When he woke up that morning, he would have never guessed his day would end like this.
He had woken up like every morning, except he felt different. The hole he had had inside of him for weeks now had grown even bigger, sucking all his energy away. It had taken him about an hour before he finally had some strength to leave his bed. Why would he get up when there was nothing to get up for, after all? He knew then that he wanted to end it all. The Yard didn't need him, there were more than enough DI's there to solve every crime. John had made Sherlock much more bearable so he would just get another DI to give him cases. His wife… EX-wife, well, she has more than enough lovers to keep herself satisfied, she did that during their marriage already as well. His life has been dragging on the past few weeks, he faked a smile but deep down he knew no one would care if he didn't show up one day.
When he finally got up, he took his gun, which fortunately comes with the job, and shoved it in its holder. He had made up his mind, he would end it today. He simply wasn't sure yet when exactly he was going to do that. He started up his daily routine; he got dressed, skipped breakfast, went to work, filled out some paperwork and awaited the call for another murder. It was noon already and that call still hadn't come. He informed Sally that he was getting lunch, that she could call him if it was necessary.
Except he didn't get lunch, he started to walk around the streets of London, watching the people pass him by, not a single soul noticing his presence. His eyes were now glued to the pavement, there's no point in looking at others if they don't see him, after all. When he looked up, however, he noticed the CCTV cameras following his every step. Somehow, knowing that hurt more.
Three weeks ago, the man who haunted his dreams, who occupied his every thought, had invited him over for dinner. He had said it was simply to discuss his brother, Sherlock, but Greg couldn't help but hope it was more than that. When they met at the restaurant, he immediately noticed Mycroft seemed a little brighter than normal. His hope only grew at that.
They had met up before, almost every two weeks Mycroft would invite Greg into his office to talk about Sherlock. The last few times, however, they discussed much more than that. They discussed their days, their weeks, everything that they were able to share. He felt as if their acquaintance had turned into friendship, and today it would grow even further. Or at least, that's what he had hoped would happen. Boy, how wrong he was.
Dinner had gone reasonably well, they discussed Sherlock as usual and then they talked about each other's week. Any other man would cower under any of Mycroft's looks directed at them, but Greg relished in them. He loved the idea of having his undivided attention and he didn't understand how people could fear the man sitting across the table.
When dinner was over, Mycroft drove him home. Or rather, Mycroft's driver drove them to Greg's flat and dropped him off there. Out of courtesy, Mycroft had walked him to the front door, and that's when everything went downhill.
Once they had reached the front door, he had turned around to face Mycroft. He had seen something in his eyes, something that had made him feel bold. He had leaned forward and pressed his lips against Mycroft's. That's when he noticed something was wrong. Mycroft didn't kiss him back. He had slowly pulled back and looked at the expression on the other's face. He saw disgust, he saw shock, and he saw pity. He couldn't bear Mycroft's reaction and whatever words would follow, so he had turned around, gone through the door and simply left Mycroft there on his doorstep.
Three weeks had passed now and he hadn't heard a single thing from Mycroft. At first, it suffocated him, not knowing what Mycroft thought or if he still wanted to talk to him. After two weeks had passed, it was obvious to him that he had driven Mycroft away, just like he had driven away his ex-wife. All of this caused the emptiness inside of him to grow until it was the only thing he could focus on, could feel. Everyone had continued with their lives, forgetting about him, while he stood still, slowly being consumed by the void of life.
His walking, which was not as aimless as he thought, brought him to the restaurant where he had had dinner with Mycroft three weeks ago. He stopped for a moment, glaring at the restaurant as if it had ruined his life and, in a certain sense, it had. He turned around to walk away when he spotted the black car rolling to a stop across the street. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the car belonged to the one and only Mycroft Holmes. So he hadn't forgotten all about him after all, what a surprise.
He thought for a moment, but shook his head and walked the opposite direction from the car. A few moments later he could hear an engine and he figured out the car was following him. He supposed that he didn't have a choice after all. He stopped and turned to the car. When the car stopped next to him, he simply opened the door and sat down. There was no one else in the back seat, just him and he didn't try to speak to the driver, he knew he wouldn't get an answer anyway.
When the car finally stopped, he was surprised to see what he assumed was Mycroft's house. With a slight hesitation, he left the car and when he reached the front door he was even more surprised that it was open. He knocked once before he pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside.
"Hello? Mycroft, are you there?" He could hear rustling from the living room and about five seconds later Mycroft emerged, looking as dashing as he remembered. "Good, you are here. Follow me." He watched as Mycroft turned around and walked back into the living room. He took off his shoes and followed him because there wasn't much else he could do.
Once he entered the living room, he followed Mycroft's gesture and sat down on the couch. Remarkably, Mycroft sat down next to him. "I noticed that you did not go to your usual location for lunch, or even the same neighbourhood. Are you alright?"
The fake concern almost made him laugh. Almost. "Of course I am alright. There is no reason for me not to be, after all." He hesitated for a moment before he continued, "so, is there a reason you brought me all the way out here? I only have a half an hour break, I need to get back to work."
He wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, this man sitting next to him was driving him crazy. The memories from that cursed evening flooded his mind, the look Mycroft had given him was suffocating, to say the least. He saw the mask slip over Mycroft's face, hiding his emotions. Could his curtness have hurt him? No, he dismissed the thought, of course not. Mycroft was the one who ghosted him, not the other way around.
"I must apologize for my behaviour the past three weeks," Mycroft started, "it was unheard of, to abruptly break off all contact the way I did." He sounded every bit like the politician he is. This was the first time, however, that he directed that persona at Greg.
