When Mycroft entered Artemis' private room he paused upon seeing her bed a mess but empty, a quick glance to the far side of the room revealed her stood by one of the larger windows just staring down at the street below. To anyone else she'd just be looking, taking an interest, but Mycroft knew her better than anyone else, he knew she'd be mentally shooting the public from different rooftops she could see. It wasn't a spiteful or hatred fuelled thing, just something she did to stay sharp. In all honesty the auburn-haired man was focused on how nice it was to see her up and out of bed though he wasn't entirely sure if she was meant to me; he didn't pay it too much mind.

He stepped further into the room and set his briefcase down then he tried to speak but Artemis got their first and cut him off before he'd even started; she didn't look away from the window.

"I finished the Hades correspondence for you." She gestured loosely to the stack of files waiting for him by her bed.

The tall man nodded despite knowing Artemis wouldn't see it and carefully slipped the documents into his briefcase, he'd known she'd have finished, ever his diligent girl. That wasn't what had his attention though, no, her voice was what surprised him, it sounded somewhat softer since they had let her start talking again but Mycroft suspected that was down to lack of use more than anything else.

Before he knew he'd moved Mycroft was stood behind the younger woman, his long arms snared around her waist as he held her from behind so he could kiss her cheek. The thick bandages had clearly just been changed and instead of the scarf-like mass of bandages she'd now got a simple, square dressing over her wound. Normally Mycroft would not allow himself such a display of affection in a public place but they were alone and he really wanted to touch her.

"Thank you for your hard work, my love."

He tightened his arms just a little bit for his own satisfaction. All around them stank of cleaning supplies and what could only be described as 'that hospital smell' but when he brushed his cheek against her hair he could scent her shampoo, a soothing fragrance.

"When can I leave?" She asked then completely out of the blue but Myc didn't let go.

While he would have liked for her to return to standing tall at his side Mycroft needed Artemis to heal first, he couldn't bear any more harm coming to her.

"I shall speak with your doctor and see what she says." He responded. "You need to be well before you leave."

Artemis leaned backwards against his lean but strong chest which Mycroft took to be her agreement. God, why is she always so supple and perfect?

"I need to return to work, British." She began, eyes still firmly locked on the outside world. "Now Hades has essential been defeated it means that only the most desperate assassins or those wanting to make a name for themselves will accept the contract to eliminate you and Lady Smallwood. They'll not be as heavily trained but they'll be desperate and that is far more dangerous for you if I am not there."

He pressed a small kiss to her temple, an indulgence on his part.

"Worry not, Artemis, I have already ensured that Lady Smallwood's securely has been increased and I will be perfectly fine. I always am."

"I need to be released, Mycroft."

The suit clad man rolled his eyes, unlike him but he felt like the occasion called for it.

"As I said, I will speak with your doctor."

Artemis was far from stupid, she knew he'd not let her just wander on out and return to work. Mycroft had the upper hand, while she was perfectly capable of beating him to a pulp and dragging him back to work he knew she'd never do that. However, Mycroft could and would have her strapped down to her hospital bed if it meant her body got time to recover fully. Honestly it was easier just to go along with what he wanted.

After another temple kiss the British Government released her and went to sit in the chair which faced her bed. He sat with his legs slightly apart and let his head fall back a little.

"I have been invited to Sir Arthur Roxbridge's mid-year gala again." He sighed. "I hate those even more than Alan Johnson's, I mean there is only so long one can smile at a Home Secretary and listen to them talking about tennis. Roxbridge is worse, constantly walking around as if he's going to be the next king."

Mycroft was fully aware he was changing the subject but he needed to stop thinking about people trying to kill him every five minutes. He'd come to check on Artemis and have a break from his work just for a few moments. So yes, he had changed the subject and wouldn't let anyone change it back. Artemis appeared in the very corner of his vision hen and he looked up as she silently moved to stand in front of him. Before a word could be uttered she'd slipped into his lap easily, knees on either side of this thighs as she pulled him to her by his tie for a deep kiss.

"That's not exactly saying much, British, you hate all parties."

Mycroft hummed knowing she was right, he'd never been a party person, of course he went to the things but he'd have rather been at home with one of his old movies or a book and a glass of scotch.

Lightly he rested his large hands on Artemis' hips. God he loved touching her, didn't even need to be about sex he just liked touching her.

"Lady Smallwood will be there as well." He said with a somewhat concerned tone.

