A/N:
Hmm, so there is not much action in this chapter, but I kind of like it that way, although I don't imagine Greg to be a person to ponder very much.
There is also John again, I can't help it but he is such a tragic character at the moment, and I like the Idea of John and Greg being a tad closer, after Sherlock's 'death'.
Also I wasn't really sure about the jogging thing. Since Greg's job is obviously very time cosuming, and he has most probably not that much time for things as this, on the other hand he likes to go jogging (or/and playing football ;D).
I like the idea of him enjoying sports and being rather fit, but not overly so. In my opinion it fits the character better, than making him any kind of adonis :D
Oh and I noticed in the first chapter, that it wouldn show the text messages would not be marked properly, I actually wanted to put it in '...' but it didn't work while just copying and pasting, so I made sure it was better in this one
When he woke, he felt the sting of a headache and for a moment he considered , if he had had too much of a drink the day before.
But then he remembered the awkward encounter with Mycroft and his conversation with John later that evening.
Two pints could hardly be enough to cause such a headache.
He could feel his shoulders and neck being tense and a glance towards his alarm clock told him it was only just past 9 am.
Normally he would think it to be rather late, but since he hadn't had much of a good night's sleep lately, he could really do with a few more hours of it.
It was his day off anyway.
He fell back into his pillows and closed his eyes again, trying to will himself to sleep.
This night hadn't been any better.
Briefly he could remember strange, but vivid dreams and the face of Mycroft Holmes sparing him on of his condescending smiles.
He could feel goose bumps forming on his whole body and his heart rate quickening.
His eyes sprang open again, and he tried to ban the image from his mind.
Frowning he sat up his hands massaging the bridge of his nose.
Well this was strange.
He was quite sure it hadn't been an all too pleasant dream yet it didn't seem to have been a nightmare.
The Detective shortly even considered if he had had any kind of erotic dream of the older Holmes brother, but he was sure that he would remember that, even though his reaction was really strange.
His lips formed a thin line, while admitting the older Holmes had accomplished what he had wanted : To intimidate him, although he could still not make any sense of the conversation at all.
He had rather casually accused the younger man of fancying John, but he was quite sure, that the red head was more than capable of asking a person out, if he really considered them to be worth the effort.
Mycroft Holmes might not have been the most outgoing person he knew, but he was still miles away from being as antisocial as his brother had been.
And what he lacked of social skills he made up with this beaming complacency Greg was so irritated with.
He was used to working with people that were full of themselves, but the Holmes brothers brought it to a whole new level, and while Sherlock had certainly not been any better, he had at least shown his attitude towards other people openly, while Mycroft hid all behind his fake smile and polite mannerism.
Also he had a feeling that Sherlock's rudeness was always a kind of self-protection.
When they had been investigating the series of 'pretense suicides' or 'A Study in Pink' as John had later so fittingly titled he had told the younger Holmes that he had to act like he did, since he was dealing with a child, he had meant it.
There were times he had felt he was more of a desperate father dealing with a son that had just hit puberty, than a Detective in his late forties seeking help from the world's only Consulting Detective.
If the other had ever been a Consulting Detective.
Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure of how much Sherlock had told him about Mycroft was true.
He was relatively certain that the older Holmes was a powerful man, with or without a genius brother and he seemed as intelligent as Sherlock had always depicted him.
But if the other man was really as powerful as to being in charge of secret service or CIA in any way, was to be doubted.
It might also only been the exaggeration of a sociopathic man trying to get attention.
Greg frowned.
He hated to think such of the brunette, but the way things were now, there was no way around it.
He finally got himself to get up.
There was no use in trying to sleep anyways.
He made his way to the kitchen and switched on the old coffee machine.
They had had a brand new one. His wife had insisted that it was absolutely vital, to have that kind of luxury, so he had spent 600 Pounds on that bloody thing.
Well guess who took it with him.
He sighed and sat down at the kitchen table.
Couldn't there be any kind of good news for a change. He was not the kind of person to complain all the time, but it definitively took some fucked up stuff to ponder that much.
He might not be dense or particularly uneducated, but he was more of a man of action, heaving thinking he would readily leave to people such as Mycroft.
After he had had his cup of what might have been considered as coffee, he got up from the kitchen table and glimpse outside the living room's window told him it was rather nice weather outside.
It might not have been awfully warm, but sun was shining and he decided to go for a jog, which would hopefully help him to get this mess in his head sorted out.
A few minutes a quick wash later; he got out of the front door and began to jog in a moderate pace.
It wasn't often he had time for this, even though he wished for it, since it always helped him to sort things out. Unfortunately his shifts at the yards often wouldn't leave too much room for it.
It was actually a quite nice day. The the weather was nice, and the early spring sun had made its first attempts in warming the cold air of London.
He ran past a little café where he often stopped to get his morning coffee before he headed for the yard and decided to get breakfast on his way back.
While contemplating if he wanted to get a cinnamon roll, he accidently bumped into a young man, with ginger hair, probably about his height.
"I'm sorry I didn't watch where I was going."
"It's okay", the younger answered briskly.
Greg noticed the other tried to avoid making eye contact, which he thought not overly strannge, since he was a stranger after all, so he picked up his speed again, after the young man had hurried away.
'Must have had something important to do or something', he reasoned as he went on.
On his way home he actually stopped at the café and got two cinnamon rolls and a coffee, which of course tasted way better than the brew he had made at home.
He put both the paper bag with the sugary treats and the coffee on the coffee table then went to take a shower.
He felt the hot water spray unto his head down his body.
The last bit of tension in his shoulders, that the jogging hadn't affected, eased now, and when he finally, after taking quite a bit of time, he opened the shower and stepped out to dry himself and wrap himself in his morning gown, he was deeply relaxed, that was except for his rumbling stomach.
So he made his way to the couch and switched on the telly, while unwrapping his breakfast.
That was when his mobile went off.
He angrily stared it, hoping it would stop, if he only did stare hard enough.
Eventually it did and he just wanted to take his first bite, when he noticed, that it had been a text, not a call.
'If it is Anderson, I swear I'm gonna kill him', he thought, nonetheless he put down his breakfast sighing and flicked his mobile open.
Hey, Greg, sorry for bothering you on your day off, but I need to talk to someone. John
That didn't sound well, not at all.
He dialed John's number quickly and was relieved when the other picked up.
"Everything alright?"
"Yes, Greg, I just, can we meet at the Chinese restaurant in half an hour? I'll tell you then."
The younger man sounded agitated and Greg didn't hesitate for a moment.
"Okay, see you then."