"Lestrade", Greg swept his hands across his face as he answered his phone for the umpteenth time that day. Having the previous day off with Mycroft was great until it came to being back at work. There was so much stuff backed up that it felt like he'd be working nights for a week to catch up. Now, it was 11pm and Greg wondered if he'd ever get home.
"I apologise, Gregory, if I am disturbing you."
Greg let out a weary sigh of relief. Mycroft. One person he could stand to talk to right now.
"Not at all, Mycroft." he replied, not even trying to hide the smile behind his voice. "Being disturbed by you is the best kind of disturbance."
Mycroft chuckled. Something only Gregory could make him do.
"Well, I confess this is something of a business call, Gregory," he continued, biting his lower lip as the voice of his lover affected him. We are like teenagers, he thought, rolling his eyes at himself. "I have some rather significant information about Jim Moriarty that I think we ought to discuss. Are you available to come to Baker Street in the morning?"
Greg sat up straight in his desk chair. Jim Moriarty. He didn't know much about the man, but what he did know wasn't good.
"Of course." he responded without hesitation. If Mycroft and Sherlock needed him, he would be there.
"Thank you, Gregory." Mycroft breathed out a long breath. "I shall send a car to your home at 9am?" He was hesitant, unsure if he might be crossing a line.
"Actually, Mycroft", Greg responded, fiddling with his jacket cuff nervously, "maybe the car could take us both? From your place?"
Mycroft smiled and let out a faint laugh. "Are you inviting yourself over, Detective Inspector?" he asked mockingly, emphasising Greg's professional title.
Greg suddenly felt uncertain, wondering if he'd crossed a line himself. "Well, ummm..." he stuttered, "I just thought... I've been working constantly since I arrived this morning. I haven't stopped even to eat and..."
Mycroft cut him off, "Gregory", he started, keeping his voice calm despite the butterflies he felt in his stomach, "you are always welcome at my home. I shall send my car for you in 30 minutes. I just need to finish here at the office myself."
Greg swallowed hard and felt his breathing quicken. "Thanks, Myc." he concluded. "I'll see you soon."
24 hours, Sherlock.
Sherlock re-read the latest message again, checking the date and time stamp before scrolling down to the previous one.
This can't be allowed to continue, Sherly.
and the next message down
You will leave with me or John will suffer.
This wasn't good. Jim actually expected Sherlock to leave with him?
He felt fear bubble up in his chest at the very clear threat to John.
He closed his incoming messages and brought up a new message prompt.
We need to talk - SH
His finger hovered over the send button. He couldn't do this on his own. He needed help, but he loathed asking it of his brother.
He couldn't ignore Jim's threat though. Not this time.
Sherlock pressed send, and almost instantly, a reply came back.
We shall be there at 9.30am, Sherlock - MH
We. The use of the plural wasn't lost on Sherlock.
So that means Mycroft and Greg would be calling round.
Of course, Sherlock had noticed the thing between them.
He may have been compromised over the past few days, but he wasn't blind. Two minutes with his brother had revealed all, and Mycroft had made no attempt to disguise it.
Sherlock was pleased for them. He wondered, briefly, whether he might have felt differently if it wasn't for John's reaction but no, he was pleased for his brother and his friend.
If only because having his brother otherwise occupied with his own life kept him from meddling in Sherlock's.
Except now, of course, he needed Mycroft's help. He groaned at the thought of having to even ask for it.
Sherlock knew that Jim wouldn't be easy to handle.
Sherlock had never won with Jim.
Jim controlled Sherlock.
Even in his absence, Sherlock felt inferior to Jim.
He slowly made his way back into the bedroom and sat himself down on the cool sheets of his bed.
He suddenly felt very alone.
Despite having John's support and, he hoped, help from Mycroft and Greg, Sherlock still felt as though mentally, it was him against Jim.
Jim knew Sherlock. He knew his weaknesses. He knew how to play him; how to use him; how to win.
Sherlock barely stifled a sob before cursing himself for being so weak.
When did I get so sentimental? he thought to himself, dropping his head back to bang slightly too hard against the wall behind him.
"Sherlock?" a questioning voice came from outside his door. "You okay?" A soft knock on the door followed.
Sherlock swallowed around the lump of sentimentality in his throat and rolled his eyes at himself. He stood and crossed to the door, opening it to find John, dressed in striped pyjamas and face lined with concern.
He couldn't help smiling at the sight of his worried flatmate.
"John." he said quietly.
"You okay, Sherlock?" John repeated on seeing the detectives slightly crumpled and, despite smiling, anxious-looking appearance.
Sherlock nodded and stepped away from the doorway, leaving it open. An invitation.
"I am having trouble switching off." he replied calmly, crossing back to his bed again and sitting back down.
"Right. Yes. I wondered if that might be a problem." John raised an eyebrow as he entered the bedroom and approached his flatmate, waiting to see Sherlock's reaction to his intrusion. Was he expecting it? Would he be surprised? Would he object?
A long sigh from Sherlock as he laid himself down, indicated that he wasn't disturbed by the doctor's presence, and John took this as an indication to keep going. He stopped by the side of the bed and sat himself alongside the lanky detective's stretched out body.
"I could give you a sleeping pill?" he suggested, knowing that it really wasn't the best suggestion, but it was something.
Sherlock didn't reply. He didn't want a sleeping pill. He knew what he wanted, but he wasn't sure how to ask for it.
He curled himself slightly and rolled to face the wall.
John nodded. He knew too.
Slowly, he lowered himself down next to his flatmate.
As the bed dipped behind him, Sherlock smiled.
A warm, strong arm crept around his waist and a quiet voice whispered in his ear.
"Shhhhh, I've got you, Sherlock. Close your eyes and get some sleep."