A/N: This story was originally written before season 3 was released. Yeah, took me long to finish it, find a beta and then make the final edit. Which I then proceeded to lose and had to do again. Despite everything I kinda still like it.

This started with me thinking if I could write a believable soulmatesAU that would fit in the Sherlock universe. So, it's for you to decide if I succeded;)

Beta: Shadowdancer (on AO3)

Set after season 2, so AU from there.

Soulmates. In their broken age. What a ridiculous thing. Right when the importance of marriage was lower than ever, right when staying with one person for a whole lifetime seemed like such an overrated bother…

And why did they come up with this only now? Those useless scientists. They claimed that this phenomenon had existed since the creation of time, the pretentious bastards, but only twenty years ago it became a subject for study. Years later, a breakthrough in modern science, a discovery that changed peoples' lives forever - soulmates actually existed. It was scientifically proven. And so, the madness had started.

People were searching for their destined ones, travelling around the world in desperate attempts to meet that one person. Others, less adventurous and more cowardly, just stayed at home and hoped that fate would surely bring their soulmate to them. It just had to happen. That was the whole purpose of soulmates, wasn't it? To bring loved ones together so that they would live happily ever after.

But life wasn't a fairy tale. More hearts were broken, not by unrequited love, but by simple absence of any love. People stopped taking chances, waiting and waiting and waiting…Married couples divorced upon understanding that they were not each other's destined ones.

After two more years everything calmed down to some extent. Men and women realized that they were not getting their second half handed to them on a silver platter and started dating casually again. But in any case, there was always this…this expectation, this feeling, this hope…that you would meet the right person.

But the modern world was not a fairy tale. That was one thing Mycroft Holmes never let himself forget.

A person of your own to spend your life with – what a ridiculous notion.

Mycroft didn't need a soulmate. The idea of looking for one disgusted him. He didn't need anyone but his family.

Soulmates – how stupid, he always thought.

The clock ticked. Always. Unceasingly. It just ticked. That's why it was a clock. That's why Mycroft got it. Still it didn't make the ticking any less irritating.

The clock ticked and with every tick there was an accompanying tap of fingertips on a polished tabletop.

Mycroft did his best to ignore it, for hours he had poured over one report after another while the ticking and tapping grated on his nerves. He wasn't about to give in though.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The damned clock would be lying in the garbage the next day. Pity nothing as easy could be done to get rid of the annoying visitor. Mycroft glanced at him – slender and pale as always but with an upsetting tightness to his jaw and a nervousness in his eyes. He looked composed but Mycroft knew his little brother too well to be fooled by a calm exterior.

Sherlock had been on edge ever since his fake funeral. For months now he just moved through daily routine of getting up, taking a shower, eating, reading, eating again – never complaining – and when the sun set, getting back to sleep. Sometimes he just sat in a chair in Mycroft's apartment or office and stared into empty space. What was on his mind was a mystery Mycroft couldn't solve.

Mycroft tried offering him cases from time to time but his brother rejected every one of them, saying he didn't have time for them. Mycroft vaguely wondered what Sherlock actually did have time for, but he never voiced the question that he was certain would come out as snide. There was no point in aggravating Sherlock even more. Also, the older Holmes was sure his brother would come out of it soon enough.

But time passed. The clock ticked. And nothing changed.

Sometimes, in the non-quiet of his office, as Mycroft observed his little brother, a stray thought made its way into his mind. What if John Watson was Sherlock's soulmate? But after a moment, a little moment of weakness, Mycroft shook his head, more to dispel the sudden thought than to express disagreement with himself. It was ridiculous. Sherlock was a Holmes, he did not need such nonsense.

And then, the thought came unbidden: but what if…?

There was no use in guessing. Because even if it was true – even if – they would probably never find out. Too many factors that would work against it; the biggest being Sherlock's stinted personality, the smallest – his supposed death.

But Mycroft was getting side-tracked again. He looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand: information gathered by one of his agents in Russia. His eyes scanned the page for the tenth time, not taking any information in yet again; stray thoughts keeping his mind occupied.

Mycroft Holmes had met his own soulmate when he was sixteen. By that time however, it didn't mean a thing.

"Do you have to be so damn uptight about bloody everything?" Greg Lestrade shouted in aggravation.

Mycroft paid no mind to the other's outburst and simply continued carefully tiding up his desk, meticulously putting every smallest thing in its place – after every visit from Greg, who might or might not have been his closest friend, Mycroft's whole room turned into a messy disaster zone. Greg always took things just for the sake of holding them in his hands, to have something to play with while he told yet another story; he always ran his fingers over every surface. Mycroft found it terribly annoying.

"Mycroft." Greg called out. His voice was stern and irritated, bordering on a shout. He was angry but couldn't express it because he still needed his friend's help. He glared at Mycroft, who wouldn't even look back, and said cautiously. "Please."

"Helping you means going against school rules." Mycroft retorted. For him it was an end to the discussion but Greg wasn't ready to give up so easily.

"Well, can't you go against the rules just once?"

The look Mycroft gave him was a clear answer, but to be sure, a flat out "No" followed it.

"For me?" Greg pleaded pitifully stepping to the other teen and stopping Mycroft's hand where it was assembling pencils into a neat line. He held onto it, caressing the bony fingers as he tentatively turned Mycroft around so that they stood face to face.

