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-

3. Pause

Greg stands beside Sherlock's hospital bed, the morphine drip up to the highest possible setting. Greg wonders at the morality of giving a recovered drug addict – if that is actually the case – his own personal access point. Then again, Sherlock was shot. Sherlock's eyes are closed, breath even and his hands flat against the sheets over his midsection. Greg chews the edge of his lip for a moment then glances behind himself to look for a chair.

"What do you want, Lestrade?"

Greg tenses slightly then turns back to Sherlock. "So, you're awake then?"

"Were you really going to wait?" Sherlock asks without opening his eyes.

"For a bit."

"Should I be touched or concerned?"

Greg sighs. "Feel how you want, Sherlock. You're the one who was shot."

"Indeed."

"So, you should know why I'm here."

"You desire details?"

"Someone shot you, Sherlock, and you saw who it was. Not to mention you escaped from hospital to do…" Greg waves a hand in the air, "Whatever you did."

Sherlock snorts with derision then hisses quietly with pain. He breathes slowly for a few seconds then opens his eyes. "You've asked me all this before, repeatedly; do you recall my answers?"

Greg frowns. "Lying here in pain hasn't changed your mind at all?" He cocks his head. "Don't you want us to catch who shot you? Since I doubt that's what you did when you ran off before."

Sherlock turns his head away. "Think what you will, Lestrade."

Greg sighs heavily. "You really not going to tell me who shot you?"

"All is forgiven."

"That the morphine talking?"

Greg sees Sherlock's eyes tick to the drip. "It's an aid."

"Who are you protecting, eh?" Greg crosses his arms. "I can't get a word out of John, nothing out of you. If I didn't know better I'd say John had shot you the way you're acting."

Sherlock scoffs. "Hardly."

Greg nods. "True. He'd have gone for the head if that was the way of it."

Sherlock laughs once in a surprised way then groans quietly in pain. He turns back to Greg and smiles just a little. "Do not let it bother you, Greg, I will recover and no one else will be hurt by the shooter. I can guarantee that." Sherlock purses hi lips. "No one that doesn't deserve it."

Greg frowns and uncrosses his arms. "You got my name right."

Sherlock raises his eyebrows. "Greg?"

"Yes."

Sherlock purses his lips. "I was guessing."

Greg huffs into a sigh. "Right." He watches Sherlock – Sherlock's eyes elsewhere and his mind already moving into something quite beyond Greg. "Sherlock." Sherlock's eyes refocus on Greg. "You are going to have to tell me who shot you eventually."

"I'm not filing charges. You have no case you need to worry about."

"Sherlock!"

"Lestrade!" Sherlock snaps back, his jaw tight against the pain in his chest. "You are wasting time which I could be using for more productive thinking and I would imagine your own valuable police time." He turns away again. "Go solve a break in and do leave me in peace. Or force my brother to enjoy life for a change."

Greg glances at the wall and clenches his teeth. "Suit yourself." Then he turns around and walks out of the hospital room.

Greg walks down the hall, stops at the lifts for only a second then keeps on going and takes the stairs back down to the lobby. As he heads for the front doors, he sees Mary walking toward him. He smiles and stops when she reaches him.

"Greg." She smiles and crosses her arms over her scrubs. "Come to see Sherlock?"

"Just did." Greg points toward the doors. "On my way out."

"Oh, right."

"Still won't tell me who shot him." Greg shrugs. "Suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

Mary's smile fades slightly then she nods twice. "Might want to investigate it himself?"

"What, like when he ran off from here a week ago?" Greg shakes his head. "Don't know what to think really. Seems just like half the cases he's been in on, always hiding what he knows until the end."

Mary frowns. "You think he'll end up telling you who it was?"

Greg shrugs. "Might be he doesn't actually know. Might be he wants to investigate. Might be anything. After a while, I've tried not to predict him. Never works."

Mary laughs once. "I believe that." Then she tilts her head. "Don't worry, Greg, John and I will watch out for him."

"How's John, by the way? Surprised he wasn't up there keeping vigil so Sherlock stays put."

Mary swallows once and looks away. Greg instantly knows that look but he keeps his mouth firmly shut. Mary looks back again with a wide smile. "Fine. John's just fine."

Greg watches her for a few seconds then nods. "Right. Good."

Mary clears her throat and her eyes wander again. "Well, I won't keep you."

Greg takes a step back and smiles. "Good to see you, Mary."

She nods once then turns on her heel and walks away. Greg watches her go and hopes that look was not as far reaching as it could be. John and Mary deserve to be happy and, unlike some people, the two of them know how.

–––––––––

It takes three weeks of silence before Mycroft calls Greg.

Greg sits on his couch with The World Cup on the telly, into the second stage now Germany versus France and Greg is rooting for France. David almost took him up on a bet but David decided to save his money this round what with Claire's win with Brazil before. They really need to keep betting out of their football watching, always leaves one Lestrade unhappy and they cannot have that.

Greg's laptop sits open on the coffee table, a stack of case files beside it and a plate with some half eaten lasagne Greg made beyond that. Greg does not normally make lasagne; the process is time consuming and the amount of cheese, more often than not, makes him feel sick afterward. However, he found a recipe for butternut squash lasagne and decided to be daring. He is not disappointed in the results.

Though usually Greg avoids bringing work home, he is behind on a number of reports he owes his superintendent. Most of the reports are statistical about their recent cases, numbers closed, number open, any staff incidents, and the like. It is menial work and he always leaves it too late, especially when there are far more important things like crimes to be solved. But the brass do love their reports and Greg wants to keep his job for now.

Greg glances up at the telly as he types – number of arrests for the first week of June – just in time to see Germany make a goal.

"Oi!" Greg groans and sits back from the table. He frowns and picks up his fork, stabbing some pasta and shoving it into his mouth. "Good thing I didn't bet David."

Greg puts down his fork again and looks at his computer screen. He rubs a hand over his face then turns and opens one case file. He has most of this data from their computer system but there are specifics to add. Greg's mobile begins to buzz with a call at the far end of the table. He reaches over and grabs it at the second buzz. He looks down and stops just before pressing 'answer.'

The screen reads 'Mycroft' and instantly Greg's teeth clench tightly together.

The mobile buzzes a third time, then a fourth and Greg presses 'end.' He puts the mobile down and turns back to his laptop. He types another line about a submitted incident report from three weeks ago. He glances at his file stack again. He has a report number he can reference, probably in his e–mail. Greg glances up at the television again as he picks up his beer bottle. The score is still the same. He purses his lips then takes a drink of his beer.

Then Greg's mobile begins to vibrate again. He picks it up with his free hand, sees 'Mycroft' on the screen then clicks 'end' again. Taking a big gulp of his beer, Greg places his mobile on the far side of his couch. Greg puts the bottle down and turns back to his laptop, pulling up his e–mail. He searches his 'incident' tab for the right case and report. It should not be too far down.

Greg feels a slight vibration in the couch and he sees his mobile lighting up with a call for the third time.

Greg clenches his teeth. "Damn it." He reaches over, presses end again then shifts into his contacts. He picks David's number and hits dial.

David answers just after the first ring. "I should have bet you!"

Greg laughs once and smiles. "Too late now."

"Is it though?" He hears something clatter on what must be a kitchen counter. "There is still a whole half left in the game. Come now, Greg, do you not have faith in France to bring it back?"

"Leave your sweet talking for Jane."

"No need, she's winning her pool."

"Pool?"

"Oh my dear Greg, you do not know the skills this woman has. Why do you think I married her?"

"I have a few other reasons in mind."

"Pregnancy?"

Greg snorts and picks up his beer. "You cad."

"Guilty as charged, detective, haul me away."

Greg laughs, "Oh, I will or at least Jane will when she hears your talk." Then picks up his lasagne and leans back against the couch.

"Traitor," David mutters.

Greg only smiles against the mobile as Germany keeps out playing the French. His mobile does not buzz with another call that night.

–––––––––

Greg stands in front of a pair of parents, arms around each other and their eyes darting about their house. He holds a notebook in his hand, half for note taking and half to inspire confidence in the couple of their abilities to solve this present murder.

