I would like to thank everyone for their support and encouragement in reviewing, favoritng, and following this and other stories in this series. ^_^ It means a lot to me.

This is the fourth in a series of one-shots, which takes place in my "Falling" verse. This takes place after "This Doesn't Feel Like Falling," has completed. These one-shots can be read individually, or as part of the larger series. I hope you enjoy.

This is installment takes place approximately one year and three months after the last one.

WARNING: This particular one-shot contains character death, and may be triggering for some individuals. Please keep yourselves safe.

Love Endures All Things

Greg gasped as he woke, sitting partially upright. His body trembled in the dark and he ran a shaking hand over his face. Beside him, his husband stirred, then laid a warm, anchoring hand on his arm.

"Bad dreams?" Mycroft asked, his voice rough with sleep.

Forcing himself to slow his breathing, the Detective Inspector shook his head. "I don't think so." He couldn't remember any of his dreams this night. Still, it was a fair assumption, on Mycroft's part, that nightmares had woken him. Neither of them were strangers to bad dreams, night terrors, or general creepy feelings. It came with the territory; their lives were dangerous.

Turning, Gregory nestled himself into his husbands waiting embrace. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, reassured by Mycroft's familiar smell, and the rhythmic movement of his husband's hand over his back. Because their lives came with such risks they both strove to take nothing for granted. In addition, they had both become quite adept at offering comfort to each other for bad dreams and bad news alike.

Greg steered his mind towards happier thoughts, with the hopes of returning to a restful sleep. Despite all the grand plans of his sister's children, he and Mycroft had married quietly. They signed the necessary paperwork at the Registrar's Office, then held a small ceremony and reception for immediate friends and family. They'd exchanged traditional vows and unadorned gold bands. They had managed, despite the plethora of Holmes relatives, to keep the guest list to fifty people.

The Detective Inspector smiled fondly as he remembered the last dance he and Mycroft had shared under the dim lighting, after everyone else had gone.

I'll never settle down,
That's what I always thought
Yeah, I was that kind of man,
just ask anyone

I don't dance, But here I am
Spinning you around and around in circles
It ain't my style, but I don't care
I'd do anything with you anywhere
Yes, you got me in the palm of your hand
Cause, I don't dance

Love's never come my way,
I've never been this far
Cause you took these two left feet
And waltzed away with my heart

No, I don't dance, but here I am
Spinning you around and around in circles
It ain't my style, but I don't care
I'd do anything with you anywhere
Yes, you got me in the palm of your hand
Cause, I don't dance
Ohhh
I don't dance

Ooh

I don't dance, but here I am
Spinning you around and around in circles
It ain't my style, but I don't care
I'd do anything with you anywhere

I don't dance, but here I am
Spinning you around and around in circles
It ain't my style, but I don't care
I'd do anything with you anywhere
Yeah, you got me in the palm of your hand
Cause, I don't dance

Oh,
No..

Oooh…

They honeymooned in Japan for two weeks before settling back into their normal routines. Neither one of them belabored emotional discussion but they were, thanks in significant part to Gregory's influence, always honest with each other. As much of their relationship was spoken as was unspoken. For example, Mycroft both said that he loved him, and made a point of coming home earlier and more regularly than he had in the past.

Gregory's heartbeat had almost returned to a normal rhythm when his phone rang. He grunted in displeasure and rolled to scoop his phone from the nightstand. He knew he wouldn't be called at this time of night without good reason. Even Sherlock had learned that amount of decorum.

"Lestrade here," he mumbled as he picked up the call. He had changed his name when he was married, but he still used 'Lestrade' for work purposes. "Yes, I'm Sarah's brother. … Lestrade was her maiden name." He was silent for a moment, and paled considerably. "What?!" he gasped into the phone. His voice sounded pain. "When?!" He listened intently for a few moment, then said, "I'll be right there."

