A/N - doing one of those common things where the meet-the-parent chapter is split into two. Erm, should be alright. OH! I need to tell you all, since there was some confusion and I didn't actually realise there would be, there have been issues regarding the chapters and which ones show and which ones don't, and that is for the fact that on my phone (and most likely, I suppose, everyone else's), the 'save' button has been moved and in its place is the 'publish' button. Which is rather inconvenient if you ask me especially because once that button is pressed, it's done. It's published. So when that happened, I deleted the chapter and kept writing it as a draft. Also I intend on having this story finished on the 25th of December, and let's be honest here, I love writing too much to end these fan fictions there, so what next? What do you guys want to read?  Please let me know! I love you all x

-CHxxx

Greg

It was the night of meeting Mycroft's parents and I was a bit nervous. OK, I was so nervous that I felt like vomiting. I didn't know what to wear. 'They'll be really posh,' I thought to myself, 'I can't just show up in a t-shirt and shorts like I would with anyone else.'

"Why are you taking so long?" Anderson asked, looking up from his phone where he sat on his bed.

"Because," I said through gritted teeth, already annoyed, "I need to look good."

"You already do." I turned to look at Anderson, raising an eyebrow. "No homo, though," he quickly added.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, turning back to look at my clothes which were scattered around my bed and the floor surrounding it. My phone buzzed on my bed, sounding Mycroft's text alert. I dropped onto my bed and picked it up.

Nearly ready to go? My x

Almost. Are we going to be late? I responded quickly, biting my lip.

It'll be fine. Stop stressing. My x

I never said I was stressing.

I can feel it radiating off of you from the other side of the school, Greg. Chill out. My x

'Chill out?' Since when do you talk like that? I couldn't help but chuckle as I sent the message back, some of my stress leaving with its exhale.

Thought it sounded cool. Obviously I was mistaken. Meet me at the gates in ten. Your outfit will be fine, whatever you choose to wear. My parents are morons anyway, they'll not care. My x

I highly doubted they were morons. They were the parents of Mycroft Holmes, for goodness' sake. I opted for blue jeans and a mint coloured jumper over a white shirt, pulling the collar out. I looked in the bathroom window and combed my hair, watching as the loose curls fell back into place more tidily than beforehand.

"You look like someone I know," Anderson said as I came back out. "Who is it?" He pretended to think for a moment. "Oh yeah, my dad."

"Shut it, Phillip," I said, grabbing my leather coat, shoving my wallet and keys into its pocket before zipping it up. "Right, I'm off. I'll catch you later."

"Have fun, boy-toy."

I rolled my eyes and closed the door hard behind me.  I walked through the school towards the gates, and found most people had already gone for dinner. Some stragglers said hello to me as I passed them by and I greeted them politely before continuing on.

Mycroft was waiting in his car when I got to the gates, and I made sure no one was around before getting in the passenger seat. "You look amazing," Mycroft said as he started up the engine.

I took a look at him and sighed. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Exactly the sort of outfit I had deemed inappropriate for such an occasion. "So do you. But I feel a little over-dressed."

"Not at all," Mycroft said as he began to drive, placing a free hand on my thigh. "I think it's wonderful."

The journey was spent predominantly in a comfortable silence. I fidgeted in my seat slightly, getting nervous again.

"You'll be fine, Greg," Mycroft laughed as he turned into a nice, suburban street. He pulled up outside a large red house just as the front door opened. "Oh, for fucks sake," he growled, getting out. He stuck his head back in to tell me to wait where I was, before meeting the person who was coming out.

It was his brother, the gorgeous curly-haired guy. What was his name? Shylock or something. Judging by his sour expression, he probably did want a pound of flesh too.

I strained my ears to hear what was being said.

"What the fuck are you still doing here?" Mycroft was asking.

"It's my house, Mycroft. What are you doing here?" Shylock retorted. His eyes flickered over to me where I sat watching from the car. A smirk played across his lips. "Oh."

"Piss off, Sherlock-" oh, Sherlock "-or so help me," Mycroft warned, placing a harsh hand on his brother's shoulder, getting menacingly close.

