Mycroft had been doing so well. Each day was a struggle, a mini-battle commencing at breakfast and ending when he crawled into bed each night, but he still was doing well. Every calorie was accounted for, he went for a jog before breakfast, and he didn't have any biscuits with his tea. It had been working, not only had he managed to reach his goal weight, but he was actually managing to maintain it too, even going so far as to swap out his wardrobe for clothes of a much more satisfactory size before he'd left, planning to continue his method once he was back at Eton.
For a while he managed, his uniform – a few sizes smaller than the ones Mycroft had been wearing the previous terms – stayed the right size for about…well, just less than a month he'd say. Mycroft knew straight away what was happening, he could see himself slipping into old habits, forfeiting the morning run for an extra cup of tea, buying a packet of biscuits when he went out, getting the food that looked good not the healthy ones he should. He noticed everything. But he didn't stop it, he just made excuses and carried on. Most of the excuses were true. He was homesick, so he'd have a full English for breakfast because it reminded him of holidays at home. He missed his parents and Sherlock, so he'd buy some biscuits because on bad days his mum would give them all one. He was stressed, so he baked, because that was what he always did…and he missed Greg. So he did the thing that came automatically to him. He ate.
That wasn't to say that he didn't enjoy being back at school. It was so much more peaceful than home, and he could work properly without being judged because of his intelligence. He was respected for it, not taunted. It was only natural to be a little homesick, or to miss your family and friends, and despite how much Mycroft tried not to be he was still only human. He still talked to them, ringing his family, and Greg, he wasn't completely isolated from them. There was a certain element of freedom too that was far more enjoyable than he'd expected. There were no looks if he had a biscuit with his tea, and no one expected him to eat salads every lunch. No one cared if he just stayed in his room reading instead of going for that jog. No one cared. And so Mycroft didn't bother, convincing himself that if no one cared then it couldn't be that bad and he shouldn't care either. That had been a mistake.
By the time the Christmas break rolled around all Mycroft's work had been destroyed. No longer did the uniform fit, nor did the new uniform he'd bought, and the new, new uniform that came after was still more of a squeeze than it should have been, constricting him uncomfortably. The last week had been…well, it had been stressful to say the least. No one at Eton cared, but at home they would, and considering the difference from when he'd left…they were going to notice immediately too. He'd spent the last twelve hours meticulously packing up his room – they had a month long break at Christmas and New Years – carefully organising his books into boxes and emptying all of his things from the surprisingly modern dorm room. Mycroft knew that there was no way he could get the uniform to fit any better before his father arrived in what he estimated to be thirty-eight minutes and twelve seconds if he'd calculated the traffic right, but that didn't stop him from tugging at it.
Anyone that had met Mycroft knew that he wasn't a nervous person. Jittering and panicking were for other people, he was always so calm and collected, concealing each of his emotions perfectly behind the mask that was just so very him. So very in control. Except right at that moment he'd let the mask slip. It was only his Father, he shouldn't be so stressed about it, but the last time he'd been seen by anyone of importance to him he'd been the thinnest he could remember, now his weight was back up to what he assumed was close enough to his highest. He didn't want to let them down and he didn't want to see the look on his face when his father first saw him.
Mycroft made himself stop and draw a long breath, deciding it was too risky to smoke with his father so close. He could do this. He was Mycroft Holmes, he wasn't going to panic or get wound up about something as trivial as his appearance. He was better than that. He stood for another moment after his pep talk before finishing packing his room, placing his pillows on top of the pile of boxes just as there was a knock on the door, one he immediately recognised to be his father's. With one last futile attempt to make his uniform fit better he headed over to the door and opened it for him, barely even stopping to smile at his father before he started 'checking' the room for anything he'd forgotten to pack. He already had everything, he'd ticked them off his list as he packed, but by pretending to be busy he was giving his father a chance to adjust to how big he'd gotten when Mycroft didn't have to see, and judging by his long pause at the door he was adjusting.
Each second dragged for Mycroft as he waited for him to say something. Anything. Mycroft didn't have anything to say first. "Well? Do I not get a hug? We both know you've packed everything" his father asked, obviously realising that Mycroft wasn't going to crack first. Even without turning round Mycroft could hear the smile in his voice, shock giving way into being happy to see his son for the first time in months. Mycroft stopped the false search turning around and walking over to his father, scanning over him properly as he did. He looked the same as always, the pronounced bone structure, the greying hair, the same twinkle in his eyes and the grin that permeated most memories Mycroft had of childhood. He was never much of a person for physical contact, but he hadn't seen him for months and he had missed him even if he wouldn't admit it. Wrapping his arms around him Mycroft realised with a small amount of amusement that he was almost as tall as him, just an inch or two shorter. "It's good to see you." His father murmured.
