A/N: Hey everyone! Another chapter thanks to my muse heading into overdrive this weekend.

Thank ever be to old ping hai, who is my awesome beta!


Greg wasn't sure what to expect when he showed up at her studio in Soho, but it wasn't this. It was a small space with concrete walls. All round were large white sheets, splattered with paint. Canvases, some blank, ready to be transformed, others in various states of completion. Sitting in the middle of all this chaos was Liya.

She had her hair pulled back in a messy do and what seemed like a half a dozen different brushes stuck in it. She wore old, beat-up jeans and a flannel shirt; over the top of that was a large apron. The whole ensemble was speckled head to toe with paint.

Greg gulped, suddenly nervous. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe he should just tell Emily that he met the great Liya Mason. That would be enough of a revenge. He didn't need to do this. Yes, he'd just leave and that would be that. But as he was backing up he knocked over a spare easel, making a large clatter.

Liya turned around. Seeing who it was she jumped up. "Greg! It's so good to see you! I'm so glad you agreed to this. I think you'll make a fantastic Cromwell. Come. Come inside."

Greg blushed and took a few tentative steps toward her. She rushed over to him and grabbed his arm. She dragged him over to the canvas she had set up, which was massive. Greg figured it was at least five feet across.

"Okay, um…well. I suppose before we get too far into this, I should find out what exactly this painting is going to be. I mean, I know it's got Cromwell and Charles I, but I want to make sure the subject matter is something I'll be comfortable with," Greg muttered as he looked at the floor, feeling like a bashful school boy.

"Oh!" Liya hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Oh my god! I'm sorry! I should have realized. Of course you need to know that. I just get so caught up that I forget that others might feel uncomfortable."

Greg relaxed a little, some of the tension bleeding from his frame. He nodded. "Yeah."

"It's going to be the scene when Cromwell comes to the Tower of London to inform the former king of his impending death. And while in the finished painting Charles will be naked with but the barest sheet covering him, the model will have pants on under the sheet. It's more for the comfort of the model, to be honest. He's a bit shy."

"Will he be here today?" Greg asked, wondering who the mysterious other model was.

"Oh no. He's got to work. Besides, I'm going to sketch the two of you separately to get the positions the way I want them. Then when it's time to paint, I'll bring the two of you together."

He looked at her confused.

Liya sighed and rolled her eyes. "You are both busy men with unpredictable schedules; this way I can do the work and not have to worry about when I can get the two of you together for a while."

Greg blushed. "Well, I've got about six weeks of time off available to me, so if you need me to, I can take a week or so off. You just need to tell me beforehand so I can request it." What are you thinking? his brain cried out. To be honest, he wasn't even sure himself, but there was some part of him that really want to commit to this. And not just to get back at his ex-wife either. Liya just seemed so passionate about this painting that it was contagious.

Her jaw dropped and she stared at him in shock. "You mean that?" The wheels in her head were whirling out of control with possibilities. Oh, the possibilities.

He shrugged. "If you think it'll help…" he trailed off.

Suddenly he was being hugged by the short red-head. "Thank you! Thank you! So much, it means a lot to me." Greg awkwardly patted her back, unsure what to do. After all she was married and he was single.

"That bitch must have dumber than a box of rocks to let a charmer like you get away," Liya told him as pulled away from the hug.

"She claimed it was the job."

Liya rolled her eyes. "Git. Well, I think what you and Sherlock do is fantastic."

"Thank you. I think so, too."

"All right, let's get started."

She spent the better part of an hour trying to get Greg into the position she wanted and then another hour sketching out Greg's basic form. Silence reigned in the studio as she worked. The quiet was broken by his phone shrilling loudly.

"Shite! Can I get that?" he asked, not daring to move unless she said.

Liya merely waved her hand. That was all Greg needed as he dived for the device.

"Hello?" As he listened to the person on the other end his shoulders began to slump. "Can't this wait? I'm busy, Emily."

The red-head merely watched, not even raising her eyebrow askance.

"We've been over this. Dozens of times. You can't get blood from a stone."

"No. Oh, hell no. You can fuck off. You cheated on me, remember? If your current boy toy can't keep you in the 'lifestyle' then you should have been faithful. I was good to you."

There was a long pause and Greg's face grew darker.

"Oh that's rich coming from you and you know it. So, you're spying on me. She's Sherlock's sister-in-law, if you must know."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "No. It's not like that. I'm doing her a favor."

