Summary: After a failed assassination attempt, Greg waits by Mycroft's bedside for the man to wake up. Fluffy thing of rainbows and gumdrop smiles, written for DaJazzGal. Mystrade.

Rated: K+ me thinks

Greg Lestrade paced back and forth in the rather large room, taking in the obnoxious sounds of the monitors beeping every second. Most people found them annoying but Greg welcomed them; it meant Mycroft was still alive.

But of course he was still alive! The bullet had been removed from his stomach hours ago, and it miraculously missed all of his major organs. The doctor ensured Lestrade that it would be a fast and easy recovery. He took a deep breath and slid into the seat next to Mycroft's bed.

He didn't know who wanted the other man dead, but he was more than grateful that they failed. Mycroft had unexpectedly become the central person in Lestrade's life. After he and his wife got divorced, Mycroft was the one who picked up the pieces to his shattered, broken life; he was the one who showed Greg that the last ten years hadn't gone to waste. He gave him a friend, a best friend, when Greg needed just that, and a lover when friendship was no longer enough. He pushed aside his own uncertainty about relationships and trusted Greg with his fragile heart, and that meant the world to him.

Greg leaned his arm on the bed next to Mycroft's and tangled their pinky fingers together. It was something they'd been doing since the early stages of their relationship, back when Greg was nervous about dating a man and Mycroft was nervous about dating, period. He smiled at the familiar feeling of that slim pinky around his and leaned back in the chair a little.

Mycroft had been sleeping since they put him under for the surgery. His features, usually twisted in some form of distrust or suspicious due to his line of work, were beautifully relaxed. Though Greg couldn't be any more angry about how his partner had ended up here if he tried, he had to admit that it was good to see the man relax. He worked himself too hard.

"Lestrade, I'm going to head home with Sherlock. He's dead on his feet," John stuck his head in the room.

Sherlock and John had been there just as long as he had and, just like Lestrade, Sherlock had been wearing the floors out with his manic pacing. Unlike Lestrade, Sherlock hadn't slept in three days.

"You two get home safe," Greg smiled softly. "I'll tell My that you were here when he wakes up." Greg chuckled to himself and John smiled unconsciously.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, it's just...It's quite adorable to see Sherlock get so protective over his brother."

John's smile grew and he nodded. "Yes; nice to know there's more than just rivalry there. We'll pop back in tomorrow!"

John waved over his shoulder and shut the door behind him, leaving Lestrade alone in the room. He leaned over and pressed the back of his hand to Mycroft's forehead. It was stupid and pointless, but a habit that he couldn't kick. His hand trailed down along the rounded face, down his slender neck, and rested over his heart. The soft thump, thump seemed to beat in sync with Greg's own heart and he left his hand there, over Mycroft's heart, like he did every night since they'd started living together.

Their pinkies were still linked and Greg felt the twitch that signaled Mycroft's return to consciousness. The man stirred a bit before casting his eyes to Lestrade. He didn't even bother checking out his surroundings.

"How long have I been out?" His voice was thick from the morphine lingering in his bloodstream.

"Um, about four hours. Well, five if you count the surgery."

"Damn," Mycroft muttered. "I missed the meeting."

Greg laughed and laced his fingers with Mycroft's.

"Anthea rescheduled," Greg whispered as he moved his chair closer to the bed.

"I should thank him."

"Who?"

"The man who shot me."

Greg's head snapped up. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because," Mycroft's lips twitched into a smile. "He effectively cleared my schedule for the remainder of the week. I needed a vacation."

"You're unbelievable," Greg muttered as he straightened Mycroft's blanket out and tucked the sides in around his body. Mycroft reached a shaking hand out to cup Greg's face and bring it closer to his.

"But you love me," he said softly. Greg laughed quietly and pressed his lips to Mycroft's forehead. He breathed in the familiar scent of his shampoo and rested his head on the pillow next to Mycroft.

"I do."

Hope I did this prompt justice! I'm quickly becoming addicted to Mystrade :D I take requests, peeps, so throw those my way. They're like crack to me. Only better for my health. Anyway, reviews = rainbow cupcakes, and who doesn't love those?

Omg, how's this for a typo?: "Mycroft had unexpectedly become the central person in Lestrade's wife." Thank goodness I proofread!