"Is that everything?" Molly asked
"Yeah, thereabouts," Greg checked the trunk of the car once more before closing it.
"Sure we can't help you set things up?" John asked.
"Don't bother asking," Mary intervened, removing a plant from the backseat, heading up into the building. "Course we'll help you set up," Greg offered a small smile, trying to quell the desire to be left alone. He wanted nothing more than to lie down on his sofa and get good and drunk before passing out. Molly and Mary knew that too, but they weren't about to let him. Greg deserved to be set up, moved in, unpacked and relaxing, watching telly, not drowning his sorrows in a case of beer amidst unopened boxes and half-empty food cartons.
Divorce papers signed, sealed and delivered, he was, for lack of better words, back on the meat market. Well. Maybe not in those exact words. He wasn't looking for anybody, wasn't sure if he wanted to. It occurred to him after catching his ex-wife for the umpteenth time with the P.E. teacher that he decided it wasn't fair to him, it wasn't fair to her, and it wasn't fair to his sullen teenage daughter (who was currently in a juvenile detention camp for stealing…again). His ex-wife maintained their daughter's predicament was his fault because he was never home, and he supposed it was, to a point. He also supposed he was to blame for his ex turning to the P.E. teacher as well.
He followed Molly, Mary and John up the three flights of stairs into his new flat. It wasn't the awful place he expected it to be, and he had a sneaking suspicion Sherlock had something to do with it. It was a modest two-bedroom apartment, full bath, decent rent, and not too far from work, walking distance if he got the notion. It was depressing though, after almost twenty years of marriage to be looking for a flat by yourself, setting up house, by yourself, while all your friends are married and happy.
Okay, not all of his friends. But the newest marriage was certainly the happiest. Sherlock Holmes, the World's Only Consulting Detective, the one sworn off women and marriage had finally proposed to Molly Hooper, who had accepted him. They were a year into their marriage, and happily so. Greg was enough of an adult to admit he envied them. He and Emma never had that kind of bliss. Everyone said the first two years were the hardest, Greg just got used to the shouting, the fact that his wife wouldn't understand his work was demanding, that he was needed, that he did what he did to protect her, to protect their daughter.
"Hey," John squeezed his shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts. "You okay?"
"Yeah…" Greg looked bleakly at the unpacked boxes.
"Come on," John nodded for the door. "Mary, Greg and I are gonna go grab a pint, we'll come back with food."
"Get pizza!" both women shouted.
"Got it!" Industrious, Molly and Mary waved them off, happy to get the Detective Inspector settled in his new flat.
"Don't lift anything!" both men warned them.
"We won't, bossy!" Mary laughed. Both women had found out they were expecting almost at the same time. It was John and Mary's second baby, Molly's first. Both were only entering their second trimester, and Sherlock, a first-time father, was one nervous wreck. They'd never hear the end of it if he found out Molly was so much as lifting a finger in her condition.
Pub
"Mary looks good," Greg said. He took a drink of cider as he leaned on his elbows on the bar.
"Nineteen weeks," John nodded. Greg smiled in response.
"It's okay if you talk about it," he said. "I'd rather hear some good news, she doing okay? She getting used to the backaches, or has she not got those yet?"
"She's starting to, she's over the morning sickness, thank God, poor thing," John shook his head, recalling all too clearly the hours she'd be leaned against the toilet, sobbing. Nothing to be done for her, he soothed her back, plied her with ice-chips and cold compresses.
"Em was like that with Joanna," Greg said, remembering. "Sick every night, couldn't keep a thing down."
"How is Joanna?" John asked suddenly, remembering Greg had a daughter.
"She's in a juvenile detention camp, think about four months now," he replied. "Caught stealing, again. Third time caught with drugs, so she was shipped off. Nice place in the country, no electronics. There's a therapist there, I guess she does alright."
"It's not your fault, you know," John said.
"Eh," Greg shrugged, clearly not believing him.
"Teens make their own choices, if they want to do something, they'll find a way to do it."
"No, I'm…I'm partly to blame," it hurt to say it, but Greg accepted that it was the truth. "I'm not a good father, I want to be, but I wasn't there when my kid was little, why would she come to me? She learned to go to her mum, and when her mum stopped giving her attention she found a way to get it. I should've been home more, I shouldn't have taken the promotion-"
"Hey, hey," John nudged him. "Come on, you were doing what you thought was best, you were trying to provide for your family. When you know better, you do better."
"Yeah, fifteen years too late," he muttered, feeling the sting in his eyes.
"It's never too late to try and reconcile," John said firmly. "Keep reaching out to Joanna, just…try and start fresh. Don't expect miracles overnight. She's hurting too."
"Yeah…" Greg nodded. He never expected to be a divorced man. He never expected his daughter to be one of 'those kids', shuffled back and forth between parents, or for that matter, caught with drugs.
They finished their drinks and paid the tab, heading out into the street to find something for dinner, remembering the women were still at Greg's flat, probably moving things she shouldn't be.
When they arrived, pizzas in hand, they were surprised to see Sherlock there, holding a tape-measure.
"It's too far over," Molly told him, her hand on her lower back, squeezing gently. "Move it to the left."
"If I move it to the left it will catch the glare of the window. Honestly, Molly, I know how to set up a television."
"Hey guys," John said.
"Greg, there you are, will you please convince Molly to stop organizing your DVD collection alphabetically? Clearly it must be sorted by genre and frequency of viewing," Sherlock clicked the tape-measure shut, pocketing it.
"The woman is five months pregnant, I'm not telling her to do squat," Greg replied, setting the food down. Mary came from the bedroom, carrying a toolkit.
"Pictures are up in the bedroom, anyone else need the hammer?" Greg realized that there were wall furnishings and studied them, surprised.
"This place looks amazing! Who'd believe it was the same flat?"
"It does look pretty good, doesn't it?" Mary admired their handiwork. Greg hadn't thought of putting up pictures, but Molly, knowing what single and depressed felt like, was two steps ahead of him. She put up a picture of Joanna from her first formal dance on the window by the plant she'd bought him. A few other store-bought wall decorations were put up, Greg approved of them, deciding they weren't anything he would have thought to pick, but they added color to the flat. A new rug was under their feet, covering the scuffed wood floors. His books and movies were all unpacked and on the new shelving unit from IKEA.
"The bedroom set is sorted as well," Sherlock said, obviously not too pleased that Molly and Mary had used him for cheap labor.
"Is it?" Greg went down the hall to see. The bed looked nothing like the picture on the box. For one thing, it looked ten times better.
"We spruced it up a little," Mary said with a shrug. "Your old bedspread was natty, we sent Sherlock to run out and pick a new one for you, and a rug as well." The bedroom was set up cozily as well, and Greg felt warmth spreading in his heart that he was looking at a room he'd be sleeping in, not a couch because he couldn't bear to share a bed with a woman who was so blatantly cheating on him. It didn't remind him of Emma, and that was probably the best part. He was used to sleeping alone, now he just had to get used to sleeping on a bed again.
"Thank you," he said. "Really, this…this is more than I would've thought to do."
"I can't imagine how you're feeling right now, but you deserve a fresh start in a place you can call home, that you can feel comfortable in," she said. "That's the important thing."
He looked around the flat, the boxes were broken down outside the door, and the kitchen appliances were set up, the silverware in the drawer and the plates and mugs on the shelves. The fridge needed to be stocked, but he could do that himself.
"It doesn't feel like home yet," he admitted. "But it's a good start." Mary patted his back comfortingly before turning back to the kitchen. Greg looked at his room once more. Whatever happened next, it was time to start over, so he may as well begin.
