Chapter 8

Greg never drank during the day. Throughout his whole life he'd only gotten himself a drink during broad daylight about two or three times. One of the times was when he found out he was no longer anyone's big brother. Another time was when he first found out about Elaine cheating on him, a long time ago when he still loved her. Neither of those times really counted, because honestly, who wouldn't have gotten themselves a drink in those situations? No, Greg never drank during the day, and still he found himself sitting in a bar at noon during his lunch-break a Thursday, sipping on his third whiskey.

He could think of nothing but Sherlock, the first sight of him in that ragged bed so… broken. Greg didn't think that he would ever forget or be able to erase that image. His thoughts were a mess and went around like a loop in his head. He was so very tired, he hadn't been able to sleep. Sherlock, pale and unconscious, men and women broken by life staring at him, the young girl that kept humming without a melody, the smell of despair, all of it circled in his head, pictures reminding him every time he closed his eyes. And then there was Mycroft. He'd received a very short call earlier in the morning updating him about Sherlock's state, not from Mycroft but from his assistant. Greg had eagerly awaited the call, had wanted to know how Sherlock was doing, but he was more than disappointed when there had been a woman's voice on the other end of the line instead of Mycroft's. Greg had rather preferred to know how he was doing as well, but when asked, the assistant had curtly told him that Mr. Holmes was fine, and then she'd hung up on him, leaving Greg with the phone to his ear for half a minute, feeling rather stupid.

He knew that he was being idiotic. He would not, could not get interested in Mycroft Holmes. Of all people, he could not go for the stone-faced cold man who worked with god-knows-what. He could not go for Sherlock's brother. And still. Greg looked down at the spot where Mycroft had grabbed his hand just a couple of hours before. He imagined he could still feel the warmth linger there, just where fingers had brushed against skin. He closed his eyes and he knew that he was already lost, had been from the first meeting. Shit. He downed the rest of his whiskey and headed back to work, feeling more miserable than before.

He sat at his desk trying to sort out a few reports when Sally knocked on his door and entered. He sat up straight, blinking a few times to clear his head.

"I have the report from last week that you asked about" Sally said, almost hesitantly.

"Oh great, thanks. Just leave it here, I'll read it as soon as I'm finished with these" He gestured vaguely with his arm towards the stacks of reports that had been piling up lately.

She put the file on top of one of the piles but she remained beside his desk, looking as though she had an inner debate with herself. Eventually she said "With all due respect sir, you look like shit":

Greg raised his eyebrows. He hadn't been expecting that. "Wow, thanks Sally." She immediately tried to apologize but Greg raised his hand, stopping her. "No it's fine, I know I do. Some stuff has been happening, but it is okay, I'll manage,"

She nodded but looked at him, narrowing her eyes. Then she put her hand against his forehead. "Wha- what are you...?" Greg started saying, but Sally hushed him and instead said very loudly "Yeah I do think you have a fever sir! Yes you should probably go home, we don't want you to get the entire force sick!" Greg snorted but quickly turned it into a series of fake coughs as people peeked in with compassionate expressions through the deliberately open office door.

"Oh are you sick Greg?" Mrs. Lee from the staff department poked her head in. "Yeah you do look a little pale, you should go home and rest." Greg coughed in response and she quickly disappeared from the door.

"That was clever. Thank you Sally."

"Thank you Sir," She said, smiling smugly as she headed towards the door. "Oh right". She turned in the doorway, digging for something in her pocket. She tossed it and Greg caught the piece of peppermint gum. "Trust me sir, you need it. If you want to be convincing you can't go around smelling like a liquor-store." Greg smiled and put the gum in his mouth. He would probably get along really well with Sally Donovan.

Once relieved from work for the day, Greg found himself standing on the street, not really knowing where to go. He obviously couldn't spend the day in town, rumors spread like fire in the police force so people would know he'd been lying if he was seen shopping or something. He had no desire to go home. Elaine had decided that they should get their living room redecorated, so the house was filled with painters, and he did not fancy small-talking about color choices or different types of brushes or whatever painters talked about. He could go see Sherlock in the hospital, but he doubted he'd be allowed inside, since he wasn't family. He pulled out his phone, dialed the number, and then stood staring at it, debating with himself whether or not he should press "call". It was a very short debate, he knew he'd already made up his mind.

