Chapter Twenty-One: Talk

Author's Note: Warnings for Mycroft acting very OOC. But I think it's understandable. If you disagree, well... too late now, ain't it?

Beta for this chapter: chasingriver

Mycroft sat at the dining table, picking at his breakfast. He wasn't hungry, he was more focused on his injured arm. He could feel the scabs scratching against the soft cotton of his shirt. They itched like mad, begging to be scratched and picked. It took all of Mycroft's willpower not to rip them open and watch fresh blood ooze down his arm.

Mummy was chatting to the maid, gossiping about Mr Dow and Mrs Fitzpatrick, bright blue eyes wide with happiness. Sherlock was attacking his grapefruit like it had personally offended him; sending fruit flying with each stab down. It made the ten-year-old smile in delight, no doubt having been running some type of weird experiment involving forks and fruit.

Neither Sherlock nor Mummy noticed Mycroft's lack of eating or the way he held his left arm close. If they did... well, they obviously didn't care. A small part of Mycroft (a very, very small part), wished Sherlock would use his blossoming deductive capabilities to shout about what Mycroft was doing to himself. He wanted Mummy to cry and beg Mycroft to ask why he was doing it. He wanted...

He wanted them to worry.

But they were acting as though everything was fine, as though the world wasn't a dark, black pool of shit. Mycroft's eyes flickered between them, anger building behind his eyes until he could take it no more.

He stood suddenly and bit his lip when neither Sherlock nor Mummy looked at him. He sneaked from the dining room, already scratching at his arm. Sharp stabs of pain shot through his body and Mycroft groaned.

That was what he needed; the pain. This pain, any pain. It made him feel alive, made him feel human.

Okay, so Mummy and Sherlock hadn't noticed or cared. That was fine, Mycroft didn't need to talk. Not when he saw the spots of blood appear on his crisp white shirt. He smiled slightly.

He didn't need to talk.

He had the pain.

Greg woke around ten and shifted in bed, stretching to work some feeling back into his arms. He'd been holding Mycroft tight all night and sat up to yawn.

Mycroft made no movement and Greg leaned over him to look at the politician's face. The taller man was sleeping peacefully, face smooth and free of anger, of hurt and darkness and... he just looked so nice, so wonderful.

Greg sighed and rolled from bed, standing and hearing his back crack. He didn't know what to do; did he wake Mycroft and demand an explanation? Did he force the younger man to talk?

Greg couldn't do that, not yet. Mycroft had looked so fragile last night; like the world was closing in on him and he didn't know what to do. Greg remembered John cleaning and bandaging his wounds before Greg dragged him to bed, Mycroft curling up and crying himself to sleep.

The DI swallowed, trying to keep back his own tears. He'd hated seeing Mycroft like that and remembering it was no better. He had been... God, Greg had never seen someone that broken before.

He rubbed his eyes before slipping from the room, deciding to let Mycroft sleep. When the man woke Greg would let Mycroft go at his own pace; he wouldn't demand answers, he'd wait for Mycroft to talk.

Greg padded out into the living room to find Sherlock and John on the couch. The Doctor was asleep but Sherlock was wide awake, hair frazzled and eyes dark from not sleeping. His head immediately turned, pale blue eyes settling on Greg.

'He's still asleep,' Greg murmured before heading into the kitchen. He came back with two cups of coffee and handed one to Sherlock, who thanked him with a nod. John was curled up around the consulting detective, Sherlock stroking his short hair. 'I think... we should just wait.'

'Yes,' Sherlock said softly, voice so lost and worried.

Greg swallowed a mouthful of coffee and settled back into his armchair, he and Sherlock lost in their own thoughts.

-oOo-

Greg heard a shout from his bedroom and was immediately up, Sherlock chasing after him. He was vaguely aware of John swearing, having fallen onto the floor as Sherlock jumped to his feet, but ignored his mate in favour of finding Mycroft.

The politician was sitting up in bed, eyes wide and darting around. As soon as Greg appeared he broke down, crying again and balling his hands into fists. Greg slid onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Mycroft, making hushing noises as he held the man tightly.

'Don't go,' Mycroft begged, tears streaming down his face. 'Please, don't leave me.'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'P-please,' Mycroft said again, voice cracking as sobs made his body shake. 'I c-can't... d-don't...'

'Myc, I'm here,' Greg said softly, running a hand through Mycroft's hair. 'Shh, it's okay.'

