Sequel to Death and the Youth. So please read that one first or a lot of this won't make sense.
Also I went from not having enough idea to finish a 5+1 to having too many. But because I love those scenes (of which there are two), I'm going to be doing a "missing scene" section after this. A kind of extra chapter/thingy.
A note about the line breaks, they are used to indicate change of scene with in the section but not to split the sections into pieces.
This one is a little darker than Death and the Youth. But I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.
Three years in the making, I present to you, "Sleep and the Lawman".
1
Gregory Rhys Lestrade always had trouble sleeping. Even when he was an infant. And that was when things were good. When things got bad, he couldn't sleep from the screaming, things being thrown around and the slamming doors. His parents had been fighting all week. Knock-out, drag-out fights. They were too loud for young Greg to understand what they were saying.
He would lay curled up by the hallway phone to call the cops in case things got really bad. He hadn't had to call them, yet. But tonight was not looking good.
He knew that he should just go to bed and sleep. His teachers were constantly on the phone with his mum about his failing grades, the lack of attention in class, and his general attitude. Not that she ever said anything to Greg about these calls; Greg would lift up the receiver in the hall and listen in. He always suspected that she knew he was listening in and let him. Maybe that's why she never said anything about the calls because she knew.
His father was a large man, face marred with scars of a rough life. His mother was a small but fierce woman, whose hair was nearly silver in her thirties.
There was something in the air that night that made it so that Greg just couldn't even think about closing his eyes. The years of screaming and fighting were about to reach an apex. He sat peeking around the door into the kitchen as his mother threw a plate of food right at his dad's head.
She was screaming about cooking, cleaning and getting his son ready for school and picking him up. The very least Mr Lestrade could do is be on time for dinner. Mr Lestrade ducked and the food flew off the plate when the plate smashed into shards.
"You fucking bitch!" he hollered back. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back.
She spit in his face. "I know you've been sleeping around behind my back. How many?" she growled. "I know of at least three."
He transferred the hold from his right hand to his left so he could hit her as hard as possible. "You shut your mouth, you cunt. I don't know who's been talking, but they better keep it to themselves."
Greg ran for the phone and called the cops. When he came back, he saw his father battering his mother with blow after blow. Greg didn't know what to do.
The final straw came when his father growled, "I wouldn't have to sleep around if you put out more." And pushed Mrs Lestrade onto the table. Greg wasn't sure what his father intended to do, but he knew that if he didn't stop it, his mother wasn't going to last much longer.
He screamed like a banshee and jumped on his father's back, kicking and biting. His father managed to get a hold of Greg and threw him to the ground. Mr Lestrade picked up a knife and started walking toward Greg just as the front door swung open.
Mr Lestrade turned to the door, the knife raised.
"This is the police, put the knife down!" one of the officers screamed. Mr Lestrade looked at his cowering son and his beaten and bloodied wife and sneered. He threw the knife into the sink and held out his hands.
"Get me away from these pieces of shite!" he snarled at the police officers.
A tall man in a dark grey trench coat made his way through the crowd of officers in front of the door and said with grim expression, "I think you'll find the only piece of shite here is you, Mr Lestrade. Take him away."
A woman dressed in blues surged forward and cuffed the large man, who didn't even bother to struggle. Mr Lestrade turned to his wife and spat, "You better hope they put me away for good. Because if I get out, I'm gunning for you and that wet spawn of yours."
The man in the trench coat snarled, "That'll be enough of that; Sergeant, take him away."
This man made sure that Mr Lestrade was taken away by his officers and Mrs Lestrade to the hospital by an ambulance. He turned at last to Greg. The small boy shook as the cop knelt in front of him.
"Hello, there," the cop said, softly. "Are you the one that called us?"
Greg nodded.
"I'm Detective Inspector Aiden Baynor, and who might you be?"
"Greg."
"Come long, then, Greg," Detective Inspector Baynor said. "Let's get a warm meal in ya, and a safe place to stay for the night."
Greg nodded again and let himself be led out the house that held so many horrors for him and into the Inspector's police car. Baynor let him run the siren and honk the horn a couple of times on their way to the cafe. After making sure Greg was well fed, he took the kid back to his house and put him in his daughter's bedroom.
"She's away at university right now," Baynor explained. "But I don't think she'll mind letting a tyke like you stay for a night until we can find something else for ya."
Greg nodded, and Baynor left the door open a crack with the hallway light on so Greg could see. Baynor handed him a pair of pajamas that he'd had a constable grab from Greg's room and showed Greg where the bathroom was.