Mycroft's expression did not soften and his glare did not lose its force; if anything he looked even angrier now. "I am not breaking the rules. Not for you, not for anyone." Later in life Mycroft Holmes learned how to bend the rules to his will, but he never broke them. Rules were created for a reason and most people around him failed to understand that.

Greg scowled and tightened his hold on Mycroft's hand. "You are impossible." He snarled.

Mycroft just regarded him coolly.

Greg frowned at the lack of any response. He was very angry, that was obvious, but, Mycroft thought, there was something else in his friend's gaze, something fierce, hiding in the midst of anger but only disguised as such. Something Mycroft didn't want to analyze, something he didn't want to know about, though couldn't help but…

Greg surged forward and kissed Mycroft. Kissed him square on the mouth, with all the awkwardness and determination of a sixteen year old boy who'd finally decided to act upon his crush.

Mycroft didn't move; he just stood there, stunned, and felt his world falling down around him. As his body started relaxing into the kiss his mind screamed that he didn't want it. He did not want it! Even though he had never felt it before, Mycroft still realized what was happening and he roughly pushed the other boy away . It was more than just a kiss.

Greg, as he stumbled a few steps back, looked at him in awe; the expression on his face, all flushed and lips glistening, was of pure wonder, the boy still caught in that beautiful sensation. "That was…" He mumbled and trailed away, unable to find the words to describe what he had just felt.

"Nothing." Mycroft finished for him sharply. He was glaring at his friend, angrier than ever. Why did that fool had to go and spoil everything? Mycroft Holmes, even at sixteen was a person who had full control over his life; he always had a plan, every minute he knew or could predict what was going to happen next. He did not need this madness.

Greg was shaking his head in disbelief as he took an unconscious step towards his friend. "That was beautiful." He muttered, still under the spell that fell upon the two of them the moment their lips touched. Mycroft made a move to shy away from him but felt the sharp edge of the table at his back. There was no going backwards so he pushed at Gregory's chest with both hands to put more distance between them. The gesture was gentle at first but as the other refused to budge it became more insistent with more force behind every shove.

"Mycroft," Gregory's voice was tender and his words lingered in the air as he had no idea how to describe what he was feeling.

"Gregory," Mycroft's tone was a complete opposite – harsh and cold. "Please, move away."

"You felt it too." Greg insisted. He was incredulous and couldn't quite comprehend why his friend wasn't as excited about this as he was.

There was no use denying it – Mycroft's lies would not be believed at this point, but the harsh truth might be able to drive the young man away. "It does not matter." He said, every separate word cold and sharp, getting his point across. "This is nothing."

"This isn't nothing!" Greg exploded. "It's a big deal!" His hands floundered about and his eyes were so wide in his inability to believe that Mycroft would even dare to suggest such a thing. "It's huge! It's important!" And then, more softly, he added. "It's going to change our lives."

"No way!" Mycroft snapped. A sort of a change that Gregory was talking about would be unacceptable. Mycroft was resolute to never let that happen. "I don't need…this thing." He practically spat the word, not wanting to give this bond a proper name. He wasn't going to be tied up like that. He wasn't going to let this ruin him. The man Mycroft Holmes aspired to be could not be distracted by foolish feelings and stupid prejudices.

"But…but…" Greg sputtered, lost for words.

"Forget this ever happened." Mycroft used his moment of confusion. "And never, never, do this again." He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand – a late and futile gesture – the taste lingered and his lips still tingled from the kiss. It took effort to ignore the feeling.

"Mycroft," The other called desperately, reaching out and being pushed away again.

Mycroft shook his head dejectedly. "Just go." He hated himself for the pain in his voice. The moment of weakness cost too much – a glimmer of hope appeared in Greg's hazel eyes. "Go." Mycroft said with feeling, stumping on it and his own uncertainty. "Leave and don't come here anymore. Don't…Don't come up to me at school. Don't talk to me. Starting from this moment on, don't even come close to me. Ever."

"You're just cutting me off?"

Mycroft didn't reply. He didn't have the energy to. His silence was answer enough.

"I don't understand." Greg said, his voice hoarse.

"I don't care. Just leave." Mycroft wasn't going to plead or beg or ask any more. He needed this man out of the Holmes house this instant.

Greg was staring at him, uncomprehending and lost, but he saw the anger in Mycroft's eyes, had no idea who it was truly directed at, but complied to the other's wishes. He turned on his heel and left.

As soon as the door slammed closed behind Gregory Lestrade, Mycroft sat down on the bed heavily and wondered if he had made the right choice. He ran his hands through his hair, messing the carefully tamed locks, and breathed in deeply. Having a soulmate was stupid. It was an unneeded distraction. It only messed up people, ruined their lives.

Confident in his life choices once again, Mycroft got up and continued cleaning up the room – this time making sure there was no trace of Greg left.

It was a lovely little house in a prestigious neighborhood. Mycroft chose it himself but his mother did all the decorating. The Holmes family had always had the money but after the divorce the ex-Mrs. Holmes decided she needed her own place. Mr. Holmes was gracious enough to pay the expenses but after that he cut her off completely. The sons still got their father's attention, no more than usual though, and he still paid for their education – a fact that Mycroft was relieved about.

Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock had been particularly close to their father but the divorce, so unexpected, struck them pretty bad.

"Mycroft, dear, don't just stand in the doorway. Come in."

Mycroft snapped back from his thoughts and let Mummy lead him into the house. She smiled as she led him to the living room and started preparing tea. Mindless chatter was just the thing to sooth Mycroft's wandering mind. He had been too careless lately – every smallest thing sent his thoughts on an unwanted journey along memory lane.

