A/N: No, I haven't abandoned this. I just keep forgetting to update this story here since runs slowly in my computer and I hit a writer's block after chapter 12.

It starts off simply.

It starts off with Greg accidentally spilling coffee on the edge of some paperwork Mycroft's doing, and the next thing he knows Mycroft is shouting at him, which is so uncharacteristic for him that it would have taken Greg by surprise if not for the obvious signs that Mycroft's been on edge for weeks. It escalates into a fight that has Greg gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to slam a fist in Mycroft's face. It escalates into the kind of fight where you forget what started it. They're arguing about something else now, and Greg has just had it because Mycroft's words sting. He's good at that in fights, knows exactly what to say to have you boiling mad. He's about to hit him, he really is, when the doors opens a crack and John peeps in nervously. Sherlock is pressed against his back, trying to look over his shoulder while John pushes him back.

"Uncle's on the phone," Sherlock pipes, eyeing the two of them curiously. He turns to Greg. "And your stupid cousin's waiting outside."

Mycroft doesn't even spare him a glance when he leaves the room. Greg expected it but it still manages to hurt. Sherlock has successfully pushed past John and is now standing in the middle of the room, taking it all in it seems when his eyes jump to the mug on the floor and to the growing stain on the carpet.

"Sher, let's go," John says quietly. The tentative note in his voice makes Greg aware of himself and of the curious, almost accusing stare Sherlock is giving him.

"Nah, I'll leave." He smiles to show that everything's okay. Sherlock frowns at him, not believing it for one second. He curses the brothers' perceptiveness, but when he sees John mirroring Sherlock's expression he realizes that it's just him.

"Say goodbye to your brother for me."

Outside, he's fuming still and dying for a cigarette or two. A glance up at Siger Holmes' old study shows him a clear view of Mycroft, his back to him as he talks on the phone. All he cares about is his fucking family, Greg thinks bitterly as he sends a pebble flying down the driveway. It's true, though, and Mycroft showed it a while ago. Hell, he always shows it, always standing Greg up in favour of doing one of his uncle's biddings.

"Fucking Mycroft."

Old Jules looks up from the hedge he's trimming. He wipes the sweat from his face then peers at Greg, studying him.

"Are you alright, Mr Lestrade?" he asks in a voice that's clearly prompting him to shake his head and tell the head gardener what happened. He settles for a 'yes' instead while mentally telling himself to pull it together. It's not as if this is their first fight—he shouldn't let it affect him so much. Even Jules noticed and everyone knows his eyesight's not so good.

"I'm fine," he lies, the words slipping out of his mouth easily. For a second, he even believes it to be true. "Have you seen Luke?"

Greg's directed to go to the pond. He finds Luke leaning against a tree, casually throwing cigarette butts at a couple of pigeons, some of which are actually gobbling them up. "It's good for them," Luke drawls when Greg quirks an eyebrow. He makes the mistake of not replying with a sarcastic remark because Luke's adopting that I'm-concerned-about-you face. "Lovers' tiff? You alright?"

"None of your concern," Greg says quickly. He doesn't want Luke badmouthing Mycroft today. It always makes him feel a little guilty and always leaves a bad taste in his mouth, especially when Mycroft calls to apologize. Luke narrows his eyes but doesn't comment on it. He kicks at a cigarette butt.

"So…we're still going to London, then?"

"Of course."

"Okay." Luke nods his head and smiles to himself. "Good, that's good."

"You look like shit," Chuck tells them. "Both of you."

"Don't sleep much," Greg admits at the same time Luke says, "Don't eat much." A grin begins to pull at his mouth but when he turns his head he sees that Luke isn't even paying attention to him.

The whole train ride was like sitting next to a stranger, and it hits Greg that, yes, there is definitely something off about Luke. Greg stares and can't help but notice the hollows in his temples and how his skin is dry and pasty-looking. You alright? He almost asks before remembering that Luke asked him the same question a while ago and he didn't say anything. It all comes down to three things: Luke has a problem, Greg has a problem, and both of them are going to ignore it for the time-being.

Chuck is oblivious to it. Chuck is currently oblivious to everything that isn't the state of his flat. It's a cheap, slightly rundown two-bedroom flat with a strip of a terrace that overlooks the grey-faced walls of other buildings. It would be bigger but the whole place is covered in potted plants. The floor is dusted with loamy soil that sticks to the soles of Chuck's feet as he moves to the sofa. A long leaf from the plant nearest to the sofa pokes the back of his neck and clings to the collar of his shirt. The whole place makes Greg feel like he's still in the Holmeses' backyard. "Sorry," Chuck says when Greg nearly steps on Mortimer. "I'm not sure what Annika's trying to achieve by letting him out of his tank."

