(Final oneshot in the series)

-0-

The heavy breathing in his ear, ragged and interspersed with a faint groan, was the only sound to him. Greg had almost forgotten how beautiful it was, listening to Mycroft recover from his orgasm. "I don't think I can move right now. You?"

There was a grunt that he assumed meant 'no'.

"You certainly missed me. I don't think there's a part of my body you didn't 'visit'."

Mycroft chuckled faintly at that and finally shifted his weight off Greg and onto the bed beside him. "I would make you regret that cheeky comment if I were ten years younger."

"If you were ten years younger, you'd kill me, Mycroft. Three times in one night is my maximum." Greg rolled over onto his side to face his lover, fighting the delightful post-orgasmic lethargy that gripped him. "Since we're both exhausted, this probably isn't the best time to mention this, but…my squad…seems to think it's required that they meet you."

A ginger eyebrow rose in that devastatingly elegant way of his. "Do they now?"

"If you want to say no, that's fine—"

"I have no objection to meeting them, Gregory, but are they even aware of my gender?"

Greg awkwardly chewed his bottom lip for a minute. "Not…really. When we first started this, they figured out I was having sex with someone and kept teasing me about it, and I kept telling them I wasn't sleeping with anyone. They assumed I was sleeping with a woman."

"You didn't correct their assumption when we…started again."

"Well…I couldn't, without knowing your opinion on it and then once I did, you were out of the country and I didn't think there was much point because they would insist on me bringing you over to meet them."

What was Mycroft thinking about, behind that contended expression? All the things he had assumed Mycroft would be such a stickler about turned out to be nothing at all to the man, so Greg felt he could safely assume that whatever he thought Mycroft was thinking, he probably wasn't.

"Very well, I suppose I can make the time for a visit in the near future."

"You have to give me some warning, don't just pop in."

"I don't know how much warning I can give, but I will endeavor to do my best. However, there is a price for this."

Greg's smile hesitated. "Price…?"

"If I am to meet your squad, you must meet my parents."

He felt the tension ease out of him and he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Oh that. I can do that."

"I wouldn't advise feeling relieved about that. It may be the toughest challenge you will ever face," Mycroft warned.

"It couldn't be tougher than surviving my office during the Carnage."

"…Carnage?"

Greg rolled onto his back again and stared at the ceiling, feeling Mycroft ease up onto his side next to him. "That day in my office when you saw the goldfish and Sherlock showed up. Standing there, having to admit that I'd fallen for you in front of Sherlock, John, and you was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I was convinced that everything was ruined and what we have now would be impossible. Not to mention finding out that Sherlock had known all along we were shagging and when he looked at me, it made me feel ten inches tall. Almost like that feeling you get when your parents are severely disappointed in your choice, rather than angry. I thought for sure that he didn't approve, that he did it because he didn't want us together no matter what he or John said.

"It hurt," he admitted, "to think that Sherlock wouldn't approve. Hard as it is to believe, even to myself, I do like him and I respect him. He's a friend and to think that he might be against me dating his brother made the whole situation feel even worse. Honestly, I think if it hadn't been for John's support, I probably would have been driven back to drinking myself into a stupor. It took him a whole week to break my skepticism when he told me that Sherlock didn't hate the idea of us together."

"Sherlock supports us, in as much capacity as he's able when it comes to me," Mycroft said after a minute, during which time Greg was too embarrassed to meet his eyes after the emotional things he'd said. "He was doing what he thought would…help, I suppose, though I would have still preferred to have done things my way. It brought needless suffering to all of us and that's what happens when you take the bluntest and most forceful approaches. He never did grasp the concept of subtlety."

Greg glanced at Mycroft from the corner of his eye. "So you're saying we would have ended up like this anyhow?"

"Oh, I'm quite certain of that and most likely, at the same pace. The only difference being that those months when we had no contact would have certainly been far more pleasant doing it my way."

He reached up, tugging his boyfriend down for a lingering kiss that he got lost in. He wondered how much of what Mycroft said would have been true if Sherlock hadn't gotten involved. Was it possible they would have ended up like this regardless? Would Mycroft have eventually stopped running from his feelings of his own accord? Then again, being passive wasn't Sherlock's way. They were lucky they had made it as many months as they had before he had gotten involved.

