“It’s Mycroft. Ignore it.”
‘She’s an angel.’ Greg Lestrade was only coming by to collect Sherlock’s homework. Had he known he was going to meet the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, he would have worn a fresh shirt.
Ironed it, too.
She was sat in the conservatory, the large glass room showing the deep green grass in Sherlock's back garden and rose bushes he had guessed Mr Holmes planted when he was here in the spring. Legs crossed loosely at the knee resting against the white wicker seating in there, she was reading a notepad in her hands, occasionally looking towards the huge instrument; a harp? standing in the centre of the room. She shook her head, and with the Sunny summer evening beaming a halo of light around her long ginger hair, she looked damn near ethereal.
“Older sister; I don’t share my misfortune. Wait here, I’ll get the papers.” Sherlock took off back up the staircase at a clip, but Greg had long since turned back to the conservatory. She had moved from her seat, to perch on a stool hidden behind the grand strings, flexing her fingers before embracing the harp and beginning to play. Greg himself played Guitar, in a band and on his own, so he could appreciate a musician who played strings, but she was amazing.
He had never seen anyone play the harp before, and now he was damn sure no one would be able to top this, ever.
She span around, shock in blue grey eyes.
“Who are you?” Her voice was lower than he expected, but it earthed her, making her seem more real than she had been mere moments ago.
“Sorry, Sorry! I-” The girl had now jumped from her seat ( to an impressive 6 foot height - He’d never dated a girl taller than him before) and backed him out of the conservatory and back into the hall. She walked him until he was standing against the wall, and then she was in his face and so was her perfume.
“What are you doing here?”
“S-sorry, I’m not lurking or anything, I was just looking at you and you were playing wonderful-”
“Ugh there you are.” Sherlock stomped across the floor and grabbed his arm.
“You know him?” Mycroft turned to her brother and whispered seriously. Greg felt a shiver spin down his sternum.
“Obviously, Leave him alone, Fatcroft.”
“Hey, that’s not a nice thing to say to your sister,” Greg said “, She had no idea who I was.”
The siblings paused. Sherlock was looking at him like he was trying to convince him the sky was green, and Mycroft-
She was looking like he had managed it.
“Ugh,” Sherlock slapped a sheet of paper into Greg’s chest and pulled him away from his sister and her minty breath “,Please don’t talk to her; You’ll catch boring.”
“Uh, uh, Bye! It was nice to mee-” Greg tried to say, but he was dragged away and out of the house before he could say farewell. The door shut behind them, and Greg was released from Sherlock’s grip.
“I didn’t know you had a sister!”
“I don’t, I have a babysitter and a constant annoying know it all.”
“Yyyyep; That’s older sisters for you.” Greg laughed. Sherlock had the same expression he always did when he had expected chastisement but was instead faced with agreement and didn’t know how to deal with it.
“Alright, well I’m going to get this to Mr Partil before he leaves his room. See ya, Sherlock.”
The face Sherlock did not immediately turn and leave him was as good as a thank you, so Greg nodded and walked back to his car. By the time he had gotten into his car, and strapped in, Sherlock had vanished, Presumably back into the house as opposed to the dark evening gloom, but Greg couldn't say for certain. Looking back up to the large house, he was greeted by the sight of Mycroft looking down at him from a window that he knew looked out from the library. He waved, a polite smile on his face, which grew to a grin when she gingerly returned it.
“Why are you looking so cheerful?” Greg’s mother, Lucy, asked as she saw her son practically bounce into the kitchen.
“Did you know Sherlock has a sister? She’s tall and plays the harp really well! Like, she played a really pretty melody on it. Also, she has long ginger hair, really down to her waist long. And her eyes are grey, and then blue, and then grey again! Did I mention she was tall? She’s taller than me, and I’m 5’11” as is!”
While her son went on his worded tirade about how wonderful his friends sibling was, Lucy had pulled out a kitchen chair and waited for him to take it.
“Anyway, she was playing the harp in their conservatory, and I’ve gotta find out what she was playing because it sounded like something from Lord of the Rings. Do you think she’d like fantasy novels? Sherlock doesn't, but then again Sherlock doesn’t like anything…”
“Greg?” Lucy called softly.
“Huh?” Greg looked like he had just awoken from a mental fuge.
“What’s her name?” Lucy smiled at Greg’s blush.
“Oh, what? Who? Whose name? What are you talking about?” He babbled. Lucy rolled her eyes and tutted.
“Are you seriously trying to pretend you aren’t head over heels for this girl, when you just walked in and blathered about her for ten minutes straight?”
“It wasn’t ten minutes…” Greg mumbled into his fist. Lucy chuckled and reached behind her to reboil the kettle.
“You’re not 12, Greg, no reason to be embarrassed by a crush.”
“Yeah, but she’s really pretty!” He groaned, burying his head in his arms on the kitchen table.
Lucy burst into giggles. The kettle clicked and she turned back to fill the coffee cup she had put out earlier.
“Aw, our young Greg has a crush on a girl!”
“Mum, it’s not funny. Mycroft is ginger! And tall! And talented and ugh… I hate this…”
“She’s called Mycroft, huh?”
“...She touched my arm and my belly went to jelly.” He mumbled into the tabletop.
Lucy had to put her cup back down as she needed to hold herself up through her laughing fit at her daft son.
