Mycroft's Christmas Party

The weather forecast had been for rain so Greg had chosen to take the underground to work instead of his car. Damn weather had been fine all day. Mycroft left instructions to call for a car but Greg didn't feel confident in ringing the driver and demanding he get picked up. He was a spouse not an employee and after doing the budgets he decided he would just take a taxi home. Now he was late for to Mycroft's nibbles because the road was partially blocked and the taxi couldn't get through.

"Name?" The man appeared out of nowhere.

"Greg Lestrade."

"I'm sorry Sir, you can't enter."

So close he could see the front door. "I'll go around the back then."

"Won't do you any good, sir. No entry allowed without approval."

"But I live here."

"Then you should have been advised to make other plans for the evening." The man stood a little straighter as if ready for an attack.

Greg had been around Mycroft too long to feel intimidated by the secret service or the security services or whoever they were. "Look, just speak to Mycroft or Anthea, they'll give me access."

"I'm sorry but you aren't on the list Sir."

"Is there a problem."

Greg jumped slightly as a second man came up on his left shoulder. When he turned slightly he realised he was sandwiched between the two men in a very nice pincher movement. Even worse the man had a gun.

"Sir, Mr Georgy Lestrade name is not on this evening's guest list."

"Yeah it is," insisted Greg. "Look I've got ID."

"Gary, please have someone inside check."

Greg felt relief, someone was at least paying attention. "Ask the housekeeper, or Mycroft's driver, they know me," he said as he was manpowered to the side of the footpath.

Shit the housekeeper had the evening off because of the caterers and Mycroft would have no reason for a driver at his own home.

It seemed forever before the man returned. "Identity confirmed however I'm sorry sir you don't have clearance."

Greg was starting to get annoyed. "Look if I don't get inside there's going to be big trouble."

"Is that a threat sir, because if it was I have the authority to arrest you?"

"No, of course it's wasn't a treat, shit." He reached for his cell phone intending to call Mycroft to come and sort the situation.

"Sir if you complete your action, I can't be held responsible for the consequences."

Greg froze suddenly afraid. These weren't police, they were MI5, maybe 6, the type to shoot first and ask questions later at the commission of enquiry. He would rather not end up in hospital during Christmas, or dead. "It's a cell phone just a cell phone," he slid his empty hand out of his jacket really slowly. He then opened his jacket wide to prove he wasn't a bomber or terrorist or whatever they thought he was.

"There's blood on your shirt Sir."

"I'm a bloody murder detective, of course there is blood on me." He tried to lower his voice and not shout but he was beginning to feel guilty and annoyed. He tried to breath deep to keep calm but it wasn't working.

"May I have your cell Sir?" Greg nodded and went to reach inside his jacket. "No I'll get it." The man took the phone by the very edges and placed it in a plastic bag.

"I need it back," said Greg.

"Of course Inspector. We'll have it back to you in just a minute."

It felt a damn slight longer than just a minute. As Greg waited his energy drained away and he just felt humiliated. He felt eyes watching him, making judgements. He tried to look calm and collected as well dressed people arrived in cars and were escorted towards the door. They looked beautiful, as if they belonged. What was he but a bit of rough, Mycroft's play toy who's name wasn't even on the bloody guest list.

The man returned and handed back the phone which Greg slid into his pocket. "I regret to advise you can't be admitted entry however we can give you a lift home Sir?"

Blood shit was no one listening to him. "I am home. When do you think the party will be finished?"

"A few hours Sir."

"Thanks." Greg turned and walked away. He had nowhere to go so he headed down the road to the nearest pub. With his thumb he flicked off his cell phone. He really wasn't in the mood for work to call and bloody Mycroft could go to hell. He walked past the first pub and seeing a bus, jogged and jumped on, not caring where it went. When he got off he was in a rougher part of town which suited his mood. He walked into the nearest bar, grabbed a beer and retreated to a quite seat to drink. The first pint didn't last long. He was halfway through his second pint when he noticed trouble in a dark corner. He tried to ignore it but his principles as a Detective Inspector wouldn't let him. Annoyed he stood up, walked across the room and pulled out his warrant card. "He's with me, so unless you want to end up with a bullet through the brain, I suggest you put it away sunshine."