"Mr. Bliss, you were saying?"

"I…" He clears his throat. "The sitter called us, said she thought something weren't right, she'd heard noises."

"She didn't know if she should call the police," Mrs. Bliss interrupts. "She asked us. She was only fifteen. God, why did we… Loren, my boy, Loren... who could..."

She puts a hand over her mouth and looks everywhere but at the entrance to the kitchen and the stairs beside it several meters away to the right.

"And… when she hung up suddenly we…" Mr. Bliss breathes in sharply and suddenly grips Greg's hand holding the notebook. "We only went to see a film! You understand? We went to see a film and we come back…"

Greg nods and gently pats Mr. Bliss' hand over his. "I understand, Mr. Bliss, you couldn't have known."

"Our son." Mrs. Bliss says quietly. "Why our son? He was only… why would…"

"That's what we're here to find out, Mrs. Bliss." Greg gives her a sympathetic but determined look he has crafted after years of talking to people in their worst moments. "And we will catch him."

"Detective Inspector?"

Greg cocks his head just slightly at Cooper's voice but does not turn away from the parents staring at him in earnest. "Yes, Cooper?"

She comes up beside him. "I am very sorry to interrupt but our witness would prefer to speak to you."

Greg's lip twitches but he does not let his surprise show. Instead he nods at Cooper then turns slightly to Matthews standing by the front door coordinating the forensics team. "Matthews?" He glances at Greg. "Would you mind taking over with Mr. and Mrs. Bliss for me?"

Mr. Bliss' hand clenches over Greg's. "But –"

Greg squeezes Mr. Bliss' hand back then carefully pulls his away. "Sergeant Matthews here will take the rest of your statement about what happened when you got home while I speak with your daughter, all right?"

Their eyes tick over Greg's shoulder to the couch behind him then back again. They nod at the same time.

"All right."

Greg turns to Matthews now at his side and hands him his notepad and pen without comment.

As Greg turns away, his mobile starts to vibrate with a call in his pocket but Greg ignores it. None of his officers should be calling him now and if it was his superintendent for any reason, he would radio; which leaves one most likely person who Greg will not answer.

Greg walks around Matthews then over to the couch only a meter away where Lila Bliss sits. Greg crouches down in front of Lila, Cooper still sitting next to her on the couch and rubbing her back up and down.

Cooper looks up at Greg and smiles. "Lila says you look like her favorite uncle Mark."

"That so?" Greg turns to Lila and grins. "Does he have gray hair too?"

She nods and knocks her feet together.

Greg nods back, glances at Cooper then back to the girl. "So, you wanted to talk to me?"

Lila looks at Cooper then back to Greg. She chews on her lip then looks down to her lap. Greg gestures with his head at Cooper so she stands up and walks just a bit away. Greg turns his eyes back to Lila then braces himself with one hand on the couch beside Lila.

"All right, just you and me, yeah?"

"Uncle Mark is teaching Loren and me football."

"Oh really? And how are you doing?"

She frowns. "Good."

"I helped teach my niece and nephew how to play football too."

Lila looks up suddenly from her lap. "You're an uncle like Uncle Mark? I like having uncles."

Greg smiles. "We can be helpful." Greg touches Lila's hand once so she pays attention. "You're four, is that right?"

She smiles and nods. "Since April."

"Very good. And your brother?"

"Loren is six." Lila holds up six fingers.

Greg swallows slowly. "Very goood. So you two had to have a sitter while your parents were out?"

"Stacy is nice. She makes macaroni cheese."

"But tonight someone else came to the house?" Greg sees Lila's face change, her little fingers digging into the couch fabric, but Greg continues. "Someone that hurt Stacy and Loren?"

"He broke the back door." Lila looks to the side at a cabinet with decorative plates, a smeared hand print in blood somewhere near the middle right. "Broke it."

"When he came inside the house?"

"When he made Stacy scream." Lila shakes her head from side to side slowly. "Loren didn't scream so loud as Stacy did."

When Greg walks back into the kitchen, Clipton stands up from beside the sitter's body under a sheet. He points behind him as he stops in front of Greg. "Looks like she tried to fight the guy off, defensive wounds all over her arms."

"But then just the cut throat?"

"Looks like he only wanted her out of the way."

Greg shakes his head and glances back at the stairs which lead to the second floor. "And the boy?"

Clipton's face falls. "It's, uh… it's a lot worse."

"Yeah." Greg stares at the steps, hears their team moving around upstairs then he looks at Clipton again. "Back garden?"

"Ah!" Clipton holds up a finger. "Bit of something."

They walk around the body and the forensics team, careful to keep away from any blood. As they walk out the broken back door, half off its hinges, Greg's mobile begins to vibrate again. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees 'Mycroft' on the screen. Greg sighs heavily and presses 'end.'

"Found a bit of broken glass," Clipton says as he holds up an evidence bag, "with some blood."

Greg actually smiles at that as he puts his mobile away. "Hope we get a match."

Clipton nods twice. "Very much hope."

Greg gazes around the garden, narrow with a small fire pit in the very back though from here it does not appear to have been used in a while. Greg's mobile vibrates again, this time to indicate a text. Greg breathes out and closes his eyes. He shakes his head slowly and fists his hand around his mobile. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees the beginning of the text highlighted on the screen:

Mycroft [18:30] I wish to apolo –

He deletes the text without reading the rest and pockets the mobile again.

"Um, Detective Inspector Lestrade, there is…"

Greg turns around and sees Lila in the back door way with Matthews right behind her looking very conflicted, probably wanting to stop her walking through the crime scene but obviously unsure how to deal with a child, especially one who was a witness to murder.

"Lila?" She hops out of the door way and runs across the grass to him. He crouches low again so he is at her eye level. "You were supposed to stay on the couch, Lila. We have to check for clues, remember? Lisa told you that."

Lila bites her lip and looks down at the ground. Greg breathes out once and touches the top of her head. She looks up at him.

"What is it?"

"Is my brother going to get better?" She asks.

Greg stares at her for a long moment. "Let's get you back inside." Then he stands up, takes her hand, and leads her around the side of the house toward the front, free of any bodies or blood on the ground.

–––––––––

"I said wait for us, Kate!" Claire shouts down the street. "And John, no, we are not going in there, forget it."

"Mum, come on." He gestures toward the electronics store. "You said I could pick something out on my birthday." He gestures again.

Claire shoots Greg a look then glares at John. "Did I say it could be a new mobile?"

John groans, rolls his eyes then walks on ahead after Kate.

Claire sighs and turns back to Greg. "Why was I cursed with twins again?"

"Because of mum."

Claire rolls her eyes much like her son. "Guess we should be glad those genes skipped a generation, right?"

Greg smirks. "Why? So glad you're not my twin?"

"Glad you're not David's twin?" She counters.

Greg shrugs. "Depends, whose looks do I get to keep?"

Claire laughs. "You do know that you and I would be fraternal, right?"

"Meaning I would not get to look like you?"

Claire laughs again as they catch up to John and Kate. John skirts around to Claire's left, nudging her once with his shoulder while Kate comes around on Greg's right. She smiles at Greg then loops her arm through his. She is only a few centimeters shorter than Greg is now at fifteen. Greg has to assume that comes from Colin.

"Colin is talking about teaching these two to drive," Claire says as if hearing Greg's thoughts.

Kate snorts in amusement at the same time John mutters a quiet 'yes.' Greg raises both his eyebrows and cocks his head at Claire.

She nods slowly. "Oh yes, says that just because he's gotten a few tickets in the past doesn't mean he can't teach his own children."

"Teach us how to speed," Kate says.

"Oi," Claire snaps half–heartedly.

"He planning on letting them drive through this?" Greg says, waving a vague hand at the London traffic beside them. "Plus, knows he's got two years still for these lot, yeah?"

Claire shrugs. "I am thinking of hiding all the car keys."

"Oh, sweet!" John gasps suddenly and breaks away from the quartet. Claire looks up in surprise just as Kate says, "awesome," and jogs ahead as well, pulling free of Greg's arm.

