Author's Note:

Pairings: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade (pre-slash), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson (mentioned)

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss and Steve Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

Greg groaned as he got out of the car, legs finally stretching. He'd been stuck behind his desk all day doing paperwork, and had only just finished his shift. Now he had the entire weekend with his daughters. Zara was already in sixth form and would be studying at the library until at least five, then catching a taxi home. But Andy, Greg's youngest, had only just started fifth year, so Greg had to pick her up.

Greg couldn't help but smile as he headed through the school gates and down the path. He didn't get to see his girls as often as he wanted. Between work and his visitation rights, it wasn't possible to see them every week. Zara was coping well- she'd known her parents' marriage was in shambles for years before they finally split- but Andy was still upset over the whole thing. She knew that Daddy and Mummy didn't love each other the same way they used to, but couldn't understand why she didn't get to spend as much time as she wanted with her dad.

Greg shook those thoughts from his head as he walked. He just wanted to focus on the girls over the next three days; homework, food, and keeping them entertained. He already had some movies lined up, and would take them out Sunday night before they returned to his ex's place. It would be a good few days.

Stopping by the tree he always waited under, Greg shoved his hands into his coat pockets. He was itching for a cigarette, but both Zara and Andy hated it when he smoked, so he refrained. Hopefully he could sneak out sometime tonight...

'Beckett, really; must you carry your bag so?'

Greg jolted at the voice, barely able to believe his ears. But he turned and spotted the man who'd spoken, and sure enough, it was Mycroft Holmes. He was crouched before a boy- he couldn't have been more than seven- and fiddling with his backpack, trying to zip one of the compartments closed while he straightened it on the boy's shoulders.

'Yes, Papa,' the boy rolled his eyes, much like Sherlock Holmes would do. His hair was curly, a brighter red than Mycroft's, his skin pale and freckled.

'You'll damage your posture if you keep that up,' Mycroft commented before standing and smoothing his hands down his suit. The boy smiled up at him brightly, and Mycroft sighed. 'Your Uncle Sherlock is a menace.'

'Nah-ah,' the boy giggled.

Greg couldn't help himself; he had to say hello.

Mycroft became aware of him when Greg was a few steps away. He froze briefly before relaxing his posture, a polite smile on his face. 'Detective Inspector Lestrade,' he greeted.

'Hello, Mr Holmes,' Greg responded. 'So, uh...' The boy- Beckett, Greg remembered- giggled again.

'Is something funny, young man?' Mycroft asked.

'He calls you Mr Holmes,' Beckett grinned. 'Like Anthea.'

Mycroft smiled. 'That's the polite thing to do.'

'But aren't you friends?' Beckett frowned.

Mycroft mirrored the gesture, and Greg grinned as he turned on Mycroft. 'Yeah...' he smirked, 'aren't we friends?'

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

Beckett nodded, a very serious look on his face. 'Friends always call each other by their first names, Papa.'

'Yeah,' Greg interjected.

Sighing, Mycroft said, 'Of course we're friends. You have my sincerest apologies, Gregory.'

Greg laughed. 'No problem, Mycroft.'

Beckett beamed, clearly pleased with himself, before he perked up at the sound of children laughing. A fair few years had already been let out, and Greg watched as Beckett caught sight of a few other boys a bit older than him.

'Papa, can I go say goodbye to Shunichi?' Beckett asked. 'He's going on holiday tomorrow and I won't see him for ages!'

'Of course you can,' Mycroft said, and Beckett immediately took off. 'Be careful!' Mycroft called, and Greg chuckled.

'Kids,' he shrugged when Mycroft glanced at him.

'Indeed,' was Mycroft's response.

'So,' Greg hummed, and Mycroft looked at him again, 'I had no idea you were a father.'

'It's not something I advertise,' Mycroft admitted. 'With my position, Beckett could be used against me.'

'Right,' was all Greg could think to say. Right... minor government official my arse, he thought. 'Is that why Sherlock's never mentioned him?'

'Sherlock has just as many, if not more, enemies as I do,' Mycroft said. 'He would never forgive himself if Beckett was used to get to him.'

Yeah, Greg could see that. Sherlock acted like a cold dick most of the time, but he was fiercely protective of the people he loved.

