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Sherlock paced back and forth across the debris that covered what remained of his flat at Baker Street. Broken glass crunched underfoot, splinters of wood littered the floor, and the once-organized chaos of his world now lay in complete disarray.John had left a few hours ago, still trying to process everything. Sherlock, on the other hand, couldn’t stop his mind from replaying the events of the last few days. Eurus, Sherrinford, the memories he had buried so deep, and the revelation of the sister he had forgotten, but more importantly what she had done.But there was one thing, one tiny detail, that refused to leave his mind: Greg. Specifically, how he hadn’t reacted with shock when he'd climbed out a cop car and been face to face with a third Holmes.Sherlock’s pacing quickened, his long fingers twitching in that familiar nervous rhythm as his mind raced. Greg had known. There had been no wide eyed disbelief, no fumbling for words that he usually did when he was confused. There was nothing but the normal taking the suspect into custody. Sherlock had been too consumed by the gravity of the moment to notice at the time, but now, in the wreckage of his flat, that realization gnawed at him.He knew about Eurus. He knew about his evil sister.Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by the shattered remnants of his life. His brother had known for years, naturally, but Mycroft had kept the secret from him, believing it was for his own good. But why would Greg know?Anger simmered beneath the surface. Greg had been his constant, his steady support, especially since their relationship had become something more over the past few years. It hurt to think that Greg had been hiding something so fundamentally important, something about his family, all this time.His hands balled into fists as he took a breath, trying to push down the hurt long enough to think clearly. There was only one way to get answers.***Sherlock stood outside Greg’s flat, a few streets away from the chaos of Baker Street. It was dark outside, the London sky heavy with the promise of rain. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what he wanted to hear from Greg. The truth. But he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to face it.He knocked.Greg opened the door a moment later, his face brightening slightly upon seeing Sherlock, but that flicker of warmth quickly shifted into concern.“Christ, Sherlock, you look awful,” Greg said, stepping aside to let him in. “Come in, you-”Sherlock stepped past him into the small living room without a word, his coat wrapped around him. He didn’t stop until he reached the center of the room, spinning on his heel to face Greg.“You knew,” Sherlock said, his voice low, though he couldn’t keep the sharp edge out of it.Greg blinked, confused. “Knew what?”“About Eurus. About my sister. You already knew.”There it was. The moment Greg had known would come but had hoped might never happen. He exhaled slowly, shutting the door behind him and turning to face Sherlock.“Yeah,” he said softly, his tone almost apologetic. “I knew.”Sherlock’s jaw tightened, his mind racing through the implications. His fists clenched at his sides, the hurt beginning to outweigh the anger. “Why didn’t you tell me? You stood there outside Musgrave and didn’t say a word. You weren’t surprised.”Greg rubbed the back of his neck, looking both guilty and resigned. “I wasn’t surprised because I found out a long time ago, Sherlock. Mycroft told me when we first started doing more than just working together. I didn’t think it was my place to say.”Sherlock’s eyes flashed with something that resembled betrayal. “Mycroft told you? Of course, he did. And you just—what? Decided not to share that little detail with me?”“It wasn’t my place, Sherlock!” Greg’s voice raised slightly, frustration creeping in, but it quickly softened again. He knew how delicate this was. “Mycroft gave me the full picture. He thought I should know in case things ever went south... if your safety was at risk.”Sherlock scoffed. “So you were in on the grand conspiracy, then?”“It wasn’t like that!” Greg insisted, stepping closer, trying to meet Sherlock’s eyes. “You weren’t ready to hear it. Hell, I’m not even sure I was ready to hear it when he told me. But it was your memory—your life—that Mycroft didn’t want to break open too soon.”Sherlock shook his head, pacing the small space. He hated feeling like this, vulnerable and blindsided. “I needed to know.”“And you did find out,” Greg said quietly. “When the time was right. When you were able to handle it, even if it didn’t feel like it at the time.”Sherlock stopped pacing, turning sharply to face Greg. “So, you just decided to keep that from me? You, who’s always been on my side, who’s always prided yourself on honesty?”Greg stepped forward, his voice soft but firm. “I kept it from you because I love you. I didn’t want to burden you with something that would hurt you before you were ready to face it.”Sherlock froze, the words landing hard. Greg rarely said it out loud—love—but when he did, it carried weight.“I...” Sherlock started, then stopped, his throat tightening. He couldn’t find the words. He wasn’t used to being cared for like this, especially by someone like Greg, someone so ordinary, so human.Greg took a tentative step closer, sensing his unease. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Sherlock. Mycroft didn’t want to tell you because you buried those memories for a reason. And I trusted that. I trusted him. You can be angry at me if you want. I get that. But I didn’t keep it from you to betray you. I kept it from you because I didn’t want to see you broken by something you weren’t ready to hear.”Finally, after a long pause, Sherlock let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. “I don’t like it,” he muttered. “But... I understand.”Greg nodded, relieved, but still cautious. “I’m sorry. I really am. But I’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe.”Sherlock’s shoulders slumped slightly as the last of the tension drained from his body. He walked over to the couch, sitting down heavily, his long legs folding awkwardly. Greg moved toward him, sitting down beside him but giving him space.“You really knew all this time?” Sherlock asked quietly, staring at the floor.“Yeah,” Greg replied gently. “I didn’t like keeping it from you, but it wasn’t about me. It was about you.”For a long time, they sat in silence. Finally, Sherlock spoke, his voice quiet but sure. “I hate it when Mycroft’s right.”Greg chuckled softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, me too.”Sherlock leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. The weight of the day pressed heavily on him. Greg shifted to pull Sherlock against him. The detective’s head flopped to his chest.“I’m not entirely sure I was ready to hear it when John told me,” Sherlock whispered. “If she hadn’t escaped, I’d never have known."“I’m glad you do know. It wasn’t easy keeping it from you.”