A/N: I would just like to say, thank you so much for the response to Chapter 11 - it meant the world to me ^_^ I'm really pleased with this project and I'm glad more people are enjoying it! (PS. I've written the last chapter!)

Chapter Twelve: Reconciliation in Covent Garden.

Pushing his way through the mass of Saturday Afternoon tourists, all clamouring to acquire lunch from the same vendors, Mycroft managed to catch sight of Greg sitting at a table in a relatively secluded corner of Covent Garden's open-topped cafe. For once he was grateful of the crowds; in places such as this, the busier they were, the more privacy they allowed.

Lestrade looked as though he had been sitting there a fair while, Mycroft noted from a hundred metres away, with a half-eaten sandwich and a seemingly empty cup of coffee in front of him.

He looked just about as jittery as Mycroft felt, which was marginally reassuring.

Greg raked absently at what he assumed was supposed to be a salad and wished fervently that he hadn't got there quite so early; that morning's pint with John was proving harder to shift than he had expected. He was trying to remedy with effects with caffeine and sustenance, but any good that they were doing seemed to be counterbalanced by the nerves, which seemed to be growing by the second.

If Greg was to be honest with himself – and, as a rule, he generally tried to be – he had sort of a bit hoped that Mycroft wouldn't reply to his text, at least not as promptly as he had done. Greg had only really sent it to placate John, anyway. Skewering a rather pathetic slice of cucumber on the end of his fork, Greg sighed – John was right though, he had been a dick and it was better to set it straight sooner rather than later. Theoretically.

On the dot of half-two, Greg looked up to see Mycroft's head bobbing above a group of Japanese students, turning this way and that, looking for him within the packed square. He considered waving to catch his attention but, for some reason, thought better of it.

Mycroft smiled – a little awkwardly, Greg thought – as they finally caught each other's eye and drew nearer. He sat down with a light, yet somewhat strained, "Beautiful weather."

"I hadn't really noticed," said Greg, immediately wishing he hadn't.

"Mmm."

They sat stiffly opposite one another, both their eyes concentrating fixedly on the abandoned sandwich lying between them. Greg was fairly sure there was something metaphorical in that somewhere.

"Can I get you anything?" Greg offered eventually. "What do you want? Tea?"

But Mycroft, to his surprise, declined with a shake of his head. "No, thank you. I honestly think I will down, were I to consume any more tea."

Lestrade laughed. "Is that possible? To have too much tea?"

Mycroft mirrored his smile. "I wouldn't have thought so, but apparently."

The ice – even if it hadn't complete broken yet – was certainly thawing; a relief to both men.

"Look," said Greg, taking the plunge and leaning forwards, almost putting his elbows in the coleslaw, "about last night-"

Mycroft froze and looked immediately away. Every instinct his possessed made him want to just wave it away with a dismissive, 'It's fine, it's fine,' but he forced himself to keep his mouth shut. Harry was right; it was time to give himself a chance.

"About last night," Lestrade continued, hands locking together to prevent them from revealing his nervousness, "I was a complete arse, and I'm really really sorry."

Feeling his heart take an uncomfortable plummet, Mycroft offered a mumbled, "Think nothing of it, Detective Inspector."

The abrupt coldness in Mycroft's voice took Lestrade by surprise. The DI frowned. "Huh? What?"

"Whilst I do not pretend to fully grasp the logic of sentiment," said Mycroft tersely, "I understand enough to know that incidents such as heartbreak can result in uncharacteristic behaviour." He rose, every muscle in his body tense. "Do not concern yourself with what happened. We'll say nothing more about it."

Greg stared, open-mouthed in utter bewilderment, as Mycroft made to leave – this was absolutely not what he had intended to happen.

"No, wait! Mycroft, wait!"

The younger man paused, an eyebrow raised in expectation.

Lestrade sighed. "Just...Just sit down and shut up for a moment, would you?"

The shock of being ordered to 'shut up' made Mycroft obey, although it was done so accompanied by a highly affronted glare.

