Mycroft shifted forward, minutely, when he watched that grimace cross over Gregory's face. Concern flashed across his face, before he exhaled. The man was ... generally, fine. He had not asked Mycroft to 'fuss', after all. Still, he eyed the morphine drip, debating or whether or not he should inform the man it was self-applicated.

"Quite so." He too, looked at the bandage on his shoulder. His mouth twisted again at Gregory's insight - impressed he had caught onto that so quickly. "Yes, three inches, and she would have gotten me ... if not for a foolish mistake, and your bravery. I owe you." The smile was small, but wry. "Again."

Concern flashed again, and this time he rose to his feet, moving to shift the pillows so Gregory could sit more comfortably, then pulling the table towards him. He poured out the water, eyed it, then stuck the straw in as well. He gave Gregory a pensive look before he asked quietly, "Can you hold it on your own?"