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Chapter Text

It had been yet another horrible day for Greg Lestrade. Double homicide first thing in the morning; a child found wandering the streets, emaciated and covered in cigarette burns just after lunch; and a kid knifed outside St. James’ Park to finish up the day. There was nothing he wanted more than to drink himself into a stupor and collapse into bed. 

Sherlock and John had been with Greg for most of the day, and as soon as everyone had agreed that there was nothing more that could be done that night, John and Greg retreated to their local pub. By the time John convinced him to head home, Greg had drunk nearly an entire bottle of scotch. 

As usual, the moment the two men exited the pub, a sleek black car pulled up to the kerb and the two of them poured themselves into the back seat. John got out at Baker Street, stumbling up to the door and fumbling with his keys until Mrs Hudson came out in her dressing gown and dragged him inside, muttering about the neighbors.  

When Greg got home, no one came out to help him inside. That wasn’t surprising, Mycroft and the kids were all likely asleep by now, he reasoned, and therefore was quite shocked when he entered the sitting room to find his husband sitting in an armchair, waiting for him.

“Do you know what time it is?” Mycroft asked, no anger detectable in his voice, just sadness. “You forgot Agatha’s birthday.” Greg’s face fell as he realized that Mycroft was right, it was their daughter’s eighth birthday. 

“I didn’t mean to…I’ll make it up to Aggie, I promise.” Greg tried to show how contrite he was, but he was swaying and slurring considerably. Mycroft closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“She is devastated, Gregory, she isn’t going to let this go. She was crying all night, I just managed to get her to sleep. It took Sherlock calling her and telling her that you definitely didn’t get hurt at work. She couldn’t believe that you would intentionally miss her birthday, she assumed you had died!” Mycroft was visibly upset now, his hands trembling and his eyes red. 

“She’s just being dramatic,” Greg muttered, his contrition morphing into anger as the direction of the conversation became clear. 

“She’s really not, Gregory.” Mycroft sighed, his face lined with deep sadness. “How much did you drink tonight that you would even say that about her?”

“It’s none of your fucking business how much I drank!” Greg’s voice was getting incrementally louder. “I’m a bloody adult, Mycroft, I can have a drink if I want. I’m sorry I forgot Aggie’s birthday, what do you bloody want from me?” 

“I want my husband back,” Mycroft pleaded. “This isn’t the man I married, the man I had kids with. What’s happened to you, Greg? What can I do?” 

“I am the man you married,” Greg was properly yelling now, spit flying from his mouth as he was overtaken by an all consuming rage. “It’s not my fault that you don’t like that.” 

“Greg, please, you’re going to wake up the kids, let’s just talk about this. Your drinking is getting out of control, you need help.” 

“I don’t need anything! I’m fine! I’ve had enough of this!” Greg was snarling now, the force of his anger more than making up for the three inch height advantage Mycroft had. 

“Greg, please…” Mycroft’s voice was cut off by a sharp slap across his face. He stared, dumbstruck at his husband, who suddenly seemed to regain control of himself, snapping his hand back to his side, horrified at what he had just done. 

“Myc, I’m so…” Greg started but Mycroft cut him off. 

“You may sleep in the guestroom tonight. I’m going to bed.” Mycroft’s tone was clipped and left no room for negotiation. He turned and left the room, ushering the kids, who had snuck down from their beds to see what the yelling was about, upstairs. 

Greg stood in the middle of the sitting room, his feet planted to the floor, paralyzed and terrified of what he had become. 

Chapter Text

Mycroft Holmes had never expected to settle down and have a family, but that had changed the day he met Greg Lestrade. Greg had been sitting at Sherlock’s bedside after the younger man had overdosed, again, and he had been so kind, so gentle, and so unbelievably handsome, and Mycroft was in love. 

They had started dating shortly after, then married two years after that. They were happy, and three years later they were a family of three. Mycroft’s cousin and her husband were killed in a car crash, leaving behind a three month old son. They had jumped at the opportunity to adopt him, and little Archibald O’Leary became Archibald Holmes-Lestrade. Greg called him Archie, Mycroft did not. 

When Archie was five Greg and Mycroft discussed it extensively, and decided it was time to give him a sibling. Anthea had been overjoyed to be their surrogate, and nine months later, they brought Agatha Anthea Holmes-Lestrade home. 

Their home was a happy one. Archie and Aggie had never needed to worry about anything, they had never wanted for anything. Sure, sometimes their dads worked too much, Papa took calls from foreign dignitaries during dinner, and Daddy would rush out to go catch a criminal in the middle of dance recitals, but that had never really bothered the kids. Daddy and Papa never fought, they could be strict but were never harsh, and they loved each other and the kids more than anything in the world. 

 All of that made it so much harder when things started to get bad. At first it was subtle, Daddy stayed out later at night, Papa looked sad when Daddy came downstairs in the morning, looking pale and disheveled. But then things started getting more obvious, and even little Aggie noticed that there was something really wrong with her Daddy. 

The night Aggie turned 8, Papa made her favorite dinner, decorated a cake, and Auntie Anthea joined them for a little celebration. Daddy was supposed to be home at 6, and when he wasn’t home at 6:30, they all assumed he was just running a little late. Then when it was 7, they had all gotten nervous that maybe there had been a serious crime. At 8 they stopped waiting, all of them sitting down and eating the now cold curry in silence. That night Aggie refused to go to sleep, curled up in her bed, crying quietly with her Papa gently rubbing her back, whispering assurances and promises that Daddy didn’t forget, and he would be home soon. 

When she was awoken by the yelling, Aggie slipped down the stairs, finding Archie already seated there, listening to the fight. Archie silently patted the spot next to him, and wrapped an arm around his little sister, holding her close as they listened to their daddy yell at Papa, and squeezing her tighter as they heard the sound of Daddy’s hand connecting with Papa’s face. 

~~~

Mycroft woke up that morning, numbly going through the motions of getting the kids ready for school. He told Anthea that he was going to be working from home that day, and barricaded himself in his office the second the children had left. 

He knew the kids had noticed the faint bruise on the side of his face, and he was sure they had heard the fight, but they hadn’t said anything about it, and Mycroft didn’t know how to address it with them. So the morning passed in near silence, no one willing to talk about what had happened the night before. The closest they came was while Mycroft was hugging Archie as he headed out for school, when the boy leaned forward and whispered It’s gonna be okay, Pops into Mycroft’s ear. 

“I know it is,” Mycroft whispered back, giving his son an extra tight hug. “Everything is going to be fine.” 

Chapter Text

Sherlock liked his brother in law, frankly more than he had ever liked his brother. Unlike a visit from Mycroft, which would have been begrudgingly accepted, a visit from Greg was always appreciated, especially since it usually came with a case. Today’s visit felt different though. 

It wasn’t because Greg was clearly hung over, that was more common than not these days. Today Greg looked sad, but not just sad, more…ashamed. 

“Lestrade,” Sherlock greeted the older man, hardly looking up as the DI took the client seat. “Rough night?”

“You couldn’t have called me? When you figured out I forgot her birthday?” Greg spat accusingly. 

“You weren’t answering your phone for your husband, do you really expect me to believe that you would have answered it for me?” Sherlock gave Greg a hard look, and Greg seemed to crumble before him. 

“I fucked up, Sherlock. I fucked up badly.” 

“Well yes, most people do consider forgetting your child’s birthday to be a big mistake.” Sherlock snipped back. 

“No, no I messed up bigger than that,” Greg leaned back in the chair, rubbing his brow ridge. “I hit him, Sherlock.” 

The noise that Sherlock emitted was likely unprecedented in the history of the world. He half snarled, half screeched as he rose from his chair, lunging at Greg, only just barely caught by John, who was looking almost as poorly as Greg. 

“Sherlock, come on, calm down,” John groaned as he pushed Sherlock back into his chair. “Greg, what do you mean you hit him?” 

“I mean I hit him! I slapped him across the face. He was asking me--begging me--to get help and I fucking hit him!” Greg was rapidly losing his composure, looking closer and closer to bursting into tears by the second. 

“How dare you,” Sherlock snarled, “how dare you lay a finger on him. Have you lost your mind, because I will help you find it!”

“Jesus, Sherlock,” Greg muttered, “it’s not like I shot him. And it’s not like he was injured. He just told me to sleep in the guestroom and went to bed.” 

“Did you expect him to curl up in a ball and cry? That’s not how he deals with things. He isolates himself and wallows. Did he go to work today?” 

“He’s working from home,” Greg muttered, looking up slightly. 

“Get help, Gavin,” Sherlock snapped, springing to his feet and grabbing his scarf. 

“It’s Greg, wait, where are you going?”

“I’m going to fix your mistake.” 

~~~

The day Agatha was born was the happiest Sherlock had ever seen his big brother. Their childhood wasn’t happy, nowhere near it. Sherlock couldn’t remember seeing his brother truly smile until his marriage, and he had never seen him smile like he did that morning when holding his baby girl. 

Sherlock had taken a picture that day that he had kept, even though he had changed phones multiple times. It showed Mycroft, sitting in a chair, little Archie on one knee, Aggie in his arms, Greg leaning over his shoulder, beaming at their little girl. On hard days, Sherlock would pull that picture up, a little reminder of why he was bothering to stay off drugs.

Sherlock and Mycroft, outwardly, didn’t get along. It was a defense mechanism which they had perfected in childhood so that Mummy, when she was drunk and mean, wouldn’t think she could punish one by hurting the other. The charade was continued for the same reason when they grew up, since neither of them lived particularly safe lives. Secretly, Mycroft and Sherlock were close friends and nothing had made him happier than seeing his big brother so happy. 

Sherlock wasn’t going to let anyone, not even Lestrade, take away his brother’s happiness. Ever. 

~~~ 

Sherlock let himself into his brother’s home, hanging the Belstaff on the rack and making his way to Mycroft’s office door. He tested the door, but found it locked. He could pick the lock, that was always an option, but it was probably wise not to stress Mycroft more. 

“My? You in there?” Sherlock called out, knocking gently.

“I’m very busy, Sherlock, leave me alone.” Sherlock sighed, leaning his head against the door. 

“I will take this door off its hinges, Mycroft. Unless you want to fix that, open the door.” There was a rustling on the other side of the door, then it opened to reveal Mycroft looking exhausted and shaky. He gave a curt nod and stepped aside to let Sherlock in. 

“I know why you’re here, but I am fine. I don’t need anything, I have it under control.” Mycroft punctuated the lie with a withering glare, but that didn’t make it any more believable. Sherlock scanned the room, his eyes falling on an armchair in front of the fire and he smirked. 

“Oh, I see, and I suppose your panic bear is out for routine maintenance?” Sherlock asked as he walked in past his brother and picked up the well worn teddy bear. 

“He’s not my panic bear,” Mycroft muttered, rescuing the stuffed bear from Sherlock’s hands. “He’s the right honorable Sir Fluffington, knight of the realm of Stuffing.” 

“Who you only pull out when you’re having a panic attack.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal, Sherlock, I’m fine.” Mycroft sighed, sitting down and holding the bear to his chest. 

“I remember how you got that bear,” Sherlock reminisced as he sat down next to his brother. “Uncle Rudy got him for you...” 

“I remember,” Mycroft muttered. 

“…after the first time he saw Mummy hit you.” Sherlock finished. “You would hide in the closet holding your bear when she was drunk. And now here you are, a grown man, hiding in your office, holding your bear. So, would you like to try to convince me that your husband hitting you while he’s drunk is different from your mummy doing it?”

“Because I’m a grown man,” Mycroft snapped. “And because Mummy would beat us, he slapped me, Sherlock. It’s very different.”

“If it’s so different, why are you so scared?” 

Chapter Text

 When she graduated university Anthea MacAullife had a lot of job offers. She sat at her dining room table with her parents, sorting through them, debating the pros and cons of each one. Her parents pushed the ones that paid the most, with one exception. At the top end of the pay scale was an offer for a PA position, with decidedly vague wording. 

“What about this one?” Anthea asked, pointing to the paper. “It pays the most.” 

“He wants a PA, Annie,” her dad sighed. “Is that really what you want to do? Carry some guy’s bags around? You’re better than that.” 

She had gone to meet Mycroft Holmes anyway. Fifteen years later, she couldn’t recall a single time that she had been asked to carry his bags around, but she could name, off the top of her head, about forty times when her analysis of a situation had led to a major decision in government policy. Anthea loved her job, and she loved her boss, so when Sherlock texted her asking for backup to talk some sense into Mycroft, she was in the car on the way to his house before she had finished her response. 

When she arrived, Mycroft and Sherlock were seated across from each other, Mycroft behind his desk, trying to look busy, Sherlock in front of it staring his brother down. A light bruise, the exact size of a man’s palm stood out starkly against Mycroft’s pale face. A spark of rage flared up within her, and she had to shove her hands into her pockets to hide their trembling. 

“Good morning, my dear,” Mycroft said as she walked in, not looking up from the file he was pretending to read. “What can I do for you?” 

“You can give me the go ahead to throw all of Greg’s things out into the garden and change the locks,” Anthea offered softly, walking up and taking the seat next to Sherlock’s. Mycroft looked up for the first time since she had entered the room. He looked tired. 

“He is my husband.” Mycroft sighed, his eyes heavy lidded and sad. “He is the man I have dedicated the last twenty years of my life to. He has a problem, I recognize that, but that man is my world. If I leave him, what do I have left?”

“What do your kids have if you don’t?” Anthea shot back. “How long does it take to go from him hitting you to him hitting the kids? You think you deserve it because you were arguing? Have you ever met a person mouthier than Archie? How long before Greg hits him? Or how about Aggie, she’s got your smug superior thing going on, how long until that annoys him?” 

“Alright, stop, please,” Mycroft whispered, burying his head in his hands. “Find a rehab. We can get through this. We need to.”

~~~

At work that day, Greg was completely unable to focus. Sally had brought him one problem after another, and none of them were even close to being solved. 

“Greg, is something going on? Is there something I can do?” She finally asked as she brought some paperwork for him to sign and he stared at it as though it was written in Greek. 

“Close the door, please,” Greg answered hollowly, waiting until she had done it and sat down before continuing. “Something happened last night.” 

“You and John Watson got blackout drunk?” Sally mock asked, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows. 

“Not quite blackout,” Greg responded quietly. “Just drunk enough to forget it was my daughter’s birthday.” Sally tried not to come off as judgmental, but her face didn’t quite hide it. 

“Greg,” she started, but her boss shook his head, cutting her off. 

“No, that’s not the worst part. It gets much worse.” Greg took a steadying breath, leaning back in his chair. “And I would ask that you listen to this as my friend, not as a cop, alright? Mycroft was upset, we argued, and I slapped him. Hard.” 

“You hit him? Seriously?” 

“I need help, Sally. I’ve got a problem, and I need help.” 

Chapter Text

Greg went straight home after work that day, pointedly ignoring how badly he wanted a drink. It helped, of course, that Donovan trailed after him in her car, tapping the siren every time he so much as slowed outside a pub. He pulled up in front of his house, waving to Donovan as she rolled slowly past, watching him as he made his way to the door and let himself in. 

He followed the sound of cooking to the kitchen, expecting to find his husband dancing around the room, preparing a meal that was far too extravagant for a weekday dinner. Just the thought was enough to make him grin. 

In the kitchen he instead found Archie, preparing spaghetti and jarred sauce, truly the most technically difficult meal he was capable of.  

“Looks good, kiddo,” Greg praised him. “Where’s Papa?” 

“He fell asleep on the couch. I decided to let him sleep, he looked like he needed it.” Archie grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and tasted his sauce as though it was some manner of well crafted masterpiece, and not Tesco brand. 

“Any good?”  Greg asked with a cocked eyebrow.  

“I probably should have woken Papa up,” he shrugged. “Live and learn.” 

“Well, I’m looking forward to it.” Greg ruffled his son’s hair and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m going to go talk to Papa, give a shout when it's ready.”

“Alright,” Archie nodded, then as Greg was almost out of the kitchen he added, quietly, “Dad, please don’t hit him again.” 

Greg wanted to turn around, he wanted to beg his son for forgiveness, to fall to his knees and promise him, over and over, that it would never happen again, that he was going to be a different person from now on, that everything was going to be okay. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face his own son. 

~~~

The first time Greg met his partner’s parents had been nearly twenty years ago, but he remembered the day, every single detail.  

Mycroft had been nervous for the entire three and a half hour drive from London to The Vale. On a quiet street lined with picturesque cottages, he pulled over, his hands trembling. 

“Is this it?” Greg asked. 

“Two houses down,” Mycroft replied quietly, “but there’s something I need you to know before you meet my parents.” He took a shaky breath and slowly told Greg every secret he had kept about his childhood. 

He explained how Mummy had been a drinker, how she was kind sometimes, but viciously unkind when she was drunk. How she had started hitting him when he was barely two, and started hitting Sherlock when he was about the same age. He stared straight ahead as he described telling a teacher about what was happening at his house when he was nine, how he and Sherlock were separated in foster care. He explained that Mummy went to rehab, that she claimed to be better and got the kids back. He teared up as he shakily relayed that things were only better for about a month, then everything was back to normal except now Mycroft was too scared to tell someone, because he couldn’t be separated from his brother again. He nervously admitted that when he turned eighteen he got custody of Sherlock, that he did his best, but he didn’t know what he was doing and Sherlock ended up on drugs, unable to cope with how they had grown up. 

“Mycroft,” Greg cut him off, “why am I meeting them?” 

“What do you mean? They’re my parents.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, My. It really doesn’t. You shouldn’t have a relationship with someone who did that to you. Why are you torturing yourself trying to maintain a relationship with a woman who abused you?” 

“You don’t think I should cut her off, do you? She’s my mother.” Mycroft blinked hard, as though it had literally never occurred to him that he didn’t have to have a relationship with his mother. 

“I’m telling you, baby, you don’t owe anything to anyone who would put their hands on you like that. Not a thing.” 

~~~

Mycroft was asleep on the couch, just like Archie had said, with his arm around Aggie, who was curled up with a book, her head leaning gently on her father’s chest, her dark auburn hair matching his. She looked up as Greg walked in the room, her lips forming a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Hi Daddy,” greeted him gently. 

“Hey baby girl, could I sit with you for a second?” Aggie nodded shakily, and Greg took the spot on the other side of her than Mycroft. She turned towards him, but kept Mycroft’s arm around her, serving as a barrier between her and Greg. 

“Listen Aggs, I messed up really badly last night. I will never be able to express to you how sorry I am.” Greg swallowed hard, tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. “I’m going to try to make it up to you, I promise I will.” 

“Can I pick how you make it up to me?”  Aggie asked, blinking her big pale blue eyes and sniffing. 

“Yeah, baby, of course.” 

“Can you not drink anymore?” Aggie looked down as her tears started to fall. “Please, Daddy?” 

“Never again, baby. I promise you, never again.” 

“Agatha,” Mycroft whispered, his eyes still closed, “may I speak to Daddy alone for a second?”  Aggie looked down for a second before nervously nodding and heading into the kitchen to “help” Archie.

“You had best not break that promise.” Mycroft sighed, turning his head slowly to face his husband. “She can’t take another heartbreak.” 

“I know how badly I messed up, My, I really do. And quite a few people have pointed it out to me.” Greg sighed, running a hand through his silvery grey hair.  “I know I need help. Will you help me, Mycroft? Please?” 

“Of course I will. We can get through this, Gregory. But you need to be serious about it.” 

“I promise you, I’m going to do anything I need to.” 

“You need to go to rehab. You can’t go through withdrawals in the house with the kids, and I think you know you have some deep issues to work through.” Mycroft took Greg’s hand as the man started to tear up. “You aren’t going to have to do it alone, but you have to give yourself the best chance to succeed.” 

“I don’t want to be separated from the kids.” 

“Greg, you need to focus on yourself if you want to be a part of your kids’ lives. Take 28 days away from them, and you can be there for the rest of their lives. Besides, I think a little time apart might be good for us.” Mycroft looked down, a flush rising in his cheeks. “I’m not going to lie and say that last night didn’t affect me.” 

“Mycroft, you have to understand, I would never have done that if I was in my right mind. I love you, I never wanted to hurt you.” Greg reached out his hand, trying to cup Mycroft’s face in his palm, but Mycroft flinched violently back, his eyes widening with an all encompassing terror. Greg pulled his hand back, using it to cover the tears that started pouring from his eyes. 

“Dinner is ready,” Archie called from the kitchen, but neither man moved. Mycroft recovered first, gingerly rising. 

“28 days, Greg. Please, do it for me.” 

Chapter Text

Aggie’s birthday was one of Archie’s favorite days. Sure, he preferred his birthday, because he got gifts then, but the look on his baby sister’s face when people gave her gifts was so damn cute, it made Archie’s day every time. 

He still remembered the day his dads sat him down and told him he was going to be a big brother. They had discussed it before that day, somewhat vaguely, he had learned as he grew up that the first attempt was unsuccessful and his dads were trying not to get their own hopes up, in addition to his. 

They sat him down that day, with Auntie Anthea, who was just beginning to show. They explained surrogacy in words a five year old could understand, then told him that his baby sister was in Auntie Anthea’s belly, and she would come out in five months. Auntie Anthea let him feel her slightly swollen belly, and he gasped as something in there moved against his palm. That became one of his favorite things, feeling his baby sister move. 

Papa told him that the baby could hear him and would recognize his voice, so after dinner he would lay on the couch with Auntie Anthea and tell the baby about his day. He made sure to shy away from things that he knew the baby was not allowed to partake in for a while. He didn’t tell her about food because babies couldn’t eat solid food and he downplayed how fun running around and roughhousing was, since the baby couldn’t do those. 

Suddenly the months had flown by and Nan and Grandpa picked him from school one day instead of Dad. His confusion lasted only a moment before he launched himself into Delores Lestrades’ arms, grinning wildly. 

“Is she here?” He asked. 

“Yes, she is,” Delores replied with a gentle smile. “Are you ready to go meet her?”

~~~

Aggie was crying as Greg gave her a hug and promised the next month would be over before she knew it. 

“I don’t want you to leave, Daddy! I’m sorry I asked you to stop drinking! You don’t need to go away, I’m sorry!” Aggie sobbed into her dad’s shoulder. 

“I’m not going away because of you, Aggs,” Greg whispered, his voice thick with tears. “I need to go away for a little while because I haven’t been able to be the dad I want to be. I have to go away, just for a month, and when I come back everything will be okay. I just need you to be brave, okay. Be brave and know that I’m coming home to you so soon.” 

Aggie nodded, sniffing and blinking back tears. Greg pressed a final kiss to her forehead, then took a step to his left and wrapped Archie up in his arms. 

“You’ll take care of Aggie for me, right?” Greg whispered. 

“Always, Dad.” 

~~~

The ride to the rehab was quiet and a touch uncomfortable. Mycroft was finding it extremely difficult to be in an enclosed space with Greg. He knew it was ridiculous. He knew that Greg wouldn’t hurt him, but it had taken him so much work to feel okay being with Greg in the first place.  Years and years of therapy had gone into him feeling comfortable when Greg reached for him. Years and years of building trust had gone into not flinching when Greg touched him. Years and years of love and patience and work and trust, and all of it was gone the second Greg’s hand struck Mycroft’s face. One slap, that was all it took. 

Greg could feel the distance between Mycroft and himself growing. He wanted so badly to reach out to him, pull him into his arms, but the sting from Mycroft’s flinch the other night was still fresh. Greg knew how bad he had messed up, but when Mycroft flinched, hundreds of memories of the beginning of their relationship had resurfaced. That night he had laid in bed, unable to sleep, remembering how hard it had been to get Mycroft to allow him in, and with one move, he had slammed the door right in his own face. 

~~~

By the time Mycroft got home that night, the kids were already in bed. He poked his head into both their rooms, relieved to find them sleeping, and headed to bed himself. He had just managed to drift off to sleep when the sound of sobbing snapped him awake. 

He jumped out of bed and rushed to Aggie’s door, only to find that Archie had beaten him there. The boy was sitting on the side of his sister’s bed, hugging her and whispering. 

“It’s okay, Aggie. It’s okay. Daddy is fine. Papa is home, everything is okay.” Archie tried to force his voice to project calm, but he was shaken, and he knew she could tell. Mycroft silently made his way over to his kids, wrapping them both up in his arms. All three were crying, not one was willing to admit it. 

Chapter Text

Late that night, Greg had given up trying to sleep and was wandering the halls of the rehab clinic. He found his way into the day room, hoping that he might be able to kip for a couple of minutes at least on one of the couches. 

“Nobody sleeps on their first night,” a voice from an armchair informed him. “It gets easier.”

“Your first night too?” Greg asked, sitting down across from the other man. 

“No, I’ve just been a night shift worker for twenty years. I never sleep. At least not at night. You’ll catch me napping at lunch.” The man smiled, reaching out a hand to shake. “I’m Eddie.” 

“Greg.” 

~~~

Mycroft was laying in Aggie’s bed, his daughter clinging to one side of him and his son to the other. The kids were asleep, but Mycroft was wide awake. 

That was fine. If he was awake he knew the kids were okay. 

~~~

“I don’t really know when it got out of control,” Greg admitted to Eddie. “I have a stressful job, I always liked to have a pint to unwind, but lately I can’t stop at one. Or two. Or ten.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I have two kids, thirteen and eight, and last week I forgot my little girl’s birthday. I mean, who does that?”

“Rock bottom, Greg. We all hit it.” 

“I know, I know, but god, why did it have to be something that hurt my little girl? The way she looked at me, god, I will never be able to make that up to her, long as I live.”  

“For me it was my wife,” Eddie sighed, “I forgot our anniversary, and she got upset with me. I picked up a chair and threw it through our window. Scared her half to death. I just sat there, looking at our shattered window, and I just wanted to give up. I had just had enough. Unfortunately, so had she. She left me.” 

 “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I would do if my…spouse wasn’t supporting me.” 

“You can say husband, no one here is gonna judge you for it.” Eddie smiled disarmingly. “You’re lucky, Greg. When you get out of here, you’ve got a family to go back to, a support system, people who love you. That’s important.” 

“I don’t know if I’ll have them when I get out,” Greg sighed. “My husband had an abusive parent, and it took years for him to let down his guard around me. The night of our daughter’s birthday, he begged me to get some help, and I slapped him. The second I did that, all that trust was gone. I reached for him the next day and he flinched. I don’t know if I will get a second chance. I don’t know if I deserve it.” 

“‘You don’t have to see the whole staircase, you just have to take the first step,’” Eddie quoted with a sympathetic smile. “Someday, my friend, you’ll reach the top, but right now, you can’t worry about what’s going to happen. You got to just start climbing.” 

Chapter Text

When breakfast came the next day, Greg’s hands had begun to shake. He barely ate, and soon the morning sun streaming through the windows in the day room was too much for him to handle. His head was pounding and his eyes were full of tears. 

    “Go back to bed, Greg,” Eddie chuckled when he saw the older man’s face. “Withdrawals aren’t going to get any better sitting around here.” 

    “Don’t I have, I don’t know, therapy to go to?” Greg muttered, already preparing to return to his room. 

    “Not today, man. Today, all you gotta do is survive.” 

~~~

    It was past dinner time when Greg woke up, feeling like he got hit by a lorry. 

    “Oh good, you’re awake, I was just coming in to wake you!” A perky young nurse with oversized glasses chirped. “You have a visitor, you can see him in your room if you like, I’m sure you aren’t feeling particularly well.” 

    “Really? A visitor?” Greg croaked, gratefully taking the bottle of water the nurse offered him. 

    “Yep, a real cute one too, got a whole tall and lean, broody eyes thing going on,” the nurse, who Greg had decided he would probably just call Glasses, twittered. “Lucky you!” Greg gave her a thin lipped smile, but once she left he was beaming. He wanted to see his husband so badly.

The tall, lean, broody eyed figure that walked in the room was not the one Greg was hoping to see. 

“Sherlock? What are you doing here?” 

“Visiting you,” the detective answered as though it should have been obvious. 

“No, I got that,” Greg sighed, “but why? I didn’t think you even liked me any more.” 

“I’m mad at you, I’m not going to lie. But do you remember how we met?” 

“Of course.” 

“I was not kind to you during my addiction. But you were there for me, everyday. No matter how many awful things I said or did, you were there for me. Greg, I wouldn’t have gotten clean without you.” Sherlock swallowed hard, looking down and blinking a few times. 

“Sherlock, that’s not true.” 

“No, it absolutely is. I’m telling you the god’s honest truth, I would not be clean today if it wasn’t for all the effort you put into getting me clean and keeping me clean. Now, I’m mad about you hitting my brother. And I think you know that when the chips are down my loyalties lie with Mycroft. But before you saw something worth saving in me, I wasn’t even speaking to Mycroft. You gave me my life back, and you gave me my best friend back, and you gave him a happiness that I never imagined he would have.” 

“Sherlock…” 

“Greg, please, let me finish.” Sherlock sighed. “I’m here because you deserve the chance that you gave me. And because you’re my friend. You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here, every day, just like you were for me.” 

“Sherlock,” Greg sighed. 

“What?” 

“Come give me a hug, please.”

Chapter Text

Over the course of their marriage, Greg had to play single parent several times while Mycroft was off on one business trip or another. Mycroft, however, had never needed to take care of the kids on his own for more than a couple hours, and he was finding himself woefully out of his depth. 

Mycroft had one of the most clean and orderly minds of any person alive, but he found himself struggling to keep all the little intricacies of his kids’ lives straight. There were sports and dance and music and tutors and all of these things had to be managed by someone. Mycroft had always been involved in that, but there was a division of labor which made it manageable. For one man it felt insurmountable. 

It was day five of Greg’s rehab stay and Mycroft was sobbing in his office.  It felt as though his entire world was crumbling down around him. For years Mycroft had been holding on by a thread, keeping everything in his life in an uneasy balance. Pull one support, and the whole house of cards crumbled. 

Mycroft’s employees had noticed the change in their boss, and as he listened to the crying from inside the office, Mycroft’s longtime driver, David, had decided that enough was enough. 

“Alright boss,” David sighed as he walked into Mycroft’s office, “this has gone on long enough.” 

“What did you just say?” Mycroft asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Sorry boss,  but you need to hear this,” David sighed, “I’ve been working here for a couple hundred years now, and you have not ceased to amaze me. There is quite literally nothing that you cannot do. Now I know your brain has been a mess this last week, and you aren’t used to that and it’s throwing you for a loop.” 

“David, is this a wise discussion to be having?” Mycroft asked, a dangerous edge sneaking into his voice. 

“You’re struggling with your kids. Boss, I have seven kids. Is it wise for you to be attempting to turn down my help?” Mycroft paused, a small smile breaking through. 

