The Five Times Greg Caught Mycroft & the One Time Mycroft Caught Greg

by: Ismira Daugene

+1

Greg leaned against Mycroft, resting his head against his shoulder, and pulled the blanket up farther. It was the night before the Royal Caledonian Ball and the two men were cuddled up on Mycroft's sofa watching Doctor Who. Mycroft had never seen the newer series, insisting that it couldn't possibly be better than the classic. After all, no Doctor could possibly be better than Jon Pertwee. However Greg had convinced him to give it a try. Greg's favorite Doctor was Peter Davison. They had been steadily making their way through the new series and Mycroft had to reluctantly admit that it held potential. Christopher Eccleston's Doctor was quite well done, though Jon Pertwee would always remain superior in his opinion.

Mycroft felt Greg grab hold of his hand then and squeeze it. He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss on top of Greg's head. The politician was still amazed at this relationship they shared. After he'd explained to Gregory his lack of a desire towards coitus, he'd thought for sure that the Detective Inspector would leave him. However he was instead quite surprised to find that Greg not only understood and accepted him, but that he knew a name for people who experienced similar desires (or lack thereof). Since then, Mycroft had researched asexuality and it's subsets including gray-sexuality and demi-sexuality. There were others under the asexual umbrella as well, but he hadn't had a chance to read about them yet. He'd also found out that many asexuals differentiated sexual attraction from romantic attraction. Every prefix that could be applied to sexual attraction could also be applied to romantic attraction. Mycroft wasn't quite sure what his romantic orientation was yet. He was still adjusting to the idea of being asexual.

The politician sighed happily and melted just a little bit more into Greg. They'd been spending more and more time together despite their busy schedules. It was challenging sometimes, but they made it work. They split their time between Greg's flat and Mycroft's townhouse. The first time Greg had taken him home to his flat the DI had been a little nervous, but Mycroft had loved the cozy little two story walk up. It was in a quiet neighborhood and it was obvious Greg had put some effort into making the place a home… someplace to come back and relax on the rare occasions he was off work. That night, and many after it, Greg had cooked for him and Mycroft had gotten to experience firsthand the results of Chef Sébastien Lestrad's teachings. Greg had made white coq au vin with long-grain rice and asparagus for dinner and crème brûlée for dessert. Mycroft had been unable to stop complimenting him the entire evening.

The Doctor Who episode was just ending and it pulled Mycroft back to the present. "What do you think? Another one?" Greg asked tilting his head back to see Mycroft's face.

"But of course, Gregory," Mycroft quirked his lips upward. "It ended on a cliff hanger. We must find out what happens next." He gestured towards the credits rolling.

"Good point," Greg agreed and used the remote control to get to the next episode. After he'd hit play for the next one, he snuggled back into Mycroft and relaxed once more. "Those damn gas masks are gonna give me nightmares," he grumbled.

Mycroft only smiled and wrapped an arm around Greg's shoulders. They finished out the episode, watching as the Doctor, Rose, and Captain Jack Harkness managed to escape the terrifying gas mask people and return them to their normal forms. Mycroft had to admit that the two-part episode was probably his favorite thus far, though the third episode of the series, The Unquiet Dead, had been quite good too.

Once the episode ended, both men stretched. Greg rose first, shivering slightly as the blanket slipped off him. "I should probably get going," he murmured, looking around for where he'd left his jacket.

"Stay," Mycroft said automatically.

Greg halted and glanced over at him. "What?"

"Stay here… with me for the night," Mycroft repeated, feeling his cheeks grow hotter.

"Myc…" Greg started to say something, but then paused. He looked the ginger haired man over and smiled. "Okay."

Mycroft returned the smile and took Greg's hand to lead him towards the bedroom. This was the first time one of them had spent the night at the other's place. Butterflies fluttered around Mycroft's stomach as he showed Greg the bedroom and ensuite bathroom. He loaned Greg a pair of silky pajamas and went to get ready for bed himself. They moved around each other with surprising ease considering they'd never done this before. After both men had completed their nightly routines, they found each other at the left side of the bed. "Oh, do you sleep on this side too?" Greg asked.

