It was evening again. Greg hadn't really registered what was going on for most of the day, but had noticed John get up and use the toilet once. He knew that the man must have heard him sobbing, just like he had the previous night, but John hadn't come to see him.
He's probably too lost to think about anyone else right now.
Greg sighed to himself.
I'm not worth coming to check on.
Greg felt like his gut was twisted and a hole was missing from his chest. He hoped that it was all just a nightmare, but he knew it couldn't be... nightmares couldn't hurt this much. He was stiff and sore from spending so much time curled up on the couch. The detective stood, stretched, and walked to the kitchen to get more alcohol. He poured out some whiskey, feeling like he was running on autopilot. He briefly wondered why Mycroft wasn't interfering with them more, but remembered that he was probably also incapacitated with grief.
Did he know at all how bad things had gotten for Sherlock?
As if on cue, Greg's phone chimed.
- How is John holding up? MH
Greg sighed. Of course, it was all about John. He kicked himself inwardly for thinking it, since it was wrong of him to think that he deserved the same consideration as John. John, who had done nothing but try and help everyone, who had been closer to Sherlock than anyone - even him - and who had tried to talk him down off the roof, and failed.
He must be feeling really inadequate, pleading Sherlock to stay and have him jump anyway.
Greg felt sympathy with John, and recognised how he didn't know how it must feel to see your (and his) best friend stand there ready to jump, and fail to prevent it. Greg knew he'd feel utterly useless, and feel like he didn't matter to Sherlock, and a failure. Part of him hoped that John's blaming him so strongly was just trying to come to terms with that guilt, and not an honest belief. But deep down he knew he didn't fight for his friend's credibility as much as he should have. In hindsight, he would have done anything if he'd known what would happen. Greg chuckled, and thought how if he'd known, he'd have sent a squad and ambulance to grab Sherlock and keep him safe.
Greg's phone rang, but he let it go to voicemail. He didn't want to talk to Mycroft right now. He didn't know if his voice would hold out to speak more than a few words.
- Gregory, please respond. MH
Greg checked his phone again, and took a large gulp of the whiskey. He sighed again, the tension remaining firmly in his gut.
Well, better get used to this. This is going to be how it is from now on.
Greg tried to feel like he deserved consideration as well, but the voice that told him that it was largely his fault crushed his self worth. He replied.
- He has been crying, and just stayed in the bedroom since we came home. I went in an checked in on him once, and only said one thing to me. GL
Greg tossed his phone on the table, and returned to the couch. He took some deep, regular breaths, and after a few moments his hands stopped shaking. The glass in his hand was steadier, but he drank the remainder in one gulp.
- I have organised an appointment with his therapist tomorrow morning. I am not sure if he is willing to attend, nor if I should send a car to take him. Please advise. MH
How was he supposed to know if John would be willing to attend an appointment tomorrow? He reluctantly stood up and peered into the bedroom as John had left the door open. He was in the same position as before, except facing towards the door. His eyes didn't even flicker up to the movement of Greg's face sticking into the room.
"John?" Greg softly called, but there was no indication that he was heard. Deciding not to push the matter, Greg retreated back to the living room.
- I think the question may be if he is able to attend, Mycroft.
- Please elaborate. MH
- He is unresponsive, I don't know how I would get him to move voluntarily.
There was a pause. He wondered if Mycroft was considering sending a team to force John into the car. He knew that wouldn't end well. The army doctor had quite the temper at times, and knew he'd fight hard if it came to it. Bringing him to that point was probably counter productive. For now, at least. Greg hoped it didn't come to that.
- I will be there at 9am tomorrow morning. See you then. MH
Well, that was the end of that conversation. At least Greg didn't have to do anything. He honestly feared that the doctor harboured a great deal of resentment towards him at present, and would rebel against anything Greg suggested. He didn't want to be the reason John didn't get help.
Greg laid back on the couch. His muscles ached still, and he wished that he could lay down in the bed. It was his bed, but he felt John needed it more right now. He wanted to go and get his pillow at least, but his last encounter with the doctor had made him afraid to get too close. He knew it was silly, but he felt very unstable and wanted to avoid conflict as much as possible. Conceding to his anxiety, he moved a cushion to use as a pillow and grabbed the throw rug to use as a blanket. It was nice to have something draped over him, and once he was laid down, he found it rather comfortable. Before long, he had drifted off to sleep.
