Greg was used to the gentle ribbing he would get from his fellow colleagues, from John, even from Sherlock. But after a while he began to feel singled out. It was always the same, every morning there was some sort of little joke going around the office about his relationship with Sherlock's brother, Mycroft.

It was beginning to get to Greg, all of it. The silly pranks pulled, the questions, the nicknames he'd picked up and his ex-wife being incredibly cruel to him. It all got to him, to the point that this evening - when he arrived at his flat to find that Mycroft had already made himself at home - Greg snapped.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Greg asked, in an accusatory manner as he slammed the front door behind him.

Mycroft looked up from the late edition of the newspaper, his eyebrows raised and his eyes a little wide in shock. Noting the air of upset in Greg's tone of voice, Mycroft frowned and got to his feet, neatly folding the paper.

"I informed you that I would be able to stay the evening." Mycroft replied, narrowing his eyes a little.

"Yeah, well you can just go home." Greg snapped, pushing past Mycroft on his way to the kitchen and a cold beer.

Mycroft stood in the centre of the room, like a tree in a storm as Greg pushed past him, not once letting the other move him. Following him, Mycroft rested on hand on the counter as Greg pulled out a beer and opened it.

This didn't improve Greg's mood.

"What's the matter?" Mycroft asked, just wanting to understand.

Greg took a gulp of his beer and hung his head.

'What's it like knowing you're fucking the Government?'

'Is that how you got your promotion?'

'So do you do the giving or…?'

Greg closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, rubbing at his face with both hands. Licking his lips, he looked up at Mycroft, sorrow in his eyes.

"I can't do this any more." Greg whispered in a small voice.

Mycroft looked shocked, blinking several times before he managed to swallow and close his mouth. He took in a sharp little breath, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"Please don't tell me you're ending it." he breathed, his voice low and agonisingly sad.

God if that didn't break Greg's heart right in two. But he just couldn't take the verbal abuse from his co-workers. Or from his ex-wife who had periodically run him to leave messages on the phone saying that he was a sick perverted bastard and he would never see his children again.

Leaning against the fridge, Greg slid down it until he was sitting on the floor, his hands pulling at his greying hair in annoyance. Mycroft sighed and grabbed a dishcloth, spreading it out on the floor before sitting beside Greg.
"It will get better, Gregory. I promise you." he said gently.

"No it won't, Myc. That's the thing… it just won't. God, look at me… I'm crying like some whiney teenager." Greg smirked, tears running over his cheeks.

Mycroft could never abide crying, so he pulled his hanky out and wiped the tears away from Greg's slightly pink cheeks. Tucking it away, he leaned in and kissed his lover.

"You're happy with me, aren't you?" he asked, smiling just a little.

Greg nodded, his breath catching a little.

"Then ignore them, let them scream and shout and throw abuse. For once… do something that makes you happy."

Mycroft Holmes, basically the British Government and advice guru. Greg sighed and smiled, resting his head on Mycroft's shoulder and holding his hand.

"Thanks, love."