A/N: As always, I do not own any of these character, and I offer my sincerest apologies to ACD and to Mofftiss for completely destroying their creations.

Three months after Mycroft met Greg's kids, their relationship was going very well. They were carving out more and more time to spend with each other, and many of Mycroft's items had migrated to Greg's flat so he wouldn't have to waste time picking things up from his.

Greg could see things escalating between them rapidly, and there was still something that hadn't happened that was entirely necessary before he and Mycroft took another step.

He had told his parents that he was seeing someone new, and they were both aware that this new person was a man, but they hadn't actually met. Greg was reluctant to bring Mycroft across the Channel and force him to stay with them for a long weekend in their home. Greg's parents were French by birth, and they had both met in London while they were young and doing research on ancient Egypt at the British Museum. They'd raised their children in London, but once they were all grown and they were at the age where they wanted to retire, they moved to a gorgeous country home in a town close to where they had both grown up in Bordeaux.

Knowing how naturally shy Mycroft was as well as how he was introverted to the point that if he didn't spend a few hours a day in his own personal space or with someone he was comfortable with (Greg) he would start to shut down, Greg was afraid to bring him to a place where he potentially wouldn't have room to himself.

This problem was solved when Greg got a phone call from his father. He and his mother were going to be coming over at the end of the week for the funeral of one of their colleagues from the Museum, a sweet, then-middle aged woman who had been instrumental in getting the two of them together. Greg offered them the guest bedroom in his flat, and after they had accepted, he paused.

"Would it be alright if just you, mum, and I went out to dinner one night, and I brought Mycroft along?" Greg asked nervously.

His father laughed. "I'm glad you suggested that, mon fils. If you hadn't, your mother would have kidnapped him and interrogated him."

Greg breathed a sigh of relief. "Just make sure she doesn't do that while you're here. He's a bit shy."

"I shall do my best, but you know what she is like." Pierre Lestrade sighed deeply. "Headstrong. Where you get it from."

"Oi!" Greg protested, grinning. "Send me the information when your train gets in and I'll see you both on Wednesday night."

Mycroft got to Greg's a bit after nine that night. Greg wrapped himself around his boyfriend and planted a gentle kiss on the underside of his chin. "I made you some tea."

Mycroft sighed gratefully. "I would be lost without you."

Greg gave him another kiss on the tip of his nose. "I need to ask you something, and I want you to know that if you say no or that you don't think you're ready for it, I will still love you just as much."

Mycroft pulled back so he could make eye contact with Greg. "What's the matter?"

"Let's sit," Greg sighed, grabbing their tea.

Mycroft stiffened. "Are you unhappy about something?"

"The opposite, actually," Greg smiled, taking his hand. "It's just that my parents are going to be in town this week for a funeral and I offered to have them stay in the guest bedroom."

"I see. How long should I avoid your flat?"

"What? No, Mycroft, I want you to meet them. If you're ready, that is."

Mycroft smiled one of his genuine smiles. "I would be delighted to meet your parents, Gregory."

Greg sighed, relieved. "They're going to get here on Wednesday evening. Do you think that you would have time on Thursday or Friday evening for dinner, just the four of us?"

Mycroft nodded. "I think Friday should be possible."

"You're allowed to stay here while they're here, you know," Greg offered tentatively.

Mycroft gathered him into his arms and grinned into his neck. "That is a relief. I have to be in Sweden for most of next week and I wanted to maximize our time together before I had to leave."

Greg kissed him. "If you want to maximize our time together, I can think of a suitable activity."

Mycroft, who had become much more confident with his sexuality, dragged him down to his bedroom and proceeded to fuck him into the mattress.

Greg clutched Mycroft's hand in the lobby of St. Pancras, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Gregory, please. You're making me more nervous than I already am," Mycroft pleaded, squeezing Greg's hand a bit.

Greg stopped and made eye contact with him. "What do you mean? You're a poster boy for calm, cool, and collected right now. You aren't even doing any of those little tells that your do when you're trying to cover up the fact that you're nervous."