"I have something I've been curious about for a while," he said, licking his lips once their kiss ended.

"And what is that?"

"Are you gay or bisexual?"

"Gay."

He was kind of surprised at how readily Mycroft admitted it. "When did you know?"

The man leaned back against the pillows, running his fingers through Greg's salt-and-pepper hair. "I always did in a way, but the first moment when my nebulous knowledge became firm was when I was twelve. I had fallen asleep reading in the afternoon and woke up a little while later, quite abruptly, in the middle of an erotic dream about a boy that sat in front of me in class."

"Did you like him?"

"We had no point of contact. We have never spoken or interacted at all."

"So you were just after his body then," he teased. "Just like mine when you abruptly told me to strip."

Mycroft laughed at that. "You must admit, it was hard to resist when you're so beautiful and sitting at my desk." The smile flickered a little. "In all seriousness, I would not have mentioned it at all if I didn't think there was at least a ninety-five percent chance you would agree and you are almost stereotypically my type. Not to mention that I respect you highly as a detective and I remain ever grateful for the things you've done for Sherlock. Perhaps it was just that in the beginning, physical lust mixed with respect, but I know that even if Sherlock hadn't interfered, this would have happened regardless. I might have been in denial after a few months, but even then, I couldn't make myself do anything that would lose you."

Greg wanted to find a witty comeback, something humorous to lighten the suddenly intense mood a little, but they just wouldn't come. As his cheeks flushed, he watched the statesman ease down half-over him and kiss him. There was no lustful urgency in it, only emotional and he found himself getting lost in the wonderful sensations.

"I have to believe that," Mycroft continued when they broke apart, "because if that isn't true, then it means admitting that I wasn't smart enough to see what Sherlock did."

"…I won't tell him you said that if you make me breakfast in bed tomorrow morning."

That smile was trying to be annoyed at it edges, but it only came off as amused. "Since I can't have Sherlock's ego any bigger, I suppose I have no choice but to acquiesce to the terrorist's demands."

He laughed. "Good! Now, sleep."

-0-

He saw Sherlock the next day, alone, and he raised an eyebrow at that. It was so rare that Sherlock was by himself that it felt as if the world had just tilted on its axis. They were a matched set, almost. "Where's John?"

The consulting detective hesitated a little, not something he had expected to see. "He's not speaking to me right now."

"Not speaking to you? Why?" Remembering the day before, he frowned. "What did you do?"

"I merely expressed my feelings."

"How did you 'express your feelings'?"

"I merely told a woman that was flirting with him that he was unavailable."

"Uh huh. And where were you at the time?"

"Does it matter?"

"For John? Yeah."

"At the hospital. I had plans and when he was late, I went to pick him up."

"So…let me get this straight: knowing you, you walked up to them and before even determining if he was responding to the flirting, you went on a tirade. A tirade in which you exposed probably a few facts you shouldn't have…in front of all his coworkers. Please tell me you didn't try to kiss him there."

"No." Sherlock's leg bounced up and down with a nervous energy. "I wasn't planning on doing that. I had something else in mind that he was late for."

"So you got both jealous and annoyed and you just went off the deep end." He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "What did John do after that?"

"He…didn't do anything. He just looked at me and then walked away."

Greg's eyebrows drew down at that, mirroring Sherlock's own confusion. "He just…walked away?"

"Yes."

"Didn't even try to punch you, kiss you, yell at you, nothing?"

"No. It's…unlike him."

"You know that John doesn't like grand, public gestures."

"And I didn't do that. If he had shown up when I told him, it would have been so much better."

"What were you planning on doing, out of curiosity?"

"It doesn't matter anymore."

He frowned at the almost depressed statement. "It might. Have you tried calling John?"

"Of course. Texting too."

"No response?"

"Would I be here if there was?"

Though he was a believer that one didn't get involved with other people's relationships, he couldn't quite bare to leave his friend in such a lurch. John had been there for him during the debacle with Mycroft and he knew that Sherlock had just been trying to help. He couldn't just sit there, doing nothing. So he dialed the doctor's number, sure at least that he would pick up once…but there was no answer. He called two more times to be sure and still nothing.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No."

