what it was like to be handed life’s worst kind of fate. Slowly, he looked up at the silver haired teen, his eyes shining with tears.
“I am.” He said. The corner of his eyes were crinkling and his smile, though sad, was perhaps the most beautiful smile Mycroft had ever laid eyes on. More of that wretched emotion wriggled its way into Mycroft. He felt like his world was caving in. “I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that one day there will come a day when all our labour has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only Earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”
Then, tenderly, Mycroft felt the warmest and smoothest lips he’d ever experienced caressing his. For one blinking moment Mycroft almost forgot about his illness. Oblivion didn’t matter, not when he had Gregory.
"I believe I love you, too." He whispered.