a/n: My first de-aging fic. Just wanted to try this out. The characterization is horrible, but this is more of a test. It's unbeta'd and not written to my usual standards. Oh well, maybe someone will like this weird thing enough for a second concluding chapter.
...
Tea is truly wonderful, easing ones pains, simply relaxing. Mycroft has the newspaper set out in front of him, the cafe he sits in his small but crowded and it wasn't his idea. Greg sits across from him, staring at his phone, tapping away until he looks up and Mycroft can't help but sneer as the detective catches him staring.
"Coffee," Mycroft comments as a waitress sets down a cup. "How American."
Greg shrugs, takes a sip and resumes tapping away at his phone. Mycroft averts his attention back to the paper, nothing interesting today. Fabricated stories, front page headline of Sherlock, he's wearing a deerstalker which looks extremely silly on him. He almost scoffs at the photo. Even in a picture he can read his brother like a book, clearly unhappy, faking the smile. John seems genuinely happy. Mycroft doesn't know why, nor does he care.
Folding the paper up he sets it down and brings his tea to his lips.
He almost drops the cup containing the hot liquid when he glances across the table. Greg is gone, a small boy sits in the chair, a very familiar cellphone in his hands.
"What the bloody hell?"
The boy smiles and giggles, two big eyes staring at Mycroft.
"Mmmcroft!" He chirps and Mycroft's jaw almost drops because really there is no explanation for this. He looks around the cafe, nobody seems to have noticed, nobody seems to care. There's a thick worry residing in his stomach, souring the tea, but he doesn't let it sway him as he stands. The boy, perhaps four years old, watches him with a curious expression. Truthfully, Mycroft doesn't know what to do, well, because this isn't anything he's ever heard of. The little boy couldn't be Greg, could it? Swimming in oversized clothes and cradling the cellphone to his chest the boy does look like Greg. The boy-Greg-starts shuffling around and Mycroft only sees the gun, that Greg had secured in it's holster, on the chair in time to snatch it away.
Greg flinches, surprised by Mycroft's speed and in doing so drops the phone on the floor.
It clatters loudly before stopping underneath the table and instantaneously the child starts to cry, hiccuping sobs that for some reason tear at Mycroft's chest.
"Phone!" Greg cries, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Now people are looking and Mycroft bends down and scoops up the phone, quickly handing it back to the boy and gathering up the small form into his arms. Greg holds the phone to his chest, sniffling into Mycroft's shoulder as he's carried out of the cafe. Mycroft is relieved when he sees his escort card sitting at the ready. He hurries inside, carefully depositing Greg down on the seat beside him. The boy presses against him, still sniffling, as Mycroft dials a number on his phone.
"Yes?" Comes an irritated voice on the other end.
"Sherlock," Mycroft says evenly and he hears a sigh on the other end, and the house pet in the background asking who it is.
"What do you want?"
He doesn't know how to explain so he merely says: "Lestrade is a child."
Sherlock snorts.
"Of course he is!"
"No, he is literally a child, approximately four years old," Mycroft says glancing at Greg who appears to be drifting off, his eyelids slowly closing despite his struggles to stay awake, his cell phone still tucked against his chest.
"If this is your idea of a practical joke, Mycroft, you are doing it wrong." Sherlock replies, his voice emotionless.
"I assure you this is no joke," he insists and he feels something curl into his pant leg. He looks down and sees small fingers buried in the fabric.
"You're saying Lestrade, Detective Lestrade, has turned into a four year old?" Mycroft can hear the amusement in Sherlock's voice, John is laughing in the background.
"Yes!"
"I think you're delusional." Sherlock says bluntly, Mycroft sighs dramatically.
"Forget I called." He grinds out and ignoring the laughter on the other end, ends the call.
"Home, please." He instructs his employee in the driver seat and the man nods. The drive is uneventful, Greg is sleeping, curled against him. It's strange but Mycroft supposes he will deal with this himself, and besides, Greg is kind of cute like this.
When they arrive he cradles the sleepy detective to his chest, wrapping the extra long clothes around the small body housed beneath it all. He enters his downtown condo quietly, choosing this place to stay tonight because it's cozy, definitely not the mansion, but far more suitable since he does have a child with him. Slipping his shoes off he isn't surprised to find baby clothes and a note sitting on the kitchen table. He mentally notes that he needs to thank Anthea for her inhuman powers of just knowing.
He selects pyjama's and head upstairs to the bedroom. When he sets Greg down on the bed the boy whines and although he doesn't put down the cellphone he reaches up.
"Mmmcroft," he slurs in child talk, "up?"
Mycroft stares down at him. He can't believe what he's seeing, and hearing. Greg is asking to be picked up. He fumbles for words before nodding.