"Usually, but I can make an exception tonight," Mycroft nodded.

Greg grinned then and plopped down on the bed. He started to roll towards the middle of the king size mattress, but not before he tugged Mycroft in with him. The ginger made a small sound of surprise as he fell in an ungainly heap on the bed beside the silver haired giggling man. "Or we could just share," Greg smirked as Mycroft righted himself.

"Next time a little warning, perhaps?" Mycroft replied, but a small smile graced his lips belaying his harsher tone.

Greg ignored the tone altogether and pulled Mycroft close before tugging the blankets up. "Is this okay?" he asked.

Mycroft let the butterflies in his stomach settle as he took inventory of himself. Greg was lying on his side pressed against Mycroft who was laying on his back. One of the DI's hands rested on Mycroft's chest and a leg had started to cover his hip. "I… yeah, this is fine," he replied settling into the comfy mattress.

"You sure?" Greg insisted. "I mean, I just remember how my ex-wife didn't like cuddling too much sometimes. She needed space now and then."

Mycroft placed a hand over the one resting on his chest and turned to face Greg. "I'm not your ex-wife, Gregory," he stated. "However I appreciate the concern."

Greg seemed to relax a bit and smiled again. "Okay, just let me know if the touching is too much."

"I promise I'll let you know."

With that, the two men exchanged soft pleasant kisses and turned out the light before falling asleep. Though Greg fell asleep faster than Mycroft and the politician had the distinct pleasure of feeling secure and safe in the DI's arms as soft warm humid breaths puffed against his shoulder. If only someone had told him when he was younger that relationships could be like this. But then he might never have met Gregory, and that was unacceptable. He smiled as he closed his eyes and thought that he wouldn't change a thing in his past if being with this man in the future was the outcome.

oOoOoOo

The next morning, Mycroft woke to find Greg still snuggled up next to him. The DI's warm brown eyes were open though and studying Mycroft with a small smile. With a yawn and a stretch, he woke slowly. "Sleep well?" he mumbled, still not quite awake enough to speak clearly.

"Best I've slept in years," Greg replied before stretching his neck up to kiss Mycroft's cheek.

Mycroft gave him a sleepy smile and returned the kiss to Greg's forehead. "We should probably get up and get something to eat," he murmured. Neither man had to work today. They had both taken the full day off for the Royal Caledonian Ball. It had taken some strings being pulled, but Anthea had made it work.

Greg glanced over at the clock and let out a sigh. "Yeah, I suppose," he replied.

Mycroft glanced at the clock as well. It was going on ten o'clock, and he blinked in surprise. He hadn't slept in this late in years! He felt a relaxed feeling of contentment wash over him at the realization that sleeping next to Greg had inspired this. Apparently he trusted and felt safe with the DI more than he thought? They took turns showering and dressing. Mycroft shyly handed Greg a set of jeans, t-shirt, and underclothing all in the DI's size. The silver haired man quirked an eyebrow and commented, "I feel like I should be concerned about this, but I'm not." He reached up to peck Mycroft on the cheek before going to shower.

Mycroft, who had showered first and was already dressed, went down to the kitchen where Lewiston had already started breakfast. The man was a modern Jack-of-all-Trades, and cooking was without a doubt one of the best talents in his repertoire. Though now that he'd tasted Gregory's amazing talents, Mycroft had shifted his estimations of excellent cooking. "Will Mr. Lestrade be down shortly, sir?" he asked as he cracked eggs into a bowl to whisk.

"Yes, he shouldn't be too long."

"Very good, sir." Lewiston continued to put together two ham, cheese, onion, and pepper omelets. He was just sliding the two meals along with toast onto plates when Greg joined them.