"Is his stuff still in your flat with you?"

"Yes. He hasn't returned."

Greg didn't bother to ask how Sherlock knew. He just assumed that there was plenty of ways that the consulting detective could figure that out. "…You want me to ask Mycroft to find him?"

Those thin lips turned into a sneer. "No!"

"Look, Sherlock, let us help you, okay? I'm not saying you probably couldn't find him…eventually…but Mycroft can find him faster. And I'll be the one to ask him, so I'll be the one owing him a favor, not you."

"He's going to know why you called anyway."

"Which is more important, your pride or John?" The silence answered that question; that, and he didn't storm out of the office, so he dialed his boyfriend's number.

"Miss me already, love?"

"Hey, Mycroft. Um…I need a favor?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "What favor?"

"I promise, I'm not asking for government secrets. I just need to know if you've got any information on where John might be. Maybe some CCTV of him going somewhere?"

"…John? John Watson, the one glued to my brother?"

"Yeah, that John. He's missing."

"A moment, please." Though Mycroft sounded calm, there was now a hint of worry at the edges. "Dare I ask what Sherlock did?"

"Apparently he made the wrong kind of confession to John at his work and John disappeared on him."

"…That's not good." He heard the clicking of a keyboard in the background. "As much as Sherlock complains about my surveillance, it certainly comes in handy. I put a tracking device on his phone to keep tabs on Sherlock." There was a tense moment of silence. "He's in Manchester."

"Manchester? What's he doing there?!"

But Sherlock was already standing up and heading for the door as Mycroft answered, "I believe his father lives there."

Greg sighed after the door closed. "You know, for all Sherlock's bravado and confidence about confessing 'right', he's just as bad at it as you were."

"We are brothers."

"…Tell me about it."

-0-

Sherlock wasn't willing to tell anyone how nervous he actually was. He still wasn't quite sure why John was so upset with him. His friend had never had a problem speaking his mind before, so why had he just turned and left? He hadn't really said anything bad. This wouldn't have happened at all if John hadn't been late, making him go get him.

The house was nondescript and so dull that he didn't bother remembering what the paint color was ten seconds after he looked at it. His first knock produced nothing, so he tried again. Sherlock's hands twitched as he considered texting his partner to open the door, but he didn't want to aggravate John too badly.

The door swung open and the sight of John made something inside him relax just a little. He studied the doctor, noting that he didn't seem upset. There was a heavy sigh and he turned, leaving the door open behind him. Sherlock stepped in cautiously, noting the silence in the house. So John was the only one there right then.

"What do you want, Sherlock?"

"You didn't come back to the flat."

"I was always planning to come to Manchester. It's my father's birthday tomorrow, a fact I informed you of weeks ago that you obviously deleted, or never bothered remembering."

Oh. It must have been on a case or something, because despite his partner's comment, he never deleted anything regarding John. He watched the doctor root around in the refrigerator, but he could tell that it was just for something to do. "Yesterday—"

John slammed the door shut and spun around. "Yes, yesterday," he hissed, hand gripping the countertop tightly. "Sherlock, I give you a lot of leeway, but yesterday…"

"John—"

"I work with these people," John interrupted, quiet voice suddenly yelling. That Sherlock found was more calming. John yelled when he got upset and angry like that, but that meant he wouldn't leave him for good. "I accept that you're possessive of my attention, wouldn't do to not have your blogger about wherever you go, but I have to face those people again! You can't just walk in and lie—"

"It wasn't a lie."

The simple statement seemed to derail his partner's rant. "What?"

"It wasn't a lie," Sherlock repeated softly. "I would never lie about that."

"So you expect me to believe—"

"Yes."

"Let me finish a damn sentence!" Sherlock closed his mouth and decided that attempting to curtail the anger wasn't going to work. "You want me to believe that you suddenly decided you're in love with me? And then make a blanket assumption that I share those feelings? And then proceed to explain it in your trademark fashion everything that makes it so to my coworkers?!"

