Chapter 3
Tiredly, Greg walked into work the next morning with a large cup of coffee in his hands to make up for the lack of sleep from the night before. After a solid hour-plus searching for Sherlock, he finally resigned himself to accept that the kid had slipped into the shadows of London. If Sherlock had been on the streets for any length of time, he probably knew of all of the best hiding areas in the nearby vicinity, giving Greg almost no chance at finding him, even if he stayed up all night to try. How things ended with Sherlock left Greg feeling unsettled for the rest of the evening. He had been stupid to think that Sherlock would let him in so soon, despite Greg's hopes. Still, even after a night of restless, half-sleep, wondering if he had done more harm than good, Greg had to believe that all hope wasn't lost for his new friend.
With renewed determination, Greg walked into the Yard and made a detour to a small area of the station a floor below his. He would track down the kid, Sherlock. The lad was too smart to be on the streets on his own. Surely, there had to be someone looking for him. If Greg couldn't connect with the kid, then maybe he could help guide him back home. All he needed was a little help.
"Greg!" a familiar voice greeted him once he rounded the corner to his destination.
"Joshua!" Greg chuckled, and the two gave each other a brief hug.
He and Joshua had gone to secondary school together and were reacquainted with each other when they both joined on at the Yard around the same time. Joshua was the nerdy, friendly sort. He wore his standard plaid shirt and khakis and had the same style of glasses that he remembered him wearing back in the day. Still, it was nice to have someone that Greg trusted to come to with things that may not always be his job description. Also, Joshua was handy to have on your team when it came to science fiction on Trivia night.
"What brings you down here, Mate?"
"Listen, I came across a kid yesterday," Greg began slowly, hoping that Joshua would be able to help him with his request with his current workload. "Wanted to know if you'd be able to dig up information on him."
Joshua pulled a pen out from his pocket and reached for a piece of scratch paper on his desk.
"Of course," He nodded. "What's the case number?"
"This is more of a personal favor," Greg confessed with a shy smile. "We met yesterday at a crime scene I was working on, and I'd just really like to help him out, but all I've got is a name."
"I've worked with less," Joshua replied with a nod. "Name, approximate age, and any other helpful information you could give me would go a long way," he finished, pen hovering above the paper, ready to jot down whatever information Greg could provide.
"Kid's name is Sherlock. He says he's fifteen. A few centimeters below me," Greg paused to level his hand at just about eye level to demonstrate. "Blue eyes, shaggy black hair," he paused, thinking back to yesterday, trying to recall the details. "Very well-spoken. Smart. I had a suspicion that he came from a more well-to-do family, but that may be more my gut talking."
Joshua nodded as he finished writing all of the notes on his scrap piece of paper. Greg hoped that it would be enough to go on. It wasn't much, but with any luck, his friend would be able to work his magic.
"Alright, yeah," Joshua nodded. "Sherlock is an interesting enough name if he didn't try and give you a fake," he shrugged. "But I'll try and run it through a few systems, see what I can find out. I might have something for you later this afternoon, tomorrow at the latest. If I don't turn anything up now, I can at least flag the name and description in case someone runs into him in the future."
"Thanks. I appreciate it," Greg waved off his old friend, heading back to his own desk to begin his day.
After seeing the mountain of paperwork that had piled high on his desk, Greg decided that he needed to try and focus his attention on the current task at hand. With a sigh, he fell into his chair and buried his head in his work, hoping that he would be able to get through enough to not have to come in this weekend. Although, he supposed that he should be thankful that he ran into Sherlock when he did, or they would have been working the case through the weekend. He paused from his report writing, shaking his head. He had made it an entire hour without thinking about Sherlock. It was time to accept the facts. The kid was gone, never to be seen again. Greg sighed, it was a damn shame. Hopefully, a weekend of paperwork would be enough to distract him from imagining the washed-out face of the teenager with bloodshot eyes.
