Chapter Text
Sherlock never imagined that one day he'd get him, his brother and The Girl in the same room again. The best part: she was meeting their parents. Mycroft simply sulked and eyed her warily the whole time she ate her fish fillet in peace and grace.
"He has never mentioned you before, why is that?" Mummy asked. Irene smiled thinly, remembering. "Your son and I had a..." she stopped to think of the perfect word to choose, "fickle relationship before finally making up." Mycroft shook his head with dismay. "Fickle," he mused and sharply stabbed the fish with his knife. His younger brother tried so hard to stop falling to the ground from laughter. "Yes," he said, taking his glass of water, "if you put it that way." She turned to him and looked at him , "But I did get the best side out of him did I?"
"The worst."
"Excuse me?" she questioned to the brother. "I said you brought the worst out of my brother and you continue to do so," Mycroft replied plainly. "Oh shush you," his mother ordered. "He's never been this happy ever since" -she paused before speaking- "well, you both know." His brother went back to sulking. She continued to talk. "By the way, I didn't know your son loved to dance."
Sherlock choked on his water.
The father chuckled, "Oh he does?" The Girl smiled even more. "He invites me to watch boring dance recitals and has even thought of taking ballet lessons with me." Now it was his brother's turn to smile despite himself. "Ballet, little brother?" Mycroft laughed. Sherlock sank into his seat, trying to hide his scarlet face with his curls. "It was a thought," he spat. His brother wasn't done yet. "Please do tell us about all your rendezvouz together," he said to Irene.
She raised her brow with intrigue. She looked at Sherlock to see his reaction. "You will get under my skin if you do," he warned.
She smirked. "I like the sound of that."
His mother dropped her fork. Silence wrapped around all of them. Irene stayed aloof as if she hasn't said a word.
Mycroft cleared his throat. "Well, I think we've all lost our appetite," he stated and stood up. "Mother, Father, won't you kindly come with me to watch the telly?" They obliged, taken aback by their son's girlfriend's words. As Mycroft led them out of the dining room, he whispered to Sherlock, "You owe me this time."
"How much do I owe, brother mine?"
"Two favours and a hundred quid." He slammed the door behind it. Irene then leaned in closer to Sherlock. "We're finally having dinner together. Alone."
He knew where she wanted to lead this so he stalled, "You left an interesting impression to my parents." She snickered, "Something to think about before going to bed." The word rolled off her tongue. "And how do you plan to do that?" he asked.
She had him. "I always have a plan, dear."