Chapter Three: Twenty-Five Days Old
He had almost died. His brother had almost died, again.
Mycroft managed to keep his usual expression of indifference in place as he bounced his niece up and down with the purpose of keeping her calm, she was in the throes of waking and, it was likely, she would descend once again into a fit of distress. The hallways were bright and staff were rushing around; his parents and John were in the private room that he had made sure his brother was occupying while he remained with Maeve and Anthea. Greg had gone to get tea and coffee with Sally and Anderson.
Anthea turned the corner and approached, she had a dark brown leather duffle bag flung over one shoulder that bounced against her hip with each step she took. The phone that she was so often in the company of, was in her coat pocket which her hands were tucked into. Her eyes were fixed on the taller man and baby as she approached. She stopped a few steps away and craned her neck to get a better look at the infant attached to the front of her boss, "Sir."
"Sherlock wants to see her," he informed her.
"Is she…ok?"
Mycroft gave a curt nod.
Anthea nodded and continued, "The staff are preparing dinner for you and Gregory upon your arrival, I have collected some items from your brothers flat for Maeve and the car is waiting outside for you, when you decide that it's time to leave. Karen stopped by and dropped the kids off."
Mycroft considered her for a moment and gave a small nod of understanding. It had clearly been last minute and Gregory was unaware, otherwise he would have mentioned it. The kids would be no trouble and looked after until they returned.
"Did she have a reason?" He asked her.
"Something came up at work," Anthea informed him with a tone that suggested she knew otherwise, Mycroft raised an eyebrow and she amended. "A date with the PE teacher."
"Are they ok?"
"Occupied with homework but they have an insect day tomorrow; they've been fed and are now watching a movie until you return with Gregory." She managed a small smile at that, "I'll be waiting in the car."
Mycroft stopped in the doorway of the private room and observed the scene before him; his parents were on one side of the bed, not too close as to crowd their youngest son but not too far away. John was perched on the edge of a chair on the opposite side of the bed, his hand atop of Sherlock's and blue eyes staring up at Mycroft, both hard and soft. They spoke volumes; Mycroft read the fear and relief in his eyes; the worry that would never quite go away and the love for both his brother and Maeve.
The bed was slightly raised, enough that Sherlock did not have to crane his head to get a good look at his older brother looming in the doorway with his daughter. His eyes were dark and clouded over from the strain his injury had put on his body and the drugs in his IV but flicked over his brother attentively, her small body and the blanket over her lower half. Mycroft looked down and notices that her eyes were still drooping from sleep, and she was making minimal jagged movements.
"Please." Sherlock said quickly, eyes pleading.
Mycroft could tell that he was afraid that his voice would crack if he continued talking.
He nodded and crossed the room in a few graceful steps. He stopped for a moment to scan over his little brother's body and decided that the best course of action; he placed Maeve on his brother's uninjured side. She was on her front with her head tucked neatly into his neck and her hands on his bare chest. Sherlock shifted so that his nose was in her hairline and inhaled deeply as she blinked herself awake. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.
"Thank you." He murmured against her forehead.
Mycroft couldn't suppress a reaction and his eyebrows raised in surprise but he said nothing. His brother was not known for his platitudes. He watched his brother and took a step back from the bed, resting at the end of the bed as Sherlock whispered to Maeve, "I'm sorry sweetheart."
Maeve's hand ran over his chest and she mouthed at the skin of his neck, a wet kiss.
Thirty minutes later, Mycroft watched as his younger brother fought a losing battle with sleep. His eyes were still clouded from the drugs he was attached to and eyelids sagging with exhaustion but he refused to let go of his daughter, his hold on her was firm.
"You need to rest," John broke the silence.
Sherlock opened his eyes wider and blinked roughly for a few moments, he struggled to focus on the blonde and resigned himself to failure after a couple of seconds. He returned his attention to the infant on his chest and ran his free hand down her back, wary of the needles in his hand.
"You're taking her," Sherlock said. A statement and not a question.
Mycroft nodded and glanced at John. The blonde nodded. It was unspoken that he would remain here with Sherlock to watch over him, and make sure that he was on his best behaviour.
"We will return in the morning," the auburn haired man informed his younger brother.
Sherlock didn't respond, instead he closed his eyes and repeated the action of running his hand over her back before placing it on the bed beside his body. Mycroft understood this as a signal and carefully pried the sleeping baby from his brother's chest. She grunted in annoyance and her face scrunched up in displeasure, Sherlock cracked his eyes open to watch and sighed loudly.
