Mycroft made sure to keep pressure on the wound, not liking how pale Gregory had become. The blood was far too much, and the worry intensified that perhaps the shooter had nicked a vein. He looked around, Anthea was on the phone already so the ambulance was coming.

He looked back at Gregory, before his lips twitched, "Oh, I am terribly sorry. Shall I just call off the medical care?" Better that he snap at Mycroft and stay conscious, then slip away into a coma. "Well, I will be sure to have him deported once we get a band-aid on your scratch."

Sirens in the background made some of the tension leave his shoulders, but he kept his gaze on Gregory's. "Help is almost here -- I am not sure about the shooter but I am sure Donovan has it well in hand."