Mycroft buried his head into Greg's chest and continued muttering through his sobs, fingers twisting in the DI's shirt. Greg looked up to see Sherlock and John in the doorway.

Sherlock looked much like he had in the hospital; like he didn't quite believe what was happening, his mind trying to understand the emotions his heart was feeling. He gulped and looked away, pale blue eyes wavering as tears threatened to break free.

John, ever the collected one, grabbed Sherlock and pulled him into a fierce hug. He murmured something into Sherlock's ear and led him from the room.

Greg pulled Mycroft down so they were lying on the mattress, Mycroft's sobs petering out as the man wore himself down. He mumbled something else about Greg not leaving before he fell asleep again.

Greg felt a fresh crack appear in his heart as he wiped tears from Mycroft's red cheeks. He took a deep breath and closed his own eyes, trying not to let his own tears free. A few escaped, though, and Greg cried silently as he held his broken boyfriend.

-oOo-

Greg didn't leave Mycroft again until he had to use the bathroom. When he got back Mycroft was whimpering in his sleep, clawing at the sheets like he was trying to find something. Greg climbed back in and wrapped his arms around Mycroft, his boyfriend immediately going still.

Greg sighed and planted a soft kiss to Mycroft's cheek before settling down again, listening to his boyfriend's heavy breathing.

-oOo-

Greg stiffened when he heard Mycroft moan. His boyfriend yawned before shifting beneath the sheets, breathing picking up and hands moving around Greg's. Suddenly he was turning and Greg didn't know what to do. He swallowed as Mycroft rolled over to face him.

The man looked a wreck. He had dark purple bruises under his eyes and he was deathly pale. His hair stuck up crazily from his head and he had stubble along his jaw. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from too much sleep and so much crying.

Greg swallowed again, just watching as Mycroft slowly woke up and his mind started working.

Suddenly Mycroft threw his arms around Greg and pulled him in tightly, fingers digging into the DI's back and face buried in his neck.

'M-Mycroft?' Greg questioned.

'You're here,' Mycroft breathed softly.

''Course I am.'

'But...'

'But what?'

Mycroft shivered slightly and Greg pulled the blankets up, arms holding Mycroft close. 'I thought... I thought you'd be gone.'

'Why?'

'I... I cut myself.'

Greg pressed a soft kiss to Mycroft's head. 'I'm not leaving just because you cut yourself, Mycroft.'

'You aren't?'

'No,' Greg said. 'I can't, not now.'

'Good. I...' Mycroft took a deep, shaky breath before continuing. 'I need you.'

'I know,' Greg said softly. 'I'm here.'

-oOo-

They stayed holding each other for at least an hour, Mycroft whimpering every few minutes but not crying. Finally he managed to pull back and looked up at Greg with wide, fragile eyes.

'You okay?' Greg asked.

'No,' Mycroft shook his head.

'Wanna talk?' Mycroft looked away. 'Hey, we don't have to, not right now,' Greg said. 'But I want to, okay?'

Mycroft nodded slowly. 'O-okay.'

'Right,' Greg said and drew back a little.

'Where are you going?' Mycroft demanded, arms latching onto Greg. He reminded the DI of a child, one being dropped off at school for the first time. He looked panicked and scared, like he was worried about being left alone or that maybe Greg wouldn't come back.

'I need a drink,' Greg said. 'I'm not going anywhere else, I promise.'

Mycroft stared at him for a few minutes before, slowly, pulling his arms back. He curled them around himself and sat with his chin on his knees, eyes never blinking. 'Please come back soon.'

Greg nodded and rolled from the bed, quickly darting into the bathroom before heading back into the kitchen. Once again he spotted Sherlock and John on the couch, both men awake.

'He's up.'

'Good,' Sherlock murmured and stood.

'No!' the DI said sternly and Sherlock glared at him.

'Lestrade–'

'No,' Greg repeated. 'Sherlock, he needs time, alright? Just give me some time alone with him. He's fragile enough without you butting in.'

Sherlock scowled, arms crossed. 'Sherlock,' John said softly, 'just let Greg take care of him.' Sherlock glared at his husband.

'Look, I know you care,' Greg said as he poured himself a cup of water, 'but he can't handle you right now, Sherlock. I'm sorry but that's just the way it is.'

Sherlock licked his lips slowly before finally nodding and sitting back down.

'Gregory!'

