The three men sat and chatted for a little while longer. Conversation wasn't very meaningful or intense but it was pleasant and light, everyone smiled and laughed and sometimes they actually meant it. When John and Sherlock went off on their own little tangent Mycroft let himself zone out, not at prey to the dark thoughts, however, which was nice. That was until he was suddenly snapped back to reality.
"…Lestrade so we have to work independently until he gets into the station tomorrow." John scoffed "'Independent', like you ever do anything else." "I'm sorry, what was that about Lestrade? I zoned out. Didn't sleep much last night. Paperwork, potential national crises you know how it is." It was probably just paranoia, a trait he'd had for as long as he could remember, but Mycroft could have sworn Sherlock and John exchanged a look when he mentioned not sleeping.
"I was talking about this case. Old lady's hand bag was stolen, found fifteen minutes later on the other side of London after being used to kill a man. I was saying how John and I would have to investigate alone because Lestrade isn't working. Of course, it's not currently his shift but normally he doesn't actually do anything else, what with being a divorced man with no close family and little friends outside of work. Today he was going to the pub on Octave lane. His football team is playing today, big match going from the fact his shirt was-"
Sherlock continued to talk but Mycroft had long finished listening. So he knew where Lestrade was, what's the big deal? He always knew he could find him at the station, and he could always call him, so what was the big deal? And the man hadn't even talked to him in days, but why should he? He wasn't Mycroft's friend, they weren't working together on anything or temporarily united in some common cause or anything of the likes. Why should he care that he knew where Lestrade was this lunch time? But then, since he DID know he should probably make use of the fact, drop by. Besides, he still had to return Lestrade's coat.
If Sherlock and John noticed the weird almost feverish glisten to Mycroft's eyes that was there for the little time before they all parted ways, neither said anything.
Mycroft cursed himself for not having kept the coat with him wherever he went. After all you never knew when you'd run into someone, their time in the park was evidence of that. But the fact was he hadn't taken the coat with him so it was still at his house. Mycroft set off on the journey back home. He jogged it since he really could use the exercise and he didn't want to be too long getting to the pub or Greg may be gone. Since football matches lasted a little while he should be fine.
But the time he got home, Mycroft was sweating and gasping for breath. He had actually managed to run the whole way home! It felt amazing. Aware that he must smell, Mycroft had a quick shower, coughing frequently from the strain running had on his lungs. After making himself presentable again, perhaps a little more groomed than usual for no specific reason, Mycroft picked up the coat. He held it to his chest, it still smelt strongly of the man who owned it. He felt a pang of something at the thought of giving it back but then, of course he had to give it back. And he could see Gregory too.
So with that thought Mycroft set off out the door. He hailed a cab since he didn't want to miss Lestrade and really it wasn't very decent for him to be sweaty, red and out of breath when he arrived. Besides, he had exercised all the way back home which Mycroft was very proud of. The cab drive was not very long and Mycroft saw some of the streets he had taken ages jogging down pass by in seconds. He silently vowed to himself that he would take up jogging again, this time actually venturing outside rather than sticking to his treadmill. He could get his speed and distance up far higher than it currently was.
Once the cab pulled up at the end of the street, Mycroft climbed out paying the driver before he departed. Now that Mycroft was there he started to feel a bit apprehensive. What was he doing? Gregory had come to the pub to relax and watch a match while having a pint, possibly with friends. Who was he to intrude? But then he did have the coat. He really should have just given him the coat when he was at work, pop by and return it. Or even drop it off at reception. What the hell was he doing? But he was here, and it was a cold day so Greg really ought to have a coat. And all he would do is go in, hand over the coat, leave. Simple. Not intruding, he'd be out of the way in a jiffy.
Mycroft took a deep breath and quickened his strides to the door. The pub was a friendly little one. Very local but homely, it was the type where you could go in and not feel unwelcome but unless you knew all the people and where a regular customer you where a bit of a third wheel. No matter, Mycroft wasn't staying. Just dropping by. Just returning the coat.
Mycroft was nearly at the door when he saw Gregory inside. The man looked amazing. He was wearing a football shirt and had a massive smile, clearly very happy and enthusiastic. He was holding two pints of beer and carrying them from the bar. Mycroft watched as he walked, it would be rude to intercept the man before he had reached his table after all. A few more seconds and Lestrade was back at his table and…
And he sat down next to a lady who was wearing the same football shirt, her brown hair pulled up into a pony tail, and he handed her the other pint. Lestrade smiled happily at the girl who smiled back and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into a kiss.
Mycroft fell back from the window, recoiling from the place. He took a few shaky steps backwards before turning around and running.
