You've got me, baby, are you mine?

by SunnyRea

Sherlock's return from the dead brings Greg and Mycroft back together after more than a year without seeing each other. Will the reunion be for better or worse, can they forgive and maybe start over? -Sequel to "Yours is the only ocean." Third and final in the trilogy-

2. Rewind

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior on Friday evening."

"All right, so apologize."

Mycroft clears his throat. "I am sorry, Greg." Greg hears the click of a door through the phone line. "I behaved poorly."

"Hmm, that's one word."

Mycroft sighs but does not rise to Greg's bait. "I behaved irrationally. I obviously attempted to rush things by pushing us both into a… a date and it was obviously not the right decision."

"Not the right decision?"

"When Sherlock was gone and I did not see you I… I fell back on familiar patterns which can make me less than desirable company."

"I believe that," Greg says as he picks up a pen from his desk

Mycroft huffs once quietly. "When one's profession is the wellbeing of an entire country, it is easy to be completely absorbed in one's work and nothing else, except perhaps an undead brother in trouble in Serbia."

Greg frowns and clicks the pen in his hand twice. "Serbia?"

"The point is, Greg, I acted rashly when I saw you again because I felt…" Mycroft trails off then clicks his teeth. "Well, I suppose I remembered there is more."

"You say this now, Mycroft, but Friday you were snapping at me about not maintaining relationships and me being a liability. Which one is it?"

"Both."

Greg sighs. "Mycroft…"

"I care about you, Greg, but I should not have thought I could simply jump back two years into our previous rapport nor is it fair for me to expect you to read my mind and understand the pressures I feel."

"Are you blaming your job again?"

"No, I am blaming myself. I have difficulty in situations with other people beyond professional capacity, as you know. It is not how I prefer to spend time. However, you are a notable exception and you deserve far better than how I acted."

"So why did you ask me in the first place?" Greg stares at his desk, papers and case files and a dinner table with broken glass.

"You know why."

"Should I have known better, not have said yes?"

"No, it was my fault." Greg raises his eyebrows but says nothing yet. Mycroft breathes in audibly and clicks his tongue. "I wanted… I had…" He clears his throat again. "I've missed you very much, Greg."

Greg bites the edge of his lip but does not respond.

"I do not want to ruin our relationship, whatever it is, and go another year without seeing you."

"That's not how you were acting three days go."

"Then I was wrong!" Mycroft snaps. Greg pulls his mobile away from his ear for a second then puts it back. He hears Mycroft take two deep breaths. "I was wrong," Mycroft repeats. "Perhaps we need not jump into such a thing again."

"Are you saying you want to take it slow or something?"

"I am saying I wish to apologize for Friday and hope that you will forgive me for it."

"You know you're an idiot, right?" Greg grumbles.

"I…" Mycroft huffs. "I am not a –"

"Yes, you are." Greg sighs then chuckles once. "You really think too hard."

Mycroft huffs again. "Is this a yes or a no?"

"You can't do that again to me, Mycroft, all right? No more dates that halt part way through because you have an emotional crisis about commitment or whether it's safe to date due to National Security."

"I suppose I can –"

"I mean it, Mycroft. You're giving me whiplash here."

Mycroft chuckles politely. "I understand."

"All right."

"Does this mean in regards to the dinner you –"

"Yes, Mycroft, I forgive you."

Mycroft lets out an obviously held breath. "Thank you."

"Might want to stick to just coffee for a bit though."

Mycroft laughs once. "I defer to you."

"Mycroft."

"Yes?"

"I missed you too."

–––––––––

Greg and Mycroft sit across from each other at a small table, coffees in between them and, for once, not beside a window. Most coffee shops really do look the same, maybe a bit more metal or a bit more wood but still the same system and the same people with laptops or mobiles all around. Greg thinks his coffee intake has increased ever since that first time Mycroft stopped beside his crime scene in one of those black cars. Then again, Greg was probably plenty addicted to caffeine before Mycroft came alone. Mycroft just gave him more of a reason to drink coffee somewhere besides his desk or kitchen.

"Greg?"

Greg blinks twice and breathes in. "What?"

Mycroft smiles and shifts his coffee cup closer to him. "Day dreaming?"

"I wouldn't call it dreaming." Greg takes a sip of his coffee, no sugar now. "More like thinking."

"Ah yes. About London crime or something more present?"

"Coffee shops."

Mycroft purses his lips. "And here I thought it might have been me."

Greg chuckles once. "Full of yourself, are you?"

"Well, it appears I have been causing you some frustration and confusion of late. Were the places reversed, no doubt I would be spending some time pondering what to do about you."

Greg nods. "Well, I've already done some of that, of course."

"Of course."

"You're lucky you're cute."

Mycroft blushes instantly and almost drops his coffee cup as he is picking it up. "What?"

Greg grins. "I might have given up on you by now if you weren't."

Mycroft laughs once in an airy way. "Please don't."

"You have to be in this with me, Mycroft," Greg says suddenly.

"We are not dating again, Greg, was that not the point? That it was clearly a jump too –"

"That's not what I said. I mean an effort. You can't just run back behind Sherlock and your office."

"I do not run behind –"

"Don't you?"

Mycroft frowns. "I thought I was the one who did the thinking?"

Greg frowns back. "Trying to bait me?"

Mycroft sighs. "No. No, you are right. Sherlock once said to me…" Mycroft clears his throat and shakes his head.

Greg cocks his head and sips his coffee again. "What did Sherlock say?"

Mycroft licks his bottom lip, glances at Greg then looks away again. "Something about goldfish." He sighs. "And isolation."

"What?"

Mycroft shakes his head once more. "It is not important, more curious, but that is my brother in many respects."

"Right…"

"Greg, again, I am sorry."

Greg breathes in slowly. "I said I forgive you but I might still be a bit pissed off about it, all right?"

Mycroft smiles. "As you should be."

"So, why?"

"Why?"

"Why did you say all that? Why did you run away, again?"

Mycroft takes a quick, deep drink of his coffee. "Must we psychoanalyze me?"

"It does seem to be one area you aren't too smart in." Mycroft gives Greg a sharp look but does not reply. Greg sighs. "Fine. Won't psychoanalyze."

Mycroft nods. "Wise."

Greg sighs and puts his coffee back down. "Mycroft." Mycroft looks at him. "I need you to actually try now, okay? Because I can't do this forever, you know that, right?"

"I do." Mycroft slides his hand across the table closer to Greg's. "But I am hardly perfect, Greg."

"I know."

"I cannot guarantee –"

"Neither can I."

"You can. You always can."

Greg smiles and brushes his fingers over Mycroft's. "Then follow my example, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft smiles and does not move his hand.

–––––––––

Greg stands in front of his stove, some cut chicken beside him and onions in the pan swimming in brown sauce. On one of the back burners a large pot of water is attempting to boil for when Greg decides to start the pasta. He pushes the onions around in the pan once more then puts down the spatula.

"So he apologized?" David asks from behind Greg.

"I said he did, didn't I?"

"And you forgave him?" Claire asks from his right.

Greg glances at her as he picks up the cutting board of chicken. "I did."

Greg does not need to look at Claire and David to know they are having an eye conversation behind him. He slides the chicken into the pan using the dull side of the knife then puts both back down on the counter. He picks up his beer from near the wall then turns around.

"So, what do you want say?"

"What are you doing?" Claire asks.

Greg glances at David but he says nothing. He looks back at Claire. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Greg. What are you doing? You told us how this date ended and now you're smiles and sunshine again?"

"I'm not smiles and sunshine."

"But you definitely want to keep going with this with Mycroft."

"We're not seeing each other again, Claire."

Claire points with one finger. "Yet."

"What makes you think we even will? The date didn't go well."

"You're playing devil's advocate against your own side now because I'm right." She holds out both her hands to the sides. "You're telling us he called, apologized and you turned up the 'forgive' card."

"Claire…"

She waves one hand and plants the other on her hip. "No, no. You see, he pursues you, you date him, he breaks up with you, you cycle through the sorrow, skip ahead a year, you two see each other again, he asks you on a date again, you go and then it's a disaster. Now it's into apologies and do you see the cycle here, Greg?"

Greg turns back to the stove, picking up his spatula with his free hand, and shifts the chicken around in the pan. "Relationships aren't all straight lines, Claire."

"Don't give me inspirational quotes, Greg," Claire insists.

Greg puts down the spatula and turns around again. "David?"

David stands with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall beside the door to the kitchen. He taps his beer bottle against his bottom teeth and shakes his head.

Greg raises both eyebrows. "Well?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Greg sighs. "You too?"

"I'm asking why, Greg. I'm sorry but Claire is right, this does not look good. So why do you want to keep going? Because we can both tell you do."

Greg breathes out slowly. "Because I think it can work if I just give it time."

"You've given him a lot of time, Greg."

"Look," Greg takes a sip of his beer, finally remembering it is in his hand. "This is a second chance for Mycroft and I. Maybe he doesn't deserve it but that's not the point really. I still care and want to see if we could make it work this time around. He needs some time and I can be patient."

"But why do you need to be?" Claire asks. "Why is it on you?"

"It's not." Greg grins. "Just think it'll work better if I lead on this time instead, you know?"

Claire sighs and shoots a look at David. David glances at her then to Greg again. "Greg, you know I was all for this before because I thought Mycroft was just messed up about his brother when you broke up and when it turned out how it did I thought you could get back to how you and Mycroft were. You were very happy. I saw that."

