Greg looked out over the lights of London from the top of St. Paul's. Mycroft stood by his side, one arm draped over Greg's shoulder.
"I'm going to miss this," Greg said, quiet in the darkness.
There were soft footfalls behind them. A deep voice said, "You're back."
"So are you," Greg said, turning his head to look at Sherlock. "I'm not here for long, though."
Sherlock looked him up and down with that piercing, x-ray gaze. "You regret this."
Greg shrugged. "The leaving part. London's in my blood after so many years."
Mycroft looked at his brother. "I'm glad you've returned to your work here, Sherlock. Soon enough, though, you will need to leave as well." His eyes held sadness and loss, and Greg tucked an arm around his waist, squeezing gently.
"I thought you would never let go of it all," Sherlock said. "Eternally the spider at the center of Britain's web."
"She will continue without me. We always knew this day would come."
Sherlock sighed. "It won't be the same."
"There is a life beyond this place," Mycroft murmured.
Sherlock's eyes met Mycroft's. "Your meddling will be missed."
"The gates remain open. Your presence will always be welcome, however annoying, brother mine."
"You'll come?" Greg asked.
"Greg," Greg grumbled.
Sherlock smirked. "So many changes in the six months you were gone."
"Six months here, maybe," Greg said. "I still can't quite wrap my head around it."
"That's nothing novel." Sherlock's smirk broadened.
"Likewise," Mycroft said, "nothing novel."
The smirk flattened into a tight frown and Greg chuckled.
"I'm not going to forgive you for leaving the Met," Sherlock growled.
"Poor thing, having to work with Gregson and Dimmock. I'm sure it'll put a terrible cramp in your day." Greg grinned at him, amused but still saddened by the sudden change in his life.
"Idiots, all of them. You were the best of them."
Greg tilted his head, surprised. "You really mean that."
"Since when do I ever lie about that?" Sherlock asked, affronted.
"Since any time you actually need something from somebody. You'll lie whenever you think it'll get you what you want."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "All right. That's usually true. But not about this. Not about the work."
"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're not dead, Sherlock." Greg leaned back slightly, into Mycroft's body.
"I'm relieved you weren't killed," Sherlock answered. "I was… concerned."
"This isn't the end, Sherlock," Mycroft reminded him.
"Sentiment, Mycroft." He looked at how the two of them were standing, Mycroft's arm around Greg's shoulder, Greg's around Mycroft's waist.
Mycroft nodded. "It was time to put that thought aside."
"You'd been alone too long." Sherlock's voice was soft and sad.
"Take care of your Doctor Watson." Mycroft reached out to his brother with one hand. Sherlock took it for a moment, in a brief acknowledgment.
"What will you do there?" Sherlock asked, looking at Greg again.
"Taran asked me to work with her security people," Greg said. "This… what I am. It's given me some advantages for… finding things, seeing things. Not like you two do, but in my own way."
Sherlock's eyes brightened. "Oh? That is interesting."
"I'm sure there will be mysteries enough for you, Sherlock," Mycroft said.
"Perhaps a visit might be arranged at some point. I'm sure you'll find yourself in over your head, as usual."
"Ta for that," Greg said, frowning.
"Oh, don't take it like that. You know what I mean."
Greg snorted. "Yeah, I love you, too, you bloody git."
Sherlock's laugh echoed in the darkness as he walked away.
Greg and Mycroft stood for a moment, regarding the city of London one last time. Finally, with a sigh, Greg said, "Right, then. Let's go home."