When Mycroft awoke, all the lights were off and the fire cast a flickering bronze glow over the room. His arse and body ached, but as he recalled the activities that left him in that state, he smiled wearily and decided that it had all been worth it.
Sherlock and Gregory were lying on either side of him, awake and watching. When he rolled carefully onto his back and gazed from one to the other, Gregory's fingers stroked his damp hair from his forehead and Sherlock sighed with relief.
"Welcome back, Mycroft," he said.
"What? You thought you'd killed me?" Mycroft squeezed his buttocks together experimentally and exclaimed, "Ow!"
"You did pass out, love," Lestrade said.
"You should feel flattered then. I've never fainted during sex before."
For awhile the only sound in the room was generated by the logs crackling in the fireplace. Mycroft stared into the dancing flames, mentally cataloguing the night's adventures and relishing the feel of the two people he loved the most cuddling him. Despite the aches and pains, he felt calm, secure, and safe.
Finally he said, "This place is… unreal."
It was the only description that seemed to fit. Within these stone walls, the impossible had happened: he'd yielded control of his mind and body to others, and he and Sherlock finally… was 'reconciled' the proper term? He seemed to be at a loss for words tonight. Possibly because the right one to describe where they were and what they'd done did not exist.
"Yes, New Roissy is a transformative place," Lestrade agreed. He pulled his left hand out from under the blankets and held it up so that the firelight danced off his society ring. "It means a lot that you came here with me, Myc."
"I will, anytime."
"I know. That's why I got you a present, and put it on you while you were asleep."
"What?" Mycroft was so surprised that Sherlock laughed.
"Look on your right hand," the younger Holmes chuckled.
Mycroft did. There, on his right pinky finger, was a New Roissy ring. "Oh! Oh, God, Greg…."
Lestrade took his upraised hand and pressed it to his lips. "Further proof that I love you, and want you to be mine. Will you wear it?"
Mycroft held it close to his face. At first glance it was identical to his lover's, but a closer inspection showed that the riding crop and bullwhip in the insignia were pointed downward, not up. He understood that the design marked him as someone's sub. Gregory's sub. And there was nothing else he'd rather be.
"You know I will, Greg. I love you. And thank you for this."
Sherlock smiled. "I'm getting one too, because Lestrade's sponsoring me for membership. I've not been bored once since I've been here."
"Won't John be curious when he sees it?"
"Probably. And when he is, time to plan a weekend getaway." He reclined against the pillows, hands tucked behind his head and a contemplative expression on his face.
Mycroft left him to it. He rolled onto his side and snuggled against Lestrade. The fingers on his right hand and Gregory's left interlaced, pressing their rings together and using steel and flesh to promise each other nothing less than forever.