"I know."

"But, Greg, you had your second chance, your 'this time.' It was that date. It failed."

"It was one bad date!"

"Greg!" Claire insists. "This is ridiculous. It's a bust. Give up. What is wrong with you?"

"Is this about turning fifty?" David asks. "You think if you can't make it work with Mycroft it's too late to find someone else?"

"Okay." Greg turns, puts his beer down then turns back around to face his siblings. "I know it doesn't make sense." He sweeps a hand in the air. "Mycroft is difficult and has a long way to come in terms of his emotional maturity but…" Greg breathes in slowly. "He's special, he's something different. He's smart, talented, charming and when he's really looking at me I know it's all about me in that second." Greg takes one step back, touches the counter then pulls his hand away again. "And I know how he feels about me even if he's afraid of it. If he needs to take it slowly now I can. I am willing to put in the time. I know it doesn't make sense, it's not rational but that's not how feelings work. You both know that. If I feel this way about him – and I know he does about me – it's not just going to disappear, because it hasn't gone away even after a year of nothing, so I have to at least try for it and I will."

For a minute Claire and David say nothing. Claire stares at the floor, her hands crossed over her chest while David watches Greg. He takes a drink of his beer then lets his one arm fall down to his side and puts his hand in his pocket.

"I can be patient," Greg says. "You both know that. Remember how long Anne and I stayed together when we shouldn't have?"

Claire looks up with a frown. "Isn't that an argument against doing this?"

Greg chuckles once. "It just means I want to see something through before calling time."

"It takes two to play this kind of game, Greg." David puts his beer down on the kitchen table. "How do you know Mycroft is going to be there with you?"

"I guess I don't, not for sure, but I'm willing to try."

"Why?"

"Fortune favors the brave?" David and Claire roll their eyes at the same time. Greg smiles. "And I don't like giving up."

The two of them look at Greg, glance at each other then back again. Greg crosses his arms and waits. He looks at David who purses his lips then looks at Claire again. Greg turns to Claire and she breathes out slowly.

"Okay. Good luck."

"Don't say we didn't warn you this time," David says.

"I did last time," Claire adds dryly.

Greg grins. "You told me to be careful." He shoots a nod at David. "I will be."

"Better," David insists.

"Yes, sir." Greg salutes.

He picks up his beer again and takes a sip. David picks his up as well and hands it to Claire who takes a long chug then hands it back to David. Greg snorts quietly and shakes his head.

"You're burning the dinner," Claire and David suddenly say together.

Greg laughs for one second then gasps and whips around when he realizes they meant literally.

–––––––––

"We have to catch them in the act, right?" Bell says she stands in front of the table.

"Yes," the rest of them reply together.

"Then it all has to be down to alarm system." She holds up a stack of papers. "I've been all over this. Their alarm system is functioning just as it should be. It responds at the break in but somewhere there is a hitch."

"Did you find it?" Donovan asks.

Bell frowns. "That's just it, I don't think it's there to find."

"Not a virus?" Clipton suggests.

"That would leave signs."

Greg stands up and walks over to Bell, taking the papers from her hands. "And nothing from evidence? Nothing from some of the tech people? Did Cooper take a look? She was always good with the cyber–attacks." He frowns. "Or Gupta?"

"Is that racist?" Clipton mutters.

Bell nods at Greg, ignoring Clipton. "Cooper looked. She said there were no signs of a virus and the code was intact. She did say something about tracking."

Greg frowns. "Tracking?"

"She said the security company had some pings on their tracking systems but they kept disappearing."

"Someone is in their system?" Donovan asks.

"They're hacking," Greg finishes and drops the papers on the table. He turns and walks over to the white board. "They are hacking the system while they're in there. They're cutting it off in the middle, right?"

"Hacking from the source?" Bell asks.

"They must be hacking it somehow so the alarms go off but no one gets the alert that they have. They must be hacking the system to make it seem to all of us watching that no one is there."

"But there is no virus –" Clipton starts but Bell waves a hand.

"They're hacking the whole system!" Bell says. "They are making the security alarms mean nothing so there is no warning, so no one comes, so they get the money they want, like reprograming almost." She picks up the security system papers again. "Right? I'm not just saying shite, am I?"

Greg writes 'reprograming' on the white board, grinning as he does. "No, I don't think so. They're hacking the system then deleting the traces so we don't think it's been hacked."

"But we still come, we still get alarms," Clipton interrupts.

Bell frowns. "A delay maybe? A loop or something?"

Greg turns around and points at Donovan with the erasable marker. "You said it before, Sally. They know when we're coming. They know that a response has been sent out because they are hacking and watching."

"Shite," Donovan says at the same time Clipton says, "fuck."

He turns to Bell. "Might be their hack only works for so long before the system catches them but they are getting better."

"So, what, do we have to hack them right back?" Bell asks.

"No, we just need to know when they are hacking," Donovan says.

Greg writes the words 'reverse hack' on the board. He taps the pen on the board and Bell cocks her head. She points at it then looks over her shoulder at Donovan.

"We need to figure out a way to trace their hacking so they don't know that we can see them hacking."

Clipton sighs. "My head hurts."

"I'll explain it to you later, baby," Bell says making Clipton's eyebrows fly up and his face flush.

"Right." Greg says. "Bell, get back with the security group, see what they can do to find evidence of hacking in their system. Donovan, go back to the banks and check the systems on their end, find Banks and take him along to help."

"Yes, sir," both women say then Donovan chuckles quietly. "Banks to the bank."

Bell's eyes widen. "Did you just make a joke?"

Greg turns to Clipton. "Ted, you and I are going to find out how we can 'reverse hack' them. Got to be some tracker we can set up and," Greg waves a hand at all of them, "all of this has to lead us to where they will hit next."

Clipton sighs heavily. "God, I hate the Walters."

Greg chuckles. "Oh, me too."

Bell points at the white board suddenly. "We need to make our tracer so that it can cover a number of bank systems that will be set to identify the Walters hack, so when they are there we get our own ping they don't know about."

Greg grins. "Keep this up and they'll make you detective, Bell."

"I'm counting the days."

"All right, let's get on it." Greg points at Clipton. "Start on talking with Cooper, see who we can loop in to work on our own tracking."

"She'll love it. You know that gleam she gets in her eye."

"The 'she might have been a hacker in a past life' gleam?"

Clipton frowns. "Might?"

Greg shakes his head. "Get on it."

"Aye aye."

Back in his office, Greg accesses their database for information about the systems they already have in place. He knows drugs directorate has used quite a number of high tech surveillance techniques, many which went straight into computer systems. Greg pulls his mobile out of his desk and checks it while his computer queues up the list. He sees a text from Mycroft:

[13:34] Sherlock is to be John's best man. I pity the happy couple. Coffee at 3?

Greg laughs once. "We all knew that was coming, Mycroft." Then he texts back:

[14:30] Big surprise. See you at 3.

Greg wonders absently if Mycroft has some MI5 hacking and tracking system Greg can borrow.

–––––––––

The next time Greg and Mycroft have coffee they sit outside, no windows and only warming March around them. They slide their chairs side by side, watch the people walk by, quiet conversation paired with companionable silence like it is Italy all over again except with the familiarity of English voices and London grit. Greg finishes his coffee before Mycroft, stops checking his watch and after an hour Mycroft still stays.

"Shouldn't you be saving England from terror?" Greg asks quietly.

"I'd rather sit here," Mycroft says and runs his fingertips over the back of Greg's hand.

For a moment, it feels like two and a half years never happened.

–––––––––

Greg stands beside Brooks as she kneels next to the body taken from the Thames. They have already identified him as a prominent business man mostly into insurance but with some investments which affect various MPs. Avery recognized him on sight, so Greg sent him back to make the call to the superintendent. The higher ups do so love to hear straight away when they get a high profile body. Greg really hopes they don't have to hold a press conference.

"Drowning or no, Brooks, what do you think?"

She stands up again and shakes her head. "No."

Greg points to the man's head. "Bash in the skull?"

Brooks chuckles with only half humor. "That's just the one, come here."

She crouches down again and Greg follows her. Once he is lower, closer to the body he sees just what she means.

"Stab wounds," they say at the same time then look at each other.

"I'd say at least five," Brooks adds as she turns back to the body, "but who knows when we turn him over. Et tu, brute?"

Greg snorts. "Maybe. From what Avery said he's the 'cut them down' type when it comes to his colleagues. Keeping more for himself."

Brooks shakes her head. "Why can't everyone just take reasonable, average pay jobs like us coppers?"

Greg laughs again. "Oh, if only. Would we have much of a job then?"

"It might feel like we were paid accordingly."

Greg sighs and stands up. He glances around and sees a forensics team picking their way down the hill toward the side of the river. Avery runs up behind them then stops in front of Greg.

Greg raises his eyebrows. "Report?"

"No swearing but they do want to organize a press conference."

Greg frowns. "Today?"

Avery nods. "Few hours I think, if they can. Said they'd call you direct."

Greg bites the edge of his lip and nods at Avery then points behind up toward the road. "Right. Is Bradford up there?"

"Yeah."

"Good, the two of you canvas for any witnesses and throw up some caution tape. If someone recognizes him we might have a bit of a crowd." He points a finger. "Call in some back up as well."

"Sir." Then Avery turns and jogs back up the hill.

Greg turns back to their dead man to see two of their team taking photos and putting samples into plastic bags. Brooks stands a few paces away writing in her notebook. Greg clicks his teeth twice then turns and walks a few meters away. He pulls his mobile out of his pocket and clicks Mycroft.