The knife slid back into a sleeve. "Just a slight disagreement Officer. You here official like?"

"Nope, I'm here for the beer and an epic sulk."

"What, you break up with the boyfriend then?" The group around him laughed as they nudged each other.

"Yeah and as its Christmas I thought we could celebrate with some flashing blue lights and a few sniffer dogs. It might cheer me up no end."

"Can't take a bloody joke you lot. No harm done." They backed off and Greg tugged the victims sleeve and led the way back to his table.

"Shit, you now owe me a drink. You can't leave a drink sitting unattended in a place like this." Greg made his way to the bar where he signalled the bar tender. "One beer, one water, he's paying." He gathered the drinks and made his way to the table. "Piss off," he said at the two people now sitting at his table. They looked as if they were going to object but at a discrete signal from the bar, they got up and left. "Want to tell me what your name is and why you are following me?"

"Smith."

"Let me guess, secret service? I want to see your warrant card." The man hesitated. "Don't fuck with me when you are in a room full of drunk bastards who would be quite happy to take you apart."

Smith looked around. "I would win."

"Yeah, but I would walk out the door during the fight and I don't think your boss would be too happy if you lost me." Greg took a deep sip of his drink.

Smith pulled out his card and handed it across.

"Hell, your surname really is Smith, Samual Smith, I thought you were lying." Greg pulled out his phone and took a picture of the card.

Sam reached over and grabbed Greg's wrist. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sending a photo to Sherlock Holmes, brother of Mycroft Holmes, in case something happens to me."

Sam took the card back and slid it into his pocket. "Paranoid much?"

"Your bunch make me paranoid." Greg took a much slower sip of his beer, it was a long time to closing.

:::

Mycroft took a discreet look at his watch as he made his way around the room. "Find Gregory now," he snapped at Anthea, his patience at an end. Anthea looked at him, put the phone to her ear and whispered urgently as she left the room.

"Mycroft, where is this young man of yours? I thought he was going to make an appearance."

"With the best intentions work does like to interfere."

"Rubbish, it's his place to be here with you."

"If you would excuse me Stella, I just need to speak to Anthea." He knew it was the height of rudeness, he knew at least five people were carefully watching his movements but he didn't care. This was his home and he wanted Greg by his side. He walked out of the room. "Tell me?"

"Greg left the station at 7.23. He can be tracked part way before we lost him. He has not been seen since and his cell phone is currently turned off."

This was why Mycroft hated involvement, the flash of worry, the feeling of dread settling into his stomach. Thirty minutes yes, an hour unlikely, ninety minutes with no contact, tonight of all nights was a disaster. "Put out an orange alert. I want Greg found, top priority by any means necessary. Double the security around the house and Anthea, I would suggest some of our guests might be encouraged to leave."

:::

Greg waved his glass in Sam's direction. Luckily it was only half full so the beer just sloshed up the sides and not over the edge. Sam spent the evening sipping his water and listening. Not much of a talker was Sam. "So last Christmas Sherlock shoots that bloke buts that's a Holmes Christmas for you. Nutters the lot of them. But we agreed, this year would be a Lestrade Christmas and crap like this doesn't happen in my family. I'm not saying the Lestrade's are perfect, far from it. What families are? We have the arguments, the drunks, the embarrassing relations but who doesn't. It's like pride and bloody prejudice mate, he's got the pride and I get all the bloody prejudice. Take my advice mate, don't fall in love outside your social class, it's not worth the hassle. Another water?"

"Yes please, that would great."

"Too bloody right. Shit," said Greg standing up and swaying slightly. "I need a piss, you coming?"

"Are you going to do anything stupid?"

"Nope, unless you consider flashing my willie to a bunch of homophobic bastards, who are drunker than I am, stupid."

"I guess I had better follow."

Greg walked to the bar dropped off the glasses then headed for the toilet with Smith following. He finished his business and returned to the bar. He was starting to feel quite a nice little buzz. One more beer should about finish him off then he would head out for some food. Sam could follow or piss off.

"Someone is looking for you mate," said the bartender pointing behind him. Greg turned to stare around the room speculating if he should have waited for his bodyguard before leaving the toilet. He was a drunk cop in a bar full of people almost on the wrong side of the law.

