Chapter Text
"You look gorgeous" Mycroft mused as he leant on the doorframe, three piece suit hanging off him loosely; buttons undone and sleeves messily shoved to the elbow. Icy Blue eyes fixed on to his lover, who slowly combed strands of grey hair from his eyes. "I never thought your hair would look good long"
"It's awful," Greg said sadly, sweeping it back off of his forehead, each strand freshly cleaned and combed. He looked smart, yet he was only dressed in smart grey trousers, the rest of his outfit laying neatly on the bed. The tops of his shoulders were still dusted with droplets of water from where he showered. "I've never liked having long hair"
"It suits you" Mycroft replied, moving his tired and exhausted body over to where the older man was sitting, embracing him from behind and kissing his neck slowly to make him moan with pleasure. "Just imagine my fingers running through your hair as you softly move your tongue-"
"-Stop right there" Greg replied, looking down at his wheelchair, which he had been in since his heart operation six months ago, and soon he would be able to leave it behind, along with the physical therapy and the medication that had come with his operation. Soon again, he would be able to go back to normal, "You know what my doctor said, no often strenuous exercise, and you know what that means"
Mycroft sat down on their bed and rolled Greg towards him bringing him in for a long sensual kiss, moving his tongue around his lover's mouth, as his fingers tangled themselves in the neatly combed strands of hair. Drawing away, he pressed his forehead to Greg's, "Apologies" He said breathlessly, "I've been wanting to do that all day"
Greg chuckled in response, raising an eyebrow, "And why might that be?"
"Nice answer or real answer?" Mycroft smiled, he'd had a bitch of a day, and the what with Sherlock's "Christmas gathering" he felt almost suicidal.
"Both" Greg smiled, leaning in to kiss his husband.
"Nice answer: Because you're my husband. Real answer: Work was awful, the Koreans refused to negotiate and the Prime Minister may or may not have an illegitimate child. Our gorgeous daughter is cutting her first tooth and the nanny quit."
"Ah."
Mycroft stood up and held a hand out to his husband, "You might be more comfortable on the bed", he whispered seductively, and smiled warmly. Heaving himself up, gripping on to his husband, Greg smiled and collapsed onto the bed, breathing in heavily, the action to move clearly exhausting.
"One more month" Greg smiled sympathetically, "And I will no longer need that fucking chair." Mycroft laid back and stared into his husband's eyes, softly soothing him, and moving in to lie gently on top of him, legs straddling either side of his hips, tipping Greg's chin to reveal his neck, and he kissed him passionately. They continued in the throes of their passion, each man slowly kissing and groaning in reply. All of a sudden, the door swung open to reveal Greg's eldest daughter, Katie, who clearly in a rush was horrified to see her father and his husband clearly wanting some private time, as she saw this, she simply gave a surprised gasp, shuddered and slowly closed the door. Walking away, she attempted to remove the images from her mind. "God," She mumbled to herself, "I will never be able to un-see that"
A few minutes later, Mycroft dashed out in search of the teen. "Sorry, Katherine" He apologised to the teen, "We didn't realise you were home already"
"Myc, please call me Katie. And just give me a minute."
"Of course, Katherine" Mycroft replied, quickly changing the term of address as Katie's eyes flared with fire, "Sorry, Katie. Your dad and I were just- It's been a long day, sincere apologies"
"It's ok," Katie said, silently forgiving her father and his husband, "Just you never really think of your parents having sex."
Stunned by her reply, Mycroft blinked, "You see me as your parent?"
Katie nodded, "You helped me move to university, when mum and dad couldn't make it; you held my hand at Anthea's funeral, even though it was killing you inside and you were there to support me when Josh and I started dating"
"I did what I had to do" Mycroft said, consoling himself.
"No you didn't" Katie said, revealing disappointment on Mycroft's face, "You've done so much more. Anyway, once you and dad have finished... We need to get going, I've been anxiously waiting to see what the famous Christmas parties at 221b are like. Dad's told me about the one where Sherlock chased you with a machete..."
"Yeah, That was fun"
The three had arrived at 221b, which had been decorated with white lights and brightly coloured tinsel, they reached the landing of the flat and were instantly handed a glass of champagne (though Greg had to boycott) by John, and welcomed the family to join them as Sherlock played a medley of songs with his deft fingers on the violin. Looking up, the bow left the delicate instrument and begrudgingly the genius welcomed them. "Ah brother" He mumbled, nodding his head towards the government man. "Geoff, how's the heart?"