The phone rings twice then Mycroft answers. "Yes, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, how may I assist you?"

Greg laughs and smiles. "Gregory?"

"I assume Greg is short for Gregory unless your parents had some sort of cheek when they chose to name you."

"No one calls me Gregory."

"I will not make it a habit."

Greg narrows his eyes at the air and feels fairly sure Mycroft will pull this one out again sometime. "In a good mood, are you?"

"As quiet a day as I can have presently and, as I am talking to you, that indeed makes it better."

Greg smiles again. He turns over his wrist and checks his watch. "Had lunch?"

"It is nearly two."

"That a yes?"

"I am afraid so. I am at the Diogenes at present."

"And you're talking to me?"

"There is a room for that, which you know."

Greg nods. "True. I suppose coffee is out of the question then if you're stuck in your Victorian era."

Mycroft sighs. "Really, Greg."

"Really, Mycroft." Greg mimics. "Can't find some time later?"

Mycroft clears his throat and Greg imagines him smiling, shy yet warm and true since no one can see him. "Perhaps I can."

"It can be a quick one. I am going to have to do a press conference at some point."

"Oh? Particularly heinous serial murderer?"

"No, just a dead business man."

"Just?"

Greg rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Oh, I most certainly do." Something clinks in the background and Greg sees glass tumblers. "Money does make for far more interest to certain people of important stature; especially when it is their money."

"Or what could've been theirs."

Mycroft laughs once. "Thrilling."

"If you like that kind of thing."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Do you?"

Mycroft makes a 'hmm' noise and Greg hears the glasses clink again. "You have a point. Terribly dull."

"Are we still talking about money and MPs?"

"Were we ever talking about MPs?"

Greg snorts. "Guess not. So, this a yes or a no for coffee later?"

"I did say 'perhaps.'"

"Which doesn't answer either way, you know."

Mycroft sighs. "Then make it a 'yes,' Greg."

Greg smiles. "I will."

"Good."

"It doesn't always have to be coffee. Lunch or dinner works too."

"Greg, it is hardly my fault that you chose to call after I already ate for the mid–day meal. You notice the time, do you not?"

"You know that wasn't my point."

Mycroft clears his throat. "I believe we said something about no more dates as of now."

Greg licks the edge of his lip and shakes his head once, pulling the mobile back from his ear. Then he puts it back and tilts his head. "Does lunch have to be a date?"

"Dinner often is."

"I didn't say it was."

"Fine."

"Unless you want it to be."

Mycroft huffs. "For someone who was on the negative receiving end of my unwise, rash behavior you are particularly eager to resume what we blundered into now."

"Maybe it's better with me at the helm."

Greg hears Mycroft's breath hitch in a way that could be any number of things but Greg would bet ten to one is desire. Mycroft pauses for a long moment then breathes out audibly. "Perhaps."

Greg grins and makes a note somewhere in the back of his head.

"Sir!" Bell calls from behind him.

Greg flashes a look at her, waves a hand then turns away again. "Coffee later then?"

"Certainly."

"I'll wait until I hear from you." Then Greg hangs up and turns back toward Bell and their watery crime scene.

–––––––––

The next time Greg calls Mycroft about coffee Mycroft does not answer the phone. Greg does not leave a message and Mycroft does not call back.

–––––––––

Greg walks into the morgue, two case files in his hand and Donovan texting him updates every minute on the PCs progress out in the field, narrowing down the suspects on their murder of the day – three bodies and the warning of more to come. Greg already called Sherlock and received a far too excited 'yes' to help. For once, Donovan did not object to their 'consulting detective' adding his prowess to the fight. The flat had been locked up tight and all three bodies were drained of blood. Clipton has been making vampire jokes while Banks fills in reasons why the lore would not fit in this situation. All in all, Greg wants to go home and stick his head in the oven.

"I have your cause of deaths," Molly says as Greg walks over, mobile back in his pocket again.

"Let me guess, blood loss?"

"Nope, it was post mortem."

Greg frowns. "What?"

"They were drained of their blood post mortem."

"So?"

Molly hands him her report. "Strangled, all three."

Greg glances at the one corpse beside them, bruises at the neck more apparent than they had been at the scene. "So, he strangles them then drains their blood?"

Molly nods. "And it might be a woman." Greg looks up and raises his eyebrows at her. She holds up her hands. "Small hands. Could be a man but more likely a woman by the size. Plus," she points at the body beside them, "distinct nail marks. Bit long for a man."

"True."

"It's conjecture, I know, but thought it could help."

"You always do, Molly."

"So! Wedding!"

Greg blinks and looks up again from the report. "I'm sorry?"

"John and Mary. Coming up fast and now we know Sherlock is the best man." She chews her lip. "I'm worried about the stag night. Does he even know how to plan one?"

Greg snorts. "Doesn't take much, Molly. As I hear, it's the hen nights you have to plan more for."

Molly frowns. "Bit sexist that."

Greg jerks his head up. "I wasn't, I mean I didn't mean..."

Molly laughs. "It's fine. Sherlock might not even know he has to plan a stag night." Molly stops laughing. "Should we tell him?"

"I'd rather not."

Molly sighs. "I can't help but be worried." She shakes her head and suddenly pulls off one of her latex purple gloves. "By the way, are you bringing someone?"

Greg opens one case file and adds Molly's report to it. "What, to the wedding?"

"Of course. What with you divorced, you're not – I mean, I didn't… Of course you can…" Molly clears her throat. "So, are you?"

"Uh." Greg bites his lip and realizes there is a very loaded answer to that question. "Not sure yet. You bringing Tom?"

Molly grins. "Yes, of course!"

"Good."

Molly pulls off her other glove and tosses them both toward a biohazard bin. She takes off her protective glasses and cocks her head to the side. "I wonder if Sherlock's brother is coming. Was he invited, do you know?"

Greg frowns. "Is there a reason you asked those two questions so close together?"

"Two questions?"

"About me bringing someone and if Mycroft is coming."

Molly blinks and frowns. "Sorry, what?"

"Never mind." Greg drops his arm and points to the corpse with his other hand. "Anything else on these three? Toxins?"

Molly shakes her head. "All clean. Clean and quiet. Pretty odd one."

"Right. Good thing Sherlock's coming round."

Molly's eyebrows shoot up and she touches her hair. "Here?"

"No, the scene."

She slowly drops her arms. "Right, yeah." She clears her throat. "Well, good luck and see you at the wedding!"

"Probably see you before that, Molly."

She shrugs. "Never know. Most of the people I see aren't breathing anymore."

Greg stares at her for two beats then nods slowly. "Thanks, Molly."

–––––––––

Greg and Mycroft sit across from each other at lunch. Mycroft's salad looks like some chef's attempt at creativity with the various types of leaves combined with what must be sunflower seeds and walnuts as well as beetroots and some kind of fruit, mandarin oranges maybe? Greg really wants to ask Mycroft why he picked it because it seems so unlike Mycroft in personality Greg cannot stop staring at Mycroft eating it. Then again, the idea of food reflecting personality might go right over Mycroft's head.

"Must you?" Mycroft says.

"Hmm?"

"You're staring."

Greg laughs once then puts down the crisp he was holding. "It's just your salad."

Mycroft glances down at it and frowns. "My salad?"

"It's…" Greg waves a hand in a circle vaguely toward the salad. "It's just not you."

Mycroft blinks. "The salad is not me?"

"It has nuts on it and beetroots."

"Both of which are healthy and appropriate items to be part of a salad."

Greg nods. "Yeah, they are."

"So?"

Greg sighs. "Never mind." Greg pokes at his sandwich, only about a fourth left. He glances up at Mycroft again as he cuts a beet in half. Greg smiles and shakes his head.

Mycroft raises his eyes. "Does my salad offend you so?"

"Maybe I just like watching you eat."

"I notice you seem to enjoy it more when you have made the food."

"Are you asking me to cook for you?"

Mycroft purses his lips. "I'm not asking."

"Not directly?"

"Not any way."

Greg cocks his head. "You don't want to eat my cooking?" He frowns. "Never again?"

"And there is your cheek for the day."

"You think this is it?"

Mycroft laughs once and smiles in a surprised way. Greg smiles back and takes another bite of his sandwich. He loves hearing Mycroft really laugh.

"I will cook for you," Greg says after he swallows. "It has been awhile." He shrugs. "What with break ups and all."

Mycroft glances at Greg then away again. However, he does not respond.

Greg watches him for a moment then leans closer over the table. "Well?"

"Well, what, Greg?" Mycroft half snaps.

Greg sighs and leans back again. "Okay, look, this shouldn't be that difficult, Mycroft. You like me or you don't."

"It is not that simple, Greg."

"Yes, it is."

"You know how I feel, Greg. That is hardly the issue."

Greg narrows his eyes. "Do I know how you feel?"

"I asked you on a date, did I not?"

"Yes, and then you ran out like someone told you your house was burning down with parliament inside." Mycroft gives Greg a withering look. Greg shrugs back. "It's true." Greg makes air quotes. "'Completely contrary to what you know is best.'"

Mycroft puts down his fork with lettuce still speared on the end. "Are you forever going to bring this up?"

"Actually, you brought it up first."

Mycroft sighs. "I apologized."

Greg bites his lip and nods. "You're right, you did." Greg holds up a hand in surrender. "I bury it for real."

"If you were truly still angry about it we would not be here."

