"Your favorite ice cream is chocolate, your favorite color is yellow, and your middle initial is L."

Mycroft chuckles and pulls her large duvet up over her shoulders. It's snowing out, and they have decided not to leave the flat unless someone is dying.

"One of those is true," she answers. "Now…you love vanilla latte's, you broke your arm when you were ten, and you secretly like the color pink."

Lestrade laughs. "Actually, I was fifteen. Fell out of a tree."

"Ok, ok. Let me guess what you were doing in a tree."

Gregory gives her an expectant look.

"A: You were trying to save a cat. B: You were sneaking out of your bedroom. Or C: You were trying to sneak into a bedroom."

"Ding ding ding!" Lestrade cries. "C. Girl I was going out with."

"And she didn't have a front door?"

"After ten PM, the front door didn't exist."

Mycroft laughs. "Alright, alright. Do me again."

Lestrade grins. "A man needs more time than twenty minutes."

Mycroft swats his chest. "Not like that! Make some more guesses!"

Lestrade laughs. "Ok, let's see. You actually like spotted dick—"

Mycroft makes a disgusted face. Lestrade laughs.

He continues, "You like singing. And your middle initial is Q."

"What is your obsession with my middle name?"

"I just don't know it. You don't know mine either."

"It's James."

"How do you know that?"

Mycroft guiltily looks away. "I, uhm, looked at your I.D."

Lestrade rolls his eyes. "Of course you did."

Mycroft smiles. "Tell you what, I'll give you a hint. Mycroft is not my first name."

"So it's your middle name."

"I didn't say that."

Lestrade eyes her. "So…I don't understand. Can I have another hint?"

"What will you do for another hint?"

Lestrade lifts an eyebrow. He leans over and kisses her slowly. He lifts the duvet off of her and shifts to be flush against her.

"Playing dirty," Mycroft whispers.

Lestrade rolls on top of her and begins to kiss her neck.

"Alright, alright…" Mycroft sighs, gripping his head to keep him in place. "V. M. C. H."

Lestrade wiggles under the blankets to play even dirtier.

Mycroft remembers her dad's wedding five days before the event. She practically planned the whole thing, but the start of the new term and her new relationship has had her pretty distracted.

The wedding is on Sunday, but she had promised she'd be at their family home on Thursday evening, which gives her very little time to get ready for her short trip.

Which means she has to call the person who lives closest to the dress shop; luckily, this person knows her measurements perfectly and will know if the altered dress will need further alterations. He's also the only person she knows who will raise complete hell if the dress is not perfect.

Mycroft frantically calls him when she gets out of her last meeting of the day. Sidestepping a gigantic snowy puddle and tugging her coat on while exiting the building, she curses and a mother of two glares at her in passing.

He finally answers on the last ring.

"Sherlock!" she yells into the phone.

"God, what? Why are you shouting? Who's died?"

"What? No—are you drunk? You know what, I don't have time to discuss your middle-of-the-week alcohol intake. I need you to pick up my dress."

"Why me?"

"Because I'm across town and the shop closes in thirty minutes."

"You forgot about the wedding, didn't you?"

"I—no…I don't have time for this. Will you go get it, please?"

"Fine."

"I don't hear you leaving your flat."

"Oh my god, I'm getting my coat."

"Thank you, thank you!"

"You owe me."

"Anything! I love you—"

"Shut up!" Sherlock shouts, then hangs up on her.

The next call Mycroft makes is to the dress shop asking them to call her if Sherlock doesn't show up by closing.

Since Mycroft has an early morning the next day, and now she has to leave the city to be home by dinner like she told her dad she would, she begins to pack as soon as she gets home. Emily calls while she's packing to confirm her plans for the weekend, because she is invited to the wedding too.

"Are you taking Lestrade?" Emily asks.

Mycroft stops in stuffing shirts into her bag. "Shit."

"You haven't asked have you? Were you going to?"

"The thought had crossed my mind a while ago. I thought I had more time!"

"It's not like he'll say no."

"It's such short notice, though."

"Just call him."

So Mycroft does. He, unlike Sherlock, answers right away.

"Miss me?"

Mycroft rolls her eyes and tries not to smile. "Absolutely not."

Gregory chuckles. "To what do I owe this wonderful phone call?"

Mycroft grows nervous, even though she is confident Gregory will say yes to her invitation to the wedding.

"I was just wondering…what are you doing this weekend?"

"Nothing that I know of, nothing extremely important. Why, have you got plans for me?"

"Well, actually," Mycroft takes a deep breath, then blurts out, "Do you want to go to my father's wedding with me?"

"Your fathers…wedding?"

Mycroft hasn't talked about her family life much, but she's sure she's mentioned her mother's death. She chooses not to remind him, just because she doesn't want to talk about it at this moment.

"Yeah, he's been with his fiancé for eight years, or so. Honestly, it's about time they get married. It's Sunday, I'm going tomorrow but if you'd like you can drive with Emily on Saturday. What do you think?"

"I…" Gregory pauses, and Mycroft frowns. She thinks shouldn't have asked, or asked with more time for him to think about it before being three days before he has to go. "I'll need to get my suit dry-cleaned. They do that in a day, right?"

Mycroft wasn't expecting that answer, so it takes her a minute to process.

"You there?" Lestrade asks.

"Yeah, I'm here. Sorry. Yes, I'm sure somebody does dry-cleanings in a short amount of time."

"Great. I can go with Emily, then. Wait—where is the wedding?"

"My father's house, three hours outside of the city."

"Three hours…with Emily…"

Mycroft finally relaxes and lets out a laugh. "She's harmless."

"Well, it'd be my honor to accompany you. How are you getting there?"

"I'm driving."

"Driving yourself? You drive?"

"Yes."

"Wait…do you have a car?"

"I…do…"

"Then why do you make me pay for cabs?! What kind of car do you have?"

Mycroft chooses not to tell him about her vintage Mercedes-Benz that was a gift for her eighteenth birthday.

"I choose not to tell you at this moment."

"Oh god," Lestrade says, "It's expensive, isn't it?"

"You will point out again that I make you pay for cabs."

Lestrade groans. "I'd probably hate you for your money if I didn't like you so much."

Mycroft just smiles.

They stay on the phone for another half an hour while Mycroft packs, and when they hang up she feels excited for the weekend with him.

A/N: Sorry, so so sorry for the absences. It's been a wild few months. Meant To Be will be updated by this weekend, I promise. But this has been easier to write because bits are written already. Anyway, comments are always welcome. Thank you so much for reading!