Chapter Text
Mycroft was, one might say, criminally over-prepared for everything. He readied for any event months in advance, determining every detail down to the precise colour of his socks long, long before the information would ever be needed. Yet he also knew how much focus and stress planning a wedding could bring. Even his own small ceremony had come with a rather strong degree of headache. He knew Ellie was terribly, impossibly busy as the date grew ever closer, stress no doubt leaving her half-drowned trying to get everything ready.
Yes, he always planned far, far in advance. But he cared deeply about Ellie’s well-being. He would never add to her stress, no matter how much stress he placed on himself.
And Mycroft Holmes was nothing if not extremely patient.
He waited. Quietly, patiently. Minding his manners. He saw Ellie a few times over the months, a few happy dinners with her and Greg and her fiancé. But he never brought it up. He let the time tick down, let himself count down the months, weeks, days, moments until her wedding.
At the four-and-a-half-week mark, Mycroft decided she seemed relaxed enough. Excited enough about the wedding to be interested in the task, but calm enough that it wouldn’t give her too much additional stress.
He leaned against the kitchen bench in Greg’s flat as he dialled. Glancing around while his mobile rang, Mycroft was rather reminded of the first time he met Ellie. Thirteen years. Thirteen years, yet it was all still fresh in his mind. Well. Anything that terrifying had to stay fresh for a while. He smiled to himself. Those bloody flowers, giving away his eight-month relationship that he and Greg had determinedly hidden from his teenage daughter. And then there she was, packing Mycroft’s books onto a shelf with a fiery flash in her eyes.
“Hi, Mycroft!”
She always answered the phone so cheerfully. Mycroft smiled.
“Hello, Ellie. Is this a good time?”
“Sure!” she said, the line rustling a bit. “Just got off work. Doing a bit of lazing around before I tackle the laundry. You alright?”
“I am very well, thank you. And yourself?”
“Pretty alright. Bit tired, but that’s to be expected, these days. Bloody weddings.”
“I hate to add to your burden,” Mycroft said, “but I do have a small request for you. If you’ve got a spare moment in the next few weeks.”
“For?”
“I must have something to wear to your wedding, Ellie. I thought you might assist me in making a selection.”
Ellie’s laugh warmed Mycroft’s entire body. “You just don’t want to shop alone,” she teased. “You know I won’t have a damn thing to say the whole time.”
“Perhaps,” Mycroft admitted. “But will you accompany me?”
“Of course I will. Tomorrow?”
Anthea would clear his schedule. He’d have the entire day emptied.
“Absolutely.”
Afterward, they went out for lunch. Greg met them at the restaurant—a slightly-greasy pizza place that Ellie favoured—and the three sat down to a happy, laughter-filled meal.
“Hey— Mycroft?”
“Yes?”
“You can say no,” Ellie began.
Mycroft already knew that, no matter her request, he would accept it.
“For the wedding… Dad’s giving me away. And Mum’s going to be there, though just to, like, be a guest.”
Mycroft waited patiently, letting her meander her way to the point. Greg did this too, sometimes, flying inward-spiralling circles around an issue until he found a comfortable, safe way to land on it.
“But I want you to be involved.”
Mycroft smiled, ducking his head. Thoughtful of her. Kind. He’d already been involved, though, likely more than he deserved. What could she be planning?
“Dad’s going to do a little dance time with me after the ceremony. After my real first dance, ‘course.”
Ah. Dance lessons. Of course. Greg had proved a difficult student, but he’d become a passable dancer in the last few years. Mycroft had always enjoyed it; he’d had rather a lot of fun attempting to teach Greg to stop stepping on his toes. He was certain Ellie would be a quick learner.
“Will you— Do one too? With me? Second, third, whatever dance? Father-daughter dance is tradition, yeah? Should get both my dads in there.” She grinned a little crookedly. A slightly bashful smile, a little tilt of the head. A nervous habit she’d picked up from her father. “Bet you’ll step on my feet less than Dad, too. I’ll need the break from toe-smashing. But you don’t have to.”
“Oi!” Greg sputtered, mock-offended, but neither of them really noticed.
“Of course I will,” Mycroft said, the words a bit startled out of him. “If it’s what you wish. Absolutely, Ellie.”
Father-daughter dance is tradition. Should get both my dads in there.
Mycroft had never quite realised that Ellie considered him a father. She’d said “stepdad” before, of course, but that meant little, did it not? He supposed he’d been around a while. Thirteen years was a fairly long time to know someone. Especially when many of those years were some of her formative times. He’d always thought of her as a daughter, but… well. It was a bit different when she wanted to dance with him. At her wedding. As one of her dads.
Mycroft realised then, rather belatedly, that he ought to check with Greg. He glanced to the side, feeling his face warm.
Greg just grinned back at him, though, the expression on his face soft and full of love.
It was all rather a dream, wasn’t it? This was… this was a family. This was their family. His family. Maybe dreams did come true from time to time.
Ellie’s smile brightened the entire restaurant. It might have brightened all of London, too. “Perfect,” she beamed. “That’s just beautiful. Right. Okay. We’re going to have to have lunch again. At mine, maybe? We’ll pick a song?”
Mycroft glowed. “Whatever you choose will no doubt be perfect,” he replied, “but I am always happy to spend time with you.”
Her smile softened just slightly, her eyes rounding a bit before she laughed. “Nah, you’re in charge of music. You’re the one with the good taste around here. Everybody knows that.”