Work Orders...

After the divorce Greg tried to bury himself with his work. He tried to catch killers and would-be-killers and generally stop his team from killing Sherlock Holmes. The only days he took off where when he got his fourteen-year-old.

Lorelai tried to act tough, like the separation hadn't hurt her, but she hated Mum's new boyfriend with a passion and missed her dad.

Greg would just smile at her and insist he was okay, even though most nights he had a few beers just to knock himself out. It was either that or sit on the couch and stare, wondering where his life went wrong.

A lot of the time he fell asleep at his desk after working for three days with barely any sleep or food. One morning Sally had to smack him across the face just to wake him up. After that his boss insisted he take a holiday. Greg didn't want to go but he was threatened with a suspension so he went.

It was... nice, and relaxing, and very beautiful and he tanned. But there was still that anger and annoyance, the knowledge that when he got home there'd be cases and an empty flat and cold soup. It was why he jumped at the chance to go to Dartmoor and look after Sherlock Holmes.

Even seeing a giant hound (or not seeing it, Greg really doesn't know), he still got home to find a cold aching in his heart.

Mycroft Holmes had got him another week off, had insisted after the Baskerville incident, so Greg pottered around his flat. He made toast and soup (canned soup wouldn't go off like bread and milk when Greg failed to get home after a week at the Yard) and stared at the TV.

He got calls from Henri saying she needed more money for Lorelai. He got calls from Lorelai saying she didn't need anything and Mum could go to hell. He got texts from Sherlock saying he was bored and texts from John apologising.

Greg learnt not to pick up the phone.

He also learnt not to watch anything even remotely romantic, funny, tear-jerking, or good in any way, shape or form. Because everything made him angry. It made him throw beer bottles at the wall and one at the TV.

And now he had no TV.

Everything was the same and always would be. There would be work and Sherlock and John's blog and... nothing.

Not a damn thing.