Okay this is something that I really wanted to do for a while. First I had it written up in a note book then I didn't like that version, so I started a different one. I hope you all like Mystrade because that's what this story is about. I really am bad at summaries so the one you got in the description is what you get. Also I would like to mention that there may seem to be a bit of Mycroft/John but there isn't, it's really just them comforting each other when they're sad. So I hope you enjoy this lovely story. See ya.
Gregory Lestrade woke up disoriented, he could tell which way was up or what was happening to him. He felt like he was submerged under water, his eyes stung if he kept them open long and no air could reach his lungs. It sounded as if water was rushing pass his ears. But he wasn't in water at all, he was lying in a bed in a white room.
Over the roar in his ears he could hear the faint call of his name. He tried to see where the voice was coming from but he couldn't see more than two inches in front of his face.
"Lestrade you need to lean forward," a louder voice said to his left.
Greg felt warm hands on his back, he was pushed up off the bed so he was hugging his knees. Something hard was shoved in between his legs, he didn't know what it was but he clutched to it for dear life.
"Okay, Lestrade, you're going to feel a slight pain in your back and chest," the man told him. "After a minute you'll start to vomit all the water up in your lungs. I want you to get most of it in to the bucket. Do you understand?"
Greg nodded silently pulling the bucket closer to his chest. A second later he felt a pinpoint prick in his back, he could feel the needle slide through his insides making him want to squirm. Never before was he able to feel a shot like this one before.
HIs lungs suddenly felt cold, he still couldn't breathe but his vision was clearing up and the loud noise was fading out.
The man came around Greg's front, he had blond hair and wore a white lab coat. "You can see me now right, and hear me well?" he asked.
Greg nodded. He felt something rising in his throat, he took on the look of dread as water came pouring out of his mouth in to the bucket.
Lestrade felt the warm hand again on his back rubbing soothing circles. He stopped long enough to look up at the man who fixed his problems. "What did you do?" he asked after he found his voice once more.
"I injected fluid in to your lungs to get the Thames out of there," he told him with a smile.
"The Thames?" Greg questioned. "What happened to me, am I in the hospital?"
The guy shook his head. "No Gregory Lestrade you are not in the hospital," he told him. "You're in a place called L.A.D. that stands for 'Life After Death'. I'm sorry to inform you Lestrade but you died. Earlier this morning at 4:58 you were tied up by a criminal and tossed in to the Thames. Unfortunatly no one was able to get to you on time and you drowned."
Greg stared at him in complete silence as he tried to process everything that was just said to him. He felt more water rise up in his throat, he leaned over the bucket to empty himself like a water fountain. "What do you mean I'm dead?" he asked once he was finished. "I can't be dead I have a family waiting for me at home. I have a job to go to, I have to look after Sherlock so he doesn't kill himself. I have to many responsibilities to be dead."
"I'm sorry..." the blond started but Greg cut him off.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked angrily. "Because if it is, this is some sick joke."
"It's not a jo-..."
Greg hit the yellow bucket tucked between his legs. "I want to speak to your superior," he demanded in a voice that usually sent his subordinates running with their tails between their legs.
The man bowed in response. "Very well," he said before walking out of the room.
-
"He wants to speak with you sir," he said when he walked in to a room overlooking Greg's room.
The taller man turned to look at him then back to the white room bellow. "It will give him a shock if I show up down there," he told him.
The shorter man walked up to him to place his hand on his shoulder. "He said he wanted to see you Mycroft," he told him in a calming voice.
Mycroft covered the hand on his shoulder. "I know John," he sighed. "You may go do what you want, I can handle everything from here."
John slid his hand down the older man's arm with a smile. "I'll see you later than," he said.
"Bye," Mycroft said. He took a few minutes before he left to look at a picture that never left his side. He sighed, sliding the photo back into his pocket as he walked out of the room.
