I am not lonely [Mystrade]

CHAPTER 81 : One of the upsetting kind

Mycroft  stormed through the front door and, without even taking his coat or his  shoes off, locked himself up in his study. Alarmed by the sound of his  partner banging the door so fiercely, Greg stood up from the couch where  he was lazily sat, watching the news, and made his way to the office,  carefully knocking on the door.
"Piss off." the official replied, his voice chocked by the wooden door.
"Myc  ? Is everything alright ?" wondered the detective, knowing that  everything was obviously not alright but having no idea what to ask.
"Are you daft ? I said you to piss off." retorted the auburn, harshly.
Being  that rude was not in the elder Holmes habits and the policeman didn't  take it to heartedly, understanding that his husband was certainly not  his usual self. He tried once more to knock on the door, asking for the  other man to let him in but was just granted another couple of insults.  Deciding that desperate situations were calling for desperate measures  the detective grabbed a knife in the nearby kitchen and crochet the  lock.
The official was standing, stiffly, near the window, watching  outside, his finger so tightly wrapped around his whisky glass that his  knuckles were completely white. His apparent calm was only hiding his  wrath and Greg was doubting he ever had seen him that angry. He approached from the tall man and tried to place a comforting hand on his shoulder but Mycroft made a step on the side to avoid the contact, letting his lover, hand in mild air, and more confused than ever.
"Myc ... What is going on ?" murmured the detective.
"Nothing.  I'm just having a drink after a day at work." replied the elder Holmes  sharply, neglecting all the attempt of his partner to make eye contact.
"Mycroft  Holmes, I'm always happy to look like the slow one in the family, but  I'm not that of a plonker to swallow this kind of bullshit." the yarder warned him.
"Who would have guessed that ?" snapped the auburn, meanly.
"Being a cunt with me won't make me go away." the detective chuckled, humourlessly.
Not answering, the official tried to step away but his partner grabbed one of his wrist, forcing him to stay where he was. For the first time since he had entered the house, Mycroft  made eye contact with his husband. Greg had never seen that much anger  and pain in the other man's deep blue eyes and it made him even more  desperate to understand what was going on.
"Let me go." simply requested the auburn, his voice colder than ever.
"Certainly not." retorted the policeman on an equally threatening tone. "I'm not letting you go until you tell me what is going on. And don't you dare feeding me your usual bullshit."
"Can I at least take a seat or is it against the law, officer ?" replied the elder Holmes, sarcastically.
"I've  seen you funnier." Greg snapped back before letting him go and  following him to the armchairs in the opposite corner of the room. "So  ?"
"I have no doubt you have an idea who Bethany Lawrence is, am I  wrong ?" the auburn asked rhetorically, referencing to a case the  detective had been working on since a couple of weeks. "If I'm not  mistaking either, you requested the help of my delicious little brother  on this one, once more."
The last words were only a weak attempt to  hurt him, Greg knew it and he tried to make abstraction of it. It wasn't  the first time he was able to notice that when he was in a tantrum, the  official tended to be rude with everyone who was attempting to talk to  him as a way to pass his nerves, but to that extent, it was quite new to  him. The policeman nodded to encourage his husband to go on with his  explanation even if he was starting to have an idea about who was to  blame for his lover's actual state of mind.
"Sherlock then seems to be very happy to use this case as an excuse to go back to his bad habits." resumed Mycroft, rolling up his lips in a disgusted pout. "He tried to convince me that it was absolutely  needed for the case when it is obvious that the girl was simply at the  wrong place at the wrong moment and not involved in any kind of  traffic."
'It isn't obvious to me ...' the detective thought to  himself, wise enough to know it wasn't the moment for him to told off  his husband on his proclivity for showing off. Then suddenly after being  so stiff and harsh for the past ten minutes, the elder Holmes collapsed  on his armrest and started crying like a child.
The policeman, who was sat  in the opposite armchair, dashed to his husband and keeled beside him,  running a tender hand on his back in a weak attempt to comfort him. Greg  was trained to face some of the worst situation and even knew how to  react in front of someone breaking down after he had to announce them  the death of a close relative, but he was completely clueless in front  of his partner's distress.