"Wait!" Claire and Greg shout at the same time but John and Kate are already at the door of what appears to be a book shop, gazing at the books in the windows. "Oh god," Claire groans.

"Shouldn't you be happy your kids love to read?"

"My wallet isn't."

Greg chuckles. "Going to break the bank for sure."

"How are you doing?" Claire asks, bumping her one shopping bag between them against Greg's leg.

"How do you mean?" Greg counters stiffly.

Claire stares at him for a moment then clears her throat. "Work, of course."

"Fine. How's Amaze?"

Claire smiles. "Working on an AD for Lexus right now."

"Car speeding around a curvy mountain road or flashing through an empty city street?"

Claire raises her eyebrows. "Did you forget the beautiful blond stepping out of the car option?"

"Oh yes, of course." Greg waves a hand. "Must get in a long leg shot."

Claire snorts. "It'll be good; web only though, so they're trying to bring down the price."

"Of course."

"Do you really want to talk about advertising?" Claire cocks her head as they reach the door of the book shop. "Would you rather –"

"Talk about my work?" Greg interrupts. "No."

Claire clicks her tongue, nods then opens the door. "Okay."

The shop is not small nor is it particularly large, though it does have a mezzanine that starts half way in to the store with stairs in the middle. Greg sees Kate already up on the second floor in the section labeled psychology/sociology. Sometimes Greg wonders if all the brains in the family skipped straight on down to Kate with what she reads lately. Down one aisle, he sees John pulling books off a shelf in the fiction section. Greg glances at the tables with books arranged by related TV shows, a table full of recent hardbacks. He picks up one book with a bee on the front and pages through absently, not reading anything. He puts the book down and looks up at Kate again but she has moved of sight.

When he looks back down he sees Claire watching him.

"What?"

Claire looks away down the aisle where John stands. "Nothing."

"What?" Greg insists.

She looks back at him. "You know what."

Greg turns away this time. "I don't."

"Mum." Greg turns at John's voice as he walks over holding three books. "Which one?"

Claire frowns. "James Bond? Bit old for your taste, isn't it?"

John scoffs. "I like classics!" He shrugs. "Plus, I saw Skyfall."

"You know it's not exactly the same, right?"

"Bugger, mum, don't you want your son to read?"

"Of course I do and don't say bugger."

"You just did."

"Because you did."

"Don't think that's an appropriate reason, mum."

Greg snorts as Claire sighs. She glances at Greg. "He's a real Lestrade."

"Actually he's an O'Shea."

Claire shakes her head. "Can't hide the core."

John grins at the two of them then shakes the books at Claire. "Come on, mum, didn't you say you'd read them before?"

Claire sighs and takes the books from John then holds them up to Greg. "Which one?"

In her hand she holds From Russia with Love, Thunderball, and Dr. No. Greg stares at the books, the new covers with their black and white, modern simplistic themes. Dr. No rests on top of the fan with Claire's finger perfectly over the red circle with 007 inside, no art of a woman hiding in a bush on this release.

Greg grits his teeth then smiles and shrugs. "I haven't read any of them."

–––––––––

"All right, wanted to congratulate Matthews, Clipton and Cooper on their arrest with the Bliss case." A number of coppers in the room murmur assent. Greg nods and holds out his hand toward them. "I know we were all happy to see that one wrapped up."

"See that bloody bastard behind bars," Bradford says and the whole room responds in agreement.

Greg nod and waves a hand. "All right, sure you'll hear more with the court case. Now, we have a number more cases, know you all have your assignments." He looks up from the paper in his hand. "Avery, the neighboring flats?"

"Suspects in for questioning last night, looking good."

"Right." Greg points at Donovan. "Smith and Black case? Find anything on the analysis of the fiber?"

Donovan shakes her head. "Turned out to be dog hair. Nothing to go on."

Greg points at Brooks and frowns. "The cinema one? Arrest?"

Brooks grins. "Waiting on my warrant."

"Bane of my existence," Bradford says in Brooks' direction.

Brooks nods and purses her lips. "Oh yeah, laws and all that. Get in the way, don't they?"

"Exactly."

"Tosser," Matthews mutters.

"You what?"

Greg taps the edge his folder on the table in front of him sharply and everyone quiets down again. He raises his eyebrows at Bradford who crosses his arms and looks at least a bit contrite.

Greg holds out his hands to indicate the room. "Anything else?"

Brooks and Donovan's hands shoot up at the same time. Greg frowns. "Uh, yes?"

"Pub night," Brooks says.

Clipton and Avery whoop with approval at the same time. Donovan grins and raises her eyebrows at Avery. Bell pokes Clipton in the side and whispers something that sounds like 'race you.'

"Wanted to get one together next Friday, what do you think, sir?"

"You are the required party," Bell adds.

Greg smiles. "You're all free to do what you like if you're not on duty."

The entire room groans and start in on variation of 'oh come on' and 'but you have to come' and 'stop being a git.' Gupta crumples up a piece of paper and throws it in Greg's direction though she shorts it. Avery snorts loudly and kicks the ball of paper back toward her. Clipton tries pouting as he is the person sitting closest to Greg.

Greg waves a dismissive hand. "You're as bad as the children I don't have."

"That's why you have us," Gupta pipes up.

Greg rolls his eyes. "Right, fine, pub night. Plan away, Brooks."

"Pub night next Friday!" Brook says loudly with her arms out to indicate the whole room then she looks back at Greg. "There, planned."

Greg sighs. "I'd fire you if you weren't so good."

Brooks just grins wide as Donovan claps her on the back lightly.

"Dismissed!" Greg barks though he is smiling.

Greg stops in the kitchen on the way back to his office. He needs a mug of coffee. He did not make any at his flat this morning and traffic ended up getting him into the office only ten minutes before the morning meeting. The coffee pot in their kitchenette turns out to be empty but for a thin layer that looks half a day old. Greg runs the pot under the tap, pouring it out twice but he does not bother to actually wash it. What is a bit of old coffee sludge with the new coffee anyway? The coffee is subpar enough for no one to notice. Greg puts the grounds in the top with a new filter, adds water then sticks the pot back underneath.

For five minutes he stares at the cabinet door in front of him while the coffee brews. He notices a dent at the top edge he has not noticed before. Maybe someone slammed the door shut in a fit of lack of coffee rage. Maybe the door needs to be replaced after years of expanding and retracting. Maybe the door decided to just give up.

When the coffee is brewed Greg pours some into a Met mug and leaves it black.

Back in Greg's office, he puts the coffee mug down on his desk close to the laptop. He steps over to the filing cabinet in the corner, opens the bottom drawer and adds the closed Bliss case file. He stands up straight again then moves to sit down in his desk chair. A white card shaped envelope rests on his desk. Greg shuts his eyes and breathes out slowly. When he opens them again the card is still there. Greg picks up the card then walks around his desk to his rubbish bin against the wall. He stands over it staring at the card. He taps the edge against his thumb twice then he drops the card unopened into the bin.

Greg sits back down at his desk, breathes out slowly again then turns to his laptop. "Right, closed case record." He clicks into the system record with the mouse then starts typing.

Ten minutes later Greg's mobile vibrates on his desk. He glances at it and sees 'Mycroft.'

"No." Greg reaches across his desk instantly and presses 'end.'

He turns back to his computer and finishes the 'closed' status on the case file with notes about the court date. It looks like Cooper already attached the arrest record.

Greg's mobile buzzes once more. Greg frowns and glances at it. He sees he has a voicemail. Greg pulls his hands back from the keys of his laptop. He bites the edge of his lip and shakes his head. Then he reaches out, picks up his mobile and clicks into the voicemail. He enters his password then waits as the automated message files through. Then it clicks into message one:

"Greg… please answer me." Is all Mycroft's voice says.

Greg deletes the message.

–––––––––

Greg kneels down beside his entertainment system. He was thinking of maybe watching a DVD tonight but nothing is jumping out at him. He could certainly put on football or maybe find a Doctor Who episode. Then again he could always read something instead. David gave him a biography on Churchill which he has yet to start. To be fair, Greg already owns and has read a biography of Churchill. Greg really needs to buy some more books. He stands up straight again and slides over to his book case.

