A/N: Well, this is it folks. The final chapter. Thanks to everyone that followed and favorited my little story. And especially thanks to lunarcatninja, who was the only one to review.

Thanks to the ever lovely, old ping hai. Hugs!

Greg walked into work Monday morning, a smile on his lips and a spring in his step. When he got out of the elevator, however, he was met by DI Dimmock trying to hold back a vengeful Sally Donovan from Phillip Anderson.

As he neared, he heard her screeching, "What do you mean, you were helping them?"

"I mean exactly that. He deserves to be happy and you don't get to decide who he wants to be happy with!"

"Neither do you!"

"What is wrong with him being with Mycroft?"

That brought Greg up short.

"Because he's a Holmes! If he's anything like that freak brother of his, then he's bad. Twisted inside!"

"Enough!" Greg barked out and everyone stopped. Sally turned pale and Anderson looked a tad triumphant.

"Anthony," Greg told the other Inspector, "take Phillip to the loo to cool off. I'll talk to you both later."

Dimmock nodded and tugged Anderson aside, and he went, if a trifle unwillingly.

Greg turned to Sally. "My office. Now."

She huffed, first turning red and then stomping into his office, her fists clenched.

"Sit down," he ordered as he moved around to his side of the desk. "First, you will explain what's going on, and then you are going to give me a reason why I shouldn't suspend you."

"But, sir!" Sally exclaimed.

"First things first," he growled.

"Fine. Apparently Anderson is in on some plot to hook you up with the fre—" She stopped when he glared her. "With Sherlock's brother," she amended.

Greg laughed. "I can't say I'm surprised. Liya Mason sure does love her plots."

"Who, sir?" she asked.

"Liya Mason. Famous painter. She also happens to be Mycroft and Sherlock's sister-in-law."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Sally looked perplexed. "First off, you said Mason, not Holmes; and second, there's another Holmes?"

"She kept her maiden name because she was already well-known by that name in the art community. And actually, you've met her. And her husband. Do you remember that art case a couple of months back?"

"Oh, you mean the red-head?" she asked.

"That's the one. Do you remember the man she was with?"

"Tall fellow, dark, curly hair?"

"That's him."

"He's a Holmes? But he seemed so normal."

"Apparently, Sherrinford is the normal one."

Sally sat back in her chair, annoyed.

"Not that there is anything wrong with being different, and after what you said, I am tempted to do more than just suspend you. Sherlock Holmes is no more twisted than you or I. So what if he takes pleasure in solving weird and unusual crimes? I'd rather have someone like that than someone who's only in for the money. And don't tell me you can't name five cops that couldn't care less about the victims."

Sally frowned. She could list a lot more than five.

"Plus there's the fact that you had to be visibly restrained."

"I just lost it. I know it was unprofessional of me, but I had warned Sherlock to keep his brother away from you and then Anderson goes and helps him?"

"I'm guessing his help was to lure you away when Mycroft was on site."

"Apparently," she growled.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Greg called. A young sergeant pushed his head in. "A package came for you."

"Excellent! Bring it in." The sergeant ducked back out and returned with a small, very fragrant package. Sally caught a whiff and leaned forward in her seat.

"Back off," Greg snarled. "Mine!"

"Is that coffee?" she asked.

"No, it's heaven in a cup. And I've got another package just like this one waiting for me at home."

"Must be expensive," she murmured, still leaning close to the coffee.

"Mycroft sent it." Greg just hummed as he cradled the bag of fresh-ground coffee.

"Two-week suspension and a month of sensitivity training."

Sally snapped her head back. She opened her mouth to protest, and then shut it again. She nodded.

"If Dimmock and Anderson are out there, send them in."

"Yes, sir."

About a minute later, Anderson and Dimmock came in.

"So, I hear you've got a new cock in your roost, Lestrade," Dimmock said, flopping into a chair. Anderson grinned, but stayed standing by the door.

"So I do," Greg replied.

"He good to you?" Dimmock asked.

Greg held up the bag of coffee and the other two men whistled.

"Smart man. Knows a cop can make or break a case based on his coffee alone," Dimmock said with a grin. "Looks like I'm going to have to step up my game if I'm to compete."

Greg laughed.

Dimmock stood up. "Rein in your hellcat, Lestrade. She's trouble."

"Already on it."

"Good." He strode out, leaving Anderson behind.

"I'm happy for you, sir," he said, looking at his boss.

