Gregory's fingers pressed against his own and Mycroft suddenly remembered what it felt like for skin to brush against skin and create an instantaneous sizzling flexing of nerves and blood. He breathed in, sharply, before he felt his mouth twitch up at the corners. He nodded once, before he went over to the buffet to pull out the matches. Lighting one candle after another, then dimming the lights so everything was softened by candles.

"Well, you have promised dessert. If you wish to serve salad, I shall call us completely even." He smiled, as he paused, then gently brushed his fingers over Gregory's shoulder. "You sit there, and I am sitting right there." He nodded to the chair that was kitty-corner to Gregory's. As close as they could be. "Now while it would be amusing to yell down the table for salt -- I wanted to be able to actually have conversation."

He tipped up his chin, "I shall be right back, get your dessert into the refrigerator. Lasagna out of the oven -- then we can get started."