Disclaimer: I have a dream…oops, wrong speech. Sorry about that. Though I do have plenty of dreams most of them involving Lestrade. Unfortunately there's a BIG difference between dreams and reality. Too bad. If dreams were reality then I'd have my Lestrade and a bunch of others but since it's not I don't. Everyone confused now? I'm not. I could try harder but then I'd forget the whole point of a disclaimer is to point out that I own nothing and that because of copyright laws I'm poor. In simply layman's terms: Sherlock and the rest are not mine and I make no money from amusing you.

A/N: Yes, Greg is going to be evil. Yes, Mycroft is going to be penitent. Yes, the rest are going to be amused. This will be an enjoyable ride for everyone else. Have fun in my little world. On another note: Please don't hate Mycroft. He's fallen into a very easy trap for anyone. Life becomes hectic and everything just falls to the wayside. If my children didn't demand my attention on a daily basis I'm sure I'd forget I even had them…well, not forget but you get the point. People get busy and forget things, sometimes important things. Mycroft wasn't trying to cut himself off from everyone he just forgot that relationships need input and work from all parties.

Week Two: Sunday II

Any answer Mycroft was going to make was interrupted by the arrival of the doctors and nurses. They gently pushed Artiebiba, Sherlock and Mycroft away from the bed and surrounded Greg.

"Do you know your name," one of the doctors asked Greg. He'd evidently been voted the spokesman for the group as all the others remained silent.

Greg wished they hadn't moved A away. She was holding the water and his throat was so dry. "Lestrade," he ground out and then tried to clear his throat. "Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade," he clarified. "Water?"

"Very good," the doctor grinned. "You may have more water in just a moment Detective Inspector. Do you know the date today?"

Greg glared at him. "Look Doc, I know you have to ask these questions but asking a man who has been asleep for who knows how long what the date is, is kinda stupid, ennit? I know the Prime Minister is David Cameron and I was shot on August 7th, 2013. Now give me some water before I die of dehydration."

Silence filled the room for a moment before A's musical giggle broke it. She gently pushed her way past the doctors and nurses and held the straw to his lips again. Greg nodded to her and then looked back at the doctors expectantly. The spokesman cleared his throat. "Yes, well, do you remember what happened?"

"Vaguely," Greg answered. "Woman with a coffee stain? Second one this week." His eyes glazed a bit as he thought. "There's something important about the coffee…"

Sherlock opened his mouth but Mycroft gripped his arm in a vise grip to prevent his comment. "That's very interesting, Detective Inspector but not—" the lead doctor started.

"Potassium in the coffee? Guy with a gun wearing a uniform shirt from a coffee shop…right." Greg continued as though no one had spoken. He blinked and then looked up at all of them. "So I was shot by a coffee shop barrista? How stupid. From the pain in my head and nowhere else I'd say that meant he shot me in the head." He paused. "No that isn't right. He tried to shoot me but the bullet ricocheted off the wall or something and then hit me in the head. If it hadn't then I'd be dead."

The lead doctor grinned. "Very good," he praised. "There are some other tests we'd like to preform, just to make sure everything works as it should but your memory seems to be fine—"

"Fine!" Mycroft exploded. "His memory is not fine! He doesn't even know who I am! Ask him who the rest of us are."

Greg, with A's help, carefully propped himself up on his elbows and regarded the other man seriously. "Of course I know who you are," he said levelly. Then he turned his attention to Sherlock. "He's Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective and married to," he paused. "Where's John?"

"He had a shift at the surgery," Sherlock answered promptly. "Sarah said she'd fire him as he hadn't been in for four days and it's flu season. I told him you wouldn't mind if you woke up."

Greg sent him a small smirk. "Best text him I'm awake, Sher, you know he'll be angry if you don't." Sherlock held up his phone in a signal that he already had. Greg turned his attention to A. "She's A…no idea what name she's chosen for herself today. She's a friend." He turned his gaze to Mycroft then and the smile disappeared to be replaced by a bland look. "And you're her boss and Sherlock's brother…Mycroft, I think. Thank you for being here for them. It's very kind of you."

