Disclaimer: Seriously if you don't already know that the characters aren't mine after over forty stories then you're never going to get it.

A/N: Okay, I have a confession to make. I accidentally deleted the PM that gave me this idea. I know that it was from either beccabrrr or janie17…I think. I'm so sorry! Anyway, I'm dedicating this chapter to both of them because hey, I can't remember whose idea it was and they both reviewed every single chapter of 'When the Spark Dulls' as did a few other people. If it wasn't either of you then let me know and I'll dedicate the next chapter to the proper person.

This is a follow-up…spin-off? Whichever. Of 'When the Spark Dulls'. The reviewer asked for the wedding of Mycroft and Greg so I figured 'hey, why not?'. It's not like I'm not curious myself. So here you go. Let me know what you think.

Finding the Problem

His brother was getting married. Married. Mycroft. To Lestrade. How in the world had this happened without him noticing? Granted he'd been gone for much of their courtship but still...he'd talked to Mycroft once a week. How had he missed this?

Sherlock folded his hands under his chin and glared up at the ceiling. He didn't mind their relationship. In fact he thought it would be good for Mycroft and probably good for Lestrade as well. He just decided to dwell on the fact that he had missed the beginnings rather than think about other things.

"I'm off out," John called as he sped past the parlour without a single look in Sherlock's direction. "Got a date. With Mary. A nice girl. A friend. Who won't abandon me at the first sign of trouble." Then he slammed the door to the flat and stomped down the stairs.

Yes, thinking about Mycroft and Lestrade was much better than the other alternatives. Sherlock sighed. Mycroft said he needed to apologize to John. But he'd explained his reasoning for faking his death to John immediately after the shorter man had punched him. John had said he'd understood. Why would an apology make John forgive him when an explanation wouldn't?

And who was this Mary Morstan anyway? How had she dug her hooks into his John while he'd been gone? Sherlock scowled at the ceiling. This was not helping him figure out how he'd missed the clues to Mycroft and Lestrade's relationship and that was all he wanted to know right now.

"Hello, brother," Mycroft interrupted his furious contemplation. "Whatever are you doing?"

"Debating the pros and cons of allowing you to marry my favorite Detective Inspector," Sherlock answered promptly if untruthfully.

"Favorite? Really?" Mycroft's tone was disbelieving as he seated himself on John's chair. "I was unaware that you had a favorite Detective Inspector."

Sherlock shrugged. "Lestrade's the only DI that will work with me with a minimum of fuss." He turned his head to gaze at his brother. "Why are you here?"

"Am I not allowed to simply come visit my brother?" Sherlock snorted derisively. Mycroft affected a wounded look. "Fine," he sighed after a few minutes. "Mummy has requested that I bring you and John to the townhouse for dinner and a discussion of…flowers for the wedding, I believe." He looked around curiously. "Where is the good doctor this evening? Surely he isn't hiding from me."

Sherlock returned to glaring at the ceiling. "He isn't hiding," he grumbled. "He has a date. With that Morstan chit. She's awful. Boring. Far too mundane for him but he won't listen to me."

"No, he wouldn't, would he?" Mycroft murmured and typed out something on his phone. "Well, that's taken care of," he rose to his feet. "Come, Sherlock, we mustn't keep Mummy waiting."

Sherlock rolled off of the sofa and glared at his brother. "He's only going to be angry with me for whatever you've done, Mycroft," he warned.

"We shall see. You will have to forgive me if I believe that my upcoming nuptials are more important than your Dr. Watson's fits of temper." Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the stairs as he descended them in front of Sherlock and headed out the door into the street to the predictable black car waiting for them.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"What did you do?" John hissed at Sherlock the moment he arrived. He ignored everyone else in the room and only glared at Sherlock. Surprisingly, Sherlock detected irritation but no true anger in his friend. This would be the first time in the month he'd been back that John hadn't been absolutely furious with him.

"I didn't actually have anything to do with messing up your date, this time," Sherlock told him earnestly. "Mycroft—"

And just that quickly the anger was back. The cold fury that had chilled all of their interactions for the past month had returned and Sherlock couldn't understand why. "Of course," John said in a normal tone of voice and turned his back on Sherlock to greet Mrs. Holmes.

She smiled warmly and knowingly at him. "He'll get the message eventually, John," she assured him softly when he kissed her cheek. "Just keep trying."

Mycroft caught John's grimace and nod and finally understood John's unreasoning anger. He grinned delightedly with his back to the room and most importantly his heartbroken brother. John didn't like Sherlock's new subservient attitude and solicitous actions. He wanted his Sherlock back and was determined to get what he wanted.

"Well," Gregory said from beside him. "I knew things were off between them but…this is…this is…Hell, I don't quite know what this is."

Mycroft turned around to face the room and took his fiancé's hand in his own. "It will work itself out," he assured the other man. "But do try to annoy Sherlock tonight to help things along, won't you? I certainly shall."

Gregory looked askance at his fiancé and then shrugged. Mycroft was usually right when it came to Sherlock. Before Sherlock had gone away John had been the person most versed in Sherlock but now…well, now John was going out of his way to not interpret Sherlock. "Right," he finally nodded.

"What are you two whispering about?" Sherlock interrupted them petulantly.

Greg shrugged again. "Well, I was just asking Mycroft if it would be all right to invite Anderson to the next dinner. He's married. He's had a wedding. He can tell us what to expect. As a matter of fact," he paused as Sherlock paled even farther. "His wife's a wedding planner, or maybe it's his sister. Can't remember exactly. We should ask him."

"No!" Sherlock nearly shouted. "You can't! What the Hell are you thinking, you idiot! Anderson would ruin everything about your wedding! He'd breathe on something and it would crumble to dust! Have you lost what little bit of brains you possessed to begin with?"

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Holmes snapped.

Sherlock's shoulders tensed and he glanced over at her and at John. John was staring at him with a purposely blank look and had made no move to reprimand him. Sherlock's shoulders slumped dejectedly. John was still angry. John, he was beginning to feel, would always be angry with him.

Maybe he should stop trying to make it up to John altogether. He'd done his level best to be considerate for the past month. He'd only played his violin during the day. He'd picked up his own tea cup to put in the sink. Done his own laundry. He hadn't brought home any body parts from the morgue. He'd not insulted anyone, least of all John. He hadn't said anything about John's dates and hadn't even tried to horn in on them as he had in the past.

It was bloody hard work, being the man John wanted him to be. Maybe too hard. It just wasn't fair. John hadn't had a problem with him before. Why now? Sherlock had never understood the light bulb moment. Now he did. John hadn't asked him to change. John had seemed to grow increasingly angry the more he tried to be what he thought John wanted. Was that it? Was John angry because he was changing himself?

Oh! Oh, this was glorious! Better than a locked room mystery or a serial killer! He schooled his expression into contriteness. "I'm sorry, Mother," he told her and walked over to kiss her cheek. "I'll mind my tongue."

On her other side, John's muscles tensed in fury again even as his mother rolled her eyes at him. She grabbed the back of his neck and held on tightly. "Don't play this game, Sherlock," she hissed in his ear. "You've hurt that man quite enough."

His wide blue eyes met her. "Yes, Mummy," he whispered. "I won't."

She released his neck and let him stand up. "Good boy," she praised. "Now then, I do believe it's time for dinner, boys."

Proving to her that they were all the good sons she expected them to be they followed her from the room wordlessly. Though she did notice that John walked a bit closer to Sherlock than he had been lately. Good. It was about time the two of them fixed this mess Sherlock had made.