"Anything?" He mutters while chewing the edge of his lip.

Greg looks at the top shelf and sees a few books he bought several months ago. He pulls out Devil in the White City then walks back over to his couch where his dinner is cooling. Greg decided a few weeks ago to take his mind of certain things he should resurrect the cooking he loved and had been neglecting. That is not to say that Greg had stopped cooking, only that he had fallen back on old easy recipes instead of real cooking. He tried to make a cream sauce from scratch tonight, various spices of estimated quantity and whole wheat pasta. Greg is not a health nut or anything, just interested in new flavors. Also for some reason the store was out of regular pasta.

Greg sits down on the couch and puts the book beside his fork. He frowns when he realizes he forgot to get himself a drink.

"And a dining room," Greg says out loud.

Maybe he should think about buying a house again. How long can a fifty plus man stay in a flat he only got because he was fighting with his wife?

Greg sighs. "Three years ago…" He glances around. "Not a bad flat though."

Greg stands up again and walks to the kitchen. He might just have water tonight instead of a beer. He needs to buy some more and is not sure when he is going to have time. He has meetings tomorrow and a hastily organized football game with some old mates on Saturday. Chris decided out of the blue, probably due to lack of World Cup, that they needed a game for old time sake. It will certainly be interesting.

Greg fills up a glass with water from the tap then someone knocks on his door. Greg shuts off the water, puts the glass down on the counter then walks to the door. He pulls his mobile out of his pocket but does not see any texts or missed calls. The person knocks on his door again.

A voice on the other side of the door says, "Inspector Lestrade?"

Greg unlocks the door and opens it. "Anthea?"

She smiles. "You recognized my voice?"

"Sorry?"

She holds up a hand to indicate his flat behind him. "May I come in?"

Greg frowns. "Why?"

"It will only take a moment."

"I'm having dinner."

"I won't eat any of it."

Greg sighs then steps back out of the doorway. "Fine."

She walks past him into the flat on gray stiletto heels all the way to the break in the hall just before his bedroom to the left and kitchen to the right. Greg closes the door then walks in and around her so he is in between her and the rest of his home. He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows at her.

She smiles. "I suppose you can guess why I'm here."

"And?"

"I have a message."

"I don't want to hear it."

"I'm going to say it anyway."

"Then I'll open the door and throw you out," Greg snaps.

She cocks her head. "You could try."

Greg uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on his hips. He breathes in once and speaks calmly. "I don't want to hear what you have to say for him, all right? I'm not going to listen. I don't want to listen. So you can just skip it." He shrugs then waves a hand at her. "That it?"

Anthea frowns then opens her handbag. "No." She pulls out a small box with a card underneath. "There's this."

Greg closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. "You know that's no different, right?"

"What can it hurt, Inspector?"

He opens his eyes again. "I don't want it."

"It is a present. Take it."

"I said, I don't want it, you can leave."

"I can't leave until you take it."

Greg huffs. "Is this your job? Errands for him? Grabbing John in a car and bringing me notes and presents? Is this in your contract?"

Anthea presses her lips together in a line then smiles slowly. "You'd probably not want to see my contract."

"I'm not going to ask what that means."

"Good."

"Now, would you leave? I'm asking you to leave."

Anthea chuckles. "I'm not going to." Greg only glares at her until she shakes the box at him in an imploring manner. "Don't think you want to test how patient I can be when there's a need."

"This is a need?"

She narrows her eyes with mirth. "Thought you knew him?"

"I think I don't."

Her face shifts a little at that. She takes two steps closer so the box is well within Greg's reach. "He's trying, can't you see that?"

"I don't care. It's too late. And we are not talking anymore, Anthea." Greg points behind her at the door.

"I already told you I can't leave until you take this from me."

"Fine." Greg reaches out and takes the box and card from her hand. "You're free."

She smiles. "Good."

Greg walks around her and into the kitchen. He opens the cabinet door under his sink, pulls out the rubbish bin and drops the present inside. Then he puts the bin back under the sink and closes the door. He turns around again to see Anthea in the kitchen door way looking vaguely forlorn.

"Good bye, Anthea."

"That's not…" She sighs. "You know that's not –"

"You said you couldn't leave until I took it and I took it. So good bye."

Anthea cocks her head and sighs again. "You can't even open it?"

Greg steps forward, walks around her and back down the hall. He opens his front door and waits. Anthea looks sidelong at him from where she still stands at the kitchen entrance. She pulls her mobile out of her handbag and texts quickly. Then she turns on a heel and walks down the hall. She grips the strap of her handbag, pauses for a moment in front of Greg then passes him back out into the hall. Greg shuts the door without another word.

–––––––––

Greg stands outside New Scotland Yard with a cigarette in hand, the digital crawl and blue signs lauding police achievements behind him. He had gotten himself down to about five a day but in the last couple months that has gone up again. He needs to talk to Claire but admittedly he worries she has gone and quit again without him. She certainly did not need to leave for a smoke break at dinner last week while Greg chaffed at the bit.

"Spare a light?"

Greg looks right to a police constable he does not know. He nods and pulls his lighter from an inner pocket of his jacket. The man takes the lighter, lights the end of his cigarette then hands it back.

"Thank you, Detective Inspector."

Greg only nods back. Evidently the constable knows who Greg is. Taking another drag of his cigarette, Greg turns back to the street. He goes over a list in his head of paper work he needs to complete. Sometimes it seems as though he never solves crimes, only fills in forms.

Greg shakes his head, glances at the receding form of the PC once and then flicks ash off the end of cigarette. "Simpler to be a PC."

Greg looks down the street toward Westminster then sees a familiar profile. It takes him a moment as he watches the person walk closer. He realizes it is a woman, two more steps and it is Anne.

She stops in front of him three seconds later. "Hi, Greg."

"Hi, Anne."

She smirks at the cigarette in his hand. "Smoking again?"

"As you see."

She shrugs. "Better than heroin, I guess."

"Never did that."

"Exactly."

Greg smiles. "Right. So, how are you?"

"Good." She nods and grins. "Great actually. I, uh…" She laughs once. "I'm engaged."

Greg's eyebrows shoot up and he blinks twice. "What?"

"Engaged." She holds up her hand to show a ring with a small cushion cut diamond.

"Damn."

She drops her hand again. "Rivals yours, yeah?"

Greg chuckles without much humor. "Uh, right, you could say that."

Anne clears her throat. "Sorry, that was… Wasn't trying to be cutting." She smiles reassuringly. "But yeah, engaged. We set the date for December, so coming up."

"Congratulations." Greg smiles again. "Really, mean it."

"You're welcome to come," Anne says holding out a hand.

Greg frowns. "That a polite invite?"

Anne makes a face and bobs her head from side to side. "Kind of."

Greg chuckles and smokes some more of his cigarette. "No worries, be weird if I came."

"Yes."

"Not a copper, is he?"

Anne laughs. "God no. Owns a hotel downtown."

"Bugger!"

"I know, right? And he likes to fish." She grins. "He's better than me though. I need to step it up."

"Good luck with that."

"So, um," Anne clears her throat and readjusts her handbag strap, pulling some hair free. "How are you doing?"

Greg flicks ash to the side. "I'm fine."

"Yeah?" She says and waits. When Greg says nothing else she frowns slightly. "Are you seeing –"

"I'm fine, Anne," Greg cuts her off.

Anne nods. "Okay, sure." She smiles once more then takes a step back. "Well, good to run into you, Greg."

"You too, Anne."

She nods once more then turns and continues down the street. Greg watches her walk away, takes one last drag of his cigarette then flicks it away into the street.

––––––––

"Hey."

David grins and holds up the beer in his hand. "I can contribute."

Greg smiles. "In the best way possible."

David sniffs the air. "Damn, I want to eat it already." He shrugs. "Whatever it is."

"Rosemary chicken with gravy and potatoes."

"You're a God, Greg Lestrade."

Greg laughs and closes the door behind David as he walks into the flat. "Just a minor one."

