Work Text:
17th of December
"Secret Santa?" Mycroft looked in confusion at his younger brother, frown tightening. Greg suppressed a grin, sinking deeper into the couch. Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh and dropped into his armchair. He rolled his eyes.
"It's a present exchange with the surprising twist of not knowing from whom you will receive a present, brother dear." Mycroft straightened, his grip on the umbrella tightened.
"I'm fully aware of the concept, brother mine". He bit back, mouth a thin line. "I simply fail to understand why you insist on doing it and, more importantly, why I must be dragged into this." Sherlock's glance fell on Greg for a moment and something heavy settled in his stomach. Greg had known Sherlock long enough now to sense when he was planning something reckless. He sat up a little straighter.
"John said it would be fun", Sherlock explained and Greg saw Mycroft raise one eyebrow.
"Sherlock!", John's voice came sharply from the kitchen. Sherlock huffed loudly and leaned over to look at John in the kitchen.
"Fine!", he sneered. A smirk spread on Greg's lips. Sherlock sounded like a child who had been caught lying. "I saw it online and it's no fun if only John and I participate." Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily.
"Yet again, why are you dragging me into this?", he asked, voice low.
"Don't be too full of yourself. It's not just you, brother dear", Sherlock paused for a moment. "Molly as well as Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade." There was a slight pause, then Mycroft looked at Greg for the first time since he'd arrived. Their eyes met and Greg felt the slightest shiver running down his spine.
"I haven't agreed to it yet", Greg said, pointing a finger at Sherlock to escape Mycroft's gaze. Sherlock's eyes narrowed down on him.
"Know what's best for you", he hissed. The stern expression on his face told Greg it was not a suggestion. Greg sighed, one hand running through his hair.
"Then let me pull a name", he muttered, pressing himself up from the couch. He closed his jacket. "Technically I'm still working." Sherlock's face lit up and he jumped out of his chair.
"Excellent!", he shouted. He turned around swiftly to grab a piece of paper laying on the table. "Here, this is yours." He held it out to Greg, who raised an eyebrow.
"I believe it's not how it works, brother mine." Sherlock huffed.
"My game, my rules", he replied, holding another paper out for Mycroft as well. With a sigh Greg took his and placed it in his pocket. He watched Mycroft hesitate for another beat, before his fingers wrapped around the small piece of paper.
"What if we... pulled our own name?", Greg asked, remembering faintly the rules of Secret Santa. Sherlock stared at him for a moment and Greg started to feel stupid in a way he hadn't in a long while. Oh, how he hated Sherlock sometimes.
"Obviously I ensured this would not happen." Greg's frowned, already regretting asking.
"Splendid", he grumbled and turned towards the door, but stopped for a moment. He turned his head once more, finger pointing at Sherlock. "And for God's sake, send me a normal text! I would have called all forces again, hadn't John texted me that there was no emergency." He didn't wait for a response. Even if witnessing the Holmes brothers bickering had been fun, Greg had had a long day... a long week. December had always been a busy at work, but this year, people seemed more tempted to commit murder than the previous years.
The cold air hit him when he opened the front door. A shiver ran down his back and he tightened his scarf. He stepped out, hands in his pockets. His fingers brushed paper and he pulled it out. He unfolded it slowly. The handwriting was small, neat.
Mycroft
Beneath it, tilted just slightly to the left, where three more words written:
Thank me later
"Oh you bastard", Greg huffed and shook his head in disbelief.
The front door opened behind him and he closed the piece of paper swiftly. Greg turned his head slightly, watching as Mycroft tugged on his gloves.
"The present exchange will be on the evening of the twenty-fourth", Mycroft said quietly, stepping up to Greg. Greg nodded and for a moment neither of them spoke. "Whom did you... pull?", Mycroft asked, the slight pause uncharacteristic for him. With a light chuckle Greg raised an eyebrow.
"It wouldn't be a secret anymore, if I told you, would it?" Mycroft opened his mouth as if to argue but then closed it again, a rough sound of dissatisfaction escaping him instead.
A grin spread on Greg's lips and for the briefest second, Mycroft's gaze flickered to them.
"Very well", Mycroft mumbled, straightening ever so slightly. "I assume we will see eachother in one week, unless, of course, my brother stages something foolish again." Greg's grin softened into a gentle smile.
"We will see", he replied. "Goodbye, Mycroft."
