HAART

 It had rapidly become a foregone conclusion that Greg and Katie would become permanent members of the household. The guest bedroom Katie occupied had been rapidly redecorated and filled with things the twelve year old girl loved. Her dark curly hair was soon decorating the walls of the shower right beside the long chestnut strands from Michelle.   

The room that had become Greg’s wasn’t decorated at all. He had hung his clothes in the closet and put his shampoo in the en suite, but some part of him was unwilling to get too comfortable in the guest room, still hoping that Mycroft might relent and allow Greg to share his bed. 

Mycroft certainly had sufficient opportunities to ask, since Katie had taken to following Michelle around like a lost puppy and very rarely needed anything from Greg or Mycroft.  Michelle was perfectly happy with her new shadow. She had never considered that she might like a sibling, but now that she had one she was never going back.   

Katie was sitting on the floor in Michelle’s room one afternoon, watching Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and Beaker run through an obstacle course of textbooks and old soda cans in search of some slices of apple. Michelle had Sherlock’s most recent proofreading notes open on her desk, double checking his maths and decoding his increasingly erratic handwriting. 

“Hey, Michelle?” Katie asked quietly as Beaker vaulted artlessly over an overturned mug and tumbled headfirst into a chunk of apple, “would you take me dress shopping?”

“Dress shopping?” Michelle raised an eyebrow as she swivelled around in her chair. “What do you need a dress for?” 

“A dance at school. Mummy said she’d take me, but…” Katie’s voice trailed off. Michelle nodded, reassuring the girl with a warm smile. 

“And I assume you don’t trust your dad’s fashion sense?”

“You’ve seen him,” Katie sighed dramatically, “he lacks vision. He has four copies of the same terrible suit.”

“You’re not wrong,” Michelle chuckled, lowering herself down onto the ground beside the younger girl. Dr. Bunsen Honeydew scurried up Michelle’s leg, finding and curling up in the pocket of her jumper. “I would love to take you dress shopping, kiddo, you want to go this afternoon?” Katie nodded enthusiastically, then leaned over to give Michelle a one armed hug. 

“You’re like the coolest big sister ever,” Katie whispered as she leaned her head on Michelle’s shoulder. “I’m so lucky to have you.” 

~~~  

While the girls were out shopping, Greg and Mycroft were left with the house to themselves. Since the argument the night of the social worker’s visit, things had been good between them, but physically things were still stagnant. Greg had meant it all the times he said that he was fine with not having a sexual relationship, but that wasn’t quite what was happening. 

At the end of the day, as much as they tried to suppress it, Greg and Mycroft were very much attracted to each other.

Greg had first discovered that he had a fetish for Mycroft’s hands scarcely a month after they had first met. Sherlock was deep in his addiction then and was in his third hospital bed in so short a time. The doctors had been optimistic that he would wake up, but nothing was certain. Mycroft was holding a strip of paper, a list that Sherlock had left for Mycroft to find at the scene of the overdose. 

He spent hours folding and unfolding that little slip of paper, his long fingers pinching creases and smoothing them out in a repetitive self-soothing ritual that Greg was absolutely transfixed by. Despite the circumstances and the general hospital room ambiance, Greg found himself painfully turned on. 

Those same fingers were now brandishing a sponge in a manner that had captured Greg’s attention in a very obvious way. 

“What exactly is the nature of your obsession with my hands?” Mycroft questioned casually, extending his damp digits in a slow wave. “Don’t misunderstand, I find it charming, but I have always wondered.”  

 “It’s not an obsession,” Greg chuckled, taking the offending hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. “A fascination, I would say.” He slowly lifted the hand to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to Mycroft’s knuckles. “I used to sit at my desk and daydream about your hands.” 

“Definitely an obsession,” Mycroft murmured fondly. “What things would you imagine my hands doing in your daydreams?” The way he purred the last word let loose something absolutely feral in Greg and he found himself whispering his deepest fantasies in between gasps as Mycroft’s gorgeous, sinful hands ran down his chest, skillfully undoing his belt and closing around him. 

“Christ, Mycroft,” Greg whimpered, bracing himself against the sink. Mycroft gave a predatory grin as he lowered his mouth to Greg’s neck, his tongue snaking out to tease the spot just below his pulse point that made Greg’s knees weak. 

The dishes lay forgotten as Greg thrust involuntarily into Mycroft’s perfect, incredibly soft hands, whispers of adoration and pleas to all manner of deities spilling forth from his lips. He clutched Mycroft’s body tight against his, panting as he came into Mycroft’s hand. 

“Christ, Mycroft, oh my God, darling…” Greg’s forehead rested against Mycroft’s shoulder as he gasped for air. “You’re incredible. You’re...Christ, Mycroft, you are incredible.” 

“I love you,” Mycroft whispered, his unsoiled hand cupping the back of Greg’s head.

“Will you let me return the favour?” Greg whispered, lifting his head to kiss Mycroft’s lips. 

“There’s no need, darling, thank you.” Greg frowned, leaning back to look his partner in the eye. 

“Mycroft, I can feel your cock up against my leg.” Mycroft attempted to shift to rectify that situation, but Greg was holding him tightly. “Darling, I don’t need you to do anything for me. I want us to be able to have an incredible sex life. But I don’t want that if you aren’t going to participate.” Mycroft looked down, his face heavy with emotion. It was a rare sight, he hardly ever let his feelings show outwardly. 

“It’s very difficult for me to even fathom. I’m terrified, Greg, I honestly am. I couldn’t live with myself if I passed this on.” 

“What if I told you that I started taking PrEP the day after our first date? Would that ease your mind?” Mycroft froze, then lifted his head to look in Greg’s eyes. 

“PrEP isn’t 100%,” he stated quietly, but the conviction was gone from his voice. 

“Nothing in life is. But a combination of condoms and PrEP and your low viral load…it’s about as close as anyone can get.” Greg took Mycroft’s hands in his, holding them tight while he leaned forward and pressed a long, deep kiss to his lips. “So what do you think? Willing to give it a try? It doesn’t have to be today, right now, but…” 

Mycroft cut him off with a passionate kiss. 

“What would you say to joining me in my bedroom tonight?” 