"Are you Detective Inspector Lestrade Sir?"

Greg focused his eyes on two coppers dressed in blue. "Yeah, why."

"You are wanted at the station Inspector, there's a code orange out for you."

Bloody Mycroft, thought Greg as he followed the two Police Constables out the door.

:::

The senior agent pulled out his phone and checked the new updates. Code orange alert for Gregory Lestrade he read, possible political kidnapping. The name sounded familiar, he couldn't remember why. "Run Gregory Lestrade through the database. I want a picture ASAP."

"Sir that man, DI Gregory Lestrade, he was here this evening. He's the one trying to gains access without clearance," said Gary now monitoring the CCTV cameras. He pulled up a picture.

The senior agent's blood went cold as he recognised the face. Thank God he had told Smith to follow the bastard. He rang his agent only to get no answer.

"Suspected of involvement in the death of Andrew Wellington earlier this year. Questioned and released. Contact for Sherlock Holmes at Scotland Yard. Nothing else of importance Sir."

He picked up the mike, "Green, take some men and arrest Lestrade, by any means necessary, code orange. And someone find Smith, he's not answering his radio."

The men in the room checked their phones for an updated picture, nodded and quickly left. No more mister nice guy, they now had a target.

:::

Sherlock's mobile phone pinged three separate times but Sherlock remained lying on the couch. John didn't know if he should answer Sherlock's phone or not. A few minutes later his own phone chirped. He tried to ignore it but he had been too well trained by his mother never to ignore a ringing phone. Just a quick look, just one.

"Greg's missing, code orange," he read aloud. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing," said Sherlock. "Not important, ignore it."

John slid his phone back into his pocket. A code orange sounded important to him. John had a bad feeling that Sherlock should be doing something and not just lying on the couch. "I'll just go check on the baby shall I?"

"Busy here."

John felt like kicking the couch, instead he busied himself checking all the locks, Mrs. Hudson and the baby. When he was finished he went into the kitchen to put the jug on. He had a feeling a code orange was going to be a three cup problem.

:::

"You're drunk. What the hell have you been up too? I'll take it from here," Frank waved away the uniforms and grabbed Greg's arm.

"Nothing, I went home and couldn't get in. Then I went to the pub. I'm not on the guest list. I need to be on a list to get into my own home. I've never heard of anything so stupid. And Sam has been following me all night."

"Sam who's Sam?"

"My own personal 005 or 006. I took a photo. Where are we going?"

"The cells."

Greg dug his heels in bringing them both to a stop. "Why?"

"Because you are to be detained under the terrorism act, for possible kidnapping of yourself. It a bit confusing but the warrant states you are to be arrested on sight."

"Oh," said Greg and started walking again. "You haven't read me my rights."

"You know your rights and anyway you don't have any rights under the terrorism act. Not even a bloody phone call. Now empty your pockets please."

Greg started pulling out his wallet and mobile phone and placing them on the counter. "I hate Mycroft."

"Belt, tie, socks and shoes, you know the routine. Can't have you committing suicide." Frank pulled out a plastic bag. He wrote Greg's name on the front and started listing all the contents on the clipboard.

Greg handed everything across as requested, read the piece of paper placed in front of him on the clip board and then signed it. "This had better not ruin my career. Do me a favour, ring Sherlock yeah and tell him I've been arrested."

Frank nodded. "Want a glass of water before you go in?"

"Nah, it's probably got vodka in it." He walked into the cell and sat down as the door closed. It wasn't his fist night in the cells and at least it was a free bed. He closed his eyes and tried to feel sorry for himself but all he could feel was the steady rhythm of the police station above him. This was home, this place where he had spent most of his life and now he would be spend his Christmas here too. Bugger Mycroft, he could go to hell. Greg would sleep in his own office if he had too. And Mycroft couldn't stop him from going to John's party so Christmas wasn't a complete washout.

:::

"Sir we have a problem," said Anthea.

"Another one?"

"Gregory has been arrested under the terrorism act. The charge is unclear. He is currently in the cells at Scotland Yard awaiting collection."

