Work Text:
Two weeks shy of our one-year anniversary, I walk into the living room of the house I share with Mycroft expecting to find him dressed and ready for our bi-weekly night out. Instead, I find him sitting on the sofa holding a baby. A baby. “What the hell?”
He holds a finger to his lips.
“What the hell?” I repeat in a harsh whisper.
“Hello,” he says quietly. Not a whisper, but not his normal tone. “I know the books say you should speak normally so that the baby gets used to noises, but I thought it best to ease him in gently.”
“Yeah?” Maybe he’s gone mad. His job is stressful, and given all the hell he’s been through recently, I wouldn’t blame him one bit. But, if that’s the case, it’s best that I humour him until I can get a doctor here to see to him. “Well… if that’s what you think is best, that’s what we should do.” I feel slightly dizzy and confused. “Uh, not to make a fuss or anything, but whose baby is that, and why are you holding it?”
With a tender smile down at the bundle in his arms, he says, “This is Miles.”
The tender smile scares me. Well, to be honest, him holding a baby scares me more. I’ve never known Mycroft to be particularly fond of anyone other than me or Sherlock – and John by default¸ so this holding and smiling at some random infant is cause for a bit of alarm. “Miles, eh? Well, what’s he doing here? Wait, let me guess. He’s the future king of some unnamed country, and you’re holding him until they sign some type of treatise.”
“Yes, I’m holding a baby hostage,” he says with an eye roll and a sigh. “I hope I hear from his guardians soon, or he’s going to lose a finger.”
“Hilarious,” I say with an eye roll of my own. “You can imagine how this looks, coming home and finding that your husband’s not dressed for your night out, but is sitting with some strange baby, smiling and cooing. Very frightening.”
“To refute, I am dressed for our night out. And he’s not some strange baby, he’s your son.”
“My what?” I frown at him, trying to determine if he’s joking. “Is this some kind of joke? I don’t… there’s no… I don’t have a son. Is someone saying that I…? What the hell is going on?”
“First, calm yourself. I just got him to sleep.”
“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to wake up my baby. Which I don’t have. We’ve been married for nearly a year , and if I had a baby with someone, you’d have known already because the person I cheated on you with would be dead. Or I would be dead, and she would be exiled somewhere. Or I would be exiled, and she-”
“Gregory, do sit down,” he cuts in, tisking softly as the bundle in his arms squirms a bit. “You’re agitating Miles.”
“Agitating Miles? MILES? Mycroft, if you don’t start talking, I’m going to thrash you.”
“No need to resort to violence,” he says, patting the baby gently. “Ted came by this evening.”
“That bastard was here?” Ted, the fucking PE teacher who poached my wife. It turned out for the best for me, but it still rankles. “What did he want? And how does he know where we live?”
“Obviously, I told him where we live.”
“What for?”
“So he could bring the baby. Do keep up. ”
“Why is he dropping off a baby?”
“What else was he to do with him?”
“I don’t know… not leave him here? We’re not babysitters, and Tess and I don’t even speak.”
“It seems you communicated well enough last December.”
“We called it off in December. You know that – you helped fast track the divorce. “
“Yes, I do recall that. However, it seems that before you parted, you gave her a little present.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Stop shouting.” He rubs his hand over the baby’s head soothingly. “Please.”
I stare at his hand for a long minute, then shake my head to clear it. This is all a bit bonkers. “I’m not shouting, I’m… well, I am shouting, but not without reason. Why did you let him leave that baby here?”
“Miles is not Ted’s baby.”
“If it’s not his baby, then whose it is?”
“As has been previously stated, it’s yours. Well, ours, since we’re married.”
“And you just believed him? You never believe anyone.”
“After seeing the results of the DNA test he produced, I was inclined to believe him. It seems he was told the not-so-good-news on live television.”
“Why would he – oh… he went on that show? Wait, when was this baby born?”
“November first. Forty weeks after your failed reconciliation. Give or take a week.”
“Fuck.”
He frowns at me. “Don’t swear in front of the baby. He’s impressionable.”