"I think your girlfriend's trying to convert you into a Flower Child," Luke says dryly. He grabs one end of Mortimer then rests the snake over his shoulders like a scarf. "How on earth are you going to throw a party here? I can barely move without a plant feeling me up every now and then."

"We'll manage," Chuck says. He flicks a leaf away from his face. "I'll just…clean it up a bit. I think."

"Mate, you've got, like, a shitload of things to clean here."

"As if anyone will really care once they've had too much to drink."

Greg doesn't trust himself to speak. He can't help but envy Chuck whose parents are so laid-back they don't care that he's not immediately going to uni, nor that he's spending his time in his own hippie flat without anyone breathing down his neck. He's never going to do this, he realizes, because even though his parents don't really where he ends up as long as he's healthy, happy, and according to his mother, has clean underwear, he's already tied to Mycroft's family.

Luke sets Mortimer in his tank then moves to the kitchen. Greg waits until he's out of earshot before he plops down on the sofa and says, "Luke's acting weird."

Chuck frowns, glances at the direction where Luke disappeared, then shakes his head. His hair is growing out of the buzz cut and the ends stick out even more, giving him the impression of a pineapple. "No, he's not. Is it the slightly-turned-corpse look? Mate, Luke gets like this, remember? It's just his ADHD acting up, making him all depressed and shit. It's nothing to worry about. Just take him to a night club and he'll be an annoying berk again."

Greg doesn't argue that Luke hasn't gotten like this since they were fourteen because it's clear that Chuck won't get it. "Actually," he says, looking away so that his eyes are trained on Mortimer who's hissing at them from the safety of his tank, "you're acting weird, too. You have that face on."

Greg automatically schools his expression into the I-don't-know-what-the-hell-you're-talking-about-so-I'll-just-smile-and-try-to-look-like-I'm-not-panicking face that he always reserves for teachers and Mycroft's family. "What face?"

"The one where you pretend everything's alright. Are you and Mycroft okay?"

"Of course we are." The answer leaps out of his mouth without a second's thought but the shadow that crosses Chuck's face tells him that it isn't enough.

"You know, you guys are real jerks," he mutters. "I'm not stupid, I can tell when you're lying to me. Besides, this thing I have with Annika—I guess it just makes me aware of other people's relationships and, well, you and Mycroft look far from fine. Your face shows it, mate."

Greg huffs. "We had a fight. Just one fight. It's nothing."

"Yeah, right."

"Chuck, leave it."

Chuck scowls but doesn't push it. He never does which makes arguments with Chuck easy to win. They sit there in uncomfortable silence until Luke sweeps in the room and plants his arse in front of the telly. "I'm hungry," he says as he flips the channel to MTV. "Got anything to eat here other than tomatoes?"

None of them knows how to cook anything other than gooey pasta with too much cheese and weirdly chopped onions that look less like onions and more like slightly burned fingernails. Appearances aside, it's actually more than just edible and the fact that Greg finds himself liking the meal is worrying. "I'm ordering pizza later," Chuck assures them. "And I'm not cooking anything for those bastards. Half of them I probably won't even know."

No one washes the dishes either because Luke can't be trusted with household chores, Chuck claims that Annika says he never does it right (part of growing up in a family with people to do things for you strips you of the ability to master the art of domesticity), and Greg is too freaked out by the green moss thing growing on the wall behind the tap. Chuck's right about Annika, anyway, because when she arrives about an hour later, she does the dishes right after greeting them. Good catch, Greg thinks with a small smile at Chuck who beams proudly then scowls when he's ordered to dry the dishes.

It's weird to watch the two of them, to watch Chuck, rather and Greg realizes that he's been spending too much of his time with the Holmeses because Luke seems used to this. Chuck and Annika are the evidence because the last thing Greg remembers about his friend's girlfriend is that she smells of evergreens and ivory soap and that she was wearing an orange wrap dress when Chuck introduced her to them months ago. He's positive that if he blinks, he'll skip five years, those two will already be married with a baby in the picture, and he won't even know how they moved from here to there.

It's a good thing that Annika is unaware that Greg doesn't know much about her. She's nice and pretty but she never really striked Greg as Chuck's type, though that's probably changed sometime after their sixteenth birthdays. He never really thought Chuck would have a relationship with an Omega. Beta-Omega couples are unusual due to low birthplaces and the fact that an Alpha can sweep in anytime. It's why Greg's an only child after all.

