A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks for all the favourites, follows, and review! A quick update because I am in a serious phase of procrastination right now, so here is the result! Mystrade starts here and be aware of mentions of vomiting and bulimia as well in this chapter.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are highly appreciated xx

Chapter 2: The Present

Mycroft fiddled incessantly with his tie in the back of the car on the way to the restaurant, but that wasn't his biggest concern – big being the right adjective in his mind. He was seeing a strain on the buttons of his waistcoat that wasn't even there. He'd worn a jacket in the hopes of concealing the ghastly sight of his bulging stomach despite the fact it was the middle of summer and he felt like he might overheat. He kept telling himself everything was fine, he was a perfectly healthy size, he hadn't relapsed in years…but then he didn't have a potential partner to worry about back then.

Gregory Lestrade was an intriguing man in Mycroft's opinion despite Sherlock's constant mocking of the man's intelligence. Anyone who could put up with Sherlock's distinct lack of social skills and often lack of common curtesy was a good man in Mycroft's books. Mycroft had always found the detective inspector a kind-hearted, handsome man, and he thought Gregory was intelligent even if Sherlock did not.

They had met when it first became apparent to Mycroft that Lestrade was going to become a somewhat permanent fixture in Sherlock's life. Just like John, Mycroft had whisked the Inspector away to discuss his intentions, and it was perhaps Lestrade's honesty and obvious sense of loyalty which had drawn Mycroft too him. Eventually their meetings had become less about Sherlock and more just general conversation – not many people could say they'd experienced one of those with Mycroft Holmes.

An unspoken bond began to form with the couple, until one day Gregory appeared to ask out of the blue if Mycroft would like to have a proper dinner with him sometime. Mycroft had blurted out the yes response before he'd even thought about it – a very unusual occurrence on his part.

He was now utterly regretting his decision. What could Gregory possibly find attractive about him anyway? He was fat, pale, freckly, and had on more than one occasion been informed that he had no heart. Gregory was such a wonderful man, surely he deserved better? Mycroft decided he would do the decent thing and have dinner with the inspector this once as it was too late to cancel, but then he would gently suggest that they just remain friends. If they were to ever enter a relationship Gregory would expect things to get more intimate, and Mycroft was far too embarrassed about his body image to let that happen.

When they arrived at the restaurant it took Mycroft a few moments to find the will power to exit the car. He made sure that his jacket was positioned just so before he entered the restaurant, but he still wasn't satisfied.

Greg had already arrived and was in discussion with the waiter when Mycroft went to take his seat at the table. The waiter nodded once before going off and Greg turned to smile at Mycroft and it made the politician's heart flutter – maybe I do have one after all?

"I hope you don't mind but I ordered us some wine. You prefer white, right?" Greg asked.

"That is correct" Mycroft said with a small smile. Although Sherlock insisted the inspector didn't observe the small details, he sure seemed to remember them.

After brief chatter about their days the pair turned to the menu. Mycroft's stomach did a small flip with anticipation. He hadn't eaten anything that day – out of pure nervousness, he'd told himself – and the thought of actually having to consume something in front of Gregory didn't sit well with him either.

"I think I'll just have a salad" Mycroft announced, not even bothering to look at the other things on offer.

Greg raised a surprised eyebrow. "Are you sure? I think I might have the steak. Although, I probably shouldn't…"

"Why? You have a wonderful physique" Mycroft blurted out and then immediately snapped his mouth shut, looking mortified with himself.

To his relief, Greg merely brushed it off with a light chuckle. "Thank you. Are you sure you just want a salad though?"

"Yes, that would be sufficient." Mycroft tried to assure him. "I had a lunch meeting at work you see…"

"Ah, okay, fair enough then" Greg responded in acceptance and Mycroft could have let out a sigh of relief.

The politician was surprised just how easy conversation with Gregory seemed to flow. He'd never felt so comfortable around anyone and he almost forgot about his weight concerns until their food finally arrived.

Mycroft picked up his fork and started to push things around the plate. He should have specified no dressing…and he shouldn't have drunk that wine or let Gregory coax him into those bread rolls. It was all just unwanted and certainly unneeded calories.

"Are you alright?" Greg's concerned voice broke into his thoughts.

"Yes, my apologies" Mycroft shook his head dismissively. "I was just… thinking about something I must do tomorrow."

"Okay…" Greg responded a little hesitantly, but decided not to push the matter further.

Mycroft looked down at his plate the whole time he ate – he couldn't bare the look of disgust he was anticipating to see on Gregory's face. He made sure to try and take small bites, chewing each one systematically and numerous amounts of times before swallowing. However, before he knew it Mycroft realised his plate was completely empty and he felt ashamed of himself.

The politician made a point of dabbing his mouth with his napkin before placing it on the table.

"That was most excellent" he commented with what he hoped to be a convincing smile. "If you would excuse me for one moment…"

"Of course" Greg replied as he finished his own meal.

Mycroft went straight into the toilets and checked very cautiously first that he was completely alone. He'd only done this a few times before because he hated the sensation it gave him and he could barely stand the smell, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The elder Holmes locked himself in one of the cubicles and knelt down before the toilet bowl. He manoeuvred his finger down his throat and a few moments later he was gagging as everything he'd just eaten emptied out into the water in front of him.

Sherlock was bored. Ever since Lestrade has started seeing his brother he could barely stand to be around the pair of them and that meant the number of cases he accepted had significantly decreased. They'd only been casually dating for three weeks but Sherlock didn't even want to think about what they could be doing with each other – it was vile and inhumane.