I glare at him. “Of course. We wouldn’t want the baby, who happens to be sleeping, to hear me swearing.” I shove a hand through my hair, and resist the urge to start ripping it out by the roots. “So… do I need a test?” I can feel my heart pounding. “I should take one. Tessa is a consummate liar, and if she’s been lying to Ted…”
“Well, yes, if it will ease your mind, but he has your eyes, nose, and the curve of your ears. Seeing your dark brown eyes in the face of a child who should by all rights have blue or green eyes was enough to rouse Ted’s suspicions about being the child’s father. He sought the help of the “Who’s Your Da?” host to prove paternity of the baby. And his suspicions were confirmed.”
I bury my head in my hands. “What the hell am I going to do with a baby? I can’t have a baby!”
“Nonetheless, we have a baby, my dear husband.”
“You said you didn’t ever want children after having to help with Sherlock when he was growing up. A baby is definitely children.”
“Again, if you would please stop shouting. Maybe you should have a drink to calm your nerves because you’re babbling. If you hold him, I’ll get it for you.”
“Hold him? No! I mean, no… I might drop him.”
“The chance that you might drop him is considerably less than the chance that you might drop my expensive bottle of cognac, which was a gift from the Prince. You’ve held babies before, Gregory. What makes this any different?”
“I don’t know. It just is. He’s… so tiny… Why are you so calm?”
“Babies like calm. Besides, what can I do about it? You had unprotected sex with your cheating ex-wife, and there is a high probability that this is the result. We’re lucky that all you got from her was a baby.”
“I’m clean.” I sound defensive to my own ears. “Thankfully.”
“Luckily,” he corrects. “Being upset with the baby won’t make it any less real.”
“But you’re… holding him, patting him, and are being all Zen about his. This is a baby!”
“I deal with spoiled people in high-powered positions who wish to be coddled for a living, so a baby isn’t really all that different. And Sherlock is my brother. If anything has prepared me for dealing with a baby, he has.”
“Well…”
He gets up, and walks over to me. “Take him.”
“No… I… he’s…”
“Yours. Take him.”
I accept the sleeping baby, and look up at Mycroft. “What do I do?”
“Nothing, since he’s asleep. Just sit there while I get your drink.” He mutters something about not being a housewife as he goes over to the liquor trolley.
“Ah… okay.” Nervous, I chance a look down at the baby in my arms. Eyes closed, peacefully sleeping. Cute as a button, but is he really my kid? That does look a bit like my nose, but all babies look the same to me… Are they sure? I can’t have a kid… I’ve only been married a year, and Mycroft is busy, and I’m busy, and - the baby moves and I let out a squeak of surprise.
“Gregory, please stop fretting, or you’ll wake him. Though it seems he’s like you in that only an earthquake could rouse him once he’s sleeping. Here.” He hands me a drink and takes the baby back, cradling him against his shoulder, hand braced on his tiny back and neck. “The results of your DNA test will be here soon, and though I’m positive that he’s yours, we’ll wait and make it official. Once it’s official, we’ll have to make some changes. I’m thinking that the guest room across the hall from the master suite would be perfect for a nursery. How would you like that, Miles? You’re such a sweet boy and you deserve a lovely room of your own…”
Mycroft cooing, and saying the word ‘nursery’ makes me shudder. I knock back the fine cognac like a common drunkard, and shake my head. “This has got to be a dream.”
“I cannot believe that you are having a nervous breakdown over a baby.”
“I’m not… Wait… how did you… you have my DNA?”
“How else will I make clones?”
“Mycroft…”
He smiles, and it could be me, but it looks a bit sharky. “As has been previously established, we’re married. Your DNA is, at any given time, in our bed, in me, on me, on you, in your hairbrush, toothbrush, and in a database. Child’s play, even without the database.”
That’s the problem with being married to a Holmes – no privacy. “And so-“
A discreet tap on the door startles me, and I drop the empty snifter on the floor. I snatch it up with a shaking hand. “Bloody hell.”
“The moment of truth,” Mycroft says gleefully. If he wasn’t holding that baby, I just know he’d be rubbing his hands together like a true villain. “Come.”
The door opens, and Anthea comes in, tapping away on her blackberry, manila envelope in hand. “As requested, sir.” She looks up as she hands over the envelope. “Oooh, what a doll! May I?”
