"John," Mycroft said, watching his husband bustle about making tea for both of them, "Have you ever considered having children?"
John pursed his lips in thought as he poured water into two cups. "A few times," he admitted. "I've tried not to, because I didn't want to pressure you, but I've thought about it."
Mycroft smiled slightly. "I have considered it as well," he conceded, his smile widening at John's grin.
"Seriously?" he asked, forgetting about the tea as he moved to hug his bondmate. "I'd have to take different shifts at the hospital, and you'd have to stop working so hard. You'd have to stop working completely for a couple of months."
"I know," Mycroft replied, nodding, "But it would be worth it."
"Yes, it would be," John replied, before kissing his husband. "It definitely would be."
Mycroft Holmes was accustomed, like his brother, to pushing his body to the limit and ignoring its needs in order to get his work done. He had become proficient in ignoring his body's demands over the years, and was able to go several days without eating or sleeping if necessary without much effort.
Which made recent events more puzzling.
For the past two weeks, Mycroft's body had betrayed him. Mornings began with a mad dash to the bathroom to be violently ill, and the trend would continue throughout the day at the most odd or inconvenient times. He was also exhausted, so very weary that leaving his bed sometimes seemed to be a monumental effort. He had no idea what was wrong with him, but it needed to stop.
Of course, it was his husband the doctor who figured it out.
"Mycroft," John said slowly, leaning in the doorway to their bedroom and looking at Mycroft, who was collapsed fully clothed on their bed, "How long ago was your heat?"
Mycroft rolled to his side to look at John, confused as to why the doctor would ask. "It's marked on the calendar John," he replied, "Two months and two weeks I believe." Even as he said that, it occurred to him what was wrong. "But…"
"But your heat comes every two months," John said, understanding Mycroft's confusion, "Unless something happens to interfere with your heat."
Mycroft blinked, staring at John.
"My, I think you're pregnant," John said to his dazed Omega. He could understand the sentiment, as he hadn't been much better when he first realized what the symptoms could mean. It had taken him a further week to confirm it before he would even consider bringing it up to his husband.
Mycroft, for his part, was floored. It was one thing to talk about having a child and another thing all together to learn that he was expecting said child. "You are certain?"
"Pretty near," John answered, moving so he was sitting on the bed next to his mate and taking one of his hands. "You'd have to take the test, but…I think you are."
Mycroft nodded, still too shocked to speak. In seven months, more or less, he and John would have a child, a child of their own to raise and love, regardless of whether they were Alphas, Betas, or Omegas.
"I think that I am too," is all he could think to say, his free hand resting on his still slim midsection.
2 months later
"Brother dear, what have I done to warrant the honor of your company," Sherlock asked. He was pacing back and forth, rocking little Annabelle to settle her down for a nap.
"I needed to speak with you," Mycroft replied, twisting his umbrella in his hands as he watched his brother. Before Gregory Lestrade, if anyone had suggested that Sherlock would bond and father a child, Mycroft would have forgotten all dignity and laughed aloud. Now…
"What is it?" Sherlock asked, the veiled concern in his tone negating his careless words. "Make tea if you wish, I have to put Anna down for her nap. I should be back in a few minutes."
Mycroft nodded and set about making tea for himself and his brother, and by the time the tea was done Sherlock was re-entering the sitting room, placing a baby monitor on the coffee table.
Sherlock accepted the tea with a nod as he sat in his chair, raising an eyebrow to ask his brother to elaborate.
"I need your advice," Mycroft replied, looking at his teacup instead of his younger brother. This was absurd, perhaps he should just leave…
"You need my advice?" Sherlock asked, eyebrows rising to his hairline. He could count on one hand the number of times his brother had admitted that. One finger actually. "Have the hormones finally addled your mind?"
Mycroft huffed a small laugh. Sherlock usually was able to make him laugh easily, although it was only since he had bonded with Gregory that Mycroft saw that side of his brother again. A side he had long thought was gone.
"No brother, I am as I ever was," Mycroft replied, taking a sip of his tea before he set it aside. "In fact, I came here from my appointment. Everything is fine, the child is healthy."
"You don't know what you are having?" Sherlock asked.
"No," Mycroft replied, "John thought it would be better to be surprised. Shopping will be a hassle however."
