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Chapter Text

Mycroft Holmes sighed wearily and looked longingly at the decanter in the corner of his office before clunking his head down on his desk with a groan as his already aching head gave another dull throb. He groaned again as his mobile buzzed on the desk beside him. He dragged himself up to a sitting position and reached for the device. The stress and tension he had been feeling melted away as he read the caller ID: D.C.I. Gregory Lestrade.

The traumatic events of Sherrinford had occurred just over eight months ago. Mycroft had not been proud of what had unfolded that day, and the weeks afterward had been the darkest in his life that he could remember. The only light in that dark time had been Greg. Sherlock had told Greg to look after him that night, and Greg hadn’t stopped after that night. They had formed a strong friendship that night, growing from the professional relationship they had once had due to a troublesome little brother to very close friends. Perhaps too close, but neither man seemed bothered. In fact, Mycroft knew that he wanted more, but he didn’t know if Greg wanted the same. A sick feeling always came over Mycroft whenever he thought about telling Greg how he felt, but the what ifs always overloaded his thoughts and he always chickened out before he could voice himself to Greg. A soft smile came across Mycroft’s face as he answered the phone.

“Hello, Gregory,”

“Hey, you alright?” Greg’s voice came from the other side of the phone and Mycroft could have cried at how gentle and concerned it was.

“And why wouldn’t I be?”

“You sounded stressed when you answered,” Greg replied. “Bad day?” Mycroft sighed once more.

“It’s complicated,” Mycroft answered, rubbing at his temples in a futile effort to stay the migraine. “There is a very affluent family from Ireland coming for a meeting with the Royal Family tomorrow. They are staying the weekend, but, due to security risks, they refuse to stay at hotels and they are not permitted to stay within Buckingham Palace,”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’ve been stuck with them?” Mycroft smirked.

“You’ve got it in one, Gregory,”

“They bad house guests or something?” Mycroft scoffed lightly.

“That is certainly one way of putting it. They come once a year to attempt the same dull negotiations that always fall through and go nowhere. They may have wealth and power, but their manners are non-existent,”

“What exactly is it that they do?” Gregory asked.

“Well, they are very high up in the Irish Parliament. High enough that people turn a blind eye to things,” Greg sighed.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Ties to major drug lords, secret funding to questionable people and groups, suspected in several trafficking rings-”

“But you have no proof,” Greg finished for Mycroft.

“Exactly,” Mycroft said. “They have many friends in very high places. Their fingers are in far too many pies,”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Greg said, mirth in his voice. Mycroft chuckled softly. “Listen, you seem like you could use a break and I’ve finished up my paperwork for the day. Any chance you’d want to meet at our usual haunt for dinner and a drink?” Mycroft’s heart stuttered. He cleared his throat ever so slightly before replying.

“Oh, I think I can step out for a moment. Would you like for me to send a car?”

“How about we just go together?” Mycroft’s head snapped up to his office door, where Greg Lestrade stood in his worn trench coat and grey suit, a gentle smile on his face as he ended the call between them.

“Gregory,” Mycroft struggled to keep his emotions in check. “I see that my security needs reinforcing,” Greg smiled.

“Nah. I had a man on the inside. Said there might be a damsel in distress who needed rescuing,” Greg teased. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“Anthea exaggerates,” Mycroft said as he pocketed his phone and retrieved his umbrella. Greg cocked an eyebrow up, a smile playing at his lips.

“And I’m the Queen of England,” Greg retorted. “Come on, I’m starved, and, if I know you- which I do- I know that you’ll have not eaten a thing all day and it’s gone 6:30 PM,” Mycroft rolled his eyes, but allowed Greg to lead him out of the room, trying not to lean in to Greg’s hand on the small of his back as he held the office door for Mycroft.

They reached the restaurant a short time later and were led to their usual, solitary back table. Once drinks were ordered and received, Greg picked up on their prior conversation.

“So, you said these people were rude? Can’t be worse than Sherlock, can they?” Mycroft chuckled.

“My little brother usually tends to stick to his proclivity of verbal insults towards a person’s intelligence and looks. To my knowledge, he has never laid his hands on another for no apparent reason,” Greg’s eyebrows furrowed.

“They get physical?” Mycroft nodded.

“Only towards what they refer to as ‘The Help’,” Greg scowled. “Apparently Lady Smallwood had the....pleasure of their company last time. On the last morning of their visit, the patriarch was displeased at the amount of sugar in his coffee and backhanded the young woman who occasionally assists Lady Smallwood when she has guests or tends to the house when Lady Smallwood travels,” Greg’s eyes darkened.

“And he wasn’t arrested for assault?” He all but growled. Mycroft suppressed a shiver and continued.

“It is as I said, Gregory. They have their fingers in far too many pies. Not to mention diplomatic immunity. The most Lady Smallwood could do in the moment was demand that they were to not ever touch her staff in any way and that sort of behavior was in no way appropriate in any setting,” Greg scrubbed at his face.

“Christ. Was the woman okay?” Mycroft nodded.

“She had a cut from his ring and a nasty bruise on her cheek that lasted nearly two weeks. Lady Smallwood ensured she had proper medical care immediately and paid for her to go on holiday to see her family for a couple of weeks,” Mycroft finished.

“Something about them doesn’t sit right with you,” Greg said after the waiter had taken their dinner order and replaced their drinks. Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

“Oh? And what makes you think that?” Greg sipped his drink.

“There’s something you haven’t told me, but I know for a fact that you think there is a bigger piece to the puzzle that you’re missing,” Mycroft narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, the ghost of a smile on his face. “I only know because Sherlock gets that same look on his face when he’s frustrated about a case or a bloody experiment that isn’t going the way he thinks it should, but, of course, His Majesty is much more dramatic about it,” Mycroft chuckled.

“Sherlock always did let his emotions run wild. It’s a wonder how John has put up with it for this long,” Greg smirked.

Their meals came shortly afterwards and the conversation drifted. Right as they were preparing to leave, Mycroft spoke up.

“You’re right, Gregory,” Greg’s eyes snapped to Mycroft’s, a smile playing on his lips.

“Is a Holmes telling me I’m right about something? Should I video that to show Sherlock the next time he says ‘Graham, don’t be an idiot’?” Mycroft laughed a laugh that only Greg was privy to, which Greg followed up with his own. Once the laughter died down, Mycroft continued, his hands steepled in front of him.

“You were correct when you said you knew I wasn’t telling you everything. When you said that something about them didn’t sit right with me, you were absolutely correct, Gregory,” Greg leaned forward in his seat slightly, seriousness etched in to his face. “After we had seen them to their private plane, Lady Smallwood turned to me and said something that has bothered me ever since she said it,”

“What did she say?” Mycroft’s eyes drifted to Greg’s.

“She said that, when he struck that girl, he had done so with a practice. As if he had done this before. As if he knew exactly how hard and where to strike to inflict the most pain, but not leave too much damage,”

Greg’s eyes darkened. Mycroft suspected about Greg’s past. Greg never spoke of his childhood, and, according to his ledger, he had a deep hatred of abusers of any kind and had several notes in his personnel file with The Yard about talking-to’s from his superiors about being rough with abusive criminals. Mycroft would never ask Greg, but he would never deny Greg a friend to talk to if he ever did decide to open up.

“Listen,” Greg started, but hesitated. “Are you- will you be okay with them?” Mycroft’s heart warmed slightly. Greg was worried for him. Mycroft smiled and reached his hand over, grasping Greg’s wrist.

“I assure you, Gregory, that I can handle myself,” Mycroft said softly, his eyes burning in to Greg’s. “However, I swear to you that I shall call you if I think otherwise,” Greg relaxed ever so slightly, but pursed his lips.

“Alright, but I still don’t like it,” Greg grumbled. Mycroft smiled and stood, grasping his umbrella.

“Come on. I’ll drop you home. You’ll find that your vehicle has already been returned to your flat,” Greg smiled and shook his head.

“You’d think that, after all these years of you and Sherlock, I’d be used to this sort of thing, but, no,” Greg said, smiling as Mycroft led him out of the restaurant. If Mycroft noticed the way Greg leaned in to his touch, he knew he wouldn’t say anything, but nothing could wipe the small, hopeful smile from his face

Chapter Text

The next morning came all too quickly for Mycroft. He went through his normal morning routine before Anthea met him outside in their usual car.

“Good morning, Anthea,” Anthea smiled, sparing a glance from her phone.

“Good morning, sir. Pleasant night?” She asked brightly. Mycroft cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Meddling again, are we, dear?” Mycroft said.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Anthea said with a smile that told Mycroft she knew exactly what he was talking about.

“What is the schedule for today?” Mycroft asked, changing the subject.

“We’re on our way to the air strip where we will be meeting the Finnegan's. From there, it’s to Buckingham Palace. Afterwards, you’ll be treating them to dinner and then it’s back home with everyone,” Mycroft nodded seriously. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come and help you out this weekend? I don’t mind staying as well so that you aren’t dealing with them alone,”

“No,” Mycroft said almost too quickly. Anthea glanced up at him. “I don’t want  you anywhere near this man after what happened last year with Lady Smallwood’s assistant. Now, I know very well that you can handle yourself, my dear,” Mycroft said, holding up a hand before Anthea could reply. “But I cannot say that I would be able to properly restrain myself should he lay so much as a finger on you,” Anthea smiled softly and they soon pulled up to the air strip, where they were met by another car and Lady Smallwood.

“Mycroft,” Lady Smallwood greeted him as he kissed the back of her hand.

“How are you, my Lady?” She sighed.

“Ready for this to be over,” she said, looking over his shoulder as a private jet began its descent on to the air strip. “There’s been a slight change in plan. I hope it isn’t too much trouble for you,” Mycroft furrowed his brow slightly in confusion.

“A change? What change?” Mycroft asked calmly, though internally panicking that they may be staying with him longer. Lady Smallwood must have picked up on the spike in anxiety.

“They aren’t staying any longer than the weekend,” Mycroft internally sighed in relief. “They are, however, bringing their young daughter with them,” Mycroft searched his mind for her information.

“Renee Amie Finnegan,” Mycroft recalled. “Eight years old as of March 1^st of this year. To my knowledge, she’s never been brought along with her parents on these trips before. What has changed?”

“Of that I’m not sure,” Lady Smallwood said as the jet doors opened. “And I also don’t know what it means for us, but I feel like something major is about to occur,”

Mycroft nodded as he watched Cathal and Mallory Finnegan exited the jet, dressed, as always, in their finest, complete with gaudy jewelry on Mallory and Mycroft could already smell the awful cologne Cathal wore far too much of constantly. As the couple approached them, Mycroft had to remember that there was supposed to be a child with them, as she was nowhere in sight.

“Mr. and Mrs. Finnegan, a pleasure,” Lady Smallwood said in a clipped tone.

“Smallwood,” Cathal said with a cool glance her way before turning to Mycroft. “Holmes, is it?”

“Yes. Mycroft Holmes. I’ll be your detail for this weekend,” Mycroft said, extending his hand for Cathal to shake before grasping Mallory’s hand, deducing in seconds that, if he kissed her hand as he had been brought up to do, it would not end well with Cathal. “I understand that your daughter will be joining us this weekend?” Cathal pursed his lips ever so slightly.

“GIRL!” He bellowed, and Mycroft just barely suppressed a flinch at the noise.

A girl who looked no older than five suddenly appeared from the jet and next to Cathal. Her head was down and her eyes focused on the ground, what little skin he could see was pale enough to rival Sherlock’s. Her long hair was pulled in to a messy, matted, low ponytail. Aside from her head being down, the girl held the perfect military stance. Mycroft’s eyes narrowed so slightly before returning to their natural state that it was barely noticeable.

“This is Renee. Our usual minder for her had an accident,” Mallory snickered lightly at this, “and we had to bring her with us. But she’ll not be any trouble,” Cathal’s hand landed roughly on the girl’s shoulder and squeezed. It must have hurt the child, but she didn’t make a sound, nor did she move.

“I believe that she will be just fine,” Mycroft said, kneeling down to the girl’s level, under the ruse of greeting her, but also in an attempt to gather more data. “Hello. My name is Mycroft,” Mycroft said with a small smile. He had to bite his tongue as Cathal gave the girl a shove.

“Answer, girl,” he said.

“Hello, sir,” the girl still made no attempt to look up or at anywhere aside from the ground.

Soft spoken. Voice seems to be hoarse, possibly from disuse, but also plausibly from screaming. Refuses to make eye contact. Doesn’t flinch or react to shouting or rough handling. Mycroft’s deductions flew through his brain as he held his hand out for the girl to take should she want to. Reluctantly and slowly, she reached out and grasped his large, warm hand in her tiny, freezing hand. Her long-sleeve shirt rode up ever so slightly and he saw a brief glimpse of something dark coloured on her pale skin before her hand was quickly extracted. Seems uncomfortable with contact. Possible bruising on her right arm. Parents dressed to be seen, whereas the child is dressed to be invisible. Clothes are slightly too-large and well-worn. Shoes are old and tattered. Must be monitored closely for more data, should attempt to separate her from her parents.

“Well, shall we?” Lady Smallwood’s voice snapped Mycroft from his deductions and he stood, Renee moving, almost automatically, to stand a metre or so behind her parents.

“If you would, please,” Mycroft gestured for the Finnegan’s to follow him. “My vehicle is this way. I’m afraid I don’t have a proper child safety seat for your daughter, however, it shouldn’t be too difficult to acquire one on our way-”

“Unnecessary,” Cathal cut Mycroft off curtly. “She’ll be fine. Hell, stuff her in the boot for all I care,” a sickening grin spread across his face as he said this. Lady Smallwood’s face went white.

Mycroft made a split second decision. If he wanted the opportunity to try and get this child away from these....people, he needed to appear to detest children. Mycroft knew that, if they thought that he would cater to the child in any way, they would never allow him near the child alone. Hiding his disgust, he plastered a smirk on his face.

“As entertaining an idea that may be, I’m afraid there would be questions when removing the child from the boot once we get to the Palace,” Cathal’s head shot up towards Mycroft, obviously not expecting this reaction. His smirk grew.

“Who says we take her out?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“I find removing the stench of death from a vehicle to be inexhaustibly tedious,” he replied smoothly. Cathal looked him up and down, as though seeing him in a new light.

“Not one for children, I see?” Mycroft scoffed.

“They are loud, sticky, testy things. I’ve not deigned to be around one since my little brother was a child,” Cathal scoffed. Lady Smallwood looked horrified. Mycroft winced internally, vowing to explain himself the second he had her alone. “Well, shall we?” Mycroft said as he led them to his vehicle.

“An accident, that one,” he said with a jerk towards the child, who had been standing as though invisible in the background. “Never wanted kids, us. Had to whip this one in to shape and she still doesn’t understand the simplest things,” Cathal said, giving the girl’s shin a kick as she sat in the vehicle. She didn’t even flinch. She kept her head down, hands folded on her lap so tightly Mycroft wondered how she still had blood circulation. The kick hadn’t been very hard, but it was enough for Mycroft to see red. Keeping his Iceman facade in place, he played the sympathy card.

“If I’d had a child, they would be trained from birth,” he said, his words making him severely ill. “A dog would have more freedoms,” Cathal laughed and Mallory smirked an ugly smirk.

“I think we’ll get along just fine, Mycroft,” Cathal said. Mycroft seriously doubted this.

Chapter Text

The ride to Buckingham Palace went fairly smoothly and with much less talk about the ‘proper’ discipline of children. They exited the car and Cathal grasped Renee’s arm and yanked her back, hard. Mycroft gripped the handle of his umbrella so hard he was surprised it hadn’t cracked under the pressure yet. Cathal began to speak in what he thought was a voice that only the girl would be able to hear, but Mycroft could also hear what was being said.

“Listen here, girl, you’ll be on your best behavior in here. Seen and not heard, though I’d also prefer to not see you at all, but we can’t always get what we want. You cause any scene in here and you’ll wish you’d never been born. Understand?”

A barely perceptible shudder ran through the girl before Cathal let go of the girl with a shove that sent her stumbling in to Mycroft. Mycroft barely heard it, but he heard it all the same: The tiniest, briefest of whimpers. The Iceman cracked ever so slightly, steadying the girl with a gentle hand before gently shoving her away, a feigned look of disgust on his face. Cathal growled.

“Just can’t help yourself, can you, girl?” He raised his hand. Before Mycroft could stop him, Mallory reached out and gently grasped his wrist.

“Not here, Cathal,” she hissed. “Later,” Cathal sneered, but lowered his hand. Mycroft quickly ushered them all inside to the security checkpoint before any further instances could happen. They met Lady Smallwood outside of the conference room.

“I’m not entirely sure this would be appropriate for a young child to sit in on,” Lady Smallwood said cautiously. “Perhaps I could take her on a tour and maybe to the kitchens for a treat-”

“Or I could take her to the dungeons,” Mycroft said with a false smirk. “Show her what happens to those who disobey,” The wicked smile on Cathal’s face made Mycroft want to smack it off of him. Lady Smallwood looked as though she wanted to strike both of them.

“Think I like that idea better, Smallwood. Mycroft, if you wouldn’t mind?” Mycroft smirked.

“It would be my pleasure,” he turned towards the tiny child. “Girl, you’ll follow me, now,”

Mycroft turned and began descending the stairs. Tiny, near imperceptible footsteps told him that the child had obeyed him. He led the child down two flights to the main level before opening a doorway to the narrow steps that led to a small kitchenette that he had used on occasion when he had long meetings in the Palace and needed a small break. He led the child to a small table.

“You can have a seat,” he regarded the child, who hesitated, her entire body tense. Finally, she slowly inched towards the nearest seat and sat on the very edge of the seat. Mycroft turned to the kitchenette and began making drinks. Tea for him, hot cocoa for the girl. He placed the mug of cocoa in front of the girl as he took the seat across from her with his tea.

“Renee,” he said gently. “Renee, I apologize for how I have had to treat you. I need you to know and understand that I will never do anything to purposely harm you in any way,” the child didn’t move or acknowledge that he had said anything. A horrible thought then occurred to him.

“Child, do you know your name?”

“Girl,” her voice barely reached his ears. Mycroft let out a breath as several colorful swears he had learned from John over the years flew through his mind in several different languages.

“Child, will you look up at me, please?” Mycroft held his breath, wondering if she would do as he had asked her. Mycroft nearly cheered when she raised her head up just enough so that she could barely meet his icy blues with her gorgeous green eyes. Mycroft smiled softly.

“There you are. Please, drink. It’s hot cocoa. I daresay you’ve likely never had it before. It is quite delicious, but if you would like something else, please let me know and I will be happy to procure it for you,”

She sat there for a few moments, her eyes not moving from his, boring in to him as though checking to ensure he was trustworthy enough. Then, ever so slowly, she reached out and grasped the mug so tightly that her already pale knuckles turned even whiter. Mycroft sipped his tea and waited. His patience paid off when she slowly brought the mug to her lips. When the sweet drink touched her lips. Her eyes widened and livened up. She quickly gulped down some of the drink.

“I am very glad you like it, but please be sure to slow down so you don’t make yourself sick,” Mycroft said kindly. She quickly put the mug down and pushed it away from her, reverting her eyes back to the floor, tensing as though expecting to be struck. Mycroft bit back a sigh, but continued his resolve to get this child to trust him.

“No, little one, please, keep drinking. It is not my intention to take your drink from you, child,” he pushed the mug back towards her. “I simply do not wish for you to be sick from drinking too quickly. Please, drink,” he waited until she tentatively took a quick sip again before glancing back up at him. He smiled at her. “Good girl,” a quick flash of confusion registered in her eyes before they reverted back to their former neutrality.

“I need you to understand that I mean you no harm whatsoever. I know that, at this point, you will neither believe nor trust me, and that’s alright, but I need you to hear what I have to say. Do you understand?” Skepticism filled her eyes, but she gave a small, curt nod. “Good. Now, the way your parents treat you is deplorable and is not permitted in normal society. I have a plan to get you away from them, but I need your trust and full cooperation,” more skepticism, but a brief flash of something else that Mycroft couldn’t quite place. Maybe hope?

“I have to play a role in front of your parents. I have to make play that I abhor children and that I support their upbringing of you so that I can gain their trust enough for me to get you alone and away from them. Unfortunately, I will have to keep up this charade throughout the duration of your visit when in the presence of others in order to further gain their trust to enact my plan. I won’t disclose my full plan to you for your own safety, but please know this: I will not ever hit you nor lay my hands on you negatively in any way. I will have to say some not nice things, and pretend to agree with some things that I do not follow, but you will not ever be harmed by me in any way. Do you understand me?” Slowly, very slowly, she nodded. Mycroft smiled.

“Very good. Are you hungry?” More confusion and distrust clouded those eyes, but, after a moment, she nodded once. Mycroft smiled once more and rose from his seat before rummaging in the cabinets for some crackers and a package of biscuits. “Here. Eat a few crackers and then you can try a biscuit. You are dreadfully underweight but I don’t want to overload your system and make you ill,”

Mycroft opened the crackers for her and placed a couple of them before her, afraid if he placed any more in front of her she would scarf them down and make herself sick. Mycroft was correct in his assumption, as the crackers were both gone before he could blink. Mycroft felt his heart constrict and his throat tighten up slightly. He couldn’t imagine ever being so hungry and fearful of food being withheld that he would eat anything so quickly. Mycroft cleared his throat gently.

“Child, I’m going to give you two more crackers, but I need you to eat them more slowly, alright?” She looked fearful, but nodded once. He placed two more crackers in front of her and she slowly reached out and, almost regretfully, began nibbling on it. Mycroft smiled at her. “Good girl. Thank you,” more confusion in her eyes before it cleared and she continued eating. Once she finished the package of crackers, he took a biscuit out of the box and placed it before her before selecting one for himself.

“Remember to eat slowly,” he reminded her before taking a bite of his biscuit. If he thought her reaction to the hot cocoa was something, it was nothing to her reaction to the simple chocolate biscuit he had given her. As soon as she bit in to it, the slightest whimper escaped her lips before she closed her eyes and winced, as though expecting a blow. Mycroft ignored the reaction.

“Yes, these are a favorite of mine. I usually have a supply of them in my office if I have had a long day,” he then took another bite before closing his eyes. “Mmm,”

He opened his eyes to see the child staring at him as though he had grown a head. Mycroft knew she was expecting to be struck. She did not trust him yet, but that was okay. Mycroft would not stop until she did and she was out of reach of those monsters.

“Finish up your cocoa and biscuit and then we can go take a look around the Palace. I daresay it’s likely the most exciting place you’ve ever been?” Mycroft wasn’t expecting any reply, but was pleasantly surprised when she scarcely nodded back at him as she sipped from her mug. Mycroft smiled. Progress.

Chapter Text

Mycroft gave the child a proper tour of the Palace, even taking her outside to witness the changing of the guard. They never stepped foot in to the dungeons. She remained silent, but her eyes stayed up most of the time and were bright. With a sigh, Mycroft realized that it was time to head back to the conference room. He led the girl to a quiet corner and knelt in front of her.

“Alright, little one. We have to head back now,” Mycroft fought to maintain a neutral face as he watched the fear flood back in to her eyes. “Listen to me, child, and take a breath. Remember what I told you earlier. I have a plan and you will come to no harm at my hand,” she barely jerked her head in affirmation.

“Good girl. Now, I need you to act scared once we reach the conference room, as I am going to tell them that I did take you to the castle's dungeons. It needs to be believable for my long-term plan to work. Do you think you can do that for me?” She took a barely noticeable shuddery breath and nodded once. Mycroft smiled. “Good girl. Let us head back now,”

The walk back to the conference room was a quiet affair, both of them focusing on getting in to character. Mycroft steeled himself before opening the door to the conference room.

“Remember what I said,” Mycroft murmured to the girl, who looked utterly terrified. Mycroft wasn’t entirely sure she was acting, but he went with it, opening the door for the girl and giving her a mild sneer as she brushed by him.

“How were the dungeons?” Cathal said with a malicious smirk. Mycroft watched as the child gave a small shudder. Cathal’s smirk grew wider.

“Well, I’m famished. How about we head down to my car and we’ll head to dinner before retiring to mine for the night?” Mycroft said, wanting to get the attention off the girl. Mallory scoffed.

“Actually, we aren’t certain about bringing her with us to a restaurant,” Cathal growled as they made their way to the car waiting outside. This struck Mycroft with an idea.

“Actually, how about I keep the girl with me and you two enjoy a night out, on me, of course. I daresay I have many chores to keep one busy. Haven’t had the time as of late,” Mycroft lied. His home, as usual, was spotless. He had staff he paid to keep it that way when he was unable to attend to the cleaning himself.

“Hmm,” Cathal said. “Not a bad thought. What say you, Mal?” Mallory smiled.

“If he keeps it out of our hair, I’m fine with whatever,” she said and Mycroft fought the urge to smack her upside the head. This woman obviously had not a maternal bone in her body. Cathal looked to Mycroft.

“You sure about this? Girl’s ruddy useless with anything,” Mycroft scoffed.

“After the dungeons, I daresay she’ll do whatever I say under fear of me locking her back in a cell, but leaving her overnight this time,” Cathal guffawed.

“You actually shut her in a cell!? That’s bloody priceless. I’d have loved to see that,” Cathal roughly grabbed the poor child by the hair and Mycroft felt his heart jump to his throat. “Hear that, brat? You’re gonna stay with him and he’s free to do whatever he likes with you. And I mean whatever,”

Cathal smirked and winked at Mycroft and Mycroft had to refrain from being physically ill at the implications and fought to maintain neutrality. Cathal released his hold on her with a shove, Mycroft watched in horror as her little face bounced off the car door and she reverted back to looking at her feet, not acknowledging that anything had happened.

Mycroft spent the rest of the ride vaguely listening to Mallory and Cathal discussing what they wanted to do that evening as he closely watched the tiny girl barely move. Mycroft had never felt this before in his life. It was as if every cell in his body was screaming PROTECT! PROTECT! PROTECT! PROTECT! The only time he had felt anything close to this was when he had taken a seven-year-old Sherlock to the fair and he had momentarily lost his little brother, who had wandered off to look at a stuffed bee prize whilst Mycroft had been paying for a sweet treat to share with him. Sherlock had only been missing for a moment or two, but it had felt like an eternity for Mycroft and was a feeling that he would never forget for as long as he lived. Soon, they pulled up to Mycroft’s home. He quickly ushered them inside and turned to the child. Though her head was down, he could see faint bruising beginning to form on the right side of her face where it had connected with the car door.

“You will stay here and wait for me. Touch nothing, and do not move,” he spat out. He was angry, but not at the poor girl. He gave the adults a quick tour of his home, simply requesting that they remained out of his personal rooms and office. He returned downstairs whilst they freshened up and changed. He rummaged in his mop closet for a broom and dustpan.

“Here,” he said quietly to the girl, who had remained in the exact same position in which he had left her. “Sweep up a bit until they leave, quickly, now,” he hurried to take a seat at the kitchen table, picking up the evening newspaper as Cathal and Mallory entered the room.

“I see you’ve already put her to good use,” Cathal said, amused as he watched his daughter play maid with the broom. Mycroft set the paper down and stood up.

“You both have reservations at a favorite restaurant of mine. Order whatever you’d like. They’ll bill me. Afterwards, my driver has been instructed to give you a scenic tour of the area, finishing off at a local theatre that shows classics. However, if you find something else you’d rather do, please just let the driver know and he’ll get you to wherever you would like to go,” Mycroft said with a polite smile.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something to do,” Cathal said to Mallory, who smiled and winked back at him.

Cathal laughed a low, throaty laugh and Mycroft made a mental note to have the vehicle they were taking heavily detail cleaned and the driver given an extra stipend for dealing with whatever were to occur in that back seat. Mycroft bid them farewell and sent them on their way. He waited a full five minutes after they left before daring to approach the girl, who- to his surprise- had actually swept up a fair bit of dirt from his floors.

“No need for this anymore, child,” he said softly, taking the broom from her and kneeling down to her level, gently taking her face in his hand, ignoring her flinch as he gently turned her head up and to the side, observing the now darkened bruising on her face. Mycroft saw red, but displayed no outward signs so as not to frighten the girl.

“Here. Come sit down, please. I’ll get you something for that,” he led the girl to the table, but saw that she would likely need help getting in to a chair, as they were rather high bar stools. “May I lift you up?”

A quick pause as those green eyes decided he was trustworthy enough before she nodded. He slowly knelt down, gently grasping the tiny child under her arms and quickly lifting her in to the chair. Mycroft knew she was drastically underweight, but he was thoroughly alarmed at just how light she was. He would maybe place her at 2 1/2 stone at best. He turned to his freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen veg. He wrapped it in a tea towel before placing it on the table in front of the child.

“Here. Place that on your face for a while. It will help make it feel better. I’ll get something started for us to eat in a moment, but I’ll make us some tea first,”

Mycroft watched her eye the bag of veg before slowly reaching out and grabbing it, placing it on her eye, flinching and wincing at the initial contact before relaxing in to it. Mycroft turned to the kettle, taking a deep, steadying breath before making them both tea. After tea, he began pulling out what he needed to make a simple chicken vegetable soup. He needed to get some food and nutrients in to her immediately, but he needed to be careful not to overload her system and make her sick, or worse. He thought of something else before turning to her.

“Child, do you have any allergies that you know of?” Confusion filled the eye that wasn’t covered with the makeshift ice pack. Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think of how to explain this to a child. “Is there anything that makes you very sick if you eat it? Maybe makes your throat feel funny?” A brief pause before a quick upturn of one shoulder in a shrug. Mycroft stopped. Only one shoulder moved.

“Child, does your shoulder hurt?” Silence. Unmoving silence. Mycroft approached her. “I’m going to feel around your shoulder, alright? If it hurts at all, you must tell me and I’ll stop immediately, alright?”

Green eyes stared in to blue unblinking. Mycroft slowly reached out and, more gently than he had ever handled anything since holding his younger siblings, he palpated her right shoulder. He brushed against her collarbone and quickly withdrew his hands at her sharp, sudden gasp and whole body flinch, stepping back with his hands in the air.

“Alright. It’s alright. You’re alright,” Mycroft said gently, worried that he would spook her in to running off. “No more. All done. I just needed to see where you were hurt. Is there anywhere else that hurts badly?” He watched as the hesitation flitted through her eyes as she barely nodded, tears beginning to fill her eyes.

“Where at, little one? What hurts?” Mycroft asked gently. She removed the ice pack from her face and placed it ever so gently on her right side. Mycroft knelt down next to her. “May I see? I won’t touch, I promise. I just want to see. If you don’t want to show me, then you don’t have to,”

Mycroft waited, hardly daring to breathe. Just as he was about to give up, she slowly set the veg bag on the table before grasping the hem of her shirt and lifting it just enough for him to see her side. Mycroft found himself unable to suppress the small gasp that escaped him. Her whole side was a mess of bruises, varying in size and color and, if his eyes weren’t mistaken- and they never were- he could spy what looked like the beginning of scars that curled around her sides and off on to her back. Mycroft didn’t need to feel her ribcage to know that several of the poor girl’s ribs had to be cracked or broken. Mycroft cleared his throat slightly before attempting to speak.

“Thank you, little one. You can put your shirt down now. Place that bag over your side like you had, just be very, very gentle. It will help a little bit,” Mycroft watched as the child complied. He glanced back up at her face to see that her head was down once again, but that couldn’t hide the tears that had fallen silently down her face.

“Oh, darling, please don’t cry,” Mycroft breathed out, reaching towards her face. He paused when she flinched back, but slowly continued once she had settled and wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs. “You’re alright now. You’re safe with me, I promise,”

The dam broke just then. The smallest, quietest sob came from her as she fell forward, her head falling on to Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft, not ready for this, froze momentarily before gently wrapping his arms around her, murmuring to her as she cried softly in to his shirt.

Chapter Text

An hour later, Mycroft placed a steaming bowl of chicken vegetable soup and fresh bread in front of her, along with a glass of milk.

“Alright, little one. I’d like you to eat as much of the soup as you can without making yourself sick. I’d like for you to also drink at least a third of that milk. If you start feeling sick at all, I want you to stop eating and tell me immediately, understand?” The child nodded up at him before looking longingly at the bowl of soup. Mycroft smiled. “Go ahead then. Just remember it’s hot, so try not to burn your mouth,” he said as he sat next to her with his own bowl and bread.

Mycroft didn’t have much of an appetite, but forced himself to eat something so as to not make the child feel too out of place and further in the spotlight. He watched carefully as she took her first bite and nearly began crying again before attempting another clumsy bite with her left hand. Mycroft longed to be able to give her some sort of pain medication to at least take some sort of edge off of the pain she absolutely had to be in, but he knew he didn’t have anything that she could safely take, and she was so dreadfully underweight that Mycroft wasn’t even sure if he could safely give her any children’s pain medication should he be able to procure any. With a suppressed sigh, he pulled out his mobile and pulled up John’s contact.

Are you available for a few questions, Dr. Watson? - MH    A few minutes passed before his mobile chirped a reply.

Nearly done with my A&E shift. Just need to submit my charts to the next shift and I’m out. Should I be expecting an abduction? Is it even an abduction if the abductee knows it’s coming? - JW  Mycroft scoffed.

Not tonight, Dr. Watson. I merely require information from a trusted medical professional. - MH

Within seconds, Mycroft’s mobile was ringing: Dr. John Watson. He took a steadying breath and looked up at the girl, who was now picking at her bread.

“Please keep eating. I’ll just be in the other room. Call or come and find me if you need me. I’ll be right back,” he said with a kind smile before walking briskly out of the room and answering the call.

“Good evening, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft said, suppressing a sigh. He was so tired.

“Mycroft? What’s happened? Do you need me urgently? Are you alright? Is Sherlock?” John’s voice was every bit controlled and concerned as the soldier bled through.

“Physically, I am perfectly fine, John, thank you. I would also assume that my little brother is fine, as I have heard nothing that would state the contrary. I apologize if I have made you concerned,”

“Cut the pleasantries, Mycroft. I’m not an idiot, and I know something is wrong. Now, talk to me, please. What’s going on?” Mycroft sighed.

“John. I need your word from you that you will not question me. I cannot tell you everything at the moment, but you will know everything by Sunday evening, should my plan go as I hope it will. Can I trust you with the little information I can give you at this time, Doctor?” Mycroft could almost see John square his shoulders, the soldier readying for battle.

“Of course, Mycroft. You have my word,” Mycroft took a breath.

“Hypothetically, if I had an eight-year-old child who was from a very questionable home who needed medication for pain, what could I safely give the child? It needs to be noted that, whilst the child is eight years old, the child is barely the size and weight of a five-year-old. I only have adult pain medication on hand. I hate to admit that I don’t quite know much about what I can safely give the child, especially when the child is so criminally underweight,” a breath’s silence before John replied.

“In this hypothetical situation, I’m assuming you cannot take the child to a doctor, nor have one come to you for fear of the child’s safety and/or disintegration of a plan of action?” A ghost of a smile flitted across Mycroft’s lips.

“You would be correct, Doctor,” another moment’s silence.

“Hypothetically, I’d be running to the store for some over the counter children’s paracetamol. Usually, you go by age, but, since the child is so underweight, you’ll need to go by weight instead. About how much does the child weigh?” Mycroft thought for a moment.

“Maybe thirty-three pounds,” Mycroft all but whispered. He could hear some muffled swearing on the other end of the phone.

“Is it also for fever or just pain? I need to know so I can give you further instructions and a bigger list if the child is sick,” John said.

“Pain,” Mycroft replied in a clipped, strained tone. John let out a breath.

“Christ. Alright. Start with a dose of 5mL of children’s paracetamol. If that doesn’t help, then after four hours, and not a moment sooner, if the child hasn’t had any adverse reactions, up it to 7mL and see how they make out with that. If there aren’t any adverse reactions and they do well with the 5mL, then go ahead and continue with that dosage every four to six hours as needed,” Mycroft nodded, making mental notes, but also taking physical notes.

“Thank you, John. Truly,”

“Of course,” Mycroft sensed the hesitation. “Mycroft?”

“Yes, John?”

“Are you going to be taking care of the- people-” John spat out the word like it was the most vile of swear words, “or does Captain Watson need to make an appearance?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow in mild surprise before clearing his throat slightly.

“If all goes according to plan, the child will be safe with me come Sunday evening,”

“I’ll be expecting your call, then. I’ll be sure to be available,” Mycroft smiled.

“Would you also mind seeing if Dr. Hooper would accompany you? The child is very weary around most people, but men especially. Dr. Hooper may be less intimidating at first,”

“Of course. I’m working another A&E shift Sunday morning. I’ll ask her then. I’m assuming you’d like to keep ‘Lock out of this for now?”

“Correct, if you would, please. I’d like to discuss this with him myself when the time comes,”

“Understood. D’you need me to come by with the medicine for you? I’m happy to run by a Tesco’s on my way home and stop in at yours with it,”

“No, thank you, John. I’ll ask Anthea, as it would be less questionable for her to be here should we get caught up. I don’t want you anywhere near this before I have safely procured the child,”

“Alright. If you need anything else, anything at all, please do not hesitate to reach out. I can be over immediately if you need me to be. Sod my safety. I can handle myself,” Mycroft smiled.

“I’ll keep you informed if I need you before Sunday, say 6:00 PM?”

“Will do,”

“Thank you, John. I’ll send a car for you both. Take care,”

“No problem, Mycroft. Ta,” Mycroft ended the call and pulled up Anthea’s contact.

I apologize for the lateness of my contacting you, but would I be able to ask a favor of you? - MH

Of course, sir. Whatever you need. - A    Was the instant reply.

I require children’s paracetamol and anything that would be necessary to administer the medication to a small child. - MH

Done. Will be at yours within the hour. - A

Please tell me that you are handling that girl’s ‘parents’? - A

It is being handled. - MH

Good. Do let me know if you require any help with that. - A

Mycroft smiled and pocketed his mobile, returning to the kitchen, where he was alarmed to see the tiny child attempting to climb on to a bar stool she had dragged over to reach the sink in order to, what appeared to Mycroft, wash the dishes.

“Oh, no, little one, please don’t,” he said and rushed to her side, gently lifting her in to his arms before dragging the stool back over to the table and placing her back down on to the chair. “While I appreciate the thought, I do not wish for you to be doing any chores, understand? You are a guest in my home and I will not have you playing maid when it is just you and I here, understand?” Confusion flooded the child’s eyes, eyebrows furrowing slightly. Mycroft sighed.

“I know you don’t understand right now,” he said in a soft tone. “But, in time, you will. I promise you that,” Mycroft then straightened himself and walked towards the pantry, where he pulled out a package of biscuits like those they had shared earlier at the Palace.

“Here,” he said, placing a biscuit in front of her. “You quite liked these as I recall from earlier,” he watched sadly as she snatched the biscuit from in front of her and held it protectively to her chest, as though afraid it would be forcibly taken from her. In an attempt to stay his emotions, he went to wash the dishes that the child had attempted to start.

Twenty minutes passed by and Mycroft was drying the last of the dishes, his every move being carefully watched by the small girl sat at his kitchen table. A sudden knock at his back door caused him to glance up and the child to startle so badly that she nearly fell from the stool. Mycroft’s heart leapt to his throat as he rushed to steady her, only causing her to flinch even more.

“Easy, little one. I’m sorry. I’ll not hurt you, I just wanted to be sure you wouldn’t fall and hurt yourself further. I’m going to open the door now. It’s just my friend. You met her this morning,” the girl’s eyes were bright and alert, fear flitting in those green orbs. Mycroft walked to his back door, checking that it was Anthea first before letting her in.

“Anthea. Thank you. I apologize that dragged you out at this hour,” Mycroft said as Anthea handed him the bag of requested supplies.

“It’s no trouble sir. You know I’m happy to-” Anthea stalled as her eyes settled on the child. “Her face. What happened to her face?” Her voice turned cold.

“Her ‘father’ shoved her whilst we were in the vehicle coming home. Her head bounced off the bloody door,” Mycroft growled in her ear, not wanting to frighten the girl, but also unable to keep his ire from his voice. Anthea shut her eyes and took a deep breath before opening her eyes and smiling warmly towards the child.

“Hello, my love. My name is Anthea. Do you remember me from earlier?” A moment’s hesitation as the girl studied Anthea, deciding whether or not she could be trusted, before she nodded once. “Good girl. I’ve brought something that I hope will help you feel better,” she said. Mycroft dug in the bag for the pain medication, also pulling out an oral syringe, children’s allergy relief, and children’s stomach soother.

“Most liquid medications come with a medicine cup, but I also got an oral syringe in case that was easier for you both. I also know how severely underweight she is, so I also picked up some stomach soother for her in case she needs it. And the allergy relief is in case she has any adverse reactions to any food or medications. I seriously doubt that she’s had much exposure to either of those things,” Mycroft nearly kissed her.

“Thank you, Anthea. Remind me to give you a paid day off at some point in the near future. Anthea smiled.

“I would, but we all know you’d be lost without me,” Mycroft cocked an amused eyebrow.

“As much as I would like to argue with you, you’re most likely right,” he said as he measured out 5mL of the children’s paracetamol in to the medicine cup before placing it on the table next to the child.

“Here, little one. I need you to drink all of this for me, please. It may not taste very good, but I’m hoping that it will help with any pain you may be experiencing right now. It likely won’t get rid of all of the pain, but it may take some of the edge off,” Mycroft said. She eyed the medicine cup warily, picked it up, sniffed it, and then downed the whole thing in one go without so much of a grimace. Mycroft smiled.

“Good girl. Very well done. If you’d like, you may have another biscuit, but you must eat it slowly. You’ll be sick if you scarf if down too quickly. Do you understand?” The girl nodded, and Mycroft obliged her with another biscuit before turning to Anthea and guiding her to the doorway so they could speak more privately, but still keep an eye on the girl.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay the weekend?” Anthea asked in a low tone. “I can help keep the adults occupied so they can’t focus their ire on that poor girl,”

“No,” Mycroft answered. “As much as I know you would like to help, and as much as I would appreciate it, you can’t right now. Not with this, anyway. I have a plan that I am sticking to. Now, I will definitely require your assistance in ensuring that they never regain custody of the child ever again. There is no way on this Earth that they haven’t slipped up on something. I’ll need you to look in to something for me,”

“It would be my pleasure,” she said with a smirk, whipping out her Blackberry.

“They mentioned earlier that their normal child minder had an ‘accident’ and seemed fairly chipper about it. I need a name, verification of life, and, if they are alive, a detailed report on what they have seen and what happened leading up to the ‘accident’. I refuse to let this child go back to them, but I cannot run point on this side project whilst I try to keep the peace here. That little one’s safety is now my top priority. That is where I need you, my dear,” Anthea smiled wickedly.

“Now that, I can definitely do,”

Chapter Text

Anthea stayed for a few minutes more to get a bit more information and then quickly took her leave at Mycroft’s request. Though he had instructed the driver to alert him at minimum of half an hour before they were set to return to his home, he did not want to take any chances with Anthea’s, and the child’s, safety if Anthea was seen at the house for no apparent reason. Mycroft made quick work of bundling up the medications in the bag Anthea had brought and bringing it to his bedroom en suite to hide in his personal medicine cabinet. Mycroft’s mobile chimed in his pocket.

Hey. Hope I’m not interrupting anything. I just wanted to see if you were alright with your ‘guests’? - GL Mycroft smiled softly.

Not at all, Gregory. Things have taken an odd turn, but I’m managing. - MH

You always do. :) - GL

Did you just send me an emoji? - MH

Maybe I did. ;) - GL  Mycroft’s heart pounded in his chest. Was Gregory...flirting with him?

I do believe you are flirting with me, Detective Inspector. - MH

And what if I am? - GL

Then I would be inclined to respond in kind. - MH

Meaning? - GL

Would you like to have dinner with me? - MH

Mycroft Holmes, are you asking me on a date? - GL

And what if I am? - MH

Well, then, I suppose I would be inclined to respond in kind. - GL Smiling, but scarcely able to breathe, Mycroft responded.

Meaning? - MH

I’d love to. :) - GL Though he would never admit it out loud, Mycroft fought to keep a giggle inside of him.

I wholly look forward to it, Gregory. I’ll be in touch. - MH

I can’t wait. ;) - GL

As much as Mycroft wanted to celebrate this moment, his mobile chimed once more, as his driver was sending him his thirty minute warning that they were on their way back. He took a deep breath and sighed, steeling himself for the role he was going to have to play once more. He made his way back downstairs to the kitchen, where the girl was going between gently prodding her bruised face and her side.

“Try not to do that, little one. Did the medicine work? Or does it still hurt?”

She stared at him blankly. Pursing his lips, he came up with an idea. When Sherlock was little, he was nonverbal until he was around five years old. Mycroft was one of the only ones who was able to successfully communicate with him, eventually teaching him sign language. Before he had taught Sherlock sign language, there had been other ways that Mycroft had been able to communicate with Sherlock. Mycroft proceeded to draw three faces on a piece of paper. One happy, smiling face. One sad, crying face. And one face in the middle of the both of them, displaying the median emotion between the two of them. He also drew a big check mark in one corner and a big X in another corner. Mycroft pointed to the smiling face.

“This face here represents happiness and no pain. It means you have no issues right now and feel well,” Mycroft pointed to the crying face. “This face here means that you do not feel well at all. You have pain or unhappiness that is making you sad,” he then pointed to the final face. “This one here means that you aren’t feeling happy or sad. This one may mean that you have a little pain, but it isn’t so bad that you need the crying face, but not well enough that you need the smiling face. Do you understand?” The girl nodded hesitantly.

“Good girl. Now, if I ask you a yes or no question, if your answer is yes, then you can point to this check mark,” he said, pointing to the check mark. “If your answer is no, then you can point to the X. Do you understand?” Mycroft smiled when she reached out and pointed to the check mark. “Good girl! You are so smart! Well done,” more confusion in her eyes as she hesitantly stared up at him as though he grew another head once more.

“Alright. Now, did the medicine help you any?” She was still for a moment before pointing to the check.

“Wonderful. Now, are you still feeling any pain? Are you hurting anywhere still?” Another beat of silence before hesitantly pointing to the check once more. Mycroft pursed his lips slightly before continuing.

“Alright. Now, which face would you say is close to how you felt without the medication?” She immediately pointed to the crying face. Mycroft’s heart cracked a bit for her. “And which face would you say is how you feel after the medication?” Her brows furrowed slightly as she decided, before pointing to the middle face. Mycroft felt the tension ease a bit. The medication had helped at least a little bit. He would need to further confer with John about possibly upping the medication dosage. His mobile dinged again. Fifteen minutes until arrival. Mycroft pursed his lips and looked around.

“Alright. I need you to listen to me, child,” Mycroft said, kneeling down to her level. “Your parents,” he fought to keep his voice neutral at that, “will be back in about fifteen minutes,”

Utter terror flooded those eyes and her breath came in short, quick gasps. Mycroft quickly gathered the trembling girl in to his arms, lifting her up and walking around with her, trying to console her as she began quietly whimpering. He held her for a few moments, walking back and forth across the kitchen before placing her gently on the kitchen counter.

“Shh, it’s alright. You’re alright. I need you to listen to me, little one. Can you do that for me?” Mycroft gently wiped the tears from her face as she nodded. “Good girl, now just take a few deep breaths for me,” Mycroft coached her through several breaths before continuing.

“You know that I am trying to help you, yes?” A nod. “I know you have gone through horrors unimaginable for most adults, let alone a child. I know you are tired. I know you are hurting. But I need you to be brave for me, child. Just for two more days, alright? Can you do that for me, darling? Can you be brave for me for just a little while longer?”

A shuddery breath and a glint of...something in those eyes, before she squared her shoulders- as best she could with what Mycroft suspected was a badly broken collarbone- and placed her mask of neutral impassivity on once more. Mycroft smiled and smoothed back her tangled hair.

“There’s my brave girl,” his mobile dinged once more. Five minutes. “Alright. You remember what I said earlier? That I will have to act like I do not like you?” Another nod. “Just remember that it’s all pretend. And, if I am in the room, I will try to manipulate the situation the best I can so that you do not get harmed in any way. I will try my absolute best to ensure that you are never left alone with either of them,” hesitancy danced in her eyes. Mycroft took a breath before taking her small, ice cold hands in his larger, warm ones.

“Do you trust me?” Mycroft felt like the silence went on for a millennia, but was only likely a few seconds before:

“T-trust,” her broken, hoarse voice cut off as she gave a slight cough. “T-trust you,” she said, giving him a small, gently poke where his heart resided in his chest. Mycroft swallowed back the tears and smiled.

“I am honored, little one. And I swear to you that I will never give you any reason to not trust me,”

Chapter Text

Mycroft quickly folded the paper and placed it in his breast pocket before handing the girl a rag and instructed her to wipe down the counter tops- even though he himself had already done so- but also told her not to strain her shoulder. He opened his laptop and began checking up on emails when the front door opened, drunken laughter filling the downstairs. He watched the girl tense so hard that he winced.

“Easy, little one,” Mycroft murmured as he stood to greet the adults.

“Mycroft, thank you for the lovely night out,” Cathal slurred. “The bint been put to use, then?” White hot rage coursed through his veins, but, ever the infallible Iceman, he remained impassive.

“We had a short conversation on how I am not a man to be tested nor trifled with,” Mycroft said with a smirk as he purposely adjusted the ring on his finger. “She understood quite readily and we have had no issues. She has cleaned my kitchen top to bottom. It’s the cleanest I’ve seen it in some time,” Cathal looked impressed.

“Guess she just needed a firmer hand then,” he said approvingly. “You’ll need to keep an eye on that one, though. Nicks food, she does. Especially after she thinks everyone’s gone to bed,” Mycroft nodded.

“I would expect nothing more from a thing like her,” he sneered, though it pained him to do so. “Which is precisely why I would like to keep her locked in the basement overnight. I store no food down there and there isn’t anything she can ruin, nor will she be able to get out,” Cathal grinned madly.

“I love it. I think she’ll do very well here,” Mallory said with a sneer. Mycroft seriously fought the urge to smack it off of her face. Cathal nodded.

“Well, Mycroft, if you’ve got that handled,” he said with a jerk of his head towards the child, who was now knelt down scrubbing the cabinets, “I think we’ll retire now,” Mycroft nodded once.

“Well, I shall see you both in the morning. I believe Lady Smallwood shall be here at 9:00 AM to retrieve us for the day,” he said. Cathal regarded him.

“Actually, Mycroft, if I may?” Mycroft raised his eyebrow and nodded for him to continue. “We were wondering if you might be able to handle her tomorrow. We’d rather not have to cart her around with us all day,” Mycroft internally celebrated. He smirked.

“Oh, I would be delighted to have a chance to condition it further,” Cathal smirked, thinking that he was manipulating Mycroft. However, Mycroft, as always, was the true puppeteer pulling all the strings, nobody none the wiser. He bid them goodnight, giving them fifteen minutes after they left before he dared move toward the child.

“Come now, little one. It’s time for bed,” Mycroft murmured to her, taking the rag from her and lifting her in to his arms.

