It wasn't always like this.

If it weren't for those thickheaded Russians who just wouldn't listen to me, forcing me to stay an extra three weeks.

Bringing the grand total of the trip up to six whole weeks.

And not a single word to my Gregory for the entirety of the conference.

Hell, quite literally.

I could blame it on Anthea as well, but that would not improve the situation in any way. Anthea's assistance and guidance was just as it always is: loyal, well-meaning, practical, and without it, I would have probably been pummeled to a pulp, further escalating the problem.

Though I fail to see how the current situation could be any worse.

She suggested that I not take my personal cell phone with me, and that I keep my business phone switched off and not on my person.

Perfectly reasonable.

Except that I couldn't talk to Gregory.

Originally, it wasn't much cause for concern; I had clearly told him that I would return in three weeks' time. Sharp. At his doorstep in three weeks.

But those damned Russians!

They locked me in their "conference room" – I believe the phrase "dark shady basement" would be infinitely more appropriate to describe my settings – for six weeks. I lived on nothing but meager sustenance intended to keep me at minimal consciousness, harsh questioning when they wanted to wrench information out of me, and much physical and psychological torture when I did not provide them with the information they desired.

They had locked Anthea, and therefore any hope of communication, inside a nearby hotel. She immediately called my emergency support system and described our current positions.

I would have been able to easily use physical force to fight my way out of the basement, but I was handcuffed to a pillar, limbs tied to metal loops riveted into the wall, and a spreader bar which tested the limits of my flexibility [thank goodness for the day Anthea suggested I take up yoga to maintain my temper and my waistline]. I'm sure even Harry Houdini would have spent a sufficient amount of time attempting to escape from the conditions I was placed in.

I did not say a word. I did not cry or scream or even whimper as they whipped my torso, punched my jaw, and even branded my back. Eventually, my support team arrived, far too late. I was able to escape the building, barely conscious. My team cleaned up the situation the best that they could, and even had the Russian government pay reparations for what their brutes had done to me.

I returned to my office, cleaned myself up and made sure I looked presentable. Every single trace of what happened had to be covered up and taken care of. I walked into our flat with open arms, waiting to hold my favorite D.I. once more.

Instead, he walks up to me, a slobbering mess, and slaps my cheek with enough strength to knock out a tooth. He shouts a "Mycroft fucking Holmes! How the bloody hell could you leave me like that and saunter back in and expect me to come near you again? What kinda game are you playing?"

My otherwise superb support team had failed to complete the most important task. I had specifically instructed them to do this task if my international stays are extended for more than one week past the planned return date. I had asked them to inform Gregory.

He had no idea.

For six weeks, he was left in the dark.

His reaction was entirely understandable…though, I would have expected him to have been worried sick about me and hold me and be glad that I'm back and that I'm safe. But he had been drinking excessively, and for a drunk, his reaction was...reasonable.

He thought I had left him.

Gregory, why would I ever do that?

I love you, dearest.

Do you love me?

Why did you do such things to yourself? Out of love or out of anger?

Well, no matter what it may be, I cannot have you subjecting yourself to such torture and ingesting this poison.

Anything you do that harms yourself, harms me more. Just remember that.

One day, I will tell you when you are sober. If you understand me, you will want to put an end to it too.

But I haven't seen you sober since before that Russia trip.

My dear, that was over three months ago.

No matter. We will get through this. I just have to put aside my busy schedule, visit you at work, where you are guaranteed to be sober, and discuss these things, yes?

I frankly don't care how many times you scream at me or punch me or slap me or kick me. I will endure it. I will endure the suffering of seeing you destroying your longevity – and therefore, the time we have together – every single night. I will endure the pain of seeing you unhappy with everything I try to do for you. I will endure the pure agony of observing as alcohol and cocaine rip the best thing that has ever happened to me from my arms and take him over completely. I will endure all of these things for us.

I will stand by you no matter how many times you try to push me away.

I will always be there for you, whether you like it or not.

Why?

Because this is what you did to me, Gregory Lestrade. You made me fall in love with you. I cannot leave you, not now. I would never see the light again if I left you, or if you left me.

One day, this will all be merely a part of the past. A part of our past. So, endure as I am enduring. That is all I ask of you.

Just…wait. I will help you.

That is my only wish.