Greg turned at Mycroft's shout and immediately went back to his room, slopping water down his front but not caring. Mycroft was still sitting in bed, arms wrapped around himself. His eyes locked onto Greg and he blinked.

'I'm here,' Greg said quickly, putting his water down on the bedside table.

'I thought–'

'I'm not going anywhere, Myc, I promise.'

Mycroft just stared as Greg got back into bed. The politician wasted no time in wrapping his arms back around Greg and hauling him in, once more pressing his face into Greg's chest.

'Need you,' he mumbled.

'I know,' Greg said softly.

He'd never heard Mycroft sound so broken or innocent. He really was like a child in those moments. There was no calm and collected politician, no over-protective older brother, and no passionate, giggling lover. He was just a broken man on the edge of a complete meltdown and Greg had to be there; he had to ease Mycroft through the pain.

'I know,' Greg repeated and shifted to fit their bodies together.

Mycroft's legs wrapped around one of his own and Greg smiled as Mycroft mumbled in content.

-oOo-

'I'm sorry.'

Greg had been half-dozing, for now satisfied to have Mycroft safe in his arms. It was around midday and John had popped out to grab some lunch, leaving Sherlock to sulk in the living room. While none of them were even remotely hungry, the doctor felt the need to get active and stick to routines.

The DI turned to see Mycroft staring at him, pale blue eyes wide. 'Huh?'

'I'm sorry,' Mycroft repeated.

'For what?'

'For... for cutting myself,' Mycroft said. He shifted slightly, pulling his left arm to his chest. Greg sighed and rolled over to look at him properly.

'Why'd you do it?'

Mycroft wet his lips before murmuring, 'The pain helps.'

'Helps with what?'

'It helps... helps me feel better,' Mycroft admitted. 'The pain, the blood, the... the cuts and scars, it all... it keeps the darkness away.'

Greg paused before asking, 'What darkness?'

'I don't know, it's just always there, inside me,' Mycroft said softly, looking down at the sheets. 'It makes me feel angry and... and scared.'

He'd barely mumbled the last word and Greg realised how big this was. Mycroft was confessing to not feeling normal, to feeling depressed and out of control. Greg had to be careful here; he couldn't judge, he just had to listen.

'Okay,' he said. 'So you cut yourself last night because you were upset?'

'Yes,' Mycroft said.

'Right,' the DI nodded. 'Okay, I can get that. The cutting... it helps you feel in control.'

Mycroft blinked and looked up at him. 'Yes.'

Greg nodded again, watching Mycroft carefully. The politician was on edge, waiting for Greg's reaction.

'I understand.'

Mycroft stared. 'What?'

'Well, I don't understand to feeling that... that upset,' Greg said. 'I mean, I get pissed off and sometimes life becomes hard to handle but... I've never felt that upset. I'm so sorry you feel that way.'

'You... you don't think it's just me being weak?'

Greg tutted. 'No, of course not. Myc, you... I get it, alright? Sometimes life becomes too much for you and... cutting helps.' He sighed before reaching forward to cup Mycroft's cheek. 'I still don't like it.'

'I don't either,' Mycroft murmured, eyes closing as he pushed into the touch. 'I don't like being weak.'

'You're not weak.'

'Cutting makes me weak,' Mycroft said. 'It makes... my arm... hurt.'

'Well what do you expect when you take a steak knife to your goddamn arm?' Greg demanded.

Mycroft pulled back quickly and Greg sighed.

'Sorry, I'm sorry,' he said. 'But... Jesus, you scared the absolute fuck out of me. I never, ever want to see you like that again, Mycroft.'

Mycroft was silent, just staring.

'Look, I... I get that you resort to self-harm to... to make yourself feel better,' Greg said.

Mycroft spoke before he could continue. 'No, it's not just that. The cutting and the drugs and... it all makes me feel... something.'

'Something?' Greg questioned.

'Something other than the darkness and the anger and... I don't like it, Greg, I don't like being angry and scared and...' he trailed off, tears forming in his eyes. 'The pain is different, I can handle physical pain. I can't... I can't handle emotional pain.'

Just like Sherlock, Greg thought. He can get shot or stabbed and not give a fuck. But if John upsets him he completely breaks down.

'Okay,' Greg said, 'I... I suppose I can understand that. The cutting is easier to handle than anything else, right?'

Mycroft nodded.