"Mmm! Smells delicious!" he pronounced upon entry to the kitchen.

He joined Mycroft at the breakfast bar and gladly helped himself to the omelet and cup of coffee already waiting. "So what's the plan for today?" he asked in between bites.

"There is little that needs to be done before four thirty," Mycroft replied.

"Is that when we need to start getting ready for this shindig?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the term, but nodded. "Yes. The doors to the ballroom open at six and events start at seven."

"Excellent. I know exactly what we can do then," Greg grinned before finishing his omelet. They finished breakfast and took a cup of tea with them to the couch where they spent the rest of their free time cuddled together watching Christopher Eccleston prevent the Earth from being taken over by various alien races.

They finished the first season of the new series and had just watched the Christmas episode with a freshly regenerated David Tennant when Lewiston came to collect them. "Sirs," he addressed them as the credits began to roll. "It's nearing time to get ready for the Royal Caledonian Ball," he announced.

"Yes, Lewiston, of course," Mycroft said, and both men slowly rose to their feet.

With Lewiston's aide, they dressed and were ready to go by half past five. Greg had kept insisting that he could get ready on his own, but Lewiston simply kept handing him things that he needed in between assisting Mycroft. By the time all was said and done, both men looked dashing in their white tie tuxes. Greg's was a more modern tux that cut sharply back along the waist leaving sharp angles and allowing the viewer able to see more of the white vest underneath. Mycroft's tux in comparison was slightly longer in the front and gradually swooped back to the tails.

Both men gazed at each other in wide-eyed wonder for a minute before snapping out of it. "You look amazing, Myc," Greg complimented.

"As do you, Gregory," Mycroft nodded. "Shall we?" he asked holding out an elbow.

Greg ran his arm through Mycroft's and the two dapper gentlemen made their way out to the garage behind the townhouse. Greg was about to head for the usual black sedan when Mycroft tugged him toward another black car. This one was a Rolls Royce Phantom. Greg stared for a moment before readily climbing in the backseat via the door Lewiston had opened for him. Mycroft smirked and climbed in the other side. The trip to the Grosvenor House Hotel didn't take long, and when they arrived there was already a crowd of people waiting to get in.

Mycroft and Greg joined the queue and were surprised by how quickly it moved. They flashed their invitation and soon enough were allowed admittance to the ballroom. There were already at least a hundred people there. A good majority of them wore Highland evening dress in a variety of colors and several of the women also sported tartan sashes. However there was perhaps a third of the attendees who were not sporting tartan at all. Mycroft and Greg fell into this category. Greg had brought it up earlier when he was still being fitted for this tux, and Mycroft had said that because he didn't come from Scottish ancestry, he'd never felt comfortable donning the traditional kilt. Greg had nodded and agreed.

The two made their way around the ballroom and Mycroft introduced Greg to a good number of politicians and their wives. Several of the older crowd gave them a squinty look upon seeing their elbows linked, but no one said anything. In fact there were two women, one in a black dress and one in white, sporting matching green tartan sashes and wearing tiaras who smiled widely at them and linked their own elbows before making their way across the room. At one point, the two were in a group of six other politicians talking shop, so to speak, until the Minister of Defense made a reference to a recent rugby match. From there Gregory gladly picked up the thread of the conversation and soon the two men along with a couple of others were comparing stats and arguing about players and referee calls. Mycroft smiled as he watched the most important man in his life easily converse with important British politicians.

They got some food about an hour and a half into the event, and joined a table with the same two women they'd seen earlier. The one in the black dress introduced herself as MSP Moira Glenn-Coutts and the woman in white was her spouse Kathleen Glenn-Coutts. "I admit that it's refreshing to meet another same-sex couple here," Kathleen, who preferred to be called Kathy, said. "While it's becoming more and more acceptable in society, it's still rather new to the political sphere."

"Yes," Mycroft agreed. "Though I find that if one ignores convention it makes for a happier life all around."

