part II

Keep your heart strong

I've been worryin'
that my time is a little unclear

I've been worryin'
that I'm losing the ones I hold dear

I've been worryin'
that we all,
live our lives,
in the confines of fear

~ ben howard, the fear ~

0o0o0o0o0o0

When John rang, I was walking back from the supermarket with ingredients for a meal I was going to cook for Mycroft and myself. I had decided to make curry, as he mentioned to me that it had become his favourite in the time he had gotten to know me, and smelling the spices, the aroma from a pan of bubbling sauce made him feel like all was okay. Especially in the years that we weren't together.

My mind was nowhere near Baker Street when my phone rang.

'Greg, I need to speak to you… He's on the sofa here, sleeping… I just saw him when I came back from work, and… I don't know what to do…'

He is whispering, as if scared to see what would happen if he wakes Sherlock up.

'Where are you?' I ask him, in shock myself, but more for the possible implications of this. Mycroft must've known…

'I'm in the kitchen, I can see him from here, and he doesn't look that well…'

'Right… Um… Do you want me to come over? Or can you handle this on your own?'

'Don't really know Greg… He's alive… I should be so happy, but I don't…' I can hear him break on the other side and decide that going over there is probably the best option.

I've reached the house and let myself in, put the chicken in the fridge, and the other bits on the worktop. Then I ring a cab to take me to Baker Street. I don't know whether I'm angry with Mycroft for not letting me know that Sherlock was planning to go back home, or to give him the benefit of the doubt – Sherlock can be pretty unpredictable at best, so it could be possible that he hadn't informed his brother of his next move either. But fancy springing that one on John like that… As if he hasn't had enough to deal with…

In the cab I ring Mycroft, just to ask him what the hell is going on.

'Hello Gregory, how's your day going?'

'Fine, thanks, up until about half an hour ago…'

'Why, what happened then?'

'John rang up to say that your brother is lying on their sofa, asleep…'

'Shit…' which I'm sure is the first time I hear him say that word…

'Indeed… Did you know about this?'

'No! Trust me, Gregory, I'm as surprised as you are… I knew he was back in London, I've been in contact with him…'

'You've been in contact… Oh, come on, Mycroft… Don't you think I'd like to have known?'

'Yes, of course, but MI5 is dealing with this, darling… I didn't know that he was on his way to see John… God, what a stupid thing of him to do…' he sighs in the microphone.

'Not just stupid, Mycroft… I'm on my way to 221b now, just to give John a bit of moral support…' I feel prickly, at the inability of both Holmes brothers to consider the feelings of John Watson…

'Oh, okay… I'll just go and see what I can find out… I'll call you in a bit,' he says and rings off.

The door of the house is already open, so I let myself in, run up the stairs and find John still in the kitchen, leaning against the draining board, clutching a mug, staring towards the living room, at the sight on the sofa.

He notices me come in, looks up and smiles, as if on auto-pilot.

'Has he moved at all?' I ask to break the silence.

John just nods.

'How are you?'

He pulls both shoulders up, the universal sign for 'I haven't got a clue'.

'This is so unreal. For years I've mourned, I've grieved for him, and now… He's here…'

Then he looks sideways.

'Did you know?' he asks, in a tone that hovers between accusing and stunned. 'Because you don't seem very shocked, or surprised that he's here, in the flat… Did you know he was alive all along?'

I turn away, unable to hide the shame I suddenly feel. I have known, for years, and not told John. First at the request of Mycroft, then to leave matters rest, as John appeared (but what do I know?!) to be coming to terms with the way things were… Should I have told him? Would it have made life easier for John? For myself?

I nod.

'Yes, I knew… I'm sorry John…'

'I'm sure Mycroft knew… He always knows everything… Shit… For fuck's sake, Greg… You didn't tell me… You just let me…' he stops when the scruffy lump on the sofa moves, stirred by John's raised voice. The anger has made space for shock once more, and he stares again.

'Maybe you should go now.' John's tone is even, but I can sense he's seething underneath. I would like to question him there, offer him my support, but I'm guessing he's not so keen on it now.

'If you're sure,' I try.

'I'm sure,' he answers, his eyes still on the sofa.

I want to put my hand on his shoulder, but he moves it away, walks off to sit in his chair by the fire, and I move out into the hallway.

I stay put for a while, just to make sure that nothing untoward is happening, but when Mycroft rings me, I decide that it's probably best if I go.

'Just hang on a minute, Mycroft, I'm making my way downstairs from the flat… What have you found out?' Out on the pavement I give him my full attention, feeling slightly chastised by what happened minutes earlier. What right do I have to be angry with Mycroft when I've kept information from someone who considered me his friend, information that could have kept him from feeling desperate years ago… Someone who's now having to deal with the fact the his partner, whom he thought he buried and deeply mourned for, was back in his life, alive and, hopefully, well.

