*Both Mycroft and Lestrade are prob OOC, as I never write for them. I just had to include this though. Sorry. Also, sorry if this is too ramble-y. I've had to do a lot of flow-of-thought writing lately, so I'm a little stuck in that mode.
A ringing noise interrupted Mycroft's light slumber. He rolled over gently, not wanting to wake the other occupant of his bed.
"Hello?" He answered, using a sleepy voice to hopefully make the other party feel guilt at phoning at such an ungodly hour. He didn't actually care, but he didn't want his partner woken up. He smiled to himself. Sentiment. My God, Mycroft Holmes. You are feeling sentiment.
"My-Mycroft" a broken voice sobbed. Oh God.
Mycroft got up off the bed and grabbed his dressing robe as he said "John? What happened? Is Sherlock okay?"
The elder Holmes brother knew that if John was calling him at this time in the morning, something bad must have happened, and had indubitably involved his younger brother. He quickly slipped his robe on and sat on the couch. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself as he waited for John to pull himself together enough to answer without sobbing.
"I've hurt him, Mycroft," John said in a matter-o-fact tone "For once, the bloody genius failed to see what was in front of him, and now he's gone, and it's my fault. I tried being smart, and I ruined everything!" Mycroft froze. Sherlock was gone? But he had just returned. He had come to Mycroft first, giving his brother a chance to explain his involvement with Moriarty. Sherlock had heard him out, and had, uncharacteristically, said that he forgave him. Mycroft had been utterly amazed. Not that his brother was alive. No, he always knew that Sherlock was too smart to go out like that. Sherlock would be alive as long as he had time to think. No regular criminal would surprise him enough to kill him. Moriarty was no regular criminal, not by any means. But Sherlock understood him and knew his intentions well before hand. He would have planned for many different scenarios.
No, Mycroft Holmes was amazed by the fact that his little brother had extended such a kind gesture to Mycroft. Mycroft genuinely cared for his brother. He had always been left in charge of Sherlock while their parents were off on business and pleasure trips, and had seen the sides of Sherlock no one, save perhaps John, got to see. His little brother could be rather endearing if one could get back the prickly exterior.
Sherlock had left soon after, exclaiming that he had to see His John. It had been rather late, and Mycroft had been concerned about the reception Sherlock would get. The doctor would probably not believe him, or would be overly frustrated with him. Mycroft had dismissed the idea of meddling, knowing that Sherlock would be adverse to the idea. Mycroft owed him, after all. Why would Sherlock leave? He had been so excited to see his John.
Oh.
The realization about what must have happened washed over Mycroft as he put Sherlock's action together with John's words. It was something he had been expecting to happen for awhile now, but had never imagined things could go this horribly awry.
"John, I need you to tell me exactly what happened." Mycroft demanded. He was going to have to be smart about this. Tonight was the biggest danger night Sherlock had ever faced, and he would be facing it alone. How could the ex-army doctor, a man who had thus far shown he would do just about anything for Sherlock, who had proved that he cared for Sherlock, have hurt his brother enough to make Sherlock leave? Usually it was the other way around.
Sherlock had to be found. Mycroft didn't want to imagine the alternatives, as they were all unsavory. He listened to John's retelling of what had transpired in the flat since Sherlock had returned home. He listened for anything that might give him a clue as to how to find his brother, but heard nothing. John was nearly in tears by the time he had finished recounting the story.
"John," Mycroft said in as soothing a voice as he could muster, acutely aware of a presence behind him "We are going to find Sherlock, and we are going to bring him home safe."
"Th-thanks, Mycroft." John said, sniffling.
"And John," Mycroft said quickly, having a sudden urge to comfort the man further "he- Sherlock, he really loves you, you know. He was so eager to see you again. Just know that John."
Mycroft could almost hear the smile in John's parting words, and Mycroft smiled.
"Look at you, bein' so emotional, "a deep voice rumbled in his ear as two arms wrapped around him from behind. Mycroft ran his hand up to his lovers cheek as the lips that had been at his ear kissed his neck.
