Greg glanced up from his paperwork to see Anthea standing in the doorway, blackberry oddly silent in her left hand. She gave him a short nod before leaving his office. Naturally Greg followed.
Anthea remained silent throughout the entire journey, completely ignoring each and every question that Greg threw at her. No answer to why she was here, where Mycroft was, what he wanted at this time of day. Nothing. Eventually Greg gave up, simply sitting quietly in the back of the car and letting his mind wander. Worry started to grow in the pit of his stomach, and as much as he tried Greg couldn't seem to stamp it down.
The car slowed to a halt and Anthea opened the car door, stepping out to allow Greg to leave. She said nothing, giving Greg an almost sad look- the only expression to crease her features since she'd gone to his office- before getting back into the car.
"Hang on a minute-" Before Greg could finish his sentence the car door closed behind her and the vehicle pulled away from the curb. Leaving Greg completely alone.
Looking around he noticed he'd been dropped off outside the pathology department of St Bart's Hospital, and his confusion grew. It was becoming ever more difficult to stamp down his increasing worry.
A man who looked vaguely familiar approached him, giving a small nod.
"You've got ten minutes, follow me Mr Lestrade." He demanded, rather than requested, before entering the building. Shaking his head Greg stepped into place behind him, hoping for answers. The man led him down a series of corridors, and finally they reached a door. A dead end. He gave a final nod and opened the door, standing outside of the room. Greg hesitated only a moment before entering.
The door closed behind him with a slight click, that sounded about as loud as a bomb going off as Greg's heart hit the floor. He stood rooted to the spot as he stared at the man before him, his brain having difficulty processing what he was seeing. His feet started moving of their own accord after what felt like hours, taking him close to the bed at the other side of the small room. He stared down at Mycroft, taking one hand in his.
It was cold.
Greg sank down onto the bed, sitting beside Mycroft's still form and clutching tight to his hand. Tears stung at his eyes but didn't fall. He didn't wail, not a sound left his lips. He didn't want to look anymore, he didn't want to see this. But his eyes wouldn't close, nor would his hands stop shaking, or let go of Mycroft.
Ten minutes must have passed because the door opened again and the man entered. Still nobody spoke, and the silence was suddenly deafening, the atmosphere was so heavy it was choking him. Greg had to leave. He stood, staring down at the man he loved. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Mycroft's forehead. Then he turned on his heels and left the room, silent tears falling down his cheeks.
He stood outside St Bart's a few moments later. Completely alone.