Recently, Greg had taken to singing and humming around the house while cleaning or cooking or just laying about. Mycroft, at first, found it a tad annoying, but he soon felt that it was endearing, especially the song choices. 'A Thousand Years', 'Love Me Tender', and when he was feeling upbeat, 'Play That Funky Music'.

Another was 'You are my Sunshine'. He only sang it when he and Mycroft were snuggling near the fire or in the mornings to wake the younger man up. Greg's mother had sung that one to him when he was a child, before she had fallen ill. Greg remembers it fondly and loves to sing it to his own sunshine.

"I am starting to enjoy that song," Mycroft said one night, as the two of them read in the sitting room. Greg had been purring the melody for ten or so minutes, just to fill the silence.

Greg glanced up from the book in his hand, over the rims of his reading glasses. "Hm, you are?"

"Of course. Your voice is wonderful."

Raising his eyebrows, Greg flushed. "Nah. I just like singin'."

Mycroft chuckled softly. "I would hope so. You do it oh so often."

"Mhm." Greg smiled contentedly and went back to softy singing, his voice a low rumble. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. So please don't take my sunshine away."

Mycroft hummed along, his lighter tenor complimenting Greg's baritone.

-FOUR MONTHS LATER-

"GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!" Greg pointed his gun at the murderer that they had finally been able to track down after months of work.

Mycroft had enlisted him and his department at the New Scotland Yard to track down a murder ring, the head of which was suspected in at least 12 homicide investigations. All of their work led to this, the infiltration of the killer's den, a warehouse, disguised as a sweets storage facility.

The burly suspect turned and glowered at Greg, his yellowy teeth glinting in the dull light that filtered in from the grimy windows. The husky man then pointed his M-16 at the DI and opened fire. Greg dived out of the way, ducking behind a tall crate. He heard Mycroft's voice in his ear.

"What is his position?" Mycroft had come on this mission. He was a highly trained sharp-shooter, specializing in long range marksmanship, rivaled only by world-class assassin (one that can always worm his way out of any charges brought against him), Sebastian Moran.

It was a well-kept secret of Mycroft's, his skill with a firearm, but he had lent his expertise to the team only this once. He was on the top of an adjacent building, set up in his predetermined nest. He could see through some of the windows but not enough.

"40 meters ahead," Greg whispered, knowing the mic at his throat would pick it up. He glanced over at the other members of his team, made mostly of trained CO19 officers. They were positioned as to surround the suspect, but they had been unable to get around to his other side and surround him fully. He spoke softly to the head of the CO19 unit. "Officer Keller, are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"On your count, then. He's gonna try to run."

"Use lethal force?"

Greg thought about it a moment then sighed. "Only if necessary. I want him alive but if we can't get him that way, at least he'll be off the streets."

Officer Keller nodded. "Understood." Then, to his men, "On my signal, my squad will go straight on. Mallick, you and yours flank left. Lestrade, your crew flanks to the right."

Confirmations were whispered and positions were taken.

"Watch the exits, Myc."

"Covered."

Keller counted to three silently, holding up his fingers in the air for everyone to see. Then they jumped to action. Greg and his squad crept behind the crates to the right of the last known position of the suspect. Gunfire sounded from the center and the sound of a body hitting the ground echoed.

"Man down!" Keller yelled in their earpieces.

Greg signaled his crew to go center and aid Keller's while he continued forward. He came to a clear isle just as the killer was running past, towards the door to Greg's right. The big man busting out the doors, Greg close behind, their feet crunching on the gravel as they ran.

"I have a shot, but not for long," Mycroft stated in his ear.

"Hold your fi-" Greg started, but was interrupted by a piercing pain in his chest. The gunman had twisted his arm around and fired at Greg, the bullets ripping straight through his jacket and the Kevlar beneath. Blood seeped through and stained the front of his work shirt.

'Sharpened tips,' Greg thought as he stumbled to a stop. 'Must have been sharpened…'

"Gregory?" Mycroft's tone was inquisitive. He hadn't seen the gunman shoot but he had heard it. The man sprinted out of the blind spot, Greg stumbling behind before stopping.

"T-take the shot, Myc."

"Are you sur-" he started to ask, but saw Greg crumple to the ground. His eyes widened but he swiveled himself and took one steady breath before ending the life of the shooter with one bullet through the head. Mycroft didn't stay on his perch long enough to watch the man fall. He was sliding down the ladder on the side of the building. He reached the ground just as Keller and his men came out of the door, 30 meters away.

Skidding to a stop, Mycroft hurriedly flipped Greg over, the older man gasping in pain. "Gregory! Gregory, look at me. Please."

Greg's eyes found Mycroft's and he smiled. "Nice shot, sniper."

Mycroft's brow furrowed as he gathered Greg into his arms, lifting the man's torso from the rough gravel. Greg coughed and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, a solitary tear of crimson on his olive skin.

Greg glanced down at his shirt, now soaked in red. His breathing started to hitch and came in wheezes, but he just blinked, looking back to Mycroft. "Hey, now, I-I'll be ok-okay," he stammered a slight grin still on his lips.

"Oh, Gregory…"

Mycroft heard a soft sound coming from the man in his arms. The familiar tune was caught immediately and caused Mycroft's eyes to well with tears. He lowered his ear to Greg's mouth as the DI started to sing.

"You a-are my s-s-sunshine… m-my only s-sunsh-sh-shine…" He coughed up more blood, the bullets obviously having torn into his lung and lodged there. It would have been a through-and-through without the Kevlar. That probably would have been better. He may have had a chance.

Greg eyes had become less focused and his gasping became more and more of a gurgle, but he continued with his song. "Y-you make m-m-me h-happy, when sk-skies a-are gr-grey…" his chocolate brown eyes suddenly became clear and he turned his attention to Mycroft. He saw the tears on his younger partner's face. "You'll never kn-know, d-d-dear, h-h-how much I-I-I love y-y…" his voice faded as Greg's last breath was taken. His body relaxed, vacant eyes staring at the sky past Mycroft's head.

Mycroft let out a sob as his life crumpled around him. "But, please… don't take my sunshine… away," he whispered, pulling the lifeless form of Gregory Lestrade to his chest.

There, in the gravel, the eldest Holmes brother wept.