They walk down the hall to the kitchen where David puts the beer on the kitchen table. David walks over to the counter then begins to root through a drawer to find a bottle opener. Greg returns to the stove and checks on the chicken in the oven; it should be done in fifteen to ten minutes. David was right on time. Greg closes the oven door again then walks over to David as he finally pulls a bottle opener out of the drawer.

"Look, got to talk to you about something," David says as he crosses back to the table.

Greg leans his hip against his counter. "Rory? He still have that girlfriend you hate?"

"No and no." David pulls two beers out of the pack.

"Not Edward? Isn't he the good one?"

David chuckles. "So far but no, this is not about any of my sons."

"Jane's not angry with you again?"

David huffs as he pops the tops off both beers then puts the bottle opener down. "I'm not always fighting with my wife."

"That's the only things I get to hear."

"Not true at all."

Greg grins and takes one of the beers when David offers it. "I'll let you think that." He takes a drink. "So what then?"

"Mycroft came to see me."

Fortunately Greg was not taking another sip of the beer because he would have spit it out. "Excuse me?"

"Mycroft came to my house. How does he know where I live by the way?"

"England's spy network probably? What do you mean he came to see you?"

David laughs once in an odd way then drinks a big gulp of his beer. "That man of yours is really something, I have to say. You never told me the half."

"He's not my man."

David cocks his head. "Tell him that."

"He is well aware."

"Well, apparently, he isn't." David waves his beer hand. "He came to see me about you."

Greg clenches his fist around his beer bottle. "Oh."

"He wanted me to talk to you for him."

Greg scoffs harshly. "So you're on his side?"

"When exactly did I say that?"

"You're going to talk to me for him. I heard that."

"Nope. You heard that he came to me asking that."

"And here we are talking," Greg snaps.

"Would you not bite my head off?" David finally snaps back. "It's not my fault he came to see me!"

Greg breathes in deeply then slowly breathes out. "Fine. He came to see you. You told me and we're done." Greg takes a drink of his beer. "Wonderful."

David sighs. "I thought... I thought this was all done between you two?"

"It is."

David huffs and points to himself. "Really now?"

"It is," Greg insists.

"Look, you're protesting 'an awful lot over something that is supposedly done especially when he's coming to my house, sitting in my kitchen, drinking my tea, forcing me to swear to talk to you."

"Bloody hell, is this primary school?"

"Greg..."

"What the hell do you want me to say, David? I'm sorry he came to your house but I don't want to hear it!"

"Greg, I'm not trying to say you should have to –"

"No, David, I've spent enough time waiting around for him, having to march to his tune and I'm done. I told him that and that's it."

"I'm not advocating for him, I just –"

"Please, David, please, okay?" Greg sighs and rubs his free hand over his eyes. "I don't want to talk about this."

David says nothing for a minute. When Greg drops his hand and opens his eyes, David is watching him. David turns and picks up his beer from the table again. He takes a long drink from the bottle then nods once. "Okay, Greg." He smiles. "Dinner time."

Greg smiles back. He glances at the oven and nods. "Should be good."

Greg puts down his beer on the counter and pulls some oven mitts from a drawer.

"Greg." Greg turns back to David. "You know I'm always on your side?"

Greg smiles with real feeling this time. "I know, David."

–––––––––.

Greg swings the car around another curve as the blue Toyota in front of them takes the turn fast enough to nearly flip the car. However, it stays level, side swipes a parked car then guns through another red light. Greg presses his foot on the gas as their siren keeps screaming.

"Left, left!" Bell shouts and he spins the wheel again.

"He's heading back your way, Clipton!" Greg shouts into his radio.

"We're on it," Clipton's voice says through the radio. "Banks has – shite!"

Greg sees the car ahead of them jump the curb around a car waiting at the red light and swings left down a narrow street.

"Watch it!" Bell says as Greg swerves them to the right around the bystander car.

"I see, I see!" Greg cries and narrowly misses taking off the side mirror.

They swerve through the traffic, cars stopping just in time and continue pursuit down the alley, the car a bit further ahead now but still catchable.

"Guess we know they're guilty, eh?" Bell says with a wide smile and her hands braced on the dash board.

"Three bloody murderers," Greg says, "who like making us – hell!"

As they hit the main road again, the Toyota skids to a stop when Clipton and Banks' car cuts them off. Greg yanks the wheel to the left to avoid slamming into the Toyota. Before Bell or Greg can get out of the car, three doors of their suspects' car fly open and the men come racing out, two left and one right.

"Stop, police!" Bell shouts as she gets out of the car.

Bell takes off in the direction of the one man while Clipton races after the two.

Banks runs over to the stopped car then looks up at Greg. "Nothing."

Greg heads off in the direction Clipton went, shouting back at Banks. "Go help Bell!"

Greg runs down the alley but sees nothing. He stops and listens for anything, shouting or crashing. He pulls his radio out of his jacket pocket. "Clipton? Where are you?"

Greg's radio crackles as Clipton's voice comes through. "Building on the left... back and..."

"On my way!" Greg looks up then runs on down the alley.

"Sir, suspect in custody," Banks' says through the radio. "Cooper is on the scene taking care of him. Bell and I are coming to you."

"Good, hurry up." Greg checks down each side alley as he runs.

He shoves his radio back into his pocket. He hears nothing as he comes toward the end of the alley, does not see any people – criminal or copper. Then suddenly Greg hears two gun shots and rounds the corner of the alley just in time to watch blood spurt from two bullet sized holes in Clipton's neck.

Greg freezes for three seconds as Clipton falls.

Clipton hits the ground with a crack, the man holding the gun drops it as he turns away, Greg feels his feet moving, Banks hits Greg's shoulder as he surges around Greg heading for their suspect who is already running away down the street and Greg runs right for Clipton sprawled out on the ground.

Behind him as he runs, Greg hears a voice. "Ted..." It is Bell. "Ted!" She shouts louder the closer they get to him. "TED!" Greg dialing on his mobile as they run.

Bell hits the ground hard on her knees as she reaches Clipton one second before Greg.

"I need an ambulance, now!" Greg shouts into his mobile. "I have an officer down. I need an ambulance right now!"

Greg drops his mobile, kneels down then clamps his hands around Ted's throat, tries to slow the bleeding, do something. The flesh of Ted's neck is a torn mess; Greg has no idea if he is helping anything at all but he holds on.

"Ted." Bell slides one hand under Clipton's head and grasps his hand tightly with her other. "Hey, look at me." She smiles in a thin line as he looks up at her, his mouth moving but only bubbles of blood squirting around Greg's fingers.

"No, shh, stop." She props his head up on her knee, careful of his wound, and threads her fingers in his hair. "It's okay. It's okay."

She squeezes his hand then leans over and kisses his forehead. "It's okay, Teddy, it's okay. Just look at me. Hold on." She sits up just a little so he can see her. "It's all right. We both said we'd never die on duty, right? Just focus on me."

Clipton gasps and his eyes try to roll back in his head for a minute.

Bell squeezes his hand again and gasps, tears running two trails down her cheeks. "No, no, come on. Look at me, baby, all right? Listen, it's okay. It's okay. It's going to be all right." She sniffs hard once and smiles at him as his eyes focus on her again. "I Promise. You believe me, okay?"

Clipton's body starts to shake in her lap as Greg watches, one eye on the empty street beside them, no ambulance in sight.

Bell breathes in sharply, "damn," and kisses Clipton's forehead again, his eyes staring at her intently. "I love you." She laughs breathlessly once. "I love you, okay?" She speaks against his skin. "I told you I'd say it at the right time."

Clipton's hands jerk, the one holding Bell's squeezing so hard there are marks in her skin.

Bell sits up so Clipton can look at her and she slowly strokes her hand over his hair as Clipton begins to shake harder. "It's okay, it's okay." She swallows. "I love you. It's okay."

She kisses his lips once then keeps stroking Clipton's hair until he stops shaking and his hand goes slack in hers.

When the ambulance arrives ten minutes later Greg has to pry Bell's hands off of Clipton though she says nothing at all.

