Chapter Thirty Four

The next morning, Mycroft woke up alone in bed. He rolled over and slid his arm over the empty space where Lestrade should have been.

The sheets were cool under his skin. Mycroft opened his eyes.

"... Nineteen." he heard quietly whispered from the sitting room through the open door and smiled when he recognized Lestrade's voice.

He sounded much better now.

He lay in bed for a languid ten minutes before convincing himself to get up. He swung his feet onto the floor and shuffled sleepily into the bathroom to freshen up, passing by Marsh as he went.

When he came out, more awake and alert, he wandered into the sitting room to find his lover.

Lestrade was lying on the sofa, phone pressed to his ear, Marsh on his stomach. "The Vermeer. It was fake, wasn't it?" he said.

"Gregory?" Mycroft called out softly, causing Lestrade to turn.

"Oh, hey Mycroft." Lestrade smiled back, then redirected his attention to his phone. "No, no, don't hang up yet, Sherlock!"

There was a huffy retort from the other end that caused Lestrade to blush and Sherlock hung up.

"What did Sherlock want?" Mycroft asked curiously.

"Oh, Sherlock didn't call me." Lestrade told him. "I called him. He's been quizzing me about our past cases for the greater part of an hour." Lestrade glanced at the clock. "You want breakfast?"

"You remember, then?" Mycroft asked, hearing Lestrade's offer of breakfast, but not quite tuning in.

"Oh, um..." Lestrade took a deep breath. "For the most part, yeah. I-... we, were just gauging how much I remember, thus Sherlock's quizzing."

Mycroft nodded. "I see... how far have you two come?"

"Um, our first brush with Moriarty." Lestrade said, and then repeated. "Breakfast?"

"What? Oh, I mean, yes!" Mycroft blurted. "This is wonderful news, Gregory." he said as they both moved into the kitchen.

"Yeah, yeah it is." Lestrade nodded. "John woke up once to demand a medical check up before he fell back asleep."

"I will arrange that at the soonest opportunity." Mycroft said. "How are they?"

"John and Sherlock are alright." Lestrade said, putting a pot on for tea. "Sherlock's got a few pesky splinters, but nothing John can't handle."

"That is good to hear." Mycroft said with genuine relief.

"But don't ask me to tell you why they were sleeping in the same room." Lestrade deadpanned.

"I have an idea of what's going on, Gregory." Mycroft responded with a wry smile. "I'm a mature adult."

"Yeah, I had a feeling that that wasn't just a coffee run, either." Lestrade went on absently.

"Coffee?" Mycroft asked, nonplussed.

"Nevermind."

They moved around, tossing slices of bread into a toaster, cooking eggs, rummaging around for milk... it was a rather domestic experience.

Finally, Lestrade let out a great sigh and slammed his hands on the table.

Mycroft merely looked at him.

"Life is just hyped up on strong coffee, I shouldn't get annoyed, right?" Lestrade said with a very long-suffering look. "These things happen, right?"

Mycroft chuckled. "Someone should tell it to lay off the sugar."

"It just doesn't slow down any!" Lestrade complained.

"First, you lose your memory, then you come to terms with the loss, and the moment you do, it comes back." Mycroft shook his head in exasperation. "And let's never mention the various life-threatening situations sandwiched in between."

"Keeps us busy." Lestrade nodded in agreement. Then, the smile bled away from his face. "Does this change things between us?"

Mycroft looked down and fiddled with an empty tea cup. "I don't see why it should." The pot on the stove whistled and Mycroft poured a generous amount into the teapot. "And I don't see why we should let it." he said decisively.

Lestrade smiled back and went back to piling their plates with food.

"Good." Then, with a sly smile, he reached across the table and grabbed Mycroft by the collar, pulling him in for a kiss. "Say, Mycroft, we never got around to that anniversary celebration." he smirked languidly against his lips.

He felt Mycroft's bottom lip jut out. "And just who's fault is that?" he teased.

"Okay. Mine, you little shit." Lestrade muttered with a little smile. "Happy belated second anniversary, love."

"I love you Gregory." Mycroft gave up on breakfast entirely and pulled Lestrade close. "Welcome back."

They never got around to eating breakfast. They didn't even pick up their phones when Anthea called them later in the day. Nor for John, Sherlock, Victoria, or Donovan.

They threw their phones out of the window by the time Mrs. Hudson got around to wondering where they were.

"Good riddance." Mycroft smiled when they did.

Marsh just huffed at them and pranced out, leaving them to their own machinations.

THE END

A/N: And they lived happily ever after... until the gang chasing Sherlock and John tracked them down to the Holmes estate and found the mansion riddled with holes. Victoria, Mister Jenkins, and Anthea apprehended them all dutifully with an exaggerated rolling of eyes. Lestrade and Mycroft brought them back to Scotland Yard where they told Donovan and Dimmock that Lestrade regained his memory.

Sherlock and John were put on house arrest for causing so much trouble with the gang and somehow caused their flat to explode, which led to them and Mrs. Hudson temporarily moving into Lestrade's flat because Lestrade moved back in with Mycroft... and nobody saw Lestrade's sitting room sofa ever again... but that's a whole 'nother story.

Also, Anthea proceeded to never let Lestrade live flirting with her down.

And, I cut the scene from Armitage getting arrested, to Mycroft in the courtroom so you readers didn't get to hear that Peter got home to DCI March safely and now wants to become a detective when he grows up. I just wanted to say that because I realize that Peter just sort of disappeared after escaping and was never heard from again. He's okay... and not so much traumatized. Peter occasionally pays Scotland Yard visits and gives his dad and Lestrade toy soldiers and superhero action figures to keep them all safe on the job.

Also, Lestrade eventually goes back to work with Scotland Yard with all his memory intact.

Mister Jenkins swooped down like Batman and saved everybody in the Holmes mansion after Mycroft was taken away. In the confusion, Victoria took out one of them because she had a gun closer to her than John, who would've shot them if given half the chance.

A bit of trivia: I always imagine Mummy Holmes like either Judy Dench, Helen Mirren, or Meryl Streep. Kudos to anyone who noticed!

Tada! The end. Hope you enjoyed! :)