"It's Greg." He mumbled, and shook his head as the genius continued to deduce his disabled state.
"And Katherine" Sherlock smiled, "I have something I'd like to show you, and I hope you can shed some light on the matter"
The teen fled off with the genius, both eagerly chattering away, which raised confusion to both Mycroft and Greg, each man speechless by Sherlock's actions. The army doctor approached the pair, we confused as they were: "Do you know what's going on?"
"Not a clue." Greg replied, an eyebrow raised to his best friend and brother-in-law.
The night drew on and the festivities dulled slightly as everyone started to leave, couples had slowly started fade with exhaustion. Though both Holmes' and their husbands had few friends, the tiny flat had seemed to be packed full: people were filling almost every room; shorting and drinking with their merriment. An hour before midnight, Molly Hooper sheepishly came into the room, peering in through the door to see if anyone was still there.
"Hello" She said quietly, as if not to wake a sleeping child. She turned to the man who was fastened to her arm and beamed, "I think some of you know James." The elder man, who resembled nothing of Sherlock, or a sociopath, had completely turned Molly's life around. After possibly one of the worst years of her life (barring the Moriarty saga), Molly had shrunken back into her former life, an orphaned child, who when growing up had only her father to rely on, could only rely on that of her brothers- the pathologist had reduced into virtually nothing, leaving and breathing work until it had almost broken her. After the death of one of her brothers, Mark, she was inconsolable for months, slowly turning to hibernation. But then, James had turned up, who knew both Greg and Mycroft pretty well: he worked with the government as a crime scene specialist, and had gone to the same school as Greg, so they were all pretty familiar with him. It had seemed that Molly had met the one, they fitted perfectly together, like eloquent pieces of a jigsaw puzzle: both intelligent with hard working jobs, they spent time simply relaxing, enjoying each other's company instead of constantly going to the pub, like she did with Tom and actually spent time conversing instead kissing when there was an awkward silence.. She had transformed. James kissed her softly on the cheek before leaving to chat to the others: he was tall in stature; broad shoulders and a square jaw, leading up to a quiff of honey-blonde hair, streaked with brunette shades. He walked over to Greg, shaking his hand firmly and passing him a beer.
The two men started conversing, and Mycroft beamed, it was rare to see Greg with a smile constantly on his face these days. It's not to say that he wasn't happy, but a life confined to a wheelchair was strenuous, especially if part of your job was running around chasing after criminals all the livelong day. Molly walked over to the government man, clutching a glass of red wine.
"Greg looks happy. He's come along so well after.. well, that terrible evening" Molly stuttered, fear in her eyes as she spoke to him.
"Considering everything, I'm so proud of him," Mycroft smiled, "He would love to see James again, you two must come round for dinner. Once Greg is better, obviously, I won't dare to put you through my cooking."
Molly chuckled heartily, "I would like that. I think James would too, he misses the old days, ever since the whole thing with Dimmock."
Ah. Michael Dimmock, Mycroft recalled, Greg's former best friend who he had gone to university with, then excelled in the met and ran off with his wife. It wasn't a name that was mentioned anymore in the Holmes-Lestrade household. "Ah. Yes." Mycroft replied quietly, subtly indicating that he wanted to play no part in the conversation, "Where are you going for Christmas?"
"Oh, we're staying at home. James just wanted a small Christmas, just the two of us, you know? Boxing day we're going to my brother, Andrew's. They've just had a baby, a little boy, so, we decided to go and see them."
"Delightful, Molly. Another little nephew! Any names?" Mycroft queried, all of a sudden getting far too enthusiastic about Molly's nephew.
"Daniel Mark Hooper."
"What a lovely tribute to Mark, Molly. It must hurt though."
She nodded quietly, "You're off to Dorset, aren't you?"
"Yes. Tomorrow evening, so we will be there in the morning to wake up to the presents." Mycroft mused. Greg had spent a great deal of his childhood down there, and had made it a tradition to visit there every Christmas. This year, the whole Lestrade contingent had decided to join them, thankfully, without Greg's snake of an Ex-Wife, Karen.
"How lovely. Where abouts?"