'Are you here to pick up your daughter?' Mycroft questioned, drawing Greg from his thoughts.

The older man smiled. 'Like you didn't know that,' he teased.

Mycroft's lips quirked, and he inclined his head as he said, 'Be that as it may, it's often rude to point out that you know everything about someone. Also, information is always better when heard from a person, rather then read from a file.'

'Yeah, you can't deduce a file,' Greg said, grinning when Mycroft huffed slightly. 'Andy should be out in a minute, she always takes her time. Likes talking to the teachers and her friends too much to ever leave early.'

'What year is she in?' Mycroft questioned.

Greg wondered if the red-head already knew, or if he was genuinely curious. 'Fifth,' he replied.

'Oh; the same year as Beckett,' Mycroft commented.

'Really?' Greg said. Huh, so he'd been off when guessing Beckett's age.

Mycroft smiled. 'You weren't,' he said, like he could read Greg's mind. 'Beckett turned seven a few weeks ago. He was moved ahead.'

'Of course he was,' Greg laughed. 'He's a Holmes.'

'Sherlock is teaching him how to make deductions,' Mycroft nodded, 'and I do, too, when I have the time. But he's a rather bright boy. Takes after his mother.'

Greg nodded slowly. Right, right; Mycroft was married, then.

Which was all fine, really. Only... Greg had had a slight crush on Mycroft ever since he'd met the man.

Mycroft was looking at Greg, now; his light blue eyes darting between Greg's face and his shuffling feet. 'She passed when Becket was a few months old,' he finally said, breaking the silence.

Greg's head snapped around and his mouth dropped open.

'Cancer,' Mycroft supplied.

'Oh,' Greg coughed to clear his throat, 'oh, uh... I'm sorry to hear that.'

'Thank you,' Mycroft murmured. He glanced over to where his son was, and Greg followed his train of sight. The young Holmes was talking with three boys; two who had light blonde hair and were clearly twins, and an Asian boy whom Greg assumed was the one going on holiday.

'So it's just you and Beckett?' he asked.

'When my mother can't strong-arm me into spending the night with her and my father,' Mycroft replied. 'She dotes on Beckett.'

It would be hard not to, Greg thought as he watched the boys laugh together. Beckett seemed like a bright, clever little boy.

'As does Sherlock,' Mycroft added.

'I can imagine,' Greg said, unable to keep the grin off his face. It seemed like a very Sherlock thing to do, to teach a kid that young all about science and deductions and whatever the hell his experiments were about. Sherlock had always been really good with the kids they'd found at crime scenes, or who had witnessed parts of a crime. Kids just seemed to take to him.


Greg turned at the shout, and grinned when he saw his daughter rushing across the school yard. He dropped into a crouch and held his arms out, hearing Andy laugh as she flew into a hug. She wrapped her arms firmly around his neck, her legs around his waist, and Greg made a show of groaning and grumbling as he picked her up.

'You're not old, Dad,' Andy laughed as she pulled back.

'Am too,' Greg replied. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and turned, smiling at Mycroft. 'Andy, this is Mycroft Holmes, a friend of mine.'

'Hello, Mr Mycroft,' Andy answered politely, though shyly hid her face in Greg's neck. Greg almost laughed; she was shy around people she didn't know, but a whirlwind when comfortable.

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Andrea,' Mycroft replied.

Greg snorted. Of course Mycroft knew her full name.

Andy poked her tongue out, and Greg said, 'She doesn't like being called Andrea.'

'My apologies,' Mycroft responded, bowing at Andy, who giggled. 'Miss Andy, it's a pleasure.'

'Oh, she's Andy but I'm Gregory,' Greg huffed.

Mycroft's lips curled up. 'You enjoy it.'

Greg blinked rapidly at that and cursed internally. Damn sexy, polite, dramatic red-heads.

'I know you,' Andy said, and Greg looked down to see that Beckett was back.

'Andy,' Beckett smiled. 'You're in Mr Alderman's class.'

'And you're in Miss Fry's,' Andy responded. 'Everyone says you're super smart.'

Beckett stood taller, chest slightly puffed out, and Greg had to bite back a grin. Definitely related to Sherlock.