Greg smiles. "Right."

"I simply…" Mycroft breathes in slowly. "I simply think…" Mycroft trails off again.

"What?"

"I simply think you may be better off without me."

Greg groans. "Come on, Mycroft, are you a brooding teen?"

"It is not a joke, Greg."

"I'm not laughing. It's an excuse."

"Sometimes you do not know what you are talking about!" Mycroft snaps.

Greg grits his teeth then taps the table with his knuckles. "Then what are you doing here?"

Mycroft stares at Greg for a moment then sighs. "I… no, you are right. It is an excuse."

Greg blinks. "Wow."

Mycroft looks up at Greg. "What?"

"It's just weird to hear you say 'you're right' so honestly."

Mycroft smiles and laughs once. He shakes his head and touches Greg's hand. "You're welcome."

Greg laughs. "Should have recorded it."

They smile at each other, still for a moment, then Greg pulls back and picks up a crisp off his plate. He only has about fifteen more minutes before he should head back to work. They've closed some cases recently so the load is lighter but there is always the Walters to be worked on. Plus, Donovan and Bell have been giving him searching looks lately with all his coffee trips out.

"Greg."

Greg looks up at Mycroft and raises his eyebrows. Mycroft puts his fork down then breathes in swiftly. "I am sorry I never told you about Sherlock being alive."

Greg's body tenses then he swallows slowly and nods. "Thank you."

–––––––––

"He's going to miss."

"You're just saying that because you don't like him."

"He's a prat."

Greg rolls his eyes. "One bad interview…"

"And he has a historically bad track record with scoring goals. He should have stayed on defense."

"Keep crying, David."

They both stare at the television above the bar as the player in question swerves around a defensive player and kicks for the goal. The ball flies wide causing cheers to erupt from around the bar and David smile smugly at Greg.

Greg shrugs. "We'll see."

David snorts. "Put some money down and we'll see how relaxed you are then."

Greg frowns and points at the screen with his pint glass hand. "You have money on this?"

"Not yet."

"Uh uh." Greg puts his glass down and picks up some nuts from the bowl between them. "Last time I made a bet with you I was fifty quid lighter."

"Make better bets then."

"Except you wouldn't want that, would you?" Greg throws the nuts in his mouth and chews with an eyebrow raise at David.

"Maybe." David smiles and takes a drink of his beer. "Maybe I want a chance to root for the underdog."

Greg glances at the screen then back to David. "Don't think now's the time."

"I can swap sides."

Greg snorts. "Right."

David grabs the lip of the nut bowl with one finger and drags it toward him. "So, how's Mycroft?"

Greg blinks in surprise and half chokes on his beer. "What?"

David laughs once as he picks out some nuts. "Interesting reaction."

"How's Jane?" Greg asks back.

David frowns dropping the nuts. "She called you, did she?"

"If Timothy wants to play the violin, let him play the violin."

David scoffs. "He only wants to so he can impress a girl."

"How do you even know that?"

"Playing a musical instrument is always to impress a girl. He is fourteen, Greg, what else is he thinking about?"

"That he likes music?"

"They start instruments in primary, Greg, not now. He's too late."

"Taking the hard father line, are you? Is this because he doesn't want to play rugby? You already had Rory for that. They don't all need to play it."

"No, it's not about that!" David huffs. "Eddie has swimming team. I'm not worried about sports allotment."

Greg tilts his head and taps his pint glass against his teeth. "You sure? Not hoping for the triple crown?"

David gives Greg a withering look. "I think I can parent by kid three."

"Hmm…" Greg shrugs.

David takes a drink of his beer and waves his hand. "Look, he can play an instrument, fine but, got to be sure!"

"How are you going to know that until you let him?"

"Exactly."

Greg frowns. "I'm lost."

"I have a plan."

"You should tell Jane that. She spent fifteen minutes calling you a tosser and threatening to divorce you for me or Claire."

David blinks. "What?"

"Well, something like that, I tried to tune her out a bit when she got into her high voice."

David snorts and laughs. He shakes his head and takes another drink of his beer. "Ah, I do love my wife."

"But not the violin."

"Shut up." David cocks his head. "And I notice how you dodged the Mycroft question very well. You're not the only detective in the family, Greg."

"Actually, I am."

"So, what's up?"

Greg drinks some of his beer. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Exactly, nothing."

David puts his glass down, puts his hands palm together and points at Greg. "You've said that twice now, you know?"

"Nothing is up, that's just it. We're…" Greg sweeps a hand through the air. "Just coasting in…" He wiggles his fingers, "indecision."

"Big word use."

Greg drops his hand, glances at the game, now two-one in favor of David, then sighs. "So, that's what's up."

"If it's bothering you so much –"

"Did I say that?" Greg interrupts

"Then why are you still after him?" David finishes

"I'm not 'after him,' we're just…"

David picks up his glass and shakes it. "Just… What?"

Greg takes a large gulp of his beer. "I don't know."

"You know you're daft, right?"

"I do."

"Do you love him?"

Greg frowns and drops his glass back on the table. "What?"

David shrugs. "That has to be why."

Greg picks up his beer again and takes a sip. "I suppose it does."

"Suppose."

Greg sighs and stares down into his nearly empty glass. "What's the score?"

"Two- one, didn't you just look at it?"

"It might have changed." He glances up at David.

David frowns, looks at the television then back down to Greg. "It hasn't. Though they just got a yellow card."

Greg glances at the screen to see two linesmen talking in left field while one team huddles together. Greg looks back down and wonders if he could get his old mates back together for some games again. He misses playing real football and not just the occasional back garden kick-about.

"Greg?" Greg looks at David again. "I think…"

Greg tilts his head. "What?"

David sighs. "I told you to be careful."

"You did."

"Are you?"

Greg sits up in his chair and breathes in slowly. "I'm being patient."

David smiles. "You're good at that."

Greg smiles as well. "I have to be and, you know, I said it would take time, didn't I?"

"You said you were willing to put in time." David drinks the last of his beer and puts the glass back down on the table. "A lot of time?"

"There's the rub."

"Well, I'm going to reserve Mycroft judgment from now on except to say that you can't wait forever, not now."

Greg narrows his eyes. "Is that a slight on my age?"

David shakes his head. "It's a warning."

Greg thinks about a gold card on his desk, suits lined up in a row, a blanket slipping to the floor, a bowl broken on the kitchen floor, the smell of sunflowers in Italy, then he smiles. "I still have hope."

David smiles back. "Me too."

–––––––––

The next time Greg has coffee with Mycroft they both buy espresso. Mycroft's eyes look a bit red but Greg fears to ask lest he only receive some cryptic reply. Mycroft finishes his espresso in ten minutes then threads his fingers with Greg's. He stares at their hands and breathes slowly as if he is afraid he will forget how.

"Mycroft?"

He looks up at Greg and smiles once. "I think sometimes I forget how much I enjoy your hands."

Greg smiles back. "Does that have some double meaning?"

"Not this time."

Mycroft leaves two minutes later before Greg is halfway through his drink. Greg stares at the empty table, clenches his teeth then breathes in and out slowly for two minutes. He leaves his espresso unfinished.

–––––––––

Greg stands in the entryway just in Mycroft's front door. Mycroft paces back and forth in front of him, bringing files from his den and putting them onto a sideboard across from Greg. Greg watches him slide in and out of the room, face impassive only because Mycroft is attempting to keep it so.

"It's not a difficult question, Mycroft." Mycroft scoffs but keeps moving, this time placing a thumb drive beside the file stack. "It's only two weeks away. You've had to replied by now."

"I have."

"And?"

Mycroft stops for a second, one foot in the hall and one in the den. "Can you not form your own conclusion as to the answer to your question?"

Greg breathes in slowly and puts his hands on his hips. "Well, you can be full of surprises."

Mycroft scoffs again and moves into the den. "Perhaps, then, pay more attention."

Greg grinds his teeth and steps into the hall further so he can see into the den where Mycroft moves back and forth in front of his shelves and cabinets. "That is not an answer." Mycroft sighs again. Greg crosses his arms. "The wedding is two weeks away, just tell me if you are going or not."

Mycroft turns around with a book in his hand. "If you need a direct answer then, no, Greg. I RSVP'd 'no.'"

"Why?"

Mycroft gives Greg the most incredulous look and shakes his head. "Why?"

"Yes, why?"

"Why, you are asking, would I choose not to attend the wedding of my brother's partner in crime solving?"

"It is John's wedding. Sherlock is the best man."

"And my life does not revolve around Sherlock."

Greg huffs a laugh. "It doesn't?"

"And even if that were close to the case, Greg, I am not required to immerse myself in the ritualistic functions Sherlock chooses to involve himself in against both our better judgments."

"What, you think Sherlock should have said 'no' to being best man? That he shouldn't even go to John's wedding?" Greg tilts his head. "Aren't you the one who understands people better than Sherlock?"

Mycroft shakes his head, turns around and puts the book back on a shelf. "I said none of those things. However, I am not bound to his perceived obligations."

Greg breathes out slowly and rubs a hand across his forehead. "It's just a wedding, Mycroft, not a torture session."

Mycroft scoffs as he pulls a sealed manila envelope out of a cabinet and walks toward Greg. "That may depend upon your opinion."

"Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions, Mycroft!" Greg insists as Mycroft walks past him back out into the hall.

