Apparently what Sherlock needs is silence. The kid's been staring at the same location on the wall for at least twenty minutes. Greg is starting to feel the pressure of all that silence. He turns on the telly and skips from channel to channel, trying to find something that doesn't require too much brainpower, something that doesn't stir emotions. He settles on a documentary about penguins. While Greg stares at the telly, he thinks. Sherlock might resent his brother, but shouldn't the man at least be told that his brother is safe?
"No," Sherlock growls, then rolls over to face the back of the sofa. "He'll already know anyway."
Greg shifts in his seat, wondering what the hell the kid means by that.
Sitting up, the young man looks at Lestrade. He sighs, realising the futility of everything he's done that day. "How long have we been here?" Sherlock sighs again, berating himself for loosing track of time.
"Hmm," Greg glances at his watch. "Almost an hour. Why?" He's expecting some scathing remark from the kid or, at the very least, a cutting glance. What he doesn't expect is for Sherlock to sag even more than he had been already.
"My brother will be here soon," Sherlock says, his voice has gone flat and lifeless.
Greg starts to get concerned, that's the second hint that all is not normal where this brother is concerned. He opens his mouth to ask... something, but words fail him.
"No, he's not a criminal mastermind and he's not got connections to the underground." Sherlock pulls his legs up to his chest, thinking it would almost be easier if Mycroft were some petty criminal.
"Then, how..." Greg's words are cut off as he sees the look on Sherlock's face.
"He's the British Government, or will be within two years."
The young man's words come out bitter and Greg is starting to get nervous. What has he got himself into? He hesitates, but he has to make the offer. "I won't let him take you, if you don't want to go."
The way Sherlock laughs at that is disturbing, bitter. "Don't get in his way. I'm not worth it."
Greg's about to come back with a rejoinder when there's a knock at the door. Apparently the kid wasn't joking.
Even as Greg stands, Sherlock curls up on the sofa again, laying on his side.
A fair amount of trepidation is making itself known to Lestrade as he stands and walks to the door. He braces himself, not knowing what to expect when he opens it.
Without waiting for an invitation, Mycroft tries to step into Greg's home, umbrella first, but Greg surprises him by stepping into his space and forcing him back. He closes the door behind himself and takes stock of the man before him. This brother looks to be a poncy bastard, if Greg's any judge of people.
"Sergeant Lestrade," Mycroft says, tilting his head slightly. He levels an observant gaze at Greg, taking in all the little details that didn't appear on the report he had received on the man. "I believe my brother is inside. I'm here to take him home."
"It's not that simple," Greg responds. Maybe he's being swayed by Sherlock's earlier words, but he's taken an instant dislike to this man. "I think we need to talk first."
Mycroft narrows his eyes as he reconsiders his approach. This man is fairly radiating a fierce protectiveness for Sherlock. It would do better to acquire him as an ally than to alienate him. "Please, Sergeant. I worry about him. Constantly." He pauses here for effect. "I'm certain you know why."
Greg shoves his hands in his pockets, but doesn't look away. He finds he's not intimidated by the man, despite expecting to be. Perhaps spending time with Sherlock on cases the last few months has been good for him, made him impervious to raptor-like gazes and the like. "Yes, but he needs his freedom, space to succeed or fail on his own. I get the impression you're smothering him, and he's not handling that well."
"Am I supposed to let him return to drugs, Sergeant? Turn a blind eye while he destroys himself." Mycroft's voice has gone cold. How dare this man lecture him where Sherlock is concerned!
Greg shakes his head. "He says this isn't about the drugs."
"What do you know? Sherlock's been fighting depression since he turned 14." Mycroft clamps down on his self control, reminding himself that he wants this man as an ally. "He turned to drugs to fend it off. I assure you, he's fighting his craving as we speak."
Greg's entire posture softens in understanding - Sherlock's brother is afraid. "But you have to see that you can't fight it for him, no matter how much you want to."
Mycroft is the one that looks away. He knows Greg is correct, but it's a bitter knowledge and rankles fiercely. He looks back at the other man. "Perhaps we should start again." Mycroft holds out his hand. "Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Mycroft Holmes."