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-

5. Watch

"Do you remember that time, probably two or three years ago, when we talked about polyester ties?"

Mycroft frowns. "What?"

"I said something about how you kept buying me expensive presents so I was going to buy you the worst, cheapest, most tacky things I could find." Greg takes a sip of his tea. "Like bobble head dogs with the union jack on them?"

"I am afraid this does, as they say, ring a bell."

Greg grins as he walks back to the table. "Well, I got you something."

"Oh dear lord..."

Greg places a small box, no wrapping paper, in the center of the kitchen table clear of their breakfast plates as he sits back down. Mycroft frowns and stares at the box as though it may spontaneously catch fire. Greg drums his fingers on the table then reaches out and nudges the box closer to Mycroft with one finger.

Mycroft sighs and picks up the box. "I fear I already know what this is."

Greg scoffs good naturedly. "Oh, of course. So open it then."

Mycroft puts the box down on the table again, opens the flaps then pulls out the small object inside. Mycroft looks up at Greg. "A maneki–neko?"

"Show off."

Mycroft gives Greg a look. "A lucky cat."

"He even knows the colloquialism!"

"I have walked through Chinatown in my life."

"Think they're Japanese."

Mycroft nods. "Oh, and I am aware of the supreme irony of that."

Greg taps the top of the cat in Mycroft's hands. "The gold ones represent good fortune in money. I figured work was close enough to that." Greg grins some more. "So you should put it on your desk at MI6."

"I do not work at MI6."

"Don't you?"

"I somehow feel you could have done worse than this," Mycroft says as he puts the cat down on the table.

"I thought I should ease you in slowly."

Mycroft raises his eyebrows. "Is that a joke?"

"Not unless you want it to be literal."

Mycroft purses his lips. "I could easily throw this away, you are aware?"

"Easily?"

"I know the location of many a rubbish bin."

"But then you would be throwing out a gift I gave you."

"A ridiculous gift."

"A thoughtful gift."

Mycroft huffs. "Thoughtful in that you thought it was ridiculous?"

"And amusing."

"Is it?"

Greg shrugs. "Some people actually like them, you know."

"Some people." Mycroft nudges the cat with his finger. "I think it is a piece of cheap porcelain."

"Which you will keep on your desk."

Mycroft shakes his head. "I will not."

"But if you chuck it then you might hurt my feelings." Mycroft glares. Greg smiles and sighs in a forlorn way. "Just think of the disappointed look on my face that changes into a brave smile. 'If that's what you want, Mycroft.' How could you handle that?"

"You are enjoying this too much."

Greg grins. "I am."

Mycroft chews his lip. "Do you really plan to give me more of these… presents?"

Greg shrugs. "Who can say?"

"When I gave you presents in the past it was out of affection while this is…"

"Endearing?"

"Torture."

Greg laughs and stands up from the table. "Come on, Mycroft." He picks up both their plates and cutlery. "Have some fun."

"With a gold lucky cat?"

"With the whole idea."

Mycroft frown and looks down at the lucky cat again. "Did you need to buy a gold one?"

"Would white really have been better?"

"I could have hidden it with papers."

Greg smiles as he puts the plates in the sink. "So you are bringing it to work?" He glances at Mycroft over his shoulder with a smile.

Mycroft looks back at Greg and breathes in slowly. "I might."

Greg grins. "Yeah?"

"If only so I can ignore it more completely when I am busy with work as opposed to relaxing at home."

Greg steps back over and kisses Mycroft. "You're welcome."

–––––––––

Greg and David sit across from each other at a table near the door of The Silver Cross off Trafalgar Square. Greg usually only comes around Charing Cross when he has a specific reason, visit to a museum when he watched the nephews or tea with the queen; since he obviously has tea with the queen. He did try to nick a spot along the square with Claire and Rory when the Tour de France came through in July; but, as it is with such races, they just saw the bikes speed by for less than a minute then ended up watching the large screens by Nelson's Column instead.

Today Greg and David share a plate of fish and chips while they wait for Jane to arrive after a meeting at The National Gallery. Later in the spring she will be taking her students on a trip there and David thought it a wonderful husbandly gesture to meet her. Of course, David needed company while he waited.

"You're eating all the fish."

David scoffs. "Because I ate half of this piece?"

"We didn't have to share you know."

David shakes his head. "We did. My stomach can't take so much fried food anymore. I swear I'm getting old."

Greg sips his pint and cocks his head. "Getting?"

David shoots Greg a glare and pick up his beer. "Hate my siblings."

"You don't."

"Not even close."

Greg frowns at the diminishing meal in front of them then glances toward the bar. "I think I'm going to get a scotch egg."

"Don't."

Greg's eyes tick back to David. "Why not?"

"Because they're called Scotch eggs." David rolls his eyes. "Ridiculous food."

"They're delicious."

David rolls his eyes again. "They're not."

"You're looking like your sons right now."

"They do influence me a lot."

"In all the best ways."

David snorts and chews on a chip. "You're the one wearing a tie."

Greg looks down at himself. "I wear ties. I wear them plenty." Greg frowns. "What do you mean by that?"

David laughs. "You know."

Greg narrows his eyes. "I wear ties. I have always worn ties."

"Yeah?"

Greg huffs. "Ask Anne, I have worn ties."

"Haven't talked to Anne in months."

Greg does a double take. "Just months?"

David grins. "I can call who I want."

"Just months?"

"Shh, don't worry about it." David takes a drink of his bear and shifts the fish around the plate. "Plus, probably won't again. She called me insane and Mycroft did apologize."

"You're not making real sense."

David nods. "I'm aware."

Greg checks his watch and mutters. "When is Jane getting here to save me?"

"Is Mycroft coming to Christmas this year?" David asks abruptly.

Greg's eyebrows shoot up. David looks up from his pint and raises his eyebrows back at Greg.

"Did you just invite him?" Greg asks shifting on his stool.

"Well, you're coming, so seems likely he'd be coming."

"But did you invite him?"

"It looks like I'm hosting again, so yeah, I did. And while we're on that, can you buy a house again so you can take over hosting holidays sometime again?" David takes a drink of his beer. "Tired of all the cleanup."

"You can all come to my flat any time for holidays, you know. Say the word."

David sighs. "Right, yes, let's all pack in."

"We'd be creative. Lock the kids in my bedroom."

"You're veering down a dangerous path there, Greg."

Greg takes a big gulp of his beer. "I take it back."

"You know," David says, pointing at Greg with his pint glass hand. "Mycroft could always host Christmas; he has a house, right?"

Greg chokes on his beer and just barely manages to not spit it out. "Bloody hell, no, that would not work."

"Ugly house?"

"I can give you a list of reasons."

David frowns. "Is ugly house on the list?"

"First off, he doesn't like Christmas."

David scoffs and picks up a chip off of their plate. "Who doesn't like Christmas?"

"A lot of people don't like Christmas actually."

"What doesn't he like about Christmas?" David cocks his head. "Is it the Christ bit?"

"I think it's the everything bit."

David's eyes open wide. "Even the tree? You know I love decorating."

Greg takes a chip as well and shoves it in his mouth. "Point being, he doesn't like Christmas much so not a good idea for him to host it even if I'd do most of the hosting."

David purses his lips and taps his finger on top of one piece of fish. "I suppose I will have to suffer through the duty once more then."

"You know you're drumming your fingers on our fish, right?"

David glances up at Greg. "The fish likes it."

"I hope not as the fish is dead and battered."

"And delicious."

Greg smiles and shakes his head. "So eat it then instead of fondling it."