"You should have brought your boyfriend, Greg," Annika says. "What's his name again?"

"Mycroft? Nah, he doesn't go to these kinds of parties." He can't even imagine it even though it already happened once during Luke's birthday. Greg had to be there but he couldn't really be left alone for too long because he was still adjusting to his new suppressants, the ones that made him weak and tired the first three times he used them, and he attracted far too much attention. Luke had said that he'd been like a lamb with a broken leg, a comment that Mycroft was none too pleased about and that had Greg tackling him to the ground.

"Yeah, but still." She looks past Greg and smiles fondly at the sight of Chuck and Luke arguing as they haul beer crates out of the kitchen. Greg bites his tongue and doesn't tell her that it might not be like that forever, that just because things are great now doesn't mean they always will be. He thinks about the frequent fights with Mycroft and that weird feeling of being suffocated whenever he's in the manor. He thinks about what Priam said nearly half a year ago.

The thing is, he's not entirely sure if he was honest with that 'yes'. The thing is, it's hard to be sure about anything when you wake up and really think about a future that's already laid bare before you.

The thing is, he's not sure if he even really loves Mycroft anymore.

Greg's not sure what's happening but he knows that it's not just him, that Mycroft's probably feeling the same way because neither of them can stand being in a room together for too long. It's as if they both want to get away and every little thing they do gets on the other's nerves. He doesn't want to talk to his parents about it and Luke definitely isn't an option because Chuck's wrong—Luke's acting weird. The only option he has is Priam but how awkward would that be? He can just imagine himself walking in the hospital, seeking Priam's advice, and all Priam will tell him is, "Well, kid, I told you so."

Not happening, then.

People start coming at around eight-thirty, literally just minutes before everything breakable and of value (save for Mortimer's tank and Mortimer himself) is hidden in the spare bedroom. Chuck is correct about not knowing half of his guests because Greg spots only a couple of people he knows from school and strangers-turned-friends who they met in pubs. "Jurassic Park much, bro?" a wide-eyed blond with an Irish brogue says to Chuck, his left hand currently dipped in the loamy soil of a fern. Annika frowns at this but doesn't voice out her complaint. She does, however, loudly announce that if anyone breaks anything, she'll set Mortimer loose.

It's not a big flat but Greg still manages to lose Luke in the sea of people pouring in through the door. A girl of Oriental descent hooks an arm around his neck to plant a wet kiss on the curve of his cheekbone before moving on to another victim.

Someone—a kid, really, and he can't help but think of Sherlock's thirteen-year-old cocaine-user cousin—slips a lukewarm beer in his hand. He takes a sip and tries not to knock into anyone. He fails, though, because someone stumbles and hits his back, creating a domino effect that has him falling over the unfortunate bloke in front of him. "Sorry, man," he says. The beer is sticky on his fingers and the front of his shirt. "I didn't mean to—"

"Greg?"

He hasn't seen Paul in a year, and the sight of his familiar face just breaks the twelve-year-old out of Greg because that's the only explanation he can give as to why he wraps his arms around Paul tightly. Paul doesn't seem to mind, though, because he laughs and ruffles Greg's hair harshly. "You fuck!" he yells when he steps back. "I can't believe you're here, you bastard. Where'd you go?"

"Can't you tell?"

Greg stares at him. He notices the little things first (the tan of Paul's skin, the revival of his accent, the lack of piercings) before he zeroes in on the little mark on the side of Paul's throat. "Shit," he says, "fuck, when did that happen?"

"Month after I went back to L'Aquila," Paul tells him, smiling in a way that startles Greg because it's so unlike Paul to smile like that. It's the blinking thing again, though he can't blame himself because Paul actually left. "I did tell you guys I have a girlfriend."

"Oh."

"What have you guys been doing while I was away?" Paul surveys the room, smiling a little when someone turns on the radio and David Bowie's voice threatens to drown them. "Where's Luke?"

"Beats me," Greg says.

Paul nods. He's looking at Greg again and Greg just knows that he's about to ask where Mycroft is. You're being a dick, a voice in his head says. But Greg mentally tells it to shut up. He's at a party and for once, he can't do anything wrong because no one's watching him and waiting for him to make a mistake. He grabs a beer instead and passes one to Paul.

"Welcome back. Now let's get shit drunk."

Luke's bent over the sink, doing lines, and Greg's thought process screeches to a halt, all of the alcohol draining out of his system in a second.

