Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was only shortly after Sherlock's death that Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes began to meet each other more frequently than they ever did while the youngest Holmes was alive.

And it only began when Mycroft was the one who kept trying to get closer to Greg. He had noticed it as soon as the other man's first appearances around him began, something he would probably have overlooked if it was someone else, but being Mycroft it was different. At the time, Greg thought it would be his way of asking for help or attention after what had happened to his younger brother, so he understood and Greg really wanted to help. But soon enough he realised that Mycroft was coming to him more often because he thought that it was Greg the one who needed to be comforted after Sherlock’s death. Then he realised that it might be true, that he could really use that company at that time.

“Gregory, you understand why Sherlock did what he did, don't you?” asked Mycroft during one of his nights out in a fancy restaurant, which only someone with Mycroft’s status would be able to afford. 

Greg put the fork he was holding down to his plate and looked at Mycroft with a scowl.

“Moriarty managed to create a false identity, accusing Sherlock of being the fake one, and somehow made everyone into believing that it was nothing more than a farce. To prove it and get on with the game... Sherlock was supposed to... kill himself," answered Greg, but he stopped when a lump in his throat prevented him from continuing. He cleared his throat. “Admitting to John that what Moriarty said was true, having him as a witness…”

Greg took another moment to take a breath, offering Mycroft a bitter smile.

“They must have pressured him; threatened him that if he didn't do what they asked, something bad would happen. I know I may not have known him as well as John, but I assume the threat was to kill someone Sherlock cared about. That's the only reason I think he might have jumped. He never cared what other people thought of him, did he? I doubt he did it because of the public discredit.”

Lestrade finished speaking and they both fell silent. By this time Mycroft was staring at him seriously, chin resting on his thin intertwined fingers. Greg felt suddenly ill, but after clearing his throat once more he picked up his fork again and tried to keep eating.

He felt slightly proud when he noticed the amazed look on Mycroft's face. Definitely surprised by his own deduction. And truth be told, Greg had been in fact, wondering why someone with a brain as wonderful as Sherlock Holmes’ would be capable of taking his own life.

“Maybe John," he added softly. “Or you. Maybe you and John.”

Mycroft unwinded his fingers and shifted slightly in his seat, this time with his back straight and his head up. He started eating too.

“You think so?” he asked, offering him that cynical smile of his again. Lestrade nodded in reply, but they didn't talk about it again for the rest of the dinner.

- -

They were sitting next to each other on one of the expensive sofas in the living room at Mycroft's house.

Usually, they would go out and Mycroft would take Greg to some expensive restaurant, but that particular night Lestrade had convinced Mycroft to set up something simpler: ordering his favourite food and staying in to eat quietly instead.

Greg had noticed that Mycroft had sat much closer to him than usual, but he decided to ignore it He was starving.

“Do you really think you weren't important to my brother?” the redheaded asked suddenly, once they were ready to eat. Greg looked at him strangely surprised, but he didn't dare answer as he began to eat. They had had a conversation about that months ago. “Because you were,”  he added, in a tone that was too calm. Lestrade snorted in reply.

But Greg preferred silence. There wasn't much anyone could say to make him believe that. Sherlock Holmes ever cared for him. He never tried to know his name or anything else related to him or his life. And yet, Greg knew full well that he would have been able to put everything aside in order to help that bastard.

“You — I — ” started Mycroft, and Greg had to suppress the comment of surprise at hearing the other man stutter for the first time in his life since they had met. “I never thanked you for all you did for him... before.”

Lestrade arched an eyebrow, confused.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Help him with his addiction.”

Greg snorted once more before he shook his head.

“I didn't do anything.”

“Of course you did.” Mycroft left the plate he was holding on the coffee table and settled down in his seat, surprisingly closer to Greg than he had been before. Lestrade was really aware of how close they were now. “I'm ashamed to admit it, but you were the only one who trusted him at the time.”

Greg turned his head to look at him better, stopping halfway through his action in putting his fork in his mouth. He let out a long sigh.

“I assume it was a difficult few years," Greg muttered.

“And yet…”

“I know you were trying to help him in your own way," interrupted Lestrade, trying to cheer him up. In fact, he knew very well how difficult the relationship between the siblings had been at that time. Usually, Greg was the intermediary between them when the communication problems of both appeared.