"So?" Questioned the younger woman, her breath ghosted his lips before she stole another kiss. "You see her almost every day."

"Indeed, however, she has moved from being angry with me to-" His face contorted as if he'd just sucked on a lemon. "- I think it's flirting and I cannot understand why."

Artemis just shrugged. Most women probably would have wondered why the hell this irritating older woman seemed so interested in their boyfriends but Artemis wasn't like that so a shrug was the most Mycroft got.

"Well, you were rather heroic while we were killing Hades generals." You did most of that, muttered Mycroft's mind. "Her shock has worn off and she's realized you genuinely don't care about what she had to glare and yell at you so attraction seems the next logical conclusion."

The blue-gray eyed man raised a questioning eyebrow almost to a sharp point.

"That's a lot of emotional understanding." He teased with a micro-smile.

"Not really. I just understand you and how sex works."

Mycroft didn't think too much into that as he always did when questions as to why she was so good at certain sexual acts popped up; he didn't want to know. Determined to have just five minutes where he had to think about every single word he said before a single syllable left his mouth, Mycroft leaned back and brought Artemis to rest against his chest. In truth the eldest Holmes brother hadn't ever been very tactile, hated his mother's insistence on snuggling him into her chest almost snapping his spine in the process. Although, when it came to Artemis he found that he'd do anything to sit with her in his arms just an extra minute; for another kiss.

~X~

The day finally came when Artemis was to be released form the hospital but before Mycroft went to collect her he needed to make a stop off at Scotland Yard to see a certain DI. The ginger stepped off the elevator once inside the building and headed straight for Lestrade's office without paying a single shred of attention to anyone. Sally Donovan stared at him from her desk – glared would have been a better word – clearly the woman wasn't happy about his presence or his existence in general for that matter. Sally honestly couldn't understand why Lestrade was friends with the elder freak. Still, she went ignored by Mycroft who walked passed her at a quick but not urgent pace, he knocked on the DI's office door then entered when a muffled 'come in' sounded.

The British Government stepped inside to find Greg at his desk with his feet up as he ate a sandwich; chicken salad by the looks of it.

He flashed his friend a smile. "Hey, Myc. What you doing here?" He set his half eaten sandwich down on a napkin. "Come to kidnap me?"

Mycroft couldn't help but smirk at the teasing chuckle of his friend. He closed the door behind himself then held out a file for Greg to take. Took a second and a raised eyebrow but the policeman finally took the file.

"Regrettably I am not being mysterious and incognito today."

That got an even bigger chuckle out of Greg as his feet hit the floor and he started to thumb through the file.

"You usually just have Anthea drop off any case you're giving me, or you don't even give me a heads up and let the Superintendent shove me on whatever it is." Said Lestrade without looking up.

Myc took a seat in one of Gregory's guest chairs and nodded slightly.

"While that is true, I thought I'd give you this one in person."

Greg finally turned his dark eyes up to his best friend. "This looks pretty open and shut domestic homicide but you're giving it to me so it can't be."

"Indeed it isn't. However, Sherlock is still being childish after what happened and it's irritating me." Mycroft informed as though it were simple.

Greg cocked an eyebrow. "I fail to see where I come in."

"That case-" he gestured to the file his friend held, "-hit the media this morning and the news report's pictures of the homes' exterior actually suggests that Harrison Davis-Moore is telling the truth about not murdering his husband. Once inside it's even easier to figure out." Mycroft explained while the cop continued to just stare at him. "My brother is bored, Gregory and - as Doctor Watson likes to say – is a drama queen. He'll have the perfect chance to show off explaining this one and will want the case. Instead I've made arrangements with one of Detective Inspector Dimmock's boring cases.

Greg's brow furrowed. "So I'm being used to slightly irritate your brother by not letting him have access to the case?"

Mycroft smirked a little. "No, no, you're being used to greatly irritate my brother, annoy him even, because you're going to solve it without his help which is, at the end of the day, far more effective than just refusing him access."

"You two and your brotherly feuds." Sighed Lestrade. "And you mean you're going to tell me and I'll take the credit for it all. At least John won't write about it his in his blog and make me look greedy again."

The suit clad man – a pinstripe – once again shook his head. "Oh no, you're going to solve it right here and now with just that file and a me giving you a starting point."

