Once in a while I do remember to put a:

Disclaimer: Sherlock does not belong to me.

Beta:OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles

"What?" John exclaimed, shocked. "You've just said that you brother is married to DI Lestrade." Sherlock scowled. "Yes, John, and that's a piece of information about my family I'd love to forget." Lestrade/Mycroft with a dash of Sherlock/John in the end.

A Part Of The Family

"What?"

Sherlock stopped as he realized that John wasn't following him anymore, having stopped dead in his tracks with the exclamation. He half-turned, taking in that indeed his friend looked as shocked as he sounded, his mouth still half opened and eyes wide. Casually Sherlock noted that the expression about having ones jaw on the floor, which he personally found ridiculous until then, had a real life basis.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You are exaggerating, John."

The doctor shook his head dazedly, still unable to utter a word. When his senses returned to him John snapped his mouth shut, and after a calming breath said very slowly, every word separate and stressed:

"You've just said that you brother, Mycroft Holmes, is married to DI Lestrade."

"Yes, and don't make me repeat it." Sherlock cringed, as an afterthought he added. "And don't repeat it either. It hurts my ears."

"But-but…How?" John spluttered, unbelieving. Sherlock envied him for that; he still would have preferred not to have the solid proof. Unfortunately Mommy insisted on showing him pictures of the happy couple every time he visited her.

"I'd be very grateful if you just accepted the fact and did not ask any more disturbing questions."

"But you can't just drop a bomb like that and not explain. How did it happen? How could that happen? Marriage…" He mumbled the last word under his breath.

"Civil Partnership, to be correct. But they do act like an old married couple, which they are by the way…" That particular statement brought a smile of disbelief to John's face and a shudder from Sherlock.

"Did they meet at the crime scene? You practically brought them together, didn't you? Unconsciously of course."

"As a matter of fact, no, I did not. I wouldn't be able to survive it otherwise. The thought that I'd brought myself that particular misery would be too much to handle."

"Then?" John prompted.

Sherlock glared at him for that, clearly not comfortable with the conversation topic. With a sigh he surrendered to his friend's curiosity. "Well, I don't know the beginning of the story, but when they woke up, there was a lot of screaming."

John's face blanked, and he looked away. "That's not something I'd like to know about your brother."

"Not in that sense, John. I would never have suspected that your mind was such a gutter," he commented offhandedly. "It was more like 'What are you doing in my bed?' and then 'Your bed? It's my bed!' followed by 'Look around, idiot. Recognize anything here as your own?'

"Um…No. Sorry? Um…?"

"Mycroft. My name is Mycroft." This got him a doubtful look, momentarily stalling the awkwardness and confusion. They stared at each other, taking the time to study one another, curious about who they had left with the previous night.

"Really," after a nod, deliberately slow, the man chuckled. "Okay…I'm Greg."

The man extended his hand and Mycroft shook it cautiously.

"Yes, this is the best time to make someone's acquaintance."

"Better late than never," the man joked, but it went unappreciated by his bed partner. He looked away, suddenly feeling awkward even though there was nothing left to be embarrassed about after all they did the previous night. He masked it with curiosity about his surroundings; the room was spacey, simple and plain with pale colours and straight lines – not as straight as its owner, he thought with a smirk – but still elegant and, obviously, expensive. Nothing like Gregory Lestrade's bachelor's den. "We must have had a little too much last night."

"Obviously," the man, Mycroft, replied; without looking Gregory could say that he was rolling his eyes. If he remembered correctly, the snobbish look must have suited him.

"So…remember anything?" Finished with examining his side of the room, he turned to look at Mycroft. The man was good looking, so he must have still been sober when the flirting started; his dark brown hair was disheveled and sticking up at the ends, curling a little at the temples. Looking at it brought back a memory of feeling the gel on his fingers as he ran them through that hair.

"Not much," the man replied. He was sitting very still, one hand gripping the covers that were hiding his nakedness.

"Are you okay?" Gregory asked, overwhelmed with concern as more memories came to the surface. "I mean…after everything we've done…it might be…"

"I'd prefer not to discuss it in front of my younger brother."

"What?" John couldn't stop the unbelieving exclamation.

Sherlock glanced at him, "Oh yes, Lestrade's expression was the same as yours right now."

Then he looked behind Mycroft a little to the left at the doorway. He avoided that side of the room in his previous examination simply because in the foreground was a naked man he spent the night with, only a sheet covering him. Now he regretted it, because in the background there was a young man, sixteen or seventeen by the looks of it, watching them impassively. He stood relaxed, leaning on the doorframe, with hands crossed over his chest. Black curls fell into his eyes as he turned away and, bored, stared at the wall.

The cold voice of Mycroft asked "What are you doing here?"

"I was running an errand for Mommy." Sherlock explained. "She gave me the keys to his flat. I'd never expected that when I entered my brother's bedroom I'd see him in bed with another man. That's the worst experience of my life."