"Goodbye, Detective Inspector", Mycroft answered, a faint tug on his lips. His voice sounded almost gentle. Greg stared at the tiniest smile for another moment, before turning and walking to his car. He looked back one more, finding Mycroft still standing at the spot Greg left him, staring after him. A soft pulling tightened Greg's chest and his fingertips tingled. Oh the effects that man had on him... Greg let out a low sigh, gave Mycroft one more nod before sliding into his car and driving off.
Later on, lying in bed, his mind wandered to the small piece of paper. What could he even offer that Mycroft couldn't buy for himself? Sherlock's written words drifted around in his mind "thank me later". What was that even supposed to mean? Greg let out a low grunt, pressing his hands against his eyes. He knew exactly what it meant. He only hoped nobody else had noticed. But if Sherlock had... then Mycroft must have as well. A sigh escaped Greg's lips and he turned in his bed. He pulled his blanket further up, hoping it would erase the loneliness.
23rd of December
Greg's heart beat fast in his chest as he walked down the long dark corridor towards Mycroft's office. He held a small round box from Charbonnel et Walker in his sweaty hands. He had never quite understood why Mycroft's office was this far down the building and so cold.
With a sigh, Greg entered the room just outside Mycroft's office, finding Anthea behind the desk. Without a word, she held out her hand and he placed the small round box into it. His payment for getting to Mycroft without further question.
"I cleared his schedule for the rest of the day", she informed him, a grin tugging at her lips, as if she knew exactly what he was planning.
"Thank you", Greg murmured.
Slowly he turned towards Mycroft's office door. He took one deep breath and opened the door.
"Anthea please, haven't I told you not to interrupt me?", Mycroft's voice was strained, the frown on his forehead strong. In front of him lay a gift box. Only vaguely, Greg could make out dark fabric. From her place behind her desk Anthea said:
"It's not me, Sir." Mycroft's head snapped up, eyes widening as he took Greg in.
"D... detective Inspector", he greeted, the slightest stutter in it. He snapped the gift box shut and pushed it off his desk; the sound of it hitting the ground was dull. Greg suppressed a chuckle as he nodded. Mycroft stood, lips parted and blinking. A faint hint of color on his cheeks. After a moment, Mycroft cleared his throat. "I had not expected you, Detective Inspector", his voice had gotten steadier again. "How may I help you?" A smile spread on Greg's lips. He straightened and cleared his throat. His heart beating strongly in his chest.
"I'm here to fulfill Santa's orders", he explained, smile widening as Mycroft's eyebrow arched. "Kidnap you." Mycroft blinked once, twice.
"I beg your pardon?" Greg stepped foreward, hands in his pockets.
"You heard me right, Mycroft", he said. "Now get out off the office." Greg didn't even know where he got that confidence from.
"I... I have meetings." Mycroft tried to reason.
"You have not, sir", Anthea called sweetly from her desk. Mycroft rounded his desk standing at the doorstep of his office.
"I will fire you", he threatened her, finger pointed but Anthea only smiled.
"It would be such a hassle to find a new PA as competent as I am, sir." Greg chuckled, watching as Mycroft dragged a hand through his hair, sighing.
Slowly Mycroft turned, looking at Greg.
"Santa?", he asked. Greg hummed.
"Yes, Secret Santa." Mycroft's lips parted ever so slightly, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. He looked at Greg for another moment. Then, with a few long steps, he walked towards a clothes rack, tugging his coat and his scarf on. Once Mycroft seemed satisfied with the arrangement of his scarf, he met Greg's glance. There was still some uncertainty in his eyes, but Greg also saw something else - eagerness.
"Ready?", Greg asked gently. His nerves were rising again, but he tried to breathe it away. Mycroft gave a single nod and Greg jumped into motion. With a grin he nodded Anthea farewell.
"Have fun", she said, a wide grin on her lips.
"We will talk about this", Mycroft grumbled.
"Of course, sir."
A few minutes later, they settled into his car. Soft Christmas music started playing when Greg pulled out of his parking space.
"So... kidnapping?", Mycroft asked, at the next red light. He had his hands clasped together in his lap, looking out of the window. But the light bounce of his right leg betrayed him. Greg hummed, a smile spreading on his lips.
"That's the plan."
"And where, pray tell, are you taking me?" Greg's glance drifted shortly to Mycroft before turning back forward.
