Lull Before the Storm
Title: Lull Before the Strom
Author: aislingdoheanta
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade
Summary: Lestrade arrives at the Club to help Mycroft deal with John's confrontation.
Rating: T
Word Count: 1879
Notes: The timeline may not be entirely accurate because this takes place after John's confrontation with Mycroft but before Sherlock's death. Also, as this is before Sherlock's death, Greg and Mycroft do not know that Jim created the whole other persona of Richard Brook as it had not printed yet. Only John, Sherlock, Kitty, and Jim know of it for right now. There will probably be a sequel of sorts to this fic after Sherlock's death, but unsure when.
Warnings: Mycroft is upset, that is warning enough.
Disclaimer: Obviously Not Mine
Go to the Club. M needs you. -A
Greg hadn't even hesitated once he received that message. It didn't matter to him that most of his team thought him an idiot, that he had lost the respect of numerous friends and colleagues, or that he was on the brink of losing his job. All that could wait for the moment. Mycroft couldn't.
He hailed the first cab he came across, directing it toward the Club. He was nervous for what had happened with Mycroft. He rarely received messages from Anthea informing him of Mycroft. It always put him on edge--he was a cop, he always had numerous worse case scenarios running through his head on what he might find when he reached Mycroft.
He had a feeling it was going to have to do with Sherlock.
He threw money at the driver, much more than was necessary before jumping out of the cab. He did, however, know better than to go running into the building. The people inside would not appreciate that.
Greg took one deep, steadying breath before pulling the doors open and walking inside. He wasn't surprised to see Anthea waiting in the entrance--on her mobile, of course--and he just followed her where she was leading. His fists kept clenching and unclenching.
She took him into a room, shutting the door behind them. "Before you go in by him, there's something you need to see. I'm sure Mr. Holmes would not approve, but you need to understand the whole story." She turned on the monitor in the room and set up the video she was going to show him.
"Detective Inspector," she said softly. "Regardless of how you may feel toward Sherlock or even Mr. Holmes after this, please keep in mind the nature of Mr. Holmes' responsibilities."
Greg looked at her and saw nervousness rolling off her. She was trying to protect Mycroft from him. What the hell had happened today?
Greg nodded at her, "I know him, Anthea. I know how much he has to be concerned about."
At her nod, he sat down behind the monitor and watched as Mycroft waltzed into his office where John was currently flipping through a stack of paperwork. John's tone immediately set Greg off and he knew what he was about to see.
He watched as Mycroft hesitantly sat down. No one else would have noticed the dread on Mycroft's face, but Greg did.
"Your own brother and you blabbed about his entire life to this...maniac?"
"I never intended--I never dreamt--" Mycroft's eyes had closed.
Greg's heart clenched because Mycroft never misspoke. He was always very articulate, never speaking unless he was absolutely positive of what he wanted to say. Greg had noticed that the only time Mycroft was ever at a loss for words was around himself--never around anyone else. It was breaking his heart to watch John tear Mycroft apart when it was so clear the man was bleeding already.
"Watch his back because I made a mistake." John said.
Mycroft remained silent, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
Greg could see him fighting to keep his composure, though he doubted John did, or even cared to notice. Everyone thought of Mycroft as this stone, uncaring figure, when he was honestly anything but. He had to keep his personal thoughts and feelings out of his mind out of fear they would interfere with whatever he was working on. Mycroft did feel, quite a lot actually. He was just very good at hiding it. Very good at pretending he didn't care, that he didn't need or want to care.
Greg watched as Mycroft explained his meetings with Moriarty and tried not to get angry knowing that Mycroft willingly had chats with the psychopath he had been fearing since the first time he had ever been mentioned to Greg. He knew Mycroft's job was potentially dangerous, but it didn't make him any more comfortable with the idea.
Greg saw Mycroft's fingers gently tapping the handle of his umbrella, another nervous habit of his.
"In return you were to offer him Sherlock's life story."
