Chapter Text
“It is my absolute pleasure to let you know that our hard work digging in to the Finnegans past has bore fruit,” Anthea said in lieu of a greeting once Mycroft had answered in his home office. Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?” Mycroft could practically hear Anthea smiling on the other end.
“I myself watched as they were arrested on charges of murder, conspiracy, child abuse, child neglect, and child abandonment,” Mycroft stuttered out a breath as he collapsed in to his office chair, holding on to his mobile like it was a lifeline.
“They’ve been taken in?” Mycroft breathed.
“They’ve been arrested and have already been arraigned. They’ve been denied bail and they are to be held in Portlaoise until trial, which I’ve ensured will be the first day the courts are back open after the New Year,” Mycroft let out a shuddery breath, holding back tears of hope. “I’ve ensured that their parental rights have been abolished. You’ve been sent the paperwork,”
“Paperwork?” Mycroft breathed out.
“She’s yours, Mycroft,” Anthea said gently. “All you need to do is just sign the papers,” Mycroft’s computer pinged with an email. He glanced up and opened the file attached to the email- adoption papers for Renee Aimee Finnegan. He let out another shuddery breath.
“This,” Mycroft said, swallowing hard, “is the best Christmas gift you have ever given me, and that I have ever received,”
“I know,” Anthea stated, the very barest of smugness in her voice. “But do be sure to share this gift. There are two signatures available on that paperwork,” Mycroft could hardly string together what she said before Anthea was bidding him goodnight.
“Happy Christmas, sir. Do send me photos of her little face when she opens this gift,”
“Happy Christmas, Anthea,” Mycroft said before she disconnected the call.
He gasped out the quietest sob, finally allowing a couple of tears to escape now that he no longer had any witnesses. Mycroft took several minutes to compose himself. He printed out the paperwork, not yet signing it, tri-folding it, and sticking it in to the interior pocket of his suit jacket. He stood from his desk, leaving his office and making his way upstairs. He checked in on Elara first, startled to see that she was asleep curled up in Greg’s arms. He immediately pulled out his mobile and snapped a photo, smiling fondly at the man he loved and the child who was all but his daughter now in every way except for blood. He walked in to the room and knelt next to the bed beside Greg, brushing a stray lock of hair from Greg’s head. Greg stirred slightly.
“Mm, hey, My,” Greg said blearily, opening his eyes a crack, smiling tiredly up at him. “Y’okay?”
“Of course I am,” Mycroft responded. “How about we get to bed, love?” Greg sighed contently, stretching slightly as he did so.
“M’already in bed,” he replied, closing his eyes once more. Mycroft huffed out a quiet laugh.
“Yes, but we should sleep in our bed,” Mycroft responded.
“This is our bed for tonight,” Greg said. “She needs us tonight. Also, m’comfy,” Mycroft chuckled softly.
“Alright, Gregory. You win. I’ll be right back,” Mycroft said, standing to go and ready himself for bed.
When he returned, Greg had managed to shift himself and Elara to one side of the bed, leaving room for Mycroft on the other side. Mycroft climbed in to bed, making sure Greg and Elara were properly covered before he lay down and covered himself, wrapping his arm over Elara, snuggled between him and Greg, and rested his hand on Greg’s chest. Greg snaked a hand up and grasped Mycroft’s hand in his. Mycroft sighed contently, slipping in to a blissful sleep, his whole world in his arms.
The next morning, Mycroft woke to Elara curled in to his side and Greg nowhere to be found. Mycroft carefully extracted himself from Elara, ensuring she was fully tucked in before returning to his bedroom to dress in slacks, a dress shirt, and a pullover sweater before going to find Greg. He found Greg in the kitchen, wincing as he wrapped his hand in a bag of frozen veg.
“Gregory? Are you alright?” Greg jumped slightly, turning to Mycroft.
“Christ. Sorry. Didn’t wake you, did I?” Mycroft shook his head.
“No. I’ll ask again; are you alright?” Greg sighed heavily.
“Bloody wrist is smarting like Hell,” he said, wincing again as he shifted the bag of veg on his hand. “Couldn’t get the damn bottle of pain meds open with just one hand,” Mycroft hurried to open the bottle for Greg, handing him the proper amount of pills and retrieving a bottle of juice from the fridge, opening that and handing it to Greg.
“Here, drink this with your medication. I’ll get started on breakfast presently,”
“My, I can-”
“Absolutely not. I can handle breakfast. You just sit and rest. Wait for the medication to kick in. I know it’s not just your wrist hurting you, though it is hurting you the most at the present time,” Mycroft said, placing a mug of coffee in front of Greg and then gathering the ingredients necessary for pancakes.
“Is there nothing I can do to help?” Greg asked as he watched Mycroft measure out ingredients in to a large mixing bowl.
“Just sit there and be handsome,” Mycroft said with a sly smirk. Greg snorted in to his coffee.
“Well, someone’s in a good mood this morning. Pancakes and jokes. What’s next?” Mycroft took a deep breath, removing the folded paperwork from his pocket and sliding them towards Greg. “What’s this, then?” Greg said, furrowing his eyebrows as he unfolded the papers and read them. Mycroft watched as Greg’s eyes grew wider with every word.
“Is this- Are you- Holy shit, My,” Greg said, looking up at him. Mycroft smiled.
