Medical staff had arrived at Baker Street within 5 minutes of Greg's call to Mycroft.
Greg met them at the door and guided them up to Sherlock, leaving them to do their thing while he waited for Mycroft.
The elder Holmes' black town car pulled up ten more minutes later.
Greg was standing outside 221B, puffing on a desperately needed cigarette.
Discovering Sherlock there, laid on the sofa, eyes blank, skin pale, had made him feel edgy. He was breathing, and he had a pulse, but he looked so...
His hand shook as he drew in a long pull of nicotine.
Seeing Mycroft's car, he dropped the cigarette to the pavement, stamping it out. Mycroft climbed out of the car, nodding his greeting to Greg and pushing the front door open. Greg followed him up the stairs in silence and stood in the living room doorway as Mycroft entered to talk to the medics.
"How is he?" Mycroft asked calmly. Greg studied Mycroft's demeanour. He was anything but calm himself, and he pondered how on earth Mycroft managed to hold himself together, seeing his little brother that way.
The soft beeps of a heart monitor, steady and reassuring, filled the small living room. Sherlock was breathing on his own, and colour seemed to be returning to his pallid skin, but neither Greg nor Mycroft could see, from their doorway position, if Sherlock had awoken yet. They could see however that nobody had moved any of Sherlock's drug paraphernalia from the coffee table. Greg frowned at the collection of items there.
One of the medics stood, leaving the other two to deal with Sherlock. "He's stable." he informed them. "His oxygen sats are up now and his pulse is strong and regular. He's conscious, if you want to see him?"
Greg made to move across to where Sherlock was laid on the floor, but Mycroft raised a hand across his chest, halting his movement.
"In a moment, Doctor, thank you. Were you planning to admit him?"
The doctor thought for a moment before answering. "We should," he began, "but I suspect you are going to request otherwise?"
Greg shook his head. Surely Mycroft wouldn't go against medical recommendation? He glanced across at Sherlock who appeared to be getting agitated, batting away the arm of a poor nurse who was trying to examine him.
"Doctor, I would prefer it if we didn't." Mycroft replied in that dignified "I know you won't argue with me" tone. "And I am fairly sure that my brother will not wish to be moved either."
He now had his eyes fixed on Sherlock and the commotion he was causing in the living room. Mycroft glanced briefly at Greg who nodded and entered the living room, crossing to Sherlock who was now trying to sit up.
"Detective Inspector", Sherlock was slurring his words slightly, as if he hadn't quite woken fully yet, "please inform these 'people' that I have absolutely no intention of accompanying them to hospital."
Greg sighed. Any attempts to persuade Sherlock otherwise were futile really. He knew that. He guessed Mycroft knew that too which is why he had said as much to the doctor.
Greg squatted down next to Sherlock, his eyes raking over the improved-but-still-pale body of his friend, checking him for... for what? He wasn't sure. Just relieved he was alive (and clearing 'kicking'!).
"It's ok, Sherlock." he reassured him. "You can stay here, but I suspect there'll be some ground rules."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked over to Mycroft. Of course there'd be ground rules with Mycroft involved. He crinkled his nose as he frowned.
"What's my brother doing here?"
Greg lowered his eyes, guiltily and fiddled with his jacket cuffs.
"Sorry, Sherlock. I didn't know what else to do. When I came in and found you... you were... I didn't know who else to call. I knew you wouldn't want to go to A&E... Why, Sherlock? After all this time..."
Greg stopped abruptly as he felt Sherlock place a hand on his arm.
"I'm sorry, Greg." was all that Sherlock could respond before Mycroft made his way over, accompanied by the doctor.
"Sherlock," Mycroft nodded to his brother.
A silent conversation flowed between them. "You were lucky this time." "I'm sorry." "I know."
Greg felt like an intruder in the room, an eavesdropper despite there being no words to eavesdrop.
The silence was broken by the doctor clearing his throat. All eyes turned to him as he consulted a notepad.
"Your brother has recovered well, it seems, Mr Holmes." he addressed Mycroft, much to Sherlock's disgust as the younger Holmes tutted and shook his head, slowly moving himself to the sofa, having been relieved of the monitors and wires that had previously kept him on the floor. "I believe he is okay to stay here, but somebody should stay with him for the next 24 hours, in case he develops any other symptoms or effects of the..." he paused, unsure whether to actually name the poison.
"I'll stay." Greg volunteered without hesitation. John would be out for at least another few hours, and Greg knew that he may not even make it back to Baker Street at all tonight, if his date went well.
Mycroft looked at Greg questioningly. Greg nodded. "I've had experience dealing with drug addicts", he continued, wincing at the realisation that he had all-but referred to Sherlock as an addict. Sherlock's eyes fell to his lap, but he said nothing. "More importantly", Greg added, "I've had experience dealing with Sherlock."
Mycroft could hardly argue with that. If anybody could handle Sherlock in this condition, it was Gregory.
"Thank you, Gregory." he replied, eyes filled with gratitude and smiling at the Detective Inspector. "It means a lot."
Greg stood as the medical staff readied themselves to leave, their equipment packed away and their patient clearly returning to his normal self.
As a nurse came over to do a final check on Sherlock, Greg took the opportunity to accompany Mycroft to the door.
"I'll speak with him, Mycroft." he spoke softly, as they slowly descended the stairs. "I have no idea what has got into him. He's been clean for so long. Maybe he'll open up to me."
Greg found himself waffling, clearly still affected by the whole thing.
As they reached the pavement outside 221b , Mycroft stopped and turned to Greg. He took one of Greg's hands in his own and held it firmly. It wasn't a handshake. Definitely not a handshake. It was almost something else. Something more. Something... intimate.
"Gregory," he started, not quite stuttering but not quite sounding his usual confident self either. "I appreciate all that you have done and continue to do for us. I cannot thank you enough."
Greg looked into Mycroft's eyes, seeing only sincerity in his heartfelt thanks. He nodded, slightly stunned by the effect that the man's words had on him.