The world turned upside down. Greg's chest imploded painfully, adrenaline pumped through his veins and his head started spinning. Somehow, he managed to make his voice sound steady enough as he answered a curt "Sure". A shiver ran down his spine as Mycroft passed him, as if the air between them was pure electricity. He dropped his umbrella and coat carelessly and stood in the small living room, all hunched and nervous, a shadow of the proud and icy man with the suitcase full of government secrets. "You didn't take it off." He said hoarsely, glancing at Greg's hand, where the elegant ring shimmered, well-polished and cleaned. Trying very hard not to look into the other man's eyes, Greg shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. It took a lot of effort to keep his body from shaking as he was falling apart inside. Mycroft. He looked so broken. It was physically painful to see him like that, Greg's entire body seemed to long to touch him, hug him, comfort him. Agony.

"Are you okay? Can I do something for you?" Greg whispered, his voice shaking a bit. Mycroft stared at him, his eyes wide with surprise. "I… I missed you…"
"Is that why you've been ignoring me for a week?" The remark came out harsher than intended and Mycroft flinched. They stared at each other, both filled with a storm of emotion, the air vibrating with tension. He could barely look into the other's eyes, desperately searching for the right words. "It had nothing to with you." Mycroft said. "It was not- I can't explain. It wasn't personal." He was staring at the ground, abashed and lost. Greg's insides where suddenly aflame with emotions, his head swimming, rage storming through his stomach. "This is not how it works, Mycroft, you can't always run away from your problems or lock them up on an island! Just for once, be a grown-up and face them!" He gasped, shocked by his own voice. He hadn't meant to shout. The rage inside him evaporated as he saw his love's eyes darken with shock, his hands falling to his sides in defeat. Any icy wave of regret spread over his body. "I'm sorry I didn't mean-" "No." Mycroft said, his voice a bit firmer, finally looking directly into Greg's eyes. "Don't apologize. You have a right to be angry. I hurt your feelings. I am sorry, I really am." He tried hard to keep his voice calm and steady. "Tell me why. At least let me try to help you. Please. Myc." Greg begged, moving towards him a bit, as if he was approaching a dangerous creature. He looked into his eyes and, once again, saw the barricades fall, tumbling down in a waterfall of emotions, as the first tear gently rolled down Mycroft cheek.

"I panicked. When you told me Sherlock had found out you were seeing someone. I didn't mean to hurt you, I just… I can't do this, I don't know how." He said hoarsely. "I don't understand. What are you so afraid of?" Greg asked desperately.
Drying his face and taking a deep breath to regain his posture, Mycroft answered "It's… difficult to explain. I was always the clever one. No sentiment, no silly romantic entanglements. I knew who I was and I thought it was a wise choice. I was so proud." His voice quivered slightly. "A man begged me to shoot him to save his wife and I couldn't do it. I saw that man shoot himself right before my eyes and I felt sick and I grieved. I watched my little sister torture my little brother and I was terrified. And I looked into the eyes of a man who saw a better man in me than I was and I fell in love. Everything I thought I was… I don't know who I am anymore." Mycroft winced as he saw the hurt expression on Greg's face. "Gregory please don't, I didn't mean it like that. You made me so happy" He made a gesture to reach for his hand but then thought better of it. "Being the cold, clever man made me feel safe. And now I was standing before my little brother, the little, silly boy I always wanted to protect, and I was vulnerable and he was so strong and confident. Suddenly, he was the clever one and I felt so weak and pathetic. Does that make any sense?" Greg looked at him, thinking. He shrugged. "It was my first instinct to hide behind a mask of ice." Mycroft continued cautiously. "It's what I have been doing all my life. I am so sorry, please believe me, I never wanted to hurt you."
"Why now? You've had days to explain yourself."
"Because you're right. I run away from my problems. Or I lock them up. I realized I had hurt you and I ran away. I don't want to lose you, please forgive me." Mycroft's voice cracked and tears ran down his cheeks. He gasped and fell to his knees. Greg dashed forward, catching him in his arms. "It's okay, I got you." His chest imploded and his anger collapsed. He wrapped his arms around his love, kissing his forehead. "Of course I forgive you, silly. Always."