The two women chuckled at that. "It's even better when you ignore convention and continue to succeed in your chosen field," Moira grinned.

Greg laughed at that and nodded. "Most of the lads down at the Yard know about my relationship with Myc here, and aren't bothered one bit. The Chief Inspector on the other hand has been giving me dirty looks for the past few weeks since he found out though."

"Gregory, why didn't you tell me this?" Mycroft asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

Greg simply continued to smile though. "Because the Superintendent, the guy above him, recently congratulated me on our relationship and said that his son, who is gay, wants to join the force and he wondered if I'd be willing to speak to him about it."

At this all four chuckled and Kathy raised her glass of champagne. "To defying convention!"

The other three joined her in the toast and clinked their glasses together before draining them. They spent another fifteen minutes chatting with the couple until they split up and continued their journey around the ballroom. A slower song began playing as they reached the dancefloor and Greg offered a hand to Mycroft. "May I have this dance?" he asked, a roguish grin spreading across his face.

Mycroft only hesitated for a moment, a blush suffusing his cheeks, before accepting and following the silver haired DI to the dance floor. It seemed Gregory actually knew how to dance. Mycroft was surprised to learn this as he was swept into slow dance, holding hands and standing close to Greg. Several pairs of eyes watched the two men on the dancefloor, but Mycroft simply shut his eyes, breathed in the woodsy smell of Greg's cologne, and focused solely on the man in front of him. They danced the entire song and the next. The next was more of a slow waltz, but Greg led them through it steadily.

When the second dance ended, another more modern dance took its place and the two stepped off the dancefloor and made their way upstairs to the balcony. There was an area to go outside for a bit of fresh air and the two men took advantage of it. The ballroom was getting a bit warm with all of the people dancing in it. A member of the wait staff passed them at that moment and both men grabbed a water goblet from the tray. They moved over to the railing on the balcony and leaned against it as they rehydrated. "Thank you for coming with me, Gregory," Mycroft said quietly.

"Thank you for inviting me, Myc," the DI bumped shoulders with the politician. "I've had a lot more fun than I thought I would."

Mycroft smiled and raised an eyebrow as he turned to face Greg. "You thought this would be a boring affair with hundreds of people talking politics?"

Greg chuckled a bit. "Not too far off, to be honest."

Mycroft chuckled as well. "While there are some matters discussed at these events, mostly it's a chance to enjoy oneself and feel good that the ticket proceeds are going to charity."

It was getting towards the end of the night as they stood close to each other on the balcony. A good third of the crowd had left or was leaving. However the ball would still be open for another hour yet. Mycroft watched as the Minister of Defense and his wife and daughter exited the hotel and entered the back of a vehicle waiting for them. The black limo drove off into the night as Greg slid a hand over to cover his. "I really do want to thank you for bringing me to this, Mycroft," he said. "I realize what it could mean for you at work."

Mycroft leaned forward and gave Greg a soft kiss that the Detective returned, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Mycroft's head. When they pulled apart, they were standing very close to one another. Greg's hand had slid down to rest on Mycroft's shoulder, and Mycroft's hands were resting on Greg's waist. "My standings within the British Government are secure enough that I need not worry about appearing at a social gathering with another man. Though I do believe we've started a trend. Did you notice a few of the younger members of parliament looking at us?" Greg shook his head, his hand sliding down to Mycroft's forearm, but they remained close. "Yes, there were at least two who brought girlfriends and upon seeing us, seemed disappointed they hadn't brought someone else."

"Well that's encouraging. Maybe a new era is in store for the British Government? One of more tolerance?"

Mycroft snorted and rolled his eyes as he took a step back and grabbed up the water goblet he'd set down on the railing. "Don't get your hopes up too soon."

Greg smiled back at him, but a second later his brow crinkled with worry and his eyes widened when he saw a red laser dot on Mycroft's chest. "MYC!" he shouted as he pushed Mycroft backwards.