"Neutral colors," Sherlock replied, shrugging. "That's what Greg and I did. However, you didn't come here to tell me any of that. A text would have sufficed."
"I despise texting," Mycroft protested.
"A phone call then," Sherlock said. "Something disturbed you Mycroft."
"Yes," Mycroft sighed, giving up the pretense. "I had considered, with everything that has happened…what if I cannot…I am not able…?"
"To care for the child?" Sherlock asked, to which his brother nodded. "Brother, most parents believe that they won't be good enough for their child. I know I did and I still do worry that."
"You are wonderful with Annabelle," Mycroft said, which was true. Sherlock had taken to parenthood like a duck to water.
"And you will be a fine parent for your child," Sherlock replied. "Something prompted this Mycroft; what was it?"
"When you were in the hospital after your accident," Mycroft said slowly, "After you awoke, you did everything in your power to leave the hospital as soon as possible. As you explained to Gregory, our parents' deaths affected you, and I wasn't…I couldn't…"
"Mycroft," Sherlock sighed, setting down his teacup and steepling his fingers. "You were twenty-one, I was fourteen. You hadn't seen me in years and had no idea what would help me. I asked you what was wrong with me, are you going to blame yourself for that?"
Mycroft said nothing, simply stared at his brother, waiting to see where he was going with this.
"That was eight years ago," Sherlock said, "And you have considerably more tact now than you did then. You will be fine."
"Do you honestly think so?" Mycroft asked. He couldn't help it. John had told him repeatedly that they would be fine, and Gregory had said so as well, but Mycroft still wasn't sure. Holmeses weren't exactly the cuddly type, and he worried that his relationship with his child would be as poor as the one between himself and his parents.
"I am," Sherlock said, smirking. "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. You would not make the same mistakes our parents did. You don't have it in you. I told you to piss off repeatedly throughout my life, but you were always there. That's a damn sight more than our parents ever did."
Mycroft found himself blinking back tears. He blamed it on his hormones (which were indeed all over the place) as he hunted through his pockets for a handkerchief.
Another 2 months
Mycroft huffed as he glanced around his study. John had severely limited his access to his work, and now everything that required him leaving home had been postponed until after the child was born. He still was able to give advice, and Anthea would send files for him, but he was slowly going insane.
Now I know how Sherlock feels when he doesn't have a case, Mycroft thought grimly. He had never understood his sibling's tendency to shoot the walls whenever he had too much time on his hands. Mycroft had never had much time to himself, as his work was very absorbing. Even after he and John mated and he had started to work fewer hours each day, he was never idle, as he and John would find something to do. Now, however, John was at the clinic, Mycroft had already done as much as he could from home, and he was bored.
He rubbed his stomach as the child kicked, apparently unperturbed by it's parent's difficulties. He was nearly certain that it was a girl, but as Sherlock was fond of saying, they always missed something.
Thinking of his brother and his mate, Mycroft pulled out his phone to call Sherlock. If it was a good day or Sherlock was with Gregory, then he would more than likely answer the phone instead of waiting for Mycroft to text him.
The phone was answered on the third ring.
"Hello Mycroft," Gregory said.
"Gregory? Why are you answering my brother's phone? Is he throwing a tantrum and refusing to speak to me until I text him?"
"No, he's out," Gregory replied, confusing Mycroft.
"And he left his phone?"
"Apparently," Gregory sighed. "It was in the pocket of his dressing gown. Did you need him for something?"
"I…" Mycroft wasn't sure how to convey his displeasure without seeming to be whining. And really, he didn't want to whine. He was just so bored!
"How long has it been since you were allowed to work Mycroft?" Gregory asked, and Mycroft could almost hear the knowing smile that was undoubtedly on his face.
"Nearly two months," Mycroft confessed. "Anthea is able to bring me files, but I am unable to do anything which requires leaving the house. Unfortunately, a lot of my work is meetings."
"And you aren't allowed to go to those," Gregory finished. "I understand. I about went spare sometimes when I wasn't allowed to work. Sherlock stopped taking any case that would take more than two hours away from home to solve. Claimed that it was unfair that he would get to work while I couldn't."
Mycroft smiled. He could see Sherlock doing something of the sort, only for Gregory of course.
"He should be back soon," Gregory said, recalling Mycroft to the conversation. "If you want, you and John could come over once he's home from the surgery. Anna misses her Uncles. It's been weeks since you've seen her; you'll be amazed at how much she's grown."
