THREE WEEKS LATER

It was a cold, blustery Saturday that Mycroft Holmes found himself stood by the sidelines of an AstroTurf pitch, holding a mug of coffee, surrounded by parents cheering on their children. There were a few people he recognised from work and other governmental departments that he had fleeting dealings with. But the weather and the questioning looks didn't bother him. For the whole week leading up to the match, Bertie had not stopped going on about how Mycroft was going to watch him play football. That was all that mattered to him.

However, if you thought that Mycroft was going through this alone, you would be wrong. He had bullied his younger brother into coming along as well. Sherlock was stood moaning beside him, while Mycroft ignored him. He knew Greg and Lexie would be joining them after her dance rehearsal before she went back that afternoon.

"Why are we here, Mycroft?" asked Sherlock

"I am here supporting my son," Mycroft explained, "You are here to support your nephew."

"Why isn't Greg doing this? He's the proactive parent?"

"We had… words… and decided that I needed to be more involved."

Sherlock looked at him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, you were clearly going to say something. What was it?"

"I'm just… surprised that's all." Never put you down as the caring sort, you never were when we were children."

"People change."

"Hmm…" Sherlock turned his attention back to his nephew. "Oh, it looks like they are about to start playing."

"Kick-off, Sherlock, I believe it is called kick-off."

"Yes that." Sherlock scanned the sea of small children, "Where is he anyway?"

"I believe he's player number one, or at least that's the number on his shirt."

Sherlock grinned, "Oh, by the way, John wants me to invite you all to Rosie's birthday party. Especially Lexie, Rosie said Lexie had to be there."

Mycroft smiled, "Please inform Doctor Watson that we shall be there."

"Hello you two!" came the voice of Greg Lestrade.

Mycroft and Sherlock spun round to see Greg and Alexandra walking towards them. Well, you say walking, it looked more like Alex was hanging off Lestrade's arm as they approached.

"Lexie!" Mycroft called and the now 9 year old child ran toward him. He picked her up and gave her a hug. "Say hello to your Uncle Sherlock."

"Hi Uncle Sherlock." Alex smiled, leaning across her father to give Sherlock a hug. Sherlock patted her on the back and replied,

"Hello Lexie."

"How was dance?" asked Mycroft.

"It was really good thank you. We managed to get the whole way through the party scene."

"That's good."

"RUN BERTIE! GO ON, RUN!" shouted Greg. He turned back to Mycroft, "She's being modest. She did very well. Myc, you should see her. She's got real talent."

Mycroft smiled at his daughter in his arms, "I promise, I'll come see the finished performance."

"Really?" asked Alex, hardly daring to believe it.

"Really." Replied Mycroft.

"Mycroft, you couldn't make it through the opening act of Les Miserables without asking me to rescue you. Ballet will be a lot worse, no talking only music." Sherlock said, looking at his brother in disbelief.

"I think I'll be able to manage." Mycroft replied, still looking at Alex, "Don't you?"

She nodded and the group of them turned their attention back to the football match in time to see Bertie score a goal.

"YES!" shouted Greg, punching the air.

Sherlock was deafened by his niece screaming in his ear in delight. Even Mycroft shouted, "WELL DONE SON!" Bertie ran over and Greg picked him up. They joined Mycroft who was still holding Alex.

"Did you see me Dad? Did you?" he asked looking at Mycroft, his eyes wide, breathless with excitement.

"I did!" replied Mycroft, "I'm proud of you Bertie."

Greg put him down as the Ref blew the whistle, he then went and stood by Mycroft and Alex, his arm wrapping round Mycroft's waist.

They were going to be okay.

That's all that mattered.

THE END