He'd always told his younger brother that feelings were useless. They only got in the way of their jobs and family business. It was a lie, of course, every time he uttered the words, he knew he was lying because he'd been in love once. Had felt the pleasure and happiness that could be found with the other half of ones soul. He remembered the raven haired man who had gained his attention while at Uni. The rich, coffee brown eyes that had lit up with laughter and the way he would look at him...those dark, unfathomable eyes that seemed to see right down to his very soul. He'd been forced to leave him before graduating, his parents, having found out about their relationship, had Mycroft sent to a different school. The worst part was being unable to tell Greg goodbye. The fact that he'd been ripped from the one person to understand him had almost been crippling. The pain having been the worst he'd ever had to deal with in his life.

Then, five years after being forcibly separated, they'd found each other again. Despite the ups and downs in their relationship, they had been able to work things out, to untangle the web of lies in their lives and to finally make it work to where they fit again. Feelings from the past resurfacing stronger and deeper than before. Three years later, however, things changed...

Greg had been working on a serial murder case, Sherlock and John helping out, until the murderer had decided to turn the tables and go after John. He had succeeded in kidnapping him from his job at the hospital. His brother had called him in a panic looking for the former Army doctor, trying to see if Mycroft had seen anything. By the time Mycroft's people had discovered anything about John it had been early evening. While they searched the city, Mycroft had received a call about a bomb threat. Deciding not to tell Greg and Sherlock, he had his team search the vehicles. They were doing a final sweep by the time they left the station. Unfortunately, the discovery of the bomb under an unmarked car had proven to be to late...fatal in the worst way possible. Mycroft arrived at the scene minutes before the car had blown up...watching in horror as Greg and Sherlock still stood next to the car.

The recovery team had been able to locate Sherlock, bruised, bloody, and unconscious but alive, Greg had not been so fortunate. He had been sitting directly in the way of the blast, taking the full hit to the front of his body. Mycroft had watched as the emergency team had picked up his body from the ground and placed him as gently as possible on a stretcher. He heard the shouts of the EMT's who worked to save him. Had felt the hands of everyone who had tried to keep him from getting closer. Heard Anthea yelling at him that he didn't need to see, that it was to much for him to handle. He'd fought against the people holding him back, he needed to see for himself. To know that three years after having gotten married, he had not lost the other half of his soul...again.

He'd left the hospital that night in a daze, after checking in on his brother and John, he'd had his driver take him back to their house. The house he shared with Greg...the one he would be returning to...alone. It wasn't until he'd made it upstairs and into their bedroom, did he break. Giving into the tears that had kept him silent for most of the night. Sinking down onto the bed, Mycroft fell asleep hugging Greg's pillow. His tears spilled onto the soft fabric, until the only thing he could do was fall blissfully into the welcoming arms of exhaustion.