Work Text:
Greg made sure that when he left Sally in charge of the scene, that most of the remaining work was clean-up. The victims’ husband and father was already gone to hospital, and Anderson had gone through two of the four bodies and they were cleared out. Everyone on the scene was hunched over and no one wanted to be there longer than they had to be. Greg told them to get their work done and head home. The paperwork could be finished tomorrow. Once he pulled up to the house, he turned himself off.
*****
It was late when Gregory finally made it in. It’s no surprise when either of them does that - their work often keeps them late. Mycroft had worked in the study that evening hoping he’d be able to spend the weekend with his husband. Mycroft knew that Gregory hadn’t eaten - he never did during a case. At least not much - maybe part of a sandwich and endless cups of coffee if the DCI was providing it for the scene. Typically after arriving home he’d stop in the kitchen first thing. Mycroft was caught by surprise when Gregory shuffled slowly past the study on the way to the master suite.
Gregory looked worn down. He was slumped over and dragging his feet. Mycroft made quick work of finishing his task and shutting down the computer before putting it in the safe. He found his husband sitting on the edge of the bed. He’d not taken anything off, he just sat there. His hair had been tousled so that it looked as if he’d just crawled out of bed instead of just home from work. Mycroft tensed up.
“Gregory? Gregory, are you ok?”
Gregory didn’t answer, didn’t look up, didn’t even recognize Mycroft’s presence. Mycroft knew that it must have been a terrible case that he’d come home from. His spouse hadn’t reacted like this to many things. He knew it meant one thing, in fact: children were involved. It’s the one thing that after all these years still had the power to affect him so strongly.
Hopefully it wasn't anything a good soak couldn't fix. Without saying more, Mycroft made his way into the en-suite and started the bath and turned on the heating feature that kept the tub warm. He found the lavender oil and dripped it in. He started Greg’s relax playlist that ranged from Yo Yo Ma’s “Bach Cello Suite No. 1” to “London Calling” by The Clash. The lights were dimmed and candles lit to create a warm and calm environment.
When Mycroft returned to the bedroom Greg hadn’t moved.
“Love, I’m going to help you into the bath, ok? It’s, Mycroft, love. I’m only helping you into the bath.”
Mycroft started undressing Greg by removing tie, coat, shirt, and vest while Greg sat unmoving. He didn’t fight Mycroft and didn’t help either. Mycroft helped him stand and removed the trousers and pants after the shoes and socks. He gently guided Greg to the en-suite and carefully into the tub which Mycroft then turned off.
He told Greg that he was heading to the kitchen. Mycroft opened the fridge and pulled out a chilled water and Greg’s favorite beer. Maybe something in the belly would make him hungry or get him to talk. When Mycroft entered the toilet he set the water and beer on the side of the tub and removed his own clothes. He climbed into the bath and squeezed his way behind Greg and laid Greg onto his chest.
Mycroft fed the drinking water to Greg a few times until Greg was moving by himself. He hadn’t started talking, but he did start drinking the beer. He mostly rested on Mycroft.
After more than half an hour, Mycroft asked if Greg was ready to talk, and Greg just took another sip of beer and laid back down. That was a definite no.
Greg curled onto his side and rested some more on Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft resigned himself to more holding. He rubbed Greg’s back in slow circles keeping his hand warm with the water.
After another half hour, Greg finished his beer, and stretched his legs. He looked at Mycroft and simply said, “Thank you.” He curled up onto Mycroft again.
“Darling, are you alright?”
Greg confirmed Mycroft’s suspicions. “Children, Mycroft. Three of them. None of them older than eight. They’d done nothing but have a sick mother. She was so sick that she thought she needed to take herself and her kids from this world. The father was devastated. Eventually he was catatonic. Wouldn’t respond to anything. He’s in hospital.”
Mycroft spoke quietly and continued rubbing Greg’s back. “I’m so sorry, Gregory. I know that you and your team did what you could. It’s tragic. But you’re going to close the case, and dad and husband will get what closure he can have with the teams at the hospital.”
“Thank you, Mycroft. Thank you for taking care of me.”
Mycroft kissed the tousled hair. “I will always take care of you, Gregory. Are you ready for food?”
Greg nodded and let Mycroft bring him out of the tub and dry him off with a warmed towel. Once they were in their dressing gowns, Greg went to bed to rest while Mycroft went to the kitchen. He prepared a sandwich and some baked chips. They’re not the same as the ones from Greg’s favorite chippy, but they’d suffice. He placed them on a tray with another beer and brought it all to the bedroom.
He found Greg reading a novel. Mycroft put the tray next to Greg and climbed into bed. Mycroft knew that quiet would be appreciated, so he picked up his own novel and started reading while Greg ate and read next to him. Sandwich, beer, and chips finished, Mycroft cleared the bed of the detritus and pulled Greg in for a cuddle. They stayed that way until sleep brought Greg under.
Mycroft - having read the Harry Potter novels for Greg’s nieces - wished that he’d had a dreamless sleep draught for his husband. Knowing that there was no safe alternative for him, he pulled Greg in tighter and fell asleep with the promise that he’d fight any nightmares Greg had.