'I didn't know you knew Miss Andy,' Mycroft said.

Beckett frowned at his dad, and Andy giggled again.

'Your daddy's funny,' she said.

'No he isn't,' Beckett replied. 'He's weird.'

'That's not nice,' Andy said.

'But he is!' Beckett said, looking up at Mycroft. 'And Uncle Sherlock's weird, too!'

Mycroft chuckled and smiled warmly at Andy. 'It is true, my dear. My brother and I are well known for being odd.'

'I'll say,' Greg commented, drawing everyone's attention. 'Er...'

'Do you think Mr Mycroft's weird?' Andy asked.

'Well, uh...' Greg hesitated. Andy was looking at him expectantly, as was Beckett, but Mycroft just looked amused. Greg looked Mycroft up and down a bit before swallowing. Weird wasn't the first word that came to mind when Greg thought about Mycroft Holmes. Stunning, charming, sexy, downright fuckable... which was two words... words that shouldn't be thought, let alone uttered, around small children. 'Yes,' he settled on.

Mycroft smirked and Beckett's eyes narrowed; really, they looked far too much alike. Andy just sighed, like the three had ruined her day.

'I assure you that I'm not in any way offended, Miss Andy,' Mycroft told Greg's daughter.

'Okay,' Andy grumbled.

Beckett was still staring at Greg, who finally put Andy down. Really, he wasn't that old, but he was getting there. And Andy wasn't exactly that small, either.

'Papa,' Beckett said, tugging on his dad's sleeve. Mycroft looked down at him. 'Maybe Andy and Mr Gregory can come over for a play date sometime?' he asked.

'Play date?' Andy scowled. 'I'm not three!'

'But I have really cool toys and books and we can paint,' Beckett said, staring at Andy. The two kids just... stared, for a bit, before Beckett looked pointedly at Mycroft, then Greg.

Greg was only just beginning to realise that Beckett Holmes was as smart and devious as his uncle and father when Andy beamed.

'Oh!' She nodded vigorously. 'Yes, Daddy, we have to go over to Beckett's house if it's okay with Mr Mycroft.'

Greg scowled at his daughter, who just gave him a wide, innocent smile. 'Well, ah... you'd have to ask Mycroft,' he finally said.

The man in question looked torn between mortification and amusement, while his son just smirked by his side. 'I wouldn't be opposed to the idea,' he commented, glancing at Greg.

'Okay,' Greg nodded, 'so, uh...'

'I'll call you,' Mycroft interrupted.

'Okay,' Greg repeated, a bit dumbfounded.

'Daddy, we have to go and get dinner started, 'cause Zara will be hungry,' Andy said.

Greg thanked the stars for his daughter's perfect timing and grabbed her hand. 'Right, yep, dinner. Uh, nice to see you, Mycroft. And Beckett.'

'Have a good afternoon, Gregory,' Mycroft replied. 'And Miss Andy, I shall see you again.'

'Yeah,' Andy beamed. 'Bye, Mr Mycroft, bye Beckett!'

Beckett waved and Greg dragged his daughter off, muttering about children conspiring against him. Mycroft waited for a beat before asking, 'Did you just set me up on a play date with Gregory?'

'Yes,' Beckett beamed.

'Why?' Mycroft asked.

''Cause you look at Mr Greg like Uncle Sherlock looks at Uncle John,' was Beckett's answer.

Mycroft started at that, and Beckett just continued to smile. Finally Mycroft chuckled, shook his head, and took Beckett's hand in his own. 'Let's go, young man.'

'Do I still get dessert?' Beckett asked. Apparently he'd figured out that his father might not like someone prying into his personal life.

'Well,' Mycroft hummed, 'you did just set me up with the man who's had my attention for the past five years.'

Beckett frowned. 'So...?'

'Yes,' Mycroft smiled.

Beckett grinned. 'Awesome.'


Mycroft's Son: Beckett Sherlock Edwin Holmes

Greg's Daughters: Zara Amy and Andrea Elise Lestrade

Author's Note: Have some parent!Strade for no reason whatsoever! I ate Hungry Jacks and this popped into my head halfway through my cheeseburger. So... yeah :)