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Greg walked over to the coffee machine and got himself a cup. It probably tasted like mud, but he was tired, cold, and hungry, so he was desperate for anything warm and caffeinated that might sustain him through his wait, however long that may be. He hit the button on the machine and watched the cup slowly fill, rubbing the back of his neck while he waited. What a shit day. Donovan was out with a sprained knee so he had a rotating group of sergeants filling in until she returned. Today's sergeant was Maggie, a relatively new sergeant from the vice unit. A little eager for Greg's taste, but she was young, and wanted to make an impression. Greg knew his methods were sometimes frowned upon by the more senior personnel and higher ups, but he had a reputation among the younger crowd of being patient, fair, and willing to share his wealth of knowledge about the job. He remembers when he was Maggie's age, how idealistic he had been. He was going to change the world, help everyone, make a difference. Nineteen years on, he does the best he can, helps those he can, and counts down the days until he can retire to the country and get out of London. Too loud, too busy, too many people. Something to look forward to, but right now, he needed to find a seat in the waiting room and wait for word from the doctor on his sergeant. Maggie had been too impatient and hadn't properly cleared the room in a run down, abandoned house where they had a tip their subject was hiding. The culprit surprised her, hitting her over the head with a glass bottle. Greg heard her cry out, and then heard and felt the thud when she hit the ground. He caught a glance of the subject's back as he went running down the stairs, but couldn't give chase with his sergeant on the floor, bleeding and unconscious. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot, and this wound was no exception. Greg had called for an ambulance and backup, then sent the reinforcements to look for their subject while he accompanied Maggie to hospital. She was being seen now by a doctor, Greg hoped her head injury wasn't too serious.
He walked down the hall and entered the room, looking for a place to sit. The space was blessedly empty, except for someone in the far corner. The man was bent over, with his arms on his thighs, head hanging down, his auburn locks touseled, as if he had been running his hands through his hair. Even though the figure looked tired and defeated, his clothes and shoes were of fine quality and he had an air of importance about him. Greg moved nearer and his stomach did a little flip as he realized he knew this person.
"Mycroft?", Greg asked tentatively.
The head snapped up and Greg was staring into the somber eyes of the man he had quietly pined after for the last three years. Mycroft looked wrecked - his tie was loose, top button undone on his shirt, his pants were creased with wrinkles. Greg rarely saw Mycroft like this. It made him even more endearing.
Mycroft sat up straighter and made an attempt to look more collected, but realized it was a lost cause; his weariness was bone deep. There was no hiding that.
"What are you doing here?" Greg asked. Of all the people he might see in the waiting room of an emergency department in South East London at 9:00 on a Friday night, Mycroft Holmes' name didn't even make the list. He expected with his contacts, Mycroft would only use one of the private independent hospitals in London, or pull strings so people he knew would get sent there.
Clearing his throat and gathering his senses about him Mycroft replied, "An associate....well, friend of mine, was involved in a car-pedestrian accident in Lambeth earlier this evening. St. Thomas's was the closest hospital."
"Wow, I'm sorry to hear that. Is your friend ok?" Greg asked, while taking the seat next to Mycroft.
"It looks like he will be. A fractured ankle. Some bumps and bruises. But it could have been much, much worse." Mycroft sighed and continued. "He was very lucky. He'll be staying overnight, I'm just waiting for him to be assigned a room. I want to make sure he's settled."
That might have been the most Mycroft had ever said to Greg at one time. He was usually so reserved. Greg thought it was a testament to how tired Mycroft really was. Recovering from his surprise he replied, "Yes, if course. I'm glad your friend wasn't hurt worse. " Genuinely interested but not wanting to overstep either, Greg nonetheless asked, "Do you work together?"
"With Julian? No." Mycroft shook his head slightly and slightly smiled, as if reminiscing. "We met at university many years ago. We went our separate ways afterwards. Government work wasn't for him. He's an artist, has quite the creative streak. We've seen each other occasionally throughout the years. He got married about ten years ago and his wife and I don't exactly see eye to eye so our contact has been more infrequent. She is currently traveling out of the country on business and actually called me to see if I would be here for Julian if someone was needed. That's a positive sign I think. Maybe her animosity towards me is starting to thaw." After pausing a beat, Mycroft continued, "My apologies Detective Inspector, here I am going on about my troubles and I never asked why you were here...Is something wrong, are you not well?"