'Sherlock is still in some danger, it appears… One of Moriarty's men, the last one to remain alive, is after him, and on his tail, so we should really get going with a plan to get this problem dealt with… Can you tell John to draw the curtains for now, please?'

'I doubt that he'll listen to me, Mycroft… He's just cottoned on to the fact…'

'…it's for Sherlock's and his safety, please try, my dear…' he pleads with me.

'I'll give it a go… What are you going to do now?'

'There's a special parcel in the basement, that some men form MI5 shall have to sort out in a while, but first we'll have to get the boys out of the flat. Can you convince John to get him and Sherlock out of the backdoor of Mrs Hudson's flat and meet up where Siddons Lane meets Glenworth Street… Oh, and can you inform Mrs Hudson about all this too, as she's going to have to come along…' which is not so much a question as a demand.

'I'll do my best…'

'I know… Sorry about all this…' Mycroft's soothing voice does actually smooth away nerves and anger I might have been feeling, and I go back inside 221b with apprehension, as well as an adrenaline rush caused by the notion that things are under way.

The next few hours are fairly tense. Mrs Hudson seems keen for an adventure, the guys are pretty wired.

I walked in on some heavy snogging, although I saw that Sherlock has not been welcomed without John making it known just how angry and upset he has been, as I notice a bruise on his cheek, with bits of dried blood where the skin was cut. John's hand, the one that's holding Sherlock's back, is red and sore-looking on the knuckles. They don't hear me come in, engrossed as they are in each other, so I cough, and am met with Sherlock's annoyed leer and John's slightly embarrassed look. I apologise for my intrusion, move to close the curtains, as was requested by Mycroft, and explain what the plan is.

'God, I just hope that my brother has his act together,' Sherlock says, and it's both eerie and comforting to hear his voice boom out in the room once more… He looks okay, not too malnourished (Mycroft made it sound like he was unable to eat a lot of the time, consumed with anxiety to get rid of Moriarty's accomplices as he could, and a kind of grief for not having John Watson near him to calm his thoughts, soothe his needs… I was expecting someone a lot less groomed, though he didn't look like the Sherlock I remember from the Christmas party at his mother's, so many years ago now…)

I take Mrs Hudson to her sister's house in a taxi, John and Sherlock go off to meet with someone from the security services, then I hear that some of my colleagues are hiding in a house opposite of 221b, and that John and Sherlock have found their way there too, and that I'm to stay nearby for possible arrests. Sebastian Moran, as I've finally figured we're dealing with, is dangerous, and a brilliant sniper, has his eyes on Sherlock, and is planning to have him shot from a flat near to the one that the guys are now in. Mycroft's men have apparently placed a lifelike dummy of Sherlock in the front room, hoping that that will work as a decoy. I'm glad I wasn't John when the thing was revealed…

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The hours waiting are tense, and when a shot rings through the quiet street, I notice it comes from the same flat that I know that John and Sherlock are waiting in…

Glass splinters out into the road, on both sides of Baker Street, and I run towards the house. Mycroft had given me keys to it, as a precaution, and I open the door quickly, run up the stairs and see Sherlock apprehending a big bloke, angered, and three guys with serious weapons (and suddenly I feel a little underdressed with my standard issue handgun…) pointing towards the man. He's already been handcuffed, somehow, and all I have to do is officially arrest him, wait for a van to turn up and have him carted off to Scotland Yard, and hopefully out of our lives for good.

'Are you guys alright?' I ask, seeing that John is a little shaken.

'Yes, we're fine, Detective Inspector… Glad to have this finally over with… Have you spoken to Mycroft already?' Sherlock answers, pleasant as ever… I see the three year gap hasn't done a great deal for his social skills…

'I haven't, not in the last hour… Do you want me t-…'

'No, thanks… I'm sure he's on his way now, gloating about his little plan going… to plan… Yes… Come on, John, we have some stuff to do now…'

'Wait a minute, Sherlock, you still have a statement to make, and there are some other matters to deal with…'

'That can wait until tomorrow, Lestrade. Don't be boring… John and I need to… Catch up… Urgently…' He wiggles his eyebrows at John, who still looks rather confused and overwhelmed, and I jump into the gap that was left.

'Your flat has become a crime scene, Sherlock, it will need to be sorted out… You'll probably have to stay with me and Mycroft for at least tonight, until…'

'No bloody way… I'm not staying there…'

'Maybe we should, just for tonight,' John butts in, softly.

