Sherlock had fallen. How ironic. The fall that would bring them all down.
Lestrade felt hands on his shoulders, gently pulling him down. "He… He was my friend." he felt the words slip out with little emotion. Sherlock had jumped. Sherlock was gone. In a small chair, John was nearly catatonic; everyone knew his feelings for Sherlock had been more than just "flatmates." Greg couldn't imagine losing someone who you loved that much… With a glance to his right, he felt his stomach flip as Mycroft Holmes returned his gaze before opening a beige file. Mycroft grimaced a little, looking away from the pictures of the scene. Taking the file from his hands, Lestrade turned to him, and before anyone could stop him, the DI placed two hands on Mycroft's face and kissed him soundly. "There… That, needed to be done." he panted, feeling his cheeks color at his rather unwarranted action. (you just kissed Mycroft Holmes what the fuck) Just as he considered apologizing, Mycroft's hands slid from his shoulders to his waist, pulling Lestrade closer to him. "I do agree." the older man said softly, watching as John shuddered every so often.
"So what do we, I mean, can we do anything to help him?" Lestrade whispered, feeling guilty now. John had just lost the man he loved, while Lestrade found his. The world was a strange place. Stranger, now that it's most brilliant inhabitant was gone. Mycroft shook his head, "In my… brief discussions with my brother, he knew that John would have trouble coping. Sher- Sherlock was aware of John's feelings, and I do believe he reciprocated them, as much as he could…" Mycroft's voice broke slightly upon saying his brother's name. John hardly twitched at their discussion, obviously out of his own mind at the moment. "I…see. Did Sherlock ever say anything, you know, tell John?" Greg asked, realization hitting him. Always arriving at the crime scene together, moving in unison, their seemingly harmless banter, John's odd protectiveness of Sherlock. Flatmates. A small chuckle from the man next to him surprised him, and he tore his eyes from the pained figure of John Watson. "My brother wasn't one to mince words. I'm sure the dear doctor knows, but I don't believe it will be… Enough, in a case like this."
Lestrade looked away, the unbearable pain in Mycroft's eyes radiated into his very soul. He knew, unlike the other's Holmes, Mycroft had always been more secretive, and such moments of openness were rare for him. It would make sense Sherlock was the opposite. At least John knew something then, surely he would understand one day. Damn Sherlock. This didn't make sense, how could such a brilliant person just throw themselves off a building without thinking of the consequences? Mycroft's voice was low as he spoke, "My brother knew what would happen. He was protecting you. That… man, would have had you all killed if he didn't." There was pure venom when Mycroft now spoke of Moriarty, and Lestrade bowed his head as he realized the other was right. Sherlock would certainly have sacrificed himself if his friends were in danger. The man was practically an angel, even though he would deny it to anyone who listened.
Suddenly, the door opened and Donovan walked into the room, as three pairs of cold eyes settle on her. "Right, well, I came to say that I'm sorry. The fre- I mean, Sherlock, wasn't actually a prick in the end." she mumbled, and Lestrade swallowed the biting pain and anger that welled up in his throat. (freak freak freak I knew it) How dare she, a freak? As much as he knew Donovan had disliked Sherlock, even she couldn't deny the pain the other's faced. "Donovan, it's a little late. Just sod off." John looked away, and Mycroft flinched at Lestrade's sharp voice. "Right…" she looked down before quietly shuffling off. "She was just-" "I know."
Lestrade felt his head grow heavy with the day's events, and he leaned into Mycroft. Hesitantly, he felt his boyfriend carding long fingers through his hair, and he sighed softly. This would be impossible to deal with. Greg knew Sherlock wasn't a fake, and he trusted John's instincts on the matter. The investigation would be messy and more than likely a very public spectacle. (sod it all they can talk as much as they like) Across the room, John stood up, wobbly-legged. "I need to go." "Where?" "I don't know yet. I just… Not the flat." the doctor tugged his sandy hair, not making eye contact with the other two. "Of course," Mycroft finally spoke, knowing John might still resent him for what he did, "Well, I can arrange somewhere for you…" Uncertainly, John nodded, and wobbled his way to the door. "Thanks, Mycroft." "Don't mention it."
