AN : I know I said I wouldn't do it, but I am sooo changeable. *eye roll*

It is omegaverse (mpreg), but it is nothing but pure fluffiness. You do not have to have read Biological Imperatives or The Man on the Hill to understand the fluff, you'll be familiar enough with the general structure of the "plot" from the fandom. Although if you do/have, this is the last part.

I have rated it M for language and implied adult activities (Mythea with a side of Johnlock), but there is nothing descriptive here. Still if you squick (really) easily, do the sensible thing now.

I do not own any of this except the story and make no money from it. I apologize whole-heartedly for what I have done to all those who do in some way "own" these characters.

Ready To Burst

Mycroft was sitting by the fire in his favorite maroon house coat and pyjamas. He had his nose stuck deep in a glass of brandy, trying desperately to get rid of the memory of the smell. He had already performed a nasal douche, so he knew that there was no way the smell could actually be physically lingering there, but still... It was not something he even liked to think too closely about, let alone be so intimately acquainted with.

Sherlock was extremely pregnant, due in under a week. Mycroft knew the exact date of conception ("Oh yes, John! God, I love your cock. Harder! Yes, just like that!") and if he had not found it quite so horrifying, he could have made a fair estimate at the time and position as well ("Gonna come so hard S'lock. Knot you deep and fill you so full it'll be triplets at least! Ride it, you wet mess. Nnnghaaaa!"). That smell alone resulted in Mycroft doing things that he would not normally feel the need to do. He had already doubled the guard on Baker Street. Twice. He was considering doing it again, despite the fact that (intellectually) he knew there was no point and that John would not appreciate him implying that he couldn't take proper care of his mate. Mycroft had every faith in the former army doctor, but it was still his brother who was pregnant.

No, whilst the smell of a pregnant omega relative resulted in previously unexperienced instinctive behaviours, it wasn't all that bad. There was a certain feeling of satisfaction attached to that smell.

The smell he needed to get rid of, as soon as he figured out how (sensory memories were hard to erase, especially ones involving smell), was the smell of copious amounts of sex and the associated fluids in a confined space.

Sherlock apparently belonged to the lucky group of omegas who got randy in the second trimester and didn't stop until they popped (so to speak). Mycroft would have suspected he had done it on purpose (and he was still not exactly John's favorite person either), to keep his Christmas lunch visit as short as possible, if it wasn't for the fact that all surveillance of John in the last few months showed him with signs of recent, satisfying sexual intercourse. DI Lestrade, Dr Hooper and Mrs Hudson remained blissfully ignorant of his discomfort during the visit (and the reason for it), all being betas. He was sure Sherlock looked particularly smug though. Especially when he had declined to sit in any of the chairs in the lounge and had been forced to perch uncomfortably on the desk. He was sure that surface had been "christened" at some point too but really did not want to think about it. At least it didn't retain the smell the way fabrics did.

Honestly Mycroft was pleased they had worked out their differences so well (Sherlock's nose had been broken before after all, and probably would be again), in such a short time. (The two weeks before he'd gone into heat, after a triple axe-murder, and started keening for his mate had been absolute hell. Fortunately for all concerned, Mycroft had yet to meet the alpha who could resist the omega he wanted to bond, in heat, presenting and keening for him. Captain J H Watson was a strong man, with strong principles. But not that strong.) However, he didn't need the evidence rubbed (figuratively, thank God! He wouldn't entirely put it passed Sherlock) under his nose. Especially as he was sure Sherlock knew he hadn't gotten his knot wet in over a year. Maybe it was time he took a trip abroad, that generally resulted in him more or less having to shag someone. In the line of duty, of course.

His assistant had been doing most of the travelling since Sherlock's return. Mycroft was grateful for the most part. He hated leaving London. He hadn't actually seen her in nearly a month (28 days, 16 hours, 47 minutes, his brain helpfully supplied) due to her jet setting about. That was fine, she was doing an excellent job. She was also back now, taking care of business, while he took his annual three days of leave. Absolutely nothing ever happened the three days after Christmas. The entire western World, and large parts of the rest, was quiet. Nobody even got any serious nefarious plotting done during this period, everyone was too stuffed with food to think evil thoughts.

