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[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

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Greg took the stairs two at a time up to the flat. It was finally over. All of it. All of the entire fucking mess that started the day he’d had to arrest Sherlock.

The inquest had been absolutely brutal. Every single case he’d worked with Sherlock had been called into question, and even some of this best cases that Sherlock had never touched. He’d spent the entire miserable time on administrative leave (paid thank god) and had basically had to sit on his hands and stew whenever he wasn’t getting grilled. His good suit had seen more of courtrooms in the last 4 months than it had in its entire previous life in his wardrobe. And every time he heard Sherlock’s name it had reopened the wound from his suicide cutting him to the bone. The end result, though?


Every single one of his cases was good. He fucking knew that, but now they did. Sherlock’s name was cleared. The entire fiction of Richard Brooke was blown wide open. And now he was on his way back to his office at the MET next week, Sherlock’s return to glory would be in every paper tomorrow, and the Chief Superintendent that had called him a bloody idiot for involving Sherlock could kiss his bloody arse.

Now Greg was sprinting up the stairs with the bottle of champagne he’d grabbed to celebrate. He fumbled with the keys, then shoved the door open calling for his wife excitedly, “Kristen!”

But the flat was empty.

No, really empty. All of the furniture was gone. The pictures on the walls. The telly. He took a few stunned steps into the kitchen and idly opened a cupboard. Dishes were gone too. Greg set the champagne on the counter before he headed toward the bedroom, and saw a big envelope on the breakfast bar. He ignored it for the moment. There was plenty of light in the bedroom, since the windows were bare. The dresser was gone, but Kristen had been kind enough to stack all of his things on the floor. At least she’d left them folded. The wardrobe was gone, and he wondered where his clothes were. He moved to the bathroom, where he was relieved to find all of his clothes hanging on the shower curtain rod. A brief examination showed that everything was gone from the medicine cabinet but his toothbrush, razor, and the stuff he put in his hair. Not even any toothpaste or contact solution.

Greg started when his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out quickly, expecting his wife, but it was Mycroft. “Lestrade.” Habit.

“Ah, good afternoon, Greg. Allow me to offer both congratulations and condolences on the day you’re having.”

Greg sighed and shoved his hand through his hair. Of course Mycroft already knew. He walked back to the kitchen and picked up the envelope. “She took everything. I’m guessing this pile of shit I just opened is divorce papers.”

“I am truly sorry, Greg.” Greg ran his eyes over the pages looking for the salient points but wasn’t really seeing anything. He flipped through until he got to the lease for their flat. “Jesus Christ, Mycroft, she was only waiting until the lease was up to leave me. She put the signed letter that we aren’t renewing the in with the papers.”

“That is deplorable. When does the lease end?”

“In 5 fucking days. Not that it matters since I can’t stay here with no furniture.” Greg slapped the pages down on the breakfast bar. “I bought most of that furniture, for fuck’s sake.” He stalked into the kitchen and ripped open the fridge. “She even took the food out of the fridge. Including my beer.” He slammed the door shut and kicked it for good measure. “I don’t know where I’m going to stay while I find another flat.”

Mycroft made a soft hum into the phone. “I would be happy to host you at my flat until your housing situation can be resolved.” He paused. “Please do not take it amiss, but I have resources at my disposal that can expedite the tedious process of locating and acquiring real estate in London, which I would be happy to utilize on your behalf.”

Greg couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “I’m sure you do. I’ll take you up on that.” Greg looked around. “Are you sure you don’t care if I stay a couple days? I’ll try to stay out of your hair.”

“It’s not an imposition at all.”

Greg paced back into the bedroom. “Good Christ, she took both of my suitcases. How am I even going to get my shit to your place?”

“I can arrange for your things to be brought here this evening,” Mycroft offered. “You needn’t even be there to supervise.”

Greg sighed. “I’m going to owe you favors until the end of time at this rate. Thanks.” Greg walked back to the kitchen and picked up the envelope. He spotted the champagne on the counter. “We can drink to my being a free man tonight, I got a bottle of bubbly to celebrate but it looks like Kristen other plans.”

“I would be happy to toast your exoneration, as well as your new relationship status,” Mycroft replied with a chuckle. “I’ll be en route you your now-empty flat within a few moments.”

Greg raised an eyebrow. “At half four on a Thursday?”

“I have no pressing matters to which I must attend,” Mycroft replied. “If I am not mistaken, you don’t currently have anywhere to go before adjourning to my flat, and would be reluctant to go there to spend the evening without my presence.”

“Yah, it would be weird to sit at your place in my suit alone. But I’d phrase it as your company, not your presence.” It was Greg’s turn to chuckle. “I enjoy your company, but I think of CCTV cameras as your presence.”

Mycroft laughed outright at that. “Perhaps. I will arrive in just a few moments. Until then.”

“Thanks, Mycroft.”

“Think nothing of it.”