Greg saw the fear and dread on Mycroft's face, practically felt the trembling Mycroft went through when he was afraid. He was pleading with John to see something, anything, other than what John was currently seeing in Mycroft. Mycroft's chest was heaving noticeably and Greg cursed that he hadn't been here to help him, protect him.
"Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed and you have given him the perfect amunition." John smiled thinly at Mycroft and Mycroft shifted his gaze to the floor and swallowed thickly.
"John...I'm sorry."
John had the guts to laugh at Mycroft's apology. Greg was almost seeing red. John had no fucking right to come in here and yell at Mycroft in this way. None. Especially since he didn't even understand the way Mycroft worked, what he had to deal with on a daily basis. He was shaking and realized it was lucky John wasn't here--he liked the man quite a lot, actually, but he would not have hesitated to punch if he had seen him.
And then Mycroft said the one thing that almost shattered Greg. "Tell him, would you?"
He knew that most people thought the Holmes brothers didn't care about each other, but it wasn't true, at least for Mycroft. He cared for his brother, more than anyone, especially Sherlock, would ever know. If John had meant to shatter Mycroft he had succeeded.
Greg turned to Anthea. "Where is he?"
She pointed to another door in the room. Greg stood and went in. He immediately saw Mycroft sitting at his desk, eyes staring at the wall, trembling slightly, and a glass of scotch sitting next to his elbow.
His eyes rolled over to Greg. "Ah. Knew you would be informed." He drained his glass as Greg made his way over to him.
Greg leaned against his desk, facing Mycroft as he heard Anthea shut the door. "Mye..." He wasn't sure how to follow that. What was he to say?
Mycroft chuckled bitterly. "I'm afraid you're about thirty minutes too late for my scolding."
Greg shook his head and grabbed Mycroft's hand as it reached for the scotch again. He didn't say anything though, just held Mycroft's hand, waiting for him to speak.
"It's my fault. I know that it's my fault," he whispered. "If I hadn't been so...obsessed with finding this code...I wouldn't have...I might not have."
Greg shushed him and reached his free hand to Mycroft's face. "You were doing what was right, Mycroft. You know that. You stayed focused on what you needed to do and did everything you could to achieve it."
Mycroft closed his eyes but not before Greg caught a glimpse of moisture. "It doesn't matter what I was doing, it matters what I did. And I basically handed Moriarty my brother over like a lamb to the slaughter." He reached up and wrapped a trembling hand around Greg's wrist, as if trying to keep his hand against his face.
Greg shifted over and leaned down to press his lips to Mycroft's head, trying to offer whatever comfort he could. "You were doing what you needed to do to protect the country, Mycroft. What you always do."
Mycroft let out a small choked sigh and pulled himself out of his chair and into Greg. He wrapped his arms around Greg and buried his face in his shoulder. He was trembling and crying slightly.
Greg wrapped his arms around him, whispering words he hoped were comforting to Mycroft. He held him tightly wishing he could take his pain away. It was so obvious how much this supposed "mistake" was torturing Mycroft.
"Why are you the only one that ever remembers my job?" Mycroft whispered a little while later--neither man was aware of how much time had passed.
"Sorry?"
Mycroft cleared his throat, but didn't move away from Greg. "Whenever something happens, you are always the only one to remember that I had to put the country before anything else. Why does no one else remember that I cannot simply act how I would like to act in certain situations, but there are certain requirements that I must do. That must be met."
"People are idiots," Greg said softly.
Mycroft chuckled. "That is true." He pulled back to look at Greg. "Except you."
Greg knew that had been about to be followed by a question of why Greg was even with Mycroft, but he had been trying to get Mycroft to stop questioning it and remember that he loved him. That was why he was around, why he chose to be with him. "You're not too bad yourself."
Mycroft smiled and sighed. "I apologize for...this," he said as he gestured vaguely.
Greg leaned in to kiss Mycroft, effectively stopping that train of thought. "That...is what I'm here for. Remember, good and bad?" He rubbed a hand on the back of Mycroft's neck. "I'm here whenever you need me."