“Wouldn’t I have to ask your wife about that?” Mycroft asked with a small smirk. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sir, who do you think told me to offer you help?”   

~~~

Jacqui Bunford had known her husband’s boss for years. David had started working for the man after he retired from the SAS, she herself had retired from the SAS just a few months before, though she had been forced to by an injury. Mycroft had offered better pay, less time away from home, and despite the often dangerous and never dull work environment, Mycroft made every member of his team feel valued and as critical to the success of the nation as Mycroft himself was. 

Though leaving the military was not her decision, Jacqui had found herself much happier as a civilian, and she and David had used their newfound freedom to start a family. An absolutely enormous family. 

Sitting in Mycroft’s office that day, with her seventh child on her lap and the sixth playing by herself off to the side of the room, Jacqui found herself, for the first time in the seventeen years she had known him, feeling sorry for Mycroft Holmes. The man in front of her was not the enigmatic Iceman who had at first terrified her, then amazed her with his kindness and generosity. This was a broken man.  

“I can’t possibly ask you to take on anything extra, Jacqui. I have two children, how pathetic would it be to ask someone with seven to help me.” 

 “Mr. Holmes,” Jacqui sighed, her voice still bearing the Bahamian accent she had from childhood, despite having lived in England for the last 30 years,  “you have done nothing but help us. Every Christmas, every birthday, you have given our children presents. You have made sure my husband was home when I needed him, and you gave David a job that allowed him to take care of me after I was shot. Why wouldn’t I help you?”

“I know you’re busy.” Mycroft offered weakly, and was met with a withering glare.

“So are you. Now, how can I help?”

~~~

When Mycroft got home from work that night Sherlock was at his house, helping Archie with his schoolwork. He looked up as Mycroft walked in, reading the details of his brother’s day in the lines of his face. 

“I’m gonna help him get dinner started, Arch,” Sherlock muttered to his nephew, then shepherded Mycroft into the kitchen, just barely getting him out of Archie’s line of sight before he broke down. 

“You’re alright, My,” Sherlock soothed him softly. “It’s okay, I’m here.” 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Lock. I don’t know how to take care of the kids by myself.” 

“No one expects you to.” Sherlock rubbed his brother’s back slowly. “You have us. You have help.” Mycroft took a long, slow breath, leaning his head against Sherlock’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This isn’t who I am. I don’t panic, I don’t ask for help, I don’t need help! I’ve lost my fucking mind, I don’t know what the fuck is going on!” Mycroft slammed his fist down on the counter. 

“You need to go see him, My.” 

“I can’t, Lock, I can’t.” 

“My, he misses you. You clearly miss him. You need to go see him. Let him take some of this stress away. You know talking to him would help.” Sherlock ran a hand through his curls. 

“I’m scared of him, Sherlock. I’m scared that he’s going to hurt me. I know he’s not, but I’m terrified.” Mycroft looked down at his feet, subconsciously hugging himself. 

“I’ll go with you then. I’ll be there the whole time, holding your hand if you need it. But you need to go see him. You two need each other.”

Chapter Text

Mycroft’s jaw was clenched tightly as he looked up at the building which housed Greg’s rehab center. His hands were shaking as he tried to convince his legs to move forward but remained rooted to the spot.

“My, you can do this.” Sherlock reminded him softly. “I’m right here, we’re going in together.” Sherlock reached out and took one of his brother’s shaking hands and together they made their way to the door. 

~~~

When Mycroft and Greg first met, Mycroft was, admittedly, a bit of a mess. He was a young man then, trying to take care of a brother who was out of control while managing a job that had never existed before. In the midst of all that, Mycroft was able to ignore the fact that he was slowly losing his mind. 

Greg saw it. He noticed immediately that Mycroft was unraveling, and he loved him all the more for it. Greg worked harder than he had ever worked in his life to get Mycroft to trust him, and as he accomplished that, he gently encouraged the younger man to learn to love himself. 

For Greg, Mycroft talked about his childhood. For Greg, Mycroft started going to therapy. For Greg, Mycroft worked out what his triggers were and how to best avoid them to stop his panic attacks. Mycroft gave himself permission to get better, because he knew it would make Greg happy. And Greg made Mycroft so, so happy. 

~~~

The two brothers signed in, then followed the nurse to Greg’s room. Sherlock didn’t need to be led there, he had visited every day since that first night, but he allowed it anyway, since that particular nurse walked slowly, and it would give Mycroft a chance to get his breathing under control. 

When they got to the room the nurse knocked, then went in without waiting for an answer. Mycroft tried not to allow himself to be reminded of visiting Sherlock in rehab, waiting at the door while a nurse announced his visit, knowing that some sort of projectile would be flying at his head the moment he set foot in the room. 

“Alrighty,” the nurse squeaked with a gratingly large smile. “He’s all ready for you!” She headed off down the hall, leaving the brothers standing in front of the door. 

“You can do this,” Sherlock whispered. “I’m right next to you. You’re perfectly safe.” 

In that moment the Holmes brothers ceased to be Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes, the British Government and the Consulting Detective. In that moment they were My and Lockie, two terrified little boys who returned home everyday from school and held hands for a moment at the door, saying a silent prayer to a god neither believed in that today would be different, and Mummy wouldn’t be drunk. Together, hand in hand, the two men who had been those two boys stepped forward, each saying a silent prayer to a god neither believed in, ready to face whatever met them inside.

Chapter Text

The day Mycroft got the call from his father that his cousin had passed away and her baby boy was going to be put up for adoption, Mycroft had initially scoffed at the idea of taking him in. 

“He’s an amazing baby, Mycroft,” his father informed him, almost casually. “Very bright, very alert for so young. He reminded me of you.” 

“Why would you say that? If you’re trying to convince me to adopt him, it isn’t going to work.” 

“I’m not trying to convince you to do anything,” Siger assured his son. “I am just saying that this is my great-nephew, and he is a child in need of a home, and you, my son, have a home in need of a child.” 

Mycroft had bitten his lip nervously at that. He and Greg had discussed the possibility of children, neither of them were getting any younger and it was as good a time as any, but Mycroft had never allowed the talks to get too serious. 

“I don’t think having children is a wise decision for me,” Mycroft muttered into the phone. 

“You are nothing like her, Mycroft.” 

“But what if I end up like her? What if one day I lose control or I make a mistake or I forget why I don’t drink and then what? I can’t put my child through that.” 

“Mycroft, the very fact that you’re worried about that tells me that it won’t happen. People like your mother don’t care if they’re going to end up hurting someone. You care, so it won’t happen.” 

~~~

The door to his bedroom opened and a wide smile spread across Greg’s face as he laid eyes on the man he had been desperate to see for the last eight days. Mycroft had clearly lost weight, he had a habit of not eating when he was stressed, so that made sense, but he also looked like he hadn’t slept since the day of the slap. Greg desperately wanted to reach out to him, to cradle him in his arms, stroke his hair and tell him that everything was okay, that he would fix everything. He held himself back, scared that Mycroft would flinch away again, and the vice grip he had on Sherlock’s hand indicated that he likely would. 

“Hi,” Greg whispered, as though speaking too loud would scare Mycroft away. “It's good to see you.” 

“Greg,” Mycroft greeted him quietly. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too. Would you…Could I hold your hand, please? I miss holding your hand.” Greg looked up from where he sat on the bed, nodding to the spot next to him. Sherlock gently squeezed his brother’s hand, sending him a burst of encouragement. 

Mycroft looked at the spot next to his husband for a long moment, then shook his head minutely. He stiffly made his way to the chair just to the left of him. 

“I’m not there yet, my love.” Mycroft explained softly. “But I’m here. Is that alright?”  

“Of course it is.” Greg whispered, reaching out his hand, slowly, hoping not to spook him. Mycroft glanced at his hand, then gave a thin smile. He reached out his own hand and gently grasped Greg’s. 

It was a small win, but it was enough for right then.

~~~

“Will you come back?” Greg asked shyly as he bid his husband and brother-in-law goodnight at the door. 

“Of course I will,” Mycroft assured him. “I’ll be here on Saturday. Would you like to see the kids?” 

“Really?” Greg gasped softly. “You would bring them here?” 

“This isn’t a punishment, Greg.” Mycroft sighed. “I want you to get better. That’s all I want. I’ll bring them on Saturday.” 

“Thank you,” Greg whispered, his voice thick. “I love you, Mycroft.” 

“I’ll see you on Saturday.” Mycroft replied quietly.

Chapter Text

“So that’s the husband, huh?” Eddie asked with a nudge to Greg’s ribs as he stood silently staring at the door Mycroft had just walked out of. 

“Yeah,” Greg muttered. “For now.” 

“Don’t say that,” Eddie replied softly, rubbing the older man’s shoulder and leading him to the armchairs in the day room. “He came. He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t want to see you.” 

“I told him I loved him, and he didn’t say it back,” Greg muttered hollowly. “Why wouldn’t he say it back?” 

“You mentioned that he was abused--you can tell me to shut up any time you want, by the way--how well is he coping with that? PTSD is a hell of a disease.” 

“It was bad for years, but he’s been doing better,” Greg nervously ran a hand through his hair. “His mum was a drinker though.”

“She ever go to rehab?”

“Yes,” Greg replied quietly, looking down. 

“I don’t think I’m telling you anything you don’t already know, Greg.” Eddie smiled sadly and wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “He’s not seeing you when you say you love him. I think it’s going to take a while for him to see you again.” 

~~~

When Mycroft mentioned to Greg about the baby and his father’s suggestion that they should adopt him, Greg couldn’t keep a huge smile off his face. 

“That’s such a good idea! Think about it, My, you and me and our little baby boy. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Greg pulled Mycroft into his arms and kissed him softly. “You are going to be such an amazing father.” 

“Greg, listen, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a father, I don’t know if…” Mycroft was cut off by Greg’s lips crashing against his. 

“You aren’t going to mess up, Mycroft. I have never met anyone who I believed in more than you.” Greg kissed Mycroft again, then rested his forehead against his husband’s. “That baby deserves you as a father, Mycroft. You are a wonderful man, and you’re going to be a wonderful father. I believe in you, my love. You are going to be an incredible father.”  

~~~

When Mycroft and Sherlock got back to the house that night, they were greeted by Archie and Aggie who nearly broke down the door in their rush to jump into Mycroft’s arms. 

“Did you see Daddy?” Aggie asked breathlessly. 

“Is he okay?” Archie asked with wide eyes.

“Can we see him, please?” Aggie begged. 

“Alright you two, let me in, and I’ll answer all your questions,” Mycroft sighed, shepherding the kids into the sitting room. Anthea watched from the doorway to the kitchen as Mycroft sat down with his kids flanking him. Sherlock walked past her into the kitchen and she silently followed him, making a pot of tea. 

“Is Daddy gonna come home?” Aggie asked quietly, curled up under Mycroft’s arm. 

“He has to stay for twenty-eight days, Agatha, it’s only been eight.” Mycroft’s eyes were fixed on a spot on the carpet. “And after those twenty-eight days…well, we’ll see what happens.” 

“Are you and dad gonna stay together?” Archie asked nervously. 

“I don’t know that I have an answer to that right now, Archibald. There’s a lot of very complicated elements to that answer.”  Mycroft blinked slowly, and Archie reached out and grabbed his hand. 

“You don’t have to explain anything to us, Pops,” Archie said softly. 

“I do though,” Mycroft sighed, “you both know that Daddy and I love each other. We really do. But sometimes two people can love each other and still not be able to be together.”

“Is that why you’ve been crying every night?” Aggie asked, “because you love Daddy but you don’t think you can be with him any more?”

“Yes, baby.” 

“Because he hit you.” Aggie stated quietly. “And when you love someone you don’t hurt them.” 

“Exactly.” 

“And it’s not okay just because he was drinking. There’s never any reason to hit someone.” Archie reached across Mycroft to grab hold of his sister’s hand. “You always gotta remember that, Aggs. No one should ever hit you, no matter what.” 

In between the two kids, Mycroft closed his eyes to stop his tears from falling. 

~~~

In the kitchen Anthea sat with Sherlock, listening to the conversation in the other room. 

“Greg said ‘I love you’ as we were leaving,” Sherlock sighed. “My didn’t say it back. They both looked devastated.” 

“He’s not really considering taking him back, is he? He’s been absolutely shattered these past weeks. He won’t be able to handle a relapse.” Anthea chewed her thumbnail nervously. 

“I don’t know,” Sherlock shrugged. “But no matter what he decides, he’s got us. We’ve got to be there for him.” 

“We always will be.”

Chapter Text

In the midst of the fallout surrounding Greg’s drinking, John Watson had thought it wise to make himself scarce. He had been Greg’s go to drinking buddy for the past five or so years, and had watched his friend’s decline from the very front row. Now he was drowning in his own guilt, realizing how much earlier he could have stopped Greg’s spiral. 

It felt obvious that he should go visit Greg. He had contributed to the reason he was there, obviously he should go visit him, offer something in the way of comfort. The days kept passing though, and each day that he didn’t go visit felt like an extra weight added to his chest.  

“You could just go visit, you know,” Sherlock stated matter of factly as John came down  the stairs one morning. “He would appreciate it.” 

“I’m the person he got drunk with, why would he want to see me?”  

“You’re basically his best friend, John. He’s lonely, his marriage is falling apart, why wouldn’t he want to see his best friend?”

So John went. He sat with Greg, the two of them making uncomfortable conversation for a few minutes before Greg sighed and laid his hand on John’s arm. 

“John, I liked you before we started drinking together. I’m still going to like you even if we can’t drink together. You’re my friend, I’m just happy you’re here, okay?” 

“Yeah,” John said slowly. “Yeah, you’re right. You want to hear about how Sherlock got Anderson to admit that he made up his new girlfriend just to try to make Donovan jealous?”

“God yes.” Greg laughed and suddenly it was just like they were back at their pub, just two friends enjoying a little time together, no need for the booze. 

~~~

Greg was in a good mood the next day, not just because of John’s visit, but also because it was Saturday, and Saturday was the day his kids were coming to visit him.

Mycroft and the kids were signing in as Greg walked down the hallway. Greg stopped in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes fell upon his children. 

“Daddy!” Aggie gasped, running past Mycroft and jumping into Greg’s arms. “Daddy! I missed you so much! Are you okay? I lost a tooth! Did you miss me too?” 

“I missed you so much, baby girl,” Greg murmured into her hair. “I’m so happy that you’re here.” 

“I’m glad I’m here too,” she leaned her head on Greg’s shoulder, closing her eyes. Greg carried Aggie over to the desk where Mycroft and Archie had finished signing in and were waiting for them.  

“Hey kiddo,” Greg smiled, wrapping his free arm around Archie. 

“Hey Dad,” Archie whispered into Greg’s shoulder. Greg kissed the top of the boy’s head, then reached out to pull Mycroft into his arms. Mycroft didn’t quite allow that, but dropped a quick kiss to Greg’s cheek. 

Greg took his family back to his room, happily answering all of Aggie’s questions about how he was spending his days and whether he had made friends and if the doctors were nice and when he was coming home. 

“Only 18 more days, baby. I’ll be home before you know it.” Greg stroked her hair. “Are you having fun with Papa?”

“Uh huh! He let us have ice cream for dinner! Twice!” Aggie exclaimed. 

“Twice, huh?” Greg chuckled, smiling at Mycroft over Aggie’s head. Mycroft gave a barely perceptible smile back. “He never lets me eat ice cream for dinner. You’re very lucky.” 

“When you come home maybe we can have an ice cream night! We could have ice cream and watch a movie! Maybe I could pick the movie! Or maybe you could, Daddy, cause it’s gonna be your special night!” Aggie was nearly vibrating with excitement. “Papa, can we have ice cream and popcorn?” 

“Of course, darling.” Mycroft gave a small smile. 

Archie looked between his two fathers, pressing his lips into a tight line. Aggie was so young and trusting, but Archie was old enough to see the change in the way Mycroft and Greg were looking at each other. There was pain behind both of their eyes, and at that moment he wasn’t sure he wanted them to get back together. Not until Papa could look at Dad without his hands trembling. Not until Dad could talk to Papa without audible guilt in his voice. 

He didn’t want his dads to get a divorce, but he couldn’t let himself hope that they would reconcile while Papa still flinched away from Dad’s touch. That wasn’t the kind of life Archie wanted for his dads. He wasn't going to let that happen.

Chapter Text

Greg’s individual therapist was a young woman named Mia who was fairly new to therapy.  This was her first job and she had only been there for a few months. She had read over Greg’s intake file the night before her first meeting with him. 

Basic Info

Male, 51 years old. Born Blandford Forum, Dorset. Mother is a retired teacher, father is a retired police officer. Father was born in Menton, France. Unremarkable childhood

Social History

Married (homosexual), 2 kids (Archie, 13 and Agatha, 8) one adopted, one by surrogate (biologically husband’s). Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard (23 years of service), husband is a minor government official. Married 15 years. 

Medical History

Healthy. Periodic Smoker, repeated efforts to quit. Mild hypertension. 

Drinking

First drink at 16. Drank consistently since. Disordered drinking began at 43. No reason given. Sought treatment after forgot daughter’s birthday and then hit husband (no charges filed)

Mia put down the paper, pressing her lips together. She hated the ones who didn’t know why they started drinking. It made the first meeting much harder, since she had nothing to go on. 

“Hi,” the man said with a charming smile as he walked into Mia’s office and sat down in the patient chair. “I’m Greg.” 

“Good morning, I’m Mia, I’m going to be your counselor for your stay here. How are you doing today?” 

“You know, Mia,” Greg sighed, his charming smile slipping a little. “I’m not really doing great today.” Mia raised her eyebrows, the patients didn’t usually open up that easily. 

“Okay, do you know why? Or is it just one of those days?” 

“How much do you already know about me? Do I need to give you the background?” Greg asked, leaning back in the chair.

“I’ll ask if I need to know something, just tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“My husband and my kids came to visit me this weekend. My baby girl was so happy to see me and it felt amazing. But my son and my husband, it felt like there was a wall up between us. I’ve just been thinking about that since they left. I hurt Mycroft, and I hurt Archie, and I really don’t feel like I deserve to be forgiven for that.” Greg stopped and ran a hand through his hair. 

“It’s put me in a really dark place.” Greg continued, quieter. “Mycroft needs someone he can count on, and I don’t know if I’m that person anymore. I can’t disappoint my son again, I can’t break Mycroft’s heart again. But if I’m not here to get my family back, why am I here? Why bother getting sober if I can’t get my husband and kids back. What’s the point?” 

Mia looked at her new patient for a long moment, feeling a burst of sadness. 

“Greg, don’t you think you are worth getting sober for?”

~~~

After dating for about three months, Greg and Mycroft were slowly adjusting to being in a relationship. Greg had slowly gotten Mycroft to trust him, bit by bit, and Mycroft was just starting to allow Greg behind the extensive emotional walls he had built up. 

Since finding out about Mycroft’s childhood, Greg had been trying to subtly get Mycroft the help he so needed. Subtly was, however, not Greg’s strong suit.  

“Have you ever thought about going to therapy?” Greg asked as he traced a scar over his boyfriend’s chest with his finger.

“You know what I do for a living, there’s a lot I cannot talk about.” Mycroft replied, somewhat evasively. 

“Not to talk about your job, baby, to talk about your childhood. I think it would help.” Greg smiled in a way he hoped was encouraging. “I think you might be able to get some clarity, maybe even some closure. It could really help.” 

“Would it make you happy?” Mycroft asked softly. “If I were to go to therapy, that would make you happy?” 

“I want you to be happy, Mycroft. You no longer being in pain is what would make me happiest.” Greg smiled sadly, wrapping an arm around his partner’s thin torso. “I think I love you, I want to know you love yourself. You should love yourself, you’re amazing.” 

“I think I love you too,” Mycroft murmured, pulling Greg closer to himself. “I’ll go, if you think it will help.” 

~~~ 

Maggie looked up as Mycroft walked into her office, perfectly on time for his weekly appointment, as always. For nearly 20 years, Mycroft had only ever missed an appointment when he was out of the country, and about half of those he still managed to call in. In all her years of therapy she had never had a patient quite like him. 

It had shocked her when he had called and canceled their last appointment, and she was very concerned as he made his way to the chair and settled in. Over the years his weight had fluctuated, but this was the thinnest she had ever seen him. His hair was disheveled, his suit wasn’t perfectly fit, and there were dark bags under his glazed over eyes. 

“There hasn’t been anything in the news to justify how terrible you look,” Maggie said with a raised eyebrow. Mycroft smiled sadly and slouched in his seat, resting his elbows against his knees. 

“It’s been a tough couple of weeks, Maggie,” Mycroft sighed. “I could really use some advice right now.”

Chapter Text

“I really wish you had come in last week,” Maggie sighed after Mycroft explained everything that had happened with Greg’s drinking and Aggie’s birthday and the slap. “I think I would have helped much more if you had talked to me right away.” 

“I know,” Mycroft sighed, studying the carpet in front of his feet intently. “I don’t know why I canceled. I’m sorry.” He paused for a long moment, then sighed again. “I do know why I canceled. I canceled because I didn’t want you to see the bruise. I thought if you saw the bruise you would overreact.” 

“You’re probably right about that,” Maggie admitted softly. After 20 years of working with him, she tended to think of Mycroft as a son almost and, admittedly, that wasn’t always the best thing when it came to being able to look at his problems objectively. It was a benefit more often than it was a detriment though, so she usually chose to ignore the issue. 

“It wasn’t a bad bruise. I really wasn’t injured, but since it happened I feel like I’ve been living in one long PTSD flashback. I’m looking for my mother everywhere I turn. Even just walking around the house, I’m peeking around door frames to make sure she isn’t in the room before I go in. In my own home. Which she has never set foot in.” 

“Trauma messes with the mind, Mycroft, you know this. Your home was made to feel unsafe, so now your brain is compensating the only way it knows how.” 

“What am I going to do when he comes home?” 

“Maybe having him home will help,” Maggie replied with a small smile. “Right now your brain is making you look for an invisible enemy. If Greg is home, your brain doesn’t have to keep creating an imaginary source of fear. Give it some time where things are okay with Greg and you can feel comfortable with him, and your brain will be able to see that he is not something to fear.” 

“Sherlock and Anthea think I should divorce him.” Mycroft admitted quietly. 

“Maybe you should,” Maggie shrugged. “Maybe you shouldn’t. Do you think you have all the information you need to make that call right now?”

“No, not really,” Mycroft admitted. 

“And if this was your work, would you feel comfortable making a decision based on the amount of information you have right now?” Maggie asked. 

“No.” 

“You care about your family at least as much as you care about your work, so why would you make a decision about your family that you wouldn’t feel comfortable making about your work?”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t decide yet?” 

“I’m saying bring him home when his time in rehab is done.” Maggie reached out and grasped one of Mycroft’s slightly trembling hands. “If he’s back for a couple weeks and you can’t handle it, that’s your signal to end things. You don’t have enough information yet.” She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. “That’s our time, love. Will I see you next week?” 

“Always.” 

~~~

Their first date had been to a little cafe about halfway between NSY and Whitehall. They had shared a pot of tea and each ordered a sandwich, and they had sat talking long after the last crumbs had been eaten and the pot of tea was empty, just talking. 

They spent hours talking at that cafe. Mycroft felt as though he could listen to this man talk forever. They never ran out of things to say, and only left when the waiters started to put chairs up on the tables around them. Their next date took place the next day, because they couldn’t wait to see each other again.

~~~                              

Greg and Mycroft had agreed that it would be too much for the kids for them to visit too often, so they agreed that on Saturdays Mycroft would bring the kids, and on Wednesdays he would visit by himself.  Saturdays were fine, the kids monopolized the conversation and the uncomfortable silences and anxiety that pervaded Wednesday visits were nowhere to be found.  

That particular Wednesday, Mycroft and Greg were sitting at the little desk in Greg’s bedroom, sharing a pot of tea. They spoke quietly, as though both were concerned that speaking too loudly would break the fragile peace. 

“Who’s with the kids right now?” Greg asked as he sipped his tea.

“Jacqui has them.”

“David’s Jacqui?” Greg asked with a chuckle. “Whatever you pay that man, it’s not enough.” 

“God, I know it,” Mycroft chuckled. “She’s been very helpful. People have been very kind.” He looked down, running his finger along the rim of the mug. 

“You deserve that. You have done nothing but give to others your entire life.” Greg placed his hand, palm up, within his husband’s reach, welcoming physical contact but not creating an expectation. “You’ve done so much for everyone else, you shouldn’t be surprised that they’ll do anything for you.” 

“It’s hard sometimes,” Mycroft admitted, gently grasping Greg’s offered hand. “It’s hard to remember that I’m loved now.” 

“You are, baby. You are so loved.” 

The two men continued to quietly converse, neither willing to let go of the other’s hand.  Far too soon, Mycroft muttered that he needed to go pick up the kids, and with a featherlight kiss to Greg’s cheek, he was gone. Greg made the lonely walk back to his room, sitting down at his desk and staring at Mycroft’s vacated seat. 

The pot of tea was still half full.

Chapter Text

Sherlock picked up his niece and nephew from their home, hoping to let his brother get a couple of hours of sleep. He definitely needed it. 

“So what are we doing today?” Aggie asked as they sat in the back of a cab. “Are we going to solve a crime?” 

“Your dads get mad when I bring you to crime scenes, you know that.” Sherlock chuckled. “I was just going to take you out for lunch, but I do have some private cases right now that you could help us out on.”

“Really?” Archie asked, his eyes widening. “Can we really help on a case?”      

“I don’t see why not,” Sherlock shrugged. “Let’s eat first though, John keeps telling me that you can’t solve cases on an empty stomach.” 

~~~                                                                           

While his kids were out with Sherlock, Mycroft was methodically pouring out every drop of alcohol in the house. He had donated his entire wine collection to Anthea, who had asked him repeatedly if he was sure, because her wine consumption habits did not warrant such high class bottles. 

“I can’t drink a 2001 Saint-Emilian in my pajamas while eating a pint of ice cream, boss.” 

“Either you take it or the sink gets it, it’s up to you,” Mycroft had shrugged. 

“Well, I’m not going to let it go to waste,” Anthea muttered, scooping up as many bottles as she could into her arms. 

 Mycroft stood in front of the sink watching scotch circle the drain, feeling numb. Sherlock had told him that he needed to use this time to sleep, he had hardly been managing four hours a night since Greg went to rehab, but he couldn’t bring himself to lay down. Instead, he stayed standing in the kitchen, watching amber liquid swirl around the basin, reminiscing. 

~~~

“You don’t actually live in this house.” Greg muttered as he looked around. “This sink is bigger than my shower, how do you live here?” 

“I definitely live here,” Mycroft chuckled. “Is it too much? We can start looking for a different place, somewhere both of us have picked.” 

“Baby, no, that’s not what I’m saying.” Greg laughed, looking around again. “It’s just, wow. It honestly doesn’t make sense that you would let me move in here. I mean, you’ve met me, right? I’m not a fancy kind of guy, I’m just, you know, Greg.” 

“That’s all I want you to be,” Mycroft assured him, wrapping the man in his arms. Greg gave a mischievous grin and pushed Mycroft up against the counter, kissing him until both were breathless. 

“I think I’m going to love living here,” he whispered against Mycroft’s lips.

~~~

Mycroft snapped back to reality as the scotch bottle fell from his hands, shattering in the sink. He slid down against the cabinets, resting his forehead against his knees and breathing deeply. 

God, he wanted Greg home.

~~~

  After a lunch at Angelo’s, John joined them and the four headed to Sherlock’s client’s home. The case seemed simple enough, the client’s fence had been vandalized several times in the past few weeks, always with long lines of stick figures who appeared to be dancing. 

The client had taken pictures of the previous vandalism, but had called Sherlock around 11 to let him know that a new set of stick figures had appeared that morning. Naturally Sherlock had wanted to rush out and check the scene immediately, but he had been rather harshly reminded by John about his plans with Aggie and Archie. 

“You know,” John pointed out quietly as they walked up to the small, but pretty house in Surrey that afternoon. “When I said we could go see this house after you had lunch with them, I kind of meant after you dropped them off at home.”

“They wanted to solve a case,” Sherlock shrugged with a grin. “I thought you would support encouraging young minds!” 

“Your brother is going to kill you,” John muttered, rolling his eyes and knocking at the door. 

Their client was a small, jovial man, about 60 with an easy smile and a much younger wife. He didn’t seem particularly perturbed by the graffiti, but his wife was clearly very nervous. Sherlock flounced around the graffitied fence in his usual manner, with exaggerated movements and facial expressions, but John could tell he really didn’t have any clues. He stopped when Aggie reached out and tugged at his sleeve. 

“Uncle Sherlock,” she whispered, “is it a code?” 

“A what? What do you mean a code? OH! A code! That’s brilliant, is that brilliant? It is, yes, that’s brilliant.” He wrapped Aggie in a tight hug and kissed the top of her head. “It’s a code! The stick figures are letters!” 

“Okay,” John replied slowly. “What does it say then?”

“I’ve only known it was a code for about eight seconds, John, don’t rush me!” 

“Well, that first word is most likely ‘the’.” Archie piped up, then checked his pockets for something. “Uncle John, do you have a piece of paper?” John raised his eyebrows and handed over the notebook he carried in his jacket pocket so he could take notes for the blog. 

Archie sat down on the ground in front of the fence, beckoning Aggie over and showing her the pattern he had noticed. Together they pieced words together, managing to get quite a bit deciphered. 

“ The ----se of -o-e ne-e- --- --n s-ooth ” Archie read the sentence out, pressing his lips together. “Good work Aggs, but I don’t think it’s enough.” 

“What if you saw the other messages?” The client asked with a wide smile, ignoring the look of rage his wife shot him. “Could you figure it out from that?” 

“What do you say, Ag? You want to try?” Archie smiled at his sister, who nodded vigorously and followed the man into the house, her uncles trailing behind. 

Two cups of tea and a biscuit each later, Aggie jumped out of her chair with a wild gap toothed grin. 

“ The course of love never did run smooth! ” She exclaimed, holding up the paper triumphantly. 

“They’re all love notes,” Archie said with a furrowed brow. “This first one is addressed to someone named Elsie.” 

There was a moment of profound silence in the room as the adults turned to look at the client’s wife, who flushed a deep scarlet. 

“That’s sweet though,” Archie mused, not noticing the uncomfortable aire that had fallen over everyone else. “That’s a really sweet way to profess your love. Probably illegal, but sweet.” 

“Well,” Sherlock said, coaxing his niece and nephew to the door. “I don’t think we have to worry about my fee, I didn’t really do much. I should get these two home and I think maybe you two should talk.” Sherlock ushered his companions out the door and hailed a cab. 