Mycroft picked up on the third ring. He sounded tired, but Greg thought he noticed a cheerfulness in his voice when he heard who it was, and he had to take a deep breath.

"Hi, Mycroft. Umm… I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay?"

"Me? Yes, I am fine, Thank you for asking, Greg." Mycroft replied, a bit stiffly but the 'thank you' sounded genuine. Like he hadn't expected anyone to wonder how he was doing.

"I heard Sherlock would be fine. That's a relief." Greg said.

"Yes, he is probably shouting at doctors and nurses right as we speak, so he is soon back to his old self." Mycroft said. Greg chuckled, and then they both fell silent. Greg opened his mouth and closed it several times, he didn't dare asking. He didn't have to, Mycroft beat him to it.

"Would you like to come over for a cup of coffee? Or are you busy?"

Greg's heart started beating. "No no, I'm not busy. Coffee would be nice. At your office?"

Mycroft cleared his throat on the other end. "No… I was thinking at my house, if you don't mind? I'm working from home today so I was rather hoping to avoid going in to the office."

"No that's fine!" Greg said, silently cursing himself for sounding so eager. "Just give me an address and I'll be on my way" he added, trying to sound more casual.

He received Mycroft's address and two minutes later he was sitting in a cab, wiping his sweaty palms on the seat. Shit, he really needed to get a grip on himself. What did he expect, it was just a cup of coffee, nothing else. The cab stopped in front of a beautiful white brick house, surrounded by an iron fence and flowerbeds filled with red geraniums. It wasn't quite what Greg had expected, but he loved it. It reminded him of his grandmother's summerhouse.

He paid the driver and pushed the gate open. The front door opened before he'd even reached the stairs. "Welcome" Mycroft said, smiling. "Thanks. It's such a beautiful house." Greg said.

"Thank you. Come on in" he gestured inside "It's not a lot of people who knows where I live, just a few of my closest workers and my family." Mycroft said it casually, but Greg felt his heart swell. He was shown inside the living room, the all-white walls and furniture giving an exclusive feeling, mixed with the warm and homely fireplace with its crackling flames. "I'll get the coffee, please take a seat." Mycroft said, and Greg sat down on the sofa. The room held a lot of paintings, some looked like they were worth more than the house itself, but there seemed to be no pictures of family or friends. Mycroft came back with a tray, two steaming cups of coffee and a plate of biscuits. "Thank you" Greg said, picking up his cup. A few minutes passed in silence while they sipped their coffee, but Greg was determined to break it.

"I'm glad that you asked me over, Mycroft." he said boldly. "How are you coping? With the whole Sherlock thing I mean. I take it it's not the first time..?"

Mycroft closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, no it's not. He was only sixteen the first time they called from the hospital. He'd taken LSD and jumped from a rooftop, thinking he could fly. He broke three ribs and sprained his ankle."

"Oh, I'm so sorry Mycroft. You must have been going through hell."

"I manage, I always find a way to manage."

"Sometimes you need to do more than just manage, you need to live your own life."

Mycroft smiled crookedly "I don't have time to live my own life. Between work and dealing with Sherlock, there isn't much time left for me."

"I'll help you" Greg said immediately. "I'll deal with the Sherlock-stuff for a while. I've got plenty of contacts on my own."

Mycroft looked surprised, but smiled. "That is really nice of you Greg. But Sherlock is going to rehab in Switzerland for a few months, he's leaving next week. So hopefully, this time it helps." He fell silent for a minute, then he said "Do you know something? You're the first one to ever ask me about this. About my side of it all. It's….nice. Thank you." He reached out, and took Greg's hand, sending electric waves all through Greg's arm and through his entire body. Mycroft stroked his fingers over his hand, and Greg didn't dare to breathe. The fingers stopped as they found Greg's wedding ring.

"You're married." Not a question. Just a simple fact.

Greg coughed. "No. I mean yes, I am. But not really." Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "It's not really a story suitable for coffee, it's more of a drunk-on-cheap-whiskey-kind of story. But in short, we live together but we're not. Together I mean."

"It sounds complicated." Mycroft said. But he still held Greg's hand. "Is it?"

"Only if you want it to be." Greg all but whispered, because suddenly Mycroft was sitting much closer, close enough that he could see the beautiful grey-blue color of his eyes.

"I don't like complicated" Mycroft whispered back, now so close that Greg could feel his breath across his face.

"Me neither" Greg said, and closed the distance between them.