AN: Hey! Me again. Thanks to the lovely reviewers and the people who followed/ favourite and the several people who put me on author alert. You may live to regret it.

This chapter is kinda a selfish one, because even though I have a backlog of prompts I wanted to know what happened between Mycroft and Greg, so it was one of those sit down at the computer and just write jobs. I hope you enjoy it!

Heads up, next week an earlier reference (the countess of Wessex and the chocolate chastity belt) will be explained!

River

It started in the pub. Most things do these days.

Greg and I had met up for our bi-monthly getting drunk and bitching about our jobs meeting. Basically, it was incredibly awkward until we were at the happy-drunk stage because all we talked about was either Sherlock or Mycroft. Which is how I found out.

The rule was usually 'we don't talk until we're drunk' and we both stuck rigidly to it. Unfortunately, on this particular occasion, Greg had turned up late and I was considerably further along the scale of drunk than he was. Therefore, compromise. Talk about Sherlock and/or Mycroft.

'So, how's Mycroft?' I asked, deciding to go for safe ground, because Greg usually got so loud and sweary when I mentioned Sherlock that I would have to either drag him home or buy him another drink to calm him down.

Oddly, instead of launching into a rant about Mycroft wandering off to solve some first-world crisis in the middle of a date, Greg ran his finger nervously along the rim of his glass and averted his eyes. 'I don't know.' He replied eventually.

That threw me a bit, because of the drunk thing and because I was a little unsure how you could be living with somebody and yet be unsure of the state of their wellbeing.

'What do you mean you don't know?' I asked

'I mean I don't know John, shut up and have another pint, there's a good chap.'

'Greg, how can you not know? You're living with the man, does he not at least leave you notes on the bathroom mirror in the morning?' I smirked, teasing gently.

He licked his lips nervously 'If you must know, I'm not living with Mycroft anymore. I haven't been for nearly a month.'

I blinked in surprise, previously I had thought Greg and Mycroft had been one of the happiest couples I knew 'What, why? I thought you were really happy together.'

'We were.' He admitted, running a hand through his hair and taking another gulp of his pint 'There were… complications. Look, I'll tell you alright but not a word to Sherlock, agreed?'

I had started to get suspicious but I agreed anyway, because I resolved that, should Greg have done something completely unforgivable, I could whup his arse on my own anyway.

He sighed and turned away from me, raising his hand to signal for another pint. 'I walked out on him, alright?'

I stared at him, suddenly unpleasantly sober. 'You did what?!' was the first thing that passed my lips 'Why in hell would you do that Greg? Why would you walk out on someone who loves you?'

He slumped in his seat 'Karen called. The PE teacher knocked her about. She wants to give it another go, apparently it's the best thing for the kids.'

I snorted in righteous anger 'So you went back to her? You left a healthy, loving relationship to go back to the woman who broke your heart and bled you dry? What has she done to earn your trust Greg? If the guy she cheated on you with is knocking her about, get the kids out and leave her to lie in the bed she made. You don't just go back to her on the strength of a phone call Greg!' I was shouting now, and people were beginning to stare.

Greg let his eyes drift sideways to the staring young couple at the end of the bar 'Alright mate, ease up…'

'No.' I said stubbornly 'Did you at least do the honourable thing? Did you tell him face to face and give him a chance to convince you otherwise?' The way Greg's eyes slid down and his hand began to flex nervously on the table told me all I needed to know 'Oh for fu… the old note on the coffee table routine? You didn't even tell him to his face?' I stood up, grabbing my coat from the back of my chair and dragging it on. 'Well, I hope you're happy Greg. And I tell you now, I'm not keeping my promise.'

…

As I furiously walked home, it occurred to me that I didn't even like Mycroft that much, so why was I so angry on his behalf? Because Greg knows that the relationship with his wife will fall down around his ears, supplied my internal voice, and when it does, Greg will go back to Mycroft and beg him for a second chance. He's going to do what Karen did to him to Mycroft. And you don't know if Mycroft will have the strength to say no…

…

I ran up the stairs to the flat and was greeted with Sherlock looking surprised at the apparently unsolicited display of energy. Unusually, he was fully dressed, so I threw him his coat and shoes and waited for him at the top of the stairs.

'We're going to see your brother.' I announced by way of greeting and yanked him through the door, pulling it shut behind me.

On the cab ride to Mycroft's I filled Sherlock in on what had happened at the pub. Surprisingly, Sherlock's reaction was indifference.

'Why should I care about my brother's relationship troubles?' He asked, leaning stubbornly against the cab window.

'Mycroft has been on his own for a month and even you knew nothing about it Sherlock, doesn't that bother you?' I asked, feeling anxious for a reason I did not yet know.