“Do you think anyone will ever leave me love notes?” Aggie asked no one in particular as she watched the city go by outside the window. 

“Sure Aggs,” Archie replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “When you’re like thirty years older and married and stuff.” 

“No,” Aggie replied sadly. “I’m not getting married. Married people are sad. I don’t want to grow up and be sad.” 

The three other occupants of the cab sat in silence as the little girl looked longingly out the window.

Chapter Text

  When there was one week left on Greg’s rehab stay, Eddie was discharged. The night before he went home, Eddie and Greg sat up late in the day room, drinking tea and chatting quietly. 

“I’d be lying if I said I was confident,” Eddie admitted. “But I’ll be with my Mum, so that’s going to be good. I don’t think I’ll be able to relapse with my mum there.” 

“You’ve worked your arse off here, Ed. You aren’t going to relapse.” Greg patted his friend’s arm gently. “I have the utmost faith in you.” 

“You’re a good man, Greg, you really are. If any of us are going to get out of this alive, it’s gonna be you.” 

Greg smiled thinly at his friend, taking a slow sip of his tea to try to cover the insecurity that flashed across his face. 

~~~

“Papa, is Daddy coming home yet?” Aggie asked as she poked at her oatmeal one Thursday.  

“We’ve gone over this, sweetheart. Six more days.” Mycroft sighed, turning around from the dishes he was washing. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Aggie looked down at her bowl, sniffling quietly, pointedly silent. 

“Alright, come here, baby girl,” Mycroft sighed, reaching his arms out and wrapping her in a hug. “I know you miss Daddy, but he’s going to be home soon.” 

“Are you going to stop being sad when Daddy comes home?” Aggie asked quietly. “Are you and Daddy going to love each other again?  I want you to be happy so you can be my Papa again.”

“What do you mean, darling? When have I not been your Papa?” Mycroft asked, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“You’ve been so sad since Daddy hit you, you haven’t asked me about my day or read me stories or given me enough hugs. That’s all the stuff my Papa does .” Aggie buried her face in Mycroft’s suit jacket, her tears soaking his lapel.

“Would you like to skip school today?” Mycroft asked in a hushed tone. “I think you and I are overdue for a day together.” 

~~~

When Aggie was born, Mycroft couldn’t take much time off. Generally Anthea would be able to handle things if Mycroft needed to be out of the office, but she had just given birth, so she needed time off to recover. Greg had gotten three weeks leave and had happily stayed home with the baby, but Mycroft struggled to make time for her. 

Mycroft was nervous for the first couple of months of Aggie’s life, terrified that the baby wouldn’t bond with him if he wasn’t there. Every day the moment he got home, Mycroft scooped his daughter into his arms and didn’t put her down until it was time to put her down to bed.  

Aggie had no issue bonding with Mycroft. They were the best of friends. From the time she was little, Mycroft made a point of setting aside time to make up for the time he had missed when she was an infant. He always looked forward to days with Aggie. 

That day was the first time that spending time with Aggie didn’t come easily to him. It was a bit past noon, and Mycroft and Aggie were watching a Disney film, sitting silently side by side on the couch. 

“Papa, are you sad right now?” Aggie asked quietly.

“No, baby, of course not.”

“Really? Because you seem sad.” Aggie rested her head on Mycroft’s chest. “I don’t want you to be sad, Papa.” 

“Ma petite,” Mycroft sighed, “would you like to talk about what’s going on with Daddy and me?” 

“Yes, please.” Aggie murmured into his chest. “Why did Daddy have to go away?”

“Daddy was drinking too much, you know that. He needed help.” 

“Is Daddy gonna not drink when he gets back?” Aggie looked up with the blue grey eyes that matched Mycroft’s perfectly. 

“That’s the plan sweetheart.” 

“What if he does drink again? What happens then?” Mycroft silently wrapped his arms tightly around the girl, stroking his fingers through her long hair. 

“He won’t, baby. He can’t do that to us.”

Chapter Text

Greg’s bags were packed and he was sitting stone faced on his bed, waiting impatiently for his husband to pick him up. His hands were trembling ever so slightly. At that moment, he could confidently say he had never been so scared in his life. He had to succeed at this. There wasn’t another option. 

~~~

Mycroft’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. He was exhausted but he forced himself to drive past the myriad coffee shops on the way. He needed to get to Greg. It was time, he needed his husband to come home. 

~~~  

Archie was playing Xbox with David and Jacqui’s oldest sons. He normally would have mopped the floor with them, but today he couldn’t focus. Matty hit him with a kill shot, then put down his controller. 

“Archie, man, what’s going on in your head right now? You’re too easy to beat, it’s no fun.” Matty Bunford raised his eyebrows at the younger boy. 

“Sorry, man, I’m working on it. I’m just worried as hell right now.” Archie sighed, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. 

“Your dads are gonna be alright, bruv,” Matty wrapped an arm around his friend. “Now get out your own head and focus on this. I need you at the top of your game or I’m not going to be able to use this for bragging rights.” 

~~~

Down in the Bunford’s kitchen, Aggie was helping Jacqui and her five year old daughter Sadie make biscuits. The biscuits weren’t quite enough to distract Aggie, but she was keeping it together relatively well.  

David sauntered into the room as the first batch was coming out of the oven, and promptly burned his fingers trying to grab a biscuit off the baking sheet. Jacqui chuckled quietly and rolled her eyes.

“Out of the kitchen, you,” she sighed. “You know you aren’t allowed in here while baking is happening.” 

“Are you okay, Mr. David?” Aggie asked, nervously examining his hand. 

“Of course, cutie pie, thank you for asking though,” David squeezed the little girl’s shoulder, watching her continue to check his hand for serious injury.  “Aggie, I’m really okay. I’m sorry if I scared you. Are you alright, honey?” Aggie looked up for a second, then let a couple of tears fall. David scooped her into his thick arms, letting her cry into his shoulder. 

“It’s okay, honey.” He soothed her gently. “A couple more hours and your dad will be home and everything will be back to normal.” 

“What if it’s not, David? What if it’s bad? I want my daddy back.” Aggie was crying hard now, and David gently cradled her against his shoulder as he carried her out into the back garden. 

“I can’t promise you that everything is gonna be okay, Aggie. But I promise I’m gonna be there to give you a hug no matter what.” David continued to slowly walk around the garden as Aggie sniffled. “Would you like to walk around out here with me for a bit or would you like to go back in and finish up with the biscuits?” 

“Walk for a bit, please,” Aggie murmured into his shoulder. “Then when we go back in, the biscuits will be cooled enough to eat.” She paused for a long moment. “Thanks for being my friend, David.” 

“Anytime, kid.” 

~~~

The drive home was quiet, but not as uncomfortable as either husband had expected it to be. About ten minutes in, Mycroft even allowed Greg to hold his hand. 

“You deserve better than the way I’ve treated you. I’m gonna do better.” Greg’s voice was soft, and his throat was tight as he said the words. Mycroft was silent for a few moments, gripping his husband’s hand. 

  Mycroft thought hard for those moments. He thought about his first date with Gregory, their wedding day, the day they brought their son home. He thought about the day Anthea told them she was pregnant, that they were going to have a little girl. He thought about Aggie’s birth, the first time the kids were sick. All the support Greg had given him over the years, all the exhausted nights as new parents, the business trips at odd hours, and the missed dinners, and the sleepless nights. 

“Yes,” he said finally. “I do deserve better.” 

Chapter Text

Greg was home. After a month away, struggling and fighting for his sobriety, he was home, and he was sober and everything could go back to normal. That’s all Greg wanted, he wanted to go back to the family he had before the slap.

Mycroft didn’t flinch when Greg reached for him, but he still did when Greg raised his hand, even if it was just to brush a stray hair out of his husband’s eyes. Archie no longer tried to place himself between Greg and Mycroft, but he still watched intently when they were in a room together. Aggie had stopped crying quite so much, but she still clung to whichever parent was closest, as though she was afraid they would disappear if she let go.

Greg continued to see a therapist, and he went to AA meetings every other day. At work Sally kept an eye on him, and Greg pointedly pretended that he didn’t know she was doing it. It truly hadn’t occurred to him how deeply ingrained in the culture of the Yard drinking was. Detectives had a pint with lunch, they went out to the pub after their shifts, some guys kept bottles of scotch in their desk drawers. Everywhere he turned, there were temptations. 

What Greg didn’t know was that before he came back, Sally had threatened the job and life of anyone who dared ask him to come to the pub. She had gone desk to desk and confiscated every drop of alcohol. She had nearly put Anderson through a wall when he whined that Greg having a problem didn’t mean the rest of them had to suffer. 

“You listen to me, you little shit,” she snarled, “you only have a fucking job because Greg fought for you after Sherlock came back. He put his ass on the line for you, you didn’t fucking deserve that, but Greg did it anyway. O’Malley, you only got that promotion to detective because Greg saw something worthwhile in you. Greg takes care of Denton’s kids when she doesn’t have a sitter. Greg single handedly investigated and disproved the allegations against Smith. Greg knows the names of everyone’s kids, Greg buys presents for them on their birthdays. Greg has done so much for all of you, for all of us. If all of that isn’t worth you getting rid of the bottle in your top drawer, then why don’t you consider the fact that it is against policy for you to have it, and it’s grounds for immediate termination.” 

Anderson silently handed over the bottle and didn’t meet Sally’s eyes for the rest of the day. 

~~~

Greg was overjoyed when he walked into his first AA meeting post rehab and found Eddie pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“Hey, old man!” Eddie laughed, throwing his arms around Greg. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” 

“Eddie,” Greg grinned, “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you looking well rested!”

“I’m nocturnal, man. I’m sleeping like a baby now that I’m sleeping during the day.” Eddie grinned. “I’m really glad to see you, Greg, I’m happy to see you’re doing okay.” 

“You got some time after this?” Greg asked as they took their seats. “I would love to buy you a cup of tea and catch up.” 

“Of course!” Eddie grinned and the two settled in for the meeting.

~~~

Going to have a cuppa with Eddie, be home in an hour -G x

Mycroft glanced down at his phone as the text came in, his voice briefly catching in his throat as he read it. He blinked twice, rapidly, trying to reset his brain. 

“I'm sorry, what was I saying?” He asked quietly. Anthea and David stared back at him, both of them racking their brains for the last time Mycroft had lost his train of thought. 

“Everything alright, boss?” Anthea asked with a nervous glance at his phone. “Is Greg okay?” 

“Anthea, I need you to run some checks for me.” Mycroft replied softly. “And David, could you pick Greg up in about 45 minutes at the address I’m about to text you?” 

“Of course,” David replied, “but really, boss, is everything alright?”

“I don’t know yet, would you do those things for me, please?” Mycroft ran a trembling hand through his hair. 

“Yes, of course,” Anthea took the scrap of paper Mycroft jotted a name and basic information on and headed out to start the checks. 

“He’s not cheating on you, boss.” Mycroft looked up as David spoke, his face briefly giving away a considerable degree of anguish. 

“How do you know? This Eddie was there for him in rehab, I wasn’t. Eddie doesn’t flinch away from him, Eddie’s not scared of him. Eddie can have a conversation with him. Hell, Eddie can probably even fuck him!” Mycroft rested his face in his hands. 

“He’s not cheating on you.” David reached out and laid one of his huge hands on Mycroft’s arm. “I know he’s not. But I get it, you don’t trust him right now. That will come back.” 

“Oh, what would you know, you with your perfect wife and your perfect marriage.” Mycroft didn’t mean it as a joke, but David laughed. 

“Boss, my marriage is not perfect, and my wife is far from perfect.” David paused, scanning his surroundings. “You can’t tell her that I said that. Look, you two loved each other. I think you still love each other. You have to give it time, and you have to learn to trust him again.  Woo him. Date him, Fall in love with him all over again. That’s how you get through this.” 

“ You really think it would help?” Mycroft asked quietly. David nodded and squeezed his boss’s arm. “If you think it will help, I’m willing to try.”

Chapter Text

When Greg got home from tea with Eddie he found his husband in the kitchen,  dancing around the room, preparing a meal far too lavish for a weeknight dinner. The familiarity of it was almost enough to bring Greg to tears. He had missed this so much.

“Smells delicious,” Greg commented quietly. He had taken to softly announcing his presence in a room, even when he was sure Mycroft had noticed his entry, because he couldn’t bear the thought of scaring him.  

“It’s nothing much,” Mycroft replied with a shrug. 

“As always, you’re too modest,” Greg leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s lips, and was surprised when his husband leaned into it. Greg tilted his head to allow better access, then began deepening the kiss, little by little. Mycroft’s hands settled on Greg’s hips, gently tugging him closer as Greg’s arms encircled Mycroft’s waist. 

Aggie and Archie watched from the kitchen table where they were doing their homework, both slightly horrified. 

“Should we tell them that the risotto is burning?” Aggie asked in a hushed tone. 

“They’ll figure it out,” Archie shrugged, “and then we’ll get pizza for dinner.”     

~~~

    The day Greg asked Mycroft to marry him hadn’t started out particularly well. It had been a bad morning all around. A national crisis had roused Mycroft from their bed before three in the morning. His communications with Greg had been sporadic and despondent since then. Greg’s weren’t much better, he had been called to a murder scene as soon as he sat down at his desk. It was a gruesome one, a young couple, senseless, terrible. Both men left their offices in a daze. They met, as they did most days when they managed to get out of work around the same time, in the Victoria Embankment Gardens.  

    Greg didn’t say a word when he reached his partner. He just wrapped his arms around Mycroft, burying his face in Mycroft’s impeccably besuited shoulder. 

    “I love you, Mycroft. I love you so much, darling, I want to spend my life with you.” Greg was shaking slightly as Mycroft gently soothed him, rubbing the back of his neck. 

    “It was a bad day, Greg. It was just a bad day.” 

    “No, darling, it’s not that. I love you. I love you everyday, bad days and good days and in between days. You are perfect and lovely and I want to be there for you.” Greg leaned back slightly so he could cup Mycroft’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. “I want you to marry me. Marry me, Mycroft. Marry me. I don’t have a ring, but I’ll get one. I want you to marry me. Please, say you’ll marry me.” 

    “Greg,” Mycroft chuckled. “You’re being rash.” 

    “No, My, I’m not. I’m definitely not. I would have married you the first day we met. I love you so much. Please baby, I’m not rushing, I’ve thought this through. Marry me, My.” Mycroft laughed, the sort of bright, happy laughter that only Greg ever got to see. 

    “Yes, Greg. Of course I’ll marry you. I don’t need a ring, I would marry you in the back room of a Tesco. I want to spend the rest of my life in your arms, I don’t care how we get there.” Mycroft grinned wildly, kissing Greg with abandon, momentarily forgetting that they were in a public park.

“Forever, darling.” Greg whispered against his fiance’s lips. “Forever and ever.” 

~~~

    That night, Mycroft and Greg climbed into bed, laying side by side but unable to cross the divide between them. 

    “How was tea with Eddie?” Mycroft asked quietly as he stared at the ceiling. 

    “Oh, it was great,” Greg smiled, unaware of the growing pit in his husband’s stomach. “It was great to catch up with him. He’s a really great guy, and he’s doing great! I really think he’s going to be able to maintain his sobriety. I’m proud of him.” 

    “How are things with his wife?” Mycroft asked hollowly. 

    “She’s going forward with the divorce. He’s handling it alright, he understands why she needs to do it.” Greg paused for a long moment rolling onto his side to face his husband. “Thank you for giving me another chance, My. I love you so much, I would be lost without you.” 

    “Are you cheating on me with him?” Mycroft whispered, unable to look his husband in the eye. 

    “What?” Greg sputtered. “What are you talking about? Why would you think that?”

“Answer the question, Greg, please, just answer the question.” 

“No! I’m not cheating with Eddie! Why would you think that?” Greg studied his husband desperately, his face falling. “You really don’t trust me anymore, do you?”

“I’m trying to, Greg.” Mycroft replied miserably. “I am trying very hard.” Greg ran a hand through his hair, biting his lip, and trembling. 

“May I hold you, please?” Greg asked in a broken whisper. Mycroft nodded silently and shifted into Greg’s arms, resting his head on his bare chest. “You are my love and my life. I will never cheat on you. I will never hurt you again. I made the biggest mistake of my life when I hurt you, and I will never make that mistake again.” 

“Do you still love me like you did before? As much as when we got married?” 

“Mycroft, I love you more every day.”  

Chapter Text

Their first major fight post sobriety came about three weeks after Greg came home from the rehab. Aggie had quite efficiently woken the whole house up at the crack of dawn by announcing, in both word and deed, that she had a stomach bug. 

The remainder of the morning was spent cleaning up and getting Aggie calmed down enough to go back to bed. Naturally, not one minute after they finally got Aggie in bed, Archie was up and sick as well. Once that was dealt with Greg collapsed face first into bed with a groan while Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. 

“I have to go to work in a half hour,” Mycroft groaned. “I have to find someone to stay with the kids. I don’t want to ask Jacqui to do it, the last thing she needs is to give a stomach bug to all her kids, Anthea is necessary today, maybe John Watson would be willing to…”

“My,” Greg interrupted, “I can stay home with them.”

“Oh, Greg, that’s unnecessary. I’m sure there’s someone else who can do it.” Mycroft nervously ran a hand through his hair. 

“Oh my god, Mycroft, you don’t trust me to stay here with my own kids!” 

“It’s not that, Greg, of course it’s not that! I just…having a routine is important, and you have AA tonight, and surely it would just be easier if we got someone else to stay here today.” Mycroft turned nervously, his eyebrows knit together, his eyes fixed Greg’s hands. 

“What do I have to do? At what point do you trust me to be with my kids? Huh? I have two fucking months sobriety right now. Is that the point when I can be around my kids? Is it three months, four months? Do I have to get down on my fucking knees and beg you to trust me to comb out Aggie’s hair? Would you like me to ask your permission to do Archie’s laundry?”

“Greg, please, don’t do this.” 

“Do you want me to ask before I talk to them?” Greg had gotten up and was pacing now. “Should I have a chaperone?” 

“Greg, please, you know that’s not what I mean.” 

“What more do you want from me, Mycroft?” Greg was fully yelling now, and had crossed to Mycroft’s side of the bed, but somehow still couldn’t see that his husband was literally shaking from fear. “What more can I possibly do?”    

“ Dad!” Archie’s voice cut through the room. 

~~~ 

A week after Mycroft and Greg brought Archie home, they both felt woefully out of their depth. The exhaustion and anxiety that came with being new parents was getting to them. After their third sleepless night in a row, cracks in their usually perfect marriage started to emerge. 

“This was your bloody idea,” Mycroft snapped. “I told you we couldn’t do it.”

“Bloody hell, the great Mycroft Holmes, bested by a four month old!” 

“I’m not the only one who can’t handle this, but I’m the one who was honest about it up front!” 

Greg opened his mouth to fight back when he was interrupted by a shriek of laughter from the baby on the changing table in front of them. They both stopped and looked down at the little boy, who was now watching them with a wide smile and big beautiful eyes. 

“Is that right, Archie?” Greg asked with a chuckle, earning him another peal of laughter. “Well, darling, Archie here says we are good parents.” 

“Is that what he was saying? I thought he was saying that we’re a couple of ridiculous men who need to sleep before they start picking fights with each other.” Mycroft smiled, wrapping an arm around Greg’s waist. “I love you, Gregory.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart. Let’s call my parents, take them up on their offer to stay for a bit to help out. You and I need some sleep.” 

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Mycroft sighed. Archie laughed again, clapping his chubby hands together. 

~~~

“Archie,” Greg started, holding his arms up and jumping back from Mycroft. 

“No, Dad. Don’t say it. Don’t tell me I’m misunderstanding what’s happening.” Archie grit his teeth, walking past Greg and sitting down next to Mycroft. “You okay, Pops?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Mycroft replied, gently squeezing his son’s shoulder. “Everything’s fine, but I’ve got to get ready for work. Dad is going to stay home with you and Agatha today, alright?” 

“But, Papa,” Archie started, but was cut off by a sharp look from Mycroft. 

“I’m alright, I promise you.” Mycroft squeezed Archie’s arm again. “Now you go get back in bed, I won’t have you infecting me.” 

“Mycroft…” Greg whispered shakily once Archie had left the room. 

“We will talk later.” Mycroft said sadly. “I love you, Greg.” 

“I love you, My.”  

Chapter Text

Just after lunch, Greg had tucked the kids in for naps and was doing the washing up silently. He was zoned out, fretting about the fight with Mycroft that morning when he was violently snapped from his thoughts by the sound of the back door clicking open. Greg gripped the soap slick knife he had been washing, inching along the cabinets. He peeked around the corner just in time to see a tall, dark coated figure open the door and step in. 

“Stop right there! Police, hands where I can see them!” Greg snapped, brandishing the knife and wishing he wasn’t wearing pajama bottoms with little dinosaurs on them. The figure threw his hands up and turned, revealing to Greg the face of his brother in law. 

“Why the hell are you home?” Sherlock asked incredulously. “No one is ever home when I break in here during the day.” 

“The kids are sick,” Greg replied, stunned. “Wait, do you break in here often?” 

“It’s not really breaking in, I have a key,” Sherlock shrugged. “And only on days when John is working and I don’t have a case.” 

“So, you come here to…what? Entertain yourself?”

“Well, yeah,” Sherlock shrugged. “You have an Xbox, I don’t. Would you like to continue interrogating me, or do you want to play Halo?” 

“Mycroft really didn’t send you to check that I was sober and the kids were alive?” Greg asked.

“I would have come to the front door if I had known you were here.” Sherlock assured him and the two of them headed to the game room, Greg smiling as he felt the animosity that had plagued his relationship with Sherlock recently melt away. 

~~~ 

He’s sober, kids are sleeping, he doesn’t think you sent me. SH

Thank you. MH

Chapter Text

Life while sober moved slower. The days seemed interminable without the anticipation of a night at the pub making the hours pass. Tea with Eddie helped, but not enough. Life was becoming unbearable. 

Greg didn’t feel like he could talk to Mycroft about it. Mycroft was clearly trying to be supportive, but any discussion of Greg struggling with sobriety made him visably uncomfortable. 

Intellectually, Mycroft knew that sobriety was difficult. He had gone through it with his mother and he had gone through it with Sherlock, but something about Greg’s struggle was different. Greg was Mycroft’s safety. He was almost a security blanket at times. The idea that Greg could struggle like Mummy did or like Sherlock did ripped away that blanket, leaving Mycroft exposed and shivering. 

Things were uncomfortable, but there hadn’t been any big issues since the fight when the kids were sick. After being accused of not trusting Greg, Mycroft had been working so hard to prove to Greg that he trusted him. For his own part, Greg was struggling not to interpret every word out of Mycroft’s mouth as an attack. 

When Mycroft asked if Greg would be interested in having Eddie for dinner so the family could meet him one night, Greg automatically went on the defensive. 

“What, so you can interrogate him? Force him to tell you what we talk about? Ask him if I’m fucking him?” Mycroft looked up at his husband, his face lined with sadness and exhaustion. 

“I would like to have him over for the same reason that we have Sally or Matt Dimmock or John Watson over. Because they are your friends, and having dinner with your partner’s friends is a part of being married.” Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking down. Greg sat down in the chair next to Mycroft’s running a hand through his hair. 

“I’m sorry, love,” Greg looked down, rubbing his palms together nervously. “I would love to have Eddie over, love to have him meet the family. Thank you for offering, it means a lot to me.” 

Mycroft nodded, silent and withdrawn.

~~~

When Archie was a toddler, Greg and Mycroft realized that they hadn’t spent any time with adults since they brought their son home. 

“I’m not sure I even know how to speak to grown ups anymore.” Greg mused after putting Archie to bed one night. “How do you even ask an adult to be your friend? I know how Elmo does it, but I don’t know how well that would go over at work.” 

“As I recall, adults are generally not charmed by other adults speaking in the third person. I could be wrong though, it has been a very long time.” 

“Let’s have someone over for dinner. It would be nice, just a couple of friends, we wouldn’t have to have a sitter, but we could speak to adults for a while.” Greg grinned up at his husband, who looked skeptical. 

“I’ve never been one for social gatherings, Greg.” 

“Okay,” Greg shrugged with a smile, “it doesn’t have to be a dinner party, let’s just have one or two people over. What about Sally and Anderson?”

“Might Philip’s wife have thoughts about that?” Mycroft asked with a smirk, settling in bed next to his husband and snuggling under his arm. 

“Just Sally then. A nice dinner, you, me, our little boy, and a friend.” 

 Over time, it became a regular occurrence. At least once a month Greg and Mycroft would make a point to have friends for dinner, sometimes just quiet dinners with one friend, sometimes small dinner parties and game nights. Mycroft would cook, Greg would entertain, and everyone had fun. 

Those nights went away when Greg decided that he would rather spend his time getting drunk. 

~~~

Archie came home from football practice that Thursday and sauntered into the kitchen to scope out dinner. 

“Wow, Pop,” Archie whistled, looking around at the four courses Mycroft was in the middle of creating. “Are we celebrating something?” 

“We’re having Dad’s friend Eddie for dinner, go wash up and change.” 

“How are you going to cook him?” Archie asked with a mischievous grin. Mycroft pointedly ignored the joke. “You know what, Pops? My talents are wasted here.” 

“They really are,” Mycroft replied with a sly smile. “Perhaps you should see if they’re more appreciated upstairs while you are washing up and changing.” 

~~~

Eddie’s eyes widened as Greg pulled up in front of a manor and put the car in park. 

“Are you taking the piss right now?” Eddie asked. “You don’t actually live here.” 

“That’s exactly what I said when my husband showed me the place for the first time. I still can’t believe he lets my arse in the front door somedays.” Greg looked at his friend’s stunned expression and chuckled. “It’s alright, Ed, we aren’t as posh as the house would make you think.” 

“I would have dressed up more if you told me I was having dinner with the Queen,” Eddie chuckled, and the two of them headed inside. 

Eddie was shell shocked. Sure, he had seen Mycroft when he came and visited Greg, but seeing him up close, the whole three piece suit, piercing eyes, intense stare thing was very intimidating. Eddie found himself slightly stuttering through introductions, but when Greg introduced his daughter Aggie, she grinned so wide, and threw her arms around him, and suddenly his nerves were gone. 

“Mycroft,” Eddie remarked halfway through the second course, “this food is incredible. You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble just for me.” Mycroft smiled and blushed at the compliment. 

“He makes stuff like this every night,” Archie chuckled. “You should see the look on his face if one of us suggests getting a take away.” 

Eddie really liked Greg’s kids. 

After dinner the kids had to go to bed, since they had school the next morning, and the three men decided to retire to the sitting room with tea. Aggie insisted that Greg needed to tuck her in, so he left Mycroft and Eddie together sipping their tea for a few minutes. 

“Mycroft,” Eddie said nervously after a moment of silence, “Greg told me that you were concerned about me and him. I just want you to know, it’s not like that. He’s a good mate, and he and I are working through the same thing right now, so talking to him helps me a lot. But I would never disrespect you like that. He loves you so much, you can see it when he talks about you. I would never come between that.” 

“I appreciate you saying that,” Mycroft replied quietly, not quite able to meet Eddie’s eye. 

“Also, I’m straight. Just in case you were wondering. I don’t have any problem with gay people, it’s totally ok, I just, wouldn’t have a relationship with a man.” 

“Eddie, it’s fine,” Myroft smiled. “I trust you. I’m sorry Greg told you that. I did not wish to make you uncomfortable. Things have been very difficult recently.” 

“Don’t forget how much he loves you, Mycroft.” Eddie smiled disarmingly. “I know how bad things have gotten, and how hopeless it can seem, but just keep in mind how much he loves you.” 

Chapter Text

Mycroft was drinking his tea slower than usual as he sat in John’s chair at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock was nervously watching his brother’s face, searching for the words to convince Mycroft to open up to him. 

“How long has it been since you and Lestrade engaged in intercourse?” Sherlock said finally, and Mycroft spit out his tea, choking and sputtering. 

“Excuse me?” Mycroft coughed, staring at his little brother in horror. 

“It’s a simple enough question. What part is confusing you?”

“The part where my younger brother is asking me,” Mycroft sighed, raising his eyebrows. “Would you like to discuss your love life with me?”

“John and I had sex last night.” Mycroft choked on his tea again. “Alright, now that that’s out of the way, do you think the stagnation in your relationship with Lestrade might have something to do with the fact that you haven’t had sex in three months?” 

“Well, I really do need to get back to work. Give my best to Dr. Watson, I’ll speak to you later.” Mycroft stood stiffly, hurrying out the door. 

“Give it some thought, Mycroft!” Sherlock yelled after him, chuckling into his tea. 

~~~

Greg and Mycroft were just getting in bed on a Friday night when both of their phones started ringing. 

“What could Sherlock possibly want?” Mycroft sighed. 

“Apparently it’s very important, John’s calling me.” Greg replied, running his hand through his hair. They both answered, and after a rushed conversation, both hung up and immediately started packing their bags. 

Before they even got downstairs Anthea was there, ready to watch the kids. 

“Thank you for coming, my dear,” Mycroft whispered, giving her a quick hug. “We’ll be back as soon as we’ve sorted out whatever mess Sherlock’s gotten himself into.” 

“Take your time,” she assured him. “The kids and I will have a great time.” 

~~~

Two and a half hours later Mycroft and Greg pulled into the carpark at the Lake District hotel Sherlock sent them the address for. 

“This seems like far too nice a place for Sherlock,” Greg muttered. “Does this seem off to you?” 

“It definitely does,” Mycroft replied. “Keep your guard up.” 

The two made their way inside, keeping their eyes out for any sign of the ‘trouble’ Sherlock had insisted he had run into while investigating a case at this hotel. As instructed, they went to the front desk, giving the name Lestrade. 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes wanted me to apologize for him, and give you this. He says that he hopes you will forgive him.” The clerk handed Mycroft an envelope, which he nervously opened. 

Mycroft, 

Sorry about the false pretenses, but I couldn’t think of a different way to get you here. You and Lestrade have a suite booked for the weekend. Anthea and Sally are in on it, neither of you are expected back until Wednesday. The kids knew this was going to happen, they’re looking forward to hanging out with Anthea. You have nothing to worry about all weekend, please, relax and enjoy yourselves. 

