"Hey." Mark said unsure letting the shorter man into his flat.
"Hi." John asked limping in and sitting down heavily at the kitchen table. "What's wrong? You sounded frazzled on the phone."
"I just…" Mark stuttered sitting down across from John. "I just need to ask you a few questions and I need you to give me a straight answer."
"Of course." John said feeling something like panic tickle at the back of his consciousness.
"Okay." Mark said throwing back the three fingers of whiskey in front of him. "What exactly are you involved in? I mean, if it's the mob, John, then I don't feel comfortable with this."
"What are you talking about?" John asked confused. "I'm not in the mob."
"Don't lie to me." Mark said quietly. "If you owe them money or something, maybe we can go to the police or you can talk to Lestrade or, oh god, what if Lestrade is in the pocket of the mob?"
"Mark!" John said firmly. "What are you talking about? Lestrade isn't in the mob either. You sound like you've gone round the bend."
"Don't make me out to be the crazy one, John." Mark said angrily. "I'm not the one who has complete strangers abduct them and have creepy umbrella-clad lunatics threaten them with bodily harm."
John stared wide-eyed and mouth collecting bugs for several minutes before he felt a mixture of humiliation and rage well deep in his gut.
"Oh, god." John said dropping his head in his hands. "Oh, god. Mark, I'm so sorry. Shit. I'll talk to him. I promise."
"Talk to who?" Mark asked. "What exactly are you involved in?"
"Nothing. Fuck." John sighed. "It's my flatmate's brother."
"You don't have a flatmate." Mark cut in.
"Sorry." John said feeling a slight ache in his chest. "My former flatmate, Sherlock. It's his brother."
"The man that died two years ago?" Mark asked. "The man that didn't even fancy you? His brother kidnapped me for what? Fun?"
"I don't know." John whispered. "I'll find out. I'm so sorry, Mark. I'll get this settled. Oh my god, that complete arse."
"So you're not some criminal?" Mark asserted.
"No." John said. "Not at all. Just associated with some real gems. What did he want anyway?"
"Nothing." Mark said quickly. "Just crazy."
"Well…I am sorry." John attempting to reassure him. "Did you maybe want to catch a movie or something? My treat?"
"I don't think so." Mark said not meeting his eye line. "I just need to think about this."
"Alright." John said feeling something squeeze his stomach painfully. "Just give me a ring whenever."
"Alright." Mark echoed him shadowing the shorter man to the door and shutting it firmly once John was outside the frame.
John limped resolutely to the nearest Underground hub and stewed angrily as he made the proper connections to land him within spitting distance of Lestrade's door. He rang the bell repeatedly and hobbled quickly up to his friend's flat. Lestrade answered the door with a grin but it withered at the onslaught of John's ire.
"Oh, no." Lestrade sighed. "He did it, didn't he?"
"You knew?" John asked aghast.
"I told him not to!" Lestrade said defensively. "I told him to leave it alone."
"Where is he?" John said frustrated.
"Ah, John." Mycroft said from relative safety behind his boyfriend. "We were just about to have some dinner. Did you want to join us?"
"What the bloody hell are you playing at?" John shouted.
"Could you be a bit more specific?" Mycroft asked nonchalantly.
"Kidnapping Mark, Mycroft." John scowled. "What in the bloody fucking hell did you think you were doing?"
"I simply wanted to ensure that your chosen partner was an appropriate choice." Mycroft shrugged.
"That has never been nor will it ever be your call to make!" John bellowed.
"Well, you should be quite proud of him." Mycroft said finally looking a bit ruffled. "He didn't take the money afterall."
John felt his insides clench violently and nausea hit him like a semi-truck. He noticed the pained expression that Lestrade threw in his boyfriend's direction but was unable to register its significance.
"What do you mean?" John asked quietly.
"I offered him a substantial amount of money to stop seeing you." Mycroft said uncertain. "He seemed quite affronted by the whole idea. So, you're welcome."
John felt ice form in his veins and his resolve solidify into something approaching reinforced steel.
"Let's get one thing straight." John said quietly. "My life is no longer subject to your interference. It may have been once, but Sherlock made it quite clear that it wasn't necessary. So, fuck off."
John turned and limped as quickly as his shaking limbs could carry him down the hall to the lift.
"John, wait!" Lestrade called jogging after him. "Just wait. We can talk about this. Don't leave."
"Geoff." John said quietly. "I can't do this anymore. I really can't. I have to go. I'll keep in touch."
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Lestrade watched John get into the lift and turn away from him. He sighed heavily and turned back toward his flat feeling his own anger spike. He entered the room and rounded on his partner with a look so sharp it could crack granite.
"I told you." Lestrade bit out. "I told you not to. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking about what was best for Sherlock." Mycroft said firmly. "You told me what he said two months ago. I had to ensure that nothing would stand in their way when he finally came home."
"And you accomplish this by attempting to ruin one of the only good things to happen to John since your stupid fucking sibling ran away?"Lestrade asked rubbing at his quickly developing migraine.
