Disclaimer: You know sometimes I get this feeling of déjà vu when I'm writing these disclaimers. It's like I've done this before…oh right. I have done them before. A lot. So, if I've written a ton of disclaimers why are you still reading them? I write them because it's funny. You read them for the same reason? Well okay then. Far be it from me to ruin your fun. Don't own the characters and I make no money from these stories.

A/N: My thanks to Fandemonium-in-the-streets for the idea for this chapter. I don't know why I didn't think of it first but kudos for the idea. And of course this chapter is dedicated to Fandemonium-in-the-streets for the idea.

Week Two: The Date

"Mycroft," Gregory's voice called out to him as he traversed the file strewn floor of their new home. "When did you get in?"

"Just moments ago," Mycroft told him and searched in the direction of his voice for his fiancé. "Where are you?"

"Kitchen," Gregory answered in a curt tone. He'd had a frustrating day then. He had court in a few days which partially explained the files all over the floor of the parlour. The rest were explained by a new case obviously.

"Sherlock being a pest again?" Mycroft questioned mildly as he made his way towards the tiny kitchen.

Greg looked up from the mug of tea cradled in his hands with a weary sigh. "No. Not Sherlock this time, Myc. Anderson. And John."

Mycroft busied himself making a cup of tea as he processed this information. "Together? Has Dr. Watson finally punched Anderson in the nose?"

Gregory chuckled tiredly. "No. I really wish he had though. Separate issues. Anderson mixed up all of the files for the current case with the files for the court case in two days. I've spent the last five hours attempting to straighten them out. Haven't made nearly as much progress as I would have liked." Mycroft took his tea and sat down beside the older man. "And the John thing…well, that's a secret. Doesn't stop it being an annoyance but still it's a surprise."

"A surprise? What kind of surprise?" Mycroft questioned. "I'll help you with the files if you wish, by the way."

"That'd be a big help, Myc," Greg admitted. "And if I told you what kind of surprise John and I are cooking up then it wouldn't be a surprise anymore." He rolled his shoulders and set his face into a determined look. "I need to get back to those files. Glad you're home." He leaned over and pulled Mycroft into a passionate kiss before standing and heading back into the parlour.

Mycroft put shaking fingers to his lips and smiled. He loved it when Gregory spontaneously kissed him like that. It was always unexpected and welcomed. Gregory seemed to delight in catching him off guard. He shook his head, the smile never leaving his face, and followed his fiancé into the parlour to deal with Anderson's mess.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Four days later Mycroft stared at his schedule in shock. "Arianna," he called out to his assistant. She glided into the larger office from her own and came to a stop in front of his desk. "Is there a reason why my schedule is void for the next two days?"

Arianna never took her eyes off of her BlackBerry as she replied. "Of course, sir."

Mycroft waited for her to continue and then sighed. Arianna was being pedantic again. "What is the reason my schedule is completely clear for the next two days?" He asked in a clipped voice.

"I am not at liberty to say, sir," Arianna replied with no inflection to her voice.

Mycroft cocked his head to the side and regarded her suspiciously. "Is the reason anything to do with the surprise John and Gregory are cooking up together?"

"I cannot, in good conscience, divulge any of that information, sir," her voice held a definite trace of amusement now.

Mycroft's quirked lips were the only sign of his own amusement. "I do believe my husband-to-be has corrupted you, my dear."

Arianna glanced up at him from her BlackBerry with an impish smile. "It is not beyond the realm of possibility, sir."

He waved her off back to her to her office and sighed. Whatever Gregory and John were planning neither Sherlock nor himself had been able to deduce, beg or threaten out of them. Looked like it was nearly time to find out the old fashioned way: He'd just have to wait and see.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

By noon the following day Mycroft was rather glad he'd not ruined Gregory and John's surprise. He'd been woken to a delicious breakfast in bed, cooked by his husband. Gregory didn't know how to cook very many dishes but for some reason one of them was Tunisian Honey Rings and they were so good when Gregory made them.

Following breakfast activities they had met John and Sherlock at a nearby park and been forced to walk for at least a mile. When Mycroft made a subtle complaint John freely admitted to attempting to befuddle their senses of direction so they wouldn't know where they were going. Mycroft found himself unwillingly impressed by this deception.

