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Greg fumbled around for his phone in the dark. The screen lit up, blinding him as he answered.
“Yes,” he croaked, voice rough from sleep.
“Gregory,” the older Holmes’s voice was weak.
“Mycroft?” Greg sat up, suddenly wide awake. Mycroft, unlike his annoying little brother, never disturbed his sleep unless it was absolutely necessary. “Everything all right?”
“Perfectly.” came the reply, too even to be true. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Okay,” Greg started to get dressed. Something was off. Wrong. “Glad you called, I was having trouble sleeping,” he lied.
“That is fortunate then.”
“It is. Same trouble?” Greg asked carefully.
“No, I’m…tired. So tired,”
“Late night at the office?” he texted Anthea but received no answer yet.
“I was fired, remember?”
“Shit, yeah…sorry.” Greg muttered, already on his way down the stairs. “Sherlock?”
“He is especially well. Receiving all the care and attention from our parents. He pretends to hate it— of course — but it feeds his ego…to be surrounded by his ‘fans’.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.
“How are you doing?”
“The same as yesterday.”
Greg got in his car, unsure where to go now. “You are fine.” Greg called or texted Mycroft daily. Only getting short, meaningless, replies.
“I am.” in the distance Greg could hear an approaching ambulance. He instantly knew where Mycroft was.
“You know,” he said, starting the car. “I finally have a free weekend. We could meet, have dinner.”
“Why would we?”
“I got used to our weekly meetings.” Greg raced through the city, not caring about the speed limit. “Call me old, but I like my routines.”
“It is unnecessary. I’m no longer needed. Sherlock has his family to take care of him.”
“You are his family. His rock, his…”
“I was told John is his family.”
“They are close but the connection you two have…”
“Unmendable.” he whispered.
“Mycroft,” Greg whispered.
“It’s fine….it is.” he chuckled dryly. “I’ve just sacrificed my life for him. My friends left, relationships failed, once in the life time opportunities missed all because of him! Because I love and care for my brother…then comes this stranger and suddenly I’m an inconvenient, manipulative, heartless reptile.” His voice cracked, then steadied. “I’ve lost everything, my position, my purpose…But this is fine. We all get what we deserve,”
“Please don’t,” Greg was still too far from Barts Hospital. “Don’t talk like this. None of us are perfect, we all make mistakes,”
“My mistakes killed too many.”
“But saved even more. Think of them, all the good you did. Think of your friends,”
“I have none.”
“You have me.”
There was a pause. Then, cautiously, “You consider us friends?”
“For the past ten years. You were always there for me. To talk, to listen, to give advice…sometimes to judge my questionable decisions.”
“That motorcycle was a deathtrap.”
“Yeah,” Greg chuckled. “You were right,”
“As always…no. Not always,” Mycroft’s mood shifted quickly.
“You were there for me when I struggled with my self-esteem, when work drained me. The only friend that truly helped me during the divorce and put me back together when I fell apart.”
“She was unworthy of you…so am I. I can not be your friend, Gregory.” Greg finally saw the hospital. And on the rooftop—tall, still—Mycroft stood alone, his coat blown by the wind.
“This will be better for you,” Mycroft said quietly. “I only interfered with your life.”
“In the best way.”
“You know why you weren’t promoted yet? You told me, how ‘pissed’ you are that no one saw your worth. Only seeing you as Sherlock’s handler.”
“Well, to be honest, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to manage this circus on my own.” he ran up the stairs, trying to sound not out of breath.
“I prevented your promotion,” Mycroft admitted. “So you could stay near Sherlock. Monitor him. Report on him. I’m a terrible person, I can not apologise enough. I’m sorry, Gregory. Please don’t remember me with hate."
Greg finally reached the roof. His muscles detested, his lungs burned as he ran toward the ledge, toward Mycroft. He threw his arms around him, dragging him down. They collapsed together on the cold ground, the wind howling around them.
“Gregory,”
“Just… give me a sec,” Greg panted, tightly holding Mycroft in his arms.
“Let me go,” Mycroft pleaded.
“Never.” Greg tightened his hold. “I love you…”
“Emotional blackmail. How original," Mycroft’s voice was flat.
“It’s the truth. You know it well…you said it yourself…that I’m glowing. That you believe that I’d found love. I wanted to tell you then but,”
“I had an urgent call.”
“Then weeks away on a worktrip, then Sherrinford,” he took a deep breath. “This time, let me help you.”
“Could you release me?”
“Sure,” They sat up together, side by side, gazing up at the stars. Mycroft’s face was pale in the moonlight.
“I feel so lost,” he whispered eventually.
Greg reached for his hand. “Then let me help you find your way back.”
Mycroft’s fingers curled around his.
“Please,” he whispered.