The living room was cozy with light cream coloured walls and large windows. There were paintings on the walls but one space was reserved for family pictures only, most of them showed the process of two young boys turning into grown men, and there was only one picture of the whole family, taken a year before the divorce. At that time Mycroft still believed that his Mummy and Daddy were destined for each other and would be together forever. They were soulmates – he always thought proudly.

It was only a year later, Mycroft was twelve at that time, Sherlock merely five, that the boys were staring at their parents in confusion, unable to comprehend what they were said. How could Mummy and Daddy be getting a divorce if their love was supposed to last for all eternity? That was the moment when the lie was discovered. A small white lie to stop a small child from fussing. Little Mycroft had been so excited about the idea of finding his own soulmate when he had started school that of course he had to ask that one question: "Mummy, are you and Daddy soulmates?" His parents looked at each other over the tabletop, a silent conversation passing in one meaningful look, and Mrs. Holmes leant down to hug her oldest son and whisper soothingly: "Of course, dear."

Mycroft was remembering that calming whisper on the day his father moved out to have a life of his own. "He has fallen in love with someone else." Mummy said and, as Mycroft looked into her guilty eyes, he realized that the one thing that had always made him happy and proud had been a lie. 'Soulmates' had seemed like such a wonderful concept before that moment. After, when the divorce papers had been signed and he was helping Mummy find a smaller house just for herself, Mycroft could only think that this stupid romantic notion had ruined his family. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes would have lived as a happy couple for many years had they not realized that they were not soulmates and Mycroft's father did not become silently – secretly – obsessed with finding his one and only, who as he now understood wasn't his wife as he previously believed. Mycroft didn't know if he had found her, that man who, in his mind, was always referred to as Mr. Holmes since the moment he stopped being Daddy. The older Holmes brother, just like the younger, cared little for that man.

Former Mrs. Holmes, beloved Mummy, had never found her "other half" as she sarcastically called it. She didn't want it, she didn't need it. She only loved one man and, no matter what destiny said and what the stars held in store for her, she only wanted to be with that man. The man she married, the man she was planning to spend her life with. Those plans crashed and burned but she didn't crash with them. She continued her slow and quiet existence, her two beloved sons visiting her every other week. She was content. Mycroft dared not ask if she was happy.

"Dear?" Mummy's voice brought Mycroft back from yet another unpleasant memory.

He turned back, his eyes settling on a petite elderly woman, and smiled. "I'm sorry, I spaced out for a moment. What were you asking?"

"I wanted to know how Sherlock was doing these days."

An annoying brother but a perfect distraction, Mycroft laughed internally at the irony and proceeded to recount to Mummy Sherlock's latest activities. Unfortunately, there weren't many since the consulting detective was still in hiding.

Mycroft had half a mind to pay John a visit but somehow had a feeling it wouldn't go well. That only left one person able to describe to him the mental state of Doctor Watson; his therapist wasn't considered to be a reliable source.

He bid Mummy goodbye and left with her with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to visit again soon. Mycroft's next destination was New Scotland Yard. However reluctant he was to go, this social call could not wait any longer.

Mycroft could never predict Gregory's reaction to seeing him. Sometimes the other man was angry as hell when he merely caught sight of the older Holmes, sometimes he was happy to meet Mycroft after a long time of not seeing each other, sometimes there was just no reaction at all, no feelings or at least no sign of any. Those times hurt the most.

"Holmes, huh?" Sergeant Sally Donovan cocked her head to the side and measured him with her eyes, confused and curious.

Mycroft regarded the woman coolly, not deigning to dignify her remark with a reply. Their staring match was interrupted by a loud:

"Donovan! Let him in." Gregory Lestrade's voice resonated in the large room, floating over the chatter of policemen; bringing collective attention to the stranger and making all of them turn their heads in an attempt to sneak a peek.

Mycroft glided through the crowd with dignity, not caring about all the curious looks.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Gregory asked as soon as they were alone in his office. His voice was impassive, not mocking, but not pleasant either. So, he was in that kind of mood, Mycroft concluded. Carefully, he took a seat in an uncomfortable chair across from the other man.

"I have business to discuss with you."

"I gathered as much." Gregory retorted with a shrug. "You don't usually make any social visits to my workplace. Or to my house. Or anywhere that I am for that matter."

The words lacked their usual sting and Mycroft wondered briefly if the other man had finally given up. He brushed it away quickly though, Mycroft Holmes had no use for thoughts like those. Anyway, he knew for sure that Gregory had stopped harboring any hopes for a future together long ago.

Mycroft ignored his half-hearted jibe. "It concerns our mutual friend Doctor Watson."

"What about John?"

The way Gregory used the name, so carelessly and easily, like they were old friends…He had never said Mycroft's name like that. Not that it bothered Mycroft. Even if it did, it's not like Mycroft had anyone but himself to blame. He had never been good with fighting his own guilt.

"There is no polite way to do this…"

"By polite you mean detached?" Gregory interrupted. He was angry, but Mycroft couldn't figure out if it was his usual kind of anger at the older Holmes or if it was something else this time around.

"I need to know how Doctor Watson is doing."

"What do you mean?" The DI frowned, genuinely confused.

"How is he coping with the loss, so to speak."