“A moment.” Mycroft shifts the baby to the crook of his right arm, takes the envelope, removes a sheet of paper and scans it quickly. All without waking or jostling the baby, the bastard. “Well.”
I stand up on wobbly legs. “Can the melodramatics and tell me.”
“Congratulations, it’s a boy.” He laughs and gently hands the baby to Anthea. “Be careful not to wake him.”
She rolls her eyes, takes the baby, and starts making cooing noises. “He is a sweetie. And he looks just like you, Detective Inspector Lestrade. Oh, and he has a dimple! How gorgeous he is… aren’t you just a sweet thing, Little Miles…”
I blink at the fact that Anthea has paid me a compliment and is ignoring her phone in favour of cooing at a strange baby, but move past it to confront my husband. “Mycroft…” I begin, but words fail me, and I sit down heavily, trying not to start wailing in despair.
He comes over, puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. “It’s going to be fine. Trust me.” His hand slides down to my back, and he rubs soothingly.
“A baby. My baby. Oh, god…” I rock back and forth for a good minute, trying to calm down. “Where’s Tessa in all this? She can’t have just let Ted give away her baby. She didn’t ring me or anything…”
“Why would she ring you? She didn’t want you to know about the baby. And according to Ted, when she was presented with the choice of ‘me or your ex-husband’s baby’, Theresa decided that a Ted in the hand was far more valuable than a baby that he knew wasn’t his. Given the circumstances, she was more than willing to sign away her parental rights.”
“Just like that? The Tessa I know is rather mercenary when it comes to giving up things.” My empty wallet after the divorce is testament to just how greedy she can be. “She’d never pass up an opportunity to get a leg up. Especially if she knows you’re rolling in dough. Which you are. You’ll never get rid of her now.”
“We are rolling in dough, if you must,” he corrects, then lifts his right shoulder in his version of a shrug. “She did mention a meaningful sum that could help compensate for the heartache she would no doubt experience at being separated from her only child.”
“Now that sounds more like her.” I scrub at my face with my hands. “So, I’m buying my own child from my ex-wife?”
“No, no… that would be illegal, and we want to keep it all above board for Miles’ sake. What we’re doing is investing in a newly married couple’s fledgling fish and chip shop. In Canada.”
“Canada?”
“Yes. And so by, ah... investing in their entrepreneurial venture, they agree to keep London off their list of vacation spots, and to sever all ties with Miles. The funds will be put in a trust, and doled out monthly to ensure that she adheres to her end of the bargain. A close watch will be kept, if you’re worried she’ll come back and cause trouble.”
Sherlock often refers to his brother as ‘the most dangerous man you’ve ever met’, and seeing that in action is frightening, thrilling, and just a tiny bit arousing. But then, again… “When you say ‘Canada’, you actually mean Canada, right? Not a euphemism, like ‘sleeping with the fishes”, or ‘Getting off at Willoughby*’…”
“Really, Gregory. You are so dramatic. Though tempting, Tessie and Ted have not been harmed in any way. They are actually on their way to Canada tonight. Montreal, to be exact.”
“What if… he’ll want to know about his mum. And he’s going to do a lot of crying, being separated from her.”
“While I would prefer that you tell him the truth when he is old enough to understand, I won’t balk if you paint her as a tragic heroine for his sake.”
“Tragic? More like the Queen of Tarts.”
“You can tell him that tale when he’s an adult. At any rate, Ted assures me that the baby will not experience much separation anxiety, as he was been in the care of various relatives for most of his young life.” He looks over at the baby, snuggled against Anthea’s chest and shakes his head. “The poor little chap.”
“Let’s see… ‘Son, your mom sold you to your dad and me to open a fish and chip shop in Canada.’ No, that won’t scar him at all.”
“We’ll figure that out as it comes. He’s only three months old, so it’s highly unlikely that he’s wondering about it right now. Or missing his mother. He just wants someone to feed, change, hold, and show him love. I must confess that I’ve no problem doing all of those things for him. And more.”
“It seems you’ve got it all figured out.” This concerns me. I mean, Mycroft is so calm, cool and collected. And there’s obviously much more to the story than he’s telling, because it’s all working out too well. I don’t know if I can do this. It’s hard enough being married to the British Government; adding a baby to that seems like madness.