Catching his breath, Mycroft looked up into the other man's eyes. "I don't want to be scared anymore." His voice was steadier now and the storm in his eyes settled, comforted by the warm embrace. Exhaustion swept over him and he leaned against his boyfriend's shoulder, closing his eyes. "C'mon, get on the couch, I'll make some tea and then we talk." Greg suggested, getting back to his feet. He was shaking slightly, not sure what exactly was happening anymore. While his partner curled up on his couch, he made some tea and dug out some chocolate from the depth of his kitchen cupboard. He placed everything on the small coffee table, picked up a neatly folded blanket and carefully placed it over Mycroft's shoulders.
"What is this for?" He asked a bit perplexed. "For the shock." Greg smiled.
Still shaking slightly, he sat down on the other side of the couch, pulling his knees up. Mycroft moved a bit closer, stretching his arm and placing the blanket over Greg's shoulders, so that they were both huddled under it.

"You will have to face it eventually." Greg said quietly. "We can't hide forever. I can't. I almost told Sherlock today. Not everything, just that I have boyfriend." He waited a moment, anxious for his partner's reaction. He remained quiet, nodding slowly, his hands clawing the blanket nervously. "I was chasing after pretty girls all my life, married to a woman for a couple of years, all of the sudden you show up and turn my life upside down." Mycroft stared at the ground, biting his lip, inhaling sharply. "My point is," Greg continued, "you can never be one-hundred percent sure of everything. Sometimes you learn things about yourself that you didn't know where possible. Sometimes everything changes and it's scary but it's okay. Change is always terrifying. It's human nature, I suppose, to try and fight it." "When did you get so wise?" "I watched a lot of Doctor Who during the last days, it made me a bit cheesy." Mycroft laughed softly. It warmed Greg's heart.
"I should talk to my brother, shouldn't I?" "He's going to find out anyway. I think he would appreciate if he find out from you. I can come with you if you want." Mycroft shook his head slowly. "I think it is time Sherlock and I had a conversation that is long overdue."

For a while the two men sat in silence, wrapped in their blanket, thinking. It was getting late and Greg started feeling very sleepy. The storm of emotions had settled, he had his love back by his side and all he wanted now was a good night's sleep. Slowly, he pushed the blanket off his shoulders and got to his feet. "I really need some rest." He whispered. "And it looks like you need some too." He stretched out his hand. Hesitantly, Mycroft took it and got up. "So, are we… are we okay?" Greg cupped his face with hands, kissing him softly. "Of course." He pressed his forehead against Mycroft's, looking into the ice blue eyes, now open and warm again. "Just promise you'll try and talk to me the next time." "I'll do anything to make sure you stay with me." Mycroft said. "Like you're ever going to get rid of me, silly." Greg answered.

The coffee tasted absolutely horrible. Greg pulled a face and pushed his cup far away from himself. "I told you we should stop by a Starbucks." Mycroft grinned. "You really need a new machine around here… among other things." He eyed the office suspiciously, poking the printer as if he expected it to start eating people. "Well, technically you're responsible for how much budget the Yard gets, soo…"
"I can't abuse my position for minor things like that." He said airily.
The door opened with a bang and Donovan stormed in, dropping a pile of heavy cardboard boxes on the floor with a loud thud. She was panting, kicking the box-tower with a dissatisfied grunt. Greg offered her his cup of coffee but she was smart enough to decline. It took Sally a couple of seconds to catch her breath before she reported "That's everything I could find. Freak better be right about his deductions and I sure as hell won't be bringing that back." Casting her a judgemental look, Mycroft stepped forward and scanned the boxes. "Thank you, that would be it Sergeant." He said with a dismissive gesture. The officer put her hands on her hips, arching her brow. "Who's that one?" She scowled at the stranger. "That one" he said in a dangerously sweet voice "is the freaks' brother and he can destroy your career with a single phone call." Donovan grunted, crossing her arms. Biting back another remark, she just cast Greg an angry look and slammed the door behind her. "Glad to see you're only using your position for really important business sweetheart." The DI grinned.

