"And you will remember to bring that boy to see us some time, won't you?" Mrs Holmes' voice filtered through the tiny speaker into her son's ear. "What's his name? Graham? We'd both love to meet him."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, stopping just short of sighing out loud. He picked up a file from his desk and began to read it while speaking. "Gregory, mother, as I keep telling you. His name is Gregory Lestrade, and he is a detective inspector for Scotland Yard. Hardly a 'boy'."

"Gregory, that's right." She sounded pleased. "Why don't you bring him around next week? We're going to have a nice family dinner to celebrate your birthday."

This time, he did sigh aloud. "Why must we celebrate everything, mother? You know very well I don't believe the words 'nice' and 'family' belong in a sentence together."

On the other end of the line, Mrs Holmes held the phone to her ear with her shoulder while she deadheaded a rose. "And you know very well that you agreed to have a dinner this year, after you got out of it last year. You have no excuse this time, young man!"

"If you consider a last-minute trip to Iraq to attempt to settle a dispute between members of the government as an excuse, then yes, I have no excuse."

"See? You were off on a holiday."

He put the file down. "I nearly died, mother."

"Your father nearly died when we went to Hawaii," Mrs Holmes said conversationally. "Those waves can be dangerous!"

Mycroft closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them again. He had just opened his mouth to speak when his mobile phone began to vibrate in his pocket. "I've got a very important call coming through on the other line, mother. I need to go."

He terminated the connection before his mother could say anything more, and allowed himself a small smile. Then he reached into his jacket and answered his phone. "Gregory. Hello."

"Hey, Mycroft," came the warm reply. "How's your day going?"

"Fine, fine," Mycroft said, visibly more relaxed than before. "I have just been talking to my mother. She insists I invite you around for dinner next week." His tone made it plain that he found the idea of dinner mildly repulsive.

Greg, however, seemed to take the opposite view. "Does she now? What's the occasion?"

"It is my birthday on Wednesday," Mycroft said reluctantly.

"Your birthday? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I see no point in birthdays," Mycroft explained. "Why bother to celebrate the day you came into the world, screaming and crying, destined to stay here for decades until you are allowed the freedom of escape through the inevitable event of death?"

Greg blinked. "Well, that's a cheerful view." He could think of nothing more to say, so he changed the subject. "I rang to tell you I'll probably be late tonight. This case is a killer, and your brother refuses to help us. Claims it's 'too boring'."

"I'll encourage him to help you, if you'd like," Mycroft suggested. "He owes me a favour or three as it is."

"Would you? Thank you so much, Mycroft. You are a godsend."

Mycroft gave an involuntary smile. "Happy to help. I'll tell him right away."

"Thanks again," Greg said gratefully. "Oh, and Mycroft?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Please tell your mother that I'd love to go around for dinner next week."

Mycroft hung up the phone with an expression that was somewhat less than pleased.

~o0o~

The next Wednesday, Mycroft stood at his parents' front door, Greg by his side. He closed his eyes and took a couple of breaths, willing away the jittery feeling that had unexpectedly appeared in his stomach.

He shook his head. This was illogical. Why should he care what his parents thought of his boyfriend?

Boyfriend. That word still sent excited shivers down his side.

Mycroft felt his hand being squeezed, and he looked across to Greg's smiling face. "It'll be fine," he encouraged Mycroft. "They'll be fine."

Mycroft smiled a little, and finally worked up the courage to knock at the door. It was opened a second later by a smiling Mrs Holmes, whose eyes flicked once to Mycroft before settling on Greg. "You must be Gregory Lestrade," she said warmly, holding out a hand.

He returned her handshake. "Please, call me Greg."

"All right, Greg. Come on in out of the cold wind." She stepped aside, and Mycroft and Greg both entered the cottage, Greg staring around at everything.

Mrs Holmes ushered them through into the living room, where a small fire crackled in the grate. "I'll just go and get my husband," she told Greg warmly. "Please, make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Mrs Holmes," Greg said. The door closed, and he sat down, gazing around at the room.

Mycroft sat down also. "What…what do you think?" he asked nervously.

Greg glanced out the window before frowning his boyfriend. "I don't know what to think," he said. "It all seems so…normal."

It was Mycroft's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

"Not that it's bad," Greg said hastily. "It's just…different from what I expected, that's all. I thought…I don't know what I thought, but it wasn't this." He pursed his lips. "This is definitely where yours and Sherlock's parents live, right?"

"I do not believe my mother would have let us in if she did not know me."

"She definitely brought up you and Sherlock?" Greg checked.

"It is a cross we have to bear," Mycroft sighed, a touch dramatically.

