Chapter Text
He’s been in a shit mood for weeks now, Sally thinks, eyeing her boss's door. From behind it, everyone in the bullpen can hear him loudly berating the newbie. Once PC Johnson slinks back toward his desk, eyes down, tail firmly between his legs, she gets up and heads in the direction of his office, knocking twice on the doorframe.
“What,” he says tersely, hoping she isn’t coming to tell him they’ve found another body. It’s been a rough stretch of cases for their squad. First the bombings, then the kidnapping mess with the Freak’s brother, and now someone is drowning people in the Thames. One a week for the past three.
Hands up in surrender, Sally says, “You should kick off for the day. Go get some rest, boss. Looks like you haven’t slept in years. I’ll cover for you.”
She never offers to do that. He rolls his head on his neck, muscles cracking audibly. God, you must’ve been a right terror today, he thinks to himself.
“‘M sorry Sal. The past few weeks have been bloody awful. How bad was I today?” He asks, eyeing her.
“Well, I don’t think Johnson will ever forget chain of custody again if that’s what you’re asking,” she says with a grimace.
She eyes the clock on his wall, it’s nearly seven. She changes tactics. “Drink?” She offers, tipping her head toward the door.
“Can’t. I have all of this to finish," Gesturing vaguely to the seemingly random stacks of paper on his desk.
“C’mon. It’ll keep. You look like you need it.” She’s already pulling his coat off the hook on the back of the door. Greg closes his eyes, massaging his temples.
“Fine. Yeah. Suppose I could murder a pint... or four,” he says, taking his coat from her outstretched hands and flicking the light off on his way out.
“Hey Johnson,” he says to the PC who seems to have scrunched down further inside his cube so as not to be seen. The kid's head emerges slowly from behind his computer screen. “I’m sorry, yeah? S’just been a shit week. Don’t worry about it. Happens to everyone once. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Sir.” Johnson says, acknowledging the apology. Sally bites back a smile. Greg can be harsh with the young ones, but it’s never malicious. He genuinely only wants them to learn so they can get better. He was like that with her in the beginning too. It’s why she’s come this far.
“C’mon,” she says, her hand on his shoulder guiding him toward the elevator.
- -
Once comfortably seated in a booth at the Three Lions, sweating pint glasses in front of them, she studies him. It’s gotta be something more than just this case. Yes, the drownings were awful, but not the worst they’ve seen, not by any stretch. He’s got dark circles around his eyes, and his shoulders seem to sit lower on his frame, like there’s a hand on each, pushing them down. He looks dejected and something else she can't quite put her finger on...sad, maybe?
“Oi, what’s going on with you?” She asks, kicking him under the table as she watches him down his first beer. He waits a beat, tipping the last sip into his mouth before gesturing to the waitress for another. Sally isn’t even halfway through her first.
“‘S nothing, Sal. Just a rough few weeks.” Empty glass forgotten, he’s running his finger through the ring of condensation on the sticky wooden table, around and around in circles to avoid meeting her eyes.
“Bullshit,” she says. “You forget that I know you, Greg. We've been working together for years. I know all of your tells. Spill it.”
Just as he’s about to open his mouth, they’re interrupted by the waitress delivering a second round. Sally nudges her fresh one off to the side. It takes the waitress a minute to clear the glasses from their table, so they sit in awkward silence until she finally turns away.
“I fucked up Sal.” Frustration evident in his voice.
“Yeah? How?”
“I’ve been in touch with Mycroft’s assistant the past few weeks.” She thinks for a minute, searching her memory. “Right, right. The leggy brunette from the scene.”
“Yeah. Anthea. She’s been keeping me posted on how he’s doing. Which is not well by the way. He’s pretty fucked up by the whole thing. Physically still, obviously, but also mentally. Emotionally, I mean.”
“Rightfully so,” Sally volley’s back. Once they’d sent the man on his way to the hospital, Sally had been the one to liaise with MI-5 to secure the scene, one of the more disturbing in her career. It was dark, damp, and cold causing a chill to run up her spine. She didn't even want to be in there for more than a few minutes, and poor Mycroft Holmes had been there for days. Found laying on top of hundreds of surveillance photos of himself, Greg, Sherlock, and Dr. Watson’s faces peeking out in the few that she saw before her counterpart packed them away. And there was just so much blood.
Bringing herself back to the present with a small shake of her head she says, “He’s gonna need a lot of therapy I imagine. You’d hope he already has access to a good shrink after dealing with a brother like Sherlock. I don’t get it though. What’s got you so wound up? We found him, and he's getting better.”
He considers Sally for a minute before responding. She's right, she's known him for long enough to be able to tell when something's bothering him. She's always been a good listener. Always had his back. May as well unload it all on her and see if she can help you make sense of it.
Taking a big sip of his beer, he launches into the story about the Struffoli at Christmas, Anthea’s messages, Sherlock’s texts, and then finally the awful day he pays the man a visit. Sally listens intently, not saying a word.