Greg did his business and got ready for bed. But as he lay there all the fears came rushing back. What if his mum died? What if his dad found him and hit him like he had Mum? Suddenly he was shaking and crying like he couldn't stop.
Just when he thought all was lost, the room filled with warm air and the flutter of wings. He looked up to see a man in a grey three-piece suit with matching wings. Greg tilted his head to the side and hiccupped, "Are you an angel?"
The man scoffed, "Do I look like an angel to you?"
Greg shook his head.
"That's because I'm not," the man said and crouched down in front of Greg. "I am Hypnos, god of sleep."
"There's a god of sleep? Isn't that boring?"
Hypnos chuckled. "Only for little children, adults would love to get more sleep."
"Do you think that we could trade? They can have my naps and I can go play more?" Greg asked honestly.
Hypnos smiled warmly. "I think most people would agree with you. But that's beside the point. Do you know why I'm here?"
Greg sighed. "Because I can't sleep?"
"Yes," Hypnos agreed. "You have been avoiding me lately," he gently admonished.
Greg scrunched up his nose, "Not on purpose, well. Sorta on purpose. You see–"
"Shhh..." Hypnos said, softly. "I know. I'll watch over your sleep. But first you need to lie down."
Greg nodded and put his head on the pillow. Hypnos began to tell Greg stories and slowly, bit by bit, he finally slipped into sleep.
True to his word, Hypnos watched over the boy, a hand gently placed on Greg's head as he slept.
2
Greg rubbed his temple and squinted at the paper in front of him. The words came back just as blurry and indecipherable as before. He closed his eyes and reached for his cup of coffee. He brought it to his lips, only to find it empty. He cursed and got up to make himself another cup of the blackest, darkest, most potent coffee his local store had.
Greg picked up the coffee pot, but his hand shook so badly that he had to set it back down again. He had just come off a double shift and really should be sleeping until the end of time, but he had to study for his sergeant's exam at the New Scotland Yard. After that night where the kindly Detective Inspector Baynor came to his rescue, Greg had wanted to be a cop. He had even gone so far as to go the University of London to get his criminal degree, even if it wasn't required.
But he had gotten in to the Metropolitan Police force and was now studying to advance further. Greg put both hands on the counter top and let his head drop between his shoulders. He knew that part of the problem was that his own sergeant, Ewan Wilson, was a dinosaur. Sgt Wilson had been passed over promotion after promotion because the man was a nightmare. The man was racist, sexist, and homophobic. Not even the man's own inspector liked him. Greg liked Inspector Bradstreet for the most part. Tall, blond, stocky fellow who was often described by the officers around him as tough but fair.
It was because of Wilson that Greg had just come off a double shift the day before he was to take the exam. He really need to pass. He was looking to marry his long-time girlfriend, Evelyn. And she had already said that she wouldn't marry him on a constable's salary. Not that he didn't want to be a sergeant, he just had to move up his time table up by six months.
He began to sway. He clutched tightly at the counter, but he could feel himself start to fall. Right into someone warm and soft.
"Gregory," Hypnos protested when Greg nuzzled his neck.
"You smell good," Greg admitted and then turned in the god's arms. He grasped the lapels on Hypnos's suit coat and buried his nose into the god's neck.
"I am supposed to," Hypnos huffed. "I am supposed to smell like whatever it is that would make you drowsy."
"Mhmm," Greg agreed, his face still buried into Hypnos's neck.
"Let's get you over to the sofa so you can lie down," and with very little effort he began to move a struggling Greg to the sofa.
"Can't," Greg mumbled. "I have to study. I have to pass that test."
Hypnos ran his nose along Greg's jaw, "You will, but first you need to sleep."
"Will you stay with me again?" Greg muttered.
"Of course," Hypnos knelt by the sofa and let Greg take his hand.
Greg kissed the knuckles and murmured, "You are the first person I've ever trusted."
"I know, Gregory," Hypnos replied, his voice soft and low. "But as beguiling as you are, there are other people in the world who need to sleep, too."
Greg sighed.
Hypnos kissed Greg's forehead. "Sleep, you'll do fine on that test. You have my blessing."
All the stress and the anxiety melted away as Greg finally fell into a dreamless sleep.
Hypnos stood up and wiped a tear from his cheek. Behind him stood three young men, all with wings of varying shades. One had white, one had black and the last had wings of gold. He turned to them and shook his head. "No dreams tonight, he needs his sleep."