"Home."
"Home?" Mycroft's voice carried clear suspicion. "To Sherlock?" Now it was Greg's turn to be confused.
"What?" Mycroft cleared his throat.
"Well, I assumed the entire Secret Santa game was Sherlock's attempt to... 'get me one over' on me." His voice was calm, but distant. Greg's chest tightened and a sigh escaped his lips.
"Sherlock is not involved at all", he confessed, giving Mycroft a soft smile. "I got you for Secret Santa." Mycroft turned slowly, eyes wide but something softer flashed in them.
"Very well", he mumbled after another beat, his shoulders relaxing just the slightest.
It took them only twenty minutes to get Greg's flat.
"It must be our lucky day", he mumbled as he parked his car just in front of his apartment complex. He turned his head, finding Mycroft already looking at him. It seemed to Greg as if Mycroft was searching for something. Greg cleared his throat, hand on the doorhandle.
"Let's get going, shall we?", he asked, the nervous bubbling in his stomach returning. After a moment, Mycroft nodded. They shared one last glance before exiting the car. "It's just a small space", Greg began as they climbed the stairs. "Probably out of your league but at least it's comfortable." Greg noticed Mycroft's following steps behind him, slow and steady. "The street is quiet and the crime rate is pretty low in this district." Greg had stopped in front of his door when he heard a chuckle from behind him. Warmth spread inside his chest as he turned his head.
"Ever the Detective Inspector", Mycroft said, a grin tugging at his lips. Greg's smile widened.
He opened the door and let Mycroft in. The warmth of his flat met them and he was happy he had turned the heat up before he had left. He held a hand out for Mycroft's coat, hanging it onto the rack next to his own. Their shoes ended up neatly next to each other.
"May I ask...", Mycroft started, looking around with flushed cheeks. "What exactly are we doing?" For a moment Greg stared at him, blinking slowly. His cheeks started to feel warm.
"Bloody hell", he muttered, eyes widening. "I didn't even tell you, did I? Sorry... I wanted to tell you in the car." He cleared his throat as he rubbed the back of his neck. Mycroft watched him, head slightly tilted and one eyebrow raised. "I... can't really offer you anything you couldn't buy for yourself", Greg explained after a beat of silence, heart in his throat. He noticed Mycroft part his lips, as if to argue. "So I decided my Secret Santa present will be time."
He gestured Mycroft to follow him and walked into his living-room which was connected to his small kitchen. Greg stopped at his dining table and turned towards the other man. "We know each other for quite some time now." Mycroft hummed at Greg's statement, hands in his pockets. "And I have noticed that you are always on the run. When we met over dinner to talk about Sherlock, you never really enjoyed it."
"I admit, my concern about Sherlock had often ruined my appetite... and, of course, keeping England from catching fire", Mycroft muttered, eyes sliding away.
A knowing smile appeared on Greg's lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. Slowly he nodded, understanding Mycroft all too well.
"That's why I thought, for your Secret Santa present, we could cook." Finally Mycroft met Greg's eyes again, a certain wonder written all over his face.
"That... I would appreciate that, Inspector."
The nervousness that had lingered in Greg's stomach turned into something lighter.
"Good", he mumbled, as he nodded. "Good... and please call me Greg."
"I assume first name is more than appropriate, Greg...ory", Mycroft's voice was soft. Only his grandfather had ever called Greg by his full name. He had always resented it, it made him feel old, but when Mycroft said it... it sounded just right.
"Alright", Greg said calmly, slowly turning towards the recipe he had printed out earlier. "Whenever we had dinner together you chose something on the lighter side. Ever so often fish." He turned his head as he heard Mycroft footsteps. Mycroft had stopped next to him, fingers gently taking the recipe.
"Excellent observation, Gregory", he muttered.
"I chose salmon en croûte as the main dish and thought of a fresh salad alongside it?", Greg said, hoping Mycroft would agree to his idea. Indeed of answering Mycroft slowly took of his jacket and loosening the buttons on his waistcoat. Greg couldn't keep his eyes from Mycroft's lean fingers even if he wanted to.
"Shall we begin?", Mycroft asked, his voice pulling Greg softly out of his staring.
"Of course." As Greg started to place the ingredients on the table, Mycroft washed his hands. They worked side by side and Greg was surprised how early Mycroft fell into his place, the two of them moving around each other.
