"Gregory" a soft whisper woke Lestrade the next morning. "Gregory, dear, it's time to wake up." Mycroft leaned over his boyfriend, still wearing only a white cotton shirt and boxers, gently touching his head in a careful attempt to wake him. Sometime after midnight he had managed to bring the exhausted Detective to his bed.
Multiple texts from Sherlock had threatened to wake him, so Mycroft had silenced the phone and called his brother himself, pretending to be in his office, checking on the progress of the Musgrave case. Sherlock had summarized the results of his and Greg's trip. "Tracy Wilhelm was found with her head smashed in, still wearing her suit for work." He had informed Mycroft. "I'm going to take a look at her body now. Tried to phone Lestrade but he's probably busy with his new girlfriend. Oh and we need all the information we can get on the "Bit's And Pieces" shipping company, run by Mr Joffrey Bit. Looks like Ms Wilhelm had documents in her possession her boss was anxious to get back." Mycroft and promised to look into it and, after making some phone calls to his office, was now trying to wake his lover.
Greg blinked sleepily, pulling the blanket over his face like a groggy teenager. With a playful grin, Mycroft climbed on top of him, legs on either side of Gregory's hips, peeling the blanket from his hands, sneaking a soft, warm kiss. With a sigh, Greg opened his eyes, smiling happily. He hugged his boyfriend, pulling him closer to his chest, enjoying the warmth of entangled bodies. His fingertips ran under Mycroft's shirt, feeling the warm skin, his free hand cupped his lover's face, tracing the elegant curve of his cheekbones. They kissed, soft and gently, a little sigh escaping Mycroft's lips as he traced Greg's mouth with his tongue, feeling his stomach tingle with little butterflies. Reluctantly, he pushed himself of the bed, getting to his feet, pulling the blanket away in the process. He held out a hand, helping the still sleepy Greg up, mischievously eyeing the half-undressed man, who noticed the attention and pulled Mycroft closer with a smirk. "I'm always pleased to see you, sweetheart" he whispered with a wink.
They had the leftovers from dinner for breakfast, sitting on the couch –since the kitchen table was covered with paperwork- and updating each other on the Musgrave case.
"My brother seemed under the impression you were spending time with "your girlfriend" today?" Mycroft asked carefully. Greg shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah he saw the ring yesterday and assumed I had a woman who gave it to me. I didn't want to correct him. I'm really sorry, should've been more careful." "It's alright" Mycroft said "He will find out sooner or later anyway. I just hoped I'd have some more time to … prepare." Placing his hand over Mycroft's, Greg answered "Take all the time you need, love." He sighed and got up. "Well, anyway, I think I'd better drive to St. Bart's before Sherlock forgets about me." The Inspector put on his coat and watched his boyfriend collect his things and straighten his tie and suit with a very concentrated expression. Mycroft moved around the small flat like a cat in a strange environment, careful and suspicious, always alert as if he expected dangers lurking between the un-organized papers and old, dusty picture frames. Something was bothering him, though Greg wasn't sure if it was just the unfamiliar surroundings or something else. He walked up to him, placing his palm between his shoulder blades reassuringly and gently kissed his cheek. "You okay?" He said quietly. With his characteristically empty smile, Mycroft picked up his umbrella "yes, of course" and disappeared through the door.
A quite stressful car ride later, Greg found himself staring at the crushed skull of Ms Tracy Wilhelm. She was a small, bony thing, her arms were bruised and her fingertips torn, her silky black hair soaked with blood and brain mass. Molly Hooper carefully removed the white sheet from the corpse and pointed to a pile of neatly stacked fabric stained with blood and dirt. "She was found wearing her work clothes." She explained. "Time of death was about twelve hours ago. Cause of death, obviously, half her head is missing." She smiled nervously, playing with the white sheet in her hands. "Uh, yeah, the bruises are post mortem, probably from when her killers dumped her in an alley. The fingertips and nails however happened before her death. Sherlock says she was probably clawing at a door or something like that." Lestrade nodded thoughtfully, eyeing the body carefully, trying (and, as always, failing) to see her as Sherlock would. Grief washed over him, as it always did when he faced with yet another life lost too soon. With a thank you to Molly, he gently pulled the white sheet back over Tracy Wilhelm's head. Scribbling the new information on his notepad, he inspected the clothes and the contents of the purse that was found with the body. No phone or wallet, just cheap make-up, sticky notes and a gold coin with the letter "M" engraved on it. Without a word, Molly handed him the pictures of the alley Tracy had been found in and busied herself by sorting the victim's items in evidence bags.