Mycroft hadn’t been lying to Cathal and Mallory when he told them that he was going to lock the child in the basement. He just hadn’t told them the entire truth. He had, years ago, installed a bedroom en suite down in the basement for emergencies or when he had to lock Sherlock in for a detox before rehab. He would be locking her in, yes, but it would also mean locking her parents out. He descended down the stairs, the girl protectively held in his arms as he tried not to jostle her too badly. Once he reached the bedroom within the basement, he gently placed her down on to the bed.

“I’m assuming that you haven’t any spare clothing to wear?” She shook her head. Mycroft bit back a sigh and smiled gently at her. “That’s quite alright. Wait here and I’ll be right back,”

He left the bedroom and crossed the basement to where his laundry quarters were. He retrieved from his clean laundry an old white undershirt of his that would work as a makeshift nightdress for her in the meantime. He rummaged around for a pair of socks for her that he doubted would fit her, but he wanted to try at any rate. He walked back in to the bedroom to find that she hadn’t moved an inch.

“I’ve got something of mine that I think you can wear for the night. Would you like to put it on?” Confusion. Utter confusion. Mycroft handed her the shirt. “Would you like to feel it? It’s an old one of mine, but it’s quite comfortable,” he watched as she gently pet the shirt before looking up hesitantly at him and pulling ever so slightly at her own bedraggled top. Mycroft smiled down at her.

“Would you like for me to help you so you don’t hurt your shoulder any more?” A nod.

Again, with a gentleness Mycroft hadn’t remembered having since he was a young lad, he helped ease the girl out of her worn shirt and trousers. Once he had gotten the shirt over her head and off, he choked back a gasp at the state of her back. It bore scars of like he hadn’t seen since he was a field agent. Harsh, red lines of varying shapes and sizes, some barely scabbed over, decorated that porcelain white skin. Bruises of different colors and shapes spotted in bright contrast over her body. Mycroft could deduce exactly how every mark was made. A belt. A ring. A buckle. A bloody dog chain. Mycroft clenched his fists and struggled to maintain a calm demeanor so as not to frighten her. He quickly, but gently, got his undershirt on to her before presenting her an old pair of his socks, placing them on her and folding them over several times in an attempt to keep them on her in the night.

“Alright, little one, up in to bed,” he said, gently- and dear GOD was he even more gentle with her after seeing the state of her back- picking her up in to his arms, pulling the covers down, and placing her back in to the bed, covering her up.

“Alright, child. You heard me say upstairs that you’ll be locked in, yes?” A nod. “I was not lying when I said that, but whilst you will indeed be locked in, they will also be locked out. They cannot get to you. I am the only one with the code to the lock on the door. You are completely safe down here. No one can get to you down here unless I allow it,” doubt flickered with hope in her eyes. Mycroft thought she wanted to believe him, but he had yet to prove himself worthy of her full trust. Mycroft silently vowed that would spend the rest of his days proving himself to her.

“Would you like for me to stay with you until you fall asleep?” He asked her as he smoothed the covers down around her. A nod. Mycroft pulled up a chair next to her and took her hand in his. “I know this is frightening for you. This has been a sudden change in what you are used to, and you are likely feeling scared and confused, and that is perfectly alright, but you are safe here, little one. I will keep you safe,” Mycroft continued to murmur similar utterances to her until her eyes began to droop and she slipped off in to sleep.

“Things are about to change for you for the better, I promise,” he whispered to her as he smoothed her hair off her face. “You will be loved, cherished, cared for, everything you deserve, little one. I promise you that,”

And, with those final words, Mycroft bent down and placed a very gentle kiss on to her forehead before turning out the lights, being mindful to leave on a small bedside lamp in case she awoke in the night and was frightened. He hesitated leaving her, but there was no way that he could stay with her through the night without arising any suspicion. He had cameras down in the basement and, if she were to get up or move around excessively, they would alert him via his mobile and he could check in on her as needed. He reached the top of the steps, shutting the door and activating the electronic lock behind him. He sighed, looking longingly at the door before making himself a final cup of tea and heading to bed.

Chapter Text

Mycroft woke abruptly at 4:47 AM to his mobile pinging nearly an hour before he was normally up in the mornings. He reached out and grasped the device in his hand, unlocking it and seeing why he was being screamed at at this ungodly hour. What he saw had him throwing on his dressing gown and hurrying as quietly as he could to the basement. He unlocked the door and knocked on the bedroom door.

“It’s just me, little one,” he called quietly. “I’m coming in now,” he warned before entering.

He glanced around the room, not seeing the child. Knowing there wasn’t many places for her to have gone, he knelt down and lifted the duvet from the floor, where the girl had shoved herself underneath the bed and all the way back against the wall.

“What are you doing all the way back there, little one?” He asked with a kind smile. “You must be cold under there. Would you please come out from under the bed? I am not angry with you. I just want to make sure you are unharmed and warm,”

He slowly reached his hand under the bed and held it out, keeping it there for her to take if she chose to do so. Mycroft was surprised when, with a tiny whimper, she placed her hand in his. He gently helped her out from under the bed, scooping her up in to his arms before sitting down on the bed. She made no noise, but Mycroft felt the tears soaking through his dressing gown and in to his night shirt.

“Oh, my love,” Mycroft murmured, smoothing her hair back and rocking her slightly. “It’s alright, little one. You’re alright. You are safe here,”

Mycroft continued his ministrations for several more minutes before the child stilled in his arms. He held her for a while longer. Not willing to give up the child’s sense of comfort, even if she had drifted off to sleep some time ago. 5:00 AM came and went. As did 6:00 AM. As 7:30 AM rolled around, Mycroft knew he could no longer tempt fate. He knew very well that Cathal and Mallory would likely sleep until 9:00 AM, despite the fact that 9:00 AM was the time that Lady Smallwood was to pick the pair up, but he would not risk it. Not with so much at stake. Very slowly and very gently, he placed the girl back in to bed, being careful to cover her properly before taking his leave.

Mycroft made quick work of his morning routine before returning to the kitchen, fully dressed, where his staff had breakfast waiting, along with tea and coffee. Before the Finnegans had arrived, Mycroft had held a meeting with his staff, particularly the female staff, stating that they were to make themselves scarce around his guests that weekend and, in the unlikely event that they could not avoid them, they were to report to him immediately if anything had happened. He was fiercely protective of his staff, and he had no desire whatsoever to have an incident like the one that Lady Smallwood had incurred. Far too much paperwork involved. Not to mention all the legwork that would be required hiding the bodies he would have on his hands when he was finished with them. Then again, he could always just farm them off to Sherlock for his experiments. Knowing John Watson, the good doctor would likely turn a blind eye to it once he figured out why the offending couple were being disposed of. As Mycroft entertained that very tempting thought, his head of staff appeared in the doorway. He smiled up at her.

“Good morning, Maddie,” she smiled back.

Maddie was a polite young thing. She was in training for MI6 and had the makings of a bloody good agent when she was diagnosed with Leukemia- in which Mycroft had been the one who noticed the symptoms and urged her to seek testing- taking her out of the running. Mycroft had taken a special liking to the young woman in the years he had known her. He knew that she had no family or friends, no support system, so he funded her treatment- Mycroft had actually been a perfect bone marrow match for her and had donated for her twice- and she had made a full recovery after a grueling two-year battle. Since she could no longer attend the program, Mycroft had offered her a place in his home staff once she had fully recovered. She would be head of his staff, yes, but he also ensured that she was in charge of home security as well. She had done a remarkable job and he made sure to compensate her for it.

“Good morning, Mr. Holmes. Lady Smallwood has just arrived. Would you like for me to see her through, sir?” Mycroft nodded once.

“If you would, please, dear, thank you,” Maddie nodded once with a smile, began to turn, but then turned back to Mycroft, hesitating. “What’s wrong, Maddie? Cathal hasn’t done anything to you, has he?” Mycroft said as he stood and quickly crossed over to her, placing a protective hand on her arm.

“No, no sir. I’ve avoided them, as told,” she said. Her eyes darted to the basement door.

“I see,” Mycroft said.

“I’m so sorry, sir. It was me who spooked her this morning. I wasn’t aware that anyone would be down there. I went down to prepare fresh linens so that I could change the bed sheets in the guest en suite whilst they were gone and I had heard a noise-” Mycroft held up a hand to silence her.

“Maddie, it was completely my fault. I had not thought to warn you, and I should have informed you immediately of the situation when it changed, and I neglected to do so. The situation is rather difficult at the moment,” he told her.

“They beat that little girl,” she did not question. Mycroft nodded.

“As I said, the situation is difficult, but I am working to resolve the situation,” she cocked an eyebrow.

“Permanently?”

“Permanently,” he confirmed. She nodded once.

“I’ll go and retrieve Lady Smallwood, sir,”

“Thank you, dear,” Maddie turned, calling back to him as she walked.

“Do let me know if I can help you with any legwork that resolution may cause for you,” Mycroft chuckled as he turned and began to make Lady Smallwood a mug of tea.

“Lady Smallwood, sir,” Maddie announced. Mycroft turned to them.

“Thank you, Maddie. Please take the rest of the day, dear,”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” she turned to Lady Smallwood. “Very nice to see you again, ma’am,” Lady Smallwood smiled warmly at her and cupped her cheek.

“You as well, darling. Very happy to see you still well,” Maddie thanked her before retiring to her quarters. Lady Smallwood waited for her to fully take her leave before turning to Mycroft, her eyes deadly dangerous.

“Mycroft Holmes, I cannot believe you,” she fumed. “The way you treated that little girl yesterday-”

“The situation is precarious,” Mycroft smoothly interrupted, handing her the mug of tea. “I assure you it is being handled-”

“If you think you can placate me with bloody tea after what you displayed yesterday-” Her voice continued to rise. Mycroft knew he had to stop her before she woke the child, or worse, the girl’s parents.

“Alicia!” Mycroft interrupted her with the rare use of her given name. He took a breath. “The girl is sleeping in my basement. I’d like for her to sleep as long as possible but she can’t do that if you wake her, or worse, the bloody people who are supposed to love her,” he hissed.

“The child is sleeping...in your basement?” Lady Smallwood said in a controlled voice. Mycroft sighed, gesturing to the table as he sat down, not speaking until she had sat down as well.

“Yes. It was the safest place for her during the night. It would lock her in, yes, but lock her parents out in case they felt the need to-” he broke off, taking several controlling breaths before continuing. “I apologize, but I did have to play a role. I saw immediately everything once I laid eyes on that child. At once, I devised a plan to get her safely away from them and keep her away. It utterly kills me to have to treat her the way I do in front of them, but I did what I had to in order to gain their trust,”

“You think they’ll just simply leave her with you when they leave come Sunday?” She said skeptically.

“That is precisely what I think,” he replied. “I can be very persuasive when I need to be,” Lady Smallwood scoffed.

“Of course you can be,” she said, sipping her tea. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be in the position you are in and have held for so long,” Mycroft nodded once in acknowledgement before offering her some toast, which she accepted. They were each quiet for several minutes, eating and drinking in a tense silence.

“How bad is it, Mycroft?” She asked in a quiet voice. Mycroft took a deep breath.

“I’ve seen better cared for prisoners in Siberia, Alicia,” he replied honestly in a bitter voice. He watched as she pressed a hand to her mouth and turned away from him. Out of respect for her, he turned his gaze away and focused on the tea in front of him.

“What will be done with her?” She asked when she had recomposed herself. “If you are successful, what will happen to her?”

“She will remain with me,” Mycroft answered immediately and without hesitation. Lady Smallwood raised an eyebrow.

“With you?”

“Yes. With me,” he answered. “She will be well-protected and well-cared for in my custody, I assure you,”

“I didn’t take you for the paternal type,” she answered. Mycroft sighed.

“You are one of a very, very select few people who know that I am not completely the reptilian Iceman that I present myself as,” he said. “You saw how submissive she was yesterday. How she acted, or really a lack thereof. I had to nearly pry that girl from underneath the bed at 5:00 AM this morning because Maddie hadn’t known she was down there and accidentally startled her. I had to hold her in my arms until she fell back asleep. I cannot imagine anyone, let alone a child, living with that much fear in them. I cannot explain it. I really can’t. But I know that she has to be with me,” she nodded.

“I believe you, Mycroft,” she said, reaching out and grasping his hand. “I trust your judgement, you know I do. Just do be careful. I have an odd feeling about this one,”

“I always am,” she smiled at him. He refilled her tea and they eased in to different conversation. At 9:27 AM, Cathal and Mallory finally presented themselves downstairs.

“Smallwood,” Cathal greeted shortly, seating himself at the table before serving himself food. “Hope we haven’t kept you waiting too long,” he said with a knowing smirk. Lady Smallwood plastered a forced smile on her face before replying.

“We are running a bit late, so we do need to be going here soon. Mycroft, will you be joining us?”

“Mycroft is our child minder today. He understands how to keep them in their place,” Cathal said around a mouthful of toast.

“I’m more than happy to help train the beast,” Mycroft said with a sniff. “With any luck, she may one day be a functional member of society,” Mallory scoffed in to her mug of coffee.

“Doubtful, but you are more than welcome to try,” she said. Lady Smallwood looked like she might be physically ill.

“Well, then. We’ll leave you to the child minding, Mycroft. Cathal, Mallory, if you would, please?” Lady Smallwood hurried to get them out the door.

Mycroft gave them ten minutes after their departure before retrieving his mobile from his pocket and checking the camera down in the basement. He saw that the child was awake, but had curled in to the far corner of the room, eyes darting around as though bracing for an attack from any angle at any moment. Mycroft pocketed his mobile and made his way downstairs, once more tapping on the door and announcing himself before entering. He slowly approached the girl, kneeling down before her.

“Good morning, little one. Your parents have gone for the day. Would you like to get dressed and come upstairs for some breakfast?” A small nod. Mycroft smiled. “Very well. Shall we?”

He held his hand out to her. She hesitated briefly before reaching out and grasping his hand. He gently helped her to a standing position. She let out the smallest of whimpers and gently leaned on him briefly for support before realizing what she was doing and fearfully trying to back away.

“Easy, child, easy,” Mycroft said, gently pulling her back towards him. “What’s wrong? What hurts?” A solitary tear rolled down her face, but she said and did nothing. Mycroft pursed his lips. “Alright. Let’s get you dressed, then we can get a bit of food in to you and some more medicine,”

Ten minutes later, Mycroft was upstairs making her some fresh toast, scrambled eggs, and a mug of tea as she sat at the table looking utterly knackered. Mycroft plated her some food with a repeated warning not to overeat or eat too quickly before running upstairs for the pain medication. Upon his return, he was alarmed to see that she had not touched her food, and had laid her head down in her arms in the table. Mycroft purposely made his footsteps slightly louder so as not to startle her too badly.

“I have medicine for you, little one,” he said as he began measuring out the medication. “You can have some medicine, but you have to eat at least a piece of toast, love,” he said as he went to brush her hair back. As soon as Mycroft touched the skin on her face, he frowned at the warmth of it. She sat up slowly, wincing the entire way.

“I know you don’t feel well. I know you’re tired and that you’re hurting. I promise you that you can come with me and have a lie down in my office whilst I work, but you have to take some medicine first. Now, I want you to eat six bites of toast and four bites of eggs, then I can give you some medicine and you can lay down, alright?” The child glanced up at him before picking up her piece of toast and taking a bite. Mycroft smiled. “Good girl,”

Mycroft flitted about the kitchen, cleaning up all the dishes and putting everything away while she ate. By the time he was done, he was pleased to find that she had actually eaten most of the toast and a few bites of the eggs. He handed her the medicine cup.

“Well done, little one. Take this and then we’ll go to my office and you can lie down,” he watched as she downed the medicine.

He took her dishes and the medicine cup and gave them a quick wash. He placed the dishes in the drying rack, but hand dried the medicine cup and placing it back with the medicine bottle, pocketing the lot of them in his suit jacket pocket. He looked to the girl, who looked utterly miserable. He reached out and gently lifted her in to his arms, she didn’t fight him. Her head gently fell against his shoulder and her eyes slid shut as he carefully carried her to his office. Once inside, he carried her to the sofa in the corner of the room and gently laid her down, draping the quilt that had been on the back of the sofa over her. He knelt down next to her.

“You can rest in here. I’ll just be over at my desk,” he said, nodding towards his desk. “Please let me know if you need or want anything and I’ll get it for you,” her eyes slid shut and she was still. Mycroft retrieved the rubbish bin from beside his desk and placed it next to her, just in case. He sat down at his desk and began going through his email. His mobile pinged after ten minutes.

Good morning. :) - GL Mycroft smiled.

Good morning, Gregory. Late start today? - MH

Nah. I’m actually taking the day off today. Aside from a random murder or city emergency, I’m free today. - GL

Any chance you would want to come over? - MH

What about those people you’re hosting? Everything alright still? - GL

It’s...complicated. - MH

Mycroft’s mobile began to buzz with a phone call: D.C.I. Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft answered immediately, taking care to keep his voice low so as not to disturb the child on his sofa.

“Hello, Gregory,” he said with a tired sigh.

“Mycroft, are you alright? Are you hurt!?” Mycroft could hear Greg bumbling around on the other end, likely hurrying to get to Mycroft.

“Calm yourself, Gregory, please,” he said. “I am perfectly fine, I assure you,”

“Then what’s going on? You’re acting...odd,” Mycroft smirked.

“I’m a Holmes. We do tend to be an eccentric bunch,”

“Not what I meant and you know it,” Mycroft sighed.

“A car will be at yours in three minutes to collect you,” he said, rubbing his temples in an attempt to stay the migraine building in his temples. “I require your assistance,”

Chapter Text

Greg Lestrade was concerned. Never once had Mycroft outright asked him for help. He had to practically beg the man to open up to him after the events of Sherrinford. He still had problems getting the man to open up to him, though it had gotten a bit easier in the months following the horrible events with Euros. Of course, it wasn’t easy for Greg to ask for help either, but he remembered the first time he had called Mycroft- albeit inadvertently- for help.

Greg winced heavily as he struggled to contain the blood streaming from the rather severe cut above his left eye. He’d finally had enough of his wife pussy-footing around, stringing him along about getting back together but never following through with her promises. He had found out several days prior that she had shacked up with a coworker when she told him she was going to visit her sick mum- who was in perfectly good health- and filed the divorce papers within the next hour. Needless to say, she had been more than livid once she arrived home to find Greg packing his essentials. Greg’s stomach lurched and he emptied the contents of his stomach in the house plant that she loved, but he never could stand. He hoped it died. Served her right. His vision wavered. Christ, he was in trouble. With a shaking hand, he heaved himself up against the wall and pulled his mobile out of his pocket, fully intending on calling John for immediate help. His vision doubled out as he hit what he thought was John’s contact information. It rang once and then was picked up.

“Gregory?” Mycroft Holmes’ smooth voice cut through the fog in Greg’s pounding head like a warm knife through butter.

“My-Mycroft,” he stuttered out. “Sorry, mate. Did-didn’t mean to ring you,”

“Are you quite alright, Gregory? What’s wrong?” Concern flooded Mycroft’s voice and Greg could’ve cried. Maybe he was crying. His face was wet. Or maybe that was blood- “Gregory!” Mycroft’s voice was now sharp and alert with an edge of panic. Considering his options as he tottered between consciousness and not, Greg knew that he had to let someone know what had happened. Hell, with Mycroft’s connections, he could probably have had an ambulance to Greg yesterday.

“Help,” Greg managed to say. “N-need- Need help, please, My,” Greg listened as Mycroft barked out a muffled order, likely to Anthea, before hearing a rush of movement.

“Gregory? Gregory, are you still with me?” Mycroft’s voice was hard, yet soft at the same time, concern pouring from it. Greg hummed at him, trying to find the will to stay awake. “Talk to me, Gregory. What has happened?”

“Filed for d’vorce,” Greg muttered in to the phone. “She didn’t like that,”

“Gregory, I am on my way to you. Seven minutes. Just keep talking to me,” Mycroft’s voice was pleading now. Greg couldn’t help but feel fuzzy that Mycroft’s concern was all for him. What he wouldn’t do for that man- “Gregory! Say something, please. Please, please keep talking to me,”

“M’sorry,” he muttered.

“Whatever are you sorry for, Gregory?”

“Meant ta call John,” Greg said, wincing audibly as he shifted against the wall, sending a stabbing pain through his ribcage.

“You’re hurt. What happened, Gregory?” Mycroft all but demanded. Greg would have very much liked to remember that demanding voice for later, but he doubted that he’d remember much of this at all.

“Took a tumble,” he said.

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Mycroft asked.

“’Cause you’re smart,” Greg said. “’Lock says you’re an idiot, but sod him,” Mycroft chuckled.

“I’ve just pulled up. I’m going to hang up. I’ll see you in a moment, Gregory. Stay awake,” Mycroft said before ending the call.

Greg remained propped against the wall, facing the front door which he knew was locked as well as located all the way across the room from him. Greg heard muffled footsteps outside the door. He watched the handle jiggle for a moment, wondering just how exactly he was going to drag himself across the floor to open the door when the door was kicked in completely in one swift movement by Mycroft Holmes himself, looking pristine in his three-piece suit as per usual, umbrella held tightly in one hand. Mycroft locked eyes with Greg and hurried inside, crashing to his knees in front of Greg.

“Tha' was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Greg slurred out.

“My God, Gregory. What did she do!?”

Panic was alight in Mycroft’s eyes as he ripped the tie off his neck whilst also pulling the handkerchief out of his pocket. Greg winced as Mycroft held the handkerchief firmly to Greg’s head with one hand and began to wrap his tie tightly around Greg’s head, holding the handkerchief in place.

“She came home from being served the papers an’ found me packin' my things,” Greg said, swallowing against a wave of nausea. “She tried to get me t’stop. Told her no, I was done with it all. She didn’t like that. Threw a vase at me as I went to walk away with my bag. Heard her move an’ I turned to look at her at the wrong time. Caught me in the face with the vase an’ I took a tumble down the stairs,”

Greg’s stomach gave another horrid lurch and he was gagging in to the plant again, being supported by Mycroft. When he was done, Mycroft leaned Greg against him instead of the wall, not caring in the slightest that Greg was bleeding all over a suit that likely cost more than two month’s of Greg’s salary.

“Anthea has called an ambulance. They will be here momentarily. Did you lose consciousness at all?” Mycroft ask, gently cradling Greg’s head, tilting it slightly to look between Greg’s eyes for a concussion.

“Mm, think so, yeah,” he said. “Didn’t feel like long, but she was gone when I came to,”

The ambulance showed up shortly afterwards, carting Greg off to hospital with Mycroft next to him, flashing a government ID badge to bully his way in to the ambulance. Greg quickly lost consciousness again once he had been bundled in to the ambulance. Greg woke some later in what looked like a private hospital room. Greg’s left eye was swollen shut and the cut stitched up, his ribs had been taped up, and his head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool, but the only thing Greg really noticed was Mycroft Holmes, asleep in a chair beside Greg’s bed, Greg’s hand in Mycroft’s.

Greg was jerked out of his reverie when the car door opened for him. He stepped out and took a moment to soak in the mansion-like building that was, apparently, Mycroft’s home. Greg had never been to Mycroft’s home before. Mycroft had been to Greg’s shabby flat a handful of times- mostly once he had been released from hospital after he left his wife- but they mostly met in cafes, restaurants, Mycroft’s work office a scant few times, and the Diogenes Club that Mycroft frequented. Taking a breath, Greg stepped up to the door. Before he even had a chance to knock, the door was opened by a young lady, who smiled kindly at him.

“Hello, sir. You must be D.C.I. Lestrade. Please do come in. I’m Maddie, head of the house staff. If you’ll follow me, Mr. Holmes is in his office,” Greg flashed her a charming smile.

“Lovely to meet you, Maddie, but, please, call me Greg,” she smiled back warmly at him.

“I like you. Please, follow me,” she said before turning and leading Greg to, what he assumed was, Mycroft’s home office. Maddie tapped very lightly on the door frame to the office, poking her head inside before whispering.

“Sir, D.C.I. Lestrade here for you,” Mycroft glanced up with a smile, standing and making his way over to them.

“Thank you, Maddie. Though I thought I told you to take the day?” Maddie smiled guiltily.

“Just changing the sheets in the guest room before turning in,” Mycroft quirked an amused eyebrow.

“See to it that you finish up quickly. Enjoy the rest of your day,” Maddie smiled and nodded.

“Thank you, sir,” she said before nodding politely to Greg and taking her leave.

“Thank you for coming, Gregory,” Mycroft said with a tired smile.

“Well, you had me worried, darlin',” Greg whispered back, but unsure as to why they were whispering. Mycroft was having a hard time staying upright as the term of endearment slipped past Greg’s lips with ease.

“It’s easiest to just explain to you in person what is happening,” Mycroft said, hesitating in the doorway of his office.

“Hey, relax,” Greg said, taking Mycroft’s hands in to his and squeezing gently. “Whatever it is, I’ll stand by you. No matter what,” Greg said with a smile.

Mycroft let out a sigh, gave one last concerned glance to Greg, and then stepped out of the doorway to his office, revealing a tiny little girl kipped out on the sofa in the corner of Mycroft’s office. Greg’s heart turned to ice and dropped to his stomach when he saw the severe bruising on her face and what he could see of her arms from where her shirt sleeves had ridden up.

“Fuck, My,” Greg said, horrified for the girl and fighting to keep his past demons out of the forefront of his mind. “What’ve you done?”

Chapter Text

“It isn’t what you think, Gregory,” Mycroft said.

“You mean you haven’t abducted a small child from, what I’m assuming, are the arseholes currently in the country staying with you?” Mycroft paused.

“Not technically abducted, no,” he said.

“Mycroft-”

Greg forgot momentarily that the child was sleeping and raised his voice slightly, eliciting a quiet whimper from the girl. Mycroft was suddenly across the room in an instant, kneeling down next to her and murmuring to her. Whatever ire Greg had felt before was gone immediately and was replaced with an immense love for Mycroft. He watched as Mycroft easily settled the girl before returning to Greg’s side.

“I’m sorry, Mycroft,” Greg said, guiltily. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice,”

“Let’s go in to the study across the hall,” Mycroft said, gently leading Greg in to the study.

“Mycroft, what-” Greg stopped short as he watched Mycroft all but collapse in to a chair and bury his head in his hands. Greg was knelt in front of him within seconds.

“Hey, hey,” he said, reaching up to pull Mycroft’s hands from his face and caressing his face. “Talk to me, darlin'. Let me help you. How can I help you?”

Mycroft was suddenly unable to contain himself. He began detailing everything he had seen. From his initial deductions and subsequent plan he enacted when he first met the girl, to the interactions with the girl and her parents at the Palace, to last night, and then to this morning.

“She’s ill, Gregory,” Mycroft said, his voice laced with paternal concern. “She’s ill and I can’t help her. I can’t help her like she needs or I’ll risk this entire operation,”

“Well, it’s just one more day, right?” Greg said. “They’ll be gone all day today and their flight leaves tomorrow in the early afternoon, yeah?” Mycroft nodded.

“That is correct, yes,” he said in a clipped tone. Greg nodded.

“Alright. Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Mycroft quirked an eyebrow up at that.

“We?” He asked. Greg nodded.

“Yes. We,” he said firmly.

“Gregory, I would understand if you don’t wish to continue our-”

“No. Stop. Stop right there,” Greg said, holding a finger up to Mycroft’s lips. Mycroft fought the urge to kiss it. “Get this nonsense that I no longer wish to be with you because you’ve got a kid now out of that posh, brilliant head of yours, darlin',”

“Forgive me, Gregory. You don’t have any children. I can’t help but think-” Greg’s finger was against his lips again.

“Me and the ex-wife never had any kids because she didn’t want any and she made sure of it. I myself have always wanted children, but have never been blessed with that opportunity. Honestly, it’s probably why I’ve put up with your brother for so long. He’s really just an overgrown toddler,” Mycroft chuckled as Greg threw him a soft smile before running his hands through his hair. “Look, I understand this. I do. Christ, I understand, likely more than you know, why you are doing what you are doing. And, because of that, I want to help you. And God damn it if this protective paternal side of yours doesn’t make me even more attracted to you than I already was-” Greg stopped.

“How long, Gregory?” Mycroft breathed. “How long since you’ve known?”

“Think I’ve always known. At least a little part of me did, anyway. Pretty sure the exact moment I knew for sure was when I woke up in hospital a couple of months back. I’d basically had the mickey taken out of me by my wife and you stayed. You got to me quicker than the bloody ambulance that you also bullied your way in to, and then continued to stay with me in hospital. Got me a private room- come to think of it, I’ve not received a bill for that, and I’m pretty sure you had something to do with that as well. Helped me find a flat and move all my things in to said flat. Had my ex-wife arrested-”

“She assaulted you, Gregory,” Mycroft said coldly. “I was not about to allow her to get away with hurting you so badly,”

“It was an accident-”

“She threw a vase at you causing you to fall down the staircase. You had a severe concussion and several broken ribs,”

“Yeah, I know. I was there. Don’t really fully remember it, but I was there. At least I think I was,” Mycroft failed to bite back a small grin. “What about you?”

“I knew I was attracted to you since the first night we met after you found Sherlock overdosing and saved his life, in more ways than one. You got him medical help and provided lifesaving care until the ambulance arrived. Then, afterwards, you made the deal that he could assist you with cases if he stayed clean. You did what I couldn’t do. You work so well with him, even though you do not have to. I was irrevocably infatuated, but knew of your marital status, so I kept my distance out of respect. It did nothing, however, for quelling my feelings for you,” Mycroft glanced up and saw that Greg was looking at him with the most heated expression he had ever seen.

“And those feelings? Did you ever suspect that I might return them?” Greg’s voice was a low rumble. If Mycroft hadn’t been sitting, his knees would’ve gone weak.

“I- I was never for certain-”

Greg’s lips were suddenly on his. Mycroft froze for all of a second before nearly frantically returning the kiss. Greg tasted like coffee and pastries, but with an ever so slight hint of tobacco. Mycroft whimpered slightly, causing Greg to reach up and cup Mycroft’s face, deepening the kiss for a few seconds more before releasing his lips as he stopped for air.

“Does that answer your question?” Greg said in a husky voice.

“Oh, god, yes,”

Chapter Text

“So,” Greg said after they had stolen a few more kisses before continuing their prior conversation. “Here is what we are going to do: We’re going to monitor her for a bit, make sure that fever doesn’t spike. You’ve gotten a bit of info from John about how to proceed with the pain medication, which will also help the fever. You said the meds were working?” Mycroft nodded.

“Not completely, but it at least took some of the edge off for her. It appears to have brought her fever down at least a bit,” Greg nodded.

“Alright. We can confer with John about safely adjusting that if we need to. In the meantime, we can add cool compresses to her forehead, neck, and wrists if we need to urgently bring it down further. We’ll get some soup in to her in a couple of hours before her next dose of meds. While we wait for that time to come, we’re going to compile a list of things you are going to need for her within the next 48-hours. I imagine John and Molly will be adding to that list when they assess her tomorrow night. If you need, I’ve got some old stuff of my niece’s that she’s grown out of that I can give you for now to hold you over until she’s well enough for us to go and get her new clothes. We will need to get some toiletries for her as well; shampoo, toothbrush, hairbrush, and the like. We’ll also need to look in to- what?” Greg stopped speaking when he looked up from where he had been taking notes in his notebook- usually reserved for crime scenes- and saw Mycroft looking up at him with complete adoration.

“You are perfect, Gregory Lestrade. Utterly perfect,” Greg’s cheeks went slightly pink and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well, I dunno about that. I just have a good grasp of what she’s gonna need and want in the next couple of days,” Greg said, skimming over his notebook again.

“Well, let’s return to my office,” Mycroft said, standing up and pulling Greg up with him. “We can order what we need for now. If you are alright with it, I would appreciate the items from your niece, if you’re certain they won’t be missed,” Greg shook his head.

“Nah. They’ve been in a box at the top of my closet for ages now. Lili hasn’t been to stay with me since the move, so I’ve not needed to unpack her things. Apparently she’s done a growth spurt, so all the clothes I’ve got for her are all too small for her now anyway. Been meaning to take them to a charity, but hadn’t found the time yet. Good thing now, I s’pose,” Greg said with a small smile and a shrug. They entered Mycroft’s office, where Mycroft immediately checked on the tiny child before beckoning Greg to a seat opposite his at his desk.

“Her fever appears to still be present, but not at a distressing level,” Mycroft said in a low voice so as not to wake the sleeping girl. Greg nodded.

“That’s good. We’ll just need to keep monitoring it and make sure she’s got those meds in her before it spikes,”

Mycroft nodded his agreement and the two spent the next hour ordering the things they would need, Greg taking the lead in detailing most of what a young girl would need. After a while, there was a slight shuffling sound from the couch. Both men glanced up and saw that the girl had woken. She was sitting up slightly, clutching the quilt around her like a lifeline. Her eyes never left Greg. Mycroft stood and made his way over to her, kneeling down next to her.

“Hello, little one. How are you feeling?” Mycroft tested her forehead with the back of his hand, ignoring the resulting flinch. She said and did nothing, still watching Greg with cautious apprehension. Mycroft glanced at Greg, who smiled at the girl before slowly and carefully rising from the chair and making his way over to them, stopping just short of the sofa, kneeling down to appear less intimidating to the child.

“This is my friend, Gregory,” Mycroft said. Greg smiled warmly and knelt down.

“Hey there, sunshine,” he said in a low, but friendly tone. “You can call me Greg. I’m a friend of Mycroft’s. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” she blinked up at him, but her eyes were no longer cautious.

“Are you hungry, little one? It’s nearly time for you to take more medicine and you must eat beforehand,” she grimaced slightly, but nodded once. “Good girl. Are you ready to go?” A nod.

Mycroft smiled before slowly reaching out and gently lifting her in to his arms. Greg opened the door for them and Mycroft took them both to the kitchen. He gently set the child down in one of the chairs, gesturing for Greg to sit as well. Greg purposely sat at the chair across from her, ensuring that he was well-within her line of sight at all times. Mycroft bumbled around the kitchen for a few moments, placing a large pot of...something on the stove, Greg wasn’t sure what, before readying a dose of medicine.

Greg carefully studied the child in front of him without trying to be obvious about it. According to Mycroft, she was supposed to be eight years old, however, she looked four, maybe five years old and likely weighed barely more than two stone. Greg suppressed a shudder, trying not to see the similarities between the child in front of him and himself as a child before he was taken in to care. He was always hungry. Always hurting. Be it from a belt or his father’s own fists. He did whatever he could to protect his younger sister from his father’s ire, and he took a lot of beatings in her stead.

He was thirteen, and his sister nine, when a neighbor had finally had enough and stole them both away one night after Greg’s father had passed out after another drunken bender ending with Greg collapsing outside, taking the teenaged Greg straight to A&E. His father was arrested immediately afterwards and the Lestrade siblings were thrown in to the care system. Greg’s sister had been adopted out, but they hadn’t wanted Greg. Greg had remained in care until he aged out and joined the police force, finally reuniting with his sister once she turned eighteen and sought him out. He gasped in surprise as a hand on his shoulder startled him badly. Mycroft immediately took a step back, hands splayed out in front of him. Greg gave him a weak smile.

“Sorry, My,” he said with a shaky laugh as he rubbed his neck. “Got lost in my head there for a bit,” Mycroft eyed him critically, and Greg fought the urge to squirm. A cold hand on his startled him for a second time. He glanced up to see that the girl had reached out her tiny, cold hand and grasped his hand in hers and was looking at him in concern. Greg smiled at her.

“I’m alright, sunshine. I promise,” he said, squeezing her hand lightly. He loosened his grip for her to let go if she wanted to, but she never did. She reached with her other hand for a paper Mycroft had placed beside her that had a few smiley faces on them. She pointed to the crying face before tapping on Greg’s hand. Greg smiled.

“You’re a bright little one, aren’t you, sunshine?” She furrowed her eyebrows slightly before returning to neutrality. “You’re right, sunshine. I am sad, but it’s alright. I’m sad for you and for- for another little boy I used to know. He was like you. His father didn’t like him much, but the little boy eventually got away from him. I’m sad that you and the boy had to go through this horror, but, I’m also happy,” he said, pointing to the smiling face. “I’m happy because, like the young boy, you’re getting out too,” Mycroft placed two bowls, followed by a third, of steaming soup on to the table along with fresh bread.

“Alright, little one, I want you to eat at least five bites of bread and as much of the soup as you can stomach,” he said as she picked up the spoon. “Do you remember what to do if you begin feeling sick to your stomach?” She immediately placed the spoon firmly on the table before pointing to Mycroft, who smiled. “Exactly. Very well done. Eat your lunch and then you can have more medicine,”

Greg wasn’t feeling very hungry, but surprised himself by eating the entire bowl of soup and chunk bread that Mycroft had placed in front of him. Greg had attempted not to watch the child in front of him eat, but he couldn’t help but sneak glances as she attempted to feed herself with her left hand, carefully trying not to spill any of the broth. In the end, she ate nearly half the bowl of soup and most of the bread she had been given.

“Are you finished?” Mycroft asked her, gathering up his and Greg’s bowls before returning to remove hers after she had nodded. Mycroft handed her the medicine cup and the child downed it like a shot without so much as a grimace. “Would you like to lay down again?” Mycroft asked her. A moment’s hesitation before she gave a short nod. Mycroft lifted her too-small form easily in to his arms.

“Would you like to lay down in bed, or would you like to return to my office?” Greg watched as she reached a shaky hand up and gently tapped Mycroft on the chest. Mycroft smiled gently, placing a protective kiss on her brow. “Alright. You can stay with me. Is it alright if Gregory comes with us?”

Her eyes flicked to Greg before she gave another nod. Mycroft smiled and gestured for Greg to follow them back to Mycroft’s study. Mycroft settled the child down on the sofa once more, tucking the quilt around her before her eyes slipped shut once more. Greg waited for Mycroft to sit across from him once more before speaking.

“Does she speak?” Greg asked, careful to keep his voice low so as not to disturb the child. Mycroft sighed and steepled his hands in front of him.

“She’s only spoken about five words to me during the duration of her stay thus far, one time telling me that she believes her name to be Girl,” Mycroft said tersely and Greg let out a breath. “She can speak, however I do believe that she refuses to do so out of fear of being reprimanded,” Mycroft spat the word out like it was the foulest thing he’d ever uttered. Greg winced slightly at his tone before reaching out and taking Mycroft’s hand in his.

“Easy, darlin',” he murmured, squeezing his hand gently. “We can work with that. She’s a bright little thing. She clearly understands most things we tell or ask her and you’ve obviously found a good method for her to express herself for the time being. For right now, we just need to encourage her to speak. If she speaks, praise and positive reinforcement. If not, then we tell her that’s alright and we can try again later. If it’s more of a long-term thing, then we’ll see if maybe she’ll do better with sign language,”

“You seem very well-versed on this, Gregory,” Mycroft said, slightly awed at how Greg was handling this. Greg shrugged.

“Grew up in the care system from the age of thirteen. Saw all kinds of things, both good, and bad. I myself was mute for a few months after what I’d-” Greg cut off suddenly and swallowed hard.

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, concern flooding his face. “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me anything,” Greg glanced up at him.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Not much to say other than my father lost his bloody mind when mum died. I was eight, my sister four. He started with the drink shortly after, soon followed by his fists. After five years, a neighbor finally had seen enough when I was beaten unconscious in my front yard. He collected my sister from her closet- I’d placed her there when our father began drinking to protect her from him- scooped me up and carted me to A&E himself. My father was arrested shortly afterwards and we were placed in to care. My sister got adopted out within a few months, but nobody- nobody ever wanted me, I guess,” Greg trailed off quietly. Mycroft was silent and still for a moment before he leaned forward and captured Greg’s lips in his.

“I want you, Gregory,” Mycroft breathed after they had broken apart. Greg rumbled out a low chuckle.

“Then that’s all I’ll ever need, darlin',”

Chapter Text

They sat there for the longest time, hand-in-hand, content with each other’s company. Mycroft’s mobile buzzed from his pocket and Mycroft sighed, pulling the device out and glancing down at the screen. His lips pursed and his eyes hardened.

“It’s time, then, yeah?” Greg asked. Mycroft glanced up at him.

“It would appear so, Gregory,” Mycroft replied, glancing over to the child who was still sleeping peacefully on the sofa. Greg let out a breath.

“You sure I can’t stay?” Greg asked, almost desperately.

“Unfortunately not. I’ll not risk either of you,” Mycroft said as he stood and walked over to the child. He placed a very gentle hand on her arm and the child startled awake with a gasp, raising her left arm to her face in a protective manner.

“Easy, little one. You’re with me. I’ll not hurt you,” Mycroft said in a level manner, after quickly retracting his hands and keeping them within her view. Once the girl had settled, he scooped her up in to his arms once more, looking up at Greg. “They’ll be here in half an hour to freshen up and change before going back out for dinner with Lady Smallwood,” Greg followed them back to the kitchen.

“What are you going to do?” Greg asked tensing up at the thought of having to leave.

“I’ll likely give her instructions to do the dishes and I’ll respond to emails as they come in. I’ll have to put on a show for them, making play I don’t care for her, or children in general. They’ll be gone for a couple of hours at the least, during which I’ll feed her dinner and dose her with more medicine before putting her to bed. When they get back, I’ll have to make up something that she’s done to draw my ire enough for me to lock her in the basement,” Greg clenched his fists.

“Mycroft-”

“Please don’t, Gregory,” Mycroft said, gently placing the child on to a chair before crossing the kitchen and taking Greg’s face in his hands, pressing his forehead against Greg’s. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do, My,” he replied, his hands snaking their way up to grasp Mycroft’s biceps.

“Then trust me when I say that I have this handled,” Mycroft’s stormy blue eyes held a fire within them. “Their flight leaves tomorrow afternoon at 3:00 PM. I’ll have a car pick you up and bring you to me at 1:00 PM, as they will have left by then. If you wouldn’t mind bringing the items discussed earlier I would greatly appreciate it,” Greg pursed his lips.

“You’ll call me, yeah?” Greg asked, pulling his head from Mycroft’s so as to properly look him in the eyes. “If anything happens. Anything at all. Even if it’s nothing-” Mycroft stopped Greg’s anxious babbling with a quick kiss.

“You’ll be called the second I think I cannot handle something, I assure you, Gregory,” Mycroft stepped back, picking up his mobile and typing something out. “A car will be here in three minutes to collect you. You must go now, Gregory,”

“Alright. Alright, I’ll go,” Greg said. Mycroft let out a breath. “It’ll be okay, My. It will,”

True to his word, five minutes before they were all set to arrive, Mycroft had placed a chair in front of the kitchen sink and instructed the child to scrub the dishes, but to try not to strain herself. He seated himself at the kitchen table, opening his laptop and making himself look busy. The Finnegans entered the room a few minutes later.

“Good evening,” Mycroft said politely. “I trust negotiations went well?” Cathal rolled his eyes.

“Do they ever?” Mycroft smirked back. “We’re here to freshen up before dinner. That girl behave herself?”

“I reminded her of our discussion last night,” Mycroft said, purposely flexing his right hand for show. “She’s followed my explicit instructions since then,”

Cathal nodded, impressed, his vision straying to the child, who was quietly washing the dishes as Mycroft had instructed. Before Mycroft could say anything to bring the man’s attention away from the girl, Cathal yanked her off the chair by her hair. Mycroft struggled to keep the smirk on his face and remain seated as the girl let out a small shriek.

“We’ve been thinking, Mycroft- quiet,” Cathal said, yanking on her hair harder when she let out a small whimper as her feet struggled to find purchase on the floor. “We travel a lot, Mallory and me. And we think we’ve found the perfect minder for this one,” another tug on her hair. Mycroft quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh?” Cathal grinned wildly.

“Oh, yes. You,” Mycroft stood abruptly.

“I do beg your pardon?” Mycroft spat out in feigned anger. Mallory smirked.

“We don’t want the bint any more than you do,” she sneered. “But, you have to take her,”

“And pray tell exactly why I would do something like that?” Mallory glanced at Cathal, who, grinning still, nodded at her. She pulled a pen out of her purse, twisted the ballpoint nib in a pattern, and clicked it.

“...which is precisely why I would like to keep her locked in the basement overnight. I store no food down there and there isn’t anything she can ruin, nor will she be able to get out,” Mycroft’s own voice rang out from the pen.

Now, Mycroft Holmes was far from naive. He was not an ignorant man and things rarely caught him off guard, and now was no different. Mycroft had known the whole time that they had some sort of audio recording device on them. Maddie’s security measures picked up on it immediately once they had entered his home. Hence why he chose his words carefully when speaking to them or within range of them. They believed they had the upper hand on Mycroft. Mycroft, however, was already several moves ahead in this chess game and they had just played beautifully in to his hand.

“What is this?” He demanded, seething, feigning an angry advance towards Mallory. “How did this get past my security?” Cathal shoved the girl to the ground, quickly stepping in between Mycroft and Mallory.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Holmes,” Cathal said in a controlled voice. “We have evidence against you on the despicable treatment of our dear, darling daughter. Wouldn’t want that getting out, now, would you? Can’t have this falling in to the wrong hands, but Mallory does tend to misplace things in the most inconvenient of places,” Mallory grinned wickedly.

“You’ll be in charge of the girl until we return for her, Holmes,” Cathal said, his face hard and stony. “In that time, you’ll continue this conditioning of her. I believe that, under your firm guidance and hand, she’ll become the perfect little servant,” Mycroft scoffed.

“And what exactly makes you think that you will be able to get away with this?” He said coolly. Cathal and Mallory glanced at each other, exchanging smirks.

“How exactly do you think we’ve found all our other minders, Holmes?” Cathal said. “You were chosen purposefully. You show no emotion. You can’t even stand your own brother. Ever the Iceman, as they call you. And we played up to that well,” Mycroft glared at them.

“Mark my words,” he said, his voice deadly serious. “You will not get away with this,” Mycroft hissed.

“Oh, we’ve been getting away with it for years, Holmes. You’re just another notch on the belt,” he glared at Mycroft for a few seconds before turning to Mallory. “Come, dear. Let’s get changed and go. I’m starved,”

And, with that, Cathal and Mallory went to leave the kitchen, but not before Cathal walked by the child, who had remained on the floor where she had been thrown, and delivered a brutal kick to her stomach, causing the air to leave her small body as she curled in on herself in an attempt to protect herself from further attack. Mycroft waited for them to come back downstairs. Thirteen minutes he waited, sparing worried glances at the child still curled on his floor, but not yet daring to speak. Thirteen minutes he stood in the same position, arms crossed and plastering a glare on his face that not many people had ever been privy to when the Finnegans appeared downstairs once more.

“Oh, don’t sulk, Mycroft,” Cathal said with a smile. “You’ll get used to having a live-in servant with you very quickly. They all do,” he said as they took their leave, thankfully leaving the girl unscathed this time.

Mycroft waited another few minutes before texting Maddie, who came in immediately with a team and swept the entire house for any more recording devices of any sort, of which they thankfully found none.

“You’re alright to speak and move about freely,” Maddie told him. “I was certain that pen was the only device they had, as it was the only thing we picked up on upon their initial arrival. I’ll be watching the scanners very closely when they return to ensure they only bring the one recording device back in,” Mycroft nodded.

“Thank you, Maddie,” he said. “That will be all, thank you,” Maddie nodded, casting a concerned glance towards the child, still curled up on the floor, before taking her leave. Mycroft was immediately on his knees beside the child.

“I’m sorry, little one,” he said, mildly surprised to find tears springing to his eyes as he gathered the trembling girl in to his arms. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop that. They’re gone now. You’re alright. We’re alright,”

Mycroft’s throat constricted further when he felt her hot tears soaking in to his shirt. They sat there for at least ten minutes, Mycroft trying not to let his emotions win out as he rocked and soothed the little girl he held protectively in his arms. Finally, when Mycroft’s knees could no longer stand the abuse of the linoleum floor, he slowly stood up, the child still in his arms, before sitting her down in a chair and kneeling down in front of her. His eyes roamed over her face, anger coursing through his veins like a hot fire at the discovery of a new bruise on her temple where her little head had smacked his floor when she had been thrown to the ground. A tear rolled down her face as she placed a hand softly on to her stomach.

“May I see, please?” He asked her. “No touching, I just want to see, I promise,” she reached out a shaking hand and grasped her shirt hem. Mycroft gently caught her hand before pulling the shirt up so he could see her stomach. Mycroft was furious to see an imprint of Cathal’s shoe beginning to form on her solar plexus. He let out a breath before putting her shirt down.

“I am so sorry, little one. There was no way for me to prevent that, but I promise you that they’ll not lay another finger on you before they leave,” she looked up at him skeptically. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I do not make promises lightly, child,”

Mycroft stood and retrieved the frozen veg bag from the freezer, once more wrapping it in a tea towel before handing it to the child, who placed it gingerly on her stomach. Mycroft began to reheat the soup once more, worried about giving her any different, richer foods, especially after that blow to the stomach. He placed two bowls of soup on the table, but neither of them seemed to want to eat. Mycroft, wanting to set an example for the emaciated child, forced himself to eat.

“Are you not hungry?” He asked her in a gentle tone.

No sooner than he had uttered his question did what little color she had drain from her face and she gagged on to the floor, splattering it with sick. Immediately, Mycroft was on his feet, scooping her up and holding her in front of the sink, where she continued to gag for several moments. Mycroft realized that he was at a complete loss of what to do when Anthea suddenly appeared by his side out of nowhere, startling him.

“Anthea,” he gasped out as she measured out what he saw was the children’s stomach soother she had purchased for him the night before. “What are you doing here?”

“A severe security breach happened in your home and you’re daft enough to believe that I wouldn’t be notified and ensure the threat was properly neutralized personally?” Anthea said incredulously to him. Mycroft would have smiled had he not been so concerned with the now crying- albeit silently- child in his arms. Anthea turned her attention to the girl. “Oh, my love. Does your tummy hurt? I’ve got something to help you with that,” Mycroft sat her on the countertop and caressed her face, wiping her tears away with his thumbs.

“You’re alright little one. It’s alright. You know we want to help you, yes?” A shaky nod. “We have medicine for your stomach. If you can keep that down, then you can have pain medicine and have a lie down, I promise,” The quietest of sobs before another nod.

“There’s my brave girl,” Mycroft said with a loving smile, accepting the medicine cup from Anthea. “All in one go, little one,”

He watched carefully as she quickly downed the medicine before gagging slightly at the taste. Mycroft, thinking she was about to sick up once more, panicked slightly. Torn between wanting to avoid more potential sick but also wanting to help the girl, he made a very odd movement, causing him to accidentally slip on a bit of sick on the floor. And the British Government himself, in all of his three-piece designer suited glory, came tumbling down. The kitchen was deathly silent. Apparently, this was too much for Anthea to bear. She burst out laughing in a manner Mycroft had never seen before.

“Oh, my Lord, Mycroft,” she gasped in between laughs. “Welcome to parenthood. You’ve officially been inaugurated,” Mycroft groaned from his place on the floor. “Are you alright?”

“Physically, I am fine,” Mycroft grimaced as he attempted to move without putting his hands in the sick. “My ego, however, will never recover,” Anthea snorted.

“I’m sure you’ll live,” she chortled. “You desperately need a shower now, though. You go on ahead and I’ll get this sorted down here,” Mycroft stood, but did not move, hesitating to leave the child, despite how much he trusted Anthea.