Sherlock sighed tetchily and gave me the 'How do I put up with you, Mortal?' look 'Mycroft is a master at hiding his feelings. He does it all the time for his job, I see no reason why either you or I should be expected to interfere in his personal life without first being invited.'

I gritted my teeth and kneaded my forehead with my fingers. The truth was, I had known something was up. Mycroft had had the look that Sherlock gets if we've had a fight. I just hadn't registered it in another pair of eyes. And I was worried about him. 'I just want to make sure he's OK Sherlock.'

Sherlock shrugged 'Fine, go and ring the doorbell. You'll see that I'm right.'

…

I did ring the doorbell. And was filled with a creeping feeling of dread when a few seconds passed and no one answered the door. I looked back at the cab and beckoned to Sherlock. Begrudgingly, he got out and came to join me on the steps.

'He's not answering the door.' I informed him as he drew close. He frowned slightly and pulled out his mobile. His frown deepened when it simply rang through to voicemail.

'Is there another way of getting into the building?' I asked, suddenly afraid that something terrible had happened.

'Yes, there's a door round the back. There'll be a night-watchman, but he should let us through.' Sherlock was displaying more annoyance than fear, but I knew he wanted to find out what was going on as badly as I did.

We ran around to the side door, presented our (in Sherlock's case, pinched) police IDs and were duly shown in. The door to Mycroft's flat was locked. I hammered on it and when that brought no response, put my shoulder to it.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, pulled me back, reached into his pocket and brought out a key. As he slid it into the lock, I could hear him muttering 'Honestly John, Mycroft will be fine just wait and s-'

The muttering stopped abruptly as Sherlock swung the door open. We stepped into an ice cold room, I felt the radiators. The heating must have gone off hours ago, and if no one had reset it…

'Mycroft?' I asked, cautiously

Sherlock was wandering around the room muttering deductions 'The radiators have been off for several hours, but the kettle in the kitchen is still lukewarm the water must have been boiled two to three hours ago, he hasn't gone out, keys are still in the bowl, which means…' he suddenly sprinted into the back of the flat, towards the bedroom. I followed, shivering even through my jacket.

The light was on in the bedroom and I saw Sherlock holding a bottle of something up to the light. 'What are those, Sherlock?'

'Anti-convulsants.' He said, sounding more interested than worried 'He was taking diazepam for back pain. They sometimes have a side effect of causing seizures, so he was given these to suppress it. They have to be taken on a full stomach and there was no food in the cupboards, so I would imagine he has been slowly dissolving the lining of his stomach. Given the prescription date and dosage, there are more gone than there should be.' He swung round to face me. 'You'll find him in the bathroom.'

…

I did find him in the bathroom. I won't tell you in what state because Mycroft doesn't want to tell me and you don't want to know, but he was there. I did what I could and called an ambulance while Sherlock made some attempt at cleaning up the blood.

When the ambulance arrived, Sherlock went with them because I had a phone call I needed to make.

I called Greg and told him the bare facts of what was going on, where Mycroft was and exactly what he had driven the man he loved to. I then told him that I sure as hell wouldn't want to see him, but if he was very, very lucky Mycroft might agree to. I then told him exactly what I'd do to him if he turned up at the hospital and broke Mycroft's heart all over again. I rang off without ever giving him a chance to say anything back.

An hour later, I was stood outside the intensive care ward in which Mycroft was housed and leaning against the wall. This was how Greg found me when he came pounding along the corridor. He looked at me and cast his eyes down.

'How did you know I'd turn up?' he mumbled, shamefacedly.

'I didn't.' I admitted.

'I'm sorry I'm so late, I had to make everything right with the wife, you know. Tell her…'

'I don't think you understand what you've done here tonight Greg.' I broke in quietly. 'You have broken one of the strongest men I have known in a long time, made him so miserable he doesn't even care that he's been throwing up his own blood. And that is unacceptable.'

Suddenly, Greg's face crumbled and I watched as he dropped his head in his hands and leant against the wall. 'I know.' He whispered 'And God help me, I knew I was doing too.' And just as suddenly as the tears had come, they stopped. He straightened his back and looked me dead in the eye. 'I'm going to see him John. Don't try to stop me.' And he walked straight past me into the ward.

I don't think I'll ever gain back my full respect for Gregory Lestrade. But I watched him sit by Mycroft's bed for three whole days and I watched him explain himself, accept Mycroft's tears and the coldness and then watched him pull the man into his arms and tell him how much he loves him.

I don't think he needs my respect.

AN: My sense of humour seems to be having a malfunction. Maybe if you review the next update won't be so miserable ;)