"Frankly, after the loyalty Mark Morstan displayed, I'm not a bit glad that I went through with it." Mycroft huffed.
"My," Lestrade said trying to control his volume. "What are you talking about?"
"I expected him to take the money." Mycroft said primly. "That would have decreased the number of complications for when Sherlock returns."
"You probably scared the poor bloke away!" Lestrade said angrily. "You have to fix this."
"Fix what?" Mycroft asked. "There's nothing wrong. If John is no longer dating Mark, then everything will work itself out."
"Yeah, that's it." Lestrade bit out. "You're definitely on your own tonight."
"Pardon?" Mycroft asked confused.
"You heard me." Lestrade said. "You can either kip on the sofa or go home but you are not getting anything even remotely resembling pleasure from me."
"You're not serious." Mycroft asked aghast.
"Deduce whether I'm kidding or not." Lestrade said quickly before retreating to the kitchen to check on the rice.
"I'll contact Mr. Morstan." Mycroft said quietly, standing in the door frame watching Lestrade move about the kitchen. "Surely I can explain the situation and he'll continue to see John."
"Sorry." Lestrade said. "That ship has already sailed. Think of something else."
"I could facilitate an encounter of another possible candidate for John." Mycroft persevered. "Someone who wouldn't mind stepping out of the way when Sherlock returns."
"Keep trying." Lestrade said unhelpfully.
"I could…I could…" Mycroft began. "It would be bad to keep him in a chemically induced coma until Sherlock returns, right?"
Lestrade practically slammed a piece of paper and a pen down in front of his barmy partner and smirked, "You use that magnificent brain every day to settle petty disputes and squabbles between dignitaries. Why don't you put it to work on a nobler task?"
"And what task would that be?" Mycroft asked eyeing the paper like it might bite.
"Apologize, Mycroft." Lestrade said plating up their food and heading toward the couch. "I'll be in here when you're done."
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John walked up to Mark's door feeling a mixture of guilt and anxiety. He rang the door and shuffled anxiously back and forth waiting for him to open the door. He felt his heart deflate at the clearly pissed off look on Mark's normally happy features but persevered anyway.
"Hey." John said tentatively.
"John…" Mark began.
"Listen," John cut in. "I talked to Mycroft. He won't…bother…you again. I promise. He just gets overprotective of Sherlock sometimes."
"Sherlock's dead." Mark said firmly. "Why do I have to hear so much about a dead guy who broke your heart over two years ago?"
"I know." John said. "I know…he just…he's Mycroft…"
"John." Mark rolled his eyes. "I'm not just talking about Mycroft. I'm talking about when we spend time with Lestrade or your sister or your other friends at the Met. I just don't feel like I have a place in your life when so much of you is wrapped up in a dead guy's memory."
"I know." John sighed. "I know and I'm sorry."
"How can I compete with that?" Mark asked clearly upset.
"You don't have to." John said hurriedly. "There's nothing to compete against. I'll do better, I promise. Just you and me."
John closed the gap between them and used his free hand to cup Mark's face gently. He moved slowly so Mark had time to back off before kissing him lightly, just a soft press of lips.
"I'm sorry." Mark said pulling away. "I'm so sorry, but I can't. Another time, another fucking circumstance and it might be different."
"Mark…" John pleaded.
"I know you're hurting." Mark said unable to meet John's gaze. "But I can't be someone's replacement. I won't."
John stumbled back against the opposite wall as Mark shut the door firmly. He took a few steadying breaths before hobbling out of the building and to his own flat. Taking the elevator up to his small studio, he sat down heavily on his small sofa and resigned himself to another night of a lone takeaway order and crap telly.
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"Come again." Mycroft growled loudly.
"It's like I said, sir." Patricia said firmly. "We can't seem to find DI Lestrade."
"Then I suggest you find him." Mycroft said coldly.
"Yes, sir." Patricia said, her face flushing deeply. "He was quite inventive. I've never seen someone lose your security detail that well excepting your brother, of course."
"Yes, thank you." He said darkly. "I am aware that I am not dating a complete imbecile."
"I'll just go then." She answered quietly.
Mycroft felt his heart thump roughly against his rib cage as his assistant practically ran out of his office. His thoughts were disjointed and harried as he tried to fathom what Geoffrey's disappearance meant. They hadn't had a fight recently. It seemed unlikely that he was trying to achieve some illegal objective and even if he was, Mycroft wouldn't have cared all that much. The only options that presented themselves were that he was kidnapped, having an affair, or trying to break-up with him. It had been 2 hours since the security detail had failed spectacularly (they were all being reassigned as parking attendants) and he'd received no ransom note so kidnapping seemed the least likely of the three options. This fact caused his heart to ache wildly. He KNEW that being in a relationship with Geoffrey Lestrade was a terrible idea. He KNEW that the Inspector would eventually grow uninterested and stray to someone much more worthy of his attentions. This had always happened with his previous partners but it was fine then. He wasn't emotionally invested in those relationships either. Now he felt his entire body clench with icy tension at the thought of someone else kissing his Geoffrey. He couldn't focus, couldn't even seem to gather his fraying thoughts into any sort of order. He quickly left his office and returned to his flat. He couldn't deal with this today. He just needed some time alone. Some time to think. He walked quickly to his room and felt his breath hitch when he noticed Geoffrey's trainers tucked under his bed.
