Chapter Text
Mycroft sat silently in the office which was one of two identical rooms on the floor that contained the medical suites of his personal physician. He disliked his yearly physical examination which he’d undertaken a week ago. Being prodded, poked and stuck with needles rated up there with having to attend the yearly Christmas party and mingling with goldfish. Anthea had booked his follow up appointment to coincide on an afternoon with no appointments, though in his profession things could come up at a moment’s notice. Dr Montgomery had been his physician since he had joined government service as a consultant at 17.
“Good afternoon Mycroft, apologies for running late, last appointment was a chatty sort” said the white haired doctor who sat at his desk and opened the folder he was carrying, peering at the contents through rounded spectacles.
“That’s quite alright, I have a free afternoon” said Mycroft.
“Well, as usual you are quite healthy though you could afford to lose a few kilos my boy” said the physician matter of factly.
Mycroft grimaced. The couple of Jammy Dodgers he had with morning tea lately would need to go.
“But there is one matter that we need to discuss” said the Doctor “At your age Alpha’s are in their prime to produce progeny however your sperm count has quite suddenly dropped dramatically since your last physical examination…..it would appear your reproductive capability stands at about a 37% probability of impregnating an Omega. It is possible your prolonged use of contraception to prevent unwanted pups could be the likely culprits though approximately 1% of Alphas also find in the natural course of nature to be incapable of breeding by aged 40”
Mycroft felt like he had been punched in the stomach. It was biologically innate to any Alpha to want to propagate offspring; goodness knows Mummy bemoaned the fact that neither he nor Sherlock had filled her house with grandchildren despite Sherrinford having produced two pups with his Omega mate Olivia. Six year old Madeline and eight year old Grace were doted on by his parents but it appeared that Olivia and Sherrinford had no plans to have any more children and were content with their family size. He'd shared a few heats over the years with nameless Omegas who made a living from servicing Alphas and though such services came with a guarantee that the Omegas were on birth control he never took the chance. He'd never desired to take a mate let alone have young.
“I suggest you get a wriggle on and either find a mate or a surrogate Omega, my boy, preferably one that is highly fertile if you want pups” said his doctor “In all likelihood you will be sterile inside a year to possibly 18 months I’m sorry to say”
Mycroft left the medical suites and went back to his offices to collect his umbrella, briefcase and call his driver to collect him. He avoided Anthea’s quizzical and concerned looks, the woman was by far too familiar with his moods and body language having worked for him for 18 years.
“Is everything alright Mycroft?” asked his PA.
“No” he said with a small smile collecting folders from his desk to take home.
“Is there a problem with your health?” she asked with a frown.
There were times the Alpha was as pig headed as he was and would pursue the line of questioning until she got an answer. They’d had their disagreements over the years but Anthea was his right hand and he would be lost without her. She was an exceptional friend and employee, one of the few he trusted with his life.
“My health is fine” he said flatly “I don’t suppose you know of any Omega’s who are highly fertile aside from those who are less than half my age that wish to be impregnated by an Alpha whose own fertility will be non-existent soon and needs to reproduce before it is too late”
Anthea didn’t even bat an eyelash at his answer but instead pulled out her Blackberry.
“On it” she said “You go home and leave it in my hands”
With that she left his office. He had no doubt that by morning she would have a list of prospective mates and files on them all on his desk. Umbrella and the folders that needed attending to tucked into his briefcase, Mycroft left the building and slid straight into the backseat of his Mercedes Benz that was waiting for him. He didn’t want to go home and brood on the day’s news yet and decided to check up on Sherlock whom he hadn’t seen since the Baskerville incident.
“Baker Street please Jeremy” he told his driver who nodded and changed direction blending smoothly into the London traffic.