'I'm not staying with Mycroft… No way…'

'It's my place too now…'

'Stay out of it, Lestrade… It's not happening, end of…'

'Don't I get a say in this?' John's voice has gained in power, and I see Sherlock change from obstinate to tender in the space of half a second.

Then Mycroft walks into the room, umbrella in hand, grin plastered on face.

'Hello, brother dearest… Glad to see you're still in one piece…' he then looks at John, and I notice the shift in his expression. 'John… Sincerest apologies for keeping you in the dark all this time… I really wish it could've been dealt with differently, but…'

'Matters of utmost delicacy… I know the drill, Mycroft, don't treat me like an idiot… Now is not the place to tell you how bloody upset I was when I found him on the sofa, but I'm sure that time will come… For now, Sherlock and I would like to be alone… Could you arrange for a hotel room, perhaps?'

I'm amazed to see John so composed, when I'm sure he's raging underneath that kind face… His eyes give away his pain.

Mycroft dials a number on his phone, gets someone to organise a room in the finest hotel nearby, as well as a taxi to get them there, and moves a tad closer to me. His reluctant smile is touching. I know how hard he's worked to get this to come to a conclusion that had the least amount of casualties… He had reckoned without the emotional carnage…

0o0o0o0o0o0

That was last year…

Can't say this past year has been calm or The Usual, because there appears to be no Usual with the Holmes boys involved.

It took me quite a bit of energy to get Mycroft and John to be on speaking terms, but I managed, not with the help of Sherlock, who carried on his sibling rivalry thing with as much gusto as before the hiatus. John and he spent a long time 'catching up', getting to know each other again, and slowly we were allowed back into their lives. John is still a little off with me, though, which makes me kind of sad, but I understand where it comes from, and I hope that time will mend that too.

Mycroft, inspired by his little brother, took a month off to spend with me. He hired a cottage on a small island in Greece, where we talked and walked and laughed, and cried over time we lost, pain we caused each other, wrongs we did, and in the calm and simplicity of life on the island I knew that whatever had happened, and however fucked up things have been, or will possibly be in the future, I do not want to be separated from this man ever again…

My memory goes back to a particular morning, when the sun was trying to make it over the hills in the distance, and all I hear is the sound of seagulls and waves crashing onto the shore nearby. I'm in Mycroft's arms, and he's snoring lightly. I can see a smile on his face, still there from when we made love a few hours ago. I shift a little, so that I lie more comfortably, but that seems to have woken him up, and I hear a groan, and his arms pull me closer still.

'Don't go,' he croaks.

'Wasn't planning to…'

'Oh, good… 'Cos I don't ever want you to not be in my bed unless there's an emergency somewhere… Do you understand?'

I feel his breath in my neck when he speaks, and I move my hand so that it strokes the arm that's holding me in a tight grip.

'You bullying me again, Mycroft Holmes?'

'I wouldn't dare, Gregory Lestrade…' he breathes and nips the skin on my shoulder with his warm lips. 'Not when I have a really rather significant issue to put before you… Something I hope to have your full cooperation with…'

'Oh? Now you've got me interested…' I say, and twist myself to face Mycroft. He's pretending to still be asleep, but his smile widening gives the game away. 'Go on… I'm listening.'

'Not now, my sweet, have patience…'

'What?! You can't do this! Get me all excited and then put the mockers on it… You swine, you…'

'It wouldn't be right, now, believe me… Later, trust me…'

'Trust you?' I look my lover into his eyes and see he's still sore on that one, looking at me to make it clear that this is no laughing matter to him. Trusting him, blindly, has been one of the issues we've hoped to tackle in the past year and a bit, and I think we've gotten somewhere with it. 'Anyway, um, tea?'

'Not yet. Haven't finished in here…'

He smiles, then leans over me to kiss me, and that's most of our morning taken care of.

The rest of the day we spend in the routine that we found works for us – late breakfast, do our own thing, separately, for a few hours, then have lunch, around two, and go into the village to get some shopping for dinner, get bread (if there's any left, though the lady that runs the baker's seems to have a thing for Mycroft, as she started to put some aside for us, giving him a wink, which cheers Mycroft up no end… I'm almost feeling jealous, although I think she's older than his mother…), have a coffee in the local café, wander back to the cottage, make and have dinner, share a bottle of local wine, either watch a film together, or read a book, or talk. Either way, we tend to nestle up on the sofa, like we've done this for a hundred years, and when we do, and I look up sometimes, or sideways, and catch his profile, so unmistakably Mycroft, I know that I feel so incredibly happy… Happy that I haven't lost him… Happy that we met to begin with… Happy that my sister convinced me to stop being an idiot…

And when we sit like that again, that evening, when he leans his head in my lap, and I try to concentrate on reading The Hobbit, while Mycroft is flicking through his phone, apparently wading through a load of messages but not answering any of them, I reach to get his free hand (the one that's not holding the phone, anyway), and notice that the ring he always wears (the one he once said was there as a red herring, although he never really explained for what – eager seniors? Hopeful underlings? – which he received from his first big love) has gone. A kind of inverted ring-shaped dent is left on his finger, and I run my thumb over it, feeling how it's made a mark.

