Disclaimer: Today I don't think I care that they aren't mine. I'm tired. I would love to curl up under my blankets with Lestrade though so I guess I do care. It would be nice to waste a lazy Friday just snuggling. Oh well, they aren't mine and all I have are dreams and wishes…for now.

A/N: Tell me did you really expect Mycroft, Mycroft Bloody Holmes, to not figure things out? He's letting Greg do this because he understands that they both need the remembrance of better, happier times. I've decided to end this story and just go with the series of one-shots. My reasoning is that I have other stories pounding at my brain and since I've fallen behind on my writing ahead due to work I don't have time to do both. (Or seventy as the case may be.) There are probably only one or two chapters left of this story now. I'm glad you all stuck with me for the ride and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Week Two: Thursday

Greg blinked his eyes open feeling warm and safe for the first time in recent memory. Strong arms were wrapped snugly around his waist and his head was resting on a smooth chest. He could hear the comforting thump, thump of Mycroft's heart under his ear. "Myc," he sighed and snuggled a bit closer.

Mycroft's arm unwound from around him. He stroked his fingertips along Greg's spine. "I'm sorry, Gregory. I will never be able to express exactly how sorry I am for the past six months. I would go back and slap myself if I could."

Greg stiffened. Mycroft held him tighter and continued the soothing strokes of his fingers. "You…uh," Greg sighed and lifted his head to look into Mycroft's blue eyes. "You know then?"

Mycroft grinned and bent his head to peck Greg on the lips. "Gregory, really? If you'd wanted to continue your charade you should not have flopped on the sofa as though you owned it."

Greg frowned. "I do own it," he said petulantly.

Mycroft chuckled. "You shouldn't have known that," he pointed out. "You were coming to a strange house with a man you barely knew. The sofa was mine. You had no familiarity with it. Hesitation would have been your first reaction. You would have wanted to be alert and relaxing on a monster sofa was not alertness, dearest."

Greg winced at his own perceived stupidity. He'd known his reactions were off. He should have been more careful. "Oh. Damn." He sighed. "You know I was regretting this charade anyway. I felt horribly guilty about five minutes after I started it."

Mycroft tightened his arms again. "Don't." He said simply. "Sometimes I need a good kick in the pants to remind me that there are people who love me."

Greg gave him a grin and a quick kiss. "Next time I won't wait so long to deliver it," he promised. He laid his head back down, content to listen to the thumping heart beneath him.

There was a comfortable silence as Mycroft traced barely there circles on Greg's back and Greg basked in the warmth around him. "We should get up," Mycroft finally said quietly. "John and Sherlock will be in here to see why we're not soon."

Greg groaned and wrapped himself around Mycroft like a limpet. "Don't wanna," he whined. "I don't have to get up and neither do you. John will make Sherlock knock and we'll tell them to get the Hell out."

The chest beneath him rumbled with Mycroft's laughter. "When has that ever worked with my baby brother?"

"Fine," Greg huffed out. He pushed himself up on his hands, stealing a quick kiss before sitting on the side of the bed and taking a deep breath against the pain of the sudden movement.

"Gregory?" Mycroft called to him in alarm. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"'M fine, Myc," Greg muttered. "Just got up too fast. Made my head ache." He took another deep breath and then turned his head to look at his husband over his shoulder. He gave him a wan smile. "Promise. I'm fine. Just…should have taken my pills last night, I guess."

Mycroft flung himself from the bed, not at all assured by his husband's suddenly pasty face. "I'm getting John," he declared and paced to the door. "John!" He yelled when he'd flung it open. "John!"

"Myc," Greg sighed even as he heard running feet in the hall and the rustle of Mycroft's dressing gown being thrown over his shoulders. "Mycroft!" He shouted and then wished he hadn't as the pain increased with the loud noise. "Dammit," he sighed and put his head between his hands to let out an amused sound.

"Greg?" John's voice came from in front of him. He lifted his head and blinked when he saw John knelt on the floor at his feet. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Greg huffed out. "Just sat up too fast, is all. Made my head hurt. Then Myc overreacted. Where is Myc? And Sherlock?"

John nodded in agreement even as he checked Greg's pupil dilation and pulse. "I sent them from the room so I could take a look at you without them hovering. You're fine," he claimed after a few moments. "Want some pain meds? And stay on the sofa again today. Don't get up except to use the loo."

"No," Greg shook his head carefully. "I'll stay on the sofa like a good boy. But I want more stories."

John chuckled at his tone and helped him slowly to his feet. "We'll see what we can do to entertain you," he promised.

"God," Greg moaned as John lowered him onto the sofa. "I feel like an old man. This being shot in the head business isn't all it's cracked up to be, you know?"

John sat down in the chair he'd occupied the day before. "I don't think it's supposed to be fun, Greg," he admonished. "You were very lucky. That could have ended in so many other ways. Much worse ways."

"Oh, I know," Greg grimaced at his friend. "I know how very lucky I was. Still…I hate headaches."

"So long as you realize that your life isn't something to just throw away," John grinned at him. "Not that you could have done anything differently."

Greg settled his head back on the cushion and wished it was Mycroft's lap. "Gregory?" Mycroft's voice was quiet. Greg opened one eye and looked up at him. "Tea?" Mycroft offered the mug in his hand and Greg nodded slowly before carefully sitting up and taking the mug while Mycroft sat down.

"Molly texted earlier," John announced. "She wanted to know if it was all right for her to visit after work today."

Greg shrugged, set his mug on the coffee table and lay down with his head in Mycroft's lap again. "It's fine with me," he grinned up at Mycroft. "Storytime," he said with relish.

"What is the point of this exercise?" Sherlock finally spoke up. "It's obvious Mycroft has deduced our ruse and Lestrade has forgiven Mycroft ridiculously easily so why must we continue to listen to stories about them?"

"You're just irritated because you only wish John would forgive you as easily," Greg snorted. "And we're listening to stories because I'm injured and I want them. Now shut up, Sherlock…unless you've a story to share."

"Well," Sherlock considered for a moment and then grinned a delighted, evil grin. "There was that time in Las Vegas…"

A/N: Well that's it. For more stories about Greg and Mycroft see the one-shots I'm posting later. Yes the Las Vegas story will be there. Thanks for reading and reviewing.

For those of you who think I ended this too quickly and that Greg forgave him too easily I'd apologize but I'm not sorry. Greg and Mycroft as well as Sherlock and John have rather healthy relationships. And they adore each other. Saying that they're sorry is usually enough in that situation. Well, and they still have some time to work everything out, they'll get around to talking more in depth sometime before they both have to go back to work.