Chapter Text
Greg woke up with a hangover. A really, really bad one. He groaned, trying to remember what had happened at the party. He managed a few shaky images of John, Sherlock, Mycroft...Molly with a scalpel in her hands looking like some she-goddess of death…
“Jesus.” he muttered. He rubbed his face with his hands. God he felt gross... he got up, and realized he was in his room. Someone had moved him? “Hello?” he croaked.
Molly opened the door quietly.
"Greg? Are you up?"
Greg looked up. “Mol-- wha?”
“You were really drunk, so I thought I should stay and make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit.”
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”
“It’s no problem for me.” Molly said, smirking. “But I bet your head really hurts.”
Greg sighed. He didn’t nod, knowing that would just make the pain worse. “Are you going to be smug all day?”
“Yes.” Molly said (smugly) happily.
The DI sighed. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Oh, don’t apologize to me. It was Mycroft’s party you got drunk at. You know, the British government, and the CIA, and probably China?”
“...He’s going to kill me.”
“Yep.” Molly smirked. “But hey, if he’s nice, he won’t destroy your career first.”
Greg sighed again, and groaned in pain. “Sympathize with me, I’ve just been divorced awfully.”
“I have no sympathy for you. You downed every kind of alcohol in the house and tried to drink the rubbing alcohol from the bathroom. Besides, you’ve been divorced for years.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m over it.”
“You’re not?”
Greg nodded, sighing yet again. “She keeps... she’s always coming back, asking for me back, then leaving me again,” he grins bitterly. “Tell Mycroft I’m really sorry for ruining the party.”
Molly agreed, then left him to his hungover misery. Once the door to the room was firmly shut behind her, she composed a text to Mycroft.
Greg still isn’t feeling well. I’m going to stay for a bit. -Goldfish
How bad is not feeling well? -MH
He’s still a bit messed up from the divorce. -Goldfish
Still? Oh dear, that’s not very good. -MH
Oh, darling, I know. -Goldfish
Is there anything you can do? -MH
I was about to ask you the same thing. -Goldfish
Keep his ex from contacting him? -Goldfish
I’ll try. -MH
She peeped back in to find Greg asleep. Molly sighed and pursed her lips. This was a real problem. It had not impacted the DI’s work yet, but who knew what might happen. He had gotten spectacularly smashed after less than an hour at the party. Which meant a good deal of alcohol in a short period of time. Which meant health problems.
“Greg, Greg, wake up,” Molly said, shaking him.
Greg mumbled something and groaned as he got up. “Hi.”
“You should stay awake,” Molly said.
“Molly. I’m tired, hungover, and my mouth feels like the Sahara Desert. Let me sleep.” Greg groaned.
“Your hangover is why you should stay awake, if quiet and in the dark. We also need to talk.”
“Jesus…”Greg muttered. “Do I have to?”
“What are the chances that I’m joking?” Molly said.
“When did you get a spine? Normally you let everyone walk all over you.” Greg responded.
Molly was tempted to slap him, but considering he was badly hungover for probably the seventh time this week, she didn’t. “Since I started having sex with Mycroft Holmes,” she said bluntly.
“Fuck. Never going to get that out of my head.”
“Now, let’s start discussing your problems.” Molly sat down beside Greg. What’s her name, where does she live, and does she have any children?”
“I’m not seeing where this is going.”
“It’s going toward ‘I might murder her but I would feel bad leaving children without a mother.’”
Greg sighed. “She has a kid with her new boyfriend. One of the reasons she dumped me the first time, apparently I’m infertile. I got checked, and I know I’m not so,” he shrugged, again.
“Okay. So murder is out. I’ll tell Mycroft though, he can do something bad to her.”
“Molly, you’re overreacting,” Greg said, still fuzzy with the headache.
“Greg, my boyfriend is the British government. It’s slightly intoxicating, so allow me my scheming. And yes, she was awful. You’re bordering on alcoholism.”
Greg rolled over, burying his face in a pillow, and groaned. “Molly, can you just leave me to my pain?”
“No.”
Just then, Molly’s cell phone rang.
“Hello, I cut up dead people for a living,”
“Molly, it’s me.”Mycroft said. “I’m not the British government.”
“And I have a passionate lust for Irene Adler. Your point?”
“What?” Mycroft sputtered. “You have a lust for Irene Adler?”
“A passionate one. You’re the British government, we all know it, so don’t lie.”
Mycroft muttered something unintelligible. “But in all seriousness, how is he?” he asked. Mycroft and Greg had struck up an odd friendship when discovering that both of their top priorities were worrying over Sherlock , and Mycroft was worried about Greg now.
“He’s alright. Complaining, so he’s alright.”
“Good. Perhaps we should let him get some rest.” Mycroft said, and Molly nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see her. She went to grab her coat from Greg’s bedroom.
“Do you promise not to drink?”
“Yes.” Greg said. “Are you leaving already? I had so much fun listening to you lecture me.”
"I need you to rest. Doctor’s orders.” Molly said, going for the door.
“All your patients are dead.” Greg retorted, before drawing a blanket closer around him.
Before Molly could respond, he had fallen asleep. Smiling, Molly tiptoed out of the room and flicked off the light.