"Thanks, Phillip. So, why did you decided to get involved?"

Anderson huffed and leaned against the door frame.

"Because I had a lot to atone for. My failed marriage, my infidelity, my part in Sherlock's fall. Plus, I remembered how Emily flipped out on you when you confronted her about the affair. I wanted to see you honestly smile again."

Greg cracked a smile. "Thanks."

"And there it is," Anderson said, straightening back up. He walked out the door.

Greg got to work filling out the incident sheet for Sgt. Donovan's outburst. She was a bit headstrong, but she was a good cop.

He was just finishing up her sensitivity-training paperwork when his door slammed open, revealing a Sherlock Holmes with a package.

"Good morning, Sherlock," Greg said, nodding to the package. "What's that?"

"Even though John says it's not usually done, I wanted to give you a gift to congratulate you on your new relationship with my brother."

Greg blinked. "Well, thank you," he said, taking the package from Sherlock. He opened it up to reveal sheet music.

"Fauré's Romance for cello and piano Op. 69?"

"The piano part, yes. Mycroft should be opening his package as we speak, which has the cello part. Though John laughed at the number. I'm not sure why." Sherlock's phone went off just then. He looked at it and then showed it to Greg.

Thank you, brother dear — M

"Thank you, Sherlock," Greg added.

"I still don't understand what is so funny about the number. He wouldn't tell me," he whined. "Though we did perform fellatio simultaneously on each other afterwards," he frowned thoughtfully, wondering if that had something to do with it. He liked it of course. He was just confused.

Greg huffed out a laugh. "That- that what you just described is called a 69, Sherlock."

The detective nodded stiffly and strolled out.

His phone rang.

Baby 'cause in the dark, you can't see shiny cars
And that's when you need me there
With you, I'll always share

Because when the sun shines, we'll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
Said I'll always be your friend
Took an oath, I'ma stick it out to the end

"Hey, love," he said in greeting.

"Hello, Gregory. I take it you got my package."

"Yeah, and Sherlock's, too. He hand-delivered it, actually."

"I'm impressed. Mine only came with a note."

"Oh?" Greg asked. "What did it say?"

" 'Now you no longer have to play solo.' "

There was silence on both ends before Greg broke in with a single, "Wow."

"Indeed."

"Can I see you tonight?" the Inspector asked, a distinct yearning in his tone.

"I'm afraid I can't," Mycroft's voice was full of regret. "When I got back to the office today, I was told that I had to go out to Greece tonight."

"Ah. Well at least I got you all weekend."

"Very much so. I will be back in time for our weekly drinks, though."

"How about dinner at my place instead?"

"Sounds lovely. Until then, Gregory."

"Text me and call me whenever you can?"

"Of course."

"Goodbye, love."

"Goodbye."

***

Greg nervously got dressed for the gallery opening of Liya's painting. It had been a pleasant month as far as his relationship with Mycroft was concerned. Of course, there were times when one or the other would have to bow out due to work, but whoever had to cancel would insure he made it up to the other. A phone call, a gift, late-night drinks.

Sally had even come around when faced with the sheer force of how happy he was.

He was trying to tie his bow, but his hands shook too badly. A hand slipped around his waist and he leaned back into the warm embrace.

"Nervous?" Mycroft asked.

Greg turned around. "Well, I've never been to one of these before. I don't want to embarrass you or Liya."

Mycroft kissed him. "Not possible. Plus John will be there, so you'll have someone to commiserate with."

"True. Now if only my hands would stop shaking so I can tie this bloody tie." He turned back to the mirror for another go. "Why couldn't I have gotten the pre-tied one. It would have been easier." Mycroft's hands came up and began tying it for him.

"Because most people can tell the difference. Even those who've only seen them at weddings."

Greg stopped. He knew Mycroft had a point, but he hated the damn thing. Mycroft lowered his hands to reveal the perfect bow tie.

"Thanks, love." Greg turned around and kissed Mycroft. "You ready?"

The politician nodded and took Greg's hand; the silver-haired man grinned. He couldn't believe how lucky he was. Mycroft led the way to the car. A standard black with tinted windows.

They arrived at the Tate Modern to a glittering round of who's who of the well-to-do. Greg could see some of his favorite actors and musicians in attendance.

"My, what am I doing here? Seriously, what?"

Mycroft leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You belong here even more than they do. It's your image they're here to see."

Greg blushed. "Well yours, too," he reminded the politician.

"Hmm, true."