"Oh wow, you care?" There was so much skepticism in his tone, so much repressed annoyance, Mycroft barely resisted flinching. Greg leaned back in his chair, his demeanor showing how little he cared for Mycroft's visit, but his eyes were alert as they greedily took in the sight of Mycroft. His posture was somewhat stiff, jaw clenched and fingers running over the armrest. He seemed Nervous, but not willing to show it, angry, but probably at life on the whole, curious and maybe just a little bit jealous. All in all, highly uncomfortable. Mycroft tried his best not to succumb to the sheer awkwardness of their meeting.

"If you are planning to be difficult I will have to resort to my other sources to get hold of that information." Mycroft pointed out. "Though I have to admit that you, as a friend of Doctor Watson's, would be the best person to give me an evaluation of his condition."

"Fine, fine…" Gregory waved his hand at him, relenting. "Just curious why you care so much."

"Doctor Watson's well-being is my concern because it was my brother's concern." Mycroft explained. Half lies were always better than outright lies. He couldn't just blurt out that Sherlock was worried. His brother was supposed to be dead and there were very few people who were in on that secret. Neither John nor Gregory were privileged with that information.

Gregory sighed loudly and pointedly. "John is bad. What else do you expect me to say?" He shrugged. "How else did you think he would feel? He's just lost his closest friend."

"I admit I was hoping that he'd get better with time."

Gregory rolled his eyes. "Normal human heartache doesn't pass that quickly. But I doubt you know anything about that."

"Your insinuations that I don't have any feelings are getting old, Gregory. And I am not here to fight with you."

Gregory looked down, subdued by the comment, and continued. "John is getting better, in a general sense. Getting out to the pub, looking for a job…But he is still mourning."

"That's terrible." Mycroft commented and ignored the DI's snort. "Can you help him?"

"No feelings at all," Gregory muttered to himself, shaking his head. Then, louder: "I'll do what I can. He is my friend after all."

Mycroft stayed silent after that, just watching the DI, and Gregory simply stared back. In one passing moment they fell back to the times when it was normal, when they knew each other better than anyone, when they were friends…Before everything went to hell. Two years into that crazy turn in their relationship Mycroft stopped blaming Gregory for that stupid step. Two more years and he got used to knowing who his soulmate was. That actually turned out to be liberating in a completely new way; Mycroft didn't have to worry that any next one night stand would turn out to be his destined one. That was good, half a year more and Mycroft learned to believe his own carefully structured lie.

"Anything else?" Gregory broke Mycroft's reverie. "Not that I'm not happy with this lovely chat we are having…Actually, no. I'm not happy with this." He was so snappish, so cruel…

Mycroft had no other answer to that other than to get up ready to leave. Gregory got to his feet as well, putting both hands palm up on the table. Mycroft's eyes flittered briefly down. That's when he noticed it…

Gregory, having followed the direction of Mycroft's gaze, quickly snatched his hand away, hiding it in the pocket of his trousers. "I guess I'll not see you soon." The DI snapped.

Mycroft bid him goodbye and fled New Scotland Yard. As his car moved away from the curb, he, hidden from everyone's eyes by the darkened windows, allowed himself to think on what he had just found out.

No ring. There was no ring on Gregory's finger. Mycroft tried not to jump to any conclusions, but it was hard not to. It was much easier to persuade himself that it didn't matter to him. That was his usual routine.

Mycroft's hands were shaking as he fiddled with his phone. It was nothing.

So what if Gregory wasn't wearing his wedding ring anymore? It didn't mean that he had gotten divorced.

It didn't mean anything…

But Mycroft's heart wouldn't stop beating faster.

It was a wedding and Mycroft got uncharacteristically, spectacularly, drunk. It was not his wedding, thank God, but…But at moments like these he wished the roles could be reversed.

Mycroft was a strong man, not physically, as he was tall and lithe, when keeping to his diet, but rather not sporty; his mental strength though, that of his mind and soul, could be rivaled by few others. Which didn't mean that he didn't have his moments of weakness.

Moments like this one, when it felt like the world was breaking, life slipping through his fingers…

Years ago he rejected the very idea of soulmates, but it was still ruining his life.

It wasn't his wedding. It wasn't even a wedding he was invited to. But he was still informed about every smallest detail, knew the exact time and place where Gregory Lestrade and his bride said their vows.

Mycroft hated himself for knowing, for asking his PA to track the information down on a stupid impulse. He hated himself for breaking his own promise – one he insisted they make – not to get involved in each other's lives again. But most of all, Mycroft hated himself for caring, for feeling so broken over such a trivial matter.

Gregory Lestrade was getting married. Melissa seemed like a lovely woman – and here was another chip in Mycroft's carefully constructed detachment: he had one of the agents do a full background check on her. Melissa's soulmate had died years ago, but she didn't lose her will to live after his passing. She was just the lovely type to make Gregory happy: lively and sweet, caring and always, always demanding his full attention. She distracted him from every possible unpleasant thing, and Mycroft was grateful for it as he himself was number one on that list.

But right at that moment, sitting in his empty office with the lights out and only a glass of scotch for company, when he knew that Gregory must be congratulating his new wife with a kiss, sealing their fates together, - a kiss that wouldn't feel right, Mycroft knew. And never would feel like the one Gregory had shared with him, had stolen in a midst of an argument. At that moment Mycroft couldn't help but wonder…

His stupid mind, dulled by the alcohol, and urged on by his heart, naïve, still so naïve after all these years, kept screaming at him in the silence of the office, in the numbing emptiness of his head. She is not his soulmate! It was in no way a rightful complaint. Mycroft did everything in his powers to push the other man away, to destroy any shred of hope Gregory could ever have of them reuniting. But that didn't seem to mean anything to his foolish heart.

