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Mycroft knew that buying a tea set for a three-year-old was rather excessive but it did not stop him spending two hours selecting the perfect tea set for his niece.
He did not want anything that was too garish and he utterly refused to buy anything with Peppa Pig on it. Mycroft could never understand why Rosie enjoyed it so much or why his brother and John allowed her to watch it when there were far more educational and superior things to watch on the television.
It was a full tea set that he had chosen for Rosie, complete with spoons, a milk jug, sugar bowl, and a cake stand. The set was stored in a horrendous bright pink wicker basket which his niece had naturally adored.
Mycroft found it rather difficult to keep the smirk off his face when Rosie had neglected all of her other presents and was fascinated with the tea set. His brother had gotten rather fussy when Rose had ignored the junior chemistry set that was most definitely not age-appropriate for a three-year-old and the books on pirates.
“She only likes that stupid tea set as it’s pink,” Sherlock grumbled when they were in the kitchen. “It is an awful present. What child needs a tea set?
“A child that is going to have good manners,” Mycroft replied. “I doubt that you are going to teach Rosamund basic etiquette or the joy of afternoon tea.”
“I’m convinced that you only bought my daughter a tea set as it gives you the perfect excuse to gorge yourself on cream tea and scones,” Sherlock said.
For once, Mycroft did not allow himself to be bothered by his comment, instead, he found himself rather distracted by Gregory Lestrade, who was assisting Rosie set up her tea set on the coffee table. There was a vice-like feeling in his heart, a warm feeling ran through him almost as if he had just taken a long sip of hot tea. He usually experienced when he looked at Greg, even more so when he saw Greg interact with his niece.
The first time that he had experienced that feeling, Mycroft wondered if it was a rare symptom of a heart attack or he was experiencing heartburn. He had come to the conclusion that his frozen heart was melting and he was becoming soft.
Mycroft often wondered these days if becoming soft was a symptom of middle age.
Mycroft did not attempt to hide his smirk once he caught a glimpse of Rosie placing her stuffed animals on the coffee table and trying to set up her tea set. He frowned to himself as he noticed that Rosie placed the spoon on the wrong side of the saucer. He knew that she was only three, but it would be an embarrassing mistake to make in later life.
“My!” Rosie shouted to him, waving a sticky hand in the air beckoning him over. “My!”
Mycroft wrinkled up his nose and hesitated for a moment. It was the first time that Rosie had really been interested in him and she usually insisted on being carried by Sherlock at all times. The only exception was when Greg visited and then Rosie was constantly attached to him, he pulled strange faces and always sat on the floor and played games with her.
Greg smiled at him encouragingly and shuffled on the floor and cleared a space for him.
Without a second thought or little care towards his suit getting wrinkled, Mycroft sat on the floor next to Greg and the stuffed bee that Greg had gifted Rosie. Without a moment of reluctance, Mycroft started to instruct his niece on the proper etiquette on how to stir tea, even if it was imaginary and started the debate with Greg if it was cream or jam on first on a scone.
Afternoon tea with his niece had quickly become one of Mycroft’s favourite activities with his niece. He often wondered if this was middle age making him soft each time he laid out the tea set on the wooden dining room table in the garden when the weather permitted it.
He often pretended that having Rosie dropped on the doorstep by her fathers was a somewhat unpleasant task for appearance’s sake. It would be far too embarrassing to admit to his brother than he enjoyed spending time with his niece. She had quickly made her way on top of the very small list of people who he adored. He would never confess that information to anyone other than Greg.
After Rosie’s birthday party and how well received the tea set was by his niece, Mycroft dusted off the old tea set that was in the cupboard and brought it out each time Rosie visited. He didn’t worry too much about it being broken, it was a gift from his mother and somewhat hideous. Rosie was far too gentle with it despite only being a child.
Mycroft would set up the table for himself, Rosie, four stuffed bears, and a bee each weekend without any hesitation. Rosie would be dressed in her best princess costume and Mycroft made sure that he was dressed in his best suit, nothing else would do and it was only the best for his niece.
He had tried to engage Rosie in conversation about the events in the newspaper or politics that he deemed suitable for a child, he had never worked out the best way to communicate with her and talked to her as if she was an adult, but the only miniature.
Rosie was never too interested in conversation and was more focused on smearing cream on her face. Mycroft did found himself rather amused when Rosie would shout ‘bad,’ or ‘idiot,’ when the Prime Minister came up in conversation.
Mycroft had attempted to teach her manners with some level of success, she knew when to use a napkin and say please and thank you after he poured lemonade from the teapot, but always ended up covered in cream and jam and covered the table in crumbs.
He had more luck teaching Rosie manners than what he did in his attempts to teach her French. Rosie had a lack of interest in learning French when Mycroft had attempted to teach her when she visited. He had been utterly horrified to discover that she only had an interest in the language when Peppa Pig had the French audio on. The suffering that he experienced when watching it was unbearable!
It was over afternoon tea that Mycroft was convinced that he had decided that he adored someone. It had happened to him two times. Mycroft did not understand what it was about tea sets, finger sandwiches, and cream scones that gave him that revelation. He always assumed that it was a very British and proper manner of when it came to matters and it suited Mycroft perfectly well, thank you very much.