Banks caught their gunman and shoved him in the back of a police car along with their first arrested man. Cooper caught their third a few streets away with no shots fired. One of the three men already admitted to involvement in the murder of Grace Smalls. A well wrapped case, except for one thing.

"Bell." Greg stands beside Bell as she sits in the front seat of a Met car, the door open and her feet out on the ground. Her hands are clasped together with her elbows on her thighs. She stares at the pavement. She still has blood on her.

"Mari," Greg says instead.

She breathes out audibly. "Yes, sir?"

"Let's clean you up, all right?"

She only shakes her head.

"It'll only take a second," Greg coaxes.

She still does not answer him or move.

"Come on, Bell," Greg says again.

Suddenly Cooper comes up beside Greg. She crouches down and grips Bell's hands. Bell jerks but Cooper does not let go.

"Mari, listen to me, all right? I am going to drive you home. Don't worry about statements or the hospital or anything else. I am going to take you home right now."

"I can't go home," Bell says.

"Mari, you have to –"

"I can't go home. Ted and I live together."

Greg sees Cooper's jaw clench. She shakes her head once then squeezes Bell's hands again. "Then I'll take you to my flat, okay? You can stay with me tonight. It's very nice, promise."

When Bell says nothing, Cooper stands up again and turns Bell around by her shoulders. After a gentle nudge, Bell puts her feet in the car. Cooper touches Bell's hair for a brief second then Cooper closes the car door.

Cooper turns around and looks up at Greg. "All right, sir?"

Greg nods once. "On your way, Constable."

–––––––––

Greg stands in the front of the conference room, the whole department seated or standing before him. Banks and Cooper sit at the very front to his left where he asked them to sit, safe enough from all the reactions and questions. Bell is not at the office today.

"Listen up," Greg says. He claps his hands twice and the room quiets down. Greg breathes in slowly and clears his throat. "I have some important... something important to tell you all."

The last time Greg stood before the department with news about death it was the reverse and everyone already knew. This time four in the morning allowed no time for rumors nor were those involved inclined to amused gossip.

"Last night there was an incident involving three murder suspects. Sergeant Bell, Constable Cooper, Constable Banks..." Greg pauses to glance at the two seated near him but both are staring straight ahead at the wall. "Constable Clipton and myself were involved." Greg shifts his gaze around the room and he sees a few people leaning forward, expressions intent. "A chase was occurred, the three suspects were caught but..." Greg breathes out once. "Ted Clipton was shot and killed during the incident."

The reaction is almost silent. Gupta closes her eyes; Matthews' jaw clenches and he shakes his head hard; Donovan puts her hand over her face; Bradford's expression turns murderous; Avery gasps and swallows twice; Then Brooks' mug of coffee shatters on the floor. A few people in the room jump, Matthews puts his hand on Brooks' shoulder and Greg clears his throat for attention again.

"For those of you who were or were not aware of Clipton and Sergeant Bell's relationship," Greg waves a quick hand by way of no need for explanation. "She has requested no visitors right now."

"Sir..." Brooks starts.

"It's what she wants," Greg says without letting Brooks say more.

Brooks closes her mouth and nods.

Greg puts his hands on his hips. "Ted Clipton was a fine officer. He was an asset to the service and our team in particular. He upheld the law like we all do and I know he supported every one of you in different ways."

A number of people in the room respond with 'aye' and 'yes.' Gupta says, "never failed," quietly.

"Tell others you know if you wish. I have a press conference in two hours where it will be announced. Anyone who wants to send something to his family I can give you the address." Greg nods once. "The funeral should be within the week. I will let you know as soon as possible." Greg clears his throat again. "Full uniform. Let's send him off as he should be."

"Yes, sir," the room says as one.

"Dismissed," Greg says quietly.

His officers file out of the room in silence, a few touches of hands, a few nods and looks. Banks and Cooper wait until the room is empty then stand up.

"Thank you both," Greg says. "If you'd rather not talk to anyone send them to me if they have questions."

"It's fine," Cooper says. "All they need to know is that he was a good copper."

"The best," Banks says, glancing at Cooper then back to Greg. "What about Mari?"

Greg sighs. "She is with her family now. I am going to see her after I see Ted's family again."

Cooper looks back. "Last night..."

"I know, Lisa, but they were in shock. The light of day will calm them down."

"Ted's father was a copper," Banks says. "He'll want us all there despite what Ted's sister said."

Cooper smiles grimly and nods. "Hopefully."

"All right, back to it, but," he points at them both it turn. "If you need to leave just tell me. Nothing wrong with it, all right?"

"And you?" Banks says.

Greg only gives Banks a look. Cooper grips Banks' forearm. He glances at her quickly then they both turn and leave the room. Greg stares at the glass doors, clean, clear, straight through to the gray wall outside in the hall.

Back in his office, Greg picks up the card on his desk without thinking about it. He opens the card and reads:

My most sincere condolences for your loss, Greg. If you should need anything I am absolutely yours.

Your,

Mycroft

Greg drops the card and puts a hand over his eyes.

–––––––––

The service lasts only thirty minutes; a few religious readings, Clipton's sister speaks – talks about summer days and unwavering support, Greg speaks though afterward he could not have told you what he said, and it ends with Clipton's father – no tears and a uniform which looks as if it were brand new.

"He was my son and a loyal officer of the law."

Clipton's mother cries but makes hardly any sound.

Greg shares the lead pallbearer position with Clipton's father. Bell insisted on being a pallbearer – a few shouts Greg heard but nothing that could move her – even wore thick heels to make herself tall enough. Now she stands behind Greg with Clipton's older brother on the other side, Avery and Banks at the back. Clipton's father gives a 'hup' and they hoist the coffin up once then again onto their shoulders. The mourners all stand at once as they slowly walk down the aisle toward the doors of the church.

Greg thinks he has never heard such silence before.

They all come briefly to the Clipton house. Clipton's father stands before them, just family and the members of their division along with Clark Peters and two other officers Greg is not familiar with now

"Thank you for everything you did for my son," Clipton's father says to the officers but more directly to Greg. "Ted loved his work as a police officer, not just because he was following in his father's footsteps but because he believed the work mattered, that the law mattered."

His eyes shift to Bell standing beside Greg, crisp in her uniform, eyes dry and arms stiff at her sides. "Mari." Her head moves just a fraction. "We did not always get along and I am sorry for that because Ted loved you and we knew that."

Greg hears Mari inhale sharply.

Clipton's father turns away again, looking past the people present to somewhere else. "Theodore… you were a good man, always a good man, a light in our family, and you… you left us doing what you always strove to do, upholding the law." Clipton's father breathes in deeply. "I love you son, we all do, Sarah, Harold, your mother, we… we love you and… I hope you will be at peace."

The room is silent for a moment though Greg can hear Bell beside him crying softly. Clipton's father raises his head and nods to the assembled people. Clipton's family moves to comfort each other and the police officers present all relax.

Greg turns to Bell. She holds up her hand before Greg can speak. "I'm going to stay with Ted's family." She breathes out slowly and rubs a gloved hand under her eye. She smiles. "Total mess?"

"Well, good you don't wear makeup."

She laughs once in a hollow way. "Who says I don't?"

Greg smiles. "You're fine."

She nods then clasps her hands together. "Thank you… for… for that night." Then she turns away before Greg can speak and walks toward Clipton's family.

Greg leads the charge for the Met coppers to leave the house so the Cliptons can mourn more privately. Outside the wind whips past them, the cool of August leading soon to September.

"Sir?"

Greg turns to Avery beside him now, Banks and Peters flanking him with the others further back waiting. "Wanted to let you know, we are going to the pub tomorrow around five for a drink in Ted's honor."

Greg nods. "I'll be there." He looks over Avery's shoulder at Peters and nods again. "Good to see you, Clark."

He smiles slightly. "Somewhat."

They all nod at Greg then walk away toward the street, Brooks touches Greg's arm as she follows Bradford and Cooper but says nothing. Donovan stops for a moment beside him, Matthews walking past her with a hand on his hat toward Greg. Greg grips Donovan's shoulder and squeezes. She nods twice then follows the other officers.

