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The chaos of the day had worn itself out, probably because the three excitable children and two clearly excitable grandparents had gone to bed.
Mycroft supposed he ought to have done something about the situation earlier, rather than everyone rushing to deal with it on the 23rd of December, but Mycroft had never been that interested in Christmas. He always found an excuse.
He could have argued there was one this year. It was only months ago that they had found Greg, there was the stress of the new baby, and many other things that he could have used.
Most of his previous excuses included work. He always managed to avoid seeing his parents, and spent the time alone in the house. There had never even been a Christmas tree in his house.
Going into the living room he stared at the tree that now dominated the room; and it did a good job of it, standing six foot high, wrapped in some of the most garish decorations that Mycroft had ever laid eyes on. He didn't mind Christmas trees as a rule, if they were lightly decorated, with a tasteful theme. This one had none of that.
Most of the decorations were on the lower half of the tree, where William had haphazardly hung them. The fairy on top, made by Will, had lopsided wings and the lights flickered in what was meant to be some sort of pattern but Mycroft couldn't fathom it. Huge parcels lay at the base, and one for some reason was tucked in the upper branches, ready for Christmas morning. Not that two of them in the house would really comprehend it. Most of this effort had probably been for Will, and Greg.
Mycroft turned away from the quite distressing tree and headed into the drawing room and out of the partially open French windows at the end. He knew exactly where Greg would be, sitting on the bench on the patio, which had become some sort of sacred spot, where he could sit in the garden and watch everything around him. He was wrapped up in a large woollen throw to keep himself warm.
"Hello," he said, as he heard Mycroft's step.
"Hello," Mycroft returned as he sat down on the bench. Greg shifted, unfurling the throw to lift it and offer Mycroft some of it's beneficial warmth. He took the hint and sat close to Greg, their sides pressing together and Mycroft tucked the edges of the throw around himself. "Thank you."
"It's not even really that cold, for December."
"No, but it's likely to change," Mycroft said.
"Shame it's not going to snow on Christmas day."
"I unfortunately don't have control of that," Mycroft said.
"We could get a snow machine."
"No! I think Christmas is quite obvious without that."
"Sorry about the tree," Greg said with some trepidation. "But Will liked the red baubles, then Nathanial seemed to want green and then your dad said blue would go well with it, then we saw the Santa ones, and it sort of carried on from there."
"Understandably. At least you had help with my parents suddenly deciding to visit."
"Er... actually it wasn't that sudden, other than the fact I called them yesterday afternoon."
"Oh," Mycroft said feeling a little put out and pleased at the same time. "I suppose I should have done that, really, all things considered. I wasn't sure what sort of Christmas you wanted, if at all. Considering how things have been."
"You could have asked," Greg said. "I could have said."
"It's of no consequence, it's been organised now."
"I'd like to do something without worrying about the next bad thing that might happen."
Mycroft shifted closer to Greg, and reached his arm up to wrap it around Greg, while keeping the throw carefully tucked around them both. Greg turned, to incline himself towards Mycroft.
"There is no point assuming that bad things will happen," Mycroft said. "That will leave you too scared to do anything."
"I thought that as well, in your tone of voice; so I figured I just wouldn't ask you. What was it like last year?"
Mycroft gave a murmur, wondering how to translate that whole, terrible, week.
"A little tantrum filled. William, I presume, had begun to comprehend it. The first real Christmas we did was two years ago, when we went to my parents and Sherlock decided to kill someone."
"I don't think that was the actual plan, but okay, I see what you are saying about Will."
"It was probably foolish to try and do anything for Will last year. You weren't there, Nathanial was new to the house, and didn't understand it. Will broke the four toys he was given."
"Shit!" Greg swore.
"Moriarty sent me a Christmas card," Mycroft said, with the speed of someone trying to make pulling off a plaster less painful by just ripping. Greg went tense, but didn't dare look up. "With an interesting montage of photographs."
"Of me."
"Yes, and a few hints as to where we might find you, in the style of ridiculous cracker jokes."
"Oh God. Poor old Will."
Mycroft huffed. "Poor me as well, William wasn't the only one missing you."
Greg snorted with laughter. "Sorry, I forget that I seem to have broken down your wall of sentiment."
"You have not! Sherlock however pointed out some annoying, pertinent, facts one day, and once he pointed them out, I couldn't very well ignore them."
"What facts?"
Mycroft sighed and rummaged in his pocket, which disturbed Greg where he lay, comfortably snuggled against Mycroft. He blinked as Mycroft eventually retrieved a small, wrapped package from his pocket and held it out.
"Oh?" Greg said.
"It doesn't matter if you didn't get me anything," Mycroft said interpreting the exclamation; wrongly, of course.
"Of course I got you something! It's hidden in the tree, I just wasn't expecting you to... oh, never mind. Thank you."
Greg took the box and carefully pulled off the neat ribbon, tucking it carefully to one side before he went to work on the packaging.
"It's only fair I go and get mine," Mycroft said, almost getting away, suddenly feeling very embarrassed that he was going to be there when Greg opened his present. What if he hated it?
"Wait until I'm done... oh my God!"
Greg opened the plain, black box and stared down at the elegant gold chain and the charm that attached to it, the alpha symbol. Greg blinked, looked again and couldn't be fooled, the bonding charm was there, unavoidably there.
"If you don't wish to.." Mycroft paused and stopped. "I did presume that we were at this stage."
"Erm... yeah," Greg mused, his voice highly distracted as he lifted the gold band and watched the charm glitter in the moonlight. "We are."
"You did say once you didn't like neck chains, and I have never known you wear a ring so I thought this was appropriate..."
"It's..." Greg paused, worked out how to open the clasp and then had to let Mycroft wrap it round his wrist and fasten it up.
"Fine... perfect!" Greg added. "I was a bit obvious with yours."
Mycroft raised his eyebrows, Greg blinked and bit down on his lip, and Mycroft got the hint immediately. The item Greg had bought had the omega symbol embossed on it, the bonding symbol worn by an omega's partner. Quite often, nowadays, the pairs made do with getting married as a more modern way of symbolising their partnership, and others did both. Mycroft preferred the traditional method, and probably because of that Greg had gone down the same route.
"I know I said I never wanted to get married, again... but this isn't a marriage is it," Greg said.
"You constantly make sure I'm in the wrong, I think it's quite close to a marriage. OW!" Mycroft yelped as Greg slapped him on the chest, before snuggling back down again. "Am I to presume, my bonding gift is a set of cufflinks?"
"Yeah, it's not imaginative is it?"
"You've bought me cufflinks for every occasion that has required a present."
"Except last year," Greg said. "And it's hardly a pointless gift, you always wear them. In fact, I think that set I got you for that first Christmas, those were the only ones you wore after that."
"It seemed appropriate and tactful."
"I didn't buy them as a courting gift, Mycroft."
"I also liked them."
"Do you want to go and get your present now then?" Greg asked.
"No," Mycroft said, wrapping the throw tighter. "I'm quite comfortable, and it can wait until the morning, then we can watch my mother's reaction."
"It might shut her up, she's been hinting for months."
"Gregory, I thought you might have noticed by now, nothing, short of a sedative, can shut my mother up. OW!"
"So, we're good?"
"Aside from rather bruised ribs," Mycroft said, rubbing his chest where Greg had smacked him, "yes I believe so. We picked the same gift, at the same time."
"Yes."
"So, we agree, to agree..." Mycroft concluded, slightly facetiously.
Greg decided, on that occasion, not to slap him.
"Yes."