Happy

"Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod-..." John inhaled deeply. "Greg. No. We don't give in to terrorists." he said desperately.

"Not terrorists, John." Lestrade covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. "It's Sherlock."

"That's even worse." John whined.

"Just until he stops panicking?" Lestrade clapped his hands together in a pleading motion. "Please? Just keep him away from Mycroft, he might try to strangle him, or throw him off a cliff. Or something equally dangerous."

"Okay, first of all, since when could I handle Sherlock?" John asked. "Second, congratulations to you and Mycroft finally getting it on. Third, if Sherlock has a concussion, I'm not taking care of him."

The two non-Holmeses were down at Baker Street, Sherlock was currently resting in his room quietly... quite unconscious. He had had a trying day.

... That is to say. He showed up at a crime scene for a case with Lestrade, took one look at the copper, and made an intelligible noise sounding startlingly like his brain short-circuiting, and passed out.

At the crime scene.

It took hours to move his dead weight to Baker Street and nobody had any plans of letting him live it down anytime soon.

"Okay, okay." Lestrade sighed. "Just keep the two Holmeses away from each other until Sherlock stops trying to literally bleach his brain, okay?"

"Okay," John nodded soberly. "But what do we do about the other Holmes?"

Lestrade shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Sherrinford's in Russia tracking down a man with a lovely jeweled egg that he wants to see."

"Meaning..." John said pointedly.

"He's doing recon on a collector's private exhibition of Faberge Eggs." Lestrade deadpanned. "Mycroft convinced him to stop his criminal endeavors in the UK, unfortunately, the same can't be said about the rest of the world."

"He's crazy." John nodded decisively.

"But he's a crazy who doesn't really care about my love life unless he's involved, which isn't going to happen." Lestrade shrugged. "He sent me a text asking me if I finally got that stick out of Mycroft's arse, so I guess that counts for something."

"He's just mad because Mycroft made him give back the painting he stole." John chuckled. "Children."

"Really." Lestrade agreed full-heartedly.

"But isn't it a bit weird?" John asked him. "I mean, of course it's weird, it's Mycroft. But, I would've thought he'd be a bit more of a prude about the whole 'sex' thing."

Lestrade shrugged. "Me too. But Mycroft told me that he was a more 'sex first, small gestures of sentiment later' than the 'building up to it' type."

"Well, Mycroft's allergic to sentiment, so I could see that happening." John chuckled uneasily.

"Thanks, John." Lestrade grinned. "For letting me talk about this without freaking out."

John blinked back. "Hm?"

"And I'm sorry." Lestrade continued with a growing smirk. "For what I'm about to say, but I can't help myself anymore."

"What's that, then?" Famous last words.

"You do realize it's Mycroft Holmes's sex life we're talking about."

John paled, let out a choke/cough/whimper, and made a hasty tactical retreat to preserve his sanity.

Lestrade just watched and laughed.


"Really now, Mycroft!" The Royal Equerry greeted warmly. "One could almost assume you were avoiding Buckingham Palace! We never see you enough these days!"

"Harry." Mycroft smiled back cordially. "You must understand how it is to have a brother with a nose for trouble." He did not say which brother.

"Ah yes, how is Holmes the younger?" Harry continued. "I cannot thank him enough for his involvement in apprehending Ms. Adler."

"As well as he can be while still upholding the law." Mycroft smiled thinly.

Harry just laughed at Mycroft's troubles. "Well, hang in there, old friend. And congratulations!"

Mycroft blinked but didn't betray his surprise. "Really Harry, must you...?"

"Word gets around quickly without you around to intimidate loose lips into silence." Harry told him apologetically. "Nobody can do it quite like you can."

"And I intend to get down to business at once." Mycroft sighed. "It seems I have been remiss in my duties."

Harry just shrugged. "And bring that gentleman of yours around sometime, I've been all too curious about what sort of man he is."

And with a wink, the Royal Equerry excused himself to do his duties.

Mycroft's brain finally caught up to what Harry said and the British Government scowled after the Royal Equerry. "I won't!" he called after his friend.

Harry just let out a ringing laugh and waved over his shoulder.


"Sir-..." Donovan said, walking into Lestrade's office with a hurried knock.

"No." Lestrade cut her off sharply.

"You didn't even hear what I was about to say." Donovan complained.

"I don't want to know." Lestrade stated flatly.

Donovan raised her eyebrows.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Oh, for God's sakes! What harm can it do?" he asked himself. "What?"

Donovan grinned impishly. "Congratulations on fucking him, Sir. I hope you'll be in better spirits now."

"Get out!"

Lestrade could hear Donovan giggling and cackling all the way down the hall as she left.

He shook his head with a wry smile. He had a good sergeant.

Dimmock poked his head in. "Um-..."

"Get out!"

Dimmock squeaked and ran before the thrown paper weight hit the door.


Visiting the morgue had never been more awkward. Lestrade hurriedly thanked Molly for her autopsy report and ran.

So that's what they meant when they said they could tell you've just had a damn good shag.

Lestrade dropped his head onto his steering wheel and whimpered.

Molly was a good girl, but sometimes Lestrade wished she'd care just a little less and shut up.


Anthea was secretly laughing at him when she came to pick him up from Scotland Yard and she was unapologetic about it. Sometimes, Lestrade wished Molly was a little more like her.

"Mister Holmes told me to apologize on his behalf at not coming to pick you up himself." Anthea told him. "I think he's just embarrassed. It's adorable."

Lestrade grunted, flushing. "It's fine."

"Another thing I think is adorable is you surreptitiously trying to get Hooper to stop talking... and failing." Anthea smiled.