Half an hour later, Greg slid the salmon into his oven.
"It should be ready in about thirty minutes", he mumbled, closing the oven and straightening. When he turned, Mycroft was staring at him from where he leaned against the dining table. His shoulders relaxed and eyes calm. For a moment, Greg's mind went blank. What were they supposed to do now? He hadn't thought about that. His uncertainty must have shown on his face because Mycroft straightened, a gentle smile appearing on his lips.
"I assume", he said, his voice soft, but amused. "You have something nice to drink available while we wait?" Greg felt the back of his neck heat up and a high pitched laugh escaped him. But grateful of Mycroft's quick thinking. Greg turned, opened his fridge and took one of the white wine bottles he had bought yesterday. He was more of a beer man himself, but Mycroft was clearly the wine type. Greg opened the wine and poured a small amount into one glass. Turning back, he held the glass out to him.
"You know more about wine", he explained. "So I figured you should test it." Mycroft closed the distance between them, stopping right in front of Greg. His gaze travelled shortly to the label.
"It's one of my favourites", he uttered with wide eyes as he took the glass from Greg, cheeks flushed. He raised the glass, inhaled, then tasted it. Greg noticed the way Mycroft's brows furrowed as the wine touched his lips, the slight movement of his throat as he swallowed. A tight pull in his stomach let Greg look away.
"Excellent", Mycroft said, slowly lowering the glass and refilling it along side Greg's. With glasses filled, they settled at Greg's dining table.
"I really appreciate the amount of effort you took to create this Secret Santa present", Mycroft muttered after a few sips. "But... shouldn't you be with your loved ones so shortly before Christmas, Gregory?" Mycroft kept his eyes settled on his wine, avoiding meeting Greg's gaze. A low chuckle escaped Greg.
"You know my files, Mycroft", he said, taking a long sip from his glass and then refilling both their glasses. "There are not many people I would consider loved ones... but I will be heading up north on the 26th to see my sister and her family." He turned his glass with his fingers absently, then looked at Mycroft again. "And please, don't make it sound like having you here, is anything other than a pleasure." His voice came out softer than he had intended and Mycroft's eyes finally met his.
"Thank you, Gregory."
Greg's smile widened. He bathed in their silence for another moment longer and sipping his wine.
"And you?", he asked finally. "Are you heading home?" A sigh escaped Mycroft's lips and he shook his head.
"Ever since adulthood my relationship with my parents had been... difficult", Mycroft began to explain, taking a rather long sip of his wine."I do have to be present at Christmas dinner every few years, but not this year." With a hum Greg let Mycroft know that he understood his situation all to well.
"I had a rather good relationship with my mum but my dad... it hadn't been easy when I was younger", he confessed, a low sigh escaping his lips. "So I think I understand how you feel." A small knowing smile was visible on Mycroft's lips.
Just as Mycroft opened his mouth as if to say something, Greg's phone started to ring. Greg cursed under his breath as he looked for his phone.
"The fish is ready", he muttered after turning off the alarm. As he took the fish out, Mycroft walked over and set the table. When Greg turned, he noticed that Mycroft had even found two candles somewhere in his flat and had lit them. Greg swallowed hard. He had not expected it to look this cozy... this intimate. And Mycroft had set the table like this. There was a soft, warm pull in his chest.
"Is it too much?", Mycroft asked, his hand laying on the back of his chair, fingers rubbing over the wood. Greg shook his head gently and set the fish on the table.
"I like it this way", he explained, turned one last time to grab the salad before he sat down. "Thank you, Mycroft." After a beat, Mycroft settled into his chair once more. He watched as Greg began to cut a slice of the salmon en croûte, the rich aroma of salmon, spinach and paprika filling the room. A low grumble filled the otherwise quiet room. With a wide grin, Greg looked towards Mycroft who had his hand placed over his stomach as if to hide the sound. Even the tip of his ears had turned a bright shade of pink.
"Guess dinner was ready just in time", he chuckled, placing an extra big slice of salmon on Mycroft's plate. Mycroft murmured something under his breath but he waited until Greg's plate was filled with salmon and salad as well. They ate in silence and one bottle of wine turned into two.
With a sigh, Mycroft leaned back in his chair, as Greg chewed his last bite.
"I haven't had such a... comforting dinner in a while", Mycroft confessed after a moment, one hand nestling with his nearly empty glass. A warm feeling made itself known inside Greg's chest.