'Does... does anything else help, with the darkness I mean?' Greg asked. 'Because Myc, I... I don't want you to hurt yourself like this.' He reached out and touched Mycroft's left arm, his boyfriend flinching. 'Is there anything else that helps push away all that other shit?'

Mycroft looked down, right hand stroking at his left arm in a unconscious gesture. 'You,' he finally mumbled.

'What?'

Mycroft looked up at him carefully, eyes suddenly serious. 'You help, Gregory. You are better than the cutting and the drugs too. I... when I'm with you I feel happy, I don't feel all the other stuff.' He bit his lip and looked back down. 'I'm happy with you.'

Greg smiled and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Mycroft's forehead. 'Good. 'Cause I'm always gonna be here, Myc, you hear me? I'm not going anywhere, ever. So if everything becomes too much, if life becomes too much, you can always call me. You don't have to take drugs or cut yourself. You can just call me and I'll help.'

'Really?'

'Of course,' Greg said. 'I'll drop everything for you, Mycroft.'

Mycroft looked up slowly, eyes reaching Greg's and staying there. No doubt he was searching the DI's eyes for any hint that he was lying. When he found none he gave a hesitant smile.

'Really?' he repeated.

'Yes,' Greg said.

'And you... you don't hate me?'

'No, of course not,' Greg said. 'I care about you, Mycroft. I hate some of the things you do, some of the things you've done, but I could never hate you.'

Mycroft's smile became a proper one and he shifted closer to press his lips to Greg's. It was a soft kiss, an unsure one, just like their first. Greg smiled when Mycroft pulled back.

'Thank you.'

Greg smiled before saying, 'So last night... you were angry.'

'Yes.'

'And you felt dark?'

'Yes,' Mycroft repeated.

'Was it because I pushed you?'

'No... well...' Mycroft sighed. 'You were asking about the... the cocaine incident,' he mumbled, 'and about how I felt and... I didn't want you to know.'

'Why?'

'I didn't want you to think I was weak.'

'I don't, Myc, honestly; I don't think any differently of you because of this.'

Mycroft swallowed before saying, 'I'm not used to people caring. I know my mother and brother do but nobody has ever asked, nobody has ever known about this. I'm not used to having someone like you; somebody who cares enough to ask about how I'm feeling. I don't know what to do in those situations, like when you asked me to stop reading that file. I'm so used to being in control and being in charge. But this relationship, I'm not in charge of it, Greg, and I'm not in charge of you. It's... it's a partnership and I'm not used to it. I was... I was scared of that.'

'Scared of being in a relationship with me?' Greg asked.

Mycroft's eyes went wide and he shook his head quickly. 'No, of course not. I just... I'm scared of having somebody know me so well and having somebody care for me as much as you do. I don't... I don't know what to do. So last night I... I got angry and scared and...' he trailed off and looked away.

Greg looked him over carefully before saying, 'Myc?'

'Yes?'

'Were...' Greg swallowed before asking, 'were you going to kill yourself?'

Mycroft looked up immediately, eyes locking onto his boyfriend's.

'I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but I need to know,' Greg said. He wet his lips before saying, 'If John and I hadn't found you, would you have killed yourself last night?' He needed to know how far back the politician had fallen; he needed to know if Mycroft was back to thinking that suicide was an option.

Mycroft was silent, eyes raking over the DI's face slowly. Finally he took a breath and said, 'No.'

'N-no?' Greg asked.

With a shake of his head, Mycroft said, 'No, I wasn't going to kill myself.'

'Why not?' Greg asked.

'Because,' Mycroft said softly, 'if I died I wouldn't get to see you.'

Greg knew that shouldn't have made him happy but it did. At least Mycroft was living for something, even if it was a grumpy old police officer. At least Greg could sleep well knowing Mycroft wasn't going to suddenly end his life.

'Promise?' he asked.

Mycroft nodded. 'I promise, Gregory. I couldn't, not now. I... I can't do that, I can't leave you.'

Greg fought off the tears that were threatening to break free and pulled Mycroft down, the taller man snuggling into Greg closely.

'I'm sorry,' Mycroft murmured.

Greg smiled, trailing his fingers through Mycroft's hair. 'We can deal with this, Myc, okay? We'll get through this, however long it takes.'

Mycroft paused before giving a soft, 'Okay.'

Greg pulled him closer, Mycroft hugging him tightly.

Author's Note: Thank you to the wonderful chasingriver for quickly going over this chapter for me. You should read her stuff, it's awesome!