The boy managed to push out of his reach and ran towards the car. He threw the door open. "He'll get sick of you real quick, trust me. Leave him while you're ahead. You're nothing but a toy for him." His eyes widened slightly as Mycroft threw him away. The boy stumbled but remained on his feet.

"Fuck off, you stupid twat," Mycroft hissed. He turned back to me, his eyes still cold and admittedly incredibly intimidating, "Come on Greg, don't worry about him. He's a tosspot."

I slowly got out of the car, Sherlock's words still stuck in my mind. "You're nothing but a toy to him..."

Mycroft took my hand in his and turned his eyes back to his brother. "See you at Baskerville, asshole."

Mycroft led me to the house and opened the door. He gently pushed me in and then shut the door and locked it, locking Sherlock out.

"Sorry about that," Mycroft murmured right as his parents came to greet us.

My throat was already tightened from earlier with an unquenchable feeling of illness and unworthiness. It only intensified the moment I saw his parents. They too were impossibly elegant. Mycroft's mother was beautiful. She had blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes that resembled her younger son's. Her lips were painted a delicate red, but other than that she wore no makeup, boasting - albeit modestly - a natural beauty that was hard to ignore. His father was incredibly handsome too. His eyes were a nice green colour - definitely where Mycroft inherited them from - and his hair was a light brown colour, gently greying at the sides. Both his parents seemed untouchable in regards to the affects of aging because despite being middle-aged, they were still both far more attractive than every single student at Baskerville, myself included. 

"Hello, Darling," Mycroft's mother grinned at me, holding her arms out to hug me. 

"Hello," I replied almost sheepishly, allowing the woman to engulf me into a hug, surrounding me in the smell of her sweet perfume. 

"Mum," Mycroft hissed. "Stop that."

"No, no, it's fine. Seriously," I said. "It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Holmes. I'm Greg Lestrade." 

Mycroft's father reached in, hand extending. I took it in mine and tried my hardest not to cringe at his strength. I was a rugby player and even I had to admire the strength of Mr. Holmes' hands. "It's a pleasure, sir," I said politely. 

"Nonsense," Mr. Holmes laughed dismissively. "The pleasure is all ours. It's not often Mycroft brings a... partner home to meet the parents." He leaned in closer to whisper in my ear, mock-conspiratorially. "I think we embarrass him."

I laughed as he pulled away, and Mycroft shot me a look. I could tell he was nervous. "Well, personally, I think you're both doing a wonderful job already."

As if to prove his father's point, Mycroft spoke up. "I swear, you better not be saying anything bad about me, Father."

Mr. Holmes rolled his eyes. "As if I would."

"Come through to the kitchen, Love. I'm making lasagna. Mycroft said it's your favourite."

"It is," I agreed. "I'm really looking forward to it. Thanks so much."

"It's no problem at all, dear. Mycroft, why don't you show Greg around while your father and I keep cooking?"

Mycroft sighed. "Yes, Mummy. Come along, Greg."

The house was wonderful, as could only be expected. There were bookshelves in every room with the most extraordinary variety of books. There was everything from university level Mathematics textbooks to The Velveteen Rabbit. These books were on a shelf in the living room, and I pointed them out to Mycroft. 

"Jennifer Holmes... That's not..." My voice trailed off in case I was wrong. 

"My mother, yes."

"She's a mathematician?"

"She is exceptionally good with numbers, yes."

I regarded Mycroft for a moment. "And that doesn't phase you?"

"Not in the slightest," he blinked.

"... Right. And what about The Velveteen Rabbit? Whose book is that?"

"That's Mummy's, too. She loves it. The Little Match Girl is her second favourite. I believe there's a copy in the library and another in Mummy's study, if I remember correctly."

"That's awesome."

"Disgusting and unnecessary sentiment, if you ask me."

I rolled my eyes and playfully bumped my shoulder against Mycroft's. "Well you would say that, wouldn't you?"

"Whatever, Cheeky. Anyway, come with me. I'll show you my bedroom."