“Sir,” she said, removing a bin bag from underneath the sink and handing it to him. “I have her. I have this. They are gone. And you know that I am more than capable of protecting her if the time came. She’s safe. You, however, are covered in sick and need to shower. Place your suit in this and I’ll take it with me to have it properly laundered once you rejoin us downstairs,” Mycroft could not argue with her logic.

“Come and get me if anything happens,” he told her.

“Of course,” she agreed immediately. “Now go and clean yourself up,” Mycroft rolled his eyes, but did as he was told.

Chapter Text

Fifteen minutes later, Mycroft emerged from upstairs, showered and in a fresh suit, to find Anthea cleaning up the dinner dishes, all evidence of sick had been cleared from the floor and the child, who was now once again seated at the table. She had a few crackers in front of her, one of which she was currently nibbling on, a mug of what smelled like peppermint tea next to her. Anthea glanced up at him from where she stood drying the bowls.

“Much better,” she said with a smile, taking the bag of soiled suit from Mycroft. “She’s had two crackers. She’s working on her third cracker now and has had a few sips of peppermint tea. If she can hold those crackers down for half an hour, then she should be okay for more pain medicine and then bed. She’s got a mild fever,”

“Doctors Watson and Hooper will be over immediately after their shifts tomorrow evening once the Finnegans have left. Though I’m sure you’ve seen the car I’ve scheduled for them,” Anthea nodded.

“Well, sir, if everything is secure and calmed down now, I’ll take my leave,” Anthea said. Mycroft nodded, making a mental note to have her favorite coffee and pastries sent to her in the morning as a thank you.

“Thank you, Anthea. As usual, you are a lifesaver,” Anthea grinned.

“I know,” she said, moving towards the child, whispering something in to her ear. The child nodded. “Good girl,” Anthea said, placing a gentle kiss on the child’s temple before bidding Mycroft goodnight and taking her leave. He glanced at the child, who continued to innocently nibble on her cracker.

“Dare I ask what she whispered to you?”

Mycroft was rewarded with the tiniest of smiles from the girl. Mycroft smiled back, and left the question unanswered, counting the smile as the biggest of victories. He sat across from the child, sipping his own tea that Anthea had left him as he made sure that she ate her crackers at a reasonable pace as he glanced through his emails. Soon enough, a full half-hour passed with no further incident. He looked up at the child, who had laid her head down on to her folded arms and was regarding him sleepily.

“Are you ready for bed, little one?”

A sleepy nod was what he received as a response. Mycroft stood and measured out another dose of the pain and fever medication, which she downed once more without hesitation. Mycroft made quick work of his and her dishes before scooping her up in to his arms and taking her downstairs to the basement en suite once more. He helped her get back in to his old undershirt and socks once again before lifting her up in to the bed and tucking her in. He brought the laundry room rubbish bin in to the room, setting it beside the bed, just in case.

“You understand that Gregory, Anthea, and Lady Smallwood are all my friends, right? And that none of my friends have ever hurt you?” He asked her. A nod. “Well, I have two other friends who would like to meet you. They are doctors. And doctors make people feel better. They want to help you feel better. Would you like to meet them tomorrow? Gregory and I will be with you the whole time if you wish,” a hesitant nod.

“There’s my brave girl. Everything you know is going to change tomorrow,” he told her quietly, smoothing the hair from her slightly too-warm forehead. “It’s going to be frightening for you, and it’s alright for you to be frightened. Just know that I’ll be with you the whole time,” blank, green eyes stared back up at him. Mycroft continued smoothing her hair until she finally drifted off to sleep.

Mycroft sat there for the next hour-and-a-half, never ceasing his ministrations until his buzzing mobile made him halt. They were thirty minutes out until arrival. He sighed heavily, scrubbing his face in his hands. As much as he hated to do so, he stood, stretching slightly before leaving the basement, securing the door behind him. He bustled about the kitchen, making himself a strong cup of tea, knowing that he was not sleeping that night, as he intended to ensure that the child was dosed with fever reducer at the proper times.

He found himself anxiously awaiting the inevitable arrival of the Finnegans, determined to protect the child he had hidden in his basement- now that Mycroft thought about it, he realized just how horrid that sounded out of context. No wonder Lady Smallwood had reacted so strongly this morning. He sighed. Time seemed to slow down to a snail’s pace. Finally, he heard his front door open, drunken laughter echoing loudly down the hallway as they stumbled in to his kitchen.

“Where’s she?” Cathal slurred out. “Wanna talk to her,” Mycroft closed his laptop with a snap, a cold look coming over him.

“She has severely displeased me this evening,” he snapped. “She has been properly admonished and thrown in to the basement for the rest of the night, where she will be staying for the next twenty-four hours,” Mallory snickered.

“Good of you, but what if we wanna see our daughter before we leave tomorrow?” Cathal challenged. Mycroft drew himself to his proper height, ensuring that power oozed from every pore in his body.

“You have given me the child to mind as of this evening. That means that I now have complete say in how I discipline the child you saw fit to bloody stick me with without my consent. Now, I have decreed that she remain locked in the basement without human contact until I deem fit as a result of her lack of listening skills that she no doubt learned under your poor disciplinary actions,” he allowed his true anger at them bleed through a bit now that the child was safely tucked away and he didn’t need to risk completely scaring the poor girl. “Now, I suggest you both retire for the evening. I have a mountain of work to do as well as a plan of action to get the thing in my basement to behave as it should,” he seethed.

“Cathal, he’s right,” Mallory said, having taken a step back at Mycroft’s ire. “Come, let’s go. I’ll make it up to you,” she said, feigning a whisper in his ear.

Mycroft fought the urge to grimace at her implications and reminded himself to burn the old bedding and frame before purchasing a new one. Cathal continued to look at him oddly before finally allowing Mallory to pull him from the room. Mycroft glared after them, waiting several minutes before he finally relaxed a bit, sighing heavily before sinking back in to a kitchen chair and burying his head in his hands. His mobile buzzed in his pocket and he had a strong urge to throw the damn thing against the wall. He took a deep, steadying breath before fishing the device from his pocket.

They did not bring the device back in to the household. - MM

I am unsure as to what they have done with it, but it did not return back here with them. - MM

Noted. Thank you, Maddie. Get some rest. - MH

You too, sir. Thank you. - MM

Mycroft set the mobile down on the table next to him and took a deep drink from his mug of tea in a feeble attempt to calm his nerves and loosen the tightness in his chest that made him want to gasp for air, nearly spilling the tea as his hands shook badly. He wished deep down that Greg could have stayed. He would not be this uncontrolled at the moment if Greg was with him. As if the universe answered his silent plea, his mobile buzzed.

Hey. You alright? - GL

I find myself succumbing to the overwhelming stimuli I have been dealing with as of late. - MH His mobile suddenly began buzzing more urgently a few moments later with a call: D.C.I. Gregory Lestrade. He took a shaky breath and answered.

“Gregory,” he answered in a clipped tone.

“You could’ve just said you were having a panic attack, darlin',” Greg said not unkindly. “I’d have been able to respond to that much more quickly rather than the ten whole seconds it took my mere commoner brain to piece together what exactly it was that you had said,” Mycroft let out a shuddery chuckle.

“Hey, just breathe, My,” Greg said in a low tone that made Mycroft want to do whatever the man asked him. “It’s almost over now. Just a few more hours and it’ll all be over with. Sunshine’ll be safe and we can spoil her like she deserves,” Mycroft smiled, blinking hard against the tears that threatened to fall, his chest loosening ever so slightly.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” Greg asked, gently. Mycroft swallowed hard.

“Not particularly at the moment,” he said, his voice finally beginning to strengthen.

“Alright. That’s perfectly fine,” a moment’s pause before: “So, have I told you why I’m going to kill your brother this time?” Mycroft let out a startled laugh, not expecting the sudden change in conversation.

“Knowing my little brother, anything is possible. I’m assuming that John was not involved, as he can usually keep Sherlock in some form of line?” Greg laughed.

“Got it in one, posh,”

Chapter Text

Mycroft and Greg conversed for the next forty-five minutes. Mycroft felt much lighter than he had when he finally bid Greg goodnight so Greg could get to bed for his early shift the next morning. By the time he hung up with Greg, it was time for him to get more medicine in to the girl. He fished the medication from his pocket- he hadn’t had time to hide the medication upstairs before the Finnegans had arrived- and headed downstairs. He peeked his head in and saw that the child was in a fitful state of sleep. He quickly crossed the room and smoothed the hair from her face, frowning in concern to note that her fever had spiked slightly. He went in to the en suite and wet a washcloth with cold water, returning and placing it over the child’s head, who stirred and opened her eyes to look at him.

“I’m sorry, little one, but it’s time for more medicine,” he said.

He helped her in to a sitting position before holding the medicine cup to her lips, assisting her in drinking it down before gently placing her back down on to the pillows. He flipped the washcloth over to the cooler side and placed it back on to her forehead before returning to his usual seat beside her, watching over her as she fell back to sleep. Not wanting to press his luck with the girl’s parents upstairs, he only stayed long enough to ensure she was fully asleep and that the medication had kicked in before taking his leave.

The rest of the night went very similarly. Every four hours, the alarm he had set on his mobile went off and he made his way from the his kitchen table downstairs to rouse the ill child in his basement long enough to feed her medicine before tucking her back in, ensuring she was comfortably asleep before returning to his office to work. By 10:00 AM, Mycroft was exhausted in a way he hadn’t remembered being in a long while. He was standing at the stove, making some plain oatmeal and toast for the child to try and eat. He brought the tray downstairs, along with more fever reducer and the stomach soother. He found the child awake, but still lying in bed.

“Good morning, little one. Unfortunately, I have to be quick, but I want you to take more stomach soother and fever reducer before I have to go back upstairs,” he said, setting the tray of food down on the bed and handing her both medicine cups, which she took without hesitation, only shuddering slightly at the taste of the stomach soother. “Good girl. Now, eat what you can of your breakfast. I’ll not force you to eat too much, but try at least a couple of bites of both and some sips of the peppermint tea I made for you. You’ll have to remain down here for just a few more hours, and then I’ll be able to come and retrieve you,” the child stared at him. He knelt down next to her.

“We’re almost there, little one. Not much longer now,” he placed a gentle kiss on her head before making his way back upstairs.

Mycroft made himself a spot of breakfast and fired up his coffee maker, deciding he needed something much stronger than tea this morning after pulling his first all-nighter in quite some time. At 12:13 PM, Cathal and Mallory appeared in his kitchen, their bags being carried out to the vehicle by their driver. Mycroft glanced up at them briefly before returning to the email he had been composing to the Prime Minister.

“Have you really still got her locked in the basement?” Cathal said, mildly amused as he glanced at the locked basement door. Mycroft glared up at him.

“I do not make idle threats, Finnegan,” he said tersely. “When I say something goes, it goes exactly how I say. No human contact. Total reset for her and her attitude,” he ground out. Cathal looked impressed and nodded his head.

“Right. I’ll give you that. No chance for a father to say goodbye to his little girl, then?” Knowing that Cathal’s ‘goodbye’ likely meant something violent, Mycroft resisted the overwhelming urge to throw his coffee in the man’s face, instead fixing the man with a glare. Cathal chuckled and held up his hands. “Alright, alright. No harm in asking. Well, Mr. Holmes, a pleasure. We look forward to seeing what you’ve done with the bint by the time we come back to collect her,” he said, holding his hand out to Mycroft, who had absolutely no desire to touch the man, but shook his hand once for appearance’s sake.

“Oh, I look forward to it,” Mycroft said, glare still in place. Cathal chuckled.

“Let’s go, Mallory,” he said, throwing his arm around her shoulders and leading the equally vile woman out of his house.

Mycroft watched via the window as the car drove out of sight, his heart pounding in his chest. Immediately after the car disappeared out of view, Maddie and her security team, once again, swept through the entire house. Time crawled by as Mycroft waited for Maddie’s go-ahead, his entire person tense in a way he hadn’t felt since Sherlock’s fall from Bart’s. An eternity later- Lord, Mycroft really was turning as dramatic as Sherlock- Maddie gave him the okay that no devices had been found and Mycroft all but busted down his own basement door to get to the child. He found the child laying on the bed, awake.

“Hello, little one,” Mycroft said, kneeling down and smoothing the hair from her face, alarmed at the heat coming off of her. “Your parents are gone now. They have returned to Ireland, child. If I have anything to say about it, you will never have to see them ever again,” he said, watching the child carefully. She glanced up at him, confusion apparent in her eyes.

“You are safe, my child. You are free now. You are safe, I promise,” he said. He watched as silent tears began to fall from her eyes. “Oh, my love,” he said, gently scooping her in to his arms, holding her protectively to his chest. He walked up to the kitchen and attempted to set the child down in to a chair, but the child whimpered and clung to him.

“Alright, alright, little one. I’ve got you,” Mycroft said, wrapping his arms around the child once more, gently rubbing her back and walking back and forth along the kitchen as she began to really wail. Mycroft was alarmed. This was the most noise he had ever heard coming from the girl.

Mycroft continued to try to soothe the distraught child in his arms. After about half an hour, the child had worked herself up in to quite the state of panic, her breaths were coming out in wheezing gasps as she coughed and cried and Mycroft realized just how out of his range of knowledge this was and began to inwardly panic himself. Just as he was about to outwardly give in to his panic, a familiar voice rang in his ears.

“My? What’s happened? Is she alright?” Greg was suddenly standing in the doorway of his kitchen, faded pink bag in hand, concern written all over his face. Mycroft nearly cried in relief.

“Gregory,” he breathed. “I- I don’t know what exactly is wrong. I went down to get her and told her that her parents had gone, that she was safe now. I noticed that her fever had spiked higher than it had been yesterday, so I brought her upstairs to get her more fever reducer. She won’t let me put her down and she’s worked herself up to this state,” Greg nodded, setting the bag down at the table before shedding himself of his worn trench coat, neatly folding it over a kitchen chair.

“Right. Let me measure her out some meds, then,” Greg said as he retrieved the bottle of fever reducer and measured out the appropriate dose Mycroft told him before setting it down on the countertop and reaching his arms out for the child. “Here. Let me,”

Mycroft was extremely hesitant to hand off the child. Half of his body was screaming at him to protect and soothe her, the other half urging him to trust Greg. Slowly, he was able to pry the still wailing child from his person, handing her off to Greg, who allowed her to wrap her legs around his waist and her left arm around his neck as she buried her face in to his shoulder. He wrapped one arm beneath her legs to support her weight and placed the other hand on the back of her head, gently massaging her head and neck.

“Shh. Breathe, sunshine. Breathe, my love. Everything is alright. Easy, sunshine,” Greg murmured to her, rocking her slightly. He then began to sing under his breath to her.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. And you’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away,”

Once Greg had finished the sung verse, he began to hum the song, ever so gently swaying the child in his arms as he walked the length of the kitchen. After several minutes, the girl finally began to calm down, her sobs slowly subsiding to shuddery breaths and hiccups. Even though the child had calmed down significantly, Greg continued to hum and walk around the kitchen for several minutes more before speaking.

“Hey, sunshine. Bit of a rough morning, eh?” A shuddery breath before a shaky nod. Mycroft nearly collapsed in relief. “Still not feeling well?” A shake of her head. “Well, how about we get you some medicine to help you feel better, then we can have a lie-down on the couch in the den. That sound alright to you, sunshine?” Another nod. Mycroft took that as his signal to retrieve the medicine cup and come around to Greg’s side, smoothing hair out of the child’s face.

“Here, little one. Have this and then we can go lie down,” Mycroft said gently, holding the medicine cup to the child’s lips. The child drank the medicine down without hesitation. “Good girl,” Mycroft said.

Still holding on to the child, Greg followed Mycroft to the den, sitting down on the couch and gesturing for Mycroft to sit next to him. Mycroft did so, and Greg freed one of his hands to place a pillow on to Mycroft’s lap before gently manoeuvring the child to lay down with her head on Mycroft’s lap, feet in Greg’s. Greg reached over and pulled the afghan from behind them and tucking it around the child, who had already drifted off to sleep.

“Keep running your fingers through her hair,” Greg murmured. “Use your fingertips to gently rub small circles on to her scalp. If she didn’t already have a headache, she definitely will now after that fit, so focus on her whole head, starting on the top of her head and work your way down. Be sure to get her temples as well. She’s used to violent touches that hurt. We need to get her accustomed to nice, gentle touches,” Mycroft did as he had Greg instructed, watching in awe as the child sighed contently and seemed to relax in to a deeper sleep. Mycroft, still continuing to soothe the child, looked up at Greg in amazement.

“How on Earth did you know how to handle that?” Mycroft whispered. Greg smiled sadly down at the girl. Mycroft noticed that he was gently rubbing her legs in a soothing manner.

“My sister used to get nasty fevers when she was little,” he answered. “I quickly learned how to soothe her, especially after mum died. Kids this young, especially one as neglected as she is, don’t really know how to deal with it all. They just know they feel awful and want it to stop. Combine her being sickly with the big emotions of finally being away from her overlords, and it’s way too big of feelings for such a small thing to be able to deal with. She’s scared, confused, tired, hurting, and a fever to boot. Hell, I’d probably cry too,” Mycroft’s throat constricted.

“Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft managed to choke out.

“Hey, you’re alright. Take a breath, darlin',” Greg said, brushing his fingers against Mycroft’s face and Mycroft found himself closing his eyes and leaning in to his warm touch, breathing in Greg’s scent. “You didn’t sleep a wink last night, did you?”

“No. I had to make sure she got her medicine at the correct times,” Mycroft answered, letting his exhaustion creep in to his answer.

“Thought not. Why don’t you kip out for a bit? She’s sleeping right here with you, but I’ll also keep an eye out. I’ll wake you if anything happens, but, if not, I’ll wake you before John and Molly get here,” as much as Mycroft wanted to argue, he couldn’t find the energy to do so.

“If you insist, Gregory,” Greg gave him a gentle side smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

“Oh, I really do insist,” Mycroft smiled as he allowed his eyes to drift shut. Mycroft was vaguely aware of what seemed like a camera flash before he drifted off.

Chapter Text

John Watson was concerned. As per usual, he was concerned about a Holmes. The kicker was that he was concerned not about Sherlock, but about Mycroft. John thanked the barista at the coffee shop, grabbing the two steaming mugs before making his way across the street and in to Bart’s, walking straight down to the morgue.

“Morning, Molls,” he said with a smile as he walked in to the morgue a few minutes later. Molly startled slightly before looking up from her paperwork to see John, smiling brightly.

“Oh, hello, John! Good morning! What can I do for you this morning?” She asked, making her way over to him. John smiled warmly at her, giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek before holding out the coffee cup to her. “Oh! What’s this, then? Is Sherlock about to come bustling in here and say something rude again?” John laughed.

“Well, he hadn’t said anything about coming to see you today, but who knows with him, really,” John said with a smile.

“Well, thank you, John,” she said with a smile, holding her coffee cup up to him before taking a sip. They chatted for several minutes before Molly finally addressed him.

“John, just ask me,” she said with a small smile. “I know you’re wanting to ask me something,” John smiled, rubbing his neck slightly in embarrassment. He took a breath.

“Mycroft needs a favor,” John said, figuring the best way to go about it was to hit the nail right on the head. Molly’s head snapped up in immediate concern.

“Mycroft? What’s happened? Oh, God, is he ill? Is it serious?” John reached out and grasped Molly’s arm, squeezing gently to stop her nervous rambling.

“Easy, Molls. Mycroft is fine. He’s not ill. He’s fine, I promise,” he told her seriously.

“Then- But why does he-”

“He’s come in to custody of a child,” John said.

“A- a child? It’s not- He’s not-”

“Biologically, the child is not his, no,” John answered. “He has removed the child from the parents for the child’s own safety and well-being,” Molly went deathly still for a long while. John was about to check to make sure she hadn’t spontaneously died when she finally spoke.

“He’s rescued an abused child?” Her voice sounded very detached and un-Molly like. John nodded.

“That is how it seems, yes. Apparently the child is in such danger that he can’t safely risk taking the child to hospital for a proper evaluation. He contacted me Friday night for advice on how to medicate the child. Apparently, the child is eight years old, but only weighs two-and-a-half stone,” Molly hissed in displeasure. John nodded, his own displeasure written all over his face. “He didn’t tell me how badly the child might be injured, but he did say that he needed advice on how to safely dose out children’s pain medicine,” Molly shut her eyes and clenched her fists, taking several deep breaths before opening her eyes and looking John dead in his eyes.

“Where and when does Mycroft need us?”

And, so, an unmarked car picked the both of them up outside of Bart’s at approximately 5:30 PM. They had both packed their respective medical bags with a various assortment of supplies and medications, as neither of them knew just how severe the situation they were walking in to was going to be and they did not want to be underprepared. Molly glanced at John halfway through the ride. His shoulders were squared, his eyes were hard, and his posture was poised as though he was ready to attack at any second. Molly knew right then and there that the kindly Doctor John Watson she knew and loved was not seated next to her. She was seated next to Captain Watson, and he was ready for battle. She reached out a cautious hand and grasped John’s hand, startling the man who looked around wildly, before seeing Molly. Recognition flashed through his eyes and he instantly relaxed, sending her an apologetic smile. 6:00 PM saw them pulling in to Mycroft’s home.

“Oh, wow,” Molly breathed as she glanced out the window, taking in Mycroft’s mansion for the first time.

“Greg is here,” John said, confusion and concern in his tone. Molly looked over and, sure enough, Greg was standing out on the front porch, arms crossed in front of him, a haunted look on his face that John had only seen on Greg when he was dealing with a particularly disturbing case that unsettled him. Molly and John got out of the car and approached him.

“Greg? You alright, mate?” John asked. Greg let out a breath and scrubbed his face with one hand.

“It’s- It’s bad, John. It’s bad,” John watched as a look of despair and pain briefly flashed across Greg’s face.

“Hey, hey,” John said, grasping Greg firmly by the arm. “Take a breath, Greg. Now, what’s going on?” Greg slowly looked up at John, looking between him and Molly.

“Quite possibly one of the worst abuse cases I have seen in my twenty years on the job, John,” Greg said in a detached tone. Molly bit her lip, glancing over at John, who was watching Greg intently. John nodded.

“Alright. Give me the run-down,”

“Little girl. Eight years old, but looks barely five. My guess is she barely weighs two stone. Bruising about her face. She’s always worn long-sleeves around me, but the sleeves hitched up occasionally and I could see bruising around her wrists and arms. There’s something wrong with either her right arm or shoulder. Not sure which, but she won’t use or lift that arm unless she absolutely has to. She’s also been running a fever since yesterday, low-grade, but it spiked up this morning. She’s mute, but it’s by choice. She’s said a scant scattering of maybe five words since he’s met her, according to Mycroft. She understands what is being said, she just won’t talk. She’s very easily spooked, but she’s become trusting of me and Mycroft. I’ve not been around her the whole time, Mycroft wouldn’t allow it for mine and the child’s safety, but I spent a couple of hours with them yesterday and I’ve been here since around 1:00 PM today, so that’s all I’ve been able to observe. She thinks her fucking name is Girl,” Greg spat out, angry beyond comprehension. John let out a breath and glanced over at Molly, who had tears of anger glistening in her eyes.

“Are you alright to do this, Molly?” John asked her. Molly closed her eyes and took several deep breaths of composure before opening her eyes and looking to Greg.

“Take us to our patient, please,”

Greg took them inside, stopping just before the den and turning to them, placing a finger over his lips. Molly and John acknowledged his silent request with nods. Greg stepped in to the den, gesturing to the couch where Mycroft sat, his hand running gently through the matted hair of the tiny girl laying asleep on his lap. Immediately, John saw the bruising on the right side of the child’s face, as well as a bruise along her temple. Aside from the bruising and pink flush of fever in her cheeks, she was pale enough to rival Sherlock’s complexion. She was covered by a blanket, but John could tell that, even in her sleep, she was guarding her side with her arms, telling John that she likely had some sort of damage to her ribs.

“Doctors Hooper and Watson, thank you for coming, though I wish it were under better circumstances,”

“How do you want to do this, sir?” Molly asked.

“Mycroft, please, Doctor Hooper,” she smiled sadly.

“Then I insist you call me Molly,” Mycroft nodded once, before taking a deep breath.

“I’d like to wake her first. John, if you would stand back for now, please. She is very skittish, especially around men until she gets used to them. Gregory, would you mind?” John immediately went to stand against the wall as Greg stepped forward, kneeling down in front of the child. He pulled the blanked down a bit before gently cupping her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her cheek.

“Hey, there, sunshine. Can you wake up for me, please?” Greg said with a gentle smile. The child stirred slightly before her eyes snapped open. “There you are, sunshine,” the child wiggled to look up to Mycroft.

“Hello, little one. Did you have a nice rest?” A single nod was his response. “I’m happy you rested well. Do you remember me telling you last night about my two friends who wanted to meet you?” Another nod.

“These are my friends, Molly and John,” Mycroft said, nodding to each person, who smiled and waved at their names. “They want to help you. Is it alright if they look at you? They’ll give you better medicine than I can give you and make all your pain go away. They’ll also give you something that should help that fever,” a tiny hand was placed over Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft smiled as she looked up to him and nodded. Mycroft looked to Molly and nodded. Molly knelt down next to Greg.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she said with a kind smile. “My name is Molly. I’d like to help you if I can. Can you tell me where you have any ouchies? Where does it hurt?”

Mycroft helped the child in to a sitting position and pulled the blanket the rest of the way off of her. John slowly stepped forward, stopping a few metres away from the couch. Bright green eyes met stormy grey as the child looked at John. John smiled warmly.

“Hello, my darling. My name is John,” the child looked at him, placing her hand on to her right shoulder and wincing. John frowned and took another couple of steps forward. “Is your shoulder hurting you, darling?” A sad nod.

“May we see, please?” Molly asked. “Is it alright if we take your shirt off so we can see?” The child’s shoulders tensed up and her eyes dropped. She took a deep breath before glancing back up at them and tugging at her shirt collar. Molly reached forward, pulling a pair of trauma shears from her bag. “Here. I’m going to cut it off of you so you don’t have to move your arm, alright? Just stay very still for me, please,”

The child did as she had been instructed and Molly was able to gently peel the shorn shirt from her torso. John bit his tongue so hard to keep from reacting to the state of the child’s body that he tasted blood. He immediately saw a deformity along her right clavicle. He knelt down next to Molly, who exchanged a heated glance with him. John took a deep breath before doing what he and Molly did best.

Chapter Text

Three exhausting hours later, the child had been cleaned up and treated to the best of John and Molly’s abilities. The child was currently in Mycroft’s bed, hooked up to IV fluids, pain medication, and antibiotics. The cause of her fever had been several infected lacerations on the child’s back. Mycroft was currently reading through the report that Molly and John had written, detailing every single mark on the child. Every scar. Every bruise. Every burn. Every laceration. The most severe of injuries being the slight concussion, six broken ribs- two on the left, four on the right- and the broken right clavicle, which gave John little other option but than to sedate the child in order to properly set the bone. John was standing out in the hallway with Greg and Mycroft. Mycroft had discreetly asked Molly if she would check to ensure the child hadn’t encountered any intimate abuse. Mycroft fell against the wall, letting out a massive breath as he closed his eyes and let his head fall against the wall. This was the most disheveled John had seen Mycroft. Even during the stressful events of Musgrave and Sherrinford, Mycroft hadn’t looked this affected.

“Easy, mate,” John cautioned, seriously concerned that the man was going to collapse. Molly opened the door to the bedroom, stepping out in to the hall.

“I’m not seeing any scarring indicative of that sort of abuse,” she stated in a very clinical voice. “However, that doesn’t mean that things didn’t happen. I’ll leave you a list of red flags and behaviours to be on the lookout for. If she begins to show any signs, please give me a call. I can talk to her, or I have a friend who specializes in child victims of that abuse,” Mycroft looked about ready to cry.

“Thank you, Molly,” he said in a tight voice.

“Right,” John said. “You, Mycroft, look completely knackered. I imagine you were up all night last night with a sick child. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay the next night or two in order to ensure that she’s closely monitored. That will also give you a chance to get some rest- don’t argue with me, Mycroft, I’ve drugged Sherlock before and I have no qualms drugging you too- so that you can focus on the recovery part of this child’s journey,”

“Easy, John,” Greg said. “I can assure you that you’ll not need to drug anyone,”

“I couldn’t ask that of you, John,” Mycroft began, only to be halted by John, who held a hand up to stop him.

“You aren’t asking. I’m offering. She needs medical supervision for the time being anyhow and she will likely sleep through the rest of the night. We’ve got her on some fairly strong drugs and she needs to be monitored for any adverse reactions or in case her fever spikes again. She’s got several broken ribs, and if she starts fitting with a febrile seizure, she’s at serious risk for a punctured lung,” Mycroft sighed, before nodding his head, noticing how Molly attempted to stifle a yawn before rubbing her eyes.

“Molly, I have a car ready to take you home if you wish?” Mycroft offered. Molly smiled.

“Thank you, Mycroft. Do call me if you need me for anything. You too, John. I can trade out with you tomorrow if you need me to,” she said. John smiled warmly.

“I should be alright, but I’ll keep that in mind. Come on, then. You look ready to drop. I’ll walk you out,” he said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and leading her downstairs. Now without an audience, Mycroft allowed himself to finally let his full guard down, his breath began to quicken ever so slightly as he bent forward, bracing himself against the wall opposite him.

“Hey, easy, My,” Mycroft startled slightly, having momentarily forgotten that Greg was also still present, having been hanging back a bit. Mycroft suddenly found himself without his suit jacket and tie and being gently guided to the floor. “Literal suit of armour, eh?” Greg said with a small smile. Mycroft forced out a chuckle, still struggling to regain his breath. Greg then reached over and undid the buttons on his waistcoat before shedding Mycroft of the clothing.

“Better?” Greg asked, the concern in his eyes obvious. Mycroft nodded, suddenly able to breathe easier. “Take your time, darlin'. Just you and I here right now. Nobody here is gonna hurt you or sunshine, not while I’m here. Well, John too, I s’pose,” Greg added as an afterthought, a genuine laugh escaping Mycroft.

“Mycroft? You okay? What’s happened?” John said, having appeared a few moments after. He quickly made his way over to the both of them, but was stopped at Greg’s hand.

“We’re alright. We just needed a moment,” Greg told him, standing with a wince at the ache in his knees before holding out a hand to Mycroft, pulling the man up with ease. “I’m gonna take him downstairs and get us all some food made. You alright up here, John?” John nodded.

“Course. I’ll be putting together a long-term treatment plan and prescribing a few things for her. Though, there is a small issue there,” Mycroft looked at him, eyebrow raised. John let out a breath.

“I need a name and date of birth for her. I can prescribe all I want for her, but I have to have a name and date of birth to turn in. I know you can circumvent the paperwork side of that easily, but I can’t start that process until those are decided,”

“Holmes,” Mycroft said after a moment of silence. “Elara Carissa Holmes. Born 17^th of September, 2009,” John smiled, noting the significance of using today’s date for her new date of birth.

“Beautiful. I’ll get everything submitted. Thank you,” Mycroft nodded.

“Right. We’ll go and get started on dinner. We’ll bring you up a plate?” Greg asked John. John smiled.

“I’d appreciate that, thanks,”

Chapter Text

Mycroft sat at his kitchen table, a very strong cup of tea clasped in his hands as he watched Greg flit about his kitchen with a practiced ease as the man made some sort of...sandwich?

“What on Earth are you making, Gregory?” Greg turned to him, a grin plastered on his face.

“Croque Monsieurs,” he said, happily, sticking the pan of sandwiches in to the broiler. “We need us some comfort food,” he declared, wiping up the small mess he had made.

“And sandwiches are the answer to that?” Mycroft said skeptically. Greg turned around, a scandalized look on his face as he dropped the cloth he had been using to tidy up with on to the floor.

“Oh, you wound me, darlin',” Greg said, hand over his heart. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“Do leave the dramatics to Sherlock. It does not suit you, Gregory,” Greg laughed, shaking his head as he bent down to retrieve the cloth.

“These are so much more than sandwiches, My,” he said, continuing to clear up. “You’ve got the thick slices of delicious country bread, the most amazing creamy béchamel sauce over some ham slices, but what really sets everything off is that salty Gruyère that just melts over everything once it’s been popped under the broiler for a few minutes. Quick, easy, and bloody delicious,” Greg rambled. Mycroft smiled.

“I wasn’t aware you could cook,” Mycroft said. Greg’s cheeks turned a delicious shade of pink as he shrugged.

“Well, had a foster mum of mine towards the end of my time in care who knew I needed a healthy outlet. She taught me to cook, which I do enjoy thoroughly, but I absolutely love to bake. I’ve made all of Lili’s birthday cakes over the years,” Greg said, puffing his chest proudly and Mycroft couldn’t help but find it adorable.

“I should like to try a confection of yours sometime in the near future, Gregory,” Mycroft said. Greg winked- bloody winked- at him.

“You got it, posh,” he said. The two men sat in comfortable silence for several minutes before Greg spoke again.

“You chose the perfect name for her,” Greg said, quietly. Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” Greg nodded.

“If memory serves, the name Elara means ‘hope’, and Carissa means ‘beloved’. Both names are Greek in origin, but Elara also has roots to Spanish and Latin, meaning ‘light’. Her name signifies a second chance. Her second chance. A second chance that you have given her,” Greg said, looking at Mycroft, who suddenly found his hands very interesting.

“My parents were always ones to stick to Greek names,” Mycroft said, quietly. “I saw fit to continue that legacy, whilst also giving the child a name that meant something to her. To me,” Mycroft startled suddenly as the timer dinged.

“Sorry, My. That’d be dinner,” Greg said, hurrying to remove the sandwiches from the oven. Mycroft had to admit, they did look delicious.

“I love making these in the mornings, but I add a fried egg to it during breakfast. Technically, that makes it a Croque Madame,” Greg rambled as he sliced a sandwich and plated it up for Mycroft, repeating himself for his and John’s sandwiches as well. Mycroft took a bite before closing his eyes and sighing. Greg had been correct.

“Yeah?” Greg said with a grin.

“Delicious, Gregory. I apologize for my previous slander,” Mycroft said before taking another bite. Greg snorted.

“I’ll have to make a Madame for you sometime soon, then,” Greg said, picking up one of the plates. “I’ll just pop up and hand this over to John. Be right back,” Just as Greg left the kitchen, Mycroft’s mobile buzzed. Hesitantly, he pulled out the device.

You’ve taken John. Give him back. - SH Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes.

I’ve not ‘taken’ John, Brother Mine. I assure you that he came of his own free will. - MH

Why? - SH

You haven’t deduced it yet? - MH

You took Molly as well. - SH

Doctor Hooper also came of her own free will, though I suspect that she has been safely returned to her flat by now. - MH

Something has happened. - SH

Very astute of you. - MH

Graham is also at yours. - SH

Greg, and you know that. Now, if you have something of value to say, do get on with it. - MH

You have your own private doctor, yet you brought, not one, but two doctors to your home. Two doctors that you know. Combine that with Lestrade, and that I know you were stuck with that ghastly Irish couple, I can only assume that something has happened in which you or your staff required medical attention. However, if it had been you or your staff, you would have simply phoned your own personal doctor, not called in John and Molly. No, this patient is someone who is a high target patient. It is either too dangerous for them to go to hospital, or they are too dangerous to be taken to hospital. The fact that you’ve brought, not only John, but also Molly tells me that the patient is female, very likely a child. - SH

I have acquired custody of the Irish couple’s young daughter. - MH

Why? - SH

Her home life was not suitable. Arrangements are being made so that she never goes back to them. - MH

I am on my way. - SH

Mycroft sighed, placing his mobile on the table before placing his elbows on the table to support his head as he massaged his pounding temples. Sherlock also had a soft spot for bullied and mistreated children. Mycroft just thanked his luck that the couple in question had already left the country. Though, it was unlikely that this would stop Sherlock. Mycroft was startled out of his thoughts by warm hands replacing his on his temples. Deft fingers began to rub firm, but gentle circles on his temples whilst thumbs held firm pressure under his jaw, just below his ears. The uncontrollable moan that escaped his lips was something that, had Mycroft been in his right mind, would have him dead on the spot from embarrassment. Greg chuckled.

“I’ll have to remember that move,” Greg said in a low tone, gently pressing a kiss to the top of Mycroft’s head as he continued his ministrations. “You alright?” Mycroft sighed.

“Sherlock is on his way,” Mycroft said, eyes still closed as Greg soothed away his migraine.

“Do I need to fight him off? Keep him out for you?”

“No,” Mycroft said. “I’ll speak briefly to him, but he’s likely here for John,” Greg sighed.

“Well, if he causes a ruckus or scares Elara, then I’ll toss him out myself, if John hasn’t gotten around to it,” Greg said, giving one final firm press on Mycroft’s temples before stopping and placing another a kiss on his head. “Better?”

“Substantially. Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft said, smiling up at him.

“Eat, darlin',” Greg said, sitting next to him and pulling his plate close to him. “You need to keep up your strength,”

Chapter Text

Sherlock Holmes was concerned. He knew something was afoot the moment that John had texted him telling him that he would not be home that night as something had come up with a patient of his. He immediately knew that his brother had something to do with it, especially when he showed up at the morgue- for more experiment cadaver parts, of course- where he knew Molly would be, only to find her gone. Sherlock had been at his brother’s house now for ten minutes, getting a brief rundown of the situation from Mycroft before hurrying upstairs to John.

Since John had lost Mary and his child due to a complication in childbirth, John had been very withdrawn. Sherlock had done his best, aided by Mrs. Hudson, Greg, Molly, and- to an extent- Mycroft, to support John and help him through this process. After the events of Sherrinford, where Euros’ game of ‘I Love You’ turned out to be John’s casket, they had both had a long discussion after John had been safely extricated from the well and they had both been taken to a hotel for the night.

That night had been liberating for Sherlock, who had been hiding his feelings for John for years up until that point. John had uttered many colorful words and phrases at both of their stupidity regarding the matter, finally stopping and snogging Sherlock within an inch of his life. He reached the door where he knew the child and John would be. Knowing that an abused child would not be doing John any favors right now, Sherlock took a deep breath before knocking lightly and entering the room.

“John?” Sherlock asked in a low tone. He saw John sat in a chair beside the bed where the tiny, bruised child lay sleeping. John was staring at the girl, but Sherlock knew he wasn’t seeing the girl. “John, are you alright?”

“When does it end, ‘Lock?” John said, his voice tight. “Year after year, I get patients like this. Like her. Dozens. I don’t- I- I can’t-”

John cut off suddenly grasping his hair with shaking hands. Sherlock seized John’s hands, gently prying them from his hair before holding them tight to his chest as he knelt down next to John. John let out a shuddery breath and dropped his head to Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Every child deserves a parent, but not all parents deserve a child,” Sherlock said gently, rubbing soothing circles on John’s back whilst still holding John’s hands to his chest.

“This child’s parents don’t even deserve a goddamn fish,” John spat out.

“I know, love,” Sherlock said. “I know. But just know that this child, Elara Carissa Holmes, will never know this type of pain or fear ever again. She now has a true family. One that will ensure her safety and happiness. Mycroft and Greg will make good parents,” John lifted his head up, confusion on his face.

“Really? Greg and Mycroft? Finally?” Sherlock smirked.

“Indeed. Within the last few days, I suspect. I expect Lestrade will move in within the next month or so to help take care of-” Sherlock cut off as he glanced to the child on the bed, who was awake and staring at him cautiously. “John,” Sherlock said, nodding towards the child. John immediately stood.

“Hello, darling. Do you remember me?” John asked her, receiving a nod in response. “Just in case, my name is John. This is my friend, Sherlock. He’s Mycroft’s brother,”

“Hello,” Sherlock said. “My name is Sherlock, but you can call me Uncle ‘Lock if you like,” the child’s eyes narrowed slightly for a brief moment before returning to their natural state.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” John asked her, slowly approaching the bed. A surprised shake of the child’s head brought a small smile to John’s face as he tapped the IV line taped to her tiny hand. “Good. We’ve got you on the good stuff. If you start hurting, I need you to let me, Mycroft, or Greg know, alright?” A nod.

“Good girl. You hurt your collar bone badly here,” he said, motioning to his own collarbone as a visual aide to the child. “I had to fix it to make it better, but that means you can’t move your arm for a while until it heals. I put your arm in a special sling so that you can rest it while it heals up,” John said as the child investigated the sling. A sudden knock at the door caused the girl to startle badly enough that John had to reach out to steady her so that she didn’t fall on to her bad arm. Mycroft opened the door.

“Sorry to interrupt. We’ve brought up some soup for her,” Mycroft said. John motioned them in with a nod of his head.

“Let me administer a stomach soother first,” John said, rummaging around in his bag. “Give it about five minutes to kick in, then she can eat,” John found the appropriate medication, measuring out the proper amount before injecting it in to her IV. Mycroft approached the bed, kneeling down beside the child, grasping her left hand in his.

“Hello, little one. Are you feeling any better?” A nod. Mycroft smiled. “Good. I am very happy to hear that. Hopefully you’ll only need a few days in bed and then you can move about the manor as you please,” confusion flashed through her eyes. Mycroft took a deep breath.

“Child, what is your name?” Mycroft asked in a controlled voice. The child glanced around nervously before answering in a barely audible whisper.

“Girl,” she answered. John tensed so hard that Sherlock worried for his shoulders. He grasped John’s hand in his, receiving a grateful squeeze from John in return.

“No, little one,” Mycroft said in a patient voice. “Your name is not Girl. Your name is Elara,” more confusion in those eyes.

“My name,” Mycroft began, pointing at his chest, “is Mycroft. And your name is Elara,” he finished, pointing at her.

“My name is Greg Lestrade,” Greg said. “And your name is Elara,”

“My name is John Watson,” John said in a firm voice. “And your name is Elara,”

“My name is Sherlock Holmes, and your name is Elara,” Sherlock confirmed.

“My name is Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft said in a near-whisper. “And your name is Elara Carissa Holmes,” green eyes shot up to icy blue. She removed her hand from his to place a gentle hand on his chest.

“H-Holmes,” she breathed. Mycroft nodded. Her hand then moved to her own chest. “Holmes?” She asked tentatively. Mycroft nodded again, tears threatening to spill from his eyes once more.

“Yes, little one. You are now a Holmes as well,”

Chapter Text

Greg was jolted awake by a gentle hand on his arm.

“Easy, mate,” John whispered. “You kipped out in the chair. I let you sleep for a bit, but if you stay here any longer your back and neck are going to be wrecked tomorrow,” Greg sat up, groaning quietly as he stretched.

“Mm, ta, mate,” he whispered back. He looked to the bed, where Elara and Mycroft lay sleeping. “Where’s Sherlock gone?”

“I sent him home for the night,” John said. “I asked him to pack me a bag for a few days since I’d like to stay and monitor Elara until she’s been fever-free for at least twenty-four hours,” Greg nodded.

“We really appreciate this, John, seriously,” Greg said with a tired smile. John smiled back, waving him off.

“Are you staying the night, or going home?” John asked. Greg looked at his watch and grimaced at the time: 2:24 AM.

“Think I may just kip here for the night,” Greg answered. “Don’t fancy dragging my sorry arse half an hour home this time of day. Can I get you anything before I turn in?” Greg asked, standing slowly and stretching. John shook his head.

“Nah. I’ll be alright. I know where the kettle’s at if I get parched,” he said.

Greg bid John goodnight and left to go downstairs to find a couch to kip out on. John turned back to his patient, checking her vitals once again before turning back to his seat, returning to his notes and settling down for the long night.

Mycroft woke to something jerking the bed. His eyes snapped open when he felt a hand on his chest. He looked up to see John, who had his eyes locked on Elara. Mycroft glanced over and was horrified to see the girl twitching and flinching in her sleep. Fearing she was having a fit, Mycroft quickly sat up.

“John-” John silenced him with a hand.

“She’s not fitting,” he said in a low tone. “I think- I think she’s having a nightmare,” he said.

“What- How do we-”

“Don’t touch her if you can help it,” John said. “Her collarbone and ribs are very fragile right now, and I don’t want her startled to the point where she moves that arm or risks her ribs. Try speaking to her first to settle her before trying to touch her at all,” Mycroft nodded.

“Easy, little one, you’re alright. You’re safe, Elara, I promise,” Mycroft said in a soft tone. “Just breathe and settle down, little one. I’ve got you. You are safe with me,”

Mycroft repeated similar mantras for several moments before the child finally calmed down enough that he felt comfortable reaching out and gently grasping her good hand, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand whilst being careful to avoid the IV line. A small sob proceeded the squeezing of Mycroft’s hand as the child opened her eyes. Ever so gently, Mycroft scooped the child up in to his arms, careful not to jostle too much, and held her close to his chest as he began humming to her. As Greg had instructed him earlier, he began gently running his fingers through her matted hair, applying a gentle pressure to her scalp as he did so. Within minutes, the child settled completely and dropped back off to sleep.

“That was very well done,” John said, awed at how Mycroft had expertly handled the situation as though he’d been doing it for years. “How did you know what to do?”

“Gregory showed me yesterday,” Mycroft said softly, still running his hands through Elara’s hair. “She had worked herself up in to quite a fit earlier. Full-blown panic attack, and a severe one at that. Gregory immediately saw what was happening and took control of the situation, showing me how best to soothe her,” Mycroft glanced over to the chair in which Greg had fallen asleep, only to find it empty. “Where is he?”

“I sent him to sleep laying down elsewhere rather than cramped over in a chair around 2:30 AM or so. It’s just gone 6:45 AM now,” John said, checking Elara’s vitals. “My back was hurting just seeing him huddled over in that chair,”

“Thank you, John,” John waved him off with a hand and a tired smile.

“Think nothing of it. Can I get you anything?” Mycroft shook his head.

“No. I need to pop out for a few moments anyway. I’ll bring us both up some tea?” John smiled.

“Thank you,” Mycroft nodded once before gently laying Elara back down on to the bed.

“I’ll be back presently,” Mycroft said.

Mycroft quietly left the room, taking a few moments in the restroom before making his way downstairs, intent on checking in on Greg before making tea. Mycroft poked his head in to his den where he found Greg. Greg had removed, both, his shoes and dress shirt, clad only in his trousers and undershirt, before laying down on the sofa and falling asleep, arms crossed over his chest. Mycroft felt a loving smile grace his face at the sight. Silently, he crept in to the room, taking the blanket that he had used to cover Elara the previous day and gently covered Greg, who sighed contently and snuggled deeper in to the sofa. Mycroft resisted the urge to brush a stray silver lock off Greg’s forehead, not wanting to startle the man nor wake him up. Mycroft watched Greg for a few moments more before retreating to his kitchen to quietly make tea, returning upstairs to John several minutes later.

“Ta,” John said, taking a steaming mug from Mycroft.

“I’ll be making breakfast for everyone here shortly,” Mycroft said. “I’ve been giving her eggs, toast, and porridge, as I wasn’t sure what exactly I could give her without overloading her system or making her more ill,” John nodded.

“Those are all very good options, particularly the eggs as they’re full of iron and protein that she so desperately needs. Porridge and toast is good for a bland diet, but not great in the way of foods that she needs right now. Her growth is definitely stunted, and she’ll likely always be small for her age. In order to reverse as much damage as we can, she needs foods rich in vitamins, protein, and iron. Eggs are very good to start with, as you know she likes them and they’re easy on her stomach. I’d like to see her start eating fruits and vegetables. Adding vegetables in to the eggs in a scramble or omelette would be good. Try making some sort of fruit cup or fruit salads so that she can get a good variety and be able to try a good assortment. Some fruit and veg smoothies wouldn’t go amiss either. If she doesn’t like a particular fruit or vegetable, that’s perfectly fine, just so long as we find some that she likes and will eat,” Mycroft nodded, taking notes.

“Any meat we can get her to try would be good for her, particularly chicken and fish. Beef is also good for the iron. The meats might be a bit too much for her system right now, but we can substitute the meats for tofu and beans for the protein until she can stomach bigger portions of meat,”

“I made a homemade chicken and vegetable soup the first night I had her,” Mycroft told him. “She was happy to eat that and it seemed to settle well with her,” John nodded, smiling.

“Brilliant! We’ll start her on some more of that for meals before working our way up to more complex meals. For now, I’d like for her to have breakfast, a small healthy snack- such as fruit and cheese or yogurt with granola- in between breakfast and lunch, another small snack- such as veggies with crackers and cheese- between lunch and dinner, and then a final small snack after dinner- likely fruit, but we can expand on that, maybe experiment with sweeter, almost dessert-like items such as graham crackers or tea biscuits, maybe even apple slices and caramel,” Mycroft wrote down word for word everything the good doctor told him, knowing that he had a shopping trip ahead of him.

“Now, for the time being, I would like for you to hold off on giving her anything that is considered a common allergen, namely nuts or peanuts, shellfish, and sesame. You’ve already given her milk and eggs, so those aren’t a problem. I’d like to try to get her to eat some fish within the next couple of days, as I would like to be present in case of an emergency. We’re only going to risk the fish allergen because it’s so high in protein, iron, and vitamins, which are all things she so desperately needs. If she has no issues with fish, then she needs to have some sort of dish with fish at least three if not four meals a week,” Mycroft nodded, finishing off his notes with a flourish.

“Thank you, John, truly,” Mycroft said. John began to shake his head, opening his mouth to protest, but Mycroft held up a hand to silence him. “No, John. This is not ‘nothing’. The help and advice you have given me these past several days has been invaluable to me. Once I can dissolve completely the parental rights of her biological parents and get her fully adopted to me, I would be honored if you would accept being Elara’s godfather, alongside Sherlock,” John’s throat constricted almost painfully and he blinked rapidly.

“I-” John cleared his throat and took a shuddery breath before continuing. “I would be honored to be considered and will absolutely accept. Thank you, Mycroft,” John held his hand out and Mycroft took it readily, giving it a firm shake before the two of them returned to their tea.

“You should get some rest, John,” Mycroft said a while later after several minutes of watching John valiantly try not to nod off in to his mug. “I’m up for the day now. I’m about to go down and make breakfast for everyone. After breakfast, you should at least lie down for a few hours. I can fetch you if something happens,”

“For once, I agree with my brother,” Sherlock said from the doorway, John’s old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Mrs. Hudson also sent me along with some of her blueberry muffins she knows you are so fond of, John. I’ve left them downstairs,”

“Be sure to thank her for me,” John said.

“I assume you’ve not told her the full story?” Mycroft asked. Sherlock arched an eyebrow, setting the duffel bag down beside John as he entered the room fully.

“I simply told her that John was laid up with a patient and required his go-bag. She sent along the baked goods so John could ‘keep up his strength’. It is not my place to disclose anything about Elara. It would risk her and Elara’s safety,” Sherlock said.

