Drip...Drip...Drip
Lestrade sighed in relief when Mycroft was by his side, a smile gracing his bruised and battered face. He was tied to a chair, the ropes caressing crudely against twin gashes in his arms.
"I'm so sorry, Gregory. The security team lost you for five minutes, I never would have imagined..." Mycroft drew out, a sob overcoming his calm demeanor.
"Shh. I'm fine." Lestrade lied as he bled out slowly, losing consciousness.
Drip...Drip...Drip
When he woke, Lestrade was in a hospital. Or maybe not a hospital, but with all the fancy doctor equipment. He raised his head as much as his headache would allow to glance at his arms, which were bandaged and felt like they had been stitched. He smirked grimmly, glad he was alive. In a minute of him waking up, Mycroft was alerted and was now standing in the doorway of Lestrade's white washed room.
"All is well?" Mycroft asked, his eyebrows scrunched a worriedly.
"As well as I can be." Lestrade smiled wide. "I'm glad you're here..."
"I am more so glad that you are here, dear Gregory." Mycroft was by his side, biting his lip. "It is, after all, my fault you were injured."
"Don't say that, you know it wasn't. You didn't kidnap me-this time, anyway-or torture me, it wasn't your fault at all. It was theirs." Greg shrugged. "Besides, if I hadn't followed that woman into an alley it wouldn't have happened. Maybe I just have too big of a soft spot." Greg had ran towards screaming after seeing the woman walk into an alley, he put two and two together to be ambushed by her supposed attackers. Next he woke up bound and gagged for the worst three days of his existence. But, he was here now, which was all that mattered.
"I don't know how I can ever make this up to you, Gregory." Mycroft bowed his head sadly.
"I know how you can start." A sly grin crossed Greg's face, and Mycroft gave him a warning glance.
"None of that until you're better," Mycroft said indignantly. Greg sighed and rolled his eyes, motioning Mycroft forward for a kiss, of which he happily obliged.
Drip...Drip...Drip
The shower dripped solemnly as Greg readied for the day. Nothing changed much after the incident besides an increased security(much to Greg's annoyance) and lingering touches on Mycroft's part over the scars. He still felt guilty, but no matter what Greg said nothing made a difference. Greg sighed worriedly, maybe he would never get over it?
Greg shrugged, opening the bathroom door and gazing lovingly at a sleeping Mycroft on their bed. He had to be up in ten minutes, might as well wake him up with breakfast.
Drip...Drip...Drip
Greg couldn't stop the tears. Why had it ended like this? Why this man? Why with all the security in the world, had one person been able to slip through so easily? Why hadn't Greg seen the knife before it was planted in his husband's chest? Why did life slip away so easily? He tried to hold Mycroft close, trying not to pain him as he choked on his own blood. He wouldn't make it. They both knew. Greg planted one last shaking kiss on Mycroft's lips before his eyes closed for the last time.
Drip...Drip...Drip...
Lestrade cut where the old scars were. It would take about half an hour to bleed out, he knew, but no one would stop it this time. He hugged the wedding picture one last time, a reminder he would be there with his husband soon. He clutched the ring around his neck and began counting.
One
Why did you leave me?
Two
I'll be there soon.
Three
I'm going to punch you for doing this to me.
Four
How can I be mad at you?
Five
I can't wait to see you.
And that was all he knew before the darkness overcame him.