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Greg can read in the silence that Mycroft is studying him - even after all these years, it’s not something he has grown accustomed to. Some days he just files that away as a common consequence that comes with dealing with the Holmes brothers, but today, when he is actually hiding something, it feels as if Mycroft’s eyes are burning him.
“Detective Inspector, I’m very sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to remove the sunglasses. I can offer to dim the light if it would aid the headache”.
Greg was summoned to Mycroft’s office on a Sunday afternoon and even though he believed the excuse of having a raging hangover would be enough to get him by without losing the shades, he should have factored in the fact that Mycroft rarely cared for such explanations.
Greg knows he has lost when the tone in Mycroft’s voice makes the polite question sound like an order. He reluctantly reaches and at last, reveals the black bruise covering half his face.
Mycroft’s expression doesn’t shift, but instead, he keeps inspecting him with a newfound curiosity. “But none of your cases had any violent developing in the last 24 hours”, he mutters.
Greg raises an eyebrow, instantly regretting it as it pulls on his sore flesh. “You keep an eye on my cases?”
For the first time in the last five minutes, Mycroft looks away. “For Sherlock’s sake, of course”
“Yeah, so was this” Greg offers, shrugging.
It’s Greg now who can read Mycroft like an open book, even for a brief instant. The only time he lets emotions flash through his expression in a way that Greg can only describe as vulnerable, or perhaps unguarded, is whenever Sherlock’s safety is threatened. It was the same look of worry that Mycroft had when Greg had first met him in a crowded hospital hallway.
“He is fine, don’t worry,” Greg adds and wonders if Mycroft is aware that he relaxes in his seat almost instantly when he hears that. “I wasn’t lying when I said I spent the night at the pub.”
“I highly doubt a social environment like that would be my brother’s preferred choice for a Saturday night outing”. Greg can see Mycroft is trying to put the pieces together and it would be entertaining letting him do his usual thing if Greg didn’t want to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.
“He wasn’t there.” Greg sits on the chair in front of Mycroft’s desk and leans forward on his elbows. “Look, Mycroft, I’m fine, your brother is fine, and the records for every one of my guys that came in contact with someone working at Heathrow will be on your desk by tomorrow morning. Can I go now?”
“I feel I must apologize for whatever way Sherlock’s involvement resulted in you having a black eye.” Mycroft shifts in his seat and looks apprehensive as if it is not the umpteenth time he’s had to make excuses for Sherlock. Greg wishes he knew he didn’t have to do that with him, but trying to get Mycroft to drop the guilt is a futile task and Greg is aware of it.
“You really don’t have to”, he repeats.
“So who was it?” Mycroft smiles now, but Greg can tell he is still running scenarios in his mind. “A suspect? An old dealer? Maybe even an offended man my brother chased around for a case?”.
“They didn’t know your brother, that’s the point,” Greg interrupts in frustration. He can still hear the words, the mockery, and he doesn’t regret the ache in his hands. “They were talking about him and they didn’t have a fucking clue who he really is”
Mycroft’s humorous tone drops instantly and he stares at Greg again.
“I’m sure you’re used to people commenting about him”.
“Well, they got on my nerves this time. Talking about him and John and… I don’t know, it must have struck a chord with me. I know it was juvenile.” Greg feels heat rushing to his face and wonders if Mycroft thinks he is too impulsive to be trusted.
“You didn’t have to punch them, no. But I think it was rather noble.” Mycroft is looking at his pen with a newfound interest, avoiding Greg’s look. He picks up his phone and even if he is sitting across from him, Greg can’t hear what is said.
“Listen, there’s no need to up my surveillance because of this”. Mycroft has the nerve to fake surprise, but when Greg tilts his head and rolls his eyes he drops the act.
“I am not”
“I can take care of myself just fine.” Greg makes a move to get up.
“I know you do, Gregory. But I believe you spend too much time caring for others instead. I merely asked for some aspirin and an icepack for your eye, though I suspect it’s a bit late for that now”
It does feel odd to have someone take care of him for once, but Greg isn’t going to admit that. He realizes how pathetic that makes him sound.
“Perhaps you would let me ask for something to eat and I could repay your kindness”. There’s no guilt in Mycroft’s eyes now, but gratitude.
“For Sherlock’s sake?” Greg smiles. He doesn’t dare get his hopes up.
“No, for my own”.