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Greg stared at Anderson, who was bagging the blood-drenched sneakers of their latest murder victim. The blood was still so fresh that it smeared the plastic bag, shining crimson in the bright light of the spot they had installed in the corner of the abandoned building. All in all it was a night like many others, he figured, in many ways. He glanced at Sherlock, who was bent over the suitcase they had found, examining god knows what. John stood nearby, tapping his foot because of some unknown reason. Greg didn’t care. He craved a smoke. Badly. Sighing he pulled his coat closer – the night not freezing, but chilly. There was only one more forensics person with them that night. Lily was new, her first week on the night shift. Greg would feel bad for her, but she had chosen her line of work, and she seemed like a person who could suck these things up.Greg heard Sherlock mutter something, then stand up. He leaned towards John, mumbled something. John shook his head.“Found anything?” Greg asked. He didn’t even have to talk loudly, the night was incredibly silent at 4AM in this empty factory, out here in the docklands.“Maybe,” Sherlock said, his eyes flickering to his phone. “I need more information.”“Tell me, then.”“No need. I already texted Mycroft to send the required files, but he hasn’t responded. It’s been half an hour.”“Sherlock, it’s the middle of the night,” Greg sighed. “You can’t expect him to jump for you at any hour of the day.”“I don’t expect that. In fact I have no expectations at all for that good-for-nothing, rubbish excuse of a brother. If he–”“Sherlock,” Greg cut him off with a tone so harsh that even Lily looked up, but Sherlock ignored him and continued talking.“–would move his fat arse once in a while he wouldn’t–”“Sherlock!” Greg shouted and took a few steps in his direction. “Stop that right now.”“Why would I do that? It’s the truth,” Sherlock rebutted.“Because I’ve had it with your malicious attitude towards your brother. I’m done listening to you badmouth him, insulting him at any occasion that presents itself.”“Lestrade,” Sherlock said, but Greg shook his head. “No, you listen to me now, and you don’t say a thing until I’m finished. I’ve never seen a person do more for another than Mycroft does for you. He’s been there, he’s always been there, no matter what idiotic thing you’ve done. He regularly clears your record, he gets you out of jail. He supports your life style, has always helped you to continue the work you love. Mycroft has worked with the Yard time and time again to enable you. You wouldn’t even be here, tonight, right now, as a civilian at a crime scene, if it wasn’t for him. You think I would be able to okay your presence? No, that was him, always him. Yet you insult him, disregard him, time and time again. Still he comes running for you, even when you’re in the hospital, high as a kite, dying like a right idiot. I’ve sat with him. I’ve sat with Mycroft on so many nights while you drifted close to death, and I’ve seen the despair and the love that he has bled in those hallways for you. You break him. You’ve broken him so many times, and he carries himself despite that, holding up both this country and your life, no matter what the consequences are for him.”Greg took a deep breath, ignoring the way everyone was staring.“So if I hear any insult towards Mycroft from your mouth ever again, you are banned from my crime scenes. I won’t have it, not anymore. I’m done.”The silence that ensued was both cold and absolute. Greg wiped away the few tears that he hadn’t even realised he had shed and stared down Sherlock, daring him to say even one word. The consulting detective stared at him in turn, wide-eyed, like a deer in the headlights. Then Greg heard a sound behind him and turned.In the doorway stood Mycroft Holmes himself, a folder on the floor to his feet, which he had evidently just dropped. He stared at Greg, just like Sherlock did, only his face was wet with tears as he stood unmoving, unblinking.“Gregory…” he whispered.Greg had never held Mycroft in his arms before, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world to walk over to the man and draw him in, so that Mycroft’s head came to rest on his shoulder. Mycroft put his arms around him in turn, first tentatively, then gripping Greg’s coat and breaking out into a loud sob. Greg could only stand there, one hand on Mycroft’s head, stroking his hair gently.“I see you,” Greg whispered softly, so low that only Mycroft could hear it.No one dared to even make a sound. Finally Mycroft raised his head and stared into Greg’s eyes like nobody even existed around them. Mycroft’s own gaze was so full of desperate sadness and longing that it wasn’t even a surprise that their lips connected not seconds later. Greg felt Mycroft sigh into the kiss, all tension leaving him in a rush. He buried his fingers in Mycroft’s hair.Then he heard a groan and a muttered curse from behind him, which had unmistakably come from Sherlock. Greg growled into the kiss, separated with an apologetic smile, then turned around, frowning.“That’s it. Get out, now.”“But–” Sherlock started.“Now!” Greg shouted. “And don’t think you can come back to my crime scenes any time soon. I warned you and you didn’t listen. This is on you.”“Sherlock,” John said and reached for his friend’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”It took a few moments, but then Sherlock stormed out, John on his heels. Greg could hear him shout something as he left the building, but he didn’t care.“Can you finish this up on your own?” Greg asked Anderson.“Sure,” Anderson replied. “I have capable help.”Lily just smiled and nodded.Greg turned back towards Mycroft and reached for his hand.“Let me take you home?” he asked softly.“Did you mean it?”“Every word.”Mycroft swallowed. “Yes, please take me home.”