Greg had dated before, she had been introduced to both men and women in her sons 22 years and it was always a joy to see his usual confidence crumble in the face of an attractive person at his uni or the bakers where he worked.
“So when are you going to see her again?”
Greg quickly raised his head from the table.
Lucy giggled again.
“Over her already?”
“No… I don’t think she’d want to see me.” Lucy moved her coffee to the table and took a seat.
“I mean, she sort of caught me watching her play; I didn’t even know I was at the door - and then she caught me and, like obviously we were both shocked, and then she was shouting, and then we were in the hall, and she had really nice perfume, and then I had to take Sherlock’s homework to Patel so I drove off.”
“... You’re a mess, honey.” Lucy sighed, and Greg groaned.
“Oh God I know! She’d never talk to me again!”
“I thought she only ever shouted at you?”
Greg gaped at his mum.
“We haven’t even talked and now she never will! I dunno if she even likes Lord of the Rings!”
“Jesus Greg! Did you take Drama instead of Economics? You’ve met this girl once, scared her in her own home and sniffed her before you ran away like a creeper.” Lucy stated firmly. Greg looked up into her eyes and sighed dramatically.
“Ugh, you’re right, she thinks I’m weird.”
“Honey, right now I think you’re weird.” Lucy stood and put her now empty coffee cup in the sink. Behind her, Greg let his head fall back down onto the table.
“Ughff.” Lucy patted his head as she passed back through the kitchen towards the room, smiling at her drama king. He’d either get over this ‘Mycroft’ soon enough, or she’d be stuck with a daft lovelorn son for the summer.
Could be worse...
Regular updates? In this economy? Don't be daft! (Sorry, chaps xx )
The next day saw Greg waking up to thank G-d it was Friday.
The knowledge he had a week of Uni left before the summer would excite anyone, but the idea of all his friends going back to wherever they lived was a little saddening. The fact he lived 10 minutes from his university campus was great on his pocket - not so much for the ‘Bring people home, shag them and discover they’ve left at dawn’ trope, but somehow he managed.
A moment of contemplation, the decisions being between enjoying a lie-in, or getting up and making breakfast, his mobile pinged with a text.
Are you in today? - SH
No I dont have lectures on fridays you know this
Good take me to the Library - SH
My uncle is taking my sister out to an interview and if I’m still there by the time they are gone I have to go with them and listen to them discuss banal gossips - SH
Wheres she interviewing
I’ll tell you if you pick me up - SH
Be over in 20
Well, no breakfast or lie in, then.
A shuffle and he was out of bed and heading to the shower.
“Love, you up?” Lucy’s voice echoed up the stairs.
“Yep, guess so - Whats up?” Greg leaned over the banister and looked down.
“What you up to today?” His Mum replied, looking up at her child.
“Uh, gonna take a shower, then I’m heading off to Sherlock’s to take him to the Library. Some uncle is taking M-Mycroft to an interview, and Sherlock ain’t allowed home alone after the fireman incident”
“M-Mycroft, huh?” Lucy mimicked his stutter over the girl's name.
“Ugh, shut up.” Greg rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom to begin his shower.
The drive to Sherlock’s was pretty calm, having missed morning rush hour by a good 20 minutes before he had even left the drive, and was approaching the large house in no time.
Greg wouldn’t admit that he had spent a little longer on his appearance than usual that morning, nor confess to spending more time on his hair; trying to spike it gently enough to tempt someone to run their fingers through it. He checked his teeth in the rear-view mirror of his car, before taking a deep breath and opening his car door.
“Let’s go!” Sherlock barked, pulling open the passenger door and threw himself into the seat.
“What? I was gonna knock on the door…”
“Well now we can leave so let's go.” Sherlock said down at his phone, pulling on his seat belt and slamming the door.
“Hey, watch the door you arse.” Greg grumbled, and pulled his door closed again with a much more decent force.
“What are you doing at the library?” He asked, switching on the ignition once more and pulling out from the curb onto the road.
“John said he would be revising, so I’m joining him.”
Greg probably should have realised that John was to have been involved - the medical student was Sherlock’s main grasp to civility, and it was common to find them concocting harebrained schemes where they got out of trouble by the skin of their teeth. Greg himself had been invited along on occasion, but while it was a good adrenaline rush, the last thing he needed was a stint in a cell for the night and his mum breathing fire because John and Sherlock had forgotten he was there and left him ‘on watch’ for the cops to find him.
The library was a fairly big building in relation to other libraries, at least big enough for two uni students to hide and plan daft schemes for a hour or so. Sherlock’s knees were bouncing erratically, pent up energy from probably sitting and listening to his uncle witter on. (He’d never met the man, but Sherlock had recounted many mind numbing lectures about politeness and neatness and posture and all kinds of Pride and Prejudice stuff)
‘Mycroft must have passed with flying colours’ Greg’s traitorous brain whispered, and luckily he pulled up outside the library before Sherlock could comment on his red cheeks.
“Do you need a lift back later?” He asked as Sherlock opened his door.
“I’ll text.” The teenager said dismissively, and with that he slammed the car door and left without a second thought. Greg rolled his eyes and pulled out onto the road again, breathing deeply as he drove towards home.
“How’s the little guy?” Lucy called from the living room. Greg chucked his keys on the hallway bureau and messily toed off his shoes.