"Oh, no, I mean yes, I'm fine. And it's Greg, remember?" Greg gave Mycroft a little bump with his elbow, and smiled. "Got a new sergeant while Sally's recovering from a knee injury. We ran into a spot of trouble earlier and Maggie, my sergeant, got knocked out. I think she'll be ok, but I'd like to hear it from the doctors. Her parents are in with her now."
"And you're ok?" Mycroft asked again with concern, looking Greg over. "You weren't injured?"
"Me? No, really, I'm fine," said Greg with reassurance. "I was in another area. The tosser took off after he knocked her out. I stayed with her until help arrived."
Mycroft offered, "That's kind of you, to wait here now. If her parents are here, she has someone looking out for her. You don't necessarily need to stay."
"Well, I feel like she's my responsibility," replied Greg. Their conversation was interrupted by a nurse who had entered the waiting room.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade?" Greg and Mycroft both stood. "Ms. Anshaw is going to be fine. She's being discharged into the care of her parents for the night and should follow up with her GP on Monday. If you'd like to see her, I can take you to her room?"
Greg let out a sigh of relief he didn't even realize he had been holding. Although he didn't think her injury was serious, there had been a lot of blood. "Yeah thanks. I'd like to see her for myself." Turning to Mycroft he asked hopefully, "You'll still be here when I come back?"
"Yes, of course, " Mycroft reassured him. "I won't leave."
"Good. I'll be back in a minute."
"Take all the time you need" Mycroft called after him.
Greg saw Maggie, met her parents, got a stern talking to from Mrs. Anshaw about keeping her daughter out of harms way and an embarrassed eye roll from Maggie. He left them to it and was relieved to find Mycroft had indeed waited for his return.
"Julian's doctor came while you were gone. They're still waiting for a room to open up, it could be another hour or so, but he'll be fine. Laid up with a bad ankle for several months but very lucky, considering," Greg could hear the relief and weariness in Mycroft's voice.
"I don't mind sitting here with you while you wait. If that's ok?" Greg asked hopefully.
Mycroft looked at him incredulously. "Why would you want to sit with me in a hospital waiting room late on a Friday evening?"
"Because that's what friends do for one another Mycroft. I consider you to be a friend."
'Might as well go all in' Greg thought to himself.
Clearing his throat he clarified, "A good friend, if I'm truly being honest. And I like spending time with you. Hospitals aren't my first choice of a place to hang out, but...."
Tentatively Mycroft spoke. "Is that what we are, good friends?" Now it was Mycroft's turn to take a chance. "Do you ever see us being, possibly, more than friends?" Mycroft looked hopefully at Greg, a flush creeping up his face.
'Holy shit!' Greg thought. 'This is really happening!' He could barely contain his delight. This was a hospital after all. He was glad they were alone.
"I'd like that very much. I just wasn't sure how you felt about it. I didn't want to make our friendship awkward if you didn't have those feelings for me."
"I assure you, Greg, I do," Mycroft said, as he laid his hand over Greg's that was resting on his leg. Looking at their hands he continued , "Events like today's help to put things into perspective. I enjoy the challenge of my job, but admit I've always wanted something more, if I could find the right person."
Turning his hand over so their hands were palm to palm, Greg grasped Mycroft's more firmly and smiled. "Well, all right then. Glad we clarified that. Maybe this isn't going to be a shit day after all."
"I beg your pardon?" asked Mycroft, one eyebrow rising to his hairline.
"Oh nothing. It's just things were looking pretty bleak when I arrived earlier. And now things are very much looking up." Greg went on, rubbing his thumb lightly over Mycroft's hand. "I'm glad your friend is going to be ok. And I'm glad my sergeant is going to be ok. And I'm really glad that we've had this time to talk."
"Me as well." Mycroft gave up and rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "When is Sergeant Donovan due back?"
Greg matched Mycroft's position. "Soon I hope. Never thought I'd say I miss her for the pain in my arse she is sometimes," Greg said fondly. Then his eyes snapped open and he sat up and looked at Mycroft. "Gosh, don't tell her I said that though. She'll never let me forget it. She'll make my life insufferable."
Mycroft cracked one eye open and smiled at Greg. "As long as Ms Donovan does not possess any specialized interrogation tactics of which I am unaware, your secret will be safe with me."
Greg smiled back at Mycroft and resumed his position of resting his back against the wall. They settled in for the wait, both hopeful for what tomorrow would hold for their new relationship.