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As Greg predicted, dinner was a tense affair. No matter how many times he tried to reassure Mycroft, none of what he was saying seemed to be making an impression.
Yes, Sherlock had badly compromised his current case. Yes, there would be consequences for Greg and his team, if they didn’t find the missing evidence. No, Greg was not about to let Mycroft divert any of his resources toward rectifying the problem.
Greg sighed and ran his hand over his face. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I can clean up my own mess.”
“And I contend it’s not all your ‘mess’, if you will. Sherlock, is partly, if not mostly, responsible for the situation.”
“Yeah, Sherlock. Not you, Mycroft.”
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Your point?”
“My point is, he and I need to take responsibility for the mess and fix it.”
“Sherlock has never taken responsibility for anything in his life,” Mycroft scoffed.
“Well, why would he? You keep coming along behind and sweeping up the debris.” The words came tumbling out before Greg could think.
Mycroft fell silent.
Greg pressed his lips together and reached across the table to grip his partner’s hand. “Hey,” he started. “I’m sorry—”
“No.” Mycroft shook his head, but he didn’t pull away. “You’re right. I intervene too often. Each time I swear it’ll be the last. But…” He gazed helplessly at Greg. “I just worry… so much.”
“I know, love. Sherlock is everything to you.”
“No, Gregory. You are. I worry my anarchic brother will lead you into trouble that you’ll not be able to escape.”
Greg felt his heart swell and smiled softly. “I’m a big boy. I can handle this, and I can handle Sherlock.”
Mycroft reluctantly nodded, and Greg let go of Mycroft’s hand, to take a drink of his wine.
“Besides I can call on John for reinforcement. You have to admit, he knows how to handle Sherlock.” Greg grinned cheekily.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Dear Lord. Stop it. I’m trying to eat.”