The car journey home was silent. They'd dropped his parents off at their home first, leaving Sherlock in hospital overnight with John to watch over him, and now Greg was watching the world pass behind the tinted glass window. Anthea was sat in the front of the car beside the driver, tapping away on her phone with purpose and occasionally glancing at the two men and baby in the mirror.
Mycroft had his attention firmly on his niece, she was awake in her carseat and longing for sleep; but before that she needed to be fed and changed. It was prudent to keep her awake for the car journey which he was achieving by holding her hand and running a long finger over her tiny knuckles in slow movements that she watched with great effort; eyes still not able to focus completely at this age.
When the car pulled up, Greg smiled and climbed out of the car. Mycroft unstrapped his niece and handed her to Greg, slid across the seat and climbed elegantly out of the car. Greg gave the squirming baby back to his partner with a tired fond look and reached into the car for the carseat. Anthea had already climbed out of the car and grabbed the bags from the boot; the leather duffle and changing bag that Sherlock favoured. The driver, Gary, lifted out the pram and carried it into the house with Anthea two steps behind him.
They followed. Greg allowing Mycroft and Maeve to enter the large townhouse first and stepping in behind him, he closed the door and sighed heavily, exhausted.
"A moment of peace." He announced.
Mycroft smiled and opened his mouth to speak, a bang interrupted him and he closed it again. Three heads appeared around the doorway and then bounded into the hallway with tired but happy eyes. The elder man cursed himself internally for forgetting to inform Greg that his children were waiting, and watched the surprise and confusion settle on his partner's weary face.
"What are you doing here?" Greg asked.
Anthea glanced over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow in the direction of her boss but continued walking up the stairs. The driver smiled politely and ducked out of the house, leaving them alone in the hallway with the Lestrade children.
Mycroft resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, both hands otherwise occupied in cradling the baby and admitted, "Anthea had informed me earlier. Karen dropped them off earlier; she's on her way to work" Greg raised an eyebrow in disbelief, "they've been fed and an insect day tomorrow."
"I had the day off before all this" he gestured widely with his arms to indicate the night's events, he turned his attention to his children, "what did you have for dinner?"
"Andrews made us spaghetti with meatballs." Chloe beamed, it was her favourite meal.
"He left some for you in the oven," Alex informed them.
"Never mind that, why have you got a baby?" Alex Lestrade added. She was the middle child at fifteen, with her father's deep brown eyes and dark hair pulled back into a loose knot at the back of her head. She wore a pair of ripped black jeans and an oversized Bowie shirt that she'd found at the back of her dad's wardrobe when he was moving his stuff into Mycroft's townhouse.
Jordon looked equally as curious but not so much as Chloe, her chocolate eyes were wide and openly staring at the small babe in Mycroft's arms. The former, Jordon Lestrade, was fifteen and the oldest, the only boy child, his hair a spikey brown mess and eyes a deep chocolate brown. He was the image of his father and Chloe, the youngest at seven was the only one with wavy hair, accentuated by wearing her locks in braids at school all day.
Greg took a deep breath, "this is Mycroft's niece, Sherlock's daughter."
"Where's Sherlock?" Chloe asked, ecstatic at the chance of seeing the consulting detective again.
Greg looked to Mycroft who managed a wary smile and informed them, "My brother is spending the night in hospital."
"Is he ok?" Jordon asked. A worried look crossed the children's faces.
"Fine." Greg answered.
Mycroft expanded, "mild concussion and stab wound."
Chloe seemed to process it the quickest and stepped towards the taller man with impossibly wide eyes, "Can I hold her?"
"I need to feed her," Mycroft managed a sad smile at that, "but you can help me, if you like?"
A proud smile appeared on Greg's face and Chloe seemed to be accept that offer with an ecstatic nod of her head, she looked up at the taller man expectantly, "should we go to the kitchen?"
Mycroft nodded and allowed the youngest of the Lestrade siblings to lead him into the kitchen, following the small girl into the large kitchen. Greg and the others followed, and he placed the changing bag on the large kitchen island. Chloe immediately climbed into one of the tall chairs and placed both of her elbows on the marble worktop, chocolate eyes fixed onto Mycroft.
All the kids had warmed up to Mycroft immediately, after processing the divorce and that their father was now with a man, though they all knew he was bisexual. They enjoyed spending time at both of Mycroft's homes, the townhouse and country estate, and with Mycroft himself. Chloe had taken a particular liking to him, she had a hero worship of the minor government official that warmed Greg's heart. She followed him around like a lost puppy and loved more than anything just to be in his company, she could often be found in his study watching him work and Mycroft had accepted it in his stride.