“I have no qualms eventually telling dear Mrs. Hudson about Elara,” Mycroft said, standing and collecting his and John’s empty tea mugs. “I daresay the child will need as much female guidance as she can get,”

“I’m sure Mrs. H. would love to get to know Elara,” John said with a soft smile. “She would adore spoiling the child. And if anyone deserves spoiling, it’s this girl,”

“I’ll go and get started on breakfast,” Mycroft said. “Do let me know if you require anything,”

Mycroft made his way back downstairs, checking in on Greg, who was still sleeping on the couch, curled up under the blanket Mycroft had placed over him. Mycroft made his way to the kitchen, pulling out eggs, bread for toast, putting the kettle on for tea, and readying his coffee maker. About forty minutes later, Mycroft was cutting up different fruits for a fruit bowl when Greg stumbled bleary-eyed in to the kitchen. Mycroft glanced up from his work to see Greg yawn and rub his eye with his fist in a way that was so endearing that Mycroft put down the knife and gathered Greg in to his arms.

“Mm, mornin' My,” Greg said, his voice still thick with sleep as he wrapped his arms around Mycroft.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Mycroft asked, resting his head on Greg’s shoulder.

“No. Woke up and smelled the best coffee I’d ever smelled in my life,” Greg said. Mycroft released Greg and walked to the coffee maker, pouring Greg a cup and dressing it the way Mycroft knew Greg preferred. He placed the mug on the table and motioned for Greg to have a seat.

“Help yourself to breakfast,” Mycroft said, finishing up slicing the fruits. “Do you need anything fresh to wear?” Greg shook his head.

“Nah. I packed me a few things along with my niece’s things just in case. I’ll change after breakfast. D’you mind if I use your shower as well?”

“Of course not,” Mycroft said, pouring himself a fresh mug of tea. “I’ll show you to my en suite upstairs when you are ready,” Greg smiled.

“Thanks, My,” he said, before taking a drink from his mug, groaning in appreciation. “Oh, God, this is good,”

“Thank Anthea for that,” Mycroft said, already planning on having the coffee delivered to Greg’s flat. “She brought back some from Italy and let me try it. I’ve been having it imported every month ever since,” Greg’s eyes went wide.

“You import this every month from Italy?” Mycroft nodded. Greg released a breath. “That’s the most posh thing I’ve seen so far. I love it,” Greg said with a smile as he took another sip from his mug. Mycroft smirked, rolling his eyes at Greg’s antics as he began to make a list of grocery items he was going to need for Elara’s dietary needs.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Greg asked.

“I’ll need to go to the market. I’ve discussed the dietary needs for Elara with John. I have some things, but I’ll need to stock up on a lot of special items and try to figure out different dishes for her with what she needs to eat,” Mycroft said, looking over his extensive notes to continue his list.

“Need some help with meal planning and prep?” Greg asked. “I’d be happy to help with that. I can even show you how to make certain things if you like,” Mycroft smiled, his heart swelling with appreciation for the man in front of him.

“Thank you, Gregory. I would like that,”

Chapter Text

Mycroft hesitated at the doorway, not wanting to leave the child who had so quickly wormed her way in to his heart for even the couple of hours it would take for him and Greg to run to the market and back. Greg had viewed the notes Mycroft had taken from his conversation with John and had quickly and eagerly put together several delicious sounding dishes to show Mycroft how to make for Elara. Mycroft was now waiting for Greg to come back downstairs from freshening up and changing before heading to the market.

“She’ll be alright, brother mine,” Mycroft startled at Sherlock’s voice. “I can assure you that John and I have this handled. John is resting, but I’ll alert him immediately if anything happens, which it won’t. I will be keeping a very close eye on her. We will be fine for a couple of hours. Go out and do what you need to do and come back. Everything will be fine, Mycroft. I promise,” Sherlock placed his hand on Mycroft’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Mycroft let out a breath.

“Thank you, brother mine,” he said in a hushed tone. “I know that you and John will have this handled, but I cannot help but worry,”

“I know,” Sherlock said. “And that worry is not unfounded. I also know that nothing I say can completely make that worry go away, but know that she will be perfectly safe with us,” Mycroft nodded, placing his hand over Sherlock’s hand still on his arm in a silent communication of thanks before lapsing in to a comfortable silence. Greg appeared a few minutes later.

“Hey. Ready to go?” Greg said with a smile. Mycroft nodded.

“Yes. I’d like to return home as quickly as possible,” Mycroft said.

“We won’t be gone long, My,” Greg said. “We’ve got a list, and we’re sticking to it. Sunshine’ll be fine here for a bit with John and Sherlock,” Mycroft nodded.

“I know. I still feel off about it,” Mycroft admitted.

“Well, let’s get going, then, and we can get back here quickly,” Greg said and Mycroft readily agreed, bidding Sherlock goodbye after telling him to contact him immediately should any issues arise.

Mycroft had to admit that the next two hours in the supermarket with Greg had been the most fun and entertaining supermarket trip Mycroft could ever remember having. Greg was like a child in a candy store, excitedly going from one vegetable to another. He helped Mycroft select different fruits for Elara to try and then had far too much fun picking out different biscuits for her as well. Greg had also suggested getting a few different types of juices for the child to drink to up her intake of vitamins.

“So, what all did John say about how her recovery process will be?” Greg asked as they wheeled their haul out to Mycroft’s vehicle to assist the driver in loading the groceries.

“Her growth is stunted,” Mycroft answered in a clipped tone. “She will likely always be small for her age. Her immune system has taken a hit as well. John noted that her injuries are likely old, but they aren’t healing like they should, meaning that her immune system is compromised at the moment. He said that, with proper diet, she can recover her immune system, but she will still be likely to get ill very easily for the rest of her life. He’s starting her on children’s vitamins, iron, and zinc tablets until her weight stabilizes, likely in around five to six months. He’s also going to be setting up weekly check-ins with her to monitor her weight gain and potential growth,” Mycroft told him as they finished loading the vehicle, getting in to the back. Greg let out a breath.

“Well, I’m happy to help you out for as long as you need,” Greg said. “We’ve got loads of things for Elara to try and I’m happy to show you different dishes to make. How long did John say that she’d have to be in that sling?”

“Likely around six weeks. Possibly longer since she’s having trouble healing injuries at the present time,” Mycroft answered. “John will be looking in to that during his weekly check-ins as well as her ribs,” Greg clenched his fists and let out a breath. He opened his eyes and looked at Mycroft with a steely gaze.

“Please God tell me that you have a plan for the most unpleasant of consequences to befall those fucking monsters,” Greg growled out. Mycroft swallowed hard, taking a breath before answering.

“I have Anthea looking in to this for me, as I will be too busy with Elara’s recovery to be focused on that. But do rest assured that Anthea will leave no stone unturned,” Mycroft told him. Greg nodded.

“Good. If anyone can dig up dirt on someone, Anthea is that person,” Greg said.

“Indeed,” Mycroft answered.

They pulled in to Mycroft’s drive a few minutes later and several of Mycroft’s staff were awaiting their arrival to assist bringing in the grocery haul. Greg helped put things away- meaning that Greg tried to find where things went before Mycroft amusedly took over- before they made their way upstairs to seek out Sherlock, John, and Elara. The door to the room Elara was in was cracked open slightly and Mycroft peered inside quietly. John was asleep in the chair beside the bed, slack-jawed and snoring ever so softly, Sherlock’s Belstaff gently draped over him. Sherlock was, surprisingly, seated on the bed, Elara perched on his lap as he murmured to her, reading from a book, his finger pointing to the words he read so she could follow along. Greg grinned madly at the sight before raising his mobile and snapping a photo. The camera made no noise, nor was there a flash, but Sherlock somehow knew.

“Delete that, Lestrade, if you know what’s good for you,” Sherlock said, not looking up from the book. Greg was still grinning like a loon.

“Absolutely not,” he said, entering the room with Mycroft. “I’ll die before I see this photo destroyed,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. Elara held her good arm out to Mycroft before looking to Sherlock.

“I’ll hand you over to him, but remember that you must stay on the bed because of your IV line,” he said, gently tapping her hand where the line was taped. Elara nodded and Sherlock kissed her head before gently easing his way out from under her and handing her over to Mycroft.

“Hello, little one,” Mycroft said, hugging her to his chest gently and kissing the top of her head. “Did you have a nice time with your Uncle Sherlock?” Elara nodded, before making the sign for ‘reading’. “Did Sherlock teach you some sign language?” Elara nodded.

“She’s a bright young pupil,” Sherlock said. “Easy to teach. She picks up things quickly and is eager to learn. I showed her some basic signs before beginning to teach her to read,” Elara turned a very light shade of pink, the tiniest of smiles forming on her face and Mycroft couldn’t help the smile that graced his.

“Graham, if you don’t stop with the photos, I’ll find an experiment to do involving your mobile and a vat of acid,” Sherlock griped.

“’Lock that’s ‘nough,” John murmured, his voice thick with sleep as he began to sit up, wincing slightly as he made a slight move towards his left shoulder before falling back in to the chair. Sherlock started towards John, worried.

“John, love-” John held up his right hand, eyes closed, stopping Sherlock from saying anything more. He took a deep breath before heaving himself up out of the chair in one go.

“I’m alright, ‘Lock,” he said, looking towards Sherlock with a tired smile as he headed for the door, the Belstaff folded neatly over his arm. “I’m gonna go lay down somewhere, though,” Sherlock nodded, reaching down and grabbing John’s duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Lead the way,” Sherlock said, gesturing for John to go ahead of him.

“It’s going to storm tonight,” Greg murmured, watching as the couple left the room. Mycroft lifted an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” Mycroft asked. Greg glanced up at him.

“Contrary to what Sherlock believes, I’m not a complete idiot,” Greg said with a small smirk. “John was invalided out of service when that bullet destroyed his shoulder. He’s still got fairly good range of motion, and he’s not in much pain most of the time, but I can tell when it gets to be too much for him. I see how he favors his right side, even though he’s a lefty. I also see how Sherlock sees all this as well. I’ve noticed how, in extremely cold weather, Sherlock is more likely to refuse cases, especially if they’re outside. If it’s storming or about to storm, I don’t even bother calling him anymore,”

“At first, I thought this might have been due to John’s PTSD, and it may very well have a part in this, but it’s actually because his shoulder reacts to the weather around him. When it’s stupid cold or severe storms on the radar, John’s shoulder pains him badly. If John is in enough pain to wince like that in front of other people, then he’s in some severe pain. It’s only September, so it’s not gonna be so cold that his shoulder plays up, so, my conclusion is that it’s gonna storm severely tonight,” Mycroft sat and stared at Greg in complete awe.

“Fantastic,” Mycroft breathed. “Utterly fantastic,” Greg smirked.

“That’s exactly what John said to Sherlock when Sherlock deduced the crime scene from A Study In Pink, the first case they worked together,” Greg said.

“I- Ah, apologies, Gregory,” Mycroft stammered. “I’ve never seen anyone deduce besides Sherlock and myself. It caught me off guard,” Elara tapped Mycroft’s hand, pointing to the door John and Sherlock just exited before pointing to the sad face on her diagram that Mycroft had drawn for her.

“John is alright, little one,” Mycroft said. “He is just tired and his shoulder is sore,” Elara furrowed her eyebrows before gently tapping her own injured shoulder.

“Sort of,” Greg answered her. “John hurt his shoulder a few years ago. It was so bad that it hurts him now sometimes. It’s hurting him a little bit today, but he’ll be okay, sunshine,” Elara pursed her lips, but leaned back in to Mycroft’s arms, fisting her hand in to Mycroft’s shirt sleeve contently, her eyes eventually drifting shut as she fell asleep.

“She had a nightmare last night,” Mycroft murmured to Greg. “John woke me so that someone familiar to her could calm her down before she caused more damage to herself,” Greg sighed.

“Honestly, it’d concern me more if she didn’t have nightmares,” Greg said warily. “Have we thought about potential psychiatric treatment for her? No way this doesn’t cause her issues long-term. Nightmares, PTSD, fear of touch, and- god forbid- eating disorders are all likely issues she could develop,”

“The nightmares have been confirmed. Muteness and PTSD also confirmed,” Mycroft said, absentmindedly stroking Elara’s hair. “We’ll need to keep a very close eye on her for the others, though she hasn’t been averse to touch once she gets to know a person. Sherlock, John, and Molly have been testaments to that,” Greg nodded.

“She’ll be alright,” Greg said with a smile. “We’ll have our bumps in the road, of course, but sunshine’ll be just fine in the long run,”

Chapter Text

True to Greg’s deductions, it stormed severely that night. John was tense and on edge, and Elara would not settle, partly due to the storm and partly due to the tension she was feeling in the house. Eventually, Sherlock had enough.

“Alright, I think it’s time for a change of venue,” he said, wrapping a blanket around Elara before gently scooping her up in to his arms.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” Mycroft said.

“Taking her to the theatre room,” Sherlock said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Sherlock, she’s hooked up to an IV,” Greg said. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Oh, no, it’s the end of the world,” he drawled out sarcastically. “Bring the pole along, then, Geoff, come on,” Mycroft could practically hear Greg roll his eyes before the man heaved himself up to grasp the IV pole. Mycroft followed. They nearly ran in to John coming down the stairs.

“Um, what’s happening?” John asked, attempting to stay the tremor in his hand.

“We’re going to the theatre room,” Sherlock declared. “Elara has likely never seen a movie before. I figured it would be an excellent distraction for her,” John thought for a moment before nodding and returning to go back downstairs with the group.

“Yeah. Good idea, ‘Lock. She did really well with her dinner, so let’s see how she’ll fair with an evening snack. She ate most of the fruits with her breakfast, so, let’s see how she does with a fruit parfait and I think a biscuit would be alright,” John said, grinning as Greg’s face lit up before he made a beeline for the kitchen. Mycroft bit back a grin and turned to John and Sherlock.

“I’d best go and supervise that. Go ahead to the theatre. Get her settled. John, don’t let Sherlock chose the movie. We’ll be with you presently,” John smirked, leading them all out of the room as Sherlock let out a mewl of protest. Mycroft made his way to the kitchen, where he found Greg excitedly digging in the pantry.

“Gregory, what are you doing, exactly?” Mycroft asked, an amused grin growing on his face.

“D’you think she’d like the chocolate biccy? What about custard creams? Jaffa Cakes, maybe? Oh! Or how about a Jammy Dodger?”

Mycroft couldn’t help but laugh, grasping the counter for support as Greg exited the pantry, his arms laden with boxes and packages of biscuits. When Mycroft finally regained control over himself, Greg was looking at him with an expression that Mycroft couldn’t quite read. It was an odd mixture of alarm, mirth, compassion, and, dare Mycroft believe it, love.

“What?” Mycroft asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Greg smiled warmly.

“I’ve never seen you let loose like that. It’s nice. I like it. I’m also honored that it’s me you feel so comfortable around to act like that. And, just so you know, I fully intend to elicit more of this reaction out of you,” Greg said with a wicked grin as he set the multitude of biscuit packages on to the countertop. “Sorry, but I have to do this,” Greg said as he quickly closed the space between the two and captured Mycroft’s lips in his, snogging the man as though his life depended on it. They broke apart after several heated moments, panting slightly for breath.

“We- we should maybe-” Greg said in a low, husky voice.

“Biscuits,” Mycroft said back.

“Yeah. Biscuits,” Greg said, stealing one more kiss before breaking away from Mycroft and returning to the packages on the counter. Mycroft cleared his throat slightly.

“She’s had the chocolate ones before,” Mycroft said, motioning to the package of chocolate biscuits that he himself was so fond of. “The first day I met her, I got her separated from the Finnegans and took her to a small kitchenette within the Palace that I use occasionally. I gave her a mug of hot chocolate and the chocolate biscuits, as they are a favorite indulgence of my own. Her little face when she tried them both,” Mycroft trailed off.

“So the real question is,” Greg said, holding up the chocolate biscuits in one hand and the Jaffa Cakes in the other. “Tried and true, or something new?” Mycroft thought for a moment.

“Why not both? She can try the new biscuit, but still have one she likes to fall back on should she not like the Jaffa Cakes,” Greg’s face lit up. Mycroft smiled. “You get the biscuits and something warm for her to drink and I’ll prepare the fruit parfait,”

They both fell in to a comfortable silence as they tackled their given tasks. After several minutes of slicing up different fruits, Mycroft realized that the bustling he was hearing from Greg now involved the doors to his microwave being opened and the keypad buttons being pressed. Confused, he glanced up, immediately concerned at the sly, mischievous grin plastered on Greg’s face.

“Do I even want to know at this point?” Greg let out a laugh.

“Well, we can’t have a proper movie night without popcorn, now can we?” Smiling, Mycroft shook his head before retrieving a large bowl and handing it to Greg.

“Thanks, darlin',” Greg said, reaching out to quickly caress Mycroft’s cheek with two fingers before returning to his task.

Mycroft resisted the urge to touch his face where Greg’s fingers had just been, quickly returning to his task as his cheeks pinked slightly. Once Mycroft had finished with the parfait, he glanced up and saw that Greg had arranged on a carry tray the bowl of popcorn, the two packages of biscuits, a mug of peppermint tea, and was attempting- and failing- to inconspicuously place another package of...something, on the tray behind the bowl of popcorn.

“What was that?” Mycroft asked. Greg’s head snapped up.

“What d’you mean?” Greg asked, innocently. Mycroft nodded towards the bowl of popcorn.

“You tried- and failed- to hide something behind the bowl of popcorn. What is it?” It was Greg’s turn to turn a bit pink as he rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled something. “You’ll need to speak up, I’m afraid,” Mycroft said with a smirk. Greg sighed.

“It’s a pack of Ginger Nuts,” Greg said, defeated. “I know they’re Sherlock’s favorite and John was complaining the other day that Sherlock’s not been eating as much again, and I know he’ll eat these, and it also might make him less likely to interrupt the movie, so.... What?” Greg had glanced up and noticed that Mycroft was looking at him in complete adoration.

“You, Gregory Lestrade, are perfect,” Mycroft answered, coming around the counter and pulling Greg in to his arms. “You know Sherlock will pick up on your attempts to get him to eat sooner or later?” Greg grinned against Mycroft’s head. Gently pressing his lips to Mycroft’s hair.

“Yeah, well, at least the pillock will have some sort of food in him until then,” Mycroft and Greg then made their way to the theatre room, where Sherlock was finishing setting Elara up on the couch as John picked a movie.

“Well, then,” Greg said, setting the tray down. “What have we decided on?” John smiled.

“A favorite of mine and Harry’s when we were young, 101 Dalmatians,” John said, turning to Sherlock. “Now, what are the rules, Sherlock?” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I’m not allowed to spoil the movie for anyone or ruin it otherwise for those of us that have seen it,” he drawled in a bored tone.

“And?” John pressed. Sherlock sighed.

“And I’m not allowed to shout- insults or not-, nor am I to throw things at or around the television,”

“Hang on, you’ve thrown things?” Greg said incredulously.

“Thrown things, yeah. Also, if you count him finding my Sig and me having to tackle him before he shot out the telly as throwing things, then, yeah,” John said looking pointedly at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes looking quite unabashed.

“Considering that you’ve now hidden your Sig so that I cannot find it, that is now inconsequential,” Sherlock said. “Oh, are those Ginger Nuts!?” Mycroft looked over at John, eyebrow raised, impressed.

“You’ve hidden something where Sherlock cannot find it?” John smirked.

“Somewhere he’d never deign to look,” John said, triumphantly.

Sherlock sat down next to Elara, who, to Mycroft’s surprise, curled in to his side. John sat on the other side of Sherlock, Mycroft sat on the other side of Elara, and Greg sat on the other side of Mycroft. Mycroft ensured Elara was properly tucked in before playing the movie. Mycroft payed more attention to Elara than the movie, and he was not disappointed. Her reactions to the movie were more satisfying than any movie he could have ever watched. Elara fought valiantly against the fatigue, trying in vain to see the movie all the way through, but lost her battle with almost half an hour left in the movie, Sherlock following suit shortly afterwards. The remaining three adults continued to watch the movie through, though Mycroft caught Greg taking- not so subtly- photos of Elara and Sherlock on his mobile. Once the movie was over, Mycroft gently lifted Elara in to his arms, careful not to disturb either Elara or Sherlock, as John helped carry her IV line back upstairs to the bedroom.

“For my own curiosity, where did you hide your gun?” Mycroft asked as John finished setting up the IV stand. John giggled.

“It’s in the hoover,” John said. Mycroft did a double take at John.

“I- I beg your pardon?”

“My Sig. It’s in the dust basin of the hoover,” John said with a smirk. “Mrs. Hudson’s idea, actually. I mean, is there ever a time where Sherlock Holmes will ever willingly pick up a hoover?”

Chapter Text

The next several weeks went by much more quickly than Mycroft thought they had. Elara’s fever had broken completely unmedicated by day three and she was allowed to roam around more freely. Mycroft had given her a full tour of his home, only restricting her access to the basement and attic, as well as not permitting her outside unless she had asked him and someone else was outside with her. Elara still had yet to speak, but she was excelling very quickly with sign language- what little she could do with her shoulder and arm still bound to the sling. She had gained over a stone, and John was very pleased with her progress. Greg had taken to stopping in nearly every day, unless he had a difficult case he was working, and Molly had even checked in via texts at least once a week. John checked in at least once a day with Mycroft via text and kept his weekly visits, though Mycroft knew the good doctor would absolutely come at once at a moment’s notice if Elara was sick or otherwise hurt or in distress. Sherlock would come along any time John would, happy to entertain Elara whilst John spoke to Mycroft about the medical aspects of his visits, which was exactly what was happening presently, Sherlock reading to Elara as John stepped in to the hallway with Mycroft to discuss John’s latest visit with Elara.

“I’m really pleased with her progress, Mycroft. Really, really, pleased. She’s gained in total nearly a stone and a half. Greg’s meal plans have been a godsend for her. Her open wounds have healed up nicely, and, if I’m not mistaken, she’s also grown a little bit as well. Also, that sling should be good to come off now,” Mycroft’s head snapped up.

“Can it really?” He asked excitedly. John smiled and nodded.

“Really,” John said. “The mobile x-ray you had brought in is showing it healed, but she’ll need to do some physical therapy a couple times a week for a few weeks to regain muscle and range of motion. I’m happy to hold those sessions as well as show you how to do the exercises. Due to the break and the fact that it had started to heal incorrectly, she will likely have pain in that shoulder and probably her neck as well every once in a while for the rest of her life. The exercises I’ll be having her do are extremely similar to the ones I did- and still do when my shoulder acts up- for my physical therapy after I was shot. I’ll write her a prescription for a low-dose pain medicine just in case so that you have it on hand, but hopefully she won’t need it,” Mycroft let out a breath.

“Thank you, John. You have been marvelous with Elara and I cannot ever thank you enough for your help and expertise the last several weeks. If there is anything I can do to compensate you for your time, name it and I shall make it happen for you,” Mycroft said, extending his hand. John grasped it firmly and shook it, smiling.

“It’s no trouble at all, Mycroft, really,” John said. “I don’t ask for anything in return. Seeing her safe, happy, healthy, and becoming her godfather is rewarding enough,” Mycroft blinked several times before turning to look in to the front room where Sherlock and Elara were. Sherlock had lifted the child on to his lap and was reading aloud to her once more, his finger helping her to follow along.

“He’s wonderful with her,” John said, smiling faintly as he observed the scene with Sherlock.

“He always had a soft spot for mistreated and bullied children, I assume from how other children treated us, him in particular, as children,” John nodded.

“I’ve noticed during certain cases, particularly ones involving children and brutes of parents. Then there was that time with the American agent attacking Mrs. Hudson,” Mycroft winced slightly at that memory.

“Yes. My brother can be quite protective when the occasion calls for it,” Mycroft said. Elara giggled suddenly, signing something one handed at Sherlock, who looked at her in feign outrage.

“I would do no such thing, I assure you,” Sherlock said, poking her gently on the side of her head. Elara stifled a giggle, mocking a scowl before poking Sherlock back in the side, eliciting a slight yelp from Sherlock.

There was a split second of a terrified look on Elara’s face before she began shrieking out giggles as Sherlock tickled her sides. Mycroft felt his heart skip several beats at the sound. That feeling stopped just as quickly as it had come when Elara started coughing. Sherlock ceased his actions immediately, sitting the child up and gently patting her back. Mycroft and John hurried in to the room just in time to see Elara abruptly stop coughing and attack Sherlock’s side.

“BETRAYAL!” Sherlock shouted, fighting a laugh as he tried to hold Elara at bay without hurting her. “BETRAYAL OF THE HIGHEST! MYCROFT, CONTROL YOUR SPAWN!”

John lost control of himself and was laughing so hard the man wasn’t making any noise and Mycroft was genuinely concerned that he had stopped breathing. Mycroft wasn’t sure who exactly he should help first, John or Sherlock. Deciding to just remove the source of the chaos, he gently lifted Elara from Sherlock and held her tightly to his chest, delighted to hear that she was giggling quietly.

“Really, John, do control yourself,” Sherlock grouched several moments later to John, who had fallen to his knees, wiping the tears from his eyes and attempting to catch his breath.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “The great Sherlock Holmes is ticklish. This is valuable information,” Sherlock fixed the man with a glare.

“This has been a carefully guarded secret for most of my life, John. If you love me at all, you’ll keep this information to yourself for the rest of your days,” John rolled his eyes.

“Ever so dramatic,” he muttered before standing back up and turning to Elara with a smile. “Alright, darling, it’s time for the sling to come off,” Elara furrowed her eyebrows and patted the sling that had been encasing her right arm for the past several weeks now. John nodded.

“Yep. No more. Your collar bone is all better now, so we don’t need that any more, but now you’ll have to stretch and do exercises to help get the strength back in your shoulder. I’ll be working with you on that, and I’ll be showing Mycroft how to as well so he can step in in case I can’t, alright?” Elara nodded, eagerly reaching out with her good arm to John, who smiled and gently took her from Mycroft’s arms, placing her back on to the couch. “Alright, darling, stay still for a moment while I take this off of you. Even once the sling is off, please don’t move your arm or shoulder until I tell you to, alright?”

Elara nodded, also signing that she understood. Mycroft watched as John removed the sling with a practiced tenderness, easing Elara’s arm from the confines of the fabric. He watched as John gently held Elara’s right arm in place as he slipped the sling over her head and off her person, handing it off to Sherlock, who had been waiting to take the bandage from John.

“Alright, darling, slowly, very slowly, I want you to stretch your arm out with me,” John told her, gently taking her right hand in his. “I’m going to lead you in the stretch, but I want you to tell me immediately if it hurts or if you need to stop and we’ll stop, alright?”

Elara nodded. John smiled, nodding at her, before slowly guiding her hand to stretch her arm out in front of her, eventually touching her hand to his chest. Mycroft watched intently as John repeated the action for every direction, stopping immediately when Elara winced as they were stretching her arm above her head. Mycroft felt himself move forward slightly, but stopped at Sherlock’s hand, watching as Elara signaled that she was alright to continue. John repeated the stretches three more times before moving on to her grip, having her grasp his fingers in her shaky grip before having her grasp different objects. John’s penlight. Mycroft’s fancy fountain pen. Sherlock’s hand held just above Elara’s head.

“Very well done, darling. That’s it for today,” John told her, kissing her forehead lightly before pulling a two-pack of chocolate biscuits from his pocket, opening it for her and handing them over to her. Elara took them excitedly, before freezing, looking towards Mycroft hesitantly. Mycroft smiled at her.

“Of course you may have them, little one,” he said, standing and walking to her and lifting her in to his arms. “Just remember to stop and tell me if your stomach begins hurting, yes?” Elara nodded happily, nibbling a biscuit and giggling as Mycroft kissed her cheek.

“Her shoulder is likely to be very stiff in the mornings. It may even be painful for her for the next couple of days or so. If the pain is bothering her badly, give her 8mL of the children’s paracetamol as needed. She’s at a higher weight now, so she’ll need a higher dose. I’ll be back in a couple of days to continue the PT, but, in the meantime, I’d like for her to at least do a little bit of stretching before bed and in the morning when she wakes up. At this stage, I don’t want her lifting anything with that arm over five pounds. If she wants to try to feed herself with that arm, that will be fine. It’s actually a good exercise for her, but don’t let her overexert or hurt herself doing so. No lifting anything hot like tea or cocoa that could burn her if she accidentally spills. As always, I am just a text or phone call away if you have any concerns or questions,” Mycroft nodded.

“Understood. Thank you, John,” John smiled.

“Not a problem at all, Mycroft,”

“Are you two staying for dinner?” Mycroft asked, placing Elara back down on the couch next to Sherlock. John smiled, but shook his head.

“No, but thanks for the offer. We have a stakeout tonight at Angelo’s, so, we’ll be having dinner there,” Mycroft raised an amused eyebrow.

“Interesting date night activity, but, to each their own,” John chuckled once.

“What’s on your docket tonight?”

“If Gregory can get out of work, then he’ll be joining Elara and myself for dinner. I’m hoping to finally try and wash and brush out her hair properly. I’ve been afraid to do so in fear of harming her collarbone whilst it healed,” John nodded.

“Well, it should be fine now. Let me know if you encounter any issues,” Mycroft nodded.

“Of course, John,” a giggle from the couch captured both their attention and they turned just in time to see Sherlock teach Elara a very rude sign. John and Mycroft groaned simultaneously before John exclaimed.

“Sherlock!”

Chapter Text

After John gave Sherlock a firm talking-to about teaching Elara naughty sign language and Mycroft gaining a promise from Elara to never use the taught sign until she was forty- and even then never to use it unless it was absolutely warranted- John and Sherlock took their leave. Mycroft sat with Elara for a bit, working with her on her- not naughty- sign language skills now that she had use of both hands, though her right hand was extremely shaky from disuse. Mycroft always spoke to her, rarely ever signing to her unless he was teaching her a sign. He always encouraged her to talk, but she still preferred silence, opting to sign or otherwise make her intentions known through charade. Mycroft would never force her to speak, though he worried that she was still mute. He would need to confer with John further on this.

“My? Sunshine? You guys in here?” Greg’s voice broke through Mycroft’s musings. Elara kicked her legs happily at the sound as Greg poked his head in the room. “Hey! How are we today?” Elara slid off the couch and ran to Greg, holding out both of her hands, excitedly opening and closing both hands. Greg’s face lit up.

“No more sling!?” He asked her excitedly. Elara nodded, a huge grin plastered on her face. Greg laughed, scooping the child in to his arms and whirling her around. Mycroft reveled in the giggles that escaped the precious child in Greg’s arms. Greg stopped spinning and planted a kiss on her head. “That’s amazing news, sunshine, I’m so happy for you!”

“You’ve missed John and Sherlock by less than an hour,” Mycroft said, standing and walking towards Greg, who shifted Elara to one arm and wrapped the other arm around Mycroft, pressing a kiss to his temple. Mycroft wrapped his arms around them both. His little girl and his Gregory. His world. They stood there for a few moments.

“I dunno about you lot, but I’m starving,” Greg said. He looked to Elara. “Well, sunshine, I think this warrants a celebration. What would you like for dinner?” Elara furrowed her eyebrows before signing three words, which Mycroft translated for Greg, who was not yet up to par on his sign language.

“Me...dinner...pick?” Mycroft said as she signed a bit clumsily. Greg smiled at her.

“’Course, sunshine! Anything you want. Could be something we’ve made you before, or something entirely new! And I can make a special cake for later after dinner! A special celebration cake for getting your sling off,” Elara furrowed her eyebrows, signing again.

“What...cake?” Mycroft said. As soon as he realized what it was that he had translated, he felt as though he had taken a punch to the gut. He closed his eyes and took a breath, trying to reign in his temper lest he frighten the child. Gregory’s smile remained on his face, though Mycroft could tell it was strained.

“Cake is delicious. You’ll love it, sunshine! What about dinner?” Elara thought for a moment before signing.

“Go...kitchen?” Mycroft translated. Greg smiled.

“Next stop, the kitchen!” Greg declared, whisking a giggling Elara to the kitchen. Chuckling, Mycroft followed them. Once there, Elara wriggled out of Greg’s arms and walked towards the pantry door. She put a hesitant hand on the door handle before looking warily back towards Mycroft. He smiled gently at her.

“Go ahead, little one. It’s alright,”

Elara nodded once, slowly opening the door, tensing for a moment as though expecting a blow before making sure the pantry door was open completely and entering it. She rummaged around for a few moments before emerging with flour tortilla shells. Greg cocked his head, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Where are you going with this, sunshine?”

Elara smiled a small smile before going to the refrigerator, looking to Mycroft once more for permission before opening the door. She stepped back. Looking to Mycroft as she signed the word Help. Mycroft walked over to her, lifting her easily in to his arms. She pointed to some chicken and a block of cheese. Mycroft pulled them out and placed them on the table next to the tortilla shells.

“Quesadillas?” Greg asked. Elara bit her lip slightly before shaking her head. Mycroft placed her back down and she went back in to the pantry, rummaging around for several more moments before emerging with a triumphant smile, a can of enchilada sauce in her hand. A look of understanding came over Greg’s face.

“Oh!” Greg said before smiling. “Enchiladas?” He asked to clarify. Elara’s face lit up and she nodded. Greg smiled. He had made these a couple of weeks back and remembered that it was the first meal where Elara had- albeit frightened- asked for more.

“Excellent choice, sunshine! Let’s get started,”

The trio spent the next half hour preparing the enchiladas, Mycroft keeping a close eye that Elara didn’t strain herself with her arm now free from the confines of the sling. Once the pan of enchiladas were in the oven, Greg turned to the pantry and emerged with several things.

“Alright. I’m gonna make my chocolate cake with chocolate icing for dessert,” Greg said with an excited smile, turning to Elara. “Would you like to help?” Elara glanced at Mycroft, who smiled at her.

“Of course you can assist if you would like to do so,” he told her. His mobile pinged then. He removed it from his person and glanced at the screen. His face hardened ever so slightly and he looked up to Greg. “Unfortunately, I’ll need to do a bit of work. I’m terribly sorry, but would you mind watching her for a bit? I’ll be back for dinner, there’s just something that requires my immediate attention,” Greg studied him for a moment before his eyes drifted to Elara before quickly coming back to rest on Mycroft, who nodded ever so slightly.

“No need to apologize, darlin'. I’m happy to mind her for a bit,” Greg said, scooping Elara in to his arms. “We’ve got a cake to bake, yeah?”

Mycroft quickly made his exit after placing a kiss on Elara and Greg’s cheeks, headed straight to his office, closing the door and ensuring the room was soundproofed before pulling out his mobile.

Information has been acquired. Please call at your earliest convenience when secure. - A Mycroft quickly rang Anthea.

“Good evening, sir,”

“Good evening, my dear. How are you?” Mycroft answered.

“Oh, it’s been an interesting few weeks. Are you in a secure location?”

“I am in my office. It is locked down and soundproofed,”

“And Elara?” Mycroft couldn’t hold back a soft smile.

“Gregory is in the kitchen with her currently teaching her how to bake a cake. She’s never had it before,” Mycroft didn’t need to see Anthea’s face to know that she was scowling heavily.

“Once she is all better, I’m stealing her for a day so we can go do girl things. Including going to a bakery to stuff ourselves silly with sweets,” Mycroft smiled.

“You know you are always welcome over at any time, my dear,” Anthea chuckled once.

“I know. And I promise I’ll be over soon, I just didn’t want to be in the way while she was healing and you were bonding with her,”

“What have you found, dear?” Mycroft asked, sitting on the edge of his desk, ready to pace if he needed to.

“Well, the name of her recent ‘minder’ was Brandon Donahue. He was thought to be head of an illegal trafficking ring centered in Ireland and had known ties to the Finnegan’s. He was reported as missing the day the Finnegans arrived in London. His badly waterlogged body was pulled out of the River Boyne three days ago. He was identified via DNA yesterday. Local authorities believe it was a suicide,”

“And you believe otherwise,” Mycroft stated. Anthea scoffed.

“Oh, I know otherwise,” she said. “The local coroner stated that it was a suicide, but that makes no sense due to the body not having fingertips nor teeth,” Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows.

“They got to the coroner, you think?”

“That, or they could have already had the coroner in their pocket. They have underlings everywhere. I’m pulling multiple files where the Finnegans have one transgression after another, but the charges are mysteriously dropped or the people complaining suddenly withdraw the complaints or they disappear,”

“Can you give me examples?” Mycroft asked her.

“Certainly,” Anthea answered as Mycroft heard rusting papers. “In 2012, there was a complaint that Cathal had inappropriately touched and harassed one of their young housekeepers. Elizabeth Collins, 19 at the time. She left their employ and filed charges immediately. She was killed four days later in what appeared to be a mugging gone wrong. In 2008, there was a report of Cathal beating a man nearly to death for reasons that were not ever stated that I could find, though I’m privy to believe it was a supposed transgression with Mallory. That man disappeared from his hospital bed. To this day he is still a missing person. In 2014, drivers of their employ were caught with several pounds of cocaine in their vehicles, intending to distribute. The drivers disappeared and the charges for all of that mysteriously went away after a generous donation to the city,” Mycroft let out a breath.

“There’s something else you should also know, sir,” Anthea said in a slightly hesitant tone.

“Go on,” Mycroft told her. Anthea took a breath before continuing.

“As early as June of 2009, there have been hundreds, literally hundreds, Mycroft, of reports of neglect, abuse, and abandonment allegations of Cathal and Mallory against their daughter Renee,” Mycroft sat and stewed on this bit of information for several minutes.

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” Anthea asked, almost timidly.

“I want every report,” Mycroft stated in a cold voice. “Every report of child abuse, neglect, abandonment, all of it. Every report relating to Renee Aimee Finnegan I want in my hands as soon as possible,”

“Yes, sir. Right away,” he heard her rustling around in the background. “If you would like them tonight, I can bring them to you by 8:00 PM if that is amenable?”

“8:00 PM would be perfect. You’ll be able to see Elara before we put her to bed,”

“Oh, wonderful! I’ll be happy to see her. I’ll also be happy to stay and help you go through all these reports with you,”

“I couldn’t ask that of you my dear-”

“Mycroft. I want to help. I also don’t want you to be reading through all of these alone. Besides, I was not kidding when I said there were literally hundreds of reports,” Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“How many?”

“394 in total. Most of them are just concerns, but about a third of them describe firsthand accounts of things witnessed. I’ve already sorted through and organized them by severity,” Mycroft let out a breath. His mobile buzzed in his hand. He pulled it away from his ear to look at the message.

Hey, love. Dinner is about ready. I’ll keep a plate warm for you. Don’t work too hard. :) - GL Mycroft smiled.

“Alright, my dear. I’ll see you in a few hours. Be careful,”

“You too sir. I’ll see you soon,” Mycroft ended the call with Anthea, taking a couple of minutes to control himself before joining Greg and Elara for dinner.

Chapter Text

Elara had eaten everything on her plate and a bit more in seconds and Greg was positively beaming at her. Mycroft helped clear the plates before sitting down to speak to Elara.

“Elara?” The child immediately looked up to him. Mycroft smiled at her. “I would like to see about washing your hair tonight. Do you think we can try a bath?”

Mycroft watched in horror as every single bit of color drained from her face and her breathing began to come out in panicked breaths. Concerned, Mycroft immediately stood and started to hurry towards her, but Elara yelped slightly, overturning her chair in her attempt to scramble away from him. Greg was suddenly in front of him, hand on Mycroft’s chest, stopping him from getting closer to Elara.

“Don’t. I know you won’t hurt her and I’m pretty sure she knows now that neither of us will hurt her, but she’s scared right now and likely not seeing you or I. We have to do this carefully,” Greg murmured back to him, not taking his eyes off Elara. Greg slowly knelt to the floor, hands outstretched and in view as he did so.

“Hey, there, sunshine. It’s alright. You’re alright. It’s just me, Greg, here. And Mycroft. We aren’t gonna hurt you, love. We didn’t mean to frighten you, sunshine. Can you look at me, please?” Elara’s frightened eyes met his, but Greg knew she wasn’t seeing the present.

“Easy, sunshine. It’s alright. I’m gonna reach my hand out. Can you grab for my hand, please?” Greg said as he slowly reached his hand out to her. After what seemed like an eternity, Elara reached out a shaking hand and grasped Greg’s like it was her lifeline. Greg scooted a bit closer to her and she all but collapsed in to his lap, sobbing.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, sunshine. Just breathe for me, yeah?” Greg said, clasping her hand in one of his and running his other hand over her head. After several minutes of raspy, shuddery breaths, Elara finally seemed to calm down a bit and come back to herself. “Can you tell me what scared you so badly, please, sunshine?”

“B-b-bath,” Mycroft wouldn’t have believed she had spoken if he hadn’t seen her lips move. He let out a shuddery breath and then stopped breathing all together. Greg’s eyes widened, but he made no other notice of surprise, continuing to pet her head.

“You don’t want to take a bath?” Elara frantically shook her head.

“B-b-bad. Ba-bath b-bad-”

“Shh,” Greg said, moving to caress her cheek. “If you don’t want to take a bath, then you don’t have to. We can try a shower later, but you’ll need help with your hair. If you’d like, I can help you,” Elara wiggled in his lap to look up at him. Greg smiled down at her.

“I used to wash my sister’s hair in the sink when she was little. I’d brush it through and braid it up for her afterwards. What do you think, sunshine?” Elara took a shuddery breath and nodded her head. Greg smiled and kissed her forehead. “There’s my brave girl,” Mycroft, who had been inching his way towards the pair, began to hesitantly reach out his hand, but stopped, not wanting to set Elara back.

“It’s alright, My. You can touch her. Just no quick movements, yeah?” Greg said and Mycroft carefully reached out to caress her cheek, wiping away stray tears with his thumb.

“I am so sorry, little one,” Mycroft said, barely holding back emotions. “It was not my intention to frighten you. I am so sorry, Elara,” Elara released Greg’s hand and reached desperately for Mycroft. Greg gently transferred the child to Mycroft’s arms easily.

“Trust,” Elara breathed, gently patting Mycroft’s chest before reaching out her other hand to Greg, who took it immediately. “Trust,” she said once more, looking at both of them. Greg, tears glistening in his eyes, pulled the both of them in to his arms, holding them both.

“We are honored, sunshine. And we will never do anything to sway that trust,” Greg said in a tight voice. They sat there for several minutes, regaining control over themselves before Greg kissed the both of them and stood up.

“I love you both dearly, but my knees and back aren’t what they used to be,” Greg said with a smile, wincing slightly as he stretched. “I’m gonna go and get the stuff I’ll need to do her hair. Be right back, love,” Greg said, bending down to place another kiss on Mycroft’s head before disappearing upstairs. Mycroft tightened his arms around Elara ever so slightly, resting his cheek on her head.

“I want to add on to what Gregory said,” Mycroft said in a quiet voice. “I agree that I will never do anything to break your trust. I also want to add that I will never, ever strike you or purposefully harm you in any way. You will incur no physical punishments by my hand, nor by any other person. You will never be denied food. You will never be denied medical care. You will never be denied clothing. You will never know the life you once lived ever again. You will likely always remember it, yes, but you will never live that again, Elara. With me, you will know kindness. You will know compassion. You will know freedom. You will know protection. You will know love, Elara. There will be times where I will make mistakes, little one, but I will learn in time. Even if I do err, please know that I love you, Elara. I love you and nothing that happens will ever change that, little one. Nothing,”

Elara’s breath hitched and she launched herself at Mycroft, wrapping her arms tightly around her neck. Mycroft did not hesitate to wrap his arms protectively around the child in return. They stayed in this position until Greg returned, his arms laden with supplies.

“Hey, everyone okay?” He asked, setting everything down on the kitchen table before kneeling down in front of them. “Are we having a happy cry now?” Mycroft smiled up at him, noting that Greg’s eyes were also red.

“Yes. We are alright,” Mycroft said, reaching his hand out to Greg, who took it, kissing it gently.

“Need a hand up, darlin'?”

“If you would, please, I would appreciate it,” Mycroft said. Greg grinned and helped heave Mycroft- Elara still held protectively in his arms- to his feet. Mycroft carried the child to the counter by his kitchen sink and sat her down on it, cupping her face in his hands, wiping any remnants of tears from her face with his thumbs before Greg handed him a warm washcloth.

“Would you like to wipe your face?” Mycroft asked her. Elara nodded. Mycroft, knowing that she never allowed anyone to wash her face, went to hand the washcloth to her, but she shook her head.

“Trust,” she said in the same, hoarse whisper, gently pushing the washcloth back to him. Taken aback, Mycroft glanced over to Greg, who looked equally shocked, but was smiling gently and nodded his head slightly. Mycroft took a breath.

“Thank you, little one,” he said, beginning to gently wipe at her face, pleased beyond measure that she didn’t flinch. Greg stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves.

“Alright. Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he said as he began placing a pillow and towels down beside the kitchen sink. “I’m gonna have you, Elara, lay down on this pillow. You’ll lay your neck down on this towel I’ve rolled up at the edge of the sink here. I’ll use the faucet extender hose to wet your hair. If you need the water warmer or cooler, just tell me and I’ll adjust it. I’m gonna shampoo your hair at least twice, maybe even a third time. It just depends on how dirty it is. Once that’s done, I’ll be putting some coconut oil in your hair and letting it sit for several minutes before I start trying to detangle it using this comb. I am going to try and be as gentle as I possibly can, but it might hurt a little bit if I hit a snag. It is very important that you try and be still. I do not want you to fall off the counter. If it hurts, please tell me and I’ll go about it another way. Once I’ve got every tangle out, I’ll rinse the oil out of your hair, maybe shampoo again, before I use some deep conditioner and let it sit in your hair for several minutes before we rinse that out and then we’re done with the washing,” Greg said, pointing to each tool he mentioned to them as he explained.

“You ready, sunshine?” Greg asked with a smile. Elara took a deep breath and nodded. “There’s my brave girl. Alright, let’s have a go at this,”

Chapter Text

It took over an hour for the process to be completed. Mycroft watched carefully from beside the both of them. Listened as Greg continuously spoke his actions before and as he did them, careful not to startle or frighten the child. It took three washes before the rinsed water from Elara’s hair came clean. True to his word, Greg was extremely gentle as he combed out the severe tangles and mats in Elara’s hair, starting at the tips and working his way up to her roots. He would stop immediately if Elara whimpered or flinched at all, speaking gently to her and running his hands gently over her scalp before continuing when she was ready. Greg was currently giving her a final rinse.

“You’ve done so well, Elara, well done, sunshine. I am so proud of you,” Greg said as he wrung out her hair and helped her sit up, careful to keep her wet hair from touching her bare neck and shirt. Mycroft handed him a dry towel that he wrapped the girl’s hair in with a practiced ease. He lifted her from the counter and placed her in a kitchen chair.

“Time to brush through once more and braid,” Greg said as he retrieved a proper brush, a spray bottle of...something, and some hair elastics. He picked up the spray bottle and showed it to Elara. “I’m going to spray this in your hair before I brush it out. It’ll help restrengthen your hair and prevent it from getting all frizzy. Plus, it smells nice,” Greg said with a smile as he began to remove the towel from Elara’s head. She shivered slightly as the cool air hit her head. Mycroft immediately removed his suit jacket and laid it over the front of her, smiling as she snuggled in to the fabric, breathing deeply.

“Alright, sunshine, bit of cold coming,” Greg said, shielding Elara’s face and eyes as he spritzed some of the contents of the bottle in to her hair before brushing it through. “Oh, wow,” Greg murmured, running his fingers through Elara’s hair. Mycroft looked to him.

“What is it, Gregory?”

“Her hair is curly, My,” Greg said. “I’d no idea until now,” Mycroft looked at Elara’s hair. Sure enough, the now clean dark brown locks were beginning to curl as they dried.

“Is that a bad thing?” Mycroft asked confused. Greg chuckled.

“Nah. Just surprising, is all. I’ll have to do a bit of research on how to properly care for it,” Greg said as he began to section out her hair. Mycroft watched in fascination as Greg expertly plaited Elara’s hair in to a perfect French Braid. “There we go, sunshine. Does it feel okay? Is anywhere pulling or too tight?” Elara smiled brightly, shaking her head, signing her thanks. Greg smiled warmly, kissing her head.

“You’re very welcome, sunshine,” he said, beginning to clean up the small mess they had made.

Mycroft took Elara upstairs to have a proper wash now that her hair had been addressed. Greg finished cleaning up the sink, counters, and table before moving to ice the cake he and Elara had made. Elara had made huge leaps that night. Greg knew that she still had a ways to go, but things would be a bit easier now. Greg smiled to himself as he finished up the cake, setting it in the middle of the kitchen table and pulling dessert plates and forks out for each of them. Greg stopped in his tracks as he heard a shuffling from the front door. Mycroft hadn’t said anything about anyone coming over, especially this late and seeing how John and Sherlock had already been over earlier that day. He reached in to his pocket, pulling out his mobile to call Mycroft. A buzzing from the table, where Mycroft’s abandoned suit jacket lay, his mobile likely tucked in to the pocket.

“Fuck,” Greg muttered, ending the call and stuffing his mobile back in to his pocket and seized a kitchen knife from the knife block, holding it defensively in his hands as he heard someone enter the house.

Greg took a deep breath, readying himself for a fight, prepared to go down fighting if it meant protecting Mycroft and Elara from harm. Greg reacted on instinct, pouncing on the figure as it entered the kitchen. As quickly as Greg had acted, he found himself quickly disarmed, his arms pinned behind his back as he was slammed up against the wall. Greg cried out, partially in surprise, partially in pain as his right arm was twisted awkwardly as he struggled.

“Christ, Greg, it’s me, you clot! Stop it!” Anthea’s voice came from behind him. Greg ceased his struggling.

“Anthea?” He gasped out.

“Yes, you idiot. If I let go are you going to behave?” Greg nodded and Anthea immediately released him. He turned around, wincing as Anthea punched him in the shoulder.

“Bloody Christ, Greg you scared the Hell out of me,”

“What in the world is going on down here?” Mycroft said as he appeared in the entryway, Elara held protectively in his arms. Greg let out a breath.

“Sorry, Anth. I didn’t know anyone was coming and Mycroft left his mobile down here so I couldn’t call to confirm,” Greg said, his cheeks pinking slightly. Mycroft winced.

“Gregory, I apologize. I forgot to tell you that Anthea was coming by with some files for me. Are either of you hurt?” Mycroft said, approaching them both.

“Just my pride,” Greg said with a chuckle. Anthea smirked. “Well, come on in, then. We’ve baked a cake to celebrate Elara getting her sling off. Please, join us,” Greg said with a smile as he gestured them all to head to the kitchen. Anthea sat at the table and Mycroft set Elara down beside her, taking the seat next to Elara.

“Hello, my love! You look so much better! Do you feel better now, sweetheart?” Anthea asked Elara as she brushed her fingers against her cheek. Elara smiled brightly and nodded, signing something.

“Oh, he did?” Anthea replied to the signs enthusiastically. “It looks very pretty, my love,”

“Does everyone besides me know sign language?” Greg asked Mycroft as he cut slices of cake. Mycroft chuckled.

“Only Anthea, Sherlock, and myself are completely fluent. John knows a scant bit from his time in the service, though Sherlock has been teaching him more now that Elara signs more than speaks at this point,” Mycroft told him as Greg plated up the slices and divvied them out. Elara signed her thanks and Greg smiled.

“You’re welcome, sunshine,” Greg said. Mycroft smiled gently.

“I’m happy to show you, though you’ve been learning fairly quickly. You’ve picked up several of the basic signs,” he said, nodding his thanks as Greg slid him a plate. Mycroft turned to Elara. “Make sure you eat slowly, little one. You can only have this one slice of cake, as we don’t want to upset your stomach, alright?”

