Chapter 4

As Sherlock returned home from Scotland Yard, he rarely felt the physiological needs of an “ordinary person”—the entire night spent without sleep, investigating cases, left him feeling both hungry and exhausted. He grumbled about the simplicity of the case, rating it at most a six, while sneaking into Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen in search of food.

“Hey! Behave, young man!” Mrs. Hudson finally couldn’t help but tap the young man’s hand as he devoured the third freshly baked cookie. “This is for little Mikey. Go check the fridge; I’ve saved some bolognese pasta for you.”

“Why give him such sweet stuff, complaining he’s not fat enough?” Sherlock chewed the cookie discontentedly, going to rummage in the fridge.

“Don’t be so harsh on kids,” the landlady said helplessly, making tea and chatting. “Little Mikey is the most considerate and obedient child I’ve seen. Doesn’t cry or fuss, helps me with chores. You’ll understand how rare that is once you have kids of your own. Honestly, aren’t you and John planning to have children soon? Although conception with a beta might be harder than an omega, John’s physical condition is better than most betas’…”

Sherlock, realizing Mrs. Hudson showed no signs of stopping, opted to mute her in his mind. He quickly heated and finished his pasta, took the cookies and tea Mrs. Hudson had prepared, along with some juice, and went upstairs. Along the way, he couldn’t resist eating a couple more cookies, causing Mrs. “Not-the-Housekeeper” to mutter, “Maybe his mental age isn’t older than little Mikey’s.”

It turned out Mrs. Hudson was a wise person. When Sherlock pushed open the living room door, shouting “Chubby Mikey,” it indeed provided reliable evidence for her inference. However, the moment the great detective saw the boy, he fell silent because the child was sleeping soundly on the long sofa where Sherlock usually contemplated.

Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock set the tray aside and quietly approached the sleeping child. The boy was wearing that fluffy bunny outfit Sherlock had selected out of mischievousness, the hat still on his head, one decorative rabbit ear hanging off the sofa’s edge while the other lay close to the boy’s cheek, making him look inexplicably innocent and pitiable. His chin rested on a chemistry-related book, suspicious drool leaving its mark on the pages.

Contrary to the detective’s expectations, his mind didn’t flash the anticipated words of “annoyance, anger, or disdain.” Instead, it was “adorable, well-behaved, endearing.” However, in the next instant, he vigorously shook his head, attempting to shake off the surging affection, reaffirming the thought that “Mycroft is an annoying brat.”

Although his mind remained stubborn, Sherlock’s body was honest. Before he knew it, he found himself sitting cross-legged in front of the sofa, reaching out to poke the boy’s chubby cheeks. Annoyed by the pokes, the child, still asleep, grumbled impatiently, “Stop it, Sherly,” turning his head.

Sherlock didn’t know how Mycroft sensed it was his brother disturbing his peaceful dream, only that blood ties were some kind of wonder. Even though the eight-year-old Mycroft had never smelled his brother’s pheromones, he knew this fresh forest scent after the rain belonged to him. Both alphas, theoretically, their pheromones should be mutually exclusive and competitive, but this didn’t seem to apply between the siblings. At least in Sherlock’s memory, there were 1029 nights of sweet dreams due to the soothing pheromones released by his brother. He “reluctantly” classified those memories under the “warm childhood” folder.

Realizing his thoughts were wandering too far, Sherlock pulled himself back, focusing on the sleeping child and noticing the somewhat glaring red mark on the boy’s fair cheek. Earlier in the day, Sherlock had received a complaint message from John—this was before six in the morning—and he completely agreed with John’s disagreement regarding Greg’s nervousness. But now, looking at this mark, Sherlock shifted from “Greg is overreacting” to “How can Greg not even take care of a child?” This sudden change even startled himself.

He pouted, biting down on the flesh inside both sides of his mouth, really not wanting to admit he was worried about his brother because that would be absurd. Mycroft had always been the one to clean up their messes since childhood, and Sherlock wasn’t quite accustomed to this role reversal, although the infallible detective would never admit it. He felt he might do something, glanced around, found a tube of gel and a bag of medical cotton swabs. Perhaps, after Mycroft returned to his usual self, Sherlock might regret—alright, lying—he knew he’d regret it tomorrow, but he resolutely did what he had to do.

After finishing these tasks, a more terrifying thought crossed Sherlock’s mind: well, the child was asleep, he was tired and wanted to sleep, and nobody would disturb them for a while… Before his brain could react, his body had already started acting. He cautiously picked up the boy, as if afraid to wake him, and headed to his own bedroom, maybe humming some incomprehensible lullaby, but apparently, he deleted that part of the memory later.

As for the photos—one sent to the good doctor’s and the good inspector’s phones—depicting a large and a small figure sleeping peacefully, that remained a secret between the landlady and these two young men.