~~~

The day of Katie’s school dance Michelle was holed up in her room, pouring over her piles of notes. She was keeping an ear out, listening for clues that Katie was almost done getting ready. Her ears perked up when she realised she could hear a somewhat muffled crying coming from the room next to hers. She leaned against the wall, trying to determine if Katie was having the sort of crisis that she could help with. 

“I look awful,” Katie sobbed on the other side of the wall. “I’ll never look good in any of these dresses. I hate them!” 

“Honey, you picked out all of these dresses. What changed?” Greg was sounding especially exasperated, and Michelle actually smiled a bit, reminiscing about having very similar conversations with her dad around that age. 

“I’m fat! I hate it! I just want to be skinny like Michelle!” Michelle’s smile disappeared, her stomach dropping. She slid down the length of the wall, her head resting against her knees. 

After managing to catch her breath, she scampered over to Mycroft’s office, knocking timidly and calling out a shy “hey dad?” Mycroft summoned her in and Michelle slinked into the room shakily. 

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Mycroft rose from his seat, taking a cautious step towards his daughter. 

“I need to tell Katie that I’m sick.” Mycroft’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he sat back down, gesturing for Michelle to do the same. 

“Tell me why.” 

Michelle didn’t allow her voice to shake as she explained Katie’s comment and her subsequent fears that the little girl was going to try to emulate her figure, to the detriment of her health. Mycroft listened calmly to the entire explanation, then nodded. 

“Do you want me to be part of the conversation?” 

“I think that really has to be your decision.” 

“Would you mind if I talked to Gregory before making my decision?” 

“I think that would be best. I don’t want to talk to her before her dance anyway.” Michelle gave him a thin smile. “We’ll check in tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Mycroft replied and Michelle stood to leave. “Michelle,” he said softly as she turned towards the door, “you’ve lost a lot of weight.” 

“A couple of pounds,” she shrugged without turning around. 

“Nutritional malabsorption is common, Michelle, I’m not judging you. It might help if you talked to Dr. Mortimer about getting IV nutrition. That’s not admitting defeat.” 

“I know, Dad,” Michelle replied softly, her shoulders falling a little. She stood for a long moment in the doorway, closing her eyes as she fought against the lump in her throat. She wanted so badly to tell him, to explain that she was trying so hard, but she was getting sicker every day and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do to stop it. “Dad?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

She opened her mouth to finally say it, to finally tell him. 

“I, um, I” her heart was still in her chest. She was too scared. “I love you, daddy.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Mycroft smiled warmly at his daughter, watching as she retreated from his office and headed down the hall to comfort her little sister.