Mycroft puts the envelope on top of his stack on the sideboard. He puts one palm down on the sideboard and the other on his hip as he turns toward Greg. "Weddings may be important and lovely occasions to many people, possibly even the majority, but I am not included in that number. Weddings are byproducts of religion, old traditions and historic attempts at enforcing modesty and monogamy. Marriage in general is an old fashioned institution no longer seriously sacred and in many cases is fleeting." Mycroft pulls his hand off his hip and waves it up and down to indicate Greg. "Case in point."

Greg bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. "I think you doth protest too much."

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "Really, Greg."

"I think you're just worried about going to an event where you'd feel out of your depth so you'd rather avoid it. It's not about marriage at all."

Mycroft's jaw clenches and he glances at the wall. "Someone like me would certainly not be welcome at such an event."

"Then why did John and Mary invite you?"

Mycroft shakes his head. "I've already said no, Greg, what is the point in arguing this?"

"You could come with me."

Mycroft takes a step back in obvious surprise. "What?"

"You could come to the wedding with me," Greg repeats taking a step forward and holding his hands out.

"I… go with you?"

"I have a plus one. I said yes to a plus one…" Greg clears his throat. "Just in case."

Mycroft breathes out slowly and taps his finger tips on the sideboard. "Go to the wedding with you?"

"Yes, Mycroft, for the third time. If it bothers you so much you don't have to come as my date –"

"Your date? Are we back up to that now?"

Greg huffs. "Mycroft, we practically are!"

"It is not the same; I know you are acutely aware of the difference."

Greg gestures back and forth between them. "But don't you want to be?"

"I…" Mycroft turns away and sighs, running a hand over his hair.

"Don't you?" Greg insists.

"Yes! I do." Mycroft huffs out a breath as he turns back around. "But… but we can't rush in again."

"Rush?" Greg waves a hand in the air. "What rush? It's practically May now, our date disaster was February!"

"Perhaps it feels like a rush to me!"

"It does not."

Mycroft scoffs harshly. "Yes, because you know!"

Greg holds up his hands. "I'm just asking you!" Greg breathes out once to calm himself down then drops his hands again. "I'm just asking you, all right? I want you to come with me; that's what I want."

"Why does it matter so much to you, Greg?"

"It doesn't! I just –"

"Yes, it does, Greg, or else you would not be trying this hard."

"I…" Greg puts his hands on his hips and turns away. He breathes in and out then turns his head back toward Mycroft. "I just want you to come with me."

Mycroft purses his lips. "Perhaps it is you who is apprehensive about attending this wedding alone."

"Don't turn it around on me."

"Why, because I am right?"

Greg blows a breath out. "Fine, Mycroft, we both have neuroses. Are you happy?"

"No." Mycroft frowns. "I am not."

"Why won't you come with me? Just because it's a wedding? I'm giving you time. I'm not rushing. You know what I want and I know what you want. So why, Mycroft?"

"I do not need to attend a wedding with you to prove that I still care about you!"

"I didn't say –"

"It is not something that needs testing!"

"I'm not testing you!"

Mycroft shakes his head then moves again back into the den. He walks over to the cabinet, pulls out an external hard drive then closes the cabinet again, locking the doors.

"I'm not testing you, Mycroft," Greg repeats.

Mycroft turns in place and cocks his head. "Aren't you?" He shrugs his shoulders. "And should you not be? I am the one who has made all the mistakes."

Greg grits his teeth. "Not all of them."

Mycroft raises both eyebrows. "Just most?"

"If you're trying to push me away right now, I'm not moving."

"Yes, you are." Mycroft walks forward again, past Greg and puts the hard drive on top of the pile of files on the sideboard. He picks up the flash drive, puts it in his pocket then picks up the whole pile. "You are moving because I am leaving."

"Mycroft, you haven't answered –"

"Yes, I have, Greg." Mycroft steps closer and breathes out once. "I understand your position but you must understand mine. This is not a step I need nor do we need. A wedding is not something which always brings people together."

Greg frowns. "Are you saying it would push us apart? Because you're working on that right now."

"Figure it out, Greg. I assure you, you would like me less if I came with you," Mycroft says as he walks around Greg toward the front door.

"It is just a bloody wedding!" Greg snaps as he turns as well.

Mycroft sighs with one hand on the door. He opens it then turns back to Greg. "Please, Greg, it would not be a benefit if I attended."

"To whom?"

"Everyone."

Greg clicks his tongue. "Right." He walks forward and stands beside Mycroft in the doorway. "Fine. Don't come." Greg glances out at the street. "I know I'm pushing you."

"Don't make it into a symbol, Greg," Mycroft says quietly.

Greg shakes his head. "I'm not."

Mycroft steps out the door and Greg follows of him, the two of them sharing the stoop. Mycroft closes the door with his free hand and Greg hears it lock. They walk down the steps, a car waiting for Mycroft at the kerb.

Mycroft stops just next to the car and looks up at Greg. "I am sorry."

Greg shakes his head and smiles in a thin line. "I know."

–––––––––

"We have it!"

Greg jerks in surprise at Donovan and Bell suddenly bursting into his doorway. He breathes in slowly and clears his throat. "You have what?"

"Have what? Walters!" Bell insists.

Donovan knocks Bell on the shoulder with the back of her hand. "Calm, Mari."

"It was his idea to begin with."

Donovan frowns. "I think it was mine."

"A team effort then."

"I'll take that."

Greg points with his pen. "The hacking?"

Donovan and Bell smile together. "The hacking."

Greg stands up and follows Bell and Donovan out of his office. They walk around a few desks until they stop at Bell's. She sits down and begins to type on her computer.

"So, we identified their hack, Cooper helped to isolate the pattern and how it disguises itself in the system. We can watch for it and set up our own tracer to send us a warning about it."

"Perfect." Greg nods at the screen. "I've got a tracker we can use, just needed the program to look for." Greg pats Bell's shoulder. "Which now we have."

Donovan raises her eyebrows. "Have you been taking night classes in computing or something?"

"Clipton and Gupta did help."

"By doing it?"

Greg rolls his eyes. "We all grow and learn, Sally. Fortunately, Gupta can do programing."

"So, tracer and hack code acquired." Bell turns and smiles at them. "Now we just need to wait for them to strike."

"Actually we first need to get the program sent to all the banks in London which have yet to be hit by the Walters. They need the tracer program connected to their security." Greg stands up straight again. "Donovan, I'd like you on point to coordinate that. Have Cooper, Gupta and whomever they choose from IT to be on the ground. I want to keep it quiet."

"We're not hacked as well do you think?" Bell asks, glancing at Donovan.

Donovan bites the edge of her lip. "Can't be too careful. Better we keep the tracker on need to know." She turns to Greg. "Yes?"

Greg nods. "You two, Gupta, Cooper and their team all right? That's enough already."

"Clipton and Banks?" Bell asks.

"We can trust them," Donovan adds.

"I know but the less bodies the better. They already know we were planning one anyway. You can apologize for me later, Bell."

She frowns. "Trying to get me in hot water?"

Greg raises his eyebrows. "Am I?"

"Sir?"

Greg turns around to see Bradford. "Yes?"

"Got something I think you'll want to see."

Ten minutes later Greg stands in front of the scowling desk sergeant downstairs. "Look, drunk and disorderly is nothing compared to what the two of them have given back to us. Not to mention the flat wasn't even really occupied now, yeah?"

"The super wasn't completely sure on that," the desk sergeant says with a tap of his finger on the booking sheet.

Greg gives him a look. "Isn't it? Sounds more like maybe he's holding out for lost rent. Now, those two didn't cause any damage –"

"Holmes vomited on the carpet."

Greg bites the inside of his cheek hard to keep from laughing straight out. "Apart from that, all they did was what they usually do, except with alcohol."

"Sir, they were –"

"Stevenson," Greg interrupts with a quick glance at the man's tag, "they caused no real harm and even 'under the influence' they still cared about the same job we care about, right? Helping the public, solving crimes…"

Stevenson's face starts to soften and he nods at Greg's words, brushing a hand over his walrus–like mustache.

"Not to mention, it was Watson's stag night."

At that Stevenson smiles and chuckles once. "Not exactly how my stag went."

Greg nods. "Cut them a break, yeah? I'll take charge of them, clear the booking, straighten it with the building owner, all right?"

Stevenson glances at the sheet in front of him, worries his lip between his teeth then ticks his eyes up to Greg again. Greg pulls his most winning Detective Inspector smile out. Stevenson nods and picks up the paper, holding it out to Greg.

"All yours, sir."

Greg takes the pieces of paper with a nod. Stevenson waves a hand at one of his PC's who leads Greg down the corridor. Greg glances down at the sheet as he walks, the word 'inebriated' written four times for various reasons and the time stamped as eleven–forty–five. Greg snorts to himself and shakes his head. He folds up the booking sheet and puts it in his jacket pocket as the PC opens up one cell door. Greg nods at him then steps into the door way to see Sherlock asleep on the bench and John dozing in a seated position on the floor.

Greg smiles. "Wakey wakey!"

John groans and turns toward him, blinking in the daylight. "Oh my god. Greg? Is that Greg?"

Greg smiles more. "Get up. I'm going to put you two in a taxi. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant." Greg laughs as John stands up slowly. "What a couple of light weights. You couldn't even make it to closing time."

John holds up a hand. "Can you whisper?"

"Not really!" Greg shouts in John's ear.

Sherlock jolts awake on the cot, flinging his arms but not falling off. Greg chuckles to himself and moves aside so John can walk past him.

"Come on," he says to Sherlock as Sherlock manages to sit up.

