HAART

In the ten years that Greg Lestrade had known Mycroft Holmes, he had never seen him flustered. He was the perfect picture of calm at all times, no matter whether they were having tea at the Diogenes Club, or sitting in a hospital waiting room after Sherlock had done something monumentally stupid. So the look of abject terror and panic that crossed Mycroft Holmes’ face a moment after Greg asked him out on a date caught the Detective Inspector completely by surprise. 

“Ah,” Mycroft stammered out after a moment, “I am flattered, certainly, but, no, I really can’t.” 

“Oh,” Greg’s face fell, “you’re in a relationship already?” Mycroft seemed to be caught by surprise by the question. 

“No, no definitely not.” 

Greg’s face fell even more, and he bid the elder Holmes goodbye, making a hasty retreat.  

It was three weeks before Greg found a reason to see Mycroft again. He had convinced himself that Mycroft had turned him down because he was particularly busy that week, and simply couldn’t come up with any time for a date. So when the opportunity arose, Greg decided to try again. 

“Mycroft,” Greg said toward the end of their meeting, “I know you said no last time, but…” Greg was cut off by a put-upon sigh from his companion. 

“Gregory,” Mycroft sighed, “I don’t date. It’s nothing against you. In fact, I quite like you. But with my job and...other factors...it’s just for the best that I don’t date.” Greg looked at the younger man for a long moment. 

“But you like me?”

“Yes, Gregory, I find your company very pleasant. I’m very fond of you. I consider you to be a friend, a good friend in fact. But I don’t date.” Greg smiled, leaning back in his chair. 

“I would like to convince you to date. And then, I would like to convince you to date me.” Mycroft leaned back in his chair, mirroring the other man’s posture and meeting his gaze with a look of smug superiority. 

“You are welcome to try.”

~~~

Six weeks later, Greg had asked Mycroft out a total of eight times in eight different ways. Once had been over a game of cards, once via text, and once via a full length PowerPoint presentation detailing all the reasons why dating Greg was an excellent idea. Every time Mycroft had smiled warmly and politely reminded Greg that he didn’t date. Even knowing the man as well as he did, Greg had to admit that he didn’t expect him to stand this firm on the issue. 

By week eight, and after three more unsuccessful asks, Greg decided it was time to seek outside help. His arrival at 221B Baker Street was welcome until Sherlock seemed to catch on that the visit was social, rather than for the purposes of asking for help with a case. Still, Sherlock sat and pretended not to ignore him as Greg and John chatted casually over their cups of tea. 

“I do have a bit of an ulterior motive in coming here,” Greg admitted finally, stifling an eye roll at the way Sherlock suddenly sprung to attention, “I need a bit of advice.” 

“You had a case this whole time and you made me suffer through witless babble for an entire hour?” Sherlock’s voice was sharp, but his eyes betrayed the fact that he had anticipated Greg’s ‘ulterior motive’.  “What kind of case? Is it a murder? I love a good murder.” 

“I know you do,” Greg said, allowing the eye roll this time, “It’s not a murder, it’s...well, it’s about Mycroft.” 

“Oh goodie! Was Mycroft murdered?” Sherlock asked with a bit more giddiness than one generally expected from a person who was discussing the possible murder of their big brother. 

“Christ, Sherlock,” John muttered, “how can we help, Greg?” 

“I’ve, uh, well, I’ve sorta been trying to ask him out.” The two men stared at their visitor. 

“You’ve been trying to ask out Mycroft Holmes?” John squeaked at the same time as Sherlock said, “Mycroft doesn’t date.” 

“Yeah,” Greg said, as answer to both men, “yeah, I like him, and I’m pretty sure he likes me too, but he’s being a stubborn ass about this whole ‘I don’t date’ thing and I just want to know how I can convince him.” 

“Okay,” John said slowly, “has he given you a reason why he doesn’t date?”

“His job and ‘other factors’. He won’t tell me what the other factors are.” John pursed his lips in thought. 

“Well, it’s gotta be Michelle, right?” John looked at Sherlock for confirmation, who rolled his eyes. 

“Michelle is 23, I don’t think she cares if he dates.” 

“I’m sorry,” Greg butted in, “who’s Michelle?” Sherlock’s eyes widened.

“His daughter? Really, Lestrade, if you two are such good friends…” 

“Sherlock,” John interrupted his flatmate, “I lived with you for three years before I found out she existed. And I only found out because we broke into his house in the middle of the night and scared her half to death.” 

“I did apologize,” Sherlock muttered, “and I had no reason to believe she would be there.” 

“She lives there!” John snapped back, and Greg sighed, waving his hands at the two men, bringing the focus back to himself. 

“So Mycroft has a daughter? And that’s why he won’t date? Is he still in love with her mother?”

“She’s adopted. She was his husband’s.” Sherlock said, his face screwing up slightly at the thought of Mycroft having a biological child. 

“Mycroft was married?” 

“Well,” Sherlock said with a shrug, “as married as a homosexual in the early nineties could be. They had a ceremony which Mummy forced me to attend, but nothing was legally binding.” 

“What happened?”

“He died.” Sherlock said with a shrug. “Although, they separated before he died, right after he got sick. Bit cold blooded, even for Mycroft. His name was Peter, he was a widower with a daughter. After he died, Mycroft adopted the kid, and has been raising her ever since.” Sherlock paused, a small smile gracing his face. “He’s a good dad, he’s always been good with kids.”

“How did his husband die?” John asked, “maybe that’s why he doesn’t date.” Sherlock shrugged, looking bored. 

“I was 17 when he died, I wasn’t paying attention. If I’m not mistaken it was some form of cancer. He was only sick for a couple of months before it happened  and despite their separation, Mycroft did seem pretty upset about it. He was pretty much a recluse for a few years after. I barely saw him until he started showing up to foil my plans to get high.” 

Greg considered everything Sherlock had said for a long moment. He looked at the younger man, and was surprised to see a smile playing on his lips. 

“Garrett,” Sherlock said, taking no notice of his two companions muttered corrections about the DI’s name, “he’s lonely. He won’t admit it, but he is. Don’t give up on him, alright?” 

