John's heart was caught in his throat when he saw Greg's expression, as the latter slowly made his way from the door to the sofa. The consulting detective, sprawled upon said sofa, deigned to open his eyes a crack.

Sherlock studied the DI's face for several moments. No one said a word. Finally, Sherlock uttered a single word. "Who?"

"Your parents," Lestrade answered quietly.

"Hmmm," Sherlock said, showing no shock or distress, only mild interest.

"Sherlock," the DI said softly, "they didn't make it."

"Let me guess, car crash? No, helicopter crash would be more their style," Sherlock said, in his this-is-somewhat-boring tone, usually reserved for cases under a six.

The DI was stunned into silence, gaping like a fish, and making accompanying hand motions like a fish very much in distress. John pounced.

"Are you flipping mad?!" he yelled at Sherlock, shaking the detective by the shoulders roughly. "This isn't a stupid case! Your parents died!"

"Yeah, I got that part," Sherlock answered nonchalantly.

"I thought you had something resembling a heart! If you don't stop acting like the world's greatest git, I'll give you something to-"

"John, maybe he's in shock," Greg whispered, looking at the consulting detective in concern.

"No, I'm not," Sherlock mumbled. "I was expecting this, actually."

"WHAT?!" came the simultaneous exclamation of the doctor and the DI.

"Please do mind the volume," came a voice from the threshold. "We do not need to involve the entirety of London in a simple family matter."

"Mycroft," Greg bit out, his face distorted in an expression of combined disgust and fury. "I thought you're brother was acting inhuman, but you managed to outstrip him! 'A simple family matter,' with both your parents dead! You, both of you, disgust me beyond words." He spat the words as if they were utterly foul.

"You're unbelievable, the both of you," John seethed, his voice as quiet as it was dangerous. "Did you also expect this to happen? Did you at least try to do something about it?"

"Of course I did," Mycroft responded icily. "I personally arranged it."

He was greeted by utter silence. John and Greg stood frozen in shock. They both looked at Mycroft, and then at Sherlock, and then back again. Sherlock gave them a small smirk.

Greg was the first to catch on. "Ohh," he whispered. "Ohhh, ohhh, OOOOHHH!" Then he buried his face in hands.

John caught on seconds later. "You- all of you- WHY! You're all barking mad!"

Sherlock's smirk increased. Mycroft's lips twitched. "Mummy and Dad were getting tired. The media had discovered them, and the hounding was getting unbearable," Mycroft said calmly.

"All they ever wanted to do was tour the world in peace," Sherlock said disparagingly. "Attend concerts and theatre productions, and let's not forget about the line dancing."

"Their newfound fame was getting in the way," Mycroft added, "so Mummy told Dad one day, and I quote, 'That's it, we have to try it ourselves.' So Dad asked her what she meant by that, and she said, 'Why, the Holmes tradition. We should fake our deaths, too.' It was all rather routine afterwards."

"A routine... helicopter crash?" Greg asked doubtfully.

"There might have been a crash. There might have been a helicopter involved, too. I can't really answer that," the British Government answered cautiously.

"Did they decide upon Majorca, or the Bahamas in the end?" Sherlock questioned, in an uncaring tone.

"They wouldn't tell me. They said something about keeping some information from me, in retaliation for certain information I kept from them. I'll have to work twice as hard now to keep an eye on them," Mycroft frowned.

"Serves you right," Sherlock grinned smugly.

"Oh, but they will be calling you frequently. They said something about retaliation for two years of being left completely in the dark," Mycroft answered, his grin just as smug.