John was still angry. Mary had tried talking to him, and it did help that she was so ok with it all, but he couldn't stop being angry. But he felt justified in his feelings, and couldn't understand why no one else was taking the news like he was. Wasn't it the normal reaction?

He and Mary had finished dinner, cleaned up, and went straight to bed. John couldn't stop the thoughts and emotions swirling through his head. He just stared at the ceiling, replaying the past few years of his life. His time with Sherlock, the hurt from his apparent death, and then the healing process since. Except this time, he looked over it bitterly, picturing Sherlock watching over everything that was happening and not caring.

"You really should talk about it."

John looked over to Mary, who was eyeing him with concern.
"I don't want to." John replied.
"Maybe not, but I think you need to."

He looked away.
"I don't think you could understand the betrayal." He mumbled.
"Probably not. But I care about you and will listen."

John sighed, and rolled over to face her. He smiled at her.
"I appreciate that. But I really think I would just get frustrated more than anything because I'd have to explain everything. Maybe sometime soon I'll be able to tell you about it, but not right now."
"That's ok. I understand, love. You haven't really spoken about your time with him much before. I know I would find it difficult to pour my heart out about something to someone that doesn't really know what I'm talking about."
"You are amazing." John said while smiling.
"Yep." Mary returned, also smiling.

John chuckled and kissed her.
"If only you did know already." He mused, returning to lay on his back and look once again at the darkened ceiling.

It was this moment when the doorbell rang. John groaned, putting his hands up to cover his face. Mary petted his arm and then moved to get out of bed.
"No, it's ok, I'll get it." John grumbled.

Mary didn't put up a fight and let her…fiancé?… answer the door. John slipped into some pants that were laying on the floor and slowly moved to the entranceway. He groaned to himself again, hoping against all hope that it wasn't Sherlock standing there. He opened the door and was met with a pitiful looking Greg Lestrade.

He looked strained and exhausted, his eyes still red from when he'd been crying and shining from tears, and he looked like he might keel over at any moment.
"Greg?" John asked, stepping back from the doorway to let the man in.
"… Can I stay with you tonight?" Greg managed to say, his voice hoarse and broken.
"Yeah, of course. I only have the couch though, I hope that's ok."

Greg nodded as he stepped in out of the light drizzle. He shuffled in towards the living room and collapsed down on the couch. He felt like he was running on autopilot. His mind was stuck in its own thoughts, and his body was just drifting about. John noticed his distant stare, and recognised it as similar to his own just before. He knew about Sherlock, then.

John joined the detective on the couch, calling out to Mary that Greg was there. She came into the room to say hello, but quickly read the room and just nodded to John before returning to the bedroom. They sat there in silence for a moment, while John waited for Greg to talk.

"He knew." Greg mumbled.

John's eyes grew wide as he suddenly realised what was going on. Mycroft had indeed known about Sherlock being alive all this time. While John was still sitting, shouting, with Sherlock, he'd been told that. But he just passed it off as 'of course Mycroft knew', and continued with his angry interrogation. However now that he thought about it, Mycroft knowing would be particularly difficult on Greg. He sighed and patted Greg's damp shoulder. If it wasn't enough that Sherlock was back after pretending to be dead, but Greg was faced with Mycroft having lied to him all this time.

"You're wet, Greg. How long were you standing out there?"
"I… I lost track."
"Well, come on, take off your coat. Hopefully you're not wet underneath." John said softly.

Greg removed his trenchcoat. John took it from him and just tossed it gently onto the ground. Greg looked at John with such turbulent, lost eyes.
"What am I gonna do, John?"
"What do you mean?"
"About Mycroft."
"Ah. I… I don't have an answer for you, I'm sorry. And I don't think it's really up to me to decide. Only you know what's best for you."

Greg just looked back to stare at the coffee table.
"You're angry." Greg mumbled.
"Yeah."
"At Sherlock?"
"Of course at bloody Sherlock."

He closed his eyes and slumped forward, putting his arms upon his knees. Of course John was angry at Sherlock. John always did have a temper, and all the hurt and betrayal would just fuel that. Greg however found it all just dragged him back down into that same overwhelmingly cold, dark, depressed place he'd been in not long after Sherlock… faked it. And it wasn't even because of Sherlock. He couldn't bring himself to be too upset with the man - he was still just glad that somehow, he'd come back. It was all the trust he'd built up with Mycroft that had been betrayed that had kicked him in the gut. But he had a feeling that John wasn't going to see him eye to eye on the matter.

"I'm glad you came here, Greg." John said.
"Why? Afraid of what I'd do?"
"To be honest, a bit actually. All of this shit is more involved for you, and I can't bloody cope, so I don't expect you to fare any better. And we both know what happens when you get stuck in that place."
"Oh so it's my fault then?" Greg snapped, annoyed.
"No, no! I just meant… depression, when it gets bad, stops you thinking rationally… and … I'm sorry."
"It's ok, I didn't mean to snap. It's just… ergh." Greg sighed, rubbing his face in his hands.
"Yeah." John said absently. It indeed was 'ergh'.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" John asked.
"I think you could work that out."
"Yeah, but that's not the same as you telling me. It might help you."
"Well, Sherlock's not dead, my boyfriend whom I was going to propose to knew about it all along, and I'm sleeping on your couch because of confronting him about it."
"He kicked you out?"
"No, I left. Hell, he seemed like he was expecting it. Barely said anything to me, just stared at the god damned floor. I had to shout at him, demanding him to talk, to get anything bloody out of him. And even that wasn't an explanation, more just apology."