“Yeah he’s fine, Lil’ Shit. ‘S been making plans with John so I’m expecting a call out at 3AM because one of them got stuck in a sewer or something.” Greg fell onto the sofa and pinched the TV remote from the coffee table in front of him.
“Hey!” His Mum complained.
“Snooze lose.” He smirked, willingly taking a slap on the shoulder for being cheeky.
“So you see her again?” She asked, having taken note of Greg’s nice outfit - much too nice for merely picking up Sherlock and ferrying him around … His sister, apparently, was a different matter.
“Ugh, no… Sherlock was already outside so I didn’t have a chance to knock.”
“Aw, cockblocked by a 16 year old.” Lucy laughed.
“Ew Mum, that isn’t necessary.” He grumbled.
“Sorry,” she chuckled “, Want to come shopping later? It’s mainly a pudding run so I’m probably going to just go to M&S.” Greg pondered the offer as he switched from BBC one to ITV 1.
“Hm, yeah, sure I’ll come; Posh foods descriptions make me laugh.”
“You’re so strange, love.” Lucy kissed him on the forehead and left him with Jeremy Kyle to move to the kitchen. After a short but substantial chat with her mother, and an even shorter chat with her carer, Lucy hung up and sighed.
“Greg, you ready, love?” She called into the front room from the hall.
“Yeah, I’m coming.” His voice echoed back, and the muted drone of the TV disappeared entirely as Greg appeared in the hall in front of her.
“You wanna change into something else?”
“Nah, can’t be arsed.” Greg shrugged - yeah the jeans were a little tight, but they made his arse look good.
“Sure; Get in the car and I’ll be out after I’ve locked the back door and found my purse.”
“So, what do you think we should have for pudding?” Lucy bent down and picked up a basket from the trolley of them by the door. The general murmur of busy shoppers picking out food for themselves reminded Greg of Sunday mornings when he was pulled taught between kitchens, ovens and counter at the bakery.
“Hm… no idea!” Greg smiled down at his mum, who gave him a slap on the elbow.
“What a great help you are. A class.”
“Glad to be of service.” Greg smirked, and chuckled as Lucy pushed the basket into his arms and followed her to the dessert aisle.
“I’m thinking custard.” Lucy said, pausing by the refrigerated shelves and humming at an apple patterned box.
“I’m thinking of dogs.”
“I don’t fancy Korean.”
“Oh my g-d mum.” Greg laughed, reaching over her head and pulling down a summer fruits pie.
“Ooh that looks nice.”
“Doesn't have blueberries in though.” Greg said, flipping it upside down to read the bottom. Lucy snatched it out of his hands and turned it back the right way up.
“Don’t flip the bloody thing up side down; You’ll ruin it.”
“Oh yeah, sorry.” Greg grinned his apology grin, charming and had more than once got him out of all sorts of trouble just by being alluring.
“Sure. Go find me some custard and don't flip that upside down too.” She said sarcasticly, pulling the basket back off of him.
“Aye Aye Captain!” Greg snapped off a dorky salute before turning and walking down the aisle and further into the store to find the custard.
The sign for confectionary stood out to Greg like a beacon in a storm, and custard was immediately wiped from his priority list. Turkish Delight was one of the most earliest sweets Greg could remember falling in love with; The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe starting what would become a lifelong addiction to lemon and rose jelly and icing powder. It had taken a wonderful amount of experimentation to find the best brand of turkish delight, but he had finally decided that Marks and Sparks did the best at a price he could afford for what he would happily say was as ‘sacrifice-your-siblings” delicious.
“Ah! Come to me my precious.” Greg murmured to himself, reaching back into the display box to grab a box that hadn’t been touched or shaken by strangers. A tug to remove his chosen quarry from the tray sent the first box tumbling to the ground, and Greg jumped back to avoid it dropping on his foot.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” Came a voice from his right, and Greg dropped the second box as the prettiest woman bent down and picked it up to put it back on the shelf. Her surprise, as she looked up from her position to see the man who she had last seen peering into her conservatory and was rescued from her interrogation by her younger brother, was palpable.
“H-Hi, Mycroft.” Greg said waving stiltedly. Mycroft blinked her eyes a few times before standing and smoothing down her light grey skirt.
“Greg, yes?” Her voice, wow.
“Yeah. Thanks. For, you know, picking up after me. You needn’t have done it.”
“It’s no bother.” The pair fell into silence, watchful on Mycroft’s end, awkwardly earnest on Greg’s.
“Hm?” Mycroft pushed her hair back over her shoulder from where it had fallen forward when she had leant over, and Greg swallowed. She slowly raised her eyebrows at the lack of forthcoming words.
“Uh… Sherlock said you were at an interview today.” He said quickly.
“Yes, I was. My Uncle thought it time to make more of an effort into progressing into a proper career.”
“Really? I mean I get it, your family seem to be the type to be always three steps ahead… Did you go to Uni early like Sherlock?” Greg asked, suddenly desperate to know something about her. At her dimming eyes and the lowering of her well dressed shoulders, he wished he had asked anything else.
“Unfortunately not. After my GCSE’s I was volunteered for her Majesty's Royal Air Force, where I did manage to get my education funded for me.”
“Oh, wow, You were in the RAF? Sherlock never mentioned it. Well, if we’re being honest, he’s never mentioned you at all, so I suppose holding him to the fire for that is like worrying about a papercut before the amputation.”
Mycroft’s eyebrows raised in a posh way that made Greg feel like a pauper for speaking.
