Chapter Text
Today would burn itself into his memory like no other date. It had something of a caesura about it. Mycroft Holmes, the unknown entity. Until now, after almost ten years, he had thought he knew him at least a little. But all his ideas about Mycroft Holmes had collapsed like a house of cards in the last few hours. Greg didn't know whether he should envy his ability to strictly separate personal and professional matters or whether he should be disappointed. He had thought they would have some kind of friendship after all these years. At the very least, there should have been so much trust between them that Mycroft would have told him about his son long ago. Wouldn't he? Or had today been the day it was supposed to happen? Had his reaction in the morning provided the final proof that Mycroft could really trust him?
Greg was agitated. It was still too early to go to bed when Greg arrived at his flat. He hadn't been able to sleep yet anyway. Too many thoughts were buzzing around in his head. Indecisively, he stood in the narrow hallway of his flat and took his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket. He hesitated. John knew. Why hadn't he told him? Greg was torn between hurt vanity - why didn't they trust him - and genuine understanding. That was just the way Mycroft was. Discreet to the bitter end. He wondered what he had threatened his brother and John with if they dared tell anyone.
John, I know it's a bit spontaneous, but time for a pint?'
Hi, Greg! Sure. Anything happen?
Later. The Swan?
Okay, half-hour?
Okay. See you in a bit.
John, good old John. Weren't they close enough that he could have told him? Greg felt a little pain deep in his heart, but he resolved not to hold it against John. He had his reasons. Most definitely, in fact. So he left home for the third time that day. This time he took the tube and 25 minutes later Greg entered the well-packed pub. He spotted John at the other end and fought his way through the crowd. He smiled strained, but it did not quite reach his eyes. John raised his eyebrows questioningly and slid him a fresh pint.
"You all right, Greg? You look like you've seen a ghost,“ John remarked, sipping his own drink.
Greg peeled out of his parka and hung it over the back of the bar stool before taking a seat there.
"You could say that," he replied, picking up his glass. He held it out to John for a toast.
"Cheers."
"So, what's going on? Bad case?"
Greg exhaled audibly.
"Benjamin," was all he said, looking at John questioningly.
"Oh.“
Greg watched John shift nervously on the leather-covered bench.
"So you know," John stated.
"Yep. I had business in Hampstead today and guess who lives next door to the new head of forensics at St Barths?" he blurted out a little more aggressively than he had intended.
John gave a pained smile. "Greg, it... Mycroft... let's just say he made it perfectly clear that I wasn't telling you anything. In fact, that I'm not talking to anyone about it."
Greg nodded.
"I see... although, no, actually I don't understand it at all. What is he trying to get at? Does he think that other people might think of him for what he is? A human being too?" Greg could feel the anger building up inside him.
"I guess it's about him not wanting to make himself vulnerable. I mean, with his job and all..."
"Hmm, that's why he doesn't tell his long-time friend who, by the way, is a detective fucking inspector at Scotland Yard."
"Greg..."
"Sorry, John, I don't get it. I really thought he trusted me."
"Mycroft doesn't trust anyone."
"You more than me, obviously."
"I'm sleeping with his brother."
Greg huffed in amusement. "Too much information, John."
"What legend do you think he, Sherlock and Ben should have spun? Ben and Sherlock get on very well and he's with us from time to time..."
"What would you have served me up if I had happened to turn up at Baker Street unannounced and he had been there?“
John said nothing in response.
"I mean, wow. Mycroft is a father! That's... monumental! How can't he tell something so important... how could he not tell me? That's..." Greg shook his head.
"You know, he acted like it was the most normal thing in the world when I met him outside his house this morning. I mean, yeah, it is, but not to have slipped me something like that before after ten years. THAT is abnormal."
For a while they drank their pints and hung on to their own thoughts until at some point Greg got up and ordered another round.
"Did you guys talk?" John wanted to know.
Greg hesitated with his answer.
"Not right away. He... texted me in the afternoon and asked if I could come over. Well, asked... He sent a fucking limo to pick me up."
They both laughed to themselves, John knew all too well what he meant.
"Benjamin... I don't know if I..." Greg struggled to get to himself. "Benjamin got beat up last night by some drunken idiots. He was out with friends, which is what you do at the weekend as a student."
John almost choked.
"What do you mean, beat up? How is he? What happened?"
"He's got a broken collarbone and a concussion. He'll live. I'm not so sure about Mycroft. It's thrown him off his game quite a bit."
"I can imagine that. He's a mother hen at heart!"
Greg smirked.
"Yeah... a mother hen who blames himself big time."
"It took us some persuading to convince him that it was important to let Ben move when he got the acceptance from Cambridge."
There it was again, that awkward tug. John was involved.
"He took him home this morning when he got the call from Cambridge. He's really blaming himself."
"No wonder. Being a single parent..." John knew what he was talking about. Although by now he was no longer solely responsible for Rosie.
"How well do you know Benjamin?" Greg wanted to know.
"Well, knowing him might be too much to say... when he's around, he and Sherlock usually disappear immediately to solve some.... problems. I won't dwell on that to a police officer." They laughed.
"He's a good guy. He has some physical limitations..."
"His hearing, I know."
"He's very intelligent, which is no surprise. And I think he's a bit more affective than Mycroft, more approachable. And he's good with Rosie.“
"Hmm." Greg smiled to himself.
"What about the thugs? Did they get caught?" asked John.
"Yes, there was apparently a patrol on the spot quickly. I don't even want to know what strings Mycroft will pull...I wouldn't want to be in their shoes."
It was after ten when they said goodbye outside the pub.
"Greg, please don't blame me for not saying anything, but..."
"It's okay, John. Don't worry about it. They're just Holmeses. I guess they can't get out of their skin."
"Tell me about it. Come around again sometime, yeah? Rosie's already asking for you."
"I will. Give her a kiss for me."
Greg patted him on the shoulder and raised his hand in greeting.
"Take care, John."
"You too. And don't worry too much!"