For all the inconvenience the woman known as Mary Watson had caused, Mycroft had to concede she might have some utility – or at least, her offspring did. Sherlock was so busy doting upon the infant that he failed to notice the developing relationship between his elder brother and Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade; which was for the best, given that both men needed to find their footing before the stroppy brat blundered back into their lives.
It was merely a matter of time though, and Mycroft knew that his little brother would get wind of the whole business when both he and Greg declined all invitations from any third party for the upcoming festivities. Nevertheless, he was gracious enough to pretend he wasn't aware of the communications that were being exchanged between his personal assistant and his ridiculous sibling; Miss Somers was one of his best agents, and he wouldn't deny her a bit of harmless fun just because it was at his expenses.
It was just as well that Father had guessed the truth far before Sherlock, and had seen fit to give them his blessing; his old man was oddly perceptive when it came to sentiment, and Mycroft was secretly pleased that his partner had met his father's approval.
As for Sherlock, he looked so acutely embarrassed when he walked in on his brother exchanging a simple gesture of affection with said partner that Mycroft refrained from pointing out how people generally used to knock before entering someone else's rooms. The most surprising part was that the aforementioned incident apparently acted as the straw that broke the camel's back, prompting his baby brother to seek out a relationship of his own.
All he could do was hope and pray that Sherlock wasn't doing it just out of spite; nor as a way to prove something to his big brother, whatever that might be.
xxx
It was the first day of the New Year when he woke to find a cup of coffee waiting for him, and his partner in the middle of some sort of conversation via text messages.
"Not you as well," he complained somewhat wryly; between Sherlock and Miss Somers they could easily reach the quota of texts deemed acceptable for the population of a small county, so there was no need for Greg to add more to that number.
"Rumours has it that the Lost Boy is growing up fast," Greg grinned back at him. "Let's hope it's for the best this time."
He took a thoughtful sip of his coffee, assessing the information. "Dr Molly Hooper, I presume?"
"Yeah. Poor thing, I hope she'll manage to handle a wildcat like Sherlock – though I've heard she put him to rights the last time he fell back into old habits."
Mycroft let a pleased smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "Slapped him hard across the face. I have great faith in our little pathologist."
Greg smiled in turn, then enfolded his partner in a warm embrace.