Chapter Text
Mycroft flopped his head directly back onto the mattress. He needed the pillow to cover his head, although it wasn't helping block the sounds from his brother's room next door. Of course Sherlock, now that he and John Watson had sorted themselves out, would find Christmas Eve -- Christmas Day, now -- at half-two in the morning at their parents' cottage the perfect time to have sex with his blogger.
Their mattress squeaked, the headboard thumped against the wall, and Dr. Watson was more vocal than one would expect from such a compact man. Mycroft groaned -- not at all in the same way -- and tried to capture the Christmas spirit in his heart by being glad for the two of them apparently getting on so very well together. It didn't work. Mycroft really didn't need to hear his little brother's name expressed in such base and physical a fashion.
Oh, lord, now Sherlock was screaming John's name. Mycroft wrapped his arms around the pillow and clutched it tighter to his face. He sighed. He had to do something. Sleep was impossible in these conditions.
Setting the pillow back behind his head, he reached for his mobile and typed out a quick -- for him -- message. “If you and Doctor Watson are quite finished, some of us would very much like to sleep tonight.” And send.
“Piss off, Mycroft,” Sherlock shouted through the wall. Message received but not understood. Mycroft thought that sex at that level of energy was meant to result in a languid afterglow. Clearly, his brother was as unusual there as he was in everything else. And that was quite enough of that line of thinking.
Mycroft was about to drop his mobile back to the nightstand when it lit up with an incoming message. His heart rate increased. For him to get a message at this time of night, on the holiday, likely meant an emergency.
He thumbed open the text. He was wrong.
Lestrade: Your brother is driving me insane!
Ah, the Detective Inspector had heard from Sherlock as well. Presumably in a different context, one hoped. The texts continued.
Lestrade: I thought John and Rosie would keep him busy!
Lestrade: He won't leave me alone!
Lestrade: If he asks you about stranglings, play along.
Lestrade: I had to make up something to shut him up, as my cursing wasn't convincing enough.
Lestrade: Shit, mate, sorry - didn't realize how early it was.
Lestrade: Hope you don't see this until a reasonable hour.
Lestrade: No reason we should all be woken by a madman.
Lestrade: Happy Christmas!
His mobile went dim. Mycroft thought a moment before he responded. If anyone would understand his frustration, it would be Lestrade.
Mycroft: And the felicitations of the season to you as well, Lestrade.
Mycroft: I am, unfortunately, awake.
Mycroft: Sherlock woke the entire house through indecorous and ill-timed seduction.
Mycroft: The walls here are not as solid as one might hope, and the guest beds are ancient.
Mycroft: The bedsprings squeak, and I now fear for the state of the plaster.
Mycroft: My brother has apparently decided that Dr. Watson is the best cure for his boredom.
Mycroft heard another creak of the bed.
Mycroft: And possibly may have recovered at ridiculous speed for a second round.
Lestrade: Ah, to be young and in love. :) ;)
Mycroft: I did not take you for an emoji user, Lestrade.
Lestrade: It's two in the morning. I take responsibility for nothing.
Mycroft: Would that I could manage as carefree an attitude.
Mycroft: I will have to face them tomorrow, knowing how Sherlock worked out his ennui on Dr. Watson.
Lestrade: Don't you mean with?
Mycroft: If we are to be precise with the grammar, I believe the correct preposition would be 'in'.
Lestrade: TMI, mate.
Lestrade: Although I bet John's having the best sleep of his year right now.
Lestrade: I envy him. Nothing brings Morpheus like a great shag.
Mycroft: That is a bewildering combination of poetry and base instincts.
Mycroft: If it's a thorough rogering you’d like, Lestrade, I'm certain you could find a willing participant.
Mycroft: One would imagine you would have no issue finding suitable company for that endeavour.
Lestrade: What if I want suited company?
Mycroft: That might be more difficult at two in the morning.
Lestrade: Never know what Santa can arrange.
Mycroft: It's an easy enough Christmas gift, if that's what you'd waste a wish on.
Lestrade: Don't think it's a waste.
Lestrade: But if you're going to proposition me, Mycroft, you should probably use my first name.
Lestrade: What's on your Christmas list, then?
Mycroft: I believe the cliché is 'peace on earth.' Which might finally give me a day off.
Lestrade: Ooooh, know that feeling. No rest for the wicked.
Mycroft: And we come back around to no rest for anyone tonight, wicked or not.
Mycroft: Although young Rosamund appears to have slept through it all. Thankfully.
Lestrade: As they say, Christmas is for the kiddies.
Lestrade: When are you back in town?
Mycroft: I am committed for Christmas lunch tomorrow, sorry, later today.
Mycroft: At which we all be occupied trying not to meet each other's eyes.
Mycroft: But might you be available for supper?
Lestrade: :)
Mycroft: Now you're just being difficult.
Lestrade: Nah, I'm happy. Delirious, even.
Lestrade: Went from cursing the Holmes name to wondering what color your socks are.
Mycroft: My socks?
Lestrade: Well, seemed a bit brash to speculate on your pants.
Mycroft: You'd lose with any choice, as I am not wearing any.
Lestrade: Tease
Mycroft: Do you wear underwear under your pajamas?
Lestrade: Don't wear pajamas.
Mycroft: Now who's teasing?
Lestrade: If you don’t believe me, you can confirm tomorrow.
Lestrade: Unless I'm reading this wrong.
Mycroft: Apparently exhaustion works better than truth enhancers.
Lestrade: :)
Lestrade: Afraid you'll have to come here - I can't get out to the country with work the day after.
Mycroft: Just as well - we’ve established that the beds here are loud. And narrow.
Mycroft: I would not wish this menagerie on you regardless.
Mycroft: It will be no trouble for me to come to yours.
Mycroft: And it will keep you away from Sherlock another day. 😈
Lestrade: Best gift! I can go to sleep a happy man. In my large, comfy bed.
Mycroft: Tease. Until this evening, Greg. Good night.
Lestrade: Sweet dreams, Mycroft.
Mycroft thought that anticipation or anxiety would keep him awake, but he dropped off surprisingly quickly. When he next awoke, it was to the squeals of a young girl, eager to experience a family Christmas. Mycroft reached for his phone, reassured that the message exchange had actually happened. He smiled. Happy Christmas to all. Oh, that reminded him -- he placed an order for new beds for the guest rooms to arrive early in January. In case Mummy and Daddy decided to host another gathering for Sherlock's birthday.
