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“Anthea?” Greg was surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?” Greg signed up for a hair styling class for parents. His daughter kept demanding intricate braids from him and Greg was even struggling with a ponytail.
“Getting tortured,” she didn’t look up from her phone.
“Didn’t know you had a kid”
“I don’t.”
“Then,”
“My boss blackmailed me into coming.”
“You are well compensated for your troubles, Anthea.” Mycroft spoke behind them.
“Mycroft!” Greg smiled at him. “Do you have a secret daughter I'm unaware of?”
“Of course not. But have you seen Rosamund’s hair? It’s a disaster and as a dutiful uncle I have to intervene.”
“She is lucky to have you,” Greg smiled, remembering how reluctant Mycroft was to interact with her in the beginning.
“She needs someone sane in her life,” Mycroft agreed.
Anthea coughed into her hand, clearly covering a laugh.
“Where is your model Gregory?” Mycroft ignored her.
“Meet Cindy,” Greg patted the mannequin head. “No one was willing to come,” he admitted quietly.
Mycroft’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the plastic figure. “She has rather judgmental eyes for someone with no body.”
Greg chuckled. "No, she is a very good listener. No judgement, no arguments,” Greg teased, brushing a strand of synthetic hair. “We’ve grown quite close.”
Mycroft gave Cindy a dark look, then adjusted her position, turning her face away from Greg.
“I still don’t understand why she has to smile like that,” he murmured.
“She’s encouraging me."
"And I, your actual boyfriend, don't?"
"Of course you do, love. You are my number one supporter,"
“Stop flirting, you are embarrassing me,” Anthea muttered.
Greg grinned, taking Mycroft’s arm. “Will you sit next to me?” he asked, staring into his eyes.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Anthea left them with a grunt.
“She’s going to make us pay for this,” Mycroft sighed. “But worth it,” he kissed Greg. “I’m actually relieved that you are here. I,”
“You are being very brave, Mycroft.” Greg knew Mycroft’s anxiety prevented him from going out. “Surely you knew I’ll be here.”
“You only said you weren’t available today.”
“Yeah but you are…you. My all knowing boyfriend,” Greg kissed him.
“If the two dads would kindly join us,” the instructor called, “We’ll begin.”
“Apologies,” Mycroft mumbled, his ears burning.
Later, as they followed along, Greg caught sight of Mycroft’s hopelessly lopsided braid in the mirror.
“That’s adorable.” Greg teased. Anthea glared at them through the mirror
“Like yours is any better!” Mycroft snapped at him. He was frustrated with himself for not being able to do the braid perfectly. “She makes it look effortless,”
“Practice makes perfect,”
“I always succeed on the first try,”
“No always,” Greg reminded him.
Mycroft mumbled something unintelligible, clearly remembering their first kiss. It hadn’t gone smoothly.
“Why are you really doing this, Gregory?” Mycroft asked suddenly.
“That’s not fair,” Greg grunted.
Mycroft just waited. “Fine…Jenna said she wants to live with me,”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Move in with me!”
“What?”
“Big house, garden, good school district, surely it would help your case. And I’d love to have you, both of you.”
“Mycroft, love, slow down.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while,” he admitted. “Just never found the right time.”
“I’d love to live with you, but…It’s not going to be easy, nor nice.”
“I’m aware.”
“She won’t let her go without a fight and she fights nasty. Believe me,” Greg sighed.
“I remember,” Mycroft’d seen Greg agree to every awful term in that divorce. “You might get dragged into it as well.”
“Let her try,” Mycroft smiled coldly.
“Are you really ready to go through it?”
“Are you?”
“Honestly,” Greg sighed, putting down the comb. “I'm terrified but for her…I’ll do anything.”
“Then we’ll do that. Together,”
“I can already see the overtime I have to do.” Anthea sighed.
“It’s for a good cause, my dear.”
“We’ll discuss the terms on Monday, Lestrade. You are lucky my boss is paying.” Greg looked at Mycroft questioningly.
“Your lawyer,” he whispered.
“You two better practice harder,”
Anthea examined Mycroft’s newest attempt at a braid and shook her head. “That poor child’s going to run crying back to her mother if either of you touch her hair.”
“Yes Ma’am.” they answered in unison