Mycroft offered him a smile different from the ones he usually saw, and Greg felt a strange sensation running down his spine.

“Sherlock really appreciated you, Gregory," he continued, and for the first time, Greg was more aware of how Mycroft used to say his name. No one ever called him that, and he had to admit that he liked it that way only with him, it made him feel a bit special.

But Greg shook his head, once he let out of his head how Mycroft pronounced his name.

He scratched his chin. “He couldn't even remember my name.”

And Mycroft chuckled. A completely genuine laugh that had caused a feeling of tenderness inside Greg as he looked at him pleased. He didn't want to question whether this was normal or not.

“But it wasn't until you threatened not to see him again that Sherlock finally quitted," added Mycroft.

“Really?” asked Greg incredulously. He never noticed that that had happened. He wanted to help Sherlock at that time, but he had crossed the line and he really thought he would give up on him. He was so upset with the young man, he just couldn't take it anymore, and before he knew it, Sherlock had left him talking alone as soon as the threat had passed his lips. At the time he thought he'd never see him again.

“I didn't understand how you did it," Mycroft continued in a lower toned. “Somehow Sherlock had begun to trust you as he had never trusted me before. Today I can admit to you that I was jealous.”

Lestrade opened his eyes a little wider when he heard it. It was the craziest thing he could hear Mycroft Holmes say.

Finally, Greg had lowered his plate too, to leave it on the table in front of them. Suddenly the appetite was gone.

“Well, you both were arguing all the time.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes but nodded before settling back into his seat. Greg was following every move with his eyes.

When he tried to recall that moment in his head the next day, Greg was sure it had happened just like in any cliché romantic movie he had ever seen. Because suddenly both men had become completely silent as they looked at each other; Greg's eyes couldn't help but flick between the other's lips in front of him, even his breath had been stirred by the sudden thought of tasting them.

Eventually, the exchange of looks stopped when Mycroft was the one who leaned forward to press his lips on Greg's. It had barely been a brush, but Greg grunted silently as Mycroft pulled away, embarrassed.

“That was strange," was the first thing Greg said when Mycroft had tried to get further away from him with as much subtlety as he was capable of at a time like that.

“Of course; I apologise for my…”

“No," Greg interrupted, unable to keep the smile off his lips. “I meant because... we just talked about your late brother. It feels... strange. The kiss... that was good.” Mycroft's eyes lit up with a different glow when Greg finished talking. Mycroft's cheeks were noticeably redder than usual. And really Greg couldn't help but feel really proud that he was able to be the one who made Mycroft Holmes blush in that way. “In fact, we could do it again... if you like?”

- -

Greg woke up abruptly when he heard noises coming from his living room. He quickly sat upon his bed, groping in the dark for the lock on the drawer where he had hidden his revolver in the bedside table.

“For fuck’s...! — Sherlock!” he managed to articulate when the particular shadow form of the other man appeared below his doorway. The feeling of relief had completely washed over Greg with the thought of not having a real intruder in his house.

But the other man said nothing as he walked straight up to the bed and climbed on it without asking his owner's permission first and he settled down beside him.

Greg had leaned on his elbows, watching what he could through the darkness. He didn't fully understand what was going on. His heart was still pounding in his chest as he tried to react to what had just happened.

Was it a hallucination or something? He was sure he'd seen Sherlock, alive, the night before. He'd hugged him, hadn't he? Sherlock was definitely alive and at that moment he was lying next to him in his bed. He tried to convince himself with that while he was catching his breath.

It was beginning to make more sense now that he had fully awakened. Sherlock was lying next to him with his hands under his head and staring at the ceiling.

Greg was about to open his mouth and ask what the man was doing there, but Sherlock was quicker, “You're not upset?” he asked, and his voice had sounded so soft and uncertain that Greg really questioned whether this was the Sherlock he knew. Still, hearing that voice felt like a great privilege.

“Yes," he replied firmly, "Of course I am.”

“But you hugged me. Last night, when you saw me, you hugged me.” Sherlock turned his head to the side and Greg was able to see his face clearer because of the light through the window. He looked really confused.

