A/N: If you're following my other stories, I AM getting onto them. I've had some health problems and some frustrations with Once Upon A Time, but I'm getting there, I promise.

-for you!

Four

On Sherlock's thirtieth birthday, when Mycroft was thirty-six, he met Detective Inspector Lestrade for the first time.

Sherlock wasn't very happy about this, because he was extraordinarily close to calling the DI his best friend and he didn't appreciate the habit that his friendless older brother seemed to have developed of ruining everything. However, it was that or face the family's celebration of his third decade alone, and there was always the possibility that the two of them would get called away to investigate some murder or other.

Mycroft thought that Sherlock had grown up a lot in the past eight years. Sherlock thought it might be possible that Mycroft had become less mature.

Actually, he hadn't even thought about inviting Lestrade to the birthday dinner until the DI had turned up on his doorstep at nine in the morning with his hands held sheepishly behind his back.

"Please," Sherlock had begged, his mind already racing with how this could get him out of the dreaded celebration. "Tell me you have a case."

Lestrade looked vaguely awkward. "Um. No. I just came to say happy birthday, actually."

If Sherlock had had things his own way, the other man wouldn't even know his birthday. But of course his friend had been perceptive enough to read it on the papers he'd had to sign to check Sherlock into the detox program eight years ago, and hadn't missed one since. "Oh," Sherlock huffed, trying to pretend he wasn't pleased. "Thank you. Come in."

He'd never made a big deal out of his birthday; really, the only reason he remembered it was because his family insisted on celebrating it. Well, he wasn't a fool. He knew Mycroft was behind all these ridiculous dinners. But in the past eight years he'd come to look forward to the date, to look forward to the DI turning up at his flat with a cheesecake from the bakery on Wainscot Street and an off-key rendition of Stevie Wonder's Happy Birthday.

Sure enough, Lestrade moved his hands round to the front, producing a white cake-box, a six-pack of some kind of beer and a flat, wrapped package. Sherlock couldn't contain a small smile. "Thank you."

"Not a problem." The DI shook the rain off his jacket in Sherlock's hallway before following him into the main room. The little one-bedroom flat was dark and poky, and the sounds of the street were startlingly loud. But then again, Lestrade had found the man sleeping in a gutter, so at least things were moving in the right direction. "So business has been a bit slow, then?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It's been fine. I only don't have anything right now because I think my brother would have me murdered if I missed the dinner tonight for some 'trivial little puzzle'." He made a face. Lestrade snorted, clearing an ashtray off the coffee table and putting the cake down instead.

"The dinner?"

The face became more pronounced. "Mycroft insists on holding a birthday dinner for me every year. Apparently thirty is a big celebration, so everyone in the family is going to be there. Personally, I'd rather have my toenails pulled out with tweezers."

Lestrade blinked. "Okay." Sherlock rummaged in a drawer under the sink for the bottle-opener he'd bought after the DI had started coming around for drinks; by the time he found it and went back through to the living-room, the older man had managed to open a bottle with his bare hands and was holding it out to him. He grinned as Sherlock threw the implement on the table and took the bottle.

"The only reason I have one of those is because of you," he grumbled. "You could at least let me use it."

He flopped onto the sofa beside his friend and peered dubiously at the label. Lestrade chuckled. "It's just weird. You're a thirty year-old single man and you didn't own a bottle-opener until I mentioned that it was strange." Sherlock shrugged carelessly and tentatively tried a sip from the bottle. It seemed palatable. "So, go on," he said cheerfully. "Open your present."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know what I think of birthday presents."

"Well, I'd say you've got to get used to it if you're having dinner with the aunts and uncles," the DI teased. "Don't worry. It's something you need this time."

The consulting detective raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Like what, The Single Man's Guide to London Pubs?"

Lestrade laughed again. "No, unfortunately they were all out of the latest edition. Something you need."

So Sherlock adopted a suspicious expression and took the package. He'd thought it was a book, but when it was in his hands he realised it was too heavy; the suspicious expression intensified as he ripped off the crude neon wrapping-paper.

It was an address-plate, the kind people stuck on the gate of large houses with ostentatious names. Sherlock blinked as he looked down at it, simply engraved in copperplate writing.

Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective.

"Your landlord complained last time I was here looking for you that people kept knocking on the wrong door. This way, they'll know where you are," the DI said proudly. Sherlock was temporarily speechless. He'd been expecting something Lestrade thought was humorous, or one of those useless but polite gifts that nobody ever needed. This – this was useful, and tasteful. He wiped over his name with a finger. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. It sounded so important.