Hmmm, perhaps something small to eat? After all, about 75% of taste is actually smell and that might help block it out. Something with garlic? It should be possible to order some form of strong curry at 8.30pm on Christmas Day in London surely? Mycroft pondered and emptied his brandy glass in one swallow.

That was when he heard his front door unlock. Mycroft was not expecting anyone, so he slipped silently out of his chair (this is why there is no leather furniture to be found in Mycroft's home) and moved quickly and quietly to the entrance (although the number of people who could pick that lock was vanishingly small and one of them was currently too pregnant to bend).

"I brought dinner." His assistant announced, hanging up her coat and kicking off her shoes in the dark hallway. She had a key, and was not at all surprised by his level of stealth.

"Very thoughtful my dear." Mycroft raised an eyebrow, in all their time working together, she had never visited while he was on holiday. He was a bit concerned by this new behaviour. "Who did you leave in charge?"

"Percy. He knows to call me for anything over a 4, but it's Christmas, we've never had anything over a 2 at Christmas." Whilst this was true, Mycroft was not sure he was ready to put so much responsibility on such slender shoulders. She seemed deeply unconcerned however.

"Well, I was planning on ordering curry but..." He looked her over quickly. "Tagliatelle with oysters sounds delicious too." There was something different about her, but he couldn't put his finger on it. She picked up the bag of take-away and headed for the kitchen, flicking light switches as she went.

"Are we celebrating?" He asked, opening his fridge and looking at the white wines, while she gathered plates and cutlery.

"Possibly." She replied as she set the table. "But not with alcohol. The elder flower Bionade. In the door."

Mycroft found the drinks and opened them to pour into the glasses she had laid out. It was not unusual for her to know more about the contents of his fridge than he did, but this had never featured in its contents before, he was sure of that. She plated up, putting large portions out for both of them. Before he could protest (oh God, the carbs!), she looked him in the eye and said;

"You are off your diet for the next three days anyway and you'll work it off in no time."

He didn't bother to argue (it did smell very good and there was definitely garlic in it), instead he held out her chair for her and then took his place opposite at the small kitchen table that was rarely ever actually used.

"Merry Christmas my dear." He said holding his glass up to her.

"Merry Christmas... Mycroft."

She had never used his christian name with him before. Sir/Lord/Mr Holmes, Boss or Number One if she was feeling cheeky, often enough even his code name but never anything so intimate as his real name. She began to eat, delicately spinning the pasta and Mycroft followed her lead. He wasn't sure what to make of the whole evening, or what to say, so he didn't say anything. The food really was good.

"Your brother and the doctor seem to enjoy pregnancy." She said. He did not want to think about it, especially not whilst eating and he did not know what to say in reply. "You chose very well, they suit each other perfectly." Ah, so she does know about that. He had suspected. "It's good to see him finally happy, and he is positively glowing now."

"I have had considerably less cause for concern since the doctor has been in his life." Where is she going with this?

"Have you considered that their children will need cousins?" She asked, catching his eyes again.

Mycroft gave a delicate cough.

"We did not have cousins." He said eventually, at a loss.

"And look how that turned out." She said and rolled her eyes. "I have come off the suppressors, which is what you have noticed is different about me. In less than two hours, I will go into heat. You can't smell it yet because you've been inhaling brandy again. I want you to mount me, bond me and then knot me into the middle of next month. If you have an objection to that, we will finish eating, I will leave and it will not be mentioned again. And you can go to the trade negotiations in Brussels next month and get off with someone with dubious intentions towards you. Your scent really is quite strong at the moment."

She was off the suppressors? Her? But she had almost as messed a relationship with her biology as Sherlock used to! But she had been out of his sight for a month (Clever omega! She couldn't have sprung it on me otherwise) and she had fed him oysters (the minx), carbs (but left time for some digestion) and isotonic drinks (in preparation for loss of body fluids) and she had timed it for the exact three days he had off a year. Mycroft laughed. Was she worthy of being his mate? Absolutely. She was beautiful, professional, intelligent, sneaky and deadly. He trusted her with everything, including his brother and the country. The question was, why would she choose him? He had never considered he could have her.