Two of the young men nodded and left, leaving behind the one with white wings. "You rarely make house calls these days, what makes this one so special?"
Hypnos closed his eyes. "There is something about this mortal that sings to my immortal soul in a way that even Apollo would have a hard time describing."
"I don't know," the younger god said with a chuckle. "Perhaps our cousin has been playing with his silver arrows again."
"Perhaps," Hypnos agreed. "Perhaps."
Both gods took flight to leave a sleeping Greg alone.
The next morning Greg woke up feeling refreshed and ready to start his day. He walked into the exam room full of confidence and vigor. He did so well on the test, they made him repeat it and he did better the second time. They couldn't find any evidence that he had cheated on the exam and made him a sergeant. Wilson was bitter and angry that they would promote Lestrade before they promoted him, and they became fierce rivals.
Greg did marry Evelyn, but when they got to the part where the priest asked if there is anyone who knows any reason these two should not be joined... Greg swore that he could feel the warm air, the fluttering of wings, and the scent of chamomile. And then it was all gone.
3
Greg had been on the homicide squad for all of three hours when the call came in. His DCI, Tobias Gregson, pulled him aside.
"Look, I know you've seen traffic accidents and the like, but there is something different about knowing that someone deliberately did this to another human being. You will most likely throw up. All I'm asking is that try not to do so on the premises and contaminate the evidence, all right?" Gregson explained.
Greg nodded.
When they arrived at the scene, on the outside it looked pleasant enough. It was an everyday tower of flats in moderate condition. They got inside the lift and rode it up to the fifth floor. Greg followed DCI Gregson down a calm, quiet corridor and to where there was police tape up and officers were milling around. He peeked around the corner through the door and one of the forensic guys handed him a plastic bag. Greg took it gratefully and proceeded to completely empty his stomach of lunch.
DCI Gregson patted him on the back and told him to return when he was ready. Greg went back down the lift and out to the squad car where he always kept a water bottle. He cleaned out his mouth and breathed in some cool air before heading back up.
He got to the door, squared his shoulders and walked right in. If nothing else, the carnage was impressive. She must have put up a struggle, Greg thought. The coffee table was smashed through, lamps shattered and strewn about the place, the sofa was actually tipped over. But in the end none of it mattered, her attacker had won and her battered body was all that was left in the carnage's wake.
Her brown hair was torn and matted. Her face, which had been quite beautiful if the pictures were any indication, was now mottled with bruises and cuts. Her clothing was ripped and shredded as her attacker had grabbed whatever he could get his hands on. And it most certainly was a he. From the sheer size of the bruises if nothing else.
"Any friends or family?" DCI Gregson asked.
The constable read off a short list, dad still in the picture but mum had long gone. A sister living in America, a couple of friends from work, but nothing else.
"No boyfriend?" Greg asked.
"None that we've found," the constable replied.
"Talk to the work friends," DCI Gregson said, "Look for ex-boyfriends, too. This was too personal."
Greg nodded. She had opened the door to her attacker and let him in, and there was an open bottle of wine on the worktop.
Over the next couple of days they were starting to get a picture of the victim. Shy. Mostly kept to herself. But still no men in her life. So they began to dig deeper, and a pattern emerged. She was moving from place to place. She would come in and be shy at first and then she would begin to relax, enjoy herself more and then bam! Completely overnight she wouldn't speak to anyone. She had been running from someone, that was clear.
Turned out that at her first job, she had a co-worker who had become obsessed with her and wouldn't leave her alone. She even quit to get away from him, only to have him follow her.
The problem was that London was a big city and they had no idea if he was still there or if he had made a run for it.
During all this time Greg slept very little, hyped up on the strongest coffee and tea he could find. It wasn't enough. He had to find this guy.
"When are you coming to bed?" Evelyn croaked at half past one in the morning. She was leaning against the door jam, robe wrapped tightly around her waist.
"I'll be in soon, hon," Greg said absentmindedly.
Evelyn rolled her eyes and wandered off back to bed.
Greg continued to work, scouring over every lead, hoping to find this guy.
Suddenly there was a flurry of wings and sharp, "Gregory!"
Greg looked up and blinked. He hadn't seen Hypnos in years, not even when he did have trouble sleeping, but now the god was here and angry as hell. Or in Hypnos's case, Hades. Had Greg been himself, he would have been thrilled to see the sleep god again.
But Greg wasn't himself, he was snappish and on his last nerve. "I don't care who you are," he hissed, aware that Evelyn was sleeping. "I have a case to solve, I don't have time for sleep!"
