At the Beginning with You (3/3)
At the Beginning with You
By alistair_wolfe
Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.
Warning: character death (but it’s Moriarty, so…)
Epilogue
Sherlock's Story
To Sherlock Holmes, Gregory Lestrade might be the only person he could call a friend before John came into his life. The man was infuriating sometimes, but he had spine, he would not be pushed around for the things that mattered. To Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes was an archenemy. He was annoying, condescending, far too pleased with himself, and far too powerful to his liking. He was also smarter than Sherlock, one thing he grudgingly admitted to himself, but had yet done so to other people. And Mycroft knew it. He was also too invested in his life, nosy, an overprotective brother. That was why when Sherlock found out about Mycroft and Lestrade, he was enraged. He was sure his deduction was not wrong, that his brother had at least a physical relationship with the inspector. Mycroft always took his things. His father was more interested in Mycroft, always compared him to his elder brother. Could he not stay away from his friend? Could he not keep his fat, grabby hands to himself? Apparently not. So he confronted Mycroft. His brother's reaction was not one he expected.
Mycroft never lost his temper, not in front of him. One of the things that his father valued and Sherlock despised. But this, this man in front of him, defending his stand on whatever he had with the inspector. His brother was trying to define it. It was not clear even to him. He wanted Lestrade so bad. Sherlock could not understand that. And Mycroft had said that much. That he could not understand it, how much he wanted Lestrade, so much that he had resorted to unseemly means. So Sherlock stepped back. He could not interfere in something that he did not understand. He watched instead.
He knew the moment it changed, he knew from Lestrade's looks, his sad eyes, the desperation that he could ... deduce from his observation. He also knew the moment it ended. Lestrade would not look at him the whole time they were at the crime scene. He immediately disappeared after hearing his solution to the case. That was also the day he realised that this was more than what he thought. It was not a healthy relationship, that much he knew. Why his brother would want to be in one, he could not understand. And then his brother let Lestrade go. Why? Was he bored of his ... toy?
This hypothesis was rejected when he saw Mycroft. His brother became thinner and thinner. That would be the thinnest he had seen Mycroft in his whole life. He clearly was not taking care of himself. Even his assistant looked worried. It scared him. How could this happen? Lestrade? Why did his brother let Lestrade go if it was killing him? He could not understand. It was not logical.
Then there were the serial killing cabbie, John Watson, and Moriarty. He did wonder why his brother was at the crime scene that night. He got his answer when he saw Lestrade and his brother next. Separately. He believed Lestrade to be a fool to let this go on again. He thought Mycroft was stupid to let someone have that much power over him, to run himself to the ground because of someone. It was stupid.
Several months later, as Sherlock aimed the gun at the semtex-filled jacket, he realised that he might be too hasty. It was still stupid, yes. Look at where he was. Look at what he almost did. Look at what he was going to do. Yes, it was stupid. But it was all worth it. Now he could say to Mycroft that he understood. The next time he saw his brother, he would tell Mycroft. Now, he had a criminal mastermind to kill and a doctor to save.
John's Story
One year ago, he would say that nothing in his life was interesting. After being shipped back from Afghanistan, wounded and broken, he could not think of what to do. Now, he was living with the only consulting detective in the world, risked his life for said detective, killed for him, navigated his way around the experiment-filled flat and to him it was just another day. It's as normal as living with Sherlock Holmes could get.
After The Pool incident, he broke off whatever it was he had with Sarah that was not platonic in any way. There was no point in continuing a relationship where he did not have enough interest to maintain properly. Standing Sarah up in favour of Sherlock should have been an indication enough to tell him which way his priority laid. Nevertheless, Moriarty's words still fresh in his mind and he still had problem admitting that even to himself that Moriarty was probably right.
Sherlock, however, had other things in mind. And as usual, John got sucked into the brilliance that was Sherlock Holmes. Fast forward three months, he was now in a relationship with the detective. The thing was, when you were happy, if you were a decent person, you would want other people to be happy too. Since John was a decent person, and the closest person he had other than Sherlock were Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, well. Mrs Hudson was happy with her activities and her friendship with Mrs Turner. That left Lestrade.
He had met Lestrade more than once at the pub and they decided to have a regular night out, usually to vent about Sherlock or Lestrade's team. He found out that Donovan had broken up with Anderson (Good for her!). This led him to the question in regards to Lestrade's relationship, to which inspector became silent. John wondered whether he was offended by the question and started apologising when the older man looked at him and said, "I'm not sure."
John was sure this was probably what people had in mind when they put 'It's Complicated' in their relationship status.