~~~

Greg had made his way the next day to Mycroft’s office at the Diogenes, the entire way there rehearsing what he was going to say. When he arrived Mycroft hardly looked up from his papers. 

“Hello, Gregory,” he said cooly, “have a nice chat with my brother yesterday?” Greg stopped suddenly, taken aback.

“What, do you have his flat bugged?” 

“Of course not,” Mycroft said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “why would I want to listen to Sherlock and Dr. Watson awkwardly dancing around the fact that they’re in love with each other?”

“It’s really getting kind of nauseating at this point,” Greg agreed with a small laugh. “So how did you know?” 

“Sherlock called me this morning to tell me, and I quote, to ‘get my head out of my sizable arse’ and date you.” Mycroft tried to sound annoyed, but a ghost of a smile played on his lips as he quoted his brother. 

“Actually, I came here today to tell you that if the reason you don’t date is something to do with the way your husband died, or because of your daughter, I get it. I won’t pester you about it any more.” Greg’s voice shook a little. He was honestly a little surprised at how sad he was at the prospect of ending what had been a very enjoyable couple of months of attempting to woo his friend. 

“Gregory,” Mycroft said quietly, “please sit down. I think there’s something I should tell you.” 

Greg sat, nervously and carefully studying the face of his friend, who suddenly seemed deeply uncomfortable. 

“My reasons for not dating have nothing to do with Michelle. She’s an adult, she can handle me dating. In fact, there’s a chance it would give her the push necessary to get her own place, that would be nice. However,” his breath caught slightly, and he swallowed hard before continuing, “the cause of Peter’s death does factor in.” He said the name of his former husband with such venom that Greg was suddenly a bit afraid to ask more. 

“His cause of death?” Greg asked nervously, “Sherlock said he died of cancer…”

“He did.” Mycroft interrupted the older man, “Kaposi Sarcoma. Secondary to AIDS.”