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Mycroft Holmes blinked at the name that showed up on his private phone.
Hudson
Having previously only gone through his assistant, Anthea - even in emergencies, it was the very first time the woman had ever been so bold to contact him directly. He supposed he should have been upset that she even knew this number, but the more he had come to know the woman over the years, the less surprised he had become of her wily ways. He suspected she might have been an excellent agent, damn sure a fantastic honeypot - going by her photos alone, had Fate, Karma and Universe decided to guide her that way. Alas, she was placed where those Powers-That-Be knew she would be most needed when the time came; and every instinct told Mycroft this was about more than just his little brother.
“If I may be so bold, I’m taking care of all my boys, and I need your help.”
That was how the unexpected phone conversation began without preamble that had him conveniently send Sherlock and John on a case out of London so he could sit at her kitchen table, for the first time.
Well, by her knowledge and invitation that is.
“Are you sure about this?” Mycroft had asked as he stood to leave at what he thought was the conclusion of their business nearly two hours later. No, she was only just beginning.
It was the conversation they had afterward, that stayed on his mind.
“I said I’m taking care of ALL my boys, Mycroft Holmes. And, yes, that includes you, you git.” She had smiled fondly at what even he knew had to have been an expression of incredulousness on his face. “You may have never needed anything from me, it doesn’t mean that I cannot see that you are a man in need nonetheless.”
Mycroft deduced her quickly; genuinely surprised by the honesty found and is honored, that despite their very brusque relationship over the years, she considered even him one of her boys. That alone kept the biting “What could I possibly need from you?” of his thoughts from falling from his lips.
Still, he is Mycroft. “Being called a git is better than being called a reptile, I suppose.”
“1- You know you had that coming with your abominable behavior that day. 2- I know you know better, than to try to pull a power play like that, in my own home? Please!” She snorted, wholly unapologetic. “Finally, I can do something bold where maybe you will listen to this old woman for once and then you may go.”
She looked pointedly at the still empty chair and sipped her herbal soother.
Mycroft ignored her little smirk as he gracefully slid back into the chair.
Mycroft wanted to bolt as he listened to the truths the shockingly observant and very wise older woman told. He quickly knew where the conversation was going. He knew. Yet he could not get over how this petite woman who has dared to gainsay him, to tease him and yet command his respect in a way so very few could, has managed to know what he has been too much of a coward to admit even to himself.
Some weeks later Mycroft stood beside another of Mrs. Hudson's boys, Gregory Lestrade. They had just finished dinner and waited outside for Mycroft's sedan to pull up and drop Greg off at his place on the way home.
Mycroft’s thoughts had been a mix of secrets and truths the surprisingly observant woman told of himself and of the man beside him now. Only when Gregory had gently poked at his arm that he realized his name had been called more than once.
"You have seemed just a smidge preoccupied at dinner tonight." Gregory nudged him.
"Apologies." Mycroft gave him a half-smile. "An unusual amount on my mind of late."
"Anything minor I can help analyze? Lighten the load a little?" Gregory smiled warmly as they climbed into the sedan and it pulled away from curb.
It was an unspoken truth that they were both aware of the true nature of Mycroft's occupation. Saying he was an analyst was such a misnomer. He knew Gregory knew that so much of what Mycroft did was covered by the National Secrets Act as to be laughable to even pretend to discuss it. Still, Mycroft knew it was an honest request and was touched that Gregory asked. He knew Gregory was more than willing to be the sounding board for any little bit Mycroft could give if he thought it would help.
"Actually, there is something... If I may be so bold?" Mycroft smiled as he reached for a bottle of water and decided to take a chance on an old lady’s truth.
“Yeah?” Gregory watched the streets of London pass his window as they rode, and raised a curious brow.
"It has been brought to my attention, that there are two men secretly in love with each other.” Mycroft took a nervous sip of water, “And it is not just my brother and John Watson."
Gregory's slowly turned to face Mycroft with understandable caution. "Oh?"
Mycroft took it as a good sign in that Gregory did not immediately deny anything to save face, though it was clear by the anxiety and hope that filled his, he innately understood where this was going.
“I’d like to cut to the chase and avoid the nonsense of those two idiots at Baker Street by asking if I may call you something that I have wanted to for a very long time now…” Mycroft took the chance.
Greg stared at him a moment. Mycroft could see as the fear and hope were overridden by the relief and happiness that then graced Gregory’s rugged features.
“If I may be so bold as to think it is simpatico to what I have wanted to call you. What do you want to call me, Mycroft Holmes?” Greg asked softly.
With relief, anticipation, and gratitude in knowing Mrs. Hudson was right about all of her boys, Mycroft took Gregory’s hand in his and went boldly for it. “Gregory Lestrade, I’d like to call you… Mine.”
“I have called you mine in my heart for over a year Mycroft,” Greg beamed as he took the hand that held his and brought it to his lips, “I would be much delighted to do so in words and actions at last.”
The bold words were put to gentle actions with their first kiss.
Barely two weeks later, Mycroft responded to a phone call from John Watson.
