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"Mycroft, stop! I'm fine." said Greg as Mycroft asked him for the tenth time if he wanted tea or water or a blanket or whatever.
"But the doctor said..."
"Yes, I know what the doctor said, but don't worry, I promise I'm fine. And I'll be even better if you sit next to me."
He held out his hand for Mycroft to come and sit in the chair next to his hospital bed.
They remained silent for a while until Greg fell asleep under Mycroft's concerned eyes.
Mycroft couldn't help but worry.
He had the same concerned look on his face when he saw Greg wince in pain as he moved in his sleep.
"Greg... ", Mycroft murmured as he brushed his fingers over his bandaged shoulder.
He swallowed.
It was his fault.
It was because of him that Greg had been hurt.
Even if it was indirectly.
"Mycroft..."
Greg's voice interrupted his spiral of guilt.
Greg smiled weakly at him, "you were far away..."
"How are you feeling?", Mycroft asked, ignoring Greg's remark.
"I don't think I'll be able to lift weights for a while," Greg began, then his lips curled into a smirk, "You're going to have to take care of me."
Mycroft was glad that Greg was feeling well enough to joke, but he still felt extremely guilty.
"Greg, I'm sorry," he then said gently intertwining his fingers with Greg's.
"You're... Sorry? For what?", Greg asked weakly, "It wasn't you who shot me as far as I know."
"I got you into this," Mycroft said, "If I hadn't asked you to watch Sherlock and take care of him, you wouldn't be in this situation."
He looked down at their entwined hands, not daring to meet Greg's gaze.
"Mycroft, please look at me." replied Greg.
Mycroft looked up and met Greg's gaze, free of any accusation. Greg continued, "None of this is your fault. Not even Sherlock's. The only one responsible for my condition is the one who pulled the trigger. Mycroft, I'm a detective, this kind of situation is common."
He raised Mycroft's hand to his mouth and kissed it before saying, "You should stop taking on responsibilities that aren't yours."
Mycroft wondered how Greg could be the one to comfort him when he was the one in pain.
"Because my pain is physical while yours is there." Greg pointed to Mycroft's head.
Surprised by Greg's words, he realized that he had spoken aloud.
Greg ran his hand over Mycroft's cheek and repeated, "I'm fine. It's just a few stitches. I'll heal."
He drew Mycroft's head down, until it rested on his chest.
"Come here."
He gently caressed Mycroft's head, who, reassured by the strong, steady beat of Greg's heart against his cheek, let the guilt slip away for a few moments and basked in the relief of having his beloved safe and sound against him.