Love you both, 

Sherlock

“That little fuck,” Mycroft sighed. Greg finished reading, and started laughing, resting his head on Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Well, we’ve got a suite,” Greg laughed, “we might as well see how it is.” 

~~~

It was well past midnight when Greg and Mycroft got settled in their room. The room was beautiful, with an enormous bed so plush that Greg nearly disappeared into the duvet when he laid down on it. 

“I’m never going home,” Greg mumbled from the bed. “I live in this bed now.” Mycroft paused, watching his husband’s nude body be engulfed by the soft, white duvet. Feeling somewhat reckless on the back of receiving an impromptu holiday, he abandoned his intentions of putting on pajamas, and crawled into bed next to Greg, reveling in the feeling of his bare skin. 

“My,” Greg whispered, tentatively reaching out and running a hand along Mycroft’s chest. “God, My, you’re so beautiful.” 

Mycroft silently nuzzled into Greg’s neck, deeply inhaling and running his hand through Greg’s hair. 

“Can I kiss you, My? Please, please let me kiss you.” The words had hardly passed Greg’s lips when Mycroft raised his chin and pressed his lips to Greg’s. 

“I love you,” Mycroft whispered between desperate kisses. “I love you.” Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft, pressing their chests together, letting his hands roam over Mycroft’s back and eventually pulling Mycroft on top of him. 

“Please baby,” Greg whispered, “I need you.” Mycroft moaned quietly at the words, moving his mouth to Greg’s neck, kissing and nipping along his jawline, the way that made Greg lose his ability to speak coherently. 

The sun had started to peek over the horizon by the time Mycroft and Greg finally separated, collapsing onto the bed and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Chapter Text

After Mycroft and Greg returned from the Lake District things seemed to almost go back to normal. The men felt more comfortable with each other, and everyone around them let out the breath they had collectively been holding in. As Greg celebrated four months of sobriety everyone felt that things were going to be okay. 

All that changed on a sunny Wednesday morning when Greg arrived at work and was immediately met with Donovan holding a file. 

“What do we have here?” Greg asked, taking the file and thumbing through.

“Break in at the Victoria and Albert Museum. They got around the alarm system somehow, got away with a lot of art.” 

“Alright,” Greg sighed, “let’s see what we’re working with.” The two made their way to the museum, examining the point of entry and the now empty exhibits. 

“Doesn’t a place like this have night security guards?” Greg asked, rubbing his jaw. 

“Yeah, it was in the file. He was found dead in the vestibule. Single gunshot to the back of the head. Dead instantly, probably never even knew there was a break in.” 

“Poor sod,” Greg sighed and the two of them headed to wear the body lay. Greg knelt down next to the sheet covered corpse, and just before he lifted the sheet to get a look at the body, turned back to Sally for one second. “Do we have an ID on him?”

“Yeah,” Sally replied as Greg lifted the sheet and his heart stopped. “His name is Eddie Martins.” 

~~~

“Go back to the office,” Sally gently instructed a distraught Greg. “I’ll finish up here and then we’ll get this reassigned. I’m so sorry, Greg, I didn’t know.” 

“It’s okay,’ Greg replied hollowly. “You couldn’t have known, there was no way for you to know.” 

“You’re going to be alright getting back to the office?” Sally asked quietly. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave you the car, I’ll have one of Mycroft’s goons give me a lift. Don’t worry about it, Sally. I’m alright.” Greg managed a small smile which he hoped was reassuring, then turned and walked out of the museum. 

He couldn’t call for a lift, that would tip Mycroft off that something was wrong and he didn’t want to worry him, so Greg started to walk back. Sure, it was about an hour walk, but he hoped that would give him time to clear his head, to process the overwhelming grief that had struck him the moment he lifted that sheet and found his best friend lying dead on the ground. 

His thoughts swirled as he walked, tears obscuring his vision. He came to a stop suddenly, gripping a street lamp for support as he vomited into a storm drain. Shaking, unsteady, he straightened up, and continued on his walk. 

About ten minutes away from the museum, he disappeared into a pub.

Chapter Text

When 7 o’clock came and went with no sign of Greg, Mycroft wasn’t terribly worried. It was an AA night, and sometimes Greg and Eddie would spend a little longer than usual getting tea afterwards. At 7:30 Mycroft decided not to wait for him and gathered the kids for dinner. When the grandfather clock in the hall chimed 8, Mycroft excused himself from the table for a moment and called Sally Donovan. 

“Hey Mycroft, how’s he holding up,” she answered. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Mycroft listened silently as Sally explained the break in that morning, Greg seeing Eddie dead before she knew his significance, and her insistence that he go back to the office. He began to tremble slightly when she admitted that she hadn’t seen him since he left the museum. 

“I didn’t get back to the Yard until almost 6, I just thought he had gone home. Do you want me to send people out looking for him?” Sally’s voice was shaky. 

“No, not yet. I don’t want to cause a fuss yet.” Mycroft braced himself against the counter top, trying to control his breathing. “Please let me know if he reaches out to you.” 

“Mycroft, I’m sure it’s okay. I’m sure he’s with someone from the program.” Sally tried to sound confident, but she was terrified. 

“I hope you’re right, Sally,” Mycroft responded quietly. “Anything you hear, please, let me know.” He hung up, trying to force his face not to give away anything to the kids, but it was too late. 

“Is Daddy okay?” Archie asked from the doorway.

“Yes,” Mycroft lied, trying to sound confident. “Why don’t we go back to the table, there’s something I need to tell you and Aggie.” 

~~~

When the children were young, Mycroft’s Uncle Rudy had taken over the role of a grandfather for them. Even though Greg’s parents were still alive, Rudy had thought it was important for the kids to have as many adults they could trust as possible. He was very involved in the kid’s lives. 

When Uncle Rudy got sick, he kept it to himself because he couldn’t bear making his nephew worry about him. He only admitted that he was sick when the cancer was just about ready to kill him. 

“The kids are going to be devastated,” Mycroft pointed out to him. “You can’t do that to my kids.” 

“I shall inform the cancer that it is not permitted to kill me, I wouldn’t want to make them sad.” Rudy tried to smile, but it came out as more of a pained grimace. “You take care of those babies for me, Mycroft. I love them so much, they have made these last years of my life very happy.” 

“They love you too. Do you think you’ll be up for a visit from them tomorrow?” Rudy nodded, squeezing Mycroft’s hand. 

He died that night. 

Archie was nine, Aggie was four. Mycroft and Greg had gently explained that Uncle Rudy had passed away, using vastly different language for each kid. Afterwards, Mycroft had collapsed into Greg’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. 

“It’s okay baby,” Greg whispered. “I know, I know.” 

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” Mycroft sobbed. 

“I will never leave you to do something like this alone.” Greg promised, rubbing Mycroft’s back. “I will never let you go through something like this alone. Never.” 

~~~

Mycroft held one of each of his kids’ hands as he explained that there had been a break in at the museum where Eddie worked, and that Eddie had been killed. Aggie was struggling to hold it together from the beginning, but Archie seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Is Daddy investigating his death?” Archie asked, his eyebrows knit together. 

“Not directly. Eddie was a good friend of Dad’s, so a different DI is in charge, but Daddy is making sure that they’re going to find who did this.” Mycroft put up the expressionless mask he had spent so long perfecting, desperate to stop Archie from asking more questions. 

Archie didn’t look fully satisfied but any further questioning was cut off by Aggie fully losing her composure. Mycroft picked her up, cradling her in his arms while she sobbed. Archie stood up, leaning his head on his father’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Papa and Aggie. 

Mycroft closed his eyes, burying his face in Aggie’s hair. He thought about Greg’s promise when Rudy had died. Why wasn’t he there?

Chapter Text

When Greg still hadn’t returned home the next morning, Mycroft called Sherlock. The cab ride from Baker Street to Mycroft’s home usually took about 20 minutes, but that day Sherlock and John were on Mycroft’s doorstep in 10. Mycroft kept a calm facade until the kids were off to school, then collapsed into Sherlock’s arms. 

“We’re gonna find him,” Sherlock assured his brother quietly. “John and I are going to start checking pubs, you stay here in case he comes back.” Mycroft opened his mouth to argue but was cut off by the doorbell ringing. John silently rose to open the door and returned a moment later with five of Mycroft’s most trusted staff members. 

“What are you all doing here? You should all be at the office.” Mycroft reprimanded them. 

“Sherlock called me,” Anthea replied. “Did you really think we weren’t going to help?”

“The government can survive for a day,” David assured him with a warm smile. “You’re our priority right now.” 

“Just tell us what you need,” Anthea instructed gently, “we’re here for you.”

~~~

By the time the kids came home there was still no sign of Greg. Mycroft had holed himself up in his office, pretending to work while actually deep in the midst of a panic attack. He could hear Sherlock greeting his kids and getting them settled doing their homework. He wanted to go out there, to assure the kids that everything was fine, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Someone will find him, he reminded himself over and over, just give it some time, someone will find him. 

When his phone rang, he leapt across an armchair to pick it up, desperate to hear Greg’s voice on the other end of the line. 

He hoped his disappointment wasn’t audible as his father’s voice greeted him from the other end of the line. 

“Hello son,” Siger Holmes said, his voice sounding sad and exhausted. “How are you?” 

“I’m fine, Father,” Mycroft replied, trying to force his voice to sound calm. “Is everything alright? Are you well?”

“I’ve been better,” Siger admitted quietly. “I called to let you know that your mother passed away this morning.” 

Chapter Text

When Aggie was five she had an assignment for school where she had to write the names of all of her family members and draw pictures of them. Mycroft had sat next to her, spelling the more difficult names and reminding her the proper hair colors when she picked up pinks and purples instead of browns and grays. 

“What about your dad, Papa, what’s his name?” Aggie asked after she had put the finishing touch (an oversized hair bow) on Delores Lestrade. 

“His name is Siger. S-I-G-E-R.” 

“What does he look like?” Aggie asked as she surveyed her crayons. 

“Like Uncle Sherlock if Uncle Sherlock was a million years old and wore bowties everyday.” The little girl giggled and started drawing. 

“Do you have two daddies like me or do you have a daddy and a mummy?” Aggie selected a particularly garish pink for Siger’s bowtie. 

“I have a daddy,” Mycroft replied a little shakily, “and a mummy.” 

“Why haven’t I met them?” Aggie asked, sweet, innocent, and absolutely oblivious to how uncomfortable her father was with the question. 

“My mother wasn’t nice.” Mycroft replied softly. “And when someone isn’t nice, you don’t need to let them be in your life.” 

“Archie isn’t nice,” Aggie informed Mycroft matter-of-factly. “He doesn’t get to be in my life anymore.” 

“And what did Archie do exactly?” Mycroft asked, a touch of amusement sneaking into his voice. 

“He took my Polly Pocket,” Aggie informed him as she drew two blue dots for eyes on Siger’s picture. 

“That’s not really what I meant by not nice. Though I will speak to your brother about stealing.” Mycroft smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head. 

“All done!” Aggie announced, holding up the picture with a proud grin. “That’s everybody!” 

“You don’t want to include my mother?” Mycroft asked.

“She wasn’t nice to my Papa,” Aggie informed him with a serious look. “She doesn’t get to be in my family.” 

~~~

Mycroft put on a brave face as he ventured out of his office, greeting his kids and then asking Sherlock for a quick word. The brothers retreated back to Mycroft’s office, where he gently delivered the news that their mother had died. Sherlock sunk down into the armchair by the fire, steepling his fingers under his chin. 

“Well, the timing is unfortunate.” Sherlock said after a long moment. “But I’m not upset about it.”

“Nor am I,” Mycroft said quietly. “Can you stay with the kids for a while? I need to go for a walk.”

“My, are you sure about that? Should you really be going out alone right now?” Sherlock bit his lip, trying to deduce what was happening with his brother. 

“Please, Sherlock, I’m not the addict here.” Mycroft pressed his lips together tightly, then resolutely walked out of the room. 

Sherlock sunk down into the armchair, grabbing Mycroft’s teddy bear off of the table next to him and hugging it tightly in his arms. 

 ~~~

Mycroft silently walked the streets of London as darkness began to fall over the city. His mind was strangely blank. He had always thought that he would be unaffected by his mother’s death, or perhaps even happy, but right now, with his probably drunk alcoholic husband somewhere in this city alone, all he could feel was a profound numbness. 

Mycroft fiddled with his wedding ring absently, not sure where he was heading, but letting his legs carry him slowly forward. He got to the Victoria Embankment Gardens and came to a stop on the spot where Greg had blurted out his proposal. He stood still, listening to the bustle of the city swirl around him. 

He wasn’t going to live like this. He wasn’t going to wait for Greg to come home, terrified that he wasn’t going to. He wasn’t going to lie to his kids about the fact that Daddy wasn’t coming home because he’s on a bender. He wasn’t going to play second fiddle to Greg’s addiction. This wasn’t how he was going to live his life. It just wasn’t. 

~~~

It was just past his third hour of walking when Mycroft finally found him. Greg was crumpled next to a rubbish skip outside his third favorite pub, two day’s worth of stubble on his cheeks and a bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand. Mycroft said nothing, taking the bottle from him and tossing it into the skip. He crouched down, shaking Greg’s shoulder, rousing him from his stupor. 

“My? That you?” 

“Yes, of course it’s me.” Mycroft sighed as he lifted his husband, who smelled suspiciously like he had vomited on himself. 

“I knew you would come for me. You always come for me, you always will.” 

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Mycroft whispered sadly, but Greg was far too drunk to understand.

Chapter Text

Greg woke up the next morning with no idea where he was and only a vague recollection of how he got there. He lifted his head from the pillow only to let out a pained groan and drop it right back down. 

“There is a bucket to your right should you feel the urge to vomit,” a soft voice came from the corner of the room. “There’s Dioralyte on the bedside table.” Greg managed to turn his head toward the voice, feeling both relief and shame when he saw his husband sitting in the armchair in the corner of their bedroom. 

“My,” he started quietly but found himself unable to finish the sentence. 

“I have to go.” Mycroft informed him emotionlessly. “My mother’s funeral is today. Your parents are here watching the kids.” 

“Your mum died?” Greg asked, his face falling as it became clear to him just how badly he had messed up. 

“She did. I suggest you rest today. Eddie’s funeral is tomorrow, should you wish to attend.“

“Mycroft, I’m so sorry.” Greg choked out as Mycroft rose to leave. “I didn’t know what to do.” 

“You should have thought a little harder,” Mycroft replied, and then he was gone. 

~~~

In the kitchen Delores poured her son in law a cup of coffee then sat down next to him, gently rubbing his upper arm as he stared stone faced into the mug. 

“Mycroft,” Delores said gently, “Matt and I talked, and we want you to know that whatever you decide to do--and I think you know what the right decision would be right now--you will still be our son.” 

~~~

Once Sherlock and Mycroft had left for the funeral, Delores climbed the stairs to her son’s room with some toast and a cup of tea, knocking gently but not waiting for a response. Greg looked up as she entered, managing a slight smile. 

“Good morning,” Delores greeted him quietly, mindful of the hangover Greg was likely experiencing. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“Physically?” Greg asked miserably.

“Either way.”

“I’m alright physically. I think I’m probably getting a divorce.” 

“I think you’re right about that,” Delores remarked as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I think it was a small miracle you didn’t get a divorce months ago.” 

“Mum,” Greg started, but was cut off by a harsh look. 

“He’s a good man, Gregory.” Delores reprimanded him. “You took advantage of that. He gave you a chance you didn’t deserve and you blew it.” 

“I saw my friend dead! I saw my buddy with a gunshot wound in the back of his head! I was horrified and scared and I made a mistake! I made a mistake because I experienced a huge trauma very early in my sobriety, and I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that everyone is being a little hard on me right now” 

“Oh my god, enough!” Delores snapped, no longer all that concerned about Greg’s pounding headache. “Now you listen to me. You picked up a drink, knowing that you are an alcoholic. I’m sure seeing Eddie dead was awful, but you made the choice to drink. You could have gone home. You could have called Mycroft, called me, called your dad, called your sponsor. You made the choice to drink, and then you didn’t come home. Your husband found you in an alley, passed out against a skip! Your husband found you there a couple of hours after he found out his mother was dead. Do you know what she died from, Gregory?”

“Lifelong alcoholism?” 

“Lifelong alcoholism! You let a man who grew up being beaten by a woman who didn’t care enough about him to quit drinking find the person he loves most in this world half dead in an alley. You let him find you, too drunk to care that you broke his heart and terrified your children. Of course he’s going to divorce you. He should divorce you.”

“Mum,” Greg whispered, his face lined with shame, “Mum, I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to, Greg. I think you know that.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered, looking down to hide the tears filling his eyes, “I know.”

Chapter Text

Violet Aurora Vernet Holmes was laid to rest in the presence of her two sons, her husband, and her one surviving sibling. She had no friends, no extended family, and even her favorite barman didn’t bother to show up, though he would miss her generous nature when she had a couple of drinks in her. There were no tears at her graveside. A priest said a blessing and the mourners silently left the grave site.

Siger caught up to his oldest son as he shakily lit a cigarette outside of the cemetery. 

“I thought you quit,” Siger greeted Mycroft quietly. Mycroft looked up at his father with red rimmed eyes as he sank down onto a bench, nodding to the spot next to him. Siger sat next to his son, taking the cigarette pack out of his hand and tapping out one for himself. 

“I thought you did too,” Mycroft replied with a small smile. Siger took a long drag. 

“My wife just died, I think I’m allowed one,” he sighed, leaning his head back and savoring the cigarette. “Sherlock told me about Greg’s issues, I hope he did not overstep by doing so.”

“I’d really rather not speak about this,” Mycroft requested quietly. 

 “Why not? I would think I would be the person in your life most likely to understand what you’re going through.” Siger responded, laying a gentle hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “I’ve been there.”

“You never left.” Mycroft said after a long moment. “Why did you never leave?”  

“Stupidity.” Siger answered sadly. “Stupidity and pride. I loved her, Mycroft, I truly did.” 

“You watched her hit your kids. You watched it happen, how did you not do anything?” 

“I was paralyzed. By fear, and by years and years. That’s how it happens, Mycroft, just years of pain and abuse and fear and you just become numb to it all. I knew you were suffering, I knew Sherlock was suffering but I couldn’t bear losing you two.” Siger took a deep breath. “Your mother didn’t leave mathematics to dedicate herself to children, she was fired because she had several relationships with her students, some of them underage. I don’t know who your father is, Mycroft, but I know it’s not me.” 

“You aren’t my father?” Mycroft blinked hard, flicking ash off the tip of his cigarette. 

“I would tell her that I was going to leave and take you with me and she would remind me that I had no legal claim to you. She didn’t let me sign the birth certificate. I’ve learned since then that I was still the presumed father, because we were married at the time of your conception, but when I found out about that it was already too late. She was smarter than me and she knew it.” Siger took a deep, shaky breath before continuing. 

“I was so proud when you told your teacher what was going on. I thought you would be able to do what I never could. I was so hopeful when you came back, I thought we could be a family, a proper family. I wanted to leave every day, but I just felt so stuck, so trapped,” Siger stubbed out his cigarette. “You have a chance, Mycroft. You could change things.”

“I want him to be part of the kids’ lives. He loves them, they deserve to have their dad in their lives.” 

“Of course they do,” Siger smiled gently, “that is not wholly incompatible with you getting a divorce. You deserve to feel safe, Mycroft. You need to do what is necessary for you to feel safe.”

“Dad,” Mycroft started nervously, then took a deep breath and continued a bit stronger, “would you like to meet your grandchildren?”

Chapter Text

Archie and Aggie had a great day with their Nan and Grandpa, but neither of them was really able to ignore the fact that their dad was shut up in his room, sleeping off a two day bender. Both were somewhat sullen and spent the whole day listening for evidence of their dad waking up. 

“Kids,” Delores said gently after lunch when a sound that turned out to be the cat jumping off a counter to the floor made both of them flinch violently, “would you like to talk about what’s going on with your dads right now?”

“Where was Daddy?” Aggie asked, a touch of what appeared to Delores to be indignation sneaking into her voice. “Papa lied and said he was okay, I want to know where he was.”

“Why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he tell us where he was?” Archie didn’t wait for Delores to answer Aggie’s question before he blurted out his. 

 “Why didn’t he want to be with us? We were sad that Eddie died too, we all could have been sad together. Daddy always gives me a hug when I’m sad, I could have given him a hug.” Aggie’s little hands were shaking as she spoke. 

“Maybe I’d be the right person to answer those questions,” an exhausted voice from the doorway piped up.  Both of the kids whipped around toward the voice, both of their faces lined with sadness. Greg’s hair was sticking up at odd angles and his eyes had dark bags under them. “Can we talk?” 

Archie grabbed hold of Aggie’s hand and both kids nodded. 

~~~

Archie had always been protective of his little sister. He hardly slept during her first week of life for fear that something would happen to her while he was asleep and he wouldn’t be able to help her. 

When she was four Aggie fell down the two stairs in the front of the house. She broke her wrist in the fall and scraped both knees pretty bad. Archie was nine at the time, and he fully blamed himself, despite the fact that he wasn’t home when it happened. Day and night Archie attended to Aggie’s every need, refusing to let her out of his sight for fear that she would get hurt again. 

Archie had never forgotten the feeling of helplessness he felt when Aggie was crying in pain as her wrist healed. He hated seeing his sister in pain and was, at all times, ready to fight anyone who would dare hurt her.

~~~

 Greg sat down across the table from his two kids, considering how best to explain his, admittedly deeply flawed, thought processes to them. Aggie’s eyes were already wet with tears and Archie’s hands were trembling slightly. It broke Greg’s heart to see his kids so upset, and to know that it was all his fault.  

“I was at the scene where Eddie died,” Greg explained shakily. “I saw him there. It made me very, very sad. I didn’t know what to do, and I made a big mistake.”  

“Why didn’t you call Papa?” Aggie asked, chewing anxiously on a thumbnail. “Papa started crying again. I really don't like when Papa cries.” 

“I was ashamed, do you know what that means, Aggie?” 

“Uh huh, it means you were embarrassed.” 

“Yes, but it’s also more than that. I was so sad, Aggie, I thought so many bad thoughts about myself, and my brain told me that if I went home, no one would love me anymore. I thought you would hate me for drinking.”

“I don’t hate you, Daddy,” Aggie whispered, “I’m just sad.” Aggie got up out of her chair, walking around to the other side of the table and wrapping her arms around her dad. Archie watched the two of them, his lips pressed into a tight line as Greg buried his face in Aggie’s shoulder. 

Daddy had hurt Aggie. He had broken her heart. He had hit Papa, he had broken his promises, he had a drink. After all the pain he had caused with his drinking, he had picked up a drink again. Aggie could forgive him, that was fine, but Archie wasn’t going to. Not this time.

Chapter Text

Mycroft and Sherlock were quiet as they drove back to London. Their father had happily informed them that he was going to sell the house and move to the city, hoping that he could repair his relationship with his sons. Both Holmes boys were happy with that, they had truly missed Siger. The quiet in the car was companionable, and Mycroft was grateful for it. Perhaps Sherlock could sense that, and so naturally he ended it. 

“Do you know what you’re going to do about Greg?” Sherlock asked, trying not to sound too much like he was prying. 

“What was wrong with the silence? I was really enjoying it.” 

“Come on, Mycroft, you know what you need to do,” Sherlock laid a comforting hand on Mycroft’s upper arm. “I need to know that you know what you need to do.” 

“Sherlock, you are not a part of any decisions I make about my family.” Mycroft sighed. “No matter what I decide to do, it is my decision.”

“I know that, Mycroft. I just want you to know, I’m proud of you. I love you, My. I don’t say it enough, but I love you so much. I want you to be happy, that’s all I want.” Sherlock looked out the window in silence for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the level of  emotion he was showing. 

~~~

Seventeen year old Sherlock Holmes had just been unceremoniously dumped into his older brother’s armchair. Mycroft carefully removed his soiled overcoat and blazer and sunk onto the couch opposite his younger brother. 

“This is the last time I carry you out of a drug den, I swear to you, Sherlock, I am done!” Mycroft’s brow was furrowed and he was flushed straight from his collarbone to his hairline. 

“Good,” Sherlock muttered as he pulled his feet up onto the chair, ignoring the fact that he was still wearing his filthy shoes. “Maybe now you’ll leave me alone.” 

“Why, Sherlock?” Mycroft sighed, burying his head in his hands. “I am trying so hard here, but I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

“You know what you can do? You can fuck off. Leave me alone, Mycroft, I don’t want your help!” 

“Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed, “I love you.” 

“Fuck you, Mycroft.” 

~~~

Mycroft arrived home after his mother’s funeral and barely had time to hang up his coat before his kids had thrown themselves into his arms. Mycroft hugged them both and took them up to bed, tucking them in. Just before he walked out the door, Archie sat up in bed, calling him back. 

“Papa, are you and Dad going to separate?” Archie asked nervously. Mycroft paused, then took a seat on the side of his son’s bed. 

“How would you feel about that?” Mycroft asked, rubbing his son’s shoulder gently. 

“I just want you to be happy.” 

“That’s what I want too, Archibald,” Mycroft sighed. He pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead. “Time for bed, we’ll talk more in the morning.

In the hallway, Delores greeted her son in law with a hug.

“He’s in the bedroom,” she told him, anticipating his question before he asked it. “Matt and I are headed to bed.” 

“Thank you, Delores,” Mycroft murmured, relaxing into the hug, wishing for the thousandth time that this woman could have raised him instead of his mother. “Thank you for everything.” 

“Anything for my boy,” she assured him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “We’re here for as long as you need us.” She patted his cheek, and headed off to the guest room, leaving Mycroft with nothing more to do but face the man waiting for him in his bedroom. 

~~~

A few months into their relationship, Mycroft and Greg were sitting on Greg’s lumpy couch watching a film and cuddling. Mycroft was gleefully pointing out the inaccuracies of the James Bond movie and Greg was giggling uncontrollably. 

“Mycroft, I love you.” Greg blurted out suddenly, cupping Mycroft’s cheek in his palm. “I love you so much.” Mycroft froze, his eyes wide and shocked. 

“I…you…you love me?” Mycroft sputtered. 

“Yes, Mycroft, I love you.” Greg laughed. “You aren’t used to being told that you’re loved, are you?” 

“I don’t recall the last time someone said they loved me,” Mycroft admitted. “I love you too.” 

“I’m going to keep saying it forever, I promise.” 

~~~

Mycroft walked into his bedroom, finding Greg sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire. Silently, Mycroft took the seat next to him, reaching out his hand. Greg silently gripped it in his own, not tearing his eyes away from the crackling logs. 

“I think you and I should try living separately,” Mycroft said weakly, unable to look at his husband. 

“I thought you might think so,” Greg admitted, “you’re probably right.” 

“You mean the world to me,” Mycroft explained. “I will always love you. I want you to be there for the kids.” 

“I can still see them?” Greg asked in a broken whisper. 

“As often as you like,” Mycroft assured him. 

“You aren’t going to take Aggie from me?” Greg’s whisper became more strained. 

“Just because you aren’t her biological father doesn’t mean you aren’t her father. You are every bit as much her father as I am. I would never come between you two.” Mycroft squeezed Greg’s hand, blinking slowly as tears began to drip down his face. 

“Where am I going to go?” Greg asked, his own tears steadily pouring down his cheeks. 

“I’ll help you find a place. I will pay your rent, I’m not going to ask for child support or anything like that. I don’t want to hurt you, Greg.” Mycroft paused, a broken sob tearing through him. “I really don’t. But I can’t do this. I can’t be hurt anymore.” 

“I’m so sorry, Mycroft. I wish it didn’t have to end like this.” 

“As do I,” Mycroft replied sadly. “As do I.”

Chapter Text

John Watson had reclined in his chair in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street after his first thrilling night as Sherlock Holmes’ flatmate. It had been just over 24 hours since he had met the mysterious stranger in the lab at St. Bart’s, and in that time he had moved in with him, helped him solve a crime, shot a serial killer, and, though he was nowhere near ready to admit it, fell hopelessly in love with Sherlock Holmes. 

“So let me get this straight,” John laughed around a mouthful of egg roll. “You just waltz in, bully the officers, solve their crimes, and waltz out?” 

“In essence, yes.” Sherlock shrugged. 

“And the DI, Lestrade, he lets you do that?” John asked. “I would have fired you.” 

“Oh, he can’t do that, my brother would never let that happen.” 

“Your brother controls the police, then?” John raised his eyebrows as he took another bite of his lo mein. 

“No, just Lestrade.” Sherlock shrugged, digging into a bag in search of more wontons. 

“What, is he blackmailing him?” John’s eyebrows drew together nervously. 

“In a sense,” Sherlock shrugged again. “Lestrade stands to lose quite a bit if he were to upset my brother.” 

“Sherlock, blackmailing a police officer is a big deal, you’re not seriously saying…” John was cut off by a childish chuckle from his flatmate. 

“Lestrade is my brother in law, John. He and my brother have been married for ten years, they have two children together.” Sherlock smiled, then handed his phone over after pulling up a picture of Mycroft and Greg and their kids that he had sneakily taken at Christmas after Archie convinced Mycroft to put on an elf hat. 

“Will your brother have me shot if he finds out I’ve seen that picture?” John asked, handing the phone back. 

“Without doubt,” Sherlock chuckled, looking down at the picture. “I think he’d have me shot if he knew I took it.” The two flatmates giggled, falling into an easy conversation, enjoying their food and the company. 

~~~

Mrs. Hudson had been quite annoyed that no one would gossip with her about Greg and Mycroft’s marriage, so she was ecstatic when Sherlock sat her down and asked to talk to her about Greg. 

“Oh, yes, I’ve been dying to talk about this! What’s the latest?” She smiled widely and Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 

“Greg needs a place to stay.” Sherlock answered after a long pause. 

“Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Hudson tittered. “So Mycroft threw him out?” Sherlock sighed. 

“Mrs. Hudson, I am not here to gossip.” 

“No, you’re here to ask me to rent him 221C. Which obviously I will do. But more importantly, I want to know the gossip.” 

“You’ll really rent to him?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course, I’m always happy to take more of your brother’s money.” 

“Alright, fine. So it all started about five months ago…” 

~~~

Greg dropped a cardboard box on the threadbare couch in Mrs. Hudson’s long vacant basement flat. 

“Well,” Mycroft said with false cheeriness. “This could be nice.” 

“You don’t have to try to cheer me up, My,” Greg said quietly. “It was nice enough of you to help me move.” 

“This doesn’t have to be permanent.” Mycroft reminded him. “But it’s a safe place, you’ll have support, there’s room for the kids to come visit.” 

“I know, love.” Greg sighed, sitting down heavily and running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. This just isn’t what I expected my life would be at this point.” 

“It isn’t what I expected either, Greg,” Mycroft sighed, sitting down next to him and grabbing hold of his hand. “I just want you to be happy.” 

There was a long silence, sadness and exhaustion hanging heavy in the air between them. 