They were interrupted by a tap at the door. It opened to reveal a kindly-looking man who came into the room and approached Greg. "Hello," he said, "I'm Mycroft's father."

Greg stood up, observing that he seemed even more normal, if that was possible. "I'm Greg," he introduced himself, offering a hand to shake.

Mr Holmes appraised him and Mycroft, one wearing a comfortable blue jumper, the other a sharply-cut three-piece suit. "Very nice to meet you, Greg," he smiled, shaking his hand warmly.

"Likewise."

Mr Holmes seemed to remember something. "Mycroft, could you go into the kitchen for a minute? Your mother said she wants your help, she said something about potatoes."

Mycroft stood up also, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. "Very well," he said, walking towards the door. He turned around and winked at Greg quickly, before closing the door quietly behind him.

"So, Greg," Mr Holmes said. "How did you come to meet my son?"

Greg smiled slightly. "We met due to Sherlock, actually," he said, remembering that day.

~o0o~

It has been a long day, and Detective Inspector Lestrade is more than ready to go home. He glances at the clock and sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He has half an hour left. Surely his shift never used to be this long.

Lestrade takes a deep breath and picks up yet another unsolved case file. He leans back on his chair and puts his feet on his desk, before opening it and flicking through it, bored out of his mind. It doesn't help that he hardly slept the previous night.

Suddenly, his phone rings, and Lestrade jumps before answering it. "Lestrade of the Yard, how may I help you?" It is a light-hearted greeting that he uses from time to time.

A calm male voice speaks on the other end. "Detective Inspector Lestrade. We have not met, but you are an associate of a person in which I have an interest."

Lestrade sat upright with a frown. "Who's speaking?"

"My identity is not important at this stage," the calm voice assures him. "I believe you are an acquaintance of Sherlock Holmes?"

"Well, I wouldn't say acquaintance, exactly– wait. How do you know that?" he demands. "Who exactly are you?"

"Like I said, I have an interest in Sherlock Holmes. Now, Inspector Lestrade, I would like you to leave your office and go downstairs, where there is a car awaiting you. There is no need to tell any of your colleagues where you are going."

Frowning, Lestrade stands up, walking to the door. "You may like to bring your coat," the voice suggests.

"How do you know I wasn't bringing it anyway?" he demands. Then a thought occurs to him, and he whirls his head around, staring up at the security camera in the corner of his ceiling.

The voice chuckles. "Very astute of you, Inspector. Yes, I am watching you right now. I really must insist you bring your coat. It is unseasonably cold outside."

Frowning distrustfully, Greg grabs his coat and leaves. Outside, he gets into a black car, which takes him to a warehouse to meet a man with an umbrella.

It turns out to be the best decision of his life.

~o0o~

When Mycroft entered the kitchen, his mother pointed to a bowl of peapods. He sat down with a sigh and began to shell them. As he did so, Mycroft reflected on the fact that he was in the presence of the only person in the world who can order the British government to shell peas.

After a few moments, Mrs Holmes looked up from the potato she is peeling. "That Greg seems nice."

Mycroft didn't react, so she tried again. "I think he'll be good for you, Mike."

Still no reaction. "Mycroft Holmes!"

He looked up, sarcastic smile in place. "So you've deigned to acknowledge my presence? How kind."

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't spoken a word to me since I arrived."

Mrs Holmes' expression turned guilty. "I'm sorry, Mike. I was just so excited about meeting Greg." She paused, working out how to say her next sentence.

"It's because your father and I always thought that we would never get this opportunity, to be able to meet a girlfriend or boyfriend that you or your brother brought home, because neither of you showed any interest in…that department." The words tumbled out in a rush, and she took a breath before continuing: "But I wanted you to know that your father and I are very proud of you, Mike. You have our full support."

Mycroft thought about this sentiment, and looked at his mother. "Thank you," he muttered. Then: "What do you think of Gregory?"

"Oh, Mike – he's wonderful."

"Good," he said, smiling sweetly. "Can you please stop nagging now?"

Mrs Holmes threw a potato at her son's head, and he caught it with one hand.

~o0o~

The car pulls up in a darkened warehouse. The unnamed lady sitting next to Lestrade nods towards the door, and he thanks her and exits the car.

A man stands a short distance from the car door, silhouetted by the stark lights behind him. He presents a striking image, leaning on his umbrella for support. Even in this unflattering lighting, Lestrade can see that the man's three-piece suit is of a good quality, far better than he could ever afford on his salary.

Lestrade walks toward the man slowly, stopping at what he judges to be a safe distance. "You must be the man on the phone," he says.

"Good deduction, Inspector." The voice is the same. "I can see why my brother chose you."

