Chapter Text
Greg Lestrade stormed into the Diogenes Club and demanded to see Mycroft Holmes at once. He was duly escorted to a room at the side, where the man he intended to see was sat behind a desk, hands pressed together as though in prayer.
‘Sherlock’s dead,’ the inspector said in the most controlled voice he could manage. ‘How could you let this happen?’
‘Sherlock knew what he was doing,’ was the reply Mycroft gave him.
‘You stood by and let him commit suicide, Mycroft! He’s your brother, for god’s sake!’
‘Gregory, I understand your emotions are running high what with your divorce and all, but-’
‘How could you possibly know about that?’ Greg shouted before placing his head in his hands despairingly. Rage built up inside of him, and he lashed out mindlessly, scattering the neatly stacked piled on the desk in front of him. He wasn’t stopped, and he continued to let out all his hurt and anger until eventually, he was drained of energy and sank to the floor on his knees, tears falling from his eyes.
‘There, there,’ Mycroft said awkwardly as he moved to pat the detective inspector’s shoulder stiffly.
‘How could you do that? You must have known how dangerous Moriarty was, and you still let your brother, your family, Mycroft, up there with him,’ Greg said shakily.
The room went silent for a while, neither of them saying anything.
‘I do not know,’ Mycroft said finally.
Lestrade looked around at the paper scattered about the room, and was hit with a pang of guilt. ‘Sorry I made a mess.’
Mycroft followed his gaze. ‘It’s completely understandable,’ he said neutrally.
‘I’ll stay and clean it.’
‘No, I shall get my people to do it,’ insisted the superior of the two. ‘I am going to take you home now.’ Upon seeing the inspector’s face, he added: ‘I insist.’
Sighing in defeat, Greg let himself be escorted outside into a long, black car.
‘You know she’s kicked me out,’ he said shortly, breaking the silence that had built up as they drove along.
‘I do,’ replied Mycroft. ‘That’s why you shall come to mine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
That effectively halted the conversation, and the rest of the car journey passed in a companionable silence.
Eventually, the car pulled up in front of a grand house, and Mycroft gestured for him to step outside. Greg did so, letting the cool evening air hit his face. He breathed in deep, before following Mycroft to the door. The other man opened it and let them both inside, before escorting Greg to a room where he could stay the night.
‘Thank you,’ said the inspector as he noted that Mycroft was about to leave.
‘It was the least I could do for Sherlock’s friend,’ smiled Mycroft politely. ‘Goodnight, Gregory.’
‘Call me Greg,’ insisted the other man as he began stripping away his outermost layers of clothing.
‘Goodnight then, Greg,’ amended the elder Holmes brother before he stepped out of the room.
Lestrade finished undressing and then got a drink from the en-suite, before settling underneath the covers on the bed. He lay awake for an indeterminable amount of time before he fell asleep.