"It is strange," Hypnos said dryly. "You lower your voice so that your wife doesn't come out here, but yet you are out here, when you promised to come to bed hours ago."
Greg looked up at the clock and it read 5:13am. "Shite!" He needed to be back at work in two hours.
"Look, I don't have time for sleep," Greg growled. "I have a murderer to catch."
"Do I really need to recite to you the side of effects of lack of sleep?" Hypnos ground out.
Greg ran his hands over his face and sighed. He knew what they were, he was already starting to feel some of them. "No, but this is important."
Hypnos closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened his eyes his face had softened and it no longer looked like solid granite.
"I can't say that I understand," Hypnos replied. "But I'm begging you, if you don't sleep, you'll collapse and then where will you be?"
Greg knew that too. "I'll call in, leave a note for Evelyn not to worry and let me sleep. It's just..."
Hypnos pulled Greg into an embrace. "I know, she reminds you of your mother. But your mother is alive and I would very much like you to be as well."
Greg breathed in Hypnos's scent and sighed. The god of sleep always smelled like home. A home that Greg yearned for, but had never found except in the arms of an immortal being.
"Sleep," Hypnos intoned. "Sleep."
Greg drifted off to sleep on the sofa. That morning, Evelyn found him asleep there still and a note in his hand stating that he's going to take the day off and that he'd have dinner ready for her when she got home.
When Greg woke up sometime that afternoon, there on sofa next to his head was a dove grey down feather. He picked it up and ran his finger over the fluff. He smiled. He carefully wrapped it in a pocket square and placed it in the inner pocket of his trench coat. It became his lucky charm.
He went back to work the next day, refreshed and ready to go. They soon caught the guy with very little fuss.
But Greg always kept that feather and would pull it out to rub its edges whenever he needed to think. And it would always help.
4
Greg rubbed his hands over his face. He should be home with his wife and not in some dusty crack house. He knew where he should be but something held him here. Or rather someone. Greg looked down at the person that held him here. Not against his will, no. But to leave this poor boy to his suffering would have done more harm than good as far as Greg was concerned.
He had messaged Evelyn that he didn't know when he would be home. He let her assume that he was on a stakeout, instead of watching this poor boy struggle through his withdrawals.
"Boy," Greg scoffed. Sherlock Holmes was no more a boy than he was, but being almost seventeen years his junior, Sherlock was nearly young enough to be his son. And with Evelyn not able to give them children, Greg sort of adopted Sherlock.
Greg's phone lit up with an incoming call. It was Evelyn again. That was the third time she tried to reach him and each time he let it go to voicemail. Sherlock was having trouble sleeping as it was with the vomiting and shaking without adding a heated conversation to the mix.
He looked at his phone again, the battery was nearly dead and the time told him that they had been sitting here like this for nearly twelve hours. It was supposed to be his day off, damn it.
"Gregory," a warm voice breathed above him.
Greg looked up into the deep blue eyes of the god of sleep. "You know, I'm starting to think you like me staying awake like this so you can come see me."
Hypnos made a sound of contempt and said with a sneer, "I see you all the time, when you are actually sleeping."
Greg smiled wide, "Maybe I do it to see you..."
Hypnos blinked. He crouched down in front of Greg, spreading out his wings to balance himself. Hypnos reached out and touched Greg's cheek. Greg leaned into the touch, his head heavy with sleep.
"That's sweet," Hypnos murmured, "but I'm here for just you. My son asked me to help this young man."
Greg's tired brain struggled with the concept. "You have a son?"
"Metaphorically I have a thousand," Hypnos explained. "But there are three that aid me. Morpheus, Icelus, and Phantasos. It was Icelus that asked me to come."
Greg frowned and struggled to sit up straight so that he could understand. Hypnos, freed of his hand began to stroke Sherlock's hair tenderly.
"I know Morpheus, hell who doesn't," Greg said, "This one probably has morphine in him, but the other two? Never heard of them."
"Phantasos is the god of objects in prophetic dreams, and Icelus, who is better known to the mortals as Phobetor, is the god of nightmares."
"Oh," Greg said, looking down at the still twitching form of Sherlock.
"It's not often Icelus defers to any of us, taking delight in the nightmares he feeds others," Hypnos explained further, wanting Greg to understand how monumental this actually was. "But this Sherlock Holmes reminds him of his uncle."
Greg frowned as he tried to remember who the brother of the god of sleep was. And then it hit him. Thanatos, the god of death.