'What have you done with it?' I ask, absent-mindedly.

'Oh, that… Well, I thought it was about time I got rid of it… It's not really right anymore to wear it, I feel…' he looks at it himself now, then takes my hand in his, and gets up into a sitting position.

'Right… Out with the old… Don't you feel naked now? I felt that when Louise and I broke up, that I felt my hand was all naked, exposed… It was weird… Almost put the thing back on, to stop it from feeling so strange…' I rattle, not noticing that he's just staring at me, smiling, waiting for a gap in my flow of words.

'Well, let's do something about that then, Gregory…'

'Sorry? How… Are you planning to… Oh fuck!'

'Um, well, I was going to propose, or whatever the correct term is…'

I feel like I'm floating…

'Gregory? Are you okay, my love?'

'Yes… I think so… You what?' I must be looking particularly stupid now, because Mycroft has started laughing. Then he slips off the sofa, gets onto one knee, and I suddenly feel rather self-conscious… He's not really going to…?

He is… He's reached into his trouser pocket and presents a small box to me, opening it to reveal a beautiful silver looking ring, which has a Celtic knot all the way around it, and my breath has stopped going quite as evenly as it should be.

'Gregory Lestrade, will you marry me? Will you be my husband? Please!'

The reality of the words hit me, suddenly – he wants me to fucking marry him! Should I think about this? Should I consider his request, sensibly, think about the implications, the inevitable life-change, the piss-takes at work, the sulking of a certain brother of his… I probably should, but before Sensible has hit my brain, I squeal something that sounds like 'Yes!', like I'm a girl, and see the face of the love of my life relax, and he looks at me questioningly, yet elated.

'Really?'

'Yes, Mycroft Holmes, I will marry you…' and then move forward to kiss him.

'You sure? Really, absolutely sure?'

'I'm really, absolutely, bloody, one-hundred per cent sure… Now stop asking me before I change my mind…' I smile.

'Okay, sorry… I was just so nervous about this… Thank you,' he gleams, getting up to sit next to me again, then he takes the ring out and puts it on my finger. It fits perfectly (how did he get that right?!). He then passes the other ring in my opened hand and I slide it on the finger that has looked so empty, and although it feels strange, to be doing this to a man, it also feels incredibly right… We're reduced to smile like a couple of simpletons, and then I burst out laughing, to just to break the stiffness that's in danger of taking over the distinctiveness of the moment, and I see it confuses Mycroft at first, and then I grab his hand, and say: 'Mr & Mr Holmes-Lestrade are proud to welcome you their home… Or will it be Lestrade-Holmes? Wait till my mum hears about this… She'll be so chuffed…'

'As will my mother, I think… She likes a good wedding. Especially a gay one…' he sniggers.

'She's been to many already then?'

'No idea. I just heard her mention that she loved the notion of gay Celebrities tying the knot, as their weddings are usually so much more fun to be at than Regular weddings… I've only ever been to one, myself… And that was madly over the top. Don't think I'd want that, to be honest…'

'Nah… Me neither…'

0o0o0o0o0o0

The Ceremony took place two months ago. The venue (the Royal Pavilion in Brighton, which is as gay as it gets) was beautiful and packed with the people that we insisted on being there (my mother and sister and her kids, of course, some more family who didn't object to a civil partnership, Mycroft's mother, Annika and Jake, her fiancé, some staff from the Manor, Sherlock and John, some colleagues, and – to my surprise – Louise and her new partner…), and when the sun came out, it was proof to us both that this was the right road to go down…

So, I'm now Gregory Lestrade-Holmes… Married into the aristocracy, as my mum gleamed (wrongly…), brother in law to the world's only Consulting Detective (who will also be tying the knot, as John let slip when we walked through the gardens of the Pavilion, as the sun poured over the beautiful building, making it feel even grander and more ostentatious than it already was, but I wasn't allowed to tell anyone yet…), beneficiary to a house and piece of land the size of the village I come from… Not bad for the son of a postman…

The phone just went – Mycroft telling me that Sherlock is in trouble again… Better be off now… Crime waits for no man!