The moment Mycroft Holmes found out about the baby abandoned on his brother's doorstep, he was at work, reading through a pile of files that needed to be sorted before the morning.
It was dark out and the light on his desk illuminated the room in a soft yellow glow as he flicked through each file one by one, taking great care with each written word and when finished, placing them in the relevant out tray to be collected and filed correctly when he left the office. He had one long leg crossed elegantly over the other, careful not to crease his dark suit trousers and his arms resting on the padded mahogany leather arms of the chair.
The door of his office had been left ajar, and light peeked through the gap streaming more light into the otherwise dark office.
The moment, he would always remember, he knew that something was wrong, came with the distinctive silence from outside his office. There was no tapping of computer or phone keys, no opening or shutting of draws, only silence.
The auburn haired man looked up at the gap in the door expectantly and was rewarded with the gentle tap of heels and Anthea's body blocking the light streaming through the door for a moment, then a soft knock at the door.
"Come in," Mycroft announced.
The door pushed open with a inaudible creek and his assistant walked in, cautious to shut the door behind her, she waited for the soft click before turning and making her way over to the desk. She had her phone in hand and an iPad, video then, Mycroft observed.
"We've recovered CCTV images from outside your brothers flat," she informed him, handing over the iPad.
He lent forward and took it from her, the image on the screen was of a woman, and it was undoubtedly a woman wearing an oversized sweatshirt and coat. Her face was blocked off from view but there was something in her arms, a large bundle. She stopped outside the flat, looking up at the door and waited for someone to pass before she knelt down and placed the bundle on the top step. She pulled an envelope from her pocket and manoeuvred it under bundle before pressing the doorbell and knocking firmly on the door once, and walking away.
"Who is she?" Mycroft asked, looking up at his assistant.
"We don't know Sir, there are no clear views of her face," she spoke, "she got into a cab at the end of the street, pre-paid, you might want to keep watching."
Mycroft raised an eyebrow and focused back on the screen.
The door to 221B opened to reveal his brother, still wearing his suit from earlier but now with his wine coloured dressing gown over the top, undone. A gush of wind hit him, billowing his dressing gown and brushing his dark curls backwards. His younger brother peered outside, eyes scanning over the isolated street and then up to the sky for a brief second. He stepped back completely unaware of the bundle by his feet, about to go back inside and slam the door shut.
Mycroft frowned at the screen.
His brother stopped, confused and reopened the door to look back outside. His brow was furrowed as he looked down at the ground.
He blinked in disbelief and knelt down, pushing his dressing gown out from behind him dramatically. It was a move that he has seen more often or not at crime scenes when he wanted to avoid getting his coat dirty. He focused completely on the bundle, obviously observing every single detail.
Mycroft's frown deepened as he watched his brother hesitantly reach out and pick up the bundle, showing great care in his actions. He placed the bundle, or as he should properly refer now he could make out what it was, the baby on his chest, and supported the infant with one arm. With the other he picked up the envelope, turned around and kicked the door shut behind him.
"A baby?" Mycroft said in disbelief, placing the tablet on his desk and leaning back in his chair. Somebody had a left on his brother's doorstep, his mind was reeling with the new information and he needed information.
"We have no ID on either the baby or the woman responsible for abandoning it."
"She left it on my brother's doorstep, we can assume that there is a connection." He told her.
Anthea nodded, "we are attempting to trace back his…liaisons, but he has a talent for avoiding our surveillance and is irregular in that department. No lovers or partners to speak of, the occasional one night stand but he seems to abstain from that particular activity."
Mycroft nodded, "can we access the cameras in Baker Street?"
Anthea nodded.
"When did this happen?" He asked.
"The images from outside happened not two minutes ago," she updated him, "and the stream from the house is live."
The image on the tablet switched to the live feed in his brothers living room, Sherlock stepped into the empty room and reached into his trouser pocket for his phone. He dialled and placed the phone at his ear.
"John I need you to come home…" there was no way to hear what the doctor was saying but Mycroft could summarise from what his brother was saying, "But I'm calling, I didn't text…Yes…"
His brother pouted, "Otherwise I wouldn't be calling."
Mycroft watched his brother glance at the child in his arms, awake but eyes drooping in an attempt to fight off sleep. "I found a baby on the doorstep…yes a baby. A child that has recently been born, the product of reproducing."
His brother was silent for a moment, listening to the reply and then snapped, "She can't talk John and I'm not a mind reader. She was abandoned, obviously and there's a note but I can't open it with just one hand."
Mycroft frowned. Sherlock had just lied, a very bad lie, he was usually a master a deception but his lie this lie was weak at best. He was panicking internally.
"Good," Sherlock said simply and threw his phone in the direction of the sofa. He looked down at the baby again, now close to sleep and observed her, stormy eyes focusing on her.
Now that they were inside Mycroft could see the infant clearly, she was small, barely a week old with dark hair.