Greg steps back out into the hall where John leans against the wall beside the cell door, eyes scrunched shut.

"Don't know if you want to chalk that up as a good or bad stag night, eh?"

John only groans as Sherlock finally wobbles out of the cell. Greg snorts and claps Sherlock on the shoulder hard. "Good morning, sunshine, shall we send you home?"

"Good God, Lestrade," Sherlock groans.

Greg smiles and sighs. "Ah, so good to have you back, isn't it?" John groans quietly. Greg claps his hands together once loudly so Sherlock and John both jerk. "Come on then, taxi."

Greg puts John and Sherlock in a cab five minutes later, Sherlock insisting on Baker Street and John already appearing to doze off again once he is in the car seat. Greg slips the driver ten pound just in case either of the two are light. Once the cab pulls away from the kerb, Greg's mobile vibrates with a text:

Mycroft [09:54] Thank you for attending to Sherlock this morning

Greg frowns. He drops his hand and glances around wondering which CCTV camera is pointed his way or if one of the booking PCs is actually an MI6 agent or something equally shady. Greg pulls up his mobile again and texts back.

[09:54] John as well. Rough night.

Greg sighs and thinks about having a cigarette. It would be better to go buy some nicotine patches. He needs to quit. He should find out if Claire really has or not. They always do better when they quit together.

Greg's mobile vibrates again.

Mycroft [09:55] An evening spent in a police cell would usually be termed a 'rough night.'

Greg clicks his teeth then shakes his head. He types fast.

[09:55] Did you really text me just for this, Mycroft?

He waits, mobile in his hand and standing still next to the street. A pair of PCs walk by him with hats on, clearly back from a walking patrol. They nod at him as they head toward the building behind him and Greg nods back. Greg breathes in and out slowly, stares at the screen of his mobile as it goes dark. After another minute he drops his arm and taps the mobile against his thigh. He thinks about calling Mycroft, thinks about coffee, thinks about a wedding and dancing and Mycroft sitting right beside him.

Greg's mobile vibrates and he looks down at it, a text on the screen.

Mycroft [09:57] I do not know.

Greg shakes his head and breathes in slowly through his nose. He stares across the street but does not text back. Instead he turns around and walks swiftly back into Scotland Yard.

–––––––––

Greg stands outside with a cigarette in his hand, a bit away from the pleasant grass of the venue, down by the road leading out. Inside the dancing has since resumed after Sherlock's violin waltz for the couple's first married dance. Greg flicks ash off the end of this cigarette then brings it back to his lips.

"I'll quit later," Greg mutters to himself. "Promise."

Greg wonders absently what it would have been like if Sherlock has chosen the violin instead to pour his great mind into. Would he be a famous soloist? Would he be the concert master of the London Symphony Orchestra? Would he be a conductor by now? Would he be new age composer, pitting modes against majors and finishing on minor chords with rhythmic patterns to baffle the most seasoned percussionists? Would he be alone in a house in the country playing only to bees in the backyard with the rest of civilization left behind, just the notes flowing in his head?

"All of them probably," Greg mutters to himself.

Greg takes a drag of his cigarette and remembers the first wedding he went to with Anne after they were married. It was about a year after, 1999 then. He and Anne married a bit later than most of his friends as well as David and Claire; him thirty–five and Anne just a bit younger. The wedding was in summer, June probably since that was the 'thing' then and still is half the time. White for the bride and gray suits for the men; there was an abundance of purple, he remembers that. The thing that stands out most to him about that wedding through the haze of time, however, was the first dance. The dance was a waltz just like tonight, quiet, slow, classic and ultimately beautiful. The waltz was played by a trio, violin, viola and cello. The bride stumbled once when they danced and the groom kept on a tight smile, like he was afraid if he let her go she might disappear. Greg figured, at the time, the groom was counting steps in his head – forward one, left one, right one, back one, and again – as they moved to the strings. Anne looked at him then – silver dress and pearls around her neck, the music around them and candle light in wide hall – and Greg remembers thinking he would love her forever.

Greg maybe understands why Mycroft did not want to come to the wedding.

Greg blows out smoke and scowls at the air. "Wasn't the point though," he grumbles and flicks ash off the end.

He hears the muffled music change back in the hall, some recent song that Greg is fairly sure he recognizes but it can be hard to tell these days. Middle age hits everyone and you start to fall off the 'in the know' crowd. Or perhaps Greg just prefers better music.

He takes another drag of his cigarette then blows out a slow line of smoke. Then a hand suddenly plucks the cigarette out of his hand so Greg nearly jumps into the air with surprise. He turns to see Sherlock beside him taking a long drag of Greg's cigarette.

Greg breathes out slowly and shakes his head. "Jesus, Sherlock, scared me half to death."

"You seem much alive still."

Greg frowns but does not belabor the point. "What are you doing out here? And why the coat, not cold, you know?"

Sherlock purses his lips and keep staring at the road. "I wanted a smoke."

"So you took mine?"

"It was already lit."

"Don't you have some of your own?"

"Perhaps not in this coat."

Greg frowns again. "So you went out for a smoke without cigarettes?"

"I knew you would be out here."

Greg narrows his eyes. "Really?"

Sherlock does not answer this time, only smokes some more of Greg's cigarette, close to the filter now. Greg chews the edge of his lip, looks Sherlock up and down then gasps. Sherlock turns to him with a frown.

"You're leaving." Sherlock's lips tighten then he turns away again. Greg huffs once. "You've leaving John's wedding?" He glances back at building briefly. "Now?"

"My role is completed; there is no further need for my presence."

"No need?"

"I've done my duty as best man!" Sherlock snaps and takes another quick drag of the cigarette.

"You know," Greg says gently, "the best man usually stays until the end."

Sherlock breathes in swiftly and shakes his head once. "Not this one."

"Mine did."

Sherlock turns his head sharply. "Did he? Did he stay?" Sherlock cocks his head. "Until the very end?"

Greg frowns in confusion for one minute then he notices the look on Sherlock's face. He clears his throat and looks away. "Well, my best man was my brother." Greg looks back at Sherlock with a small shrug.

Sherlock stares at Greg for two beats as if the idea of Greg having a brother is completely foreign. Then he breathes in and clicks his tongue. "Yes, well, I imagine you and I have very different sorts of brothers."

Greg huffs once and smiles. "Got that right."

"And what about you?" Sherlock cocks his head, flicks ash off the cigarette, and looks intently at Greg. "Certainly not out here for just a smoke break, not so long as this at least with such festivities to miss?"

Greg clears his throat. "Well, no one for me to dance with really any way."

"Not the one you want, you mean." It is not a question.

Greg crosses his arms and sighs. "You know him, wouldn't listen to me about coming."

Sherlock laughs once with little humor and smokes some more. "Yes, I tried as well but to a man who thinks the proper mode of life is to deny one's self personal enjoyment, I think it hardly likely either of us could have prevailed."

Greg glares at Sherlock. "He's not always like that."

"Ah, yes, because you know him so much better."

"Sherlock –"

"Relax, Lestrade, you can continue to hold out hope on my brother." Sherlock shrugs. "I will admit it is surprising enough that he has retained an interest in you this long so as to be possibly promising."

"Really?" Greg asks quietly though he does not mean to.

Sherlock makes a face. "And yet you have doubt."

"Well, shouldn't I?" Greg snaps, now wishing Sherlock had just passed Greg by on his escape from the wedding.

Sherlock purses his lips. "He did come out of his shell for you once, perhaps he will again."

"Perhaps he already has."

Sherlock purses his lips in an incredulous way then looks away back out over the road. "Then perhaps you should ensure he does not crawl right back in."

"I'm trying," Greg says through clenched teeth.

Sherlock turns back to Greg, his face twisted around as though he is going to say another of his cutting, sarcastic replies. Then his eyes tick to the building behind them, a slow song playing. He looks back to Greg and presses his lips together in a tight line.

"Good luck," is all he says.

Then he drops the cigarette onto the stone path and grinds it underfoot. Sherlock turns away again and walks down the path along the park road out toward the main street. Greg watches him for a moment, glances at the building with a wedding inside then back to the receding shape of the iconic coat.

Greg pulls his mobile out of his pocket and clicks the screen to life. He has a text from David asking how the wedding went but nothing else. (That, at least, will be an interesting story for David and Claire to hear). Greg clicks into dial and chooses Mycroft's number. The phone rings five times before it clicks over into voicemail.

Greg opens his mouth then sighs heavily. "I have tried, Mycroft. I have tried being patient for you; I've given you months more because I know how hard this is for you; because I know how you feel even if you're afraid. But you need to make up your mind, Mycroft, because I am too old to go back and forth like this. Please. It's up to you."

Greg drops his hand, clicks end on the screen then watches the empty road, the sounds of dancing and music and happiness at his back.

–––––––––

"It's after two o'clock, have time for a coffee with an inspector of the yard?"

"One in particular?"

Greg smiles. "Was thinking of a certain one."

"Hmm, I was planning to go to the Diogenes…"

"But you like the sound of coffee before that?"

Mycroft chuckles once quietly. "Certainly."

Greg smiles and clicks the pen in his hand. "Good. Ten minutes?"

"Shall we say three instead?"

Greg glances at the clock on his laptop and tries to remember his schedule. Does he have a meeting? Hopefully not. "Sure."

"Until then." And the line clicks off.