A single shot from a sniper's rifle rang out as they both fell to the ground behind the balcony railing. Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg and caught him before they hit the ground, cushioning the DI's fall at his own expense. "Gregory?" Mycroft's voice was an octave higher than normal. "Gregory, answer me!" he demanded as screams sounded around them and several members of security dashed forward.

Greg groaned and clutched at Mycroft's wrist, but didn't move any further. Mycroft spotted the bullet hole that had torn through Greg's jacket about halfway down his torso and to the right side of his spine. Blood seeped up through the cloth, quickly soaking through it. "SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULENCE!" Mycroft shouted. He didn't notice that one of the security task members was already on his phone. "Gregory, please stay with me!" he pressed against the wound, trying to put pressure on it while at the same time making sure Greg was still breathing.

It felt like hours had passed until emergency response crews arrived on the scene and took over applying pressure to the DI's wound. They tried to push Mycroft back, but the man refused to let go of Gregory's hand, his palms slick with Greg's blood. Instead, the EMTs simply worked around him to stabilize Greg for transport then took Mycroft with them when they left. In the ambulance, Greg woke up for just a moment, and Mycroft felt his heart leap as the DI called out for him. "I'm right here, Gregory," he answered. "Stay with me, please. Don't leave," he pleaded as the man blacked out again.

When they finally arrived at a private hospital that Mycroft had directed them to, they quickly moved Greg into emergency surgery where Mycroft could not follow. Despite his position with the staff at this private hospital, they refused to let him in the operating theater. However they did allow him to be in the observation room above the operation. One of the nurses gently coaxed him in to washing his hands of Greg's blood, but there was little to be done about his blood soaked suit. From the observation room, Mycroft watched the skilled surgeons intently while making several phone calls. Anthea was the first phone call, and she arrived at the hospital faster than should have been possible. He hadn't asked her to bring anything, or to come at all, only to start finding out what had happened and who had done this. However she arrived in the observation room shortly after they'd rang off. In one hand she held a fresh outfit and in the other a file with photos from CCTV cameras in the area of the shooting as well as recent police reports.

He thanked her, but he refused to move from his spot in front of the large viewing window in order to wash up and change out of the blood soaked clothing. He clutched at the file folder desperately as he watched the operation below. The bullet had torn through the skin and muscle, nicked Greg's liver, and lodged itself in the sixth rib. The surgeon was having troubles getting it out without damaging the bone too much, but eventually they pulled out a chunk of metal and deposited it into a glass container where it was sealed as evidence. Only after they had sewn Greg back up and put him in a recovery ward did Mycroft agree to go clean up and change. He showered and changed into the clothes Anthea had brought for him, making sure to bag up his bloody clothes for evidence later. When he emerged, Anthea was there waiting to take the old clothes for evidence. His brother was also there, much to his surprise. Sherlock was speaking quickly with Anthea when he come out of the bathroom. She was telling him about the CCTV footage and what evidence they had gathered so far. His brother nodded and asked questions occasionally. "Sherlock," he announced himself. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to figure out who shot Lestrade, of course," Sherlock scoffed. "The Yard is already on it, but those bumbling buffoons can rarely figure out which way is up let alone who shot someone." He rolled his eyes and continued studying the police report.

Mycroft smiled and stepped closer. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you cared for the Detective Inspector."

"And I'd say you care too much, Mycroft," Sherlock retorted. "What happened to caring is not an advantage?"

"Though it happens infrequently, I was wrong it seems," Mycroft responded.

Sherlock frowned at him, but didn't comment. "Obvious that this was a professional marksman and you were the intended target," Sherlock set the police report down and seemed to be staring off into space. However Mycroft knew his younger brother was inside his mind palace sorting through all the information it had just gained. "I'll need a closer look at the bullet they pulled from Lestrade, but based on the photo I saw, I'm nearly positive it's one that Russian snipers prefer." He paused for a moment and glanced over at his brother. "What have you done to the Russians, brother?" he asked in an accusatory tone.

