Hi guys! Sorry this one took so long, Season 2 sapped a lot of my Mystrade creativity but I'm slowly regaining it. This is the last chapter of this particular series, but I will of course continue to write for this fabulous pairing. Reviews are always adored.
Greg awoke several hours later as Mycroft shifted against him. It took him several moments to orient himself before the events from earlier floated into his conscious. He couldn't help but grin as he buried his face in Mycroft's thinning auburn hair.
"Morning sunshine," he mumbled before planting a kiss on the pale scalp.
"Sorry to have woken you," Mycroft said softly, raising himself up so that they were eye-to-eye. Greg saw the grimace of pain as the man's weight shifted to his elbows. "I just seem to be in need of some pain medicine."
"Oh sure," Greg said, suddenly wide awake. "What do you need? I'll get it."
"No, no. I'm alright," Mycroft said with a wave of his hand, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up uneasily. He wobbled slightly and Greg caught his hand.
"Hey hey, easy now," Greg cooed, getting to his feet and looping an arm around his lover's waist. He saw the frustration behind Mycroft's eyes, the pain of the man who was used to being in control of everything was fighting to stay in control of his own body. He felt a tremor run through the politician's body and he pulled him in closer.
Together they slowly made the trek to the bathroom where Mycroft shakily opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved the bottles he needed. Greg drew a glass of water for him as his shaky hands fumbled with the childproof cap. With a sigh he finally managed to get it open and he quickly downed two of the greenish capsules. He replaced the lid and put the bottle back in the medicine cabinet, shutting the mirrored door. He started as he saw his reflection and tentatively reached a pale hand to touch the glass.
Greg's heart sank as Mycroft examined his illness-ravaged frame. He watched as the grey-blue eyes scanned over the hollow cheeks, the sallow skin and the patchy hair. Mycroft's shoulders sagged.
"Oh," he whispered.
"Hey," Greg said, grasping the frail shoulders and spinning the thin frame towards himself. "What's this then?"
A tear ran down Mycroft's cheek. "I'm dying Gregory."
"Like hell you are," Greg snarled. "Damnit Mycroft, you're the most stubborn man I know. Remember that time you made Kim Jong Il cry? Death's the one that's got a fight on his hands, I'd almost pity the grim reaper himself if he weren't trying to take away the fucking love of my life. You are not going to get away from me that easily. You are going to beat this thing Mycroft, d'you hear me?"
Mycroft closed his eyes and nodded, a few more tears working their way down his cheeks.
Greg pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I love you. And I still find you as devastatingly handsome as the day I met you."
Mycroft leaned forward and pressed his face into the crook of Greg's neck. Greg wrapped his arms around the man, allowing him to curl into his embrace. Mycroft was so used to taking care of everyone else; it was high time for him to let someone else take care of him.
"The growths do appear to be shrinking," the doctor said, examining a chart before him. "But we do worry about the cancer becoming resistant to the chemotherapy at this point, so I believe our best course of action is to begin radiation therapy as soon as possible."
Mycroft nodded quietly.
Greg looked between the doctor and Mycroft. "Well, that's good isn't it? For it to be getting smaller?"
The doctor sighed. "I hesitate to use the word 'good' at this point Mr. Lestrade, there's still quite a cluster of cancerous cells. For now it looks like we've stopped the growth and shrunk them some, but Mr. Holmes is still not where we would hope he would be at this point in his treatments."
Greg nodded as he slid his hand to intertwine his fingers with Mycroft's. Mycroft clutched the detective's calloused fingers gratefully. As the doctor continued to talk Greg ran his thumb in small soothing circles across Mycroft's wrist, not listening anymore. He was completely lost in his own thoughts until the doctor stood up.
"Well I'll leave you two alone for a moment to talk things over."
As soon as the door shut behind him Mycroft let out a heavy sigh.
"So do you want to leave me now? I wouldn't be angry," he said quietly.
"Hang on, what do you mean? He said it was shrinking," Greg said slowly.
Mycroft gave him an exasperated look. "Were you listening at all? He also told me it would be wise to have my affairs in order!"
"My, they have to say that," Greg said reassuringly.
Mycroft sighed again and started to pull his hand away. Greg yanked it back.
"Mycroft, damnit, I don't know how many times I have to say this! I love you and I am going to stay by your side for however long it takes you to beat this because you will beat it!" He was nearly shouting now. "And I'll fucking be right here for you afterwards too, until the day I die." He paused. "Because I'm going to go first, you've got to promise me that," he said hoarsely, tears welling up in his caramel-colored eyes. "Because I can't live without you My. I just…can't."
He broke down, sobs wracking his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head, too upset to care about how he looked. Mycroft's fingers slid from his own and both of his elegant hands came up to cradle Greg's face. Greg opened his eyes to see the other man kneeling before him, tears in his eyes as well.
Mycroft tried to laugh softly but it came out as more of a choked sob. "I promise," he whispered.
Greg couldn't speak, he just nodded his head quickly and bit down hard on his lip.
They stayed like this for what could have been hours or merely minutes before the silence was finally broken.
Greg cleared his throat slightly. "Marry me."
Mycroft blinked. "Beg pardon?"
Greg took both of Mycroft's hands from his face and cradled them in his own, kissing them before he repeated himself. "Marry me."
Mycroft's jaw dropped slightly.
Greg went on. "I want you to know that there's no way in hell I would ever leave you, in sickness and in health and all that jazz and I can't think of any better way than-"
"Yes," Mycroft said quickly.
Greg raised his eyebrows. "Er, good," he said lamely. He chuckled slightly. "Although I think convention says that I should be the one kneeling right now."
Mycroft smiled. "Gregory, have we ever been what one might call 'conventional'?"
"God, I hope not," Greg said, pulling Mycroft into his lap for a tender kiss.
They were married three hours later. It would have been sooner, but Mycroft's doctors had insisted on hooking him up to an IV to prep him for radiation therapy which turned out to be an awful bother.
It was a tiny ceremony in the hospital chapel, just Greg, Mycroft, a minister, and Anthea to serve as witness. Anthea arranged the whole thing really, somehow managed to procure the paperwork and gold bands with a single text message.
As Mycroft said his vows, his left hand holding onto his IV pole and his right firmly entwined with Greg's, he couldn't help but feel blissfully happy. He had of course known he would marry Greg from the first moment they had locked eyes upon each other, but he couldn't have dreamed of a more perfect moment. He had entertained having the ceremony at Westminster Abbey (something a man in his position could easily do), the reception at Holmes Manor, a honeymoon in the South of France, but none of that compared to the knowledge that every word of their vows were true. Gregory Irving Lestrade had been there for him in sickness and in health, despite Mycroft's protests, and would continue to be there for him no matter what. Of that, Mycroft was positive.