A.N. Hello there! Here's my submission for the SummerMystradeExchange, a gift to the very lovely Johnlockscocks. Hopefully you like it, it was much better than my original idea, which is why it's up so late because I may or may not have had the idea last night... I apologize for an spelling mistake (or feels). For sure check out their blog on tumblr though! Enjoy!

He hadn't come.

Seven days…and he hadn't come.

That's all Greg Lestrade could focus on as he packed up the clothes his friends had delivered to the hospital six nights ago.

"You sure you're going to be alright by yourself?" John's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he gave the man his most convincing smile.

"Yeah, 'course I will. I'm taking the next couple of days off anyways…use up my some of my extra vacation days and just relax at home."

John nodded and murmured something in agreement but Greg could tell that he hadn't been as convincing as he'd tried to be and John had noticed. He just thanked God that Sherlock wasn't around to pull the rug out from underneath his lies.

Not even a bloody phone call.

"Thanks John…for everything."

John smiled thinly and inclined his head, "It's no worry, really. I'm glad you're okay. Sherlock is too you know…in his own way. He just doesn't do well with this kind of stuff."

Greg chuckled, "The only place Sherlock does well is a crime scene. Nevertheless tell him I said thanks and all, will you?"

"Of course," John said quickly before continuing, "You will be alright though? And I don't, I don't mean physically."

"John-"

"No, Greg. I mean it. I was shot too remember. Just…if you do need someone to talk to don't wait too long eh? There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Swallowing hard, Greg nodded quickly and clapped John on the shoulder. "Thank mate, really. You'd better get going. I got Donovan to bring my car 'round yesterday so I'll be alright. Need a lift?"

John shook his head, "No ta I'll grab a cab. Thanks though."

After John had gone Greg couldn't help but sit back down on the bed. He hadn't really given much thought to any mental trauma the bullet had inflicted when it had torn through his right pectoral. All he could think about was Mycroft, and about how the man he'd been in a relationship with for the past year hadn't even taken five minutes out of his day to make a blasted phone call and see if he was alright.

Oh, it wasn't that he doubted that Mycroft knew the status of his condition. There was no such thing as privacy to Mycroft Holmes, the man probably had all his medical files from when he was a child as his fingertips; as well as an assortment of other documents Lestrade wished would be kept secret.

Gathering up his bags Greg did a quick sweep of the room before making his way out of the hospital. His chest hurt immensely despite the pain medication he'd taken that morning and he hadn't even been able to carry his bag over his right shoulder, not that doing so over his left hurt any less.

He was able to see his car in the car park when a sleek black car blocked his view. Cursing Mycroft to the depths of hell he shook his head vehemently when the window rolled down.

"You can forget that. I am not getting in that car."

Greg wasn't sure whether or not to be surprised at the fact that Mycroft wasn't actually in the car. It was just Anthea, and Mycroft's PA hadn't even looked up from her phone, the 'get in' was implied.

Greg rolled his eyes, "No. Tell Mycroft if he wants to see me he can bloody well come to my flat."

When the car pulled away Greg was left feeling oddly disappointed. Shaking his head to try and clear his thoughts he made his way to his car and drove home in the mid-afternoon traffic. On normal days he found the traffic insufferable but it had been a week since he'd experienced it and he found himself strangely nostalgic.

Home didn't give him the reprieve he'd been looking for either. The more Greg wandered around his empty flat the more frustrated he became, partly because there were reminders of Mycroft everywhere.

He just couldn't wrap his head around it. Sure, he knew that Mycroft wasn't the most loving and cuddly individual but surely he could have dropped by after visiting hours or sent a text – hell, even sent Anthea just to let Greg know that he was at least being thought of.

A small part of his mind chided him for reacting dramatically but the majority of his brain thought his anger to be justified. Mycroft was his partner – his lover and Greg didn't think it was stupid to have wished that would be worth something.

As if on cue Lestrade heard the front door opened. He almost smiled at the memory of giving Mycroft his own key about two months back, not that it had mattered seeing as the man had been letting himself in to Greg's flat whenever the whim arose. Greg wouldn't have been surprised to find out that Mycroft had had his own key all along.