JJJJJ
John was fairly certain that Sherlock knew more than he let on. He always knew more than he let on, when he was not being smug about it. Leave them be, John was what Sherlock said when John told him. Lestrade did not tell him who it was. Sherlock did not either. So he started observing. After a few stumbles and embarrassing conversations with Lestrade (and Donovan, he still refused to be left alone with her), John was out of options.
Then Moriarty struck again.
JJJJJ
John knew that Mycroft was no ordinary man. He was a Holmes after all. But after the event of that day, he realised he did not want to be the target of Mycroft's wrath.
It all started when he came back from the surgery to Sherlock having a screaming match with Donovan. He was confused as to why Lestrade sent Donovan instead of coming there himself. When he started listening to what they were yelling at each other about, he quickly put a stop to that.
"What do you mean Lestrade's been kidnapped?"
JJJJJ
Sherlock had been watching the video that Moriarty sent him over and over again, trying to find anything that might lead them to his hideout. Everyone was high-strung, even John. They were in their living room, worry emanating from Donovan very clearly. After months of no sign of Moriarty, he struck right to their middle. Sherlock had been careful, he also told John to be careful. Mycroft, he knew, had a lot of bodyguards and would be quite safe. Lestrade ... was unexpected. They had been rounding up Moriarty's men and for that, he might see Lestrade as a way to get to Sherlock. Moriarty was losing so he tried to hit them again.
After hours of searching to no avail, Sherlock was frustrated enough to almost throw the knife on the mantelpiece at the wall. That was when all of their phones chirruped at the same time. John looked at his warily, expecting the worse. The number was unknown. It gave them a room number at St Bart's Hospital and signed off by MH. Sherlock grabbed his coat and ran out the door to call for a cab before Donovan could say anything. John gestured for her to follow them. On the way, she received a call that some of Moriarty's henchmen, including Moran, were dropped off at the Yard. Moriarty was not one of them. John, however, was more worried for Lestrade than Moriarty's whereabouts at the moment. After being kidnapped himself by the criminal mastermind, he could not imagine what Lestrade had gone through there.
When they arrived, they were told that Lestrade was still unconscious, but his condition has stabilised. A concussion, some broken ribs, and a stab wound, but none of those were critical. He had gone through worse on a day out chasing criminals with Sherlock, according to Donovan. After making sure that her boss was alright, she went back to the Yard to maybe get some information on Moriarty. Sherlock only shook his head.
John looked over the chart to make sure that Lestrade was indeed relatively alright before he looked at Sherlock. "Are you not going to chase after Moriarty?"
"There is no need to do that, John. He will be taken care of."
"What are you talking about? By whom?"
Sherlock looked at Lestrade, then back at John. "By the most dangerous man you've ever met."
That rang familiar to John.
It was not until he was nicely tucked in their bed with Sherlock back at Baker Street when it clicked.
Oh.
JJJJJ
Sherlock, of course as always, was right. Moriarty was taken care of. Very thoroughly. John found this out when he opened the packet that was left at their door. He should have learnt not to open things that were addressed to Sherlock or even had Sherlock's name on it, but it also had his name written and it was signed MH. He knew who that was and it was definitely not a bomb, so he opened it. It was not the first time he saw body parts around Baker Street, it was quite common actually when you were living with Sherlock Holmes. However, this one was different because it was sent by Mycroft. And as far as he knew, which was not much, Mycroft did not send body parts to people. Sherlock, seeing his expression, peered into the box.
"Ah. I told you he would be taken care of."
Inside the box was Moriarty's head.
JJJJJ
"Is Lestrade married?"
They were lying together on their bed, Sherlock's attention was on the book in his hand. He raised an eyebrow at John's question. "No, why did you ask?"
"Well, he is wearing a wedding ring ..."
"It is a ring, worn on the ring finger."
"It's worn on the left ring finger. Generally, that's where people wear wedding rings."
"If it is a real wedding ring, yes."
John blinked. "What do you mean? It's not a real wedding ring?"
Sherlock sighed, closing his book, he turned to face the doctor. "Why the sudden interest in Lestrade's relationship, John?"
John looked at Sherlock. The detective was genuinely curious. "Because I want him to be happy too."
Sherlock looked alarmed all of a sudden. "You don't think that Lestrade was happy."
"No, he ... he's not unhappy, but not ... exactly happy. He does seem content, but I don't want him to be alone." If what he thought before was true ...
"Lestrade is not alone, John." Sherlock laid back down on the bed and frowned.
"You don't approve?"
"I am conflicted as to what I am supposed to feel. As long as he is content, it is still better than before."
"Before?"
Sherlock smiled at him, the smile that told John he knew something but he was not telling him. John sighed, resigned.
JJJJJ
If John had any doubt that there was something between Mycroft and Lestrade, it disappeared as he saw Mycroft's car in front of Lestrade's building as he helped the inspector get out of the cab. He was discharged that day and John insisted to see him back to his flat in one piece. Lestrade's expression was another clincher.