“Well this isn’t half bad,” Sherlock’s sonorous baritone sounded from the doorway, and Mycroft and Greg shot apart as though they were schoolboys caught in an indecent act, not husbands sitting on a couch innocently holding hands.  

“Alright, Greg?” John asked, clapping his friend on the shoulder. Greg gave him a thin smile in return. John and Sherlock made themselves busy, helping Greg unpack. The four men worked in silence, no one quite sure what one said in this situation.

Chapter Text

After about a week of repainting and some light construction, 221C Baker Street was looking like a perfectly respectable bachelor pad, instead of a basement flat that hadn’t been occupied in ten years. Mycroft got word that he had to go to Bosnia that weekend and the natural choice would be for the kids to spend the weekend with Greg.  

Greg was ecstatic. One week of not having his kids with him had been one of the most painful experiences of his life. He had cried when Mycroft brought up the trip, no matter how many times Mycroft had assured him that he was still going to be a part of the kid’s lives, Greg was still struggling to believe it. He really didn’t feel like he had done anything to earn it. One week of sobriety didn’t feel like the accomplishment that people kept telling him it was. 

Aggie was overjoyed. She missed her daddy more than words could say. No matter how many talks she and Mycroft had about why Daddy moved out, she still couldn’t understand why she had to suffer because Daddy and Papa had issues. She loved both her Dads so much, she just wanted them to be happy and to be there for her. 

Archie was furious. He had made up his mind that he didn’t want his dad in his life. 

“Hey, Pops,” Archie greeted his father, peeking his head around Mycroft’s office door, “can I talk to you about something?” 

“Of course, Archibald, come in.” Mycroft closed the file on his desk and leaned back in his chair. “What’s on your mind?” 

“Is there somewhere else I can stay this weekend?” Archie’s voice caught a little when he saw the sad look of realization in Mycroft’s eyes. 

“Have you thought this through, or is this a rash decision?” This was Mycroft’s go to follow up question when the kids asked for something and he needed extra time to consider. 

“I’ve thought it through,” Archie replied, his voice still a little weak. “I don’t think I want to set myself up for more disappointment.” 

“I can understand that,” Mycroft replied thoughtfully, leaning further back and running a hand through his hair. “Have I ever told you about my mother?” 

“Just that she wasn’t a nice person.” 

“My mother was an alcoholic,” Mycroft admitted. “She was abusive towards me, Uncle Sherlock, and my father. When I turned eighteen I got custody of Sherlock, he was 11 at the time. I’m telling you this because I want to make clear that I understand what you’re going through. You have been forced to grow up in a way that I have always endeavored to protect you from.”

“Pops,” Archie started, but Mycroft held up a hand. 

“I don’t need sympathy, I assure you. I just want you to understand my point of view when I tell you that I am not going to force you to see your Dad, ever, but I think you should see him. I understand why you don’t want to, but I also know how important you are to him, and how hard he is trying to do right by you.”

“I don’t know if that’s good enough,” Archie admitted quietly. “I don’t know if I can forgive him at this point.” 

“I can understand that,” Mycroft assured him. “But I still think that if you cut your dad out of your life, you are going to regret it.” 

“You really think so?” Archie asked, gnawing at his bottom lip. 

“I do. I lost a lot of time with my father and I regret that. I can never have that time back.” 

“If Dad drinks while we’re there, what do I do?” Archie set his jaw tightly, tapping his fingers nervously against his knee. Mycroft smiled sadly, resisting the urge to assure Archie that Greg wouldn’t dare, because he knew the boy wouldn’t believe him and wouldn’t be comforted by it.

“Mrs. Hudson is one floor up. If for some reason she is not home, Uncle Sherlock and John are one more floor up. Uncle Sherlock has an extra room, he knows you’ll be there, and he’s happy to take care of you and Aggie if the need should arise.” 

“Thanks for thinking of everything, as usual.” Archie said with a smile. 

“That’s my job,” 

~~~

“And you’re absolutely sure you can handle this?” Mycroft asked, slowly sipping the tea Greg had made in his tiny kitchen the night before Mycroft had to leave for Bosnia. 

“I’ve been talking to my sponsor, I feel good about it. I’m going to have plenty of support, and I need to get this right, I know I need to get this right.” Greg took a long gulp of tea. “I’m sure you already have a ten point backup plan.” 

“And a backup plan for the backup plan,” Mycroft admitted. “I don’t want you to feel like I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t deserve your trust. I haven’t done anything to earn it.” Greg sighed, reaching for Mycroft’s hand a little hesitantly. Mycroft gripped Greg’s with no hesitation whatsoever. 

“You have never been anything but an excellent father, Greg. I have absolutely no doubts about you being with the kids. I trust you.”

Chapter Text

Mycroft sat in yet another endless meeting in Sarajevo, cursing the powers that be for forcing him to attend it. The constant bickering was really starting to get to him, he had seen Archie and Aggie work out their petty squabbles easier than these actual adults. 

He pressed his lips together at the thought. He missed his kids dearly. This was the first time in the almost six months since Greg entered rehab that he had been away from them for any length of time. Even just a weekend felt so long, and his concern over Greg’s ability to handle what was bound to be a difficult weekend, if Mycroft’s discussion with Archie was anything to go by, was adding fuel to the fire of anxiety raging in his mind.  

The verbal fight occurring across the table from him had, quite suddenly, turned physical, and Anthea and David quickly escorted Mycroft out of the room while the other occupants set about breaking up the feuding parties. 

“Even my kids,” David sighed once they were safely ensconced in a locked room, “who are objectively some of the dumbest children on the planet, are better behaved than the politicians here.” 

“They might be smarter than them too,” Anthea teased. 

“I wouldn’t go that far. So far none of them have poured glue into their own nostrils to ‘see what that feels like.’” David rubbed his temples, the mere memory of that incident reigniting his headache. 

“So many children in the house and they can’t just pick a different one to test that on?” Mycroft asked with a chuckle. “Sherlock was always my test subject for things like that.” 

“Sherlock liked you, you could get away with that. My little ones have been known to bite.” 

“Bold of you to assume Sherlock didn’t,” Mycroft chuckled, but his attention had been diverted to his phone, which had pinged to announce the receipt of a series of texts from Archie. 

“Is that the kids?” David asked as he watched a small, melancholy smile spread across his boss’s face. 

“Yes, Greg’s landlady made them breakfast,” he said as he turned the phone to show a picture of Aggie asleep at Greg’s tiny kitchen table, her hair glued with syrup to a plate with pancake remnants. Greg was visible in the picture, his face sporting a bright smile. Mycroft could almost hear the laughter bubbling up from Greg’s throat. 

“Looks like they're having a good time,” Anthea smiled, giving her boss’s shoulder a squeeze. “I told you everything was going to work out fine.” 

“Yes, you did,” Mycroft remarked with a slight eye roll. “Brilliant, as always, my dear.” 

“I certainly am,” Anthea replied with a smirk as a knock on the door alerted them that it was safe to go back to the negotiation table. 

~~~

Back in London, Archie washed the dishes while Greg carefully disentangled Aggie’s hair from the maple syrup on her plate. Aggie didn’t even stir as Greg took a wet sponge and coaxed her hair off the plate, still contentedly sleeping off the giant stack of pancakes she had devoured. Once her hair was clean enough that Greg wasn’t worried about it ruining her sheets, Greg lifted the sleeping little girl and carried her to bed, tucking her in with her favorite teddy bear. 

In the sitting room, Archie settled in front of the telly, waiting for Greg to rejoin him. The first day had gone well, but he and Aggie had been at school for part of it, so Archie still wasn’t convinced that it was going to be okay. 

Greg stood for a second, watching his son, who was lost in his thoughts. The boy had his fingers steepled under his chin and his pale blue eyes far away and unfocused. Despite their relation, Archie had never looked much like Mycroft, but in that moment their similarities were all Greg could see. 

Mycroft had told Greg about his conversation with Archie, reiterating over and over that he wasn’t trying to make Greg feel bad, but he thought it was important that he knew what his son was feeling. Greg agreed not to tell Archie that he knew about the conversation, but he was struggling to come up with a way to calm his son’s fears without letting him know that he was aware of them. 

“Hey Arch,” Greg called out, snapping Archie back to reality. “What’s on your mind?” 

“Oh, nothing. Is Aggie asleep?” 

“Fast asleep. The end of days wouldn’t wake her.” Greg smiled disarmingly. “Do you think you and I could talk for a bit? Or we could just play Xbox if you would prefer that.” 

“We could do both,” Archie offered with a small smile. “Get as much Halo in as we can before Aggs wakes up and makes us play something not as fun.” Greg nodded his agreement and the two set up the game, settling in and engaging in the time-honored tradition of father/son bonding via blowing things up. 

“I know I’ve let you down, Archie,” Greg said after a few minutes of silence. “I’m going to spend a lot of time trying to make it up to you.” 

“You don’t have to make it up to me,” Archie said, somewhat hesitantly. “I just want you to be sober, you know? I don’t think you can be my dad the way we both want you to if you aren’t.” 

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” Greg admitted. He ran a hand through his silver hair, taking a shallow breath. “I started drinking because I couldn’t deal with my job. I would see all these horrible things, and then I would go home and I would see you and Aggie, and I was just terrified about all the horrible things that could happen to you. I spent all that time away from you, drinking to try to kill that fear, and that ruined my ability to be a father to you. I was so scared that I lost the best thing in my life.” Greg stopped talking for a second, sighing. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I told you all that.” 

“No,” Archie said resolutely, “I’m glad you told me. I think I would always wonder if it was something I did otherwise.” 

“You have done nothing wrong, ever,” Greg assured him. “None of this is your fault, it’s not fair that I’ve put you through this.” 

“Did you know about Papa’s mum?” Archie asked quietly. 

“I did,” Greg admitted, “that’s part of what made what I did so unforgivable. I will never forgive myself.”

“I think you might have to,” Archie replied thoughtfully. “How are you going to move on if you don’t forgive yourself? How do you get better?” 

“I honestly don’t know, Arch.” Greg admitted. “I’m trying.” 

“Don’t give up, okay? I need my daddy, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“Never again,” Greg whispered, putting down his controller and wrapping Archie in a hug. The boy hugged him back, his arms wrapped bruisingly tight around his dad. “I’m always going to be with you. From now on, nothing will keep me from you.”

Chapter Text

As they had arranged Greg dropped the kids off at school Monday morning, and Mycroft picked them up.  No sooner had the car door closed than Aggie and Archie were inundating Mycroft with information about their weekend. He was overjoyed to hear that they had enjoyed themselves. He felt like a weight had lifted off his shoulders.  

The kids were happily eating afternoon snacks in the kitchen, working on their homework, and Mycroft settled in his office. He had plenty of work to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus on any of it. His mind was firmly on Greg. He looked at the picture on his desk, the one from last Christmas with Greg and the kids sitting in front of the tree, working together on some legos that Archie had gotten from Father Christmas. That seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Mycroft picked up his phone with a shaking hand. 

“Anthea,” he said softly when his assistant picked up, “will you please set up a meeting with my solicitor?” 

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Anthea asked, no judgment in her voice, only concern. 

“Yes,” he responded quietly. “I won’t feel safe until I do.” 

“Alright, boss,” Anthea replied comfortingly. “I’ll take care of it.” 

~~~

Six months into Anthea’s pregnancy with Aggie, Greg and Mycroft sat down at a makeshift negotiation table, ready to hash out all the important details that new parents had to ensure they were on the same page about. They had skipped that part with Archie, and they were excited for it. 

“Alright, I think we should start with something simple. Color of the nursery walls?” 

“Seafoam green,” Mycroft replied curtly. “Gender neutral, not too babyish, we won’t have to repaint too soon.” 

“Deep teal for the bedding and curtains,” Greg shot back, sounding as if he was arguing while agreeing completely. Mycroft’s lips curled, he loved ‘negotiating’ with Greg. They were so in sync. 

“Next issue, nursery theme,” Mycroft gestured with his hand, inviting Greg to bring his thoughts to the table first. 

“Seafoam green, so obviously ocean themed.” 

“Wall stickers of a coral reef,” Mycroft agreed with a small nod. 

“It’s so creepy when you guys do that,” Anthea muttered around a piece of toast as she emerged from their kitchen. “How are you so attuned to each other?”

“We share one brain,” Greg explained. 

“He lets me use it most of the time,” Mycroft added, causing Greg to giggle. 

“Could you be less in love, please,” Anthea sighed, laying a hand on her swollen stomach. “You’re making her kick.” Mycroft and Greg shared a quick glance, then with another giggle, Greg flung himself over the table, wrapping his arms around Mycroft as he kissed him with all his might. 

“Ugh, gross,” Anthea muttered as she turned sharply and headed back into the kitchen, leaving Mycroft and Greg giggling together, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

~~~ 

“I’ve asked the chief  superintendent for a transfer. Bank robberies needs a new DI, it’s kind of a step down from Major Crimes, but I think that’s for the best.” Greg placed a cup of tea in front of Mycroft as he talked, settling in next to him on the couch, close but not touching. 

“Are you sure?” Mycroft asked, taking a thoughtful sip of his tea. “You’ve always loved your job.” 

“I thought I did,” Greg replied quietly, “but I had a talk with Archie this weekend, and really thought about whether the job is what’s best for me, and it’s just not. I’m not going to be able to stay sober if I keep seeing the things I see every day. I could still have the fun and the excitement, but without the fear, you know?” 

“I do,” Mycroft admitted. “If you think it will help, I trust you, and I’m happy for you.” 

“Thanks,” Greg replied with a small smile. “But I’m sure that’s not why you came over. You want to tell me what’s up?” Mycroft’s cheeks reddened and his mouth was suddenly very dry. 

“Yes, well, I wanted to talk to you,” he started weakly before taking a shaky sip of his tea, trying to steady his nerves. 

“You want to talk to me about us getting a divorce.” Greg filled in, despair sneaking into his voice and his features. “You really don’t feel like we have a shot?” 

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft whispered, his breath catching in his throat. He looked down, trying to keep his expression placid but wanting more than anything to cry. “I can’t do it, Greg.” 

“You’re still scared of me,” Greg realized. He felt as though he had just been punched in the gut. It was hard to accept just how badly he had damaged their relationship. 

“I don’t want to be,” Mycroft assured him. “It’s just so hard. I miss what we had so much, but it’s gone. I can’t be your husband anymore.” Mycroft lost his fight against his own tears, and tried to turn his head away to keep Greg from seeing the weakness. 

“You don’t have to hide from me,” Greg whispered, his own tears falling. “You’ve never had to hide from me.” 

Mycroft turned back towards him, and Greg pulled him into a hug. 

“I will never stop loving you. I will love you until the day I die.” Greg’s voice was weak and cracked as he buried his face in Mycroft’s long neck.  

“I’ll always love you too,” Mycroft whispered. “But I can’t keep living like this. I need to feel safe.” 

“I know, love.” Greg sobbed. “I made the biggest mistake of my life. Your trust was the most precious thing I have ever earned. Thank you for giving me so many happy years.” 

“Without you I never would have made it this long. I would have given up, and I never would have seen how wonderful my life could be. You will always have my heart, Greg.” Mycroft leaned back, brushing the tears from Greg’s cheeks. “I don’t care about the terms of the divorce. You can have my money, you can have the house, you can have anything you want. Whoever ends up with the house should probably have primary physical custody of the kids, it would just be easier for them with the school being so close.” 

“Mycroft,” Greg interrupted him, “that house has been in your family for generations. I’m not taking your house.” 

“I would give it to you,” Mycroft whispered, “if that would make you happy.” 

“I don’t want things, My. I want time with my kids, a good co-parenting relationship with you, and a roof over my head. That’s all. I’ll sign whatever you need me to.” 

“Joint physical and legal custody, you can pick the kids up from school on Friday nights, I’ll pick them up from you on Sunday morning?” Mycroft offered.

“I can pick my night off, you usually have to work late on Tuesdays. I can pick them up from school Tuesday nights, bring them to school on Wednesday?” 

“And of course you can come over and see them whenever you want.” Mycroft assured him. “Day or night.”

“You’ll get the paperwork drawn up?” Greg asked shakily. 

“I’ll have it to you as soon as I can,” Mycroft replied, then leaned over and kissed Greg’s tear streaked cheek. “Thank you for making this easy on me.” Greg nodded mutely and Mycroft grabbed his things, heading for the door. “I really do love you, Greg.” 

“I love you, Mycroft.”  

Chapter Text

Mrs. Hudson had found Greg Lestrade to be an absolutely lovely tenant thus far. She had always liked the DI, he had always been kind to her, and she had loved getting to know him more. He was unfailingly sweet, joining her for a cup of tea when he got home from work, and bringing her a plate if he happened to cook something. After years of renting only to Sherlock, who tested the bounds of her love for him on a daily basis, it was a pleasant change. 

A few days after Mycroft had popped by and left looking like he had just spent an hour sobbing, Mrs. Hudson was sitting in her front room when she heard Greg return home, and she happily scurried out to meet him. When she opened her door, she stopped short. Greg was there, holding a brown paper bag and hastily hanging up his coat. Grateful that he hadn’t seen her, she closed the door and waited until she heard him retreat downstairs, then she rushed out and up to 221B to tell Sherlock what she had just seen. 

~~~

Greg had changed out of his court suit and was preparing to head upstairs for tea with Mrs. Hudson when Sherlock knocked impatiently at his door, demanding to be let in. Greg opened the door, bewildered, and Sherlock promptly pushed past him, muttering about John being on the warpath and them needing milk, and before Greg could say a word, had thrown open the refrigerator door. 

With a small but triumphant smile, Sherlock pulled out the intact six pack of beer that Mrs. Hudson had been certain she had seen him carry in. 

“What do we have here?” He asked in a nonchalant tone as he lifted the cans and held them out for Greg to see.

“Sherlock, I am in no mood…” Greg started, but was cut off by Sherlock wrapping his spindly arms around him and pulling him into a bruisingly tight hug. 

“Please don’t drink this, I have to run upstairs for one second, please don’t drink this while I’m gone.“ With that Sherlock released Greg and dashed out the door, not bothering to close it behind him. Greg stood perfectly still, dumbfounded. 

Barely two minutes later, Sherlock reappeared with something in his hand. He pushed a still stunned Greg down into one seat at the kitchen table, then sat down across from him. Sherlock placed a can of beer in front of Greg and placed the object in his hand down in front of himself. It was a small leather case, which Sherlock opened to reveal a syringe and a baggie of what Greg immediately recognized as cocaine. 

“Sherlock, why do you have that? You know you can’t have that around, what are you doing?” Greg snapped. 

“I could ask you the same thing, Greg.” Sherlock replied coolly. 

“This is…different,” Greg defended himself weakly. 

“It’s really not.” Sherlock calmly remarked. “So here’s the deal. If you think that one beer isn’t going to be a problem, that’s fine, drink that beer. I don’t think one hit is going to be a problem, so if you drink the beer, I will fill this syringe and inject it.”  

“Sherlock, you can’t do that. You’ve worked too hard for your sobriety.” 

“So have you.”

Chapter Text

Mycroft’s hands were shaking as he read over the divorce paperwork his solicitor had handed him. As he read the words it seemed to sink in for the first time that this was real. He was really getting a divorce. 16 years of marriage, and now it was over.  

“It may not be my place to say,” the solicitor, a kindly older man who had known Mycroft since long before his marriage, “but I think you’re making the right decision. I think this will be good for the kids.” 

“I know it will be,” Mycroft replied quietly. “They deserve better.” 

“As do you, young man.” 

~~~

Back at Baker Street, Greg and Sherlock had poured out the six pack and taken the cans out to the bin, then returned to Greg’s flat. The two sat down with steaming mugs of tea as Greg broke down. 

“I sat on this couch and promised my son I would never let him down again, but I just couldn’t do it. Mycroft is filing for divorce, and I can’t do anything about it, because I’ve fucked up so bad that I no longer have any choice in the matter. I let down Mycroft, I let down my kids, what’s the point of being sober, Sherlock, I don’t have anyone.” 

“You have me,” Sherlock replied quietly. 

“Oh, yeah, and how long is that going to last?” Greg grumbled. “I don’t know if you heard, but I’m not going to be in charge of major crimes anymore. I’m no longer of any use to you.” 

“Do you really think that the only reason I spend time with you is because I want cases?” Sherlock asked, his voice betraying a bit of genuine hurt. 

“Is it not?” Greg asked, taking in Sherlock’s demeanor with surprise. 

“I’ve always considered you a friend,” Sherlock said weakly. “You were the only one there for me for a lot of dark times. Even when John wouldn’t stand by me, I could always count on you. Even Mycroft has washed his hands of me a couple of times, but you never did. You stood by me. Now I’m standing by you. You’re my friend, Greg.” Greg allowed himself a small smile at being called by his real name. 

“Thank you, Sherlock,” he said with a small cough to disguise how choked up he was getting. “That means a lot to me.” 

“Come on then,” Sherlock said, rubbing Greg’s shoulder. “John and I are taking Mrs. H out for dinner, why don’t you come with us?”

“Oh, so I can be your lonely and pathetic third wheel?” Greg asked with a smirk. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Giles,” Sherlock sighed, “Mrs. Hudson is our lonely and pathetic third wheel. You are the friend I’m bringing along because I like him quite a bit and because I’m on a mission to find out just how much food Angelo will let me order before he decides I have to start paying for it.” 

~~~

Mycroft sat down in his usual spot on the couch in Maggie’s office, looking pale and defeated.

“Ah,” the elderly therapist sighed when she laid eyes on her patient. “We have divorce papers in our briefcase, don’t we?” 

“We do,” Mycroft replied miserably. 

“Why is it troubling you?” Maggie asked. “You seemed pretty certain that it was the right decision when we talked last week.” 

“Yes, I did, and I know it’s the right choice, but it’s just…” Mycroft sighed, shrugging off his suit coat and loosening his tie, as he did nearly every session when he was ready to be honest about his problems. “Everyone keeps telling me that I’m making the right choice.” 

“And that’s bothering you?” Maggie asked, tapping her pen against her front teeth. 

“Well, how the hell would they know?” Mycroft snapped, then sat back with an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to apologize. You’ve said worse,” Maggie shrugged. “What do you mean?”

“All these people who claim to know that I made the right decision, none of them know Greg. They weren’t by his side all these years. They didn’t fall in love with him and raise a family with him. How would they know what’s best for me and the kids and Greg? They don’t even know him.” 

“You know they’re right,” Maggie pointed out, “but it’s still bothering you. Why?”

“Because it was the hardest decision I will ever make in my life, and they decide that they know what’s best the moment they hear the situation. I struggled to decide what to do for so long. They can’t know after one minute, because if they know after a minute, what’s wrong with me that it took me six months.” 

“You already know the answer to that,” Maggie reminded him with a gentle smile. “You know him. You love him.” 

Chapter Text

Siger Holmes was undeniably nervous about meeting his grandkids. It seemed like such a silly thing, to be scared of an eight year old and a thirteen year old, but this was so important to him. If Agatha and Archibald liked him, Mycroft would let him back into his life, and he had already missed so much time with his son. He couldn’t miss more. 

The flat he had purchased was nice, but sparse. Violet had liked things, lots of things. Their cabin had been filled to the brim, but this new space was much more to his liking. It was calm here, life with Violet was never calm.  

It was two hours before he was expected at Mycroft’s home and Siger was pacing. He jumped nearly a foot in the air when his cell phone loudly beeped. He grabbed it, seeing a text from Mycroft. 

The kids are very excited to meet you, if you aren’t doing anything else feel free to come early. MH

Siger breathed a sigh of relief. Not wanting to sound too desperate, he texted back that he could be there in a half hour, knowing full well that the walk to his son’s house would only take about ten minutes. He forced himself to wait the full twenty minutes, then headed out the door, ready to meet the grandkids he had missed out on so much time with. 

~~~

After Mycroft picked up the kids that Sunday morning, Greg gathered his things and headed down the street to the community center where his AA group met. Since Eddie’s death the meetings had been lonely. He knew most of the people there, but he didn’t feel like he could talk to any of them the way he could talk to Eddie.

That day there was a group of people who Greg didn’t immediately recognize standing by the coffee machine. It took him a second to realize he did, in fact, know the three people very well, but he never would have expected to see them there. 

Sherlock, John, and Molly Hooper smiled as Greg walked over to them. 

“What are you all doing here?” Greg asked incredulously as John handed him a cup of coffee. 

“Well, I am an addict,” Sherlock pointed out. 

“And my partner is an addict, plus there’s a lot of addiction in my family.” John added. 

“They didn’t tell me where we were going,” Molly said. “Not that I wouldn’t have come,” she quickly added, a flush rising high in her cheeks. 

“I know you would have, Molls,” Greg assured her, pulling her in for a hug. “This means a lot to me, thank you for being here.” 

“Like I said, Grant,” Sherlock said gently, rubbing Greg’s shoulder, “I’m going to be here for you, no matter what.” 

~~~

Siger Holmes hadn’t seen his son at any point between Mycroft and Greg’s brief visit when they first started dating and Violet’s funeral. He had, however, spoken with him on the phone several times, and had often heard about Agatha and Archibald’s various accomplishments and adventures. It had soothed the hurt of not being able to see them a bit, but it did still hurt. 

Mycroft opened the door on his own, smiling somewhat nervously. 

“I had to fight to keep them from meeting you at the door. They have a habit of bombarding people with questions before they can remove their coats.” Mycroft explained as he hung up his father’s coat for him and led him down the hall toward the sitting room. 

He opened the door, and for the first time, Siger Holmes laid eyes on his grandchildren. They were just as amazing as he imagined they would be.

Chapter Text

Siger Holmes beamed down at his phone as his son’s name flashed on the screen, then quickly composed himself and snatched the phone so his wife would not see it. 

“I have to take this,” he informed Violet gruffly, hoping his tone wouldn’t allow for any argument. Unfortunately Violet was already well into her third drink of the day, actually fairly impressive seeing as it was only ten o’clock. 

“Who is it?” She snapped, craning her vulture-like neck to try to glimpse the screen.

“No one you need concern yourself with,” Siger replied, taking his phone and heading for the door to take the call out in the barn.

“He doesn’t actually care about you,” Violet spat at her husband’s retreating back. “He just doesn’t want you to write him out of your will!” Siger pressed his lips together tightly, trying to ignore her jeers as he lifted the phone to his ear and greeted the young man who he was always so happy to hear from. 

“Hi Dad,” Mycroft’s voice came from the other end of the phone. “You have a granddaughter.” 

“Oh, Mycroft, that’s so wonderful,” Siger beamed, sitting down on a hay bale in their small barn and patting the flank of his horse. “You and Greg must be so happy.” 

“We are!” A second voice chimed in. 

“You’re on speakerphone, Dad,” Mycroft told him with a chuckle. “Greg and Archibald are also here.” 

“Well, tell me about her!” Siger commanded, unable to keep his joy out of his voice. “I want to know everything!” 

“Three point six kilograms, twenty-one inches. She’s beautiful. We’ve named her Agatha, after Grandmother.” Mycroft recited, 

“Oh, Mycie,” Siger replied, sniffing back his tears. “Oh, she would love that. Congratulations, son, I’m so proud of you. You as well, Greg.” 

“Thanks Siger,” Greg replied, his voice effervescent. 

“They’re bringing her out now, Dad, I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Congratulations again, boys,” Siger said. “Talk soon.”  

~~~

  Aggie and Archie could barely sit still while their father went to open the door and let their grandfather in. They really didn’t know much about him, they hadn’t had that much time to bombard Mycroft with questions, but they were so excited to meet Siger.  

They could hear a brief conversation between the two men as they walked down the hall, and Aggie was now bouncing her legs up and down. The moment the door opened she leapt up, a huge smile on her face. 

“Hi!” She squeaked, her voice rising a couple octaves with her excitement. “I’m Aggie!” 

Siger stood silent for a moment, stunned by the little girl’s eagerness, but he recovered and smiled warmly at the child who had been the center of so many wonderful conversations with his son. 

“Hi Aggie,” he said softly, as was his way, “I’m your grandfather.” She beamed up at him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. 

“I know. You look just like Papa said you did.” Aggie rested her head against Siger’s chest for a second. “Papa calls me Agatha, if you want to call me that it’s okay, but you can call me Aggie too cause that’s what everyone else calls me.” 

“Ah, I see,” Siger chuckled. “And I’m going to guess that you probably don’t go by Archibald, do you?” 

“I don’t,” Archie admitted. “You can call me Archie. What should we call you?” 

“Oh,” Siger started slightly. “I don’t know, I never really thought about it.” 

“We already have a grandpa,” Aggie informed him with a thoughtful look. “So it can’t be that.” 

“What about Afi?” Archie asked, his face breaking into a grin. “That’s what Vikings called their grandfathers! I know, because I just read a book about Vikings.” 

“Yeah!” Aggie agreed enthusiastically. “You can be our Viking grandpa!” Siger laughed and smiled widely at the kids. 

“That would be perfect.” Siger told them, and just like that there was no awkwardness. The fact that they had never met this man in their life and now they were being told that he was their grandfather didn’t matter. Siger was their Afi, and they didn’t need to know anything more than that. 

Chapter Text

The day of their wedding,  Greg and Mycroft were both nervous. It was to be a small wedding, Mycroft’s parents and extended family were not invited, and Greg had a small family. Still, marriage was nerve-racking and both of their nerves were racked. 

“Just go talk with him for a second,” Matt Dimmock, who was at the time Greg’s sergeant and was serving as his best man, implored the older man. “I bet he’s just as nervous as you are.” No sooner had the words left Dimmock’s mouth than a knock sounded on the door. 

“Hello Matthew,” Mycroft said quietly as the door opened. “I wonder if I might speak to my groom for a moment?” Dimmock nodded, then shot a self satisfied smirk over his shoulder at Greg before leaving the two alone.

“It’s bad luck for us to see each other before the wedding,” Greg pointed out. Mycroft smiled, sitting down next to Greg and kissing his cheek. 

“I believe the superstition is that it is bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, and as neither of us are brides, and this is technically a civil union, I believe we have a sufficient loophole.” Mycroft squeezed Greg’s hand. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, but I’m nervous. I thought seeing you for a moment might calm my nerves.” 

“Dimmock was just telling me to do the same,” Greg said, leaning his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. “My last marriage was bad. A year and a half, that’s all we managed.”

“Well, I can promise you at least double that. You know what, I can guarantee at least five years. After that I’ll renew on a five year cycle.” Mycroft smiled at his groom, rubbing little circles on his shoulder. Greg laughed, kissing Mycroft’s jaw. 

