"It was you outside the pub, wasn't it?" Mycroft jumped with a gasp, the knife he'd been holding clattered to the kitchen floor. Greg walked closer to Mycroft who was now staring at Greg with surprise and alarm "My, tell me," Greg persisted, gently taking Mycroft's trembling wrists and kicking the fallen knife away from them "Was it you outside the pub?" Mycroft looked down and nodded causing yet another piece of Greg's heart to shatter "Sh-" Greg sighed, running a hand over his face.
"H-how did you get in here?" Mycroft asked with a shaking voice. "Is it my fault? W-was…" Greg swallowed "Was this me?" Greg asked, holding Mycroft's arms up, taking note of the cuts and burns. Mycroft stared down at the floor, unable to look into Greg's eyes or down at his arms. He shook even more, his breathing ragged and his heart beating like it was trying to escape from his chest.
Mycroft was painfully aware of the other man's distress, that the marks no one was supposed to see or at least understand were being carefully viewed by the one man he least wanted to see him like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this, no one was supposed to know! Definitely not so soon. Why had the man come? How had he gotten in? What right had he to give Mycroft nothing but silence then suddenly appear in his house uninvited? He knew he couldn't talk about this, not now. He just couldn't. "G-Greg." He gasped out before all his emotions overwhelmed him and, to his horror, he burst into tears.
Greg's eyes widened and he cursed under his breath, wrapping his arms carefully around Mycroft as the other man half collapsed onto him "Hey, it's okay, My. Everything's gonna be okay. Come on." He said guiding the younger man towards the sofa. He sat down on it with Mycroft next to him who's arms had encircled his waist tightly and would not let go.
"Shhshhshh it's okay, love, I'm sorry. For everything. For coming in here like this, for just abandoning you without even an explanation, for not being here for you when you needed me, for…" Greg sighed, holding the trembling form in his arms close to his chest "For trying to run away from feelings that scared me instead of just damn facing them." Mycroft made a sound of confusion but Greg just shook his head, running his fingers through Mycroft's hair "We'll talk later. For now you damn well cry. You're allowed to cry, Mycroft, it's good to cry. I'm here for you, that's all you need to know for now."
Mycroft was too undone to be embarrassed at that moment and was instead incredibly grateful to Greg for everything. He held on tightly to the other man, sobbing desperately into his shoulder. Greg held Mycroft, muttering soft words of reassurance, soothing the distraught man as much as he was able.
Eventually Mycroft's tears subsided, leaving him exhausted, sticky and breathing heavily, clinging onto the detective inspector for dead life. "Hey." Greg murmured softly, running his fingers through Mycroft's hair "You okay?" Mycroft glared at him childishly causing both men to giggle "Yeah, okay, stupid question. You're not okay but I promise you this: you will be." Mycroft gave Greg a tired but earnest smile, too exhausted to be stubborn or isolated.
"I'll make you some tea and toast, cus you definitely need it, and we'll talk." Greg felt Mycroft stiffen and frowned "What? You don't want to talk? Mycroft we need-" Mycroft shook his head "What then? Don't like toast?" Mycroft opened his mouth to talk but all that came out was a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again "'m not hungry." This caused Greg's frown to deepen "Mycroft you're completely exhausted. You're eating whether you know you're hungry or not." Mycroft was about to retort but Greg cut him off "And no that's not up for discussion, mister." Mycroft looked slightly indignant at being treated almost like a child but he could feel something warm in his heart. Something that was setting all his emergency alarms off but he decided to ignore because it felt good, it felt safe.