 

Today was Detective Inspector Lestrade’s day off. He was supposed to have a day off yesterday, but it was disrupted by that sudden case. Fortunately, although he was reluctant to admit it, Sherlock acted swiftly, allowing Greg at least one day to spend with Mycroft without interruptions.

He had initially planned to take the child out to places like amusement parks that kids usually enjoy. However, John had advised against exposing Mycroft to the outdoors due to his minor injuries. So, their planned outdoor activities turned into staying home and telling stories?

Although it was a bit odd, the conversation did lead to this—

“Greg, how did we meet?” The boy held a cup of Häagen-Dazs, leaning against the adult, blinking with curious, large eyes. He finally didn’t begin with “Can I ask a question?”, which Greg thought was a good sign.

Greg blinked as well. “You’re not expecting some romantic TV show-like scene, are you?”

“Not at all,” Mycroft chuckled. “I’m just really curious. You don’t remember?”

“How could I forget?” Greg pinched the chubby little cheeks. “We met because of work. You were… Well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you this. You have to promise not to let your assistant lady know.”

The little boy looked puzzled, curious yet conflicted. Greg found it amusing, intending to tease him, suppressing a smile and putting on a serious expression. However, ultimately, the Holmes family’s innate curiosity about the unknown prevailed. Mycroft nodded solemnly, promising, “I won’t tell anyone!”

Greg was amused. “Relax, kiddo.” He patted the child’s back with his fingers, the smile gradually softening, “The first time we met, you were a little spy.”

“A spy?” Mycroft was surprised. “Like James Bond?”

“Back then, you weren’t as skilled as 007, but you were remarkable… Indeed, very remarkable.” Greg couldn’t contain his pride. “I had just joined Scotland Yard less than a month ago, patrolling the area with the old chief, when we suddenly received orders to assist you. You must have been on a mission, separated from your companion and injured. When we found you, half your clothes were stained red with blood, yet you were still holding something, asking us who we were—I have no idea how you managed it. If it were me, I would have passed out from such a severe injury.”

Mycroft blushed at the unreserved admiration from the adult, smiling shyly. “That sounds quite cool.”

“Well… I have to admit, you were quite attractive then…” Greg pretended nonchalance, but his reddening ears gave him away. “The chief explained our identities to you, but I couldn’t remember what he said. All I could think was, ‘This man is too hot!'”

Mycroft blushed even more. “So, did you… fall for me at first sight?”

“Wowowow~” Greg made a series of dissatisfied noises, the heat spreading from his ears to his cheeks. “Where did you learn those words?”

“From John’s movie discs. He’s watched too many romantic films.”

“Oh God, I really shouldn’t have let you go to 221B…”

“So, was it true?” Mycroft was relentless with the question, raising his expectant face towards the less-than-candid adult.

Under the child’s overly enthusiastic gaze, Greg completely surrendered, averting his eyes and stammering, “Well, um, maybe, but not really… I just thought you looked good, especially your eyes, and your figure was nice, with long legs and a slim waist… uh…”

Feeling he couldn’t continue, Greg resorted to a dry cough to cover up.

The little boy got the answer he wanted and couldn’t help but giggle, “Greg, your face is all red.”

“You’ve got some nerve!” Greg grumbled indignantly, childishly scooping a big bite from the boy’s ice cream into his mouth. Mycroft didn’t mind being deprived of his treat. Instead, he took a tissue and wiped the ice cream off the adult’s mouth, making Greg seem even more like a child.

The cared-for adult complained about having no dignity, but the happiness in his eyes was sweeter than the ice cream.

 

“Wow… Have we really been married for seven years?” Mycroft stared in astonishment at the framed marriage certificate on the study’s solid wood desk. Embedded within it was a photo of their marriage certificate. He ran his fingers lightly over the glass, sighing softly. “Heavens… This is truly unbelievable!”

“I remember your mother saying the same thing on our wedding day.” Greg leaned against the desk, gently tousling Mycroft’s hair with a smile, reminiscing about that day with sweetness in his tone. “She was so moved that day, tears just wouldn’t stop. After our vows, we comforted her for quite a while. Your father, too. He’d pat my shoulder every now and then, looking at me with such contentment. He couldn’t find the words, I felt like he might burst into tears if he spoke.”

“In fact, I can’t imagine it myself…” The boy pulled out a silver chain from beneath his shirt collar. It was the one Greg put on him on the first day he shrank, with two rings hanging from it. One, a pure gold ring, he recognized; it was the one Uncle Rudolf always wore. The other, a platinum ring with dark patterns, he hadn’t seen before. But it had “G. Lestrade” engraved inside, and there was an identical one on the inspector’s hand. The answer was clear yet hard to believe—it was their wedding rings.

