Title: The Ones Who Love Us Most
Words: 2500+
Rating: PG
Characters: Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Lestrade, Mummy Holmes
Warnings: Homophobia
A/N: Written for a prompt on LiveJournal asking for a fic where Sherlock, John, Lestrade or Mycroft comes out as bi/gay to their family or close friends because they are in love with another man. I prefer S/J or Mystrade pairings in this case.
The dinners had started out as John and Greg's way of pulling the Holmes brothers together, to see if they could bridge the gulf that existed between them. They had started with insults and long, uncomfortable silences which John and Greg had tried to fill to the best of their abilities, or in some intractable cases, pushing themselves away from the table and announcing that if the two men they loved were going to be such prats, they were heading to the pub to watch the footie so at the very least they could enjoy their evening.
But as time passed and Greg and John were able to work their respective magic on Mycroft and Sherlock, the monthly dinners between the two couples had grown to be something they all looked forward to – even if two of the four would never admit it.
And so it was that they were all together when the phone call came.
A Blackberry warbled and four hands reached for their pockets.
It was Mycroft who finally pulled his phone out. He glanced at the screen and his brow furrowed. "Stevens? What is it?"
Beside him, Sherlock stiffened and his eyes settled on his brother's face, watching him as he listened to the man on the phone. He sucked in a breath as he picked up on something in Mycroft's demeanour that the other two men at the table couldn't. John crossed his arms and stared down at the table, and Greg thought that it was entirely possible he would burn a hole through it with his gaze alone. The DI was left to look between them all quizzically.
"John? What's going on? Who's Stevens?"
"Stevens is the butler at their mother's house." He looked at Greg. "He hasn't mentioned him before?"
"No," Greg shook his head. "I don't even know all that much about his family either, to tell the truth. All he's said about his parents is that his father is dead and he's estranged from his mother. I never wanted to push. I'm not all that close to my family either for various reasons."
John glanced up at Sherlock, sighed, and then looked then back at the detective. "Well, I could be wrong, but I think you might be about to get a crash course in the Holmes family dynamic."
They turned back to Mycroft just as he was responding to the butler. "…yes, I see. I'll make my way there directly."
"Mycroft?" Sherlock's voice was sharp. "What's wrong with Mother?"
"Heart attack, Sherlock. I should go." He stood and looked at his brother-in-law. "Thank you for the meal, John. As always, it was superb. Gregory, you should stay here with John and Sherlock, finish dessert and coffee. I'll call when I know more."
Sherlock glanced at John, silent communication flying between them. John finally nodded, not looking particularly happy. The detective cleared his throat and stood. "I'll be coming."
"Is that wise?"
"No. However, I should be there. Filial duty or some such." The flippant remark contrasted sharply with the turmoil in his eyes. He stopped as he saw the doctor start to rise. "John, you know what happened last time," Sherlock started. "I won't be upset-"
"It's not about her, Sherlock. It's about you. I'll be there for you."
Mycroft shook his head. "John, what she did last time…"
Greg looked from one man to the other, growing more concerned as they spoke. Just what in hell is going on here? Time for some answers, I think. "Would someone fill me in on why John and I shouldn't come with you when your mother is in the hospital?"
The budding argument was derailed by the question. John looked from the DI to his brother-in-law, then took Sherlock's hand and tugged him towards the bedroom. "Sherlock, let's go put some things in a bag. We'll be ready in a few minutes, Mycroft."
The elder Holmes nodded gratefully, waiting until Sherlock and John closed the door before turning back to his partner.
"Mycroft, what's going on?"
He always loved how Gregory got straight to the point. It saved so much time. "You should not come with me to see my mother."
"The reason being? And why were you and Sherlock trying to talk John out of going?"
Mycroft hesitated and he looked down at the phone still in his hand, turning it over and over. Greg stared; it was completely out of character for the man to fidget like that, and not once had he ever seen it. He reached out and settled his hand over Mycroft's. "What is it, love?"
"My mother…" he began hesitantly, finally looking up to meet Greg's eyes, "is not supportive of me or Sherlock and those we love."
The DI stared at him for a moment. "Are you saying she's homophobic?"