“What is it?” he asks. “Are you concerned about the money?”
“The money? No, it’s not that…” I take a deep breath, and look up at him. “What if I don’t… this is all a bit much. Maybe I… we… should consider… seeing as we’re both busy with work and all. I mean, we’re rarely home before midnight, and that can’t be good for a baby. A nanny to suit our schedules would cost a fortune. Her mom… maybe he can go with her. What if that’s what I want?”
“Oh, no,” Anthea gasps and holds the baby tighter to her chest.
Mycroft removes his hand from my shoulder, and returns the letter to the envelope. “Then I’ll divorce you, and raise him myself.” He says this rather nonchalantly, but I can hear the frost in his tone quite clearly. “Let me know straight away, and I’ll have my solicitor here within the hour.”
“What? You’re not even giving me a chance to think it over.”
“There isn’t anything to ‘think over’, Gregory. Miles didn’t ask to be here, and doesn’t deserve to be punished for your lack of hormonal self-control where your conniving ex-wife is concerned. If you can simply give him away like a loaf of stale bread, then you aren’t the man I thought you were. That is definitely grounds for divorce.”
“Divorce? You barely know this baby!”
“He’s your son, which makes him my son. I will admit to being surprised and woefully unprepared for this turn of events, but find myself quite excited at the idea of raising a child. You are understandably nervous and unsure, and I am willing to make allowances for this, because I am having the same feelings, though perhaps I’m better at concealing them. But if you are actually considering backing away from your child because of your fears, or because of the inconvenience, I will definitely reconsider our marriage.”
I stand up and walk over to Anthea, and look down at the baby. “I am scared. Terrified. I’ve never done this before, and don’t want to mess him up. It’s a big responsibility.”
“So is being married to me,” Mycroft says, and he sounds a bit weary, “but you’ve done well so far. I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do. It is a large responsibility, but I think that you and I together can make it work. It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t respond to him in the same manner that I did.”
“It’s not that,” I assure him. “It’s just all happening so fast.”
He shrugs. “It is not a timeline I would have chosen, but there’s little we can do to change it. Be honest, Gregory. I won’t force you to keep him.”
I put out a hand, and stroke his cheek. “He’s adorable. And he’s mine. I… you promise you won’t ship him off to boarding school, or make him call us ‘Father’, and speak Latin?”
He nods. “No boarding school, no calling us ‘Father’. But, I speak nine languages fluently. Why shouldn’t my son be able to communicate with me in Latin? I will never hurt him, abuse him, or belittle him. That’s the best I can do, Gregory. The choice to keep him or not is yours.”
“So… cake or death?”
“Yes.” He smiles at the reference. It’s a warm smile that brightens his eyes, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in those blue depths that I haven’t seen before. “And we’re all out of cake.”
I scrub my face with both hands. I can’t blame the boy for being here, and yeah, it was crazy of me to not use a condom with Tessa when I knew she was screwing around on me. It wouldn’t be fair to the baby to give him away, and I… it’s the right thing to do. I don’t know how Mycroft, my scheming, backdoor dealing husband with more secrets than I’ll ever know became the voice of morality in this, but he’s right. It would be a horrible thing to do to a kid. Tessa is bad, but her mother is ten times worse. And even though I’m terrified, I couldn’t live with myself if I just chucked him away. I look at Mycroft. “So… what’s his full name?”
“Thank you, Gregory.” He dips his head at my implied acceptance. “His name is entirely up to us.”
“He doesn’t have a name? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes, well, there is very little about your ex-wife that makes any sense at all. I chose the name Miles because it happens to be a personal favourite of mine. It’s melodious, and seems to suit him. I am also open to Thelmonious, Wynton, or Charlie. If you aren’t in agreement, feel free to suggest alternatives.”
“You want to name our son after one of the jazz greats? I was thinking you’d choose something posh like Arrington, or Binghampton.”
“I recall rather vividly the teasing that came with introducing myself. And those names are utterly ridiculous.”
“Just examples. I wouldn’t be offended if you want him to have a distinguished name. As long as it’s not Percy or Trevelyan.”
“I’m settled on Miles, since I am of the belief that Miles Davis is sublime. Why shouldn’t my son be named for him?”