Stepping away from the corpse, he turned to the forensic, eyeing her questioningly. "Are you okay?" he asked carefully "you seem a bit jumpy." Molly nodded a little too energetically. "Yeah I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" She placed the bloodied clothes into a plastic bag and sorted them neatly into an evidence box. Taking a long, deep breath, she placed her hands on the table top, her head dropping. Greg took a step closer, carefully placing a hand on her back. "You heard the news then?" He said quietly. She smiled weakly. "It's not like I didn't know this." Turning around to face her friend, Molly leaned against the table, biting her lip. "It was obvious. To all of us. And I'm happy for them, I really am, John is… he's great, he's my friend. It's just … it's the first time I've seen him since…" She swallowed hard. "I understand." Greg said softly. "I mean, I don't know what exactly happened, only that Euros involved you in her little… Experiments." Molly nodded sadly. "He called me. That day. From Sherrinford. Sherlock called me and asked me to… tell him that I love him." Her voice cracked, her hands digging into the wood. She looked up, eyes sparkling with tears. "And I forced him to say it first and… it was terrible." She leaned into her friends shoulder, who padded her back slowly. "Did you talk about that?" She shook her head. "We haven't spoken since then. He came in here and he was… cold and distanced." Drawing a deep breath, the girl raised her head, straightened her shoulders and wiped her tears away. Determination set on her face, her hurt eyes burning with strength. Greg had always admired Molly Hooper for her courage and her strength. It must be exhausting to be in love with a man as cold and rough as Sherlock Holmes (oh look who's talking, he said to himself) and even more so if it was unrequited. And yet, the brave woman had always shown him kindness and compassion, had always been there to help. "You should talk." He said. "You know how Sherlock is, he can't handle emotions, he is probably feeling terrible about this affair. Give him a chance. He's a good guy." She laughed softly. "You're probably right. We should see him anyway, check if he's found anything." They made their way to the laboratory, where Sherlock was back behind the microscope, staring at the glass intensely. He raised his head when the two came in. "Ah Lestrade. Awake at last." There was a clanging of glass as he moved the containers of colourful fluids around. "Have nothing to share yet but I need you to go and do some legwork while I work." He smiled. Greg knew this smile well, the cold eyes that so very obviously stared at him to avoid looking at Molly Hooper. He wondered if that was a general Holmes thing. "Please do try to get a warrant for Mr Reginald Musgrave's private safe. I am very certain we shall find what we're looking for there."
Clearing her throat, Molly stepped forward, pulling her shoulders back, looking ready to march into a battle. "Sherlock, we have to talk. Now. All of this" she gestured to the tubes and glasses "can wait until you've told me what's going on!" Hands on her hips, she placed herself so that the door was blocked from Sherlocks view. Greg backed out slowly, closing the door behind himself, praying that Sherlock, in all his intelligence, was smart enough not to piss off the same woman twice.
The closing of the door echoed through the room dramatically. Molly's eyes rested on Sherlock, her face was calm as always but her eyes burned with pain and love. He got up and faced her, taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words. He had wanted to talk to her but everytime he tried to explain, his head began to swim with words and his throat felt tight. Her eyes softening, Molly dropped her hands. "I am not mad at you, Sherlock, not for what happened. I know you didn't have a choice. But you could have called, talked to me, explained! If Greg hadn't called me I probably still wouldn't know what happened. Do I matter that little to you? Do you have any idea what that did to me?" Sherlock eyes widened in shock and pain. "I - I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry I didn't know what to do, what to say." He ran his long, thin hands through his curly hair. "You- you're my friend, I care about you, I do love you! And it killed me to hurt you like that, please believe me, Molly!"
"I do." She smiled softly and pulled Sherlock into a tight embrace. "I missed you!" Sherlock rested his chin on his friend's head. "I … missed you too." He said hesitantly.
"So, you and John, finally together?" Molly asked, pulling away and leaning against the counter with a grin. Blushing, Sherlock buried his hands in his pockets. "Don't tell me you made a bet too."
"I should have. How did that happen? Big romantic scene?" she teased.
"Actually I said a bit too much while he was pretending to be asleep. He tricked me, basically... And thank god he did." he smiled.
"It suits you." Molly said. "The relationship-life. You look very happy."
Sherlock smiled warmly and looked at his friend, his eyes full of affection. "I am. And … I know you … I'm sorry."
"It's alright, really. I'll find someone else. Someone normal, non-psychopathic for a change." She grinned. "I think I deserve that. A normal and healthy relationship with a normal, quiet person."
He nodded. "If anyone deserves that it's you, Molly Hooper."
The sun had risen high above the tall buildings, reflecting on polished glass, illuminating the vibrant city. Greg entered the bank building, proudly showing the warrant to the employee, asking to see Mr Musgrave's safe. He was lead down a narrow corridor with polished white walls and a dark wooden floor, into a hall filled with shiny shelves of thick metal. The bank employee walked down the aisles, until they reached the safe assigned to Musgrave. Typing in a code and sliding a key card over the display, they opened the safe. Within were papers, neatly stacked and sorted with paperclips. Lestrade took then out carefully, scanning the content, skipping through the pages. He froze. One word leaped up to him from one of the more recent documents. Moriarty.