Mycroft knocked on the door. He didn't get an answer, he placed his hand on the knob. He leaned on it heavily taking in a deep breath to calm himself down. He slowly turned the handle and entered the cold room. "You wanted to see me?" he asked to get Greg's attention.
Greg looked up from his hands with his mouth opened but stopped before words could even exit his mouth. "My-Mycroft?" he was in utter disbelief. "But you're..."
"Dead?" Mycroft kept his voice in a normal professional tone. "Yes I am dead and as my colleague already told you, so are you."
Greg stood from the bed balancing himself on wobbly knees. "How are you here?" he asked reaching his hand out to touch him, he stopped before he could. "Is this a dream?"
Mycroft shook his head. "This is no dream," he whispered to him. "Do you wish it was a dream?"
"No," Greg breathed heavily, "because if this was a dream then I'll wake up and you'll disappear. Thursday was the day you died, Sherlock and I were gong to bring flowers to your grave and John's."
Mycroft nodded, he knew all about what Greg was going to do the next day. He always went to watch along with John. "So do believe that no one is playing a joke on you?" he asked.
Greg turned away from him running shaky fingers through his gray hair. "If I am dead then that means everyone who relied on me when I was alive will be affected," he argued. "I don't want to be dead. I want to wake up from this dream." Mycroft lightly touched his shoulder. Greg turned on him with tears in his eyes. "I knew a long time ago that I would never see you again. I figured it out, I moved on. I have a beautiful partner and two beautiful children, something that you failed to give me. Jamie never left me, Jamie never died on me." His face was red with anger, anger that has been harboring inside of him for twenty years.
"Gregory," the name dropped out of Mycroft's mouth.
"No," Greg yelled clutching his head. "Don't say my name. I don't want you to say my name. I will wake up and everything will be back to normal."
"It's not a dream," Mycroft reminded him. "You will not wake up on earth in the morning. Your life has ended."
"I'm only 39," Greg hollered.
"I was only 19," Mycroft yelled back, loosing his temper for the first time in years. "I had a whole life ahead of me. One man, one evil, rotten, little man took it all away from me. That's all it takes Greg, one small thing to take a life."
Greg watched as Mycroft breathed heavily through his nose. He looked down at his bare feet crying. "I want to be alone," he mumbled collapsing on the bed..
Mycroft nodded, he understood exactly what he was going through. "I'll leave your information here by the door," he told him as he walked out.
Greg drove his palm in to his eyes, he screamed to get the pressure that was on his heart off. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to believe all of this was real. He didn't have to believe it was all real.
He ran his rough fingers down his face, he lifted his head off the mattress and looked towards the door. He rolled off the bed on to his feet, doing his best he stumbled over to the door. He grabbed the clipboard, there was only one thing that caught his eye. A small photo that he recognized, it was Mycroft and him. He had his arm around Mrycroft's shoulder, both of them almost falling over with huge grins on their faces, he was only in a pair of red swim trunks and Mycroft was in a suit.
He remembered the day it was taken perfectly. Mycroft was on his way home from a debate, his mother wanted a nice picture of her son in all his glory. Sadly they stopped by the local park with the only pond to swim in during the hottest day of the year.
Greg was swimming in the pond, he caught a glimpse of his boyfriend right before he bolted it out of the water. He ran all the way over to Mycroft barrelling in to his side, latching himself to the other's neck.
Mrs. Holmes was angry with him but she got her picture of Mycroft and allowed him to accompany them home. She even gave them both copies of the photo.
Greg lost his in a fire a few years after Mycroft's death. He ran his finger over the picture looking at the stains of blood and the small hole right above the two boy's head.
A tear rolled down his cheek, he didn't want to remember things like that, it brought back all the pain and sorrow of Mycroft's death. He's spent years repressing all of them, except on the day of his death. On that day he would hang out with Sherlock, he would go back to the flat Sherlock somehow got and fall asleep drunk on the couch.