"It's the magic of homemade dinner", Greg said, a gentle smile on his face.
"And the right company", Mycroft added, his voice barely a whisper, as if it was only meant for him. Greg's eyes landed on Mycroft's face. His eyes seemed soft and shiny. The ever existing frown on his forehead had vanished.
Slowly Greg reached out, his hand landing on Mycroft's knee. There was a short audible inhale coming from Mycroft but he didn't pull away. Instead his hand found Greg's, deliberate and steady.
There were churchbells announcing the time outside Greg's flat. Mycroft turned his head, listening to them.
"It just passed 11 o'clock", he uttered quietly, as if afraid to break the bubble they were in. "I suppose I should be heading home. I have a meeting tomorrow morning." Greg suppressed a whine and nodded. Mycroft didn't move right away, as if he didn't want this evening to end. At least that was what Greg hoped. Slowly, Greg stood, his hand falling from Mycroft's knee.
"I will pack some of the salmon up for you", he explained as he turned with the rest of their dinner towards his kitchen. He heard soft shuffling and then what must have been Mycroft tapping on his phone.
"My driver should arrive in a few minutes", Mycroft announced. Greg turned once more, finding Mycroft standing in the middle of his living room. They walked towards Greg's apartment door. Greg felt a sudden weight on his shoulders as he watched Mycroft get dressed. He didn't want this evening to end just yet but he knew it would. After he had his shoes fastened, Mycroft straightened.
"Thank you for this calm evening, Gregory", he mumbled, eyes locked with Greg's. "I enjoyed myself quite much."
"Seemed it was just what you needed", Greg answered a smile tugging at his lips.
"Indeed."
Mycroft looked at him for another beat, then he leaned in. Greg felt his heart quicken, heat warming his whole body. Mycroft arms embraced him and he was pulled closer. Greg blinked once, twice, then move his arms as well, embracing Mycroft's waist. Greg felt the warmth radiating from Mycroft's body and smelled the aftershave he had been using. A soft sigh escaped his lips.
When Mycroft's phone buzzed, he slowly pulled back.
"My driver", he explained without breaking eye contact. Greg nodded softly and opened the door for Mycroft.
"Until tomorrow", he murmured.
"Good night, Gregory."
"Good night, Mycroft."
24th of December
When Greg entered Sherlock and John's flat, everyone else had already arrived. Soft Christmas music was playing in the background and the Christmas tree was lit.
"Finally!", Sherlock called out when he saw Greg. "What took you so long?" Greg chuckled.
"Instead of some people in this flat, I actually had work to do", he replied, to which Sherlock only huffed. He stared at Greg for another moment before turning. Greg's glance drifted towards Mycroft, who sat on the couch, a steaming mug in hand. The gift box he had looked at when Greg had entered Mycroft's office yesterday, laid in front of him in the coffee table alongside four other. When their eyes met, a tiny smile tugged on Mycroft's lips and he gave Greg a nod. Greg's smile widened before he turned to greet Mrs. Hudson and Molly.
"Want some mulled wine?", John asked Greg from the kitchen, who let out a confirming hum and entered the kitchen.
"Thanks, John", he said as he took the hot drink from John. Sherlock was explaining something vividly but Greg didn't pay attention to it. Instead he walked over towards the couch and let himself sink into it. He was close to Mycroft but not too close. Still he was able to feel the warmth radiating from Mycroft.
"I hope you got home safe?", Greg asked and then taking a sip from his mulled wine, slightly wincing at the intensity.
"Don't drink to much off it. I suspect Sherlock must have added some extra alcohol", Mycroft mumbled, leaning in, their shoulders brushing softly. "But to answer your question, yes I got home safe, Gregory. "
"Now that everyone has finally arrived", Sherlock announced, arms spreaded wide a even wider grin on his lips. "I think we should start with Secret..." He stopped mid-sentence, staring at Greg and Mycroft. "Something happened!", he said, brows furrowed. "What happened?" Greg's eyes met Mycroft for a brief second and a quiet laugh escaped his lips.
"Oh wouldn't you want to know, brother mine", Mycroft said, a smile on his lips but his back straightened. Greg knew the other long enough to notice that Mycroft was indeed nervous. Sherlock's jaw set and he stepped up to Mycroft, towering over him.