It only reminded him how close the two of them were before the fall-out. How Gregory Lestrade had been his best friend. They were so different yet they formed a tentative bond, built on mutual respect, and then trust.

Mycroft's mind, romanticized by the scotch, kept throwing at him the memories of Gregory's laugh, the way he smiled when Mycroft said something particularly snobbish, his gentle touch when Mycroft, too tall for his years and uncoordinated, stumbled over his own feet. It was only later that Mycroft learned how to be graceful, how to move with slow dignity and make others wait for him instead of trying to catch up to them. And Gregory, his only true friend, his best friend, was there every step of the way. They grew up together, they matured together and maybe…maybe they were supposed to spend their lives together. But Mycroft, even in a state of inebriation wasn't enough of a big of a romantic sap to believe that.

Mycroft downed his glass in one gulp, past caring that he had already reached the point of 'one too many' half an hour ago. The memories just wouldn't fade away; the thoughts just wouldn't leave his troubled mind.

Gregory and his wife must be on their way to the reception right now, a huge celebration ahead of them, his masochistic mind supplied.

Was Gregory happy? Truly, absolutely, happy?

Was he thinking about Mycroft in this moment? Or had he forgotten the foolish boring man who had pushed him away so drastically and so many times?

Mycroft poured himself another generous glass, his eyes glazed over and watching the dust dance in the ray of light peeking through the closed curtains. Life was unfair, that's what he'd once told Gregory during a heated argument. He sure was feeling the full weight of that statement right at that moment.

It was the day Gregory Lestrade got married.

And Mycroft Holmes, despite his better judgment, was devastated.

Just about to knock on the doorway of a door that was already open, Mycroft hesitated when he caught sight of the two men in the room. They were talking quietly, sitting close with their heads bent together, as if tentatively sharing secrets. It wasn't a good idea to bother them, Mycroft knew, but since Gregory refused to supply him with more information, he had to come to see for himself. Resigned to a cold welcome, Mycroft rapped his knuckles on the wood, attracting the attention to his figure.

"Mycroft!" John Watson exclaimed, surprise and confusion colouring his tone for a moment, eyes glancing over his guest with mild curiosity before becoming dull again. "I wasn't expecting your visit."

"It was a spontaneous thought." Mycroft explained pleasantly as he stepped into the room. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you." That was only a polite thing to say, both knew that Mycroft Holmes would not be informing anyone of his visits in advance.

"Its fine," John shook his head and glanced at the man seated by his side. "I'll make some tea." And he fled to the kitchen.

"Unexpected visit indeed." Gregory commented sarcastically.

"There might not have been need for it had you cooperated as I asked you."

Greg rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. "Do you always have to be so cold-hearted?" It was obvious he wasn't looking for an answer and Mycroft wasn't about to grant the other man the pleasure of an emotional response. "It's fine to simply visit your friends from time to time, you know? Because, oddly enough, John does consider you his friend."

"My…schedule had been very busy lately." Mycroft countered reluctantly. Under Greg's mistrustful gaze he made himself comfortable in one of the chairs.

"Babysitting?" Greg joked; but the laugh that followed was hollow and humour did not reach his eyes, and the tone had an edge to it so that Mycroft knew instantly what the other man was referring to: Sherlock, locked up in his family home, restless and lonely. Mycroft didn't waste time asking how the DI found out. He was an intelligent man; it wasn't so hard to figure out for someone who knew Mycroft so well.

"Negotiations." Mycroft contradicted out of mere spite.

In that moment John got back from the kitchen, bringing two cups of tea for his guests, so Gregory had to bite back his reply.

"What brings you here?" John asked after politely giving the other man a moment to take a sip of his tea. He sounded curious, but his voice was flat, like he didn't care about the answer.

"Just a social visit." Mycroft reassured him with a smile. John nodded, but didn't make any effort to continue the conversation. Mycroft observed the doctor for a moment – his slumped posture, his dull eyes, before starting with what he deemed was a safe question. "Where is Mrs. Hudson?"

"Visiting her niece. She'll be back tomorrow." John replied as emotionlessly. He lifted his eyes to glance at Mycroft. "Why? Do you have some business with her?"

"No, no. Just wondering."

An uncomfortable silence descended after that. Mycroft's eyes found Gregory's, silently asking for help but the DI sighed and shook his head sadly. Mycroft frowned at him, expressing his displeasure, and asked again, without actually voicing the question, by squinting at Gregory and tilting his head insistently. The DI's silent answer was an irritated glare.

Mycroft pressed his lips together and saw the other man breathe out angrily. They knew each other's reactions a little too well and this silent conversation wasn't going anywhere. Mycroft's hand gripped the armrest tightly and when the DI's eyes caught the movement, a smug smile stretched his lips. Irritation flared into anger.

"May I inquire after the purpose of your visit, Gregory?" Mycroft asked stiffly.

"Not much different from yours."

"Oh, truly?" Mycroft lifted one eyebrow as he asked, knowing that this particular expression tended to annoy the other man the most.

Gregory frowned and then retorted harshly. "Actually, no, that's not true. I'm here to visit a friend, not to gather intelligence."

John, who had been uninterested in anything going on around him until that moment, sat up straight and frowned at Mycroft. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing but that Gregory believes that such a person as myself is unable of having friends, thus any social visit has an ulterior motive behind it." Mycroft replied smoothly.