“Please come you fucking bastard. She…she wanted you here.”
Thus Mycroft found himself in Mrs. Hudson’s immaculate kitchen once again.
Seeing Gregory already there only caused a momentary quirked brow. Mycroft knew that Mrs. Hudson considered him one of her boys, Gregory surely would be there as well. He was not in the least surprised to find his brother and John Watson already seated at the table. Nor that John held the keys, while a barely stoic Sherlock clutched the opened envelope that contained the deed granting one William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Doctor John Hamish Watson joint ownership of the entire property located at 221 Baker Street, including Speedy’s.
The document had already been signed by all the necessary parties, though the two recipients had not known of it, until the death of one Martha Louise Hudson, née Sissons nearly a week ago.
For several weeks, only she and her oncologists had known as they slowly increased her ‘herbal soothers’ to make it easier to bear. As things progressed Mrs. Hudson called Mycroft to set things in motion and had sworn him to secrecy not wanting Sherlock and John to fret and worry over her. Mycroft had kept the occupants of 221b busy, but not busy enough. When John asked if she were feeling well and stared hard as he looked her over one evening, Mrs. Hudson knew then things had progressed to where she could no longer hide it from the doctor.
John had come home from his surgery shift and saw the tea service she brought upstairs each morning for Sherlock was still in their sitting room. He cleaned the set and brought it downstairs to discover the slightly ajar door of 221a. John found her lying across her bed. He called Sherlock first and waited for him to come say his goodbyes before they called 999. Because of the cameras in 221b, Mycroft had been notified through his people. He had awaited Sherlock’s call when John called with her final summons instead.
Mrs. Hudson left this world as she had lived in it – on her own terms.
She had left the deed addressed to Sherlock and John on the kitchen table. The two finally opened it and discovered another envelope addressed to all four men with instructions for it to be read together. That was when John called him.
John was serving tea from her favorite set when he arrived - it seemed fitting somehow. Sherlock looked up as Mycroft entered the kitchen.
“You knew… You and your calling in a favor for a trite case, keeping us busy… You bloody KNEW!” His voice was thick, glottal with emotion.
"Yes." He answered unapologetically.
Both envelopes were thrown to the table in front of Mycroft as he sat next to Greg who took his hand under the table.
“Sherlock…please.” John grasped Sherlock’s arm. “Pot. Kettle.”
Sherlock took a breath, took John’s hand in his and kissed John’s fingers before placing their joined hands on the table. It was an automatic gesture between lovers, the move of a partner in need of comfort. Sherlock had given his action no thought until he remembered his brother and Greg sat across from him. Sherlock flicked his eyes to Mycroft that all but dared him to say anything about the open acknowledgement of the changed relationship between him and the doctor.
Mycroft simply held up his own hand being held by Greg and placed their joined hands on top of the table as well. Greg smiled warmly at John and Sherlock as John beamed at him and Greg all of their truths literally on the table.
At their silent nods of agreement, Mycroft opened the envelope with their names written on it and began to read it out loud.
My Dear Boy,
I spoke with you, but I know you…
The four men looked to one another in understanding she meant each of them.
You are among the absolute bravest men I know when it comes to dealing with the evils out here in the world. Yet somehow, you are the most utter shite of men when it comes to dealing your own heart.
All gave a small chuckle of acknowledgment to that truth.
Sherlock took the letter from his brother and continued to read it aloud.
I may not know a lot of things, but I know you have let past hurts, past tragedies define you. You have let the fear of being hurt to try to block yourself from ever loving someone again and from being loved by someone again – at least you’ve tried to. I have news for you: despite your best efforts you have failed.
He loves you desperately, you know this.
You love him just as much. Trust me, he knows this.
Mycroft gently smiled at Greg, never so grateful to have failed at something before in his life. Across the table a meaningful look, also accepting of their respective failure, is shared between John and Sherlock as well.
John took the letter from Sherlock and continued…
You have wanted him from afar, now he is close… Touch him.
He sits next to you right now… Kiss him.
It is four shy smiles that pulled away as they happily followed the instructions given.
John handed the letter to Gregory to finish…
Now tell him you love him, dear boy. I promise you he will always say it back and he will always mean it.
Still not your housekeeper,
Matchmaker Emeritus.Mrs. Hudson
PS: I love you all my dear boys, now be bold take your respective other and show him all the ways you will love him for the rest of your lives.
BUT NOT IN MY FLAT!
Greg did an excellent job of imitating her chastising voice and they all softly laughed.
“She wrote it here. It should stay with you.” Greg placed the letter back in its envelope and handed it to Sherlock.
"But you two were included as well, you should have a copy." John pointed out.
“We’ll keep the original, I will send a copy tomorrow.” Sherlock offered.
“Thank you, Brother Mine.” Mycroft accepted.
It fell comfortably quiet as Mrs. Hudson’s boys stood and slowly filed out of 221a Baker Street.
John and Sherlock to go upstairs. Greg and Mycroft to Mycroft’s townhouse.
The fulfilment of Mrs. Hudson’s final request of her boys is completed by dawn.