“Oh, I don’t know… the heroin addiction, the… hey, can you just rename a kid like that? Don’t you have to petition the court or something?”
Anthea looks at Mycroft, and they both snicker quietly. “Petition the court,” she repeats to the baby. “Your Da is hilarious, Miles.”
“Quite,” Mycroft agrees. “It isn’t for the court to settle. I simply refuse to let him keep the name he has now.”
“Says the man whose parents named a kid Sherlock.” I can’t resist the dig. This whole thing is making me dizzy. “What did they name him?”
“Egbert Percy Tedford, Junior. Ted was already referring to him as little Eggy.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yes.”
So, obviously, being married to the British Government means you can change a birth certificate without much fuss. “Miles it is, then. I will admit to being vain enough to want my child named for me, so if you don’t mind, I’d like his second name to be Gregory.”
“Miles Gregory.” His head tilts to the side as he ponders this. “I like it. Very distinguished. Gregory is your late grandfather’s name, if memory serves.”
“Yes. Big Gee, they called him.”
“What will we give Miles for a surname?”
“Hm.” That’s tricky. When we married, well engaged in our civil union, we didn’t change our names, but unofficially, we each took the other’s last name and added it to our own. I’m Gregory Michel Lestrade-Holmes, and he’s Mycroft Stevelyn Holmes-Lestrade. Both are a mouthful, but I like his better. “Holmes-Lestrade. Holmes, for short.”
“You’re sure?” He sounds rather pleased at the prospect, and I like that.
“The British Government can change it if he has a hard time writing it.”
“So it can. Hm…Miles Gregory Holmes-Lestrade. Absolutely perfect.” He produces a pen, and hands me a sheaf of papers. “Sign and date where indicated.” He steps away and takes out his ringing phone. “Jean-Claude, how nice of you to call back so quickly. I need your talents to redecorate the primary guest room. A baby. Yes, you did… hm… his father and I will need to see swatches… let me see… let’s say half-two tomorrow. Fine, fine. Talk later.” He smiles at me. “Jean-Claude will be here at half-two tomorrow to show us some ideas for Miles’s room.”
“Jean-Claude…?” I look up from the documents I’m intently reading. “Van Damme?”
Anthea snorts. “Wow.”
“Yes, Gregory. Jean-Claude van Damme is coming to kick-box our guest room into a nursery.”
“Oh, like I would know your fancy decorator. Prissy pants.”
“Caveman,” he shoots back.
The familiar teasing between us calms me a bit. “Who is Jean-Claude, and why is he coming here?”
“Jean-Claude is an exclusive decorator with a waiting list four years long.”
“And how did you, ah…we jump to the front of the list? And can we afford such an exclusive decorator?”
He gives me that ‘you’re an idiot so I’m not going to dignify that with an answer’ frown. “Should we have a shower?”
I am hot and sticky, and could use a hot shower to relax. Oh… “A baby shower, you mean?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Isn’t it tacky to have a shower after the baby is here?”
“Under the circumstances, I’m sure we’ll be forgiven,” he replies. “We can use the opportunity to introduce Miles to our family and friends, and they can shower him with gifts. Let’s put together a list of people to invite. Anthea, dear, I’ll need you to speak to the floors – gifts welcomed, attendance not mandatory.” He looks at me. “If you don’t stipulate, they’ll all come, and we wouldn’t want that.”
Anthea shakes her head. “Norman from IT… definitely not mandatory.”
“Is David coming anytime during this century?” Mycroft asks. “He promised two hours.”
“What?” I ask. “Who’s David?”
“He owns a shop. Baby things.”
“Baby things?” I feel my hysteria rising again, so I stand up. “What kinds of baby things? Mycroft, if you’re thinking of buying ponies and swans and peacocks, or some rich, poncy crap-“
“Ponies and swans? Peacocks? How gauche.” He sighs. “Clothes, Gregory. He only has two nappies and the… buttony thing-“
“Romper,” Anthea supplies. She takes out her mobile, and works it with one hand while gently rocking the baby.