Greg frowns at the quick hang up but only places his mobile down on his desk. He flips over a piece of paper and turns back to his laptop. He has some paper work to fill out after a criminal chase last week left some bystander property in disrepair, by which he means trashed. Greg knows he kicked over something when he was running and Banks definitely smashed into a shop door made of glass. Sometimes Greg wonders how many hours of his life have been taken up with filling out paperwork already.

"Sir?"

Greg glances up from his laptop keys to see Avery, Matthews and Brooks in his doorway. Greg raises both eyebrows. Avery steps in and clears his throat. He glances at Brooks and Matthews behind him. Brooks looks away and shakes her head but Matthews only crosses his arms with a glare.

"Sir, we have a problem."

Greg puts his pen down. "What kind of problem?"

"A multifaceted one," Brooks mutters.

Avery and Matthews both shoot her a look. She only shrugs. Matthew nudges her in the back so she steps into the office. Matthews steps in as well then closes Greg's door behind him.

Greg sits up straighter. "What is it?"

"Internal affairs," Avery says, brushing a hand through his red hair.

Greg sighs heavily. "Shite."

"It's Davis," Brooks says.

"Hailey!" Matthew snaps.

"I don't care what you think," Brooks snaps back. "It's a traitor in our midst."

"She's only doing her job."

"Spying!" Brooks insists.

"Davis?" Greg frowns. "She's only partial time to our department what with the Walters court case."

Brooks raises her eyebrows. "Exactly."

Matthews sighs and grips his arms. "That's not the point!"

"The point is," Avery chimes in, looking only at Greg, "that she has a case against me."

Greg frowns in surprise. "Does she?"

Avery's hand brushes against the insignia on his uniform, what appears to be unconsciously. Then he breathes in deeply. "My brother was brought in on a drug charge a month ago and I altered the evidence against him. I changed the computer records and changed his drug test so he would get away with only an ASBO." Avery clears his throat. "I, uh… I didn't want him to… I mean…"

Greg clenches his teeth. "We understand your reasons, Michael."

"I know it has nothing to do with the department. It is my problem, my fault. I am only telling you because –"

"Because I told you to," Matthews growls."

"Fuck off, Manchester!" Brooks snaps.

"Oi, you're the one who stayed quiet for him, eh?" Matthews points sharply at her. "Should have charges against you too!"

"Wouldn't you like that?" She holds out her hands to indicate herself. "Woman too high up for your liking?"

Matthews' mouth drops open. "That has nothing –"

"Oh, I bet not, just –"

"Stop!" Greg snaps as he stands up from his chair. "Right now!" He slices his hand through the air. "We have one problem here, don't you two make another!"

Brooks and Matthews shut their mouths, glancing at each other with venom before turning back to Greg. Avery stands between, arms at his side, nearly at attention he stands so stiffly. Greg sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. He stares at Avery – this tall gangly kid, young, loyal, and hard working as any on Greg's team.

"I had to tell you, sir," Avery says before Greg can speak again. "I don't want any of this to come to you. You are always there for us and this is all on me."

Maybe not such a kid after all.

"I understand, Avery, but we're going to get you out of this."

"Sir!" Matthew insists with surprise. "You can't just –"

"I'm not saying we're going to let you off," Greg amends with a look at Matthews. "But might be we can avoid internal affairs, yeah?"

Avery's chest eases slightly but his jaw stays tight. "How's that sir?"

Greg frowns and shakes his head. "We'll think of something. For now," Greg says louder before Matthews can counter, "this stays between the four of us, clear?"

"Sir…" Matthew starts.

"Am I clear?"

Matthew's mouth shuts.

"Avery, has Davis called you to internal affairs or made any inquiries to you outright?"

"Not yet. I think she only knows a little about what… what I did."

"She'll find out more," Brooks says softly.

"If they haven't charged you yet we still have time, all right?" Greg says with a pointed look at Avery. Avery nods. "Let me know if you hear anything and I will look into how I can help. Brooks?" She stands up straighter. "You keep an eye on Davis for me. Anything, all right?"

Brooks grins and brushes a stray brown hair back up into her bun. "I can do that."

"Matthews." His eyes ticks to Greg, jaw still tight and angry. "I'm not asking you to bury this. I am only asking you to wait, all right?" Matthews just nods once. "Good." Greg looks at all of them. "Dismissed."

The three officers file out of his office in a line, Avery closing Greg's door as he leaves. Greg sits down heavily in his chair and rubs a hand over his face again. He needs to look up the record on Avery's brother, find out what the original change was and just how much Avery changed. It is possible they could go through their own department and give Avery some sort of suspension without pay perhaps. Internal review could cost Avery a lot more and Greg would spare him that if possible.

Greg really wants to see Mycroft.

He picks up his mobile off his desk and sends a quick text:

[14:30] Any chance you can move up that coffee date? Need a break from this office now.

Greg closes his eyes and lists out options for Avery in his head. He does not protect crooked coppers but he also does not want a good copper who only wished to help his brother to be sent through the ringer. Greg's mobile vibrates and he opens his eyes.

Mycroft [14:31] Unfortunately, it appears I must cancel our coffee meeting.

Greg blinks three times. "Are you bloody kidding me?"

He clicks the call icon in the text window and puts the mobile to his ear. The phone rings five times then beeps as it changes over to voicemail. Greg hangs up then clicks call again. It rings five more times until the voicemail connects again. Greg huffs loudly and hangs up. He switches over into text and types quickly.

[14:32] Answer me, Mycroft. What's really changed in fifteen minutes?

He smacks his mobile down onto his desk as he presses send and grinds his teeth.

"Boss?" Donovan says as she opens his door.

"Not now!" Greg barks.

Donovan pulls back quickly and shuts the door in one motion. Greg frowns deeply and glares at the doorway as if Mycroft might walk through so Greg may solidly punch him in the face. He shakes his head hard then turns to his laptop. He starts to type quickly, filling in data boxes of the damage report form. He fills in officers involved, any injuries, list of property damage and businesses affected by police action. He hits the keys like he might punch them right through, like if he slows down something will catch him. Greg breathes out sharply as he adds a period to a sentence. He suddenly stops typing and pulls his hands away. He props his one elbow up on his desk and presses three fingers against his hair line.

"Bloody ridiculous," Greg mutters. "I'm asking for fifteen damn minutes." He glances at his mobile and frowns. "You said slow not stop." He drops his hand. "Isn't this slow enough?"

Greg breathes in and out, in and out. He picks up his mobile, no text back from Mycroft. He types out a text of his own instead.

[14:45] You are almost fifty, Mycroft. Can't you get over yourself yet?

Maybe he is acting irrational; maybe he is projecting; maybe it was just coffee; maybe Mycroft did have a real reason to cancel; but maybe Greg does not care.

–––––––––

Greg sits on the back porch at Claire's house. The remains of dinner still scatter the table while Jane and David's three sons play a simplified game of football in the grass, Timothy and Rory on one team against Jane and Edward on the other. Greg thinks the score is one to one but he has not been paying a hundred percent attention.

Kate runs out on to the deck again from inside next to Greg. "Yellow card against Croatia!"

David scoffs. "For what?"

Kate beams like she knows she will receive an A on this test. "Shoulder grab!"

Greg chuckles and turns to David sitting beside him. "Uh oh, David, going to lose that twenty quid."

"Brazil might not make the free kick."

Claire snorts from around David's other side. "They will."

"I'll see!" Kate runs back inside.

Greg and David glance at Claire at the same time. She smiles and shrugs. "I teach my children well."

"Keep the mother informed about the World Cup?" David asks with a frown.

"Yes, that specific direction, David."

A whoop sounds from the game play in the grass in front of them and Greg turns to see the football rolling against the fence on Jane's side of the 'playing field.'

"That two to one now?" Greg asks.

"Yes?" David replies.

Claire laughs and stabs a cooling sliver of chicken on a plate near her. "Yes, it is. Good job, Greg, at paying more attention to David's family than he does."

David rolls his eyes. "Do you want me to listen to you two or watch their game? I can't do both."

"No?" Greg says just as Claire scoffs, "we're not talking about anything."

David sits up straight and picks up his glass of water from the table. "That reminds me, do we have cake?"

"You were supposed to bring it!" Claire hisses as if Greg cannot hear her.

David grins slowly making Claire sigh with frustration. He takes a big gulp of his water and puts it back on the table.

"Is this how you say you're going to go get it now?" Claire asks.

David raises his eyebrows and turns to Greg. "You want to blow out some candles?"

Greg frowns. "Do there have to be candles?"

Claire giggles and puts a hand over her mouth.

David shrugs with a wry expression. "Well, its belated birthday already, you can wait a bit if you wish."

"Until the game stops?" Claire asks.

"Which one?" Greg and David say together.

"They made the kick!"

The three siblings turn to see Kate back again from inside the house. David frowns and slouches back in his chair, picking absently at a loose thread on his pale blue jumper.

Claire smiles and nods at Kate. "Thank you, sweetie, tell your dad we'll be twenty pounds richer soon."

Kate grins back at her mother then turns around into the house again.

David turns his head to Claire. "There is plenty of game left."

"Yeah, keep dreaming, Lestrade."

"I will, Lestrade."

"Can you hand me a beer?" Greg interrupts at the same time Rory shouts what sounds like 'fuck' and Jane snaps back with 'language!'

David glances at the field as Rory starts on a rant about how he is an 'adult' and Edward keeps pleading for them to 'just play the game.' David sighs then scoots his chair forward so he can grab a beer off the table. He slides back again and hands it to Greg. Greg takes the beer, watching the drama until Timothy sighs will all the weight of a fourteen year old, says 'bugger all, let's just play' and the game resumes.