Mycroft stared at the ground. "What if they don't like me?"

"We went through this with the kids, love. You're a wonderful individual, and they're going to see that as soon as they meet you. I promise."

Mycroft shrugged. "I suppose. Old insecurities. You know."

"Exactly. You're going to be fine. Trust me," Greg smiled. He leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to Mycroft's cheek.

"That's a rather touching display of affection," a familiar voice said behind them.

Greg spun around. "Thanks, Mum." He threw his arms around the lean, grey haired woman behind him, planting a kiss on her cheek. He also embraced his father, who winked at him and raised his eyebrows when he caught a glance of Mycroft.

"Mum, Dad, this is Mycroft Holmes," Greg said, wrapping his arm around Mycroft's waist.

Mycroft extended his hand. "Pleased to meet both of you," he smiled, using his nervous smile.

Greg's father took his hand first. "Pierre. This is my wife, Martine."

Greg's mother placed a kiss on both of Mycroft's cheeks. "Thank you for making mon petit Gregoire so happy, Mycroft."

"Mum," Greg sighed, turning a deep shade of red at the term of endearment she had used when he was much younger.

"I should be thanking both of you for raising such a fantastic man," Mycroft smiled, a bit more genuinely this time. "Tell me, is his name officially Gregory, or the French version you just used."

Greg rolled his eyes. Of course Mycroft had read his whole file and knew that his name was legally "Gregory" and not "Gregoire".

"We Anglicized all of our children's names," Martine said as they moved towards the exit. "That didn't stop us from calling themthe proper versions of their names at home."

"Mum, Mycroft is British to the core. He even works in the government," Greg sighed. " I doubt there is any chance you'd be able to convince him that is the proper way to say my name."

"Au contraire, mon cher," Mycroft stated in flawless French while holding open the door to a taxi for the four of them. "Gregoire. Cela tu convient."

Greg's parents smirked at them in the seats across from them. Greg muttered the address to the cabbie and looked fairly defeated. Mycroft gave his hand a squeeze and made to pull it back, but Greg latched on, ignoring the slightly sappy grin his mother was wearing.

The next morning, everyone in the apartment was up early. Mycroft and Greg were usually out the door before 8, and Greg's parents were getting ready to go the service, which began at 9. Greg was hanging around a bit longer to squeeze out a bit more time with his parents.

Mycroft walked into the kitchen, perfectly groomed as usual, around 7:30. "I'm afraid I'll have to head out a bit early," he sighed. "Anthea has a report that she needs me to go over before my 8:15."

Greg passed him a to go mug of tea (something he had gotten a very reluctant Mycroft to take at the beginning of his day, because Mycroft Holmes most certainly would not drink tea out of anything other than the finest China before meeting Gregory Lestrade) and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. "Call if you're going to be later than 7? The kids are coming over this evening for dinner and would love to spend a bit of time with you."

"Of course. I love you," Mycroft said, his eyes sparking.

"Love you, too," Greg grinned. "I'll see you later tonight."

Mycroft nodded to Greg's parents. "Barring the sad event this morning, I hope you both have a very pleasant day." With another kiss to Greg's cheek, he was gone.

Greg was stirring cream into his coffee with a glazed look in his eyes and a lopsided grin on his face.

"It's lovely to see you so at ease," his mother commented.

Greg paused his mindless stirring. "I've been at ease before, Mum."

She shook her head. "You've been… drifting for the last few years. It hurt to watch."

He reached and covered his hand with his. "I'm fine, Mum."

"You weren't," his father commented, taking a bite out of the toast he had prepared for himself. "You were so sad for years. When things fell apart with Michelle, you were trying so hard to be brave, but we know you. We could see how much it was tearing you apart."

"The after the divorce," his mother sniffed, tears forming in her eyes. "You just threw yourself into work. We were so worried you were going to work yourself to death."

Greg gulped. He hadn't realized. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how much it was hurting you."