As he got out of the cab at Baker Street, John wondered how it even made sense.
When Everything Finally Came Together
Greg studied the man sitting in front of him. From his immaculate three-piece suit to his ever present umbrella. Mycroft always exuded power and certain charisma. Greg was always amazed by this. Since almost a year, of Mycroft doing this ... wooing was the closest word Greg could think to describe it. After the killer-cabbie case, Greg would find random texts or sometimes meals on his desk. Nothing too extravagant, nothing like the expensive gifts that Mycroft used to give him. Greg was weary at first. He wanted to get to know Mycroft before anything happened again, if anything happened again. He wanted an actual relationship and to tell the truth, he had not gotten over Mycroft properly. His head told him to do it, but since that night, Mycroft had been treating him differently.
They had a talk the next day, after Mycroft smoothed things over for John to carry a gun, for Greg to give Sherlock hints that he knew who the shooter was and to be careful next time, after he had a talk with John. This time, much to Greg's surprise, Mycroft let him lay down the rules. So they became sort of friends. Greg would talk to Mycroft about his day, his job, his colleagues, his friends, his team, Sherlock and John. He knew Mycroft could find out about these things easily, but he needed to talk to someone. Mycroft would tell him stories of his and Sherlock's childhood, his day, but most of the time he would listen to Greg, looking at him with what Greg could tell was bemusement, even wonder. He did not know what to make of that. When they did not have the time to talk, they would text. Greg realised that for the past year, he had known more about Mycroft Holmes than he had when they were ... during that Time.
When he was in captivity, he was surprised by his own trust for this man. He knew that Mycroft would find him sooner or later. Not Sherlock, not his team, Mycroft. He knew he was on surveillance, he knew the man would realise he was kidnapped, he also knew Mycroft would make sure that he was freed. Alive or dead. What he did not think was Mycroft would come personally to fetch him. He was half conscious, still bleeding on the floor from his shoulder where Moran had stabbed him. He heard scuffles, blast, then people barged into the room, taking Moran into custody. Mycroft walked in, yelling at someone to get the car. Greg was sure he was dreaming the soft voice that kept whispering to his ear, calling his name, lips brushing his forehead. When he woke up, he was in St Bart's private room, Sherlock and John at his bedside. He heard the report from Donovan. When he asked about Moriarty, John sighed and told him not to worry about it. They would not be bothered by him again. He had a suspicion on what had happened to the man, but he'd rather not voice it.
Now, here he was, in his living room, face to face with the man who years ago had caused his sorrow, who for the past year had shown him in many ways how repentant he was, who had just used his power to bring down the one person that had caused a lot of death to a lot of people with his dangerous game. Greg was conflicted.
Mycroft, on the other hand, was analysing all the information that he had from his observation. Greg and John had become friends in the past year, bonding from the need to deal with Sherlock on regular basis. This time though, for the two of them, he knew that their concern was genuine. Unlike Sherlock's previous friends. John was also the only person Greg could share his irritation with and, although agreeing, they did not really hate him for it. Also, John and Sherlock were in a relationship now. Mycroft had no reason to be jealous, absolutely none. John's concern for Greg was clearly platonic. He needed to up John's surveillance, for both Greg's and Sherlock's sake. The doctor had become very valuable to them. When Mycroft saw Greg that day, he thought his heart would stop. Greg was losing too much blood and he was in pain. The drive to the hospital was a haze to him, he only remembered holding Greg, making sure he was still alive. He did not notice, he did not even think of, the blood on his suit until his assistant pointed it out to him. He gave orders to deliver the captured men to the Yard, but to leave Moriarty for him to deal with.
He had the man shot in front of him. Then he had Moriarty's head delivered to Sherlock to ... add to his collection. Maybe next time he would see Moriarty's skull on Sherlock's mantelpiece.
"How are you?"
Greg smiled. "I am fine. I've got two more weeks off. You probably already know that, but thank you for asking."
Silence.
"Why were you there, Mycroft? You could have asked your team to rescue me without being there yourself. It's dangerous."
Mycroft looked at him incredulously. "Because you were there." He said as if it explained everything. To Greg, it might have.
He got up from his seat. He noticed Mycroft moved to help him but decided against it as Greg waved it off. He sat down beside Mycroft, closer than he had been. Hesitantly, he took Mycroft's hand, placing his head on Mycroft's shoulder. Softly he whispered, "Thank you."
Mycroft raised Greg's hand to his lips. "You know now that I am willing to do anything for you, don't you?"
Greg nodded. He kissed Mycroft's cheek, feeling the man relaxed against him and a hand snaked around his shoulder.
Mycroft kissed Greg's temple. Finally.
THE END