Mycroft nodded and looked down. "I'm sorry for not contacting you."
Greg shook his head. "It's alright. I mean, I would have liked you to call me if you were upset, but I know you figured you had it handled."
Greg's mobile buzzed and he cursed as he checked it.
"Are you required elsewhere?" Mycroft asked quietly.
Greg nodded. "Unfortunately. Everything's a mess down at the Yard." He slid his phone into his pocket and pulled Mycroft close again. "I don't want to leave you," he admitted quietly. He knew Mycroft still needed him and didn't want to just abandon him.
"I'm a grown man, Gregory, I'll survive." Mycroft gently picked at Greg's shirt buttons--another nervous habit Greg knew.
He sighed and checked his watch. "You have stuff to finish up here, right?" At Mycroft nod he continued. "I can get all my things done and be home in under two hours. I can grab some take-away on my way and we can have a quiet night in. How does that sound?"
"That sounds...wonderful." He kissed Greg quickly. "Thank you."
Greg smirked. "No need to thank me. Maybe later you can," he said with a wink, happy when Mycroft chuckled.
"We shall see."
"Are you sure you're alright? I won't go if you're not," Greg said one more time.
"I'm fine."
Greg looked him over. He still saw signs of distress and dread, but it was lighter now. Mycroft would be able to get through the next few hours and then Greg would make sure to take care of him when he got home tonight, to push all the lingering fears and doubts away.
"I have my mobile. Don't hesitate to phone or text if you need anything, yeah?" He questioned.
Mycroft nodded. "Of course." He leaned up to kiss Greg one more time before backing away and allowing him to leave. "Thank you."
Greg nodded, knowing his responses that reminded Mycroft that he didn't need to thank him every time he did something for him went unheard. "You're welcome, Mycroft. I'll see you in a little bit."
Mycroft watched Gregory leave and turned to face the window, feeling just a little lighter than he head a half an hour ago.
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Previous Part
Author: aislingdoheanta
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade
Summary: Lestrade arrives at the Club to help Mycroft deal with John's confrontation.
Rating: T
Word Count: 1879
Notes: The timeline may not be entirely accurate because this takes place after John's confrontation with Mycroft but before Sherlock's death. Also, as this is before Sherlock's death, Greg and Mycroft do not know that Jim created the whole other persona of Richard Brook as it had not printed yet. Only John, Sherlock, Kitty, and Jim know of it for right now. There will probably be a sequel of sorts to this fic after Sherlock's death, but unsure when.
Warnings: Mycroft is upset, that is warning enough.
Disclaimer: Obviously Not Mine
Go to the Club. M needs you. -A
Greg hadn't even hesitated once he received that message. It didn't matter to him that most of his team thought him an idiot, that he had lost the respect of numerous friends and colleagues, or that he was on the brink of losing his job. All that could wait for the moment. Mycroft couldn't.
He hailed the first cab he came across, directing it toward the Club. He was nervous for what had happened with Mycroft. He rarely received messages from Anthea informing him of Mycroft. It always put him on edge--he was a cop, he always had numerous worse case scenarios running through his head on what he might find when he reached Mycroft.
He had a feeling it was going to have to do with Sherlock.
He threw money at the driver, much more than was necessary before jumping out of the cab. He did, however, know better than to go running into the building. The people inside would not appreciate that.
Greg took one deep, steadying breath before pulling the doors open and walking inside. He wasn't surprised to see Anthea waiting in the entrance--on her mobile, of course--and he just followed her where she was leading. His fists kept clenching and unclenching.
She took him into a room, shutting the door behind them. "Before you go in by him, there's something you need to see. I'm sure Mr. Holmes would not approve, but you need to understand the whole story." She turned on the monitor in the room and set up the video she was going to show him.
"Detective Inspector," she said softly. "Regardless of how you may feel toward Sherlock or even Mr. Holmes after this, please keep in mind the nature of Mr. Holmes' responsibilities."