Finally, his lunch break came, and he went to meet Hannah at a favorite sandwich shop of theirs. They've had weekly Friday lunches as far back as he could remember. Hannah used to joke that it was tradition since their first date had been a Friday afternoon picnic when they had first met in college. Rain or shine, angry or happy, they had kept their tradition through it all.
Hannah waved at him from the entrance, opening the door for both of them to enter. They made their way to the deli counter, ordering their lunches before moving to sit at their usual table by the window. After each taking bites of their sandwiches, they settled in with some small talk. Hannah was a project manager at a local advertising company and had been in the middle of a big project that was taking up as much of her time as Greg's typically did.
"I didn't hear you come home last night," Greg mentioned off-handed, taking another bite of his sandwich.
Hannah gave him an apologetic look. "I ended up staying at the office," she explained. "Besides, I thought you were on a case?"
Greg frowned at her answer but kept his suspicions to himself. "Uh, yeah, but we wrapped it up. I didn't get home until late. Trying to tie up some loose ends," he shrugged.
"Anything exciting? Did you catch the bad guy?" she asked with a smile, giving him her full attention.
"Actually, yeah," he chuckled. "Wouldn't have been able to do it without the help of this kid I met today."
Hannah finished off her sandwich, giving him a questioning look. "Oh yeah?" she asked him curiously.
Greg launched into the story of how he met Sherlock, how the kid had guessed everything down to the string of male prostitutes, how he had taken him out for dinner to celebrate, and eventually lost him. Hannah stroked his arm as Greg continued to remiss about not being able to reach Sherlock. That he couldn't say for sure, but he was convinced the kid was on drugs. He explained that Sherlock was just someone he was compelled to help. Hannah shushed by resting a gentle hand over the top of his arm.
"Greg, you can't save them all," Hannah whispered across from him.
"I know, but..." Greg trailed off. "This kid, he's remarkable, Hannah. All that brainpower and he's letting drugs rot it away. I just thought we connected. I thought I could reach him, ya know?" Greg scoffed at his vision of a perfect world.
"It will all work out," his wife tried to appease him. "Maybe you already made a difference. You just don't know it yet."
"I just wish there was more I could have done," Greg leaned back in the chair and looked out the window. "After my mum left, dad was a mess. I was raising my siblings and trying to get through school, becoming a mess myself. If it wasn't for my football coach, Mr. Frederick, picking me up when I was down, I don't know if I would have made it. It would be nice if I could return the favor someday."
Of course, Greg had also assumed he would be a father, himself, by now, or at least that being a possibility in the near future. It was another issue that was discussed recently in therapy.
"I bet you could talk to social services," Hannah perked up, excited that she had come up with a possible solution. "I bet you would be a great mentor for some of the kids in their care!"
She seemed so excited by her suggestion that Greg had to smile in return to avoid another argument. Hannah was oblivious to the problem at hand - he already had a particular kid in mind.
"Look, I think you should look into it. Although, it would just be one more thing to take up your time," she countered, letting locks of her long, dark blonde hair fall to cover part of her face, hiding it from view.
"I'm sorry my schedule hasn't been what we talked about," He apologized, looking down at his empty plate.
"Hey, it's better than it has been," Hannah conceded with another smile. "It's not like my job hasn't kept me away the last couple of nights. Big deadline to get this ad out. I know you're trying. We're both trying," Hannah told him, her smile turning sad. "Besides, I knew what to expect when agreeing to marry a copper," she joked with a wink.
"Listen, Hannah," Greg started and then paused, unsure how to continue.
"It's okay, Greg. Don't say things that you aren't ready to say," Hannah interrupted him. "I hurt you. I accept that it will take time to work through that."
They stared at each other with equal looks of acceptance. Greg had been so certain that they would work things out in the beginning. Now, he was beginning to become more resigned to the fact that his previously imagined life with the wife and two-point-five kids was maybe not how his life was supposed to go.
"Listen, I've got to get back to the office," Hannah apologized, standing up from their table.
"Yeah, me too," Greg shook his head, shaking his melancholy thoughts from his mind. He gathered up both of their trash before walking Hannah to the door.