“My younger brother isn’t known for his loose tongue.”
“No, no, he’s not.” Greg let the conversation fall to quiet, and desperately wished he could think of something to say to beyond ‘You’re hair is amazing and I want to feel your hand on my arm again.’
“So where did you interview?”
“Clarks and Petersons. A summer position.”
“...Accounting?” Greg hedged.
“Of a fashion.”
“You looking into being an accountant? Make a million on Wall Street?”
“Ah, no, but it is a stepping stone towards what I would like to be involved in for my future.”
“And what woul-” Mycroft’s apologetic grimace at her phone interrupting his question was appreciated, even if Greg felt his lungs shrink to nothing as she pulled her long ginger hair behind a delicate ear to put the mobile to her head.
“Good morning, Uncle. Yes, Fine thank you, yourself? I’m glad. Oh, yes, I’m at Marks’. If he’s available, yes please. Thank you, Uncle. You too. Thank you, bye.” She pulled the phone away and hung up, returning the expensive device to her suit coat pocket.
“Sorry Greg, a car is coming to collect me outside, I best leave.”
“Oh, yeah sure, of course. G-get home safe.”
“Thank you, Greg. You too.” Greg nodded and the idea of custard suddenly flashed back into the forefront of his mind. He span around and made for the end of the aisle he had just walked down, before Mycroft called back out to him.
“Greg?” He would never admit he stumbled in his eagerness to turn around.
She was standing in the area he had just vacated, holding out the Turkish Delight box he had dropped.
“Were you still wanting these?”
“Oh, damn, yeah, sorry.” He walked back to Mycroft and swallowed; her body heat from her hand washed against his as he removed the box from her grasp.
“I expect I will see you with Sherlock soon enough, Greg.”
“Yeah, yeah - someone’s gotta try and keep him out of trouble.”
Mycroft chuckled, and Greg locked his knees against the idea of fainting.
“A valiant effort I’m sure. Bye.” She turned and waved over her shoulder as she left the aisle and Greg barely felt himself spin euphorically down and out of the isle, only to crash into his mum.
“Greg love, what are you doing? Did you get lost looking for the custard?” At the sight of her son most certainly not listening, instead holding a box of Turkish Delight to his chest like Juliet on her balcony with a love letter, and looking down the empty aisle of sweets.
“Greg. Greg?” She gave him a gentle shove, and Greg came back online.
“Oh, sorry, you alright?” He sighed, smiling.
“Okay, you snorted something? Sherbert fizzing in your head?”
“Oh, no it’s jus-,” Greg turned to face Lucy with eye’s wide and a excited smile on his face “, Mum, Mycroft was here!”
“Oh, really? Where is she?” Lucy looked back down the sweet aisle.
“Oh, her uncle came to pick her up - But, mum, she laughed at me! Like, I only made her awkward once and that was because I was making weird analogies again, but she laughed and - Also, I found out she is in the RAF! She’s so cool! Ugh, she’s amazing!” Greg driveled, before Lucy steered him towards the dairy aisle and had gotten the custard herself.
“RAF, huh? How old is she?”
“She’s-,” Greg’s eye’s widened “, I dunno.”
“Well maybe you’ll learn one more thing the next time you see her. I recon by 2025 you’ll know if she’s single or not!”
“Oh ha ha - I get it I’m a blubbering fool around her. I’ve met her twice and don’t even know her age but already want to date her. I get it.” Greg grumbled, tossing the sweets in his arms carelessly into her basket. Lucy sighed.
“Love I didn’t mean it like that. I think it’s adorable how far gone you are for her; If she has any sense she’ll be charmed too. Ain’t nothing wrong with trying to find out who she is and what she likes slowly. If anything it seems less desperate, not matter the reality of you, as you said, not even knowing her age but wanting to take her out on a date. Just don’t start putting her on a pedestal before you know how high it should be. It wouldn’t be fair on either of you.” Greg bit the inside of his cheek before nodding.
“Yeah, I know. For all I know she eats puppies.”
“You think she’s the Cruella type?” Lucy smiled, elbowing her son jovially.
“Nah - she’d look amazing in a faux fur coat though…” Lucy smiled and let Greg think about the mystery Mycroft in furs as she walked them both towards the checkout.
“Good morning, Lucas.” Mycroft smiled, and pulled her skirt down over her knees. The warm leather of her uncles city car was pleasant against her skin, but thighs sticking to leather was never fun.
“Good morning, Mycroft; How did the interview go?” Lucas David, a 6’1” man with a passion for Krav Maga and a Masters degree for every day of the week, was Mycroft’s favourite member of her Uncles security personnel, and had been more than eager to show her some self defence moves when she had first joined her uncle permanently in London after her discharge.
“Oh, yes, I start next week.”
“Thank you, Lucas. Has my Uncle asked for me to come home immediately?”
“Yes,” Lucas pulled smoothly out of the drop off zone and away through the lanes of the carpark “, as far as we are aware, he has something ...serious to discuss with you.” Mycroft hummed in worry, before chuckling.
“I appreciate the attempt, Lucas.” There eyes met in the rear view mirror, and her driver smirked at her raised eyebrow. Like her uncle, through and through, was Mycroft.
