Disclaimer: Hmmm, not quite sure what to disclaim this time. That million dollars isn't mine. Nor is that recording contract. That mess in the living room certainly isn't mine. Unfortunately neither are these characters. That one really hurts, you know.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Starlight05 who wanted to see the engagement scene. Thank you for all of your lovely reviews and the idea.

Week Two: The Big Question

"Do you need one of the pain pills they sent home with you, Greg?" John asked solicitously. "I have them if you do."

Greg waved him off. "No, no I'm fine. If I take one now I can't take one before bed, right? I'd rather wait until then. I won't have these stories to distract me then."

Mycroft rubbed at the Greg temples in an effort to relieve some of the pain. "I will tell you stories until you fall asleep if you wish it," he promised. "What would you like to hear next?"

"You lied you know?" Greg asked seriously. "You said you weren't much of a storyteller. You lied. You're very good at telling stories. It's like I can almost remember the events you're telling me about. Now tell me about how you asked me to marry you."

Mycroft's face did a strange cross of a smile and a frown. "I'm afraid I cannot oblige you there, Gregory," he confessed softly. Chocolate brown eyes caught sky blue. Blue eyes that were nearly the same as Sherlock's and yet so very different at the same time. "I did not ask you to marry me. You asked me."

"Did I really?" Greg breathed out, incredulous. Then he grinned that cocky grin that never failed to make Mycroft's knees melt. "I've got a big brass pair on me, don't I? So go on then, tell me."

Mycroft gave out a surprised chuckle. "Yes, yes you do."

"No sex talk!" Sherlock shouted. "Just tell the story without the sex, Mycroft!" He glared at his older brother and then turned back to the notes he was making on the files Anderson had brought him.

"Very well, brother," Mycroft conceded. "However I will remind you that these stories are not for your benefit but Gregory's."

Sherlock flapped one hand at him without ever taking his eyes off of the file on the desk in front of him. "Whatever. Just get on with it."

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Mycroft sat at the table in the elegant restaurant anxiously waiting for his boyfriend to arrive. The atmosphere was perfect, the wine was very good, the food was of the finest quality and the ring was waiting in his pocket. Tonight he would ask his lover the most important question he'd ever ask anyone.

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"I thought you said that Greg asked you, Mycroft," John interrupted.

"Patience is a virtue, Dr. Watson," Mycroft reprimanded.

"One you never taught your brother," John teased. "But I get the implication. I'll be patient and let you tell the story."

"Thank you," Mycroft said graciously.

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Five minutes after he was supposed to have arrived at the restaurant Gregory finally breezed in. "Sorry I'm late, Myc. Donovan insisted on going over the evidence for the Hyerman case one last time and I lost track of the time."

Mycroft accepted the kiss from the silver haired Detective Inspector. "It's perfectly all right, Gregory," he told him as he slid into the seat across from Mycroft gracefully. "I've come to expect such trite machinations from your Detective Sergeant."

Gregory shot him a considering look and then placed his hand over the one fiddling with the silverware. "It doesn't make it right that I allowed her to make me late for our date, Myc." He squeezed the hand and was relieved to see a small smile pass over Mycroft's features. "Now what did you order for me?"

The candle lighting the table gave Mycroft's blue eyes a sparkle that Gregory rarely saw outside of their home and he grinned at Mycroft's laugh. Mycroft told him what he'd ordered for them both and they discussed their respective days while they waited for the waiter to bring their food.

Greg cut into his perfectly cooked steak with a grin. Mycroft always knew exactly what would make him forget about the trials of the day. He noticed that tonight Mycroft seemed more fidgety than usual and wondered what had happened that had Mycroft Holmes playing with his silverware and shifting in his seat.

"Myc?" Gregory began. "Is something-?"

Gregory was never allowed to finish his question as gunshots rang out through the restaurant. Bits of plaster rained down on the diners from the new holes in the ceiling and the air filled with terrified screams.