Elara nodded happily, once again signing thanks to Greg as he placed a small glass of milk in front of her. The three adults tried not to stare as Elara took her first bite of cake. The look on Elara’s face was one that Mycroft would never forget. Elara looked at the slice of cake in front of her in awe for several moments before glancing up at Mycroft and Greg, grinning happily before tucking in to her cake. Anthea happily chatted with Elara- Elara signed and Anthea would reply verbally back- whilst Greg and Mycroft watched on, everyone munching their own cake slices. Once everyone was finished, Mycroft and Greg collected the plates, making quick work of washing up as Anthea played around with Elara as the child was wiping cake off her face.

“Alright, little one, time for medicine,” Elara winced slightly, but nodded.

Mycroft handed her two chewable tablets for immune support that tasted of citrus fruits. He then handed her a medicine cup of liquid iron. Elara scrunched up her face, but downed the whole cup in one go, shuddering violently at the taste as Greg handed a very small cup of apple juice- Elara’s favorite- to her that she quickly gulped down. Finally, Mycroft handed her two children’s vitamin gummies that were shaped in the different fruits they were flavored after.

“Very well done, sunshine,” Greg said as he removed the medicine cup and apple juice glass from her. Mycroft scooped the child up.

“Time for bed, little one. Say goodnight to Greg and Aunt Anthea,” Elara happily signed her goodnights and Greg planted a kiss on her head before Mycroft whisked the child upstairs.

“She’s come a long way,” Anthea said, smiling as she watched Mycroft take Elara from the room. Greg smiled back.

“Definitely. She’s still got a ways to go, but she’s come so far in such little time and I cannot be prouder of her,” Greg said as he started on a pot of tea. Mycroft came back downstairs about ten minutes later, finding Greg and Anthea chatting quietly over tea.

“Hey,” Greg said with a smile as Mycroft entered the room. “Grab a pew, I’ll get you some tea,” Greg bustled around as Anthea pulled several files from her messenger bag.

“Christ,” Greg said, placing Mycroft’s tea- made perfectly the way Mycroft liked- and sitting beside Mycroft. “What in the world is all this?” Anthea eyed Mycroft, the question plain in her eyes. Mycroft nodded ever so slightly and Anthea took a breath before explaining.

“These,” she said, gesturing to the copious files before them, “are all the files pertaining to complaints on the Finnegan’s,” Greg’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline. He let out a breath.

“Alright. I want to help. Where do we start?” Anthea glanced at Mycroft once more. “What are you both not telling me?”

“All these files contain complaints of abuse, neglect, or abandonment of one Renee Aimee Finnegan,” Mycroft told him. Greg froze.

“My,” he said hoarsely. “My, there’s- there’s hundreds of files here,” Mycroft nodded once.

“394, to be precise,” Mycroft answered quietly. Greg inhaled sharply, leaning forward in his chair and grasping his hair in his hands, trying to control his breathing.

“Easy, love,” Mycroft said, placing his hand on Greg’s back and rubbing soothing circles. Greg took a deep breath and looked up at the both of them, his face hard.

“I want these bastards buried,” he growled fiercely. Mycroft swallowed hard and fought the urge to adjust himself in his seat. Greg looked to Anthea. “Where do we start?”

Chapter Text

It was nearly 1:00 AM when Mycroft sent Anthea home. They had gotten through most of the files, sorting them by severity. The most severe cases were kept for charges. Whilst Mycroft wanted these vile excuses for human beings to rot for every finger they had lain on the child, Mycroft knew that they would only be able to realistically pin the most severe charges on them. Greg sighed next to him and scrubbed at his face.

“Well, I’d best head home, then,” he said, standing from the table. Mycroft stopped him, gently grasping Greg’s hand in his.

“Wait,” Mycroft said hesitantly. Greg smiled softly, pulling Mycroft up, kissing him.

“If you want me to stay, darlin', I’ll be happy to stay,” Mycroft smiled, kissing him passionately.

“Stay, please, Gregory,” he said, pressing his forehead to Greg’s. “Please stay,” Greg smiled, kissing Mycroft.

“I’d be happy to, love,” Greg said.

“Not just tonight,” Mycroft said quickly. Greg raised an eyebrow. “I have been meaning to ask you- I- I wanted to- Would you want to- Oh, bugger,” Greg chuckled, kissing Mycroft to cut off his ramblings.

“You are adorable when you’re nervous,” Greg teased.

“I am not nervous,” Mycroft insisted. Greg grinned.

“So, you weren’t nervously rambling and stuttering trying to ask me to move in with you, then?” Mycroft didn’t say anything, though his cheeks turned a delicious shade of pink.

“Elara needs you,” Mycroft said.

“Oh, is that right?” Greg asked in a low tone, his hands sliding to Mycroft’s waist. Mycroft swallowed hard.

“I- yes. Of course. You are a large part of her life now,” Greg nodded, his grip on Mycroft’s waist inching ever so lower as he smirked.

“Ah, but so are John and Sherlock,” he said. “Will they be moving in too?”

“Of course not,” Mycroft said quickly. Greg’s grin grew as his fingers dipped under Mycroft’s waistband. Mycroft’s breath stuttered.

“How peculiar,” Greg said, planting light kisses and nips along Mycroft’s neck and jawline.

“I need you too,” Mycroft finally gasped out as Greg nipped at his earlobe. “I know that there isn’t much I can offer you, but-” Greg planted a searing kiss on Mycroft’s lips before pulling away and cupping his face.

“I would love nothing more than to move in with you and Elara. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for the both of you. Hell, I pounced on Anthea earlier thinking I was protecting the both of you,” Greg kissed him once more. “But don’t you ever think, not for a second, that I don’t need you, My, because I do, and I always will, darlin',” Greg and Mycroft quickly retired to Mycroft’s bedroom shortly afterwards, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company before falling asleep.

Mycroft woke several hours later to ragged breathing. He quickly sat up, looking towards the other side of the bed, rubbing his eye with his wrist as he turned on his bedside lamp.

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked groggily. Once Mycroft laid eyes on Greg, he was no longer tired.

Greg was half curled in on himself, arms wrapped tightly over his chest, nails digging in to his arms as he heaved out breaths, sweat making his nightshirt hug Greg’s body in a way that Mycroft would have greatly appreciated if Greg wasn’t in the middle of a massive panic attack. Mycroft quickly maneuvered himself so that he was behind Greg, who was situated between his legs and propped against his chest.

“Gregory, it’s alright,” Mycroft said, gently running his fingers over Greg’s arms in an attempt to get Greg to release the grip he had on his biceps. “Breathe, my love. Breathe with me. You’ve had a nightmare. Come back to me, love,” slowly, very slowly, Greg began to calm down. His grip loosened on his arms and Mycroft seized the chance to slip his hands in to Greg’s as his breathing finally began to even out.

“Are you with me again, Gregory?” Mycroft asked. Greg gave a jerky nod, his breath still hitching occasionally.

“S-sorry, My,” Greg choked out.

“Hush,” Mycroft said gently. “You need not apologize to me. Not for this. Not ever for this,”

“You must think me pathetic,” Greg ground out, gripping Mycroft’s hands like a lifeline.

“Absolutely not,” Mycroft said. “You went through a terrible ordeal as a child. And you’ve just read through the horrors of another child. It was bound to bring back unwanted memories. To quote a great man, I will never, ever think less of you for the trauma you have been through, and you never have to be embarrassed or ashamed to show your battle scars, be they physical or not,” Greg let out a forced chuckle.

“I said that,” Mycroft smiled.

“I know, I was there,” he said, planting a loving kiss on Greg’s head. “Do you think you can go back to sleep now?” Greg let out a shuddery breath.

“Dunno,” Greg said in a quiet voice.

“Well, regardless, I’ll turn out the light and we’ll lie back down,” Mycroft said.

He turned out the light before laying back down, but he pulled Greg in to his arms, wrapping his arms around Greg as Greg buried his face in to the crook of Mycroft’s neck. Greg breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of peppermint tea, biscuits, and the very faint cologne Mycroft always wore that Greg had always loved. Mycroft had dropped back off to sleep shortly afterwards, but Greg had lain awake for a while longer, relishing the feel of Mycroft’s arms around him and the smell of his Mycroft before finally drifting back off to a thankfully dreamless sleep a couple of hours later.

The next morning, Greg woke to an empty bed. He groaned slightly as he slowly sat up. He looked around and saw clothes- his clothes- hanging from the bathroom door. Greg quickly got up and readied himself for the day, heading downstairs to the kitchen and finding Mycroft bent over the stove with Elara trying not to smile from her perch on the countertop next to him.

“Hmm,” Mycroft let out before glancing up at Elara. “Does this look right? It doesn’t look right to me,” Elara let out a soft giggle, pointing to something on the stove.

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Mycroft said, reaching for the item on the stove. “Oh, that’s much better, little one, well done. Hopefully it is up to Gregory’s standards,” Greg grinned, deciding to make himself known.

“Have you both made me breakfast?” Mycroft startled slightly, stepping in front of Elara before realizing that it was just Greg and relaxing.

“Good morning, Gregory. We’ve made Croque Madames for you this morning. Or, rather I attempted to make them. I do hope they’re alright,” Greg smiled as he pulled Mycroft in to his arms.

“Thank you, love. I’m positive that I’ll love it,” he kissed Mycroft before releasing him and turning to Elara. “Good morning, sunshine! How are we feeling today?”

She smiled broadly and held her hands out for Greg, who quickly scooped her up in to his arms, relishing as she giggled slightly and snuggled in to his hold as he sat at the table. Mycroft placed a fresh mug of coffee in front of him followed by a plate of breakfast.

“Smells amazing, My,” Greg said, reaching to sip from his mug of coffee, smirking fondly as Elara wrinkled her nose at the smell of it. Mycroft smiled warmly.

“Here, little one, I have a mug of cocoa for you,” Mycroft said, plucking her from Greg’s arms and placing her in a chair between them both. Elara happily signed her thanks before pulling the mug towards her as Mycroft placed a sandwich in front of each of them and taking his seat.

“Eat your sandwich, little one, don’t just fill up on the cocoa. If you would like something else, we have fruit or yogurt. We can even mix them if you would like,” Elara smiled and nodded, obediently taking a bite of her sandwich. Mycroft smiled and they all tucked in to their breakfast. Once they had finished, Greg took their dishes from the table to the sink.

“Gregory, you needn’t do that-” Greg waved him off.

“It’s alright, I don’t mind. You both made me a delicious breakfast. I’m happy to take dish duty,” Mycroft rolled his eyes in jest, smirking as he finished his tea. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“I haven’t thought of anything,” Mycroft said. Greg turned to them, wiping his hands on a dish towel that he slung over his shoulder.

“How about a tour of London?” Greg said. “She’s seen Buckingham Palace, but what about the rest of London?” Mycroft thought.

“Oh, I don’t see why not. She’s at a healthier weight, no longer in a sling, and she has appropriate clothing for the weather now,” Elara reached out and hesitantly tugged at Mycroft’s sleeve. Mycroft smiled at her. “Yes, Elara?” Elara bit her lip before answering.

“Uncle ‘Lock? Uncle John?” She whispered out, wringing her hands slightly. Mycroft softened even more.

“We can certainly stop by Baker Street and see if they would like to accompany us if you would like for them to come?” Elara lit up, grinning madly as she nodded vigorously. “Alright. Run along and get dressed, then. Be sure to put on a jumper, it’s cold out,” Elara nodded and ran off to get changed. Greg chuckled.

“It’s quite the change seeing her smiling and dashing about now. Much better than the alternative,” Greg said. Mycroft smiled, rising from his chair to wash out his mug.

“Indeed. This was a wonderful idea, Gregory,” Greg smiled, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s waist from behind, resting his head on Mycroft’s shoulder.

“I do have those every great once in a while,” he said, kissing Mycroft on the cheek.

They stood there for several moments before reluctantly breaking apart- after a quick snog- to quickly clean up breakfast before Elara appeared back downstairs, dressed in jeans, thick socks, and a long-sleeved green shirt. In her left hand, she clutched a lavender jumper Greg had picked out for her that he declared would bring out her gorgeous green eyes- quite correctly so Mycroft agreed.

“Well done, little one,” Mycroft said as he went to help her pull the jumper over her head without hurting her shoulder. “Alright, let’s find your shoes,”

Ten minutes later, Mycroft, Greg, and Elara were seated in the back of one of Mycroft’s black, unmarked vehicles, the driver chauffeuring them all to Baker Street. Greg and Mycroft discussed the different places they could visit, Elara watching and listening excitedly. Once they pulled up to Baker Street, Mycroft exited the vehicle first, taking Elara’s gloved hand in his as they made their way to the door, entering the building and making their way up the stairs. Mycroft knocked on the flat before entering.

“Are you here, brother mine?” Mycroft called.

“Yoo-hoo,” the form of Mrs. Hudson popped out of the kitchen.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson,” Greg said with a huge grin.

“Oh, it’s so lovely to see you, Detective Inspector,” Mrs. Hudson said, going to hug Greg, who gently hugged her back.

“Please, call me Greg,” he reminded her. Mrs. Hudson cooed slightly, cupping his cheek and turning to Mycroft, who smiled at her, holding his hand out to take hers.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson. How are you?” She smiled, squeezing his hand lightly before releasing it.

“Oh, can’t complain too terribly much- Well, who is this little darling?” She asked, noticing Elara for the first time.

“This,” Mycroft said, squeezing Elara’s hand slightly, “is Elara. She has come to be in my custody,” Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly at the child, bending as well as her hip would allow her to Elara’s level.

“Hello, love. Aren’t you just darling?” Elara smiled shyly, her cheeks pinking up a bit as she pulled herself closer to Mycroft with one hand, waving slightly with her other hand.

“I’m afraid she doesn’t speak much at the moment,” Mycroft said. “She’s getting better at it, however,”

“Oh, that’s alright. I can talk enough for the both of us,” Mrs. Hudson said with a slight chuckle.

“Are John and my brother in?” Mycroft asked.

“Oh, John’s at work today and Sherlock popped out for a moment. Something about needing milk for some experiment or another. He should be back shortly, though. Make yourselves at home. I’ll put on some tea,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Oh, no, Mrs. H., you take a seat. This time, I make you tea,” Greg said with a charming smile.

“Oh, you spoil me,” she said, grinning as Greg disappeared in to the kitchen. There was a moment’s silence before Mrs. Hudson seemed to remember something.

“Oh, Greg, dear, don’t be alarmed about the-” she was cut off by a sudden yelp coming from the kitchen.

“Hands!” Greg’s strained voice came from the kitchen. “Hands and a head in the bloody fridge!”

“Of course they’re in the fridge, Graham. Where else am I meant to store them?” Sherlock’s baritone came from the door he had just walked through.

“Uncle ‘Lock!” Elara whispered loudly, sliding off the couch and jumping in to Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock looked startled for all of two seconds before swinging her around slightly.

“Lovely to see you, but more lovely to hear you, little bee,” Sherlock said with a smile as Elara giggled.

“Uncle John?” She asked Sherlock, who looked at her sadly.

“He’s at work today, bee,” Elara frowned disapprovingly. Sherlock bit back a grin rolling his eyes.

“Ugh, I know. Boring. Dull,” he said. He turned to Mycroft. “What brings you all here today?”

“Well, we thought we’d take Elara around the city to see some of the sights now that she’s well enough to do so,” Greg said.

“She asked to see if you and John would want to join us,” Mycroft added.

“I don’t have any cases, and my experiment can be put off. I’d be happy to join you. John is, unfortunately, at work, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t surprise him with lunch,” he told Elara, who grinned madly.

Chapter Text

The next three hours went by quickly. After a quick word with Elara about not running off and ensuring that she was holding either Mycroft’s, Greg’s, or Sherlock’s hand at all times, they took Elara to see Westminster Abbey, Parliament, and Big Ben. They were currently walking around the Tower Bridge, Elara giggling madly from her perch atop Sherlock’s shoulders as he whisked her around from stop to stop as they waited for Mycroft’s driver to pick them up and take them to Bart’s.

“He is so great with her,” Greg said, slipping his hand in to Mycroft’s. Mycroft grinned and squeezed Greg’s hand.

“If anyone can help her come out of her shell, it’s Sherlock,” Mycroft said quietly.

They watched as Sherlock pointed to the Tower of London, saying something to her that Greg and Mycroft couldn’t hear. Mycroft’s car pulled up a couple of minutes later and the four of them piled in, arriving at Bart’s a short time later. Sherlock led them to the food court within the hospital, Elara holding his hand the whole way. Elara began to tug at Sherlock’s hand, pointing happily towards what happened to be the form of Molly Hooper, who was entering the court.

“Would you like to go and say hello?” Sherlock asked Elara, who nodded before stopping, looking to Mycroft for permission.

“We can go and say hello to Dr. Hooper,” he said with a smile. Elara hopped slightly in excitement as Sherlock led her over to Molly.

“Molly, fancy seeing you here,” Sherlock said, startling to woman slightly.

“Oh, Sherlock! Hello! How are- Oh, my God, is that Elara!?” Molly said, her grin a mixture of surprise and happiness. Elara grinned, let go of Sherlock’s hand and hurried to hug the woman.

“Oh, hello, sweetheart! It’s so lovely to see you! You look so much better,” Molly said as she knelt down and swept the girl in to a tight hug.

“Good afternoon, Molly,” Mycroft said kindly. Molly smiled at him, releasing Elara, who returned to Sherlock’s side.

“Oh, hello, Mycroft, Greg! How are you all today?” Molly replied with a smile.

“We decided to take Elara around to see some of the sights of London,” Greg said, approaching Molly to hug her and place a friendly kiss on her cheek.

“We’ve come to see John for lunch. You are more than welcome to join us if you would like, my treat,” Mycroft said. Molly smiled.

“I would love to, really I would, but I’ve only got time for a quick sandwich before I duck back downstairs. We’re backed up today,” Molly said apologetically.

“We’ll need to have you over for dinner sometime soon, then,” Mycroft said. Molly smiled and nodded.

“Oh, of course! Let me know and I’ll be sure to save the date,” Molly said. They chatted for a few more minutes before bidding Molly goodbye. Sherlock pulled out his mobile, sending a quick text before pocketing the device once more.

“I’ve text John to come to the food court if convenient,” Sherlock said.

“And if inconvenient?” Greg asked him.

“Then to come anyway,” Sherlock said nonchalantly. Greg snorted. John appeared a few minutes later.

“Sherlock? You alright? What’s happen-”

“Uncle John!” Elara said in the loudest voice any of them had heard come from the child as she hurried to jump in to John’s arms.

“Oh, goodness, darling! Hello! What a lovely surprise! What are you doing here?” John said after he easily caught the child and planted a loving kiss on her head.

“We’ve come to join you for lunch,” Sherlock said, gesturing to Greg and Mycroft. John smiled.

“Brilliant! I’ve got some time, but I can’t go too far in case an emergency comes in. There’s a nice cafe across the street. I go for coffee all the time, but they’ve got some really good soups and sandwiches,”

“Sounds great! How about it, My?” Greg asked.

“Lead the way, Dr. Watson,”

The group obtained a booth in the back and tucked in to a lovely lunch. John observed as Greg interacted with Sherlock and Elara. He was very happy to see that she had eaten most of her lunch and had even tried a bit of Greg’s when the man had offered her a bite when he noticed her eyeing his bowl curiously.

“She’s doing much better with food,” Mycroft said to John quietly, noticing the man observing the scene. John smiled and nodded.

“Have you had any more instances of her trying to ‘earn her keep’?” John asked him in a clipped tone. Mycroft sighed.

“It’s lessening slightly, but Gregory did find her trying to scrub the baseboards in the kitchen the other day when he showed up at six in the morning to join us for breakfast. I am concerned, however, that the incidents may happen more readily now that she has use of both arms again,” John let out a breath.

“Well, just keep affirming her. Nothing negative. It’ll take time. She’ll understand fully eventually, we just need to positively reaffirm her with things,” Mycroft nodded.

“When did she start talking?” John asked.

“When Gregory showed up yesterday after you both left. We hit a bit of a snag with her hair. I had mentioned a bath and she panicked. Gregory had to calm her down and she voiced that she trusted the both of us, even letting me wipe her face for her,” John smiled.

“See? Progress,” John said proudly.

They continued chatting for a bit. Elara, having had a truly eventful day, tried valiantly to keep her eyes open as the adults chatted a bit when they had all finished eating, losing the battle and leaning against Greg as her eyes slipped closed.

“Well, I suppose this is our sign to get her home, then,” Greg said as he gently pulled Elara in to his arms.

“Thank you both for today,” Mycroft said to John and Sherlock as they waited outside for the car. “This meant a lot to her. And to us,”

“Any time, brother mine,” Sherlock said. John nodded.

“Of course. We’re happy to keep an eye on her any time you need as well,” Sherlock nodded his assent. Mycroft smiled.

“I will be sure to keep that in mind, thank you, John,”

John and Sherlock bid the both of them goodbye- John was headed back to work and Sherlock wanted to go to the lab- as the car pulled up to take Greg, Mycroft, and Elara home. Just as they headed off towards home, Greg’s mobile went off. Swearing under his breath, he dug for the device whilst also trying not to disturb the child in his arms.

“Lestrade,” he answered. He let out a breath.

“Alright. Where at?” Silence for a few moments. “Alright. Text me the address and I’ll be there as quick as I can. Head the scene until then. Thanks, Sal,” Greg hung up his mobile and sighed, looking to Mycroft.

“Hey, I’m so sorry to do this, but would you mind dropping me off at an address in Brixton? There’s been a homicide,” Mycroft nodded, holding out his hand for Greg’s mobile as it chirped with a text. Mycroft tapped on the divider, asking the driver to take them to the address that Sergeant Donovan had sent to Greg before dropping Mycroft and Elara home.

“We’ll be there in nineteen minutes,” Mycroft said, handing Greg back his mobile.

“Thanks. I’m sorry. You don’t need to send a car for me later. I can just take a cab back to mine-” Mycroft held up a hand.

“Gregory, it is no trouble. Your vehicle is at mine. If you wish to return to your flat this evening, I’ll see to it that your car is returned to the NSY so that you can leave when you are finished. Do you know what this is all about?” Greg shook his head, but Mycroft knew something was amiss.

“You aren’t telling me the truth,” Greg chuckled once.

“I’m concerned there’s a serial killer about,” he said quietly. “There isn’t technically a discernible pattern or connection between this latest string of murders, but I’ve just got this feeling, y’know?” Mycroft nodded once in understanding.

“You’re smart, Gregory. I am certain you will figure it out,” Greg smiled.

“Well, I dunno about all that, but I may have to get Sherlock and John involved if this drags on any further,”

They pulled up to Greg’s crime scene soon afterwards. Greg carefully handed Elara off to Mycroft, placing a tender kiss on her head before kissing Mycroft.

“Be careful, my love,” Mycroft murmured. Greg responded with a lopsided grin.

“Always am,”

Chapter Text

The next few weeks went by with little issues, up until a couple of days before Christmas. Greg had been correct in his hunch- a serial killer had been picking off victims one by one by way of medical conditions. All the victims had been felonious survivors of cancer, figured out by John, as he had recognized a former patient of his when she had turned up a victim. The murderer- a vile man by the name of Matthew Roberts- had been devastated when his fiancée had lost her battle with cancer two years prior. Recently, he had snapped after his mother lost a battle with the disease six months prior. He had used his job as a medical records keeper to get information on his soon-to-be victims. He then looked in to public crime records to see if his victims were convicted felons.

Everything had come to a head when John and Sherlock tracked the man down to an abandoned shack in the slums of Dagenham. Roberts had gotten the drop on Sherlock and John, knocking Sherlock out and taking John out by way of a lucky hit to the former soldier’s bad shoulder. Roberts raised his weapon- a wicked looking knife- to finish the duo off when Greg had come barreling around the corner, tackling the man head-on, subduing him rather quickly, but not before Roberts got a few good hits in. Greg ended up needing stitches for a nasty cut on his forearm- a defensive wound that prevented his face from being sliced up- as well as a suspected broken wrist- consequence of the tackle- and bruising about his face and side from the resulting scuffle.

“Greg, Christ, mate, you alright?” A bruised John appeared frantically in his room, looking relieved as he eyed the DCI.

“Me? I should be asking you that, John. I’ve never heard you shout like that before....” Greg trailed off with a slight shudder, remembering the pain-filled yell that John had released after Roberts slammed his fist in to John’s left shoulder. John let out a breath.

“I’m alright, Greg. My shoulder was already bothering me pretty badly today because of the weather and he got in a really good hit. I wasn’t quick enough to dodge and I went down like a sack of potatoes. I’m so sorry,” John sighed heavily and hung his head.

“John, no. Don’t apologize. You fought like Hell to keep Sherlock and yourself safe. You held your own,” John huffed out a humorless laugh. “How are you and Sherlock?”

“Sherlock regained consciousness fairly quickly. He’s got a mild concussion and had to have a cut above his eye stitched up. Other than that, he’s alright,” John said, relief bleeding through his voice. “I’m bruised up fairly good. I caved and asked for a low-dose morphine script for my damn shoulder. What about you?”

“My face and side took a bit of a beating, but the main thing is the cut across my forearm here,” Greg said, gesturing to his now bandaged left forearm. “They also aren’t sure yet if I’ve broken my wrist or just sprained it when I tackled Roberts,” Greg said, wincing as he gingerly lifted his swollen right hand. John hissed in sympathy, stepping forward.

“May I?” John asked, gesturing to Greg’s hand.

“Of course,” Greg said. John took Greg’s injured hand in to his, gently prodding and turning the limb to assess the damage. “Any words on Roberts’ condition?”

“You held your own really well,” John said with a smirk. “I only managed to get in a couple of hits before he took me out. You, however, managed to break a couple of his ribs, I think in combination from the tackle and you getting in a couple of hits. He’s also got a concussion and a badly dislocated elbow from where you twisted his arm to disarm him of the knife,” Greg nodded. That sounded about right.

“Oh, hello, Dr. Watson,” A young male nurse said, walking in with Greg’s x-ray printout. “Got his x-ray here if you’d like to take a look,”

“Oh, I’m not his doctor tonight-”

“Says so on his chart,” the nurse said, showing John the tablet in his hand. “You may not have been the original doctor to see him, but it’s been switched over to you within the last ten minutes or so,” Greg bit back a grin.

“Mycroft,” Greg mouthed to John, who nodded once in understanding before taking a look at Greg’s x-ray.

“Well, good news is that I’m not seeing a break at all. Just appears to be a really bad sprain. Less healing time, but it’ll still hurt like a bitch for a couple of weeks, I’m afraid,” John said with a sympathetic wince.

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” Greg said with a grin.

“I’ll go grab a brace for you, Dr. Watson,” the nurse said before leaving the room, bumping in to someone on his way out. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Excuse me,” Mycroft was suddenly in the room, his eyes wild with worry, Sherlock trailing behind him.

“Gregory? What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m alright, My, I promise,” Greg said, reaching out to Mycroft with his non-sprained hand. “Just needed some stitches and sprained my wrist. Nothing too bad,” Mycroft let out a breath.

“Where’s Elara?” John asked.

“She’s asleep in bed at home,” Mycroft answered, taking his mobile out and sending off a text. “My housekeeper, Maddie, is minding her, though Elara is not likely to wake up,”

“You alright, love?” John asked Sherlock, who was paler than normal. Sherlock nodded, failing to suppress a wince at the movement as it pulled at his stitches and caused his already aching head to throb even more.

“Fine, John. I would like to go home and lay down, however,” he said quietly.

“I’ll have a car take you both home,”

“Thank you, Mycroft,” John said, taking a brace from the nurse. “Greg should be good to go once I’ve got this fitted to him,”

“Thank you, John,” Mycroft said.

“Yeah, thanks, mate,” Greg said, hissing slightly as John gently worked Greg’s hand in to the brace.

“Sorry, Greg. Nearly done,” John murmured. “Alright. You’re all set. I’ll take another look at this come new year. I’m going to go ahead and write you a script for a low-dose pain medication in case you need it. Just give me a ring if the pain gets worse or you feel any numbness or tingling in your arm, hand, or fingers, alright?” Greg nodded.

“Of course. Thank you, John. Take him home. Both of you get some rest,” John nodded, helping Sherlock up from the chair he had collapsed in before nodding.

“No problem. I’ll check in on you in the morning. Have a good night, and give Elara our love. We’ll see you tomorrow night,” Mycroft agreed and they left the room. They quickly got Greg checked out and began their journey home.

“I’m sorry, My,” Greg said quietly once they had been shut in to the back of one of Mycroft’s cars. “I didn’t mean to worry you,”

“I know that your job comes with certain risks,” Mycroft said. “I understand that your job is dangerous and that things like this are always a likelihood. Though, I would appreciate it if we could keep these instances to a bare minimum, I’m not fond of leaving Elara without one of us home,” Greg smiled, taking Mycroft’s hand in his non-sprained one.

“I think I can manage that,” he said, kissing Mycroft’s hand.

“So, why did Mr. Roberts do all of this?” Mycroft asked after a few moments. Greg let out a breath.

“Well, Matthew Roberts was a normal guy up until three years ago when his fiancée was diagnosed with a terminal case of brain cancer. Lost her fight a year in. Six months later, his mother was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. It took her about eight months later. He lost his bloody mind after that. Found out a coworker of his was a convicted felon after he went in to remission from lung cancer. His reasoning was that two good people he loved were taken from him by the disease. They never even had traffic infractions. So, in his mind, why should these convicted felons who had actually done wrong deserve to live?” Mycroft let out a breath.

“It’s over now,” Mycroft said. “He’ll go away for a long time,”

“Now, don’t you go getting involved,” Greg warned him. “I don’t want to get a call in the morning that my suspect has gone missing without a trace, never to be found again. I didn’t go through all this just to be disappointed with no court case and conviction,”

“You and I both know you can’t stand court cases,” Mycroft said with a sly smirk.

“That’s beside the point and you know it,” Greg grumbled as they pulled up to Mycroft’s home.

“He will stand trial, Gregory, I assure you,” Mycroft said as he exited the car.

“Good, ‘cause I’ll be pissed if I took that beating for nothing,” Greg said, wincing heavily as he slowly climbed out of the vehicle. He leaned heavily on the door for a moment, breathing through the stabbing pain in his side before he felt a gentle grip on his upper arm.

“Lean on me, Gregory,” Mycroft murmured. “I’ve got you, love,” Mycroft wrapped his arm around Greg and led him inside.

Crying was all that the both of them heard when they entered the foyer. Both men exchanged a look and hurried towards the kitchen, where the sound was coming from. They found Maddie holding a very distressed Elara, walking around the kitchen as she tried in vain to console the child.

“Maddie, what’s happened?” Mycroft asked, quickly shedding his coat. Greg did the same, albeit a bit slower, placing his coat next to Mycroft’s on the table. Maddie turned to them, gently rocking Elara in her arms as the child cried.

“She won’t settle, sir. She woke up in distress, I think from a nightmare. She came looking for you but only found me. I told her that you had to step out but that you’d be back. She ran off and hid. Took me ages to find her. I was just about to contact you when I got the alert that you were en route back home,” Maddie said over Elara’s cries.

“Here, let me, please,” Mycroft said, holding his arms out as Maddie handed Elara over to him. “Hush, little one. It’s alright, I assure you. I am so sorry that I was not here when you woke. I had an emergency I needed to attend to, but look who I’ve brought home,” Mycroft told her gently nodding his head towards Greg, who made his way towards the both of them.

“Hey, sunshine. It’s alright now. How about we have a seat and I’ll put some cocoa on, yeah?” Greg said, rubbing Elara’s back with his non-braced hand.

“Oh, no. I’ll get the cocoa ready. You are to have a seat as well, Gregory,” Mycroft said as he placed Elara down in a chair at the table, gently wiping the tears from her face before glancing at Greg and an empty seat before bustling around for cocoa. Greg gingerly sat down next to Elara, who gasped when she finally looked up at him.

“No, no, I’m alright, sunshine. I’m fine, I promise,” Greg said, reaching out and taking her hand with his left hand, carefully hiding his right hand from her at this point. “I catch bad guys, remember? I got in to a scuffle with a bad guy whilst trying to help John and Sherlock, but everyone is alright, we’re just a bit bruised up, sunshine, that’s all,” Elara narrowed her eyes slightly at him.

“Hand,” she said, gesturing to the hand he had purposefully hidden under the table. Greg huffed out a chuckle and brandished the hand, knowing that he’d been caught out.

“You really are a Holmes. Can’t keep anything from you, can I sunshine?” Elara gently took his braced hand in hers, carefully inspecting the brace as Mycroft set down three steaming mugs of cocoa down on the table.

“He is quite alright, little one,” Mycroft affirmed as he sat down. “He’s just sore,” Greg nodded, not even bothering to lie his way out of that. They all sat and sipped their cocoa in comfortable silence before Mycroft’s mobile buzzed. He furrowed his eyebrows and pulled the device out of his pocket.

“Anthea is calling,” he told Greg.

“Go ahead and take it. I’ll make sure she gets settled back in to bed when we’re finished here,” Greg said with a warm smile. Mycroft kissed Elara on the head before kissing Greg and left the room. Greg sipped his mug of cocoa before glancing at Elara.

“You alright, sunshine?” Elara bit her lip and looked away. “I have nightmares still, too, you know,” Greg said, fiddling with his mug.

“It’s alright to have them. You just can’t let that fear overtake you. It’s alright to be afraid. To be scared. I get scared a lot, but it’s alright. You’ll be alright, Elara, I promise you,” Greg said. He reached out with his good hand and grasped Elara’s hand in his. “Mycroft and I- and John and Sherlock- would burn the world down if it meant keeping you safe, sunshine. You are safe with us. None of us will ever allow the compromise of your safety. And, if it ever is, then we will not rest until you are safe again. Do you understand, sunshine?” Elara looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Oh, c’mere, my darlin',” Greg said as he stood and scooped the child up in to his arms, holding her protectively to his chest for several minutes before he felt her yawn against his shoulder.

“Alright, sunshine, I think it’s time to get you back to bed,” he felt her tense in his arms and immediately put her to ease. “Easy, sunshine. It’s alright. I’m not going anywhere. We’re just gonna go and get your teeth brushed, then I’ll sit with you for a bit, yeah?”

Greg took Elara upstairs and watched as she brushed her teeth before taking her back to bed. He tucked her in before removing his shoes- his dress shirt had been covered in blood and binned at hospital- as well as his belt, leaving his trousers and undershirt on before taking a seat beside her on the bed. His heart stuttered a bit as the child snuggled tightly in to his side. He immediately wrapped his arm around her, keeping his breathing even so as to help lull her to sleep. Greg wasn’t sure who kipped off first, but they were soon both fast asleep.

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?”

Chapter Text

After five hours, the three of them were covered in more flour than Mycroft thought made it in to the bowls. Elara was giggling madly as Greg swore under his breath when he accidentally upset the uncapped bottle of vanilla extract that had been residing on the counter, receiving a light scolding from Mycroft about his use of certain language in front of the child. Maddie chose just then to enter the main kitchens.

“Oh, dear Lord,” she said, glancing at the state of Mycroft’s kitchen before eyeing the three of them. “What in the blazes happened in here?” Greg and Mycroft stuttered, looking abashed as Elara tried not to grin.

“Alright. Upstairs, the lot of you. Time to get cleaned up. Your guests will be here in two hours,” Maddie said, beginning to usher them all out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

“Maddie, at least let us clean this up,” Greg said. Maddie rolled her eyes.

“Oh, please, I have cleaned much worse. This won’t take me long. The flour and what I hope is raw egg in Elara’s hair, however, will take a bit of time,” Maddie said with a grin. Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows as he tilted Elara’s head to the side, seeing the mess Maddie had pointed out.

“How on Earth-”

“Best not question it, My,” Greg said with a grin before turning to Elara. “Do you remember how I showed you to wash your hair?” Greg asked her. Elara nodded. “Good girl. Do you think you can do it all by yourself?” Elara hesitated for a moment, before nodding. Greg smiled.

“Good girl. If you do need help, just shout, alright?” Greg said. Elara nodded.

“Let’s go and get you a change of clothes and I’ll set you up in the shower, little one,” Mycroft said, taking Elara’s hand and escorting her to her bedroom and en suite.

Greg headed towards Mycroft’s room, getting his clothes ready before removing the wrist brace along with the rest of his soiled clothing and hopping in the shower. Forty minutes later saw Greg clean, dried, braced, and clothed, sans his tie, which he was struggling to tie as he was unable to move his injured hand the way it needed to be in order to tie the tie. Just as he was about to throw the tie off his neck in frustration, Mycroft suddenly appeared behind him, snaking his hands around Greg’s shoulders and grasping the offending fabric.

“Here,” Mycroft murmured in his ear. “Let me,” Greg watched in fascination as Mycroft made quick work of his tie, snugging it around Greg’s neck in a beautiful knot that only years of practice could provide.

“What knot is this?” Greg said, staring in awe at the tie as Mycroft dropped his hands.

“An Eldredge Knot,” Mycroft said, removing his shoes and socks as he prepared for his own shower.

“How many tie knots do you know how to do?” Greg asked, genuinely curious. Mycroft smirked as he removed his pullover sweater.

“More than you ever knew existed, I assure you, Gregory,” Greg smirked.

“Will you teach me?” Greg asked him, watching as Mycroft rid himself of his shirt.

“Of course. Once your hand is healed up, I would be happy to,” Mycroft said. “Do stop staring, Gregory,”

Greg sniggered, continuing to watch as Mycroft shed the remnants of his clothing before disappearing in to the shower. Greg, smiling, shook his head as he scooped up the soiled clothing on the floor, tossing them in to the hamper before going to find Elara. He found her in her bedroom, struggling with the buttons on her shirt. When they had gone clothes shopping for her, they found that she had a huge aversion to skirts and dresses. Mycroft and Greg had no clue why, but they would never force her to wear anything she didn’t want to, so they ended up purchasing dress shirts and slacks for her instead for occasions such as this.

“Need some help, sunshine?” Greg asked. Elara scowled.

“Buttons. Stupid hand,” she grumbled, Greg noticed that her right hand was shaking a bit. He furrowed his eyebrows a bit, kneeling in front of her to button her shirt for her.

“Is your shoulder hurting you today, Elara?” Greg said as he made quick work of the tricky buttons. Greg knew that she still had trouble gripping things occasionally, especially if her shoulder was bothering her.

“Not bad,” Elara answered. “Can’t grip small things well,” Greg nodded.

“If it gets any worse, you are to tell me or Mycroft, or even John when he gets here, alright? We don’t want you suffering in silence anymore. Promise?” Greg said holding his pinky out to her. Elara smiled, taking Greg’s pinky in hers.

“Promise,” Greg smiled and helped her pull a nice sweater over her shirt before combing through her hair, deciding to pull it halfway up and leave the rest down.

He was just pinning a repurposed Christmas wrap bow in to her hair when Mycroft walked in to the room. Mycroft looked very dashing, dressed in a light grey three-piece suit with a red tie that was tied exactly as Mycroft had tied Greg’s green one.

“Well, hello, gorgeous,” Greg said, standing to kiss Mycroft, whose cheeks pinked slightly. Elara scrambled to her feet and jumped in to Mycroft’s arms, who caught her easily.

“You look lovely as well, little one,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead and then another kiss on Greg’s cheek. “Come along, our guests will be arriving soon,”

The trio made their way downstairs to the front room. Mycroft flitted about putting finishing touches on the decorations, Elara balanced on his hip the whole time, giggling at the muttering Mycroft was uttering under his breath. Greg made his way in to the kitchen, where Maddie had, indeed, made quick work of cleaning up the kitchen, as it looked like nothing had ever happened. Greg began divvying out the biscuits in to the decorative food gift packaging. He was nearly finished when Maddie walked in to the kitchen.

“You clean up nice,” she said with a smirk as she brought some fresh dish towels to put away. Greg chuckled.

“Oh, yeah,” Greg said, smiling. “This grizzled old copper still has a few secrets,” Maddie laughed. Greg grabbed several gift bags of biscuits and walked over to Maddie.

“Here, Maddie,” he said, placing them on the counter next to her. “There should be one for each of the staff, including the chauffeurs,” Maddie looked to him with a near tearful smile.

“You are too good to us, Detective Inspector,” she said with a tired smile. Greg smiled kindly at her.

“How many times have I told you to call me Greg?” He said. “You look knackered, my dear. You’ve been given the night off, yes?” Maddie nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes has given the rest of tonight and the whole of tomorrow to the entire staff, though James is always on call in case of emergency,” Maddie replied, referring to Mycroft’s personal driver.

“Good. You head on to bed, now. Enjoy the biscuits, and Happy Christmas to all of you,” Greg said with a smile. Maddie smiled.

“Happy Christmas....Greg,” she replied with a small smile. Greg feigned shock.

“A Christmas miracle,” Maddie laughed and rolled her eyes before gathering the packages of biscuits and leaving for her quarters.

Greg sorted the rest of the biscuits, separating out the ones he was going to take with him to The Yard from the ones he was handing out to their guests tonight. Greg gathered the biscuits for tonight in his arms, heading to the living room. He found Mycroft with Elara on his shoulders, the child giggling as he had her fixing the star atop the Christmas tree. Greg took that opportunity to snap a photo of them. The doorbell rang at that moment. Mycroft turned, seeing Greg.

“I’ll get it,” Greg said with a smile as Mycroft went to lift Elara from his shoulders. Greg walked to the front door and opened it, revealing Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson.

“Hey, guys! Come on in,” Greg said with a wide smile. “Can I take your coats?”

“Oh, Greg, how lovely to see you! Are you quite alright, dear? The boys told me all about that nasty man you caught yesterday,” Mrs. Hudson said as Greg took her coat before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, I’m alright. It’ll take a lot more than a crazed madman to take me down,” Greg said with a smile as he hung all their coats on the rack by the door. He waved Mrs. Hudson through to the living room, stopping John and Sherlock. “You both alright? You’re a bit pale, Sherlock,”

“We’re alright, Greg,” John said. “My shoulder is killing me, but no way I’d miss all this,”

“My head is a bit worse for wear, but I’ve had worse,” Sherlock said as Greg took the bag of gifts from him.

“Well, come on through, then. Let me know if you guys need anything,” Greg said, leading them through. They found Mrs. Hudson cooing over Elara.

“Oh, don’t you just look darling, dearie,” Mrs. Hudson said as she cupped Elara’s cheek. Greg sat the bag of gifts beside the tree as the doorbell rang once more.

“I’ll get that this time, Gregory,” Mycroft said, turning to John and Sherlock, giving them a quick once-over. “Do sit down, brother mine. I believe Elara has something to show you,” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow as his brother left the room.

He did, however, listen to Mycroft, slowly making his way to the couch and sinking down on to it next to Mrs. Hudson. Elara quickly dashed to the bookshelf and brought back a book. Sherlock lifted her on to his lap and quickly engrossed himself in the book she had brought him- a book Greg had purchased for her detailing the best little-known areas of London to visit. Mycroft reentered the room a few moments later with Molly and Anthea in tow.

“Hello, everyone,” Molly said brightly as Mycroft took the bag of gifts that she had brought, setting them next to the one that Sherlock had carried in. Elara let out a giggle and ran to Molly, who quickly knelt down and engulfed the girl in to a hug.

“Oh, goodness, sweetheart, look how you’ve grown!” Molly exclaimed, releasing the child, who then ran to Anthea, who scooped her up in to her arms without hesitation.

“Hello, my love! Don’t you look adorable!” Anthea said. Elara giggled and Anthea set her back down.

“Ladies, please, join us,” Mycroft said, gesturing to the couches. “Can I get anyone anything to drink?”

They all chatted for the next hour until dinner. Molly had been happy to see Elara eat a full serving as well as trying several new foods. Mycroft had quietly updated her, even though he himself had been texting her regular updates as well as John sharing his findings with her after his weekly visits. After dinner and pudding, they all reconvened back in the living room, where they all passed out presents. Elara looked confused as she watched her pile grow. Mycroft knelt down next to her, whispering something in to her ear before looking at her. She hesitated for a moment before nodding. Mycroft smiled, caressing her cheek before sitting next to her.

“Alright, Gregory, would you like to go first?” Mycroft asked with a pointed glance. Greg, getting the hint, nodded.

“Sure! Let’s see here,” Greg opened a gift card to his favorite coffee shop from Molly, a brand new notepad with a waterproof case for work from John, tickets to an Arsenal football match from Anthea- which Greg was definitely taking John to as the only other fan in his friend group- and a combined gift from Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson.

“Is- Is this my-?” Greg stuttered out as he pulled his worn trench coat from a gift bag, cleaned of his blood and expertly stitched back together by Mrs. Hudson.

“Simple chemistry to get the blood out,” Sherlock said with the smallest of grins. “Mrs. Hudson is very skilled with a needle. You can hardly tell it’s been repaired,” Greg looked up at them with misty eyes.

“Thank you,” he said in a tight voice. “Truly. I thought they’d binned this at the scene. I don’t think you both know how much this means to me, but thank you,” Greg swept Mrs. Hudson in to a gentle hug and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder.

With a bit of prompting from Mycroft, Elara went next. She opened a stuffed bee from Sherlock, a fluffy blanket knitted by Molly, a light blue sweater knitted by Mrs. Hudson, a gift card to a bakery from Anthea- who promised to take her soon on a girl’s-only date- and tickets to the zoo from John. Elara had never been happier. Clutching her stuffed bee to her chest, she tugged a large bag from under the tree, struggling for a moment before Mycroft stood and helped her. She dug through the bag, handing out a parcel each to Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Anthea, Sherlock, and John.

“Elara was excited hearing about how Christmas works,” Greg explained. “She wanted to get everyone a present,”

Mrs. Hudson opened up a brand new pair of knitting needles and a gift card to her favorite craft store, John opened up a brand new medical bag- also stocked with new tools- Molly and Anthea both opened up a gift certificate to a spa, Sherlock opened up- an empty box. Confused he looked up to Elara, who stood before him, stuffed bee held tightly to her chest.

“Uncle John changed the detergent,” John’s head snapped up. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “You slept on the sofa last night, despite being hurt. Uncle John slept in his chair, even though his shoulder is really bothering him which he’ll never admit to anyone. You can tell by the increased number of lines around his eyes and the way he favors his right side and moves slower to avoid jostling his left side,” Sherlock looked moderately impressed.

“And how do you know John changed the detergent?” Elara’s smile grew slightly.

“Uncle John’s got sensitive skin. The market was out of your regular detergent, so he grabbed something that said it was for sensitive skin, but it obviously was the cheap option and not really for sensitive skin, as he has been rubbing at the rash on his arms and chest throughout the night when he thought nobody was looking. You slept on the sofa last night because you are sensitive to smell,” Elara said, wrinkling her nose. “It smells really yucky and Uncle John had washed the bed sheets with it. You can’t stand the smell, Uncle John had an allergic reaction. Mrs. Hudson found out and said that she’d rewash them for you today with her detergent, but neither of you could stand the issues it caused you,”

“And how did you know where we slept?” Sherlock asked. Elara took a breath.

“Uncle John has a crick in his neck, which only happens if he sleeps in a sitting position, so he slept in his chair. You had a head injury, so Uncle John insisted you take the couch while he took his chair, otherwise, you would have insisted he take the couch due to his shoulder, but you were so tired from the head injury that you didn’t argue, letting Uncle John know just how poorly you felt, meaning he sat in his chair observing you, only dozing, but still dozing enough that he hurt his neck. You, sofa. Uncle John, chair,”

“Christ, there’s two of them now,” Greg said under his breath. Sherlock looked full of pride.

“That was very well done, little bee. Thank you for this gift. I cannot wait to play deductions with you soon,” Sherlock told her, scooping her up on to his lap and planting a loving kiss atop her head.

Chapter Text

Two hours later saw Elara asleep on the couch, her head in Sherlock’s lap and her feet in John’s lap. Mycroft topped off Anthea and Molly’s wine before glancing at Elara.

“I really should get her to bed,” Mycroft said. Greg stood.

“Nah. I’ll go ahead. You can stay here and explain to everyone what’s to happen tomorrow,” Greg said with a sly grin as he gently lifted Elara from Sherlock and John and in to his arms. Greg disappeared upstairs. Molly cocked her head.

“Explain what?” Molly said, a hint of fear in her voice. “She- She’s not been-”

“No,” Mycroft said firmly, deducing what she was thinking before she voiced it aloud. “My lovely assistant, Anthea, took charge in bringing the law down on Elara’s birth parents. She was able to bring charges of abuse, neglect and abandonment- amongst other charges- upon them. They have been arrested and arraigned. They are currently residing in Portlaoise Prison in Ireland until the court proceedings after the start of the New Year,”

“Far more than they deserve,” John ground out under his breath. Sherlock took his hand, squeezing tightly to ground John, who shot him a grateful smile.

“Their parental rights have been dissolved completely,” Mycroft continued. “Anthea has drawn up the paperwork for adoption, which, as of this morning, was signed by, both, myself and Gregory,” he explained, pulling the documents from his interior suit pocket to show them all. Mrs. Hudson gasped happily.

“Oh, the dear! How lovely! She’ll be so loved and happy here,” she said, tearing up slightly as the paperwork made its way to her. Greg appeared back downstairs a few moments later, smiling. Mycroft cleared his throat hesitantly. Greg took his hand and sent him a side smile.

“Molly, Anthea,” Mycroft asked the two women. “Gregory and I would be honored if you both would be godmothers,” Molly stuttered out a tearful gasp.

“Oh, God,” she breathed out, taking a breath before continuing. “Of- Of course. Mycroft, I would be honored,” Anthea smiled warmly at him.

“As would I, sir,” Mycroft smiled, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding in before turning to John and Sherlock.

“And, of course, we would be equally as grateful if the both of you agreed to be the godfathers?” John smiled brightly.

“Of course I would,” John said, knowing that Mycroft already knew where he stood on the matter.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, brother mine,” Sherlock said with a small smile. Greg turned to Mrs. Hudson.

“Mrs. Hudson-”

“You tell that little dear that she can call me Nanny Hudson,” the woman told him, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief that Sherlock had produced for her. “I’d be happy to mind her whenever you both need,” Greg grinned triumphantly, leaning over to Mycroft.

“Told you so,” he murmured in a tone that had Mycroft repressing a shudder.

Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson left shortly afterwards, needing to get Mrs. Hudson home for her soothers- though Mycroft knew that both John and Sherlock were feeling rather poorly still from the day prior. Molly and Anthea stayed a little while longer, Anthea chatting up Molly more than they spoke with Greg and Mycroft, who were exchanging smirks behind their wine glasses. They both left a little after 11:00 PM, Molly having been picked up by Anthea in one of Mycroft’s vehicles. Greg and Mycroft then began to clean up.

“That went really well, I think,” Greg said, collecting glasses from the living room and bringing them in to the kitchen. He winced slightly at the pain it sent through his wrist.