He sighed softly, glancing at the white-knuckled grip John had on the countertop. He was either trying to keep himself from hitting or kissing him and Sherlock knew which he'd prefer, but he didn't think he was objective enough to guess which reaction it would be if he stepped any closer. "It isn't sudden, John and I know…about how you feel. I heard you with Lestrade, which it's hardly my fault that you were talking about it right there near the door," he attempted to defend. It wasn't like he'd been deliberately eavesdropping, but after hearing his name… He didn't want to admit that he was still human like the rest of them and had wanted to hear what they were saying about him. "As for the last part… I'd had it all planned, John, the entire evening. All the things you liked were set up, but you were late. I needed everything on time if it was going to work, so I went to find you…and saw that she was flirting with you."

Color came back to John's knuckles as his grip loosened on the countertop. "You were jealous?"

"I wouldn't call it jealousy. I'd texted you several times to tell you that I was waiting and really, she wasn't good enough for you at all, John, even if you weren't in love with me. I was just informing her of the fact."

A faint smile flashed on his partner's face. That was a good sign… "Sherlock, that's jealousy." Before he could argue again, John continued, "How long?"

"How long what?"

"Have you been in love with me?"

Sherlock sighed heavily. He knew that question was going to come up eventually and he didn't particularly want to answer it. He leaned his back against the countertop and shoved his hands in his coat pockets, hoping he at least didn't look as sullen as he felt. "I realized it when I saw you strapped with explosives. There was a moment, not a long one mind you but a moment, when I heard you saying Moriarty's words and I felt a terrible pain at the thought that I'd been deceived by you all this time. Then when I saw what he'd strapped on you, the pain disappeared completely. I knew then, and I knew that everything I said and did had to be perfect, otherwise I wouldn't be able to save you."

"Wait, Sherlock…that was almost a year ago! Why didn't you say anything sooner?! Aren't you the great consulting detective? You had to have known what I felt a long time ago!"

"Of course I knew," Sherlock told him with a frown. "I could see it every day…but you were still in denial. You didn't realize you were jealous of Irene Adler and you always grew so annoyed at people assuming we were a couple. You wanted me to tell you how I felt when the probability that you would just leave was ninety-five percent?"

John sighed at him and he watched warily as the doctor approached him. "I wouldn't have left unless you asked me to, Sherlock, and you should have known that, being so smart and all."

Sherlock could sense none of the anger that John had held when he'd arrived. "Then you'll come back to Baker Street then?"

"Of course. I'll be back day after tomorrow."

He blinked. "What?"

"Sherlock, I told you, I'm here for my Dad's birthday. I'm not leaving to go back before then. So you either go back by yourself, or you stay here and meet him."

The prospect of meeting John's family was…not that appealing. If he'd had his choice, John wouldn't have met even Mycroft. They didn't need anyone's approval and it annoyed him to have to share even a little of John's attention…but he had to anyway, because John would probably hit him if he knew that. Yet he couldn't make himself go back without the doctor.

"…Fine," he muttered, resigned.

Perhaps some of his thoughts showed on his face, because his partner laughed. "I'll make it worth your while, Sherlock."

His eyebrow rose and he felt a smile tug at his lips. "Really?"

"Yeah." He watched with interest as John reached out and grabbed his shirt, tugging him forward. Their lips met in a crash of controlled passion and before he could stop it, he'd gripped the doctor's biceps and dragged him close. He had never understood why Lestrade or Mycroft had been so antsy to be physically close to each other, but now he thought he figured it out. The feeling of having John in his arms was perfect, the knowledge that he was his alone sending a thrill of delight down his spine. The kiss tasted slightly bitter at its edges; the doctor had just had a cup of coffee, cream but no sugar.

Sherlock felt John's hand slide into his hair and he could feel the tension in the grip. So he was feeling possessive too? Good. He didn't want to let go, to lose the warmth, the taste, the feel, and like the junkie he was, he refused to stop. He could overdose on John himself and he wouldn't care.

The only thing that stopped him from happily continuing until the world ended was John pushing him back. His voice was thick and he had to clear his throat more than once to clear it. "Okay, that's enough Sherlock."

