Silence fell on the office. Mycroft didn´t even bother denying Greg´s words, didn´t even try. And that was bad. Because deep down Greg knew that only one thing could have brought mighty Mycroft Holmes on his knees like this. Every hope that Sherlock wasn´t dead was lost.
„Why do you care? I... I told you I don´t need you. I told Anthea she can´t help, and it was true. No one can."
There was no answer to that. Of course Mycroft knew that Gregory won´t stop caring for him, ever. Because once Greg decided you were worth bothering with, once he´s seen potential in you maybe you yourself missed, he would never let go.
Suddenly a mix of contradicting emotions buried somewhere deep started to grow inside Mycroft. Calm down, control yourself, there would never be anything good coming if you let your feelings reign you, anything good ever came from making yourself volnurable. But Greg is someone you could trust, he´s here, he came... NO! He knows you, exactly! He already knows too much about you, enough to hurt you, enough to destroy you. How dare he come here! Why did he come?
Doesn´t he know what I did? Perhaps John doesn´t want to talk to him either. But as soon as he finds out about me and Moriarty, about my bargain, our bargain...
I have killed Sherlock. Can´t he see that? Doesn´t he know? I am empty know, everything good is gone. Surely he understands? How come he couldn´t see?
„How come I couldn´t see what?" asked Greg suddenly and Mycroft cursed himself for not paying attention, for letting his mouth say the last question. But now he did, he felt tired of hiding, tired of keeping to himself and avoiding answers.
„That I´m lost," said Mycroft, barely whispering. And suddenly he crumbled, letting go of the armour build in years to protect him and to keep him standing when he was losing. Because this was not losing, this was utter and complete defeat.
„Please, leave. Please. I... have killed Sherlock... and hurt everyone I ever cared for... I just..." Mycroft took a shuddering breath. „He asked me once whether there was something wrong with us. There was never anything wrong with him, it´s me... I´m screwed up, and I screw up everyone around me. Always have."
The worst part is, Greg thought, that he doesn´t even cry. He´s saying all those things, blaming himself, feeling sorrow so deep it brought down the proud persona he usually exhibits even around me, but he cannot allow himself the comfort of tears.