He swallowed. "Thank you." Suddenly Sherlock was fighting back tears, and he didn't fully understand why; nobody had ever made him feel like the job he'd made for himself was worth anything before. And yet, Detective Inspector Lestrade seemed to think it was worthy of a brass plate in its – and his – honour.

Unfortunately, Lestrade noticed. "Hey! What's wrong?"

Sherlock tried to shake his head, but his throat had closed up and it was far too difficult to talk. The DI shifted closer on the sofa and put a hand on his back; pathetically, Sherlock felt himself lean into the contact. "No-one's ever…" he tried finally. "Mycroft always acted like wanting to be a consulting detective was stupid and pathetic. Just a stupid childhood fantasy. I… It's because of you that it's real."

Lestrade snorted. "That brother of yours sounds like a right prat. I'd like to meet him and give him a decent talking-to, it sounds like no-one's ever done that before either."

"There's a reason people don't give Mycroft a talking-to," Sherlock warned him. Stupidly enough, it wasn't until then that the idea presented itself. "Actually, you could – I mean, it's a lot to ask, but… are you busy tonight?"

He could see the request work itself out in the DI's head. "What, you want me to come to this birthday dinner thing of yours? Isn't it, like… a family thing?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It's my birthday party. I can bring who I want. I mean, if you can't, don't worry, but… it'd be nice for them to see that there's someone who believes in me."

"I'm not the only person who believes in you, Sherlock," Lestrade assured him. "But yes, absolutely, I'll go."

He tried not to look too pathetically pleased, but it was difficult and he wasn't sure he succeeded. "Thank you."

Lestrade looked at the coffee table between them. "Shall we save the cake, then, and I'll bring that?"

"No," Sherlock said quickly, snatching the box – the cake was something he associated with Lestrade, and he didn't want that memory to be tainted by his family. "We should eat the cake now."

"They'll want this to be very formal," Sherlock warned his friend as they got out of the cab in front of his mother's front door. "Don't worry about feeling out-of-place. I always feel out-of-place in my family."

Lestrade tugged nervously at his tie. "Right, thanks, Sherlock, that's reassuring," he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. The consulting detective smiled at him.

"Don't worry. You look good."

This was very true. Sherlock had mused more than once that it was probably lucky the DI lacked observational skills, because his discomfort in the cab when confronted with Lestrade's suit had been fairly obvious. He wasn't quite sure how Lestrade would react if he discovered that Sherlock was harbouring a juvenile sort of crush on him, but he knew it wouldn't be in his favour. The man was married, for God's sake.

Hope swelled in his chest as he knocked on the door, a firm copper's hand reassuringly rested on his elbow. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. He could get through it with Lestrade at his side, defending him from relatives who would undoubtedly start to ask when he was going to get a real job.

Then the door swung open to reveal Mycroft, for once without his traditional umbrella, his waistcoat hanging open and his hazel eyes bright. "Ah! Sherlock," he exclaimed loudly – too loudly, warning the people in the sitting-room – holding the door open for them to pass. "And Detective Inspector Lestrade as well? It's lovely to finally meet you, Inspector, I was thinking Sherlock was never going to introduce us."

"I wasn't," Sherlock said mock-cheerfully, glaring daggers at his brother.

Lestrade, on the other hand, was smiling at the older Holmes. "Mycroft, isn't it? Yes, well – from what I've heard you haven't always had the greatest support for Sherlock's chosen career."

Sherlock glowed with pride as his brother's smug expression faltered for a moment. "Nonsense," he rejoined finally. "Sherlock and I will perhaps never be best friends, but I have always sought to assist him in whatever avenue of life he chooses to wander down. Can I get you a drink, Inspector?"

The DI looked at Sherlock as Mycroft swept off down the hall, frowning slightly. "He doesn't seem that bad," he said curiously. "Actually, he seems like a really nice man. Are you sure you're not just overreacting? Sibling rivalry, and all that?"

Sherlock watched his friend follow his brother into the sitting-room of his mother's house, his chest deflating like a punctured football. Of course Mycroft's diplomatic likeability would win out. This was a really stupid idea.

God, he wished he had a normal older brother.

A/N: The next chapter is the one I've been looking forward to – introducing John! I should warn, though, that it is exam week next week so don't hold your breath or anything. Thanks everyone who reviewed, favourited and alerted last update – especially LastSaskatchewanSpacePirate for your lovely review. Kudos to you all.

-for you!