Greg timidly put the keys in the lock, and opened the door. He didn't know if he'd find Mycroft there or not. It was likely the man was staying late at work to try avoid encountering him. The house was in disarray; the blanket in the living room was flung over the table, one of the cushions was in the hallway, and the other appeared to be on the kitchen bench. Greg noticed that the covers on his bed were crinkled up in a big pile, not the way he'd left it, and his fluffy pillow was missing.

It seemed clear that Mycroft hadn't handled his departure very well. He walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed. He might as well use the time until Mycroft arrived to think about what he was going to say. He didn't know what Mycroft would say - he'd been surprised enough at Mycroft's conceding behaviour to be unassured as to what to expect next.

What do I say when he walks in? 'Mycroft we need to talk?' That's too cliché.
Greg started to feel the anxiety rise up his throat. He breathed deep and tried to decide to just see how things went. Best to not prepare too much and just go by instinct/feelings.

It was nearly an hour before Mycroft arrived. He walked through the door, froze upon sensing a presence, and then walked forward, gripping his umbrella.
"Relax, it's me, Mycroft. I'm not going to hurt you." Greg stated bluntly, as he stood from the bed.
"Is that so?" Mycroft sneered, but then regretted speaking. Greg frowned at him.
"I'm here to listen to your side of the story, Mycroft. Without the anger."
"I thought you said I only had that chance last night."
"Are you … deliberately trying to get me mad again?"

Mycroft shied away and looked to the floor.
"I'm sorry." He muttered quietly. "Why don't we sit at the table?"
Greg nodded in agreement and followed Mycroft to the table. They sat in their usual seats across from each other, pushing the blanket to the floor.

"I want you to tell me everything, Mycroft. I have to know why you helped Sherlock fake his suicide, I want to know how you were involved. I want to know why you had to keep it all a secret from me. And you have to tell me how you felt about it all. I want to know where you went disappearing to, and why, the other night. Everything."
Greg was firm with his demands, sitting at the table much like many of his police interviews. Mycroft paled slightly, but realised Greg's serious tone, and so braced himself for a difficult retelling.

"This will not be easy." Mycroft stated, purposefully leaving it ambiguous. It definitely was not going to be easy to talk about, especially his feelings, but it was no doubt going to be difficult to hear as well.
"You might be aware that some of what you are about to hear is classified as top secret, and must not be repeated under any circumstance."
"Obviously, Mycroft." Greg grunted impatiently.
"Right. Of course. Well… I guess it started when we captured Moriarty…"

Mycroft found that once he started, it was fairly easy to continue. He felt relief confiding in Gregory from the moment he mentioned Moriarty. He'd not been able to talk about this in such a long time, to anyone, and so suddenly was unable to stop himself. He poured everything out, entirely and honestly.

He wasn't going to let this opportunity slip past to rectify things with Gregory. Ever since leaving Sherlock's flat he'd been thinking about it all day: making amends. Deciding to stop fighting himself to gain control over the turmoil that was his emotions, to stop trying to be the man he was before Gregory. He was happy for once in his life, and that happiness hadn't interfered with his work. It was losing that happiness that had seemingly crippled him. And so instead of trying to be a man that got by without a leg again after losing his prosthetic, he was going to fight to get that prosthetic back.

Greg listened patiently and intently. He nodded in parts, frowned in others, and occasionally asked questions. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been this. It was very in depth, honest, and emotional. He tried to remain objective, but he couldn't help but feel the pain along with Mycroft.

Mycroft talked about how close he'd come to telling Gregory about Sherlock while on the phone with him that fateful night. How he'd wrestled himself not to let anything slip since. How he spent so many night hating himself for being such a monster to Gregory, but not once relenting lest injury or death befell him. He talked of how happy he had been, and how some days he wasn't reminded of the guilt. Mycroft even said how he felt undeserving of Gregory's affections because of his deception. How he'd ignored the voices in his head telling him that he was taking advantage; and how he was setting himself up for hurt, since Gregory would undoubtedly never want to talk to him again once Sherlock came back. And how he believed he deserved it, but didn't care as long as Gregory was safe and happy.

He spoke of Sherlock disappearing that night they had dinner, and how worried he had been and yet unable to do anything. Greg cast his mind back to the night in question, and suddenly it all made a lot of sense. He didn't regret the things that happened following dinner, especially not when Mycroft talked of how important it had been for him - that someone cared for his wellbeing without agenda or demands for information first. He then said the helplessness he'd felt then, and the feeling like he'd broken his promise to take care of Sherlock, led him to immediately go out looking for his brother when he was captured a few days ago.

Greg listened with worry as Mycroft talked of going undercover, of being entirely alone while attempting to locate Sherlock and work his way up the ranks in order to find him. How any slip up would have resulted in instant death; but his determination to get his brother, and himself, home safe had urged him on. He'd had to watch Sherlock be tortured, and act like it meant nothing to him. Mycroft apologised for not contacting Greg immediately after returning, but he had needed some time to cope with what he'd witnessed before being able to handle the impending difficulty between them.