He dropped the photo in the front pocket on the dressing gown he was wearing. He looked over the rest of the clipboard reading the information. There was an electronic map with red dots on it, one for the place where he would be staying , another one was for a place called the E.V. room.
He scanned over it trying to find how it worked, there was a question mark in the corner. He pushed it making instructions pop up. He read over them figuring it out that the map was voice activated, all he had to do was say what he wanted and it would show him where he could find it.
"Door," he said aloud to test it. Thousands of blue dots showed up, they were almost covering up the whole map. "Coffee." The blue dots disappeared only to be replaced with different blue dots.
He clicked on one of the blue dots, a picture of a coffee shop came up and a red line from where he was to the shop.
Greg stared at the whole map in awe. "Clear," he muttered. He tapped the red dot for E.V. room. Information on it came up. "Earth Viewing room?" He read about the place, he figured out it was a place you could go to watch people you knew on earth.
He walked out of the room following the red line on the map. He was going to the E.V. room, he was going to see his wife and children. He was going to see them for the last time because he knew this was real.
-
Lestrade stepped in to one of the small rooms with little television's in them. He pulled out the plush chair before sitting. He moaned as his back cracked back in place. He was getting to old for comfy chairs.
He looked over the television for some way to turn it on, in the left hand corner there was a small button. He pushed it making the screen come to life.
"Welcome to Earth Viewing Television," a woman's voice sounded out of the speakers, "we are here to help you watched your loved ones back on earth. Just say the name of the person you want to view and you'll be on your way."
"Jamie Lestrade," he grumbled.
"Very well," the voice said, "I hope you enjoy your time."
The TV went dark then as if it was going through space it zoomed pass a bunch of pictures. It stopped in Greg's living room, he could see his wife sitting across from Sherlock.
He watched as Sherlock rung something in his hands. "Mrs. Lestrade I'm sorry," he said sounding like he was seconds away from tears.
"How did this happen?" Jamie asked. Greg could hear the way she struggled to get words out of her mouth.
Sherlock took in a shakey breath. "I told him that I was going to..."
"So this is your fault?" Jamie yelled, she slammed her hands down on the coffee table.
"No," Greg yelled back, it wasn't Sherlock's fault that he was dead. It was his own stupidity, Sherlock told him not to interfere with his side job and he did any way. "Honey just listen to him, let him explain." He knew that Sherlock was going through a lot, he just lost he only living friend. He was going to be a reck like he was after John's and Mycroft's death, except this time Greg won't be there to take the pain away or to keep him out of trouble.
"I told him not to follow me," Sherlock told her keeping his head down. "He was an idiot and didn't listen to me, like always."
Greg smiled, Sherlock was still insulting him, somehow that made him feel better. Jamie on the other hand didn't like that. Her face turned to pure anger. "My husbands dead and you think it would be alright to insult him in front of me?" she yelled.
Jordan, his son, walked out of his bedroom with tears in his eyes. "Daddy's dead?" he asked, his lower lip was quivering.
Jamie stood up from the couch. She walked over to him wrapping her arms around his shaking form. "Yes sweety," she whispered in his ear.
Greg suddenly felt about two tons of weight dropped on his chest. Never in a million years would he have wished his six year old son to say those words.
Sherlock stood up ram rod straight getting both of their attention. "Like I said, I am sorry for the lost of Lestrade," he stated his voice back to its normal unemotional state. "If it's any consolation I did my best to save him. I would have even given my life if he would have lived."
Greg couldn't take it any more, he wiped his watering eyes then shut of the TV. He stood from the chair,hurridly he exited the room. He ran down a few halls passing groups of people. He ran til his legs gave way, he toppled to the floor.
He slid his way over to the edge of the wall. He pulled out his map. "Home," he muttered. All that showed up was his new place in L.A.D., he shook his head vigorously. "Home," he cried louder, it just showed the same thing. He hit the map with his palm. He dropped his head on to his knees sobbing. "Not that home, my home, my real home."
