Mycroft's Secret Child(ren)
Prologue
A young man walks down a corridor carrying an armload of textbooks and papers away from a lecture theatre. He fails to look where he is going as his mind in reeling with various philosophies, facts and figures emanating from his university course. He bumps into a young woman walking the other way. His papers and books all fall to the floor. They both drop to their knees and scramble around to pick everything up. The pair of them stand, each carrying half the stuff. The young woman glances at the notes in her hand and groans. 'I've missed the lecture haven't I?' The young man nods. She shifts everything into the crook of one arm and extends her hand. 'Joy-Anne Tilbury.'
'Mycroft Holmes.'
'Oh, I know. We're in the same seminar class. I sit next but one to you.' Mycroft smiles in response.
'You prefer the philosophy and economy aspects rather than the political. Going on how bored you get when exploring the political history modules.'
'Whilst you hate philosophy but enjoy the economy and political modules.' Mycroft turns his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye.
'You're good. Care to take a look at my notes?' Joy-Anne's expression immediately becomes relieved.
'Please, if it isn't too much trouble.' Mycroft leads Joy-Anne down the corridor.
A couple of hours later, Joy-Anne and Mycroft sit at his desk pouring over the notes Mycroft had made during the lecture. Mycroft reaches over past Joy-Anne and accidently on purpose brushes Joy-Anne's arms. She starts but smiles blushing leaning forward to hide it from the young genius. Mycroft sees it but doesn't let on. Minutes later Joy-Anne reaches forward and brushes her hand over Mycroft's. He grabs her hand but she draws away. He cups his palm to her cheek and leans in to kiss her. After initial reluctance Joy-Anne deepens the kiss and the two of them staggers towards the bed without breaking contact. They only break contact to take off the other's clothes. They fall onto the bed completely naked and unaware of the outside world.
Three months later
Joy-Anne knocks on the door to Mycroft's room. 'Just a minute.' Mycroft's call floats through the door. He opens the door with ruffled hair and dishevelled clothing.
'Pull an all nighter?' Mycroft yawns and nods. Joy-Anne glances up and down the corridor. 'We need to talk.'
'About what?' Mycroft yawns again but steps back. 'Come in.' Joy-Anne steps over the threshold hesitantly.
'Did you have a good Christmas?' Mycroft scrubs at his eyes.
'It was ok, I suppose. It wasn't a total disaster but it didn't go as well as I had hoped.'
'Why was that?'
'My father had walked out on us on Christmas Eve four years ago. Just walked out and never came back. This year my mother had the bright idea of having her latest boyfriend join us for the holiday.' He pauses. 'But you are stalling Joy. What do you need to say?'
'Do you remember when we first really talked to each other?' Mycroft nods not fully understanding what Joy-Anne is saying. 'Do you remember what we did?' Mycroft starts to get impatient.
'Yes, I do Joy-Anne. Just what are you saying?' Joy-Anne hesitates. Mycroft softens his stance. 'I'm sorry, it's just early and…' He trails off uncharacteristically uncertain.
'Mycroft, I'm pregnant.' Mycroft's jaw drops.