The DI snorted loudly. "I have undeniable proof that you can't have friends. That's not merely a speculation."

"Pray tell what that may be?"

"You are a cold-hearted bastard." The tone in which the retort was delivered was icy cold and harsh and intentionally cruel. "That's why no one wants to be around you."

"And that from a man whose wife has just left him." Mycroft knew he had said too much the moment those words left his mouth.

There was a moment of silence, Mycroft fighting an instinct to look away from a shell-shocked and equally angry Gregory Lestrade. "You have been spying on me." Not a question, but a statement. And an absolutely wrong statement.

"No, I haven't." Mycroft gathered all the dignity he had and poured it into his words. Probably it would have been a good idea to replace it with sincerity, but he was Mycroft Holmes; sincerity wasn't his strong point.

"You promised you wouldn't." Gregory's voice was quiet, dark, heavy.

"And I didn't."

"I think I'll go make anther cup of tea." John muttered, but was mostly ignored by both parties of the starting conflict. Not having enough willpower to meddle in their business, he left, letting the two work out their issues by themselves. Mycroft spared the man a passing glance and returned his attention back to Gregory.

"Then how do you know that Melissa…" He stumbled upon the painful words and let the end of the sentence hang in the air, heavy between them.

"Deductions, my dear Gregory, simple as that." His voice was more gentle than cold as Mycroft delivered his reply; inwardly, he cringed at the loss of sharpness in his tone. It wasn't becoming of him to suddenly turn nice. His part in this play had been scripted years ago, he should not be getting out of character. "You are not wearing the ring," he continued calmly. His eyes looked over the DI's form, slowly so that the other man would notice. "And frankly you look like either you have not been home for days, or you just forgot how to cook and do your laundry."

"I didn't expect I would be so lost without her," Gregory muttered looking down at his hands. Flattened on his knees, they were turned palms up in a universal sign of wonderment.

Mycroft had no words with which he could form a reply to that. It would be a perfect move to stomp on Gregory's yet again broken heart – just like he had done years ago, when he was still the one doing the breaking – if Mycroft wished for further termination of their tentative relationship. It could be the end, a point at which Gregory would finally snap and leave his stupid bitter soulmate alone…but Mycroft was reluctant to do so, to deliver this final blow. To hurt Gregory at that moment would be too cruel, too terrible…and it would break them apart forever.

That's what you wanted, isn't it? Mycroft's treacherous sarcastic mind whispered to him. He shook his head – I just wanted to keep my peace. I never wanted to hurt him this way but it was the easiest way for Gregory to understand. He let out a sigh, unseeing eyes fixed on the slumped figure across from him. But he never did, did he? He still doesn't understand…

It didn't matter. It had not mattered years ago –it should not matter now.

"If you'll excuse me," Mycroft got to his feet as quickly as he could without losing his grace. "I have other business to attend to. Please say goodbye to John for me." And he left, without another glance, fighting himself not to look at Gregory's expression as he walked away.

"Why are you doing this to us?"

The question caught Mycroft unaware, just like the person asking it. It should not be so easy for Gregory Lestrade to find his new apartment. The man should not be standing under the glass roof of the porch while heavy rain fell around them, curtaining the two from the world.

Gregory looked angry, but that was nothing new. There also was enough desperation in his eyes to throw Mycroft off and make him stumble on his way up the stairs. The way Gregory posed the question nagged at his mind and he let the irritation seep into his voice. "There is no us."

"Stop with this bullshit!"

Mycroft's eyebrows shop up, scandalized, but he kept calm as he replied. "Gregory, I thought we had decided this long ago."

"You made a decision, a stupid one I have to add, and now think that I need to mindlessly follow it." He took a step to the other man, menacing in his rage. "You don't get to decide anything! We are in this together, no matter if you want it or not! That's how this world works, so get used to it!"

"I have no intention of getting used to how this world works." Mycroft wondered if the other man was drunk, there was alcohol on his breath but his eyes, those usually warm dark eyes, were glaring at him with all the intelligence of a sober person. So Mycroft pressed on. "I don't care for that ridiculous nonsense about soulmates. I don't need one. And I'd be very grateful if you finally left me alone."

Gregory's rage evaporated slowly, replaced by sadness. The change was so abrupt, a sudden calmness overcoming his features, those eyes no longer narrowed but wide open and staring back at Mycroft. "Leave you alone, huh?"

"Yes, please." Mycroft retorted with dignity.

"What if you'll regret it?"

"I will not, I can assure you." Mycroft was so comfortable in his own little world, he needed no one but his mother and little brother. People were unnecessary, relationships were messy and soulmates…soulmates never ended well. Nothing and no one could guarantee that two people who threw their lives away for the prospect of being with their soulmate would be happy. That they wouldn't irreparably hurt those they'd left behind.

It would be better to never have a soulmate. To never know what his kiss would taste like…It was poison that could ruin his life, that would bring changes into his own world, that would make Mycroft share this world with another person.

Soulmates were more than lovers, more than friends; they were everything. You had to give up your everything to get their everything in return. To give another person a weapon that could break you.

"I will never regret this." Mycroft repeated with force.

Gregory nodded. "Fine." He stepped around the other man, down the stairs and into the rain. "Fine."

Mycroft entered his empty apartment with a hollow feeling.

Gregory had not bothered Mycroft since that day.