“Let’s go get married, my love,” Greg whispered. 

~~~

“Next on the docket is FD21D0615, Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade v. Gregory Holmes-Lestrade .” The clerk turned to the judge, handing him the paperwork on the case. “This is an uncontested divorce, two children of the marriage,  no fault.” 

“Very good.” The judge muttered as he took the file and began flipping through the pages. Mycroft and Greg silently waited, both hoping to get through the next ten minutes without crying. “Alright, this is an uncontested divorce, so we’ll make everything easy.” 

None of this is easy, Mycroft thought miserably, and a quick glance at Greg confirmed that he was thinking the same thing. This was it. After this it was over, and everything they had worked so hard for was gone. They would both have to start over somehow, but neither of them had any clue how. 

None of this was going to be easy. 

Chapter Text

Aggie Holmes-Lestrade was the brightest student in her year, and likely in the next two years above her. She had inherited her father’s talents, along with her birth mother’s considerable charms and beauty. It was generally agreed amongst her family and Mycroft’s employees that the little girl would be a force to be reckoned with when she grew up. 

Aggie wasn’t generally very interested in using her considerable powers, for either good or evil. She excelled in her classes, but didn’t go out of her way to get extra work. She had her friends, but she didn’t try to control the group. Aggie had seen first hand how being a Holmes had made members of her family miserable. She knew about Uncle Sherlock’s addiction, she knew about her Papa’s complete lack of self esteem, and she wanted none of it. She didn’t want to be sad. 

Her Daddy had always been the person she looked to in order to figure out how to be happy, but now he was the unhappiest person in her life. Archie had become sullen, Auntie Anthea was miserable, and there just weren’t that many choices for happy role models left. 

The Saturday after Mycroft and Greg’s divorce hearing, Aggie and Archie were at Greg’s flat in the basement of 221 Baker Street. While Greg cleaned up from breakfast, Aggie asked if she could go visit Uncle Sherlock’s flat. In the half a second that Greg hesitated, Archie nodded vigorously behind his sister, pointing at the Xbox. 

“Of course, kiddo,” Greg agreed, shooting a conspiratorial  grin at his son. “If he’s busy though, come back down, okay?” Aggie nodded and scurried out the door, leaving Greg and Archie to their Halo game. 

Upstairs, Aggie marched into Sherlock’s sitting room. Sherlock and John looked up from where they were sitting and reading in their chairs. 

“Hello,” Aggie greeted them, “I need to speak to John.” Sherlock and John looked at each other, eyebrows raised, then back at Aggie. 

“Okay,” Sherlock replied, “go ahead.” 

“You aren’t necessary for this conversation,” Aggie informed Sherlock matter-of-factly. “Daddy and Archie are undoubtedly playing Halo, you could go join them.” 

“Oh,” Sherlock stared at his niece for a second, “yeah, I’ll just…do that then.” He shot one more questioning look at John, then retreated down the stairs. Aggie took his newly vacated seat and cleared her throat. 

“Hi John,” she started while the man stared at her as though she sprouted a second head. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I want to speak to you.” 

“Yeah, I am wondering that.” 

“I need to talk to someone normal and well adjusted.” Aggie explained and John choked on his tea a bit. 

“And you picked me?” He sputtered.

“Not a lot of great options around,” Aggie admitted. “You’re the best I have right now.” 

“Fair enough,” John conceded. “What can I do for you?”

“Can you teach me how to be happy?” Aggie asked. “I want to be, but no one else seems to know how to.” 

“Oh,” John  replied, “honey, that’s not really how it works. I can’t teach you how to be happy.”

“Then how am I supposed to be happy? I don’t know how.” The girl pulled her knees up to her chest. “I don’t want to be sad anymore, John.” 

“No one wants to be sad, Aggie,” John sighed. “But it’s a part of life. Do you remember when we all thought Uncle Sherlock had died?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I was really sad when that happened. I didn’t want to be sad, but something sad had happened and I was sad.” 

“But you aren’t sad anymore.” Aggie pointed out. 

“Well, no, because your uncle came back.” 

“So I just have to make the thing that’s making me sad not be a thing anymore!” Aggie concluded with a smile. 

“Well, no, that doesn’t just work like that, there’s a lot more to it,” John tried to point out, but Aggie’s eyes were already far away, deep in thought. 

~~~

That Thursday, Greg was sitting in his office slowly working through a massive stack of paperwork. He was well into his paperwork trance, as Donovan called it, and nearly leapt out of his skin when someone knocked loudly on his door. 

“Hey boss,” D.C. Parker greeted him a little hesitantly, “I was out at a scene, and I picked someone up that I thought you might like to speak to.” Greg looked up as Parker stepped aside, revealing Archie. 

“I tried to tell him that I was out of school because I had a doctor’s appointment and you and Papa approved it and told my school, but he wouldn’t listen to me,” Archie informed Greg. 

“Christ, Parker,” Greg sighed, “ you realize that now I’m gonna have to go take him to his appointment?” Greg got up from his desk, staring daggers at the young officer. “I best not get any shit about taking this afternoon off. Come on, Arch, let’s get you to the doctor.” The father and son stormed out of the Yard, wearing matching looks of annoyance and indignation. 

  Once they were safely ensconced in Greg’s car, their facades dropped, and both of them broke out into uproarious laughter.

“Doctor’s appointment?” Greg laughed, shaking his head. “That was the best you could do?” 

“Oh come on,” Archie chuckled, “he bought it.” 

“Alright, well, we’re both playing hooky now,” Greg squeezed his son’s shoulder. “You want to tell me why you aren’t in school?”   

“Not really,” Archie muttered. 

“Kiddo,” Greg sighed, “you aren’t in trouble. I won’t even tell Papa if you don’t want me to, but I would like to know why you aren’t in school.” 

“It sucks there.” Archie muttered, sinking down in the passenger seat. “Nobody gets me there.” 

“What do you mean? You’ve always loved school.” 

“None of my friends understand why I’m upset that you and Pop got a divorce. None of them would care if their parents got a divorce, their parents don’t love each other, or they were raised entirely by their nannies, or their parents were never married because they were the mistress’s kids. None of them get it. None of them understand what our family is like.” Archie ran a hand through his dark blond hair. 

“You could talk to me,” Greg offered. “I know I’m the reason our family fell apart, but I’m struggling too, Arch. I miss our family, I love your Papa so much, I don’t want to be apart from him. I don’t want to be separated from you and Aggie.” 

“You kinda picked alcohol over us, Daddy.” 

“I did. I did one horrible thing after another, and I can never expect Papa to forgive me, but please don’t doubt that I’m mourning our family as much as the rest of you are.” Greg pressed his lips into a tight line, looking out the window and blinking hard. “I want our family back so badly, I would do anything.” 

Archie and Greg stopped talking at that point, choosing to spend the rest of their day getting burgers, then playing football in the park, but they didn’t need to talk. For the first time since Aggie’s birthday, they could understand each other again, and the words weren’t necessary.   

~~~

When they got home that evening, Archie and Aggie slipped upstairs and met in Archie’s room, both eager to talk to the other. Independently, they had both come up with plans, and they would need to join forces in order to enact them. 

“I figured out how to get our dads back together!” They announced in unison as soon as the door to Archie’s room was closed. 

“Well, ladies first I suppose,” Archie chuckled, gesturing for his little sister to go on. 

“Oh no, age before beauty,” Aggie countered with a silly grin. 

“Well that one is ridiculous, because I’m definitely the pretty one,” Archie pointed out with a look of faux haughtiness. “But I will go first. You know how Papa hasn’t cooked since Daddy moved out?”

“Yes, because he’s trying to starve me to death,” Aggie agreed. 

“I really don’t think that’s why,” Archie sighed, “but anyway, Papa loves cooking. It makes him super happy, but he won’t do it because Daddy isn’t here.” 

“Still think starving me might be the motivation, but for the sake of argument, I will buy your theory.” 

“We need to insist on having a family dinner once a week. With both Daddy and Papa.” Archie grinned triumphantly, and Aggie raised a single eyebrow. 

“How is that going to help?” She asked. 

“Papa will have to cook for the dinner, he wouldn’t allow a family dinner to feature take away, so doing the cooking will make him happy. Then Daddy will be there, and Papa will associate the joy he gets from cooking with Daddy being there! They’ll spend more time together and they’ll fall back in love!” Archie grinned at his sister, who nodded thoughtfully.

“That makes sense, it could work. Let’s go with your plan.” 

“Well hold on,” Archie said, “let’s hear your plan.”

“My plan involved one of our dads faking their death, disappearing for two years, reappearing, ruining the new marriage of the other and then moving back in together and falling in love, so I think maybe yours will be easier.” Aggie shrugged.

“Is this what you talked to John about this weekend?” Archie asked with a chuckle. 

“My choices for normal and well adjusted people were slim, Archibald,” Aggie shot back with a look of exasperation. “I worked with what I had!”

Chapter Text

“Alright, I think that’s everything for now,” Mycroft muttered as he finished up his morning meeting. “Now, I need to leave on time tonight, so none of you will bring me any sort of inane or unnecessary problem after 5.” 

“Got a hot date?” David asked with a smirk which was met with a look of reproach from Mycroft. 

“I’m having dinner with my family,” Mycroft informed him. “The children requested it.” 

“Am I invited?” Anthea asked with a grin. These past couple weeks without Mycroft’s cooking had left her far more depressed than she would care to admit. 

“Of course, my dear.” He replied, then shot an icy look at the rest of his employees, all of whom had opened their mouths to ask if they were also invited. “The rest of you have your own families, go spend time with them.” A discontented grumble went up from around the room. 

“You’re all dismissed, and I mean it about not involving me in inane things tonight. I trust you all to handle matters on your own.” Mycroft’s six closest associates all nodded, gathered their things, and left his office, but David dawdled behind. 

“So,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual, “family dinner?” 

“You definitely have more than enough family of your own.” Mycroft muttered, looking over a file. 

“Who will be attending this family dinner then?” David asked nonchalantly. 

“My children, Anthea, and Gregory. Why?” Mycroft’s eyes bore holes in David’s skull, but the driver was undeterred. 

“They’re doing a parent trap.” He informed his boss, slightly gleefully. 

“A what?” Mycroft sighed, putting down the file. 

“A parent trap. It was a movie, the original came out in 1961, it was fine, but the version that came out in 1998 is much better. Lindsay Lohen plays a set of twins, it’s a cinematic masterpiece.” 

“The point, David?” Mycroft sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“The twins in the movie meet each other after having been split up in their parents divorce. They hatch a plot to get the parents back together. That’s what your kids are doing right now. They’re plotting to get you and Greg back together.” David was looking very smug, it wasn’t often that he figured something out before the boss did. “My kids did it to me when Jacq and I were going through a rough patch. They kept setting up little romantic things for us to do together to try to force us to fall back in love.”  

“That isn’t what’s happening. My children are struggling to adjust and this is an easy way of making sure that they still feel that both their dads love and support them, even if we can’t necessarily be married while doing so. It shows that we are a united front who will do anything for them.” Mycroft raised his eyebrows, daring David to disagree. 

“It’s a parent trap, boss,” the enormous man replied with a comforting pat to Mycroft’s shoulder.  “Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us.” With that, David turned and left Mycroft sitting in his office, fingers steepled against his lips, deep in thought. 

~~~

That night Mycroft wasn’t thinking about the potential trap his kids were setting for him, because there was basically no activity that made him happier than cooking. When he was a child his mother hated cooking, which meant that the kitchen was generally a safe spot. His father had never been much of a cook himself, but Uncle Rudy was. 

Once Rudy realized what his big sister was doing to his beloved nephews, he made a point of spending as much time with the family as possible. If Siger wasn’t going to stand between her and the boys, he would. 

Mycroft spent hours in the kitchen with his uncle, learning how to cook. Rudy had spent time in countries all over the globe, and had gleefully taught Mycroft every tip and trick that he had picked up over the years. Mycroft could close his eyes and still smell the thousands of different spices they would grind by hand before crafting unbelievably intricate meals. It calmed him. 

“I see the chef is in,” Greg said softly as he walked into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and smiling at his ex-husband. 

“First time in a while,” Mycroft admitted quietly, greeting Greg with a quick hug. “It’s nice to cook again, it’s been hard to find the motivation without you here.” 

“Well, I’m glad I could help,” Greg hesitantly reached out and rubbed Mycroft’s shoulder. 

“You always do,” Mycroft whispered, allowing his head to rest on Greg’s shoulder. 

~~~

In the sitting room, Anthea had a fairly good view of the kitchen. She pressed her lips into a fine line as she watched her boss lay his head on Greg’s shoulder. It was time for a chat with the kids. 

Aggie and Archie were finishing up the last of their homework before dinner when Anthea sat down with them and asked to talk. 

“I figured out your game here,” she informed them. “I don’t want to have to tell you this, but they aren’t going to get back together.” 

Archie and Aggie looked at each other for a long moment, then both shook their heads. 

“Anything’s possible, Auntie,” Aggie pointed out. “That’s what you always tell us.” 

~~~

“So, do you think the kids are trying to do a The Parent Trap thing here?” Greg asked, sipping a cup of tea while he watched Mycroft stir the risotto. 

“Has everyone seen this movie except me?” Mycroft asked with a sigh. 

“You haven’t seen it? Mycroft, that’s ridiculous, it’s a cinematic masterpiece.” 

“You are the second person today to describe that movie to me with those exact words,” Mycroft chuckled, rolling his eyes. 

“Lindsay Lohan plays both twins, My,” Greg informed him, as though it should be self explanatory. “It’s nothing short of brilliant.” 

“I will watch the movie, Greg, I swear,” Mycroft sighed, smiling warmly. “But I don’t think their intention is to parent trap us, per se. I think they just need confirmation that they still have two dads who love them and can put aside whatever differences they have in order to take care of them.” 

~~~

“Yeah, it’s definitely a Parent Trap situation,” Archie informed Anthea matter-of-factly, then returned his focus to his homework. 

Chapter Text

A few weeks after their first family dinner, the Holmes-Lestrades had settled into a comfortable routine. Every Thursday they would gather for dinner, so Greg now only had to endure Mondays without seeing his kids. Every other day he was able to spend time with them, and Mycroft was more than happy to let him spend extra time with them if he wanted. After a particularly rough case, Greg had called Mycroft in tears and ten minutes later one of Mycroft’s cars had deposited Greg at the family home where a movie night had been set up to take Greg’s mind off of things. 

One Sunday, Mycroft and Greg were drinking a cup of tea together while the kids gathered their things.

“Do you have any plans for the afternoon?” Mycroft asked, looking a touch nervous. 

“Not really, I was going to order a pizza, maybe catch up on some shows,” Greg smiled thinly, trying not to look too hopeful.

“My father is taking the kids to see Matilda,” Mycroft informed him, scrunching his nose in distaste, “and then out to dinner.” 

“Yeah, they mentioned. They’re very excited about it.” 

“Well, I purchased The Parent Trap, and I wonder if you might like to watch it with me? I would be happy to order a pizza, if you had your heart set on that.” Mycroft tried to keep his expression neutral. 

“I’d love to,” Greg grinned brightly. “Sounds like the perfect use of a Sunday.” 

~~~

Greg and Mycroft’s fourth date was a movie night at Greg’s flat. They were curled up together on the couch, watching Austin Powers. Mycroft was barely managing to contain his rage at the ridiculousness of the concept and plot, and Greg was too busy laughing at Mycroft’s reactions to things to pay much attention to the movie. 

About a half hour in, both of them had given up on the movie and were instead snogging with all their might. 

They had kissed before, but nothing like they were then. Mycroft’s hand was tangled in Greg’s hair, and Greg had one arm hooked around Mycroft’s waist, holding him close. At some point the buttons on Greg’s shirt were unhooked and Mycroft’s fingers were carding slowly though his chest hair. Greg whined into Mycroft’s mouth as his finger’s found Greg’s nipple and gave it a light pinch. 

“Oh god, baby,” Greg moaned, egging Mycroft on. Greg was rocked by a wave of pleasure and let his head fall back, which allowed Mycroft access to his neck. Greg moaned and tried to remove Mycroft’s waistcoat while Mycroft’s tongue swirled around Greg’s pulse point, his teeth grazing his skin. 

Little by little, Mycroft trailed his hands and mouth down Greg’s body, licking and nipping and stroking until Greg was a trembling mess. When Mycroft’s hand ghosted over Greg’s belt buckle, Greg’s brain clicked back on. 

“Wait, baby, no,” Greg gasped, grabbing Mycroft’s hand. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“What are you talking about?” Mycroft sat back, blinking hard. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Love, I don’t need you to push yourself and do something you’ll regret. We can take it slow, it’s really okay,” Greg cupped Mycroft’s cheek in his hand as Mycroft smiled adoringly up at him. 

“I’m not going to regret this,” Mycroft assured him. “I want you so badly, I will not regret doing this.” 

“You’re sure?” Greg asked, rubbing his thumb across Mycroft’s cheekbone.

“Yes, Gregory. Now if you’re done making me talk, I do have other ideas for things I could be doing with my mouth.” 

~~~

That night, Greg and Mycroft settled on the couch in Mycroft’s house, pizza in hand. Mycroft generally would pair pizza with a nice red wine, but he didn’t dare put alcohol that close to Greg. Water would suit him fine.  

Mycroft felt that the words ‘cinematic masterpiece’ may have been used a touch liberally, but the first forty-five minutes of the movie were entirely pleasant. At that point Mycroft’s hand had tentatively found Greg’s, and after a few minutes of silent hand-holding Greg gently rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft’s eyes closed as he buried his face in Greg’s hair, breathing in the scent that had always meant safety. 

Greg pressed his lips against Mycroft’s neck, his nose brushing against the topography of Mycroft’s body, refamiliarizing himself with the smooth skin that still felt like home. 

“I miss you,” Greg whispered, tears filling his eyes as his lips found Mycroft’s. Mycroft said nothing as his fingers tangled in Greg’s hair, but Greg could feel his tears as their faces pressed together. 

Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft, pulling him against his chest, their kisses getting deeper and wetter as they both cried. Mycroft’s hands slipped between them, expertly removing Greg’s shirt and burying his fingers in Greg’s silvery chest hair. 

They broke apart to breathe for a half second, then crashed their lips back together, Mycroft shifting so he was stradling Greg’s lap as his hand slipped between them and began working at Greg’s belt. 

Greg moaned into Mycroft’s mouth and slipped the braces off his shoulders, having finally divested the man of his waistcoat. Greg’s belt was undone and Mycroft was making quick work of his trousers. 

Mycroft’s hand cupped Greg’s rapidly hardening cock through his pants, and Greg suddenly gasped, pushing Mycroft back. 

“No, My, you can’t. We can’t.” Greg tried to breathe but only succeeded in letting out a pained sob. “We can’t, you’ll regret this.”

“Can’t I decide for myself what I will and won’t regret?” Mycroft breathed, his forehead resting against Greg’s. 

“No, love.” Greg hugged Mycroft to his chest, stroking his hair. “We got divorced, My. We did that for a reason. I need to keep you safe, I can’t hurt you anymore.” 

“I miss you,” Mycroft whispered, burying his face in Greg’s neck. “I miss being with you. I miss loving you and not being afraid of you. I miss holding you. I want to feel safe with you.” Mycroft let out a shaky sob. “Are we torturing ourselves? Can we handle being around each other?” 

“I don’t want a life without you in it, My,” Greg whispered into the younger man’s hair. “I can accept not being your husband, but I can’t accept not being your friend. I need you in my life.” 

“I need you too,” Mycroft whispered between sobs.    

Chapter Text

 John and Sherlock were getting ready to head out to Angelo’s for dinner when the door to 221B Baker Street burst open. Greg Lestrade stood in the entryway, out of breath, with tear tracks down both cheeks.

“Greg?” Sherlock said, a touch surprised. “What are you doing here? We’re just about to go out.” Greg shook his head, his face somehow growing even paler.

“You can’t, Sherlock, I need you.” Greg managed to choke out. 

“Look, Greg,” John replied, “could this wait? We were about to…” 

“It’s a danger night,” Greg cut in, silencing both men.  

“Okay,” Sherlock replied, sitting back down. “We’ll order in. Have a seat, let’s talk.”

~~~

By the time Siger arrived back with the kids it was nearly their bedtime, so Mycroft sent them upstairs to get ready for bed, promising that they could tell him all about it the next morning. Siger smiled at his son, then turned to go, only to be called back by his son’s shaky request that he stay. 

“Of course,” Siger replied with a wide grin, which faltered with a better look at his son’s face. “What happened, Mycroft?”

“Greg came over, we watched a movie,” Mycroft replied, his voice trembling ever so slightly. 

“If that man laid a finger on you, I swear, Mycroft,” Siger started, but his son cut him off with a look. 

“He didn’t hurt me. We just,” Mycroft took a steading breath, “we, you know.” Mycroft flushed, they didn’t come from a family where you could discuss snogging, even within the bonds of wedlock, let alone with your recently divorced ex-husband. 

“Please tell me you aren’t about to tell me about having sex with your ex-husband,” Siger sighed. 

“No, it didn’t…it didn’t get that far. He stopped it before it got that far.” Mycroft ran a hand through his thinning hair, unleashing his rogue curls. “Am I making a mistake? Should I not have gotten a divorce?”

“Are you still checking your closets?” Siger asked gently. 

“Am I what?” Mycroft asked, looking up at his father.

“When you were young you would check all the closets in a room before you settled in it. When we first reconnected, before your divorce was final, you checked the closet before we sat down in the library to talk. But I know from Sherlock that you stopped doing it after the two of you moved out.” 

“I couldn’t feel safe in a room until I knew there was no one there to hurt me,” Mycroft murmured. 

“Of course you couldn’t,” Siger replied soothingly, laying a hand on his son’s. “Can you right now?” 

“Yes.” Mycroft admitted.

“Then you made the right choice.” 

~~~

“I can’t break sobriety,” Greg muttered, face in his hands, sitting at John and Sherlock’s kitchen table. “I can’t break Mycroft’s heart again and I can’t do that to my kids. But I’m so lost without him, and I don’t know what else to turn to.” 

“You don’t need to drink,” Sherlock assured his friend, an arm wrapped gently around his shoulders. “You came here, that means you know that you don’t need to drink.” 

“I want to be with him so badly,” Greg whispered. “I don’t want to be apart from him, but I’m hurting him more by being around him.” 

“Greg, you aren’t…” John started, but he was cut off by a sob from Greg.

“I am,” Greg choked out. “I’m killing him.” 

“You’re not.” Sherlock said, his deep voice resonating in the small space of the kitchen. “I know him, and you are not.” 

“You’re sure?” Greg asked, looking up slightly. “You’re positive?”

“He loves you, Greg. He needs you around. Don’t abandon him, just give him time. He loves you, he just needs your love and time.”

~~~

“You aren’t going to give up on me, right?” Greg asked his husband as they lay in bed on their wedding night. “If things get hard you won’t just abandon me?”

  “Absolutely not. You are my life, Gregory, and I have pledged my life to you. You have my heart, I will never take it back.” Mycroft leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Greg’s cheek. “What’s worrying you, my darling?”

“Oh, just ex-wife trauma,” Greg muttered. “I love you, My. I will do anything to stay by your side.” 

“And I yours,” Mycroft assured him. “No matter how bad things get, I will stand by you, everyday.” 

Chapter Text

In April of 1993, twenty year old Mycroft Holmes was one of MI5’s best agents. He had no real talent for the legwork aspects of the job, but his fluency in seventeen languages, sharp analytical skills, and ability to read people made him a force to be reckoned with. 

It was a Saturday morning, April 24, when Mycroft got a call from his boss ordering him to rush to Bishopsgate. A bomb threat had been called in, and police and agents were swarming the scene, evacuating civilians and facilitating bomb squad members to go do their job. 

Mycroft’s keen eyes were scouring the scene, taking in everything he could see but not reaching any helpful conclusions. Across the street from him he watched a photographer break through the police barricade and push toward the truck which held the bomb. Mycroft’s face paled, and his mind provided what was going to happen the second before it did. 

“Get back! Now!” Mycroft yelled and just a second later the world became a flash of white. 

~~~

In the weeks following their ill-fated movie night, Mycroft and Greg had kept their interactions short. They were still friendly, but didn’t go out of their way to spend time together. The kids had noticed, but kept quiet about it, not wanting to upset the fragile balance even more.  

The weekend of Archie’s birthday the family got together, and while Mycroft and Greg always had a few people between them, the weekend was nice for everyone. Delores, Matt, and  Siger were all excited for the opportunity to spoil their grandkids, and had arrived at Mycroft’s home with arms so full of presents that they could hardly see over the stacks. John and Sherlock had brought Mrs. Hudson, who in turn had brought so many homemade pastries that they had to enlist the cabbie’s help in carrying them all in.  

Archie was happy. This was the first time since Aggie’s birthday nine months earlier that he could pretend that things were normal again. If he ignored the fact that Dad didn’t have a beer in his hand, it was almost as though the events of the last year hadn’t happened at all. 

Mycroft was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on lunch. He was humming contentedly to himself, surrounded in the aroma of food cooking. Matt Lestrade waited until he was sure that Mycroft was in a good mood, then slipped into the kitchen, hoping to sample the offerings before the rest of the family had a chance. It was a maneuver which he had perfected over years of family parties, and now he considered himself an expert in figuring out the exact moment when his son-in-law would be relaxed enough to allow him to sneak a few tastes. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mycroft asked without turning around. Matt quickly shoved the mini quiche in his hand into his mouth. 

“Just came in to see how you’re doing,” Matt explained, almost choking on the quiche. 

“The stuff you really want is in the refrigerator,” Mycroft told him, shooting a smile over his shoulder. “I made those stuffed brownies you like.” 

“You spoil me,” Matt chuckled, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a brownie. “Honestly though, how are you holding up, son?” Mycroft looked down into the bowl of chimichurri he was spooning over the roast pork for a long moment. 

“I’ve been struggling,” Mycroft admitted quietly. 

“Greg told us about the last couple of weeks. He’s missed you quite a bit.” Matt sat down at the kitchen table. “I don’t want to give unsolicited advice.”

“Then I’ll solicit it,” Mycroft replied, sitting down next to him. “Tell me what to do, because for once in my life I have no idea.” 

“I was married before I met Delores. I never talk about my ex-wife the way you and Greg talk about each other. Do you still love him?” 

“Of course I do.” Mycroft shot back. 

“See, people who get divorced don’t defend their love for their exes that vehemently.” Matt chuckled. “I understand why you had to make the decisions that you did, I don’t even think they were the wrong decisions, but if you want my advice, here it is. Leave the door open. Don’t give up on something that brought you so much joy.” 

“The door isn’t closed,” Mycroft replied quietly. “It never has been. There are just certain…barriers to entry now.”

“As well there should be,” Matt agreed heartily. “And I don’t think he’s proven that he should be allowed back in, but you’ll only hurt yourself and him more if that door closes.” 

“I know,” Mycroft whispered, and Matt pulled him into a hug. 

“I know you do,” he assured him. “I’ve never doubted your knowledge, nor your commitment to doing the right thing. Delores meant it when she told you that we still consider you our son. We will do anything for you.” 

The kitchen timer pinged announcing that lunch was ready, and Mycroft quickly set about gathering everyone, grateful for the distraction to keep him from sobbing into Matt’s shoulder.  

Later on that day, the cake had been pulled out, and everyone gathered around as Archie prepared to blow out his candles. With as much swagger as a newly 14 year old boy could muster, he sauntered up to the cake and took a deep breath. As he did so, he noticed a slight tickle in his throat and coughed hard. 

“You aren’t sick, are you?” Greg asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

“No, dad, I just breathed weird,” Archie assured him, and successfully blew out all the candles on the first try. 

~~~

“It’s called blast lung,” a doctor explained to Mycroft as he lay in the hospital he had been brought to, unconscious, following the explosion in Bishopsgate. “The shockwave that emanates from the blast damages tissues, mostly those that are basically just air filled sacks.”

“Cool,” thirteen year old Sherlock said from the chair next to Mycroft’s bed. “So what does a lung look like after…” 

“Sherlock, please,” Mycroft croaked, then had to suck in a trembling breath.

“Sherlock, you and I will chat later,” the doctor assured him with a grin, then turned back to Mycroft, forcing his face back into a neutral mask. “As for you, Mr. Holmes, you will have to stay here until your lung function is within safe levels. Luckily, in almost all cases there are no long term effects. Most patients have completely normal lung function by one year out.”

Mycroft Holmes had never considered himself to be a particularly lucky person, and this instance was no exception. One year out, Mycroft’s lung function, which already wasn’t great due to asthma and a long history of cigarette smoking, was still nowhere near normal. 

“Like I told you last year,” the doctor sighed as he looked over Mycroft’s test results, “most people have no long term effects. You just weren’t that lucky.” 

“How do I manage it then?” Mycroft sighed, he was well past mourning each new thing that went wrong in his life. 

“No smoking, use extreme caution when playing contact sports, and you’re going to have to avoid respiratory illness. Even a just chest cold can be very strenuous on lungs like yours. You can easily go from a minor cough to pneumonia, and with your lungs already struggling to provide oxygen, pneumonia could be deadly.” 

“I have never played a sport and don’t intend to start,” Mycroft assured the doctor. “And I shall do my best to never get sick.” 

“And the smoking, Mycroft,” the doctor scolded. “I mean it.” 

“Yes, yes,” Mycroft muttered dismissively, “I’ll get right on it.” 

~~~

The Tuesday after Archie’s birthday, Greg picked up his kids from school in a great mood. He had gotten to spend time with his kids and parents that weekend, he and the bank robberies team had closed a huge case, and it was a beautiful day out. He had resolved to take the kids out to the park, spend some quality time with them both, maybe even take them out for ice cream. 

The kids quite clearly had other plans. Archie got to the car first, claiming the passenger seat, resting his head on the dashboard with a hoarse groan. 

“Hey kiddo,” Greg greeted him hesitantly. “Everything alright?”

“I have the worst cold,” he replied, his voice raspy and thick. “I think I’m dying. Please let me die.” 

“Oh wow,” Greg sighed. “Come on then, sit back. Let’s grab your sister so we can get you in bed.” 

Aggie joined them a few moments later, promptly face planting on the back seat. 

“I think I might be sick,” she informed Greg, then fell into a coughing fit which sounded like someone was revving a motorcycle in her chest. 

“Yeah, let’s get everyone in bed,” Greg groaned, praying that John would be home when they got there. 

~~~

“You never stopped smoking,” Mycroft’s pulmonologist accused him as he held his chest x-ray up to the light. 

“I drastically cut back,” Mycroft mumbled, then choked and wheezed as another coughing fit hit him. 

“Mycroft, you have a son now,” the doctor sighed, laying a hand on his patient’s shoulder. “How old is he?”

“Three,” Mycroft muttered, catching his breath. 

