The air is still, so still that Greg is afraid to breathe too hard, less Mycroft jump from the sudden sensation of the changing air. It's been several days, sometimes it feels like months, sometimes hours. The passage of time just seems so irrelevant. It all seems so irrelevant.

Greg isn't exactly sure how long it's been, Mycroft would know obviously, but he can't ask, he can't be the first to speak. He isn't sure what words he would say anyway. There just aren't words. Not for this. So, they sit here in silence, barely breathing,

But at least Myc is out of bed, Greg thinks. Somewhere he knows its for the sake of Sherlock and John, who sit mirroring the silence on the sofa opposite them, and not for him. Greg can't focus on the fact he wasn't enough to get Mycroft out of bed, the spare bed, he just can't.

He hadn't even wanted them to come around today, or ever. To be fair, he had never wanted to see another living human besides Mycroft for the rest of his life. The thought that they can still go on, that he can still go on, as part of their lives if not his own, made him feel sick.

But John being John had insisted, "It's not good to be alone", he'd said. Greg had only let them come, because somewhere underneath it all, he knew that John was right. Damn the doctor in him, for always knowing best. And Sherlock being Sherlock, couldn't seem to have cared less about the welfare of his brother, and was definitely only here under Johns persuasion. And now here they all were, sat in Greg and Mycroft's living room, with everything to quiet, and everything to still.

After however long they've been sitting, the silence is broken by a soft knock on the door; which startles Mycroft slightly, in a way that normal people who didn't know him that well wouldn't have noticed. A quick tensing of his seemingly too relaxed muscles, a held breath for a half a second, and a blink that was just to long. But he isn't surrounded by normal people is he. Its his family. His family. Anyone else and he wouldn't even have got out of bed.

Its Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft knows, everyone in the room knows. He does listen when Greg talks, for the most part, even now. Enough to know he said she would becoming around now. No one else, apart from the people currently in the room, would dare to visit him under normal circumstances; and these were not normal circumstances.

After the 4th heartbeat, Greg realizes someone must let her in. For a moment his body is so reluctant to let him stand, that he considers just curling further into the sofa, and never leaving. Somehow, he gets to his feet, with his body protesting, he wants to scream. He wants to scream so badly he can feel it rising. But he silently, to silently, proceeds to walk to the door.

Between the living room and the front room door, Greg focuses on his breathing, Breathing and the fact he cannot burst into tears the moment he sees Mrs. Hudson, no matter how much he wants to.

His hand reaches for the door, and for a second he recalls the last time he opened that door. The night it happened. And he can't breathe again.

Another knock, and he realizes he hasn't opened the door yet, he's just been staring at it. So, he opens it quickly, before he can change his mind.

The cold air is the first thing to hit him. It's coming up to winter, this Christmas was going to be perfect.

The second thing, he realizes Mrs. Hudson is not alone, she promised she would be. Promised there would be no more intruders on their home today, than herself, Sherlock and John. Greg really isn't sure if he can handle keeping up this pretence in front of more people than absolutely necessary. Keeping it in front of Mycroft is the most important, and definitely the most draining part of it all, he can't risk Mycroft for the sake of a stranger. Greg feels a pang of guilt, for the blame has now placed on this stranger, mixed with the white-hot anger of Mrs. Hudson lies, and the ever-present numbness.

But Mrs. Hudson never lies. Not to her family.