"Oh.." Mycroft replied, deducing the girl further, whilst trying to calculate a response, "Just outside of Weymouth"
•
Christmas Eve dawned bright and early, and Mycroft groaned, his head pounding with the afterthought of the amount of alcohol he had consumed the previous evening; eyes burning at the very glimpse of sunlight that peaked through the shutters.
"Remind me" He grumbled to his husband, "I am never drinking alcohol again."
With a sleepy smirk lingering on his lips, Greg chuckled, before being dragged back into a senseless slumber, soft snores eliciting from the back of his throat. Rolling over, Mycroft snickered at his husband's comatose state. With all the energy he could muster, he moved his aching bones out of bed, before slowly collapsing on the floor. The door slowly resisted it's hinges, as the oak frame revealed a sleepy teenager draped across the burgundy-coloured carpet: clutching her laptop with slim fingers covered with chipped back nail varnish.
"Bloody hell, Annabeth." Mycroft whispered in surprise, "What possessed you to sleep, virtually, on our doorstep? Just knock!"
She rolled her eyes and pushed the frames of thick black glasses back up her nose, "I don't know how to break this without screaming from the top of my lungs. Myc." She took a death breath, "I-"
"Please don't tell me your pregnant, Annabeth, your father would blame me I can feel it in my bones."
She shook her head, before opening the shiny black lid to her laptop: "I have an offer from Oxford" She said quietly, hugging Mycroft tightly, "I woke up, and it was there waiting for me. The best present ever."
"Congratulations!" Mycroft said, trying to be as joyful as possible as his head continued to pound. He pulled her into a air-restricting embrace, his arms looping around her waist: "I'm so very pleased, but please go and tell your father- He will be bitter to discover that I found out first" Kissing her on the cheek, he winced at the movement, his head palpating with pain. The teenager nodded with vigour in response to his plea: her top-knot was slowly falling from its place: scraps of brown curly hair falling across her forehead and the back of her neck; tiny strands wandering over the rims of her glasses. The teen burst through the door and moved swiftly towards the bed, where Greg was sound asleep, each snore dragging him further into a deep slumber. Annabeth continued to move with a graceful-clumsiness, tripping over her tartan pyjama bottoms and falling into the bedroom cabinet. While sneezing rather vigorously, she collapsed into bed, rather harshly disturbing Greg from his much needed sleep.
"FUCK," Greg swore loudly with dismay, "Oh Annabeth, it's only you. Christ, what's wrong?"
She revealed the screen of her laptop to her father, he mumbled the words of the email as he slowly read it to himself: "Dear Miss Annabeth Elizabeth Lestrade, after your successful interview, we would be delighted to offer you a conditional place to study Ba(Hons) Law at Balliol College, with the university of Ox-.."
He paused, and taking one deep breath, he screamed, joy roaring from his lungs. "OXFORD
•
Even the most patient drivers would be tested through the bustling traffic on the M25 on Christmas eve, where drivers would curse and swear in abundance, and traffic would move at an excruciating pace, which could be compared to an elderly person attempting to cross the road. The "short road trip" of two hours and forty-five, which Mycroft had been promised ,hence he had agreed to drive, had doubled before they had left London. Cries establishing boredom from Lottie had fallen on deaf ears, each member of the family desperate to escape the trapping confines of the car.
"That's it." Katie sighed, anger fuming through her nostrils, "If one more word pours out of your tiny little mouth, Lottie, about how bloody bored you are, I will shove your Disney magazine where the sun does not shine. Now please, shut. your. face."
To this remark, offences and scorns were thrown to the teenager, causing turmoil throughout their car, which though luxurious in space , was still a confined space, where anger was fuelled by hatred and indignation, this was all before Mycroft Holmes lost it.
"I'm turning around. Christmas is cancelled." He announced, signalling to leave the queue, "all my life my Christmases have been ruined by my brothers, and for just this once, I would love to spend it with my family. However, since we left our house, there has been nothing but complaining, and now endless arguing. So we are going home."
Silence flooded the car, the only audible noise was the constant ticking of the indicator, before Lottie leaned over and flicked it up.
"We're not going home, Papa." She whispered quietly, "Let's be honest, you need a break. I'll read a book and Annabeth can listen to Moss and Katie can write. But if you turn around, I will have to kill you"
Mycroft chuckled at her audacity, before turning to Greg with bemusement, "Doesn't Annabeth listen to Muse?"
