So here it was. He is alone again. Mycroft supposed he should have become used to it after all those years. He would do what he always did - rationalize these feelings away and lock them within the deepest confines of his mind. And hope that the walls will be strong enough.

He came here barring on mind that this scenario could happen. It was even the probable course of action. But somewhere on the way to the policeman´s flat, Mycroft´s mind decide that for once he should believe the hope, which was tiny and unsure hiding between the memories of all the smiles and the few luxurious kisses he was given by Gregory Lestrade.

But when he started telling the story, it started to be certain there was no way he could admit all the things he had done and not lose Greg´s affection.

It was all wrong, even wronger than usual. When the stream of memories begun to leave his mouth, he immediately started to worry about it not being precise, about it sounding too much novel-like. He was trying to stay objective, but with every sentence it was getting harder and harder.

Well, what did you expect barring your "soul" would feel like?added the familiar voice in his head, sounding vicious enough to belong to his father.

As he was telling what he had came here to say, Greg was getting more and more motionless and closed. He did not say a word, and it wasn´t because he wanted to stay true to what Mycroft asked him to do - he did not make any moves as if he almost said something but then thought better of it. He just sat there, on the ridiculously big armchair in a cramped living room, with an empty gaze and not a muscle moving.

Mycroft has never seen him like this. But the conclusion was inevitable - he has seen me for what I am. He must be disgusted. Angry at himself, at his ability to judge character correctly abandoning him. Gregory Lestrade would never want to see him again.

The government official only hoped that Greg would be able to find it in himself to still collaborate with Sherlock and not to blame the younger Holmes for the sins of the elder.

So when he stopped, and not a sigh disturbed the eerie silence that fell on the room, Mycroft figured it was time to leave.

All those hopes for a normal life were false. He would make do with ashes of what could have been, of things he himself killed an buried. He would keep surviving until the bitter end. He supposed it wouldn´t take long, what with his extensive alcohol consumption and the state of his liver. Dr Dhaliwal probably wouldn´t be too surprised.

"Ehm..," he broke the silence then, "that´s all there is. All the data. I should leave... give you time to make conclusions... I am sorry if I made you think I were better than I am. I´m so sorry."

I am so sorry I have no idea how to make you happy. I am so sorry I almost took you with me into my personal hell. I am so sorry I made you think I were a good man, when in fact...

"Where do you think you´re going?" he was stopped by the voice of Greg Lestrade. He just wanted to leave without scenes. He just didn´t want the policeman seeing the tears that were embarrasingly streaming all over his face.

"My place," he answered as steadily as he could manage.

"Aren´t you gonna wait to know what conclusion I have drawn from your... data?"

"And have you reached your conclusion already?" Mycroft still had no intention to turn.

"I have supplementary questions."

"Ask, then."

"If I were to come to 221B right now, unannounced, what would Sherlock be doing?"

Mycroft did not understand the question, but of he had few more moments to hear the beautiful voice, then he would take them. "He would be with Dr Watson."

"Shagging, most likely?"

"Making love, yes, probably. Where is this going?" Mycroft turned, maneuvering his body into shadow, so that the wetness of his face wouldn´t be so prominent.

"So, your brother is a succesful detective, the best there is, helping to both the police and any poor soul getting into a real mess. But not only that, he also has a dedicated partner, friends, a flat. He is independent on any authority but himself and the wish to make the man he loves content. Is he happy?"

"What is the point of this..?"

"Is he happy?"

"Not because of me."

"And there you are wrong." Lestrade took a few steps toward the dark sillhouette of Mycroft. "Next question. Do you know how many criminals I have arrested that later at court blamed their crimes at their parents abandoning or abusing them?"

"But..."

"Shut up. Do you know how many people crumbled when exposed to half the things you just told me here? Strong people. People who thought they were good."

Silence fell again.

After a moment, the policeman rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Look, Mycroft, I am glad you decided to tell me all this. I just don´t know why. So please, tell me, were you trying to scare me off again?"

"No. I told you why I did this. I wanted you to know everything there is."

"About yourself?"

"Yes."

More silence.

"What did you think would happen?" asked Greg again, and Mycroft had was very impressed that Lestrade´s voice was completely levelled.

"What is happening. You telling me that you were wrong telling me you loved me, because you loved a phantom that never existed. I did not expect this coversation to take so long, though."

"Do you love me?"

"... it does not matter."

"I shall be the judge of that. Do you love me?"

"I think... yes. But... as I said..."

"All right. I was born in Weston-Super-Mare. I have an older brother Sam, who now lives in Spain, and had a younger one - Charlie, who died when I was eighteen because he experimented with drugs and turned out to have some heart problem no one new about until it was too late.

The first memory I have is of a wasp stinging me to my tongue and the way to the hospital after that. I might have been about four and never eaten ice-cream since..."

"What do you think you´re doing?"

"Reciprocating. Relationships should be based on sharing."

"What relationship are you talking about?"

"Don´t play stupid. I love you, you love me. Easy as that."

"But..."

"No buts. I know what I am looking for, Mycroft. I am a divorced cop, remember? And I know I want you, now more than ever. Because you are one of the bravest man I ever had the honour of meeting. The things you have done - it happens, My. It certainly explains a lot of yours and Sherlock´s relationship, and those things - they are not easily brushed off. But they are mistakes - mistakes happen and can be repaired.

And they can certainly be forgiven, Mycroft. But I am not the one to forgive you those, and Sherlock already did. I know the memo might have been lost while it was getting to you, so I am telling you now - Sherlock loves you and holds no grudge against you anymore.

Come here, you stupid sod."

And he kissed him.