"You have a very interesting family," Greg noted.
Hypnos just shook his head. "I will put him into a deep sleep and he won't even feel the rest of his withdrawals." True to his word Sherlock stilled, let out a shuddering sigh, and slept at last.
Hypnos cupped Greg's cheeks with both hands. "Sleep, my love. I will watch over you both."
Greg lifted his head up and sighed. And he too slipped off to sleep. This time he dreamed of the three sons of the god of sleep. Morpheus, a slim youth with white wings. Icelus, a large black dog that also seemed to be a youth with black wings, but Greg could only catch that form out of the corner of his eye. Phantasos, a god in the shape of a golden cup with the imprint of a winged youth. Greg saw their concerned expressions and knew that they were worried about their father. But before Greg could tell them it was going to be all right, he woke up.
Sherlock blinked wearily up at Greg, "Lestrade? Was my brother here?"
Greg blinked back tears, "No, Sherlock. It was only me."
Sherlock frowned, "That's okay then."
"It's time to get you to a hospital so they can make sure you aren't going to keel over on me," Greg said with a huff. He helped Sherlock up and took him to the hospital, then waited until the next of kin showed up.
"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade?" a smooth voice asked from behind him. Greg turned around and almost fainted from shock. Standing before him was a man who bore more than a passing likeness to Hypnos. And suddenly Sherlock's confusion about his brother being there made way more sense.
"Yes," Greg said, shaking the other man's hand. "You must be Sherlock's brother."
Mycroft's eyebrows went up. "I'm surprised, most people fail to see the resemblance."
"It was more like a feeling, I suppose."
"Mycroft Holmes, at your service," Mycroft said. "I want to thank you for taking care of my brother. I was called away on business and didn't know that he gone back to the drugs."
"Don't worry," Greg assured him, "I was pleased to do it."
5
Greg had been running non-stop for days. He wished he could say that it was for a case, that would usually mean that at the end justice would be served.. But no. This was him finalizing his divorce. That after twenty some odd years, his marriage was coming to a shattering end.
Now he understood why Sherlock went mad without a case. Having to deal with the mundane and minutiae of this divorce must be what Sherlock has to go through in the off hours. It was hellish. Although, to be fair, Sherlock had been less hellish with John Watson around. He had something to occupy his mind instead of running his brain into the ground and turning to drugs to avoid that feeling of boredom.
God knows that Greg had his own vices; work and alcohol only did so much. He really wanted to cry some days. But he had kept together during the proceedings. Though he had to admit that most of the keeping it together was because of the fancy solicitor that the Holmes brothers had brought him.
They said it was payback for all the times that he was there for Sherlock, but Greg thought that secretly they just wanted to help him in any way they could. So Greg did the smart thing and took their offer.
He walked away with everything. And because of her job in the media, she was being paid at least three times what he was and therefore was ordered to pay alimony. Oh, the look on her face when the judge ordered that was worth the price of whatever it was Mycroft was paying him.
With the money that he had gotten from her and the time off his bosses had given him to take a holiday, he went somewhere bright and sunny. But that was after he signed the document stating that his marriage was well and truly over. Greg took a deep breath and signed. He handed it over to the solicitor.
He walked out to a gloomy, cloudy London afternoon. The cab he had hired was waiting for him and he stepped in.
That was it. He was to be gone for two weeks.
Later that night as he sipped his drink and watched the waves lap against the sandy shore of his beach house, he found that he was replaying every moment of his marriage and wondered where it all went wrong. He concluded that they didn't really love each other. Greg was caught up with a god and Evelyn just wanted to get away from her family no matter the cost. And Greg was dumb enough to let her.
He thought of the line from that popular sci-fi show, "It won't last, he's gay and she's an alien," and began to laugh. Because even if Evelyn wasn't from outer space, she might as well have been where Greg was concerned. And it took him twenty years to realize what he should have known all a long. He loved men.
He knew he should just go lie down on his bed and go to sleep, but thinking of that large bed holding only him, he couldn't do it. A tear slipped down his cheek.
Suddenly there was flutter of wings, warm air, and arms surrounding him. He leaned back into the gentle embrace.
"Gregory," Hypnos murmured.
Greg turned in his grasp and buried his head into Hypnos's firm chest. The scent of chamomile flooded Greg's senses and he began to sob. He let out all the heartache and pain that he been holding onto for so long. His body began to shake, but never did the grip from Hypnos's arms ever waver or slacken. The god held him through it all.
