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In December, Mycroft finds himself in a difficult situation.
He dreads the Christmas dinner with his family more than ever this year. It has never been pleasant. Often enough, he made up a national emergency to skip it. He preferred sitting in front of his fireplace with a glass of good whiskey and a pack of cigarettes to trivial conversation with his parents and mocking remarks from Sherlock.
At least he’s not going to insult me this year, he thinks as he suppresses a call from his brother on December 5th. It might even be nice talking to his brother without the hostility for once, without comments on his annual pre-Christmas weight gain. There are few people in the world he can talk to as freely as to Sherlock – they connect in a way that nobody apart from them could ever truly understand. And Sherlock has been extraordinarily kind to Mycroft over the last months. Calling every week. Trying to set up meetings.
It all cannot make him forget that Sherlock chose to kill him over John, of course.
Even though they don’t talk about it, and even though Mycroft has supported it wholeheartedly, Sherlock’s guilt lays in every friendly word, and Mycroft’s secret suffering shows in every unanswered call.
Still, it isn’t really a choice. Mycroft knows he has to go. It is the first Christmas after Sherrinford. Although his parents harass him at every opportunity, they will still expect him to turn up as an effort to stay a part of the family. More importantly, it will break Sherlock’s heart if he doesn’t come, as his brother really tries to make up for what happened. It is only a political move to go to the dinner. If he doesn’t want war, he will have to apply diplomacy.
If Mycroft’s only other prospect were to sit alone at home with whiskey, or at work, it wouldn’t be quite as difficult. However, when Sherlock calls at nine o’clock in the morning on December 5th, Mycroft isn’t at work as usual. He is lying comfortably in a bed that isn’t his, a heavy arm wrapped protectively around him, instinctively tightening at the sound of the vibrating phone.
Mycroft feels the other man’s heartbeat against his back, and the raw morning voice sends his own heart racing off in excitement. The soft press of lips against his bare shoulder still feels profoundly novel. And Mycroft realises, in that moment, that it is December and Christmas is coming.
In retrospect, Mycroft wishes he’d taken the call that day. He wishes he’d accepted the invitation and explained it to Greg. Back then; none of them could make claims to spend Christmas with each other – not so shortly after their first kiss. It would have been settled, and Mycroft wouldn’t have been left to dwell on how desperately he wants to spend those days with Greg.
Now the uncertainty grows more uncomfortable with every day. Does Greg want to spend the holidays with him? Does he even think of spending Christmas together? A few weeks later, maybe, this would be the perfect opportunity to introduce him to his family. This is Greg. We are a couple now. But is that what they are? It’s so delicate.
The question of how to spend Christmas would bring along a serious talk about their relationship. Mycroft is determined to avoid that conversation for as long as possible. Greg doesn’t ask about Christmas either and Mycroft is grateful.
Naturally, they can’t avoid the topic forever.
It is six days until Christmas when it happens. Mycroft lays in Greg’s arms on the sofa, enjoying to feel him breathe as some Lewis episode plays on TV. His eyes are half-closed, sounds not unlike a purr escaping him as Greg caresses his hair. While they spend most evenings together, it is still strange enough to be cherished.
The vibration of Mycroft’s private phone seems abnormally loud in their comfortable silence. It might as well be the bursting of a balloon, or one of these illegal firecrackers. Mycroft hastens to turn it off. It is too late. The sound seems to echo in the dark, and he realises in that moment that they both know. Mycroft wishes to act like it hasn’t happened, but Greg has already shifted to talk. A long moment of silence, and Mycroft is sure Greg wants him to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say.
“’That your private phone?” Greg asks, acting like he doesn’t quite know the answer, and Mycroft sighs.
“Yes. It is.”
“Sherlock, then? You should probably take it. Maybe it’s important.” Greg pauses the Lewis episode. Mycroft’s heart almost stops with it.
“It is not urgent. I know what he wants,” he mumbles with the hint of an annoyed eyeroll. Greg’s questioning look presses him continue. “It’s about Christmas. He wants me to come to my parent’s house.”
Greg stares at their hands for a moment, caressing Mycroft’s, before he looks up at him. “Yeah, I was suspecting. ‘Was sure they’d want you there with them.” His smile is wry, and while he tries to sound cheerful, Mycroft can hear the sadness in his voice. “You should go, you know. ‘Think it’s good for you and your family. I’m sure Sherlock will behave, too.”
Mycroft keeps his eyes locked on their hands as he plays with Greg’s fingers. “I know. I was just looking forward to – “ He does not say it out loud.
“Yeah.” Greg says gravely, understandingly. There is an unhappy silence in which they both imagine themselves during the upcoming holidays, and Greg lets out a troubled breath. “Well…” he adds finally, and there is an unspoken suggestion in his voice. As Mycroft looks up, he finds Greg’s brown eyes searching his with intent.
Suddenly, he can’t hold himself back, knowing it is a possibility, that Greg would do this for him…
“Would you go with me?” he asks, holding his breath. It sounds more like a plea than he wanted.
Greg’s eyes are soft, his voice gentle. “Of course. If you want me to.”
Mycroft hesitates. Does Greg understand the full impact of this? “We… can’t keep anything from Sherlock. Or Mummy. They will know… about us.” he clarifies. His heart feels heavy.
Greg meets his anxious gaze and holds it for a moment, eyes crinkled with a fond smile, and then he grows serious again. “Yeah, I know. - It’s fine if you want to wait. I get that.”
Mycroft takes his time to think it through. He knows that rushing such a decision won’t be good for them in the end, and so he pushes his excitement aside, trying to find out how he feels about this. He realises that he’s afraid of spending the entire holiday with his family, with people who either pity or despise him. He finds that he fears Greg will leave him, and that it won’t work out for them. But would it really change something if his family knew about them? To his surprise, Mycroft also realises that he doesn’t care about his family’s opinion anymore – it can’t get any worse, anyway. He just doesn’t want to be alone with them. He wants to be with Greg instead - badly.
“No. It’s fine,” Mycroft decides quietly and lets out the breath he’s been holding, sinking back into Greg’s arms. As he inhales his scent, as he feels Greg exhale against his shoulder, he knows that it will be all right. The hands rubbing his back whisper a secret promise.
Before they go to bed, Mycroft texts his brother.
I will come home for Christmas. I am bringing a guest. -MH