Mycroft was considering buying a dog. A lovely small creature that would greet him every time he came home and distract him from the consuming emptiness of the apartment in the evenings. That would be lovely. If only he had time to care for one. An erratic schedule and constant visits abroad did not go well with a fluffy little creature that had to be fed and walked daily – Mycroft gave up on that idea moments before it came to him.

The apartment was spacious, too big for one person – and sometimes Mycroft pondered on why he bought it since he always knew that he would be living alone. All alone in this apartment with too much open space.

He was restless, as he couldn't go to sleep, bothered by too many thoughts. It was still early in the evening but he was lying in his bed, too big for one person to be comfortable; so big you could get lost in it during the night. The light of streetlamps outside poured through thin curtains, drawing patterns of shadows on his wooden floor. Mycroft was in a strangely poetic mood – an occurrence so rare he could barely remember the last time it had happened before.

A knock on the door startled him from his poetic musings. Mycroft frowned into his pillow, first wondering why anyone would knock if there was a doorbell and then trying to figure out who'd want to see him at this hour of the evening in his own home. A few ideas sprung to mind, from a business visit to an assassination attempt, albeit a clumsy one, as he left the warmth of his bed and stumbled across the hall to the door, grabbing a robe on his way and pulling it on as an attempt at decency. A peek through the peephole showed a head of messy grey hair and a familiar scowl.

Mycroft bit his lip, indecisive, fingers clumsy where they tried blindly to tie the sash of his robe, and opened the door.

"You have changed." Were the first words out of Gregory Lestrade's mouth.

"Excuse me?" Confused and suddenly breathless Mycroft didn't resist when the man pushed his way into the apartment.

Gregory repeated the words, each one falling from his lips with such determination it was impossible to object. He whirled around, awkwardly getting out of his coat in the process and throwing it onto the nearest surface which wasn't the floor. His narrowed eyes bored into Mycroft's tired ones, trying to pry into his soul. Gregory waved his hand, starting a sentence but interrupting himself, flicking his wrist with force as if to make a point that the words couldn't. He looked agitated, maybe drunk, but Mycroft couldn't smell any alcohol on his breath and the man's erratic uncoordinated gestures seemed to be born out of nervousness, rather than out of a lack of sobriety. Gregory's eyes widened and finally, stabbing his finger at the air in the general direction of where Mycroft was standing, he declared. "You care." His voice was hoarse, sounding like a silly imitation of a stage whisper, but Mycroft wasn't inclined to smile.

"Gregory," Mycroft started but stopped. He had no idea what he wanted to say. The DI was waiting patiently and staring in silence. Mycroft gulped, averting his eyes. This was the moment he had dreaded all those years ago when his best friend had unexpectedly kissed him and warmth and love like no other he had experienced before had spread through his body. Better late than never, people say, huh? At that time, sixteen and scared out of his mind of what that kiss meant, of all the unnecessary feelings it awoke in him, Mycroft wished for the proverbial never and did his best to ensure it. He didn't regret that decision, at least not enough to wish that it had never happened. Never…until now. "Gregory," he started again. "What…" A deep breath to compose himself. "Why did you come?"

"Because I saw that you changed." Gregory replied earnestly. As if it was that simple. "You care." He repeated and then shrugged. "Thought it would be worth a shot."

Worth a shot? Mycroft was sure they had been out of "shots" long ago.

"Care?" He asked instead of voicing his other thought. Was his voice shaking because of tiredness or was it simply betraying his anxiety?

Gregory clasped his hands only to unclasp them the next second and hide them in the pockets of his trousers. When he made a step towards Mycroft they were already out, reaching to touch, aborting the motion in the last moment. "This thing, with John," he clarified. "You really do care about him."

That was not what Mycroft expected from the DI – too far from the subject stuck in Mycroft's own head.

Gregory noticed the confusion. "What I'm trying to say is that you care not only for Sherlock, as you claim, but you are concerned for John as well." This was accompanied by jerky hand motions. Gregory rarely used his hands when he talked, intonations working for getting his point across. But at that moment, unable to keep his emotions at bay, he moved constantly, shifting from one foot to another, waving his hands. Only the gaze of his eyes never wavered, it was focused solely on Mycroft. "This is stupid." The DI announced suddenly. "I should leave." He didn't make any move to follow his own statement.

"Please," Mycroft stepped between the DI and the door nonetheless. "I would like to hear you out."

"See?" Gregory exclaimed a little too loudly. "You are different."

"Maybe I'm just too tired of fighting myself." Mycroft replied softly; he didn't dare watch the other man's reaction.

"I don't know." Gregory replied, there was a touch of confusion to his otherwise calm tone. "But I have my own theory."

Mycroft heard a smile in his voice and his head jerked up to catch the traces of it in Gregory's soft features.

"Want to hear it?"

"I don't know." Mycroft replied honestly. He was lost. So lost and tired. It was for the best to let the other man talk and just let this river sweep him away wherever it was going.

"You saw them together." Gregory was saying. "Your brother and John. You saw the way those two are. Were." The DI frowned on the last word. "You can't deny that they are soulmates."

"There is no proof." Was Mycroft's immediate response. A habit.

The look Gregory sent him was of a reproachful kind, more exasperated than anything. "Do we need proof?"

"They do."

"They'll figure it out on their own." He paused before adding as an afterthought. "Once you tell John that Sherlock is alive…Anyway, that's beside the point at the moment."