"Are you sure?" He asked, and she rolled her eyes again.

"If I hung up a sign at the office saying 'Mycroft Holmes is giving free rides', there are agents who have been in deep cover for years who would come out to line up. The line of your conquests and those who have heard the rave reviews would stretch from here to France. But I know you Mycroft. I know the care you take of what you consider yours, everything about your true personality screams 'perfect mate material'. You are not the Ice Man. Don't you want a mate and children of your own to take care of?"

Mycroft closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

"Yes." He said.

"Me?" She asked. "If you turn me down, you will have to fight Percy off next. He already knows what he's missing out on." She was joking, but he could hear an underlying strain. The fear of rejection.

"Are we finished eating my dear?" He asked.

"I suppose, but..." He held up a hand to cut her off and got up. One step was all he needed around the small table to offer her his hand.

"Then I have a very special gift to unwrap and enjoy. After which, I intend to spend the rest of my life enthusiastically thanking the giver."

"You have read too much Mills and Boon." She raised a sculptured eyebrow, daring him to deny it (he couldn't) and took his hand. "I was hoping you'd say something like that."

Welcome to the Family

"Well that is just disgusting." Sherlock groaned as Mycroft entered his private room at the clinic, followed closely by his assistant and surrounded by the smell of a satisfying heat spent together. "And predictable. What the hell took you years to work that one out? And why the hell couldn't you have waited a couple of days longer? Just bugger off Mycroft, your stink is going to put him off his food."

"Congratulations John." Mycroft said managing to look slightly smug without actually wearing any facial expression that the doctor could discern, ignoring his brother and the squiggling bundle he was trying to convince to nurse. "So sorry we couldn't be here sooner." Sherlock made a gagging noise and mumbled something about texting mid-rut.

"You too I guess." John replied easily, shaking the offered hand. "And you Anthea." He said, not trying to get any nearer to her. Mycroft was looming in the particularly territorial fashion of the newly bonded.

"Oh for God's sake John, her name's not Anthea!" Said Sherlock in a huff. Why was everyone ignoring him? He was the one who had just given birth! He even had the baby to prove it.

"I know that Love, but I don't know what her real name is?" He looked hopefully around the room, waiting for someone to enlighten him.

"Auntie, apparently." Snarked Sherlock. "Goes so well with Big Brother, don't you think?"

"Anthea is fine for now John." She said calmly. "Sherlock if you keep jiggling him about like that, how is he supposed to latch on? You are going to give him a concussion, or seasickness. Give him here. It's a good thing he has John's temperament, or he'd be wailing by now."

Sherlock grumbled but handed over his son. Mycroft did not know where his omega had developed her baby handling skills, but watching her gently scenting the blue-eyed boy with the outrageous shock of black hair drew him in until he found himself holding his nephew and following her lead, feeling pleased and undeniably proud of the second new member of his family in under a week.

"You've called him Hamish, haven't you?" He asked, surprised to find himself with slightly wet eyes.

"Obviously." Said Sherlock, arms folded across his chest and clearly headed for a sulk.

"He's perfect." Mycroft said, which surprised his brother enough that he actually looked at him and noted how affected he was. Mycroft didn't care. He was busy deciding how he could justify keeping the increased security at Baker Street without incurring Sherlock's wrath, and thereby earning himself a visiting ban.

It would be deeply inconvenient if he had to start kidnapping his nephew at such a tender age.

AN : For those who don't know, Auntie is a nickname for the BBC. It comes from "Auntie knows best", which does have the same kind of implications as Big Brother is watching (for your own good). So yes, I do think they actually go well together, despite Mythea not really being my ship.

That which I consider mine, you will not touch, or you will get yours. Said the lioness, who admits to being a bit alpha, particularly about family.