/Then./
There was someone knocking at the front door.
Mycroft could hear them, knew he should get up and answer it, but he couldn't. How could he when he hadn't showered in four days and stank of whiskey and bourbon? How could he face the world without his family?
The knocking increased and there was a voice calling to him from the other side. "Mr. Holmes? Mycroft? It's Sargent Lestrade. Please let me in. Sally's here. She's in the car. She's worried about you. Says you've not been eating. Mycroft?"
Greg.
Of course Sally had enlisted his help. Loyal, stalwart, true Greg Lestrade. He couldn't face them. Couldn't let them see how he was wallowing in his own misery, unable to cope.
It took them twenty minutes to give up and leave.
Pulling himself up from his chair he stumbled down the hall, looking for another drink. He stopped as he passed by the parlor, seeing the piano tucked away in the corner, covered in Lego's and army men. Moving them aside gently and opened the keys, brushing his fingers across them to remove the layers of dust.
Then, slowly, he began to play.