"Bye, Love," he gave her a peck on the cheek. He watched her as she turned a corner towards the tube that would take her back to her office.
He stayed in front of the deli for a minute, trying to process his thoughts. So much had happened within the last twenty-four hours, he found himself longing to escape the confines of the office for the afternoon to go home or to the pub to process it all. Not even today, but the past three months that he had suspected and then confirmed Hannah's infidelity. Add in a sprinkle of marriage counseling and he started to wonder how much was too much. Unfortunately, Greg suspected that DI Littleton would be sure to send any unfinished paperwork with him to the grave if he didn't finish it.
Resigned to another mundane afternoon of reports, and avoiding his DI, he turned the opposite direction to begin his trek back to the Yard. Maybe he would reward himself with a night to himself at the pub this weekend.
"She's having an affair, you know," a voice from the shadows of an alley he was passing grabbed his attention.
Greg squinted into the alley that was cast in dark shadows, ready to tell whatever vagabond that was lurking to get lost. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he let out a sigh of relief, seeing a familiar outline come into view.
"Sherlock!" he called out, feeling relieved, eagerly stepping into the darkened alley to greet the teenager.
Red flags immediately began popping up as he took in the kid before him. The once-proud standing Sherlock was now slightly hunched over. Concerned that the kid was injured, he set his detective eyes over him, looking for any potential wounds. However, the closer he got to Sherlock, he could see his eyes were bloodshot and his pupils had gone pinpoint despite the lack of light in the alleyway. And, wait, did he just tell him that Hannah was having an affair?
"Sherlock, you alright, mate?" he asked, cautiously inching his way closer, wanting to take his time and talk slowly to evaluate the kid further.
"Bloody lights won't turn off," Sherlock growled at nothing in particular and began pacing while grabbing at his hair.
The bloody lights won't turn off? He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You mean like the sun! Christ, Sherlock," Greg could feel his heart plummet. That statement only confirmed his suspicions. Drugs. "Come on, Kid. Why don't you come back with me, yeah?" he asked, moving to grab Sherlock's elbow.
Sherlock spun away from him but stumbled, completely losing his balance. Greg sprang into action, reaching out for Sherlock, barely catching the lanky kid before he hit the ground.
"Easy there," he whispered. Greg helped Sherlock right himself and slowly relaxed his hold without completely letting go, just in case.
"Not going to the police. Can't - " Sherlock mumbled. Weakly, he continued to struggle against Greg without putting up much of an actual fight. The slow, sloppy moves made it easy for Greg to contain him easily.
"Alright, Sherlock. Calm down," Greg instructed. When Sherlock squinted again and tried to hide his face from view, Greg fished his pair of sunglasses out of his inside jacket pocket and placed them on the kid's face, which seemed to help him relax. "Come on," he encouraged Sherlock to come with him.
Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to come along easier this go around. The kid's balance was still all over the place and he was unable to walk in a straight line, so Greg grabbed him to help stabilize the poor thing. He threw Sherlock's left arm around his shoulders and placed his right arm around the kid's waist and escorted him, albeit slowly, the few blocks back to his car by the Yard.
Now that it appeared he had gotten his wish and found Sherlock, he realized that he wasn't prepared for what came next. What was he going to do with the kid now? Especially now that his fears about Sherlock's drug use were all but confirmed.
"She's having an affair, you know?" Sherlock grunted as they came to a stop at a crosswalk.
"Yeah, Kid, we talked about this, what? A little over twelve hours ago now? Marriage counseling. Remember? Or all those drugs you're on make you forget?" Greg snapped.
"Mmmmm, I was wrong; she wasn't just cheating. Nope, this is a full-blown affair. She loves him. Probably been going on for months." Sherlock spoke slowly, dragging and slurring his words as he went.
"Sherlock, you don't know what you're talking about," Greg bit back. He didn't need any more reminders about the failings of his marriage, especially from someone who was too high to function as a normal human being.