His mother shook her head. "We nearly moved back so we could be close to you and get you to take a step back from work. That week you spent with us about a year ago was one of the worst things I've been through as a parent."

His father wrapped his arm around his mother's shoulders, and Greg walked around the table to embrace the two of them.

"I'm so sorry," he sighed. "I wish you had told me. I would have slowed down if I knew just what it was doing to you."

"We're just happy that Mycroft makes you so happy," his father sighed. "That's all we wanted for you."

"I am," Greg smiled, pulling back so he could make eye contact with both of them. "So happy." He took a deep breath. "I know you two just met him, but how would you feel about him as a son-n-law?"

"Are you planning on proposing?" Martine asked.

"Not yet," Greg shook his head. "He's a little… skittish when it comes to things like this. He's a bit of a beginner with relationships. But I feel something stronger than I felt the last time. I've felt it from the beginning. I know that I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with him."

"When it happens, Gregory, we will be so happy for the two of you." His father clapped him on the back.

Greg breathed a sigh of relief.

Mycroft walked into Greg's flat shortly before 7. It was incredibly loud, and he knew that Greg's children must be there already. He smiled. He already loved the six of them nearly as much as he loved Gregory, and despite being drained from being around people all day, he always experienced the strange feeling of being energized simply by being around them.

As soon as he opened the door, Katie launched herself at him. She had cottoned on to Mycroft even more ever since he had shown her a picture of the picture she had drawn him hanging in his office. Greg often complained that Katie loved Mycroft more than she loved him.

"I'm the one who changed her nappies and who she spat up all over and toilet trained her," he would moan. "It's not fair that you're her favorite."

Mycroft would always give him a light kiss then and reply, "Sometimes, life isn't fair, love." He would then nuzzle his nose into the space just behind Greg's ear and would whisper as seductively as he could, "If it makes you feel better, you're still my favorite." That would usually win Greg over, or at least distract him enough so they could have sex.

Mycroft proceeded to say hello to all of the kids, as well as Greg's parents, before he moved to the kitchen to greet his boyfriend, who was in the kitchen cooking something that smelled incredible. He wrapped his arms around Greg's waist and nestled his chin on his shoulder, pressing his body lightly into Greg's back.

"Mmmmm," Greg hummed, tilting his head back to rest the back of it on Mycroft's shoulder. "Hi, love."

"Hello," Mycroft muttered, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. "How was your day?"

"It's much better now that I have everyone I love here," Greg sighed. "How was yours?"

"Busy. The Russians are getting restless. Again. Honestly, that whole adoption business with the Americans is just cruel and ridiculous. Of course, Putin won't see sense," he sighed. "The man is the most insufferable person I've ever had to do business with."

"You'll figure something out. You always do."

"I hope so."

They stood in front of the stove with Mycroft wrapped around Greg, just savoring the relative peace that the kitchen provided.

As they were leaving, Greg's father pulled him aside.

"I brought something with me hoping I would be able to give it to you at the end of the trip," he said, reaching into his pocket and placing something small and circular into his hand.

Greg gaped at the silver band resting in his hand.

"It was my father's. He would have wanted Mycroft to have it."

"Dad, I can't-"

Greg's father cut him off. "Your boyfriend is high class, but he is sentimental. He will love this more than any expensive, diamond encrusted ring that you're no doubt saving for. When you're both ready for it," he added after a pause, making sure that he relieved any pressure that Greg may feel about being rushed into an engagement with Mycroft.

Greg pulled his father into a hug. "Thank you," he said thickly.

His father pulled back and patted his cheek. "I've never seen you happier, my boy. You deserve it, and he deserves to have this this."

A/N: Alright all you lovely betches and hoes, I've cranked something else out for you super fast. It's to make up for the delays because of finals with the last installment, and since I don't have to focus completely on science all summer, I guess my brain decided this would be a good time to get creative. So this happened. Enojy, my loves. xoxo

PS - If anyone has any ideas what I should name this series, I'm at a total loss. If you have ANY suggestions, send them my way. Please and thank you!