“Yes, I agree,” Mycroft said, quickly taking the glasses from Greg and adding them to the sink to wash. He then retrieved Greg’s pain medication bottle and opened it, handing Greg the necessary medication dosage. “The news was very well-received,”

“’Course it was,” Greg said, taking the medication with the remnants of his tea before wiping down the table and counter tops. “They all love Elara. I know Mrs. Hudson has been kept in the dark about most things, but it wouldn’t be very hard for her to guess. They all know the Hell that child has gone through her entire life. They’re all happy that she’s now found some peace,”

“Hmm, I’m not sure that ‘peace’ is the word I would suggest,” Mycroft said. Greg quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Gregory, love, she’s a Holmes now. The name doesn’t scream ‘peace’,” Mycroft said seriously. “She has a father who is the British Government, an uncle who is the world’s only Consulting Detective, her other uncle an adrenaline junkie and partner of said detective, a Nan who is formerly a cartel woman, and the man who loves them all as another father,”

“Hmm. Does that make me brave, or stupid?” Greg pondered aloud. Mycroft considered this for a moment.

“Jury is still out. They may need to review the evidence again,” Mycroft responded. Greg threw his head back and filled the kitchen with his rich laughter. Mycroft soon joined him, unable to contain himself at Greg’s contagious laughter. Mycroft suddenly found himself engulfed in Greg’s arms, Greg’s warm lips on his. They broke apart after a few moments.

“We have a daughter now,” Greg murmured in his ear.

“Indeed we do, Gregory,” Mycroft breathed back.

“At least we’re living together already,” Greg said. “People would talk,”

“They do little else,” Mycroft replied and Greg chuckled.

“Your brother says that all the time,”

“From who do you think he learned it?” Mycroft whispered before capturing Greg’s lips in his. They broke apart and Greg rested his forehead on Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Let’s put the presents out and then head to bed,” Mycroft said. Greg groaned.

“Ugh, carry me. These pain meds make me so tired,” Greg said, sagging against Mycroft. Mycroft rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smile. Mycroft and Greg made quick work of putting out the presents and then headed up to bed.

Chapter Text

Elara woke the next morning to the delicious smells wafting from downstairs. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, wincing at the tight stiffness in her shoulder as she clambered down from her bed and in to her bathroom. When she exited, the kind, silver-haired man, Greg, was suddenly in her room. He smiled at her.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she smiled at this. Sunshine was her favorite name. “Mycroft sent me to fetch you for breakfast. Get your robe and slippers and we’ll head on down,” Elara did as she was told and they walked hand-in-hand down to the kitchen. The tall man who saved her, Mycroft, was stood in front of the table, placing different fruits on the table.

“Good morning, little one,” he said with a smile. Elara smiled back as Greg lifted her in to a kitchen chair. “Gregory has made cinnamon rolls for us this morning. I’ve also cut up some fruit and made some eggs so that your Uncle John doesn’t scold us in to next week for not getting some sort of healthy foods in us,”

Elara let out a giggle, the noise still sounding foreign to her even though she had been with Mycroft for nearly three-and-a-half months now. Elara was still a bit confused by everything. At Ma’am and Sir’s home, she was up by 6:00 AM every morning. She didn’t have an alarm clock, so she just had to trust that she would never oversleep. If she did, she paid dearly for it. She deep cleaned the entire mansion top to bottom every single week, detailing a different floor and/or wing every day. Sir and Ma’am almost always found something wrong with how she had cleaned, so she had given up years ago on perfection. She was fed cold broth and, if she was lucky, bread every few days. If Sir or Ma’am happened to be in a good mood, sometimes they had heated up the broth. It was a rarity, but was the greatest of treats for her.

Even though she didn’t know the kind man in the pretty suit with the umbrella, she felt something shift that first time she had met him her first day in London. She had seen immediately in the man’s eyes that he meant her no harm. The man pretended to be hard and cross, but he had kind eyes. She could always tell who a person really was by their eyes. Sir and Ma’am and all her prior minders had angry eyes. Hard. Cold. Mean. But, the man in the suit’s eyes, while hard and guarded, had a kindness behind them that, if you knew what exactly to look for, could be easily deciphered.

She knew her name to be Girl. It was all Sir and Ma’am ever called her, along with all her other minders, until she had met the kind man. He had stolen her away immediately, even snuck her crackers and biscuits, which she had believed to be the best thing she had ever had in her life up until that point. The man had been unkind to her in front of Sir and Ma’am, but he had been nothing but kind and concerned when they were away from Sir and Ma’am. He had fed her what she thought was going to be broth, but it was the most wonderful, hot soup she had ever had before in her whole life. He gave her a name. A real name. Elara.

She met Anthea- the kind lady who helped the nice man and had even brought her medicine that helped ease the pain she constantly felt and that helped soothe her tummy when it felt yucky. She had been angry when she saw that Elara had been hurt since she had last seen her, but she wasn’t angry with Elara, which Elara had found odd, as everyone was always angry with her for some reason or another. Even if it wasn’t Elara’s fault, people were angry at her.

When she met the man called Greg, she knew immediately that he could be trusted. His eyes were the kindest she had ever seen. Warm, chocolate brown, and full of kindness and love. He knew exactly what to do and even what not to do when she was scared or upset. He knew exactly what to say and what not to say to her in nearly every situation that presented itself. He made the most yummy food and treats that she had ever had in her life. She never knew so many different foods had even existed. He- and the nice man in the suits- even figured out what her favorites were just by observing what she ate and asked for seconds of- which took weeks before she ever dared asked for seconds.

Then she met two other people- John and Molly. John and Molly took away all her pain. Though the medicines she had to now take tasted really yucky, she knew they were to make her feel better. John had even fixed her shoulder, which had hurt really badly since Sir had kicked her down the stairs- not because she had done anything wrong, just because she was in his way. Then John had continued to see her every week, checking her progress and making sure she was comfortable and safe. And he also brought another person with him.

Sherlock understood her in a way she didn’t think the others- except maybe Greg- understood. Sherlock didn’t talk to her like she was a stupid child, even though she refused to speak. He knew and even respected this, teaching her a way to express her thoughts and feelings without having to say anything out loud. He even taught her to read and showed her how he did his deductions, which she loved watching him do, carefully observing and taking note of everything he deduced and said so that she could learn how to do it as well.

Mrs. Hudson had been kind since the moment she had seen Elara. Immediately making sure she was alright and taken care of, even sending John and Sherlock over with sweets and sometimes meals for Elara- and Mycroft and Greg of course.

There were many things that confused Elara about her current situation. Sir and Ma’am made her earn her keep, but Greg and Mycroft wouldn’t allow her to even wash so much as a teacup. They never got angry with her if they ever found her cleaning. They would simply remind her that it wasn’t her job or task to do and lead her away, finding something else to entertain her. Sir and Ma’am hardly ever finished a conversation- one-sided of course- with her without delivering a slap or hit. Greg and Mycroft- nor any of the other people that Elara had been introduced to- had ever laid a hand on her to harm her.

There was one time where Elara had lost her balance and nearly toppled off her bed when she was still in a sling and Mycroft had quickly grabbed her good arm and pulled her up and in to his arms before she had hit the ground. He had, after ensuring that she was unharmed, apologized profusely for the rest of the day and had even gotten her an ice pack for her arm, even though it had hardly left a mark on her.

Another thing that had confused her was that she was always allowed food. She was even encouraged to have more if it wouldn’t upset her tummy. She had been allowed to try so many different foods. Chicken was her favorite. Greg had yet to find a chicken dish Elara disliked. Aside from chicken, Elara also loved fruit and biscuits. Strawberries, bananas, grapes, apples, and something Greg had called kiwi were her favorites. She wasn’t overly fond of fish, but she always ate everything that was put in front of her. Vegetables weren’t an issue either, until Greg had served up steamed cauliflower one evening with a chicken bake. She had choked down two bites after her initial first bite before Mycroft gently told her that she didn’t have to eat the cauliflower if she didn’t like it. He had scraped her portion of the offending vegetable on to his plate and had put on an extra serving of green beans to replace the cauliflower. Greg hadn’t made anything with cauliflower again.

“Are you alright, Elara?” The child startled at the sudden sound of Mycroft’s voice, wincing and ducking her head, expecting a blow that she was beginning to believe would never come. “Easy, little one. I apologize. It was not my intention to scare you,” she glanced up hesitantly at Mycroft’s kind, smiling face.

“We will never harm you,” Mycroft reminded her solemnly. “You will not be struck, kicked, beaten, starved, or harmed in any way, shape, or form as long as you are in my custody, I swear to you,” Elara bit her lip. She never had a minder for too terribly long. If Sir and Ma’am knew that Mycroft was so kind to her, they would remove her from him quicker than Elara could realize what had happened.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head, sunshine?” Greg asked, sliding her a plate of eggs, fruit, and a cinnamon roll. Elara twisted her hands in her lap, avoiding eye contact with either man. She flinched slightly when Greg’s large, warm hands gently- always so gently- pried her hands apart, grasping each of her hands in his.

“Don’t do that, love,” Greg said with a kind smile. “Squeeze my hands if you wanna squeeze something,”

“Won’t last,” she breathed, averting her eyes down again.

“What won’t last, little one?” Mycroft asked, taking a seat on Elara’s other side, placing his hands on the pile of Greg and Elara’s hands.

“This,” Elara said, glancing up at Mycroft and Greg. “If- If Sir and Ma’am find out-”

“Now, hold on a moment,” Greg said, not unkindly. “Sir and Ma’am?” Elara nodded, shuddering.

“Your parents?” Mycroft supplied. Elara shrugged.

“You’re afraid that they will find out how you’ve been treated here? That they’ll remove you from my care and take you back?” Elara shuddered, taking in a shaky breath before nodding.

“Oh, my love,” Mycroft said, gathering the child- who now had silent tears streaming down her face- in to his arms, gently holding her firmly to his chest as he rocked her slightly. Once she had calmed slightly, Mycroft held her out so that he could see her face. “I need to ask you some very important questions. I need you to answer them as truthfully as you can, alright?” Elara nodded.

“Do you feel safe here, safe with me and Greg?” Elara immediately nodded, her eyes wide and truthful. “Do you wish to return to your parents?” Mycroft winced at how quickly the blood drained from the child’s face as she frantically shook her head no.

“No, no, no. No, please, please don’t send me away. Don’t send me back,” Elara’s breath began to come out in short gasps as tears cascaded down her pale face. Greg immediately took her hand and placed it on his chest.

“Easy, sunshine. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Feel my breath and breathe with me,” Greg murmured, beginning to take deep, slow, measured breaths. Elara began to follow suit. “Good girl. Very well done, sunshine,” Mycroft soothingly ran his fingers through her hair as Greg coaxed her breathing back to a normal pattern.

“Do you wish to stay here with me? With us?” Mycroft asked her in a low tone once she had calmed down. Elara looked up at him, hesitation and hope in her eyes as she slowly nodded her head.

“Don’t wanna leave,” she breathed. “Please. Want to stay. I’ll do whatever you both want. Just- Please don’t let them take me back. Don’t send me away,”

“Never,” Mycroft said, cradling her face in his hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “That will never happen, Elara. I swear it to you,” Mycroft reached in to his suit jacket pocket, retrieving the adoption paperwork and handing it to Elara.

“This arrangement we currently have, should you wish it, can be permanent,” Mycroft said as Elara unfolded the paperwork with shaking hands.

“Anthea was able to ensure that Cathal and Mallory Finnegan were arrested for their treatment of you,” Mycroft said. “They are in prison in Ireland, awaiting trial for their crimes. On top of it all, Anthea was able to sever their parental rights to you. The only thing that links you to them now is blood. They have no authority over you anymore. And these papers you hold in your hand, they are adoption papers. Gregory and I have both signed them. If you want it to be so, we can file them and you will officially be ours forever,”

Elara was completely still. For several moments, Greg and Mycroft waited with bated breath as Elara processed the information. Suddenly, she let out a massive sob as she all but collapsed in to Mycroft’s arms, nodding her head furiously as she grasped for Greg’s hand with hers.

“S-stay. St-stay with- with you. Want- Want you b-both,” she sobbed.

Mycroft let out a massive breath in relief as he held the precious child in his arms. He glanced up and saw that Greg was furiously blinking back tears. Mycroft held his arm out for Greg, who quickly wrapped his arms around Mycroft and Elara. Mycroft let out a shuddery breath, allowing a single tear to escape him as he, once again, held his whole world in his arms.

Chapter Text

Elara hadn’t ever really known what Christmas truly was. All she knew was that Sir and Ma’am had expected the entire manor cleaned and Christmas dinner to be cooked and then for her to disappear until all the adults had either left or passed out drunk to clean up. She had never partaken in a Christmas Dinner. She didn’t know what Christmas Carols or presents were. She had never received a present in her life. She had received several wonderful things the night previous. She was floored when, after breakfast, Greg told her that she had more gifts to open. She pointed to herself, confusion written all over her face.

“Yes, you, sunshine,” Greg said with a kind smile. “Did you think that Mycroft and I wouldn’t get you anything?” As if to make a point, Elara nodded to the adoption papers. Mycroft smiled, lifting her from her chair.

“Well, little one, while the adoption paperwork was your main gift, we also got you several things for you to open as well,” Mycroft told her as they made their way to the living room. Elara’s eyes lit up at the sight of the tree. Mycroft set her down and gave her a gentle nudge towards it. “Go ahead, Elara,” she hesitated some more.

“Alright, my turn,” Greg said, entering the room in a worn Santa hat and coat. Mycroft’s face made an...interesting expression that Greg was not likely to soon forget.

“Gregory....” Mycroft said, his face twisted in to a pained expression. “What are you wearing?” Greg grinned.

“I’m Santa Claus,” Greg declared proudly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I always play Santa when I’m at my sister’s for Christmas,”

“I implore you to bin that....thing,” Mycroft said, eyeing the suit as though it was harboring the plague. Greg expressed mock outrage.

“Oh, I’ll have you know, darlin',” Greg said, taking a slow step towards Mycroft, “that this suit dies with me,” Greg said with a grin. Elara giggled as Mycroft let out an exaggerated groan and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Greg knelt in front of the tree and poked around, pulling out a gift.

“Ah-ha!” He said, turning and handing the present to Elara. “Here you are, sunshine! Have at it,”

Elara hesitantly looked to Mycroft, who nodded encouragingly and she began to open the gift. After a few moments- and a little help from Greg, who cut the tight ribbon from the parcel- Elara opened the box to reveal a large book of piano sheet music.

A couple of weeks prior, Elara had woken from a horrid nightmare and had been unable to calm down, despite Mycroft’s best efforts. Greg had still been working the serial killer case, so Mycroft had ended up taking her down to his music room where, with Elara still held firmly to his chest, he sat at the bench and began to play a gentle, slow melody. After a moment or two, Elara had calmed down. Mycroft, unable to sleep himself, continued to play until well after 2:00 AM when Greg had arrived home and found them both. After confirming Elara was asleep, Greg helped Mycroft get her back to bed before they retired to theirs. The next morning, Elara had found herself back in the music room, looking at the piano with great interest. Mycroft found her a bit later and sat her on the bench next to her and began to show her basics of the instrument.

“This is a beginners book,” Mycroft’s voice broke her out of her reverie as he knelt down next to her to show her the book. Elara actually recognized a couple of the melodies that Mycroft had already taught her. “You and I can work through it together, yes?” Elara nodded happily and hugged him, signing her thanks.

“Right, my turn!” Greg said happily as he reached around for a smaller, more clumsily wrapped gift and handing it to Elara. Elara didn’t need help getting this one unwrapped. She unwrapped the box, opening it and discovering beautiful silver heart locket.

“Oh,” Elara whispered out.

Greg took the locket from the box and showed it to Elara. On the front of the heart were the letters E.C.H. Greg released the tiny clasp, opening the locket to reveal a tiny photo of Greg, Mycroft, and Elara. Mycroft remembered that day. Elara had gotten her sling off earlier that day. Greg had come home and scooped Elara up in greeting before Mycroft had approached them both, taking Elara from Greg and holding them both in his arms for several moments before they had gone to the kitchen to make dinner together. The photo had been snapped as Mycroft held Elara with one arm and had Greg wrapped in his other arm, placing a gentle kiss to Greg’s temple.

“How did-” Mycroft started.

“I had a bit of help from the inside,” Greg said with a smirk.

“Maddie,” Mycroft said, Greg smiled guiltily as he closed the locket and clasped it around Elara’s neck.

“Yeah, among others,” Greg said as he sheepishly handed Mycroft a bigger, even more clumsily wrapped package.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, taking the parcel and gently unwrapping it, revealing a brand new photo album. Mycroft opened it and found the album nearly half-full of photos of everyone. The first one was the very first photo that Greg had taken of Mycroft and Elara. The day that the Finnegans had left London, when Elara had been so ill and it had taken Greg to calm her down. She lay asleep with her head in Mycroft’s lap, Mycroft’s hand in her then-matted curls as he drifted off to sleep as well.

Mycroft flipped through the album, skimming through it for now. He saw the photo of Sherlock reading to her the first time he had met Elara, one of John and Elara doing PT, a photo of Elara on Sherlock’s shoulders from their tour of London they had taken her on, a photo that Mycroft himself had taken of Greg and Elara asleep in her bed, and even one that Sherlock- unbeknownst to Mycroft at the time- had taken of Mycroft and Elara seated at Mycroft’s piano, Elara seated on Mycroft’s lap with her hands on top of Mycroft’s as he taught her a simplified version of Ode to Joy.

“This is wonderful, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly as he looked up at Greg with misty eyes. “Thank you, love,” Greg smiled.

“Had some help from the others, of course, but you’re welcome, darlin',” Greg said, giving Mycroft a quick kiss.

“My turn, I believe. Elara, where did we put it?” Mycroft asked, kneeling next to the giggling child as he feigned a search for what turned out to be the largest package under the tree. Elara attempted to push the package, only to be gently stopped by Mycroft, who lifted the box and placed it in front of Greg.”

“Blimey, that’s quite the box,” Greg said with a grin as he began to unwrap the parcel. “Oh, wow, My,” Greg said, letting out a very manly giggle as he unwrapped a brand-new, top of the line stand mixer with every attachment known to man. Greg looked up at Mycroft with a brilliant smile.

“Oh, you didn’t,” Greg said. Mycroft smiled.

“Of course I did, Gregory. Elara helped,” Mycroft said, chuckling as Greg scrambled to engulf the both of them in to his arms.

Chapter Text

“I did not squeal,” Greg grumbled in to his pint as John chuckled across from him. Christmas was three weeks ago, and they had just returned from the Arsenal game and had gone to their favorite pub for a celebratory pint or two.

“Not what Mycroft said, mate,” John said, snickering in to his pint. Greg rolled his eyes. “He said you squealed like a schoolgirl when you unwrapped that stand mixer,”

“I did not squeal,” he scowled. “I laughed in celebration at my awesome new kitchen toy, but I did not squeal,” John laughed, holding up his hands.

“Alright, alright, I believe you, then,” John said with a massive grin that told Greg that he did not, in fact, believe him.

“Hey, you should have seen all the attachments that came with the thing,” Greg said. “You’d be excited if you got some new medical instruments for Christmas,”

“I did get medical instruments and a brand new medical bag for Christmas, but I didn’t squeal when I opened it,” John said with a pointed look. Greg rolled his eyes and playfully tossed a chip at John, who caught it without looking and popped it in to his mouth.

“Show off,” Greg said with a smirk, which John returned.

“So, everything going alright with Elara, then?” John asked. Greg nodded.

“Yeah. The Finnegans were convicted on all charges, they won’t be getting out any time soon. They’re in solitary, though I thought it would be a great idea for them to be out in gen-pop with their charges tattooed on their foreheads, but Mycroft struck me down,” Greg said bitterly.

“I actually think that’s a brilliant idea,” John said, sipping from his pint. “Though I’d like to get my hands on them first,”

“You’d have to get in line, mate,” Greg said as he ripped a chip in half.

“Does Elara know what’s happened?” John asked.

“Well, we explained to Elara right and wrong. We also gave a run down of the justice system and what happens when someone is accused and convicted of a crime. We explained to her that this is what happened with the Finnegans and that she would never see them again. She seemed to understand and take it alright, but I could tell that she still doesn’t fully believe all this,” Greg said with a vague wave of his arm. John nodded.

“I think she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak,” Greg continued, fiddling with his empty pint glass. “This is the most stable her life has ever been. She told us on Christmas morning that the Finnegans would take her away from us if they found out how that she was actually being treated like a human fucking child,” Greg growled. John winced slightly and Greg took a deep breath.

“I’m pretty sure part of her believes us completely,” Greg continued. “But I know for certain that there is a part of her that will always be looking over her shoulder, waiting for them to come back even though they’ve been locked up,”

“We’re all just going to have to make her believe it, then,” John said, finishing his pint. “Once everything settles down with the adoption and those lowlifes being put where they belong, she’ll slowly start to adapt and relax. We will all be more than willing and happy to show her how a proper family is meant to behave,” John smiled up at him. Greg let out a breath and smiled back.

“You’re right, as usual, John. I just worry,”

“Of course you will. She’s your daughter. You’ll always worry. That’s natural. You’re a good dad, Greg. You and Mycroft both,” Greg chuckled.

“Yeah, surprising that, innit?” Greg said.

“You? Not so much. Mycroft? Absolutely,” John said seriously. Greg laughed.

“I guess Mycroft doesn’t exactly scream ‘paternal’,” Greg said. “But, he is the eldest of three siblings. And he still looks after Sherlock in an almost fatherly way, so, not too surprising when you look at the whole picture,” John nodded thoughtfully.

Over the years, John had become one of his best mates. They met up every couple of weeks for a pint and chips at their favorite pub, sometimes to catch a football game, other times to vent out frustrations- usually centered around Sherlock, or both if the times aligned properly. John almost always knew how to approach nearly every issue. His military and medical training meant that he knew how to keep a level head and think quickly and efficiently in most situations. Before Mycroft, Greg knew that he could always rely on John to know what to do about a tough case or if he just needed someone to talk to. Despite having Mycroft now, Greg still enjoyed hanging out and talking certain things out with John. It had actually been John who had continuously egged Greg on about asking Mycroft out.

“Speaking of Mycroft,” John said, snapping Greg out of his mind, “is he still heading out for that diplomatic meeting thing in Germany in a few days?” Greg let out a breath and nodded.

“Yeah. He leaves on Thursday. We told Elara last night. Took us over an hour to settle her. I promised her that I’d still be with her and Mycroft would only be gone for a week, but she was still pretty upset,” Greg said, looking sadly at his hands.

“Listen, I got her those tickets to the London Zoo for Christmas. I’ve got a free day this Saturday, how about you and I take her out to the zoo? It would get her mind off things, we could see if ‘Lock wants to come,” John suggested. Greg smiled.

“Oh, that’d be brilliant, John! How about we make a day of it? We could all meet at ours, I’d have breakfast ready for everyone. We could have lunch at the zoo and then maybe catch a film at the cinema before heading out to dinner?” John grinned.

“Sounds brilliant! I’ll ask ‘Lock when I get home, see if he’s up for it,” Greg smiled, double glancing out the pub’s window as a sleek, black car pulled up in front. John chuckled.

“Guess that’s you, then,” John said. Greg rolled his eyes, fishing out his wallet and tossing a few bills on the table.

“Let me know when you get in, yeah?” Greg said, shrugging on his coat.

“Yeah. I’ll let you know what Sherlock says if His Nibs still isn’t in a mood tonight. Mrs. Hudson accidentally ruined an experiment of his because he neglected to tell her- and me, for that matter- that there were thumbs soaking in the tub, so she got startled and dropped her cleaning soaps in to the water,” Greg snorted.

“You have fun with that, mate,” John smiled, shaking his head.

“Ta, mate,”

“Ta, John,” Greg said as he exited the pub, getting in to the back seat of the black car where he was immediately tackled by Elara. “Hey, sunshine! You guys come all this way to pick me up?” Greg glanced up at Mycroft, but his smile quickly dissolved in to concern when he saw the look on Mycroft’s face.

“My? What is it? What’s wrong?” Greg said. Mycroft sighed.

“The summit got moved up,” he said in a clipped tone. Greg pursed his lips.

“When?”

“My flight leaves at 6:00 AM tomorrow morning,” Mycroft said, Elara sniffed. Greg squeezed her gently.

“I don’t suppose this means your summit will be ending early now?” Mycroft shook his head.

“Unfortunately not, Gregory,” Mycroft said with a strained smile. “If you aren’t opposed to it, I’d like to take you both out to dinner before we go home?”

“Yeah. Sounds good,”

Dinner was a solemn affair. Greg had to practically beg Elara to eat, promising ice cream, cake, brownies, biscuits, or whatever sweet thing she could want if she ate, though it didn’t work all that well. Mycroft finally got up and knelt in front of the child, gently taking her hands in his.

“Elara, darling, have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” Mycroft asked, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from her face. Elara shook her head. “You trust me, yes?” Elara immediately nodded.

“I will be back in a week and a half. Just three days more than I was originally meant to be gone. You’ll have Gregory. And I’m sure your Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John will be by as well,” Mycroft said.

“Yes, actually,” Greg said. “Remember the present your Uncle John got you for Christmas?” Elara nodded after a second.

“Well, your Uncle John is free on Saturday and we thought we would make a day of it. Take you to the zoo, have lunch there, and then maybe we catch a movie at the cinema before we get some dinner. How’s that sound, sunshine?” Greg said with a hopeful smile. Elara signed something. Greg had gotten worlds better at his sign language, but he still had a ways to go. “Yeah, I’m gonna need a translation on that one, My,” Greg said sheepishly, internally celebrating when Elara bit her lip trying not to giggle.

“She was asking if they had penguins,” Mycroft said with a smile.

“Oh! Yeah, they’ve got penguins! You know what else they’ve got?” Greg asked her. Elara shook her head. “They’ve got a honeybee exhibit,” Elara’s eyes widened and she held up her stuffed bee that Sherlock had gotten for her and went everywhere with her. Greg smiled.

“Oh, yes. Just like your bee, sunshine,” Elara smiled faintly.

“See? You’ll have a wonderful time. And I will be back before you know it, little one, I promise,” Mycroft said, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before returning to his seat.

“And you’ll call us too, right?” Greg asked.

“Of course. I should be able to call every night around bedtime. Berlin is only an hour ahead of London time,” Elara relaxed a bit at this. “Plus, I know a nice little sweet shop that makes the best chocolate sweets. I promise to bring you some back, but you must finish all your meals. Deal?” Mycroft asked, holding out his pinky finger. Elara smiled, linking his pinky with her own.

“Deal,”

Chapter Text

The Friday evening after Mycroft had left had approached more quickly than Greg had thought it would. As promised, Mycroft called every evening at 7:45 PM London time to talk to Elara and wish her goodnight, even reading to her one night over the phone. Greg would talk with Mycroft for a while after Elara had been put to bed, and tonight was no different.

“You sure you can’t just skip out tomorrow?” Greg asked Mycroft as he stretched out on their bed. “It’s only around two hours away by plane. You could call out sick and surprise our girl at the zoo tomorrow,” Mycroft chuckled on the other end of the phone.

“I’m going to tell Anthea you said that when she calls me when I don’t show up tomorrow,” Mycroft said. Greg choked on his oxygen and quickly sat up on the bed, coughing.

“Oh, God, no,” Greg said, attempting to catch his breath. “Dear God, no. Do not do that. Do your meeting. Wear your suits that you think are super posh but I think are sexy-”

“You think my suits are sexy?” Mycroft asked in a playful tone. Greg’s cheeks heated up slightly and he cleared his throat.

“’Course I do,” Greg mumbled out. “Lord knows I can hardly stand it when you lose the jacket and roll up your sleeves,”

“I’ll definitely have to keep that in mind for when I return,” Mycroft said in a tone that made Greg shudder slightly. “You ought to be heading to bed, love,”

“And why’s that?” Greg said, settling back down on the bed and letting his eyes slip close.

“Because John is going to be at the house at 8:00 AM for breakfast and it’s already almost 10:00 PM and I know for certain that you are already laying down in our bed with your eyes closed,”

“Mm, no m’not,” Greg mumbled. Mycroft chuckled.

“Goodnight, Gregory. I love you. Be sure to take photos tomorrow,”

“’Course I will. Love you too, My,” Greg said. Mycroft ended the call and Greg soon dropped off to sleep.

“Alright. Got your gloves?” John asked the next morning after breakfast had been cleaned up. Elara nodded and held up her gloved fingers.

“The hat Nanny Hudson made you?” Elara responded to John by placing the bright yellow hat on her head.

“Good girl. Shoes tied up?” Elara lifted her feet a few times in response, giggling.

“Got your trip buddy?” Elara clutched her stuffed bee tightly to her chest.

“Alright, troops. Let’s head out,” John said, scooping up a giggling Elara in one hand and his backpack in the other, an amused Greg following behind.

They all piled in to one of Mycroft’s cars and they headed off to the zoo. Sherlock had been unable to attend, as he had offered to help D.I. Dimmock with a particularly tricky case that Sherlock had been very close to cracking. Sherlock said he would be unable to attend the zoo and movie, but that he would be finished with the case and paperwork in time for dinner. The next several hours were spent going from exhibit to exhibit, reading the information plaques and letting Elara explore the different activities.

“Does she look a bit pale to you?” Greg asked John worriedly a little bit after lunch as Elara watched a zookeeper feed the penguins.

“Yeah, I was going to ask you about that,” John said back. They both winced as Elara started coughing. “How has she been the last few days?”

“I’ve noticed no difference, really. She’s had a bit less of an appetite and been sleeping in a bit more, but I thought it was just because Mycroft has been gone,” Greg said as Elara approached them. “Hey, sunshine. Are you feeling alright?” Elara bit her lip.

“It’s alright, darling. You won’t be in any trouble, we just want to make sure you’re alright,” John said. Elara sighed a bit.

“Throat hurts,” she rasped out in a broken voice. Greg winced. Ungloving his hand, John reached out and felt her temperature with the back of his hand.

“Little bit warm there, darling,” John said. “How about we head back to Baker Street? Nanny Hudson makes the best tea for sore throats and I’ve got some medicine that will help you feel better,” Elara signed something to Greg.

“Well, how about Uncle John takes you to the loo and I’ll get us all some ice cream. That’ll help your throat until we can get some of Nanny Hudson’s magic tea,” Elara smiled as John took her hand and led her to the loo as Greg went to find an ice cream vendor. John led Elara to the women’s loo.

“Alright, darling. I’ll be right out here. Make sure you wash your hands afterwards. You want me to hold on to Mr. Bee for you?” John took the stuffed bee from Elara as she went in to the loo. John felt he was being watched and saw a woman smiling at him.

“Is she yours?” John smiled back at her query.

“She’s my niece. She’s never been to the London Zoo, so I got her tickets for Christmas and we made a day out of it today,” John said. The woman smiled and they chatted for a few moments before a boy a few years older than Elara exited the men’s loo.

“Well, I hope she had a wonderful time. Lovely to talk to you,” John exchanged goodbyes with the woman and turned to see Elara exit the women’s loo.

John was still not able to shake the feeling of being watched that had been nagging him since they had entered the zoo this morning. Now, however, that feeling had increased tenfold since they had parted from Greg and he wanted nothing more but than to get Elara and Greg back to the car.

“All washed up?” John asked as he handed the bee back to Elara, who nodded. “Good girl. Now, let’s find Greg and-”

John Watson was not a stupid man. John had seen action, even before he had met Sherlock. John knew when he was being watched. He knew the feeling of eyes on him. He had always relished the feeling of anticipation that came with being watched, the shudders that would run up and down his spine, the way the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he zeroed in on his supposed stalker, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he geared up for a fight. Captain John Watson would have eagerly sought out his aggressor and put them down with a practiced ease. But, now, in this moment, he was not Captain John Watson. He was Uncle John. And Uncle John now had a gun jammed directly in to his lower spine.

“Give me the girl and no one gets hurt,” a gruff voice growled in his ear. John had quickly pulled Elara to him and held her tightly against his front.

“Let’s not do this here,” John said in a cool voice as he lifted Elara in to his arms and held her protectively in his arms, ensuring her face was hidden as he finally turned to face his attacker. Living with Sherlock had rubbed off on John in more ways than one as he eyed the man up and down once before speaking.

“We both know that the weapon is just for show. This is a snatch and grab. Low key and with the least amount of witnesses possible. If you shoot me right here, right now, you’re going to cause mass panic. Maybe you could get her to the exit without anyone noticing. Maybe you, a man with tattoos signifying ties to white supremacy gangs and hinting at former jail time served, wouldn’t be noticed carrying a screaming young girl away from the scene. But this place is full of mothers and children, mothers who will act on instinct if they even think a child, theirs or not, is being mishandled or abducted. Either way, you would make quite the scene, which is the opposite of what you want and, likely, were told to do. So, if you want to take this child, then you are going to have to take me too,” John said.

“The girl. Now!” The man barked out, pointing the gun, held closely to his side in an attempt for it not to be seen, at John. John stood his ground.

“We both know you need this child alive and unharmed, so you are not going to take the shot for risk of hitting the child. You either take me too, or you cause a scene. There are no other options. Just know that, if you cause a scene, you are going to get hurt,” John promised, rolling his shoulders as Captain Watson made his appearance. The man growled, thinking for a moment before grabbing John roughly by the arm, shoving the gun deep in to John’s side as he pulled John close.

“One wrong move,” the man warned. John felt Elara’s tears soak in to his shirt. He reached a hand up and carded his hand through her hair as he discreetly reached in to his pocket for his mobile with the other hand, texting the group chat he was a part of with Mycroft, Sherlock, and Greg.

“It’s alright, darling,” John murmured as he sent the text. “I will keep you safe, I promise,”

TO: The Four Musketeers

Vatican Cameos. - JW

Chapter Text

Greg was officially fucking panicking. John had taken Elara to the loo twenty-four minutes ago. John had sent the code for danger seventeen minutes ago. And now he was missing with Elara and unresponsive to Greg’s calls and texts. His mobile buzzed in his hand as he struggled to not hyperventilate: Sherlock Holmes.

“S-Sherlock,” Greg choked out.

“I’m on my way to the zoo. Eight minutes. Explain to me what has happened and leave nothing out,” Sherlock said in a controlled, but panic-laced voice. Greg stuttered out what had happened before Sherlock ended the call and appeared before him.

“Greg!” Sherlock clasped Greg by the biceps and shook him slightly. “Breathe. I cannot try to find Elara and John if I am also tending to you, so I need you to pull yourself together and breathe,” Greg gasped out a breath as Sherlock’s mobile began to ring. He answered it, but Greg was too far gone to try and understand what was being said.

“Gregory!”

“My- Myc- Mycroft?” Greg stuttered out, seeing Sherlock holding his mobile out on speaker to Greg, who had somehow found himself kneeling on the ground.

“Breathe, Gregory. I need you to breathe, love. We will find Elara and John, but you must breathe,” Greg let out a sob, only then realizing that he was crying and took in a shuddery breath. “That’s it, Gregory. Just breathe. Anthea and I are on the first flight back to London. It leaves in twenty and we are on our way to the airport now. You and Sherlock need to get a head start on this. A car will take you and Sherlock to my office, where you will be met with my team of people who will be assisting us,” Sherlock heaved Greg to his feet and quickly walked them to the zoo entrance, where a car was waiting for them.

“Moments before John sent that message, Anthea and I were informed of a prison break from Portlaoise Prison, which happened yesterday, but was covered up. It appears as though the Finnegans still have certain people in their pockets that still have some pull,” Greg buried his head in his hands and let out a shuddery breath.

“We will find them, Greg,” Sherlock said, placing a hand on Greg’s shoulder. “We will find them, I promise,”

“We have just pulled up to the airport. This is where I must leave you both. We will be back as quickly as we possibly can. I love you, Gregory. Be careful, the both of you,” Mycroft hung up before either of them could respond. Greg hardly remembered the drive to Mycroft’s office, which was swarming with agents.

“D.C.I. Lestrade, Mr. Holmes, My name is Agent David Graves. I’ll be heading this until Mr. Holmes Sr. returns,” said a man who greeted them as they exited the vehicle.

“Sherlock, please,” Sherlock said.

“Greg,” Greg managed to spit out.

“We’ve traced Dr. Watson’s mobile. It goes out of the zoo, begins leaving Regent’s Park, and then stays in one place. Agents have recovered his shattered mobile in Marylebone. The abductor must have made him ditch it,” Agent Graves stated.

Greg’s stomach churned and he took a steadying breath, regretting the lunch that was likely going to make a reappearance soon. A hand on his shoulder startled him so badly that he yelped, spinning around and facing Maddie, who gently caught his hand in hers before he could accidentally strike her. She easily pulled him from his seat and led him to a quieter room, where she thrust a rubbish bin in front of him. Greg then realized that he was, indeed, going to sick up and promptly did so, several times. Maddie rubbed his back and murmured to him as he heaved for several minutes. When he was finally finished, Maddie took the bin from his hands, setting it outside the room for someone else to take care of, and handed Greg a bottle of water that she had produced, seemingly to Greg, from nowhere.

“Rinse up, love,” she said. Greg uncapped the water with shaking hands and drank half of it in one go. “Are you more composed now?” Greg wiped the clammy sweat from his brow and gave her a shaky nod.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely before clearing his throat. “Sorry, Maddie. I’ve seen some of the most grizzly murders and never lost my lunch,” Maddie smiled sadly at him.

“Bit different when it’s your own child at risk, I think,” Greg shuddered at her words, accepting her hand and standing. “Drink the rest of that water, take some deep breaths, and then get back in there. It’s going to take all of us to get Dr. Watson and Elara back safely in a timely fashion. Mycroft and Anthea have boarded their flight back and will touch back down in London in less than two hours. I’m assisting the lead in this investigation, so I’ll be around. Call if you need me,” Maddie said, pulling Greg in to a tight hug for several moments before cupping his cheek and leaving him to collect himself.

Chapter Text

Mycroft was officially fucking panicking. He and Anthea had been trading minute sarcastic glances whilst some politician from Turkey was garbling on when Anthea received a message detailing the prison break of the Finnegans the day before. Anthea silently slid her mobile across the table and watched as Mycroft went completely rigid. Moments later, Mycroft’s own mobile went off and Anthea knew it was bad as she saw the blood drain completely from Mycroft’s face. Without a word, he nodded to Anthea, stood up, and they both walked out of the room without a word to anyone.

Mycroft held it together as he called John, who would not answer his mobile. Mycroft’s hands began to shake slightly when he called Greg, who would also not answer. Mycroft’s panic eased ever so slightly when he rang Sherlock, who picked up on the second ring.

“Sherlock-”

“I’ve made it to the zoo. I’m here with Greg. John and Elara are nowhere to be found. Greg is having a panic attack,” Sherlock said in a clipped tone that Mycroft knew was Sherlock’s best attempt at staying off his own panic.

“Put me on speaker, please,” Mycroft said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

He heard when Sherlock switched to speaker as Greg’s short, panicked gasps were now very audible. Unfortunately, Mycroft knew that Greg was too far gone to attempt to be gentle with him. Time was of the utter essence and Mycroft needed Greg to come back to himself quickly. Regretting his deductions, Mycroft knew he was going to have to be harsh and to the point with Greg.

“Gregory!”

“My- Myc- Mycroft?”

“Breathe, Gregory. I need you to breathe, love. We will find Elara and John, but you must breathe,” Mycroft let out an inaudible, but shuddery breath as Greg let out a sob. “That’s it, Gregory. Just breathe. Anthea and I are on the first flight back to London. It leaves in twenty and we are on our way to the airport now. You and Sherlock need to get a head start on this. A car will take you and Sherlock to my office, where you will be met with my team of people who will be assisting us,” Mycroft quickly wiped away a tear of panic that escaped him. Anthea grabbed his hand in hers, squeezing tightly. He shot her a grateful smile, squeezing her hand back.

“Moments before John sent that message, Anthea and I were informed of a prison break from Portlaoise Prison, which happened yesterday, but was covered up. It appears as though the Finnegans still have certain people in their pockets that still have some pull,”

“We will find them, Greg,” Mycroft heard Sherlock say. “We will find them, I promise,” Anthea tapped Mycroft on the hand, nodding to the airport that they were quickly approaching. Mycroft took a steadying breath.

“We have just pulled up to the airport. This is where I must leave you both. We will be back as quickly as we possibly can. I love you, Gregory. Be careful, the both of you,”

Mycroft quickly hung up, scrambling to exit the vehicle with Anthea hot on his heels. His security clearance combined with a private jet and the most fierce expression he had ever plastered on his face got them past security with no issues. They boarded the jet and were in the air within fifteen minutes.

“Status report,” Mycroft said hoarsely in a shaking voice.

“Portlaoise Prison covered up a prison break yesterday that the Finnegans were involved in. The prison authorities who allowed the situation are being taken in to our custody once our agents reach Ireland. A massive manhunt is now underway for the Finnegans, but no sightings have yet been reported. Greg, John, and Elara were leaving the London Zoo when John took Elara to the loo whilst Greg bought them all ice cream. John and Elara were picked up on CCTV thirteen minutes after parting ways with Greg, leaving the zoo with an unknown man,” she spun her laptop around and showed Mycroft a camera playback.

John was holding Elara protectively in his arms. The child’s face was hidden in John’s shoulder as John carded his hand through Elara’s hair. John’s posture was rigid, shoulders rolled, and eyes darting everywhere, trying to see a safe way out of the situation even though he knew there wasn’t one. There was an unknown man with them. He was holding John’s right bicep and had his right hand pressed in to John’s side, a gun, no doubt, in his hand, the only thing keeping John from retaliating against the man threatening him and Elara. The man with the gun hurried the both of them out of the zoo and in to a waiting car, where the footage cut out.

“Unfortunately, that’s where they disappear, they took roads that had no CCTV coverage and the team has, thus far, been unable to locate the vehicle again. They made John toss his mobile eventually. Their last known location, and where they found John’s shattered mobile, was Marylebone,”

All the air in Mycroft’s lungs left in one big rush as he bent forward in his chair, clutching the armrests so hard that his knuckles were white. Mycroft didn’t know how long he had been in that position, but he was suddenly brought back to slight awareness by something frigidly cold and slightly wet being placed on the back of his neck.

“Sir, focus on me. Five things you can see,” Anthea’s voice sounded far away. “Mycroft!” Mycroft flinched. “Open your eyes. Five things you can see,” were Mycroft’s eyes shut? Tentatively, he opened them.

“Y-you,” he stuttered out to Anthea, who was regarding him sharply. “Plane seat. Beverage cart. Your laptop. My suit jacket,” Anthea smiled and nodded.

“Good. Now four things you can feel,”

“Your hand,” Mycroft said, his voice slightly more steady. “The armrest. My shirt. The ice cube you are holding to the back of my neck,”

“Three things you can hear?”

“The plane, your voice, and the rattling of the beverage cart,” Mycroft said more quickly. Anthea’s smile broadened ever so slightly.

“Two things you can smell,”

“Your perfume and my cologne,”

“And one thing you can taste?” Mycroft winced.

“Blood. I do believe I bit my lip during my episode,” Mycroft said, his cheeks pinking slightly. Anthea smiled sadly and removed the ice from his neck.

“None of that, now,” Anthea said, handing him a napkin to wipe the back of his neck and then a bottle of water to rinse his mouth. “I’m likely to fall apart soon as well. I’ll hold it to you to get me back in my right mind when the time comes,”

Mycroft stood on somewhat shaky legs, taking a moment to steady himself before approaching Anthea and, after looking to her for permission, wrapping his arms around her. She reciprocated immediately. They stood there for several minutes, seeking comfort in each other in the hopes that they would be able to recover John and Elara soon and unscathed. Anthea’s laptop began pinging, startling them both. Mycroft released Anthea, puzzled at the noise, as Anthea’s laptop had never made that noise before.

“We’re going to find them, Mycroft,” she said, her eyes quickly taking in the screen.

“I know. We mustn’t lose hope,”

“No, I mean we’re going to find them, because I know exactly where they are,” Anthea said, turning her laptop around to show a location beacon, pinging as it moved across a map.

Chapter Text

John was officially fucking panicking. He and Elara had been thrust in to an unmarked vehicle, where he was given a search through his pockets and backpack. They found his mobile and promptly tossed it out the window. John only got a quick glance, but he was fairly certain they were currently in Marylebone- the windows were far too tinted for him to see out them without making it obvious what he was doing to their captors. They- the two men in the back with them- were rustling through his backpack, finding his emergency med kit.

“You got a damn ambulance in this thing?” The man who had initially abducted them- whom John had christened Dickhead- said as he tossed some of the contents to his accomplice- whom John was mentally referring to Anderson Jr. for all the brainpower the man had. John said nothing, tightening his grip on Elara ever so slightly. Dickhead delivered a sharp kick to John’s shin. John didn’t react at all.

“I asked you a question,” Dickhead said, delivering another hard kick to John’s leg.

“I like to be prepared,” John replied in a clipped tone. Anderson Jr. scoffed.

“Please. I know who you are,” he said, nudging Dickhead as he nodded in John’s direction. “This is Dr. John Watson. He runs alongside that bloody detective brother of Holmes’,”

“So, you’re familiar with Sherlock?” John asked. Dickhead kicked him again.

“We’re asking the questions here. Not you,” Dickhead snarled. Elara whimpered quietly, tightening her grip on John. John began to card through her hair once more.

“Listen here, the both of you,” John said to the both of them in his low toned I-am-not-bollocking-around-Sherlock-do-as-I-say-or-else voice. “If you so much as harm a hair on this child’s head, you will both regret every life decision that has led you to this point,” Dickhead scoffed.

“Oh, please. You’re a doctor. Why would we be afraid of you?” John grinned grimly.

“That’s where you’re missing a valuable piece of information,” John said grinning a grin that promised pain. “I’m an Army Doctor, which means that I can break every bone in your bodies while naming them,” Anderson Jr. paled slightly while Dickhead tried- and failed- to not look bothered by John’s words. Dickhead scoffed.

“We’ll see how you fair with the boss. He enjoys putting the mouthy ones down,” Dickhead said. John forced out a single chuckle.

“Oh, we shall see, indeed,” John said. He saw the fist fly towards his face, but could do nothing to stop it. All he could do was try to stop his head from smacking in to Elara’s from the force of the blow. Elara let out a small yelp, followed by a sob.

“Easy, darling. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” John murmured to her. Elara, her head still buried in John’s shoulder, shook her head, her entire person shaking. John snapped his head up to Dickhead.

“Try that again while I’m holding her,” John said in a low voice, “and we won’t make it back to your boss,” Dickhead smirked.

“You talk a big game for someone who looks like their feet don’t touch the floor when they sit in a chair,” Dickhead said, earning a chuckle out of Anderson Jr. John smirked a deadly smirk once more.

“You both don’t seem to understand, so I’ll be sure to use small, little words so that you can follow along: The only reason you two were able to take me without a fight is because of the child in my arms. Believe me, if she had not been present, you wouldn’t have left the loo area of the zoo,” John spat out. Dickhead glared at him.

“We’ll see. When we get to the docks, you can put your money where your mouth is,” John scoffed once.

“I look forward to it,”

Chapter Text

Sherlock was officially fucking panicking. But, he did not outwardly show it. His exterior showed calm, cool, and collected as he poured over CCTV footage. Inside, however, his alarms were blaring. JOHN! ELARA! JOHN! ELARA!

“Sherlock?” Sherlock startled slightly, cursing himself for allowing his self-awareness to slip. He looked up at Greg, who was looking at him concerned. “You alright?”

“Of course I am, Graham,” Sherlock said, continuing to look through the CCTV footage. “Elara is with John. She is perfectly safe with the most trusted and best person to have in this situation,” Sherlock said, his eyes frantically assessing the screen.

He startled again at a warm hand on his shoulder that gently pulled Sherlock’s upper torso against Greg’s. Sherlock let out a quiet, shuddery breath. Greg wrapped one arm around Sherlock’s chest, holding a firm pressure against his core, and placed his other hand on Sherlock’s head, gently rubbing his fingertips along Sherlock’s scalp. Greg heard the quietest of sniffs.

“I know, ‘Lock. I know,” Greg stood there, holding Sherlock against him for several minutes before he felt the younger man relax ever so slightly. Greg knew he could let go then, so he did. Sherlock quickly wiped his eyes while Greg pretended not to notice. After a deep breath, Sherlock looked up to Greg.

“That- um. What just- What you did-,” Sherlock stuttered out. “Thank you,” Greg smiled softly.

“You’re welcome,” Greg said, taking a seat next to Sherlock as they turned back towards the monitors.

“You’re absolutely right, y’know?” Greg said after several minutes.

“I almost always am, but what particular instance are you referring to currently?” Greg snorted at Sherlock’s comment.

“John Watson is the best person for Elara to have in this scenario. He’s fiercely protective, loyal to boot, and bloody useful in a fight if it came down to it. John will know how best to keep Elara safe until either he can find a safe way out for them, or until we get to them,” Sherlock nodded.

“I know. The reasons you have listed are precisely why I have yet to lose hope,” Sherlock said. “I trust John with my life. Therefor, I trust him with Elara’s,” the doors to Mycroft’s office suddenly burst open, revealing a dishevelled Mycroft and Anthea. Greg jumped up to his seat and slammed in to Mycroft’s arms, sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” Greg sobbed out. “I’m so sorry, Mycroft. I’m sorry,” Mycroft wrapped his arms tightly around Greg.

“Gregory, you have nothing to apologize for,” Mycroft said, running his hand through Greg’s silver locks. “This was a planned operation. They’ve been tailing us for at least three weeks now,” Greg pulled away from Mycroft, his eyes red and swollen.

“What do you mean?” Greg asked. Mycroft led Greg to the sofa in his office, sitting him down and pulling out a laptop.

“We’ve managed to identify the man who abducted Elara and John,” Mycroft said, pulling up the profile of the man Greg and Sherlock had seen on the CCTV of John and Elara’s abduction.

“Michael Shaffer,” Anthea said. “He’s a known felon. He’s done time for assault, armed robbery, and hate crimes. He is a known white supremacist and also has known gang affiliations,”

“We sent a team to his home. They found photos,” Mycroft said in an icy tone as he tossed a stack of photos on to the table.

There were photos of Greg- mainly at crime scenes but a couple of them were out and about with Mycroft and even Sherlock- Mycroft- a scant few, but still there- and Elara- mainly with Greg and Mycroft, though a few had Sherlock and one of John. The most recent photo was the three of them at a restaurant for dinner the night before Mycroft left for Berlin. Greg felt physically sick again and had to take several deep breaths to prevent himself from sicking up once more.

“How-” Greg started, stopping when his voice cracked.

“We have no idea how Shaffer managed to get these photos with the security on all of you,” Anthea said, a fire in her eyes. “But you can all be assured that security will be replaced and amped up after all this,” Greg let out a breath.

“So, we know who he is,” Sherlock said. “He was hired by the Finnegans to get Elara back, but wasn’t counting on John,”

“We also know where they are and I have a good idea as to where they are headed,” Mycroft said. Greg and Sherlock both jumped out of their seats at this.

“How?” Sherlock demanded.

“Actually, it was my doing,” Anthea said with a slightly guilty expression. Greg furrowed his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” Greg asked her.

“The locket you had me help you find for Elara for Christmas?” Anthea said. Greg nodded. “Well, I had a tracker installed within the locket, placed just behind the photograph of you three. It was a prototype, I wasn’t sure it would work, but it does work. We began pinging their supposed location about an hour ago when I was able to connect to the tracker within the locket,” Greg stared at her in awe and adoration.