"Then what isn't? So far this theory of yours isn't actually persuading. But to be fair, there wasn't much of that theory so far." A snide tone came easily to Mycroft, but this time it came out more teasing than mocking.

"What I am saying is that you," he pointed at Mycroft. "Saw them together, saw how happy they were."

"Running around and solving crimes together?" Mycroft asked sarcastically. "Yes, that sounds like lovely domestic bliss."

"What they are doing is beside the point." Gregory exclaimed. "What matters is that they are happy. Your brother had found his soulmate." He caught Mycroft's eyes and added softly, cautiously. "And it didn't destroy him. Despite everything, it didn't."

Mycroft startled at the words, his mouth opened in a silent scandalized exclamation that didn't find its way past his lips. He couldn't find it in himself to deny what was said.

"And now you know." Gregory continued.

"Know what?"

"That it's possible. To be happy," the DI gave a helpless shrug and looked away.

Mycroft stood silent, any meaningful words escaping him, his mind a tangle of disorganized threads, each in a race to be voiced first. It was such a mess and Mycroft was so tired of navigating through his own thoughts.

"Because there is no use denying what we are."

Mycroft saw him move, to carefully cross the distance separating them, heard the soft sound of his steps on the carpet and the rustle of his clothes, all sounds accompanied by the DI's heavy breathing. But what made Mycroft actually realize that his soulmate was standing right in front of him was the warmth; the literal warmth radiating from Gregory's body and the metaphorical warmth in his beautiful brown eyes and gentle smile. Mycroft felt his breath catch in his throat. He had been running away from this for so long…And now he was plunging into it headfirst when there was no willpower left to fight this bond.

Mycroft kissed him. A small gentle peck on the lips, barely touching and then withdrawing, afraid of the other's reaction. He waited for a long moment, staring into the warm brown eyes from the small distance between them. The kiss didn't burn like the one they shared so many years ago, a first contact between two halves of one soul, finally reunited, but it was warm and soft and made the world seem like such a lovely place.

"So you give up finally?" Gregory asked; his tone was colourless and his expression was neutral, so it was hard to understand his thoughts.

"No." Mycroft replied earnestly. "This is not giving up." He hesitated and whispered. "This is me giving in. To you."

The lack of a response, verbal or emotional, made him anxious. "If it's not too late. If it is I'll just…" When no reply came he made a move to pull away. And found himself unable to do so – Gregory's hands gripping him tightly.

"You are not going anywhere this time." The man growled, but the anger sounded forced. "Not now. Not ever." Fierce and unrelenting he wasn't demanding any answer but Mycroft nodded weakly in response nonetheless.

Then there was fire. An all-consuming heat spreading through his body the moment their lips touched again. Gregory's kiss was forceful, the man claiming what had been denied him for so long; his hands slid around Mycroft, bringing them closer together, until there was no space left between their heated bodies. Without hesitation Mycroft wound his hands around the man's neck, fingers digging into grey hair and pulling until they found a better angle to deepen the kiss. It was the most wonderful feeling Mycroft had ever had. The kiss of a person destined to be his other half. With passion and love, and no need for the words or thoughts that had ruined everything in the first place.

It didn't feel anything like losing himself – as the young Mycroft had feared; there was Mycroft Holmes, still cautious and thorough and a little too demanding in their kiss and there was Gregory Lestrade, gentle and ready to give everything to the man he had been chasing half his life but expecting the same in return. They were just two men, with their differences and their similarities, joined in this feeling they shared.

Gregory was the first to tear himself away, but not moving far, resting his forehead by Mycroft's temple. His hot breath ghosted over the side of Mycroft's neck and his soft lips nipped on the closest patch of skin he could reach.

Mycroft thought, maybe he should apologize, for being so foolish, for wasting so much time, but he didn't feel guilty. It took time for him to reach this point in his life, to be in a right frame of mind to accept such a bond. So he kept quiet, savouring the moment and waiting for the other man to break the silence.

"You are not going to push me away again." It was so hard to tell if it was meant as a statement or as a question; in any case, it sounded weak and meager despite the fact that Gregory was still peppering small kisses to Mycroft's cheekbone.

Mycroft nodded. He didn't want it to be a reassurance, he wanted to show the other man that there was no need for one; there should be no doubt that Mycroft would keep to his decision.

"God, I missed you so much." Gregory whispered, squeezing Mycroft tight in his embrace.

"I missed you too." Mycroft admitted without hesitation; there was no need to keep up appearances anymore. "I love you." It came out, unbidden and unexpected, but not any less true.

"Good," Gregory nodded. Then, he chuckled. "I was starting to doubt it."

"Too soon for such jokes, Gregory." Mycroft reprimanded him with a smile.

"I know," the other man was still smiling, lips against Mycroft's sensitive skin. "Sorry." An apologetic kiss and Gregory was moving away.

"Don't…" Mycroft gripped his hand, tight, suddenly anxious that the DI was going to leave.

Gregory darted closer again for a comforting peck on the lips before withdrawing, but not moving for the door as Mycroft thought he would. Instead he tugged his lover in the direction of the bedroom.

"I'm dead tired," Gregory explained in response to an unasked question. "And I woke you in the middle of the night. So come on, sleep awaits."

Mycroft didn't resist as the DI dragged him into the dark bedroom and settled them both on the bed, which didn't seem so devastatingly big anymore. And just when Mycroft was on a verge of drifting to sleep, relaxed and content, Greg whispered into the quiet. "I love you too, by the way. And I'll never let you go."

And the words only brought comfort.