Welcome to Part IV of Paths We Walk Together.

This story will be referencing things that have happened in the previous three parts, and is continuing where the other one ended. I recommend you read those first, but you could just start here if you so choose.

Mycroft felt too nauseous to stand. He didn't even care if he wasn't presenting as the omnipotent older brother anymore. He just felt guilt. He'd been so wrapped up in his own happiness since getting engaged that he didn't remember to tell his team to check up with Sherlock occasionally. He'd trusted Gregory's advice to leave Sherlock to be an adult and make good decisions. He'd thought that John being back from his honeymoon would have helped.

But no. His world swirled around him once he'd gotten that phone call from John. Sherlock, found in a drug den… by accident. He should have been watching. He should have known Sherlock would have drowned instead of choosing to swim, as always. He knew it wasn't Gregory's fault, but he couldn't help but feel some resentment towards him about it. He knew it'd pass, he loved the man after all… it was just… all very overwhelming.

He sighed as he remained seated on the stairs. John would be bringing Sherlock there soon. Mycroft had called Anderson, the only man he knew that not only knew what he was looking for, but would willingly and somewhat respectfully inspect Sherlock's toxic waste dump of a flat. And, of course, not alert the authorities. Anderson had arrived with a few of his members of his little fan club, two of which left fairly quickly. Mycroft just remained seated on the stairs, lost in his own thoughts.

It's my fault. I knew this would happen. I should be responsible for him. This is worse than that time after the Georgia incident… I wasn't away from him by obligation. I chose to be away because I was too busy being happy in my own life.

As soon as Mycroft saw the men pile into the entranceway, his stomach dropped. And suddenly he was angry. All of the hurt and betrayal of the trust he'd placed in Sherlock bubbled through as anger. He took a breath and put a lid on it, knowing getting angry wouldn't do anyone any good. But he suddenly found his voice enough to make scolding remarks. And he was just a little bit indignant that no one made comment on his new shiny ring.

Mycroft noticed Sherlock's door closed. He got the overwhelming feeling to make his little brother hurt … he was obviously still in love with John, who was standing in the room, and the most likely explanation for the door being shut was Sherlock having a boy in there hiding away from the commotion. The flat itself showed enough evidence of cohabitation to a degree. But it was obviously not anything serious or emotional for Sherlock. Acting out, perhaps? Or gaining some experience, maybe?

He was ready to spill the beans when Sherlock said Magnussen's name. Mycroft's blood ran cold.
No. No, no.

He turned onto Anderson and his girlfriend, all but bore his teeth at them, and enjoyed watching them scamper away. He did not enjoy John's insubordination to his authority. But he chose to ignore it to get Sherlock to back down… which he didn't.

Mycroft knew he couldn't tell Sherlock why he had to drop it… how could he even begin? Magnussen knew the truth about Redbeard and Eurus, and that was not something he could risk being spilled. He had an agreement with the man, one that was greatly more beneficial to him than Mycroft, but it had meant that Sherlock was safe from himself. It was a delicate, and dangerous, situation.

He didn't want to leave, but Sherlock made it rather evident that there was no talking to him in this state. He snarled inwardly at John, and then left. At least there was a nasty surprise awaiting him in a few moments.

Mycroft needed to have a few words with his surveillance team, and then with Lady Smallwood. It was no coincidence that just weeks after the inquiry she was conducting on Magnussen, Sherlock was on his case.

And then he just wanted to go home. He needed a hug from his fiancé. Unfortunately, Gregory was at work until the evening.

Mycroft sat in his chair and swirled the amber liquid in the tumbler in his hand. He didn't know what he was going to do. Sherlock was obviously not going to drop the case. Lady Smallwood had admitted that she'd asked Sherlock to get her husband's letters back. He was downright livid. If he could have, he'd have made her disappear… very quickly. But she was the same level as he was, and there was nothing he could do.

"Myc! I'm home!" Gregory's voice resounded down the corridor. Mycroft didn't respond. He heard the man drop his bag by the door and walk towards the living room.
"Myc? You here?"

Mycroft didn't respond again. Gregory appeared in the entrance to the living room, but he didn't look up to him. He just sipped his drink again. Greg frowned when he saw his fiancé sitting in his chair, drinking. Something was wrong. His heart twisted, and he walked up to face him.

"Myc? What's happened?" Greg asked with concern. There was no response. Greg used his hand to cup Mycroft's chin and lift it in his direction. The man's blue eyes were dazed, slowly moving to meet Greg's own. Greg knelt down so he was at eye level with Mycroft.
"Mycroft, talk to me."
Mycroft took a deep breath and sighed.
"Gregory, my love… it's not been a good day."
"I gathered. What happened?"
"It… it was Sherlock."