Greg looked at her and saw nervousness rolling off her. She was trying to protect Mycroft from him. What the hell had happened today?
Greg nodded at her, "I know him, Anthea. I know how much he has to be concerned about."
At her nod, he sat down behind the monitor and watched as Mycroft waltzed into his office where John was currently flipping through a stack of paperwork. John's tone immediately set Greg off and he knew what he was about to see.
He watched as Mycroft hesitantly sat down. No one else would have noticed the dread on Mycroft's face, but Greg did.
"Your own brother and you blabbed about his entire life to this...maniac?"
"I never intended--I never dreamt--" Mycroft's eyes had closed.
Greg's heart clenched because Mycroft never misspoke. He was always very articulate, never speaking unless he was absolutely positive of what he wanted to say. Greg had noticed that the only time Mycroft was ever at a loss for words was around himself--never around anyone else. It was breaking his heart to watch John tear Mycroft apart when it was so clear the man was bleeding already.
"Watch his back because I made a mistake." John said.
Mycroft remained silent, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
Greg could see him fighting to keep his composure, though he doubted John did, or even cared to notice. Everyone thought of Mycroft as this stone, uncaring figure, when he was honestly anything but. He had to keep his personal thoughts and feelings out of his mind out of fear they would interfere with whatever he was working on. Mycroft did feel, quite a lot actually. He was just very good at hiding it. Very good at pretending he didn't care, that he didn't need or want to care.
Greg watched as Mycroft explained his meetings with Moriarty and tried not to get angry knowing that Mycroft willingly had chats with the psychopath he had been fearing since the first time he had ever been mentioned to Greg. He knew Mycroft's job was potentially dangerous, but it didn't make him any more comfortable with the idea.
Greg saw Mycroft's fingers gently tapping the handle of his umbrella, another nervous habit of his.
"In return you were to offer him Sherlock's life story."
Greg saw the fear and dread on Mycroft's face, practically felt the trembling Mycroft went through when he was afraid. He was pleading with John to see something, anything, other than what John was currently seeing in Mycroft. Mycroft's chest was heaving noticeably and Greg cursed that he hadn't been here to help him, protect him.
"Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed and you have given him the perfect amunition." John smiled thinly at Mycroft and Mycroft shifted his gaze to the floor and swallowed thickly.
"John...I'm sorry."
John had the guts to laugh at Mycroft's apology. Greg was almost seeing red. John had no fucking right to come in here and yell at Mycroft in this way. None. Especially since he didn't even understand the way Mycroft worked, what he had to deal with on a daily basis. He was shaking and realized it was lucky John wasn't here--he liked the man quite a lot, actually, but he would not have hesitated to punch if he had seen him.
And then Mycroft said the one thing that almost shattered Greg. "Tell him, would you?"
He knew that most people thought the Holmes brothers didn't care about each other, but it wasn't true, at least for Mycroft. He cared for his brother, more than anyone, especially Sherlock, would ever know. If John had meant to shatter Mycroft he had succeeded.
Greg turned to Anthea. "Where is he?"
She pointed to another door in the room. Greg stood and went in. He immediately saw Mycroft sitting at his desk, eyes staring at the wall, trembling slightly, and a glass of scotch sitting next to his elbow.
His eyes rolled over to Greg. "Ah. Knew you would be informed." He drained his glass as Greg made his way over to him.
Greg leaned against his desk, facing Mycroft as he heard Anthea shut the door. "Mye..." He wasn't sure how to follow that. What was he to say?
Mycroft chuckled bitterly. "I'm afraid you're about thirty minutes too late for my scolding."
Greg shook his head and grabbed Mycroft's hand as it reached for the scotch again. He didn't say anything though, just held Mycroft's hand, waiting for him to speak.
"It's my fault. I know that it's my fault," he whispered. "If I hadn't been so...obsessed with finding this code...I wouldn't have...I might not have."