"Just a second, Greg," he says because this feels awkward but then again it doesn't. Something is clicking in him because somehow he's managed to dress Greg's tiny form in baby blue pyjamas without causing the child to cry.
When he's finished he carefully picks Greg up, cradling him to his chest. Greg latches onto him and Mycroft nearly chokes when Greg's face presses to his neck.
"Why are you doing this?" Mycroft asks nobody in particular. "What's happened."
Greg makes a little noise of confusion but quickly forgets the questions because the phone is his hand vibrates.
He giggles.
"Phone!" He exclaims excitedly and for the first time offers the phone to Mycroft. He takes it from a tiny hand. Sliding it open he reads the text.
Mycroft said you were a four year old. I don't know what's gotten into him. -SH
He pointedly ignored the text and promptly returned the phone to Greg who cooed his happiness.
"How about some rest?" Mycroft asked, Greg babbled his agreement and Mycroft set about laying Greg down in the middle of the bed and piling pillows up around him. When he was done he draped a thin sheet over the boy and turned to leave the room when Greg started crying.
"Mmcroft!" He sobbed, "Mmcroft! No go!"
Mycroft could've easily left Greg to cry himself to sleep but something in that small voice begging him not to go made him stop in his tracks. Frankly, he had always thought children to be irrupting, but he found it hard to be annoyed at the boy staring at him with big teary eyes. He sighed.
"What is it?" He asked.
Greg fidgeted. "No dark," he said, "so dark, Mmcroft stay."
Well. That was that, he supposed. Glancing at his phone he set it down and changed into something more comfortable before lying down beside Greg. The baby shuffled over to him and before he knew it the boy was cuddled to his chest, sighing contently. This was odd, he'd never slept with a baby, let alone anyone really. It felt awkward but to Greg nuzzled against him, well, he seemed content and happy. Mycroft almost allowed himself to go to sleep right then and there before mentally smacking himself. He was cuddling a baby, a baby who was Gregory Lestrade, not just any child. How it had happened was still unknown. Grabbing his phone he typed away at it and through his research on the subject there was an article, from some nobody, on de-aging curses. He read it in a matter of minutes and set his phone down. It seemed impossible. But then, how had this happened.
From what he had read there were Slovakian curses handed down generation to generation, changing people into children as a punishment. He couldn't help but snort. It was ridiculous, but when he thought on it harder he realized the last person Greg had arrested had been a Slovakian man charged with drug trafficking, he had screamed some mindless gibberish at Greg before being hauled away in a police car. It was the only explanation.
The detective in his arms was cursed. Thankfully, it was apparently reversible and non-permanent. Other accounts of these mysterious curses said those who were cursed turned back within a matter of days. Mycroft surely hoped Greg would change back because he didn't know what to do if he didn't.
The baby sighed against him and for a second Mycroft wondered if it'd be that bad if Greg stayed like this. He was undeniably cute... but this wasn't his Greg.
Morning came too soon and so did the realization that Greg still wasn't back to normal. The baby in his arms shifted and Mycroft stared down at two large eyes staring up at him.
"Up!" Greg chirped. Mycroft sighed as he got up, picking up the boy in the process. He carried him down to the kitchen where he put him on a chair and went through the cupboards to find something for him to eat. He found another note.
Oatmeal on the stove.
Mycroft blinked, surprised that he had missed the oatmeal pre-warmed on the stove. This whole baby thing was really getting to him. Dishing out a small bowl of oatmeal he placed it in front of Greg, sprinkling a bit of brown sugar on top and offering him a spoon.
"You're hungry?" He asked and Greg nodded, his fingers curling around the spoon. He watched as the boy awkwardly tried to eat the oatmeal before taking the spoon from him. Scooping up small amounts he fed it to Greg. When he was finished he looked at his phone, there were no texts, no alerts for appointments, no nothing. Either he really had nothing scheduled for the day or Anthea had taken care of it already. Looking up from his phone he found Greg tapping away at his phone, a huge smile on his face. He giggled even though he was typing gibberish on the touch screen. Mycroft couldn't help but smile.
"What should we do today?" He asked and Greg looked at him. "How about the park? Or a visit to Sherlock and John's?"
Greg seemed to think hard before he chirped: "Sherock! Sherock!"
With a swipe of the thumb on his phone he's summoned his car. Setting the phone down on the counter he fetches the other pair of clothes Anthea left on the table and promptly dresses Greg for the trip. He's glad Greg doesn't make a fuss. He picks up Greg and cradling the young inspector detective heads for the door, he doesn't forget to grab Greg's cellphone off the kitchen table and return it to Greg's open arms.
Mycroft shuts the door behind him and as he climbs into the car with Greg secured in his arms he one handed texts Sherlock.
Coming for a visit. I warned you. -MH
Then the car is departing the condo and on it's way to the flat.