"Nothing," Mycroft scoffed. "It's not my fault they took offence to my negotiations with the Iranians." His tone was calm and unbothered, but inside his stomach was in his throat and his heart was beating slightly too fast. He needed to see Gregory again, to make sure he was alright.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "Go, see Lestrade," he murmured. "You're useless in this state." Once again, Mycroft was annoyed at how little he could hide from his brother. However he didn't argue as Sherlock swept off, his long Belstaff coat flaring out behind him.

Mycroft watched him stalk out, confident that he would find the persons responsible for this. Sighing as tiredness swept over him (it was nearing on three in the morning by now), Mycroft made his way to Greg's room. They had just put him in his own private room, but he was still under close observation. Mycroft wearily sat down in the cushioned chair near the bed and scooched it closer so that he could hold Greg's hand. He shut his eyes and listened to the slow breathing of the man next to him, taking comfort in the fact that he was still breathing at all.

oOoOoOo

"Myc?" a groggy, hoarse voice called out to him.

Mycroft grumbled, but when he felt the hand holding his squeeze slightly, he jerked awake. "Greg," he murmured.

The silver haired man grinned at him and squeezed his hand again. "Hey," he said weakly.

"I should call the doctor in," Mycroft said reaching to press the call button.

Greg closed his eyes for a moment, but opened them again when the door to his room glided open. "Mr. Lestrade, good to see you awake," a woman with warm brown skin and black hair pulled back into a braid said. "I'm Doctor Martha Jones. I'm the one who operated on you last night… or rather this morning. How are you feeling?"

"Sore as hell," Greg grumbled trying to sit up.

"Hang on, I'll raise the bed a bit, but it's better if you remain lying down," she said as she moved forward and pressed a button to raise the head of the bed a foot or so. "The pain is to be expected. So long as it remains more of an ache rather than a sharp pain, we're good. Do you remember what happened?"

"I… We," he looked over at Mycroft. "We were at the Royal Caledonian Ball. We went out onto the balcony, and… someone tried to shoot you, Myc," he frowned. "Do you know who it is? Have they caught him?"

Mycroft shook his head as he noticed Greg's heart monitor pick up a bit. "No, Sherlock's on the case though, so it shouldn't be too much longer."

Greg seemed to relax back a bit and nodded. "Mr. Lestrade, it sounds like you're already recovering well. I'll have a nurse stop by later to take your vitals. Just hit that call button again if you need anything," Doctor Jones gave them a small smile before slipping out.

As soon as the door had closed, Mycroft leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Greg's hand that he was still clutching at. He could feel his own heart thumping in his chest, and he was glad that Greg was the only one hooked up to the EKG monitor. "What's all this then?" Greg asked with a small smile on his face, his voice still hoarse from disuse.

"I thought I'd lost you," Mycroft replied quietly as he pulled back.

However Greg tugged him back forward. His strength wasn't up to par at all though, so Mycroft only halted his retreat. "Come over here," Greg motioned with his head.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

Mycroft frowned, but did as requested and hesitantly climbed onto the bed with Greg. The DI could barely move without some kind of pain, but he managed to scooch just enough to make room for Mycroft to lay beside him. "You didn't lose me, Myc. You will never lose me if I have anything to say about it." Greg squeezed the hand he was still holding.

Mycroft's eyes flicked downward as he spoke next. "You're the most important person to ever wander into my life, Gregory. However I realize that we both hold high risk jobs, so perhaps…. perhaps it is best if we sever this connection before either of us gets hurt more than we already have."

"Myc," Greg's eyes widened and the EKG monitor spiked. "Mycroft Holmes," he said sternly. "I refuse to give you up over what might happen in the future. And if you try to tell me you don't feel the same about me as I do for you, I will call out your lies every time."

Mycroft's blue gray eyes wandered back up to see Greg's warm brown ones drilling into him. "I just don't want to hurt you," he repeated.