“Well... I missed you too," he said, shrugging before lying on his back in bed again.

He heard Sherlock snorting beside him and Greg couldn't help but smile. Sherlock had turned his gaze to the ceiling.

”John…”

“John’s hurt, Sherlock," Greg interrupted, followed by a sigh.

“But you…”

“Look, we're not the same person, are we? I guess it's gonna take him some time.”

Silence fell between them. Greg had not expected Sherlock to express much more of what was going on inside his head, and truth be told, being woken up in the middle of his sleep hadn’t been the most pleasant thing in the world either, so he remained in silence for a while.

He had closed his eyes, feeling the weariness from that day finally take hold of him when he was startled by the deep voice of the younger again, “You get why I did it, don't you?”

Greg sighed and turned on his side to get a better look at Sherlock.

“I suppose," he admitted. He knew the answer wasn't convincing enough for Sherlock.

Holmes grunted. "I had to stop Moriarty and his network... I needed to make sure that none of you would be harmed.”

Sherlock had spoken too quickly and Greg had instinctively nodded in agreement.

Then he realised what he had just heard and was completely paralyzed when he understood. “Wait a minute," he said, sitting up quickly in the middle of the bed, looking at Sherlock in disbelief. “You said, you. W-why did you say that?”

“Why? Because Moriarty had placed snipers near each of you and if they didn't see me jump, they were ordered to shoot you.”

Sherlock finished talking and he sat up too, looking at him seriously, just as he used to do when he finished making a brilliant deduction for one of his cases.

“Me? Wait, you're saying that... they were aiming at me?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I don't understand... Why?” asked Greg. "Why me?”

“His plan was to kill the only people I cared about if I didn't kill myself... If his people didn't see my body there.” Sherlock had spoken too quickly again, but Greg had tried to keep up, feeling suddenly really sick. “Although I'll never understand why he didn't chose Molly. Well, if it hadn't been for his mistake, I couldn't have…”

“But I'm not important to you," said Greg quietly, interrupting him.

Sherlock frowned in his direction, looking at him as if he had just spoken to him in a language completely new to him. But he didn’t reply.

Lestrade felt a sudden weight on his chest and needed to lie on his back again to try and calm the breathing which had once again become agitated.

“Who else knew you were alive, Sherlock?” he asked after a long moment.

Sherlock sighed. “Molly, Mycroft and some from the net…”

“Oh, I'm gonna kill him," Greg interrupted him in a mumble. He ran one of his hands through his hair.

Lestrade had been too focused on really thinking about the different ways he could kill his boyfriend, to realise that Sherlock was strangely staring at him.

Lestrade shook his head and sighed. “Look, Sherlock, I'll be honest. I'm really glad you're alive, I mean it. But I have to work tomorrow and unlike you, I need to sleep. You know you can stay if you want to, but I’ve to go back to sleep now,” he finished with a yawn and saw Sherlock nodding in return by his side.

Greg couldn't help but give him a little punch in the arm, more to remind himself that the other man was really there, alive and by his side, than anything else.

Only a few minutes had passed in silence, Greg being able to fall asleep, just when Sherlock's voice brought him back once more;

“You're important, Lestrade.”

Greg opened his eyes suddenly and turned on his side again so he was facing Sherlock now. He didn't know what to say in return, this had really surprised him and left him speechless.

“You were the only one who trusted me... When... In the past.” Sherlock seemed to struggle to admit that part of his past, but Greg couldn't help but remember that this wasn't the first time he'd heard that.

“That's what Myc said.” He shook his head, closing his eyes. They were ridiculous; it hadn’t been a big deal, he thought as he began to fall back asleep.

“Myc ?” asked Sherlock and Greg opened his eyes again, finding a strange grimace on his face in front of him.

Sherlock sat up abruptly. “No, no, no, no," he continued, repeating over and over whilst raising his voice more and more.

“Sherlock…” Greg sat up too, turning to the other side to find the lamp switch on the side of the bed and turned it on so that he could see the other man better. He couldn't believe he was going to have that conversation now.

“I knew, I knew he' d try something with you once I was gone," he complained and Greg rolled his eyes, but tried to calm him down by placing a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock stopped him. “Why are you two doing this to me ?”