“If I wasn’t in a relationship and didn’t think you’d shatter my radius, I’d kiss you, Anth,” Greg said. Anthea smirked.

“Well, what the Hell are we waiting for, then?” Sherlock said, donning his coat and scarf. “Let’s go and get our family back,”

Chapter Text

John felt the dread fill him a little more as they pulled up to a port. They had driven for just less than two hours, so John wagered a good guess that they were at the docks in Harwich.

“Out. Now,” Dickhead said, delivering another sharp kick to John’s leg. Anderson Jr. attempted to grab Elara- who immediately shrieked and clung tighter to John at the contact- by the arm, but was quickly elbowed in the gut and kicked away by John.

“Don’t touch her!” John snarled, backing away slightly with Elara still tightly held in his arms, sobbing.

“Enough!” A loud voice came from the boat they had parked in front of. John glanced up and saw a man. “Shaffer, who the Hell is this? You were told to just get the girl,” Elara stiffened at the sound of the man’s voice and began shaking even more violently.

“Couldn’t get her away from him, sir,” Dickhead- Shaffer, John knew now- said. “Not without causing a scene. We wanted a clean nab-”

“We also just wanted the girl. Not another body to be saddled with,” Cathal Finnegan growled. “Just get them on board. We don’t have time for this. We’ll deal with him later,” John bit back a hiss as Dickhead grasped his left arm tightly, dragging them quickly towards the boat. Once aboard, Cathal eyed John up and down.

“Finnegan,” John said coolly. Cathal quirked an eyebrow up.

“So, you know who I am,” Cathal stated.

“I also know that you and your harpy of a wife- wherever she is- are supposed to be rotting in prison,” John spat out. Cathal smirked.

“Not if you know who to pay off, and who to blackmail,” Cathal sneered. “Mallory is already at our meeting point, waiting for me to return with our daughter, not that you’ll be making that trip. We’re claiming back what is ours, and we won’t be making the same mistake we made with entrusting her to Holmes,”

“Why do you even want her back?” John said. “It’s obvious that neither of you ever wanted her. You both made that very clear with the slave labor, the beatings, and the starvation. She is much better off far from your reach,” Cathal chuckled.

“Lippy one, aren’t you?” Dickhead rolled his eyes.

“Got some sort of a complex, this one,” he said. “He and I have unfinished business from the car ride,” Cathal grinned.

“Now then, Dr. Watson,” Cathal said. “Let me see my daughter,” John growled, taking a step back, his grip on Elara tightening.

“Not as long as I draw breath,” John said. “This child was entrusted to me, and I will go down fighting before I see any harm come to her,”

“Well, then,” Cathal said as he shed his outer coat. “That can be arranged,” knowing that there was now no getting out of a fight, John turned and placed Elara down on the deck.

“I want you to stay behind me against this wall the whole time,” he said quietly. “Cover your eyes. Don’t watch, darling. I love you,” he said.

John placed a kiss on her head as she curled in to a ball, her back against the wall John had placed her in front of. John stood and turned to face Cathal, squaring his shoulders as Cathal, Dickhead, and Anderson Jr. all flanked him.

“Three against one,” John stated. “Hardly seems fair. But, you’re a criminal. A murderer. A predator. A child abuser. So, nothing you do will be fair,”

Cathal smirked wickedly. John quickly reacted as Anderson Jr. suddenly came at him. John made quick work of him, downing the man in four punches after swiftly breaking the man’s arm. He turned to Cathal and Dickhead, the latter of whom paled slightly. Cathal growled, nodding to Dickhead, and they quickly advanced on John. John held his own for several minutes, giving as good as he got. He had finally dropped Dickhead when he turned to Cathal- who had played dirty and jabbed John with a knife straight to the gut right as John turned towards him.

John had been stabbed- if you could actually call it that- before, unfortunately, during a case with Sherlock, though it was in the upper arm and with a much smaller box knife and the ensuing tetanus shot had hurt more than the actual stabbing. It had initially felt as though he had been punched in the arm, not realizing exactly what had happened until he saw the blood on the sleeve of his favorite jumper when he had taken his coat off to see why his arm had still been smarting so sharply. Now was no different, except, this time, he saw the knife coated in his own blood as it slid out of him with a sickening sound. Gasping, John fell to his knees. Cathal kicked him in the chest and John fell to the deck of the ship.

“Goodbye, Dr. Watson,” Cathal said, pulling a gun from his waistband and pointing it at John.

“NO!” Elara was suddenly in front of John, spreading her arms protectively in an attempt to shield John from any further harm.

“E-Elara- N-no,” John gasped out, trying to hold pressure to the wound and reach for the child, failing and collapsing back on to the deck with a pained gasp. Elara ignored him, glaring at her birth father.

“Oh, are we brave now, girl?” Cathal sneered at her. Elara flinched slightly at the word ‘girl’, but continued to hold her ground. “We’ll have to fix that,” Cathal delivered a brutal punch to Elara’s face, sending her tumbling to the deck next to John.

“Elara,” Cathal sneered, delivering a kick to her side before kneeling down beside her, gripping her hair in his hand. “Is that what you’re calling yourself now, girl?” Elara chose that moment to spit a mouthful of blood directly in to Cathal’s face. Cathal let out an enraged yell, moving to strike Elara again, only to be stopped by John, who had dragged himself along the deck and tripped the man, causing him to fall to the deck.

“Run,” John panted. “Leave me, Elara. Run- NO!” Dickhead had suddenly come from nowhere, grasping Elara by the hair and arm, swinging her away from John. Elara shrieked as she scrambled to get away from the man and John heard a sickening pop as Elara’s shoulder was wrenched from its socket. Elara let out a scream.

“Shut up,” Dickhead snarled, slapping the child before adjusting his hold on her to place his hand over her mouth. Elara squirmed in his hold and bit down on his hand, hard. Dickhead yelled, throwing her to the deck.

“ENOUGH!” Cathal screamed in rage, raising the gun and pointing it at Elara. “Stay down and shut the fuck up!” He screamed at her.

“We’ve been gone less than three months, you little bint. And that’s all it’s apparently taken for you to lose your respect and your place. I’ll not have it! You will learn your fucking place, girl, if it’s the last thing I do,” Cathal yelled, raising the gun to hit Elara with it. Elara winced, bracing for the impact.

“NO!”

Cathal was suddenly tackled from behind as Greg came out of nowhere, closely followed by Anthea, Sherlock, and Mycroft. Sherlock quickly dropped to his knees by John, who was struggling to remain conscious, ripping off his scarf and holding firm pressure to the stab wound as Anthea murmured hurriedly in to her Blackberry to emergency services. Anderson Jr. had regained consciousness and joined Dickhead, who had recovered from his bite wound, in ganging up on Mycroft. Mycroft smiled a deadly smirk, holding his umbrella out in front of him. Dickhead laughed, but abruptly stopped when the umbrella lost the umbrella part, revealing a blade that quickly dispatched Anderson Jr. Dickhead quickly backed off, only to be knocked out by Anthea.

Mycroft turned to seek out Elara, who was attempting to pick herself up from off the deck with one working arm. He watched as Greg and Cathal, still struggling with each other, began to edge closer to Elara, despite the best efforts of Greg, who was desperately fighting to keep Finnegan away from her. He began to quickly make his way towards his daughter when Greg was thrown to the deck, hard, by Cathal, who stood and raised his gun, pointed it at Mycroft, and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Text

John Watson hurt. There was a sharp pain in his gut every time he breathed, and the rest of him felt as though he’d been used as a piñata at a small child’s birthday party. He let out a small, quick groan, squeezing his eyes a bit.

“John?” A familiar voice came from beside him. He suddenly became aware of a hand holding his. He squeezed it lightly. “John, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me, please, love,” John could never deny that voice, especially when it pleaded with him so nicely. John slowly blinked his eyes open.

“John,” Sherlock’s voice broke slightly as he swept his hand through John’s sandy, greying hair.

“Hey, ‘Lock,” John said in a hoarse voice. Sherlock helped him sip water for a moment.

“Elara,” John said once he had finished with the water. “Where’s Elara? What happened?”

“Relax, love. Please,” Sherlock said, grasping John’s hand once more. “You and Elara were both recovered and brought to hospital. You’ve been out for two days now,”

“What happened?” John asked again. Sherlock detailed how he and Anthea had immediately administered first aid to John as Greg and Mycroft fought off all three of John and Elara’s abductors.

“Mycroft was headed towards Elara when Finnegan got the upper hand on Greg and pulled a gun on Mycroft. He pulled the trigger before Mycroft could react,” John let out a shuddery breath at Sherlock’s words.

“Mycroft was not shot,” Sherlock said in an odd, quiet voice. John furrowed his eyebrows. Sherlock swallowed hard before continuing. “Greg saw what was about to happen. He jumped in front of the bullet meant for my brother,” John felt the blood in his body turn to ice.

“Greg was shot in the upper right chest. Mycroft returned the favor to Cathal Finnegan by removing the blade in his umbrella and shooting him in the head. Anthea and Mycroft preformed emergency medical care on Greg before an air ambulance took Greg and you to hospital and a standard ground ambulance took Elara,” Sherlock told John.

“Greg,” John said, swallowing thickly. “Greg- Is it- Is Greg-?”

“Greg survived the shooting,” Sherlock told him. “The bullet nicked the top of his lung, but it did more damage to his shoulder than anything else. He’ll be in hospital for a couple of weeks and then released barring complications such as infection or his lung collapsing again,” John let out a breath.

“Elara?” John asked, squeezing Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock let out a breath.

“She’s developed double pneumonia. She collapsed on the deck of the ship shortly after Greg was shot and went in to a febrile seizure as her temperature was just over 41 degrees. She quickly developed pneumonia in one lung, but the other lung succumbed shortly afterwards. She has still yet to regain consciousness, though she is responding well to the medications. She’s got bruising from her handling and a dislocated right shoulder,” Sherlock said.

“Mycroft?” John asked.

“Not a scratch on him. He’s out of his mind with worry, between Greg and Elara,”

“And you, of course, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft’s voice came from the doorway. John hadn’t seen Mycroft look this exhausted and dishevelled since the night he and Molly had met Elara. The man had dark circles under his eyes. His usually crisp attire hung wrinkled from his frame, waistcoat and suit jacket nowhere to be seen. He was also without his umbrella.

“Jesus, you alright, Mycroft?” John asked.

“I believe it is I who should be asking you that, John,” Mycroft said softly, taking a seat on the other side of John.

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” John assured him. “I’ve had worse. Is there anyone sitting with Greg and Elara?”

“Molly is sitting with Greg. Anthea is with Elara, though no one is allowed in her room without protective clothing covers and masks,” Mycroft said. John sighed.

“That bad?” Mycroft nodded.

“Her immune system is near nonexistent right now. She’d been fighting a bug for several days, unbeknownst to any of us. The ordeal you both went through pushed her over the edge and her body gave up fighting. She’s been put on immune boosters and is likely going to be on them for a while,” John let out a breath. Sherlock squeezed his hand.

“John, I cannot thank you enough for what you did,” Mycroft said after a few moments of silence. “You never once left her side, not for a moment. You kept her safe for as long as you possibly could. You then fought for her safety, going three against one until backup arrived,”

“Not exactly,” John said, looking slightly devastated. “I went down from the knife and Finnegan had a chance to smack Elara around. One of the others yanked her bloody shoulder out of socket. There was nothing I could do-”

“Wrong,” Sherlock said. “The blood smear patterns on the deck showed that you had moved around, still attempting to protect Elara even though you had been grievously injured yourself. You put yourself in further danger in attempts to keep Elara safe,”

“Sod what could’ve happened to me,” John said thickly. “My only priority was getting her out safely. I even told her to run, to leave me, but she refused,”

“When we had gotten the news that you both had been taken,” Mycroft said, “I knew that Elara had been taken with the one person I knew and trusted most in the situation you both had been placed in. John, you went above and beyond to protect Elara, not only getting her out alive, but yourself as well,” John let out a breath, wincing at the pull in his gut.

“Was a close thing, I think,” John said, grimacing at a stab of pain.

“Easy, John,” Sherlock said, squeezing John’s hand and running his other hand through John’s hair once again. Mycroft stood.

“I’ll leave you to rest, John,” Mycroft said before looking to Sherlock. “Please try to rest as well, brother mine. I’ll send in a doctor,”

Mycroft left the room, finding a doctor and sending her in to look after John. Mycroft made his way to the cafe, grabbing two coffees and two pastries before heading back up to Greg’s room, where Molly sat beside Greg, holding the hand that wasn’t in a sling and brushing her hand through his hair as the man slept. Even though he was across the room from her, he could tell that Molly was silently crying.

“Molly?” Mycroft said gently, not wanting to startle the woman, who jumped slightly anyway. She let out a startled sob that she attempted to disguise as a laugh, putting her hands to her face in an attempt to subtly wipe her eyes.

“Oh, Mycroft. Hi,” she said in a shaky voice, but still smiling up at him.

“Are you alright, dear?” Mycroft asked, setting the coffees and pastries down before kneeling down next to Molly.

“Oh, no, I- I’m fine,” Molly stuttered out with a smile. “I should be asking you that, really. Are you alright? Is, is John-”

“Molly,” Mycroft said gently, placing a hand on her arm. She let out a shuddery breath, her eyes filled with tears. Mycroft gently pulled her against his chest, gently wrapping his arms around her as she cried softly.

“I am alright, Molly. Tired, but fine. John has woken up now. Elara is stable, as is Gregory. Everyone will be just fine in the long run, my dear. I promise,” Mycroft murmured to her. Molly pulled away after a few moments, going to wipe her eyes with her fingers before Mycroft handed her a handkerchief, eliciting a small laugh out of Molly.

“Thank you,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” Mycroft held up a hand, stopping her rambling.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Molly, dear,” he said, wincing at the ache in his knees as he stood and pulled up a chair next to her. “This was a horrible situation for everyone involved. You are close to everyone involved. It is only natural that you react this way,” he said, handing her a coffee and pastry.

“Thank you, Mycroft,” she said, taking them both and taking a deep pull from the coffee cup.

“I have something to ask of you, Molly,” Mycroft told her. She glanced up at him, suddenly alert.

“Of course,” she said. “Whatever you need,”

“I would like for you to drink your coffee, eat your pastry, and then I am going to walk you down to the lobby, where I have a car waiting to take you home so you can rest,” Mycroft said. Molly looked like she wanted to fight him on it, but the exhaustion won over and she let out a breath, nodding.

“Alright,” she said. “But only if you promise me that you’ll at least try to sleep in the extra bed they’ve put in here for you,” Molly said looking at him severely. Mycroft let out a tired chuckle and smile.

“You have a deal, Molly Hooper,”

Chapter Text

Greg Lestrade hurt. He hadn’t felt this kind of pain in years, panicking slightly as memories he’d long tried to forget came to the forefront of his mind. He attempted to move, stopping immediately when white hot pain shot through his shoulder, causing him to let out a groan. A familiar, warm hand on his face and his hand both startled and calmed him.

“Easy, Gregory,” a voice from his left said. “Try not to move too much. You’ve been badly injured, love,” Greg’s breath caught in his chest.

“M-Myc-,” Greg choked out, his throat sore and swollen. He felt a straw touch his lips. He drank greedily from it, relishing in the relief it brought to his throat, whimpering slightly when the straw was abruptly removed from his lips.

“Slowly, Gregory. You may drink, but you must slow down. You’ll make yourself ill, love,” the straw was replaced and he drank more slowly.

He drank his fill and cracked his eyes open. He was in hospital, his right arm tightly strapped to his side. Mycroft was next to him, looking utterly and completely exhausted, but his eyes shining in triumphant happiness.

“’Lo, darlin',” Greg said with a tired, small smile. Mycroft let out a tearful chuckle and brought Greg’s left hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his hand. Greg used most of his strength to squeeze Mycroft’s hand.

“Elara?” Greg said, his voice still hoarse. “John?”

“John was stabbed in the abdomen by Cathal Finnegan shortly before our arrival. He was rushed to surgery and woke up a few hours ago. You both have been out for two days. Nearly three for you. John will make a full recovery and is likely to be released within a week,” Mycroft told him.

“Elara,” Greg insisted. Mycroft let out a small breath.

“John protected Elara, as we all knew he would, even after he had been stabbed. He had told Elara to run after he had been incapacitated. She refused, jumping without hesitation in between John and the bloody gun that Finnegan pointed at John, I’m assuming wanting to protect John as he had protected her,” Mycroft said. Greg let out a breath, wincing at the pain.

“What else, My?” Greg said, sensing that Mycroft was leaving out information.

“She received a concussion and a dislocated shoulder in the scuffles leading up to our arrival. She’s got bruising to her face and arms, but no other injuries,” Mycroft said. Greg attempted to speak, his voice cracking horribly. Mycroft held up a mug to Greg’s lips, which turned out to be a wonderfully warm tea.

“She was sick that day,” Greg said in a more steady voice when Mycroft took the cup of tea from him. “John and I were gonna take her to Baker Street so John could take a look at her and give her something. She had a cough, sore throat, and a low fever,” Mycroft nodded.

“She collapsed shortly after our arrival. Her temperature was 41 degrees when we got to her. She had a febrile seizure. Cooling measures were taken in the ambulance and we were able to get her fever down by the time we reached hospital. She currently has double pneumonia and her immune system has taken quite the hit. No one can enter her room without protective gowns and face masks and she is limited to two visitors at a time. Anthea is sitting with her now,” Mycroft said. Greg squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a shuddery gasp.

“I want to see her,” Greg said. There was a flash of remorse in Mycroft’s eyes, and, for the first time, Greg saw Mycroft truly hesitate.

“Gregory, I- I don’t-”

“Please, My,” Greg pleaded. “Please, I need to see her,” Mycroft sighed, hanging his head before looking up at Greg.

“I’m sorry, Gregory,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “They won’t allow you to go and see her. You aren’t stable enough to move yet and the both of you are at severe risk of infection. You cannot physically go and see her, Gregory. I am so sorry,” Greg squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears finding their way down his face. Cool fingers wiped them away.

“Relax, Gregory,” Mycroft said, his fingers finding their way in to Greg’s silvery locks. “I said you would not physically be able to see her, not that you couldn’t see her at all,” Greg opened his eyes, confusion in them. Mycroft smiled slightly, leaning down and kissing Greg gently on the forehead before standing and setting up his laptop.

“Anthea? Are we set up?” Mycroft said, pulling up a video feed.

“Yes, sir, I’m picking you up clearly,” Anthea’s voice came from the laptop as her masked face appeared on the screen. “Greg, thank god you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Anth,” Greg said, biting back a wince.

“Yeah, and I’m married to Mycroft,” she deadpanned back. Greg let out an unintentional snort, immediately regretting it as a wave of pain coursed through him and he groaned.

“Maybe try not to make him laugh, Anthea, dear,” Mycroft said, worriedly brushing hair from Greg’s head.

“Sorry. Here, how’s this angle?” Anthea said, posing the laptop so that Greg could see Elara.

She looked so small. Tubes and wires were everywhere. She was underneath the standard hospital blankets, but Greg also recognized the blanket that Molly had knitted and given her for Christmas. He was also surprised and a bit pleased to see that Mr. Bee- who he had found outside the women’s loo when he went looking for John and Elara at the zoo after John’s warning message- was also tucked in with her.

“Sherlock was able to clean and completely sanitize Elara’s blanket and stuffed bee,” Mycroft told him. “He didn’t want her to wake up in a strange place without some sort of comfort,”

Greg let out a strangled sob. Mycroft knelt back down next to Greg, grasping Greg’s free hand in one of his, and caressing Greg’s face and wiping the tears that fell so gently that it only made Greg sob harder. Mycroft tried his best to calm Greg, but, after several minutes, he had no choice but than to allow the doctors to sedate him.

Chapter Text

Greg woke from his sedation before Elara did. Greg was much calmer than he was the first time he had woken. Mycroft had been able to detail his injuries to him, all whilst keeping an eye on Elara through the laptop camera.

“Why did you do it, Gregory?” Mycroft asked after a while. Greg glanced up at him.

“Do what?”

“You took a bullet for me,” Mycroft stated, his piercing blue eyes razing over the bandages on Greg’s otherwise bare chest. “I barely had time to comprehend that I was about to be shot when you jumped in front of me without hesitation,” Greg chewed at his lip for a second before releasing a breath and looking up to Mycroft.

“Of course I did. And I would do it again without a second’s hesitation,” Mycroft opened his mouth to interrupt, but Greg held up his good hand to stop him.

“Mycroft, my life has never been all sunshine and rainbows. My childhood was shit, and I honestly bumbled through my life after I aged out of care, ended up marrying a woman who ended up being a-” Mycroft scoffed and rolled his eyes at the mention of Greg’s ex-wife. Greg smirked at the multitude of descriptors that Mycroft was likely silently providing for her.

“I’d never known true peace and love. Not until you. And Elara, of course. And I mean peace at home. My job will never allow for peace, especially if your brother is involved. You changed that for me, Mycroft. You took me for who I am, a grizzled old copper with a less than reputable upbringing, but you saw something in me, and you gave me peace, My. Peace. For the first time in my life, I could come home and not have to worry about yelling. Not have to worry about being so tense in my own home. You, Mycroft Holmes, gave me something to finally look forward to when I got home. You and Elara both,” Mycroft listened, tears glistening in his eyes.

“When I saw Finnegan lift that gun,” Greg said, his voice breaking slightly. “When he pointed it at you, it’s like the entire world slowed down to a near stop. The only thing I could hear was the pounding of blood in my ears. I watched as you took in a quick breath. Watched as you stepped aside from Elara and in front of Anthea. Watched as your eyes accepted your fate, ready to die for Elara. So, I made my own decision. If I could die, knowing love, true love and acceptance, for you, then I was absolutely going to do so,”

“So, yeah, I took the bullet that was meant for you. I did it without hesitation and without regret. I did it, and I would do it again,” Mycroft finally let the tears flow.

“Please,” he choked out. “Please, never do that again, Gregory. Not for me,” Greg reached up with a wince and cupped Mycroft’s face, brushing away the tears that fell with his thumb.

“Without hesitation,” Greg said, taking Mycroft’s hand and kissing it. “And without regret,”

Mycroft let out a quiet sob and Greg guided his head down to the uninjured side of his chest, gently carding his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, humming gently. They sat like that for a while, well after Mycroft had calmed down. Watching Elara sleep through the laptop screen. Greg had just about been ready to doze off when a nurse knocked apologetically on the door, causing Greg to startle.

“Easy, Gregory,” Mycroft said, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Just a nurse,”

“Sorry, loves,” she said with a guilty smile. “Time to change out the bandages,”

The nurse chit-chatted with Greg as she worked. Mycroft tuned them out, watching Elara on the laptop. Mycroft was hoping against hope that she would wake soon. Her fever was now gone and her oxygen saturation levels, whilst still not great, were at least holding steady and not taking a nosedive.

“Go on and sit with her, My,” Greg told Mycroft after the nurse had left from changing the bandages around his healing gunshot wound. Mycroft looked up at him.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone, Gregory-”

“I won’t be,” Greg said with a small smile, nodding to the laptop. “We can both still talk over the laptop. Go and sit with her. Our daughter deserves at least one of her dads to be with her personally,”

“Gregory, I-”

“Go, darlin',” Greg urged. “I dunno how to describe it, but I’ve got a good feeling and I need you to go and be with her,” Mycroft let out a breath.

“Alright, I’ll go,” Mycroft said, leaning over and placing a gentle kiss on Greg’s lips. “I love you, Gregory,”

“I love you too, Mycroft,” Greg said with a lopsided grin. “Now go and see our daughter,”

Mycroft didn’t need telling twice. He hurried down to the hall, flashing his ID at the desk leading to the Pediatric ICU where Elara was. He followed procedure, got his temperature taken before entering and donned the yellow coverings and face mask, scrubbing his hands before entering the room and hitting the hand sanitizer on the wall after he entered the room. A nurse was present, taking vitals and adjusting medications on the machines. She glanced up at Mycroft as he approached the bed.

“Hello, sir. How are you this evening?” Mycroft smiled at her, despite her not being able to see it.

“Tired, but managing, my dear. How are you? I imagine you are taking over night shift?” Mycroft said, taking a seat beside Elara.

“Got it in one, sir. Bit tired as well, but nothing I’m not used to,” she said kindly. “Alright, she’s all set. I’ll be by in an hour to check in on her again. My name is Laura. Just give me a call if you need anything. And do try to rest a bit, dear. You look knackered,” she said, patting Mycroft’s shoulder kindly on her way out.

“Woah,” Greg’s voice came over the laptop. Mycroft glanced up and saw Greg smirking at him over the screen. “She patted your shoulder and lived to tell the tale,” Mycroft rolled his eyes, but smiled.

“I’d not deign do that to a single mother working her way through med school as an RN in an attempt do right by her two-year-old son,” Mycroft stated, leaning back in to the chair. Greg quirked an eyebrow.

“Alright, you have got to teach me how to deduct,” Greg pleaded. Mycroft chuckled.

“You’ve picked up on things from Sherlock over the years, no doubt,” Mycroft said.

“Well, yeah, but I can’t tell the state of someone’s marriage by their left sock or who killed an old woman by the dust patterns on her picture frames,”

“Sherlock shows off,” Mycroft said. Greg snorted and winced.

“Yeah, well, John’s helped a bit with that,” Mycroft nodded.

“Indeed he has,”

Chapter Text

Elara....didn’t hurt. She was cold, but she was always cold. She was laying in a bed, but she didn’t recognize the bed. She couldn’t quite smell, but there was something tickling her nose. Eyes still closed, she slowly reached up to pull the offending item from her face. Warm, familiar fingers gently caught hers before she could.

“No, no, little one. You still need that,” Elara knew that voice. Elara slowly opened her eyes. Mycroft was seated next to her, his hand still around hers. He wore a mask, but she knew it was him. She could never forget those eyes.

“Daddy?” Elara whispered out. Mycroft’s breath stuttered to a halt, fingers tightening slightly around hers. He heard Greg gasp softly through the laptop.

“Yes, my darling,” Mycroft said sniffing as he smoothed her hair with the hand that wasn’t holding hers. “Daddy is here. Look who else is here,” he said, pointing to the laptop where Greg was smiling a watery grin.

“Papa,” Greg let out a choked sob.

“Y-yeah, sunshine,” he stuttered out, wiping away tears. “Papa’s right here,” Elara looked back to Mycroft, reaching up a hand to wipe a tear that Mycroft hadn’t realized he’d shed.

“Don’t be sad, daddy, papa,” she said, looking from Mycroft to Greg on the laptop.

“Oh, sunshine, we aren’t sad,” Greg said through a watery smile. Mycroft nodded.

“We’re happy, little one,” Mycroft said, cradling her face. “You’ve been asleep for several days. We were worried you were going to stay asleep,”

“Like Sleeping Beauty?” Mycroft chuckled, recalling the fairy tale he had read to her, what seemed like ages ago, but was really only the night before her and John’s abduction.

“Exactly,” Mycroft said with a smile.

“M’I sick again?” Elara asked with a slight cough. Mycroft nodded, smoothing her hair back

“I’m afraid so, little one. But, you are on the mend, however,”

“Uncle John?”

“John is alright, little one. We saved you both,” Mycroft said. “He got hurt, but he’s alright now. He’s in hospital too,”

“Can we go see him and papa?” Elara asked.

“I’m afraid not, darling,” Mycroft said. “You’re quite ill, little one. You can’t fight off sickness right now, which is why we have to wear the coverings and masks to see you, so that we don’t make you more sick,” Elara teared up, and Mycroft felt his heart shatter.

“Please don’t cry, Elara,” Mycroft said, wiping a tear from her face. “I know it isn’t fun, but we’ll see John and papa soon, I promise. Even if we have to set up another laptop for John,” there was a light tap on the door. Mycroft and Elara looked up to see Sherlock, gowned and masked up, standing in the doorway.

“Uncle ‘Lock,” she cried out as much as she could in a hoarse voice. Sherlock quickly crossed the room, kneeling next to her on the other side of the bed from Mycroft, tracing a finger along her cheek.

“Hello, little bee,” Sherlock said. Elara held up her stuffy. Sherlock nodded once. “Yes, I found him and kept him safe for you. I even gave him a special bath so he could be here with you when you woke up,”

“Well, look who decided to open those gorgeous green eyes, then?” Laura said, having entered the room moments after Sherlock. Mycroft and Sherlock backed away from the bed so that Laura could do what she needed to. A doctor came in shortly afterwards.

“Good evening, Messrs. Holmes,” the kindly blonde man said, sticking his hand out to Mycroft and Sherlock to shake. “I’m Dr. Callum. I am very pleased to see that she has woken up,”

“As are we, doctor,” Mycroft said, glancing to Elara, who was giggling with Laura’s stethoscope in her ears as Laura allowed Elara to have a listen.

“Her readings are looking good. Really, really good,” Dr. Callum said as he scrolled through the electronic patient file. “Her fever broke yesterday and has stayed away. Her oxygen saturation has continued to improve, even more so now that she’s awake. I think tomorrow we can take her off the oxygen and see if they hold steady. If they continue to hold steady for twenty-four hours without oxygen and without a relapse, then you are free to take her home,”

“What medications are we looking at?” Mycroft asked.

“Well, antibiotics and steroids for starters. She’ll be on those for the next two weeks. We’ll also be sending you home with an emergency rescue inhaler as well as a nebulizer, just in case. Laura will set one up here shortly and you can see how to do it properly. She’s also going to be on the immune boosters for at least the next month. The antibiotics and steroids are liquid, but we only have capsules for the immune boosters, but they’re easy enough to crush and mix in with some yogurt or applesauce,” Mycroft nodded.

“Thank you, Dr. Callum. I’ll be sure to call on you if we have any further complications or questions along the way,” Mycroft said. Dr. Callum smiled.

“Happy to be of assistance any time you need, Mr. Holmes,” he said. Laura approached the doctor and chatted with him for a few minutes before he took his leave. Mycroft saw that Greg was talking happily to Elara, who was giggling at something he had said.

“How is John?” Mycroft asked Sherlock.

“Irritated, ready to leave,” Sherlock replied. “Normally, they wouldn’t let a patient with his injuries leave hospital this early, but, seeing as he is a doctor and knows what to look out for, he may be able to sway them. What of Greg?” Mycroft let out a breath.

“He was devastated that he was not allowed to see Elara personally,” Mycroft said quietly, watching as Elara held up her stuffed bee to Greg. “He had to be sedated to calm him down. He’ll likely be here for another couple of weeks at least,”

“So sorry to interrupt,” Laura’s voice came from the doorway. “Your assistant is needing to speak with you, Mr. Holmes, sir,”

“Go and see what she needs,” Sherlock said, seeing the way he looked to Elara hesitatingly. “I’ll stay with her and observe the nebulizer. Anthea would never pull you from Elara or Greg right now unless it was imperatively urgent,” Mycroft let out a breath and nodded, turning to Elara.

“Elara, I need to step out for a moment. Will you be alright here for a bit with Uncle Sherlock?” Elara nodded, pointing to the laptop screen.

“Papa too,” Mycroft smiled, leaning down to place a kiss- through the mask he wore- on her head.

“Of course,” he said. “Papa will be here too,” he turned to Sherlock.

“Thank you, brother mine,” Sherlock nodded once before falling in to the chair beside Elara. Mycroft turned and exited the room. He pulled off the protective covering and face mask, washing his hands thoroughly before meeting Anthea outside of the room.

“She’s awake now?” Anthea asked, handing Mycroft a coffee and sandwich.

“Thank you, dear. Yes, she woke about half an hour ago. They are going to keep her for another day for observation. They will be taking her off oxygen in a few moments. If her oxygen saturation levels hold steady for twenty-four hours sans oxygen, then I am free to take her home,” Anthea grinned.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! I’ve already been in contact with Maddie. She is scrubbing and deep-sanitizing every inch of your home now to prepare for Elara’s homecoming. She’s also sent me with a bag of clothes for you and more comfortable lounge clothes for Greg and Elara,” Anthea said, holding up a large duffel bag that Mycroft immediately took from her.

“I take it there was something imperative you needed to tell me?” Mycroft asked her, shouldering the bag. Anthea’s eyes hardened.

“All efforts to find Mallory Finnegan have been fruitless,” she said, anger lacing her words. “The bloody lout has disappeared in to the wind, Mycroft,”

“Easy, Anthea,” Mycroft said, placing his one free hand on her upper back, leading her to a chair. He sat down next to her, placing the bag under the chair he sat in so nobody would trip. “When was the last sighting?”

“That’s the thing,” Anthea said, running her hands through her hair in frustration. “She was never seen on any CCTV leaving the prison. The footage has not been altered at all, I don’t understand it,”

“I’m happy to take a look and assist if you would like me to do so, but I would have Maddie take a look. If memory serves, she had a certain proclivity for IT conundrums,” Lady Smallwood said, standing before them with a lovely teddy in one hand and a large bouquet in another as her assistant held a similar large bouquet.

“Alicia,” Mycroft said with a small smile, standing to greet her properly.

“Mycroft,” she said, holding her hand out to him. “I am so sorry. I stayed for the duration of the summit and came as soon as I landed back and heard what had happened,”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said. “Truly. This means so much to me, and to everyone,”

“I know I’m not permitted to see her, but I did get her this,” she said, handing the teddy out to Mycroft.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure she gets it,” Mycroft said, taking the soft stuffy.

“Right, I’ll drop these off to Dr. Watson and the Detective Inspector, and then you and I, Anthea, can go and meet up with Maddie and see about finding this bitch of a woman,” Mycroft startled at her use of profanity.

“Apologies, Mycroft, but I cannot stand idly by whilst this....woman,” she spat the word out like it was the foulest of obscenities, “gets off scot-free for her treatment of that darling little girl,”

Lady Smallwood had seen Elara four times since her initial meeting of the girl and, like the rest of the group, had grown attached very quickly. Lady Smallwood had come over twice in the early stages of Elara’s recovery when she had needed Mycroft’s signatures on paperwork and had seen Elara, who had remembered the woman and smiled and waved at her the first and second time she had come over. The third and fourth times, Mycroft had needed to quickly stop by his office and hadn’t wanted to leave Elara. The fourth time Lady Smallwood had even taken Elara to the office kitchens for a treat whilst Mycroft took a phone call. Mycroft had returned to the kitchen half an hour later to find Lady Smallwood showing Elara how to understand Morse Code.

“I cannot thank you enough for your kind offer, but-” Mycroft started, only to be cut off by Lady Smallwood.

“Mycroft Holmes, you have nothing to do but take care of your family right now,” she said. “You are exhausted in a way I’ve not seen since the Taliban attacked New York City in ‘01. Now, get some rest, look after your family, and leave this to me, Anthea, and Maddie,” Mycroft knew there was absolutely no arguing with her. He felt the utter exhaustion even in his toes. He glanced at Anthea, who smirked at him.

“Who run the world?” Mycroft rolled his eyes at her reference to pop culture music, and what Anthea referred to as her theme song.

“Do as you both wish,” Mycroft said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I doubt I could sway you both from your decision. Do keep me updated, please,”

Chapter Text

Two days later, Mycroft was cleared to take Elara home. He had found in the bag Anthea had brought him comfortable, but warm, clothing for Elara that would be perfect for her to wear home and he was currently helping her dress, being careful to not jostle her shoulder.

“You remember that you must wear a mask outside until we get home, yes?” Elara nodded, pointing to the pediatric masks that Laura had supplied them with.

“Good girl. Are you ready to go home?” She nodded vigorously, holding her bee and teddy stuffies closely to her chest.

“Oh, love, come here,” Laura said, gently sweeping Elara in to a hug.

“You be sure to take your medicines and listen to daddy and papa, yes?” Laura asked her. Elara nodded, making the sign for I promise. Laura smiled. “Good girl. You come back and see me,” Mycroft lifted Elara in to the wheelchair as Laura gently placed the mask over Elara’s face and tucked the blanket Molly had made her around her. Laura looked up and winked slyly at Mycroft before quickly leaving the room.

“Ready, little one?” Mycroft asked.

Elara nodded, and he carefully wheeled her out of the room and down the hall. He smiled as the child waved to all the people she recognized, giggling as Dr. Callum blew a noisemaker at her as she was wheeled by. They bypassed the lifts, and Elara glanced up at Mycroft in confusion.

“We have a quick stop to make first,” Mycroft told her, wheeling her outside of a room and knocking. The door was opened from the inside and Mycroft wheeled her in.

“Uncle John!” Elara said as loud as her still hoarse voice would allow as she began to clamber down from the wheelchair, only to be lifted gently down by Sherlock.

John, who had signed himself out of hospital hours before Elara, knelt down and tightly wrapped his arms around Elara as much as his stitches and her bandaged shoulder would allow him to. Tears coursed down John’s face as Elara let out a small sob.

“Oh, my darling,” John murmured to her. “Oh, God, I am so happy you’re safe, Elara. I am so sorry, darling,” Mycroft felt his throat tighten slightly at the display. He watched as John smoothed Elara’s hair, pulling her away from his chest slightly to give her a once over before kissing her on the top of her head. He wiped the tears from what he could see of her masked face.

“There’s someone else who would like to see you too,” John said with a sniff and a watery smile, turning Elara to see Greg.

“Papa!” She reached for Greg. Sherlock stepped forward and gently picked Elara up.

“I will place you on the bed so you can see him, but you must not jostle the bed too much, little bee,” he told her sternly, but not unkindly. “Papa is hurt as well. We don’t want to hurt him more, right?” Elara looked horrified, shaking her head quickly. Sherlock smiled, kissing the top of her head.

“Good girl. Now go and give your papa a big- but gentle- hug,” he said, placing Elara on the bed next to Greg. Elara quickly melted in to Greg’s open arm. Tears glistened in Greg’s eyes as he held and kissed his daughter for the first time since she had been taken.

“Oh, I am so happy to see you, sunshine,” Greg said. “I love you so much, my love. Oh, I am so happy you’re alright,”

“Love you too, papa,” Elara said, sniffing.

“I heard you get to go home today,” Greg said. Elara nodded.

“You have to stay?” Greg sighed and nodded.

“Unfortunately, yes. I have to stay for little while longer. Hopefully only another week or two and then I can come home,” Greg told her.

“Promise?” Greg smiled and held out his pinky finger to her.

“I promise,” he said, locking his pinky in hers.

They couldn’t stay too long, Mycroft didn’t want to risk Elara’s health more than necessary. They left after fifteen minutes, Mycroft promising Elara that they would call Greg every morning and night. John, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Elara made their way down to Mycroft’s waiting car. Elara began to cry as soon as they pulled away from the building.

“Oh, darling, it’s alright,” John said soothingly, reaching out to her as she began coughing, Sherlock lifting her to John so he didn’t strain himself. “I know you are upset and sad and scared. You have every right to be, darling, but I need you to slow down, Elara. You need to slow down your breathing and try to calm down a little bit, alright?”

It took nearly the entire car ride, but John was finally able to calm Elara down enough that she fell asleep. Once they had pulled up to Mycroft’s home, Sherlock exited the vehicle, holding the door open as Mycroft took Elara from John’s arms. They all made their way in to the home, where they were met by Maddie.

“Her room is ready. The entire house has been sanitized from top to bottom. I’ve made dinner for tonight. There is enough for everyone if Sherlock and Dr. Watson wish to stay,” she said, looking to Sherlock and John with a small smile.

“John, please,” John told her for the umpteenth time. “And we would love to stay for dinner,”

“Dr. Watson- John,” she replied. “Thank you. Thank you for keeping her safe. Thank you for making sure that she would come back to us,” John smiled.

“John Watson remains the best man I have ever known,” Sherlock said, wanting to take the attention off of John, who squeezed his hand in appreciation.

Mycroft took Elara upstairs shortly afterwards, wanting to make sure he kept her warm and comfortable. Once he had tucked her in, the child stirred slightly and woke.

“Daddy?” Mycroft turned to look at her.

“Yes, darling?” He said, kneeling down next to her. She let out a small whimper and Mycroft watched as a singular tear rolled down her face. He quickly reached out and wiped the offending liquid away, running his other hand soothingly through her hair.

“What is wrong, Elara? Are you in pain? What hurts, little one?” Mycroft asked softly. Elara shuddered out a sob, clutching Mycroft’s sleeve tightly in her fist.

“S-scared,” she choked out. Mycroft eased his daughter up and in to his arms, settling himself on the bed with his back against the headboard.

“I know it was scary, little one,” Mycroft said, running his fingers through her hair as her tears soaked in to his shirt. “I am so sorry I was not there to help prevent what happened,”

“S-Sir w-was th-there,” she gasped out. Mycroft tightened his grip around her slightly, sensing the increasing panic. “Was g-gonna take- take me-”

“Shh,” Mycroft soothed, placing a kiss on to her head. “Slow down your breathing, little one. Try to match my breaths, there’s a good girl,”

“Listen to me, little one,” Mycroft said after he had gotten Elara calmed down a bit. “John, Sherlock, and Maddie are all downstairs. I am right here with you. Nobody can hurt you now. The security measures on this house are state of the art. You are safe here, Elara, I promise,” she let out a shuddery breath.

“Papa,” she said in a shaking voice.

“Papa will be alright, little one,” Mycroft said, but Elara shook her head.

“Not- not safe alone,” she said.

“I have agents posted all over the hospital,” Mycroft told her. “Including two outside of his room. Anthea is personally seeing to his safety. He is safe, as are you, Elara, I promise you,”

“St-still sca-scared,” she sobbed out. Mycroft gently shushed her.

“I know, little one, I know,” he said, rocking her gently. “It’s alright to be scared. I was scared too,” Elara sniffed and looked up at him questioningly. Mycroft nodded, knowing the question in her eyes.

“When I got the call that you and John were missing,” Mycroft began, his fingers still brushing gently through her hair. “My whole world stopped. I was in a different country, and I was helpless to the situation. I can count on one hand the amount of times I have been scared. But, until you were safe in my arms, I was truly terrified,” he felt Elara wrap her one good arm tighter around him as she burrowed deeper in to his chest.

“Still scared?” She asked him.

“As long as your safety is at risk, yes,” Mycroft answered simply. “Until the people behind this are all caught, I will be afraid,”

“And it’s perfectly alright to be afraid,” John said from his place at the doorway that Mycroft hadn’t noticed. John looked pale and peaky, but had a small, kind smile on his face.

“But, we cannot let the fear overcome us,” John said as he slowly made his way in to the room, sitting down on the bed with a wince. “Fear doesn’t stop death, Elara. Fear stops life,”

Chapter Text

Two weeks- and one small infection- later saw Greg finally being discharged. Two weeks of phone calls, video chats, and the singular visit from just Mycroft when he was transported to the ICU when his wound got infected was not enough for Greg, who was desperate to hold Mycroft and his daughter in his arms once more. Mycroft was currently helping Greg get dressed.

“Slow down, Gregory,” Mycroft chided as Greg let out a stream of profanities when he moved too quickly and jostled his shoulder. “Slow down and let me help you. We are nearly done. Elara is at home with John and Sherlock. She’s not going anywhere,” Mycroft held Greg’s coat up and Greg eased his left arm through the coat sleeve before Mycroft gently draped the other half of the coat across Greg’s right side and eased the man down in to the wheelchair.

“Ready to go, love?” Mycroft asked.

“God, yes,” Greg groaned out. “I want to see my girl, eat a decent home cooked meal, have a real shower with that posh soap that smells like you, and sleep in my own bed next to you, exactly in that order,” Mycroft chuckled, kissing Greg before standing and grasping the wheelchair handles.

“Well then, Detective Chief Inspector, let’s get you home,” Mycroft said, wheeling Greg out of the room and to the lifts, flanked by two agents and Anthea. Greg glanced at the agents, looking to Mycroft.

“Is all this strictly necessary?” Greg asked.

“As long as Mallory Finnegan is at large, everyone’s safety is at risk,” Anthea said, her nose in her Blackberry as she walked with them. “Protection detail has been increased to top-tier Grade One for you and Elara as well as John and Sherlock. Protective detail has also been increased to Grade Two for Molly and Mrs. Hudson,”

“There are different levels of protection?” Greg asked. Anthea nodded, not looking up from her mobile as they all piled in to the lift.

“Grade Three is a standard surveillance, no active agents present unless deemed necessary. Grade Two is when we have one agent tail the person at all times, incognito of course, and act if necessary. Grade One is a minimum of two agents within personal range of the person at all times when they are out and about, with a further two incognito agents elsewhere within the vicinity,” Greg’s eyebrows met his hairline as they exited the lift.

“Christ, there’s two more agents around here somewhere?” Greg said, his eyes darting around at everyone.

“Technically four, if you count Anthea and myself,” Mycroft said as they reached the lobby of the hospital. Greg glanced up at him.

“You both aren’t active-” Greg said.

“We may no longer be active field agents, but we are reserves,” Mycroft told him as they exited the hospital and approached the waiting car at the curb. “We are always on standby for a field mission should it be necessary,”

“Thought you hated legwork,” Greg said. Mycroft chuckled as he took Greg’s hand, assisting him in standing.

“I do, but duty outweighs comfort,” Mycroft said, helping ease Greg in to the vehicle before sliding in next to him. Anthea got in across from them and they were off. Greg let out a breath and let his head fall to Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re ready to go home, Gregory?” Mycroft asked, concerned.

“Mm, yeah,” Greg said, his eyes closed. “Moving is tiring after laying about for nearly three weeks, though,” Mycroft took Greg’s free hand in his, earning a small smile from the man.

“Rest for now, Gregory,” Mycroft said, sweeping his other hand through Greg’s hair. “We shall be home soon,”

Greg must have actually nodded off, because they were home much quicker than he thought was possible. Anthea held the door open as Mycroft exited the vehicle, holding his hands out to Greg. Greg took Mycroft’s hand with his, letting out a small grunt as he heaved himself up and out of the vehicle. Mycroft steadied him, looking at Greg with the utmost concern and love. Greg kissed him.

“I’m alright,” he promised with a small smile. “Let’s go see our girl,”

They trekked up to the front door, which Anthea opened for them. Mycroft helped Greg take his coat off, hanging it on the coat rack before leading Greg to the living room where-

“PAPA!” Greg grinned massively as Elara scurried off the couch. He knelt down and held the girl as tightly to his chest as he could with his one good arm.

“Carefully, Elara,” Mycroft warned from behind them.

“Oh, she’s absolutely fine. Hello, sunshine! Oh, I’ve missed you, love,” Greg said, peppering Elara’s head with kisses.

“Good to see you up and about, mate,” Greg looked up and saw John grinning on the couch next to Sherlock, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise,” Greg said, attempting to stand with Elara in his arms, only to be immediately stopped by Mycroft. Greg rolled his eyes as Mycroft took her from him and steered him towards a chair, sitting him down before placing Elara on to his lap. Elara burrowed tightly in to his side.

“What’s all this, then?” Greg asked with a grin, wrapping his arm around Elara.

“Elara’s idea, actually,” John said, standing. “She wanted to throw a homecoming dinner for you,”

“She, John, Maddie, and Mrs. Hudson have been cooking and baking up a storm all day,” Mycroft said with a warm smile. Elara looked up to Greg, grinning madly.

“You did all that just for me?” He asked her. Elara nodded.

“Of course we did, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said with a kind smile. “We’re all happy to have all of you safe and home now. Dinner is ready whenever we are,”

“Well, I dunno about you all, but I am famished. Hospital food is definitely not a favorite of mine,” Greg said. Elara giggled, scrunching up her nose in agreement.

Elara slid from Greg’s lap, waiting patiently as the man heaved himself up from the chair before taking her icy hand into his warm one and leading him to the dining room, where Maddie was putting the finishing touches on the table. She glanced up at him and broke out in a soft smile, coming over to him and sweeping Greg in to her arms.

“Thank you, Greg,” she said in a thick voice. “Thank you for getting them all back safe. And for what you did to save Mr. Holmes,” Greg said nothing, but rubbed her back with his good arm as she stepped back and quickly wiped at her eyes.

“Right. Well, everything is ready. Don’t anyone worry about the clean-up, we will see to that. Give me a call should you require anything,” Maddie said with a smile, gently brushing her hand through Elara’s hair on her way back through to the kitchen. Greg took a seat in between Mycroft and Elara. Everyone else took their seats. Before anyone began to eat, Mycroft stood.

“I would like to thank everyone for making it out here tonight for Gregory’s long-awaited homecoming. Special thanks to Maddie, Mrs. Hudson, Elara, and John for manning the kitchens for this succulent feast that we are about to partake in. I would like to say a few words, however, before we tuck in to our meal,” Mycroft said. He took a breath and looked to John.

“John. You kept a cool, level head with a gun pointed at you. You remained calm for the sake and safety of Elara. You held on to her and allowed no one to take nor harm her for as long as you possibly could, only getting physical with your abductors when you could no longer hold it off. You were grievously injured, yet continued to fight for Elara’s safety, only backing down once backup had arrived,” Mycroft raised his glass.

“So, to Dr. John Watson: I thank you, with the most sincerity I could possibly give. You kept my daughter safe. You not only brought her back to me, but you came back to my little brother and the rest of us as well. Thank you, John,” Mycroft said, raising his glass in a toast before taking a sip. Everyone followed suit and Mycroft saw Greg snicker at how crimson John’s cheeks had gone. Mycroft then turned to him, watching with humor as the grin was quickly wiped from Greg’s face.

“Gregory. You were the first to reach the boat deck. You tackled the threat to Elara without hesitation and continued to subdue him. You took it upon yourself to place yourself in between me and the path of the bullet that was meant for me. I owe you my life, Gregory, and so much more than that. I am happy beyond measure that you are now safe and home with us,” Mycroft raised his glass once more.

“To Detective Chief Inspector Gregory Lestrade: The man who thawed the Iceman, and without whom, I would not be here,” everyone raised their glasses and it was John’s turn to snicker at Greg’s pink face.

Chapter Text

Dinner went on without a problem, everyone stayed late to enjoy the celebratory pudding, leaving around 11:00 PM. Mycroft scooped a sleeping Elara from Greg’s lap, taking her upstairs to her bed, followed by Greg, who kissed her goodnight. Mycroft led him to their en suite, “helping” Greg with his first real shower before they both retired to bed.

Mycroft watched as Cathal Finnegan flung Greg to the deck of the ship. Mycroft continued to hurry to get to Elara, but froze, hearing the clicking of the safety of a gun. He spun around to see Cathal Finnegan raising a handgun towards him, a sick, malicious smirk widening across his face. Mycroft barely registered the gasp that escaped him. He quickly grasped Anthea by the arm and threw her behind him, broadening his shoulders to make himself appear as large as possible, knowing he was about to be the only thing between a bullet and Anthea. A million thoughts and memories flew through his head.

A two-hour old Sherlock being placed gently in to his arms as he vowed to always look after his little brother. Euros burning down Musgrave. Mycroft taking over for Uncle Rudy. Sherlock’s first OD. The first time he laid eyes on Greg Lestrade. The first time he kidnapped Greg. John Watson entering Sherlock’s life. Sherlock’s fall. Mary Watson shooting his little brother. Greg staying by his side after the events of Sherrinford. Deducing Elara the moment he saw her. Greg singing to Elara. Kissing Greg. Hugging Greg. Shopping with Greg. Greg panicking because Elara and John had been taken. And now-

BANG !