He ended the call, cursed, and tossed his phone to the floor. He nearly sprang out of bed before Mycroft's steady hand on his hip pulled him back. Greg turned to glare at his husband, but there was no real fire in his eyes.

"Gregory," Mycroft said slowly, demanding an explanation.

The Detective Inspector's eyes burned suddenly, and he looked down at the sheets. Mycroft nestled closer, pressing into his husband's side, and looping a protective arm around his shoulders.

"It's my sister," Greg whispered, watching his vision swim with tears. He closed his eyes and felt hot saline run across his cheeks. "There's been an accident… She and Anthony…they're gone. The kids will be fine, but their parents…my sister…"

Greg buried his face in Mycroft's chest and his husband's arms tightened around him like a steel band. He gritted his teeth until his head started to pound, trying to stop the animalistic wail rising in his throat.

Gregory was still shaking when they arrived at the hospital. He paused at the edge of the hallway that would lead him to his nieces and nephew, squeezing Mycroft's hand like a vice. "What am I supposed to say to them? he whispered. He looked lost, and scared, and completely out of his depth. It was one thing when he contacted the next of kin, but being the next of kin…

Mycroft pulled him into a tight embrace, heedless of any spectators. "There is no right thing to say, Gregory. We can only let them know the truth." He took a breath. "Their parents are dead, but they still have a family, and a home."

Mycroft was used to dealing in hard truths, and he rarely minced words. Still, Greg found himself immensely comforted. He was grateful beyond measure to know that his husband was willing to support Gregory in the guardianship of his nieces and nephew; to welcome them into his heart and home as he had done with the Detective Inspector himself.

Gregory took a slow, shaky breath. One thing at a time.

They stepped into the next room, still holding hands, and were immediately assaulted by four pairs of arms. "I'm so glad you're okay," he murmured, scanning each of them for injury. There was nothing permanent. They each suffered lacerations in one place or another. Nichole's left arm was in a cast, and Alexander's foot was wrapped in an ace bandage. The children were tearful, but not distraught.

"Where are Mum and Dad?" Alexander asked, craning his head around his Uncle's as if his parents would materialize before him.

Tears started to flow before Greg could draw breath to answer. "I'm so, so sorry," he murmured, and the children were crying again before he had finished. "They were killed in the car accident."

Heartfelt wailing filled the room. Struggling to hold back his own emotions, Greg wondered how on earth they were supposed to move on from here. Everything seemed so daunting… And then he felt more hands on his shoulders. Through thick tears he can just make out Sherlock and John kneeling to join them in their misery. Gregory tried to express his gratitude, but his throat was clamped shut like a vice. Instead he just tightened his grip, holding onto what remained of his family.

Four weeks later…

Mycroft sat on a barstool near the island in his kitchen. He slouched in his seat, his elbow resting on the granite, and his chin resting in his hand. It had been a hellish four weeks, and he was too tired to sleep.

Everyone, John and Sherlock included, had moved into the estate for the time being, taking solace in each other's company. They had their own bedrooms, naturally. Any yet, more often than not, they all ended up camped out in Mycroft's spacious living room. They had never planned it, but none of them had found sleep easily lately. One person would start watching TV, then another would join them, and it was just easier being together right now, as opposed to apart.

That was how Mummy had found them when she'd arrived early one morning, three days after the accident. She'd come to offer what help she could. The children, having woken to the smell of fresh bacon and pancakes, had loved her immediately.

Mummy had stayed on for two weeks, helping with the double funeral, and establishing some sense of routine. She would still be here if not for her own husband's failing health. Mycroft's father's health had been spotty for the last three years, and now they knew it would not be long. It was not any one thing in particular, just the accumulation of years taking its toll on his father's body. Mummy was a remarkable, strong woman, but she could night hide her devastation from her children. In no more than three months, they would plan another funeral… It was overwhelming, to say the least.

Mycroft had always been uncomfortable with intimacy in general. Gregory had his hands full when he'd begun to woo him, but he was persistent. Slowly, Mycroft had become more involved, not only with Gregory, but with his sister and her family. Even his relationship with Sherlock and John had improved, although John still nettled him about the kidnapping.