It felt as if he got hit in the face with a brick. He got treated like one of the people Mycroft had to deal with daily, the morons he had told him about. The tightness in his chest turned to suffocation, where did the oxygen go to suddenly? Was someone choking him? He couldn't feel a hand around his neck so that couldn't be it. He felt like he was drowning, not in water, but in despair. Despair over Mycroft, over everyone he had lost over the years, over the feeling of worthlessness, and over the hole inside of him. The way Mycroft was treating him magnified all the feelings of insignificance which had grown inside of him.
Mycroft's cold and calculated gaze was ripping him to shreds, limb for limb, but he knew the feeling wasn't real. Had he not said what he said, he wouldn't have antagonized Mycroft. He had to snap out of it, but the numbness that was spreading through his body was so comforting. It reminded him of his intentions from this morning. Just end it all and he wouldn't be able to disappoint anyone again. The numbness would simply take control of him and it would all be over.
Then, all of his feelings rushed back with a tingling sensation starting on one spot, his right upper leg. The numbness got replaced by a warmth that slowly spread through his whole body, setting every fibre of his being ablaze. His eyes searched for the reason of this fire, only to find Mycroft's hand resting comfortably on his leg. He wasn't suffocating anymore, with a rapid speed that hand pulled him out of the ocean that threatened to drown him.
It took him a moment to register that Mycroft was talking to him. When he focused on his words he could hear the worry. When he looked up at Mycroft's face he could see that the ice-y mask got replaced by genuine worry. "Gregory? Gregory, come back to me." That was exactly what he did, he came back to Mycroft.
He expected to be judged, to have his intentions and his emotions deduced from his zoning out. Fortunately, Mycroft was nothing like his brother. Instead of doing what he expected Mycroft would do, he watched as the ginger moved closer and pulled him in a hug. The warmth spread further, igniting wherever their bodies touched.
As his emotions began to overwhelm him, he wrapped his arms around Mycroft and much to their surprise tears started to roll down his cheek. Normally, he would be embarrassed that he was crying in front of the younger man, who so clearly had all of his emotions under control. Now, though, he didn't care. He was exhausted and simply wanted to be held, to let it all out. He gripped onto Mycroft tighter and he sobbed. Everything he had bottled up inside of himself came out there and then.
They didn't speak, although he did notice that Mycroft was soothingly caressing his back. Soon, his exhaustion started to take over and his tears dried up. He pulled back from the hug and when he looked at Mycroft he saw the same pity in his eyes as he saw that night. His stomach lurched and he regretted everything.
"Excuse me, I have to go back to work." He got up and moved towards the door, only to be stopped by slender fingers wrapping themselves around his wrist. He looked at the hand and he was ready to snatch his wrist out of the grasp. He was ready to end the charade and be done with Mycroft once and for all. Before he did that, though, he looked at Mycroft one last time and what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. There was no pity in his eyes, only warmth and care.
"If I let you go now, I shall be held responsible for what happens next. I shall not let you walk out of here without attempting to dissuade you from your intentions." Of course, Mycroft knew what he planned to do. He was smarter than Sherlock even, after all. He allowed Mycroft to coax him back onto the couch, but he wasn't able to meet his gaze. He didn't know how to respond to this, what does one respond to this?
"Why would you care? I haven't heard from you in three weeks and then suddenly you seek contact again? Have your other toys bored you already?" He didn't want to hear the answer, afraid that he indeed was merely a way to pass time for Mycroft. It wouldn't surprise him, but then again, he wasn't a very positive thinker at the moment.
When it stayed quiet he finally met Mycroft's gaze. To his surprise, there was hurt in his eyes, clear as day. This was the first time Mycroft didn't hide his feelings from him and it made his stomach flutter.
"Give me your gun." He blinked, that wasn't what he expected Mycroft's next words to be. Maybe his words had hurt Mycroft so much that he wanted to end him now. Maybe he wanted the satisfaction of ending his life for him instead. The previous fluttering in his stomach got crushed by the thought, but he knew it was for the best. He didn't have anything to live for anyway. He happily complied, ready for this all to be over.
When he handed Mycroft the gun, however, he threw it across the room, as far away from them as possible. The action both shocked and angered him. Couldn't Mycroft see that he was suffering? That he couldn't stand being alive in this twisted world anymore? Mycroft had made it perfectly clear to him that he was unimportant, unwanted, so why wouldn't Mycroft just let him die?
His questions were answered when he felt two warm hands cup his cheeks. He saw Mycroft lean in and before he knew it, soft yet firm lips met his. His eyes fluttered closed and all his worries, all his thoughts melted away. He melted. When Mycroft pulled back, his pupils were dilated. The fluttering in his stomach returned, he had meant the kiss and his pupils proved it.
"My deepest apologies, Gregory. I never meant for any of this to happen. You took me by surprise three weeks ago, however, before I could react you already left. I intended to contact you the following day, but I had to make an unexpected trip out of the country for the past 19 days, which prevented me from doing just that." The look of sincerity and regret was evident in Mycroft's eyes and Gregory couldn't do anything but forgive him.
"You are here now, My, you returned when I needed you most." It took some courage, but he kissed Mycroft again, and this time when he pulled back he could see fondness in those beautiful eyes. He snuggled against Mycroft's chest, letting those lean arms engulf him. He felt safer than he ever did before,
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't ready to die just yet.
Alright then! It has been too long since I published something, or wrote something for that matter. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I liked writing it!
Oh and I know I have two unfinished stories, which I may or may not continue in the future. I first have to get my inspiration back and get rid of the hate for my own writing for that though... ;-)