Epilogue

It was grey outside and raindrops were tapping against the window when Greg woke up. He looked at his alarm clock. 6.23pm. He had slept for only one hour. Knowing he couldn't go back to sleep, he got up and went into the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, opened it and took a swing. Taking the beer into the living room he sat down on the sofa and switched on the TV.
Half an hour later he had neither drunk his beer nor seen anything that happened on TV. He left the beer on the table and the TV switched on before he rubbed his hands over his face, got up and went into the bathroom.
Bloodshot eyes with dark circle underneath starred back at him from the mirror. He was so very very tired but sleep kept eluding him since that day he had been killed. He felt himself shiver. Yes, he had been killed. If it hadn't been for Mycroft Holmes who had first rescued him from drowning and afterwards resuscitated him, he would be in the morgue right now. No, he corrected himself. He would already be buried.

Ever since he had been moved from ICU to a regular ward in the hospital he had problems sleeping. He kept waking up after one or two hours, mostly drenched in sweat, gasping for breath and shaking from a nightmare he couldn't remember. The only feeling that was always present was terrible loneliness. The feeling he had been abandoned by everybody.
Greg was certain his dream was about drowning. He had been unconscious when he had been dumped into the Thames, and he was a little bit grateful that at least he couldn't remember the pain that most certainly came with drowning.

Dangerous situations were an occupational hazard for a DI. In the past he had been stabbed, beaten, shot; but until now nothing had left him as scared. Yes, he admitted to himself. He was scared. Badly. And he had no idea what to do about it. He fought back the tears that stung in his eyes.

The doctor in the hospital had told him he should take therapy to get over the trauma. But even the thought of talking to a total stranger about his fears and his feelings was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Greg threw his pyjamas into the basket with the rest of the dirty clothing and stepped under the hot spray of the shower. It took a while until the hot water, hitting his neck and shoulders, began to take effect. He leaned his forehead against the tiles, taking steady breaths. When he left the shower his skin was warm and red. After he had towelled himself dry he wrapped himself in his dressing gown, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. He had his hand on the handle of the freezer when he remembered that a bottle of beer was still in the living room, hardly touched. He switched off the TV, and emptied the bottle in the sink.

The doorbell rang, and he gave a start. Running his fingers through his hair he went to the door and upon opening it he found Mycroft Holmes standing there. He hadn't seen him since IT had happened. First Mycroft had suffered from a bad cold that had followed hypothermia. He had been too ill to visit Greg, and they had only talked over the phone a couple of times. After he had recovered, the government official had needed to go back to work to tie up some loose strings concerning a treaty he had worked on before.

"Good evening, Gregory," Mycroft greeted him, studying him from the still moist hair to the naked toes that curled into the carpet.

Greg stood there, his hand still on the door, starring at Mycroft, not saying anything. For half a minute both men looked at each other and then Mycroft did something he hadn't done in a very long time. He took a step forward and pulled Greg into a tight embrace, hugging him to his chest. He knew the Inspector was a proud man and for a moment he wondered if his interpretation of Gregory's body-language had been wrong. But after only a moments hesitation Gregory hugged him back and held on to him for dear life.

How Mycroft had managed to manoeuvre him into the living room and onto his sofa, Greg didn't know. He found himself propped up against a pillow, wrapped into a woollen blanket. Mycroft sat unusually close and Greg was glad to have his reassuring presence right by his side.
"When was the last time you slept properly?" Mycroft asked eventually.
"Before... Before it happened." Greg struggled through the short sentence. He looked up, discovering a surprising amount of compassion in the politician's gaze.
"I'm scared, Myc. I haven't been that scared in my whole fucking life."
"Do you want to tell me about it?" Mycroft asked.
Greg nodded and began to talk. He talked and he cried and then he talked some more. He confessed his fears, his desperation and his loneliness. When he stopped eventually he was utterly exhausted. A cup with hot, sweet tea was shoved in his hand. Greg allowed himself to lean against Mycroft who had sat down right next to him again.
"How did you manage it?" Greg asked softly, once he had taken a few careful sips from his tea. Mycroft raised a questioning eyebrow.
"You almost died from that wound in your leg some month ago. How did you not break down like I did?"
Mycroft smiled slightly. He could have given him plenty of explanations. How different they were, that the situation had been different etcetera, etcetera but it was not the answer Gregory needed to hear.

"The truth is, it helped me to know that you were watching over me like nobody ever has done before. Don't think I don't know about the stunt you pulled, threatening the poor doctor with your gun to save my life."
Gregory avoided his gaze, looking slightly bashful at his teacup.
"Not that I'm not entirely grateful," Mycroft added.

Plucking away some invisible specks of dust from the leg of his trousers Mycroft repeated. "Yes, Gregory, I recovered easily from that threat and those before because I knew you would be there if I needed you." Mycroft paused, looking at the man sitting beside him from the corner of his eyes before he added, "And now I'm here for you."
Greg processed the information a minute or two before he stifled a yawn.
"I need to sleep. Would you," he felt himself blush, "would you please stay with me?"
A smile touched Mycroft's lips. "I have no intentions of going anywhere."
Greg slid down, curling up to lie on his right side, the pillow his head rested on, snug against Mycroft's left thigh. He fell asleep within seconds. Mycroft's hand rested loosely on his shoulder, and with his friend now watching over him, Greg could finally sleep peacefully.

FIN

Well, this is it. The story is done, and I thank all those who read it, took/take the time to review, follow(ed) and add(ed) it to their favourite list. And, of course, thanks go again to Jack, my wonderful Beta for all the beta-ing and input.

The next story is well under way. Stay tuned. :-)