"I haven't visited since I spoke to Sherlock after my appointment two months ago," Mycroft realized.
"Well, she's about eight months old now, and I swear she'll be talking in another week or so," Gregory said. "She definitely has Sherlock's brain."
"A blessing and a curse," Mycroft replied dryly. He was pleased that his niece would inherit the Holmes intelligence, but he also wondered how she would cope with the boredom that inevitably came with it.
"Mm," Gregory hummed noncommittally. "So, you and John will come over, about six?"
"Very well," Mycroft sighed, making it sound as though he were longsuffering. In truth, he couldn't wait to see his niece again and possibly speak to Gregory. It was nice having an Omega to talk to that wasn't completely dull. Mycroft knew his brother felt similarly about John.
"See you then," Gregory said.
John was pleased at the invitation and so the two went to Baker Street, showing up minutes after Sherlock did.
"Interesting case?" John guessed, shrugging out of his coat.
"Dull," Sherlock replied. "A lot of legwork with no interesting puzzle. Extraordinarily dull."
Mycroft bit his lip. The case Sherlock had been working on was a favor to Mycroft, one that needed special handling. He was pleased that his brother had evidently managed it satisfactorily, but he also felt bad for causing him to take a case with no benefits.
"The pay was good," Sherlock finished, startling Mycroft. Sherlock had never cared about money before. Had that changed?
"You took a case because of the money?" John asked, sounding as confused as Mycroft felt.
"Of course not John, don't be dull," Sherlock said, going to the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Gregory from behind. "I took the case as a favor. The money was a benefit as it will be placed into Annabelle's school fund."
"She's not going to some pretentious public school like you did Sherlock," Gregory warned, seeming unperturbed as he continued to cook with his husband clinging to him like a limpet.
"She'll go where she'll get the best education," Sherlock said, shrugging, as though that settled matters. Apparently, it did.
The rest of the night passed easily, surprising Mycroft. No matter how many times he got together with his brother and their bondmates, he couldn't help but be surprised at how well they got along. Part of that was because Gregory and John had locked the two of them in a cell at the Yard and refused to let them out until they aired all of their grievances. They also said that if either man tried to get out before everything was settled, neither would like the consequences.
Mycroft smiled as he sipped his tea, cooing at little Annabelle as she sat on her Daddy's lap and listened to Sherlock play his violin.
Another 3 months
"Honestly, I believe this child has Sherlock's timing," Mycroft groused. He was lying on their bed, cuddled as close to John as his heavily pregnant frame would allow.
"Babies always seem to decide for themselves when the time is right," John said, running his hand gently through his husband's hair. He knew Mycroft was stressed, as his due date had passed a week ago, but John wasn't as concerned. Sometimes babies were a week early, other times two weeks late. Everything else with Mycroft's pregnancy had gone well, and the doctor had found nothing wrong when he examined Mycroft last.
"Sherlock was a month early," Mycroft grumbled, rubbing a hand over his swollen stomach.
"And you were three weeks late," John replied, unperturbed.
"Why must my brother tell you these things?" Mycroft groused.
"Because he knew you would worry. You about bit his head off last time we visited because you didn't like his song choice."
Mycroft remained stubbornly silent. He knew John was right, even though he'd never admit it, so he said nothing.
"I have to go," John sighed, pressing a kiss to Mycroft's lips before he rose from the bed. "My shift's over at four today."
Mycroft nodded. He had memorized John's schedule long ago, but he never tired of the reminder that his partner cared.
After John left, Mycroft languished in his bed for a while. He was feeling off, but put that down to the fact that he was nine months pregnant and ached all over. He was also very bored.
This seems to be a reoccurring theme, Mycroft mused as he called his brother. While John was working, Mycroft had taken to visiting Baker Street to visit his brother. Greg's hours were similar to John's, except for when he needed to work late, but his brother's schedule was erratic and often based on his own whim whenever he didn't have a case.
Today, he knew for a fact that Gregory had the day off, so it was possible that Sherlock was using that opportunity to sneak off to the morgue.
"Hello brother dear, how are you?" Sherlock asked, affecting a false-bright tone.
"Bored already Sherlock?" Mycroft teased, unable to help himself.
