Disclaimer: Well, here we are again. No they're still not mine. Did you really think BBC would give them up to an unknown American? Not happening. Only because I have no black mail material though. As soon as I dig some up I shall own them all. *Insert evil cackle*
A/N: Yes, I'm a horrible person. Are you really just realizing this? My children have known that for the past sixteen years and it's a month until my oldest turns sixteen. Don't worry though; it'll work out in the end. I only write happy endings.
Also I'm not British, nor do I have any friends that are, so if any of my terms are wrong let me know.
Thursday
Mycroft picked his head up from the pillow and glared at the door to his hotel room. He felt as though he'd only just fallen asleep. He had things to take care of today and this interruption did not bode well for his plans.
Groaning as the pounding refused to cease he pulled himself from the warmth of the blankets and the bed and glanced at the clock. Only 5:30 in the morning. Perfect. Why did he expect anything less? Three hours of sleep.
The pounding was now accompanied by Aurelia's voice calling for him. He may as well open the door. His assistant was excessively stubborn; it was one of the reasons he'd hired her. Giving one last wistful glance to his rumpled bed he crossed the room and opened the door.
Aurelia pushed passed him and threw open the closet door. "We have to get back to London. Now." She announced as she pulled his suitcase out and started throwing his suits into it in a haphazard manner.
Prickles of alarm washed over Mycroft. Aurelia was normally very precise and focused. Her BlackBerry was nowhere in evidence right now. "What's happened?" He questioned her in a cold voice to hide the anxiousness her actions were causing.
Aurelia glared at him. "Go retrieve your toiletries. We need to be going. Put them in your case and we'll head to the aeroport. Hurry up." She turned away from him and shoved the last of his suits into the case.
He stared at her for a moment, unprepared for her disobedience. "Aurelia," he started in a warning tone.
Her head whipped up and the fiery look in her chocolate brown eyes had him unconsciously taking a step back. "We don't have time," she hissed. "We have to get to London ASAP!"
Mycroft took another step back and bumped into the wall beside the loo. He held his hands up, palms out in a gesture of surrender. "All right," he soothed. "Just tell me what's happened while I do." He turned to the loo and gathered his things while listening for her to inform him.
The dark haired woman that had been Mycroft's assistant for longer than he cared to think about let out a growl of frustrated rage. "I don't know! The surveillance on Greg is gone. Sherlock and John's surveillance is spotty and the CCTV's didn't record anything. Something's happened and I don't know what it is!" Mycroft could hear her frantic movements as his heart stopped. "The news reports say that a murder suspect shot a police officer yesterday and Greg's not answering his mobile. Neither are Sherlock or John. John always answers me! Always!"
His hands automatically packed his toiletries away while his eyes stared unseeing before him. Greg. Possibly shot. Greg. Why hadn't he been informed before this? Greg. His husband. Greg. "Did…" his voice croaked out and broke mid-word. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Did they report anything else? Why are we only finding out now?"
Aurelia's brown eyes were swimming when he exited the loo. "Nothing," she nearly sobbed. "I've told you everything I know. I…I don't know what else to do," she admitted. "I don't know who to call, who to yell at. I'm scared now. Greg's been answering me all week and then suddenly yesterday he didn't. I thought he'd gotten caught up in his case. I didn't think anything of it. John too. He always texts me back if he doesn't call. My…what if…?" She didn't finish.
"No!" Mycroft's voice burst out. "No, they're fine. Really. I'm sure they're just busy." He felt a sense of surrealism. Shouldn't he be the one breaking down? Shouldn't he be the one going to pieces because he hadn't spoken to his husband since Sunday morning? But he wasn't. He clung to the fact that he knew, knew, Greg was fine. Greg had to be fine. There was no other choice. "Let's go, Aurelia. The faster we return to London the faster you'll see that they're all just fine."
Aurelia nodded and zipped up his suitcase. "My things are waiting on us downstairs," she told him in a stronger voice. "And I've called ahead to the aeroport for the plane to be waiting."
Mycroft nodded a bit numbly and followed her out of the room and into the elevator car. "He's fine," he repeated under his breath. "They're all fine."
MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL
Mycroft and Aurelia left the aeroport and headed straight to St. Bart's to find out who had been shot and why none of their family were returning their calls. Mycroft continued his "He's fine" mantra the entire way from Vienna to London and then in the car on the way to the hospital. Aurelia ignored his muttering and typed frantically on her phone trying to hack into any system that would feed her need for information.
Mycroft bolted from the car before it had completely stopped and dashed for the front doors of the hospital. Aurelia was two steps behind him when her phone vibrated an incoming text. Hoping and praying it was information she paused and opened the text.
L injured. Get HIM here NOW.
-SH
Aurelia made a sound of distress and collapsed to the ground sobbing. "M-Mycroft," she called out in a trembling voice. "It's Greg," she whispered.
Mycroft, who had turned to her, backed away slowly. "No," he denied. "You're wrong. You have to be. It's not Gregory. It's not! Where's Sherlock? He'll tell me the truth. Aurelia, where is he?"
Aurelia just shook her head and pointed towards the doors to the hospital. Mycroft scowled and helped her to her feet. "Mycroft," she began but he cut her off.
"No," he insisted. "I won't hear it." He led her into the hospital and stopped just passed the threshold as he spotted his brother staring at the doors over the crowd of people. Sherlock spotted him as well and motioned him over with an imperious wave.
Mycroft tugged his assistant behind him as he fought past the crowd of orderlies, PCs, patients and doctors. "Tell her it's a lie, Sherlock," Mycroft insisted as he stood before his taller brother.
Sherlock's cold gaze melted and he put one hand on Mycroft's shoulder. "It's not a lie, My," he said far more gently than he'd ever spoken to his brother. "Lestrade—"
"His name is Gregory and you know it," Mycroft bit out and glared at his younger brother. "Use it."
Sherlock carefully put one arm over Mycroft's shoulders and took Aurelia's hand in his own. He slowly began to lead them down one of the myriad hallways. Really he wished John was here to tell him what to say and do. John was always so much better at the comforting thing. "He's alive." Sherlock knew he needed to say that before anything else. "Greg was at a crime scene. The perpetrator returned and opened fire on the police. Greg hid behind one of the skips and a bullet ricocheted off of a wall and then the skip and embedded in his head. He's still alive and the bullet didn't penetrate his skull."
Mycroft let out a sound that was half sob half laugh. "Gregory always did say he was hard headed."
Sherlock gave his brother a small smirk. "Oh he is. John's speaking with his doctors and will give us more information when he has it. For now, the most we can do is wait. Gregory's in surgery at the moment to remove the bullet. They said they had to wait for some of the swelling in his brain to go down before they even attempted removal. As soon as he's moved to a private room we'll be able to see him."
Mycroft squeezed the hand hanging over his shoulder and nodded. "He'll be all right, won't he?" Aurelia asked in a quivering tone.
Sherlock drew in a deep breath. He stopped and tuned so that he could look at them both. "Head wounds are tricky," he stalled. Seeing them both gazing at him somberly he sighed. "They don't know. He could wake up after his surgery and be fine. He could have all sorts of problems, speech impediments, blindness, nervous system errors, or anything really." He resumed his previous position between them. "He could also just not wake up."
Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose with one finger and resumed his mantra. "He'll be fine. He'll be just fine."