The Magnussen incident had turned Sherlock into a different man, for better or for worse – Mycroft hoped and prayed it was for the better.
Very few things could actually surprise Mycroft Holmes; one of those was definitely the sight of his little brother making an effort to behave like a grown-up. Apparently middle age was stealing upon Sherlock at last, if the brat was willing to make polite conversation with his sibling for once.
He knew that Sherlock had been seeking the company of his friends more and more often of late, and the idea amused him somehow. Caring was never an advantage, and yet even Mycroft couldn't deny the very core of human nature; human beings needed the fellowship of their peers, and there was nothing he could do to change this simple fact.
He sympathised entirely with the poor woman that Sherlock had chosen as his appointed companion. His brother was completely hopeless as a romantic partner, and yet the unassuming pathologist seemed to make it work somehow.
When Sherlock bought his dream cottage in Sussex of all places, Mycroft found himself pondering over the benefits of companionship – and not for the first time, if he had to be completely honest with himself. He was sitting on a bench in Regent's Park, frowning at the herons that floated on the clear surface of the lake, when the subject of his musings materialized right in front of him.
"Mind if I sit here, sunshine?" Greg asked somewhat casually, and Mycroft was reminded once more that there was no such thing as coincidences.
"I do believe you don't need my permission, Detective Inspector."
"No need to be so prim, Holmes," the other man chided him gently. "This is not the Houses of Parliament."
"That I am willing to concede."
Greg smiled then – a genuine, infectious smile. "You know what my old man used to say? 'Take life easy, sonny', and he was quite right too."
A warm hand was placed on his knee, and lingered there; his eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of moments, as he revelled in the touch and everything it meant to the both of them.
xxx
Sherlock's cutting remarks about his brother being awfully sentimental left Mycroft completely unimpressed. He knew that deep down his impossible sibling was actually happy for him, as did Greg for that matter.
After his niece was born he and his partner went to Sussex fairly often, to visit Sherlock and his family. Melissa was a sweet little girl, and quite fond of her uncle too; Mycroft simply adored her, for lack of a better term.
"We should get a child of our own," Greg mused on their way home from one of those trips. He felt both elated and terrified at the idea, and was quite grateful when his PA took charge of the matter.
Rosemary was a quiet child with a prodigious memory and an innate talent for music; Mycroft knew she was the one as soon as their eyes met. Andrea had chosen wisely, as was her wont.
"You're going to be my Dad?" she enquired cautiously, tilting her head to one side.
"If you'll have me, yes. Nothing would make me happier."
The girl nodded her approval, then turned her attention to Greg. "What should I call you then?"
"Papa will be fine," Greg smiled, and she beamed with delight.
Mycroft made a mental note to invite his brother over more often, so that he could teach the violin to the child prodigy that was now his precious daughter.