"You're one to talk," Sherlock retorted. "But yes. I am attempting to determine how I would be able to set up my chemistry equipment in the kitchen when Anna is already attempting to walk. There is no real way to child-proof corrosive acids."
Mycroft rolled his eyes. Only Sherlock. "Perhaps you should talk to Mrs. Hudson about renting the basement flat for your laboratory."
There was silence as his brother considered the idea. "I'll think about it," he said, which was as close as he would come to admitting Mycroft had had a good idea. "Are you coming over?"
Mycroft bit his bottom lip as he thought. He had promised John he wouldn't do anything too strenuous…but really, visiting Sherlock isn't a strain. Although, he didn't fancy climbing seventeen steps right now. But, he wanted to talk to Sherlock, as the odd feeling hadn't abated yet.
"Or perhaps I should visit you," Sherlock cut in on Mycroft's inner rambling. "Greg took Anna to some toddler thing at the mall, and I doubt you could make it up the steps in your condition."
Despite having thought that moments before, Mycroft still felt indignation rise in him at that statement. "Gregory managed perfectly well."
"I carried Greg sometimes," Sherlock replied. "My, if you're going through half of what he did, you probably ache like seven hells. Stop being so stubborn for once."
Mycroft huffed, as Sherlock telling anyone to stop being stubborn was always amusing.
"Besides, I am already nearing your house," Sherlock said, surprising Mycroft. "I had no interesting experiments to do and I knew that you would be bored once John left. Also, I have details for you about the last case you asked me to look at."
Mycroft just shook his head, hanging up his phone as the front door opened and closed. "In here Sherlock," he called, despite knowing his brother would be able to find him with little hassle. Sherlock appeared in the doorway minutes later, looking distinctly ruffled.
"I think I was followed," Sherlock said without preamble, his eyes darting all over as Mycroft sat up straighter. "I think I lost them a few streets over."
"What?"
"That's why Greg took Anna alone. I thought I was being followed. I haven't seen any tails recently, but there were a few who were still unhappy that I took that case a few months ago."
Mycroft remembered the case well, as his brother had barely escaped being knighted for his services to the royal family. Now, it appears that everything hadn't wrapped up as neatly as his people had led him to believe.
"What happened?" Mycroft asked, his stomach roiling.
Before Sherlock could answer, several men swarmed into the room. The one that appeared to be the leader trained his gun on Mycroft, freezing Sherlock.
"Now, Mr. Holmes, we're gonna take you and your brother and have a little talk," the leader said, keeping his weapon trained on Mycroft as another approached Sherlock, holding a straightjacket. "Move and I'll shoot him," he added, when it looked like Sherlock would struggle.
Sherlock obeyed, already thinking of various escape plans that would be possible while Mycroft was in such a delicate state. Anything could…
The scent reached Sherlock's nose just as Mycroft realized exactly why he had been feeling off today. There was a regularity to his pains that his Braxton-Hicks contractions didn't have. His eyes widened slightly as he looked at Sherlock. Now? This child definitely has Sherlock's sense of timing, Mycroft thought wryly.
Sherlock counted his blessings that the men were all Betas and apparently didn't know what the change in Mycroft's scent meant.
Mycroft was currently cursing to himself that he had been so lax in regards to his personal security. He winced as he watched the men force Sherlock into the straightjacket, apparently believing that it would hold Sherlock better than handcuffs. They would have been right, if Mycroft hadn't known for a fact that Sherlock had taken to keeping some kind of knife in his coat sleeve at all times. However, he also knew that Sherlock would do nothing as long as he was in danger.
With that thought in mind, both brothers were forced from the house and into the back of a truck. Mycroft's hands had been forced behind his back and secured with handcuffs, and he cursed the fact that he wasn't in the habit of carrying a lock picking set like his brother did.
"How are you Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, after they had been stowed away and the truck had started moving. No one was in the back with them, an oversight their kidnappers would regret, as Sherlock was already working on his restraints.
"The contractions are still quite far apart," Mycroft said, "Although I have no method of checking how close, I would say approximately six or seven minutes or so." He closed his eyes as one of the aforementioned pains ripped through him, making him grit his teeth and wish for his Alpha.
Sherlock just nodded, focusing on cutting the sleeves restraining his arms. It only takes him a few minutes to free himself, and he immediately turns to his brother. As he's attempting to pick the lock, he asks, "Mycroft?"