Everyone in the room stared at him in shocked silence for a moment. "You see!" Mycroft burst out. "There's something wrong! Take him for an MRI and a CAT scan! Find out what's wrong with my husband!"

"Husband?" Greg breathed out faintly and then collapsed backwards on the bed. "I'm not married…am I?"

A was once again pushed out of the way as the doctors converged on Greg's bed. They checked pupil dilation, vitals, temperature, everything they could while still in the room and then the lead doctor ordered another MRI and CAT scan of his head before stepping back with a frown. "Detective Inspector," he began. "Can you tell us the significance of August 4th?"

Greg gazed at him with a wary eye. "Are you sure you want me to answer that? I like history."

The doctor gave him a deprecating smile. "Let's just keep it to any important events in this century."

Greg frowned. He could have named off every significant event for the past thousand years. "2002: Jessica Chapman and Holly Wells, aged 10, turn up missing from Soham, Cambridgeshire. 2005: Canada's Prime Minister, Paul Martin, announces Michaelle Jean as Canada's 27th Governor General, also first black one. 2006: Sylvia Cartwright steps down as New Zealand's Governor General. 2007: The Phoenix spaceship is launched." Greg paused and motioned A over for another drink, to cover the fact that August 4th 2007 was his wedding day. "2010: California's Prop. 8, the one banning same-sex marriage is overturned. 2012: Suicide bombing kills 45 people in Yemen and Oscar Pistorius becomes the first amputee to compete in the Olympics. You sure that's all you want? Because I could go back for at least 1000 years."

"August 4th, 2007 doesn't mean anything to you personally, Lestrade?" Sherlock questioned sharply. He placed his mobile back in his pocket and advanced on the crowd surrounding the bed.

Greg looked over at him and frowned. "Not that I can recall," he admitted after a moment's thought. "Should it?"

"Yes," Mycroft bit out and moved to stand next to Greg's head. "That's the day we married, Gregory. Do you really not remember it?" Mycroft stared into his husband's unblinking, confused brown eyes and felt a bit of his heart break. "You don't, do you? You've forgotten me."

Greg nearly caved at the pain in Mycroft's voice and eyes but the memory of the long, cold, lonely nights, the silent, empty house and silent phone skittered across his mind and firmed his resolve. "Sorry?" He said inadequately.

"We should take him for those tests now," the doctor broke the moment and gently pulled Mycroft from the side of the bed. "You're welcome to walk with us but you'll have to wait outside while we run the machines."

Mycroft cleared his throat and glared at the doctor. "Do you wish me to accompany you, Gregory?" He asked.

Greg shrugged a bit uncomfortably. His head was really beginning to pound in concert with his heartbeat. "If you want to," he said quietly and settled back into the pillow.

Mycroft nodded. "I do." He stopped his hand before it could smooth itself over Greg's cheek, not at all sure how the other man would take the gesture. "I won't leave your side."

Greg let his eyes fall closed. He wasn't sure he believed Mycroft but his husband's soft words gave him a little bit of hope that they could fix whatever had happened between them. As the orderlies wheeled the bed from the room the last thing he felt before the blackness claimed him again was Mycroft wrapping one hand around his own and squeezing.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Sherlock watched the exchange between Mycroft and Lestrade closely. There was something just a bit off about the Detective Inspector. He narrowed his eyes in thought. The bed was wheeled from the room and Mycroft took Lestrade's hand in his own. Sherlock's eyes widened in realization. "I would guess my brother won't be going to Sudan, then." He said and a slow smile crossed his lips.

"It would seem not," Artiebiba agreed. She sighed heavily. "Why can he remember everything except Mr. H.?"

Sherlock swallowed a chuckle and stared at the woman somberly. "I would imagine that Lestrade's brain erased Mycroft because he's been so distant. Lestrade's already injured and so his brain is trying to keep him from being hurt further." It sounded plausible actually. That was all that mattered to Sherlock. He'd keep Greg's secret and have some fun watching his brother squirm. Mycroft would learn that he couldn't just ignore his family and Sherlock would help his friend teach that lesson if only by keeping his own counsel.