"Greg, why do you hate fun?"

Greg picks up another chip and wags it at David. "I thought dads were supposed to tell their children not to play with their food."

"That's mums."

Greg sighs. "I sometimes wonder if you are ever really going to grow up."

David smiles. "Perish the thought."

Greg takes another drink of his beer, glances over David's shoulder at the door to look for Jane then looks back to David. He taps a finger on the side of his glass then chews the edge of his lip.

"What?" David says without looking up as he dunks a piece of fish into the tartar sauce.

"Were you serious about Mycroft and Christmas? His coming and all?"

David looks up this time and smiles. "As long as you are."

Greg smiles back, twists his glass around in his hand once then picks it up. "Guess I just need to convince him then."

–––––––––

Greg stands in the crime scene of a flat furnished like an Airbnb hipster, protective covers on his shoes with Avery on his right and Cooper on his left. Greg crosses his arms and cocks his head. He rubs a finger over the new leather notebook in his left hand, the edges yet to be worn. A camera flashes from Cooper's side.

"Do you think it's a full set of teeth?" Avery asks.

"Well, I'm not a doctor –"

"Dentist," Cooper interrupts.

"I'm not a dentist," Greg corrects, "but just by counting I'd say so."

"Right." Avery shifts his weight left to right. "I never could remember how many teeth you're supposed to have."

"Thirty–four," Cooper says at the same time Greg says, "thirty–two."

They turn and frown at each other.

Cooper shrugs up one shoulder. "I have two wisdom teeth."

"Thirty–two," Greg says again as Cooper smirks. "But," Greg continues, waving a hand over the scene. "That'd be the least of this poor bugger's worries."

"Yeah," Cooper and Avery say together.

"All right." Greg points his right hand at Cooper. "Get to work on interviewing the neighbors." He points his left hand crossed over his right at Avery. "Look into phone records and any CCTV of the building."

"Yes, sir," the constables say crisply.

Cooper turns away, walking behind Greg, but Avery lingers. Greg turns toward him. "Something on your mind, Avery?"

"I just..." He clears his throat. "Wanted to thank you, Inspector, for everything you did." He clears his throat again. "Everything you did for me after... well, after what I did. Could have been a lot worse for me."

"You're a good copper, Avery."

"Thank you, sir, but I know that not everyone would have handled it like you did. Some might have just thrown me to internal affairs and bloody hell with it."

Greg cracks a smile. "Like Matthews, you mean?"

Avery smiles shyly then clears his throat a third time. "Don't know what you mean." He then pulls himself up taller. "Just wanted to say, thank you."

Greg nods. "All right, you're welcome. Now off you go on this one." Greg waves a hand behind him.

Avery smiles wide and nods, turning and walking back to the flat's front door. Greg turns back to the scene as Avery leaves then crouches down and opens the leather notebook, turning pages. He clicks his pen open and beings to draw the familiar layout of the pieces on the floor into his notebook.

"All in proper place," Greg mutters.

"Boss, your second best friend is here."

Greg turns to look over his shoulder then stands up when he sees Donovan walking toward him with John beside her.

Greg raises both eyebrows. "That make Sherlock my first best friend?"

Donovan shrugs. "Dunno, you didn't go to his wedding. Maybe John should be first." She smirks. "Though doubt Sherlock'll be married any time soon for you to compare."

John gives her an odd look then clicks his tongue. "Still so sorry you missed it, Sally." John says. "Invitation must have been lost in the mail."

Donovan frowns but Greg clears his throat loudly before she can retort. "As fun as this game is, shall we get to it?" He gestures behind him at the floor.

"Of course," John says, giving Donovan another look.

She turns to Greg but he motions with his head toward the forensics team. She frowns but turns and walks away. When Greg looks back to John, he is pulling a tablet out of his jacket.

Greg tilts his head. "Last time I heard about you being in absentia for Sherlock didn't you have a laptop?"

John flashes the screen briefly at Greg. "Wedding gift."

Greg nods but from the tone of John's voice refrains from asking anything about Mary. John taps on the tablet, queuing up Skype as they step over to the crime scene.

John looks up from the screen, past Greg and huffs a breath out. "God."

"Yeah." Greg points at the body parts. "Found them arranged just like this."

"Just like they would be in the body," John says as he crouches low.

"Eyes, teeth, tongue," Greg says.

"Lungs, liver, spleen even," John continues.

"No heart," Greg and John say together.

"And do you plan on ever showing me this external arrangement of internal organs?" Sherlock's voice asks.

Greg jerks slightly in surprise and John pulls back the tablet from his chest. "Take you that long to answer, did it?"

Greg hears Sherlock sigh. "I was sleeping."

"You weren't," John says making Greg snort with amusement.

Sherlock sighs again. "The body?"

"You mean the pieces?" John says as he turns the tablet around for Sherlock to see the collection of internal organs on the floor of the flat arranged just as where they would have been inside of a prostrate human body.

"Blood?" Sherlock asks.

"Only trace bits," Greg answers. "Not nearly enough for something like this."

"Unless you cared to perform proper surgery for each," Sherlock counters. "Which from the intact state of the organs may be the case."

John laughs once and Greg scoffs. "You see a surgery room around here somewhere?"

"I would assume you have searched the flat for such. As I am bed bound I cannot do so myself but the option must be considered as we have yet to know what type of killer we are dealing with. John back up."

John sighs and stands up, taking three steps backward for a winder angle of the body parts. Greg crosses his arms and glances behind him at the rest of his team, Donovan near the door speaking to someone and two forensics techs watching from where they lean against the wall. Greg gives them a look but the one just waves her hand at the scene; nothing to do until they can finish photographing and bagging parts. Greg sighs and nods at them, turning back to John.

John glances at Greg. "Anyone determine a time of death?"

"Bit more difficult without the casing."

John huffs. "Funny."

"Sometimes you have to be."

"True."

"Shut up," Sherlock's voice says curtly.

"You shut up!" John snaps back suddenly.

Greg turns his head sharply to John. John stares straight ahead at the windows across from them, a couple meters away from their scene. John swallows once, flicks his eyes to Greg then looks down at the organs on the floor.

"All right?" Greg asks quietly.

John breathes in through his nose. "Yeah."

"Really?"

"Just..." He shakes his head once, pausing for a moment. "Just no one is what they seem, are they?" He looks at Greg, right in the eyes as if hoping Greg will contradict him, tell him that he is wrong.

Greg scratches his thumb on his bicep. "Depends what you think you saw the first time."

John's brow furrows. He opens his mouth but closes it again without saying anything.

"John?" Sherlock's voice says, softer than before. "A tour of the flat, if you please."

"Yeah." John steps back then turns and walks slowly around the room, tablet held in front of him.

Greg waves his forensic techs toward the organs as he watches John walk further down the hall. Greg's fingers clenches tightly around the leather notebook in his right hand.

–––––––––

Greg sits across from Mycroft in a coffee shop a few streets away from the Met. The place is still fairly new and Greg figured they may as well try it out. The espresso tastes the same as most places and the crowds are less. Other than an overly white decor Greg thinks it could be any other café or chain that sells coffee and tea in London.

Mycroft taps on his mobile, glances up at Greg, smiles and taps some more. Greg chuckles. "E–mail or text?"

"I do not text important business."

"Just Anthea?"

Mycroft looks up. "Anthea is possibly the fastest texter I have ever seen. It is a medium meant for her."

"So you only text her? Is she not able to e-mail or call?"

"Sometimes speed is of the essence."

"She's kind of scary, you know that, right?"