Mycroft remained silent as he processed the information. Was it the Russians, or the Chinese or even the USA, a low possibility but not unheard of. Was it a criminal or political move? No one came to mind, a thousand enemies but no one came to mind. "Put everyone on high alert. Someone is playing a very dangerous game and I want it stopped. Gregory is not a pawn to be used by either side." His instincts wanted him to go collect Gregory himself but there were too many people watching and judging his behaviour to take the risk. He would not allow anyone to consider Greg a hostage for Mycroft's goodwill now or in the future. He checked his smiled in the mirror before he entered the lounge. Anthea handed him a glass of wine in a crystal flute, non-alcoholic of course. There would no more alcohol until the situation was resolved.

"Henry, how is your granddaughter, I heard a rumour there was another one in the way?" If Mycroft was trapped at his own party he would make damn sure he was remembered if he needed any future favours.

:::

Anthea took a sip of wine then continued to type on her laptop. She confirmed Greg was safe, tucked up in a cell in the police station. Not happy but safe. Anthea cancelled the orange alert for kidnapping but the arrest order led nowhere accept back to her own office. She rested her fingers on the keyboard. Think she told herself. A mole, a double bluff, a threat, a diversion or a mistake.

Unable to come to a conclusion she stood up. She needed more information. Anthea locked the lap top, locked the safe, locked the room and nodded to the security guard in the hallway.

"I want the head of security," she said into her mobile phone as she walked to the room allocated to security at the back of the house.

"What do you want, can't you see I'm busy," said the senior agent.

"Gregory, has someone arranged his collection."

"I have dispatched a unit. He should be at headquarters within forty minutes."

"He was meant to be brought here?"

"I would advise against an interrogation being carried out so near to so many important people during a code red situation."

Anthea blinked, what was wrong with the secret service? Did they not read updates? "Interrogation? He's Mycroft Holmes partner."

"Look lady, I don't give a shit who he's sleeping with, he was involved in a political kidnapping."

"I suggest you check your information, when he never arrived home he was listed as missing, a possible kidnapping, as the victim."

"Madam," interrupted the man sitting quietly observing the monitors. "He was here, arrived out front and made some threats when he was denied entry."

"Gregory Lestrade lives in this house and now you are telling me he was denied entry to his own home. Why?"

"We were informed all personal were dismissed for the evening, security personal and people on the approved list were permitted entry."

"He's Mr Holmes partner," said Anthea frustrated.

"Look I currently don't give a shit who he is. He wasn't on the list, he doesn't get entry. We are currently at code red. I don't have time to deal with some PC plod sitting in a cell when I have half a dozen potential targets in that room socialising."

"But." But it was no good, Anthea turned on her very high heels and stormed from the room. The situation was ridiculous and only someone with authority could fix it. Mycroft Holmes was the person with the authority. He was going to be very unimpressed. Heads were going to roll. Anthea could only hope she still had a job at the end of it. Greg better remember the Christmas card she posted for him when her boss started on the warpath.

"Sir," Anthea reached over, removed the glass from Mycroft's hand and passed it to the woman in front of her who was too polite not to take it. "You are needed in the security room, now."

"Should we be concerned my dear," said the woman Mycroft had been talking to.

"A dispute between the security services, nothing to be concerned about," she turned to follow Mycroft but on the way detoured to a group to her left. "Mr Carter Sir, you may wish to follow Mr Holmes to the security room."

Simon, not being a stupid man took the hint and followed. Anthea was grateful he remained silent and asked no questions. She as still trying to sort the timeline of events in her head. The room felt crowded as Anthea and Simon slipped in.

"Explain," snapped Mycroft as the door closed.

"MI5 won't release Gregory from prison until the code red is cancelled."

"The code red is because he is in prison. I want to know who gave the order to have him detained."

"We did sir." Anthea breathed deep realising it was better to own up to the mistake. "When we issued the orange alert as a possible kidnapping. Gregory's name is still on the watch list as involved with a political murder. The intention of the alert was misinterpreted."

"Dear god," muttered Mycroft. "Does no one in MI5 have a brain?"

"I'm sorry Sir but he wasn't on the list," said the senior officer.

Mycroft observed everyone in the room with an icy assessment before he walked over to the table, quietly picked up a glass and threw it with all his might against the wall. The guard on the door entered the room gun drawn.