Sherlock let out a half groan, half growl as they began walking again, dragging his feet as they went. The pair had been given a wide berth as they lumbered across the streets of London. The lanky teen was becoming increasingly more cumbersome and dependent on Greg as they made their way to the home stretch into the parking garage.
"It's with the gym trainer," Sherlock slurred, letting his head loll to the side, resting it on Greg's shoulder.
Greg clenched his jaw and hand around the kid's waist. He was not having this discussion with someone who couldn't even walk in a straight line.
With a sigh of relief at seeing his car, he loaded Sherlock into the front passenger seat and buckled him in.
"Stay," he instructed with a point of his finger and took off toward the station to grab some of his paperwork and let them know he needed the rest of the day.
"Hey, Sarge," Sally Donovan greeted as he exited the parking garage. "Everything okay over there?" she asked, pointing to his car.
"Yeah, everything is fine. Something just came up is all. Family," he explained vaguely, waving his hands. Thankfully, Donovan nodded in understanding and let it drop. With another nod, they both took off toward their separate ways.
Greg ducked into the bullpen where his desk was and grabbed a couple of files to finish up at home. Thankfully, Littleton was in a meeting, so he checked out for a personal day with the promise to be back on Monday. With any luck, he would be able to stay afloat with his paperwork while also managing to figure out what in the world he was going to do with Sherlock.
"Greg!" a voice called to him as he was about to make his exit.
Greg turned to look back at the main lobby doors and smiled at Joshua coming his way.
"Hey, Joshua. Caught me just in time."
"Good, so, um, that kid you wanted me to look into?" Joshua asked. At Greg's nod, he continued, hesitating ever so slightly. "So, every time I tried to pull him up by name, the whole system just crashed. I tried by the description you gave me, but nothing that matched came up. Tried to search other names, the system works. I tried to look Sherlock up again, and everything crashed. It was the weirdest thing."
Greg frowned at what his friend was telling him but knew that computers were not his strong suit. "So, I take it that means you weren't able to come up with anything?" he asked, feeling slightly defeated. Yes, he felt obligated to help Sherlock. He was eager to help Sherlock, even. But realistically, he knew that the best chance of helping Sherlock was to get him back to the people that were missing him.
Joshua shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, Mate. I left some flags up in the system, so I'll let you know if someone files a report for a missing kid matching Sherlock's description. Unfortunately, I couldn't flag the name without the whole system crashing. I'm telling you, Greg, it was the strangest thing. It was almost like it was some kind of virus."
"A virus?" Greg asked, becoming alarmed.
"I don't know what to tell you, Mate. I even got IT involved and they're clueless," Joshua replied with a shrug. "But I do have some thoughts if you have a moment," Greg nodded for Joshua to continue. "First, it is possible that Sherlock hasn't been missing long enough for anyone to file a report?"
Given the current state of the kid, and his own suspicions, Greg knew that was unlikely.
"Option two - he's pissed off his parents or whoever enough not to file one. Or, they just don't care enough to?"
Considering that the kid has angered him more than once in the twenty-four hours that he's known Sherlock, that possibility was slightly more likely.
"Or, and I've seen some weird stuff in my time, so I'm really just throwing this out there, but it's possible someone doesn't want him found."
"Excuse me?" Greg asked, alarmed at the suggestion.
Joshua gave a small shrug. "I don't know what to tell you. It just feels like something strange is going on. Maybe it's just a glitch in the system. The last theory is also just the conspiracy theorist in me," Joshua finished with a wink.
"Right," Greg replied slowly, unsure what to think of the last option himself. "Well, thanks again. I really appreciate it."
The two shook hands and went their separate ways. An unsettling feeling began developing in the pit of his stomach as he made his way back towards his car to head home with Sherlock. If someone didn't want him found, what would that mean for Greg when they realized that the very thing they were hiding, had been found.
"Yes?"
"I thought you'd like to know your little brother has finally been located. It would appear he is in central London."
"Overdose?"
"Unsure. No hospitals have anyone matching his description. It appears that someone entered his name through Scotland Yard's missing person database. Naturally, that was taken care of."