"The contractions are still rather far apart," Mycroft said, hoping that the pattern held long enough for them to get away. "Sherlock…"
"It will be fine Mycroft," Sherlock said, not stopping what he was doing. Mycroft calmed slightly, as his Omega senses were calmed by Sherlock's Alpha scent. He was familiar, familial, and he seemed perfectly calm. "We'll just need to wait for a stoplight and pray these idiots are extraordinarily unobservant." Of course, Sherlock was nowhere near as calm as he sounded, but he knew he had to keep up the pretense. Mycroft was in a delicate state right now, and any extra stress could complicate matters while the Omega pined for it's Alpha. Currently, Sherlock's Alpha scent was enough, but if another stressor was introduced then only one Alpha would be able to help.
The truck slowed to a stop just after Sherlock had freed Mycroft. "Imbeciles," he muttered. Did they honestly think a straightjacket and a pair of handcuffs would hold Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes?
"Mycroft, we have to go," Sherlock said, urging his brother to his feet. "Can you walk?"
Mycroft nodded; he could do that. He clutched Sherlock's arm tightly as another contraction wracked him, nearly leaving him breathless. They were increasing in strength, and the time between them was shortening, slowly but surely. But they needed to get away. It wasn't safe here. Mycroft was finding it rather hard to think, especially as his Omega side was taking up quite a bit of space, whining for it's Alpha. Brother was nice, but he wasn't his.
Sherlock opened the door quietly and slipped out, helping his brother out seconds later. He closed the doors behind them before ushering Mycroft into a nearby alley, peeking around the edge, waiting for the truck to leave. It did, none the wiser that their captives had escaped.
"We need to get you to a hospital," Sherlock said, trying to make his brother move. The Omega was leaning against the wall, panting and seemingly oblivious to their surroundings.
"Too far," Mycroft croaked, and he knew he was right. This child wasn't patient, and the nearest hospital was at least an hour away. With traffic how it was now, that time would be doubled.
Sherlock swore, and Mycroft looked up, seeing the tension in his brother's frame. He was looking around, eyes darting around the alley and looking for something. "This way," he said, putting a hand behind Mycroft's back to steer him further into the alley.
"Sherlock," Mycroft tried, not understanding why his brother was unable to comprehend the obvious.
"I have a bolt hole near here," Sherlock said, leading the way to a series of flats. "My last flat was here. The rent was cheap, and no one questioned what happened behind closed doors. I kept it in case anything ever happened and we needed somewhere safe. There is also, thankfully, a landline, which will allow me to call for John, as those fools took my phone."
Mycroft could only nod, panting through his pains. He had a moment to be grateful that Sherlock's room was on the ground floor before he was ushered in. It was a little place, with a kitchen and bathroom apart from the main room. There wasn't much in it, a trunk that Mycroft knew Sherlock kept case materials in and a bed that he had left when he moved.
Mycroft made his way to the bed, sinking down onto it with a sigh as Sherlock called John. He could hear his brother reassuring John and giving him directions, but most of his attention was focus elsewhere. The child was coming, whether they liked it or not, and he doubted John would make it in time.
"Don't think like that," Sherlock said, startling Mycroft out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Sherlock replacing the cordless phone upon it's base. "You know as well as I do that John will run here if he must. I daresay he ran longer distances in the army, and that is one routine he picked up again once his limp was gone."
Mycroft nodded, then held out his hand for Sherlock. He felt weak, but he needed his brother's support. His scent was comforting, and he seemed calm, which was the opposite of how Mycroft felt. His Omega side kept wailing for it's Alpha, and he was near to joining in.
"John will get help from Gregory," Sherlock said as he took a seat beside his brother. "Greg will put his emergency light on top of his car and they'll be here in no time."
Sherlock was (thankfully) right, and John got there in time to deliver his daughter, Carolina.
Sherlock and Greg left soon after, congratulating the couple but leaving to give them time with their daughter, although their reason was they needed to pick Annabelle up from Mrs. Hudson, where Greg had dropped her off on the way.
Laying in the bed with his mate beside him holding their daughter, Mycroft smiled. He hadn't believed that he would ever be able to have this, and he was glad that, for once, he was wrong.
A/N: Yes, the ending sucks, but I didn't want to gross anyone out with a majorly explicit birth scene.