"Get out," snapped Mycroft as Simon waved the guard away. He checked the room once more before leaving. The atmosphere in the room was tense.

"Now that I have everybody's attention, Simon could you please read your invitation?"

Simon pulled the invitation from his jacket. "Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade request the pleasure..."

Mycroft held his finger up for silence. "Forty invitations passed through your hands tonight and is everyone telling me no one in the secret service read a single one of them. God help this country with you lot protecting us."

Anthea saw Simon wince, she felt rather bruised herself. She kept her mouth shut in case it drew Mr Holmes attention.

Mycroft looked around the room to ensure everyone was listening. "This is what is going to happen, you will clean up this mess." Mycroft waved his hand at the broken glass. "You will have Gregory hand delivered to this house within forty minutes with an apology. If this does not happen I will suggest the need for budget cuts and a commission of enquiry into your departmental spending." Mycroft walked to the door and opened it. "And cancel the bloody red alert." He didn't slam the door on his exit but it was a close thing.

"That went well," said Simon still staring at the door.

"We need to fix this and fast. Eta on the team sent to collect Greg. We need to brief them on his new status and ensure he is delivered in pristine condition," said Anthea pulling out her phone. The room scrambled.

"We have a problem," said the communications operator looking up a few moments later. "Team lima report Gregory Lestrade is not in his cell at Scotland Yard. Repeat, he is not in his cell at Scotland Yard. They are requesting new instructions."

Simon and Anthea looked at each other in horror.

:::

The key in the lock caught his attention. When the door opened Greg glanced up from his bed to see Sherlock walk in followed by John. "Get out of my cell. I'm not talking to anyone by the name of Holmes. John can stay."

"Ta mate," said John leaning up against the wall. "We heard you were having a bit of bother."

Sherlock sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous, we have come to rescue you. Do hurry up, I don't have all night. Things to do"

"Do you hear something John? I think I hear a voice but I can't see anyone. All I hear is bah, bah, bah."

John grinned but was sensible and kept his mouth shut.

"I have decided to cancel Christmas," said Greg laying back down on the bed. "I will of course come to your party John as you had no involvement in my arrest. I intend to spend Christmas in my office sleeping on the floor and eating KFC. I do not intend to leave this building ever again. Sherlock is banned from Scotland Yard and all crime scenes until this time next year."

"But that's not fair."

"Alias the world isn't fair. I will still allow John on crime scenes. He can report back to you via camera phone otherwise Sherlock, you can bugger off to Scotland."

"Bit harsh that isn't it mate. It's not like Sherlock had you arrested," said John still laughing.

Greg swung his feet off the bed and sat up. "I was arrested for terrorism John. I'm luckily if I have a job left when this is finished."

"There's no need for me to leave London. Mycroft will arrange a transfer for you to York, or Oxford, Bradford or even Midsomer. Somewhere with lots of lovely murders which need solving."

John turned and stared at his friend. "Sherlock, you do know Midsomer doesn't actually exist? It's just a TV programme."

"Do I look like a goldfish, obviously the names are changed to protect the innocent."

"If I'm transferred out because our relationship hit the rocks, Scotland Yard will close ranks and refuse to deal with you Sherlock. So you had better watch it," threatened Greg.

"Bluff," said Sherlock, then paced up and down, a total of four short very annoying paces each way. How could anyone think in a cell? "This situation is intolerable. How did Mycroft let this state of affairs get so out of hand? Its spite, he's always hated me."

Greg laughed, "yeah it's all about you mate and never about anyone else."

Sherlock twirled, "You are drunk," he snapped before walking out of the cell leaving John and Greg behind.

"Are you coming Greg?"

"Why should I."

"Because Sherlock is going to actually yell at his brother and not just have raised eyebrows at forty paces. If we don't hurry up we are going to miss it."

Greg thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, alright I'm coming. I still don't forgive either of them though."

"You don't have too. You can stay at our place if you want until you find a place of your own. And Mrs Hudson goes to her sisters over the holiday period so if you speak to her nicely you can probably stay downstairs for a while. You won't be left on your own."

"Thanks." It was a bit of relief really. Sure someone from his team would have given him a room for the holiday period but it was Christmas and he didn't want to look pathetic. He was a senior officer, not a drunken bum thrown out of the house buy a spouse. Was Mycroft his spouse, were they that serious?