Sherlock froze and glimpsed over to the letter he had placed on the table.
"He's just figured something out," Anthea observed. She was used to seeing Mycroft with similar expressions when he pieced something together to form an unavoidable answer.
Mycroft looked up at his assistant, "he has just figured out that the baby is his."
Sherlock on the screen looked back down at the baby and exhaled, "Well, this is definitely a bit not good."
"What do we do?" Anthea asked. She was out of her depth now.
Mycroft had been silent for far too long.
"Call Gregory, update him on the situation and get a driver to take him to the hospital."
"The hospital?" She asked, unsure.
"She's barely a few days old and has been left on a doorstep, they will want her to be checked over by a trained professional."
On the screen Sherlock was sat on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other and the baby cradled in his arms, fast asleep and snoring gently against his chest.
John walked in and stopped at the sight of it.
Anthea nodded and followed her boss' instructions leaving Mycroft alone in his office with the image of Doctor Watson sitting down on the coffee table opposite his brother, as he explained that he may have done something not entirely smart. Mycroft watched his brother, he looked so young and slightly scared with the tiny baby sleeping in his arms.
"You tosser!"
Mycroft took the phone away from his ear for a moment and sighed. Gregory was not happy with him then.
"You had your assistant call and tell me that a baby was abandoned outside your brothers flat," His partner continued, voice low to avoid drawing attention to himself as he spoke, "a baby that is apparently from the loins of one Sherlock Holmes."
"Gregory, please." Mycroft sounded disgusted at the image. Anthea glanced up from her phone and smirked at him before returning her gaze to the screen as he continued, "there is no need to be crass."
"He will not appreciate my presence," Greg promised him.
"But he needs somebody there," Mycroft argued.
"You should be there."
"He wants me there less than you," the auburn haired man scoffed.
"That's bullshit and you know it Myc."
"Be that as it may, he will not want me there."
"You need to be here." Greg told him, no room for argument.
"I am on route," He responded with a long sigh.
"What do you want me to do?" Greg asked, admitting defeat.
"Just go and be with him, lie if you must, no doubt he'll see right through it," he answered, "find out what you can and I'll meet you in thirty minutes at the closest entrance."
"Ok Myc."
Greg met him at the hospital entrance, he was stood against the wall wearing his usual black work suit with a white shirt and long coat. He managed a small smile at the sight of his partner and led the auburn haired man through the hospital, Anthea a few steps behind.
"What do we know?" Mycroft asked.
Greg nodded and answered, "She was born two days ago on the 2nd of May, and the mother was discharged this morning."
"What do we know about the mother?"
"Celine Howards, according to the doctor she came in two days ago with contractions and was treated by one of his colleagues." Greg told him, "She was born in the evening and kept in for observations."
Mycroft stopped walked and stared at his partner, stunned.
Greg stopped and looked back at him, confused by the sudden stop.
"She?" Mycroft repeated, unsure.
Greg's eyes widened, Mycroft was unsure of something and nodded once in answer. "She hasn't been named yet but the DNA test proves that she is Sherlock's…congratulations, you're an uncle."
Mycroft stared for a moment before nodding curtly, he glanced at Anthea and instructed, "I want everything you can find on Celine Howards and all hospital records, any sighting of her leaving the hospital and I want to know where she went. Also, prepare something for Sherlock and have it sent to Baker Street so he is prepared to take her home."
Anthea nodded and turned around, walking back down the way that they had just came.
"You think that he's going to take her home?" Greg asked.
"I'm sure of it," Mycroft told him. "Is there anything else?"
Greg nodded, "she was kept in for observations after a tricky birth. Apparently it's an extremely rare birth that came with a high percentage of cord prolapse that could, as I understand it, lead to a lack of oxygen to the baby. Everything was fine but they wanted to check her breathing."
Mycroft nodded in understanding. He was not an expert in babies or labour, but he had come across the term 'kneeling breech' in a book before, when his mother was pregnant with Sherlock, and understood the basics.
"And how is he?"
Greg shrugged and rubbed a hand over his cheek, "He's good with her, she started crying and he picked her right up out of the cot, settled her down."
"Shall we?"
Mycroft walked behind Greg as he rubbed a hand through his hair, stepping into the hospital room and moving aside for his partner. His eyes scanned over the scene with astonishment and vague disappointment, he had never liked the sight of his brother in hospital rooms. He curled his hand around the wooden handle of his umbrella and spoke, "Sherlock."
His eyes fixed onto his younger brother, sat on the hospital bed with a sleeping baby curled protectively in his arms, he watched as his arms tightened at the sound of his voice. It was a slight movement, unconscious on his brothers part, but still noticeable to his keen eyes. The involuntary gesture of a protective parent.
"Piss off" Sherlock responded, his tone strong but it lacked its usual bite.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Greg who seemed fazed but a little used to the action already. "Really Sherlock?" He asked, purposely taunting his younger brother.
The consulting detective tensed visibly. "It's none of your business Mycroft."