Mycroft eyed the black clad gunmen that had invaded the restaurant with extreme disfavor. "You have got to be kidding me," he growled.

Gregory grinned at him and his brown eyes were alight with mirth. "You take me to the most interesting places, Myc." He waved his arm at the gunmen. "Look, dinner and a show."

Mycroft gave him a mild glare. "No matter how entertaining you are finding this situation it is not at all what I'd had planned for this evening."

Gregory obviously had a witty retort on the tip of his tongue, if the glare he gave the gun in his face was any indication. "Excuse me?" He asked the man on the other end of the gun tightly. "What is it you wanted? I'm trying to banter with my boyfriend. It's a form of foreplay and we were just getting into it."

The gun wavered for a moment and the gunman scratched the side of his head with his free hand. "What?" His voice sounded confused and a bit afraid, the brown eyes nearly hidden by the mask claimed the same thing.

"You want politeness?" Gregory asked sweetly. "Then get that gun out of my face, please." He bit the last part out between clenched teeth.

"Irish!" Another voice called from the group of gunmen. "What's the holdup? Hurry it up before the coppers get here!"

The man, Irish, chuckled loudly. "We got us a smart mouth, Boss," he called out. "Whatcha want me to do with him?"

Mycroft glared at the room in general. Why did they have to pick tonight to rob this restaurant? Now his proposal would be tainted by this unfortunate incident. His eyes widened minutely when the barrel of a gun swam into his line of sight.

"Weren't you listening, guv?" The gun's wielder asked him.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. "No, actually," he told him coldly. "I was contemplating putting a bill before Parliament that would increase the maximum sentence for armed robbery. I can always worry about that later though. What did you want?"

"So Irish wasn't joking," the man chortled. "We got ourselves two smart mouths!" Mycroft only then noticed that all five of the gunmen had gathered around their table. Only two of them were facing Mycroft and Gregory though, the rest were watching the other diners fiercely.

Mycroft caught Gregory's eye and the older man gave a slight nod.

In a move that John had taught him not to long after they'd first met, Gregory brought his hand up and grasped Irish's wrist between his fingers; pinching the nerve and disabling the hand. The gun dropped into his waiting palm and he quickly turned it into Irish's face.

While Gregory disarmed Irish Mycroft brought his umbrella up between the Boss's legs and then calmly plucked the gun from his hand while he groaned in pain at the assault to his jewels. "You know Sherlock is right, Gregory," he told his boyfriend conversationally as he turned the gun on the remaining three gunmen.

"How so, Myc?" Gregory asked, kicked at one of the gunmen that seemed to be trying to sneak up on them and then cocked his head at the suited men that poured into the restaurant. "You texted Ashleigh?"

Mycroft glanced at the door of the restaurant and the flashing lights and sirens coming from the street. "You texted Sgt. Donovan," he accused mildly and relinquished his gun to one of the suited men. "Sherlock says the criminal class of London is steadily declining in IQ points. He's right."

Gregory gave out a laugh. "He's got a point," he agreed as he smoothly returned to his seat and sliced into his steak. "We make a good team, Myc."

Mycroft gave him a soft smile. "We do."

Gregory suddenly found his wineglass extremely interesting. "How would you feel about making it permanent?"

"Permanent? Gregory?" If Gregory hadn't felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach he'd be amused at the shock in Mycroft's voice. "What do you mean?"

Gregory's gaze left his wine glass and rose to meet Mycroft's. "Will you marry me, Myc?"

For an answer Mycroft pulled the jewelry box from his pocket and set the ring he'd bought for Gregory on the table with a smile.

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"Armed robbers at the restaurant where we proposed to each other?" Greg laughed shakily. "Please tell me there were no suicide bombers or terrorists or something at our wedding."

Mycroft seemed to consider it for a moment. "Not that I know of, but who knows what Artiebiba gets up to in her off time."