They both laughed heartily, as Mycroft pulled back over into the lane and slowly continued at the 5mph pace they had been maintaining for almost an hour. Slowly, but surely, the pace started to quicken, and before they knew it, they were out of London and driving speedily towards Dorset. Greg had always been compelled to go there, after spending so many Christmases there as a child- growing up in a chav-infected town, he cherished the moments away from it, relishing in memories of the beach huts and cobbled sands, the way the sun shone on the water, as if the Rays were blessing each droplet that belonged to the sea. He couldn't contain his excitement, as he felt his heart quickening in his chest, remembering the feeling of running across the beach with the sand between your toes and feeling the icy cold sea lap over damp sand. They had intended the holiday to be a small family Christmas break, but it was soon evolving into a trip of epic proportions:
"So," Greg said softly, grabbing Mycroft's free hand, as the other was draped over the steering wheel, "How many will there be at Christmas dinner?"
Mycroft mused, the cogs in his mind functioning as he racked over the memories, "Two of us, Four Children, Grace and her beau, along with Katie's boyfriend and Annabeth's, and my parents will be joining us for Christmas Day, but not this evening... They're visiting my dear brother and his husband"
"Twelve?"
Mycroft nodded his head, and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "What can you do?", but he glanced over to his husband, who was meticulously working out how many potatoes he would need to chop and peel if he was to assist his husband tomorrow. "I'm surprised that you didn't tell me off, Gregory"
"Why would I tell you off?" He pondered, winking at his husband before speaking with silky, sultry sounds, "Have you been a naughty boy?"
Annabeth unplugged her earphones in disgust. "Ew." She said, as if a bitter taste had appeared in her mouth, "the other two may be asleep, but I'm still alive.. And not deaf for that matter."
The pair giggled at her dismay, as the middle child placed her earphones back where they belonged, with a mild hint of aggression.
"Why would I tell you off, anyway, Myc?" Greg replied, swinging his focus from Annabeth to his husband.
"Will ever since Olivia was born, you persist in telling me off after making a cutting remark about my brother. You've let it slide. It's weird, I don't like it" Mycroft shuddered with the thought.
"Oi!" Greg replied, "You never pay any attention to it anyway!"
"And?! It's like me calling you Greg and not Gregory." Mycroft retorted as he drummed his fingers along the leather of the steering wheel.
Greg shuddered at the thought, "No, I understand, I get your point. Just never call me Greg again, that was the weirdest think you've ever done"
Mycroft chuckled as his foot squeezed the accelerator, and the car ran off like a dream.
Greg continued to plan the next day's festivities, when he paused, as if someone had laid a very large spanner in the works. "Why on earth are both boyfriends of my two eldest daughters coming to Christmas and not spending it with their own families?"
"Good question." Mycroft responded, a small smirk across his face, with the temptation of replying with 'Because I said they could come,' but for some reason, that didn't seem a good enough answer for his husband. "Joshua's family have gone to New Zealand to celebrate Christmas with his Step-Dad's family, but he couldn't afford a ticket and he doesn't really know them, so he thought it best to stay clear and join us. Matthew, as you know, is part Jewish, and his family don't celebrate Christmas, obviously.. So, not being very religious, he decided to spend the time with us." Mycroft beamed, "Anymore questions from the audience?"
"Voulez-vous me tuer si je me suis arrêté la voiture pour vous embrasser ? Ici. Maintenant." [Would you kill me if I stopped the car to kiss you? Right here, right now.] Greg replied with a velvety smooth accent which could only be compared to the feeling of soft luxurious silks.
" Je ne me dérangerait pas , mais , les filles ne seraient pas aussi indulgent" [I wouldn't mind, but, the girls wouldn't be as forgiving] Mycroft replied sweetly, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek.
"Peut-être ce soir, alors . Nous allons reprendre là où nous nous sommes quittés ." [Maybe tonight, then. We'll pick up where we left off.]
Mycroft smiled in reply, "I forgot how beautiful you sound when you speak French. It takes me back to when you proposed, in that lovely restaurant, where your father met your mother"
Greg smiled, how long ago all that seemed now.