“Sorry, Mycroft; You know how it is, we just do as Sir derives.” Lucas had never lied to Mycroft about when her Uncle had tried to manipulate matters, from staff to even herself, but Lucas was first and foremost an employee of her Uncle - if he needed Lucas to put his messages in a more… ominous light, then he would, but Mycroft was her Uncle’s niece: blood somehow knew when there was an actual threat or not.
“Of course, Lucas.” she smiled, and leant back in her seat to watch the early lunchtime traffic pass her by. She had been very lucky to have her Uncle willing to put her up, despite not having heard from him in years. He had been in the US last time she had heard, when she was 5, and from then on he was a no go subject in the household. Ten years later, she sent a letter to an address in a ratty leather address book, asking for help, and heard nothing from it or a whole month. The day before she left for the summer before her last year at school, she was pulled from her class to see a tall, thin, somewhat ferocious man with eyes like pitch and a semi bland snarl on his face. Mycroft smiled at the memory, the first time she had seen what would become her Uncle Rudyard, or Rudy, as he prefered her to call him. The gentle slowing of the car drew her out of head, and she smiled at the house.
“Mycroft? You alright?”
“Yes, thank you. I’ll see you later, I expect.”
“Sure, Bye Mycroft!”
“Bye, Lucas. Drive safe.” she smiled and gracefully extracted herself from the car. Lucas waited until she went in, and pulled away from the curb, to continue to the next job on his list for the day.
“Uncle, I’m home!”
“Come upstairs, Mycroft.” His voice was as deep as ever, not coarse, but his words reverberated through the house, as if they could find you no matter where you hid.
A quick shuffle as she removed her shoes, she quickly took to the stairs and up to the main room in the london house that she now called home. Knocking, she waited for the hum she expected, and entered the office. The sober face of Rudyard Vernet greeted her, before he smiled, and Uncle Rudy came to the foreground.
“Ah, Mycroft, Good afternoon, how was the interview?” He motioned to the soft chair by the window, and they both went to sit beside the view of the back garden next door.
“It went well, I should start within the week. The general manager was a shambolic excuse of a leader, but both the managers have more than impressive portfolios on the clientele, so I will have to work harder to impress them.”
“Understandable. I imagine the managers will be watching you closer than the General manager, but a little toadying will go along way.”
“Obviously; how do you think I managed to keep up with you for so long?” Mycroft laughed, and Rudy smiled at the light giggle.
“Damn cheek. I ought to show you some manners!” He laughed, happy that the dour young woman he had once met had so decidedly changed for the better in only a half decade. It had seemed only last week when he was in America, sitting in his office, once again awaiting the decisions of those less than informed than he, when his secretary had silently made his way into his office, and placed a bland secondary school stationery on his desk. The English postcode on the reverse intrigued him more.
“Dear Uncle Rudyard,
I am writing as a last hope, as it were. I am well aware you have no desire to interact with your sister's offspring, however I hope I may appeal to your sense of morality, if not familial duty. I am the oldest daughter of your sister, and I am in need of assistance. In two months, I am to finish study at Rotherhams school for boys, and will begin a career path I feel will benefit me for the future. I have been lucky enough to have been offered a placement, however, I am not currently able to accept due to having no permanent address at this time. I am aware you still currently have a house in London, and would ask of you to allow me to put it as my address while I study.
I am aware this is a big request, especially since I am nought but a stranger in some regards, but I am, without a doubt, in need.
The phone call he had been waiting for had been ringing for some time, but he raised the handset and replaced it, effectively cutting off the bland blathering of whomever was on the other end.
He had not interacted with his sister and her family in decades, through both a lack of willingness and distance. A christmas card exchanged each year and that was it. What on earth had happened over the pond? He was aware he had two young nephews, clever young things, and they were more than happy with the lack of communication between them, but he had no idea it was due to them thinking he had no desire to speak with them. True, he was not a heartfelt man, no need for soppy declarations or emotional outbursts, but he was not averse to being an actual uncle to them. What had happened to them that the eldest… child, would have required to seek out an Uncle, who as far as she was aware was had wanted absolutely nothing to do with her family?
He had to know.
Despite their antagonistic relationship, Rudy did have an alert on his sister’s health - as did she, matching blood types and a family history of genetic disease meant it was a wise decision. So there was no accident that mant she was unable to care for her children… What about a -
The secretary had returned by then, asking if he was aware that the phone had continued ringing after his first attempt at ridding the blancmange of a politician from ringing him, but Rudyard didn’t care.
“Steven, get me an appointment with the Commander, tell her she has two days to wrap up the shit show of a negotiation, and to get me someone in the damn party who can string more than two lies together before leaking a scandal to the press. I want to be back in the UK on a permanent basis by August or I shall be more than happy to tell her supervisors why their best spin has decided to suddenly quit altogether. Oh, and Steven?” He called the slightly shellshocked man back towards him “If you could use those exact words, I’d be highly appreciative.”
The fact were too vague, to uncertain to make amends over the phone or through the post as she had done. This was something to do in person. Steven quickly put a head around the door.
“Sir, Commander Lux has asked to be put through, also to ask why you are considering leaving at such a stage in the negotiations?”
“My niece is in trouble, Mr Parks - and that should be enough.”
“Uncle? Is something the matter?” Mycroft asked, thin ginger brows raised in worried question.
“Hm? Oh, I beg pardon, Mycroft, wool gathering. Not enough distractions recently.”
“Gotten used to me finally?” She joked.
