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Chapter 1
Mycroft never thought he would have children. As a young gay man, he accepted that if he ever found himself a lover, they would find a nice place in the city with maybe a cat or two and they would be quietly happy.
Mummy would nag him for grand children; they weren't sure if Sherlock would ever sort himself out and Abigail... well she was out of the question.
Mycroft knew he was gay very early on. As soon as it became apparent to him that love and lust weren't restricted to men and women alone, he realised that heterosexuality wasn't for him. It was in middle school that he noticed boys bodies more and university was when he came out of his shell and into the full bloom of his sexuality.
That was where he met Eliza and through her, his first boyfriend Oscar. The relationship with Oscar ended after a few months and Eliza was there to console Mycroft with a tub of ice cream and a bottle of wine when he needed it the most. Consequently he did the same for her when she came out as a lesbian.
They had been friends for almost 20 years when Eliza decided that she wanted a baby. She was complaining about how hard it was for a gay, single woman to have a child when Mycroft offered his own sperm, reasoning that he wasn't going to use it so why shouldn't she?
Just over a year later, their little girl was born. Olive Elizabeth Hempstead was the most precious little human that Mycroft had ever seen. She had Eliza's own brown eyes but had been graced with Mycroft's ginger locks and rosy cheeks. As she got older, freckles developed across her nose and she looked more like her father every day.
He saw her often enough. Work had just picked up after she was born so on weekends he would drive down to their home in Oxford and visit the doting mother and daughter.
They were all happy with regular visits. He never wanted to raise her as his own child. She was perfectly happy to have him as the doting uncle (who spoiled her rotten, no doubt) and let them both get on with their lives.
Life never works out how you want it.
It wasn't long after Olive's second birthday that Eliza had the accident. Mycroft had the baby for the night while her mother attended a work party.
She had a little too much to drink. A dog ran in front of the car and Eliza swerved to avoid it, ploughing into a ditch and head on into a Telephone pole instead.
She died instantly.
Eliza's family hadn't been in the picture since she came out.
Mycroft, as her biological father, was the only one she had left.
There were nights when they would cry together, one of Eliza's big blankets wrapped around them, curled in a bed too big for the two of them.
Olive wanted her mother.
Mycroft wanted his best friend.
It took a few weeks until it was all official. Eliza's things were moved into storage or into his house.
It took another few weeks before Mycroft went back to work. His mother would babysit her most days (she had spoiled her granddaughter from day one) and slowly, life got easier. Mycroft and Olive fell into a routine, Sherlock seemed to be on track and mummy and daddy loved having Olive over when work became too much.
They still missed Eliza but life went on.
It was a Tuesday morning when Mycroft met Greg Lestrade. He remembered because he had dropped Olive off at daycare. It wasn't until his daughter started crying for her Lamby that he had forgotten Olive's bag.
Now he was late and speeding back to the daycare with the backpack on the seat beside him and that's when a police car pulled him over. It was an unmarked car and the man that got out wasn't in uniform but a lilac shirt and a suit that was half a size too big. Mycroft let his head drop against the steering wheel for a moment before he sat up and regained his facade. He should have just had his assistant get Olive's bag. He should have just gone to work and let her deal with it.
Then again, this was his daughter.
Mycroft put his window down and put on his best apologetic smile as the officer approached.
"I'm sorry officer..."
The silver haired man took his glasses off and hung them from his shirt, revealing the warmest honey brown eyes Mycroft had ever seen.
"I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade. Do you realise how fast you were going sir?"
"Yes I know, my apologies."
"Licence and registration please."
Mycroft complied as he handed the papers over, casting a glance down to his watch
The detective looked the papers over and let his gaze move to the backpack and into the back of the car.
"I'm sorry officer, I don't have time for this. I'm late for work. Why don't you check my registration and either fine me or let me go?"
Detective Lestrade's eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened around the papers as he strode back to his car.
It took a few minutes and Mycroft watched the policeman in his rear view mirror. He saw the man's eyes furrow into a frown; he seemed to be arguing with the person on the other end of the radio. Another few minutes and he strode back to Mycroft's car, knuckles white.
"I've been told to let you go with a warning... you've got some friends in high places, Mr Holmes."
Mycroft nodded firmly, tucking his licence back into his wallet. He thanked the man and felt the detective's eyes on him as he started the car and pulled onto the road.
It wasn't something he thought much about after that. He dropped his daughter's bag off, went to work and life went on. He'd remember those brown eyes every so often, as he drank his single malt but that's all it was, a thought. He thought nothing of it until he had a dream about him.
It was a hot dream; a lewd, cheap and sexy dream that involved handcuffs and a certain detective bending him over to flog him with an open hand. He woke up panting and hard and it took a 20 minute cold shower to feel slightly human again.
Another half an hour and he was scooping his babbling daughter out of her cot, dressed in bed pants and a green sweater for a day off, something that didn't come around often.
She stared at him across the table from her high chair, little legs kicking happily as she shovelled handfuls of mashed banana into her mouth. Mycroft Holmes, Ice man, felt his heart melt as she blew bubbles at him, grinning like her mother used to when she had a great idea.
His phone buzzed as he took a bite from his toast. With one hand wiping the mess from the little hands, he flicked through the notifications. Most were from work, things that needed doing later in the day. The last one was a missed call from an unknown number.
Deciding not to call it back, (it was his policy that if it were important, they would leave a message), he set it down and sat back to take another bite of marmalade toast when it rang again.
He answered this time.
"Mr Holmes, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade. I have your brother in my lockup. When can you get down here?"
Mycroft wanted to bury his head under the table and ignore the man. Instead, ignoring the flutter in his belly at the voice that had haunted his dreams last night and could it really be a coincidence that this man was the one calling him?, Mycroft dressed his daughter and himself, dropping her off at his mothers house before he headed for Scotland Yard.
Sherlock had been going so well.
With his heart full of dread over his brother and longing for a day off with no interruptions, Mycroft sped down the highway to his brother's aid.