"He always was like this with new toys" he told the other spectators, Greg and John, before returning his full attention to his younger brother. "I just came to visit my niece."
"She is not a toy" Sherlock spat, volume raising. The baby in his brother's arms released a soft moan but remained asleep, a warning to them all that anymore would wake her. The curly haired man's attentions then fixed on his daughter, her sleeping figure.
Mycroft could see now that the baby had a sparse amount of dark hair, short but curling at the ends, something that he couldn't see on the CCTV due to the hat she had been wearing.
"Come now." Mycroft scolded, playing mother, again in an attempt to rile his brother further.
"Can you not go a minute without sticking your big nose in business that does not concern you?" Sherlock asked, raising both eyebrows and genuinely expecting an answer.
"Please boys." John spoke calmly, eyes going to the baby in his best friends arms with a hint of concern.
"It is my concern" Mycroft said after a moment as he stepped closer, craning slightly to view the baby tucked in his brothers arms. "She is my niece after all."
"And my daughter" Sherlock argued, shocking the others into silence.
Interesting, Mycroft thought, it almost seemed natural from his brother's lips.
"Yes, she is." Mycroft agreed with a firm twitch of the lips. Sherlock rolled his eyes and Mycroft continued. "There are matters to be discussed."
"Now?" John asked.
"Now would be better" Greg answered for Mycroft.
"What are your intentions?" Mycroft asked, eyes fixed on the younger Holmes and his even younger daughter. Sherlock grunted in reply, not dignifying him with an answer. Mycroft sighed but continued, these matters were very time delicate. "Sherlock, I know this is a very big decision for you but you have to decide. Either she stays with you or Mummy and Father can look after her."
He knew the relationship between Sherlock and his parents were strained, they were exactly the motivation he needed to get Sherlock to answer his unasked questions.
Sherlock's head shot up at this, his eyes cold. He hissed. "They can't have her.
"They would be thrilled, a grandchild at last." Mycroft told them, glancing at John, the only one who hadn't yet met his parents. "Of course, they wouldn't let her end up in care, we Holmeses stick together, they would be quite content raising her. Thrilled really."
"No" Sherlock snapped. Mycroft's brow furrowed and all attention was on him, once again.
Mycroft could see the anger bubbling up but somehow his brother managed to keep his temper, something to do with the baby in his arms he was sure. He was suppressing his anger for the good of his daughter, good, this was going better than anticipated.
"No?" Greg repeated, unsure.
"No" Sherlock confirmed. "They cannot have her, she is mine."
"There is a lot to think about here" Greg told him calmly. "A baby will completely disrupt your life."
"I'll manage" The consulting detective shot back, pushing himself from the bed and onto his feet all the while, keeping a firm hold on his sleeping daughter, she jerked slightly at the movement but remained asleep.
"We'll manage" John corrected, reaching for the baby bag one of the nurses had prepared for them while Sherlock fastened his coat, one handed. Sherlock's eyes darted to John for a moment, softening before continuing his task.
"Sherlock" Mycroft stepped closer to his brother, to stop him from hurrying away and spoke sincerely. "I will support you in whatever decision you make but you need to think about this, a baby. You didn't even know about her, she isn't the child of loving parents but the results of a tryst in an alleyway. She is two days old, with no name or home, and you are hardly the fatherly type."
He had never meant anything more – the good and the hurtful, he would always support his brother.
Sherlock's eyes widened at his brother words, shocking but true. He glanced at Greg who tried to hide it but was obviously thinking the same as Mycroft, then John who just smiled. A supportive friendly smile.
"My daughter's name is Maeve" Sherlock announced before sweeping out of the room.
John muttered a quick goodbye and ducked out of the room, following the taller man.
Greg stared at Mycroft. "How did you do that?"
Mycroft feigned confusion and shrugged.
"That, you just did it!" Greg gestured to where Sherlock had been sat, "You convinced him that he would be the best option for her, you pushed all of his buttons."
"He's my brother," Mycroft gave in explanation.
"And you know exactly how to make him do what you want." Greg surmised.
Mycroft nodded and explained, flicking his umbrella up and inspecting the tip for any damages. "There are only a few ways to get through to Sherlock; you trick him into it which is becoming increasingly difficult, make him interested or …"
Greg narrowed his eyes in thought. Mycroft stared at him expectantly and the grey haired man looked up at him in realisation, "reverse psychology."
"Make him want something by pretending that you do," he clarified.
"You knew that threatening to take her away would make him realise that he wanted her," Greg shook his head in disbelief, "you had no intention of letting your parents take custody."
"My parents had their chance," Mycroft told him with a small frown, "I would have taken her if he wouldn't."
"You would?" Greg asked, surprised.
They had been together for little over a year now and although Mycroft was great with kids, he didn't come across as the parental type.
"I meant what I said Gregory," Mycroft told him, fixing his partner with a stern look, "we Holmeses stick together."