HAART

Two weeks after Tilly Lestrade crashed her car and lost custody of her daughter, London’s branch of the Department for Education stopped by the Kensington house to complete their investigation. 

“We have no reason to assume custody so long as she is in a safe place,” the social worker informed Greg as he led her around the kitchen, proving that there was sufficient food for a child. 

“I already had my attorney file modification paperwork to get full custody of her.” In fact, Mycroft had done that for him, immediately retaining an attorney who cost more per hour than Greg’s monthly rent. Any concerns Greg had about being a kept man had been shoved firmly to the back of his mind. It was one thing to insist on buying his own groceries, taking care of Katie was worth getting some help with. 

“When did you begin living here?” The social worker had finished her meticulous study of the refrigerator and beckoned Greg over to the small kitchen table where Mycroft had subtly planted a tea service tray. 

“We moved in right after Katie came to live with me. My old flat was too small to begin with, and after Tilly showed up there and punched me in the face in front of Katie…” he took a long sip of his cup of tea. “This was so much safer, and having someone who can help out if I get stuck at work is a big plus.” The social worker hummed noncommittally and glanced down at the stack of papers in her hands.

“Yes, I noted that you moved in here with your boyfriend.” Something in the way the woman said boyfriend made Greg tense. “How long have you been together?” 

“About three months,” Greg admitted, hoping that his voice didn’t betray the anxiety he was suddenly feeling about that answer. “But we have known each other and been very good friends for nearly ten years.” 

“Still,” the social worker drawled, “with a relationship so new…is this really the most stable place for Katie to be?” Greg took a slow breath, willing his heart to back down out of his throat, his pulse pounding in his ears.  

“My daughter is the most important thing in my life,” Greg replied stonily, his mouth suddenly dry. “If I thought even for a second that bringing her to live here was bad for her I never would have done it. Mycroft and Michelle have accepted us and taken care of us when we needed it. Katie has a room here, I can do my job without worrying about who I’m leaving her with, Mycroft and Michelle are my family.” The social worker appeared unfazed by Greg’s stern tirade, her face not so much astwitching as she sipped her tea silently. 

~~~

That night, Greg put a nervous Katie to bed and came downstairs, falling into Mycroft’s waiting arms on the couch. 

“I have no idea what they’re going to say,” he mumbled against Mycroft’s shoulder. “They can’t take her away from me.” 

“No, darling, they can’t,” Mycroft replied softly. “Please don’t worry about that. She isn’t going anywhere, I made sure of it.” 

“Mycroft, you didn’t.”

“Nothing untoward, nothing you would feel uncomfortable with. I simply had a conversation with a friend.” 

“A friend?” Greg shot back, sitting up with an accusatory glare. “Mycroft, I can’t believe you would go behind my back like that.” 

“By calling up a woman I periodically converse with and asking her to look over your case?” 

“By meddling with my daughter without talking to me,” Greg scrubbed a hand over his face. “She’s my daughter, my responsibility.” 

“When I hired an attorney for you…” 

“That was different, we talked about that. This was you going behind my back.” 

“It was never my intention…” 

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that you didn’t think you were meddling?” Greg snapped, sitting back and crossing his arms. 

“Are you going to let me explain?” Mycroft said softly after a moment of pained silence. Greg’s gaze didn’t soften as he gestured for Mycroft to go on. “Gregory, what do you think comes up when you run a background check on me?” 

“I assume the usual? Criminal background, professional licences, address history?” Mycroft sighed and shook his head. “Alright, what then?”

“Nothing, Gregory. Nothing at all. A background check on me will reveal that I was born on February 12, 1970 in Sedgewick. That is everything. Legally, I am something of a ghost.” 

“Seriously?” Greg scoffed. “Why?” 

“In my line of work, it would be very dangerous for me to have too much personal information publicly available. I would be devastated if something about me caused you any difficulty and I would not be able to live with myself if you lost custody of your daughter because a social worker ran a background check on me and found my lack of background suspicious.” 

“So you called up your friend…” 

“The Secretary for Education.” 

“...Right, you called her up to make sure that your background check wouldn’t be run.” 

“Yes,” Mycroft replied. 

“And she looked up the case and told you I have nothing to worry about?”  

“Her exact words were that sending a social worker out to talk to you was an ‘utterly unnecessary but alas required’ waste of time.” Mycroft cupped Greg’s cheek in his palm, pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to his forehead. “You are the best, most fit parent Katie could ever ask for.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Greg whispered. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Mycroft insisted. “Nothing at all.” 

~~~

A few days later, the tension of the social worker’s visit had dissipated. Michelle in particular was glad to have the discontent gone from the household. She had gotten used to a drama free environment after so many years of living with just her dad. 

Still, the chaos had been a comfort, because without it she had nothing to focus on but a very difficult conversation she had to have.

Sitting down in the sitting room of 221B Baker St., Michelle was longing for the chaos back home. Her uncle regarded her sadly over the latest draft of her dissertation. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that you were Patient A?” He asked quietly, his sharp features softening a bit. 

“I was hoping that my solution would work before you realised,” Michelle explained weakly. 

“How long have you known?” 

“A year or so.” 

“Michelle, you should have told us.” 

“Dad was sick, I didn’t want to stress him, and then when everything with Greg happened…the time was never right.” 

“Michelle, this is important. Your meds aren’t working, and if your T cells drop any more you’ll be in serious danger.” 

“I get that, that’s why this is my dissertation topic. No one else could figure out a solution, I had to do it myself.” Sherlock looked down at the stack of papers in his lap, his fingers running haltingly over the title: Decreasing Efficacy of Highly Active Anti-Retroviral Therapy (HAART) in Patients With Pediatric HIV Infections. 

“Have you told your Dad that the meds aren’t working.” Sherlock asked, certain he already knew the answer. 

“I just need more time, Uncle Sherlock. I can figure it out, I’ll find an effective medicine and it will be fine. I don’t have to worry him.” Sherlock stared into the fireplace, unable to look his niece in the eye. 

“I hope you’re right, Michelle.”