“Romper,” Mycroft continues. “He only has three. Hardly adequate. He has no blankets, no gowns, no sleeping things with snaps. His dummy has been nibbled on by a small dog, and the few items he does have were delivered in a hamper used for cleaning supplies. And he most certainly needs a new plushie.” He grimaces at that last detail. “He needs things to make him feel at home, and we need things to care for him, like powder and lotion and baby wipes. And where will he sleep? The bottom drawer of the chest of drawers is only cute in fictional tales, Gregory, I know you’re not entirely comfortable with the disparity in our incomes, but believe me when I say it is a pleasure to do something for young Miles. Please, let me.”
“We’ve been fathers for an hour, and you’re already wrapped around his finger.” I shake my head, and sit back down. “Please keep the cotbed simple. I don’t think I could live with myself if I let a son of mine grow up in a canopied bed.”
“It was only temporary,” Mycroft says defensively. “Mummy thought I’d like it if the skylight didn’t shine on me directly as I burned easily. To be clear, it wasn’t a canopy, it was a dark blue fabric stretched over the top of the bed. And I grew up just fine.”
I lift my eyebrows at that, but don’t comment.
“David’s here,” Anthea announces, looking down at the baby. “You’re going to get some new clothes, and a new bed, and a nice rocker for your Daddy to read you stories and rock you to sleep. Oh, you’re such a handsome boy… so lucky…” She looks up at the silence. Mycroft and I are looking at her like she’s grown two heads. “I like babies. They’re guileless, and don’t make snap judgments about people.” She blushes and clears her throat. “So, then. If one of you would take Miles, I’ll meet David around back. Where would you like me to have the things stored?”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, my dear,” Mycroft says gently, taking the baby. “I’ve never heard you speak so, and it caught me off guard.”
“Well, a plus for me then,” she says, “because that’s the first time I’ve been able to do that.”
“Well done, you,” I add. “For now, we can put Miles’s things in my office.”
“Multi-media room,” Mycroft corrects. “To be an office, it should have a desk. A ninety-inch TV does not count.”
“Doesn’t stop you watching the news on it, does it? And you were the one who gave it to me. A wedding present, you called it.”
Anthea shakes her head and goes to the back of the house to see to ‘David’.
“Mycroft…”
“Please stop worrying. We’ll be fine.” He looks down at the baby. “He’s absolutely adorable. Wait until he wakes up. Then you’ll see.”
Mycroft is smitten, and it is the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. “You should see yourself. No, your minions should see you, cooing and making kissy noises at a baby. No one would ever call you Iceman again.”
“No one calls me Iceman. At least not while I’m in the building.”
Of course they don’t. “Those papers… all legitimate? Nothing to come back to bite us on the arse?”
“With the exception of the fiasco with Sherlock, has anything I’ve ever done come back to bite us anywhere?”
“No. But-“
“Trust me, Gregory. I would never do anything to hurt you or to land you in jail.” He tilts his head to the side. “Well, at least no jail that I couldn’t get you out of. Though reliable sources have advised that-“
“Focus on the issue at hand, please. Why are you doing this?”
“For the sake of the child and for you. Miles definitely deserves better than your ex-wife and Ted. And he’s your son.”
“Doesn’t answer the question.”
“It does. A boy should grow up in the shadow of a man that he can trust to provide love, care, and discipline. A hero, one would say. Who better than the stalwart Detective Inspector Lestrade?”
“Oh, go on with your flattery,” I say, blushing. “You’re going to be the best father ever. You’re already bonding with him, holding him close like that. I’ll just be bad cop, making sure he does his homework, and doesn’t smoke weed.” I flip to the final page of the documents, and sign it with a flourish. “There. All done.”
He shifts the baby, leans down, and scrawls his name next to mine. Then, he leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. “Congratulations, love. We’re officially the parents of Miles Gregory Holmes-Lestrade. You’ll have to think of someone you’d like as a godparent. And call your family. I’ve already spoken to Mummy… she’s ecstatic, and can’t wait to meet him.”
“You told your mum? How’d you – never mind. Omniscience. I forget.”
“You’re predictable.” He leans in and kisses me. “He really does look like you. He’s bald now, but will have a lovely head of hair in about a year.”
I shake my head. The British Government, brought to its knees by a baby. “You’re a berk, Mycroft Holmes. A total berk.”
“Yes. “ He smiles down at the baby. “But the cause is sufficient, don’t you think?”
*Twilight Zone reference.