Brushing his hair away from his face (he really needed a haircut) he went back out into the main room. He wished he'd had the time to take a proper shower and have a good wash, he still felt like the very aura of the hospital was under his skin and he could have done with the confidence boost to face what was about to happen.

When he got to the front room Mycroft had taken a seat in the chair fiddling with his ever present umbrella. Initially Greg had always wondered why Mycroft always sat in a chair and never on the settee but he'd never voiced the question and now it just seemed like another part of his mysterious personality. In fact, he would have found it strange if he ever came home to find Mycroft sprawled out on his couch – it would just seem unnatural.

Upon entering the room Mycroft turned to look at him and a small smile graced his lips. "Welcome home Gregory," he said quietly.

Greg crossed his arms in front of his chest, "Thanks…" He let his sentence drop when he wasn't sure about what else to say.

"How are you feeling?"

Greg shrugged before he could think better of the idea and was glad for the pain medication even as pain lanced through his chest. It must have shown on his face because Mycroft made to stand up before Greg held up his hand to stop him.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It's just a little sore is all. Which is to be expected, apparently."

"Gregory…"

Greg shook his head, "No. I don't really want to hear to Mycroft. Unless you've got a brilliant explanation for why I was in hospital for seven days and I didn't see or hear from you once."

Now Mycroft looked uncomfortable. Greg could see it in the subtle tightening of Mycroft's fingers around the handle of the umbrella and the thin creases that etched into his forehead. Lestrade was by no means a Holmes but he'd been around Mycroft long enough to recognize emotions such as discomfort, pain, and stress that he tried so valiantly to hide.

"I…apologize for not having visited you Gregory. Believe me when I say that I had every intention to do so but the circumstance were not ideal." There was almost a pleading quality to Mycroft's voice towards the end but it wasn't enough to throw Gregory off his anger.

"'The circumstances were not ideal'? That's bullshit Mycroft and you know it! I mean, I know you're a busy man but I guess I'd just hoped that I meant something to you." Later Greg would swear that it was the trauma and the pain medication that was making him so emotional but at the moment he couldn't swallow past the lump in his throat. It was just all so ridiculous.

Mycroft was standing, "Gregory you misunderstand-"

"Really?" Greg accused. "I misunderstand? Well how about I tell you what I do understand: I understand that I was shot and that I had surgery and spent a week in the hospital." Greg swallowed hard, "And that I was scared, and in pain and alone…and the one person in the world that I wanted to be there wasn't. The man that I lo-" He shook his head, "I can't – I can't do this Mycroft, I can't."

Holding his hands up in surrender Greg turned away. He was too emotional and volatile to fight with Mycroft at the moment.

When he felt a hand on his wrist he jerked away from it, much too quickly to avoid connecting with the wall and he couldn't contain the shout of pain as stars exploded in his vision. He was too concentrated on trying not to pass out or vomit to push Mycroft away as he led Greg to sit on the couch.

"What can I get you?" The concern in Mycroft's voice was undeniable.

Greg groaned as he palmed at the bandage on his chest, "There should be some Paracodal in my bag. I'm still angry with you by the way, this doesn't excuse anything."

He could have sworn that Mycroft smirked. "Of course you are. Rest here a moment and I'll be back with the analgesics."

Greg let his head drop back against the settee. All his energy – and anger – seemed to have left him in a giant burst of pain and he just felt exhausted. The pain had lessened considerably since he'd sat down but in his opinion Mycroft was taking far too long in bringing him his pain killers.

As if having read his thoughts Mycroft appeared with his tablets and a glass of water and Greg made quick work of both. Putting the glass on the coffee table Greg refocused on Mycroft's face, where the concern he'd heard in the man's voice matched the current look on his face.

"Why didn't you come?" Greg's voice was barely above a whisper and he despised how weak he sounded.

Wordlessly Mycroft reached out and cupped the side of Greg's face and against his better judgement Greg leaned into the touch. Mycroft's hand was cool against his face where a sweat had broken out of a result of the immense pain. Exhaling slowly Mycroft rose from his crouching position and straightened out his suit jacket before taking a seat beside Greg.