"That is why I employ her." Mycroft taps his mobile some more, swipes his finger over the screen then clicks it off. "There." He puts his mobile down on the table and picks up his cup. "I am back."

Greg shakes his head. "It's fine."

"No, no, I am not touching my mobile for at least ten minutes."

"Ten?" Greg raises both eyebrows and takes a sip of his coffee. "Let me call the papers."

Mycroft scoffs. "If only print media were still viable."

"Enjoyable bantering aside," Greg turns his mug around in his hands. "Got something to ask you."

"Yes?"

"Christmas."

Mycroft's face shifts. "Oh?"

"You've been invited to –"

"Your family's Christmas?"

"Yep."

Mycroft licks his lip slowly, momentary distracting Greg. "Christmas?" He says.

"The holiday."

"Christmas."

"The one in December." Greg taps his mug on the table. "The eve actually; twenty-fourth."

Mycroft picks up his espresso and drinks down the entire thing. He breathes in slowly and puts the mug down again. He drums his finger tips on the table, glances out the window at the street outside. He blows out a breath and looks at Greg again. "I do hope this does not include carols?"

Greg grins.

–––––––––

"I've never been to a play at The Globe."

"Exactly how many plays have you attended, Greg?"

Greg bites his lip then tilts his head. "That a question?"

Mycroft presses his lips together then touches Greg's hair. "Apologies, my dear, I am certainly not calling you uncultured."

Greg kisses Mycroft's jaw lightly as they step up to the ticket counter.

Mycroft turns to the gentleman standing behind it. "Two tickets under Holmes, The Knight of the Burning Pestle." Mycroft turns to Greg as the man fingers through the tickets. "As to The Globe experience, Greg, we are going to be in the interior playhouse." Mycroft gestures behind him. "Not the iconic outdoor stage."

"Well, it's not the real Shakespeare Globe anyway."

The man behind the counter jerks his head up and frowns. Then he looks back down at the tickets and pulls out two. He holds them out to Mycroft with a sour look flashed at Greg. Mycroft takes the tickets, turns to Greg and suddenly kisses him hard. Then he pivots in place and walks back into the lobby proper. Greg's mouth hangs open in surprise. He looks over to the man behind the ticket counter. They stare at each other for a moment then the man grins. Greg laughs awkwardly then turns and walks briskly over to Mycroft now standing in the middle of the lobby.

Mycroft turns as Greg walks over. Greg raises his eyebrows. "Showing off?"

"Not sure that is the phrase I would use."

Greg nods and runs a hand down Mycroft's back over his suit jacket. "I'll think of something."

"Good luck."

"Right." Greg turns over his wrist and checks the time. "Still got a while before the show starts. Did you want to get dinner?"

Mycroft pulls his pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket and clicks it open. "In fact, we have considerably more time than dinner could fill."

"Could get a pint as well?" Mycroft looks up from his watch with raised eyebrows. Greg rocks his head from side to side then smirks. "Maybe not. Bit odd imagining you having pints."

"I have enjoyed beer in my life, Greg."

"Recently?"

Mycroft purses his lips and looks very much like he wants to kiss Greg entirely too long for the lobby of The Globe Theatre.

"We could do the tour?" Greg says gesturing behind him at the stairs which lead up to the outdoor theatre.

"I imagine I could learn anything I should need to know about the reconstruction and the history of The Globe on Wikipedia should I desire."

"You read Wikipedia?"

"Not to mention..." Mycroft grimaces and puts his pocket watch away. "Other people."

"You've taken it before, haven't you?"

Mycroft looks away toward the cafe area for a moment then turns back to Greg. "In terms of filling our time before the play, I thought perhaps Tate Modern."

Greg frowns. "The museum?"

"You know another Tate Modern?"

Greg digs his nails into Mycroft's back for a moment so Mycroft's face scrunches slightly. Then Greg drops his arm and motions toward the front doors. "On then?"

Mycroft touches Greg's arm then the two of them walk forward and out the doors. Mycroft leads them left toward the Thames then left again, The Globe rising beside them while tourists take photos of the theatre and the city on both sides. A cluster of four America twenty–somethings rush by Greg, shivering in their insufficient coats for the English December cold. Greg chuckles as they walk, Mycroft's knuckles brushing against his. Greg breathes out, watches his breath twist in the air and disappear again. Beside him Mycroft makes a quiet noise, frowning at his mobile.

"What?" Greg asks.

"The Matisse exhibit closed in September."

Greg shrugs. "Okay?"

"It was a rare curation of Matisse's cutouts from his later career, specifically the Blue Nudes." Mycroft flashes his mobile at Greg so he catches a quick glimpse of art which looks like early primary school work before pulling it away again. "I meant to schedule a private viewing but, hmm, time did not permit it seems."

"Cut outs?"

Mycroft looks at Greg. "He created a new medium. Very influential work, Greg."

Greg clicks his tongue. "Cut outs?"

Mycroft tries to frown but it turns into more of a smile. He clicks his mobile screen dark then puts it back in his pocket. He grips Greg's hand in his other and squeezes it. Mycroft turns and looks ahead where they walk again, hand still in Greg's. Greg watches the side of Mycroft's face, slight stubble starting to show and Greg wonders if Mycroft shaved this morning or not.

"Mycroft?" Mycroft glances at Greg. "I have a confession."

"You have never been to Tate Modern?"

Greg laughs. "No, I have. Claire loves Tate Modern." Mycroft raises his eyebrows. "She works in advertizing and majored in design at university. Tate Modern is a playground."

Mycroft chuckles politely. "And you the unwilling companion on her romps?"

"Colin and David have been forced to come too."

Mycroft chuckles again. "Perhaps she saw the Matisse?"

"Not with me if she did."

"Then what is your confession?"

Greg looks ahead of them again and clears his throat. "I haven't been to a play at all before."

Mycroft starts to laugh for real. He sidesteps so he bumps against Greg as they walk. Greg smiles, touches Mycroft tie, and then slides them closer to the stone wall overlooking the Thames. Greg fishes in his pocket for his mobile. Once he finds it, he lets go of Mycroft's hand and jogs slightly ahead.

"Greg?" Mycroft asks.

"Stop." Greg says as he turns around toward Mycroft again.

Mycroft frowns, slowing down but does not stop walking. "What?"

Greg holds up his mobile. Mycroft stops and steps out of frame toward the wall. "No."

Greg smiles, shifting with Mycroft's movement. "Come on, Mycroft." He makes a contrite face. "I can count the number of pictures I have of you on one hand."

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "I am sure it is not that little."

"Are you? I don't use CCTV screenshots like you."

Mycroft opens his mouth in offence so Greg clicks the button on his screen. Mycroft frowns instantly and Greg clicks another shot.

"Stop it," Mycroft hisses and walks forward again toward Greg.

"If you stay still and pose I could take a good photo." Greg shrugs slightly. "Not that I am against candids. Can work just as well."

Mycroft sighs, arms crossed and looks out at the Thames. Greg clicks a third photo then takes one step closer to Mycroft, just an arm's length away.

"Just one photo, Mycroft, I can delete the others if you like."

"Do you need a photo?" Mycroft says, turning back to Greg.

"Need to look at something when you're not around me, don't I?"

Mycroft opens his mouth slightly and the cross of his arms eases. "Why should I not be around you?"

Greg drops his arm holding up the phone and he breathes out the air in his lungs. Greg stares at Mycroft for a moment then smiles slowly. "I..." Greg looks down and flips his mobile around in his hand once. He looks up again. "You're right. No reason at all."

