Chapter Text
Eight-year-old Elara Carissa Holmes gasped awake. The fear of her father and mother returning to get her was surreal, and she couldn’t choke down the fear. Elara let out a desperate sob as she gasped for air and shook so badly that the whole bed was moving. Elara sobbed again, unable to calm herself down. Mycroft always told her every night before bed to come and fetch him if she needed anything or was scared or even if she just needed a cuddle, but she had yet to do so. She knew now that Mycroft would never hurt her, but the fear and doubt that nobody would ever love or care for her that had been conditioned in to her clouded her judgement. Drawing in shuddery, wheezing gasps and sobs, Elara curled in on herself, tensing when there was a light tap on the door.
“Little one? Are you alright, Elara?” Elara could barely hear Mycroft’s soft voice over her cries. She tensed so hard that it hurt when she felt his hand on her shoulder.
“Easy, little one. Take a deep breath. I’ll not harm you,” Mycroft murmured to her as he tucked a piece of her hair away from her face before brushing away tears from her face.
Mycroft was always so kind and gentle and now was no different. For some reason, this just made Elara cry harder. Ever so gently- as always- Mycroft lifted her in to his arms, holding her firmly to his chest as he rocked her slightly and smoothed her hair, murmuring to her. Over the next hour-and-a-half, Mycroft tried every trick in Greg’s book to try and get Elara to calm down, but to no avail.
Greg was working the now serial killer case and was currently at a crime scene, despite it being after midnight. Bodies were showing up more and more and Greg was working himself ragged with Sherlock and John trying to catch the person behind it all. If Greg hadn’t been working, Mycroft would have called Greg and the man would have been over immediately for assistance. Knowing that, if he called, Greg would absolutely leave work and come home, Mycroft didn’t call him.
Out of ideas and desperate to get the tiny child in his arms to calm down before she made herself ill, Mycroft stood- Elara still in his arms- and quickly made his way down to his music room. Mycroft sat at his grand piano, ensuring that Elara was safely secured in his lap before he reached out and began to play a slow, gentle melody. By the time the piece was over, Elara’s sobs had subsided to shuddery hiccups. Knowing that his playing was calming the child, Mycroft continued.
“Just breathe, little one,” Mycroft murmured to her over the piano. “You’re alright, I’ve got you,”
Mycroft played piece after piece, all from memory. He was certain that Elara had fallen asleep several songs ago, but, not wanting to give up the child’s sense of comfort and safety, Mycroft remained seated at the piano bench with Elara on his lap as he continued to play for her.
It was nearly 2:30 AM when Greg wearily stumbled through Mycroft’s front door. He shut and locked the door, arming the security panel before leaning his back up against the door and letting out a long, slow sigh. Greg shed his coat, hanging it on the rack before making his way to the kitchen, intent on a very strong cup of tea before he finally retired for the night when he heard it: Soft, gentle piano music. Greg knew that, occasionally, Mycroft suffered from insomnia. In most cases, Mycroft would usually make a cup of tea and read for a bit until he was tired out. If it was bad, Mycroft would play his piano until he was ready to go to bed.
Greg sighed guiltily. He had scarcely had time for Mycroft and Elara as of late due to work. Greg knew that Mycroft always slept better when he was home, but, lately, Greg had only had time for a few hours rest, a quick shower, and a rushed breakfast before he would have to run out again- and that was if there wasn’t another body found at an ungodly hour of the night. Greg made two mugs of tea instead of one before collecting both mugs and heading to the music room. Greg walked in to the dark room- odd, but perhaps Mycroft had a migraine and didn’t want the light bothering him. Greg knew the man hardly ever used sheet music and could play by memory with his eyes shut. He approached the piano and made to greet Mycroft when he saw Elara curled against Mycroft’s chest, seemingly asleep.
“My? What’s happened? Are you both alright?” Greg whispered out. Mycroft glanced up at him as he continued to play.
“She had a nightmare,” Mycroft murmured. “Nothing I did was calming her down and she worked herself up in to a state worse than the day the Finnegans left. I didn’t know what else to do, so I brought her down here and began to play for her,”
“Well, it looks like it worked,” Greg said, gently brushing a lock of hair from Elara’s face. “She’s out like a light. D'you think we can put her back to bed now?” Mycroft hesitated, but eventually nodded.
“Yes, I think so, but I’ll need to go slowly. I don’t want to wake her now that she’s finally sleeping peacefully,” Mycroft said, and Greg noted the barely hidden exhaustion in his voice.
Mycroft slowed down his playing before finally stopping. He slowly wrapped his arms around Elara, ensuring she was safely secure before he slowly stood. Greg followed behind them as they made their way back up to Elara’s bedroom. Greg straightened her bed covers before pulling the blankets down. Mycroft gently placed her back down on the bed, ensuring her head was properly on the pillow before Greg pulled the covers up to her chin. Mycroft brushed her hair back with a soft touch before bending down and placing a gentle kiss to her head. Greg repeated the action, ensuring the night light plugged in to the wall by the door was working properly before leading Mycroft out of the room and pulling the man in to his arms.
“I’ve made us some tea,” Greg told him, kissing Mycroft’s head when it fell on to his shoulder. “Let’s have our tea and get to bed. I’m utterly knackered, and so are you, darlin',” Mycroft could not argue with him, allowing himself to be led downstairs to finish their tea before they both retired for the evening.
The next morning saw Elara sneaking off to the music room after breakfast, where she was eyeing the gorgeous piano curiously. She approached the instrument, but would not touch it. She walked around the piano, observing everything she saw.
“It’s a beautiful instrument, isn’t it?”
Elara’s head snapped to the doorway where Mycroft’s voice suddenly appeared. The man had been watching Elara observe the piano. Elara cringed and tensed up, fearing repercussions for sneaking off. Mycroft straightened and entered the room, cautiously approaching the child and cupping her chin, gently lifting her head to look at him.
“Relax, Elara,” he told her. “I’ll not harm you. You are allowed in this room. You are welcome to explore,” he kissed her head before leading her to the piano bench and sitting down, gently lifting her in to his lap.
“I learned how to play when I was four years old,” Mycroft told her, reaching for a book of sheet music before placing her tiny hands on top of his and positioning them over the keys. “My mother taught me when I saw her play for the first time and fell in love with the instrument. She would sit me on her lap and place my hands on top of hers as she played,” Mycroft began to play a slow, simplified version of Carol of the Bells, a favorite carol of Elara’s. Elara let out a small, happy gasp.
“Would you like for me to teach you to play, little one?” he asked her as he continued to play. Elara looked up at him and smiled.
“Please,” she said. Mycroft smiled and kissed her head.
“I would love to, little one,” he said before continuing to play, explaining to her how exactly the instrument worked before showing her scales.
When Greg finally arrived home that night at the actually decent hour of 6:15 PM, Greg wandered in to the kitchen to see how dinner was coming. When he found that nothing had been prepped or started, he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Just when he was beginning to worry, he heard it once more: Piano music. This was different, though. Mycroft’s playing was always smooth and confident, with so many multiple notes playing at the same time that Greg often wondered how the man had enough fingers to play. This music was slower, more simplistic. It was played in an almost halting, stuttered manner. Curious, Greg followed the sound and found the both of them in the music room, Mycroft watching proudly as Elara played a simplified version of Silent Night.