"What can I do?" She asked as her siblings took the vacant seats beside her.
"You can hold her for me while I make the bottle," Mycroft answered.
Chloe nodded but looked a little sceptical, "she's very little."
"Yes but you're very strong," Greg chipped in, he leant down on the counter beside her.
"What if I drop her?" Chloe asked.
Jordon snorted in amusement and Alex slapped his arm. Mycroft shook his head.
"You won't drop her," Greg said simply.
Mycroft added, "You wanted to hold her."
Chloe shrugged and Alex sighed, "I'll hold her first, then you'll see how easy it is and you can hold her afterwards."
Chloe seemed to accept that and nodded. Mycroft went about following the instructions and handed his niece to the middle child, watching intently as she cradled the small baby with great care. He went about making the bottle, occasionally glancing at them, he warmed the bottle and placed it on the counter. "You can hold her now."
Greg helped his youngest daughter take the infant from her sister and hold her, brown eyes wide in apprehension and wonder.
Mycroft rocked Maeve until she was sound asleep against his shoulder, mouth open and small amounts of drool running onto his forest green silk pyjamas. Greg came out of the bathroom, in a pair of flannel bottoms and old top, he smiled at the sight of his partner and goddaughter.
"She asleep?"
Mycroft nodded and pulled her away from his body in a gentle but fluid movement so that she was resting in both of his hands and he could peer down at her small sleeping form. She squirmed slightly but settled down almost immediately with a content sigh.
"Do you have to work?" Greg asked.
Mycroft shook his head, "Anthea has it under control."
"She in the study?"
"She's on damage control," the auburn haired man informed him as he placed the sleeping baby in the Moses basket and pulled the cover atop of her.
Mycroft was awoken from the beginning stages of sleep by a cry, his eyes shot open and he practically jumped out of bed. He swung his legs out of the bed and looked into the Moses basket, Maeve was awake and crying, distressed. He scooped her up and with a look over his shoulder at Greg, who was on the verge of waking, he left the room. He closed the door behind him and walked down the hallway, gently rocking Maeve.
"Shhh," he hushed, "you're ok."
Maeve continued to cry as he walked down the stairs with no particular direction in mind. He stopped in the living room and bounced her in small soothing movements like he often saw his brother doing in moments when she was distressed. "Come on darling."
"Sir," a voice disrupted the quiet of the house.
Mycroft twisted on the spot. Anthea was stood in the large wooden doorway, wearing a pair of dark denim jeans and a white vest with a blue cardigan over the top. She crossed her arms over her torso pulling the cardigan tight around her body and watched her boss with dark eyes; an expression of concern on her face. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun and she had no makeup on, Mycroft had seen her in a similar state many times but the sight brought out a particular warmth of familiarity in him.
"You should go home," he told her.
Maeve was still crying but starting the settle. Her cries were now more like sniffles which would likely make her sick. He continued to hush her quietly.
"It's three." Anthea said simply in her best 'for a genius you are an idiot' voice.
"Awww," Mycroft frowned and glanced at the clock on the mantle, she was right, it was just past three o'clock. "Well, dear, you should get some rest."
"Three hours," her eyes twinkled, "easier to not sleep and not the first time I've worked all night."
Mycroft opened his mouth but closed it again when Maeve began to hiccup, the crying had completely stopped now but she jerked with each hiccup and occasionally sniffled between.
"Would you like a drink?" Anthea asked.
"Chamomile tea," he answered simply knowing that she would not accept no as an answer.
"Does she need a bottle?"
Mycroft shook his head, "she does need changing though."
Anthea wrinkled her nose, "I'll let you do that."
When they were sat in the kitchen with Maeve awake, too awake for three o'clock in the morning, a cup of chamomile tea and a black coffee on the counter, a comfortable silence settled. Maeve had finally stopped hiccupping and was freshly changed, she gazed up at her uncle with bright tired eyes.
"I don't know how he does it," Anthea remarked. She was watching the infant cradled in one of Mycroft's long arm with complete fascination. She didn't even look as she picked up her coffee and brought it to her lips, without spilling a drop.
"Yes, she does require a lot of attention." Mycroft agreed.
"I've arranged for the car to come at nine," Anthea informed him.
"My parents will need a car to take them to the hospital at ten."
"Will Gregory be going to work?" She asked.
"He'll want to go in early and meet me at the hospital later," Mycroft answered as he picked up his cup and took a long sip of his tea.