"Shhh ... It's alright honey ... shhh ..." he whispered him, conscious it had no effect whatsoever on the auburn's state.
"He said ... it was ... my ... fau  ... fault ..." the elder Holmes manage to articulate through his sobs.  "He said ... that ... I was ... I was the one ... who ... who brought him ...  there."
"Oh my god. How has he dared to say something like that !"  exclaimed the detective, utterly revolted by the youngest Holmes'  behaviour. "That's complete rubbish ! You've done everything you could  to keep him away from this shit ! How has he dared ?!"
"What if he was right ?" whined Mycroft, apparently on the verge of a serious mental breakdown. "What if I haven't done all I could ?"
"Don't say this darling, you know it's not true ..." the inspector shushed him. "Sherlock would do anything he can to upset you when you caught him doing something he shouldn't but please, don't let it get to you ..."
The  official threw himself in his husband arms and nestled his head in his  neck, the tears rushing down his face leaving wet stains on the yarder's shirt. He knew that his brother was one of the upsetting kind and that everytime  he was told off he would try to blame his interlocutor even more but  for an unknown reason, this time it had been right to his heart. He  always had had  the feeling of having done all he could for Sherlock, being the best  older brother he could have been since he had been forced to take care  of him and even if he sometime had messed things up, he strongly  believed that he had done his best but suddenly he wasn't so sure anymore.
What if it was really his fault ? What if Sherlock was right and he haven't done enough to prevent him from sinking into his drugs and dangerous habits ? What  if he could have done more ? So many questions were revolving through  his mind, making him sicker and sicker, and all the reassuring words  Greg could tell him weren't enough to soothe him.
Greg always had had mix feelings toward Sherlock. Of course, he was the first one to admit that he was brilliant  and much smarter than anyone else he ever had met but he always had  found it difficult to coop with his lake of tact and his proclivity to  manipulation and if it was already a sensitive issue before, it had  become an even more sensitive one after he had started dating Mycroft.  The auburn had always been his brother favourite target and the IceMan,  usually not paying any attention to critics just couldn't ignore all  the mean remarks his youngest was to snap him with. The inspector had tolerated  it, thinking that it was not his job to interact between the two and  that his husband wouldn't like him to get involve but this time it was  more than he could tolerate and he promised himself to have a serious  confrontation with the consulting detective as soon as he could, maybe  requesting the help of John, apparently one of the very few men the  young man would listen to and care about.
But at this instant, the  important thing for the DI was to find a way to pacify his partner and  despite all his attempt, his mind was completely blank of miracle  solutions. Unable to find anything else to day, he just kept hugging him  tightly and running his hand slowly on his back, the occasional blip of the auburn indicating him he was still sobbing into his neck.
They  stayed closely entwined in the same position during more than two hours  before the official pulled away and made his way to the cabinet behind  his desk were his liquor were stored, filling up two glasses with fine  vodka. The detective tried to raised up on his feet but after a couple  of hours on his knees he was so stiff he just achieved to threw himself  into the armchair the auburn just had left.
Mycroft  came back with the two glasses and handled one to his partner who  emptied it in two long gulps. He was to take a seat in the opposite  armchair but Greg seized his hand to bring him on his lap. Despite the  fact he couldn't feel his legs anymore and the fact of having someone sitting on it not being any kind of a cure for it, he felt like what the official really needed was to feel loved and to be close to someone.
"Why did it get to you this time ?" finally wondered the yarder after a few more minutes of silence.
"You should have seen his eyes. He looked exactly when I used to hurt him when we fought as kids ..." signed the auburn, staring absentmindly at the stains his tears had left on his husband's shirt.
"You know him better than I do. He would do anything not to admit that he is wrong ..." murmured the inspector.
"But you can't fake the look he had ..." Mycroft sighed once more. "It was like if he meant it ..."
"Who know what Sherlock would be able to do ?" tried to jest the yarder.  "You've done all what you could do. Maybe there are things you've done  wrong but you've tried your best to fix a situation you never should  have to confront. Please don't blame yourself on not being perfect,  you've already done much more than you should ever had got to do ..."
"I  hope you are right." simply replied the elder Holmes before sinking his  head in his lover's neck once more, looking for the comfort of the warm  skin of the man he loved.