Mycroft steps over to Greg then takes the mobile out of his hand. He holds it up, clicking the screen. He swipes across the screen, 'hmms,' then hands the phone back to Greg. "Certainly not my worst photos."

"You don't want me to delete them?"

"It is your mobile, Greg. It is under your control."

"I feel like that might not actually be true."

Mycroft chuckles once. "Are we going into the Tate or would you prefer we stand out in the cold until our play begins?"

Greg reaches out and touches Mycroft's face, a line over his skin and his hair, warm against the cold of Greg's fingers. "You know there's a lot of romantic things I could say right now, yeah?"

Mycroft nods. "But I imagine I already beat you to it?"

Greg laughs quietly. "Noticed that, did you?"

Mycroft only smiles. He turns Greg around by his shoulders then pushes Greg forward at the small of his back. "Come, let us give you another round of culture based on what your sister has already begun."

"So it is a day of 'give the boyfriend culture?'"

Mycroft huffs. "You and that word."

"Tell me to stop then."

Mycroft chuckles quietly then kisses Greg's cheek. "I will not."

–––––––––

"Right," Greg says as he stands up from his chair and walks around to the front of his desk. "I don't know if you two are going to be happy about this but got to tell you anyway."

"Uh oh," Banks laughs. "Giving us the boot?"

"No, no," Bell admonishes, "would need HR for that."

"Oh good, we're safe!"

"You done?" Greg asks. Bell smiles and Banks makes a 'go on' motion with one hand. Greg clears his throat. "So, you've both been awarded special commendations from the superintendent."

Banks raises his eyebrows. "Us?" He points between himself and Bell. "Why?"

Greg leans against his desk and crosses his arms. "It's from our case in August."

Bell's face falls. "August?"

"You can't mean –"

"Of course he does, Martin," Bell interrupts. "Why?" She grinds her teeth and clearly controls herself from saying a string a curse words. "Why would they do that?"

"It's a show of appreciation for a hard case, Bell."

"Ted died!" Bell snaps. "He died on that case and they want to give us commendations for that?" She spits out the word 'commendations' as if she could not think of a fouler thing to say.

"Maybe that's the point," Banks says.

"Oh!" Bell scoffs. "The point? Maybe that is the point?" She glares at Banks for a moment and looks very much like she wants to hit him. Then she turns back to Greg. "Commendation then? You can tell them to shove that commendation right up their –"

"Bell," Greg interrupts sternly and holds up his. "Try to look at it for what it is, a show of support."

"But it was a failure!"

"No, it wasn't, Bell. We caught those involved and closed the case. It was a loss not a failure."

"I…" Bell breathes out heavily and nods. "Yes, I… I know."

"You don't have to like it –"

"I don't."

"But try not to assault any of the higher ups, okay?" Greg finishes

Bell laughs weakly. "Think I can manage that."

"But it's okay if I do?" Banks asks.

Bell laughs for real this time, rubbing a hand across her face then bumping Banks with her shoulder. He grins at her then Greg.

Greg nods at both of them, smiling as well. "All right, all right. Congratulations and now feel free to forget all about it."

They nod then turn and walk out of his office just as Brooks, Donovan and Matthews appear in his doorway.

Greg uncrosses his arms. "Sergeants?"

"Detective Inspector," Brooks says.

"There a reason all three of you are standing in my doorway, don't think we have a serial killer case on at that moment." He frowns. "Unless you have something to tell me?"

Donovan laughs at the same time Matthews scoffs. Brooks just shakes her head. "Not quite that avenue, no."

"Well then?"

"It's December, why do you think we're here?" Brooks says with a smirk.

Greg frowns and rubs a hand over his forehead. "Don't I tell you lot every year not to do this?"

"At least we're not doing it at a meeting," Donovan admonishes. "Feel a bit less under the spotlight then?"

"Don't know why it should bother you." Matthews pulls a box from behind his back, drumming his fingers on the sides. "Most subordinates give a holiday gift to the boss."

"And you make it sound ever so exciting, Brian," Brooks says with an eye roll.

Matthews shakes the box. "I didn't pick it."

"Are you going to give whatever it is to me and get it over with or just block my door?"

Donovan takes the box out of Matthews' hands then steps in and holds it out. "Whole department chipped in of course but we three pulled rank to get to give it to you."

Greg cracks half a smile. "Should I be touched?"

"In the head maybe." Brooks quips.

Matthews laughs once making Brooks turn to him in surprise but he schools his features quickly. They turn back to Greg as he takes the red wrapped present from Donovan. She takes a step back but they wait in the doorway instead of leaving. Greg sighs, though he is smiling, and quickly unwraps the box. He puts the box down on his desk briefly, balls up the paper and tosses it toward his rubbish bin. He makes the shot and Brooks 'whoops' quietly. Greg smiles at her then picks up the box again. He rips the one piece of tape off the flaps and opens it up.

He stares for a minute then looks up again. "Who's idea was this?"

"Well, Sally first proposed it," Brooks says.

"Gupta had the same idea," Donovan says to Brooks. "She uses one at home, 'always tastes better.'"

Brooks chuckles. "Of course."

"Well?" Matthews insists.

Greg pulls the bag of coffee beans and the French press out of the box. He drops the empty box on the chair in front of his desk and puts the coffee and press down on his desk.

"We know you had one before," Brooks says. "But it disappeared a while ago."

"Bloody kitchen thieves," Matthews mutters.

"This one is an extra nice one, stainless steel!" Brooks insists.

Donovan gives Greg a look but says nothing.

Greg nods. "Thank you very much. It's very thoughtful and work appropriate." Donovan and Brooks both chuckle. Matthews just shakes his head. Greg taps the top of the press. "You can tell the rest of the division I approve."

Brooks salutes sloppily. "Will do."

"Can I get back to real work now?" Greg asks.

"What a novel idea," Matthews says flashing a look at the women.

Brooks rolls her eyes and Donovan glares back at him.

"Make that a yes, all right?" Greg stands up straight. "Go solve some cases before we're all on holiday!"

"Yes, sir," the three of them say together and finally walk out of his door, Donovan grinning at him as she goes.

Greg walks back around his desk and sits down again; quite a contrast of meetings for him. Greg swivels his chair to face his laptop and continues to type up his yearly report which he started last week. As he types, his eyes keep darting to the French press on the edge of his desk. He smiles and thinks perhaps he should text Mycroft something about 'great minds' if only to make Mycroft laugh.

–––––––––

Greg reaches up to hang another obviously child made ornament near the top of the Christmas tree standing next to the front windows in David's living room – chairs rearranged to give it room. The ornament looks like something Timothy probably made a number of years ago due to the prevalence of purple on an otherwise normal reindeer. On the other side of the tree, Kate and John keep giggling then shushing each other in turn. Greg isn't sure if the giggling is due to odd ornaments or Mycroft standing huffily beside Greg. The twins certainly seem to have taken an interest in the newest addition to family functions.

Mycroft sighs and holds up the box again toward Greg. Greg chuckles and picks up an innocent silver ball this time. "Stop sighing." Mycroft only frowns. "You could help. It would go faster."

"I have told you before my dislike of this holiday. Tree decorating is included."

"Spoil sport," David says as he appears on Greg's other side holding tinsel.

"Oh, dear lord," Mycroft sneers at the silver mess in David's hands.

David grins and holds out a handful toward Mycroft. "Come on, join the party. The water is fine."

"I dislike your metaphor." Mycroft steps away then puts the box down on the coffee table along with the other boxes of decorations. "And swimming."

David blows out a breath of air and clucks with his tongue. "Scrooge McDuck!"