"It's never enough, John."

"Well it better be right now, because my Dad is going to be home soon and I'm not having him find out that I'm bisexual because he walked into the kitchen to find you with your hand on my ass."

"Why not? It explains everything."

"You mean without the boring conversation part?"

"Yes."

John rolled his eyes and squirmed out of Sherlock's hold. He'd never tell the doctor, but if he hadn't been prepared to let him go, there was no way that even the army doctor could have gotten away from him without breaking something. The things he put up with…

-0-

Greg squirmed in between his team members to reach for his lunch and Donovan smacked him on the hand. "Geez, I'll get it for you. Everybody's acting like wolves!"

"Then hurry up, because I'm hungry," he argued, all but snatching the plastic container from her that contained his boring salad. He wanted something a little less nutritious, but Donovan had been on him again about taking better care of himself.

He was tugging at the plastic fork they had taped to the container when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He hadn't heard from Sherlock since he'd stormed out of his office yesterday, but Mycroft had assured him that the consulting detective could win the man back, no matter the problem. "Lestrade," he answered, bracing the phone against his ear with his shoulder as he changed tactics to pull the fork through the plastic it was wrapped in, rather than the tape.

"Good afternoon, Gregory."

Hearing Mycroft's voice stopped his efforts and he smiled before he could help it. "Hey, figured you'd be busy right about now, since you turned me down for lunch."

He could feel his whole squad staring at him now and he was regretting not retreating to his office the moment he'd realized who it was. He eyed his team with concern; they were looking a little too interested for his peace of mind…

"I'm afraid this is all the warning I can give you."

"Warning?" he muttered and then felt his stomach hit the floor. He turned away a little more and hissed, "Tell me you're not on your way here right now."

"It's all the time I'll be able to make for the next two weeks for something like this."

"Then they can wait, you don't have to rush it." Why was he feeling so nervous all of a sudden, when he was the one that had proclaimed to Mycroft that he didn't care who knew? Now it was a reality and for all the confidence he'd displayed before, now he wondered just how deeply his friendship ran with his team. Would they turn on him? Donovan in particular, she was indispensable to his work and he trusted her more than any of his other colleagues, but she was not the most…open-minded person he had ever met.

"Gregory—"

"No, it's fine," he interrupted, hoping he hadn't offended Mycroft. He'd been panicking not because of introducing his boyfriend, but how they would react. They didn't know that he was interested in men too, and they also didn't know that he'd begun dating Sherlock's brother. He didn't know if he'd ever mentioned if the man even had a brother.

"…Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll prep them. How long until you're here?"

"…Twenty minutes. Gregory, I don't have to do this if you're unsure—"

"No, it's fine. Really. See you in twenty minutes." He hung up, trying to ignore his nerves screaming that no, it was not fine at all. Had he really become such a coward? Surely his concerns weren't justified…

"Prep us for what?"

At Donovan's question, he took a deep breath. "You wanted to meet the person I'm dating, right? Well he's coming over so you can stop betting that it's Molly."

A few groaned and it seemed only Donovan had noticed the pronoun. "Wait, he?"

"…It was you all that assumed I was dating a woman. I never said it was."

"You denied it for so long at all! Does this mean…"

"I'm bisexual, yes. I'd just happened to fall in love with Sheila in University and married her." He watched as they exchanged glances, some even open-mouthed at his revelation. "Also…he's on his way here to meet you."

"W-Why?" Donovan spluttered.

"Why? Because you told me to!"

"B-But… I just…never thought you'd do it… Shouldn't there be more…time for this?"

This was the tricky part. "He's really busy a lot of the time and this is the only time he'll have for a while. Some of you have probably already seen him."

"…It's not…Sherlock, is it?"

At Donovan's question, voice sounding full of dread, Greg knew this was the hardest part to come. "No, it isn't Sherlock!"

"Then who—"

"That would be me."

He turned, watching as the impeccably dressed man approached the group clustered around one of the desks. He was as perfect as always, umbrella still in hand. Greg swallowed a little because that was his favorite suit and they had a bit of time… Trying to drag his mind from the gutter, he met Mycroft's eyes and frowned at the smirk he saw. Of course his boyfriend figured out where his thoughts had gone…

"I've seen you before," Donovan said, "but…I can't place the name."