"So this argument between you and Mycroft, is this just a one off or is this going to be an annual Christmas event."

"Are you two coming?" snapped Sherlock sticking his head around the corner of the door once more. Greg and John looked at each other and scrambled after Sherlock now marching down the hallway. Greg closed the door and let it click shut before he walked barefooted after the other two.

He expected the duty sergeant to challenge his leaving or for someone to notice he had no shoes as he made his escape to freedom. But people just nodded as he walked past and out the door. He wanted to yell at them to stop being so blind and stupid and to arrest him. Didn't they know he was a wanted terrorist? The whole situation just seemed so incredibly stupid so he did the only intelligent thing he could think to do and just followed Sherlock.

:::

The taxi pulled up near the front door.

"Maybe we should go around the back," said Greg in a small voice. He was getting more sober by the minute and even though Sherlock had stated the warrant for his arrest had been cancelled, he didn't feel very confident. He was way past fashionably late. The best solution would be to have a decent kip and sort the mess in the morning when everyone had a clear head. Greg was beginning to regret leaving the comfort of his cell.

Sherlock sniffed. "How can we make a grand entrance via the back door?" He exited the taxi with his coat flaring in the breeze. John paid before he and Greg scrambled to keep up. "Sherlock Holmes, brother," he said in a loud voice and opened his arms wide. "Do hurry up, Mycroft does hate tardiness."

"We were not aware you were invited Sir."

"And yet I have an invitation. It's so hard to get good help these days," sneered Sherlock.

"And you are Sir," said the security guard moving away from Sherlock.

"Captain John Watson, blogger and my plus one," said Sherlock before John could utter a word.

"Of course Mr Holmes." The guard allowed John to take two steps towards Sherlock leaving Greg on his own unprotected. "And you are sir?"

"Look I don't care anymore. This just isn't worth the effort. It's probably best for everyone if I just leave."

"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, host of the evening and obviously my brother in law," said Sherlock in a posh voice as if daring anyone to contradict him. "Now we either enter or I make a scene out here for all the important people on the street to witness."

The security guard tapped his ear and listened for a moment. "Welcome home Sir," he said signalling for Greg to enter.

The sudden change in attitude had Greg reeling. He had been ready for a fight, an argument on the front steps resulting in Mycroft storming out of the house to rescue his beloved. It was such an anti-climax and now that he was inside, all he felt was tired. He wanted to go up to his room and crawl under the blankets and go to sleep.

"Mycroft," yelled Sherlock marching through the entrance way towards the staircase. At the commotion security converged.

"Do shut up Sherlock, I had enough dramatics for one evening." Simon strolled down the staircase. "And you must be Gregory Lestrade, a pleasure to finally meet you."

Sherlock walked to the bottom of the staircase as if to greet Simon. "What did Mycroft do?"

"Nothing that can't be fixed," said Simon."

"Palms sweaty, heart rate calmed as soon as you saw the Inspector. Pocket creased as if you have used your mobile. Mycroft, he did something out of the ordinary, something that made you afraid Simon. Not a threat to your department, not the code orange." He put his fingers against his lips.

"Come on Sherlock you promised me food," said John. "And Greg could do with a seat."

"He broke a glass," said Anthea following Simon down the staircase. "So I suggest you stay out of his way. He really isn't in the mood. Good evening Greg. It's a pleasure to finally see you."

Sherlock clapped his hands with glee. "Oh, there really is a Santa. Mycroft smashed a glass on purpose. Against a wall. In front of staff. For Fred."

"Shut up Sherlock, you're still banned from the yard for a year." Greg relaxed when Sherlock got his name wrong. As if things were returning to normal.

"But I got you inside." Sherlock's face fell like a child who had been denied a treat for achieving the impossible.

"Well it's no use just standing here Sir, all the best Lestrade parties start in the kitchen," Sam Smith walked across the foyer focusing on Greg and ignoring everyone else. "I would suggest we retreat for a nice cup of tea and a bit of chocolate cake. Mr Carter, if you could be so kind as to clear the way. Ms Anthea, if you could nip upstairs and collect Greg's cloths and shoes."

"I'm not a child so don't bloody treat me like one," hissed Greg.