“Never will I’m afraid, my dear; I don’t doubt the name Mycroft Holmes will be keeping everyone on their toes well into the future. Especially me.” Rudy stood and place a light kiss on her hairline, as his mother did to him many years ago when he was a child, and rested his large palm on her head. Mycroft smiled, the smile she kept hidden unless around himself, or recently his chief of staff David, and Rudy let his hand fall.
“Thank you, Uncle. With any luck, I’ll be able to pick up the slack when you retire and 9 others are struggling to try and do your job.” She laughed again, and stood to leave the room.
“Mycroft?” She turned back to her uncle, face uplifted in concern.
“I’m proud of you, you know that, don’t you?” Rudy said seriously. Mycroft’s concern bled to surprise for a moment before settling into contentment.
“I know, Uncle - after all, who else would be?” She laughed again, and Rudy watched her leave the office before falling back into his seat and sighing over at the photo he kept on his far bookcase.
‘Would it really have been so hard for you to wish for her happiness?’
ooh back story is happening! Also - A Mycroft Chapter! Who've thought of it after waiting so long for one! The chapter does take us away from the main fluff but we shall be back of track in the next chapter!
After Lucy had corralled her son into helping her put the shopping away, she nodded for him to sit down as she made them each a cup of tea. Greg had been half there all the way home, and she had no problems guessing what, or who, was on her son’s mind.
“So, what are your plans to woo your Mycroft?”
“Huh?” Greg looked up from his grinning at the table cloth and looked at his Mum.
“What about her?”
“How are you going to ask her out?”
“Dunno. Got to get to know her more first. She’s got a summer placement with, uh, Clarks and Petersons. You know, the accountants in the center? But I don’t know if she wants to do anything else, you know?”
“Well if it’s a summer position, she’s staying for the six weeks holiday, at least. You’ve got time.” Lucy looked up from doctoring her mug with milk at a gasp from Greg.
“She’s here for the holidays!” Greg’s shock gave way to excitement.
“Oh my G-d Greg, this girl is turning you into jelly. What did you think a summer position ment?”
“I’m not gonna lie, I was more preoccupied by her hair. Hence, me not realising she is going to be here all summer!” Greg grinned.
“You utter shambles.” Lucy sucked down a large portion of her tea as she placed Greg’s mug in front of him.
“I’m not denying it. Help me come up with an excuse to get her number?”
“No, you weird kid. Just ask her. Call Sherlock, tell him to call you when she shows up at his house.”
“Ugh, he doesn’t like her, he wouldn’t do anything to help me get her number.” Greg sighed dramatically, drinking his own tea.
“Well I don’t know, Greg.”
“I know, sorry. She’s just, really, really, really… wow.” He murmured into his mug. Lucy chuckled , and left for her office, patting his head as she passed.
“Well, good luck Romeo. If Juliette gets in contact tell me.”
Later, Greg led on his bed, occasionally dipping into his turkish delight box, but otherwise doing very little.
He had been trying to figure out a way to meet with Mycroft again, but he was coming up blank. He had no idea where she lived, so he couldn’t go ask for her number, and the chances of Sherlock telling him when Mycroft was back at his house was close to none.
He picked up his phone and flicked through Insta for a while, liking two pictures of his friend’s dog, and a post from a youtube baker who had made a cookie in the shape of chewbacca.
The sudden noise of his phone ringing, and mainally vibrating in his hand, shocked him to the point he knocked his sweets to the floor.
“Fuck, damn, G-ds sake.” he complained, looking down at the now sugar dusted carpet. Only one of the cubes had fallen out, but it still annoyed him.
“Come over now, Mycroft and my Uncle are here and John told me to ‘Fuck off I’m on a date’ before hanging up on me. If I have to hear one more thing about American Military expenditure I will bury myself alive in the garden.”
“I’m coming over; give me 10 minutes and don’t upset anyone.” Sherlock’s indignant reply was cut off by Greg throwing the phone down on his bed and quickly picking up his fallen turkish delight.
“MUM! I’M GOING OUT!” He yelled from his bedroom, despite the fact she was both downstairs, and the three closed doors between them. He contemplated staying in his tight jeans for a moment, before nodding - they were still clean, and she hadn’t seen them, they were fine. A shirt change, quick dab of some cologne he had bought two months ago and he was sprinting down the stairs.
“Love? What’s going on?” Lucy popped her head out of her office to see her son nearly slide straight into the hallway wall with how fast he had jumped down the stairs.
“Sorry, Sherlock’s invited me around his house because Mycroft and her Uncle turned up and are talking about boring things apparently so I’ve got to somehow ask for her number while not letting Sherlock know what I am doing.” He said briskly, opening the cupboard by the door for his shoes.
“Don’t you dare scare her or I’ll turn you into leather.”
“Scare her?” Greg came up short; why would he scare her?
“Love, I’m going to be honest, you look like a dog in rut. Drive slowly and try to stop panting, okay?” Greg choked on air.
“Where did you ever learn that phrase, oh my g-d Mum!” Greg felt the blush burn his way over his cheeks. He carried on putting on his shoes, but much slower this time.
“I’m just saying, no one has ever said yes to giving up a number when the asker looks like they are going to start drooling.”
“Welp, guess I’m not getting that number then.” Greg snickered, and Lucy’s over dramatic gasp and prudish slamming of her office door signaled his dismissal.