Greg watches them walk away for a moment. He takes his hat off his head, glances at the house behind him then walks back down the street. As Greg nears the corner, turning his hat in his hands, he looks up to see Mycroft standing in front of a black car parked right in front of Greg's car by the kerb. Greg stops and stares at Mycroft standing straight, hands together, just waiting. Greg breathes in once then keeps walking.

"I thought perhaps you could use a ride," Mycroft says once Greg is several meters away from him.

"I drove." Greg gestures to his car.

"It could be better after a stressful event to not drive."

"I don't need a ride."

"I can have someone take your car if you wish."

"I don't need a ride."

"Then for me, could you…" He gestures to the back door of his car.

Greg breathes out slowly and feels so very tired. "Please, go away, Mycroft."

"Just one conversation, Greg." He holds out his hand toward his car again. "Just one."

"No." Greg walks toward his car.

Mycroft takes two steps forward, not exactly in Greg's way but closer. "Would you please get in the car, Greg?"

Greg sighs and points toward Mycroft's car with his hat. "Are you going to make me?"

"No." Mycroft takes another step closer to Greg though still not close enough to touch him. "I am just going to ask you, please?" He swallows and takes a deep breath. "Please, Greg."

Greg shuts his eyes and fists one hand around his hat. "Fine."

He opens his eyes again to see the most grateful expression on Mycroft's face. Then Mycroft moves, opens the car door, Greg takes five steps forward and climbs inside. Mycroft closes the car door and is around the other side faster than Greg would have expected. Mycroft slides in beside him as the door closes and the car pulls away from the kerb.

"All right, Mycroft," Greg says as he stares at leather cushioned wall and glass separating them from the driver. "I'm in the car."

"Thank you."

"Get on with it then."

"Could you please look at me?"

Greg turns his head and looks at Mycroft. Mycroft smiles, sitting so he is almost completely sideways on the car seat facing Greg.

"I've wanted to apologize," Mycroft starts then sits up straighter. "I want to apologize."

"Oh, I'm aware of that," Greg says tersely.

"I am sorry." Mycroft puts his hand on the seat between them but does not try to touch Greg. "I am sorry for these past months, for holding back, for that absurd date, for before that, for… for leaving you in the first place when I never should have." Mycroft breathes in slowly and dips his head. "I am not an easy man to love, possibly even harder than Sherlock. I am cold and callous as you said. I am single minded in what I think matters most – what I thought mattered most. I am neglectful of others, of their feelings and needs. I look down on those with less intelligence than myself."

"You mean everyone?" Greg interrupts quietly.

Mycroft looks up again. "What Sherlock never realized, though I think perhaps he is learning, is that should one possess exceptional ability in one area they are often excessively deficient in another. I have always been aware of this but never perceived it as a problem before."

"Before?"

"I do now."

Greg purses his lips. "I suppose you tried."

"It was not enough." Mycroft shakes his head. "I said I am not an easy man to love, not even when I am trying to gain that love but… but you cared about me. You still care despite your attempt to cut me out of your life."

Greg breathes in and clenches his teeth but he cannot deny it.

"You have to know that not all of it was intentional." Mycroft glances across the car then back to Greg. "You may perceive it as an excuse but the nature of my work does sometimes force me to make decisions I would rather not. I am an important man, which I say not from a sense of pride but of obligation. I suppose at one time I thought it better that you not be dragged into that but that… well, that was not my choice alone nor can I use the dangers and pressures of my work as an excuse to hurt you or isolate myself completely."

Greg huffs quietly. "He learns."

Mycroft laughs once in a polite way. "Slowly it seems."

"But that's not enough, Mycroft."

"I know," Mycroft says quickly. "I know that. You told me you would take it slow for me, would wait and I gave you nothing back. I tried, I thought I did but… you were right, I…" Mycroft looks away and his voice softens. "I was afraid to really be with you again but just as afraid to lose you." He looks back at Greg. "But… You let me relax, you made me laugh, you made me… you made me happy and I should not have foolishly let go of that, not for a moment and certainly not for years."

Greg stares at Mycroft but cannot say anything.

"Greg." Mycroft finally reaches out and takes one of Greg's gloved hands off his hat. "I do not wish to wait or go slow. I want to be with you."

Greg glances down at their hands then back up at Mycroft. "Mycroft, you… how can you expect…"

"I do not expect anything, Greg. By all rational sense you should not have even gotten into this car."

Greg huffs. "Mycroft, you…" He sighs. "You said please."

Mycroft smiles and squeezes Greg's hand. "I would have said it more if I had to." He looks down at their hand. "Greg, I am not adept at trusting or heeding my own feelings. You know I prefer to think instead but I know this is one feeling which I must obey." He looks up again. "Despite all my contradictory behavior, my back and forth, my protests, I know I do need you."

Mycroft reaches out with his other hand and puts it on top of Greg's hand which he holds. "I started this in the beginning and I remember why. I cannot promise perfection nor my work to give us complete freedom or even my own nature to be completely benevolent. " He looks into Greg's eyes and does not waver. "I can promise I will not walk away again, not unless you ask me to."

The car stops suddenly with Mycroft's side of the car at the kerb. Greg glances out the window past Mycroft and sees they are in front of Mycroft's house. Mycroft clears his throat quietly and lets go of Greg's hand as Greg looks at him again.

Mycroft glances out the window as well then takes a sharp breath in as he turns back. "I will say once more I am sorry, Greg, for everything. And now, if you wish my driver can take you back to your flat and… and I will step away from you or…" His hand twitches like he wants to touch Greg again but he does not. "Or you can please come inside. It is your choice."

Greg looks away from Mycroft. He twists his hat around in his hand once, feeling the metal police insignia through his gloves, breathing in and out. Then Greg turns, opens his car door and steps out of the black car. He closes the door behind him then walks around the car and up onto the kerb. He opens the back door of the car on Mycroft's side. Mycroft looks up slowly at Greg, his palms flat on his thighs.

"Are we going inside or not?" Greg asks.

Mycroft lets out a relieved gasp then swiftly stands up and out of the car. Mycroft pulls Greg into his arm, moves again to touch Greg's hair, slide his fingers over Greg's cheek, his neck, his expression so happy because – and Greg knows this is true – because he believed Greg would say no.

Greg smiles, puts his hands on Mycroft's hips. "Just kiss me, Mycroft."

And he does – holds Greg's face in his hands, an arm around Greg's back and kisses him.

"I have missed you," Mycroft says against Greg's lips. "What was I thinking? I missed you so much."

Greg chuckles and kisses Mycroft again. "I've been right here."

Mycroft pulls back, grips Greg's hand and pulls them both toward his house. He unlocks the door with one hand, keeping Greg's hand tight in his as if Greg might change his mind and flee back to the car. Then the door knocks open, Mycroft pulls them through and bangs it closed again by pushing Greg up against it.

"Fuck," is all Greg has a chance to say before Mycroft is kissing him, pressing him hard into the door, luckily just to the side of the door knob.

Greg's hat falls from his hand to roll somewhere across the floor as he grips Mycroft's side to pull him closer. Mycroft runs his hands over the front of Greg's uniform, slides across the watch chain, then drags his nails over the skin of Greg's neck. Greg holds Mycroft flush against him with one arm as they kisses harder and uses his other hand to pull at Mycroft's tie.

Mycroft laughs lightly against Greg's lips. "You always liked this tie."

Greg smiles as he loosens it. "Brings out that red in your hair you try to hide."

Mycroft huffs and bites Greg's bottom lip. Then he shifts to Greg's neck biting and sucking in short bursts, stopped by Greg's tight collar. His hand slides up Greg's chest until he curls his hand around Greg's black tie.

"And both of us with ties."

"Don't get too excited."

Mycroft kisses Greg on the lips again; tongue against Greg's and mumbled words. "Too late."

Then Greg pushes Mycroft hard, walking them away from the door and down the hall. Mycroft looks bereft for one moment at the loss of Greg's lips then Greg pulls at Mycroft's suit jacket. He pushes it off Mycroft's shoulders, down his arms then Mycroft helps pull it off the rest of the way. Greg throws it to the side as they keep walking back, somewhere in the direction of Mycroft's umbrella stand but who bloody cares where it lands?