Greg paused as he took in what his friend had said, then shrugged and flicked the file open again so he could lay the photographs out on his desk like some kind of murderous collage.

"Okay, I've not got anything better to do at this exact moment and I'm always down for irritating Sherlock if you are." He paused a moment to peer up at the taller man. "Hang on, won't he suspect you told me the answer? We are best friends and I've got the intelligence of pond scum apparently."

Mycroft just shrugged clearly unconcerned in the slightest. "He hasn't any of the other times I've done this with other detectives."

A twinkle slipped into Greg's dark eyes. "You been cheating on me with other coppers, Myc?"

The British Government leaned forwards conspiratorially as his smirk grew smug. Mycroft Holmes never relaxed this much around anyone except for Lestrade himself, only he knew just how underhandedly amusing he could be.

"You are the only detective inspector for me, Gregory."

Another chuckle. "Alright, Mister British Government, what's my starting point or whatever."

"I told you, the house invites the first questions. What do you see in the windows?"

Lestrade looked everything over with a calculating eye, he was good at his job, he could do this. Mycroft just sat quietly and waited for the policeman to make his assessments and deductions.

"Right, okay, em. Yeah, the window is broken clearly from the outside and seems to be the only sign of forced entry. That doesn't mean that wasn't Davis-Moore himself – wait, why would someone break the window not twenty feet from their neighbor's house where the can be seen from the street when there's a isolated window on the other side?"

Myc nodded. "What does that suggest?"

Lestrade took a breath. "Well, it's a bit odd for an intruder – even odder if Davis-Moore is lying. Why would he risk being spotted by his neighbor or someone on the street when that other window is right there and easy to get through?"

Mycroft smiled ever so slightly. "Good, Gregory, keep going. What does that window being broken indicate?"

Lestrade felt like they were playing some game which didn't quite sit right with him but he really did want to see Sherlock's irritated grumbling.

"That someone wasn't very familiar with the house, or at least only familiar with a bit of it." Brown orbs shone up at his friend. "This guy didn't kill his husband, did he?"

"No. Read his statement."

Lestrade did just that knowing that if Myc believed he could figure this out then he could damn well figure it out.

"Mister Davis-Moore says he heard a smash while he was in the kitchen making breakfast in bed as a treat for his husband." Mycfroft explained. "When he got upstairs there was a man over his husband stabbing him, although he says he couldn't see the man's face, just knew he was tall and Caucasian."

Gregory didn't look impressed. "Surely he'd have seen who this dude was, he couldn't have been more than five feet from him."

The British Government just pointed to the mass of images. "Look at the pictures, Gregory."

He did just that, stared at them for quite some time like he'd gone in search of Waldo. Seconds turned into minutes then one to two to three. Eventually the elder man fell back in his chair with an exasperated sigh of defeat.

"I don't know what I'm looking for, Myc, pictures are full of glare anyway."

To anybody else looking at Mycroft Holmes he wouldn't have appeared to have moved at all, not one inch, but Greg knew his best friend and spotted the tiny twitch of a single eyebrow. Realization dawned on him with that one micro movement and he leaned forwards as his face started to light up once more.

"That's it, isn't it? Something to do with the light. Right, what the hell does the light mean?" The last bit was posed more to himself than the taller man.

"What happens when you walk into a very sunny room from a more shaded one?" Asked Mycroft.

"You can't see properly until your eyes have adjusted."

Myc nodded. "And if the attacker was stood by the window as the picture shows he'd need to in order to stab Thomas Davis-Moore."

"Harrison wouldn't be able to see detail, skin color and clothes but not his face, not properly. Then when the intruder ran he'd only see the back off him. Shit, he actually didn't kill his husband." Lestrade raked a hand down his face. "Still doesn't answer who did kill him."

Mycroft settled himself backwards knowing his friend was almost their, so close to the truth.

"Who would be familiar with just one side of a house? Who would know enough to know what time people got up and started their days but wouldn't have noticed a small, more isolated window? Who could walk around a neighborhood and not be registered as strange?"

Lestrade thought a moment. "Nobody – wait, a neighbor! They'd know those things."

Myc rewarded him with a small smile. "And who was the Davis-Moore's eastern neighbor?"

Greg made quick work of flicking through to the very back as he searched through the witness statements and finally found the one he'd been looking for. Benjamin Owens, he was tall and Caucasian, he also happened to be the neighbor. Greg's eyebrows shot up as he read the list of crimes.