"It's inevitable, Myc," Greg replied in a calmer voice. "At some point or another, every couple hurts each other. It's what you do afterwards that makes a difference."

Mycroft stared at Greg for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a firm kiss to his lips. "I love you, Gregory Lestrade," he said quietly.

Greg smiled and pressed a kiss to Mycroft's nose (it was the farthest he could reach without cringing in pain). "So we're agreed then? No more talk of leaving each other? Because we're stronger together. I don't know about you, but this is the best I've felt with another person ever."

"I've already told you my relationship history," Mycroft mumbled. "But yes, I agree that we're stronger united." Mycroft's eyes flickered down then back up again as a small smile crept onto his face. "Besides, I caught you this time, but I have a couple more to do before I catch up to you."

Greg barked out a laugh, but cringed as the movement pained him. "Oh I don't know that that even counted!" he retorted. "I mean, I took a bullet for you! That's worth like ten catches! You've got a long ways to go, Holmes!"

Mycroft grinned and leaned forward to press a kiss to the DI's forehead. "Then I'd best stay close to you."

"You better," Greg returned the grin.

oOoOoOo

Four days later found Greg sitting on Mycroft's sofa. He was clad in pajamas still as it was the most comfortable clothing to wear that wouldn't put pressure on his wounds. He'd been put on sick leave for at least two weeks. However he was growing bored already and was emailing Sally, begging her to send him something to do… anything to keep his mind preoccupied!

"Gregory Sébastien Lestrade!" Greg cringed at the use of his middle name and looked up to see Mycroft standing in the doorway to the living room. "What did I say about relaxing?" he asked as he entered, Lewiston following him with a tea tray.

"I am relaxing!" Greg protested.

"No you're not," Mycroft replied as he sat down beside the DI. "You're emailing your co-workers."

"How did you –? No… never mind," Greg shook his head. "I'm bored, Myc. It's been four days without any news on who tried to shoot you. I want to help!" A rosy blush spread across Mycroft's cheeks at this, and Greg eyed him suspiciously. "Myc? What is it?"

"I have news on that front," he said, not looking at Greg and accepting a cup of tea from Lewiston. "Sherlock has succeeded in finding the parties responsible."

"You… you've been getting reports this whole time and didn't tell me?" Greg also accepted a cup from Lewiston, but didn't drink from it as he stared at Mycroft.

"I didn't want to stress you any more than was necessary."

Greg's eyebrows furrowed and he frowned. "We're going to have to have a chat about communication." Mycroft didn't reply and took a sip of tea. Greg sighed and gave up being angry. "Alright, out with it then," he said.

"Sherlock's initial assessment was correct. It was a team of Russian assassins. The Russian government of course is claiming to have had no idea."

Greg snorted into his cup of tea. "Of course. So have they been caught then?"

"They've been dealt with," Mycroft replied with deliberate vagueness.

"Define dealt with."

"They shall not bother us anymore, nor will they attempt anymore assassinations."

"Myc, did you…?"

Mycroft glanced over at Greg who was sending him a worried look. "They have been locked up in a state of the art prison and will be kept in isolation for a very long time, Gregory."

"Oh… okay then."

"But do not doubt that if they had succeeded in ending your life, I would have gladly ended theirs."

Greg turned a little pale at that, but had to admit that he'd probably do the same if the situation were reversed. He blew on his tea as he thought about this and finally decided that it didn't matter. "So," he switched topics of conversation. "When's our next date? You have a lot of catching to do, remember?"

Mycroft grinned. "I thought we could hold off on any dates that might involve one of us catching the other for a little bit. Instead we'll be having Italian tonight and continue watching David Tennant as the Doctor."

"Sounds like my kind of date," Greg grinned as he shut his laptop and took a sip of his tea.

Author's Notes: Well... this is it! The story is done. I had a great time writing this! I hope you enjoyed it as well. Thank you for reading!