Greg makes it through two buttons of Mycroft's waistcoat, Mycroft's hand on Greg's tie, when Mycroft's heels hit the bottom of the staircase. He stumbles but catches himself with a hand on the banister. Greg slides his gloved hand over Mycroft's on the bannister – Mycroft shivers at the touch – then pulls it away, pushes Mycroft down onto the stairs and straddles Mycroft's hips.

Mycroft gasps hard. "Oh… shi… Greg."

Greg holds Mycroft's hand against one carpeted step, kisses Mycroft's neck and works his waistcoat buttons with his other hand. Mycroft suddenly grabs Greg's chin and turns his head to kiss him again, nipping at his lips. Then Mycroft slides his free hand up Greg's thigh to grip Greg's arse.

Greg laughs into their kiss but it is breathy and heavy. "Watch that."

"I do, often," Mycroft counters.

Greg lets go of Mycroft's hand to take the pocket watch out of Mycroft's waistcoat pocket and put it aside. Then he finally unbuttons the last button of Mycroft's waistcoat. He pushes the expensive fabric off of Mycroft's chest. Then he sits back, pulls at Mycroft's tie with both hands and slides it off Mycroft's neck.

Greg holds up the red tie in front of his face for a moment then he glances at Mycroft. "This tie is probably a hundred pounds, isn't it?"

Mycroft huffs and grabs Greg's waist to hitch him up more into Mycroft's lap, presses their hard–ons together so they both breathe in sharply. "Because you care right now, Greg, yes?"

Greg drapes the tie over the banister.

"Throw the jacket but save the tie?" Mycroft asks with a smirk.

"Surprise."

Then Greg reaches down and unbuckles Mycroft's belt. Mycroft gasps and digs his fingers into Greg's thighs. Greg undoes Mycroft's trouser button, pushes down the zip then reaches into Mycroft's pants with one hand, glove still on. Mycroft breathes in sharply, biting his lip and head knocking back against the stairs.

"Careful," Greg whispers as he pushes Mycroft's pants and trousers down more so he can stroke Mycroft up and down.

Mycroft groans, breathing hard, but does not attempt words.

Greg shifts up onto his knees to take some pressure off of Mycroft's legs, strokes up and down Mycroft's shaft slowly, uses his other hand to work on the buttons of Mycroft's shirt. Mycroft tries to sit up more, fists a hand in Greg's jacket, then Greg twists his hand and presses his thumb into the head of Mycroft's penis and Mycroft groans again.

Suddenly, Greg lets go of Mycroft. Mycroft blinks and sits up a bit in confusion. Then Greg stands up out of Mycroft's lap and kneels between his legs instead.

"Bloody he –" Mycroft starts then Greg slides his mouth down over Mycroft's cock.

Greg pulls at Mycroft's pants and trouser, moving them down a bit more so he can get closer, slide lower. Mycroft breathes harder, Greg grips the base of the shaft, slides his tongue up and down, Greg sucks harder, Mycroft grips Greg's collar, Greg grazes his teeth just barely along the base, Mycroft groans again, then Greg slides down and deep and Mycroft comes with a loud gasp.

Greg swallows, sits back with one hand bracing Mycroft's leg then wipes a gloved hand along the edge of his mouth. He looks down at his glove with a frown but to be fair he does own other pairs. His eyes shift to Mycroft – trousers down, exposed, shirt half unbuttoned, eyes closed, mouth open, hair out of place – and it is a sight he will burn into his mind for as long as possible.

Greg stands up, his pants feeling tigher at the moment. Mycroft opens his eyes slowly as if he is half drunk. Greg smiles then shifts to the side and walks up the stairs. He stops at the landing where the stairs bend to the left and looks back down. Mycroft stares up at him, only half turned around, still completely disheveled.

"Are you coming or not?" Greg asks.

Mycroft twists around, pulls his trousers back up into place and practically jumps to stand. He climbs the stairs and stops beside Greg, trousers back together but minus his belt, shirt untucked and four buttons open, just two inches taller looking down at Greg.

"I rather like your uniform," Mycroft says as he runs a hand down Greg's buttons.

"Not that fancy."

"You look splendid." He runs his hand along Greg's collar and over the knot of his tie. "Absolutely gorgeous."

"You're only saying that because I just –"

But Mycroft growls and cuts Greg off with a kiss, hustling him backward up the rest of the stairs, before Greg can finish his sentence. Greg chuckles into the kiss, touches Mycroft neck then turns when they reach the second floor. He walks briskly down the hall, Mycroft right behind him with a hand on the small of Greg's back until Greg opens the door of Mycroft's bedroom.

Greg turns around and raises both eyebrows. "New sheets?"

Mycroft only smirks and kisses Greg again, backing him up slowly toward the bed. When they are nearly at the foot of the bed, Mycroft wraps his arms around Greg's middle and picks him up just slightly, probably intending to drop Greg on the bed. However, Greg wraps his legs around Mycroft at the same time so they both fall back onto the bed, Mycroft on top of Greg.

Greg laughs as Mycroft makes an 'omf' noise of surprise.

Mycroft smiles and tilts his head. "As though I could genuinely pick you up anyway."

Greg mock pouts. "Oh right, calling me fat?"

Mycroft nods, his hand rubbing over the front of Greg's trousers. "Yes, exactly."

Greg laughs again through a sharp gasp and kisses Mycroft, sliding a hand into Mycroft's hair. "Can't believe it, he jokes!"

"Never," Mycroft whispers just over Greg's lips.

Mycroft kisses Greg slowly as he starts to undo the buttons of Greg's uniform. He leans back as he finishes with the last button, coaxes Greg to sit up and pull the jacket away. Mycroft smiles, says "shame" then continues to carefully remove every piece of Greg's clothing; shoes, socks, tie, trousers, shirt, and pants until Greg lies naked and aching on the bed.

Mycroft slides back off the bed, hands dragging across Greg's skin and teasingly close. He stands up again, sheds his trousers and pants, then crawls back over Greg, scooting them both up to the pillows. Greg sits up slightly against the headboard and Mycroft settles over his lap. (It seems they are both fans of laps today). Greg opens the last buttons on Mycroft's shirt then Mycroft takes Greg's one hand and guides it back over his arse.

And that is when everything starts to rush ahead without stopping.

Greg's head blurs, his hands focus, his eyes sharpen, his lips never stop moving, searching for more to kiss. He grips Mycroft's thigh, he pushes his fingers inside, he listens to Mycroft's sharp breathing and matches in time, and he feels everything, feels so hot. Mycroft pulls Greg's hand away; Mycroft kisses his neck, his hair. Mycroft grips the base of Greg's cock, sinks down on it, gasps in time with Greg, rises and falls. Greg lifts with Mycroft, holds on tight and moves his hips, shifts and pulls Mycroft down harder on him, kisses a line across Mycroft's chest. He breathes in an out, moves faster, gasps out words, a name. Mycroft braces one hand on the wall, the other on Greg's collar bone.

"Don't stop," Mycroft says. Or Greg says.

"Yes…" Greg says. Or Mycroft says.

Greg touches Mycroft's chest, his arse, slides his hand over and squeezes Mycroft's cock, bites a spot at the base of Mycroft's neck. Mycroft breathes harder into Greg's hair, whispers things Greg cannot hear, and moves faster, hips twisting in delicious ways.

Then they groan and gasp and cry out one after another, in what order who knows, just hot skin and some mess between them.

Mycroft slides back and lies beside Greg, dress shirt still around his shoulders somehow. Greg manages to grab the box of tissues off the table on his side and cleans them both up a bit. The sweat is just going to have to stay. Mycroft smiles in an amused way at the comforter and sheets pushed half off the bed from their activity. Greg throws the tissue in the general direction of the rubbish bin, puts the box down then lies full on his back again. Mycroft breathes softly beside him and makes a satisfied humming noise in the back of his throat.

After a moment of silence Greg says, "talk about make up sex."

Mycroft starts to laugh and does not stop until Greg kisses him quiet.