"Why would anyone mind?"
This was.. this was actually rather preposterous, the way Sherlock was missing the mark so thoroughly. Face contorting in such a way that Mycroft was sure Sherlock would finally get the point, he replied:
"I am not lonely, Sherlock." Not with a silver-haired detective as his companion for the past two years, ever since Lestrade barged into his office one afternoon demanding answers.
"How would you know?" Sherlock asked, voice low and serious and that's when Mycroft realized it. His little brother was projecting.
John's rejection was entirely unexpected and while Sherlock ignored his loneliness when it was his choice to be alone, he couldn't stand it when he wasn't in control of it. Mycroft could see it now so clearly, his brother's heart was breaking and Sherlock hadn't even realized this would be the outcome when he went after Moriarty's network.
Sentiment was a weakness, but as Mycroft had discovered through his relationship with Gregory, sentiment also provided some much needed alternative perspective. At this point Sherlock was in an unfortunate middle ground of being very sentimental indeed but unable to marry his feelings with his need to control and observe. He would need to learn how to compromise between the two and Mycroft had no way of teaching Sherlock how to. Compromise was hard, Lestrade had taught Mycroft that.
"Yes, well. Back to work, if you don't mind." Mycroft said shortly, exiting the apartment and giving a farewell to Mrs. Husdon.
"Have a nice chat with you brother then?" Lestrade asked as they settled into bed that night. They didn't technically live together, but Mycroft felt that might change soon. The household was already accustomed to the detective's habits (Mycroft having upped the amount of cleaning appointments so Greg's messes after work didn't drive him insane). Even on nights where the two were supposed to be sleeping in their own homes had one or the other sneaking off in the night and slipping into a warmer bed. Mycroft was sure that Gregory would end up coming to live with him rather than vice versa simply because the detective had loudly proclaimed his addiction to Mycroft's king-size bed with a mattress that was "made by angels, Myc, I swear." Both had been sleeping much better since they got together.
As it was, Greg came by most nights, which was the way Mycroft preferred it. Ever since his divorce Lestrade hadn't been eating well (and was still in better shape than Mycroft, much to his chagrin) and the flat he'd been renting had none of the markers of home. Mycroft was worried Greg wouldn't have liked his posh townhouse, but after a period of adjustment he had fit himself in better than Mycroft would have ever guessed. If he were prone to such statements Mycroft might have declared their involvement "meant to be."
Mycroft may have lived in a world of goldfish, but here in his own bowl he'd found his own "goldfish" as Sherlock insisted, and found himself quite happy. Though he'd have to insist that as ordinary as Lestrade was, he was really more a fox than anything.
"It was enlightening," Mycroft replied as he curled himself into the detective's embrace, head over Gregory's heart so he could listen to the steady thump. thump. thump.
"…So?" The older man asked, arm wrapped around his "minor government official" as his thumb moved back and forth soothingly on Mycroft's shoulder.
"We played deductions… also Operation."
"Operation? You mean the game with the bloke with the light up nose and buzzing?" Lestrade asked incredulously.
"Yes, that's the one. I lost."
"Well you were never one for field work," Greg hummed. "Never mind that, did he…?"
"Figure us out? No," Mycroft his his smirk in his partner's chest and chuckled slightly. "I thought he was getting close, but he's so blinded by his issues with John he accused me of being lonely."
"When the reality it's him, I wondered why he bothered hunting me down."
"You're his friend, of course he did." Mycroft protested and Lestrade leant down to kiss him on the top of his head.
"He called me Graham, love."
"Yes well, you know how he is with certain details," Mycroft said as he felt his eyes drooping. He was still sleep deprived from all of the events of getting Sherlock back and now this terrorist scheme, it was exhausting. Luckily Greg had only been working on a cold case with minimal chances of the perpetrator acting imminently, so the detective was able to provide a lot of emotional and physical support during this time. The "welcome home" sex they'd had when Mycroft returned from Serbia had been fantastic. So much so that he was considering on taking a few more weekend business trips abroad if that was the reaction he got.
"You think they'll stay apart?" Greg finally asked after some time passed in comfortable sleepy silence.
"John and Sherlock? I'm uncertain," Mycroft replied. "I don't have a lot of experience in… this sort of thing, but the experience I do have tells me that Sherlock has made a terrible mistake and that Mary is much better for John." Mycroft felt Gregory squeeze him tightly at that, a tension thrumming through him.
"All your "experience" tells you is that he was a slag and if he really understood you and cared about you he would have done right by you." Greg nearly growled as he spoke lowly into the auburn haired man's ear. It had been hard to admit to Lestrade just how long it had been since he'd been in a relationship and why there had been such a gap, and Mycroft had been shocked when Gregory had put no blame on the elder Holmes but rather on his ex. It had been.. a change in perspective for someone who had thought the chances of a legitimate relationship would be impossible for him after his first broken heart.
Gregory had changed his mind about intimacy completely, but Mycroft was still wary about such things, especially when it came to his brother. They both had trouble making friends, after all. It stood to reason it was even harder to keep them.
"I cannot tell what will happen with those two. I can only hope that John's previous feelings will make him more.. open to Sherlock's apologies."
"Which, by the way, he never apologized to me." Mycroft frowned, why would Sherlock need to apologize to Gregory?
"You knew he was alive, though."
"Yeah, but you didn't tell me. You kept it a secret," Lestrade's voice wasn't all that accusing. A little argumentative, but Mycroft preferred their banter to the subservience that everyone else spoke to him with.
"But I knew you knew without having to say it."
"But you still never said it," Lestrade sighed and began tracing patterns up and down Myrcroft's arm. It tickled a little. "Doesn't matter, kind of grateful actually. Wouldn't want to be another person to have lied to John." Mycroft hummed in response, not really understanding it as a matter of betrayal or trust. He and his brother did what they had to do in order to take down one of the most lethal men in the world and his allies, wasn't that a good thing? In John's case, he'd have to rely on Lestrade's judgment.
"By the way which train are your mum and dad coming down on?"
"The three, will you be available to have dinner with us?"
"If it's after six. I'll need to clean up before I see them, also your mum told me we're taking them to see Les Mis?" Mycroft shifted before replying.
"Hmm, yes. I hope you don't mind?"
"Not at all. Your parents love me," Greg said grinning. How the Holmes' brothers came from the most down-to-earth (albeit actually quite wealthy) upbringing he'd never know. He revelled in the time they spent with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes because although Mycroft adored them, he was also clearly uncomfortable with his ordinary upbringing. That being said he was also a suck up, hence the matinee show.
The conversation had seemingly died naturally and both Greg and Mycroft felt themselves drifting closer and closer to sleep, comforted by the warmth of each other despite the freezing weather outside. It was in this half-asleep state that a thought came to Greg.
"You never told me who won the game," he said softly, not really wanting to fully awaken either himself or his partner.
"Hm? I told you, I don't have as keen hand-eye coordination as Sherlock." Mycroft yawned, snuggling into his human pillow.
"Not that one, your game of deductions."
"Ah," Mycroft smiled. "Well I'm not lonely, am I?"
"I have no idea what that means in this context, but no you aren't."
"It means," Mycroft said as he punctuated his point with a light kiss. "That I always win."