"That is indeed what I am saying."
"So what you started to say to John, about what happened last time?"
Mycroft ran a hand through his hair, more telling to Greg of just how distressed his lover was. "She was…vile to him. And to Sherlock."
"What exactly did she say?" The doctor, he knew, had extremely thick skin. Have to, being Sherlock's partner.
"I will not repeat her words, Gregory."
"But that's why you don't speak to her."
"That's why I don't speak to her," he confirmed.
"So I'll assume she doesn't know about me."
"I stopped talking to her after what she said to John and Sherlock." His eyes flared with love and protectiveness. "She is not a pleasant woman. I would never subject you to that."
"She's your mother, and she's ill. As John said, this is about you and Sherlock. I'll be coming." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Mycroft's lips to forestall the disagreement he saw brewing there. "End of discussion."
Mycroft shook his head. "I still wonder what ever I did to deserve you, Gregory."
"You got remarkably lucky." He held out a hand and pulled Mycroft to his feet. "Let's go see your mother."
It had to be said that there were perks to Mycroft's position, one of them being the car that he had requisitioned to take them all to the private hospital in the Surrey countryside. It pulled up to the private entrance and they climbed out. Greg saw the grim expressions on their faces and wondered if the woman he was about to meet could be as bad as they said. He could believe Sherlock and Mycroft would exaggerate, but John? Perhaps this would be as bad as they said. He'd never known the quiet doctor to embellish the truth.
As John says, this could be a bit not good.
They climbed the steps into the old manor house that had been turned into a private, state-of-the-art clinic, and Mycroft stepped to the desk to find out where their mother was. Greg whistled through his teeth as he looked around the opulent foyer. "NHS doesn't have a thing on this place, does it?"
He saw the corners of John's mouth quirk up. "NHS probably doesn't even know this place exists, it's that exclusive."
"So much for publicly-funded health care."
The snide comment that he was sure John was about to make was pre-empted by Mycroft's return. "She's in a private suite. An orderly will lead us there."
Greg saw Sherlock stiffen out of the corner of his eye and watched John slip his hand into that of the consulting detective's. He stretched up to whisper something, and the younger man relaxed, pressing a soft kiss onto the doctor's head. It never ceased to amaze him how much Sherlock had changed since John had come into his life, and he wondered how Mrs. Holmes couldn't see the joy and peace he had brought to her son. He could only hope that he had done the same for Mycroft.
The orderly came, and he and John fell into step behind the brothers, trailing down the corridors to where the woman lay.
A doctor in a white coat met them at the closed door and briskly shook hands with Mycroft. He passed over a file to the elder Holmes, and then turned and left. The elder Holmes turned and held out the file to John.
John's eyebrows rose as he accepted it. "She'll be irate if she finds out I've seen her medical records."
"Indeed," Mycroft said dryly, "but I trust you, John, even if she never will. That's why I had you cleared for privileges here."
Even Greg didn't miss the hard swallow and the sudden bright sheen in John's eyes as he nodded and quickly opened the file. He was fiercely glad that his lover wasn't as oblivious to feelings and emotions as Sherlock was. Those words had to have meant the world to John. He caught Mycroft's eye and smiled, the look on his face a promise for later. The elder Holmes reached out a hand, squeezing Greg's gently.
They waited as John scanned the sheets within the file. He snapped it shut, and handed it back to Mycroft. "As heart attacks go, this wasn't bad. A warning shot, more than anything. She'll need to change some things about her life – diet, exercise – but she should be fine."
Mycroft nodded, and beside John, Sherlock let out the breath he'd been holding. The tumult that had been on his face when the phone call came was back now, and Greg could see relief warring for dominance with the resentment he so obviously – rightfully, if what Mycroft had said was true – felt. He could understand why Mycroft had never said anything about him.
It must, Greg thought, be awful to love someone and then be rejected by your family for that love.
It suddenly seemed to the DI that he understood Mycroft and Sherlock more now than ever. If they had always known they were gay... it must have been terrible.
"So the prodigal sons return."
The voice was imperious, demanding. Sherlock's head dropped and Mycroft stiffened, dropping Greg's hand abruptly. John and Greg's eyes met, and they came to an unspoken agreement.