Anthea nodded in understanding and plucked up her phone from the counter, she began tapping rapidly with only one eye on the phone. Mycroft put his cup down and gave his free hand to his niece, she grasped one long finger and pulled the hand towards her body. He spoke to her in a hushed tone, "Are you going to fall asleep at some point?"
Maeve looked up in answer and sneezed loudly.
"Bless you," Anthea said on instinct.
"I'm going to take Maeve to the nursery." He told her as he rose to his feet.
Mycroft watched the flutter of Maeve's eyes as she finally fell asleep to the gentle rocking of chair; it was the exact one that he used to sit in with Sherlock when he was a baby. It was the only thing that would calm the younger Holmes during his distressed periods as a baby. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the same thing worked on his niece. After twenty minutes of rocking and going through the night's events; and what he had to do tomorrow, he took her back into his shared bedroom with Gregory.
The detective inspector was sound asleep. He was on his front with one arm across the space that Mycroft usually occupied and a leg hanging off large bed. Mycroft rolled his eyes in amusement and settled himself in bed with Maeve in his arms; Greg shifted by didn't wake and allowed his partner to move his arm and climb into bed. He closed his eyes and listened to the deep even breaths of his partner and the quieter, inexplicably cuter, snores of his niece.
Six o'clock in the morning found Mycroft hovering over his niece. She was on her back looking up at him with bright blue eyes wearing only a nappy. He already fed and burped her; she was content in doing nothing but gazing up at her uncle but obviously very tired; having spent most the night in the hospital and then being awake instead of sleeping.
The alarm on Greg's beside table rang loudly and Maeve jerked in shock, blue eyes darting around the room before settling back on Mycroft in shock and familiarity. Mycroft smiled down at her, "shhh, it's only Uncle Greg's alarm."
Greg groaned as he woke up. He reached blindly for the alarm, managing to turn it off and rolled over to face Mycroft and Maeve, he creaked his eyes open and then shut them again. With a long sigh he stretched out and opened them again, this time keeping them open.
"Mornin'…" he muttered.
"Good morning," Mycroft articulated with a fond look at his partner.
Greg rolled one of the pillows under his head to get a better look at Maeve. Her blue eyes shot to him then back to Mycroft and she squirmed, kicking out her legs.
"You're normally dressed by now," Greg remarked.
"Yes."
"Does that mean that I get first shower?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes and dropped his head. Maeve took this as an opportunity and ran her hands in jagged movements over his face; paying particular attention to his cheeks and nose. After a moment she settled on the hairs beside his ears, running her fingers through the thinning strands and grasping; pulling him closer. Mycroft winced and Greg snorted out a laugh.
"You need to be at work to -" Mycroft started.
Greg interrupted, "sort this shit heap out."
Mycroft raised a disapproving eyebrow at his partner and continued, "- manage the situation. I am taking Maeve to the hospital at nine with the kids, my parents will come at ten and we'll remain there until you are finished."
"It should only be a few hours," Greg told him.
Mycroft nodded and allowed Maeve to guide his head closer. She placed a sloppy open mouth kiss on his nose and Mycroft grimaced but allowed her to continue.
Greg fiddled with the buttons on his shirt cuffs as he strolled into the kitchen, he paused at the sight of his lover wearing the forest green pyjamas, matching housecoat and slippers. He had Maeve balanced in one arm, cradled in the long limb while he sat in one of the chairs at the breakfast bar and a strong coffee. Maeve was dressed in a plain white baby grow with no arms or legs but covered with a pale yellow blanket. Andrews, placed two plates with omelettes beside one another and Mycroft thanked him.
"The kids will want pancakes." Greg said.
"Chocolate chip," Andrew smiled, "the batter is in the fridge."
"You are a marvel." Greg smiled and sat down. He took a sip of his own coffee and then started on his omelette.
Mycroft could smell their shared soap on him, the one that was according Gregory 'far too bloody expensive' but had a nice smell so he used it anyway, and newly applied cologne. The bitter coffee only added to his alluring scent.
"Are you sure that you're fine looking after the kids?" Greg asked, breaking Mycroft away from his thoughts on his partner.
"The kids will be no trouble," Mycroft told him truthfully, he had had very little trouble with Gregory's kids.
"But you've already got Maeve." He argued.
Mycroft gave a small smile at that, "yes, she may be difficult."
He glanced down at his niece, she had dropped off and was now enjoying sleep in his long arm, undisturbed by their conversation.
"She could sleep anywhere," Greg remarked.
"Much like her father," The younger man agreed.
Greg snorted, "When he does sleep."