“The Finnegans were arrested yesterday, thanks to Anthea. They’ve been arraigned and are being held until trial in Portlaoise Prison. Their parental rights have been severed. Elara is free to be adopted,”
“What in the bloody Hell are you waiting for, then, darlin'?” Greg said with a smile. “Sign the papers. Get your girl,”
“Only if you sign too,” Mycroft said, pointing to the space for a second parental signature. Greg’s head snapped up so quickly that Mycroft winced as he heard his neck pop slightly.
“What are you- You- You can’t mean-”
“I mean this, Gregory. I do. Elara is as much your daughter as she is mine,” Mycroft said, pulling his fountain pen from his pocket.
“Mycroft, I don’t- What happens if-” Mycroft held a finger to Greg’s lips.
“In the unlikely event that something were to happen between us, would you ever attempt to take Elara out of my life?” Greg’s eyes widened in horror.
“Christ, no! Bloody Hell, Mycroft, I am not that type of person,” Greg said.
“In the unlikely event that something were to happen between us, would you ever disappear from Elara’s life?” Again, Greg looked horrified.
“Absolutely not! Even if I didn’t adopt her, I’d be devastated to not continue to have her in my life,” Greg said honestly. Mycroft smiled, signing the document himself before handing him the pen.
“Sign the paperwork, Gregory. And sign it knowing that I would never deign keep you from nor take Elara away from you,” Mycroft said.
Greg took the pen with a shaking hand, signing next to Mycroft’s elegant scroll. Greg let out a breath as Mycroft smiled at him, taking the documents and tucking them safely back in to his pocket once the ink had dried. Mycroft pulled Greg from his seat and snogged him passionately. Greg held Mycroft close, savoring the moment before pulling away for air.
“I love you,” Greg said. Mycroft’s breath stuttered slightly.
“I love you too, Gregory,” Greg grinned, kissing Mycroft once more before breaking away, taking his seat once more as Mycroft turned back to his task of pancake making.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Greg sipping his coffee as he responded to texts and emails inquiring on his physical well being and Mycroft flitting between cooking the pancakes and slicing the fruits for toppings. A frigid, freezing cold hand on Greg’s bare arm startled him so badly that he not only jumped, but also yelped, causing Mycroft to jump and drop the knife, narrowly avoiding his foot. Once the chaos had calmed, Greg, clutching his chest in an attempt to stay his rapidly beating heart, turned and saw Elara, who had dropped to the floor and curled in to a ball with her back to a cabinet.
“I’m sorry, sunshine,” Greg said, getting out of the chair and lowering himself to the floor. “I didn’t mean to scare you, you just startled me is all. I’m not mad or angry, I swear. Do you want to join me at the table?” Elara eyed him for several seconds before nodding, holding out a shaking hand to Greg, who helped her to her feet before gently lifting her in to the chair next to him.
“Good morning, little one,” Mycroft said, having already picked up the dropped knife and placing it in the sink for cleaning. “Did you sleep well?” Elara nodded, smiling as she signed something to Greg.
“S-safe?” He said hesitantly. Elara brightened and nodded enthusiastically. “You felt safe with us there with you?” Elara nodded and made one more sign that Greg was not yet familiar with. He looked to Mycroft for assistance.
“Always,” Mycroft translated, smirking as Elara swiped a banana and strawberry slice from the fruit bowl he had been working on. Greg swallowed thickly and nodded, smiling at Elara.
“I’m honored to be a person you feel safe with, sunshine,” he said, leaning over and kissing her head. Elara reached out and gently grasped his hurt hand and inspected it.
“Hurts?” She asked him.
“Just a little bit. I got some medicine in me now that’s starting to work by making the pain go away,” Greg said with a smile.
“Speaking of medicine,” Mycroft said, placing Elara’s different medicines in front of her.
Elara grimaced, but took them all like a champ, quickly washing them down with some of Greg’s juice he poured in to a separate cup for her. The three of them then sat down to breakfast. Elara ate two whole pancakes and had even asked for extra fruit, much to Mycroft and Greg’s excitement.
“Right, I’m gonna need some help today,” Greg stated as Mycroft took care of the dishes after scolding Greg for attempting to help. Mycroft turned, eyebrow raised. “No way I can make biscuits and Christmas Pudding today with a bum hand,” Greg said lifting his braced hand.
Mycroft and Greg had invited Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson, Anthea, and Molly over for Christmas Eve that night. Mycroft’s staff were going to handle the meal preparations, but Greg insisted on doing the biscuits and Christmas Pudding himself. This was, of course, before he had injured his hand in a suspect scuffle the night before.
“Oh, I think we could make time to assist you,” Mycroft said looking to Elara. “Would you like to help make some Christmas treats?” Elara nodded happily.
“Uncle John and Uncle ‘Lock still coming?” She asked, still in a soft, Irish-lilted voice.
“And Aunt Anthea, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly, yes,” Mycroft answered her. “They will be here around 5:00 PM. Dinner will be at 7:00 PM, followed by....festivities,” Mycroft said in an odd tone. Greg snorted.
“Biscuits, carols, cocoa, and presents, you mean,” Greg said, standing and pulling Mycroft in to his arms from behind, resting his head on his shoulder. “However will you survive?” Elara giggled.
“I’m not sure. I may have to fake a national emergency,” Mycroft said.
“Anthea would shut that down quicker than you or Sherlock could deduce what she ate for breakfast,” Greg said back. Mycroft winced, knowing he was correct. He sighed.
“You are absolutely correct, I’m afraid,” Mycroft said, admitting defeat. “So, biscuits?”