Epilogue
Lestrade ended up staying the night in Dorset with Darren and Eva, the ex-wife wouldn't let him hear the end of Darren getting kidnapped. She was furious and Lestrade was just as angry with himself. But they came to an impasse, as they usually did, and after a whole night of arguing, talking, and overall comforting, Lestrade was civilly allowed to go home.
Good thing is, Lestrade watched Darren's favorite movie, and Eva hadn't killed him. That counted as a win in his books.
Finally, he had returned to his own flat and dragged his feet into the front door. There was a flight of stairs leading up to his flat and Lestrade saw grey spots dance in front of his eyes at the menacing sight.
He must've passed out at some point or another, from exhaustion. Because at one moment he was swaying dangerously on his feet, and the next he was lying on the floor, half sprawled on the first stair.
He pushed himself up and used the wall to steady himself as he stood. "Come on." he murmured to himself. "You know how to do this. One step after another."
But he couldn't do it. He was tired, he wanted to give up. The case was closed, it felt like marionette strings being cut and he had suddenly been given supernatural 'permission' to fall asleep.
He rubbed his eye with the hand not grasping the wall. Oh, God... if he didn't fight it now, he was going to sit right down on the staircase and fall asleep. And then his landlord and his neighbors would never let him hear the end of it.
After a moment or two of mental cajoling, Lestrade gave up the endeavor and leaned onto the wall, sliding down and sitting on the floor, curled up like a child.
He remembered the rotting corpses, the threats, Donovan's assault, Darren, and Hector's bloody face inches from his own... he began to tremble and tears threatened to spill from his eyes when he realized just how close they all had come to dying. His best friend and his son...
He sniffed once, and then again. And then he roughly rubbed his eyes. "Nope. Don't cry. Not gonna do it." he said to himself.
... He lied.
He just sat there, sniffing and hiccuping softly into his knees for some time, shaking all the while.
Mycroft walked in a few hours later to find Lestrade still sitting at the bottom of the staircase.
Crying.
Mycroft had seen evidence of tears on Lestrade before, but he had never actually see the man in the act of crying before in his life. He was a little in shock.
A moment or two passed before Lestrade noticed him and wiped his face ruefully with the back of his hand.
"... Stairs." He said, voice rough and gravelly from exhaustion, strain, and frustration. "Goddamn-..."
"Gregory, what happened?" Mycroft asked him levelly. "Who should I kill?"
Lestrade choked out a laugh. "Stairs, Mycroft." he reminded. "Appeared out of nowhere at the least opportune moment."
Mycroft stared at Lestrade for a moment, turned, and narrowed his eyes at the top of the staircase where he presumed Lestrade had placed a personal goal. "Stairs. Right."
When he looked at those stairs, he saw a simple staircase, one step leading up to another in order to attain new heights. But he knew that at that moment, when Lestrade looked at those stairs, he saw an insurmountable mountain of enormous proportions.
Mycroft sighed and shook his head before gripping Lestrade's shoulder firmly and helping him to his feet. "Let's get you some rest, shall we?" he murmured softly.
Lestrade just whined and grumbled incoherently under his breath, falling asleep on his feet, head lolling into the crook of Mycroft's neck.
Mycroft just snorted fondly and somehow managed to maneuver him carefully up the stairs and into his flat.
Within minutes of breaking into Lestrade's flat, after deciding not to unintentionally molest Gregory looking for his house keys, Mycroft had Lestrade in bed and under the safety of his covers. Mycroft felt a little guilty, watching Lestrade curl up into himself, tracks left from tears still visible... vulnerable. A complete opposite of the stubbornly brave and resilient DI Lestrade who stood toe-to-toe with the scum of the earth and stared it down without a blink.
But now, in the safety and privacy of his home, Lestrade had no need to think and act like the man in charge of a crisis, the fearless leader, the servant of the Law.
He was just Gregory Lestrade. Just a man who was tired and scared and had little fight left in him.
Mycroft brushed his hand over Lestrade's cheek and reluctantly moved away.
"Mycroft." Lestrade whimpered from under his covers, latching onto Mycroft's retreating hand with a slightly desperate grip. "Mycroft..." Whispered like a prayer.
Mycroft turned and sat on the bed by Lestrade's side, gently rubbing soothing circles on his back like he used to do to comfort Sherlock when he was young and got into fights at school. "Very well, Gregory." he relented, understanding his lover's unvocalized plea and pressing a kiss onto Lestrade's forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
Mycroft had no idea how long he sat there, rubbing Lestrade's back. But when he next realized, he had somehow fallen asleep beside Lestrade and the sun was bleeding beautifully through the halfway closed curtains.
Lestrade was not alright after a case like that. Mycroft knew. He wouldn't be 'okay' for a long time, but he'd slowly get there. Mycroft would make certain of that. ... Starting with proper sleep and some decent food.
Mycroft climbed carefully under the covers to make sure Lestrade did not wake, and snuggled into his lover's side.
The sun was beginning to shine again, after a long, harrowing storm.
A few days later, the man stood leaning on his car outside Mycroft Holmes's house, a boy standing beside him.
The two shifted their weight from one foot to the other in tandem, cocked one hip out, and crossed their arms.
"He's late." The man grunted.
"Maybe you should call him." the boy responded.
"Hm, maybe I should." the man said, then he sucked in a large breath. "Mycroft! Get your arse down here, we're waiting!" He called out loudly.
Inside the house, Mycroft and Eva, Darren's mother, exchanged exasperated glances.
"Well, I guess we should be going." Mycroft rolled his eyes wryly.
"Impatient boys." Eva nodded sagely. "Always. I guess we'll save swapping embarrassing stories about Gregory for next visit?"
They walked out of the front door to see Lestrade and his son standing by the car in the exact same impatient stance, sending them identical looks of annoyance at having to wait.
Father and son. The resemblance was remarkable.
It was adorable.
Mycroft turned to Eva. "You must come visit again sometime, Eva." he said. "I insist."
Lestrade and Darren exchanged knowing glances and rolled their eyes.
Eva and Mycroft smiled, then said their goodbyes.
After Eva and Darren had driven off to go back to Dorset, Lestrade turned to Mycroft. "You looked like you got on with Eva. Better than I thought you would." he said.
"She and I have similar tastes in men, apparently." Mycroft deadpanned back.
Lestrade huffed out a breath of laughter and shook his head. "Did you get along with Darren?" he asked tentatively.
Mycroft smiled back warmly. "Gregory, I love your son."
"Everyone says he takes well after me."
"Understandable." Mycroft kissed Lestrade. "I love you too."
THE END