"You would have no reason to know it, since I've only ever dealt with the Detective Inspector when I came here." Mycroft seemed to flick whatever he saw off his coat jacket as he continued, seeming the picture of nonchalance, "Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes."

Greg's eyes snapped to his crew at the name, paying particular attention to Donovan. The woman didn't seem capable of forming words at first, turning to stare at him. "H-Holmes… Don't tell me…"

"Sherlock happens to be my little brother."

"You're dating the freak's brother?"

"Donovan, I've told you to stop calling him that!" he snapped. Mycroft didn't seem upset or even fazed by the words, but it was hard to tell with that poker face. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "Look, you wanted to know who it was that made me so happy, well it's Mycroft. You wanted to meet him, and he took time out of his exceptionally busy schedule to meet you because I asked him to. If this is too much for you, I'll sign off on any transfer you give me, but I would appreciate if you kept any comments to yourself."

He felt Mycroft's hand slide to his lower back in a show of support and it bolstered him more than he wanted to admit. He appreciated every member of his team and they worked together like clockwork, with the exception of their reaction to Sherlock, but he couldn't force them to stay if they felt that they couldn't work with him anymore. The silence following his words was almost deafening and he considered absconding the two of them into his office when a hand raised just a little.

"You don't have to raise your hand, Langley. What?"

"Well…he called you Detective Inspector. Does he always call you that?"

"Of course not," Mycroft answered for himself. Langley glanced at him nervously and he wondered if the younger members of his team were just downright intimidated by the man. He was quite…overwhelming the first time you met him; even Greg had felt daunted at their first meeting. "However, this is his place of work and that is his title. While we are…dating, he is a first a detective before he is my…"

As Mycroft paused, Greg added, "Boyfriend."

A faint curl of Mycroft's lip told him what he thought of that term. "I would have chosen partner. Perhaps lover instead. The term boyfriend seems so…inconsequential and childish."

"Seriously? Have you always thought that?"

"Yes."

Greg shook his head. Of course Mycroft would get hung up on how he described their relationship, rather than the relationship itself. Mycroft had just leaned in to kiss his cheek as his phone went off and the tall man sighed. "Pardon me."

As he stepped away from them, Greg turned to his friends. "There. You've met him. Now can we move on from my sex life?"

"But it's Sherlock's brother!"

"Donovan!"

Her mouth snapped shut with a clack and he could see in her eyes that she was pissed as hell. He knew she didn't like Sherlock, he knew that she resented him around because of how it made them look, and he couldn't fault her for it. Sometimes the man made even Greg want to hit him, but no matter what, he felt that they were friends. There was something about Sherlock that he liked regardless and Mycroft was no different. Both had their flaws and had difficulty making any kind of attachment to people, and they could rub them the wrong way, but they were so fascinating—

"I'm afraid that I have a situation to attend to," Mycroft interrupted his mental catalogue of good things about the Holmes brothers. "Detective Inspector, would you be free Thursday for dinner?"

He went over his schedule and nodded. "Provided no big case shows up, yeah. I'll text you if that changes."

"Excellent. Have a pleasant lunch." This time the light kiss was on his lips and he couldn't help smiling a little goofily after as he watched Mycroft walk away. If it hadn't been Mycroft, he would have sworn he'd be whistling.

The atmosphere left behind was tense as his team came to grips with the information they'd been given and he took the opportunity to slink to his office and close the door. Wanting a distraction, anything, he found himself punching in a familiar number.

"Tell me you have a case for me, Lestrade."

"No case," he replied to Sherlock. "What happened with John? Everything okay?"

"Fine. Bored. This whole birthday phenomenon is banal. To celebrate the fact that you are now one year older and closer to death seems counterproductive to me." Sherlock paused. "Why are you calling me if you don't have a case?"

"Because I need a distraction." It wasn't that he didn't think John would understand, but that Sherlock would provide him the distraction he wanted, rather than the comfort the doctor would provide. He just didn't want to think about it.