“They’re walking petri dishes at that age. You need to be very careful, sick kids make sick parents. That can get dangerous fast.” 

“I gathered,” Mycroft grimaced, gesturing weakly around his hospital room. “What do you expect me to do though, not take care of my sick kid?” 

“I expect you to stop smoking and let your husband pick up the slack when Archie is sick.” The doctor pressed his lips together, his eyes suddenly sad. “That’s what you have to do if you want to be able to take care of your kid at all.” 

~~~

“Greg, I am perfectly capable of caring for my children,” Mycroft sighed into the phone. 

“I’m not saying you aren’t! I’m just saying, they’re sick, and you know it’s best if you distance yourself a bit when they’re sick.” Greg rubbed his brows with one hand. “I worry about you, My.” 

“I know, Greg. But really, it will be fine. I haven’t been sick in ages, this will be fine.” 

“Alright love,” Greg murmured soothingly. “I just wanted to make sure.” 

Mycroft looked down at his phone after they hung up, silently cursing his own stubbornness and pride. 

Would it kill you to let anyone take care of you? His mind sneered accusingly. He silently picked up his drink, taking a long slow sip. He tried to take steady even breaths, but his lungs shuddered and he started coughing violently. 

It might kill you if you don’t let someone take care of you

Chapter Text

Greg kept the kids home from school the next day, allowing both of them to sleep until nearly noon. After a couple of bowls of soup for lunch, John came down to check on his two patients. 

“Have we been resting, drinking plenty of fluids?” He asked as the two kids stared blankly toward him, mouths hanging open because their noses were too stuffy to breathe through. 

“They slept until noon,” Greg chuckled and John laughed. 

“Good to hear, keep that up. How long are they staying here?” John glanced over at Greg as he listened to Archie’s lungs with the stethoscope he had pulled out of the antique gladstone bag that Sherlock had bought him for his birthday that year. 

“My is picking them up on the way home from work,” Greg replied cooly, not giving away that he was unsure of the wisdom of that decision.

“Is that a good idea?” John asked, much less subtle, “I mean with…” Behind his kids Greg widened his eyes and shook his head, shutting John up. 

“Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?” Aggie asked, sniffling. 

“Because I would miss you,” John quickly caught himself. “Who is going to sneeze on me if you aren’t here?”

“Daddy can probably fill in,” Aggie giggled, which triggered another coughing fit. 

“Alright, more medicine and then back to bed,” Greg sighed. The kids grumbled their assent and, a fresh dose of children’s Benylin later, they were all tucked in, and John and Greg settled in the living room. 

“You haven’t told them about Mycroft’s lung problems?” John asked, studying his friend’s face. 

“Of course not, they’re children.” Greg shot a derisive look at the doctor. 

“Archie is fourteen, Greg, and Aggie is old enough to know that her dad needs to be careful not to get sick.” John scrunched his eyebrows together. “What purpose does not telling them serve?”

“When Archie was three, we almost lost Mycroft,” Greg recounted hollowly. “Archie had a cold, something he picked up at the childminder’s, no big deal. Mycroft caught it, and he got incredibly sick. He ended up in hospital for weeks, he was on a ventilator at one point. He got better, obviously, but it was so scary. We talked, we had actual discussions about what I would tell Archie when he asked how his Papa died. I couldn’t bear the thought of having my son think he was the reason. So we decided there was no reason to tell them. It was better they grow up thinking that his death was a freak accident than thinking it was their fault.” 

 “But they don’t know that they need to stay away from him when they’re sick,” John argued back, keeping his voice low. “That makes things much more dangerous for him.” 

“John,” Greg sighed, “have you ever tried to convince Mycroft that he’s wrong about something? Particularly something to do with his health?” 

“Yes,” John admitted. “He didn’t listen.” 

“Exactly,” Greg sighed. “All we can do is protect him the best we can.” 

“Greg,” John sighed, “have you ever considered that it might not be your job to protect him anymore?”

“No, John, I haven’t considered that, because it’s not true.” 

~~~

Mycroft stayed silent as he picked the kids up from Greg’s, only offering a tight smile when Greg waved from the door.  Greg chose not to worry too much about it, things were still tense and going up and asking Mycroft if something was wrong could only make things worse. 

~~~

Greg had just gotten home on Thursday night and settled on the couch when he was derailed from his very important goal of falling asleep trouserless on said couch by a call from his son. 

“Hey Archie,” Greg greeted him, allowing a smile to spread across his exhausted face. “How you doing, kiddo?” 

“I’m doing a little better. I need your help though.” Archie’s voice was still scratchy but he did sound much better. 

“Yeah, of course, are you okay?” Greg sat up, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yes, Daddy, of course. I just need a recipe for that soup that you make when Papa isn’t feeling well.” 

“Of course, I’ll text you a picture of it!” Greg started to walk towards the kitchen when his stomach dropped. “Archie, is Papa sick?” 

“He’s pretending he isn’t, but he definitely is. He’s been coughing in secret.” 

“Put him on the phone, please,” Greg sighed, his hands suddenly shaking slightly. 

“Gregory? Why are you calling Archibald in order to talk to me?” Mycroft kept his voice quiet and level, but there was a distinct strain to it that Greg recognized immediately. 

“I didn’t. Archie called me. He wanted my mum’s soup recipe.” 

“Oh, I love that soup,” Mycroft smiled, then blinked hard. “Wait, why did he want that recipe?” 

“Yes, well, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. Mycroft, are you sick?” Greg used his best scary DI voice, but that didn’t really work on Mycroft.

“Greg, I am perfectly fine.” Mycroft bit his lip, attempting to remove all doubt from his voice, but his attempt was foiled by his own pathetic lungs. His breath caught and he was suddenly gasping. 

“Oh my god, Mycroft, I knew it! How long have you been sick?” Greg snapped, but Mycroft was coughing far too hard to answer. “Alright, I’m coming over.” 

“Greg,” Mycroft choked out, “I’m fine.” 

“No, My, you aren’t. Please darling, please let me take care of you,” Greg pressed his lips together tightly, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulled on his trousers. 

“Greg…” Mycroft started, but he started coughing again. After a full minute and a half of choking he managed a shaky: “please come.” 

“I’m already on my way.”

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lestrade, but if we don’t put him on a ventilator this level of blood oxygenation is going to kill him.” The doctor’s voice was calm and steady, in stark contrast to Greg’s absolute panic. 

“He can’t die. We have a baby, a little boy, Archie. He’s only three, what am I supposed to do?” Greg was visibly shaking, and the doctor laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Sign the release for us to put him on a ventilator, and we’ll worry about everything else later. I can’t make any promises, Greg, but I’m going to do my absolute best to send him home to you.” 

~~~

Archie opened the door when Greg arrived at the house that used to be his home, and the boy immediately threw his arms around Greg’s chest, then grabbed his hand and pulled him to the sitting room. 

“He coughed a lot after you two hung up, is he okay?” Archie asked, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to alert either Mycroft or Aggie to his concern. 

“He’s okay,” Greg lied quietly. “He just gets bad coughs sometimes. Where’s Aggie?” 

“Taking a nap.” 

“Alright, probably for the best that you do the same, alright? I’ll call you two when dinner is ready.” Archie nodded and scurried up the stairs, leaving Greg standing outside the door to the sitting room, his hands shaking slightly.

~~~

“Mr. Lestrade?” A nurse nervously called out, rousing Greg from a half sleep, half terror induced catatonia. “Mr. Lestrade, I just need to change out his medications, is that alright?” 

“Oh, Diane, yeah, yeah, that’s fine.” Greg sat back, trying to get comfortable in the horrible plastic hospital chair. “Can you tell me anything? Is there any change?”

“He’s getting stronger,” the young nurse assured him. “I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep, but I feel confident that we should be able to take him off the ventilator soon.” She finished hanging the new IV bags and smiled comfortingly at Greg. “He’s going to be okay, Greg.”

“I hope you’re right, Di,” he muttered, holding Mycroft’s hand up to his lips and kissing his knuckles.

~~~

Mycroft was on the couch in the sitting room, his head leaned back against the cushion with eyes closed, his breaths shallow and slow. 

“Love?” Greg whispered as he entered the room, and Mycroft looked up ever so slightly, his eyes opening a crack. 

“Are the kids worried?” Mycroft asked shakily as he held a hand out to Greg. “I’ve been trying to keep them from noticing.” 

“Archie noticed anyway,” Greg told him, taking Mycroft’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “He’s very concerned.” 

“It might be time to tell him,” Mycroft admitted quietly. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep outrunning this.” 

“Why didn’t you let me keep them?” Greg asked, despair creeping into his voice. “I could have kept you safe.” 

“I was already sick,” Mycroft admitted. “I started to feel it on Monday. I shouldn’t have eaten the cake at Archie’s party, I should have known…” His voice trailed off as he struggled to keep another coughing fit at bay. Greg silently grabbed Mycroft’s cup of tea and held it up closer for him. Mycroft mouthed a silent thank you and took a long drink. 

“Have you been monitoring your oxygenation?” Greg asked, rolling up Mycroft’s sleeve and checking the fitness tracker he wore halfway up his forearm. “91%, that’s not great, love.” 

“It’s perfectly passable,” Mycroft replied quietly. “I hardly get above ninety-five these days.” 

“I’m going to make Mum’s soup,” Greg told him, squeezing his hand. “After that, I’ll get you some meds, and after dinner you should go to bed. You need rest. I’ll call Anthea, get the rest of your week cleared.” 

“Thank you,” Mycroft whispered, resting his head on Greg’s shoulder for a second. “Will you stay tonight? I don’t want to be alone.” 

“Of course, my angel,” Greg murmured. 

~~~

After six days in a medically induced coma, Mycroft was finally through the worst of it and able to have the ventilator turned off. He was woken up with Greg by his side, and with his first moment of consciousness he reached out to Greg, gripping his hand as though it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. 

“Is Archie okay?” Mycroft whispered, his throat raw from the intubation tube. 

“He’s fine, baby.” Greg cradled Mycroft’s hand to his chest. “My parents have him. Everything is fine. You’re okay.” 

“I want to go home, Greg,” Mycroft whispered, tears pooling in his eyes. “I want to see my boy.” 

“Soon, my love. Everything is going to be okay so soon.”

~~~

After the kids and Mycroft had eaten their fill of soup, Greg supervised the kids getting ready for bed, then tucked them both in. 

“Daddy,” Aggie snaked a hand out from under the covers, grabbing Greg’s before he could retreat, “is Papa going to be okay? Is he really sick?” 

“He’s going to be fine, sweetie, he just isn’t feeling too well right now.” Greg squeezed his daughter's hand, trying to project confidence. “He’s just going to eat some soup and go to bed early, just like you, and then he’ll be all better, just like you.” 

“Okay, Daddy,” the little girl mumbled, pulling her well worn stuffed pig tightly to her chest. “Are you gonna take care of him?” 

“Yeah, baby, is that okay?”

“He needs you,” Aggie murmured, her eyes closed and a moment later, she was snoring lightly. 

~~~

“Please remember what I said,” Mycroft’s doctor warned him as he handed over his discharge papers. “You aren’t getting any younger, another bout like this could very well kill you.”  

“I know,” Mycroft replied solemnly. “I’ll be careful.” 

~~~

On his way back to the sitting room, Greg popped into Mycroft’s office, walking around the desk to the small, two drawer filing cabinet Mycroft kept back there. The top drawer was mostly old tax documents and various personal records, but the bottom drawer was kept mostly empty except for a small teddy bear dressed as a knight. Tonight seemed like the kind of night when Mycroft would need the support of his oldest friend. 

Sir Fluffington in hand, Greg rejoined his ex-husband in the sitting room, where the tall man had stretched out on the couch, long legs hanging off one side, taking painful looking deep breaths. 

“I brought you someone,” Greg murmured as he knelt down on the floor next to Mycroft and laid Sir Fluffington down on his chest. 

“Oh, my old friend,” Mycroft whispered, hugging the bear to his chest. “Thank you, he really is very calming.” 

“I thought you might like that today,” Greg stroked his fingers through Mycroft’s hair. “Anthea is going to drop off your medicine. She cleared your schedule for the next week and set up an appointment with your pulmonologist for tomorrow. If you want I could take you to it, if that would be okay?” 

“Of course,” Mycroft hummed, arching his neck to give Greg’s fingers more room to run through his hair. “Thank you for coming, you didn’t have any reason to do that. It means a lot that you’re still willing to take care of me.” 

“My,” Greg whispered, cupping his face in his hand and turning his head so they were face to face, “I will never stop taking care of you. I love you, My. I will not stop loving you.” 

Chapter Text

The next morning, Greg was downstairs with breakfast waiting when the kids woke up. Aggie was just happy to see him and his famous scrambled eggs, which she had missed so much with Greg gone, but Archie was immediately on edge. 

“Did you sleep over last night?” He asked Greg, narrowing his eyes. 

“I did,” Greg replied calmly, hoping Aggie was too busy shoveling eggs into her mouth to notice her brother’s tone. “Papa asked me to stay, I stayed in the guest room.” That part wasn’t completely true, he had slept about an hour in the guestroom, spending most of his night in the armchair in Mycroft’s bedroom, listening to Mycroft breathe with growing anxiety. 

Archie nodded, eating his breakfast, still watching Greg as though he expected him to start trying to steal the silverware. 

“Auntie Anthea is going to bring you to school today, Papa and I are going to a doctor appointment, but we’ll be here when you get home from school.” Greg kept his voice light, hoping that the kids weren’t reading his anxiety. 

“Is Papa really sick?” Aggie asked, her little face betraying her own anxiety. “Why isn’t he making us breakfast?”

“He had to take a call,” Greg assured his daughter. It wasn’t a lie, except in that Mycroft had placed the call to Anthea, which was to confirm that the office was able to function without him for a potentially significant amount of time. “Everything is alright, Aggie.” 

Aggie nodded, buying Greg’s explanation and going back to enjoying her eggs. She was pretty confident that Greg wasn’t lying to her right now. 

Greg was pretty hopeful that he wasn’t lying to her right now.  

~~~

   “I wish you had come in two days ago,” Mycroft’s pulmonologist muttered as he looked at Mycroft’s chest x-rays. “It’s not as bad as it could be, honestly. We caught it early this time. I want you in the hospital, you need IV corticosteroids, plus I want you on fluids.” 

“No,” Mycroft said quietly, his voice weak. “IVs can be administered in my home.” 

“I could monitor you better if you’re in hospital,” the pulmonologist argued back, but Mycroft shook his head. 

“Last time I went into the hospital I almost died without getting a chance to say goodbye to my son. If I’m going to die, let me do it where I can be with my kids.” Mycroft gave the doctor a harsh look. 

“Do you want to talk it over with Greg?” He asked, pressing his lips together. 

“Greg and I are divorced,” Mycroft replied weakly. 

“Oh, Mycroft,” the doctor sighed, “I’m so sorry. How long?”

“About three months, I’m alright, we’re still in each other’s lives. He brought me here, he’s in the waiting room.” Mycroft ran a hand through his hair. “I need to be with the kids. Please don’t make me do this in a hospital.” 

“Fine,” the pulmonologist agreed with a small shake of his head. “I assume you’ll have a physician on call? And you need to be in bed; no working. I mean it.”

“Fine,” Mycroft sighed, succumbing to another violent coughing fit. 

~~~

John had agreed to meet them at the house, and by the time they got there he had the IVs set up and ready for Mycroft. John managed to stop himself from pointing out how painfully thin Mycroft’s arm was while he inserted the needle and hooked the bags up. 

“Your doctor sent some pain meds,” John explained as he placed the pills on the table next to the bed. “You’re probably going to need those at some point. And you need to eat, this is going to be worse if you’re malnourished.”

“Thank you, John,” Mycroft said quietly. “I appreciate your help. Greg tells me that you’ll be staying for this week?”

“Of course,” John replied. “Will Greg be staying as well?”

“I believe so, yes,” Mycroft managed a small smile. “He has been kind enough to agree to stay and help me until I’m feeling better.” 

“And you’re alright with that?” John hesitantly took Mycroft’s bony hand in his. “You feel safe with him here?” 

“For now,” Mycroft affirmed. “Thank you again for your help, John. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen, you may help yourself. I expect Greg will be in there, would you be willing to send him in?” John nodded, then headed out to the kitchen, closing Mycroft’s bedroom door behind him. 

John made his way downstairs to the kitchen, where Greg was putting finishing touches on a lunch tray for Mycroft. 

“He’d like to see you, mate,” John told Greg, then started to scrounge up his own lunch. Greg nodded his thanks and gathered up the tray. 

“Greg,” John called to his friend just as he was opening the kitchen door. “He’s giving you a big chance here, don’t blow it.” 

“I know, mate,” Greg replied quietly, a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed hard against it and blinked down at the soup on the tray. “I won’t mess this up.”

Chapter Text

Greg brought Mycroft his lunch, then turned to leave. 

“Wait,” Mycroft called weakly. “Will you stay? Or if you’re hungry, you could go grab something and then we could eat together?” 

“Of course,” Greg replied with a smile. “Let me go grab a sandwich, I’ll be right back.” In all his years of living in the manor, Greg had never taken the stairs as quickly as he did that day, skipping down them like his life depended on it. He had assembled a sandwich and was back upstairs in the span of three minutes, Mycroft looked up as he reentered, a smile gracing his pale features. 

“Worried I’d start without you?” He teased lightly as Greg climbed into bed next to him. 

“Oh hush, you,” Greg scolded playfully. Mycroft leaned against Greg’s chest, allowing Greg to wrap a muscular arm around his thin shoulders. They ate in silence for a few moments. 

“Thank you for staying,” Mycroft finally broke the silence. “I’ve been so lost. This, having you here, feels like home.” 

“That’s just the fever talking,” Greg replied quietly, not wanting to get his hopes up. Mycroft couldn’t possibly mean that.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you come in at the doctor’s office today,” Mycroft said hesitantly. “I knew he would have me take off my shirt, and I didn’t want you to see how poorly I’ve been taking care of myself.” 

“What do you mean, love?” Greg’s eyebrows knit together in concern and Mycroft gently took his hand, pressing it to the side of his chest, covered only in a thin oxford shirt. He slowly maneuvered Greg’s hand down his ribcage, allowing him to feel every protruding rib, then down his stomach, which was concave to such an extent that the few mouthfuls of soup he had eaten had caused a slight bulge. Mycroft had always been thin, with a tendency toward near emaciation when stress triggered his decades old eating disorder, but this was the worst Greg had ever seen. 

“I didn’t want you to think that I might not be a fit parent,” Mycroft breathed as he allowed Greg’s hand to come to a rest on his protruding hip bone. 

“I would never think that,” Greg assured him, worry seeping into his voice and permeating his every word. “You have a disorder, My, I know that about you, and I’ve never thought less of you because of it.” 

“I threw you out of your family for your disorder,” Mycroft mumbled, turning his face away. 

“No, you didn’t.” Greg grabbed hold of Mycroft’s hand and held him tighter, guiding Mycroft’s head back onto his chest, stroking his thin curls. “I forced you to remove me from my family. I forced your hand, My, and I have never blamed you for it.” 

“I could have done more,” Mycroft replied. “I clearly need to work harder on my issues about my mother…” 

“Stop, baby, please,” Greg shook his head, then buried his face in Mycroft’s hair. “You did nothing wrong.  You kept giving me chances, and I kept fucking them up.” 

“I don’t think of it like that,” Mycroft said, stroking the back of Greg’s hand. “I know everyone else has been looking at it like that, but I really don’t.” 

“How do you see it?”

“I wasn’t giving you the kind of support you needed. Ultimately, I feel that what you needed was space to breathe, to make the mistakes and find your balance. Your actions were completely understandable. I understand the way addiction goes, Greg. I never blamed you for your relapse, I just wish I could have done more to help you through it. I never lost my faith in you, I never stopped trusting you. I did what I thought was best to help you get better and keep the kids safe.” Mycroft took a couple of wheezing breaths, leaning heavily on Greg. 

“I thought I was letting you down.” Greg whispered into Mycroft’s hair. 

“You could never let me down. I’m sorry if I made you think that you did.” Mycroft’s voice was weak. “I never wanted things to turn out like this.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Greg whispered, kissing the top of Mycroft’s head. “Eat a bit more, alright? Then you should sleep for a bit. You’ll want to look your best when the kids get home.” 

“We should tell them what’s really going on,” Mycroft sighed. “We’re a family, we deal with things as a family.” 

“Whatever you think, darling,” Greg agreed, cradling the younger man in his arms, the way he had been desperate to do for months. 

~~~

While having Uncle Sherlock pick them up from school was normally an exciting treat, Archie and Aggie were mostly just nervous as their uncle walked them home. 

“Are you here because something happened to Papa?” Aggie asked, looking up with big eyes. 

“No, Aggs,” Sherlock assured her, “he just isn’t feeling well.”

“Uncle Sherlock,” Archie said hesitantly, “you wouldn’t lie to us, right?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Good,” Archie replied, grabbing his hand and sitting him down on a bench. “You’re going to tell us why Papa being sick is such a big deal. Daddy isn’t being honest about it, and John was clearly worried about us going back home at Dad’s the other day. So, you are going to sit your ass right there, and you are going to tell us what’s going on.” 

“That’s not a very nice word, Archie,” Aggie pointed out quietly. 

“Sorry Agg,” Archie muttered. 

“It’s okay, I agree with the sentiment,” she turned her big pale eyes back towards her uncle. “Tell us, now.”

~~~

Fifteen year old Sherlock was overjoyed to be sitting in a doctor’s office, looking at scans of lungs. It truly encompassed all his favorite things: body parts, traumatic injury, and being unsupervised around large amounts of prescription drugs. Thus far Mycroft’s hospital stay had been a dream for his little brother. 

  “So, the blast caused hemorrhages, and the tissue just never recovered from it?” Sherlock asked, holding the images up to the light. 

“Exactly,” the doctor confirmed. 

“And that has weakened his lungs, which means that when he leapt out of a window because he’s a dramatic sod, it was easier for his lung to collapse.” Sherlock nodded, placing the images back onto the desk. 

“Sherlock, do you know what your brother does for a job?” 

“Of course I do,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Do you?”

“Your brother does not see any doctors who do not work for the same agency as he does, Sherlock,” the doctor explained. “Mycroft jumped out of that window for a reason, Sherlock. I know you’re fifteen and think you know better than everyone, but I hope you know how hard he works to make sure he comes home to you.”

“I know that,” Sherlock muttered. “I’m going to go see my brother now.” 

“Sherlock,” the doctor called as the boy went to leave, “if you would please leave all the pills you’ve stolen on the bookcase, I would appreciate it.” 

~~~

When Sherlock and the kids stepped into the house, they were immediately struck by the smell of something burning, and the sound of laughter. 

“How is it,” Mycroft was asking Greg from his spot at the table, “that you can literally only cook one soup and scrambled eggs? It doesn’t make sense.” 

“I’ve never needed to cook anything else!” Greg was laughing as he fanned a scorched pan in the sink. “You always did the cooking!” 

“I thought you would be okay, it’s just chicken!” Mycroft laughed, despite the hacking cough it caused. Sherlock cleared his throat as they entered the room, and Greg and Mycroft turned towards the newcomers, both grinning. 

“Hey kiddos,” Greg beamed. “How would you like to order pizza for dinner?” The kids nodded, and Greg slipped out of the room, briefly squeezing Mycroft’s shoulder on his way out. 

“Papa,” Archie said quietly, “can we talk for a second?” Mycroft searched his son’s face for a moment, smiling sadly. 

“Yes, I think it’s time. I have some things to explain.” 

“No you don’t,” Aggie assured him. “Uncle Sherlock told us everything.” 

“We just want you to know that we love you, and you need to take it easy. We’re gonna take care of everything, you just need to rest and get better.” Archie smiled at his father, who blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to withhold the tears threatening to fall. 

Aggie and Archie met each other’s eyes, then both wrapped their arms around Mycroft’s thin frame, hugging him so that neither could see his face, allowing him the privacy to cry if he needed to. 

~~~

“What did you tell them?” Mycroft asked his brother as the kids helped Greg bring pizzas in from the car. 

“I explained that you had an injury from a long time ago which sometimes made you sick. And that it wasn’t anything that they did wrong, it was just something that you had to deal with. And I told them that, no matter what, you would do anything to make sure that you come home to them at the end of every day.” 

“Thank you,” Mycroft said softly. “It means a lot to me.”

“Don’t make a liar out of me, please.” Sherlock looked down, suddenly very interested in the pattern of the flooring tiles. “Get better, okay?”

“I promise, brother mine.”  

Chapter Text

The next morning Mycroft opened his eyes to find his daughter watching him intently. 

“What are you doing, Agatha?” He asked with a put-upon sigh. 

“It’s my turn to watch you. We’re taking turns so Daddy can sleep.” Aggie smiled. “I think I’m doing a great job.” 

“Did anyone assign you this job or did you just decide you were going to stare at me while I sleep?” Mycroft asked with a grin, sitting up and trying to tame his hair a bit. 

“I thought you might be lonely when you woke up,” Aggie admitted, looking down at her shoes for a second, a blush rising high in her cheekbones. “I just wanted someone to be here.” Mycroft gazed at his little girl, marveling at how much she had grown up in the past year. Gone was the nervous little girl who sobbed in her room half the night when her dad missed her birthday party. This child was tougher, and so independent, Mycroft had to remind himself that this was no time to cry about his daughter growing up.  

“Thank you, darling,” Mycroft murmured,  “come here, would you?” He patted the spot next to him and she beamed, crawling up into bed, resting his head on Mycroft’s chest. “You know it’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around, right?”

“Of course,” Aggie shrugged, “it’s Daddy’s job to take care of you. But sometimes he needs to sleep or eat or be gone for months.”

“Honey,” Mycroft’s started, but he was interrupted by Greg opening the door and walking in. 

“There you are, Aggster,” Greg greeted them. “Been looking for you. And look who’s finally awake!” Greg sat down on the bed next to Aggie, rustling the girl’s hair and dropping a kiss on her cheek. 

“I had to keep an eye on Papa,” Aggie explained as though it should have been obvious. “Since you were too busy.” 

“I just ate a meal,” Greg laughed, shaking his head, “I was gone for less than ten minutes.” Aggie hummed noncommittally, repositioning so that both her dads could have an arm around her. 

“Are you gonna stay now, Daddy?” Aggie asked, a bit wistfully. Over her head Greg caught Mycroft’s eye, only to have him immediately look away.

“Until Papa is feeling better,” Greg answered, avoiding Aggie’s gaze. The girl sighed, shimmying down the bed and standing up at the end of it. Silently, she walked to the window, looking out over the front gate. 

“Do you see that light out by the street?” She asked Greg. 

“Yeah,” Greg replied, standing behind her. 

“Papa keeps that light on when you aren’t home. Anytime you aren’t here, the light is on.” 

“I know that,” Greg told her, glancing back at the bed where Mycroft was pointedly avoiding his eyes. 

“That light has been on for the past six months, Daddy.” Aggie looked up at him, her big pale blue eyes shining slightly in the dim light of the bedroom. “Waiting for you to come home.” 

~~~

“How did you live in a house this big alone?” Greg asked as he stretched out on the couch, still amazed that Mycroft had let him move in earlier that day. 

“I enjoy solitude, Greg,” Mycroft laughed, joining his boyfriend on the couch, resting his head on Greg’s sturdy chest. “This is like a fortress. Even if someone were to be here with me, it would be easy to avoid them. It’s appealing.” 

“I’ve lived here for about five hours and you haven’t let me alone for more than a minute,” Greg teased, running his fingers through Mycroft’s dark auburn locks. 

“It’s different with you here,” Mycroft murmured, nuzzling against Greg’s neck. “With you, I don’t want to be alone. I want to be with you. This house, it’s been my fortress, but with you here, it doesn’t have to be. It’s a home now.” 

~~~

“Is she right?” Greg asked his ex-husband softly after Aggie had left the room. “You’ve kept that light on because, on some level, you’re waiting for me to come home.” 

“Agatha is a romantic, and she is eight.” Mycroft replied, still refusing to meet Greg’s eyes. 

“You told me once that I made this house into a home,” Greg reminded him. 

“And I meant it,” Mycroft told him, finally looking up, “but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for you to come back.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock intercepted Greg as he passed through the kitchen, storming towards the door that led out to the garage.

“Wait, Lestrade, wait for me.” Sherlock dropped the dish he was drying, leaving John to drop the plate he was washing back into the sink and catch Sherlock’s before it hit the ground. 

“I’d rather you just leave me alone, Sherlock,” Greg snapped, grabbing his keys and storming out to his car. 

“I’m not going to do that, Greg, I think you know that.” Sherlock climbed into the passenger seat as Greg settled behind the wheel. “What happened?”

“He doesn’t want me here, Sherlock. After everything I’ve done for him, he still doesn’t care.” 

 “That’s not true, you know that’s not true.” Sherlock grabbed Greg’s hand before he could turn the key in the ignition. “Tell me what he said, his exact words.” 

“He said he wasn’t ready for me to come back” Greg muttered, running both hands through his hair. “What do I need to do? I’m sober, I’m taking care of him, what more could he possibly want?” 

“Why are you taking care of him, Greg?” 

“What are you talking about Sherlock? I’m taking care of him because he’s sick.” 

“And?” Sherlock prompted. 

“And because he used to be my husband.” 

“And?” 

“And because I want him to realize that we’re supposed to be together and, goddamn it, he needs me!” Something within Greg broke and his body seemed to crumble as his shaking hands grabbed desperately at his hair. 

“Alright, come on, none of that,” Sherlock sighed, pulling Greg’s hands down, stopping him from pulling out his hair. He tried for a moment to remember how Greg and Mycroft would calm him down when his withdrawal-based panic attacks would hit. “Come on, five things you can see.” Greg got his shaky breathing under control as Sherlock talked him through the grounding exercise. 

“I’m so tired of this, Sherlock,” Greg whispered, his forehead resting on the cool leather of the steering wheel. “I feel like every time I get a little closer to him letting me back in he slams the door back in my face. It’s one step forward, two steps back. A month ago we were making out on the fucking couch and now he’s saying he doesn’t want me to come home. He has no problem letting me care for him when he’s sick, but what does he give me back? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!” 

“Greg, he’s trying…” 

“And then there’s everyone around us! You, John, even my own fucking son doesn’t trust me! I fucked up and I have repented and I have made amends and I have no idea what you all want from me!” 

Sherlock was silent for a long couple of moments. 

