Mycroft kept staring out the window for the entire trip. He wasn't one to get visibly nervous, but his prolonged silence was more than enough to tell Greg he wasn't in a particularly cheery mood. Greg did, however, manage to rob Mycroft of a few smiles by pinpointing the receipts he would like to try on the cookbook his mother had lent him. Mycroft even suggested a couple as well; most which contained tremendous amounts of chocolate and cream. Greg promised himself that, once they were done with the visit to the Holmes, he would prepare one bowl full of ganache truffles for Mycroft for every time his parents made a hurtful comment directed at him.
They were picked up by a driver, and arrived to the house from the station soon enough. Mycroft's anxiousness seemed to have become catchy; when walking through the front door Greg was beginning to feel more than a bit tense himself.
The Holmes' state was simply astounding, as he had expected, but Greg didn't have time to comment, since the sound of heels announced that the figure of Mycroft's mother had appeared swiftly from the next room.
-Oh, you are here already! I was afraid I would miss you. I wanted to pick you boys from the station but… Oh, never mind. Hello, Mycroft, dear. Would you please introduce us?
Mrs. Holmes was the picture of elegance and refinement. Gregory remembered seeing her years before, and knew already that she was a sophisticated, wealthy woman, but it seemed she had put some special effort in looking her best for the evening; just the silver bracelet on her wrist was probably worth more than his mother's entire jewels box. The hem of her deep blue dress brushed her knees, and the neckline modestly covered her chest, dipping into the slightest 'V' cut. Greg was at a loss for words. One would think she was about to meet the Minister of Magic. On the other hand, she probably already did…
-Mother, this is Gregory Lestrade. My boyfriend.
The smile on Mrs. Holmes face wasn't exactly warm, but it wasn't as terrifying as Greg had expected. She extended her hand and he imitated her, laying a kiss on the back of hers, somehow alarmed at his on temerity.
-It's a pleasure.
The smile on her face softened a bit. From the corner of his eye, Greg thought he saw Mycroft breathe for the first time in the evening.
-Oh, a gentleman, how wonderful.
Greg tried to reciprocate her smile, not completely sure if successfully.
-We should be heading to the dining room, dinner will be served soon. Though, Mycroft, dear?
Mycroft stopped breathing once more at the sight of his mother's raised eyebrow.
-I shall have a talk with the cook; he will prepare something else for you. I don't think you have the need to spoil your diet tonight, am I right Gregory, dear?
She smiled at him and quickly turned back to Mycroft, not giving him even the slightest opportunity to answer.
-Those trousers used to fit a lot more loosely a couple of months ago, dear.
Mycroft blinked a couple of times more than necessary, but nothing else in his expression showed he was upset.
-Yes, mother.
Mrs. Holmes smile grew a bit wider when hearing Mycroft's answer.
-Great, darling. Now let's go, your father must be waiting.
Greg mentally added his first bowl of truffles to his list as they walked.
The dining room was as astonishing as the rest of the house, of course, but again the chance to comment on it passed, as Mr. Holmes made a sudden appearance in the room.
-Mr. Lestrade, I believe? Sherringford Holmes.
As he extended his hand, he looked only slightly less frightening than his wife, as his smile seemed simply uninterested and not spiteful, as hers did.
After shaking hands with Gregory, Mr. Holmes turned to his son and scanned him from top to bottom with pursed lips.
-I expect you have had a word with the kitchens, Melissa?
-I'm on my way, dear.
As she exited the room they sat on the table; Mycroft apparently oblivious to his father's comment, Greg adding another bowl of truffles to his list as he grabbed his boyfriend's hand underneath the table.
Dinner was served soon after, a full course with a first dish of oysters, followed by Filet Mignon with creamed carrots and green peas. Mycroft's meal consisted simply of a vegetables consommé. Greg would have declined eating most of it in view of his boyfriend's misery, but the gaze of Mycroft's parents on him was too menacing for his taste. By the end of the night Greg was so painfully stuffed, he could barely utter a word.
At least the conversation had run pretty smoothly until that point, and Greg was almost positive the Holmes didn't completely detest him, which was more than he had expected.
Mycroft was able to keep his composure through most of the meal, but by the time dessert arrived -peaches in Chartreuse jelly- his poker face had dissolved into a quite evident look of desperation.
Greg was positively full, and, in a bold move, he tried to offer Mycroft his own plate. He had never seen eyebrows raised so high as in Mrs. Holmes face. Mr. Holmes clicked his tongue without raising his eyes from his plate.
-We've have had enough of your bulging waistline problem in this house, Mycroft Holmes. I suggest you rethink your choices before you outgrow of your entire wardrobe… again.
Mrs. Holmes agreed with her husband as she, apparently, checked her own nails.
-You've already begun spilling out of your clothes, and I just know I'm not paying for new ones this time, Mycroft.
Greg could have sworn he heard Mycroft swallowing. He pushed his plate back to Greg's place and simply nodded twice. Greg knew if he spoke it would only make things worse, but the look in his boyfriend's face was so heart wrenching he felt like punching both his parents right on their noses. He didn't, however. He sat there for the rest of the meal, slowly munching on his pears as Mr. Holmes asked about that season's Quidditch games. He felt like a failure for not standing up for Mycroft, but he would make damn sure he would make it up to him somehow.