Tearing off his suit, he wrapped himself up in the sheets that held his partner's scent. He fought hard to stem the tide of misery that was assaulting his mind. He must have laid there for hours ignoring the many texts and messages that he received. He barely stirred when he heard his front door open and then close quietly. He recognized Geoffrey's tread on the hard wood floors and felt his heart lurch painfully.
"My." Lestrade called quietly. "Are you here? You weren't at your office."
He didn't respond, couldn't respond with the lump in his trachea. He'd stopped by his office to break-up with him obviously. Keep it professional. He probably would even ask to stay on as Sherlock's contact out of some misguided sense of duty. He burrowed further into the sheets as the footsteps neared the bedroom.
"Fuck, Mycroft." Lestrade said, sounding worried. "Are you alright?"
Lestrade ran to his side and dug under the covers to get a good look at him and the concern on his partner's face nearly tore Mycroft up inside.
"Talk to me." Lestrade said quietly feeling his forehead to check his temperature. "Are you feeling nauseous? Headache? Do you have pain anywhere?"
"I"m fine, Geoffrey." Mycroft said roughly. "I don't require your assistance."
"Bollocks." Lestrade said with a faint grin. "Let me take care of you. Just tell me what's wrong."
"What are you doing here?" Mycroft said coldly. "Surely this all could have been communicated via email."
"What are you on about?" Lestrade said with a single frown lie forming between his eyes.
"Why don't you tell me about why you were at my office today?" Mycroft bit out.
"I was looking for you." Lestrade answered. "What's wrong?"
"Fine." Mycroft said feeling something acidic clawing up his throat. "Then tell me about you ditching your security detail. Something to hide, Inspector?"
He felt a bitter sense of success when he saw a light flicker on in Geoffrey's gaze. Here it was. Geoffrey would tell him that he was no longer interested in seeing him and that he'd found someone else.
"My." Lestrade whispered stroking his cheek softly. "What do you think I was doing this afternoon?"
"You're honestly going to make me say it outloud?" Mycroft said, his voice breaking painfully.
"Shit." Lestrade said. "My, I am so sorry. Oh my god, I never thought..."
"It's fine." Mycroft said painfully. "I can't say that I saw this coming but it isn't entirely unexpected."
"Mycroft." He said warmly. "What day is today?"
"Honestly, Inspector." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I am aware that it is the 12th of August. I am hardly going to go completely insensible at your loss."
"That's unfortunate." Lestrade said with a grin. "Because I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't ever recover from losing you."
"Humor, really?" Mycroft said coldly.
"Mycroft." Lestrade said gripping his shoulders firmly. "Today is August 12th. Exactly a year ago today we had our first date. It's our anniversary. I asked Sherlock for some tips on evading my lovely security detail so that I could go out and get you a gift without you knowing what it was before I gave it to you."
"I don't..." Mycroft said feeling a strange lightness overwhelm him.
"I'm so sorry." Lestrade said kissing him lightly on the forehead. "I never thought that you'd think anything so horrible. I just wanted to surprise you."
"So, you're not..." Mycroft swallowed heavily.
"Never." Lestrade said firmly placing another kiss on the tip of his nose.
"I feel rather silly now." Mycroft said after several seconds of contemplation.
"I know just what will make you feel better." Lestrade smiled. "I hope you like it."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a simply wrapped gift about the size of Mycroft's palm. Mycroft took it gingerly and unwrapped it to reveal a midnight blue, velvet jewelry case. He opened it and felt his entire body swell with warmth. Inside was a set of cufflinks in the shape of umbrellas. On one of the cufflinks, along the handle was the date in roman numerals of a year earlier and on the other cufflink, was a set of coordinates.
"It's the exact coordinates of the cafe." Lestrade said with a pink tinge to his features. "If you don't like them, I can get you something else."
Mycroft lurched forward and pulled Geoffrey into a deep kiss infusing it with all the love and appreciation he could summon. Dragging the good detective onto the bed, Mycroft spent the next ten minutes showing Geoffrey just how much he loved his gift. With a final nibble to his partner's kiss-bruised bottom lip, Mycroft pulled away to stare into the dark eyes of the man he loved.
"Move in with me." Mycroft said suddenly.
"It's okay if you didn't get me anything, My." Lestrade grinned.
"No." He persisted. "I'm serious, Geoffrey. Move in with me."
"Really?" Lestrade asked and Mycroft could see the hopeful gleam in the shorter man's gaze.
"Of course." Mycroft urged. "My place is closer to your office. You spend most weekends here anyway. And I want to be able to come home to you in the evenings. And I want you to come home to me."
"Okay." Lestrade whispered before kissing him lightly again. "Let's do it."