Mycroft huffs and picks up his mug of tea from the table near the ornament boxes, taking a quick sip. "Christmas, is an infuriating holiday once possibly religious in nature, which is another issue entirely, but is now completely commercial and –"

"Down, Plato," Greg says putting a hand on Mycroft's chest. Then he looks at David – who is grinning like an idiot – and whacks him with the back of his hand. "And stop trying to rile him up."

"I don't that."

"You do," Greg and Mycroft say together.

David laughs instantly. "Ah, I missed this."

"Shut up," Greg says as Mycroft sighs yet again and drinks more of his tea.

From the other side of the tree Kate and John burst into laughter. Greg leans around David and shoots them a glare. Kate only grins as she hangs a candy cane on the tree while John bites his lip to keep himself quiet beside her. Greg shakes his head which only makes Kate smile more. Greg leans back around as David begins methodically putting tinsel on the tree starting near the top.

"Anyone interested in mead?" Jane's voice calls from the kitchen.

"Yes!" David, Greg, Kate and John all say together turning as one toward her voice.

Jane steps out of the kitchen, a glass in each hand and hair falling in her eyes from a hastily put up messy bun. She gives a glass to David, kissing his cheek, then hands the other to Greg.

She points at Kate and John. "No." They groan at the same time and same pitch level. Jane shakes her hand. "No. Sorry."

"Aunt Jane!" Kate insists. "It's not fair!"

"You are fifteen, Kate, wait your turn."

"We're fifteen not ten, Aunt Jane!" John insists. "It's close enough."

Jane shakes her head. "It's not."

Mycroft huffs derisively as he sits down on the couch. Greg shoots him a look but Mycroft only shakes his head. John keeps pouting toward Jane as she walks back to the kitchen but Kate gives Mycroft an annoyed look.

He tilts his head at her and smiles. "Trust me, my dear, you are hardly missing out."

"You don't like mead?" David says as he takes a big gulp from his mug, hissing slightly from the temperature. "But it's so honey delicious!"

"I accept the honey in that statement, not the delicious."

"What about egg nog then or is that too Christmas, could infect you?"

"Oi," Greg interrupts before Mycroft can retort. He points at David. "What did I say?" He motions to Kate and John. "You're worse than them."

David grins. "I have to defend my title!"

"Of most irritating?" Mycroft asks.

David waves his free had at Mycroft. "See? He knows."

John snorts and Kate sighs, tossing some tinsel off of the tree at David though it misses and floats to the floor. Mycroft's eyes tick to the tinsel but he does not stand up to fix anything. Greg leans down, picks up the tinsel then puts it in Kate's hair. She purses her lips trying to look upset but ends up smiling instead.

"You're welcome," Greg says and takes a sip of his mead.

Greg hangs a gold ball on the tree then he steps around David and the coffee table to sit beside Mycroft on the couch. He rubs a hand over Mycroft's knee quickly then looks at him. Mycroft holds his tea in one hand, the other propped up on the arm of the couch so he can rub a circle on his temple. Greg chuckles and Mycroft drops his hand onto the arm of the couch. He raises both eyebrows in question.

"I think you're secretly enjoying this."

Mycroft huffs. "Am I?"

"What else would you have been doing on Christmas Eve, sitting at home reading reports from Iceland?"

"Iceland?"

Greg shrugs. "First country that came to mind."

"Interesting choice given the lack of any ice here to inspire you but I understand the image you were attempting to create."

"And that you are enjoying yourself."

Mycroft breathes in slowly and taps a finger nail on his tea mug. "I am enjoying your presence."

"Just his?" David pipes up suddenly. "I'm crushed." He puts the last bit of tinsel from his hands onto a low branch then pivots in place. "Mycroft, do we not amuse you enough? What could be a better Christmas Eve present then a night with the Lestrades?" David grins and holds out his hands to indicate the room and people in it.

Greg hears quiet laughter coming from the kitchen. Mycroft stares at David. David wiggles his fingers, arms still out stretched.

"I suppose this is not the worst place I could be."

David gasps, Greg laughs and Mycroft smiles. Then the front door opens with a bang making Greg and David jump. Mycroft takes another sip of his tea.

"Hello!" Claire's voice calls as she comes around the corner with bags in her hands and Colin and Timothy behind her.

"Did your siblings simply decide to trade offspring today?" Mycroft asks absently.

"Tim isn't much on tree decorating this year."

Mycroft sips his tea again. "I sympathize."

Greg shakes his head and speaks low. "Think it's more the height thing he's upset about."

Mycroft purses his lips. "Well, puberty does come for us all in time."

"Right," Claire says to the room as she weaves through it. "I have presents and food." She looks back and forth between Greg and David. "Who exactly is cooking this time? Please tell me it's you," she says as she stops on Greg.

Greg smiles. "I am willing to serve."

"In the sense of cooking and not of holding plates?" Claire asks with a half grin.

"Yes."

"Praise be!" David says as he picks up two nearly empty boxes of ornaments. He hands one to Kate and one to John. Then he claps his hands together. "There better be ham in one of those, Claire."

"In here there is," Colin says holding up his bag.

"I helped pick it out, dad," Timothy adds as he flops down into a free chair near the wall.

David nods. "My new favorite son."

"Speaking of," Greg asks. "Where are Rory and Edward?"

David frowns and picks up the last box on the table, swinging back around to face the tree. Timothy laughs as he pulls out his mobile. Greg turns to Claire in confusion.

Claire clears her throat and puts down the two bags in her left hand beside the cough. "Well, Rory has been claimed by his girlfriend's family for the night and as for Edward." She glances at her twins who are giggling again then back to Greg. "He thought the party invite he got was better than family for tonight."

"A party?"

David makes a loud huffing noise but does not turn around again.

Timothy chuckles, eyes fixed on his mobile. "Dad tore him a new one but he still went. Probably end up grounded on New Year's."

"Maybe," David mutters.

"Oh yes, who would want to miss this fun?" Mycroft says with sarcasm.

David turns around and throws a wooden ornament shaped like a sleigh right at Mycroft, hitting him in the center of his blue tie. Mycroft yelps quietly and stares in offended surprise at David. Claire laughs once then 'tut tuts' at Mycroft as she walks to the kitchen with her last two bags.

"You threw an ornament at me!" Mycroft says still staring at David.

"Yep!" David hangs a mini snowman on the tree without breaking eye contact with Mycroft. "Don't make me rescind your invitation, Mr. Grumps–a–lot."

"David," Greg says plaintively.

"I love you," David says to Greg as he puts the top back onto the empty ornament box.

"Is this how normal families behave?" Mycroft asks turning to Greg.

Greg rocks his head back and forth. "Yes?"

"No," Kate and John say together as they walk away from the tree, empty boxes in hand.

"Put these away, will you?" David asks, handing his box to John and pointing at the other two. Then he swoops his finger around and points at Mycroft. "'Maybe' is the correct answer."

Mycroft cracks a smile for one moment then takes a drink of his tea to hide it. Greg touches Mycroft hair briefly and thinks of sunflowers in Italy, the cold feeling of paint on skin and Mycroft's eyes in the morning.

"Okay, we're out!" Claire says so Greg jerks again in surprise. He turns to see her and Jane leaving the kitchen, Colin crossing behind them toward the dining room. Claire waves a hand back toward the kitchen. "All yours when you want it, Greg."

"Are we doing dessert?" Jane hisses to Claire.

"Did you plan on it?"

Jane makes a face. "No?"

"I can assist with that, if there is a need."