If this blew up in their faces, they would get their lovers out of there, family be damned.
Even lying in a hospital bed it was easy to see that the woman in front of them was tall and thin like her sons. She had imparted other things to them too, Greg saw, like Sherlock's sharp cheekbones and Mycroft's eyes. But the look in those eyes – so like the ones that were always filled with love for him – that chilled him, and made him want to drag Mycroft out of there and never come back.
They were piercing and rimed with frost as she stared at her sons. He watched as her gaze slid to John, her nostrils flaring in clear disgust. Her eyes raked across Sherlock. "Why did you bring him here?"
The words hung in the air, almost seeming to echo, and Greg felt his jaw drop. The detective open his mouth to reply, and the DI could see his temper about to explode. And he wouldn't have blamed him one iota whatever came out of the younger Holmes's mouth. But John's hand on his arm made Sherlock snap his mouth shut. The doctor met the woman's gaze levelly. "Mrs. Holmes."
It was the look of a man who had faced down the Taliban and a madman in a pool, and Greg almost thought that in its way, this confrontation was almost as bad. He had kept his voice low and even, and Greg wondered how he was able to stay so calm in the face of such outright animosity.
"Still haven't come to your senses, Sherlock? I thought I raised you better than…" she eyed John again and her lip curled. "…that."
"Mother, that is enough!"
Mycroft's voice cut through the almost visible tension. He glared at his mother. "You will not speak to John – indeed, he has a name – like that."
"Ah, yes, and you, Mycroft. Always protecting Sherlock first and the person he consorts with. Never thinking about the one who gave birth to you."
The elder Holmes sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Greg ached to reach out to him, but knew he couldn't. It was up to Mycroft how he wanted to handle things with his mother, and he wouldn't make this any harder on him.
Even if he did want to throttle the woman where she lay.
"Mother, you will not attack John anymore."
"I fail to see how it's an attack when I'm trying to protect my youngest son from the queer-" she looked the doctor up and down, "who corrupted him."
"Right." John straightened, and squeezed Sherlock's arm with the hand that still lay there. "Sherlock, I'm going to go to the waiting room. It's not good for your mother to get excited and my being here can only make her condition worse."
Greg stared after the doctor as he stepped out of the door, closing it softly behind him. He had no idea how John could be thinking about what was best for the woman's health after all the vitriol she had poured on him. It was clear that John was a far better man than he could ever hope to be.
He glanced at Sherlock, and could see that the younger man was readying himself to speak. Few were the times when he had seen Sherlock search for words – speechlessness was not something the man was overly familiar with. His eyes met his brother's and Greg watched as Mycroft nodded at him. It seemed as if some sort of permission was granted.
Sherlock turned back to the bed. "I will not allow you to treat John like that, Mother." He glanced back at Greg, then to Mycroft, and his eyes had a clear message for his brother, though not one that the DI could immediately decipher. "I have finally learned that the ones who love us most are not always the ones who are related to us by blood."
He drew even with Mycroft and did something Greg had never seen him do in all the times he had seen them together. He raised his hand to his brother's shoulder and clasped it before slipping out the door to follow his partner.
Mycroft stared after him, watching the door swing shut. The sudden silence was deafening.
"Well, Mycroft? Who is this you've brought to gawk at me?"
The elder Holmes brother started, as though he'd forgotten his mother lay behind him. The silence grew as he stared at her.
They had been together for two years now, and Greg had learned how to read the small signs that revealed what Mycroft was thinking and feeling. Right now, they were telling him that his lover was angry, angrier than he'd ever seen him, though most people would never have picked up on it. But there was conflict there too, a dilemma raging through him. He played with the handle of his ever-present umbrella and finally seemed to resolve the turmoil within.
His face cleared, his decision made, and he smiled across the room at his lover. It was a brilliant smile and for a moment Mycroft and Greg were the only two people in the world. The words he spoke next were simple and resolute, and he never took his eyes off of Greg as he spoke them.
"Him, Mother? It's quite simple." His smile widened and years dropped away from his face. "This is the man I love."