Greg's stomach flipped. He remained still as he listened to Mycroft talk about how Sherlock had gone back to drugs, about how he'd felt like a failure and regretted not watching him. Greg felt guilty about being so forceful at making Mycroft take a step back from his brother… but he'd honestly believed that Sherlock would be able to stand on his own. Mycroft then told him how it had been for a case… how Sherlock willingly put himself in danger, again, for a case. And that he desperately wanted Sherlock to just drop it and leave.

"What's the case?" Greg asked.
"I can't tell you whom, but I can tell you that one of my colleagues approached Sherlock in order to act as an intermediary for something in this person's possession that my colleague wants back."
"That… that doesn't sound like Sherlock's usual cases, why did he take it on?"
"… I can only assume because it's dangerous. So very dangerous. I… I can't protect him, Gregory… I didn't! This is worse than Georgia, because he started this while I was just too busy being happy, and I can't stop thinking that I …"

Greg moved up and held Mycroft, hushing him gently. The man's head rested into Greg's middle as Greg softly stroked his head.
"It'll be alright. It's not your fault, Myc, for letting him be an adult. You're not to blame, and you're certainly not to feel guilty for being happy and having your own life."

Mycroft didn't respond. Gregory knew him better than anyone, didn't demand to know the answers to everything, and cared more than anyone. And that's why he was going to marry the man. He felt somewhat comforted, but couldn't stop the dread.
"Something terrible is going to happen, Gregory. I just know it."
"We'll do what we can, yeah? Terrible things happen. But we'll all work together and sort it out, alright? You're not alone in this anymore, you don't have to carry the burden of what happens to Sherlock yourself."

Greg kissed Mycroft on the top of his head.
"Come on, why don't we go up to bed? Then I can hold you closer."
Mycroft nodded, and stood. Greg still hugged him.
"I'm so very grateful to have you." Mycroft spoke. He already was feeling a lot better. But guilt still pulled at his gut.
Once they were laying together in bed, in the soft light, Mycroft felt calmer. But his mind wouldn't stop nagging him that secrets were going to be spilled, and he'd promised to try and not keep so many secrets from Gregory.
"Gregory?"
"Yes dear?"
"I… I still have secrets from you."
"I know. We all have secrets, Myc."
"But one of them, the biggest and darkest one of all, is likely going to be revealed… and I so want to tell you it all before it does, but I … I can't."
"You've already told me a little about your suicide attempt, dear. I am happy to hear what I can about the details, something about Georgia I'm assuming? But don't feel obliged to tell me everything. I have just accepted that there are things you can't tell me, you know, state secrets and all that."

Mycroft frowned. Gregory thought his biggest secret was his attempted suicide? He didn't know what to say to that. Yes, it was a memory he kept hidden deep down in his mind, locked away, and he might call it his 'darkest', but it wasn't the biggest one. And should he mention that he was permitted to share a great deal more with Gregory now that they were engaged? Gregory already had a much higher security clearance than most DCIs, thanks to his involvement with both Sherlock and himself, but recently the paperwork had been cleared for him to know a great deal more.
"I… you… you've been granted a higher level of security clearance. I can tell you more details now."
"Oh, great. Thanks?"
"But perhaps not now. Now I think we should just find something for dinner." Mycroft spoke. He knew he was chickening out, but didn't feel up to talking. He'll just let Gregory believe he was talking about Georgia and his attempt. It wasn't like that all was going to be relevant any time soon.

The pair left the room and walked downstairs into the kitchen. Greg had started to teach Mycroft a thing or two about cooking, and so they both worked on preparing a vegetable stir fry. Greg had given up on trying to tell Mycroft that it really didn't matter if all the carrot pieces were the same size, and just let him spend extra time cutting the vegetables.

Greg got the wok out and turned the gas on, and Mycroft went to get the soy sauce from the pantry. He heard Mycroft's phone ring, and then there was silence. Greg had a bad feeling in his stomach. Then he heard a glass bottle smash on the floor. Yes, something was definitely wrong. Mycroft reappeared from the walk-in pantry, pale as a sheet and eyes in a panic.

"Myc? What is it?"
"We have to go. Sherlock's been shot. He's… he's…" Mycroft managed to get out of his mouth, before turning on the spot and running.
"Fuck." Greg exclaimed, turning the gas off and following Mycroft to the doorway.