Work Text:
Victoria Embankment park was curiously quiet, even despite Mycroft’s adamance that it was not his doing. The family easily found their little slice of play space, tucked amongst conifers where the boys could be herded if necessary, but it didn’t seem likely to happen.
Lock was younger than Jawn today, toddling about to poke, intrigued, at the flower beds, ignoring his fathers’ behests to not pick at any flora. Jawn idly sat at his papa’s side, slurping noisily at a juice pouch, content to sit and observe. Papa had brought with them a wonderful spread, the kind Greg had dreamed of as a young boy, complete with jams and tiny knives for spreading. Holmes unpacked the food, unravelling sandwiches to peck at first, setting out plates and napkins as daddy followed Lock around.
“Oi, out your mouth, that’s not for eating!” Greg growled, tone playful, snatching a leaf from Lock’s weak grasp. The little boy gasped in brief shock until his face contorted into a grin, and he hummed, reaching out to daddy for a cuddle. “Come on, papa’s got some real food for us to eat.”
“Daddy, look!” Jawn chirped. “Cream!”
Mycroft’s lip twitched into a smile as his partner and other son joined them. “Not for now, darling, have a bite of your sandwich, look, it’s cheese.”
“Cream?” Jawn inquired, the tub still clutched in his hand.
“Yes, that is cream. Look, you like cheese.” Jawn did, and dropped the tub into papa’s awaiting palm to scoot closer to his plate. Lock sidled up to his brother, wide eyed and mouth-breathing as he attempted to slyly steal his brother’s food.
“No, Lock, that’s Jawn’s.” Greg chastised - they’d barely arrived ten minutes prior and he’d already lost count of how many times Lock had been chided. “Come sit with daddy.”
One child settled, the other plopping down into his father’s lap, Mycroft could finally breathe. It had already been a whirlwind adventure getting to the park, and now they were here he could spend a moment relaxing, easing coiled muscles. He leant back on his palms and tipped his face up to the sun in an uncharacteristic indulgence, eyes closing. Greg flashed him a look of worry, one he did not see, and continued to wrestle food, not grass, into Lock’s mouth.
“You okay, Jawn?” Greg asked, and Mycroft opened his eyes to check, but nothing was amiss. Jawn hummed, munching at some crisp, and wait, how did he get hold of those? I hid them - but Jawn just grinned, so cheeky and unabashed that Mycroft couldn’t help but melt.
“‘S nice, huh?” Jawn nodded, popping another crisp into his mouth as he clambered to papa’s lap on all fours, arms up in request. Obliging, Mycroft settled them both, dragging Jawn’s crisp packet closer to finish. He wasn’t hungry yet - was having a splendid time basking in the sunshine; his kids were happy, his partner was happy, so he was happy.
Daddy wasn’t having such a relaxing time, however. Lock was too keyed-up to sit still, squirming and whinging when he wasn’t allowed to eat the handful of dandelion leaves he’d snatched up. Eventually, daddy gave up and allowed him to try one. Yes! Lock thought. Finally! And then he bit down and regretted every life choice.
“Ew, ew daddy, help!” Greg laughed heartily, scraping the leaf from his tongue and shoving the tip of a paper straw in between his lips to wash out the taste. An ‘I told you so’ was a gratification he’d have to indulge internally, for it would only end in Lock’s tears and an infamous Mycroft glower.
“Ew Lock eat a leaf! That’s yucky!” Jawn squawked, pointing in Lock’s direction. Mycroft shushed in his ear, slipping an apple slice into Jawn’s mouth - they didn’t want to attract any curious Londoners, after all.
Daddy laughed a second time and nodded. “I did warn him, Jawn, but does Locky ever listen?”
“Nope!” Jawn chirped so cutely that not even Lock argued. Instead, he huffed, arms crossed, and opened his mouth for daddy to feed him the rest of his sandwich.
The sunshine and excitement of being little in a public space prevented the boys from peace, and after fifteen minutes of the slowest eating Mycroft had ever witnessed - and he’d endured hours of dinners with egotistical politicians - the group collectively gave up. Most of the food had been consumed, the rest wrapped up and replaced in the cooler bag for later. Daddy tossed a football out onto the grassy knoll beside them and allowed the boys to have at it. Papa bravely leant his head on Greg’s shoulder, watching as Lock attempted to pick the ball up, whining when he only seemed to kick it further from his reach.
“Are you okay?” Mycroft looked at his partner with bemusement.
“Yes?” He replied, brows furrowed. “Are you?”
Lestrade waved a hand about the air. “Yeah, yeah,”
Mycroft frowned, searching his partner’s eyes but finding nothing except earnest. “Are you sure?”