"You are blushing", he deduced, eyes narrowing on Mycroft, whose smile didn't waver but his hand, which was lying between their thighs, were balled into a fist.
"Must be the heat in here", he replied eventually, his tone even. Greg took another sip from his drink, hiding his grin.
"Should I get popcorn?", John asked, from the kitchen.
"Don't encourage him, Dr. Watson", Mycroft answered, breaking eye contact with Sherlock. Sherlock stared at him for a moment longer before his eyes drifted to Greg.
"Don't even look at me like that, Sherlock", he warned, one finger raised. "Let's start with the Secret Santa exchange." Sherlock muttered something under his breath but nodded. Within a minute everyone except Mycroft had a presents in their hands.
"Oh Mr. Holmes", Mrs. Hudson muttered. "It's a misery you haven't got any present."
"I can assure you, Mrs. Hudson, I have already received mine." Greg felt the curious glance of Sherlock on him but he avoided meeting his glance. Instead he looked down into his lap where a small gift box laid. Seeing it up close now, Greg noticed it being a dark green color. Careful he opened the box, revealing a creme card with delicate handwriting.
Dear Gregory,
It came to my knowledge that you have lost your last pair of gloves.
Please accept these new ones.
I wish you a very Merry Christmas.
MH
Greg turned his head, looking at Mycroft, who seemed very busy searching for something in his drink. A soft grin spread on Greg's lips. He glanced down again, pulling the silk paper aside, revealing dark brown leather gloves. His finger traced over the soft fabric.
"Thank you Mycroft", Greg whispered. "Gonna look posh with them." A low chuckle escaped Mycroft's lips and when Greg looked back at him, a tiny smile tugged at Mycroft's lips.
"You got gloves?", Sherlock's voice cut through the air, breaking the small bubble Mycroft and Greg had been in. "How boring."
"Speak for yourself, Sherlock. I really appreciate them", Greg bit back, closing the box again, shielding them from curious eyes. Luckily Sherlock seemed more occupied with his own present.
With a sigh Greg let himself sink even more into the couch, his arm gently pressing against Mycroft's.
"You look tired", Mycroft muttered. Greg let out a huff.
"Got called in at 4 am", Greg explained, suppressing a yawn. "Gonna head home soon. But I didn't want to miss this."
"Do you want a drive home?", Mycroft asked, sitting up. Softly Greg shook his head.
"It's alright. Got here with my car." Another yawn passed his lips. He placed his cup on the coffee table and slowly got up.
"Already leaving us already?", John asked.
"Had a call in at 4 am", he explained once more. "Gonna head home now. Pretty tired." John hummed, softly patting his shoulder. Greg nodded everyone goodbye, the gift box pressed against his chest.
"Merry Christmas", he said before walking out of the flat.
When Greg stepped out of the front door, he took a deep breath in. The mulled wine was indeed pretty strong and he was happy he had only drunk a little. The door behind him got open and closed and a smile tugged on Greg's lips. It felt a bit like deja vu. When he turned, Mycroft had just stopped in front of him. The other opened his mouth but then closed it again. He cleared his throat and went through his hair once.
"There... is another present I would like to give you", Mycroft said, his voice slightly uneven. Curious, Greg raised a brow but nodded to let Mycroft know he was in for it.
"Please stop me, should you not like it", Mycroft uttered as he closed the distance between them. Greg's heart quickened as he felt one of Mycroft's warm hands cupping his jaw. The other landed on his waist, grounding him. He felt Mycroft's fast breath on his lips. Then a soft touch. His eyes fluttered shut as a sigh escaped him. With the same gentleness he returned the kiss, leaning in. His hands travelled Mycroft's arms up, resting on his shoulders. Steady and calm. Mycroft's hand on his waist tightened and he was pulled closer. And despite the cold air around them, Greg felt warm.
When they parted, they stayed close, only inches apart from each other. With a wide smile, Greg met Mycroft's glance, who had a quiet similar expression on his face.
"Wanna come along when I head up north on the 26th?", he asked, heart beating fast in his chest. Mycroft blinked a few times, as if this action was bringing him back into present a little.
"If you would have me", he answered, nodding along. Greg's smile grew. "Of course."
"Very well."
Greg closed the distance between them.
"Merry Christmas, Mycroft." Mycroft's smile softened.
"Merry Christmas, Gregory."
Their lips met again, even softer than before.