After leaving Lestrade's room, John texted Mycroft Holmes after conferring with Greg's doctors.
We need to talk about Lestrade. JW
Agreed. I'll meet you at your flat. MH
When John arrived home, there was a large black car in front of his building.
He entered the building and saw Mycroft waiting outside his flat. "You didn't break in? How terribly kind of you." John muttered without any real heat.
"I always left the breaking and entering to Sherlock. He did so love to pick a lock." Mycroft said, a sad smile twitching across his face. He followed John into his flat.
"Tea?" John asked, after shucking off his coat, heading into his small kitchen and filling the kettle.
"If it's not too much trouble." Mycroft replied, sitting on the small sofa in John's spartan flat.
"It'll be a minute." John said, coming in and taking a seat in his armchair by the sofa.
Mycroft inclined his head. "How is the good inspector? Has his memory returned?"
John shifted in his seat. "I'd ask how you know that, but I know it'd be a waste of breath. He's regained some memories. I spoke with his team of physicians and they tell me, he's lost most of the last three years of his life."
Mycroft showed little response to this, but years of dealing with Holmeses allowed John to see how this news dismayed him.
"So he remembers none of…?" Mycroft trailed off, another sign of his distress.
"Oh, his relationship with Sherlock? No. Nor anything of Sherlock's death. I had to tell him about that. He didn't take it well. I have no idea how to go about telling him he and Sherlock were involved when he died." John heard the kettle click off and rose to go prepare the tea.
Mycroft sat on the sofa in thought while John bustled about the kitchen.
When John returned with the tea tray, Mycroft waited until he served the tea and sat down before speaking.
"John, you are not going to like what I have to say." Mycroft began boldly.
John snorted, "When has that ever stopped you? Go ahead. Say your piece."
Mycroft sipped his tea before placing the mug on the end table beside him.
"We cannot tell Detective Inspector Lestrade of the nature of his relationship with my brother."
The doctor's mouth fell open. "What? We have to! It's cruel to keep it from him."
"Is it though? You said yourself he did not react well to the news of my brother's passing. Is not perhaps crueler to tell him that not only did my brother kill himself but that he was Sherlock's lover when it happened? He will already mourn Sherlock, surely we can save him the pain of losing a lover he cannot properly remember." Mycroft sat back placidly, awaiting an eruption from John.
John surprised Mycroft not kicking him out but by sitting and considering the other man's words.
"I don't know, Mycroft. The doctors' say he should regain his memories at some point, how will he react to the knowledge that we lied to him about Sherlock?" John met the other's gaze head on.
"It's an untenable situation to be sure, John, but I think for now it's best to let the man heal and mourn Sherlock as a friend. When his memories return we will deal with the fallout. Hopefully he will recognize our intentions were good." Mycroft finished his tea and made to stand.
John rose as well. "I suppose so. God, what a mess. Poor Greg. I'll never understand why Sherlock jumped. Greg said today he never doubted him, could never doubt him and he was speaking of the man he knew before they… grew closer. How could Sherlock leave him? Leave us?"
Mycroft inhaled sharply but said nothing.
John shook his head. "Sorry. It's just all a bit much right now, what with the anniversary approaching. Sorry. I won't tell Greg he and Sherlock were lovers. But when he regains his memories and wants to punch someone, I'm sending him to you." The doctor held open the door to his flat for Mycroft.
"And I will let him punch me. I surely deserve that much for my role in everything. Good day John." With that, Mycroft left and John was alone with his thoughts.
'What a fucking mess. Damnit Sherlock. I wish you were here to help Greg get through this.'
Greg was dozing in his bed when Sally Donovan came to visit him. She brought a large bouquet and placed them by the window where there would get sunlight.
"Sally! Good to see you!" Greg was happy to see a familiar face.
"Hey Boss, you look a lot better. You remember me obviously. That's great!" Sally smiled and sat in the chair by the bed.
"Good observation, we'll make a detective inspector out of you yet. Or wait, are you already? My memory of the last few years is shot to shit, I'm afraid." Greg quirked a rueful grin at the younger woman.
She shook her head. "Nah, I'm still a sergeant but Gregson, the chief, is letting me cover your cases while you recover. So here's hoping I don't blow all my chances."
"That's great, Sally. I'm sure you'll do great. I'm sorry I can't help with the transfer of cases but, I'm still swiss cheesed like I said." Greg shifted in bed as he spoke to Sally.
"Boss, you are taking this whole amnesia thing remarkably well. Did you lose some of your stubborn personality when you got shot?" Sally shot him a look to make sure he recognized her teasing.
Greg smiled. "Har har. Very funny. Well John. You must know John Watson? My doctor? He was here yesterday and he and the doctors' here have explained the memory loss is most likely temporary. I may never remember how I was injured or the days leading up to it but I should get the rest back with time."
A shadow flickered over Sally's face. "Watson, right. He's your doctor, I didn't realize that. I guess it makes sense considering everything."
Greg looked confused but didn't say anything. Sally's phone pinged and she took it out to view her incoming text message.
It's John Watson. Do NOT talk to Greg about Sherlock. Please, Sally. Call me when you get a chance.
She frowned at her phone and Greg took notice.
"Everything alright there?" He asked, nodding at her mobile.
"Huh?" Sally's head snapped up. "Yeah, just work. Gotta run. I'll be by tomorrow to say hello. When are you getting sprung?" She stood up and shoved her mobile in her jacket pocket.
"No idea. They want to observe me some more. Run more tests. Please do come visit. It's boring as hell in here." Greg shifted his bed down and pulled the blankets up around his torso.
"Will do boss. I'll bring you a book. You still like mysteries? PD James?" Sally asked as she walked towards the door.
"I do. Good luck Sally. Thanks for visiting." Greg closed his eyes as exhaustion swept over him.
Sally closed the door quietly behind her and stalked out of the hospital. Once on the pavement she whipped out her mobile and called John Watson.
"What the hell are you playing at? What's the meaning of your text? I don't like lying to Lestrade and I don't see why I should."
She stood quietly listening as John explained the reasoning for keeping certain details from Greg. Sally didn't like it, but she understood where the doctor was coming from. She felt uncomfortable talking to Sherlock's best friend and hadn't been certain the reception she was going to get from his lover when she went to visit her boss. It took him a long time to forgive her for arresting Sherlock after he refused to do so. He understood her reasonings but it didn't make it any easier to forgive.
She sighed. "Alright, alright. I get it. I won't say anything. Listen, John, while I have you on the line I want to apolog—." The line went dead as Watson hung up. Not that she blamed him.
She could only hope Lestrade would gain his memories back soon so they wouldn't have to continue deceiving him. 'What a fucking mess.'