"Naturally. You'll keep me apprised of the situation?"
"Of course. Enjoy your graduation. You are to report to my office in one week to begin work."
If Greg thought that dragging Sherlock several blocks across London was difficult, it had nothing on climbing up five flights of stairs with the kid due to elevator maintenance in his building. It was a different kind of hell he didn't want to experience again. How he had managed to not run into any of his neighbors, he will never know, but he considered himself thankful that he didn't have to explain himself for dragging a semi-unconscious teenager up the staircase. Finally, after twenty-five minutes from the bottom of the stairs to the top and a vow to start working out again, the two made it through the front door of his flat.
"Sick," Sherlock muttered before Greg had a chance to decide what their next steps were. Greg heaved him towards the loo quickly, cringing when Sherlock stumbled to the floor, falling on his knees, hard. It was not a moment too soon, he thought as the kid began to have an exorcism into his toilet.
Turning to give him some privacy, Greg set about to set the flat up while he waited on the sounds to cease from the bathroom. He set the kettle, hoping the tea would calm them both down. Then he got an extra pillow and blanket from the linen closet to get the couch set up for the kid. They didn't have a guest room, so the couch would have to do. It would also make it difficult to hide him from Hannah. Once he felt sufficiently prepared, Greg went back to check on his guest in the bathroom. Thankfully, it appeared that Sherlock had finished expelling the contents of his stomach and was now passed out and using the toilet as a pillow. Greg grabbed a washrag and doused it with some cold water from the sink before squatting down to try and wake up Sherlock.
"Hey, Kid," Greg whispered with a nudge to Sherlock's shoulder.
"Mmmmmm," came Sherlock's muffled response.
"Come on, let's get you cleaned up and then to the couch," Greg directed, wiping Sherlock's face with the damp rag in an attempt to clean him up. Once the cloth was disposed of, he helped Sherlock back up into a standing position. Greg had to grab Sherlock tightly when he felt the kid begin to buckle and waited a moment for him to adjust to the new position before escorting him out of the small bathroom and to the couch.
During the short walk to the couch, Greg imagined that if Sherlock were a sack of potatoes, he probably would have been more helpful. Greg was thankful for the lack of weight the kid had put on, as he was relatively easy to get sorted onto the couch. He made sure that he was turned to his side, with his lanky legs folded up to fit, taking time to remove his shoes before finally making him comfortable with a pillow under his head, covering him with a blanket.
Greg dropped to sit on the floor for a moment to gather his thoughts. He leaned his back against the coffee table and took a minute to watch over the teenager, who was already passed out, again, on his couch. Christ, he thought as he ran his hands over his face. What was he going to do with a strung-out kid? Should he call someone? Should he take him to the hospital? And then there was Hannah to consider.
One step at a time, he thought to himself, getting up from the floor, making his way for a cup of tea and grabbing some of the work he had brought home. He moved his favorite chair over by the coffee table so that he had a spot to spread his work out while keeping an eye on Sherlock. With one last glance to Sherlock to verify that the kid was still doing okay, he opened up the file on top and went back to work. He did his best to bury himself in his work, which did have the added bonus of allowing the next few hours to pass by relatively quickly. He almost felt normal. Greg did his paperwork while trying to convince himself that having Sherlock passed out in a drug-induced sleep on his couch was normal. All perfectly normal.
It was only as it was nearing the five o'clock hour that the kid started to show signs of life again, first with the tremors of withdrawal. Greg moved from his spot at the kitchen table and hovered over Sherlock, unsure how to proceed. He gathered up another throw blanket from the recliner next to the couch and tried to tuck it around the trembling teen. His efforts were immediately undone when Sherlock made a rather dramatic sprint to expel whatever contents were left in his stomach. Greg winced at the sounds coming through the bathroom. He didn't realize there was an emotion that let you feel complete sympathy towards someone and anger towards their actions simultaneously. It was unnerving. How was he equipped to deal with a strung-out teenager? He didn't know. What did Sherlock's future look like? He didn't know. Why was he helping this kid that he had only known for a little over twenty-four hours? He didn't know. He had no answers and all questions.