When you hold significant power, and walk in the circles that Mycroft did, you often held the fate of many people in your hands. It was a responsibility he respected, and made every effort to handle with care. His younger brother was not inaccurate when he referred to him as "The British Government." And yet, at his core, Mycroft felt wholly inadequate to the task now before him. He and Gregory were the guardians of four orphaned children, aged twelve, fourteen, fourteen, and fifteen.

Gregory had managed to weasel information about Mycroft's insecurities from him, as he always did. Mycroft managed a smile at the memory. His husband had wrapped his arms around him and whispered, "That's how you're supposed to feel when you're caring for children. No one gets it completely right. What they need most is to know that they're loved."

And Mycroft did love them. That was the unsettling part. He had put great effort in keeping his sentiments general, rather than specific, and despite all that he found himself surrounded by people he loved, who loved him back. It was the one responsibility he never expected to carry, but he would do his best to honor it.

A cool hand rested on the back of his own, breaking him out of his reverie. Mycroft looked up into Coraline's sympathetic brown eyes. "I'm sorry about your father," she murmured. As with most children, there was little that could truly be hidden from her.

Mycroft turned his hand over and squeezed hers gently. "I'm sorry about your father," he replied.

She teared up and nodded, leaning in for a hug. Mycroft obliged. After a minute or so he murmured, "I'll make you some herbal tea; go have a seat on the sofa." She nodded and, whipping distractedly at her eyes, turned to follow his instructions.

By the time her tea had steeped, Mycroft found that Alexander and Gregory had joined her. Mycroft raised an amused eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you'd invited guests," he said to his niece as he handed her the tea. "Should I break out the complete tea set?" She giggled softly, holding her tea close to her chest.

"Morning lovely," his husband greeted him, tugging him down for a kiss.

"It's still dark out, Gregory," Mycroft insisted after they had parted.

"Not for long," Greg replied, slipping an arm over Mycroft's shoulder as he sat beside him. "The Princess Bride" was playing on the telly. Someone, probably Coraline, had slipped it into the DVD player. She was rather fond of the movie, and it had played more than once during these unofficial late-night gatherings.

"Missed you upstairs," Gregory murmured into his husbands ear.

"I was not sleeping, and I did not want to disturb you," Mycroft whispered back.

Greg gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I wasn't sleeping too well myself." Mycroft laid his head against his husbands shoulder while Coraline nestled into his side, and Alexander leaned against her.

The door opened again approximately thirty minutes later. Mycroft glanced up and nodded at his brother. Sherlock and John held the hands of Nichole and Katherine, respectively. Instead of settling on the adjacent sofa, the group of them grabbed cushions and settled on the floor in front on the sofa that Gregory, himself, Alexander, and Coraline currently occupied.

"You're just in time for the duel scene!" Alexander exclaimed, pointing excitedly at the screen.

"We really should start planning these things," John murmured, shaking his head in tired amusement.

"I'm not opposed to Friday and/or Saturday movie nights," Gregory allowed, "But you are all supposed to be returning to school next week." There was a general murmuring of disgruntled agreement. Greg knew the transition back would be difficult, but it was just as necessary as the time they had spent away. Alexander's foot had almost completely healed, and Nichole's cast would come off after four more weeks. She was lucky it wasn't her dominant hand, but she still worried about her ability to resume the violin. Sherlock had been a tremendous comfort to her; assuring her that he would be happy to help her refresh her skills, once her cast was off. The break had been in her forearm, not her wrist, so they were all optimistic that her dexterity would not be impeded.

"When this is over, I'm making pancakes!" Sherlock declared, lightening the moment. The children cheered their approval, and Greg smiled. They were all still hurting, but they were healing as well. He knew better than anyone that the only way past this, was through it. They were not as many as they should be, but they were still together, and together was what mattered.