The younger Holmes was sat in his chair plucking at the strings of his violin whilst John tried to read the newspaper. Sherlock knew he was being irritating and he didn't much care – he needed John to suggest something for him to do.

He immediately became more alert when he heard the front door open and someone began to make their way up the stairs. He recognised the pattern of the footfalls to belong to Mycroft, but something was off – he could tell. He hadn't spoken to his brother in a while – only via text – and he sensed something must have happened in that time that he wasn't aware of.

Sure enough, when Mycroft entered their living room a few moments later it become apparent even to John – who immediately folded his paper away - that the elder Holmes was a little out of sorts. Mycroft looked a little paler and he was leaning on his umbrella more than usual. Sherlock also noted he'd lost a few pounds – it perhaps wouldn't be obvious to others like John but Sherlock knew his brother well.

"Good evening" Mycroft stated politely. "Sherlock, I was wondering if you would consider taking a case for me…"

"I don't know" Sherlock replied as he turned back to his violin. "Will you be as light-headed and gooey eyed as Lestrade currently is?"

Mycroft shifted a little awkwardly and looked down at his feet. "I do not expect so. Although, I am enjoying my time with Gregory…"

"Well, that was a bad start to your convincing" Sherlock replied with a sarcastic smile and started plucking at the strings once more.

Mycroft sighed deeply. "Sherlock, please…"

"How's the diet?" Sherlock asked with his usual abruptness as he stopped playing.

"Fine" Mycroft said a little quicker than he probably should have and without his usual annoyance at being asked – if anything he sounded scared.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly. "I am not inclined to believe you."

Mycroft's eyes widened incredulously. "Then don't. I don't care!" he said bitterly and stormed out of the room much to the surprise of John, but not so much for Sherlock.

"Why do you always do that?" John asked. "It's clearly a sensitive subject and it's like you're just out to upset him. Frankly, it's petty; Mycroft is a fine weight for…"

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed as he jumped up from his chair and started to pace the room. "But he doesn't see that…"

John frowned. "Sorry, I don't understand…"

Sherlock sighed – I wonder what it's like to have an ordinary brain?

"I don't ask about Mycroft's diet because I want to poke fun at him. If I wanted to do that I'd comment on his nose…"

"Sherlock…"

"I ask him because…" he paused and sighed again, but this time because he knew he was going to feel embarrassed. "…because I am concerned" he muttered.

"Concerned? I thought Mycroft might have actually lost a few pounds… "John commented.

"You did notice?" Sherlock asked, and the doctor nodded. "So, it is as I had thought."

"And what's that exactly?" John pressed.

Sherlock took a seat in his chair again and looked completive with his hands balanced together on his chin.

"John, my brother has had an eating disorder since he was eighteen." Sherlock told him straight out and John's eyes widened with disbelief. "Anorexia, although I've suspected for a while that it could be bulimia as well…"

"That's…" John shook his head repeatedly. "I should have realised."

"His last relapse was before you knew him, about five years ago I think. His relapses usually occur when something new and possibly quite overwhelming comes into his life."

"He's just started dating Greg" John realised.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I believe that could have triggered his lack of self-worth again. He starts to over-think things and it just becomes too much for him."

"Maybe I should talk to him, as a doctor" John suggested.

"No, Mycroft hasn't responded well to doctors or therapists in the past." Sherlock informed him. "I am the only one who has ever managed to get through to him. I… I was the one who first realised what was wrong with him." He knew he was growing distant as the memory came hurtling back like an unwanted nightmare. "I was eleven…I found him collapsed on his bedroom floor…he was just skin and bone."

"I'm sorry" John said sympathetically. "That sounds awful."

Sherlock snapped out of his trance as he once again jumped up and grabbed his coat, pulling it on roughly.

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"To see my brother" Sherlock stated. "I can't ever see him like that again. I won't."

The flow of his coat was soon making a swift trail behind him before John could say another word.

Mycroft had gone to his office after his minor dispute with Sherlock. He knew he had messed up royally with the way he had reacted and no doubt Sherlock already knew that he had slipped back into old habits. He felt almost guilty because he understood that on such rare occasions his brother only wanted to help, but Sherlock could never really comprehend the hold it took over him, and it took a lot of willpower to be able to let go.

He was fully aware that what he was doing was bad but he was really starting to become attached to Gregory and he didn't want to disappoint him. The detective had made some subtle hints he would like to take their relationship to the next level, but Mycroft had always managed to charm his way out of it. He knew that Gregory would soon get bored, and that was the last thing he wanted, but Mycroft felt that his body was not yet at the standard that his new partner deserved.

When Mycroft arrived home that evening he knew Sherlock was waiting inside for him, as his brother had put his doorknocker on a slant – it was a sort of joke between them. The elder Holmes actually contemplated finding somewhere else to go, but he knew he would have to face his brother's wrath sometime.

Taking a deep breath Mycroft entered his home, and after placing down his case and taking off his coat, headed to his study to find Sherlock waiting for him as he suspected.

Sherlock stood up from the chair which he'd been lounging in and looked his brother directly in the eyes.

"How's the diet?" he asked seriously.

Mycroft shook his head, but he was ungratefully aware of the tears already streaming down his face.

"It's not fine." He replied, his voice cracking with emotion. "It's not fine at all."

Moments later and he had his brother's arms encircled around him as Sherlock held him close, and the elder Holmes cried into his little brother's shoulder.