-
Greg wasn't sure how long he was sobbing on the floor, he didn't want to know how long he was sitting there. He just wanted to go home so he would be able to tell his wife that it all was a bad dream and he never drowned.
"You know I did the same thing when I died," Mycroft's voice came from his right.
Greg jumped, he lifted his glossy red eyes up to meet his. "I thought I said I wanted to be alone," he snapped angrily.
Mycroft casted his eyes down with a shake of his head. "I know that you don't really want to be alone," he told him. He leaned against the wall, sliding down it he sat next to Greg. "You're still cold."
Greg buried his head in his arms. "Go away," he mumbled. From the warmth radiating off of Mycroft he knew he didn't listen.
Mycroft shook his head. "I know you don't want to be alone right now," he told him confidently. "I know how you can make yourself worse by beating yourself over things like this."
"Mycroft if you talking about the time I accidentally ran over my dog I will hurt you," Lestrade groveled. "And if you hadn't noticed this isn't the same thing."
"I know," he sighed. "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't be alone when you're feeling like crap you always end up in a bad place."
"Crap?" he repeated. "I have never heard you say the word crap before," Greg told him, his lips curling up momentarily.
"To much time with John I suppose," Mycroft stated. "Greg please just accept my company for now til you get, happier I guess is the right word to use here."
They both were silent as Mycroft let Greg think over what he proposed. Greg finally nodded agreeing with him. He looked back up at Mycroft who was looking at him with sad eyes but a small smile gracing his lips. Greg leaned quickly towards him encircling his arms around his neck. He buried his face in to his shoulder taking in a huge breath. "I wish you never died," he cried.
Mycroft was taken aback but quickly recovered, he wrapped his arm's around the other's back. He rubbed circles on his back comforting him as best he could. It reminded him of the night he took John out of the party. "I wish I never died too," he told him. "But I did die, look what you got without me. You had Jamie that you loved, someone to look after you when you were sick, then your children, they both look so much like you, both are so beautiful."
Greg shook his head like a stubborn child. "I would have traded it all to have you back," he told him. He started to pound on his chest with his fists. "I tried so hard to forget you Mycroft Holmes, but my heart didn't let me."
Mycroft caught the calloused hands in his own. "Gregory Vincent Lestrade, I don't think you would have traded your family to bring back an old boyfriend. Especially one that was never around."
"You don't understand My," Greg told him in a desperate tone, "I was fine with only seeing you whenever you got home. Remember that one night that I snuck in after midnight because I wanted to see you after you went to America? I loved that night."
Mycroft chuckled deeply, he loved when Greg called him by his nickname. "I can't remember much of that night," he admitted. "I remember being really tired and almost hitting you with my cricket bat."
Greg laughed as he nodded his head. He then went quiet. Mycroft could feel the man shaking in his arms. "Greg what's wrong?"
Greg buried himself deeper in to Mycroft's neck. "Jordan forced me to watch cricket every time it was on," he sobbed. "I didn't want to watch it but I would always grab a few pieces of my paperwork and go sit out on the couch with him."
Mycroft nodded, he ran a hand down the back of Greg's gray hair. "Yeah, didn't he notice you weren't paying attention to the game?" he asked trying to get Greg to speak.
Greg shook his head no with a laugh. He lifted his head off of Mycroft's shoulder with a small smile. "That's the funny thing, he got so in to the game that he forgot about me," he told him. "Just in case though I would cheer when he did and holler insults when he got mad."
"How about your daughter?" he asked softly. "Does she have any thing she likes that she makes you do?"
"She likes to make me go to here tea parties," Greg said. "Whenever I was home on the weekends she would grab my finger with her pudgy little hands to drag me to her pretty pink room.
'Daddy, Ms. Lovely would like to have tea with you again,' she would tell me."