The first time was at Rosie’s third birthday party when he sat on the floor while his niece had poured out imaginary tea for him and tried to insist that he eat a biscuit, and attempted to feed him when he refused in order maintain his waistline.
Mycroft was not entirely sure what happened that afternoon and he had experienced a strange feeling in his chest when Rosie was heartbroken when he had to leave and each time she called him ‘My.’ He had never liked the nickname but he had grown somewhat fond of it recently. He wondered if it was middle age when Rosie placed her sticky hands on his shirt and kissed his cheek.
When he was in the car, Mycroft had firmly decided that he had firmly adored his niece, and he simply could not understand why he did not do so already. He had never been fond of children, or most humans in fact, but he discovered that he was more willing to make exceptions these days. This affection had only grown stronger when his brother had left the child on his doorstep at least twice a month and afternoon teas had become a highlight of Mycroft’s calendar.
The second time that Mycroft had decided that he adored someone over afternoon involved Gregory Lestrade.
It was hardly the most dramatic revelation that Mycroft had experienced in his life. The idea that he was in love with Greg had been on his mind for some time. It was over afternoon tea, Mycroft had come to the very firm conclusion that he was in love.
It was hardly a momentous act that made Mycroft had come to that conclusion but it somehow meant the world to Mycroft.
Mycroft had been irritatingly been called into the office on the afternoon that he was meant to be having afternoon tea with his niece despite his very firm instructions that he would not be bothered on that occasion unless a world war was about to happen or if the matter involved the Queen.
He had tried to resolve the matter on the phone with little success and his mood only seemed to get more foul the longer he dealt with idiots on the telephone. He reluctantly agreed to go into the office as he simply refused to be in an awful mood in front of his niece, it was not gentlemanlike.
Greg had thankfully agreed to look after Rosie on his behalf, he was the only logical replacement, the two of them did live together, Greg had the day off and Rosie simply adored him.
The gesture itself was kind and done with a lot of care, however, Mycroft did not decide that he was in love with that one.
It was something far less significant than that that helped Mycroft reach that conclusion.
He had come home from the office to the smell of baked goods. There was a plate of scones on a wire tray cooling and a victoria sponge on a cake stand, several slices were taken out. This was hardly anything unusual and it was a fairly common occurrence ever since Greg started to live with him on a somewhat permanent basis.
He could hear Rosie animatedly chatting and giggling away in the dining room. It was a sound that always put Mycroft in a good mood regardless of how large his workload was or if he was in a foul mood after dealing with the idiots in government.
He removed his coat and put down his briefcase before he walked into the dining room. It was at that moment when Mycroft felt the sudden need to say those three words.
The dining room table was decorated in the horrid tea set that was from the back of the cupboard. The table was laden with cakes, biscuits, and finger sandwiches. Rosie was dressed in her best princess dress and Greg had attempted to style her hair with a limited level of success.
Rosie was attempting to feed a cream scone to Bumbly the Bee and dab the toy’s mouth with a napkin. She possibly had more jam and cream on her face and her clothes than what was on the scone but she had little concern about the state of her dress.
Greg was dressed up in his best suit that he wore for court dates, there was a spot of jam on his tie. He had a stuffed bear in his hand and was using it as a puppet, speaking to Rosie in a stupid voice. She burst into fits of giggles with almost every sentence and she attempted to feed Greg half of a scone, smearing cream on his nose.
Mycroft was not sure why it was at that moment that he felt the sudden need to tell that he loved him.
Mycroft had never believed in signs from the universe or any nonsense like that. For the first time in his life, he had the feeling as if the universe was giving him the sign that Greg was a very good thing in his life and that he should do his best to keep him in it.
“My!” Rosie squealed once she had noticed him, reaching a hand over to summon him over to the table.
“I hope that you don’t mind too much that I took over afternoon tea,” Greg said. “I couldn’t let Rosie go without.”
Mycroft walked over to the table and pressed a kiss on the top of his niece’s head. He did not frown as Rosie wiped her hands on his suit jacket instead of her napkin. He felt that there were more pressing matters to do than his suit.
“I am glad that you are more willing to spoil Rosamund as much as I am,” Mycroft said with a smile. “I am sure that you would complain to your fathers horrifically if you didn’t get your scones.”
Rosie giggled and shoved her scone in Greg’s face.
Mycroft could not help but chuckle and dabbed the cream off Greg’s nose across the table. The warm feeling spread from his chest and settled in his middle, a vice-like the feeling of happiness latched around his heart.
Greg stood up and picked up the teapot and kissed his cheek, smearing a trace of cream onto Mycroft’s face. “I’ll go and get a new pot on for you.”
Mycroft attempted to entertain Rosie over the table with the events that called him to the office. He knew that she probably did not understand or care much for politics but he felt the need to justify why he had to leave, it was the polite thing to do.
He pulled out a pen from his pen and scribbled three words onto the doily that was on Greg’s empty plate. It was probably the most impulsive thing that he had ever done in his entire life and it was not the way that he imagined telling Greg.
He hoped that Greg would not mind too much.
When Greg sat down and reached over for scone, he let out a gasp and dropped the horrendous china cup that he was drinking from.