Finally Greg's sobs began to lessen and then stop. He shuddered out a sigh and it was if a weight that he had held for so long was lifted off his chest. He could breathe at last.
"Hypnos," Greg muttered. "Thank you." He lifted his head and there was Hypnos staring down at him like he hung the moon in the sky. At long last their lips touched and he soared. Wingless and mortal as he was, Greg soared with the love of this immortal. This one being in all of creation that had been his constant companion. His beacon in the darkness that had besieged Greg his whole life.
"Take me to bed," Greg begged.
The next thing he knew they were in bed sans clothes. Greg chuckled but let Hypnos take him apart in the way only a god can. They lay together cuddling afterwards.
"Do you miss your brother?" Greg asked.
Hypnos pulled Greg closer. "Thanatos is still with me," he hedged.
Greg nosed Hypnos's chin. "You know what I meant. The Thanatos that became Sherlock, the one that looks so much like Sherlock."
Hypnos sighed. "That incarnation was the one that I had been with the longest. We became incarnations of Sleep and Death about the same time, and as much as I love seeing him with the man he loves, I can't help but miss the times with him. I still see him from time to time, but it's different for me. I can't always...I hate using the word 'time' so often. But time is strange. It doesn't flow for us like it does for you mortals."
Greg nuzzled Hypnos and sighed. "I know. It's hard. With Sherlock looking so much like Thanatos or the other way round and Mycroft looking so much like you, I have to ask‒"
"Have I met others that have looked like myself or Thanatos?" he asked, and Greg nodded. "I have, we both have. From what I understand, there have been people throughout history that look like me and my brother. It is for when we decide to become mortal. Usually, it has been in the form of infants that we become mortals, but there are exceptions. What happened to Sherlock and Thanatos is rare, but it has happened before."
Greg blinked, "Wow. This has happened before?"
"For the two of us, not for several millennium, but for other gods, sometimes very often. Especially the children of Hypnos. Poor Phobetor in particular. No one can stand being the god of nightmares for long."
"You called him something else, Icicle or whatever...?"
Hypnos chuckled. "Icelus."
Greg kissed his pulse point and the god gasped. "This is what I love about you mortals, you are so inventive."
"I aim to please," Greg murmured. He ran his hands down Hypnos's sides. He kissed the god's neck and then down his chest.
It was getting to the end of his ten-day holiday, so Greg and Hypnos were making the most of their time left together. Just as things were about to get interesting, Greg's phone rang. They ignored it, but it rang again immediately.
Greg frowned and Hypnos sighed. "Just answer it," the god huffed.
Greg hit talk and suddenly he was pulling his phone away from his ear. "Slow down, Mycroft. I don't speak screaming."
There was silence on the line and Mycroft began to speak more calmly.
"All right, but I honestly don't know what Sherlock is doing in a super secret base in Dartmoor," Greg replied.
Hypnos chuckled.
"I'm on holiday, which you can't tell me you didn't know," Greg growled.
"I didn't know that the British government was allowed holidays," Greg snickered. "Right, business. Well, I was enjoying myself even if you weren't."
"Look if it's bothering you that much, go to Dartmoor yourself and bail him out for a change!"
Greg ran his free hand over his face. "Fine, I'll do it."
"It's either that or you let little brother run amok in a town with a military base..."
Greg laughed. "You bet your arse, you own me one. You owe me big." He hung up the phone and leaned back into Hypnos's wide chest.
"I really should go," he sighed.
"I know you should, Gregory," Hypnos agreed. "And I should, too. I've tarried for too long."
Greg kissed his cheek. "I know you have your duties and I have mine. I'll miss you, though."
Hypnos kissed him roughly, "And I you."
Greg looked at the ring on his finger. He forgotten it was there. "I don't even know if it'll come off."
Hypnos slid the ring off his hand and turned Greg's hand around. "There." He dropped into Greg's open palm.
Greg stared at it for a moment and threw it as far he could. Carried by his mighty throw and Hypnos's power, the ring soared out the window into the crashing waves.
"Poseidon can have it," Hypnos whispered.
Greg smiled up at him. "Yeah."
And just like that, the god was gone. Greg let out a shuddering sigh. "Right, time to pack for the country. Just not this one." He laughed into the now empty halls of the beach house.
Time to go rescue the two maddest men he knew. Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson.
In bloody Dartmoor.
+1
Sherlock stood in the middle of the sitting room at Baker Street. He looked up at the ceiling and yelled, "Hypnos! I know you can hear me! I want you here, RIGHT NOW!"
