"First of all, how could you?" Lestrade asks as he pushes past Mycroft and walks into the flat, the only place Mycroft is safe now that everyone's found out.
Mycroft doesn't have words yet. He can hardly feel a thing. He can't explain to himself the measures of his actions, let alone a bloody goldfish. "Greggory, please leave."
"No, okay, that's bullshit," Lestrade says as he stops pacing the floor and walks back up to Mycroft as the severely disturbed older Holmes shuts the door behind him. "He's going to kill you, you know that, don't you – what were you thinking?"
"I wanted it all and lost it all. An ironic play of the fates, wouldn't you say?" Mycroft says as he walks over to the nearby window. "What do you want me to say?"
Lestrade takes a deep breath as he steps back and forward again, turning Mycroft around with the jerk of an arm. "I want you to say that I didn't spend all this time on you for nothing, Mycroft. I helped you keep tabs on Sherlock, keep in touch and this is how you repay everyone? Bringing back a psychopath and breaking your brother?"
"He would have been shattered inevitably, it could only be delayed for so long," Mycroft says cautiously as he looks down into Lestrade's eyes. "It's more than that. This is a personal matter."
"John might actually kill you," Lestrade whispers, afraid of hearing the words himself rather than afraid of them being heard.
Mycroft nods. "I'm aware of the possibility."
"Will Moriarty kill them first?" Lestrade asks slowly, cautiously.
"No, the final problem no longer is in effect, Sherlock is safe," Mycroft promises, knowing the difference between the side of Jim that's a mass murderer and the side of him that's a brother.
"What about John?" Mycroft huffs at Lestrade's question, having a feeling the DI already knows the answer to that question. "Just because you can't bloody understand his happiness doesn't mean you should destroy it – haven't you ruined enough?"
"Leave," Mycroft snaps, his expression becoming less readable by the second.
Lestrade steps forward to be an inch away from Mycroft. "No."
"No?" Mycroft asks, quirking up a brow. He's not used to the word.
"That's right, you ignorant twat. Just because you don't understand the feeling of companionship doesn't make it alright to destroy that for your brother – to end a life," Lestrade says bitterly, every word tasting wrong and bitter on his tongue.
Mycroft inhales sharply. "I can't help him."
"No, you can't," Lestrade whispers back more calmly. "You need to stop trying and find yourself a life outside of trying to make up for something with your brother's past that wasn't your fault. You've destroyed that, and now I need to convince you not to destroy John for him too."
"How would you do that?" Mycroft asks in the utmost curiosity.
"I'm going to find you a goldfish," Lestrade says as he curls his hand around Mycroft's head and twines fingers in the short brown hair he finds there. "Problem?"
Mycroft can't speak, he's confused by the notion. Sympathies and sexual advances never did reach him on a mental level up until this point. Mycroft leans forward in answer, shaking his head before latching his lips onto Lestrade's and twining his arms around the DI.
Hours later, Sherlock is at his brother's door. Sherlock is ready to bite off his brother's head before Lestrade answers the door, wearing his brother's shirt mis-buttoned with boxers and a stupid smile on his face. "Hello Sherlock."
Sherlock tries to maintain his anger but finds himself smiling as John starts laughing in delight beside him. "Hello Lestrade, is…is my brother still here?"
"He's a bit," Lestrade cuts himself off, pressing his lips together, "out of sorts right now."
Sherlock's grin grows. "I'll leave him to his…fish bowl."
John looks at them both like their a bit insane. "Something I missed?"
"Something," Sherlock mutters as he turns around and walks away. John follows him, asking several hushed questions about what's going on.