Mrs. Hudson opened the door at 221b Bakerstreet with her usual cheerful smile. However, upon seeing who was behind it, she frowned and rolled her eyes. "What do you want know?" She asked, putting her hands to her hips. "Good morning to you too Mrs. Hudson. My brother asked me to come around, so might I please enter?" Mycroft asked in slight annoyance. The tough Landlady stared at him defiantly. "After what you did? The flat was blown into pieces the last time you were here! It's never a good omen when you're here." He flinched at her words and her gaze softened. "Well up you go, but behave, Mycroft Holmes, or I'll kick you straight out the window!"
Greg couldn't help himself from chuckling at her courage and he was still grinning as they climbed up the stairs. There had been a time he thought this man to be the toughest, coldest human being one could encounter. Now, however, he knew behind the shell of ice was the softest heart, fragile and kind. Women especially always seemed to intimidate him and after recent events, Greg understood why.
Mycroft cast him an angry glance over his shoulder. "Oh come on" the Inspector laughed "you've got to admit, she's got some balls!".
"Who has?" John opened the door, letting the two of them in. "Mrs. Hudson seemed to be under the impression my coming inside this flat is an omen of destruction." Mycroft said. The Doctor grinned "Well she isn't wrong!". "I can leave right away, if my presence is unwanted-" "Jaawwwn! She's doing it again!" Sherlock Holme's voice rang through the house, sounding rather desperate, accompanied by the high-pitched wailing of a child. With a sigh, her father turned around and jogged off towards the bedroom. Moments later he reappeared, a half-dressed Rosie on his arm, Sherlock following him, cheeks blushed and hair ruffled, a picture that filled Greg's heart with pride. Who would've thought he'd get to see the infamous Sherlock Holmes, who faced the vilest of criminals without the slightest indication of fear, absolutely distressed in the face of a crying child.
The baby was still wailing, though much softer now. John carried her to the couch where he continued to dress her. "I told you, you can't always let her get what she wants. She'll be walking all over you once she's older." Sherlock crossed his arms defiantly. "Distressing babies regularly or intensively undermines self-regulatory systems which results in long-term problems during adolescence." "She refused to let you put on her pants!" "Pants are distressing!" He took Rosamund, now babbling quietly and fully dressed, back in his arms and turned to his brother.
"Sorry for all that, I have not yet fully understood the exact science of raising a child. It is quite confusing. Did you two arrive in the same car?" He cocked his head to the side in confusion. Behind him, John raised his eyebrow at Greg, grinning. The Inspector had already guessed that it had been very obvious, showing up at the same time, entering the room together. Sherlock, on the other hand, looked genuinely confused. Mycroft straightened his shoulders and raised his head defiantly. "There was business to discuss considering the recent events." Greg sighed. How long were they going to play this game? "Is it true you two want joint custody for Rosamund?" Mycroft eyed the baby suspiciously, as if it were a grenade that could explode any moment. "It makes sense." John answered, laying down cups and spoons on the table next to the fireplace. "I can't afford my old house on my own and Rosie deserves to have two parents." Sherlock shrugged and nodded "In order for a human baby to develop to their full potential, they require two, at best three, consistent caregivers." Mrs. Hudson entered the room with a steaming teapot and a box of biscuits. "I think it's an absolutely wonderful idea, John. And if you two ever need some privacy, feel free to bring the little one downstairs!" she winked at John, who just sighed and nodded. "Thanks for the offer Mrs. Hudson" The Landlady beamed happily "Still not your housekeeper, though!" she remarked, picking up toys that were scattered on the floor.
Sherlock sat down on his armchair, trying to convince Rosie to take her soother.
The group settled around the table for tea. Mycroft looked around the table in confusion, leaning over to Greg, whispering "What exactly is the point of this gathering?". Lestrade laughed warmly. "Spending time with your family, admiring how much Rosie has grown, it's what people do." He answered softly, feeling once again the need to at least hold his boyfriend's hand, seeing how much the situation seemed to stress him. "Well then…" Mycroft said, looking over to Rosamund, who had now thrown her soother into her father's tea, giggling merrily at the mess it had made. "She looks very... healthy. I see she is already investigating the cause-and-effect relationships while clearly stating her disagreement with your choice of soothers." Rosamund had now somehow gotten hold of a spoon and delightedly let it join her soother in the tea. "Yeah, she gets that from Mary's side, I guess." John said, handing his daughter a rattle in a desperate attempt to keep her busy.
Greg felt Mycroft tense at the mention of the girl's deceased mother and gently leaned against his shoulder. They had both been there, had seen Mary Watson speak her last words to her husband. Greg had accompanied John to the morgue, had sat with him in during the silent vigil and a few days later, he and Molly had helped with the arrangement of the funeral. He had also tried to reach out to Sherlock, tried to be there for him, but the Detective had locked himself away, asking to be left alone. His brother, though at first dealing with the matter in a very business-like fashion, had been struck quite hard by the events at the aquarium. The memory made Greg's heart ached. The night after the funeral, he had found Mycroft drunk on his kitchen floor, head in his hands. Guilt and worry for his brother had broken through his walls, a situation not unfamiliar for Greg. That night they had sat on the cold stone floor, whispering stories of battles fought and people lost, until Mycroft could be persuaded to go to bed.
Now, as they were watching the little girl, so unaware of the dark cloud which hung over her family, Lestrade knew that despite his ineptitude with children, Mycroft Holmes would do whatever it took to ensure she had the best upbringing a child could have.