Two hours later, both where surrounded by cardboard boxes and piles of paper. Greg had taken a new notebook, which was now half full with notes, and Mycroft had been typing energetically on his laptop. He jumped up now and began pacing the room, massaging his temples. "The man is as good as a ghost. There's nothing on him for years. If he was so good at concealing himself for all this time, hiding in the shadows, why show his face now? Why go undercover with the street rats and organize all this messy business with Musgrave and the cellar?"
"Maybe he just slipped up?"
"Moran's a long-term criminal mastermind, he doesn't just 'slip up' like that. Something changed, something made him messy."
"Wasn't he just following Moriarty's plan before? I mean, your sister probably did the planning and he just followed her lead. Now that she's locked up again he is all on his own."
"Obviously that possibility occurred to me but it doesn't explain why he made his next move so quick or why it was so very flawed. Moran is a very skilled sniper he could have assassinated Sherlock as soon as he left Bakerstreet."
Mycroft stopped pacing and closed his eyes, fingers drumming against his forehead nervously. "Something is wrong about this."
Greg got up from behind his desk and carefully took Mycroft's hands within his own. "Thanks for helping with this Myc." He kissed his knuckles. "You should take a break. We can ask Sherlock what he has come up with so far. He's far more used to this than you are and you has a rough week."
Mycroft sighed. "So did you." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Greg's. Automatically, his boyfriend wrapped his arms around him, fingers running through the short, thin hair. The door slammed open. Sally Donovan stared at the two of them in shock, dropping the letter she was holding. "Will you ever learn to knock?!" Greg shouted. Her grimace of surprise turned into an annoyed frown. "I want a holiday." She sighed coldly and left with another bang of the door.

"Awkwaaaard." Mycroft sang, laughing. He picked up the envelope and handed it to Greg, frowning as he recognized the handwriting on it. "It's her. Be careful." The DI opened it slowly, retrieving a note and photograph. "I warned you. This is your fault. Back off." He read. The picture showed the body of the deceased man, lying on the polished marble floor of an elegant building, blood pooling from multiple stab wounds in his abdomen. "The murders are getting more brutal." He observed darkly. Mycroft took the picture, turning it around in his hands, his eyes clouding with worry. "The body was positioned there, too." Greg furrowed his brows thoughtfully. "So they are sending a message?" His partner bit his lip, nodding. "I'm afraid so. And it's not good news." He held up the photo pointing at the background. "It's the restaurant I took you to." He said softly.

Greg's heart skipped a beat. He swallowed hard. "Any chance it's just a coincidence?"
"The universe is rarely so lazy."
"What do we do then?"
Mycroft's face hardened determinately. "Fight back.

Once again, the team found themselves in 221B Bakerstreet. The coffee was just better. Sherlock scanned the photograph carefully with his magnifying lens, his eyes burning with energy. "The place is a restaurant I have visited a couple of times." His brother said. "It's not a coincidence the body was placed there." John cast a questioning glance to Greg, connecting the dots. "I suppose the Yard has the found the body there?" He asked. The Inspector shook his head. "We send a squad over to scan the place, it was clean and empty. The owner reported a break-in yesterday without anything taken. Forensics found some blood residue on the floor but that's it."
"A very specific message then." The consulting Detective said. "Broke into a restaurant for a little photoshoot and left no trace."
His partner crossed his arms, forehead wrinkling in confusion. "Why did Irene Adler have the photo and why did she send it to the Yard? If she works for Moran, the information she gave Greg is unreliable."
Mycroft shook his head thoughtfully. "People like Ms Adler don't have a 'side' Doctor Watson, she will help whoever has the best reward to offer." John arched his brow but remained quiet.
A high-pitched squealing from the other side of the room reminded them that Rosamund was still present, building towers with little plastic cups to then crash them down with excited screams. "Is she in danger?" He asked. "If they get personal now, dumping bodies everywhere, then they know who we are and where to find us." He looked at Mycroft, his eyes burning. "Is my daughter safe?" Sherlock moved towards John, placing his hand on his shoulder affectionately, while subconsciously shielding his brother from him. "Rosie will be fine." He said quietly. "We'll keep her safe, I promise."

Greg looked over to Mycroft. He was staring at his brother, thoughtfully, his hands clenched by his sides. They had arrived together –Sherlock had been too busy with the case to notice anyway- and had now been standing a few feet apart. It was distanced, but he was glad they were no longer coldly ignoring each other. However, he couldn't help but feel a stab of jealousy, seeing his friends being so close and gentle without any second thoughts.

Sherlock turned to his brother. "Would you mind if I stayed at your place?" Mycroft stared at him in shock. "My- Why on earth? You have a perfectly intact flat." His brother rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I need quiet so I can go through all of this in my mindpalace. You're never home anyway." He crossed his arms and his brother stared at him, pouting. Greg and John exchanged a puzzled look. Sometimes the two of them were still 3 year olds fighting over their favourite toy.
"Fine." Mycroft gave in. "Good!" Sherlock answered gleefully. He hesitated, looking at John, then at Rosie. His expression changed, becoming soft and worried. Eyes dark with a quiet plea, he added "And… call highest security on this flat. Keep them safe. Please." Mycroft nodded, his face softening. "They will be safe."