HAART

 Greg texted Michelle and invited her out to lunch that day, hoping that she would be honest with him if he confronted her without Mycroft present. Just after noon, Greg settled down in a cafe about equidistant between the Yard and Imperial College with Michelle’s dissertation. He had intentionally arrived well ahead of the 12:30 appointment so he would have some time to read some of Michelle’s dissertation and confirm what he suspected Sherlock was trying to tell him.

He gave up on that lofty goal within a few minutes as he realised that his non-existent knowledge of chemistry was going to be a considerable barrier to his understanding of the document. 

“The chemistry is complex, but the gist is pretty simple,” Michelle said softly from behind him. “I’m dying.” 

“How long have you known that?” Greg studied the young woman’s face as she sat down across from him, her thin hands cradling a mug of tea. 

“About a year. My T-cells started to dip about three years ago, it became clear that I was unlikely to recover in October of last year.” Michelle took a small sip of her tea, avoiding eye contact with her dad’s partner at all costs. “I’m trying to fix it, as much of a fool’s errand as that seems to be, but nothing is working.” She met Greg’s eyes for the first time since sitting down. “Please don’t tell Dad.”  

“Michelle, he needs to know.” 

“He’s sick right now, Greg, he can’t handle more stress.” Greg wanted to argue so badly, wanted to grab the young woman by the shoulders and shake her, but he couldn’t deny that she was right. Mycroft wasn’t going to be able to handle the news right then. He thought about it for a few long moments then took a resolute gulp of his coffee. 

“Fine, but if you want me to keep this secret, here are my terms.” 

“Terms, Greg? Are we signing a contract?” Michelle raised an eyebrow in a mock challenge. 

“I have something you want, kid, you’re going to have to work with me.”

“It seems I am in a poor bargaining position, so I suppose let’s hear the terms,” Michelle was smiling calmly at her father’s partner, hoping her demeanour would inspire him to be lenient. 

“I want you to stay at my old flat until Katie and Mycroft are feeling better. I don’t want you exposed any more than you need to be. And once Mycroft is given a clean bill of health, I want you to sit down and explain exactly how bad things have gotten. I can be a part of that conversation, Sherlock can, even your doctor if you want, but you have to be completely honest. Can you do those two things for me?” Michelle stared into her tea for a couple of long moments. 

“I can do that.” 

~~~

Greg left work early that night, arriving home just after 5. Mycroft was in his dressing gown, resting in a large armchair by the fire with a book in his hands. He smiled warmly as Greg walked in the room, placing his book down. 

“Hello, darling,” he greeted the older man. “How was your day?” Greg smiled back at his partner, falling into pleasant small talk, hoping that the dread boiling in his gut wasn’t clear on his face. 

“I had lunch with Michelle today,” Greg finally mentioned, his chest a little tight as he attempted to broach the subject nonchalantly. 

“You managed to get her out of her lab for lunch?” Mycroft laughed, his enthusiasm dimmed somewhat by the rattling cough that the laugh turned into. “She’s usually a bit of a workaholic.” 

“Well, I’m very charismatic. Nobody can resist these beautiful brown eyes.” Greg batted his long eyelashes, showing off as Mycroft chuckled. 

“Absolutely stunning,” Mycroft assured him. “Not sure how I feel about you using those powers on my daughter…” He trailed off, his laughter bubbling up softly. 

“I assure you, I save all my very best powers for you,” Greg winked, then forced himself to be serious. “I gave Michelle the key to my old flat. It seemed like it would probably be smart for her to stay there for now, at least until you and Katie are feeling better.” 

Mycroft raised his eyebrows minutely, seeming to detect something amiss with what Greg was saying. 

“Has it gotten that bad then?” He finally asked softly. 

“Has what…” Greg started, but Mycroft cut him off with a stern look. 

“I know she’s been hiding her decline from me, Gregory. What I can’t fathom is why she chose to tell you before she told me.” Greg’s heart broke at the utter devestation in his partner’s eyes. 

“Sherlock told me,” he admitted quietly, “well, in a sense he told me. He came to my office and acted cryptic as hell and then left a copy of her dissertation on my desk.” 

“Ah, naturally. A way to make you aware while leaving his own conscious clean. Sherlock is simply masterful at those.” Mycroft’s eyes were far away, deeply sad. “I understand her rationale for not telling me, but it still breaks my heart.” 

Greg didn’t know what to say to that. What could you say to that? There were no words to calm the storm brewing behind Mycroft’s eyes. At a loss, Greg did the only thing he could think to. He stood up and wrapped his arms as tightly around his partner as he could without suffocating him. 

~~~

Michelle had fetched her things and fled her home as swiftly as possible, but it wasn’t fast enough to miss the look of mingled hurt and frustration in her father’s eyes. She leaned back in the sleek black sedan Mycroft had ordered to ferry her to Greg’s old flat, and she cried.