*Sorry for such the delay! I've been having on and off bouts of writers block plus I have about a week and a half of classes left so I'm going to be having finals, yippee :/

Have a little Mystrade for my absence and hopefully another chapter not far behind. Big thanks to my good friend Nameless_Sufferer and as always the inspiring Truly Sherlockian! You guys are amazing and keep me going!

This chapter will be through Mycroft's POV:

Mycroft stood in the doorway of his bedroom watching Lestrade.

The Detective Inspector was passed out in the middle of the bed. The lovely grey fox like hair on his head was twisted and plastered in various ways on his head. His face was slackened and took ten years from him, not that he looked old in the first place.

The elder Holmes felt his affection tighten in his chest.

Gregory had taken John's death pretty hard and Sherlock's reckless mission had done little to help the D.I. Mycroft had taken the reins in putting Lestrade's life back together and had found something more. Gregory had become steadily closer until they had meshed as lovers and now Mycroft couldn't imagine his life without the man.

John's sudden reappearance was, for lack of a better word, a shock. His broken body on the pavement had been the most damning evidence yet here he was. The good doctor had been thrown back into their lives and Mycroft had nearly watched the Detective crumble once more because of it. The visit to the hospital had solidified reality and Gregory was a brighter side of himself, one that Mycroft hadn't seen in a while.

Mycroft was at a loss for this resurrection. He had witnessed the autopsy, he had signed off on the paperwork, and he had even done everything for the funeral. The only thing that made sense would be that the man that Sherlock found was not John at all. Blood work would make that conclusion but it would be several days before that evidence came to light.

The ringing of his cell phone tore Mycroft from his musings.

"Holmes." He answered he had been expecting this call.

"Cleanup is finished sir but…" the voice on the line paused seeming to be debating whether to relay some information.

"What?" Mycroft snapped hiding the twinge of fear.

"There is no body sir, there's blood."

"Excuse me?" He had heard but he needed to hear the words again.

"There is no body." The person repeated.

"You searched the area?" Mycroft asked his mind whirling.

"Of course sir, twice."

"Well do it again, you must find that body." The command was undeniable and left no room to argue.

"Right away sir." With a soft click the line went dead.

Mycroft slipped the phone into his pocket. Things had just gone further towards worse. Moriarty's body was missing and Mycroft doubted any amount of searching would turn it up. Someone had moved it.

Who would that be?

To Mycroft's knowledge, Sherlock had destroyed any remains of Moriarty's web over the course of the two years, leaving James as the last. Though the elder Holmes knew that there was no way to eradicate all the assets and there would always be those few who would remain loyal.

Moriarty had planned his death; he had allowed Sherlock that pleasure. As his last act he had returned John so it seemed less of a coincidence that his body just went missing. It was all planned.

Mycroft fought off the feeling that this was just the beginning; that John, or not John, was just a stepping stone towards something more. He had no doubt in his mind that it had to do with Sherlock and that his little brother was in danger. Mycroft also knew that any accusation he brought against John would be ignored and would make it more difficult for him to keep Sherlock safe. So for now he would keep his suspicions quiet and watch from the shadows as always.

"My?"

Gregory's soft voice broke through Mycroft's scheming. His vision cleared of thought and he looked to his lover.

The D.I. had rolled on to his side and was facing Mycroft with a small tired smile. "Any news?"

Moving to the bed, Mycroft sat on the edge. He pushed hair from Gregory's forehead and planted a light kiss. "No, nothing I've heard." The D.I.'s face fell, "But no news is good news, isn't it?"

Gregory gave a heavy sigh in response sliding a hand forward to grip Mycroft's thigh. "I just want him to be alright." He whispered stroking his thumb over the covered skin.

Mycroft tried to ignore the sparks dancing through his system from the light contact but Gregory caused such a reaction it was impossible.