Finally they broke through a stand of trees and into a grassy knoll in the park. Dotted about the knoll were couples on blankets, families laughing, groups of friends bantering happily as they seemed to wait. Arianna appeared at their sides with a large picnic basket and a blanket that she spread on the ground and then, without a word, she disappeared into the crowd.

The following few hours were some of the most enjoyable Mycroft could ever remember. Sherlock was on his best behavior and once the concert started he paid attention only to the music filling the area around the grassy knoll. Gregory and John only grinned and their bodies moved slightly to the music as they ate the finger foods provided in the basket.

Mycroft had never attended a "Concert in the Park". He'd always found the idea to be a bit trite and uncultured. Concerts in the Park were something that people did when they hadn't the money to go to a symphony hall. He had scoffed at the idea when Gregory had brought the subject up a few months earlier. He was sorry for that now. There was something absolutely charming about the experience. The music, while not top quality, was excellent and the laughter, chatting and at times shrieking of the audience only added to the experience. Instead of drowning out the musicians the noise seemed to compliment them.

As they were repacking the basket after the concert John admitted that he and Sherlock came here as often as possible. Sherlock liked to listen to the music in the open air. He claimed it helped him think.

"That explains why he left clean up to us," Gregory commented. "He bounded off to the stage as soon as the music stopped."

John nodded. "He's gone to give Gwen some new music for her band. They're the Celtic group that was playing last. He writes songs for them sometimes. And no I don't know why or even how they met though I suspect she used to be part of his Homeless Network." John picked up the basket and headed down the knoll to where the stage was. "C'mon, we've only three hours until the next event and I'd like some alone time with my husband."

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"That's enough," Sherlock declared. "He doesn't need to know the rest."

Mycroft laughed and shook his head at his blushing brother. "I think he does need to know that we never made our dinner reservations because Gwen's overprotective and abusive boyfriend called the Bobbies on her 'stalker'."

"Stalker?" Greg asked with a laugh. "Sherlock? The only people he stalks are suspects," he paused. "Well, and John but John likes it." John groaned and shook his head while the others laughed. "So how did that get all of us almost arrested?"

Sherlock growled. "It wasn't my fault. John's the one that punched that oaf. I was the injured party."

Greg pasted on his best confused expression and looked over to his husband. "The oaf hit Sherlock first and the Bobbies did nothing because they thought the oaf, Derrick by the way, if I remember correctly, was defending his lady love from her stalker. John saw Sherlock fall and charged a man twice his size. Took him down too. The Bobbies called in reinforcements and then tried to break up John and Derrick. Sherlock to offense to that and joined the melee. You were trying to convince the PCs that you were a Detective Inspector and I," he flushed a bit. "Well, I was laughing at Sherlock's flailing attempts to get from under the three PCs."

John chuckled a bit in remembrance. "He was standing close enough to us that Sherlock swiped his umbrella and beat at everyone he could reach with it. Got me in the ear, which is why he was banished to the sofa for a week. He's smart enough to know better than to hit me."

Sherlock pouted. "Lestrade's the only one that didn't get caught up in that fight."

Greg laughed. "That's because I'm a whole lot smarter than you give me credit for, Sher. So how'd it all end?"

"Gwen explained everything to the constables. Then John took us all back to 221B and patched us up," Mycroft told him. "Then he berated Sherlock for half an hour for starting a fight with a man so much bigger than himself."

John stood up and stretched, joints popping and cracking. "Don't know about you lot but I'm getting hungry. I'll make lunch," he offered.

"Excellent idea, John," Mycroft praised. "Gregory needs his strength to heal." He saw the disappointed look on Greg's face and smiled softly. "We'll continue with the stories after lunch. Are they helping?"

Greg frowned. He was beginning to feel bad for tricking Mycroft. He had only wanted his husband to remember him and come back from wherever he'd gone inside himself. Now that Mycroft was reminding him of some of their shared stories he was feeling a bit guilty. "I think so," he murmured quietly.

Mycroft kissed the top of his husband's head in an attempt to banish the troubled look in the older man's eyes. "I will tell you every second of our lives together until you remember and then I will tell you more," he promised. "I love you, Gregory."