"Tea seems a great idea to me." John turned and headed for the back of the house towards the kitchen. Sherlock automatically followed. Anthea departed up the staircase and Sam signalled his boss towards the kitchen leaving just the two of them the foyer.

"Do you love him?"

"None of your bloody business," snapped Greg.

"Fair enough," said Sam. His face had a polite smile but his demeanour was completely serious. "You put vodka in my water, that wasn't nice. You knew I had a gun. I could gave shot someone while under the influence. You are going to spend five minutes listening to me and after that, you can go away and finish your epic sulk."

"Look it's been a long evening, just get to the point."

Sam paused and looked around the room. Just a quick glance to assess the situation. It was ingrained. Sam was good at his job and his job was the security. "Look tonight, you and me in that pub, I get it mate. I do. But there's a saying in this business, when elephants fight the grass gets trampled. You and me, we don't get any more grass roots. Mr Holmes, he's like a bull elephant who declared you as his private territory but tonight you got trampled. You could have phoned Mr Holmes when you left, or Ms Athena but you didn't. You turned off your phone and went to a pub where you had no place being to prove how tough you were. Inside the walls of this house you can be as stupid as you like but out there," Sam pointed his finger towards the front door. "Be the cop you are and don't make someone like me take a bullet for you."

"I'm not that important," mumbled Greg.

"What's the motto you lot have, working for a safer London?"

"Working together for a safer London," corrected Greg.

"Well, you clearly make Mr Holmes happy and a happy Holmes means everyone is working together for a safer United Kingdom if not the bloody world. I personally think that's a bloody important job." Sam stared deeply into Greg's eyes to check if he was getting the message then walked away leaving Greg standing alone.

"Shit," Greg really didn't want to be standing alone in the foyer surrounded by a lot of pissed off secret service people with guns. Upstairs or not upstairs? Turning he headed towards the kitchen. He could talk to Mycroft later, right now, well Sam was right. The best parties always started in the kitchen.

He turned the corner and found everyone eating off plates of nibbles. "Where are the caterers, are we meant to be eating these?"

John thrust a mug into Greg's hand. "There's beer if you want it and try this salmon thing, it's divine," he said and popped another morsel into his mouth.

Greg selected one not feeling very hungry but soon found he had eaten five and his mug of tea was half empty. He felt better with something in his stomach and realised how stupid he had been drinking on an empty stomach.

Anthea came back with his clothes and after a quick fight, which he lost again, he got unchanged standing in the kitchen.

"Nothing I haven't seen before,' said Anthea as she undid his trousers and let them fall to the floor and then started on his shirt buttons.

"A training exercise," said Sherlock suddenly. "With MI5 and Greg being the so called rabbit. A failure to cancel the exercise when he wasn't caught. Of course it would make sense if John and I were on the detective's team. Simon can fill in the blanks."

Greg looked up in disbelief. "Who in hell is going to believe that?"

"It's happened before," said Simon. "When family get involved shit happens. Bloody amateurs think they know who things work because they watch movies."

Greg had managed to change his trousers and shirt and now Anthea was slipping on the jacket. Greg looked down. "What about the shoes."

"Damn," said Anthea and helped him off with the jacket again so he could bend down and put his socks on. His feet felt warmer in socks, he thought as he slipped on his shoes and then the jacket once more. He grabbed some more food making sure not to mark the suit.

"Ready," said Anthea stepping back to look.

"Right," said Simon and led the way out of the kitchen, followed by Greg and lastly Anthea following behind. As if Greg would escape if not corralled.

Upstairs Simon held back and Anthea slipped her arm around Greg's arm and led him thru the door. Greg's eyes met Mycroft's and in a slight second he saw worry, concern and love before it disappeared into a cool professional smile. Greg smiled and talked and sipped drinks. He found plates of food placed in his hand and later whisked away. If he faulted he found Anthea or Simon, Mycroft or even Sam, now dressed as staff, at his side smoothing the edges.

:::

"Hello, I wondered when you would make it into here."

"Greg," he said. He had slipped out of the main room across the hallway to where the conversation seemed a bit less frantic.

"I know, my names Holly, we were introduced before."