Much calmer now, but no less excited, Greg artfully tousled his hair in the mirror by the door, and grabbed his house and car keys as he left the house.
The drive to Sherlock’s wasn’t too busy, so he was pulling up to his friends house with time to spare. He had barely unbuckled his seatbelt by the time Sherlock had ripped open his front door and sped out onto his garden path.
“THE HELLS HAVE EVACUATED THE EARTH'S CRUST AND HAVE FOUND REFUGE IN MY LIVING ROOM!” He screeched.
Greg opened his door and nodded at Sherlock’s overdramatic arm waving.
“Hi Sherlock, What’s up?” The younger man carried on waving like a demented windmill as Greg calmly locked his car and walked around to the front of the house. He slung an arm around his shoulders and guided him back into the house, and back towards where Mycroft could be.
“You are ignoring me! My sanctuary is invaded and shall be so for the rest of my days!”
“How about you explain to me what is invading your place and I’ll tell it to hit the curb.” Greg nudged the front door closed with his heel and guided him past the closed glass doors of the conservatory. He slowed to look in, but no one was playing in there.
“Good - she can have her own house; she isn’t living in mine!” Sherlock shook Greg off his shoulders and marched towards towards the living room.
The murmuring of voices were louder now, but Sherlock’s cry cut over them.
“Mycroft! Lestrade is here to throw you out. If you are any form of decent human being you will walk before him so he doesn’t break his spine lifting your elephantine weight.”
Greg sprinted down the rest of the hall and skidded to a halt in the doorway.
“Well I’d certainly like to see him try.” Mycroft growled darkly, and Greg felt like he had just met a very hungry lion, for some reason.
“Sherlock, quit your childish complaints; Mycroft, don’t eat your brother, you’ll ruin your dinner. And you are?” The older gentleman, for what else could the three piece wearing man be, frowned at him, and it clicked that this must be the infamous Uncle Rudy.
“Greg, Lestrade, Sir.” Greg watched the man digest the information slowly.
“Nice to meet you. Rudyard Vernet. I assume Sherlock has been himself and has either never mentioned us or has drastically enthused over our many faults.” Mycroft’s smothering of her own grin warmed Greg to his heart’s core.
“Your faults are your own, I have only ever told the facts of the matter.” Sherlock declared, and sat in the remaining seat.
Well, there was one next to Mycroft on the rolled armed chaise, and yet Rudyard had chosen the seat nearest, so he would be victim to the older man’s evil owl stare once he found out how much sitting chastely next to his niece made him blush.
“Nice to meet you too.” Greg nodded at Rudyard, and received a dignified nod in return.
“How can we help, Greg?” Mycroft asked politely.
“Oh, Sherlock told me he had some bad news and asked me to come over.”
Greg wished he could time travel, because he’d do anything to get out of this situation. Mycroft turned and glared at her younger brother, and Sherlock poked out his tongue.
“Sherlock.” Rudyard chastised.
“Uncle, it is obvious that I am not welcome here, as per usual. If I cannot remain with you, then I shall find somewhere else.” Mycroft said. Greg raised an eyebrow in confusion; What was going on?
“Oh? And where would this elsewhere be?” Rudyard raised an eyebrow, and Sherlock’s grump faded to a look that Greg couldn’t describe as Mycroft mirrored her uncle’s eyebrow raise perfectly. The room suddenly filled with a tension that strangled him, before a huff of annoyance came from Mycroft.
“Oh there’s no point with the pair of you.” Mycroft barked, stood, flounced from the room, long hair fluttering behind her, and a moment later took to the stairs. Rudyard sighed and turned to Sherlock.
“It’s only for the summer, Sherlock. Mycroft won't be here a day longer than your first day of term, then we shall be moving permanently. You’ll have the house to yourself and your parents soon enough.” He smiled and stood. He patted Sherlock’s shoulder as he passed, and he too ascended the stairs, calling for Mycroft as he went. Greg looked back at Sherlock.
The younger man was staring into the distance, not blinking.
“Sherlock? You okay there, mate?” Greg moved forward and squatted in front of him. Sherlock didn’t react. Greg grasped Sherlock’s other shoulder, and was immediately shaken off.
“Well, now my sister is now living here for the summer, so you were of no help.” Sherlock grumbled, slowly coming back online.
“By the looks of it she’s going to hide away in some far off room and only come out for her job, so she’ll probably not even be in your way much.”
“I don’t care, she’s here in my house, and that’s the problem.”
“Sorry, Sherlock. It’s a big house, you probably won't even see her. And with her job, you probably won't notice her until she steals all the hot water. Women do that.”
“What would you know about women?” Sherlock said in his usual snide, ribbing way. Greg grumbled, but secret pleased Sherlock’s short term funk had passed.
“I know more than you, what are you, 12?” Sherlock punched him in the shoulder.
“My 16 years are of far higher standard than your 21, Lestrade, and anyone would agree with me.”
“Yeah but I have a car, so…” Greg laughed at Sherlock's pout, and felt his heart lighten as the mood passed.
“Now that I’ve been of absolutely no help, I’ve got to get back home. Do you wanna come for dinner or are you planning to fine Mycroft’s new room and booby trap it.”
“No. If Mycroft will be moving in then I shall have to hide my experiments before she complains about lab safety and all kinds of other nonsense that halts the evolution of science.”