And at that very moment, Greg felt again that this was too much for this time of night. He rolled his eyes once more and sighed, wanting with all his heart for Sherlock to forget the whole thing for the night.

This was just a classic Sherlock tantrum. He was too tired to stand one of them now, even though he hadn't had to for over two years. Wasn't it just charming to have him back?

He figured this was going to take some time, so while Sherlock was still paralysed in the middle of the bed, Greg stood up to get a glass of water.

He had barely lowered the glass he had just drunk onto the counter when he heard Sherlock speaking too loudly from his room.

Oh, God.

“...of all people, you had to sleep with Lestrade?”

Greg opened his eyes even wider in surprise when he heard him say that. He had gone back to his room and now Sherlock was pacing around with a phone on his ear. His phone.

Another sigh.

He could perfectly hear his boyfriend screaming through the device.

Greg took a seat at the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands. Really charming.

He had let the telephone discussion continue for a few minutes until he couldn't take it anymore.

“Sherlock, please.” He held out his hand in his direction, waiting for him to hand over the phone.

“No," he said firmly. “I disappear for only two years and you two…” He grimaced again “Was that your plan all along? To wait for me to go and take him ?”

Greg opened his mouth offended. What was he now? A pet?

“Alright, that's enough, Sherlock,” he said to him before he stood up and walked towards him. Sherlock stepped back far enough to dodge him, but Greg was ready to wrestle if necessary.

He got worried when he noticed that only a little push on the other man's ribs had been enough to beat him, making him grunt out loud.

Lestrade gave him a confused glare but was finally able to take the phone from him triumphantly.

“Gregory?” He heard Mycroft's voice asking, but Greg decided to end the call just like that.

In one quick move, he threw the device onto the bed and approached Sherlock.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” Sherlock shook his head but continued with one hand pressed against his side.

“Sherlock," warned Greg in the most authoritative tone of voice he could manage at that hour.

“It doesn't matter now, alright?” Sherlock took his hand away, but his face still showed that it wasn’t quite right.

“You know I worry about what's going on with you, Sherlock, and now you seem hurt.”

Lestrade's phone started ringing but he ignored it.

“Won't you answer him?”

“No.”

The two men were still standing, face to face, but in complete silence, without breaking their gaze on each other. Greg's phone had rung a few more times but he continued to ignore it.

Sherlock was hurt and it wasn't just physical.

“Why him?” he asked then. He seemed upset, but the tone of voice he had used still sounded like a tantrum to Greg.

“I don't know; it just happened.” He shrugged. Greg wouldn’t refer to his relationship just like that in front of anyone else, but he knew the kind of term or way he would actually use, wouldn’t be to Sherlock’s liking at the moment.

“This is terrible.” Sherlock let out an exaggerated whimper.

“Please, Sherlock. You're acting like a child.” Greg shook his head and went back to his bed, picking up the phone on the spot.

Gregory, please call me. MH

But Greg shook his head before leaving the device on the bedside table.

He had noticed that Sherlock was staring at him, but for now, he decided to ignore it too. He could do whatever he wanted.

“Sherlock, I'm sorry if you're upset,” he said before going back to bed under the duvets. “But it's serious.”

“I know," he replied. Finally, his voice sounded calmer. “I know Mycroft.”

Greg nodded and tried to smile.

“The offer still stands, you can stay if you like," he said after a moment and before he turned the lamp off again.

So he felt the weight of Sherlock’s body on the mattress by his side, every movement in complete silence.

Lestrade was beginning to fall asleep when he felt another movement beside him, this time recognising how the younger was cuddling next to him. So Lestrade passed an arm under his head, allowing Sherlock to settle on his chest. Just as they used to do so many years ago, when Sherlock went through another new withdrawal, with the trembling, nightmares and insomnia did their work inside him.

“I'm really glad you came back," mumbled Greg gently, but Sherlock didn't reply.

A few hours later, Greg woke up completely alone in his bed, but with a feeling of satisfaction and tranquillity washed him when he remembered that Sherlock was back with them again.

Preparing himself mentally for the exhausting day he’d have to face, and then the thought of the conversation he now owed to Mycroft, Greg got up to deal with his day.