"Luke."

Luke lifts his head and turns to him, eyes blurred for a moment before panic settles in his pupils. He opens his mouth to say something. It's Greg's name, shaped in the outline of his mouth, but he isn't able to say it out loud because Greg pulls his arm back and slams his fist in Luke's face.

His knuckles catches him on the left side of his face, and Greg can almost feel the way Luke's teeth cut through the inside of his cheek. Luke falls on his back, howling in pain, his hands covering his face. There's blood trickling through his fingers and he's keening, a high-pitched sound that sends a chill down Greg's spine.

Later, he'll see his mistake. It's his mind going Luke is hurt, Luke should be not hurt that gets to him because it makes him forget that Luke isn't exactly the Luke he knows at that moment.

He offers him a hand and when Luke grabs it, Greg feels a bit of relief before Luke catches him by surprise and slams him against the medicine cabinet. The edge of the sink digs uncomfortably in his lower back but it's nothing against the sharp stinging in the back of his head and his hand. Luke's pinned his arm against the broken mirror of the medicine cabinet while his other arm's threatening to crush Greg's windpipe. There's a madness in Luke's eyes that's beginning to make Greg think that Luke can kill him easily.

The only option Greg really has is to spit in Luke's face.

"Fuck."

It takes him completely by surprise. Greg shoves him off then drops to his knees, gagging. "You idiot," he gasps, his voice hoarse and his throat burning just from the effort of talking. "What—what the hell are you doing?"

Luke just stares at him blankly. He looks like a mess with Greg's spit running down his cheek and his mouth covered in blood. There's still a trace of white powder on the tip of his nose. Greg grits his teeth and reaches for him. But Luke flinches and before Greg can do anything, he scrambles to the door, pushing past Chuck whose annoyed frown fades to a look of disbelief when he finds Greg.

"Oh, shit."

"You ought to stop moving your hand, mate. That thing will scar."

Chuck glances at him nervously. Greg wants to hit him but his hand is hurting like hell. Even with the painkillers he can feel the dull throbbing of his hand which was the first to hit the mirror. There's a dull ache behind his right eye that's probably caused by the egg-size lump on the back of his head but Greg doesn't want to give in to it even though Chuck's face shows Greg that he wants him to fall asleep until they reach the flat.

"You knew about it," he says. "About Luke. Why didn't you tell me?"

Chuck shrugs, trying to pass if off as uncaring. But Greg can see the fear and anxiety in the crease between his eyebrows. "I thought you already knew. I didn't think it would be such a problem—"

"Such a problem?" he snaps. His vocal chords protest but Greg can't bring himself to stop. "Chuck, Luke's doing drugs! Why doesn't that bother you?"

Dimly, he hears the cabbie turn the radio up. Chuck glances at him before turning to Greg once more. "Mate, everyone does it. I do it, Annika does it, and—Greg, it's just cocaine. It's just like smoking."

"It isn't," Greg insists. There's a heavy feeling settling in his chest that he thinks might be shock. "You know that it's far from that."

"Why not?" Chuck sounds annoyed now. "Smoking causes cancer. Besides, it's not like we're stupid enough to OD."

Greg stares at him. He's right, though, because there's really no difference between smoking and doing drugs.

And then he remembers the manic look in Luke's eyes.

How could he have missed any of that? How could he have not known?

"Look, Greg, just leave us alone, alright? We're fine."

"Then why the hell did Luke just attack me—"

"He just took too much. It happens sometimes. Really, it usually calms him down—"

"You're not making sense!"

"As if you're any better!" Chuck glares at him. And then he sighs and turns his face away, avoiding the argument as always. "Ever since you started hanging out with Mycroft's family, you've become this stuck-up berk. Just. Leave. It."

Greg closes his eyes and tries to calm himself by counting from ten to one.

He doesn't get past eight.

"Stop the cab."

As soon as the cab's stopped moving, Greg gets out, ignoring the headache that comes when he gets on his feet. "Oi!" Chuck yells after him. "Don't be unreasonable, Greg. You're hurt. Get back here."

"I'm leaving you alone, alright."

"Greg. We'll talk about it at home. The others are leaving already."

He doesn't turn back, just keeps walking, and only stops when he hears a car door slam shut in the distance.

A/N: Look, drugs, again. Part 3 explains why there are always drugs in this series. And you're probably feeling sorry for Mycroft, but Mycroft will be just as bad in the coming chapters. Actually, everyone's just really horrible at dealing with problems in this fic.