John was ready to bet anything that Sherlock was hoping to sneak in on Mycroft while the man was sleeping. Served him right.

"Traumatizing?" He asked sarcastically, which earned him a glare.

"I knew that my brother was gay and I understood that he had a personal life but I never wanted to be so rudely introduced to it."

John couldn't help himself, he snickered.

"What happened after?"

"A lot of awkward fumbling for clothes and probably an embarrassing talk. But I was not present when all that happened. I had left Mommy's package on the table in the hall and…"

"Fled?" John finished, chuckling despite receiving another glare.

"Retreated," Sherlock corrected.

"What happened then?"

"They dated," the detective shrugged. "After some time Mycroft introduced him to Mummy. She liked Lestrade from the moment she saw him. And a year after that came the second worst experience of my lifetime."

"Did you walk in on them…?"

"No, John," Sherlock replied scandalized, then he murmured. "Gutter, John, gutter…"

"Sorry."

"It started with 'I need to talk to you'."

"It's important."

"Sure it is," Sherlock replied skeptically, not looking away from his laptop.

"Sherlock. Please." Lestrade, who'd been promoted to a DI just two weeks prior, insisted. He waited until the tapping stopped, the young man's fingers halting over the keyboard as he granted Gregory his attention. He didn't look pleased with the distraction and urged the other to continue quickly.

"I've come to a serious decision regarding my life."

"This doesn't concern me," Sherlock interjected irritated, eager to return to his studies.

"This one does." He took a deep breath to calm his nerves; the only person who wanted to have this talk even less than he did was probably Sherlock. But as an honorable man he decided that this needed to be done. And done properly. "You know I love your brother."

"Mycroft's personal life is of no interest to me."

"No matter if you want it or not, you are a part of his life," Gregory countered. "An important one. You are his family."

"I could live better without been reminded of that."

Lestrade ignored that comment with difficulty; he was still learning how to deal with the younger brother of his lover, for Mycroft's sake mostly, but sometimes it was so bloody difficult to resist punching him.

"And I hope to become a part of that family," he said carefully.

"Should I be happy with that?" Sherlock asked. He was facing the older man, but his eyes were looking elsewhere, reading an article from the laptop screen. Lestrade reached out and closed it, applying more force than actually needed, but at least it caught the young man's attention.

"I'm going to ask your brother to marry me." He said bluntly, deciding that a straight approach would be the best option.

Sherlock's glare melted, his features smoothed and he stared blankly at Lestrade. By that time the DI knew that this was his shocked expression. He recovered quickly and leaned back in his chair, relaxed and bored.

"Do you need my approval?" It was said with sarcasm but his eyes studied Lestrade's face as he waited for the answer.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Gregory held his gaze, hoping it'd prove his seriousness. "As I said, you are a part of his family. You are important to Mycroft. Don't get me wrong, I'm not asking you if I can marry him. I'm doing this because I don't want you upsetting him with your biting comments. I know I can make him happy; call me overconfident if you want to, I don't care."

He had Sherlock's full attention now and the young man was listening with all seriousness and contemplating his words. He nodded thoughtfully once, admitting that he understood Lestrade's reasons.

"I know that you can't live without insulting him, and trust me, I realize that he feels the same." Lestrade smiled wistfully. "But I also know that you both care about each other. So I ask you, please, don't ruin this for him. Don't ruin this for us. You can comment on anything you want, make fun of his habits or his lifestyle – it doesn't matter. But not this, not about what really matters." Finished with his request he leaned back in the chair, feeling drained from the emotional speech, and waited nervously for Sherlock's reaction.

After minutes of silence, Sherlock nodded slowly. He held Lestrade's gaze for a moment longer and then turned away, opening the laptop and continuing with the typing.

Pleased with the answer he got Lestrade stood up. Unable to resist, he ruffled the young man's curls on his way back as his own way to thank him.

"That was very nice of you," John commented.

"You should have seen Mycroft's face when I told him later that his husband gave me permission to make fun of him as much as I wanted."

John watched his face, trying to understand if Sherlock actually meant it. He was sure that the promise was sincere but he wouldn't put it past Sherlock to take it as a deal letting him practice his sarcasm on his brother whenever he wanted at the price of avoiding only one theme.

"So why did you suddenly decide to tell me all this?"

"I did not want to tell you all this. I simply wanted to inform you of my brother's marital status. So that you won't be too shocked when you get the invitation to the family dinner next week. It's their anniversary."

"I'll be invited? But I'm not a part of the family." John pointed out, flattered and befuddled.

"Maybe you will be, one day," Sherlock muttered.

"Huh?" John frowned in confusion, but Sherlock was already walking away in that confident stride of his, prompting John to hurry up not to fall behind.

A/N: October is going to be a difficult time for me, I'll have to study a lot, but I have one finished story which I am going to post when I have time for it.

Also, there is a poll on my profile page, I'll be very grateful if you vote. It's just something I'd like to know.

Please, review:)