"…You've informed your 'team' about Mycroft."

"Yeah…they've met him now. The fact that he's your brother and I'm currently dating him, who is a man, didn't seem to go over well."

"People are idiots, Lestrade. Why are you surprised?"

"Just…distract me until my lunch is over, would ya?"

There was a heavy sigh and for a minute, he thought Sherlock was going to hang up on him, but he should have given his friend just a little more credit. He'd happily take listening to Sherlock expound how smart he was for figuring out the differences between tobacco ash than thinking right about then.

-0-

Much to his surprise, he only received one transfer request and as he said he would, he signed off on it. By the time Thursday rolled around, he didn't think the atmosphere was that icy and much to his surprise, he'd answered a few curious questions, mostly in relation to what Mycroft actually did. For once his luck held and there were no major cases that interfered with their promised date and he stacked the pile of folders for tomorrow morning.

"Going to see him?"

He looked up to see Donovan leaning in the doorway. "Yeah," he replied, shrugging on his coat.

"...I'll drive you."

"What?"

But she had already turned and left and he hurried to catch up. "Donovan—"

"Get in the car."

He could see by her expression she had something on her mind and he silently slid into the passenger seat of the car. She was tense as he gave her directions to the Italian restaurant Mycroft had chosen. The drive was awkwardly silent and he was ready to give up and talk about the weather to break it, but Donovan beat him to it.

"I really don't get it, you know."

"Get what?"

"What you see in them, either of them. You can tell the moment he talks that his brother is just like him." Her fingers picked at the steering wheel while they waited at a light. "It doesn't bother me that you're dating a man, just that it's one of them."

"Donovan—"

She continued on as if he hadn't tried to say something. "But you know what? I've never seen you so happy before."

Greg blinked. "Do I really look that happy?"

"Yeah. It's like nothing can bother you if he's there. I tried to tell myself it was just infatuation. You did admit that it was entirely sexual at first…but I don't think it is. I think you, honest to god, love him and you don't give a damn what anyone else says."

She parked in front of the restaurant and he spotted Anthea in a car nearby, tapping away at her phone. Mycroft was probably already waiting for him inside. "You're right," he admitted. "I honest to god love that man. It's almost embarrassing at my age that I feel like this. It's your twenties you're supposed to feel this intensity, like you're immortal and nothing can get between you…but that's how I feel about him."

"So long as he makes you happy, I won't say anything. I don't understand it, but I guess I don't have to. Just don't let him break your heart."

"I'll try not," he told her as he got out of the car. That was probably the best he could hope for and he was content with that. He wasn't asking for their unfettered congratulations, though a few did say something to that effect the other day; he just wanted their tolerance. Maybe later on, when a few months had gone by, they could accept it and might even be happy about it, but for right now, he just wanted their patience so they could see how great Mycroft really was.

The statesman looked up from his phone, likely getting a text from Anthea about him sitting there talking with Donovan, but he didn't say a word about it. "If it isn't the terrorist."

Greg chuckled. "If it isn't the British Government."

"I took the liberty of ordering. I hope you don't mind."

"Nah, that's fine." He dropped down into the chair opposite his partner. "Did Sherlock and John come back from Manchester yet?"

"Yesterday, but I wouldn't expect to see them for another day at least."

"The luxury of not having our jobs. Then again, I can't blame Sherlock. If I could, I'd spend all day in bed with you too."

Mycroft flushed a little at that. "Gregory, don't tempt me or you won't be making it in tomorrow."

He smiled. "You know saying that is only going to have the opposite effect," he flirted.

"…You have been warned."

"Duly noted and ignored."

"You play a dangerous game, Gregory," Mycroft told him with a slightly predatory smile.

"At least I know all the rules, right?"

Finally his partner laughed and reached over, grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles. "Once again, you've brought me to my knees."

"I'll let you win…sometime," he teased.

Things were finally looking up, just a little. Happiness had found him again, and while he couldn't say he was looking at the world with rose-colored glasses, he did think that at least it didn't glower quite as much as before. It might not be perfect, and gray might continue to overtake his hair, but Mycroft didn't seem to mind at all, and that was good enough for him.

-End-