"Sorry, it getting late." He took a seat on a couch and leaned back before realising everyone was staring at him. "Have I done something wrong?" Again, he thought.

"It's the spouse's corner, where the wives go to drink tea when the men want to speak business," Holly said.

"Except that's sexist. Some of us are men, not women, same principle though. I'm Edward." Edward once again introduced the seven people in the room. Greg recognised some of them from earlier in the evening. Some sat with their heels off, others had loosened their jackets and sipped drinks. They discussed Christmas and kids, shopping and holidays. Greg sat, relaxed and said very little. The group dwindled as spouses came and collected their partners and left.

Soon it was just Holly and Greg left. "You did very well for your first party even though you were late."

"Thank you."

"Mycroft was very concerned, so was Anthea."

"So was I," said Greg. The silence settled and he found himself closing his eyes and drifting into sleep. He heard Mycroft's voice, someone moved his legs and placed a pillow under his head. He would open his eyes in a minute, get up and go to bed. Just a few more minutes of peace before he faced Mycroft wrath.

:::

He opened his eyes and sat up, it was dark. Well, not completely dark, there was a lamp in the corner casting a low light but the house felt quiet and not at all like when he closed his eyes.

"I'm not asleep," said Mycroft in the darkness.

"Bloody hell you should have gone to bed ages ago. What's the time?" Greg rubbed his face and hair.

"Near three."

"I could murder a cup of tea." His mouth had that flavour of beer as if he had been drinking, which he had.

"Would you like me to put the jug on?"

"Yeah, that would be great, thanks Mycroft. I just need a piss then I'll meet you in the kitchen." Greg found the toilet and relieved his bladder. As much as he wanted to go back to sleep he needed to have a discussion with Mycroft. He needed to know where he stood, if the relationship was finished. He had failed, his very first party in their home and it had been spoiled. It was not a conversation that could be put off. He gave his face a bit of a wash to wake himself up and ran his fingers thru his hair again.

"Do we have anything to eat?" he asked as he entered the kitchen.

"We have a whole platter of food for you to take to work."

"If I still have a job?"

"Of course you have a job."

Greg opened the fridge and made a selection which he placed on a plate. John had been right the salmon things had been great as was the chicken rolls. "I was arrested on a charge of terrorism. I broke out of jail. I didn't stop for my clothes, ID or wallet. My work mates probably think I'm guilty."

"You didn't break out. Please remember Sherlock released you under my orders. You will of course receive an official apology for the torment and humiliations you have suffered."

"Mycroft, at my level you don't get an apology for volunteering to help in training sessions between the police and the secret services or whatever they are calling themselves tonight. We have a natural mistrust of each other. An apology will make me look guilty."

"Point." Mycroft placed a glass of water in front of Greg then busied himself pouring the tea.

"How did the party go?"

Mycroft's shoulders went stiff. "You disappeared and later you turned up drunk. The guests were aware I was concerned which is never a good thing. As security alerts continued to increase certain guests were requested politely to leave. The party did not go as I had planned."

Greg winched, "where there any good points?"

"The party closed early, some boring people went home and you managed to become a member of the spouses club which is something I have never managed to achieve. Overall I would say mission achieved."

"And what about us, are we good?"

Mycroft closed his eyes and pulled the tea cup closer for warmth. "You were drunk, you called people by the wrong names and you fell asleep on the couch in front of guests. You showed a complete lack of respect for my friends.

"Sorry." Greg felt his stomach drop. In Mycroft's world appearance was everything and now everyone was going to know Greg wasn't good enough. A lower class piece of rough that Mycroft picked up off the street.

Mycroft's look softened. "You also kissed me on the cheek once, squeezed my hand twice and called me love in front of our guests. You started a heated group discussion about football which later turned to other sport after you left. You told Sir Lloyd to get over himself and to send his bloody kids a present because it was Christmas."

"I did not swear."

"You thought it and everyone in the room knew. People approved. For once the gathering felt like holiday festivity for friends and not a room full of polite acquaintances circling each other."

"So a great party?"

"I'm sure there is room for improvement but overall yes, I would say it was a very good party."

Greg yawned and gave a sleepy grin. By mutual agreement they both cleared away the plates and cups, leaving them on the bench for the housekeeper in the morning and headed for bed.