John thought for a moment. That was rather uncharacteristic of Mycroft. Normally he needed to be the one doing the talking, the arrogant prick always trying to control everyone and their opinions. It must have been really emotional for him to shut off like that.
Now that I think about it, he probably knew this was coming and prepared for it.

"Did you find that better, or worse, than his usual arrogant attitude?"
"He's not actually like that much to me."
"Oh. Ok, sorry. He's always a posh 'better than you' prick to me."
"He was always considerate, sweet and a bit adorably nervous around me. When it was just us. I mean yeah you can't get rid of that upper class flare, but his personal persona is quite different to his 'outside world' persona or heaven forbid, his iceman 'work' persona."

It was obvious in what Greg was saying that he still loved the man deeply. John guessed that's why he was so conflicted right now - being so hurt and upset, but not being able to stop feeling that love and devotion. John hoped that they would be able to work through it. Greg hadn't been happier for the whole time John had known him since getting together with Mycroft. As angry as he was about the whole situation - he still hoped it would get better for the two of them. It did put him in a difficult position, though.

"I know it's hard, Greg. It's obvious you still love him, and part of me wants him to see the error of his ways and pull the finger out to start treating you with more respect, because fuck you two are good together."
"I don't want it to end, John, I never did… I just… I don't know if I can trust him again after all this."
"I don't blame you."
"But I can't have a relationship with that constant fear of being manipulated and lied to."

John didn't know what to say. Mycroft wasn't about to stop lying. It was his job. And he was inherently a control freak, with the power to manipulate people's lives at will. All he could hope was that he wouldn't do it to Greg anymore.

"… He…"
"He won't stop, I know, John. I just thought I was the line. That he respected me enough to not pull that shit with me."
"I can relate there."

Greg turned to look at John. He, too, was drawn and tired. The doctor furrowed his brow and leaned forward to imitate Greg's pose.

"That bastard lied to me. He stood back and watched me grieve, let me move on, and then comes back large as bloody life as if nothing happened! I mean, what an utter cock!"
"John…"
"No, I'll not calm down. No one else seemed to react to his return like a normal person. I mean, I get things are different for you Greg … but fuck, you can't tell me that you're ONLY pissed at Mycroft."
"I'll admit, I'm a little upset with him. Sherlock, that is. Not angry, not … whatever level you've taken it to… but just upset. He had his reasons, John."
"No bloody reason is good enough for what he did."
"Some are."

John scowled at Greg. He couldn't get angry at the man, not when he looked so utterly defeated. But he still felt like getting his point across at least.
"No, I don't care. I'm not going to listen to his excuses anymore. I'm done."
"Done?"
"Yes, done. He killed our friendship when he killed himself."

Greg couldn't believe what he was hearing. John didn't want anything to do with Sherlock? Seriously? After everything they went through, and the suffering from the loss… John was actually going to just walk away?

"John…"
"No, save it, Greg."
"Please listen." Greg said, sounding so pitiful that John couldn't help but sigh and turn to face him.

"Sherlock being alive is that miracle that we'd forgotten we'd asked for. You shouldn't turn your back on it. No matter what he's done to you, or the reasons behind it, trust me when I say that you will not be complete until things are resolved between you two. I'm not saying you have to forgive him right away, but at least understand that it wasn't something he chose to do for fun. And don't think that he didn't suffer as well. You lost him once, John, and it almost broke you. Do you really want to lose him again?"

John said nothing in response. He wanted to shout again, but he silenced himself. Greg was indeed right. But he wasn't ready to admit it.
"I just want to move on with my life. I can't go back to those days."
"Moving on doesn't have to exclude him. Let him know it won't be the same anymore, but don't cut him out. Honestly, John, it sounds like you don't want anything to do with him because you're trying to avoid those difficult emotions. I get that, I do… that's why I'm here on your couch. But you can't run forever, and letting him back into your life doesn't mean the past two years didn't happen. You have changed, you have Mary, but that doesn't mean you can't still spend time with him."

John looked at him with a sneer.
"You two have talked a lot, haven't you?"
"We talked a bit, yes. Until I found out about Mycroft. Then I scared the pants off him while driving him to Baker Street before going home."
"Hehe. Well, that's something at least."
"Yeah. I mean… I was so angry at Mycroft, John. I really was. But now all that anger has just faded and I'm left empty, depressed and confused."

Greg rubbed his (still wet) hair in frustration.
"Just… think about it, yeah?"
"Fine…I will. As long as you do too, Greg."
"Huh?"
"What you said could easily be applied to you and Mycroft as well. Well, most of it at least."
"Alright."

John stood, and said he was going to fetch some blankets for Greg. The conversation had reached a reasonable conclusion, and neither man really felt like dragging it out. John had talked about his feelings enough already - even if he didn't really say much. It had always been a difficult topic for him, and he was glad that Greg never pushed it. John returned with some bedding and a pillow, and asked if Greg wanted a change of clothes to sleep in.

Greg declined the offer of pyjamas, not really feeling like being restricted in any of John's spare clothing. He was smaller than Greg enough for the clothes to not fit. The doctor mentioned that Greg should get out of his wet clothes, and at least didn't seem to make a fuss with the implied sleeping in underwear. Greg thanked John sincerely, and mentioned that he'd likely be gone in the morning before either of them woke.

"Goodnight, Greg."
"Night, John. Thanks."