"I go to Sherlock for help, not the other way around," Lestrade objects before he knows what he is saying. Then he pauses, eyes narrowing. "Wait. Your brother?"

The man nods once. "Pleased to meet you, Inspector Lestrade. I am Mycroft Holmes."

Lestrade stares.

Mr Holmes continues with a dramatic sigh. "It is a cross I have to bear, but-"

Lestrade holds up a hand, cutting him off. "Hang on. Are you saying that you made me leave work early, kidnapped me, and brought me here to God-knows-where, because you're having trouble with your brother?"

There is a loaded pause.

"Ah," Mr Holmes says eventually, realising that he may have gone too far. "To be fair, you did leave work of your own accord," he says weakly.

Lestrade shakes his head. "No, no. I didn't mean it like that." Mr Holmes raises an eyebrow. "I meant, all you had to do was ask. If you'd told me you were Sherlock's brother, and you needed to talk about him, I would have come anyway."

It is Mr Holmes' turn to stare, if only for a moment. "You would do that?" he says. "For someone you didn't know?"

"Yes," Lestrade says gently.

~o0o~

Shortly after the potato incident, there was a knock at the front door. Mrs Holmes opened it to find Sherlock looking none too happy to be there. She ushered him in disapprovingly. "You're late," she accused. "Dinner will be ready in half an hour."

She disappeared back into the kitchen. Sherlock caught a glimpse of Mycroft sitting at the table before the door closed. He seemed to be smiling. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and went through into the living room.

Mr Holmes turned around at the sound of the door being opened. "Oh hello, Sherlock," he said. "You know Greg, don't you? He's Mike's boyfriend now, have you heard?" He stepped aside to reveal the man sitting on the sofa. It was Lestrade.

Sherlock froze. He stared at Greg, who gave him an awkward smile and half-raised his hand in greeting. "Hi, Sherlock."

Sherlock stayed frozen. Mr Holmes frowned. "Are you all right, Sherlock?"

Finally, Sherlock blinked, seeming to come back to reality. "Yes, fine," he said distractedly, and inclined his head. "Nice to see you, Greg." His face was unreadable, but his voice gave no hint of sarcasm.

Greg relaxed slightly, taking that as a sign that Sherlock was all right with it. "Likewise," he said, relieved.

There was a moment of silence, then Greg spoke again. "How's John?"

Sherlock flinched. "John? He's fine. Out with a girlfriend, I think." Breaking up with her, he thought but did not say aloud.

~o0o~

Half an hour later, they all sat down to a dinner of roast beef and vegetables. Greg sat next to Mrs Holmes, who spent the whole meal asking him questions about himself. Even Sherlock, seated on Greg's other side, learned some things that he had not previously deduced.

It was perhaps the most cheerful meal that the Holmeses had ever eaten together. Even Mycroft found himself smiling, watching his boyfriend get along with his parents. The word boyfriend did not seem as intimidating to him as usual.

Sherlock, for his part, was still trying to wrap his head not only around the fact that Lestrade and his brother were romantically involved, but also the fact that he had not realised this earlier. His father was mostly glad that nobody was fighting or being too smart. He couldn't abide people being too smart around him, being the only 'sane one' in the family.

After dinner ended, Mrs Holmes cleared the table, and Greg offered to help her with the dishes. "You're almost family," she told him, "so we may as well put you to work!"

The others went through to the living room, but Sherlock and Mycroft slipped outside as soon as their father's back was turned, as was their custom when invited to family dinners. What was not part of their custom, however, was the somewhat awkward conversation that followed.

"I feel I should congratulate you," Sherlock said, lighting two cigarettes and offering one to his brother. "Isn't that customary?"

Mycroft accepted the cigarette with a small smile. "It is customary, but as you are obviously insincere in your congratulations, I hope you will forgive me for not accepting them." He turned away and took a long drag of his cigarette, then coughed.

"I was not aware he was bisexual," Sherlock confessed, blowing a thin stream of smoke out of his mouth. "I am…surprised, I suppose. That's all."

"Hmm." Mycroft was unconvinced. "I never wanted him to come, you know. Mummy insisted I bring him along, and he was similarly eager. I was unable to refuse."

"Our parents seem pleased," Sherlock observed. "Not only is one of us involved romantically," he said the word as if it were a disease, "but the person with whom you are involved fits their criteria of normal."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Only one?"

Sherlock turned his head sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mycroft dropped his cigarette on the ground, crushing it under his heel. He stood behind his brother, leaning in towards his ear. "You are aware that it is you and John's turn now, aren't you?" He turned and went back inside, even as Sherlock began to choke with surprise behind him.