“I cannot speak for John or Archie, but for my own part, I have not treated you worse since you got sober. If you recall, I visited you everyday when you were in rehab. I have canceled my plans to keep you from breaking sobriety. I have cared about you, I have supported you, I have been there for you through all of this, but fuck me, right?” Sherlock took a breath, turning his head away and forcing himself to calm down. “Greg, I talk to Mycroft on the phone every night. You have no idea how hard those phone calls have been for the past couple of years.” 

“Oh, and I suppose that’s my fault?” Greg muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“I got to experience how my addiction impacted Mycroft. I talked to him every night and he talked about how scared he was when you drank, he talked about you coming home late, how your temper had become unpredictable and how he felt like he was back home with Mummy. This didn’t start when you slapped him and it won’t be over just because you stopped drinking. You took one of the most confident men I’ve ever known and you scared him so badly that he literally cannot make the decision as to whether or not he can have you in his life.” Sherlock sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I know, because I did the same thing.” 

“But he took you back.” 

“After years, Greg. And even then, it wasn’t like it was before. It took us ages to be friends again. He spent eighteen years of his life being tortured by Mummy. That’s a long time, much longer than I did and I ended up a drug addict. He didn’t become an addict, he didn’t let himself fall apart. He took in a child at eighteen, raised that child, got multiple degrees, and used his incredible mind to help so many people. He did all of that because he has an unbelievable ability to not feel his feelings. You came along and you showed him it was okay to be weak sometimes, so he let down his guard and he fell in love with you.” 

“I know him, Sherlock, you don’t have to tell me his life story.” 

“Well here’s what you don’t know, Greg,” Sherlock snapped, “you clearly don’t know that he’s trying so hard to let you come back home not because he necessarily wants it, but because you and the kids want it. He’s having panic attacks regularly. He didn’t go to a doctor when he realized he was sick because he thought he could just ride it out without worrying you. The kids are constantly badgering him to let you come home, even Archie. You have all the power here, Greg. He’s doing everything for you, you have made no attempt to live your own life. You’re forcing him into taking you back, but have you considered that maybe that’s not what’s best for either of you?”   

Greg sucked in a breath, the words striking him like little knives. Why was he assuming that he and Mycroft would get back together? Why was Mycroft paying his rent? Why hadn’t he prepared the kids for the possibility that their parents wouldn’t reconcile. 

“I haven’t considered that,” he admitted shakily. 

“Consider it.” Sherlock snapped, getting out of the car. “If you’re willing to take care of him without expecting something in return, feel free to come back in. If not, maybe it’s for the best that you go find a meeting.” 

~~~

Upstairs, Mycroft was laying in bed, tears rolling out of the corners of his eyes. Greg had stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Every time he had to refuse Greg’s attempts to reunite it hurt worse. 

He didn’t look up when Sherlock entered the room, choosing instead to turn his face away from the door, blinking rapidly and trying to regain his composure. 

“It’s just me, you don’t have to pretend to be okay,” Sherlock told him as he climbed on to the bed, stretching out on the side that used to be Greg’s. 

“Is he gone?” Mycroft asked weakly. 

“Do you want him to be?” Sherlock shot back. 

“I don’t know, Sherlock, I really don’t.” 

“I want to talk to you, and you aren’t going to like what I have to say,” Sherlock remarked, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s important though, and you are going to listen.” 

“I’m attached to an IV, Sherlock, where am I going to go?” Mycroft sighed. 

“You’ve been stringing Lestrade along.” Sherlock stated matter of factly. 

“I have not,” Mycroft argued. 

“You have. What else could you possibly call trying to fuck him during a movie night?” Sherlock smirked as his brother recoiled. 

“He started that,” Mycroft muttered. 

“Who cares who started it, My? You have let him think that he and you are going to get back together. That’s the definition of stringing him along.” 

“Sherlock, I’m doing all I can.” Mycroft looked away, closing his eyes. “This is hard for me, extremely hard.” 

“He loves you, My. If you ever loved him it’s time for you to be a fucking adult and talk to him. If there’s no chance, you have to tell him that. He’s trying so hard to make you happy.” Sherlock turned his head, then reached over and forcibly turned Mycroft’s head so he could look in his eyes. “What would make you happy right now, My?”

Mycroft looked at his little brother for a long moment, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“I don’t know, Sherlock. I just want him to be happy. His happiness has always been what makes me happy.”

“That’s not going to work, My.” Sherlock sighed. “Think about it, okay? Think about it and make a decision about what is going to make you actually happy.”

Chapter Text

Greg did go to a meeting that night, and when it was over he called his sponsor, who gladly met him for a cup of tea and a chat. Feeling a little better, he headed back to 221 Baker Street. 

Mrs. Hudson opened her door the moment he knocked, her eyebrows shooting up nearly to her hairline. 

“Greg! I wasn’t expecting you to be home yet. Is Mycroft feeling better?” 

“No, not yet, but I,” Greg took a steadying breath as the landlady led him to the table and handed him a biscuit, “I wanted to talk to you. I’m gonna pay my own rent from now on.” 

“Oh, did you two have a little domestic?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she poured him a cup of tea. 

“No, not really. But someone pointed out to me that I haven’t really been respecting Mycroft's desire to be divorced. I need to live my own life.” 

“Who pointed that out to you?” Mrs. Hudson asked, raising her eyebrows in a gentle show of concern. 

“Sherlock.” 

“What does he know? He’s never been married.” 

“I love you, Mrs. H, but are you really more qualified to give marriage advice? I mean, your husband was a cartel boss.” Greg smiled. 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” the landlady chuckled. “In that case, you go ahead and pay your own rent, and I hope things work out. Either way, my door is always open if you need to talk.” 

~~~

Mycroft was pretending to be asleep when Greg re-entered his room that night. 

“I know you’re awake, love,” Greg remarked softly. “You snore when you’re sick.” 

“I do not,” Mycroft argued, dropping the act immediately. “You’re probably just hearing yourself snore.” Greg laughed softly, shaking his head.

“I’m going to miss you,” Greg murmured, helping Mycroft sit up. Mycroft pressed his lips into a tight line at the comment, blinking slowly. 

“So this is it?” He asked, the ever present ache in his lungs spreading across his chest.

“I think it is, darling.” Greg sighed, taking one of Mycroft’s thin hands. “I’m going to start paying my own rent. I think it’s time we start acting like an actual divorced couple.” 

“I suppose you’re correct.” Mycroft sighed. “Does the current parenting schedule still work for you? I would hate for our issues to affect the children.” 

“We won’t let them,” Greg answered softly. “We’re good parents, My, that won’t change.” Greg looked away for a moment, composing himself. “Being your husband was the greatest honor of my life, I hope you know that.” 

“You’ll always have my heart, Greg.” Mycroft whispered, his voice hoarse. “As always, if you wish to see the children, you need only to ask.” 

“Please take care of yourself, My.” Greg choked slightly on the last word, closing his eyes as they filled with tears. “Please, the kids need you.” 

“I will, I promise.” Mycroft's voice shook, and Greg silently wrapped arms around the emaciated form of his former husband. He slowly, gently pressed their lips together, the kiss lasting much longer than either intended, because neither wanted to end it, content to savor one last moment together.

Chapter Text

Sally Donovan greeted her former boss with a wide grin as they met for their Monday breakfast. Since Greg had taken over the bank robberies squad and Sally had made DI, the two had met every Monday morning to eat and commiserate. As NSY’s newest DI, Donovan had been put in charge of vehicular crime, and she was the first to admit that she was a bit bored. Breakfast with Greg had come to be the highlight of her week. 

“Well you look like shit,” she greeted him after they settled at their usual table and their usual waitress had confirmed that they were ordering their usual meals. 

“Thanks, Donovan,” Greg muttered with a roll of his eyes. “It was a long week.” Donovan smiled sympathetically. 

“How are the kids doing? I can’t imagine how stressful it must be for them to see Mycroft this sick.” 

“They were doing alright with it, honestly. I don’t know if they really understand how serious it is, but it looks like he’s going to pull through, so they don’t need to know.” 

“So is he better?” Donovan raised her eyebrows. “You used the past tense.” 

“Well look at you, Detective Inspector,” Greg chuckled humorlessly. “Maybe I taught you something after all.” 

“Is he not better?” 

“I don’t know,” Greg sighed, “I walked out on him on Saturday.” Donovan sat back in her chair, lips pursed and eyebrows raised.  

“This is the moment you have chosen to act divorced? When the man you are so clearly still in love with is on death’s door, you decide that’s the moment?” Donovan brushed her curls back from her face. “Greg, you are in love with him, and more than that, you adore him. You love taking care of him. You’ve spent fifteen years acting like a giddy schoolboy every time he needed you to so much as run to the store for him.”

“And?” Greg sighed. 

“And what changed, Greg? Don’t tell me that you don’t want to be there with him right now.” 

“Of course I do! I want to make him soup and hold his hand and watch bad telly to distract him from the pain! I love doing that.” 

“So why did you leave?” Donovan violently speared a piece of potato on her plate, widening her eyes the way she did when she thought Greg was being an idiot. 

“Because he said he wasn’t ready for me to come home.” Greg answered, unable to meet her eyes. 

“You’re an ass, Lestrade.” Donovan sighed. 

“Well, fuck you too,” Greg muttered. 

“I’m serious, Greg. How is it that the smartest man in the world was married to you?” 

“What are you getting at, Donovan?”

“He loves you, you idiot. He loves you and he’s working really hard to trust you again, but he’s scared that you’re only working on your sobriety because you want him to take you back. The best thing you could have done to show him that the Greg he fell in love with is still there would have been to stay and take care of him without expecting something in return! I mean honestly Greg!” 

“You got all that from one sentence?” 

“Of course not,” Donovan rebuked him with an eye roll. “I have drinks with Anthea every Friday night. And nobody knows what Mycroft is thinking like Anthea.”

~~~

Anthea knocked gently on her boss’s bedroom door but didn’t wait for a response before she went in. Inside, Mycroft was propped up on pillows against his headboard, breathing shallowly and with great effort. 

“Hey boss,” she greeted him softly, pulling a chair up next to him. 

“Annie,” he smiled. “How are you today, my dear?” 

“Fine, boss, but how are you?” 

“Nothing to complain about, my dear,” Mycroft assured her with a smile. “My breathing is improving, Dr. Watson is confident that I should be off the supplemental oxygen within the next couple of days.” 

“That’s wonderful, boss, but you know that’s not what I’m asking you.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Mycroft replied, his lips pressed tightly together, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. 

“Boss, do you remember when Jared broke up with me and I showed up at your house at two in the morning and you made me a cup of tea and let me cry into your shoulder and then you made me breakfast after I fell asleep on your floor?” Anthea smiled as Mycroft chuckled lightly at the memory. 

“I do recall that.” 

“Alright, and how about the time that Jacqui cheated on David and he spent a week and a half in your guestroom crying like a baby?” 

“I was half convinced he wouldn’t leave,” Mycroft admitted with a smile. 

“You’ve been there for us through all sorts of bullshit, so why won’t you let us help you when you’re the one dealing with the bullshit?” 

“I didn’t expect him to leave. I knew he would be upset, I knew he would be disappointed, but I didn’t think he would throw away our friendship. I thought things were going alright, I really did.” Mycroft paused, blinking hard. 

“I know he wants to come back, I know he wants us back together, but it just isn’t possible for me right now. I wish I could do it, but I just can’t.” Mycroft’s voice was strained with the effort of keeping his tears at bay.

“I know boss, I know how hard you’ve been trying.” 

“I don’t want the kids to grow up with one parent who’s afraid of the other, but I don’t want them to grow up with parents who can’t be in the same room as each other. That’s not better.” Mycroft stopped, trying hard to catch his breath. 

“Are you okay, boss?” Anthea asked, grabbing his thin arm and checking the pulse oximeter. “Sir, you’re at 75%, we need to get you to a hospital, now.” 

“I’m fine, I’m perfectly…” He took a pained breath, his eyes widening slightly. 

“David’s in the car, you just breathe,” Anthea texted the driver desperately, then stepped over to the door. “Sherlock! John! Now!” 

~~~

Mycroft’s eyes slowly flickered open, and he was immediately aware that he was in a hospital. He was also aware that there were people holding both of his hands. He laboriously turned his head to the left, where his brother was sitting. 

“The kids?” He managed to gasp out. 

“There you are,” Sherlock muttered, a relieved smile on his face. “You scared us. The kids are still at school, Mrs. Hudson is going to pick them up.” 

“Why can’t Greg?” Mycroft choked, trying to force air into his aching lungs. 

“Because I’m right here, love.” Greg’s gentle voice came from his right. Mycroft sucked in a breath, then turned his head towards the voice. 

“You came back?” Mycroft whispered. 

“I never should have left.” Greg squeezed his hand, smiling down at him. “Sherlock, can I have a minute, please?” Sherlock squeezed Mycroft’s hand, then stepped outside, leaving the two alone. 

“I came back right as they were taking you here,” Greg explained. “I was wrong to leave. I realized that you didn’t want me out of your life, you wanted reassurance that I wasn’t going to hurt you again, and instead of giving you that, I hurt you. I’m done hurting you. We are divorced, that is what it is, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be there for you. Not because I expect you to take me back, not because I’m trying to force us back into a relationship. Just because you are the father of my children, and an amazing man, and my best friend. I’m not pushing anything, there’s no pressure. I’m just here, because I want to be and because I adore you.”

“That’s all I’ve wanted,” Mycroft whispered. 

“I know that now,” Greg assured him. “Now I want you to sleep. You need to get better for me.” 

“Alright,” Mycroft replied. “For you.” 

Chapter Text

Two weeks after Mycroft was released from the hospital things had gone mostly back to normal. Greg and Mycroft were friendly, sitting down for cups of tea together as they traded off custody, and both were happy. Shortly after Mycroft came home, the whole family sat down and discussed, for the first time, what Daddy and Papa being divorced really meant. 

The conversation went about as well as could be expected. Both kids were disappointed, but the promises of stability and love from both parents helped a bit.  Still, Aggie spent several minutes breaking down every possible scenario and asking if Mycroft and Greg would get back together if only a series of increasingly unlikely events were to happen. 

With a level of patience Mycroft only displayed with his kids, he gently reassured her that she was so loved, and that no matter what else happened, the one constant was going to be how much Daddy and Papa loved her. 

Things were, in large part, going smoothly, but about a month and a half before Aggie’s birthday, Mycroft arrived at Greg’s flat to pick the kids up, and found his ex-husband in a terrible mood. 

“What did my children do?” Mycroft asked as Greg slammed a cup of tea down in front of him. 

“Your children?” Greg asked, his brows arching violently. 

“You seem like you’re in the kind of mood where they become ‘your children’” Mycroft remarked with air quotes and a small smile. 

“I am in that kind of mood,” Greg sighed. “They’ve been at each other’s throats all morning. I don’t think either of them slept last night.” 

“They do get a little snippy when that happens,” Mycroft sighed. “Are they too old for me to mandate afternoon naps?” 

“Maybe a touch,” Greg chuckled. 

~~~

When Mycroft and the kids got home that day, the kids were more than willing to explain what had gone wrong. 

“Daddy needs a bigger flat,” Aggie declared. “I cannot share a room with Archie anymore!” 

“Oh, I’m the problem?” Archie snapped. “You’re the one who talks nonstop in her sleep!” 

“You’re the one who snores loud enough to wake up Mrs. Hudson!” 

“Well, you’re the one who…” 

“Enough!” Mycroft snapped, then had to take a few deep breaths. His lungs were still not quite where he wanted them to be. “I don’t care which of you is the most annoying! The two of you are going to go take a nap, now.”

“I’m definitely too old for naps, Pops,” Archie pointed out. 

“And I am too old to listen to this bickering. You two are either going to work this out amongst yourselves, or you are going to go take a nap.” 

“I’ll try a nap,” Aggie mumbled, and Archie followed her upstairs, both of them grumbling under their breath. 

~~~

“Nice weekend, boss?” David asked as Mycroft climbed into the car Monday morning. 

“The children spent it fighting because apparently they are both loud and terrible sleepers,” Mycroft rubbed his temples. “How do you have seven children?”

“They all have their own rooms,” David chuckled. “It’s kinda necessary.” 

“I can’t add another room onto Greg’s flat,” Mycroft sighed. 

“Well, what if he moved? I know that flat is ideal from an availability of support standpoint, but if it’s too small, it’s too small.” David thought for a long moment. “What about the carriage house?”

“The carriage house in my garden?” Mycroft asked. “I use that for storage, no one has lived there in about fifty years.” 

“So let’s fix it up!” David was grinning now the way he did when he had an idea in his head and wouldn’t be discouraged. “You, me, Archie, I’ll bring over some of my boys, maybe Greg’s dad or Sherlock would even help out. Couldn’t take us more than a couple of weeks.” 

“You think he would like that?” Mycroft asked, sitting back in his seat, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. 

“He would be able to see the kids whenever he wanted, the kids could sleep over there if they wanted, but they could also sleep in their own beds, there wouldn’t have to be negotiations whenever one of you has to work late. I think it would work wonderfully.” 

“You might be right, David,” Mycroft muttered, his eyes far away as he considered the possibilities.

Chapter Text

The carriage house on Mycroft’s property had once housed all the staff for the manor. As far as staff housing went, it was surprisingly nice, with high ceilings and an elaborate fireplace in the main sitting room. For years Greg had been saying that they should do something with it, but he nor Mycroft were particularly interested in the idea of being landlords, so the idea never came to fruition. Mycroft was fairly certain Greg would appreciate what they were currently doing with it. 

The Sunday after David came up with the idea to have Greg live in the carriage house he arrived with his three eldest sons, Matty, Daniel, and Joey, and multiple platters of homemade pastries from Jacqui. Matt Lestrade and Siger Holmes both arrived a few minutes later and were immediately engaged in the time-honored tradition of older men disagreeing on basic tenets of home repair. John arrived last, apologizing for Sherlock not coming, explaining that he refused to get dressed and John got sick of waiting for him.  

  Once the various things that had been stored in there over the years were taken care of, the old building really didn’t look all that bad. Archie and the Bunford boys got to work immediately evicting the current tenants-a particularly vicious family of house spiders that had taken up residence in every room. As the boys trapsed from room to room with cans of poison and flyswatters, the adults set about replacing rotted floor boards. 

Around 5 that night, after David discovered, by nearly electrocuting himself, that the wiring needed replacing, the group decided that this was going to be a multiple day project, and scheduled a series of regular meeting times so they could continue the work. Mycroft pointed out multiple times that this would all be so much easier if they simply allowed him to call a contractor. Each and every time the rest of them ignored him. 

~~~

  As Aggie’s birthday approached, things were coming along nicely in the carriage house. Aggie had insisted that because Archie had helped with the renovations she should get to pick the decor. It took all of Mycroft’s considerable powers of psychological manipulation to keep the entire house from being furnished in all bright pink. 

Surprisingly the easier part of the entire operation was keeping Greg from finding out. The kids were shockingly on board with keeping the renovations a secret. They both loved surprises, so Mycroft supposed that he shouldn’t have been shocked that they were able to keep a secret, but to be fair to him, Aggie had informed him what she was giving him for his birthday the moment the gift was purchased every year since she had learned to talk. 

Of everyone who could have given it away, Mycroft was increasingly concerned that he was going to be the one to do it. As he and Greg had their Sunday morning cup of tea two weeks before Aggie’s birthday, Mycroft found himself struggling to find things to keep the conversation going without blurting out the secret. 

Luckily, Greg had something else on his mind.

“Do you have any plans for the afternoon of Aggie’s birthday?” Greg asked, his fingers nervously tracing the rim of his tea cup. 

“Just making dinner--you’ll be there for dinner, right?” Mycroft bit his bottom lip, the memories of last year’s birthday dinner suddenly rearing their ugly heads. 

“Of course I will,” Greg assured him, reaching out and taking Mycroft’s hand. “But I was hoping you might be able to, well, it’s not a big deal if you can’t, but I was really hoping you might be willing to…” 

“Just tell me what it is, Greg!” Mycroft laughed, squeezing Greg’s hand. 

“I’m getting my six month chip at AA that afternoon. I was hoping you would come and be there for it.” Greg pressed his lips together tightly, bracing himself for disappointment. 

“You really want me there?” Mycroft asked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled adoringly at the older man. 

“You’re the one who got me sober, My. You got me into rehab, you made sure I had support even when things were bad between us, and you never gave up on me, no matter how many people thought you should have. It would be such an honor to have you there.” 

“Of course I’ll come,” Mycroft murmured, pulling Greg into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of how far you’ve come, Greg. I hope you know how proud you make me, every day.” 

“I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

Chapter Text

Agatha Anthea Holmes-Lestrade’s ninth birthday fell on a Friday.  From the moment her Papa woke her up that morning until she had been dropped off at school, all she could talk about was how excited she was to have dinner with her family. She had repeatedly confirmed every aspect of the dinner with Mycroft, from the menu to the individual ingredients to the selection of soft drinks they had in the fridge, but she hadn’t once brought up the question that everyone had been waiting for: was Greg going to be there. 

Mycroft was somewhat relieved that she hadn’t asked. He fully believed that Greg would show up but until the man was actually sitting at the kitchen table, Mycroft refused to get his hopes up.  

“Auntie Anthea is going to be picking you up today,” Mycroft reminded the kids as he dropped them off outside their school. “I’ll be home around 6.” Aggie nodded with a smile, hugging him tightly. 

“I love you, Papa,” she whispered in his ear. “I can already tell this is gonna be a good birthday.” 

“I’ll make sure of it,” Mycroft whispered back. She gave him one last smile, then skipped off to where a group of her friends were waiting with arms full of presents. 

~~~

Mycroft and Greg were having one of their regular ‘Sherlock did something dumb’ meetings, about a year after they had first met at his hospital bedside. A lot had changed in that year. 

When the two men had met, Greg was married to a serial philanderer, desperately unhappy and desperate for a friend. Mycroft was isolated and depressed, barely hanging on to the final shreds of his sanity. One year into their friendship, Greg’s marriage was over and Mycroft was feeling more stable than he had in years. 

The conversation had long since ceased revolving around Sherlock, and the two men were happily sipping wine and enjoying each other’s company when Greg decided it was time to ask a question that had been on his mind for a while. 

“Would you go on a date with me?” Greg blurted out when there was a slight lull in the conversation. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Mycroft sputtered. 

“Would you go on a date with me?” Greg asked again, feeling bolder. “It’s been a while since my divorce, and I think it’s time I get back into the whole dating thing, and frankly, you are exactly my type. So, what do you say? Will you go on a date with me?” Greg flashed his sexiest grin. 

“I think I might be quite interested in that,” Mycroft replied smoothly, a smile spreading across his face. 

~~~

Mycroft stood silently, sipping mediocre coffee as he waited for Greg to arrive at that night’s AA meeting. Sherlock, John, and Molly were all also in attendance, and were chatting happily around Mycroft as he watched the clock with single minded attention. 

“He still has five minutes,” Sherlock pointed out quietly, snapping Mycroft out of his thoughts. “He’ll be here.” 

“I won’t be able to handle it if he doesn’t show,” Mycroft muttered, and Sherlock wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

“He’ll be here,” Sherlock assured him. “He’s been looking forward to this for weeks.” 

“I really have,” a voice greeted them from behind. The brothers turned to face the voice, both of them smiling brightly at Greg. He returned the smile, giving Mycroft a tight hug. “Thanks for coming, it really means a lot to me.” 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Mycroft assured him. Across the room, everyone started to find their seats and settle in. 

“I’m going to be up front, you can sit wherever you like,” Greg told them as they started to head towards the chairs. “But before I do, I wanted to ask you something, My.” 

“Go ahead,” Mycroft beckoned, turning so he could fully face the other man. 

“Would you go on a date with me?” Greg asked, his eyes twinkling. “It’s been a while since my divorce, and I think it’s time for me to get back into the whole dating thing, and frankly, you’re exactly my type. So what do you say? Will you go on a date with me?” Greg flashed a sexy grin, and Mycroft laughed as he recognized the words that Greg had used to ask him out nearly twenty years before. 

“I think,” Mycroft answered with a smile, “that I might be quite interested in that.” 

~~~ 

Mycroft flushed nervously as he stood in front of brother, in-laws, and a small group of Greg’s friends. He was 33, and he was the happiest he had ever been. Greg was reading his vows, and the rest of the world seemed to have disappeared, and it was just him and Greg, two men on their wedding day, blissfully unaware of what was to come. 

“...I promise to stand next to you everyday and face each day together. I promise to listen to your problems and handle them right alongside you. I promise to laugh at your jokes, even when they’re too intellectual and I don’t get them. I promise to make you laugh every moment that I can. I promise to dry your tears and to never be the cause of them. I promise to love you, Mycroft Holmes, today, tomorrow, and every day for the rest of my life.” Greg finished up, slightly out of breath, and looked up from his paper to see his normally unflappable groom tearing up. The officiant gestured to Mycroft to read his vows. 

“Gregory, I’m not very good at sharing my feelings, as you well know, but here it goes. I have been deeply unhappy for most of my life. I have found very few things able to bring me even a modicum of joy. I had assumed that was my lot in life, but then I met you. You bring me so much joy, Gregory, and I would do anything to ensure that everyday of your life is as happy as you make mine. I promise to love, honor, and cherish you of course, but more than that, I promise to adore you. I promise to never lose sight of the fact that I have been blessed merely to know you, let alone to love and be loved by you. I have recently discovered that I am the luckiest man in the world, because I have you. I vow to make you the happiest man in the world until the day I die. I love you, Greg Lestrade, and I will continue to do so, so long as I live.” 

~~~

Greg received his chip and the whole room cheered for him. Tears sprung to his eyes as he looked out at the faces of all those who had supported him during the rollercoaster of a year he had just had. He threw his arms around his sponsor, then stepped forward to the small microphone set up for him to say a few words. 

“A year ago today,” he started shakily, “I got so drunk that I forgot my daughter’s eighth birthday. I showed up at home in the middle of the night, berated my husband, slapped him across the face, and passed out on the floor of my guest room in a puddle of my own vomit. That was my rock bottom. That was the day I realized that I was no longer in control of my life. 

“I went to rehab after that, and I swore I was cured. I came to AA and I went through the motions, but at the first real test my sobriety crumbled. Six months ago my husband found me passed out next to a rubbish skip after I had been missing for two days. 

“Standing before you all today, I am not the man that I was. I had lost myself to alcohol, and I have fought hard to get myself back. It’s been hard for me to overcome my fear of letting others help me, it’s been hard to open myself up to what the steps are trying to tell me. But a dear friend once told me: ‘you don’t have to see the whole staircase, you just have to take the first step.’ 

“Six months ago I threw my husband and my family away to get drunk. I hurt my two incredible kids, and I hurt the greatest man I’ve ever known in my life. Not anymore. I can’t see the whole staircase, but I trust that my higher power can, and he knows where I’m going. I’m going to keep climbing. Alcohol does not control me anymore. One day at a time, I am dedicated to working on myself, and by doing so, trying to repair the damage I inflicted upon the lives of those I love. Getting this chip means the world to me, and I intend to keep earning these. I promise I will.” 

Greg looked towards the back of the room, his eyes filling with tears again as he saw the bright smile and tear streaked cheeks of his ex-husband. Sherlock had an arm around his brother’s shoulders, rubbing his arm comfortingly. John was grinning at him and Molly was openly crying, but Greg could barely spare a second to meet their eyes, he was too busy getting to and wrapping his arms around Mycroft. 

~~~

Mycroft and Greg raced to the door when the social worker who was tasked with ferrying three month old Archie to his new home arrived. They both hastily straightened their clothes and hair and caught their breath before opening the door, attempting to project calm enthusiasm instead of manic excitement and terror. 

The social worker talked to Greg and Mycroft for what felt like hours, and inspected the house, and finally left Greg and Mycroft alone to bond with their son. 

“It is occurring to me for the first time that I don’t actually know how to bond with a baby,” Mycroft admitted as he stared wide eyed at the baby. 

“Neither do I,” Greg admitted. “Do we just pick him up?” 

“Couldn’t hurt,” Mycroft muttered, and gently lifted the little boy. Archie opened his big blue eyes, looking between the two men. 

“Hi Archie,” Greg cooed, and the baby gurgled happily, clapping his chubby fists. 

“Look at that,” Mycroft chuckled, “it turns out we’re naturals.” 

~~~

Aggie’s birthday dinner was a rousing success. No one had seen the little girl as happy as she was that night in well over a year. 

After dinner Aggie had declared that they were going to watch a movie and have popcorn. As they always did when they watched movies, the family sat together on the couch, Mycroft and Greg seated on either side of their kids. Archie had his head leaning back against Greg’s arm, Aggie curled up with her head leaning against Mycroft’s chest. Behind the kids’ heads, Mycroft and Greg held hands. 

They put the kids to bed together, then slowly made their way back downstairs. 

“I should get going,” Greg said reluctantly, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you for coming to my meeting today, it meant so much to have you there.” 

“Thank you for inviting me,” Mycroft smiled shyly. 

“I guess I’ll see you later this week,” Greg said, and turned to go when suddenly Mycroft reached out and gently grabbed his arm. 

“You could stay.” He blurted out, his eyes wide. “I’m sure the kids would be excited to have you here in the morning.” 

“What, like in the guestroom?” Greg asked, tilting his head. 

“I mean, you could, but I think I have a better idea.” Mycroft let go of Greg’s arm and instead grabbed his hand, pulling him out into the yard and leading him to the carriage house. Greg raised his eyebrows but said nothing until Mycroft had unlocked the door and led him inside.  

Greg’s mouth fell open as he took in the home that had been created in what had been nothing more than an oversized garden shed. 

“Did you do all this?” Greg asked, awestruck. 

“Good lord no,” Mycroft scoffed. “A group of people who love you did, myself included, though I think I honestly put the least work in out of anyone.” 

“This is for me?” Greg asked, his mouth still hanging open.

“If you want it. You could be closer to the kids, and to support should you need it. There are three bedrooms, so the kids could sleep over whenever they like, and you could save your rent money.” 

“And I’m going to need that money, because this guy I’m dating is real posh, I’m definitely going to have to take him to some nice restaurants.” Greg teased. “Thank you for this, My, this is incredible. I never dreamed I could have something like this again.” 

“Welcome home, love,” Mycroft whispered, pulling Greg into his arms and kissing him as though he was the only person in the world.

~~~

Mycroft, Greg, and Archie gathered around the squirming bundle of pink blankets that held the family’s newest addition. 

“She’s my sister?” Archie asked, his voice full of wonder. 

“That’s her,” Greg confirmed. “That’s our little Agatha.” 

“She’s perfect,” Archie whispered reverently. 

“She’ll fit right in then,” Mycroft told him, dropping a kiss atop the little boy’s head. 

“She will,” Archie nodded, “we’re a perfect family now.”