"It's good to see you too." He responded, allowing the hug to go on for a few seconds longer before he finally pulled back. Instinctively tugging at his uniform as he stepped away, waiting for the inevitable comment. Only it didn't come, all his father did was look around the room, nodding at how clean it was and the fact that Mycroft didn't have a roommate. Both were preferences of Mycroft's. There wasn't really that much stuff to carry, and so his father took two of the boxes and the pillow.
"Right let's get this stuff in the car and we'll get you home." He said, propping the door open with his foot as Mycroft shouldered his bag and the last couple of boxes. "We've tried to keep Sherlock out of your room for you, but just in case I'd make sure you check for flammable chemicals and things hiding around your room." He warned.
Mycroft couldn't help but smile at that as he followed out of the room, pausing momentarily to lock the door of the now empty room behind him. "I'll be certain to keep that in mind. I'm assuming that his behaviour hasn't changed since the last time I called?" he said, his already perfectly enunciated voice sounding even 'posher' than usual. He liked it though, it made his words clearer, gave them more authority. His father led the way to the car, helping to organize the boxes into the boot, all the while answering Mycroft's enquiries about home. Of course he could always just read it from him, but he hadn't had spoken to his father in person for too long to do that, and besides, life was excruciatingly boring if you never said anything.
Once they were both sat in the car though, and both their questions had been answered they settled into the comfortable silence that they so often shared. Both his mother and Sherlock were much too excitable and dramatic to sit in the quiet, but for Mycroft and his father it was easy. They could both agree that they'd had a good catch-up if they'd just sat in silence in the library at home. A fact that would forever confuse the others. Thankfully the topic never once steered too close to his weight for comfort, it didn't even seem like he was trying to avoid it, although Mycroft could easily see that he was. They only stopped once on the trip home to put more petrol in the car, Mycroft stayed in his seat as his father went out to pay, returning with a cup of – in Mycroft's opinion sub-par but necessary – tea and a sandwich each, flicking on the radio as they ate.
The radio provided great comfort to Mycroft, who was all of a sudden feeling very nervous and embarrassed about eating in front of his father. The radio was a great distraction, and Mycroft ate quickly, taking longer for his barely palatable tea. They set off again fairly quickly, but the radio stayed on. Every now and then his father would start singing along to some song or other with his low gravely voice, keeping Mycroft's attention off the fact that his mother had yet to see him and that Sherlock was going to have some rather harsh barbs to shoot at him.
Arriving at home was bittersweet. It was so familiar, so comforting to be at home again, yet at the same time it meant going through their reactions. Home was a little more than most other people's. It was more of a manor house, it was clearly big, the front porch overlooking the yard which was filled with shrubbery and once bright plants that had died for the winter. Mycroft climbed out of the car, scanning over the house to check for any alterations before starting towards the boot. "No no, you go on in, I'll get your things." his father waved him off assumingly. Mycroft smiled and mumbled a 'thanks' before turning and heading into the house, the door already unlocked waiting for him.
"Hel-" he managed to call before he was enveloped into a hug by a short, but strong woman that smelled of lavender and lemons. Her arms were around him before he'd really noticed she was there. "Hello Mummy." He greeted softly unable to stop the smile from forming on his lips. He'd missed her too.
"Oh Mycie, we've missed you so much…I'm so glad you're home" she gushed planting a kiss on his cheek before stepping back and holding him at arms reach to get a better look at him. She didn't say anything about it immediately, but he saw the shock in her eyes, and the following pity for him. "Oh you've really grown haven't you? " she said. It could have been worse, not much worse, but she could have said something explicitly about his weight, this time she'd managed to restrain herself and say something that alluded to his height too. A snort from the staircase showed that he wasn't the only one to pick up on the double entendre. Mycroft's eyes flicked over immediately, scanning over Sherlock with practiced efficiency and detail. "I didn't mean it like that…I'll go help your father." His Mother told him obviously not wanting him to feel bad and patting him gently on the shoulder before heading out. It was a little too late for that though.
Sherlock had shot up too; he was still shorter than Mycroft but not by too much. His frame was just as worryingly thin as always, his mop of dark curls sitting atop an unusual but certainly sticking bone structure. "It's good to see you Sherlock." He greeted with a smile, deciding to leave the fact that Sherlock was still smoking out of the conversation for the time being. Sherlock's ice blue eyes that he shared with his mother were sweeping over Mycroft too, a smirk curling on his lips as it did.
"Brother." Sherlock said simply in greeting, but there was a mischievous edge to his voice that Mycroft didn't like but was all too familiar. "You're certainly looking…well. " He continued watching for a response to see if this was as big a gold mine as he expected it to be. Mycroft's smile tightened, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. It was a dead give away that his words were having an effect on him, but he hadn't been able to stop it in time. This was going to be a problem. Sherlock immediately knew what to say to hurt Mycroft, and while Mycroft knew what would be just as effective to Sherlock he wouldn't actually say it. It was a game he could never win without upsetting Sherlock too much.