The god of sleep appeared, wings outstretched in anger and practically bristling. Hypnos folded his arms over his chest and glared. "You are not my brother to shackle me to your beck and call. You gave up that right!"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, "And yet you came."
"I will not be bullied by some mortal, I'm busy!" Hypnos snapped. "So unless this has to do with sleep in some way, I am gone!"
"I know why you're busy, and besides this isn't about me."
Hypnos blinked in surprise. "If this little display wasn't about you, then what was it about?"
Sherlock sat down in the grey leather chair and offered the god the red, floral monstrosity, as John was fond of calling it.
Hypnos sat in the chair and his wings vanished. "There, I'm seated. Now tell me what this is about."
Sherlock sighed and rested his elbows on his knees. He bowed his head between his shoulder blades, fingers laced together.
Sherlock looked up and murmured, "Gregory Lestrade."
Suddenly Hypnos was on his feet, wings out in fury. "How dare you!"
"Wait!" Sherlock said springing forward to catch the god by the wrist. "It's not what you think! Just...please, hear me out."
Hypnos sat down again, but this time he sat forward on the edge of his chair. Sherlock stayed standing, hoping that if the god got offended he could stop him before things got too out of hand.
"I got a visit from my former nephews in a dream a few nights ago. And I was mortal, Phantasos was the skull on the mantelpiece and Icelus was an Irish setter named Redbeard. At least that's what Morpheus said."
Hypnos sat back. "Oh."
Sherlock began pacing the floor. "They're worried about you, and they can't go to the current incarnation of their uncle because he hasn't been around long enough to know that this running off for a week to be with a mortal is not normal. Not ever."
Hypnos closed his eyes. "I'm sorry." A single tear slid down his cheek. He felt a warm hand touch his face and he leaned into the touch.
"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Sherlock asked. Hypnos nodded. "You know what you can do, so why haven't you done it?"
Hypnos let out a shuddering sigh. "It's not that easy. There wasn't another mortal for John like there is for Gregory. I couldn't possibly make him happy."
"If you're speaking of Mycroft Holmes, he isn't an option," Sherlock hissed. He was on his feet again, and pacing back and forth in front of the hearth.
"Why not? Are you telling me that you don't think that this man, this new brother of yours, this Mycroft Holmes, doesn't love Gregory in return?"
Sherlock grabbed his hair and growled his frustration. "I'm saying that Mycroft Holmes is on borrowed time."
"Excuse me?"
"It wasn't just my nephews that came to see me, the lovely Moirei have been by as well. The Fates!"
Hypnos was suddenly standing in front of Sherlock and he was forced to stop pacing or run into the god.
"What are you saying, Sherlock?" Hypnos asked.
"In two weeks' time, there will be an assassination attempt," Sherlock replied choking back tears, "and he will die."
A stone settled into the pit of Hypnos's stomach. His lip twitched and sneered, "It's not much of an attempt if he dies, now is it?"
"I suppose that rather depends on the target," Sherlock quipped back.
The god paled. "I see."
"So this is it, Hypnos," Sherlock said, grasping Hypnos's arms. "You either descend into Mycroft and live out your days with Lestrade or you lose the chance. The next opportunity will be an infant in a few years time and you will never see him again. The only other option is to continue as a god and watch as both he and I grow old and die, while you live on watching the gods around you always changing, having no constant in your life."
Sherlock released Hypnos and looked down at the floor, "I've missed you."
Hypnos sighed, "And if I do this, what then? Gregory dies in a standoff with some lunatic in a couple years time or I do, being hit by bus in Westminster?"
Sherlock gripped Hypnos's face and said, "You live full and happy lives until you are both quite old. The Fates told me that with the two of you together just the little things that couples do affect the timeline, and it's those little things that keep you both out of harm's way."
Hypnos could picture it. Gregory slowed going to a crime scene because of a text telling him to be careful and arriving after the suspect is in custody. Or Mycroft, who is now him, not being on that corner, because he was having dinner across town for their anniversary. Just little things that make up a life and it could be all his. Tears slipped down his cheeks and pooled in Sherlock's hands.
Just then the door swung open to reveal John and Greg. Sherlock spun around.
"Has he decided?" John asked Sherlock, walking further into the room.
"Decided on what?" Greg asked.
Sherlock kissed John on the cheek and whispered, "Let's leave them alone."
"All right," John agreed. "Angelo's?"
"I was thinking Chinese food?" Sherlock suggested.
"All right then, let's go," John said.