Every head in the room turns to stare at Mycroft. Colin steps back into the living room from the dining room and Timothy tilts his mobile to the side to look around it with a frown.

Mycroft smiles in an awkward way and his hand clenches around his mug. "Or not?"

"Thank you, Mycroft," Greg says as he stands up, Mycroft following a second after. "Now we're going to retreat to the kitchen. Try to control your surprise."

"Impossible," David says.

Mycroft clears his throat and follows as Greg walks to the kitchen. Greg waves his glass of mead at the room and gives them a completely unserious glare. Colin laughs, David grins and Claire presses her lips together, giving him a look. She glances at Mycroft then back to Greg with a small shrug.

In the kitchen, Mycroft leans against one counter watching Greg move about the kitchen, pulling out cookware and ingredients and starting the stove to heat up.

"I imagine this dinner will be more enjoyable then a full day spent with my own family," Mycroft says as Greg preps.

"They can't be that bad."

"Sherlock is out of hospital now. It will be." He drinks the last of his tea. "It is also Christmas."

Greg chuckles. "You know, I've never met your parents."

Mycroft tilts his head. "I've never met yours."

Greg nods. "Mine are in Fiji."

Mycroft nods back. "Mine are in England."

Greg stops for a moment, hands on the counter. He looks out the window, one finger tapping against the marble. Then he steps back and looks at Mycroft. "Do your parents know about me?"

Mycroft blinks. "What?"

"Do your parents know about me?" Greg slides his hands into his trouser pockets. "Don't talk to my parents all that much, traveling as they do now, but I have told them about you. Mum wants to know if you're more like Anne or Shawn." Greg cracks a smile. "She thinks I have two types and not along a gender line."

"And which am I?"

"You're you." Greg tilts his head. "And you haven't answered my question."

Mycroft clears his throat and puts his empty tea mug down on the island in the middle of the kitchen. "I am not accustomed to speaking with my parents about such things… rare as they are."

Greg swallows and looks away. "So, that's a no?"

"No." Greg looks back to Mycroft as Mycroft turns to look at him. "I have told them."

Greg smiles a little. "Oh."

"They invited you to Christmas tomorrow, in fact, but…" Mycroft shifts his weight slightly. "Well… I hoped if I went on my own I would be able to leave sooner."

"Were you going to use me as an excuse to leave your parents' on Christmas?"

Mycroft smiles slowly. "The thought crossed my mind."

Greg laughs, steps forward and kisses Mycroft once. "You're something, Mycroft."

Mycroft runs a hand down Greg's back and kisses him again. "I will take that as a compliment."

"Which for some reason reminds me." Greg takes a step back and pulls a thin, tissue paper wrapped present out of an inner pocket of his suit jacket. "Here. First present of Christmas."

Mycroft sighs. "Oh dear."

"'Oh dear' is right, open it."

"Would this not be better opened later?"

"No." Greg waves a hand as he walks over to the shopping bag with the ham in it. "I have a proper present for you for later. This is your horrible and tacky present."

Mycroft sighs. "You are still on that path?"

"Open it."

Greg pulls the ham out of the bag and picks a pan out of a lower cabinet. Mycroft turns the tissue paper over twice, squeezes it then looks at Greg again. Greg can tell Mycroft already knows what it is. He sighs then rips the tissue paper. He pulls out the polyester tie and stares at it.

He turns to look at Greg. "You managed to find orange paisley?"

Greg grins. "Orange and purple paisley."

Mycroft makes a shuddering, gasp type of noise and puts the tie down on the counter. "I am at least impressed by your ability to cause me nausea at the sight of formal wear."

Greg laughs once. "You're welcome." He puts the ham in the pan then steps over to Mycroft again and kisses him. "Happy Christmas."

Greg tries to step back but Mycroft holds him there. Mycroft's eyes circle around from the top of Greg's face and down to his lips. He kisses Greg again, slides their tongues together, 'hmms' in his throat so it vibrates against Greg's lips; Mycroft tastes like tea and Greg knows he tastes like honey. Mycroft kisses him hard, kisses him softly, sighs into the kiss.

Mycroft clenches his fingers against the small of Greg's back as he pulls back enough to say, "Merry Christmas, Greg."

–––––––––

When Greg opens his flat door Boxing Day morning, Mycroft stands on the other side, tie loose, top button undone and lines under his eyes that scream 'no sleep.'

"Mycroft?"

"My brother murdered someone last night," he says.

Greg stares at Mycroft for two beats then grabs his arm and pulls him into the flat. Greg shuts the door sharply and whirls around. "He what?"

"Murdered," Mycroft repeats with a weary tone, "surely you heard me?"

"I… who?"

Mycroft sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes. "Does it matter?"

"Probably."

Mycroft drops his hand and stares at Greg. "Does it matter, Detective Inspector?"

Greg breathes in slowly. "No." Greg breathes out in a huff. "No, but… Sherlock, he…"

"I assure you, Greg, it was not an accident or self–defence. I watched Sherlock do it. The man may have been of ill character, manipulative, certainly someone that could have one day posed a real threat but there are other ways, there always are! And Sherlock he… Sherlock shot an unarmed man in the head with no regard or care or thought to what would happen to himself at all! Sherlock shot him!" Mycroft gasps hard and has to put a hand against the wall.

Greg steps forward and pulls Mycroft against him. Mycroft wraps his arms tightly around Greg, fingers digging into Greg's sides. For a moment Greg thinks wildly that Mycroft is crying but Mycroft just breathes, in, out, in, out. Greg runs a hand up and down Mycroft's back, cards his fingers through Mycroft's hair.

"Shh, come on." Greg pulls back slightly, runs his thumbs over Mycroft's temple. "Come on, sit down." Greg walks Mycroft back into his living room and sits Mycroft on the couch. "Let me get you something, tea, coffee?"

"No, no."

"Whiskey?"

Mycroft looks up with a vaguely surprised look. Greg turns, walks back into his kitchen and quickly searches his cabinets. He must have something. He finds a bottle a third full and grabs it. He finds a glass, gets ice from the freezer then walks back into the living room.

"Here." Greg forces the glass into Mycroft's hand and pours in some of the bourbon. "Drink some."

"Hardly wise."

"Just take a sip."

Mycroft takes a gulp instead, hisses once then puts the glass down on Greg's coffee table. Greg puts the bottle down next to the glass then sits on the couch beside Mycroft.

"I thought he had put aside his business with Magnussen." Mycroft rubs his hands over his face. "He cannot usually hide that much intent or planning from me. If he is around me I can tell when he is up to something even if I do not know the details." He drops his hands again. "John was with him, my laptop, I cannot imagine what he originally intended. He certainly did not go to that house with murder in his original design; my brother is not that stupid."

"But?"

Mycroft turns to look at Greg. "But somehow that was the result, the unflinching result."

"Where is he?"

Mycroft's eyes shift back to the table. "MI6." Mycroft sighs again as he picks up the glass. "In a cell."

Greg reaches out toward Mycroft's shoulder but pulls back without touching Mycroft. "What will you –"

"Greg," Mycroft interrupts. "Can we simply sit for a moment?" He takes another sip from the glass and leans back against the couch. He turns his head to Greg. "Can I simply sit here with you?"

Greg nods and speaks quietly, "Yeah, of course."

Mycroft nods back, the hand holding the glass resting down on the couch. Mycroft closes his eyes and breathes out a slow breath. He reaches over with his free hand and grips Greg's. Greg squeezes Mycroft's hand and does not let go.

–––––––––

"Are you sure I should be here?" Greg asks as they walk down the gray, nondescript halls.