Greg could hear the toilet flush and then the sink turned on for several minutes before Sherlock came out of his bathroom on his own two feet. Barely. He was leaning heavily against the door frame. Greg decided to go to his rescue. Again.
Instinctively, Sherlock slung an arm around Greg's neck as they replicated the pose that had gotten them back to Greg's car earlier that day. Thankfully, there was not as much distance from the loo to the couch.
"Watch your step," Greg coached the teenager as he led him back to the couch. "Just a couple of more steps." Sherlock could barely support himself, so Greg had to do most of the work while the lanky teenager hung on for dear life. Finally, the two made their way to the destination, and Sherlock collapsed onto the couch in defeat. Once again, Greg helped Sherlock get situated on the couch before he landed on a chair next to it with a thud and took his hands through his hair. What was he going to do?
"Can I get you anything? Water?" he asked softly. Sherlock remained quiet. Greg watched the slow rise and fall of the blankets covering his chest and decided the kid had drifted back to sleep.
The sound of the lock turning in the door brought Greg's attention back to the present. It wasn't even six yet. He hadn't expected Hannah home until much later. Oh, this would not end well.
"Hey. I made it home early," Hannah's voice filtered through the living room. "I thought we could go grab some dinner or catch a movie," Greg cringed in preparation for the explosion that was about to happen. This would not be easy to explain.
"Hannah, sweetie... I uh. Well, you see, after lunch - " he stammered as he rose from his chair to block her view of the living room.
"Let me guess; you got called in on a case?" Hannah huffed. She then tried to make her way around Greg, giving him a look when he wouldn't let her pass immediately. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but I was hop-" she stopped mid-sentence, eyes landing on the suspicious blanket-covered teenager currently passed out on their couch. "Why is there a kid sleeping on our couch?" Hannah asked, suddenly aware of the situation. A mixture of emotions was rapidly changing over her face as she tried to process the recent addition to their flat. Greg could tell she was on edge.
Greg tried to rub her arms soothingly, also using them to keep her from going anywhere. "It's just for tonight, maybe the rest of the weekend," he tried to explain. "The kid just needs a place to crash. He'll be gone Monday at the latest."
Hannah looked at him, and he could see that she was confused, tired, and angry. "So you're just bringing kids home to sleep on our couch? That's not suspicious at all!" she argued, breaking free of Greg's hands.
"There's nothing suspicious," Greg tried to explain, but Hannah just huffed at him. "He just needs some help, is all. You know that kid I told you about last night?"
Hannah's eyes narrowed at her husband, "You mean the kid from the streets? The one you thought was possibly on drugs?! Greg! What could you possibly be thinking?" she yelled at him.
Yeah, she was mad alright.
"And I'm yelling, and he hasn't even flinched," she pointed towards Sherlock before bringing her angry gaze back to him.
And there were the crazy eyes. There would be no talking himself out of this now.
"Greg Lestrade, did you bring a high teenager to our home?!"
"Hannah, would you just look at him? He has nowhere else to go," Greg pleaded, hoping that Hannah would see that this was the right thing for the kid. "Yes, he has made some bad choices, but blimey, if he isn't a genius. He's so smart. What was I supposed to do? Leave him passed out in an alley in a bad neighborhood? He's only fifteen."
Hannah sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. ''This isn't a puppy, Greg. This is a kid. A seriously messed up kid," she started, clearly exasperated with the situation. "You aren't equipped or prepared to deal with this. He can't stay here."
Greg frowned and looked down at Sherlock and felt his heart breaking. He hadn't anticipated a scenario where he would have to dump Sherlock off somewhere else. Couldn't Hannah see that he needed to do this?
"You aren't thinking straight, Greg. He's jacked up on god knows what," she shook her head sadly at Sherlock. "What happens if he dies in his sleep? Or better yet, wakes up and has a violent outburst and murders us?" Hannah argued, but Greg scoffed at the suggestion. "There are places that are better equipped to deal with this. Places that aren't our living room."
