(Sherlock POV)

Lestrade walked straight to the door and opened it. "Leave, Sherlock. Just get out. I don't want you here."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but Greg shut him down. "Seriously, there's nothing you can say right now that will make me change my mind. I want you to leave." He jerked his head

towards the door.

Sherlock sighed loudly and left. He'd have to figure out a way to get Lestrade to talk to him and perhaps it would be better if he planned back at his flat. He flinched when he heard the door slam behind him.

(Lestrade POV)

A week had gone by since Lestrade kicked Sherlock out of his flat. He left his building to go to Tesco's but drew up short when he saw the sleek, black luxury sedan parked right out front. He groaned to himself, tempted to walk by and ignore it but he knew from experience the car would just slowly tail him until he caved. The detective inspector straightened his shoulders, went to the car, opened the back door and slid inside, the door quietly snicking shut behind him.

As expected, Mycroft Holmes sat across from him, gazing at him placidly, a stereotypical look of condescension on his face. Lestrade stared back, refusing to speak first. It was a petty power play but he wasn't above playing it with the Holmes brothers. He felt the car smoothly pull into traffic.

The silence grew between them before Mycroft sighed and folded his hands in his lap. "Detective Inspector, would you kindly please explain what exactly is going on between you and my brother?"

Lestrade stared at the government man in shock. 'What on earth is he implying?' He fought the urge to immediately sputter a denial and instead took a steadying breath. "I don't know what you mean, Mycroft. There is absolutely nothing going on with me and Sherlock. Nothing." He repeated, firmly.

Mycroft merely raised a brow, reminding Lestrade so much of his younger brother that the DI struggled not to clench his fists in anger. The unbelievable gall of these two. 'Cut from the same bloody cloth, they are.' He shook his head and turned to look out the window. Let the other man stew. Lestrade wasn't putting up with either Holmes' shit anymore.

Another moment of silence stretched out before Mycroft cleared his throat and spoke calmly, thus driving Lestrade up a wall. "Obviously that isn't true. Sherlock was seen leaving your flat last Thursday. He has since holed himself up in Baker Street, ignoring all calls and texts and refusing to allow anyone entrance. I could, of course, gain entry should I choose but I thought it prudent to speak with you before forcing my way into my brother's sanctuary. I will ask you again, Detective Inspector, what is going on?"

Lestrade could hear the steel in the other man's tone and knew he had to offer some sort of explanation. His life had turned into a waking nightmare and he didn't know how to fix it.

The DI kept his gaze fixed out the window, watching the traffic go by. "There really isn't anything going on." He paused, clearing his throat. "Just… It's been obvious to me for some time how little Sherlock thinks of me and when he was at my flat, I indicated to him that I knew he sees me as nothing more than a means to an end - access to cases and all that. Then he left. End of story." He knew Mycroft could tell he was keeping something from him, but he'd be damned if he was going to admit his feelings for the younger Holmes brother out loud ever again. The government man could take his badge if he wanted. Lestrade had been humiliated enough lately.

There was silence from the other side of the car. Had he managed to shock a Holmes into silence twice in one week? He should mark it in his calendar. Finally Lestrade looked over at Mycroft who had a supremely irritated look on his face. 'What is he all pissy about? I told him what happened. If he doesn't like it, he can go pound sand.'

"You are an idiot, Lestrade." At this unexpected remark, the DI's eyebrows shot towards his hairline. 'Oh great, another Holmes telling me what a fool I am. Well, I know I'm a fool so the joke's on them... Wait, why does Mycroft think I'm an idiot?'

"Huh? What? Why?" Lestrade sputtered, cringing internally at his lack of eloquence.

"Sherlock jumped off a building for you and you think you mean nothing to him? You're an idiot." Mycroft said plainly. If Lestrade's eyebrows could have gone any higher they'd have fallen off his face. He was, to put it mildly, flabbergasted.

"What the bloody hell are you on about?" He demanded, leaning forward in his seat.

Mycroft remained unruffled as usual. "They day Sherlock 'died', there were three snipers aimed at the people for whom he cared the most: John Watson, Mrs. Hudson and you. You all were to die if it didn't appear to the world that Sherlock jumped to his death. So he did. He jumped. For you."

Lestrade was literally struck dumb. He could only listen as the other man continued. "He then spent the next two years taking down Moriarty's web piece by piece. His goal was not only to dismantle that network but to ensure your continued safety. At times, it seemed Sherlock placed the rest of his mission second to neutralizing those three snipers. Nothing was, or is, as important to him as the safety of those he loves."

Lestrade's tongue felt too thick for his mouth suddenly. He had no response to this information. He felt a stiff breeze would knock him over and was grateful to be sitting down. He scrubbed a hand over his face and noticed with a start that it was trembling. He looked at Mycroft ,at a loss. The other man's gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

"Gregory," he said softly. "Please go see my brother and fix this rift between you. He won't admit it but it's obvious he is inconsolable right now."

The DI still didn't trust his tongue so he simply nodded at the other man. Moments later the car pulled to a stop and Lestrade blindly exited the vehicle.

He looked around to figure out his location only to find himself staring at the door to 221B Baker Street.