Their first stop was the painting. It was displayed on its own wall in the center of the exhibit room.

"Well, I can say one thing about the painting," Greg said, staring up at the thing.

"What's that?"

"Unless you're told it's us, you can't see the resemblance."

"Very true," Mycroft agreed.

Their next stop was the artist herself. And it appeared that Sherlock and John were already chatting with Liya and Sherrinford.

"Ah," Liya said as they neared. "The men of the hour." She raised a glass. "To Greggy and My."

"Greggy?" the man in question asked.

"Oh, dear," Sherrinford said. "You're stuck now. Once she christens you with a nickname, you're part of the family."

"What's John's nickname, then?" Greg asked.

John's hand gripped his glass so tight, Greg feared for its continued existence.

Liya glanced at the clenched jaw of the former army doctor and winced.

"I had one, but it appears to have been used previously by a psychopath with a penchant for semtex."

"Oh." Yes. He could see the problem. No one in his right mind would like a nickname given to him by a psychopath.

"Ooh. How about 'Doc'?"she asked.

John relaxed a trifle. "Better than the alternative, I suppose."

She patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll get there."

Sherlock inspected his nails and drolled, seemingly uninterested, "What about Captain?"

Everyone turned to him with shocked expressions.

"What?" Sherlock huffed. "It was his rank in the army."

Liya thought it over and then turned back to John. "So, what do you think?"

"Sure," John shrugged.

"Fantastic!"

"You're stuck with us now, John," Sherrinford reminded him.

John took Sherlock's hand and stared up at the detective. "It's all right. I didn't have plans on leaving anyway."

Sherlock smiled down at the good doctor.

Greg opened his mouth to ask whether they had thought about making it permanent when he heard a screech behind him. He turned around to see a buxom blonde heading his direction.

He stepped in front of Mycroft to shield him from the blast, to everyone's amusement.

"What the hell are you doing here, Greg?" the blonde sneered. "Schmoozing up to the artist? And you didn't even know who she was until I told you about her."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Hello, Emily," he sighed, confirming her identity to everyone. "You remember Sherlock, don't you?" It was a rhetorical question; of course she remembered the man who outed her numerous affairs. Emily growled at him, and John stepped in front of Sherlock and scowled.

"Let me introduce his family to you."

Her head snapped back.

"The man glaring at you is his long-time partner and recent boyfriend, Dr. John Watson, former Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

She took a step back.

"The dashingly handsome man next to him is his brother, Mycroft. A minor politician for the British government." Greg winked once then added, "When he's not consulting with the Secret Service, the CIA or Mossad."

"Don't forget the Kremlin, Gregory dear," Mycroft added, deciding to play along this time.

Greg snapped his fingers. "Of course. Always forget that one."

Emily's eyes narrowed. " 'Gregory dear'? I thought you were fucking some ginger chick. Taking a swing at both sides now, Gregory dear?" she mocked.

Greg ignored her and went on with the introductions as though she hadn't said a word.

"The other gentleman is Sherrinford Holmes, Mycroft and Sherlock's actor older brother. Of course, you probably know him better by his stage name…"

Her jaw dropped in recognition. "Oh, God," Emily muttered.

Greg stepped to the side to reveal Liya. "Meet Sherrinford's wife, the artist Liya Mason, and ginger chick you think I've been fucking. Which is ridiculous for a number of reasons.

"One, she's in love with her husband. Two, her brothers-in-law would kick my ass if I even tried to make a move on her."

Sherlock and Mycroft grinned like hyenas.

"Three, the reason I was seen so often going to her loft is because she was painting me."

Emily's eyes went wide with shock.

"Yes, Emily. That painting. I'm Cromwell and Mycroft is King Charles."

She took another step back.

"And lastly, because apparently you forgot I was gay when I met you and am still gay. So, yes, Mycroft and I are dating." He grabbed Mycroft and pulled him in for a long, slow, sweet kiss.

Emily sputtered and stormed off in a huff.

Everyone began to clap.

Greg gently pulled away.

"I don't suppose we'll be seeing her again?" Mycroft drolled.

Greg huffed out a laugh.

"No. Who needs her when I have you?"

"Exactly."

Liya leaned up against Sherrinford. "They really do suit each other, don't they?"

"Yes, my dear. Indeed they do."

A/N: And no, I do not regret the song choice for Greg's ringtone for Mycroft. I figure he went looking for songs about umbrellas and came across it.