Greg sighed and looked at his wife with pleading, tired eyes. "I can't kick him out. I won't kick him out. Sherlock has nowhere else to go and no one else to go to. He needs me," Greg knew that much was true. Something in his gut told him that it was up to him to get Sherlock through this next step, whether the kid was ready to get clean or not.
Hannah turned abruptly to the bedroom and slammed the door closed behind her. Greg sighed and grabbed the extra blanket off the back of the couch to cover up Sherlock when he noticed the tremors starting back up again. Greg knew that this was the right decision, Hannah could be mad all she wanted, and he would deal with the consequences later. It's not as if they were on perfectly stable ground as a couple anyway. He sighed and rubbed his hands down his face. This would be brought up in next week's couple's therapy session. With any luck, she would be able to see Sherlock in a new light over the weekend.
He turned his head to look at his new house guest. He would keep a close eye on him tonight and make sure he slept it off okay. It thankfully didn't appear as if he had overdosed—this time. Greg would have to get through to the kid somehow, or there wouldn't be the next time. Sherlock was too brilliant to do this to himself. He couldn't stay on the streets any longer. He'd get him cleaned up, maybe look into some rehab places that would help a homeless fifteen-year-old.
The bedroom door opened again, and Hannah came barging out with a look of fury across her face. She had changed into jeans, flats, and an old t-shirt and was dragging a rolling suitcase behind her as she marched angrily to the door. Greg sighed and stood up to try and stop her, but she brought an angry hand up to stop him.
"Don't. I'm going to my parents for the weekend. I'm not staying here with that," she spat with an angry wave in Sherlock's direction. "Call me when you've come to your senses," and with that, she left, slamming the door behind her.
"Damn it," Greg muttered and paced his living room for a bit. She'd never been the one to leave before. And Greg had never left, per se. He just took to sleeping at the office when he initially found out about Hannah cheating. He just played it off that he was stuck at work. He couldn't believe that she actually left without trying to talk this out.
The sound of Sherlock shuffling on the couch and murmuring something too quiet for him to understand brought Greg's thoughts to the present. He had a very high teenager that needed him. Hannah left, she would cool off, and they would deal with this later. Sherlock needed him now.
He moved over to the couch to check on the kid. "It's alright, Sherlock," Greg tried to soothe the increasingly agitated teen. When Sherlock seemed to settle again, he moved back to his chair.
"She's not," Sherlock rasped, sounding slightly more coherent than he had been.
Greg settled in his chair with a blanket, ready to stand guard over his young guest. "She's not what, Sherlock?" he asked tiredly, not expecting a response.
"Going to her parents," Sherlock responded. His eyes were open but glazed over in a haze of drugs. "She's going back to the gym instructor. Never quit seeing him," he finished softly.
Greg glared at him. He wanted Sherlock to be wrong. They had been working on their marriage since he initially confronted Hannah. Marriage counseling, a set day every week to get out and work through their issues as a couple with phones off and no work following either of them. He thought they were going to make it work. She had promised that it had only been a couple of times and that she called it off.
"And how could you tell that? By her suitcase, or how heavy she stomped out the door?" he bit out angrily, only slightly regretting his tone.
Sherlock tried to sit up, but his face scrunched up in pain and he gingerly laid himself back down, flinging an arm over his eyes. Greg looked around to turn off a couple of close-by lamps, bringing the living room into mostly darkness.
It didn't matter how he knew. The kid was able to figure it out after only knowing him for two seconds. He was probably right.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock rasped in response.
"And what is it exactly that we are sorry for?" Greg bit out sarcastically. "Sorry for my wife, or sorry for you being high?"
"Mmmm, yes. All of it, Graham," he mumbled back.
"It's Greg," he replied, more than a little put out by the fact that he had a kid that couldn't even remember his name while he was in his own home. He glanced down at his watch and saw that it wasn't even seven yet.
It was going to be a long night.