“W-what are you doing? Sherlock, you are a genius; surely you know that pissing around with -”
“Ugh, go away; since when did I ask you to become Mycroft’s mouthpiece - You quote her word for word!” Sherlock stood up and marched up the stairs, with Greg in behind him.
“Well if she can see you’re pissing about with chemicals rashly then yeah, glad I am you crazy Frankenstein!”
“I’m not even going to pander to your corrections, Lestrade.”
“Aw, but you do it so well!” Greg laughed, skipping ahead of him and bouncing backwards up the large staircase.
Sherlock merely rolled his eyes.
“Do you want me to help?”
“No, you’ll only ruin everything.”
“Oh come on; You need a grunt to do all the heavy lifting.”
“Are you under the impression that I cannot lift glass?” Sherlock asked bluntly, stopping outside his lab room. Greg smiled archly.
“Oh, no, of course you can. I totally think you can lift whatever you need to with your strong, strong arms.”
“For that, you can deal with the dead pigeons.” Sherlock pulled open his door and stormed in. Greg frowned and followed him in.
“W-wait, what do you mean? Sherlock? Pigeo-EW!”
“I retract the offer of dinner. If I can’t eat, you’re not getting my portions.” Greg grumbled, meeting back up with the younger man after coming from the bathroom.
There was not enough hand soap in the entire world to make his hands feel clean.
“You sound just like Mycroft - Greedy against those who are in need.” Sherlock locked the door to his lab and lead the way back down stairs. The last two hours had been spent hauling and binning all manner of gross gunk that Greg couldn’t be given a decent reason for keeping.
If he didn’t know that Sherlock’s only driving force was science, he would be calling the cops on some of the weird chemicals and, ugh, the dead bird that was in there.
Sherlock lacked social tact, but he believed him when he said the bird was dead before he got it.
“No, I’m just say...ing…” Greg slowed down as they landed on the ground floor, the talking of an individual slowly becoming louder from the closed door of the kitchen at the end of the hall.
“- Then come and remove me… You’ve left him alone for years, and oh, now you’re suddenly worried? Bullshit… You couldn’t pick me out of a bloody line up, you’re going to tell the police, what? ‘Oh, officer, there is a person in our home with my child! Who are they? Oh, they’re my oldest child! Oh, I don’t know what they look like, officer. I don’t know what they do! I don’t even know their name! Oh, Of course it’s a danger, officer, they have long hair!’ You will be institutionalised quicker than my stomach turns at the idea of you! You want me out? Come back and make me. Until then, I’ll be enjoying your house with my younger brother, who is far more capable and far more deserving of seeing his parents more than once a bloody year.” The rant finished with the sound of something plastic hitting the wall, before a loud growl of anger emminated.
The two young men paused. Greg looked over to Sherlock, and swallowed.
He was stock still again. His eyes were wide, but apart from that, his expression was blank.
“Sherlock?,” Greg whispered quietly “, Do you want to leave?”
“No. I knew this would have happened.” Sherlock said vaguely, and shook himself out of his stupor, before marching into the kitchen, throwing open the door with no care.
Inside, Mycroft was pacing, hands balled into fists. She stopped and looked up in shock, before inhaling a deep breath.
“Sorry, Sherlock. I accidentally broke your house phone. I’ll replace it.” She motioned to the shards of black plastic that had broken on the floor, alongside a wireless phone in pieces a distance away. Sherlock growled.
“Already? I expect you shall have destroyed the house by the weekend. I shall not be following your habits of ending up homeless, Mycroft.” He said, walking past her to sit at the kitchen island. Greg watched Mycroft’s face crumple in regret, and stepped forward to try and… he didn’t know, he just wanted her to not make that face.
His movements, however, alerted her to the fact he was still there.
“Oh, Greg, forgive me. I wasn’t aware you were both still here. What have you both been up to?” She rubbed her eyes, and quickly motioned for Greg to join her brother at the kitchen bar. He did so, and rotated on the bar stool to see her quickly pick up the plastic and the damaged phone, before putting it all on the counter next to the recycling bin.
“Cleaning. Had the pleasure of meeting a dead pigeon.” Greg said, twisting to watch her pull an apron down from the back of the kitchen door, and pull her hair back into a hair ribbon. Suitably dressed for her environment, she rounded the kitchen and stood in front of the island.
“Sherlock? I’m making dinner, what do you have in?” She asked softly. Sherlock, who had since pulled out his phone, grunted.
“Oh. Well, would you be willing to let me make something for us - assuming, Greg, you will be staying for dinner?” She turned to Greg, who in turn nodded his head happily.
“Yes, Yeah, that would be awesome. Thank you. Mycroft.” He smiled, and felt his stomach swoop at the returned grin.
“No problem. Sherlock?” Mycroft turned back to him.
“Well, I had hoped to hear how your latest foray into your chemistry was going, but also for you to eat something. I was willing to bargain one for the other.”
“Wow, you’re telling the truth?” he asked sarcastically.
“I’m not our uncle; finding reasons to lie for no reason known to anyone but himself. I want to know how you have been. How you are working. How shit your Uni lectures are. In trade, you get fed.” Mycroft’s eyes had never left her brother, and Sherlock’s had never raised from his phone.
“You need to work on your negotiating skills. Why would anyone accept such a shitty deal?” Sherlock murmured, and hopped off his bar stool, before slumping out of the kitchen.