“You’re just quiet, is all; worried something might be going on that you couldn’t tell me.” Mycroft’s heart warmed, and he smiled, moving to kiss up Greg’s jaw.
“I’m alright, love, just a bit tired and the sun and food aren’t helping.”
“Oh old age, it gets to the best of us,” Greg fell onto his back with all the dramatics of Sherlock at a crime scene. Mycroft was pretty miffed.
“Old, you say?” Greg’s face flashed with nervous guilt. “Is that all I am to you?”
“Absolutely not, grandpa.” Greg’s tongue poked between his teeth, and he yelped, undignified, when Mycroft swatted him in the stomach.
“Dick,” Luckily neither toddler heard, as they were too busy tackling the ball from each other, but without a goal, it was an endless cycle of retrieval and giggles.
Inevitably, football became a rather boring game, and was abandoned in search of something more intriguing. Lock was itching to explore, and their tiny huddle only offered so much data. The daddies knew it was time to pack up – but they’d gotten a solid forty minutes in, and that was more than they’d expected. Mycroft tidied up their picnic basket and dumped it in the car before meandering back to his family. There, Greg tried to herd Jawn and Lock together, but they both wanted to see different things.
“We have time, boys, let’s all go as a team.” Daddy said, clasping papa’s hand with a soft smile. Mycroft almost pulled away – they were in public, and some didn’t take too kindly to their kind of relationship, but then he remembered the hurt on Greg’s face the last time he refused contact; decided it wasn’t worth a jot of a stranger’s approval. He squeezed the hand back and followed Lock’s lead.
“Jawn, butterfly, look!” Indeed there was, and it fluttered about before landing gracefully on some brick, it’s wings flapping softly once, twice, before it settled.
“Lock,” Daddy warned lightly. “you can look, but don’t touch.”
To their surprise, the toddler listened, standing back about a foot with Jawn peering curiously at his side. They remarked on it’s beauty and with a gentle prompt they continued on the embankment path. Jawn was interested in the boats, whereas Lock wanted to hunker down and examine every stone in sight – which would be a feat that would last a lifetime.
“Locky, come on,” Jawn urged, and when he received no response, he released a huff. “Lock?”
Still, there was no reply. Jawn took matters into his own hand, and, much to the amusement of his fathers, marched over to his younger brother and grabbed him by the hand. “We’ve got to stick together. Don’t wanna get lost.”
The younger Holmes startled, eyeing their interlocked hands. “Don’t wanna get lost.” He repeated, and stood straight to walk nicely by Jawn’s side.
They received odd looks, that was unavoidable, but neither boy seemed to notice – or if they had, they just didn’t care. Mycroft glowered at every person who dared let their gaze linger on his sons, watching smugly as they skittered away, heads down, ashamed. He was glad he’d decided that they all wear face masks upon re-entering the public path, for he was certain at least one pedestrian would recognise someone from their group.
“Almost makes the tantrums worth it,” Greg said, snapping Mycroft from his thoughts. He looked to where Greg pointed his jaw and softened. Jawn and Lock had kept a tight-knit grip, and now that they’d established a rhythm they were swinging hands.
“Almost.” Mycroft winked. They laughed, and when the boys turned to look, they were ushered back the way they came.
Now that the daddies were closer, they could hear that the little boys had a steady stream of conversation that they upheld the entire walk – mostly consisting of things of interest to note or silly deductions that probably weren’t entirely true. At the car, they got in without fuss, not bothering to unfasten their seatbelts when they could continue to hold hands instead.
“Right, you boys go play for a while, alright?” Greg said as they arrived home. They didn’t have to be told twice – there were still hours of the day left, and they’d be utilised in the sunshine.
Whilst the daddies were exhausted and lounged about the back garden, the little boys were full of energy, and played for hours, only stopping to pee – when they remembered to seek out a toilet – and gulp at glasses of water. Come sunset, the patio was covered in the chalk scribblings of young artists, some depictions legible, most enthused blotches of colour. The grass was trampled down by their chasing, and upon it lay new obstacles of balls, rackets and an abandoned game of archery.
“Are you boys hungry?”
“No.” Said John.
“Tired.” Added Sherlock.
“You have to eat something,” Mycroft fretted, and that was how they ended up eating the leftovers from the picnic on the lawn. It would do, even if it made Mycroft want to twitch, and afterwards Greg tugged two knackered little boys up the stairs for a hasty bath.
“I’d say today was a success.” Greg decided. Somehow both Lock and Jawn had drifted off to sleep during their shared bath, and only for the low water were they safe.
“Yes,” Mycroft assented. “Now how do we get them out?”
The smile on Greg’s face dropped, and he glanced at the adult sized toddlers dozing among bubbles. “Ah, I hadn’t thought of that.”