"Christ, I didn't mean it like that." Greg muttered. "I meant..." he sighed heavily, hand sliding over his face and raking through his short hair in frustration.

He glanced sideways at Mycroft's "confession", a small grin lifting at the corner of his mouth.
"Cleaned up? Am I usually a dirty mess?"

Another sigh. Ah yes, now he remembers why he's divorced. He's shite at this part of a relationship.

"I'm...nervous," he decides on full honestly. "You, at my house with Addy, it was great. Amazing, actually. But I think, subconsciously, I knew she was in the house, even when we got a little carried away on the couch, she was in the back of my mind that we couldn't really get too carried away. Here," he frowns, trying to pick his words carefully.
"There's no such barrier and well, we both sort of know or at least have an idea where we'd like this evening to end up. And...I'm nervous. That I'm going to, excuse the language, but that I'm going to completely fuck this up. Because that's what happens, I fuck things up. And no, I don't want the little housewife, nor you in a pinny and pearls. It was more seeing you there...well,"
He rubbed at the back of his neck a little embarrassed. "This is going to sound barmy, but I had this image of...well, us. Home. That's what I could get used to seeing. This," he waved towards the table. "This...Christ, you probably think I'm a nutter. Hell, if I'd heard this from anyone else, I would think they were a nutter."

Yep, this was over. He'd completely bollocked this one up. If he was lucky, he might still get dinner before being politely escorted to the door and the restraining order placed.

He really didn't want to go to Scotland. He gave a soft chuckle.

"This might be as uncomfortable as the time I told you your brother was an utter wanker before I knew you were related."