"Wait!" Greg said. "Where are you two going?" He turned to look at Hypnos and saw the raw and wrecked expression his face and forgot all about Sherlock and John. He rushed over to the god as Sherlock and John quietly slipped out.
"My love, are you okay?"
Hypnos tumbled into Greg's arms and let out a little sob. Greg just held him as the god cried. Once the weeping had slacked to the barest of hiccups Greg asked again, "Are you okay?"
Hypnos nodded. Greg led him over to the sofa and sat him down. Greg curled the god's body into his own, "Darling, tell me what's happened."
Hypnos sighed. "Fate has dealt me such a hand that I cannot escape."
"I guess even gods aren't immune. What hand did they deal you?"
Hypnos closed his eyes and buried his head into Greg's chest. After a moment of just breathing he replied, "What do you remember of the night Thanatos became Sherlock?"
Greg frowned at the question, but put some serious thought into it. "Not much. Sherlock was in a bad way and if the little list he made was any indication, he had taken quite a lot. Too much to be an accident."
"You're correct in that," Hypnos replied.
Greg sighed. "I was without any means of calling for help and just held him, praying that he would live."
"We heard you," Hypnos murmured.
Greg gulped. "I knew it was a lost cause when I saw the dark-winged god approach us. It awakened a memory, but it was gone before I could catch hold of it. Thanatos knelt down and ran his hands through Sherlock's hair. I can't get that image out of my head, the older, wiser god stroking the hair of his so, so young avatar."
"Thanatos told me that he felt such a sorrow for the young man that night," Hypnos explained.
"I did, too." Greg let out a shuddering sigh that was almost a sob.
"Go on, love," Hypnos urged. "What else do you remember?"
"Thanatos kept murmuring how sorry he was it had to be this way." Greg fought back tears. "I'm still not sure if he was speaking to me or Sherlock."
"Both of you, I suspect," Hypnos said, straightening up to look Greg in the eyes. "What happened next?"
"Surely you know all this!" Greg protested.
"I don't," Hypnos replied shaking his head. "I couldn't bear to watch."
"Oh." Greg looked down and away. "I don't think I would have been able to watch had I known what was going to happen either."
Hypnos grabbed Greg's chin and gently tugged to make Greg look at him. "How did go?"
"There were some strange lights and then a flash, Sherlock was breathing normally, and there was another man in Thanatos's place. He didn't look anything like the one from before and then he was gone. Sleep overcame us both. Once we woke up, Sherlock was subtly different. Not enough that anyone else noticed, or if they did they chalked it up to the near-death experience. But I knew."
"I'm sorry," Hypnos said softly.
Greg wanted to ask why Hypnos was asking him all this. But then it hit him. "Oh. Oh god. You're thinking of doing the same thing. Becoming Mycroft."
Greg struggled out of Hypnos's side and stood up.
"I wish I could tell you that you were wrong, but..." Hypnos buried his head in hands. He felt a warm hand in his hair but couldn't look up.
"You really do love me, don't you?" Greg asked. Hypnos nodded. "What's so different about this time?"
Hypnos ran his fingers down his face. "The incident with Sherlock and Thanatos was just one of many when he could have died, but we knew that John was on his way back to London and this was our nearest opportunity."
Greg nodded. "Makes sense."
"This is my only chance to become a mortal and be with you. The Fates have informed Sherlock that Mycroft will die this next time."
"Oh." Greg's head rocked back like he'd been struck. "So are you going to do it? Save Mycroft and become him?"
Hypnos closed his eyes and tears slipped out. "Only if you want me to."
Greg bowed his head. His heart ached. "Yes, of course I do. It's the right thing to do. And I‒" Greg's throat tightened and he couldn't get the words out.
"What is it?" Hypnos asked, fearing the worst.
"And I can't wait to live my life with you."
Hypnos began crying and laughing. He held Greg close and they laughed together.
When Mycroft woke up in hospital, he had a sharp pain in this chest. He closed his eyes and knew that the transfer from god to mortal had been successful. The Hypnos of the last couple of millennia was gone and his place, someone else. He opened his eyes again and saw Sherlock and John standing on the one side of his hospital bed. Someone squeezed his hand and he turned to the other side.
"Gregory," he rasped.
"It's alright, Mycroft," Greg murmured. "You're safe now."
Mycroft, Hypnos tasted the name on his tongue. He was Mycroft now.
Greg squeezed his hand again. "Welcome home." He leaned forward kissed Mycroft on the lips. "I love you."
"I love you, too."