"I know my dear," the elder Holmes murmured, "As do I." It was true, he did want John to be alright but everything he knew pointed towards the opposite.

"Has there been any word on Moriarty?" Gregory asked.

Mycroft hadn't told Lestrade, Sherlock's confession and didn't plan on it. "No my dear, I have agents searching but they have come up with nothing." It was partially true so Mycroft didn't feel too bad lying.

"Why would he do this, after two years, why now?" Gregory asked.

"I have asked that question myself," Mycroft said, "Sherlock may have been getting too close for comfort."

Gregory sat up, leaning into Mycroft. "How is John alive?"

The elder man bit the inside of his cheek debating what he should say. A moment passed before he decided.

"Are we sure he is John?" As soon as the words were out Mycroft knew he had chosen poorly.

Lestrade was silent, staring hard at the other man with a blank look. It was one of the few moments Mycroft could not read his lover and that was a sign that he had spoken wrong.

"Gregory, think for a moment, I handled all of John's affairs after his passing. I identified his body at the morgue and have blood results to prove it was John. I finalized his funeral. I saw John's body many times before his burial." He spoke quietly.

The D.I. moved from Mycroft and stood in front of him. His face slowly contorting with pent disbelief. "Two years Mycroft." The words low and threatening, "Two years he's been dead and the moment he is returned to us you think it's an imposter! You think that somehow Moriarty found a man who likes exactly like John and set him up so we would find him, for what? For some sort of after death revenge!"

Mycroft flinched at the words. He had never been one to be intimidated but Lestrade had a power over him especially when the D.I. was angry. He opened his mouth but Gregory was in a rant.

"It's a miracle and the only thing you can come up with to try and ruin the moment is: it's not John! You would rather John be dead then for the truth!"

"No…" Mycroft tried but Lestrade wasn't listening.

"I nearly died when my best friend jumped from and building. I nearly died again when I saw him alive and you want to spoil the moment by telling me that it's not John!"

"I'm just looking at the facts."

"Facts? The facts are that John is alive, that there is no way on this Earth that it is not John!" Gregory spun and stomped for the door.

Mycroft stood and followed, "Gregory…I." he tried but the D.I. spun back to him with a burning glare silencing him.

"No! I don't want to hear it. I don't want to know, I just…I…just want John to be alright. He needs to be alright. I need him to be alright" The last words were a plea and Mycroft watched the anger flee, leaving uncertainty.

Letting a minute drift by the elder Holmes stepped forward and slowly eased his hands on to the other man's hips. "Gregory you must know that that is all I wish for as well but…in light of the evidence…and my firsthand experience in that evidence…I cannot just ignore what I see…what I know. I want that man in the hospital to be John Watson but I cannot believe that it is until I get his blood results back."

Gregory shut his eyes and leaned into his lover, snuggling his head in the crook of Mycroft's neck. Automatically Mycroft's hands stroked down the other man's back.

"My dear all I want most in the world is for you to be happy." The elder man murmured, "But I can't just let what I see as facts go."

Gregory drew his head back, "I understand, I do but I feel it is John. I know that sounds strange but I know it is him." He sighed laying his head back on the other's man's shoulder, "I'm sorry for my outburst."

Mycroft squeezed his lover to him, "Nothing to apologize for my dear, I assure you." He said enjoying the steady warmth seeping into him.

"Can we go back to the hospital?" Gregory asked, "It's been at least five hours something must have happened."

Mycroft hummed in disapproval, "I would insist you get more rest but I doubt you will listen to me." Lestrade chuckled listing his head to plant a lingering kiss on the other man's mouth before trailing down his long neck.

"You know me so well." Gregory said between kisses.

Mycroft was shaking with withheld encouragement. "If you continue to do that we will not make it out of this house for another few hours." He said with effort, his fingers digging into his lover's back slightly.

Lestrade laughed as he moved back from the other man, letting his hand slid down until their fingers intertwined. "Let's go see the good doctor."