Lestrade could feel his heart fragmenting, watching John in agony. He could only imagine… Losing Mycroft now would destroy him the same way. John finally made it down the hallway, his grey eyes not seeing anymore. "Greg…" Mycroft's whisper broke his reverie, and suddenly there was a warm body buried in his side. "God, Mycroft, I'm so sorry-" the DI cut himself off, bringing the other's face to his gently. As they exchanged kisses, something was different. "I'm so sorry. I know you weren't… Close, but he was your brother. And I can't imagine…" (I don't want to imagine) The moments passed, and the man in his arms remained silent. Something warm and wet hit Lestrade's hand, and his head snapped down as he realized that Mycroft was crying. "Mycroft? Do you want to talk about it?" "No." came the snappy, Holmes-esque reply, after all, they were related.
Lestrade muffled a grunt as suddenly his lips were claimed viciously, Mycroft pushing him back on the table. "Wh- What?" he mumbled into another kiss, and squeaked when he felt teeth sink into his lower lip. "Mycroft!" "Shut up, Greg." Suddenly his jacket was gone, and those long fingers were working on his shirt. Lestrade shivered against the metal of the table when Mycroft stripped his shirt, then continued to undress himself. Open-mouthed, Greg found himself staring at the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Before he could ogle any longer, however, he found himself gasping for air as Mycroft Holmes pulled them together for another lusty kiss. As suddenly as it had started, Mycroft's intensity was gone. Lestrade placed hesitant fingers on his pale chest, feeling the heart hammering under his fingers. "He's gone. He's gone." Mycroft whispered into the space between them,
Pulling Mycroft to him for another, much slower kiss, Greg leaned their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry, love, I'm so sorry." he whispered back, feeling the shuddering lungs beneath his hands. "He's Sherlock Holmes and he's my brother and I raised him and now he's gone." "Mycroft… You know you couldn't have done anything. It was over before Moriarty began." A rather primal snarled started in the other man's throat at the offending name. "Shhh… Shhh." Lestrade comforted him, slowly moving his hands to Mycroft's back and rubbing. With gentle hands, Greg picked up Mycroft's shirt beside him, and began dressing the other man as though they had been lovers for years.
At last, both men were clothed again, and Greg wrapped his arms carefully around Mycroft. (he seems so breakable now) Mycroft smirked slightly, as though he could read his thoughts. "I'm not that fragile, Greg." "Of course not, I just…" Lestrade shook his head, and let Mycroft bury his head in his shoulder. The other man was shivering, a combination of stress and the cold, most likely. Greg would make him some coffee when they got back to his flat. Mycroft sighed gently, and raised one long-fingered hand to Lestrade's face. Leaning into the touch, the two stayed entwined for several minutes. They broke apart reluctantly when noises in the hallway interrupted the harsh silence.
Placing gentle kisses along Mycroft's arm, Greg pulled him up, and led him to the door. "Let's go home." "Home?" Mycroft wrinkled his brow, his nose scrunching adorably. "My house. It's your home as well now, I don't mind sharing as much as you Holmes." Lestrade crinkled a small smile, and he watched carefully as a small flicker of mirth shone in Mycroft's eyes. "Yes. Home. …Greg?" Lestrade found he really didn't care as he walked down the hall hand in hand with the other man. "Mmm?" "I love you." Almost stopping, Lestrade found himself staring at Mycroft's cheekbones, so similar to his brother's, yet so very different. "I love you too." A small smile pulled at the edge of Mycroft's lips.
As the two exited the police station, Mycroft laced Greg's fingers a little tighter to his. Squeezing gently, Lestrade felt himself smiling slightly. What a damn strange place.