He took a minute to gather his thoughts before speaking and Greg could tell the so called "Ice man" was trying very hard to prepare the right words.

"When I heard that you had been shot I experienced panic the likes of wish I have never known before. I couldn't think, I couldn't help, and I couldn't…control myself. My mind, the one thing I have always been able to rely on was failing me."

It was then that Mycroft stood and began to pace, wringing his hands together as his umbrella rested long forgotten against the arm of the chair. Greg had never seen Mycroft look anxious before, and it was slightly unnerving but he could tell that Mycroft was building up to something so he let him continue.

"Caring is not an advantage Gregory. I am a powerful man with powerful enemies and I have always thought that relationships would make be weak, and they have. I was just coming to the conclusion that perhaps that isn't a bad thing when you were injured and then I remembered that I am a danger to those around me."

Greg shook his head, "Mycroft that's not true. The bloke who shot me was a gang member he had nothing to do with you."

"This time," was Mycroft's soft response.

Greg frowned, "Mycroft…"

"Do you mean what you began to say earlier?" Mycroft asked and there was an emotion Greg couldn't name in Mycroft's voice.

Greg exhaled hard and leaned forward, pressing his palms against his eyes and rubbing furiously. Christ this was a lot more than what he'd bargained for.

"Yeah," Greg finally answered. "Yeah I did. I love you, Mycroft Holmes, and maybe that makes me a stupid git but-"

Anything else he was going to say was cut off by Mycroft's mouth on his own and Greg reached out and fisted Mycroft's expensive suit with both hands, pulling hum closer even if his injury protested the movement. Greg almost protested when Mycroft pulled back but he didn't go far, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against Greg's, retaking his seat next to Greg without breaking the contact.

"I must confess," Mycroft began breathlessly. "That I am in love with you as well Gregory…and it is by far the greatest disadvantage that I have."

Greg couldn't help but laugh, "Not exactly what I wanted to hear but I'll take it."

Mycroft smirked, "You are in danger Gregory and that knowledge physically pains me. I cannot fathom standing over your corpse and knowing it was my fault that you were killed."

"Mycroft, I work for the Met. I've been putting myself in harm's way for as long as I can remember. If I'm going to be killed, it's not going to be your fault."

Mycroft opened his mouth to say something further but Greg simply shook his head. "I worry about you too you know. It's natural to worry about someone you love - you've been worrying about Sherlock his entire life you should know but it's an inevitable facet of life, and an unavoidable one."

Greg wasn't sure whether or not Mycroft believed him but he did move to rest his head in the crook of Greg's neck on the – thankfully left – side. Not sure of what else to do Greg brought his hand to rest on the back of Mycroft's neck, toying with the hair at the nape of his partner's neck.

"I should have gone to see you," Mycroft said softly. "I wanted to but I was…afraid that someone would find out and…finish the job. Nevertheless when you needed me the most I made myself unavailable and for that I sincerely apologize. I would understand if what I did was unforgivable."

"Don't you dare Mycroft. 'Course I forgive you, I love you. Just please, please…" Greg wasn't even sure what he was begging for.

"Of course," Mycroft responded as he pulled away to be able to look into Greg's eyes. Greg couldn't resist pulling Mycroft in for another kiss; after a week without any contact he felt like a man starved.

Greg cleared his throat, "Wow. That was a little more full on than I'd planned."

Mycroft hummed in agreement. "How's the pain?" He asked, a look of scrutinization on his face as he watched Greg for signs that he was downplaying his discomfort.

"Better," Greg answered. "It's really only sore when I move and you know…breathe."

Mycroft chuckled, "Perhaps you should rest?"

Greg nodded and couldn't stop the yawn that overcame him. "I think I could do with a lie down. Do you have to go?"

"No," Mycroft answered and there was a conviction in his voice that made Greg smile.

"Lie with me then?"

Mycroft inclined his head, "I can think of nothing I would rather do. Shall we?"

Once they were in the bed it didn't take long for Greg to drift off. The combination of painkillers and emotional drain taking their toll so quickly he didn't even bother to fight them. The solid warmth of Mycroft at his side grounded him as he drifted and he buried himself a little deeper into Mycroft's arm before he let sleep take him.