"I would rather not do this without you."

Greg almost makes a snappy remark, something all too David, but stops himself because this is not a situation or time he wants to ruffle Mycroft in anyway. Instead he just nods and follows alongside Mycroft, keeping pace with Mycroft's crisp, professional walk. He doubts anyone they pass on their way would dare stop Mycroft for anything less than nuclear war right now. The few people they do pass only nod curtly in greeting, a few tensing up and one man looking near terrified as they breeze by.

They ride a lift five flights down, lower than Mycroft's own office which is actually in another building, if Greg is keeping track correctly. When they get out on the lower floor the light is dimmer, the doors steel and it feels like they just walked into communist Russia except for the one British flag against the wall across from the lifts. Greg shoots Mycroft a look but Mycroft keeps staring straight ahead as they turn a corner. They hit a gate bisecting the hall and a man seated next to it behind a desk. He looks up as they stop, sees it is Mycroft and sits up straighter.

"Mr. Holmes, sir."

"Number fourteen."

The man nods, "Yes, sir." He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a key, handing it to Mycroft. Then his eyes shift onto Greg. "Is your –"

"Yes, he is."

Greg's eyes tick to Mycroft but he says nothing. The door buzzes and they walk through, the gate clicking shut again behind them. They stand just inside the gate for a moment, Mycroft staring off down the hall.

"So?" Greg asks.

Mycroft breathes in through his nose and only cocks his head slightly, shifts the coat in his hands onto his other arm. Then he steps forward. They walk past doors down the hall until they stop in front number Fourteen. Greg cannot see inside because a metal slide blocks the small window.

"What are you going to do?" Greg asks Mycroft as they stand in front of the door.

"What I have to."

"You always do what you 'have to,' but…" Greg whispers and glances back at the door. "This is your brother."

"I have done everything for him." Mycroft looks at Greg again. "Everything, my whole life but there has to be a line, does there not?"

"You can't tell me that you don't care, Mycroft."

Mycroft scoffs. "Oh, yes, caring, but that's not the point is it?"

"The point is, Mycroft, you may not care about many people but, taking myself as an example and everything you've done for Sherlock before, I know it's not just duty. It's Sherlock in there and…" Greg rubs a hand over his forehead. "Can you do anything for him?"

"He killed a man, Greg, and despite the morals of that particular man or Sherlock's reasons, Sherlock's actions are irreversible and punishable."

"I know." Greg touches Mycroft's hand. "I'm sorry."

Mycroft sighs quietly and squeezes Greg's hand. "This is the line, right now. I may care about him more than nearly anything but…" He looks away. "You are not the only one who has to uphold the law."

"I know."

"I have spoken to my colleagues; they have agreed to an alternative to prison for him as his particular personality, you might imagine, would cause more unrest in the prison system than is warranted for the incarceration of one man." Mycroft's jaw clenches. "One murderer."

Greg frowns. "Then what?"

Mycroft reaches out, slides the key into the lock on the door and turns. The lock clinks, Mycroft pulls the key back out then opens the door. Mycroft steps inside, Greg following after and leaves the door open. Sherlock sits on a bench that could be a bed or a chair or just a slab of concrete attached to the wall. His trademark coat is gone and his suit jacket is folded into a square at one end of the stone as likely some sort of pillow from the nights he has spent in the small room. Sherlock turns his head as they walk in. He glances back and forth between them before settling on Mycroft. He does not appear surprised Greg is there.

"So?" Sherlock asks.

Mycroft breathes in once. "You will be transferred tomorrow."

Sherlock cocks his head. "Not to prison?"

"No, I do not believe that work out well, do you?"

"No." Sherlock narrows his eyes, looks at Greg, then back to Mycroft. "If not to prison then where? I know you are not considering letting me go."

Mycroft sighs. "You certainly made that impossible."

Sherlock presses his lips together tightly but says nothing.

Mycroft breathes in and looks at the wall above Sherlock's head. "Eastern Europe."

Sherlock frowns. "What?"

"Your job offer. It is renewed and you are compelled to take it."

Sherlock opens his mouth then narrows his eyes. He laughs once in a breathless, surprised way. "I didn't think you actually had it in you."

"We may bicker and pass sarcasm, Sherlock, but I meant what I said on Christmas. I have no desire to lose you!" Mycroft suddenly snaps.

"Then why?"

"You gave me little choice, Sherlock!" Mycroft says with venom. "What in God's name possessed you to be so incredibly idiotic?"

Sherlock looks away. "I made an error."

Mycroft stares. "You call murder an error?"

Sherlock turns sharply back to Mycroft. "That was not my error. That was the only logical choice left to me; certainly you can see that with the damning situation John and I were in?"

"I see you should have never been there in the first place! What information did he have which you desired so much that you chose to threaten National Security, my position and your own safety? What could possibly have mattered that much?"

"What exactly would it matter to you?" Sherlock snaps back suddenly standing up into Mycroft's personal space. "I made a choice. I chose to protect what mattered to me and I did. It was not what I intended, it is not what I planned but I do not regret what I did!"

"What you did was ruin yourself!"

"It does not matter!"

"It matters to me, Sherlock, as it should matter to you. Why would you –"

"I protected him and I am not sorry and if your punishment for me lies across the continent then so be it but do not pretend that –"

"Pretend that what, Sherlock? That I care?"

"Do you, Mycroft? What do you know about caring?"

"Certainly more than you!" Sherlock laughs harshly but Mycroft presses on. "I want you anywhere but here but you murdered a man and neither of us can take you back from that no matter how much I would wish to!"

"Oh yes!" Sherlock snarls.

"If only you had not been so incredibly stupid!"

"Stop!" Greg finally shouts, shoving the brothers apart. They both look at him in surprise as if they'd forgotten he was there. "I don't think you want to fight now, do you?"

Mycroft breathes in slowly and takes one step back. Sherlock turns away, looks at the wall before he turns back again, hands on his hips. The two of them stand in silence for a minute until Mycroft clears his throat making Sherlock look at him.

"Eastern Europe."

"Yes."

"You will be briefed on the assignment and will depart tomorrow."

"I see."

"Sherlock, I… what I said before…"

Sherlock's jaw clenches. "Six months?"

"It is not certain. You could –"

"You are never wrong."

Mycroft's eyebrows rise in surprise. He opens his mouth but Sherlock shakes his head and Mycroft closes it again. Mycroft clears his throat and pulls himself up a little taller. "Prove me wrong then, Sherlock." He clenches his teeth. "Please."

Sherlock glances at Greg then back to Mycroft but he says nothing. Mycroft's hand twitches at his side and his shifts his weight forward then back.

"Just bloody hug him," Greg mutters.

Mycroft steps forward and pulls Sherlock into a loose hug. Sherlock holds his hands out to the side stiffly before slowly placing his palms weakly against Mycroft's shoulders. He shoots Greg a confused and accusatory look. Then Mycroft lets go and steps back again.

"One of my aids will come today and give you further instructions on the undercover work. I shall accompany you to the plane tomorrow." Mycroft nods. "Good day, Sherlock."

Mycroft crosses in front of Greg and reaches the door frame just as Sherlock says, "Mycroft?" Mycroft and Greg look back at him. "May I ask one thing?"

"Yes?"

"Can you bring John with you tomorrow?" Sherlock clears his throat quietly. "To say goodbye?"