Greg shushed him and reached his free hand to Mycroft's face. "You were doing what was right, Mycroft. You know that. You stayed focused on what you needed to do and did everything you could to achieve it."
Mycroft closed his eyes but not before Greg caught a glimpse of moisture. "It doesn't matter what I was doing, it matters what I did. And I basically handed Moriarty my brother over like a lamb to the slaughter." He reached up and wrapped a trembling hand around Greg's wrist, as if trying to keep his hand against his face.
Greg shifted over and leaned down to press his lips to Mycroft's head, trying to offer whatever comfort he could. "You were doing what you needed to do to protect the country, Mycroft. What you always do."
Mycroft let out a small choked sigh and pulled himself out of his chair and into Greg. He wrapped his arms around Greg and buried his face in his shoulder. He was trembling and crying slightly.
Greg wrapped his arms around him, whispering words he hoped were comforting to Mycroft. He held him tightly wishing he could take his pain away. It was so obvious how much this supposed "mistake" was torturing Mycroft.
"Why are you the only one that ever remembers my job?" Mycroft whispered a little while later--neither man was aware of how much time had passed.
"Sorry?"
Mycroft cleared his throat, but didn't move away from Greg. "Whenever something happens, you are always the only one to remember that I had to put the country before anything else. Why does no one else remember that I cannot simply act how I would like to act in certain situations, but there are certain requirements that I must do. That must be met."
"People are idiots," Greg said softly.
Mycroft chuckled. "That is true." He pulled back to look at Greg. "Except you."
Greg knew that had been about to be followed by a question of why Greg was even with Mycroft, but he had been trying to get Mycroft to stop questioning it and remember that he loved him. That was why he was around, why he chose to be with him. "You're not too bad yourself."
Mycroft smiled and sighed. "I apologize for...this," he said as he gestured vaguely.
Greg leaned in to kiss Mycroft, effectively stopping that train of thought. "That...is what I'm here for. Remember, good and bad?" He rubbed a hand on the back of Mycroft's neck. "I'm here whenever you need me."
Mycroft nodded and looked down. "I'm sorry for not contacting you."
Greg shook his head. "It's alright. I mean, I would have liked you to call me if you were upset, but I know you figured you had it handled."
Greg's mobile buzzed and he cursed as he checked it.
"Are you required elsewhere?" Mycroft asked quietly.
Greg nodded. "Unfortunately. Everything's a mess down at the Yard." He slid his phone into his pocket and pulled Mycroft close again. "I don't want to leave you," he admitted quietly. He knew Mycroft still needed him and didn't want to just abandon him.
"I'm a grown man, Gregory, I'll survive." Mycroft gently picked at Greg's shirt buttons--another nervous habit Greg knew.
He sighed and checked his watch. "You have stuff to finish up here, right?" At Mycroft nod he continued. "I can get all my things done and be home in under two hours. I can grab some take-away on my way and we can have a quiet night in. How does that sound?"
"That sounds...wonderful." He kissed Greg quickly. "Thank you."
Greg smirked. "No need to thank me. Maybe later you can," he said with a wink, happy when Mycroft chuckled.
"We shall see."
"Are you sure you're alright? I won't go if you're not," Greg said one more time.
"I'm fine."
Greg looked him over. He still saw signs of distress and dread, but it was lighter now. Mycroft would be able to get through the next few hours and then Greg would make sure to take care of him when he got home tonight, to push all the lingering fears and doubts away.
"I have my mobile. Don't hesitate to phone or text if you need anything, yeah?" He questioned.
Mycroft nodded. "Of course." He leaned up to kiss Greg one more time before backing away and allowing him to leave. "Thank you."
Greg nodded, knowing his responses that reminded Mycroft that he didn't need to thank him every time he did something for him went unheard. "You're welcome, Mycroft. I'll see you in a little bit."
Mycroft watched Gregory leave and turned to face the window, feeling just a little lighter than he head a half an hour ago.
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