Mycroft waited for the pain that never came, watching in horror as a familiar, worn trench coat fell in a heap at his feet. Anthea hurried over to Elara. Greg was gasping for air as Cathal Finnegan let out an enraged snarl and advanced on them both. Mycroft saw red . He flicked the blade of his umbrella towards Cathal, slicing the man deep enough on his hand that he dropped the gun, which Mycroft kicked away. Mycroft took another quick swipe, this time cutting across Cathal’s chest. In one swift move, Mycroft swung the hilt of his umbrella upwards, knocking Cathal in the head so that he fell to his knees as Mycroft also removed the blade from the umbrella, revealing the hidden gun that Mycroft did not hesitate to press to the back of Cathal’s skull.

“I seem to recall telling you, Finnegan,” Mycroft said in a deadly voice. “That I do not make idle threats. That when I say something goes, it goes exactly how I say. And I told you that you would not  get away with this. You’ve abducted my daughter and friend, stabbed my friend, beaten my daughter, and you’ve shot my partner,” Mycroft cocked his gun.

“You will not  get another chance,” Mycroft said. And then he pulled the trigger.

Mycroft bolted up in to a sitting position, breathing hard. He brought his shaking hands to his face, taking a deep breath to calm himself when he felt Greg twitch and whimper beside him. Apparently Mycroft wasn’t the only one unable to find peace in sleep this evening.

Greg was running. He flew by different areas of the London Zoo, shouting out John and Elara’s names, but to no avail. He slammed in to a familiar figure in a sweeping Belstaff. Sherlock caught him by the arms.

“What happened? What did you do!?” Sherlock snarled.

“I- I don’t- I’m not-” Greg stammered out, struggling to breathe.

Sherlock sneered at him, shoving Greg away from him. The scene melted away and he was in Mycroft’s office. Mycroft and Anthea burst through the office doors. Mycroft looked absolutely furious, and marched straight to Greg.

“Oh, God, Myc-” Greg was cut off by Mycroft grabbing him by the collar and slamming him up against the wall.

“I trusted you, Lestrade,” Mycroft growled. “And now my daughter is gone,” Greg let out a sob.

“I- I didn’t- My, please -”

“Shut up!” Mycroft barked out, aggressively releasing Greg, who stumbled to the floor.

“Leave,” Mycroft sneered. “Leave and do not ever come back. I will find my daughter and you’ll never see either of us again,”

Greg felt his chest tighten even more as the scene faded and Cathal Finnegan was holding Elara at gunpoint on the deck of the ship. Greg wanted to run to her, but knew he couldn’t, as Cathal had a grip on her neck and the gun pressed to her temple.

“Don’t!” Greg yelled, holding up his hands as he pleaded. “Please! Please, don’t hurt her. Take me. Let her go,” Cathal grinned madly, flinging Elara to the ground.

“I never let you go, Greggy,” Cathal said, though it wasn’t Cathal’s voice. Greg's blood turned to ice in his body. He knew  that voice. Cathal took a step towards Greg, but he morphed into someone else. Greg whimpered as he looked at his father.

“N-no,” he whispered out. His father smirked and quickly advanced on Greg. He saw Mycroft in the background, watching.

“Mycroft,” he begged. “Help me. Please, My, please !”

“It’s alright, Gregory,” Mycroft said.

“Mycroft, please !” Greg yelled as his father came closer.

“Wake up, love,” Mycroft said. “Wake up, Gregory,”

“My, help,”

“Gregory!” Greg snapped awake, chest heaving and sobbing. He flinched at hands on his arms. “Easy, Gregory. It’s just me, love. Breathe. You’re alright. I’ve got you,”

“M-My-Mycroft,” Greg stuttered out.

“Yes, love, it’s me. You’re alright, Gregory. It was just a dream,” Mycroft said, cradling Greg in his arms as Greg let out a sob.

It took Mycroft nearly an hour to calm Greg down. He was just on the brink of calling John when Greg’s sobs finally started to quiet and his breathing began to even out. Mycroft continued to card his fingers gently through Greg’s hair. Greg let out a shuddery breath.

“S-sorry,” he whispered out. Mycroft pressed his lips to Greg’s head.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Gregory,” Mycroft murmured in to his hair.

“I do not and could never blame you for what happened,” Mycroft said in to the silence after a while. Greg turned to look up at him.

“You were calling out to me in your sleep,” Mycroft said quietly. “Pleading to me,” Greg stuttered out a breath. A creak outside of the bedroom caused Greg to flinch violently.

“Easy, love,” Mycroft said. “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” Mycroft said, kissing Greg’s head before easing himself out of the bed. He made his way to the bedroom door, opening it, and revealing a highly distressed Elara. Mycroft immediately scooped her up and held her protectively to his chest.

“Shh. It’s alright, little one. Deep breaths. You’re alright,” Mycroft said to her as he shut the door and returned to the bed with the child in his arms.

“Hey, sunshine,” Greg said, taking the child from Mycroft when she desperately reached out to him. “You have a bad dream too?”

A choked sob followed by a nod. Greg tightened his hold on her, rocking her slightly as he murmured to her. Mycroft stood, putting on his dressing gown and retrieving Greg’s dressing gown and a smaller throw blanket from the linen closet in his en suite. He put the blanket over Elara, gently taking her from Greg’s arms before draping the dressing gown over Greg’s shoulders, gently pulling him up by his good arm.

“Come along, Gregory,” Mycroft said, pulling Greg gently in to the hall.

“Where we going?” Greg asked.

“We are all going to have some cocoa,” Mycroft said as he led them downstairs and in to the kitchen. “And then we are all going to retire to the theatre room to watch a movie and, hopefully, sleep,”

Mycroft motioned for Greg to have a seat at the table, then placed Elara gently in his lap. Mycroft busied himself with making the mugs of cocoa, still attempting to stay the slight tremor in his hands. Back in his days of being a field agent, Mycroft would get nightmares like the one he had just had frequently. Nowadays, they rarely made an occurrence unless Mycroft found himself under a massive amount of stress or he found himself in a situation where he had to channel his inner field agent once more, such as he had to do with Cathal Finnegan. He let out an inaudible breath as he retrieved a bag of marshmallows from the pantry. Lady Smallwood, Maddie, and Anthea had come up empty in their search for Mallory Finnegan, and the stress of not knowing if his family was safe from the harpy was eating at him.

Mycroft placed the three steaming mugs on the table, taking a seat next to Greg. He opened the bag of marshmallows, placing a healthy handful in all three mugs, smiling as Elara swiped her own handful to snack on. They all sat quietly for a bit, sipping their mugs. Elara switched between eating her own handful of marshmallows and feeding Greg marshmallows, giggling as he playfully nipped at her fingers. Mycroft, who had slipped in to his own mind trying to figure out what his next moves were going to be, startled as a fluffy ball of sugar hit him directly on the nose. He glanced up to see Greg pointing to Elara and Elara pointing to Greg. He huffed out a laugh, deciding to try to relax for the night. They were safe for the time being.

Chapter Text

The weeks passed by with no further incidents, other than the nightmares, especially on Elara’s part. Greg was finally cleared to go back to work and Mycroft would reluctantly return to the office, leaving Elara with Maddie at his home, or dropping her off to Sherlock and John.

Mycroft had woken up to Greg’s side of the bed cold and empty. Greg had gotten a call for a homicide in the wee hours of the morning. He had quietly gotten dressed, placing a loving kiss on Mycroft’s head and checking in on Elara before heading out to the scene. Elara had endured a rough night, suffering from two nightmares before finally falling asleep and staying asleep an hour before Greg was called in to work. Mycroft had allowed her to sleep in for a bit longer than he usually did before going to wake her. He was now placing two plates of breakfast on to the table as Elara entered the kitchen. Mycroft immediately noticed how she stiffly held her right arm to her side, favoring her left side, and noticed the slight wrinkles of pained tension on her face. Mycroft lifted her in to her seat.

“Is your shoulder hurting you badly today, Elara?” He asked her as she lifted her fork with her left hand. Elara nodded, wincing as she did so.

“It’s really tight,” she said, wincing again as she attempted to stretch her neck. Mycroft stood and walked behind his daughter. He expertly pressed in different areas on her shoulder and neck, relieving the stiffness a bit for her as he massaged the shoulder for a few moments.

“Better?” Elara moved her neck around a little before nodding.

“A bit. Thank you,” she said with a smile. Mycroft kissed the top of her head before taking the seat across from her.

“You are most welcome, little one,” he said, reaching for his tea. “Now hurry and finish your breakfast. We need to get you over to Baker Street so that I can go to the office for a few hours,”

Elara and Mycroft found themselves trudging up the steps to 221B an hour and a half later, taking care to not disturb Mrs. Hudson. Mycroft opened the door to the flat to reveal Sherlock sitting on the couch, his hands steepled under his chin and his eyes closed. John stepped out of the kitchen with a smile.

“Morning, all,” he said, kneeling down to hug Elara. “’Lock, Elara is here,” Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and Elara hurried over to him. John straightened up, looking to Mycroft.

“She had a rough night last night,” Mycroft told him. John let out a sigh, pursing his lips.

“Her shoulder is bothering her this morning as well,” John said. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “I can tell. I can always tell. I’ll work through some more stretches with her. If I need to, I’ll break out my heating pad. Do I have your permission to issue some over the counter children’s paracetamol?”

“Of course,” Mycroft told him immediately. “You need not ask, John. You know that I trust your medical judgement completely,” John let out a chuckle.

“I know. Force of habit, I’m afraid,” he said, glancing over to where Sherlock was showing Elara the outcome of his latest experiment. “I’ll set her up with my heating pad after I help her with stretches. If she wants the paracetamol, I’ll get her some. I’ll see if I can get her to rest for a couple of hours before lunch,” Mycroft nodded.

“Thank you, John. Gregory should be by a little after lunchtime to pick her up and take her home unless another case comes his way. If he is unable to pick her up, I can send a driver to get her,” John shook his head.

“Either of you can pick her up whenever able,” John told him with a smile. “I don’t have to work today and we haven’t got any cases on. She is always welcome here. She can stay as long as she needs to, even if she needs to stay the night,”

“Thank you, John,” Mycroft’s mobile buzzed and Mycroft pulled it out, sighing. “I must go, unfortunately. Elara, darling,” Elara scurried over to him and he lifted her in to his arms.

“Oh, you’re getting so big, little one,” he said with a smile, kissing her cheek. “I must go now. You’ll behave for Uncle John, yes?” Elara nodded.

“Good girl. And you’ll help Uncle John look after Uncle Sherlock?” Elara nodded, giggling as Sherlock let out a mock gasp of offense. “Very good, darling,” Mycroft placed one final kiss to her head and Elara wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling in to his arms for a cuddle.

“I love you, daddy,” she whispered. Mycroft wondered if the light feeling in his heart he felt whenever she said this to him would ever go away. He hugged her back.

“I love you too, Elara,” he said, holding her for a few moments more before setting her down. He bid them all goodbye before taking his leave.

“Apologies for my tardiness, Anthea,” Mycroft said as he strolled in to his office right on time. Anthea rolled her eyes before giving Mycroft a once-over.

“She’s still getting nightmares, then?” Anthea asked. Mycroft sighed, taking a seat in his office chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said. “She refuses to speak of them, however. It took Gregory and I over two hours to calm her down last night. Poor Gregory got called out to a homicide less than two hours after we all got back to bed. Speaking of, would you please see to it that he has coffee and a box of his favorite pastries sent to him?”

“Of course,” she said, whipping out her mobile. “Done. They’ll be delivered to him within the hour. I’ve brewed up some coffee, would you like a cup?” Mycroft once again thanked everything that he ended up with an assistant as wonderful as Anthea.

“If you would be so kind, my dear, I would greatly appreciate it, thank you,” Mycroft said with a small smile. Almost immediately, a steaming mug of coffee was placed in to his hands. Mycroft took a sip, suppressing a groan.

“Lady Smallwood wishes to speak with you at your earliest opportunity,” Anthea said. Mycroft nodded.

“Please tell her that I will await her arrival whenever she is ready,” Anthea nodded, sending a message on her mobile.

“She will be here shortly,” Anthea told him. Mycroft nodded and Anthea went over their schedule for the day, finishing just before Lady Smallwood arrived.

“Good morning,” Mycroft said, standing to greet her. She gave a strained smile, holding out her hand for Mycroft to take.

“Good morning, Mycroft,” she said. Mycroft pulled a chair for her, ensuring she was seated before he sat.

“You are stressed,” Mycroft told her, quirking an eyebrow. “What has happened?” She let out a breath.

“There has been a sighting of Mallory Finnegan,” she stated. Mycroft bolted forward in his seat, heart pounding.

“When? And where?” Mycroft demanded.

“She was allegedly sighted last night in Glasgow,” Lady Smallwood said carefully.

“Allegedly?” Mycroft all but demanded.

“All we have is a very grainy photo. We can neither confirm, nor deny, that it actually is Mallory Finnegan,” Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, but Lady Smallwood held up a hand to stop him. “We have eyes out everywhere, Mycroft, I assure you. The Scotland office is searching everywhere and have agents posted at all borders, confirming identities of all people coming and going,”

“But?” Mycroft said, sensing the hesitation.

“We have reason to believe that this may have been a ruse,” Lady Smallwood stated. “We received this report at 6:00 AM, but the timestamps on the photo are from early evening yesterday,”

“Are you suggesting...?” Lady Smallwood nodded as Mycroft trailed off.

“Anthea, Maddie, and I are all cross-checking all agents, triple-checking that there are no connections whatsoever- be it directly or indirectly- to the Finnegans. With only the three of us, it will take time,” she told him. Mycroft looked to Anthea.

“Clear my schedule,” he told her. “This now takes presidence over anything below an act of terrorism,” Anthea nodded.

“Yes, sir,” she responded, placing her Blackberry to her ear and leaving the room. Mycroft stood, pulling his own mobile out of his pocket.

“Apologies, but I need to step out for a moment,” he told Lady Smallwood. “Please, help yourself to any refreshment,” she looked up at him.

“Who are you going to call?” She asked.

“Gregory firstly,” Mycroft said.

“Firstly?” Mycroft nodded.

“Secondly, the two other people I trust completely with my life,” Mycroft said. “Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson,”

Chapter Text

“Of course,” Sherlock said in to his mobile. “Yes. We will. Be careful, brother mine. I’ll send you any findings,” Sherlock ended the call, a familiar gleam in his eyes.

“What’s happened?” John said, his eyes darting to Sherlock’s room, where he had laid Elara down for a rest with his heating pad after he had dosed her with pain medicine an hour earlier.

“A possible sighting of Mallory Finnegan was reported to Lady Smallwood this morning at 6:00 AM,” Sherlock said, opening his laptop and typing feverishly.

“But...?” John said, knowing there was more Sherlock wasn't yet telling him. Sherlock glanced up and smirked.

“But there is reason to believe the photo was a set up-”

“Meaning that there is also reason to believe that there is a mole somewhere within their ranks,” John concluded. Sherlock’s smirk grew.

“Very good, John,” he said.

“What needs doing? Is there a safe house we need to get Elara to?” Sherlock shook his head.

“Not as of yet,” Sherlock said, his eyes racing over his laptop screen, glancing up at John quickly before returning to the screen. “Mycroft wants her to remain here at Baker Street with us for now. Though it would be a good idea to have us each a go-bag packed just in case. The probability of us needing to leave at a moment’s notice is very high,” John nodded.

“Right. I can do that. What will you do?” John said, reflexively opening and closing his left hand.

“Mycroft has sent over files of agents. I will be assisting in finding possible connections between the agents and the Finnegans,” Sherlock said. John nodded.

“What about Mrs. Hudson?” He asked, knowing that she was in danger. “And Molly?” Sherlock’s hands stilled for a second before continuing.

“Molly should be safe,” he stated. “She is not as constant in Elara’s life as you and I and Mrs. Hudson. You’ll need to explain to Mrs. Hudson that she will need to get out of London for a few days. I’ll have Mycroft arrange the travel for her,” John nodded.

“I’ll go and tell her, then,” John said. Right as he turned, the woman herself knocked on the door before opening it and popping her head in the room.

“Yoo-hoo,” she called softly. “Hello, boys. I know Elara is here, but you’ve got a client,”

“Busy,” Sherlock said, not looking up from the laptop. Mrs. Hudson hesitated.

“She’s rather insistent, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Hudson said. “She was going on about an abducted child,”

“Then she should call the police,” Sherlock said, getting frustrated.

“I can’t go to the police,” a soft voice stated from behind Mrs. Hudson on the landing of the stairs.

“And why not?” John asked as Mrs. Hudson stepped aside, revealing a woman, wearing ratty jeans, a stained hoodie, and a ball cap pulled down over her face.

“Because they are unequipped to assist me,” she said. Sherlock was raking his eyes over the woman. He snapped the laptop shut, quickly coming to stand in front of John. Sherlock clasped his hands behind him, signaling John with his fingers before silently tapping out a message in Morse Code.

Vatican Cameos.

“Please, have a seat,” Sherlock said, gesturing to the client chair. He glanced back to John who gave a near imperceptive nod.

“I’ll go and get my notebook, then. Mrs. Hudson, can I help you with the tea?” John said, heading towards the kitchen, ushering Mrs. Hudson with him.

“John, I-” John held a finger to his lips, bustling around with the kettle to cover up his whispers.

“You need to get yourself out,” he told her frantically as he turned on the water on the sink. “Go downstairs, phone Mycroft. Tell him to get here now. If he doesn’t answer, phone Greg. If he doesn’t answer, phone Anthea. Keep calling all of them until someone answers. Tell them that there’s trouble here,”

“What is going on, John?” Mrs. Hudson whispered back, fear in her eyes as John located his medical bag, retrieving his notebook as well as his gun, which he had freed from the hoover dust bin and had taken to carrying around with him ever since his and Elara’s abduction.

“Not sure,” he murmured, tucking the gun in the waistband of his jeans as the kettle whistled. “But it’s nothing good,” he walked back in to the room, making quick eye contact with Sherlock before taking his seat as Mrs. Hudson came in and set the tray of tea and mugs down.

“I’ve got something in the oven downstairs that I need to check on, but just call if you need anything,” she said before quickly leaving the room.

“So,” Sherlock said. “Your child has been abducted, so you say, and we both know why you cannot go to the police,” John furrowed his eyebrows for a fraction of a second before he returned his face to neutrality once more. Sherlock leaned forward in his seat.

“Now, do explain your side of the story, Mrs. Finnegan,” Sherlock said. John’s blood turned to ice in his veins. The woman lifted her head, a smirk on her face as she removed the ball cap.

“They said you were quick,” Mallory Finnegan said, the false London accent she had been using was now replaced with her true Irish accent. She ran her fingers through her hair, grimacing at the filthy cap that she tossed on the ground.

“Now then, Mr. Holmes,” she said, straightening in her seat. “Where is my daughter?”

“You haven’t got a daughter,” Sherlock replied coldly. “Not anymore. You lost that title when you lost your freedom,”

“A slight technicality that is soon to be rectified,” she said. “Now, my daughter. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,”

“I wasn’t aware there were choices,” Sherlock told her, looking to John in feign surprise. “We love choices, don’t we, John?”

“If there are choices, then I am about to choose to bodily throw her out a window,” John said coolly, not taking his eyes off the woman.

“Now, would you actually do that to a woman who suffered her own abuse at the hands of her now late husband?” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You never suffered abuse,” John said, causing Sherlock’s head to snap up in surprise. “At least not from your spouse,”

“John?” Sherlock asked, a tiny bit of hesitation in his voice. John gave the woman a once over.

“Your ring,” John said, gesturing to the item still on the woman’s finger.

“What of it?” She sniffed at him.

“Well, the fact that you’re still wearing it, for one. Also, it’s clean,” John said. She rolled her eyes.

“Of course it’s clean. Why wouldn’t it be?” It was John’s turn to smirk.

“Anyone in an unhappy marriage wouldn’t care a bit about the state of their wedding ring,” John told her. “The only part that would be clean is the inside of the ring when the cheater takes it on and off for certain extramarital activities. Yours is shined and polished three- no- four times a week. If you were abused, you wouldn’t care about the state of your ring. You also still wouldn’t be wearing it. If it was me, I’d have chucked it in to the Thames,” Sherlock looked torn between neutrality and wanting to snog John within an inch of his life. Mallory looked like she had swallowed something sour.

“Enough of this,” she spat out. “My daughter. Now,” Sherlock made a move to stand, but stopped immediately when Mallory whipped out a gun. John stood immediately, torn between wanting to protect Sherlock and getting Elara away from this woman.

“Back off, Dr. Watson, or cheekbones here gets it,” she snarled, glancing over at John. “Do be a dear and retrieve my daughter so that we can be on our way. We’ve got a boat to catch,”

“No,” John said simply. Mallory froze.

“No...?” She asked, leveling the gun at Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock sucked in a nearly inconspicuous breath, but John saw it all the same. Sherlock had been shot once before, and he did not care to repeat the experience. John swallowed hard.

“No,” he said, his eyes darting to Sherlock, who looked at John with complete, loving trust. “She isn’t here,”

“Liar!” She growled at him. “I watched Mycroft fucking Holmes bring her here this morning and leave without her. No one else has been in or out aside from myself,” she fired a shot towards the wall before aiming back to Sherlock’s chest once more.

“My daughter, now, or the next one goes through his chest,” she hissed out. John held his hands out pleadingly.

“Alright, alright!” He shouted. He glanced up at Sherlock, whose eyes drifted to where he knew John had stashed his Sig. John let out a breath. “She's in the bedroom upstairs,” John lied. Irritation flew in her eyes as she let out an agitated sigh.

“Right,” before John could process what was about to happen, she swung around and landed a devastating blow to Sherlock’s temple with the gun, dropping the man like he was a sack of potatoes.

“Sherlock!” John started towards him, but quickly backed off when she leveled the gun at John’s face.

“My daughter,” she snarled at him, shoving him around and towards the staircase, jamming the gun in to his back. John carefully started up the staircase to his old bedroom, Mallory Finnegan closely behind as he prepared for another fight to protect the precious child hidden on the floor below them.

Chapter Text

Sherlock waited for several seconds until he heard the creak of the tenth step before he quickly got to his feet, gasping as he stumbled slightly, fighting the nausea and wiping the blood from his brow. Mallory had hit him hard, but not hard enough in the right place to knock him out. He quickly, but quietly made his way to his bedroom, opening the door and finding the bed empty.

“Elara?” Sherlock whispered out. “Elara, it’s Uncle ‘Lock. We have to go,” there was a small shuffle from his wardrobe and it opened a crack to reveal a frightened Elara, whose frightened expression turned to one of horror when she saw the state of Sherlock’s face.

“It’s alright, I’m alright,” he said, gently reaching out and lifting her from his wardrobe. “We have to go, bee, quickly now,” he said, starting towards the bedroom door with her in his arms.

Sherlock stopped short when he heard Finnegan shout before the sounds of a scuffle and bodies hitting the floor before tumbling down the staircase reverberated throughout the flat. John let out a cry of pain and Mallory shrieked. Elara whimpered in his arms.

“Uncle John,” she breathed out. His grip tightened around her slightly. Sherlock let out a breath, eyeing the window.

“He’ll be alright. We have to get you out of here,” he said, starting towards the window. The bedroom door suddenly burst open, revealing a winded John, clutching his side and also bleeding from a wound on his temple, likely from his tumble down the stairs.

“Go,” he heaved out in between breaths. “Take her- and run- Sherlock-”

A loud thump and a grunt from John and he went down, revealing a very pissed-off Mallory, still holding the gun. She raised it at Sherlock, who immediately turned his back to the gun, his body a shield between the weapon and Elara as he ensured her head was tucked firmly in to her shoulder.

“You shoot me and you risk hitting the child as well,” Sherlock called out. “Are you really willing to risk that?” Sherlock heard the gun cock.

“Are you willing to find out?” Mallory growled out.

Sherlock knew she would shoot. And he would not risk Elara. He quickly set the girl down by his feet, instructing her to stay down with a simple wave of his hand before he stood to full height and spun around. A single shot rang out and something slammed in to his chest and he went down.

“NO!”

John had regained consciousness. He pulled his weapon out and delivered a single shot. Mallory Finnegan went down and was still. She would not move again. John struggled to crawl over to where Sherlock fell, seeing Elara safely tucked under the bed, though she was silently sobbing.

“Sherlock! John!” Mycroft’s frantic voice came from the sitting room. Greg ran in to the room just as John began to rip away Sherlock’s shirt.

“Elara is under the bed,” John said frantically as Mycroft swept in to the room. “Take her. Get her out. Call an ambulance-” Sherlock groaned.

“John,” Sherlock caught John’s hands in his, wincing heavily as he reached in to his shirt, pulling out something silver on a chain- John’s dog tags, which were now bent.

“Sherlock?” John choked out.

“I’m alright, John,” Sherlock said. “The bullet hit your tags,”

John let out a relieved sob before engulfing the genius in his arms. Mycroft had coaxed Elara out from under the bed and was holding her tightly to his chest. Greg stood from checking and disarming Mallory Finnegan, crossing the room and taking Mycroft and Elara in to his arms.

“There’s an ambulance on its way,” Anthea’s voice came out from the doorway, startling them all. “You should all head downstairs and get checked out. Mrs. Hudson is beside herself,”

John began to help Sherlock to his feet when a stabbing pain in his side forced him to stop and he let out a hiss of pain. Greg stepped forward and helped John up before helping Sherlock to his feet, slinging the taller man’s hand over his shoulder and helping him walk towards the front room. John took one step and stumbled, only to be caught by Mycroft, who had handed Elara off to Anthea.

“Easy, John,” Mycroft warned, wrapping an arm around John and assisting him down to the waiting ambulance.

Greg was holding Elara, having handed Sherlock off to the waiting medics, so that Anthea could return upstairs to head the scene. Mycroft deposited John on the stretcher next to Sherlock and went over to Greg.

“Elara, darling, are you alright? Are you hurt at all?” Mycroft asked, smoothing her hair back as she clung to Greg. She shook her head. Mycroft placed a kiss on her head before looking up at Greg. “Would you take her home, please? I’ll see to it that John and Sherlock are alright and then I’ll be headed home. Lady Smallwood is handling this one,” Greg nodded.

“’Course, darlin’,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “Be careful. We’ll see you soon,” Mycroft kissed Elara goodbye before turning to the ambulance.

“Mr. Holmes here is alright. Slight concussion, but nothing too bad. Dr. Watson, however, will need x-rays. He’s likely got some broken ribs in addition to a concussion and his laceration will need stitches,” the paramedic told him as he finished bandaging John’s head. Mycroft nodded.

“I’ll be riding along,” he told the paramedic, who nodded and called to his partner and they sped off to hospital.

“Sherlock, John,” Mycroft said, looking to the both of them. “Are you both quite alright?”

Sherlock nodded, wincing as he made a move to where John’s dog tags had once been. John looked green. Knowing what was about to happen, Mycroft quickly took the plastic bin the paramedic held out to him and thrust it under John’s chin, who promptly sicked up in to it. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John, rubbing circles on John’s upper back as he heaved.

“S-sorry- Myc-Mycroft,” John said in between breaths once he was finished.

“It is no trouble to me, John,” Mycroft said as he handed the bin to the paramedic. “On the second night Elara was with me, she sicked up all over the kitchen floor. I misstepped and fell right in to it,” Sherlock snickered.

“So you joined the parent club fairly early on, then,” John said with a weak grin.

“That is precisely what Anthea told me before sending me straight upstairs for a shower and a fresh suit,” Mycroft said as he gave John a bit of gauze to wipe up with.

They made it to hospital shortly afterwards. Mycroft ensured they were seen immediately and stayed with the both of them until they were cleared to be released. True to the paramedic’s suspicions, John had three broken ribs on his right side in addition to the concussion and received four stitches for the gash on his temple.

“The both of you will be returning to my home with me this evening,” Mycroft said as he escorted the both of them to the waiting car outside the A&E entrance. “Your flat at Baker Street is, unfortunately, a crime scene for at least the next couple of days, though we are processing everything as quickly as possible,” John let out a sigh.

“When are they coming for me?” He asked Mycroft quietly. Mycroft narrowed his eyes slightly in confusion.

“I am afraid I do not understand, John,” he said.

“I’ve killed a woman,” John said, swallowing hard. “I have to answer for it,”

“John-” Mycroft held up a hand, silencing his little brother.

“John, you will not face any charges for this,” Mycroft told him severely. “An armed, felonious prison escapee came in to your flat, attacked the both of you, and attempted to abduct a child, who has a lifetime protection order against her. You were protecting yourself and your family. By my records, the weapon you own was obtained legally and you were well within your rights to shoot,” John let out a shuddery breath and buried his head in his hands. Mycroft reached out a hesitant hand and rested it gently on John’s shoulder.

“Once again, John, and Sherlock, I find myself deeply indebted to you,” Mycroft said. “You both protected Elara, ready to die for her. I apologize that you keep being put in to this position. Though, now that both the Finnegans are dead, I imagine the threat against Elara will be much lower now,” John let out a breath and looked up at Mycroft tearfully.

“I don’t regret anything,” John told him. “I only regret that she was hurt,” Sherlock smiled, placing a kiss to John’s head.

“Ever the soldier,” he murmured in to John’s hair.

“I understand that your dog tags were damaged. I shall see to it that you receive a replacement set should you wish it,” Mycroft said, his eyes darting to where a bullet nearly lodged itself in his brother again. John nodded letting out a shaky laugh.

“I’d nearly forgotten that I’d given them to ‘Lock,” John said, glancing up at Sherlock, taking his hand. “I didn’t know you wore them around,” Sherlock’s cheeks tinged pink slightly.

“I’ve worn them every day since you gave them to me,” Sherlock admitted. “I only take them off to sleep, shower, or-” he cut off quickly, glancing up at Mycroft as his cheeks turned a deeper pink. Mycroft quirked an eyebrow as John attempted- and failed- to not snicker.

“Oh, I wish I did not have an eidetic memory,” Mycroft muttered, closing his eyes and shuddering in horror. “That was a mental image that I shall never be able to rid myself of,”

Chapter Text

Greg held Elara the entire ride home, not saying anything as her silent tears soaked in to his shirt. She had finally stopped shaking by the time the car pulled up to their home. Greg, still holding Elara, walked in to the house, locking the door and arming the security system immediately before walking to the kitchen and wordlessly making the both of them some cocoa. Greg sat down at the table, Elara still in his arms, with the mugs of cocoa, sliding one within Elara’s reach.

“Are you positive that you aren’t hurt, Elara?” Greg asked gently. Elara shook her head.

“I wasn’t hurt at all,” Elara whispered out. “Uncle ‘Lock and Uncle John kept me safe,” Greg hugged her tightly to him, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I’m very glad you aren’t hurt,” he told her. “But I am so sorry this happened again, sunshine,” Elara was silent for a long time.

“Why didn’t they love me?” Greg stilled, unsure how to go about the question.

“Well,” he said, sipping his mug of cocoa. “I’m not sure why exactly their reasoning would be. I can only speculate,” Elara looked up at him expectantly. He let out a breath.

“Some adults become who they are because of how they were raised,” Greg said carefully. “Some adults become the way they are because of something that happened to them at some point in their lives. And, other adults are just born that way,” Elara furrowed her eyebrows.

“Do you remember the first day you met me? When I told you that I was sad for what happened to you and to another little boy?” Elara nodded.

“You were that little boy,” she said. Greg furrowed his eyebrows in surprise.

“Yes. How did you know that?” Elara observed him carefully, her emerald green orbs looking deeply in to Greg’s warm, chocolate ones.

“I just knew,” she said. “I don’t know how, but I did,” Greg smiled a sad smile, planting a gentle kiss on her temple.

“In a world woven with silence, abuse survivors carry a silent language; they recognize one another's scars as effortlessly as abusers recognize the cracks in the armor of their next target,” Greg said, internally wincing at how much like a Holmes he sounded.

“I don’t want to be like them,” she whispered out in horror. Greg’s arms tightened around her without him realizing it.

“You won’t be, sunshine,” he said. “My father beat me within an inch of my life several times growing up, nearly killing me the final time he did so. I have never raised a hand towards anyone unless it was in self-defense, and I would never dream of doing so, especially to anyone I know and love,” Elara snuggled deeper in to his arms.

“Every moment lived is a lesson learned, sunshine,” Greg told her. “Embrace your past as a teacher, but never let it become your jailer,” Greg heard nothing, but felt the front of his shirt grow damp once more from what he knew were Elara’s tears. He rubbed a hand up and down her back, rocking her slightly as she calmed down.

“If they never loved me,” she asked in a quiet, detached tone, “then why did they try to take me back?” Greg felt like he had been punched in the gut. He let out a breath.

“Well, sunshine, I’m not sure I can answer that one for you,” he said. “I think it was likely a pride thing. They weren’t happy that something they held possession over was taken from them without their consent, so, like a toddler, they tried to take back what they thought was theirs,”

“Sir and Ma’am are dead now,” she said in the same tone. Greg pursed his lips for a moment before replying.

“Yes,” he told her. “They cannot hurt you- or anyone- ever again,”

“I never knew love,” she said, resting her head on Greg’s shoulder. Greg’s heart twisted. “I didn’t know what parents were or what it felt like to feel safe,”

“I’m so sorry, sunshine,” Greg said, fighting tears. He knew almost exactly how she felt.

“I’m not,” she said in a clearer voice after a moment. Greg sniffed quietly.

“Not what, sunshine?”

“Not sorry,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m not sorry, because everything I went through, everything that happened to me, brought me here to all of you,”

“I have a real family now,” she continued, laying her head back down on his shoulder and snuggling closer to Greg. “I have two daddies, two uncles, two aunties, and a nan now. I’m never hungry anymore and I have a bed to sleep in and nice clothes,” Greg’s throat was so tight, he was genuinely surprised that he was still able to breathe.

“And I know what love is now,” she said quietly. “Love is nice. It’s like a fluffy, soft blanket. It makes you feel safe and warm, like nothing can ever hurt you again,” and there went the tears coursing down Greg's face. He kissed her head.

“You are absolutely right, Elara,” he said in a choked voice. She looked up at him, frowning in concern. She reached up and wiped away a tear.

“Don’t be sad, papa,” she said. He smiled at her.

“I’m not sad, love,” he told her, kissing her head once more before resting his cheek on top of her head, basking in the warmth and light that was his little girl.

“Papa?” Elara asked after fifteen minutes of sipping their now cool cocoa.

“Yes, sunshine?”

“I- I’m hungry,” she said in a hesitant whisper. “Can we have lunch now?” Greg glanced up at the clock and saw that it was nearly 3:30 PM.

“Oh, God, sunshine, I’m sorry,” he said, lifting her to a chair and jumping up to rummage through the pantry. “I didn’t realize how late it was and that you hadn’t had lunch yet,” he handed her a package of graham crackers before nabbing a banana from the fruit bowl and peeling it for her.

“Here, you can snack on these for now,” Greg said before turning to get her some juice from the fridge.

“Can we make dinner for everyone?” Elara asked him, nibbling on her banana as Greg opened the bottle of juice for her.

“Everyone?” Greg asked her, taking a piece of graham cracker that she offered out to him with a smile. Elara nodded.

“Uncle John and Uncle ‘Lock are coming over tonight, right?” Greg nodded.

“Yeah, I s’pose they are. They’ll likely be staying for a few days as well,” Greg said before smiling at Elara. “So, you wanna help me make dinner for everyone, then?”

“And cake?” Elara asked hopefully. Greg chuckled.

“Of course we can make a cake,” he told her. “Is it even dinner if there isn’t cake to be had afterwards?”

The next two-and-a-half hours were dedicated to Greg showing Elara how to make stuffed chicken breasts, mashed potatoes, and seasoned green beans before they started on the cake. Mycroft, Sherlock, and John walked in to the kitchen to see Greg showing Elara how to pipe icing decoratively around the border of a cake with a piping bag.

“Easy does it, there you go. Slowly at first, but you’ll get quicker with practice. Well done, sunshine,” he said, grinning as he kissed her cheek. Elara then proceeded to swipe her finger- which was covered in chocolate icing- across Greg’s nose. He gasped in mock horror as Elara giggled madly.

“Oh, that settles it,” he said, scooping her off the chair she had been standing on to reach the counter top and gently flipping her upside down over his shoulder. “You only get cauliflower from here on out,” Greg declared, poking at her sides as she shrieked out giggles.

“N-no! Yucky!” She cried out in between laughs, before spotting Mycroft. She reached out an arm to him. “D-daddy, help!” Mycroft placed his umbrella on the kitchen table and swooped in, swiping Elara from Greg’s hold easily.

“I’ve got you, little one,” he said, turning her upright and holding her protectively to his chest away from Greg. “No cauliflower for you, darling, never. You’re safe from the terrible papa now,” Elara giggled as Greg huffed out an exaggerated sigh.

“Smells great, Greg,” John said as Sherlock helped him ease in to a kitchen chair.

“Ta, John. Elara helped,” Greg said, wiping the icing off his nose with a wet tea towel. “You both alright?” Greg said quietly as Elara had directed Mycroft to the stove to show him what they had made for dinner. John let out a sigh.

“Bit beat up, but nothing we can’t handle,” John said with a small smile. “I need to eat, but nothing too much. I’ve got a concussion and have already been sick a few times now, so I don’t want to overload my system,” Greg nodded.

“Well, it’s nothing too heavy tonight,” Greg told him as he retrieved plates and cutlery. “Of course, if you want something more bland or light, we’ve got plenty of broths and soups I could heat up for you,” John smiled, but waved him off.

“Nah. This’ll be fine. Thank you, though,” Mycroft turned to them, Elara still held tightly to his chest.

“The guest room is ready for you both. You are welcome to stay for as long as you like, but your flat will not be ready for another three days,” Sherlock nodded once.

“Thank you, brother mine,”

Chapter Text

Sherlock and John retired shortly after they ate, John did more playing with his food than eating due to feeling sick. Mycroft sent him upstairs with several ice packs and a bottle of paracetamol. Once the pair had reached the staircase, John glared at it as though it had personally insulted him. Sherlock took John’s hand in his and slowly helped John up the stairs. Once they made it to the guest bedroom, Sherlock helped John in to his sleepwear before changing in to his own. John eased himself down in to a supine position with a quiet, pained grunt. Sherlock went to lay down beside him, but hesitated, not wanting to hurt John further. John held his arm open.

“C’mere, love,” John said. Sherlock immediately, but carefully, curled in to John’s side. “I’m alright, love. You won’t hurt me,”

John, in pain and under the influence of a concussion and pain medication, dropped off to sleep fairly quickly. Sherlock, knowing that John needed minding and not being tired in the slightest, lay with his head resting on John’s shoulder. Sherlock thought over the day in his mind. He shuddered minutely at how close he had come to being shot again. His fingers ghosted the now purple bruise where John’s dog tags had, undoubtedly, saved his life. Sherlock had always known that he had loved John. He knew he was in trouble from the moment John killed that cabbie for him the first case they worked. Sherlock always knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with John, but now he wanted- needed- to make it official. Sherlock shut his eyes and began to plot. After a while, he started suddenly as John flinched at something in his sleep.

“John?” Sherlock whispered, lifting his head. John whimpered.

“Sh’lock,” John slurred out in his sleep, flinching bodily and wincing. “No,”

“John,” Sherlock said, immediately putting distance between himself and John.

Sherlock had learned years before to never touch or try to physically wake John when he was having a nightmare or- God forbid- a night terror. The first time he had tried shortly after John had moved in to Baker Street, John had swung at him in his sleep and nearly broken Sherlock’s nose. John made him promise to never try to touch him whilst in the throes of a nightmare again. Sherlock had found that he could play his violin quietly and slowly, composing his own lullaby for John when John had nights that were, what Sherlock called, ‘Not Good’. Sherlock didn’t have his violin on him tonight, however, so he would have to improvise.

“John, it’s alright,” Sherlock said in a clear, steady voice. “You are safe. You are with me, Sherlock Holmes. We are at my brother, Mycroft’s house with Greg Lestrade and Elara Holmes. The year is 2018 and you are in London,” John groaned and yelled out.

“John, love,” Sherlock said. “Come back to me, love. Wake up, love,”

John gasped awake, only to turn on his side and retch over the side of the bed in to a bin that Sherlock had placed there just in case. Sherlock was up in an instant, kneeling next to John on the bed and reaching out to place his hand on John’s back. John whimpered and recoiled from Sherlock’s hand and Sherlock backed off immediately. Sherlock looked in to John’s eyes and recognized the glazed-over look they gave off. John had mentioned that he could possibly sleepwalk and/or hallucinate after seemingly waking from a nightmare, but he would not be fully awake or aware, instructing Sherlock to never try to wake him unless he was a threat to himself or Sherlock, just to lead him back to bed.

“John, it’s alright. Let’s go back to bed now,” Sherlock said, slowly placing his hand on John’s bicep and guiding the smaller man to lay back down. Sherlock held a glass of water to John’s lips. “Here, love. Rinse and drink,” John did so, spilling a bit down his chin which Sherlock wiped away with the sleeve of his nightshirt. John shied away at the touch.

“It’s alright, John. You’re safe with me,” Sherlock said, replacing the covers over John before crossing his legs and watching his love. John was silent for several minutes.

“’Lock?” Sherlock watched as John’s eyes squeezed tight before opening blearily.

“John? Are you with me now?” Sherlock asked, remaining completely still.

“Mm, yeah,” John said. Sherlock inched closer to John, sweeping the hair from John’s forehead with a loving touch.

“How are you feeling?” Sherlock asked. John winced.

“Head hurts,” John swallowed, wincing again. “Throat too. Was I sick again?” Sherlock nodded. They both started at a quiet knock on the door. Sherlock got off the bed and opened the door, revealing Mycroft.

“Is John alright?” Mycroft asked. Sherlock nodded.

“Rough night. He’s been sick again,” Sherlock said. Mycroft held up a tray he had been holding.

“I’ve brought some peppermint tea and crackers,” Mycroft said. “Hopefully it will settle his stomach and then he can have more medication if he can hold the crackers down,” Sherlock carefully took the tray from his older brother, offering the man a small smile.

“Thank you, brother mine,” Sherlock said. Mycroft nodded once.

“Of course,” Mycroft said. “Do let me know if either of you require anything,” Sherlock thanked him again before closing the door and bringing John the tea and crackers. Outside the room, Mycroft sighed and rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

“Everything alright?” Greg asked, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s waist from behind. Mycroft’s hands drifted down to Greg’s and he leaned in to the embrace.

“Were you able to get her settled?” Mycroft asked, knowing that Greg had been the one to calm Elara down after a nightmare. Greg nodded.

“Yeah. She’s asleep again,” Mycroft brought one of Greg’s hands to his lips. “You and I should get some sleep too, darlin’. I have a feeling that it’s gonna be a long night for everyone,”

Mycroft let out a breath, but let Greg lead him to their bedroom. Greg pulled down the covers and sat down on the bed with his back against the headboard. He gently tugged on Mycroft’s hand, guiding the man to lay down with his head in Greg’s lap. Greg began to gently card his fingers through Mycroft’s hair and Mycroft let out a sigh of contentment, finally letting some of the stress and tension he had been carrying since Elara and John’s abduction the month before be soothed away.

“You’ve been so tense and stressed since that day on the docks,” Greg said after a while. “I know you didn’t want to add any more to my plate since I was hurt and recovering, but I wish you had, My. We’re a team, you and me. I lean on you and vice-versa, yeah? Well, lean on me, darlin’. I’ve got you, Mycroft. I’ll always have you, love,”

Greg’s words cracked the dam and Mycroft let out a shuddery breath as his tears began to soak in to Greg’s pyjama pants. Mycroft didn’t know how long they lay there, Greg sweeping his hand gently through Mycroft’s hair, occasionally murmuring to him as Mycroft cried himself out. Finally, Mycroft began to settle down.

“Better?” Greg asked. Not trusting his voice just yet, Mycroft nodded. Greg chuckled. “Liar,” Mycroft choked out a laugh. Greg reached down and wiped the tears from Mycroft’s face before leaning down and placing a slow, loving kiss on Mycroft’s lips.

“Next time,” Greg said in a low tone that would have made Mycroft shudder and go weak in the knees if he wasn’t utterly exhausted to the bone. “Don’t bottle it all up, My. Talk to me. Let it out,”

“I love you, Gregory,” Mycroft said. Greg smiled a soft, loving smile that was only reserved for Mycroft.

“I love you too, Mycroft,” Greg said, kissing Mycroft once more. “You and Elara are my whole world,”

“I thank everything that you were the one to find my brother all those years ago,” Mycroft said. “Lord knows where Sherlock and I would be if it hadn’t been for you, Gregory Lestrade,” Greg gave Mycroft a tired smile, brushing his hand through Mycroft’s hair a final time before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on Mycroft’s forehead.

“And God knows where I’d be if it wasn’t for Sherlock,” Greg said. They lay like that for several minutes more before Greg finally shifted.

“Alright, I need to move now,” Greg said, wincing. “Shoulder is beginning to smart,” Mycroft sat up and turned to Greg so quickly that he became momentarily dizzy.

“Easy, My, I’m alright,” Greg said, catching Mycroft’s arm and balancing him. “I’d just been on one position for too long,”

Mycroft pulled him in for a kiss before helping Greg lay down on the bed. He turned out the bedside lamp on his nightstand before curling up to Greg, wrapping an arm over his chest. Greg reached a hand up and took Mycroft’s hand in his, placing a kiss on his palm before they both succumbed to the sweet pulls of sleep.

Chapter Text

One Year and Nine Months Later: 25 December, 2019

Greg was pacing in front of the Christmas tree, trying- and failing- to not show any outward signs of panic. He was waiting for Mycroft to return from a two-week long visit to an undisclosed location as certain leaders of the world were concerned about a possible public health risk. 10-year-old Elara snickered from her place on the couch. Greg whirled around to her.

“No. Nope. Absolutely not. I will not take any cheek from you. Not today,” Elara raised her eyebrow in a very Mycroft-like way.

“I didn’t even say anything,” she said.

“You were thinking,” Greg said, nervously adjusting his tie for a tenth time. Elara rolled her eyes.

Elara had come a long way from the battered, underweight child Greg had first seen sleeping in Mycroft’s office over two years before. She was now a healthy weight, though she was still small for her age and likely always would be, her immune system had recovered, and she never wanted for anything. She was currently wearing nice jeans, a red button-up collared dress shirt, and a dark green pullover. Her hair- now down to her waist- had been expertly braided by Greg that morning and had Christmas ribbons woven in to the plaits.

“Everything will be fine, papa,” she said, closing the book she had been reading with a snap. “Just do everything like we practiced and everything’ll be fine,” Greg let out a near hysterical laugh.

“What if he says no?” Elara rolled her eyes again. “If you keep rolling your eyes, I’m gonna ground you from Uncle Sherlock,” Greg threatened without bite.

“And if you were any less threatening, you’d be a dandelion,” Elara said without missing a beat. Greg groaned.

“God, you’ve spent way too much time around Sherlock when he’s in his full sarcastic flow,” Elara snorted.

“That’s who he is,” Elara said. “He has no other way of living,” Greg sighed.

“Yeah, but he could still tone it down a bit around you,” Greg suggested.

“That’s like asking him not to breathe,” Elara said.

Greg started to respond to her, but both of them froze at the sound of the security panel being deactivated and the front door being opened. Greg released a large breath, looking at Elara in alarm, who waved her hand in an exaggerated get on with it motion.

“Some help you are,” Greg scowled at her. Elara snorted and returned to her book. Greg turned back to the mirror above the fireplace and began fumbling with his tie.

“Gregory? Elara? I’m home, loves,” Mycroft’s voice rang from the entryway.

“In here, darlin’,” Greg called. Mycroft entered the room, looking pristine as always even though he had been gone for two weeks on a diplomatic trip. Elara grinned madly and ran to him. Mycroft swept her in to his arms, swinging her around before setting her back down.

“Oh, I missed you, little one. You look lovely,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“I missed you too, daddy,” she said, hugging his waist tightly before releasing him. Mycroft looked up at Greg, who was scowling in to the mirror as he continued to fix his tie.

“Troubles, Gregory?” Mycroft said with a grin. Greg let out a frustrated breath.

“I can’t get this bloody tie tied correctly,” Greg said, finally giving up. “I was trying to tie it in an Eldredge Knot, but I can’t get the thing to cooperate with me,”

“Here, let me,” Mycroft said, wrapping his arms around Greg and attempting to wrestle with the offending fabric, kissing Greg on the temple as he did so.

“How was your trip?” Greg asked. Mycroft pursed his lips and let out a sight.

“Something is coming, I’m afraid,” he said. “There is a new, unknown virus that is raging through multiple countries now. I fear that we may have acted too late-” Mycoft cut off and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Gregory, did you attempt to tie this with a tie pin on?” Mycroft asked. Greg furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“No. Why would I do that?” Greg asked.

“Turn around, please,” Mycroft asked, gently taking Greg’s arm and spinning Greg to face him as Mycroft began to carefully undo Greg’s tie.

“What on Earth do you have knotted in this-” Mycroft’s words died on his tongue as a gold band fell out of the tie and in to Mycroft’s hand. Greg let out a gentle grin, taking Mycroft’s hands in his and dropping to one knee.

“Mycroft,” Greg said, looking in to Mycroft’s eyes. “When I first met you, I thought you were the scariest, yet most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes upon. I kept my feelings for you hidden for so many years. As the years went on, my feelings for you grew. I knew I loved you when I woke up with you next to me in hospital after leaving my ex. I knew that I was truly in love with you when I saw you with Elara for the first time. I knew that I wanted so much more when you asked me to sign the adoption papers for Elara. The moment I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you was the second time I woke up in hospital with you by my side after I’d been shot. Mycroft, you are the most kind, brilliant, beautiful, and caring person I could ever have the pleasure of knowing. It has been a privilege to have been your friend, your partner. Now, Mycroft Holmes, would you do me the absolute honor of being my husband?” Mycroft’s icy blue eyes shone with unshed tears.

“Gregory,” he whispered out. “Yes, Gregory. Of course I’ll marry you,”

Greg’s face lit up brighter than the Christmas tree and Mycroft held his hand out for Greg to slide the ring on to Mycroft’s finger. Greg stood and pressed his forehead against Mycroft’s, cupping Mycroft’s face in his hands.

“I love you, Mycroft,” Greg murmured. Mycroft grabbed Greg’s bicep with one hand and snaked the other hand up to caress Greg’s face.

“And I love you, Gregory,”

Greg gently pulled Mycroft’s face towards his and kissed him. They broke apart after several long moments when the both of them needed air and when Elara coughed slightly, reminding them of her presence. Greg released Mycroft and scooped Elara up in to his arms. Mycroft wrapped his arms around his family. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, smelling Greg’s light cologne and Elara’s shampoo. The upcoming crisis could wait. Right now, all he cared about was held firmly in his arms. The man he loved, the same man who broke through his Iceman exterior, and the darling little girl who had broken through all of his barriers. For once, the British Government could wait. Mycroft Holmes was taking a personal day.