"I feel well, thank-you." He told him smoothly. It sounded flawless, but Sherlock would be able to read it for the lie it was. How could he feel well when he's failed so miserably? In all honesty he felt sick, because he knew now everyone was expecting him to start over, and he knew that they'd all be shocked and perhaps a little disgusted like Sherlock seemed to be. He didn't care what most people thought, his family one of the exceptions. The other was one Gregory Lestrade. Popular boy, school jock, probably the most attractive boy on this side of London, incredibly caring and somehow he liked Mycroft. It was difficult to believe that someone as wonderful as Greg could like him in the first place, let alone like this.
It was one of the main reasons he'd stuck to his diet so well in the first place. It felt like the least he could do was make himself at least a little more attractive for Greg, and he'd been so supportive. He didn't know how he was going to let Greg see him, or how Greg was going to react. He just didn't know if he could take what he imagined what Greg would do. Before Sherlock had time to respond their parents entered the house again, holding all the boxes. Sherlock sighed and slunk off to his room most likely. Mycroft smiled at his parents, taking a few of the boxes from his mother with a quiet thanks as he started heading up the stairs to his room. "If it's acceptable with you I'm going to unpack and get settled in." he said, though really it was more of a statement than asking for their opinion.
"That's fine sweetheart, I'll call you down for dinner and you can tell us everything then." His mother smiled, while his dad just nodded and hummed in agreement, following Mycroft up the stairs with the rest of the boxes. Mycroft wasn't exactly looking forwards to talking about school, because no doubt his weight would be made a topic, but he decided to cross that bridge when he got to it. He put the boxes on the floor and his father followed suit. The room was exactly as he remembered it, and it didn't look like Sherlock had gotten around to setting up traps for him yet. The walls were the same white as always, the king-size bed with his freshly washed grey bedspread and his desk and bookshelves patiently waiting for all his things to be redistributed and organised. The only thing he didn't recognise was an envelope sitting on the desk. Even from that distance he recognised the handwriting. Greg had left him a letter; clearly it'd been written and delivered earlier that day. He didn't look at the wardrobe or the draws, well aware that every article of clothes would be too small for him. All he had were the ones he'd bought at school.
His father turned to leave him be, gently patting him on the shoulder as he walked past, "We're glad that you're home." He said heading to the door and pausing for a moment, half turning to Mycroft as he added "…try not to feel uncomfortable. We're your family, you'll always be perfect to us." He smiled and left, closing the door behind him. Mycroft didn't know how he knew to say something like that considering Mycroft kept his emotions under check, but even then it did little to soothe him. He just closed his eyes, running a hand though his slightly curly auburn hair and took a deep breath. He didn't have to look in a mirror so long as he kept away from the en suit and didn't open the wardrobe. That was good at least.
After a few minutes of trying to collect his thoughts he opened his eyes and headed over to the letter from Greg, opening it and scanning over it immediately.
' Hey Myc,
By the time you read this letter it's already too late…
I'm only kidding, don't panic; bet I got you there.
So you're back from Eton then if your reading this and laughing at my trick – I'm just going to assume you are because that was funny – So I was thinking, you're finally back home for a while, and that needs to be celebrated so I'm throwing a party in your honour tomorrow at my house (Mum's taken the kids to see Gran so I've got the house to myself). I've invited a few people, John, Sherlock, Dimmock, Sally, Anderson and Irene. Anthea invited herself, she misses you almost as much as I do. So we're doing that and you better be there because I need to see you ASAP, I thought you'd want to get settled first though.
So I'll see you tomorrow, there's no dress code and you don't need anything except you and your absolutely bloody brilliant self that I've missed so much.
Alright, see you then, ( by the way you're a bloody bastard for making me ring the door bell and ask your mum to put the letter in place, couldn't leave the window unlocked could you?)
Your doting and incredible boyfriend,
-Greg. '
Mycroft sat down heavily at his desk and propped his head up in his hands. He couldn't let Greg see him like this, but he couldn't just not turn up. He missed Greg more than he cared to admit, more so after reading the letter and imagining him handing it to his mother, even thinking of ways to avoid seeing him felt wrong. Would Greg still think he was so brilliant if he saw how much weight he'd put on? He needed to think of something that wouldn't upset Greg, and he only had until tomorrow to do it. There had to be something. He didn't move for several minutes, trying to think of something to do before standing up abruptly. He was fat not useless, at the very least he could unpack while he was thinking. There'd be something to get him out of this without upsetting or disappointing Greg. He just needed to figure out what.