With a long exhale, Greg raked his fingers through his hair – really not happy with his significantly increased blood pressure – before speaking. "Look," He stopped, thought about it, then started again, "Look, what happened had nothing to do with Caroline, or anything else for that matter. I'm sorry for the way it came about, I'm sorry for being a dick about it afterwards, but I didn't do it because I'm fucked up in the head, I did it because I wanted to do it. It seemed to make sense at the time." He gave a dramatic shrug, "Who knows, even if the shit with Caroline hadn't happened, perhaps I'd have done it anyway. Pssht," Greg finished eloquently. "That's where I stand, anyhow. I don't know about you."

Mycroft knew that this was his cue to say his own piece, but how he could articulate what he wanted to say when he couldn't even make sense of it in his own head? Deciding that the very worst thing he could do was say something he would regret, Mycroft instead chose to say nothing at all.

Greg waited with increasingly waning patience for the other man's response; it had not been easy to say what had just been said ... Actually, fuck it – it had been one of the hardest bloody things Lestrade had ever put himself through! To admit to both himself and to Mycroft that it hadn't been a mistake that was best forgotten, that maybe he had actually meant it... And all that Mycroft could say in response was...Nothing.

"Mycroft, for fuck sake! Just say something!" Greg hissed, unable to bear the brunt of the silence for another moment. "Just tell me to piss off if that's what you want, but say something!"

The pleading tone in Lestrade's voice did nothing to ease the flow of Mycroft's words. He was acutely aware that he was freezing up – mute and cold and rapidly becoming irreversible. He could see Greg's frustration with him rising – could even understand it – and the relief and appreciation evoked by his friend's confession was acute. And yet, as each potential reply presented itself, Mycroft could feel them choking him, ruining any chance of salvation they might have. If he had had the control of his body, he'd have certainly stomped his foot by now.

Taking a deep, calm-inducing breath, Greg sat back, determined to make at least some sense of the matter before giving up completely.

As different as the Holmes brothers were to one another, they both possessed the same insatiable need to claim the last word. In short, Greg had never witnessed Mycroft Holmes being lost for words, and he was finding the experience disconcerting to say the least. Not to mention the fact that Mycroft would usually have no problem with telling him where to get off, if that was what he wanted, nor would he have agreed to meet in the first place if...

Lestrade distinctly felt as though he was a pioneer on the borders of new, unexplored territory. Caution seemed to be the best tool for this job.

"Okay," he offered, businesslike, "how about I talk and you either nod or shake your head? It doesn't look like we're going to get anywhere otherwise."

Mycroft blinked, having been fully expecting Lestrade to have said 'fuck it' and stormed off long ago. Swallowing, he nodded hesitantly, twisting his ring beneath the table.

"Right." Lestrade shuffled in his seat, twisting the kinks from his neck, before going on, "Right. We get on, don't we? When it's just us, it's easy. Not that I'm saying it's not when there're other people, I mean, sometimes when it's just two it can be awkward, right? But I've never found that with you and me. And apart from being an interfering bastard, you were fantastic helping me through the shit with Caroline – you didn't have to, and it wasn't just the practical stuff and I really appreciate it. Anyway," again the hand through the hair, "I would...I would probably go so far as to say I consider you to be my best friend and that, wherever it is we go from here, I really don't want that to stop. I don't want to go backwards!" His speech culminated with an earnest climax and a silent plea.

The anxious expression that had creased Mycroft's finally began to soften. "I don't want to go backwards either," he admitted quietly.

Greg didn't even try to hide his relief. "I thought you weren't talking?" he teased gently.

Mycroft's lips twitched into a smile. "Some things need to be said."

"So, we're good?"

"We were never not good," Mycroft replied with a small, lopsided shrug. "Just temporarily glitched."

"And last night?"

There was a slight hesitation. "May I have the time to consider it?"

Lestrade grinned. "I think we both need time to consider it."

"Mmm. I think it took you by surprise as much as it did me."

"More, I expect."

A companionable laugh drifted between them, vocalising their mutual pleasure that nothing had been permanently damaged.

"Are you very busy this?" Greg asked, sitting back more comfortably.

Mycroft tilted his head noncommittally. "Not desperately. But you never know who's going to declare was who or how the Spanish will take the French eating the last biscuit in the Embassy."

"May I take you out to dinner tomorrow? I said I would for helping me out, remember?" Greg added quickly.

Mycroft smiled warmly. "I'd like that."