Greg's face became a veritable thunder cloud.

"Fuck off." He pressed the button as hard as he could. He looked up at the woman who had witnessed the whole thing. "It was more satisfying when you could slam the receiver down."

Liya laughed. "That's certainly true."

Greg looked down at his feet, "I'm just sorry you had to hear that."

She patted him on the shoulder, "Come on. Let's go get some lunch. And maybe a stiff drink or three."

The detective gave a weak laugh. He grabbed their coats as she washed up. There was nothing she could about the paint in her hair, but she managed to get the worst of it on her hands and face.

He helped into her coat first; it was an old trench coat that made his like decent in comparison. He then put on his. As they walked out to the street he asked,

"So what's with the old coat? I thought the Liya Mason would have something a lot nicer."

She laughed. "I use to bring my posh coats until I ruined one too many with paint or thinner."

"Gotcha," he said with a grimace. He didn't want to think about how much she had spent on coats before she wised up. Probably more than he made in a year or two.

They reached a small cafe and went inside. They ordered and talked while they waited.

"So, what did the bitch want then?" Liya asked.

"The usual. More money. Accusing me of cheating on her. Which, considering we haven't been married in three years is kinda impossible. I think she just doesn't want to see me happy with anyone else."

"So, you're straight then?" And if he was, there went her plans out the window in a hurry. Though Sherlock had managed to bend John, so anything is possible.

"Not exactly…" he trailed off, his ears tinging pink.

"Oh?" Liya was more than a little curious now.

"Before I met Emily I would have said I was gay. She liked to tell people she managed to make me switch teams. Which really should have been my first clue she wasn't good for me."

"I'll say. So, you're bi, then?"

"Kinda. I still appreciate a good female form," he nodded her direction and she blushed, "But men turn me on." Especially men in tight three-piece suits, his mind supplied helpfully.

"Thank you for the compliment. It's always nice to hear I can still turn heads, even at my age."

"You're welcome. If you weren't married, I think I could have made a decent go of it," he told her with a wink.

She laughed, "Good to know. How long have you known Sherlock?" she asked changing the topic.

Greg raised a questioning eyebrow at the sudden shift.

"Well, I want to get to know any man who can tolerate dear Lockie for more than five minutes."

This time the detective laughed. "I'm not sure I could be counted as one of them." She smiled. "Let's see, five years before John came along, two years before 'The Fall' and about a year since he's been back? So about ten years."

"Ten years and you haven't killed him yet? You must have the patience of a saint."

"Not quite. That's John. But Sherlock's a good guy. When I met him, he really didn't have anyone who still gave a damn. You'll pardon me for saying so, but where were his older brothers when Sherlock hit rock bottom? Mycroft told me at my first kidnapping that he had given up on Sherlock by this point, which as I much as I like the guy is still a pretty shitty thing to do. Where was Sherrinford?"

Liya sighed. "Don't judge my husband too harshly, detective. Despite still being heir, he had been cut off from his family for quite some time. He knew that Mycroft had gone into politics but he didn't know anything about Sherlock. It's not as though you can google drug addicts," she spat out. She rubbed her chin.

"Sorry, that was out of line. It's just hard. They have built up so many walls between them that I get frustrated."

Greg nodded. "Yeah. At least with Sherlock, John's broken down quite a few. Mycroft, it appears, is the only Holmes brother still with the walls."

"Which is sad, really. When I first met him, he had the biggest heart of anyone I had ever had the pleasure of meeting. But a few bad relationships, his job, and seeing his family drift apart and it slowly closed off."

"I think it's still in there," Greg commented.

"I think so, too. He just needs someone who can thaw our iceman."

"That would be one very lucky girl," the silver-haired detective murmured.

"Guy."

He looked up, stunned. "Mycroft is gay?"

"Oh yes. Didn't you know?" Liya purred. This was getting easier by the minute. Greg shook his head. She leaned back as the thought simmered in the detective's mind.

He decided it was time to change tracks and fast. "So, who's your King Charles, then?"

"You'll see soon enough," the red-headed artist told him. "He's really shy, so it took a lot of convincing to get him to agree to this. Though, I must admit, I didn't have anyone in mind when I asked you to be my Cromwell." Well, not quite….

"Huh. Okay."

They finished their meals and parted at the entrance to the cafe. Greg left to contemplate his new view of Mycroft and Liya was off to scheme.