9:16 pm:

Mycroft stood there in shock. He couldn't believe it… he'd argued with himself the entire way there that he was just being irrational, that he was being paranoid and overly anxious. That nothing was going on. But there it was, the evidence right before his eyes. John was kneeling shirtless over Gregory, who was laying on the couch, and was undoing the buttons of Gregory's shirt. Mycroft could only make a strangled noise as the two men looked up at him, and then fled out of the door.

8:58 pm:

He nervously tapped his phone on the table. Gregory had been gone for a long time, and neither he nor John were answering his calls. His driver had responded, and told him that he'd taken Gregory to John's place at around 5pm, and then to a pub. As far as he knew, they were both still in there.

Mycroft worried. Even though he knew Gregory and John liked to get together every once and a while for a drink, it was an awful long time to be out drinking. That made it seem like they were trying to drink away some kind of problem. Mycroft felt like the problem was him. He'd gone too far with Gregory. Part of his mind said that he was overthinking it and catastrophising, because Gregory had reciprocated each time. But the anxious part of his mind, the one that always planned out the worst possible scenarios to everything and convinced him that they were all going to happen, told him that he was the problem they were trying to escape.

He wanted to go and check up on them. John had been going along fairly well so far, but he knew that it was a slippery slope which could throw him back down into the despair. But he felt confident enough that John was ok. He was resilient thus far. Mycroft's heart strained at thinking that Gregory was not ok. And he felt guilty that it was his dinner invitation that caused the turmoil. He wanted to know what was happening. He could understand so much, knew so much - not knowing anything that mattered to him made him incredibly uneasy.

Mycroft tried to take deep breaths as his leg jerked rapidly beneath him. He could go to the pub? The idea would normally have ground against him like sand in a clock, but if it meant he could satiate the desperate need to know what was going on, and know that his Gregory was ok, he would do it. He cleared his throat uncomfortably when addressing Gregory as 'his'. The detective wasn't 'his', at least not yet. And even if that was what Mycroft wanted, and had allowed himself to feel for once in his life, he was still hesitant. Loving another was invitation to be hurt beyond measure, much as his experience as a young teenager.
Caring is not an advantage, Mycroft.

Mycroft tried to force himself not to care so much. It felt so … dangerous. Much like a turtle who had spent its entire life living inside its shell only to try and see the light … the potential to be warm and happy in the sunshine was worth trying, but he could easily have his tender head chopped off.

Mycroft's phone buzzed, and he saw that the driver had messaged him. He opened it and read the message.

- G and J request to be taken back to J's home. En route.

Mycroft knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself. He texted a response.

- How are they?

- G is likely drunk, J may also be. They seem to have had a good night, they can't take their hands off each other.

Mycroft paled when he read the message. Gregory and John? No, surely not… John had proclaimed he wasn't gay enough when around Sherlock. Even though Mycroft suspected John to be rather repressed when it came to liking men as well, he knew that John did at least seem to behave somewhat 'interested' around Sherlock. Whether or not he realised it, or what it actually meant to him, didn't seem to matter. But with alcohol in the mix, perhaps those inhibitions were loosened?

But John's sexuality aside… he thought he and Gregory were bonding? Mycroft felt stabbed to the chest. He'd put himself out there thinking it was reciprocated… but now it was seeming like it wasn't. Did he just misread it all?
No, no I couldn't… Gregory said he had feelings for me. I couldn't have misread that. This has to be just a misunderstanding. Or playful drunken antics that don't mean anything. No, they aren't about to sleep with each other. I have to get more information before I conclude Gregory's intentions.

Mycroft stood suddenly and called for a car. He was going over to sort it out. He noticed that his muscles were shaking slightly, causing his hands to tremor. He slipped them inside of his pockets to avoid alerting his driver that anything was getting to him.

The car arrived promptly, and Mycroft got in. He gave the address, and was left sitting in the back seat attempting to not picture obscene images involving his friends.
No, it's ridiculous. It's just my anxieties. Greg probably just had too much to drink and so John was helping him stay standing. Yes, that's it. And John's place was closer, so they were likely just going to drop John off first. I'll get there and John will be confused why I'm even there. Oh well, that can be explained easily enough.

Mycroft rationalised to himself for the whole trip. He was a whole lot calmer by the time he arrived at John's place. The other car was still there, however, and so another wave of anxiety flowed over him.
Greg could be just getting a drink of water, or a snack or something before coming home. No need to panic.

The British Government had no issue letting himself into John's home unannounced. He'd done it multiple times while he was living with Sherlock, and so it shouldn't be a surprise to the doctor anymore. Even in the past, it was Sherlock who had taken offence to the action. John had been complacent about the matter entirely. After the first time, at least.

He walked into the living area and that's where he froze. All of his rationalising he'd done on the way over went out the window. He couldn't … no, he could, he just didn't want to… believe his eyes. He felt like all of the air was being squeezed out of his chest.
No, it couldn't be…

When they both looked up at him, he just had to get out of there. He didn't want to hear their excuses or their likely angry shouting. He didn't want to be anywhere near John's house. He actually ran out of the house and to his car. Once he threw himself back into the back seat, he breathed. He gasped for air, unable to control himself.
John and Gregory.

Mycroft felt himself getting lightheaded as he continued to breathe in as much air as possible to counter the feeling like he was suffocating.

"Sir? Are you alright?" The driver asked cautiously.
"Take me home." Mycroft spat back while exhaling. "And tell the other driver to follow."

The driver at least had enough sense to not question anything further and did was he was told. Immediately after, both cars took off and headed back to Mycroft's work place.

Upon arrival, Mycroft rushed down the hall, purposefully not looking at Gregory's room, and bolted himself in his bedroom. He curled up under the covers, feeling like his insides were being torn form out of his body. He felt himself start to cry and he started hating himself for ever letting himself be open to this kind of hurt again.