Soldier and his Detective

Chapter 10

I hate you.

Do I not get a say?

Oh, I do hope you're happy.

Mycroft looks at his phone. Greg laying beside, picks up his, groaning. His mind raced. Conclusions forming quickly, before being cast aside. Why did he react? That wasn't supposed to happen. He can't be this... attached yet. A soft curse comes from next to him. The bed sheets rustle as his partner sits up. Mycroft sat, back against the headboard, phone in hand. His gaze had not shifted since opening the message. Greg is calling Sherlock. He won't answer anyone now.

He feels his partners gaze on the side of his face but he can't look away from the words in his hand. They will become imprinted into his mind, I hate you. Mycroft felt like shouting. Why? He never feels this way about anything. Greg keeps trying to no avail. There's no use. You've taken your brother's happiness, not John. Greg begins to move out of bed. Flipping the covers off and leaving Mycroft with a sudden chill. He turns to look at Mycroft, hands on hips. "Well?" Mycroft breaks out of his trance and looks up at Greg. He holds his phone forward for him to take. "Last night. Jesus." He lets out a long breath. Moving to the wardrobe.

Mycroft, on shaking legs, stands and walks over to dress too. "What have I done?" The words are almost silent, although seeming to fill the entire room. Crowding into their lungs, pushing the air from Mycroft's chest. Greg looks at him, his face a mixture of emotions. He carries on dressing. Passing Mycroft clothes, "It doesn't matter what you did. It matters what you're going to do." With that Greg left for the bathroom, trying his phone again.

Greg joined Mycroft in the bedroom again. They were both dressed. Greg took hold of his partners hand and pulled him through their flat. Mycroft letting himself be led. They bundled into Greg's work car. They brought the crowding silence with them on their way to Baker Street. Why are you so affected? Why was he? Did John leave? Because of him? He looks at his boyfriend. His face was unreadable.

***

They pull up outside of Baker Street. For the first time that trip Greg looks over at Mycroft. "Right." He lets out a sigh before continuing. "I'm going up there because I consider both of them my friends. I am going to offer support if needed. I'm hoping John hasn't left yet. If you're to join me, you are on your own. I'm not bailing you out of this. You fix it." With that he swept out the car and knocked on the black door. As Mycroft stepped out of the car, Greg threw the keys at him. They hit him in the chest before he managed to catch them. Stepping forward, the door was opened by a cheery Mrs Hudson.

"Oh, hiya, love. I didn't know you were coming. I just took the boys some tea." She opened the door wider. Boys? "Boys? So John is there? Both John and Sherlock are upstairs." Mrs Hudson and Greg both looked at Mycroft. Hope shining through Greg's eyes and the slight grin on his lips. Not too late. Mrs Hudson gives a soft chuckle at him, "And I thought you were the smart one. Of course they are. Ah, my boys. Love them to bits."

This gained a chuckle from Greg as she left them alone. After her door shut they began the climb up the stairs. The door has been pulled shut. Nothing can be heard through the door. Greg in the lead, he pulls open the door and calls out for Sherlock. He stops dead in the doorway. Blocking Mycroft's view. He taps him on the shoulder. A gentle reminder that he's still there. Greg moves further into the room, allowing Mycroft to enter.

Sherlock's head is resting against John's chest. John's head resting on Sherlock's neck. Arms holding tight. Both the heads begin to slowly rise. Facing the two men in the doorway. Both faces are red and puffy. Traces of tears across their faces and necks. Wet patch on John's top. "Fuck off, Mycroft." Sherlock's voice is hoarse and broken. The words quiet and uttered with only half the enthusiasm usually in his speech. The head falls back into place. John's fingers reach for the curls to smooth them. Sherlock's phone is seen on the floor behind him.

Greg moves to sit on the sofa. Picking up a biscuit from the coffee table and plopping it in his mouth. Mycroft looks back over at John and his brother. John looks back at him, face covered in emotion. Sadness, anger, relief, pain, heartbreak, joy, suffering. No one moves. No one speaks. The world outside doesn't exist. Nothing matters at this moment. Only his brother and his honorary brother.

Mycroft moves forward until he is at the side of the armchair. He crouches down to the floor, looking up at the men. "How can I help?" The words dripped with sorrow. Sherlock turns his head to face his brother, eyes closed. His breathing deep. The hand on his head moves to his back, rubbing circles, pressing close. They stay like that for a few moments.

Sherlock's eyes open. Filled with his unshed tears. "Keep him alive." His eyes sliding shut as his head turns back into John's body. He will live. He will come home. He will be there. They will grow old together. You will save them both. The gentle breathing is all that is heard throughout the flat. Not a move is made. They have no idea how long they all stay like that. Finally, Mycroft reaches forward to pick up Sherlock's phone. John and Greg watching as he moves. The phone is covered in cracks, spreading across the small device. The screen is sharp, enough to cut. Must have thrown it. He slips the phone into his blazer pocket. Fix that, then fix them. "I am sorry brother. Both of you." Sherlock lifts his head at this. All eyes on Mycroft as he stands again.

"You are both my brothers and I will ensure you're safe and happy. Welcome John." He nods at the men. All faces plastered in shock. No one is able to move as they watch Mycroft walk over to the sofa. His hand outstretched, reaching for his partner. They take hands and walk down to the car before starting their day.