The little one stared at the wedding ring with a complex expression, a face filled with confusion. “I don’t understand. What kind of person would want to marry me?… Ah! I absolutely didn’t mean you’re not good enough!”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Greg spoke softly. He knew Mycroft was flustered because for a brief moment, his own expression had stiffened. But he swore it wasn’t because he misunderstood the child’s meaning; it was just that the boy’s tone made him ache a bit.

Mycroft bashfully lowered his head. “Um… I’m really sorry for calling you a ‘stupid goldfish’ before.”

“Oh, please don’t worry about that, darling.” Greg hugged the boy, now able to look into his eyes. “If I were as smart as you, I wouldn’t have liked other ‘goldfish.’ Think about it, you’re only eight and already reading German books in their original form, while I can’t even speak a word of German. It’s normal if you think I’m not a match for you…”

“Don’t say that!” The boy raised his voice eagerly, his soft, trembling voice filled with urgency.

“Hey, relax. It’s really nothing…”

“I won’t allow you to think that way. You’re the best!” The little one pouted, puffing up his cheeks, looking like a squirrel with its mouth full, seemingly wanting to cover the man’s mouth but restraining himself. Instead, he raised his small fist and softly punched Greg’s shoulder, venting his frustration.

The overly childish adult exaggeratedly exclaimed, “Ouch! The little bunny is hitting people!”

Mycroft was simultaneously irritated and amused by his reaction. After hesitating for two seconds, he leaned over and gently massaged the man’s shoulder, receiving a reward kiss on his forehead. The boy blushed a bit, looking up to see Greg’s smiling eyes and couldn’t help but repeat earnestly, “You really are the best.”

“You are the best,” Greg said sincerely.

Mycroft’s gaze dimmed, and he lowered his head again. “But they all don’t like me…”

Greg paused. “Who?”

“…Everyone.” The boy whispered a word, encircling the man’s neck and burying his head into the nearby shoulder, his sorrowful, childlike voice completely inconsistent with his age. “Nobody likes my intelligence… Daddy and Mummy weren’t happy at all when they found out I was very smart. Instead, they were extremely worried and waited until I went to primary school before daring to have a second child. I know they’re afraid I’ll have mental issues. Other kids think I’m a weirdo. They discuss cartoons and toys I don’t like, and they don’t understand the chemistry experiments I do. So, no one wants to be my friend. Even my teachers are afraid of me. They can’t understand the books I read and keep suggesting to Daddy that I should skip grades.” He turned his head away from Greg’s neck, his voice softer and more plaintive. “I don’t even like being so smart. I wish I were just normally smart…”

The boy’s soft voice and sweet breath gently brushed against Greg’s collarbone, but to the adult’s ears, it conveyed a different meaning. Greg involuntarily tightened his hold on the boy’s hand, and his chest’s breathing became heavier. But this did little to alleviate the piercing pain spreading in his heart.

This wasn’t the Mycroft he knew. From the first moment they met, Mycroft was already a formidable alpha. There were so many things about him that attracted Greg—danger, mystery, maturity, calmness, confidence… Greg felt like he could come up with a hundred words to describe Mycroft, but they would never include helpless, aggrieved, lost, lonely, despondent. Greg couldn’t help but kiss the boy’s forehead, even though he didn’t know how much comfort it would bring.

The boy didn’t cry, perhaps afraid of annoying Greg. Even though his small body trembled in the man’s embrace, he held back his tears. Greg suddenly remembered every time the boy looked shyly at him, softly saying, “I won’t cause you trouble.” Then he realized he couldn’t summon the courage to figure out how a young child had developed such a mature character. He remembered every time Sherlock came to Scotland Yard, Donovan would call him a “freak.” If the focus shifted to Mycroft… God, he refused to imagine that scene!

At least Sherlock had Mycroft during his childhood. But who did Mycroft have?

“Don’t be upset, darling,” Greg spoke gently, kissing the boy’s earlobe. “You’re not a freak, and you’re not scary. Being too smart is not your fault. Believe me, when you grow up, you’ll do many amazing things with your mind. I’m sorry you’ve suffered so much in the past…” Greg paused, forcing down the sourness in his throat. “But don’t be afraid. I’ll be by your side from now on. You won’t be so lonely anymore, I promise.”

A soft, broken sob sounded near his neck, and soon Greg felt a slight dampness on his shoulder. No matter how hard the boy tried to hold back, the mix of emotions seemed to overwhelm him. Crying silently on the man’s shoulder, occasionally sniffling, causing his entire body to quiver.

This time, Greg wasn’t as flustered as before. He gently patted Mycroft’s back, whispering, “I’m here for you; I’ll always be here for you.”

A few minutes later, the boy raised his tear-filled eyes, stuttering intermittently, “Wh-why did you… choose me?”

Greg curved his lips, words of unexpected happiness slipping out of his mouth. “Because you are the best. You’re the best alpha I’ve ever met, the gentlest boyfriend, and the most caring husband. Don’t doubt my words, I can tell you ten thousand times, you are the best.”