Mycroft stares at Sherlock for five seconds then he nods and walks out the door in the same moment, shoving the key at Greg with a shaking hand. Greg looks at Sherlock but cannot think of anything to say. So he smiles a little, steps through the door and closes it behind him. Greg stares at the floor as he turns the key in the lock. He looks up again down the hall. Mycroft is stopped half way between Sherlock's cell and the gate. Greg pulls the key out of the lock and walks down to Mycroft. Mycroft stares off into the distance, face blank and tense.

"Mycroft?"

"I'm surprised it took me this long."

"What?"

"His motivation. Of course I should have known, her background was always vague."

"Who's?"

Mycroft smiles in his professional way, glances at Greg then takes the key out of Greg's hand. He shakes his head. "It is my fault. It all leads back to me."

"What?"

"The whole point led to me; that was what Magnussen wanted in the end." Mycroft huffs. "I underestimated him. Sherlock did not. It is my fault."

"I don't understand what you're going on about, Mycroft," Greg says, "But it's not your fault."

"It is."

"People make their own choices, Mycroft. Can't all be yours."

Mycroft clicks his teeth then smiles at Greg. He nods once though Greg can see he is not convinced. "Well, what's done is done." He turns back toward the gate and steps forward. "Onward."

–––––––––

Greg bursts through the department door and strides through the desks toward his office. "Anything? Do we know anything? Come on."

"No." Donovan jogs up and walks steadily alongside him. "Just that it's everywhere."

Greg frowns. "Everywhere?"

"Every TV, even the big megaboards; he's there."

They stop beside a TV set up next to Matthews' cube. Matthews and Bell stand in front of it, Avery typing on Matthews' computer. Cooper slides over next to Donovan and hands her a piece of paper.

Donovan frowns at her. "Nothing at all?"

"Had a trial enough trying to get through as it was with all the calls they are getting but the BBC is in the dark too."

"We've got to be able to trace it somehow and if it's not coming through them –"

"It could be anyone, I don't know." Cooper sighs. "How do you broadcast over the television network of London like this?"

"Who says it's just London?" Matthews mutters.

"Someone you can call in Manchester?" Greg asks Matthews. Matthews nods and pulls his mobile out of his trouser pocket. Greg turns to Cooper. "You too, Lisa, anyone in your Somerset office; call them."

"Moriarty is dead." Bell waves her hand at the face on the screen still declaring 'did you miss me' in its distorted puppet fashion. "We even had a staff meeting on it! He is dead!"

"I'm right there with you, Bell," Greg says. "But need to press on and find out what we can."

"But he's dead!"

"I heard you!"

"Sir?"

Greg turns to Banks beside him. "Got something?"

Banks frowns. "Not exactly. Can tell that it definitely looks like a hijacking job but how exactly he was able to hijack every television signal around the city isn't clear." Banks sighs and holds out a sheet of paper, Donovan leaning over Greg's shoulder to look at it. "Can't tell where the signal originates either; it's being bounced around through intermediaries."

"Give that to Gupta," Greg says pointing at the paper. "See if she can make any more out of what we do know. Show Cooper as well once she's available."

Banks nods as he turns away. "Yes, sir."

Matthews reappears at Greg's side with a quick nod. Greg breathes out quickly and rubs a hand over his face. He turns back to Matthews. "Where is Brooks?"

"I – I don't –"

"Find her and the two of you get over to the BBC; best point of contact on this to find out what the bloody hell is going on. And Avery." He turns to Avery as he stands up straight from the computer terminal. "Get down to the morgue and find the records on Moriarty. This had better not be real and I want a death certificate to prove it." He claps Avery on the shoulder. "And send Bradford over to City Police before they try to do anything without us."

Greg turns on his heel as Matthews and Avery spring into action, Donovan following him. Greg pulls off his tan jacket as he walks into his office and throws it in the direction of his filing cabinet.

"I can't believe I'm asking this," Donovan says, "but what about Sherlock?" Greg looks up sharply with the receiver of his desk phone in hand. Donovan cocks her head. "If Moriarty really is alive wouldn't Sherlock be the first one he comes for?"

Greg almost says 'he's gone now' then bites his lip. A light bulb clicks in his head regarding the timing of Sherlock flying out of England with this little video surprise.

Donovan frowns. "Greg?"

Greg puts the receiver down in the cradle and stands up straight again, hands on his hips. "If Jim Moriarty's really been alive all this time then he could've come for Sherlock whenever he wanted."

"Maybe he really believed Sherlock was dead too?"

"And Sherlock's been alive again for more than a year."

Donovan shrugs. "Still?"

"I'll handle that. You get with Bell and see if there is anything more in that message than meets the eye, all right? He likes to play games. Let's see if he's starting one."

Donovan huffs. "I'd say that's a 'yes' straight off." Then she turns away out of his door again.

Greg picks up his phone receiver once more and dials.

Molly answers after only one ring. "God, Greg, did you see –"

"Oh, I saw. Avery is coming to you, need to see the death record, have to know if anything was off."

"Of course, I – of course. It just…" she gasps. "It just can't be!"

"Sherlock couldn't have been alive either."

Molly clears her throat. "Well…"

"Just get whatever records or information you have, Molly, please?"

"Right, will do."

Greg hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. He fists his hands and closes his eyes. Greg squeezes his hands hard then blows out a breath. He opens his eyes again, clicks his laptop on and pulls his mobile out of his pocket. He sees two texts from Mycroft. Both simply say, call me.

Greg clicks dial, puts the phone to his ear and Mycroft answers before the first ring is over. "Meet me in your parking garage in twenty minutes."

"I –"

Mycroft hangs up again before Greg can get another word out.

Twenty–two minutes later Greg walks out of the stairs into the parking garage just as Mycroft climbs out of the back of a black car parked in the middle of the driving lane. They walk briskly toward each other and stop less than a meter apart.

"Are you all right?" Mycroft asks.

"Am I all right?" Greg huffs. "Are you? Is Sherlock?" Greg glances at the car behind Mycroft. "Is he…"

"Sherlock is not with me but neither has he left England."

Greg nods. "So what is this? Do you know? Can you…" Greg frowns a little. "Can you tell me?"

"I can tell you honestly, I do not know. Not yet at least."

Greg huffs and puts his hands on his hips. "Bloody hell." He shakes his head. "It has to mean something, right?" He looks up at Mycroft. "Sherlock going off to God knows where exactly the same day we get this?"

"I am certain it does and it cannot be anything good which is…" Mycroft swallows. "Greg, Sherlock may be Moriarty's favorite play thing but I am not excluded from his games. He has ruined operations for me in the past, used Sherlock against me. If it is in fact true he or someone left over from his organization is starting something new then…. Then you…"

Greg's jaw clenches. "Then I what?"

"Then you could be a target as well. He went through John to get to Sherlock in the past; went through Sherlock to get to me. And you are next in line."

Greg huffs. "In line?"

"It is a possibility and I do not want you in danger."

Greg stares for a beat then growls, "you damn well better not be saying what I think you are."

"Greg…"

"You promised!" Greg hisses.

"I am not saying that."

"No?"

Mycroft steps closer and shakes his head. "I am not running away from you."

Greg cocks his head and takes a step forward. "Not even to try and protect me?"

"Running away would not protect you."

Greg smiles a little and his tense shoulders ease. "Damn right."

Mycroft smiles back. "I often am."

"So what then?"

Mycroft tilts his head to the side and clicks his tongue. "So, Sherlock has a new mission here in London and you and I keep a close watch on each other should this turn into something even bigger."

Greg grins. "Right." Greg nods and suddenly grips Mycroft's hand. "Won't take my eyes off you."

Mycroft purses his lips and smiles. "And neither will I."