"His difficulties with sleep didn't begin until he was seven, he was fine before then."
"I found him curled up in his armchair after a case," Greg reminisced fondly.
Mycroft smiled, "as a boy he often found hiding spots, under the desk in the study, in a closet, and once in a cupboard."
Greg chuckled at that, "why?"
"Hide and seek, he would get bored and fall asleep, thus ending the game."
"Dad?" A voice called timidly from the top of the stairs.
"Duty calls," Greg announced as he stood up, shovelling a large forkful of omelette into his mouth before trotting towards the owner of the voice.
Mycroft watched him leave then went about eating his own omelette, it was made from egg whites and had an assortment of vegetables (that corresponded with his diet) and was utterly delicious.
Greg returned with a sleepy looking Chloe, she was often an early riser and though it hadn't bothered Mycroft much, being an early riser himself, Greg particularly disliked the quality in his youngest daughter. He picked her up and placed her on the chair he had been occupying, he took the seat beside her, leaving the younger girl between the two men.
"Why she still sleepin'?" Chloe asked, rubbing her eyes.
Mycroft glanced down at Maeve and Greg took the initiative to answer, "She's still very little and babies need lots of sleep to grow."
"How old is she?" Chloe asked, glancing up at Andrews as he placed a strawberry milkshake on the table in front of her, it was her favourite and she immediately started drinking it, eyes still on Mycroft and the baby.
"Twenty-six days old," Mycroft answered.
Chloe frowned and let the straw fall out of her mouth, "that's very little."
"Yes," Mycroft agreed.
"Does she have a mummy?"
Greg glanced at Mycroft with a slightly apologetic look to which the younger man frowned, there was no reason to be sorry. Greg cleared his throat and tried to explain, "Do you remember what I told you?" Chloe looked a little confused but gave a slow nod, "Maeve's mummy decided that she didn't want a baby so she gave her to Sherlock to look after."
"Because he's her daddy." Chloe asserted.
"Yes." Mycroft nodded.
She looked confused, "but why didn't her mummy want her? There's nothing wrong with her."
"Of course not," Greg ran a hand over his daughter's frizzy hair, "but sometimes people don't want children, but there is nothing wrong with her."
"Of course there isn't" Chloe scrunched up her nose and considered the information for a moment, "is it like you and Mycrof', because he doesn't want any babies?"
Mycroft looked slightly taken back and Greg wanted to hit himself, the auburn haired man managed a smile and responded, keeping his tone soft. "It's not that I don't want them, I just don't need them, I have you and your brother and sister, and now I have Maeve. That more than enough for me."
"Is she a lot of work?" the child asked.
"My brother is a lot of work," Mycroft corrected.
"He's not stupid."
"No." Mycroft agreed.
"Because he saw her and kept her, I'd have kept her."
Mycroft couldn't contain his smile at that. Greg smirked and asked, "Why?"
Chloe gave her father a 'don't be silly' look and explained as she fished her straw out of the pink milkshake, "because she's pretty."
Shortly afterwards, Jordon and Alex stumbled down looking exhausted and Andrews cooked the pancakes for them. Greg left for work; kissing all of the kids on their foreheads (despite their obvious annoyed reactions) and stopping directly in front of Mycroft, he kissed him thoroughly, earning him a muttered 'get a room' and then stroked Maeve's hair, kissed the top of her head, grabbed his travel mug and left. Mycroft sat down with the Lestrade children and informed them of the plan for the day; going to the hospital and then for lunch, and shopping before he returned to the hospital. They all seemed a little too eager to come with him, though he had informed both Jordon and Alex that they did not have to, they wanted to apparently.
Anthea had come in midway through, wearing a pair of tight black trousers with gold zips on the hips with a white shirt tucked in, the first two buttons undone with a gold necklace underneath the collar and a thin beige coat over the top with the arms rolled to her elbows. She smiled and poured herself a coffee, payed attention to the kids and then agreed on the best plan of action.
Mycroft had a shower while she looked after Maeve, got himself dressed into a pair of smart dark jeans with a white shirt tucked in, he left the grey jumper on the bed and went about readying Maeve. After a particularly difficult bath, which consisted of most of the room being splashed and her weeing in the bath, he dried and laid her down on the bed. He snapped a quick photograph on his phone of her lain out again the teal sheet, completely nude but her modesty covered her feet and knees bent. When he had dressed her in a white romper with a pink rose pattern.
Mycroft closed the front door and walked down the steps towards the car, the tree kids and Anthea were all hovering on the pavement. "Shall we?" he asked.