•
By the evening, everyone had safely arrived and had all fallen into bed, with exhaustion being the only cause. Mycroft had spent a large amount of the evening slowly developing into a domestic housewife, learning how to marinate and baste a turkey, which everyone believed to be vital pieces to the day itself. The cottage, had not changed in Greg's eyes, it still held its thatched roof and log burner fires, and there were beds in abundance, certainly enough for the ten of them. Grace and Graham had decided to take the largest room upstairs, which was decorated with a light mocha coloured colour on the walls and deep earthy wood for the remains of the furniture. As Greg wished both of them a goodnight, he placed two full stockings just in front of the door: Grace's was a midnight blue with her name hand painted in yellow on a background of New York City, her favourite place in the world. Graham's, however, was a deep hunter green, with his name embroidered on the top, a single deer emblazoned the stocking, which held a quirky cloth pattern. As Mycroft played Santa, he visited Katherine and Annabeth's room: the room itself was perfect for teenagers, with a teal coloured paint all around it, and good trees delicately wall papered over the top to give an enchanted forest feel to the whole place. He left their stockings and a few other items tucked underneath the wooden bed frame, again, both stockings were individual: Katie's was fashioned out of a peppermint green with red candy cane-like stripes, her name spelt out with huge gold letters. Annabeth's, was much more understated, a lemon fabric with her name and a love heart stitched in a bright green, which always reminded her lemons; completely understandable if you had witnessed it in the flesh. Making his way downstairs, he then visited the boys, who were top-and-tailing on the sofa bed, which lay only a few steps from the Christmas tree, which was decked in lights and silver decorations. It reminded Mycroft of his own Christmases at home, where each child would receive their own tree: Mycroft's was decorated neatly with colour coordinated felt umbrellas that his mother had made him, among many edible gifts which could be found among the branches, Sherlock's, on the other hand, was always a complete mess, one year, he had even gone to the extent of burning his tree with a Bunsen burner, and created a small coffin for if with their father. It turned out to be a very morbid Christmas in 1983.. It was best not to talk about the other brother, even though it always hurt to think of him this time of year. All alone in the world, with no-one there, not even to hold his hand and reassure him that everything would be hunky dory in the hours to come. He finally arrived in his own bed, after placing the rest of the stockings with their future owners. Rolling over to give his husband a kiss, Mycroft paused, swiping away a stray bit of hair, which had found itself lingering on his nose. Checking his watch, the dial flashed to tell him that he was already half-an-hour into Christmas.
"Merry Christmas, My Love" He said with a passionate kiss, before slowly falling into the welcoming arms of his mattress.
•
"Wake up! Wake up!" Lottie screamed, jumping and leaping over the bed where her parents slept. "Santa Claus has been! He got me Roller-skates!"
"That's marvellous, Sweetie" Greg replied, more asleep than awake. "What's the time?"
Lottie wriggled into bed with them, crawling under the covers, and quickly yanking the arm of Mycroft Holmes to check the time. "It's 5:23" She announced proudly. As Greg groaned, he remembered how long Christmases had been since he had children.
"No more presents until everyone is up, and after breakfast" Greg commanded, closing his eyes sleepily, washing away another wave of tiredness.
"Oh, BUT DADDDD" The child wailed, to excited to fall back to sleep, she wriggled around between the two, squirming closer to Mycroft, "Please can we open more presents, Papa."
"Later, I promise" Mycroft whispered, slowly falling back to sleep, rolling over on to his back, wishing for anything, even a minutes sleep would be welcome.
Alas.
That didn't happen.
The whole house was alive with Christmas spirit, everyone bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, everyone voicing notes of joy and eliciting festive feeling, and soon, they all piled into the bedroom shared by Mycroft and Greg, first, Katie and Annabeth flooded in, perching at the end of the bed, each clutching the books they had been given for Christmas. Before everyone knew it, the room was alive with festive splendour, everyone chatting and laughing loudly, each voice slowly gaining excitement for Christmas.
•
That evening came as quickly as the morning had dawned, and Mycroft smiled proudly, helping his husband out of his wheelchair, with a silent prayer that Christmas next year would have him standing up and running around, and soon again that they would be hearing the pitter-patter of tiny feet. He hoped that Greg would concede to adding another tiny member to their family. The government man slowly rolled over and ran his fingers through his hair and kissed him, "Thank you for a lovely Christmas, my love"