"Sherlock's gone. Left. Ran away. It would seem that he misinterpreted a message from the good doctor, and left, heartbroken." Mycroft explained " I'm concerned, Greg. Tonight, Sherlock is in great danger from himself. If he were to turn back to the life he lived before, tonight would be the night. I've said that before, but tonight is different. He doesn't have anyone there to help him through it tonight."
"What happened?" Lestrade asked. Mycroft could hear the frown in his voice. Mycroft told him everything. As Mycroft was explaining, Lestrade shifted around him so that he was sitting on Mycroft's lap, legs straddling the British government's hips.
"Shit," Lestrade sighed "I get now why you Holmeses aren't fond of emotions." The two chuckled quietly in the dark.
"We always knew that sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side, and this episode just affirms it.-But," Mycroft said, quickly when he saw the Detective Inspector's face fall "I wouldn't stop feeling it now for anything. For while I may be losing, I'm losing with you. The risk is worth it."
"Mycroft Holmes," Lestrade said after a moment, shaking his head slightly, in amazement, before leaning forward to gently rest his forehead on Mycroft's "That is the most bloody romantic thing anyone has ever said, and you know what else-" He paused for a moment and licked his lips "I love you. I bloody love you."
Mycroft felt his heart swell. Greg loves me. Love. Me. Mycroft captured Greg's lips with his, happy that the Detective Inspector had been brave enough to ask him out in the first place, and thankful that he hadn't let his no-nonsense policy get in the way. It had happened a few weeks after the fall. Apparently, Mycroft had been rather depressed looking, because Greg had come over to him one day while he was at a crime scene to comfort him. Lestrade had said that he understood, that he missed the "bloody git" too. He had then hesitantly said that if Mycroft wanted, he could come over later to his house and talk. Mycroft hadn't realized that Greg meant a date at first. He simply felt the overwhelming urge to talk about Sherlock to someone. After John had confronted him, Mycroft had felt horribly guilty about giving Moriarty all the information. He couldn't talk to John about this, as John wanted nothing to do with him anymore. So he had gone to Greg's. Turns out the two got along very well, and it had been the beginning of something Mycroft had never been interested in. A relationship. He, like his little brother, had never seen the point in relationships, preferring instead to focus on his works. Business relationships he understood, but the whole romantic relationship was a new concept to him. But Greg had convinced him that it would be worth it. And it was.
"Gregory Lestrade," Mycroft gasped as lips moved down his neck "I love you, too. I never thought I would say this to anyone, but I am completely in love with you." Lestrade made a happy noise in the back of his throat, then brought his lips back to Mycroft's they shared one more deep kiss before Lestrade leaned back and said "Good. Bloody good. Now that tha's established, lets find your brother."
The two got up and went quickly to get changed. While Lestrade was in the bathroom, Mycroft called his assistant, who was commonly referred to as Anthea.
"I need all the security footage from Baker Street and 221B for the past two days. As quickly as possible. Also have someone begin scanning the CCTV's for any sign of Sherlock." Mycroft said urgently "Anything that might give a clue as to where Sherlock is now, I want it." Mycroft snapped the phone shut after a quick "yes sir" from Anthea. Greg came out of the bathroom and got his shoes on. The two linked hands and headed to the garage. Mycroft snapped at the on duty driver to hurry up and get to 221 B Baker Street as the two clamored into the car. They had been about ten minutes into the fifteen minute drive when Anthea called back.
"Sir, it would appear that several men broke into your brother's flat earlier tonight while his flatmate was at work, and kidnapped him. It seemed that he had been about to leave with a suitcase, but then something caused him to pause. When the men cam in, he tried to fight, but quickly flagged. It would appear that he was somehow drugged, as when they carried him and the suitcase out, he was unconscious despite neither of them hitting him. There is some kind of note on the kitchen table that they read as well."
"Very well Anthea, see if you can identify the men, or at very least the car they must have drove. Try and find out where they have taken him. " Mycroft stayed as calm as he possibly could with these new developments. When he snapped the phone shut, he turned to Lestrade, explained, then promptly buried his face in his boyfriend's chest. Mycroft Holmes never cried. But he was sorely tempted to now.