"Your family is interesting, David," Greg comments.

"Well, you are in it," David counters.

"Touché," Claire finishes.

"So!" David gasps as he steals Greg's beer. "How is your slow and steady going?"

"Do you just sit around your house and think up clever ways to ask me about my love life?"

David takes a sip of Greg's beer. "I consider it a calling."

Claire scoffs then grins.

"So, how is it?" David asks again.

Greg takes his beer back from David and frowns. "It is."

"It is?" David and Claire repeat.

"Don't you ever get tired of this?" Greg snaps, shooting a look at the two of them. "Always asking about my relationships, being my fucking therapist because you both know so much?"

David and Claire glance at each other, then David snatches the beer back from Greg before he can take a drink. David takes a big gulp then hands it back. "Well, Claire and I are both still married."

Greg frowns. "Ow."

"You snapped at us," Claire grumps.

"Sorry," Greg mumbles.

"So, not well then?" David asks though it is not really a question.

Greg sighs and unbuttons the second button of his shirt. "It's… I don't know. It's slow."

"You said it was going to be." David shrugs. "Wasn't that part of the point?"

"Not exactly."

"Well what then?"

"He's just…" Greg looks out at the backyard. Jane leaning over with her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath as her sons kick the football around aimlessly. "It's back and forth. We talk, we have coffee, it's good and then he cancels, won't come to the wedding with me."

"Wedding?" Claire says.

"He pulls back," Greg continues, "it's all so on again, off again. It's so…" Greg groans. "Stereotypical."

"Everyone's relationship is stereotypical in some way, Greg." Claire leans forward and picks up a crisp off one plate. "All been done before."

"But we're not even in a relationship right now." Greg waves his fingers in the air. "We're taking it slow."

"That was your idea," Claire points out.

"It… well…" Greg leans back in his chair. "I don't know. I don't know why I'm doing this."

"We give people we love more chances," David says quietly. Greg looks over at him at the same time David turns toward him. "We give them more chances than maybe they deserve but it's because it matters so much more."

Greg breathes in slowly and clenches his jaw. "Maybe he needs to give me more chances too."

David smiles. "Ah, if only life were fair."

Claire huffs at the same time Greg does.

"Mum!" John suddenly screeches from inside the house.

Claire jerks in surprise and jumps to her feet. Greg and David flash her matching looks of confusion as she skirts around them and into the house. They watch the door for a minute in case someone should be running to dial an ambulance but no further screams erupt. Greg turns back to David and takes a drink of their now shared beer.

"Why's he doing this, David, eh?"

"I don't know, maybe he actually is trying to push you away before you two get back into it?" David swirls his finger around in the air. "For real that is."

Greg huffs. "He's doing a good job."

David shrugs. "Then maybe it's time to give up, Greg. Had enough chances?"

Greg sighs and rubs his eyes with his free hand. "God, I don't know." He drops his hand. "I know this isn't because he doesn't care about me, it's not that."

David frowns. "Then what is it?"

Greg sighs. "I'm not sure. I don't think he trusts relationships and feelings. Obviously he's tried but…"

"Sounds like the same old closed–off–can't–be–vulnerable thing."

Greg laughs once. "Yeah, I'd say so."

"That, or he wants to protect you."

"Protect me? From what?"

"From him."

Greg purses his lips. "Wouldn't put that past him."

"What are you going to do?"

Greg watches his family in the grass, Jane running after the ball when it flies 'foul,' Rory ruffling Timothy's hair, dirt on Edward's knees. He shakes his head slowly. "I don't know." He looks at David. "Don't know how much longer I can take this."

"Well!" David and Greg turn to Claire as she steps back onto the porch. "It seems in trying to add candles to your cake Colin and Kate dropped it on the kitchen floor."

David bursts out a laugh. "Happy birthday, Greg." He laughs again. "No blowing out candles after all!"

"And no cake to eat." Claire raises her eyebrows at David and he stops laughing.

Greg smiles at them both. "Don't worry, I've had enough cake in my life by fifty–one."

"Never enough cake," Claire and David reply together causing all three of them to laugh.

–––––––––

Greg calls Mycroft to have lunch – they can do better than coffee, then canceling, then texts by now, can't they?

"Lunch? Please?"

But Mycroft only says, "I am sorry, Greg, perhaps another time. Work does get in the way."

Greg hangs up and drops his mobile on his desk. He stares at the papers, at his keyboard, at the dark screen of his mobile. Greg picks up his coffee mug then throws it across his office so the half cold coffee splatters over his blinds and the mug breaks into three pieces on the floor.

–––––––––

Greg bursts through Mycroft's office door holding his mobile. "I'm here."

"I can see that," Mycroft says as he types on his laptop. "We have limited time before Sherlock is bound to reopen his wounds and risk death." Mycroft sighs. "Yet again."

"You all right?"

Mycroft jerks his head up at Greg and frowns. "Greg, let us stick to the matter at hand."

"Finding Sherlock?"

"Yes, finding Sherlock."

"Are you sure you're –"

"Please, Greg, I need none of your concern just now!"

Greg frowns and clicks his teeth together, one hand fisting. "Of course." Greg clicks into his google drive on his mobile. "So, Sherlock has three main bolt holes, yeah? Parlia –"

"Five known bolt holes," Mycroft interrupts. "It's the blind green house in Kew Gardens and the leaning tomb in Hampton Cemetery."

Greg folds his hands, waits for something more, then Mycroft glances up and makes a shooing motion with one hand. Greg blinks and has to stop himself from cursing.

"Any you think we should check first?" Greg says, holding back the rise of anger in his chest.

Mycroft sighs and waves a hand toward the door. "All of them, Greg!"

Greg grits his teeth together but tries to stay calm. "Fine, all five." He cocks his head crosses his arms. "Can't be sure he'll go somewhere you know about though, will he?"

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "Not a problem, Greg, as he is unaware I know about them."

Greg frowns. "How can you know that he doesn't know?"

"Dear God, sometimes just listening to you speak must cost me brain cells." Mycroft mutters then looks up at Greg. "Just skip your thought process and follow mine. Help me find Sherlock."

Greg stares at Mycroft, teeth so tight they might break. "That's it?"

"What more do you want?"

Greg glares and shifts his weight forward as he speaks, waving a hand out between them. "Mycroft, you've canceled on me about half a dozen times in the last month, I've barely seen you in weeks, after you agreed to keep trying, even if it's slow, and now you call me suddenly to help you find your brother again, so –"

"Greg!" Mycroft groans then huffs heavily again. "I think you can tell that finding Sherlock is of paramount importance at this moment, more than anything else you might wish to discuss!" He raises both eyebrows. "Another time, Yes?"

Greg laughs harshly. "Right. Yes, of course, I can certainly see that."

"Good, Greg." Mycroft sighs again, hitting the keys on his computer hard. "My brother is showing his idiotic side right now and I'd rather he not attempt to bleed out after the first attempt by whomever it was failed."

"Are you done?" Greg snaps.

Mycroft glances at Greg and cocks his head. "Please, do not pull out your dramatics now. We need to find Sherlock." Then he turns back to his computer.

Greg turns on his heel and marches to the door. He is so angry his jaw aches from biting his teeth together and he might be bleeding from his nails digging into his palms. Greg grabs the door handle and opens the door. He takes one step out then shifts back onto his heel and swings around. "You know what, I'll help you find Sherlock, of course, but after that..." Greg shakes his head and waves a hand. "I'm done. This is it."

Mycroft sighs and pulls his eyes away from his computer. "Greg, really, is now the time for –"

"Oh, it's the perfect time." Greg takes one step back into Mycroft's office. "After this do not call me anymore."

Mycroft's face shifts. "Greg, there is no need to –"

"You do not tell me what I need!" Greg snaps.

Mycroft's mouth shuts and his jaw clenches but he does not say anything back.

"I've had enough! I've had enough of this back and forth, this waiting around, this calling and canceling, this happy then not, on and off again, this how badly you want to hang on to me then you just pull away, this alternating between close then fucking callous and condescending. Just tired of waiting!"

"Greg, I –"

"No, no! I was an idiot, a bloody idiot to think that we could start over. That I could resurrect the part of you that sent me those presents, that tried so hard, that thought you could be a better person who let themselves fucking feel something and live life outside of this damn office, outside of your pride and supposed obligations." Greg waves a hand in the air. "A bloody idiot for being fucking patient with you hoping that you just needed time when really you are so fucking afraid of being anything other than closed off and alone. Then fucking fine, be it!"

Mycroft breathes in sharply and stands up from his chair. "Greg, you don't understand!"

Greg laughs harsh and loud. "Oh! I understand fucking plenty!"

"You are being rash!"

"Rash?" Greg scoffs.

"Greg, please –"

"Do not 'please' me now!" Greg shouts. "If you can't make up your mind then I am making it up for you!" Greg breathes in a shallow breath and holds up a hand. "I do not want to see you again. Ever."

Mycroft stares at Greg, his face nearly blank but for the intense shock. "Greg…"

"Ever," Greg repeats.

Mycroft takes one step backward and his hand latches onto the top of his chair but he says nothing as he just stares at Greg. Greg feels himself shaking so he turns on his heel again and walks out the door to go find Sherlock. Behind him, Greg hears something smash on the floor in Mycroft's office. Greg feels tears in his eyes, a tremor in his hands but he does not turn back.