He then went into further detail than expected about Sherlock; talking about his brother's drug addiction, the times he'd found Sherlock overdosed and alone, the vow he'd made to always watch over his little brother and always be there for him. Greg hadn't heard Mycroft talk like that about the drugs before. Even in their earlier association, when Greg was helping Sherlock get clean, Mycroft had always behaved like the unimpressed older brother embarrassed over his sibling's shortcomings. There had been moments, of course, when Greg had witnessed Mycroft Holmes in a panic or utterly lost in grief … but they had been brief and fleeting before the mask had been put back in place. He'd never heard of the first time Mycroft found Sherlock, on the brink of death from overdose.

Mycroft began to talk of something regarding an incident of Sherlock's drug past when he choked on his words. Mycroft looked uncertain if he should continue or not.
"This isn't related to your actions, Mycroft. You don't have to tell me about this right now."
"I want you to know, Gregory. And I am afraid that if I do not tell you now, I may not gather the courage to do so at another time."

Greg nodded, feeling rather overwhelmed already. It had been a lot to take in. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, but it had had to have been over an hour.

"It was eight years ago. Not long after you'd met Sherlock for the first time. You'd found him before I had. I was so immensely grateful that you had saved him. I know that he wouldn't have survived had you not acted quickly."
"Yes, I remember. It had only been a few month since the sauna case. He'd kept popping up at my crime scenes - I was beginning to think he was stalking me. Well, until you kidnapped me, at least."
"Heh, yes. You looked like you were ready to clobber me."
"I was."
"Well, you passed the test with flying colours… even if you had, it wouldn't have changed that."
"Right. Well… suddenly, he just stopped showing up. He looked like user all that time, and so I just knew he was out of it somewhere. I hadn't expected to find him so soon."
"But you did. Before I had managed. He'd spoken of you a lot, if you didn't know."
"Really?"
"Oh yes, of the great Lestrade that let him work on cases and gave meaning to his life."
"I never realised…"
"No, he wouldn't tell you that. But he did say it, trust me." Mycroft said heavily, as if baring a deep dark part of his soul he'd not shared with anyone.

"As I stood over his bed, realising that I almost lost him and if it weren't for you, I would have… I felt completely useless. I failed him, and I would never be able to forgive myself for it. I had been having a lot of difficulty in my job; a job I started to take care of my family, and that job had not only failed in saving Sherlock, but had been a big part of the reason I missed finding him.

"I wanted to quit. I'd dedicated so much of myself to that job, to being that person… and for what? I'd lost Sherlock anyway. And then I find that the person that 'gave him meaning in life' had been the one to save him. I felt completely worthless. He had woken enough to tell me that it was a mistake, and that he was going to try go clean with your help, Gregory. In mere months you had succeeded where I had failed for years.

"Where Sherlock found his purpose, and a fight to better his life, I had lost mine. And so I stood over him and said my goodbyes while he slept, and left with no intention to see him again. You may not remember, but I passed you on my way out. I wanted to feel resentment towards you… but I couldn't. All I could think of how wonderful you were and how lucky Sherlock was to have you in his life. I said to you, 'take care of him, Lestrade', before leaving the ward."

"I do remember that, Mycroft." Greg whispered. He wasn't sure exactly where this story was going, but it was clearly something traumatic for Mycroft.
"Good, I'm glad to have made such an impression." Mycroft sighed, seemingly tired from talking thus far. He didn't continue the story.
"And?"
"And what?"
"Well, you obviously did see Sherlock again, so what happened?"

Mycroft looked at Greg, and Greg felt stunned. It was like he was seeing into the man's soul - something he'd never thought he could see with Mycroft.

"I tidied my affairs, and then prepared to end my life."

Greg felt a wave of cold wash over him. He was speechless… but his face obviously invited further explanation.

"It was evening by the time I decided how I would do it, and so I ended up needing one more night. In the morning I went out to the store and purchased the items I required, came home, and prepared what I needed to."
"Jesus, Mycroft… What did you do?"
"I …I purchased a number of batteries, nine volts, and then constructed a circuit. I intended to place the electrodes into incisions in my skin to allow the current to pass across my heart. It was easy enough to calculate the resistance of my body and thus the voltage I required to get the correct amperage of current to pass through the cardiac muscle. It was quick, fairly painless… and it seemed appropriate."

Greg had paled slightly upon hearing it. He never thought Mycroft to be one for suicidal thoughts let alone attempts. He was beginning to realise that Mycroft actually did know what he was doing when helping Greg back from his own attempt, and knew of the inner demons one faced.

"What happened?"
"Well… obviously I didn't succeed in that either. In actual fact, you called me as I was preparing myself."
"What?"
"Indeed. It was when you were asking permission to aid Sherlock in recovering from his overdose, and to oversee his rehabilitation. I was more than happy to give you full control of the situation; as I was no longer going to be around to do so, and I trusted you implicitly. But then you asked me to help you. You said you needed me. Your words, 'I can't do this without you' have remained with me to this day, Gregory. You gave me a purpose again, and even though you didn't realise it, you saved my life. It was a particularly dark period for me. The determination you gave me to stick around got me through until other aspects improved."

"That's … unbelievable." Greg uttered in disbelief.
"I assure you it is true."
"But for me to save you… and then for you to save me, and then end up in a relationship… it's … it's a hell of a coincidence." Greg stated suspiciously.
"The universe is rarely so lazy." Mycroft said with a hopeful grin.

"You may be saying Sherlock is a miracle, dear Gregory, but you have always been mine."