"Ms. Lovely?" Mycroft questioned, a smile coming to his face.
"Ms. Lovely was a pig who had a crush on me," Greg informed him. "She liked me because I was fat."
Mycroft laughed, Greg wasn't fat but to a two year old everything about him was big. "You must love them to let them do that to you," he told him. "And your wife of course."
"Jamie is a great wife and mother," Greg stated with an affirmative tone. "All though her cooking wasn't as good as mine." He looked up at Mycroft biting his lip so he wouldn't start laughing again.
Mycroft nodded, he remember Greg's cooking, it was always something spicy. He loved every dish he served. He also remembered that if he tried to cook it would usually end up burnt sticking to the bottom of whatever he cooked it in. "You seem to be attracted to horrible cooks," he joked.
"Well you don't know how to cook," Greg pointed out, "Jamie can't cook, there's a difference."
Mycroft chuckled softly. He checked his watch, he whistled at how long they were staying out in the hall. "Hey I think you should head to your place," he told the other man. "You have somethings there that you might want to look through."
"Like what?" Greg asked leaning in to Mycroft's side.
"The clothes you died in," he informed him, "what you had in your pockets. All that kind of stuff."
"What if I don't want any of those things?" Greg asked tiredly. "I really don't want to be reminded about today."
Mycroft nodded slowly, he flicked out his phone sending a text off to someone. "You still need to go home," he told him.
"Don't say that word," Greg moaned. "Say place of stay instead."
"Okay," Mycroft sighed. "You still need to go to your place of stay so you can sleep."
Greg shook his head. "I don't want to be alone," he told him. "I don't think I can handle it just yet."
Mycroft sighed again. "I'm sure John won't mind if you stay over," he said standing up. He held his hand out for Greg to take. "If you will follow me then I will take you to my place of stay."
Greg smiled taking his hand. "Your hands are soft," he pointed out, "do you still have people doing stuff for you?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes while he pulled the tired man behind him.
-
Greg laid down on the couch as Mycroft told him to. He curled up in the blanket that was handed to him almost asleep already. "Mycroft," he whispered with his eyes shut.
"Hm?" Mycroft hummed getting closer.
Greg positioned himself better on the couch. "Thank you," he mumbled before falling asleep.
Mycroft smiled, he leaned down to place a gently kiss on the man's cheek before he walked to the kitchen.
"How is he doing?" John asked leaning against the blue counter.
Mycroft ran his hands over his face, he kept them there when he said, "He's going up and down with his emotions. One minutes he's depressed the next he's happy." He looked at John through his fingers only to see him frowning towards him. "I don't know what to do, he's nothing like you when we came here."
"Well he's not a young man like I was," John pointed out. "He doesn't feel the urge to party his feelings out."
"Or be drunk 24/7," Mycroft added.
John lifted his cup in agreement. "The best thing you can do for him Mycroft is to let him do what he needs to do to feel better but don't let him get to bad," he told him.
Mycroft nodded, he knew that would be the right thing to do. "John, sometimes you can be very insightful," he stated, "other times I don't think you have any clue what you're talking about."
"That's what a kangaroo's for," John laughed lifting his mug up again. "So where are you sleeping tonight?"
Mycroft looked down at their counter top running his fingers against the cold granite. He then looked back up at the blond with a fragile smile. "Can I sleep in your room?" he asked like a child would ask their parent's on a stormy night.
"Come on," he told him placing his cup in the sink. "Tomorrow will be better."
"I do hope you're right," Mycroft mumbled.
So what did I tell you? Is it lovely? Oh and I might want to add, I love Mycroft but I don't think I do a good job with his character, of course that won't stop me from writing this story at all, I think I like it too much for that. Okay now I'm giving you the viewers the reigns on this story. You can review and tell me if you want the next chapter to be the next day, the funeral, or a memory from their past. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, or day or whatever you call what is happening outside with the sun and the moon, is wonderful. BYE!