“...And so I just left him there. Panicking, hyperventilating. Christ. It was like I broke him. It happened so suddenly. And he’s so...stoic usually, ya know? Imposing and confident. It was really unsettling to see him like that. He was frozen, like someone had unplugged him. All you could hear was the sound of his breathing. God,” Greg’s hands are back at his temples now “I can still hear it when I close my eyes. And the scars Sal, you didn’t see them. Everywhere. I mean literally everywhere. His face is a right mess still.”
“Hey, panic attacks can do that.” Reassuringly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Man’s probably got a lifetime of trauma to work through now because of what that bastard did to him. It’s bound to happen. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“Watch me,” he says, emptying his second glass and signaling for another.
“So what now? You just gonna abandon him? Seems like you’ve got a thing for the Posh Mr. Holmes, and it sounds like he needs a friend.”
Greg looks up at her, his muscles suddenly tense. They’d never spoken about his sexuality. The team knew he was married, of course. Lisa had come to some of the Yard Christmas parties, only to stand in the corner and bitch about how bored she was. He’s comfortable in his skin, with his sexuality, but he doesn't parade it around. For some reason it feels different when someone in his professional life knows. She’s a friend, his brain tells him. Not just some someone you work with.
“S’ok Greg. I’ve known you’ve gone for both for a while. Love is love, right?” She offers him a smile, patting his arm.
“I...how...oh, whatever.” He says, putting his head in his hands.
“So, the scars. Do they bother you? I mean do they turn you off?”
“God, no. I mean obviously I wish he didn’t have them, but only because it would mean he didn’t have to go through that. Not because they turn me off. Just proof that he survived, right?”
“Right,” she says, with a small smile. You’re such a good guy. You need to tell him that someday when he asks, she thinks. Because if you get into bed together, you can bet he's going to be self conscious about them then.
“ So you haven’t spoken to him since that night…?”
“I tried, but I bungled it. When I got home, I felt fucking awful. I wanted to apologize but I wasn’t sure what to say. I sent him a few texts, but he never responded,” he says despairingly.
She runs her index finger up the side of her pint glass, catching a falling drop of condensation on the tip. “Have you tried giving the assistant a call? Does she still update you on how he’s doing?”
“She does, but sparingly. She’s taking care of him all alone in that big house. Probably has her hands full anyway. I’m not gonna bother her.”
“Give him time Greg,” Sally says, finally draining her first pint and reaching for her second, as the waitress delivers his third. “He’s got a lot of shit to sort through. Cut him, and yourself for that matter, some slack. Yeah?"
"What’s so different about this one anyway?” She says, after a beat.
“I don’t know. It’s strange. Since the bombings we’d texted a few times. I promised to keep an eye on Sherlock while he was away, so we’d been emailing too. I felt kinda like…” he says, shaking his head, “I don’t know. Maybe there could be something there? He’s different, when he’s one-on-one. A bit more vulnerable I guess? It was good. Whatever it was. I haven’t felt it in years, not since Lisa, before that went to shit. God listen to me, I'm pathetic. I just never thought I'd be alone now, I guess. Maybe s'just my mind imagining something that doesn't exist. It's not like he made a move or anything. Can't imagine why someone like that would want me anyway," he says morosely.
“Oi, none of that, ok? He'd be lucky to have you - anyone would. You're a great guy. Handsome," she says with a wink. He rolls his eyes but the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. "Loyal, generous and kind," she continues, seeing his little smile. "I could go on," she says.
"Do." he responds playfully, receives a little kick in the ankle under the table for his sass.
"Forget Lisa. She was a bitch, so you can't base anything on her.”
Surprised at her candor, Greg’s eyes snap up. “I thought you guys liked her.”
“No way boss. She didn’t deserve you. We all hated her but you seemed not to, so we tolerated her for your sake. Anyway, If you like this guy, if you enjoyed your chats and you think he’s someone you’d like to get to know better, don’t disappear. He needs time to heal, but he clearly also needs someone other than his assistant and the Frea- I mean, Sherlock, checking in on him every once in a while.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” he offers noncommittally, bringing the pint up to his lips again. “I really had no idea you all hated Lis.”
“How could we not after what she did to you?” She says, dropping a few bills on the table, pushing back her chair, and giving his shoulder a pat. “Let’s call it a night, yeah?” The three beers in an hour had dulled his mind. The thought of his bed is the only thing that motivates him to stand up, and head for the door.
“Hey Sal,” he says, as they step into the cold London air. She turns around to face him. “Thanks,” he offers sincerely.
“Anytime, Boss,” she says with an easy smile. “That's what friends are for, right? At least one of us should get to have a love-life. You’ll just have to keep providing me with all the sordid details so I can live vicariously through you.” He laughs and rolls his eyes, giving her a final wave before turning in the direction of the tube.