"Good to know your opinion." Lestrade groaned.

"She's sweet." Anthea continued.

"Too sweet." Lestrade agreed.

"It's funny." Lestrade glared at his mysterious friend. "No, I'm joking. It's hilarious."

"Anthea? Shut up. Please."

"Just this once."


Mycroft was in his car on his way to Sandy and Jonah's where he was to meet up with Lestrade when his phone rang with a call from the man in question. He connected the call. "Gregory?"

"Hey Mycroft." Lestrade smiled into his ear, the one drop of sun in an altogether monotonous day. "How're you doing?"

He could hear Anthea's amused voice on the other end with his boyfriend. "Ask him-..." Then her words trailed off into a hushed whisper and Lestrade let out a startled, half-laugh.

"What, in French?" he asked her.

Mycroft promptly hung up. He loved Gregory and Anthea, he really did. But sometimes he didn't want to know what those two got into.

He really didn't.


"...I would've, and it would've been hilarious, but Mycroft hung up on me!" Mycroft heard Lestrade finish recounting his story to Jonah and Sandy when he walked into the restaurant.

"I'm sure it would've been funnier if I hadn't been so apprehensive of the whole thing." he chimed in with a smile as he approached the table that was always reserved for them.

"Mycroft, you bastard!" Lestrade grinned. "You hung up on me!"

"Yes, I did. Although, I maintain that it was for my own mental defense."

Sandy flicked a match and lit a candle on the table with an impish grin. She then got up from where she was sitting and Jonah stood from where he was leaning on the table to let the two have a little privacy. As they left, they could still hear Sandy talking. "Couple's booth, Jonah. Couple's booth."

"It's reserved now, Sandy. We'll make one of the other booths the couple's booth." Jonah said placatingly.

"Hm, okay."

Mycroft and Lestrade sat in companionable silence as they read the menu.

Lestrade suddenly cleared his throat. "Hey, Mycroft?"

Mycroft looked up. "Yes, Gregory?"

"Is there anything on this menu that we haven't eaten?"

"You've never eaten the escargot." Mycroft replied quickly.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Anything edible?"

Mycroft laughed and shook his head. "Well, we've been regulars for years now."

"I know!" Lestrade chuckled back brightly. "It's kind of weird."

"We've eaten meals that arn't even listed on the menu." Mycroft hummed thoughtfully.

"Sandy's deep-fried fruits." Lestrade shuddered.

"Crispy pasta." Mycroft winced.

"Damned revolutionaries." Lestrade shook his head gravely. He glanced at Mycroft at the same moment Mycroft did the same and they burst out into laughter.

"Sherlock fainted at a crime scene when he saw me." Lestrade snickered.

"I heard your name being whispered behind my back everywhere I went from the Buckingham Palace to Vauxhall Cross." Mycroft shook his head. "A horror for security."

"Sherrinford heard about it all the way in Russia. How the Hell?"

"Makes you feel so vulnerable and violated, doesn't it? The way people just know." Mycroft groaned.

"And the worst part about it is that we're not even surprised they do." Lestrade groaned back. Then he looked at Mycroft and smirked. "The look on Sherlock's face though... I have no regrets."

Mycroft chuckled back. "Gregory Lestrade, is there nothing that can keep you down for very long?"

"Not even if the Queen herself knew about my love affairs." Lestrade said brightly.

Mycroft just smiled mysteriously and said nothing.

"No... seriously?"

"That woman's got eyes and ears everywhere." Mycroft shrugged. "Did you expect less from the ruler of England?"

"I've... I've never actually thought about that. I always thought you took care of stuff like that for her." Lestrade said.

"Surprise."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air helplessly. "I don't want to know, Mycroft. I really don't."

Mycroft just smiled at his menu. "Gregory, stop overreacting and order your food."

Lestrade just smiled back and grimaced at the lit candle between them. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, Gregory?"

"Happy Valentines."


That night, Lestrade strolled into his flat's sitting room with his phone and called his mum. The phone rang twice before being connected.

"Hello?" Beatrice's voice came from the other end.

"Hey, Mum." Lestrade smiled.

"Oh, no. What happened this time?" Beatrice groaned. "Gregory Lestrade, please don't tell me you got injured again."

Lestrade chuckled. "Nope... just a social call."

"Then I'm glad."

"Uh..." Lestrade cleared his throat nervously. "I'm dating Mycroft, Mum."

There was a beat of silence. "Oh, Mycroft. Lovely young man. I like him."

"So, ...it's okay? That Mycroft's a guy, I mean." Lestrade grimaced at how awkward the conversation was turning out.

"Gregory, that time you had an arguement with Eva and walked out of the house, you went and drunk-slept with a man, you even brought that photographer bloke as your plus one at Eva and Paul's wedding, you can't exactly say this wasn't forthcoming." Beatrice snorted, it was very ladylike.

Lestrade dropped his head in his free hand as he let out a sigh of relief. "Well, um, that's good, then."

"Yes, it's quite good." Beatrice scoffed. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to date again. Bring Mycroft and your other friends around sometime, we'll have tea."

"Yeah, okay." Lestrade smiled.

"What are you smiling about, Gregory? I can hear it in your voice." Beatrice asked curiously.

"You know, when I was living in Dorset with you and everybody else, you told me to come back to London with Sherlock, John, and Mycroft and to stop bumming off everybody else's happinesses, and go find my own." Lestrade trailed off.

"I remember." Beatrice encouraged. Five minutes later, Mrs. Lestrade put down her reciever and burst into tears of happiness for her son's good fortune.

"I don't know, Mum. I think I found it."