"Damn, this dude has some anger issues. Multiple arrests for aggravated assault, all around the same few streets of Soho as well. Not lived in his house long, just over six weeks, guess that's long enough to learn a couple's basic routine."

"Focus on the area of his arrests, Gregory, you're so very close." Mycroft encouraged.

"Well, like I said, it's the same few streets. Looks like it's all between Charing Cross Road and Great Windmill Street. Which brackets Old Compton Street! That's like London's LGBT focal point. Myc, are you saying this was a hate crime?"

Watching Lestrade figure things out was actually rather enjoyable to Mycroft, figuring everything out was always so simple to him that having to slow down and go through things step by step could almost be therapeutic.

"Well done, Gregory." Mycroft praised genuinely. "See, I told you you'd do it yourself. Mister Owens has attacked people only during the hours that the business are primarily open and directly after closing time, suggesting he picks someone more or less at random as long as they're going to or leaving an establishment on Old Compton Street. Simply put he is a predator who targets the homosexual. Then he moves into a nice new home only to find his neighbors are a married gay couple. To a normal person this wouldn't have so much as raised an eyebrow, though Mister Owens is not a normal person. He waited long enough to figure out when they'd be home and took it upon himself to rid himself of two people he considered to be abominations."

"Think we need to bring him in, don't you?" Greg closed the file. "Still think that was mostly you being a genius. Had you not looked at this an innocent man would have been convicted of killing his husband." The policeman fell back in his chair to just stare at his friend. "Seriously, you and Sherlock got all that from a photo on the news report?"

Myc shrugged with a single shoulder really rather nonchalantly. "I like to look over the new homicide cases every now and again, it provides a distraction. Also, you did that by yourself. Gregory, I just provided you the information to piece together and a little encouragement in places." He sighed. "I hate the homophobic, people who push their own insecurities and unnecessary loathing onto others for no reason other than their desire to provide a reason for their violence."

"Couldn't agree with you more, mate. Did you- never mind." Greg cut himself off in favor of cleaning the pictures away.

"No, please, ask whatever you wish."

Normally Mycroft would have been pleased to shut down that avenue of conversation but he'd discovered long ago that he didn't mind the awkward, unnerving or just plain personal questions when they came from Lestrade, the man was always respectful and knew when to stop if he needed to; probably why he and Mycroft had been able to become such firm friends.

Greg looked Myc up and down a moment before he relented and asked his question. "Did you get people throwing insults and punches at you when you were younger? You know, since you're bisexual." He paused a second. "You don't have to tell me, forget I asked."

The British Government nodded slightly. "Yes. When I was first realizing things myself there were many threats, with my brain that wasn't exactly new though. I wasn't ever attacked and when I started working for the government I separated my personal and private lives with a steel wall. I don't exactly hide my interest in men but I certainly don't flaunt it either."

"Guess it doesn't matter what with you having Artemis now." He flashed his friend a smile.

"Mmm." Mycroft agreed.

That was Lestrade's indication that Mycroft didn't wish to go any further into the subject and Greg respected that, he polity moved back to the case he'd been given.

"I'll finish my sandwich then Sally and I'll go pick Owens up. You've had a look at him, you think he'll confess?"

The suit clad man didn't need a single second to think about that.

"He's homophobic to the point of carefully planed violence so yes, if you give him a sense that you agree with him he'll tell you with a smile because he wants to boast about doing the world a favor."

"Not a fan but if it get's him to confess I'll do it." He reached for his half eaten sandwich and took a bite. "You going to pick up Artemis later?"

"That is actually my next stop." Responded the taller man.

"Say hi from me."

Mycroft rose to his full height then and straightened his waistcoat before he closed the button to his suit jacket. Lestrade hadn't ever seen his friend looking anything except for exceptionally well put together, even after Eurus when he'd been found locked up in her old cell Mycroft had still looked elegant and well presented. Meanwhile there was Greg in a crappy suit and a tie he was pretty sure had a stain somewhere. The two men really didn't look like they should have associated, from completely different worlds, but hey, neither man had ever been one for social norms.

"I certainly shall." Mycroft agreed as he headed to the door so Greg could finish eating and get back to work. "Go arrest someone, Detective Inspector."

Greg chuckled at his friend's teasing and watched him head for the elevator through the blinds of his office. Mycroft Holmes, strange man but by far the best friend he'd ever had.