Ahh... Christmas. Mycroft's least favorite holiday. Not that he liked any holidays, but he especially hated Christmas. The dinners and the family gathers and the gifts, it felt like a century long for just one day. His parents, Sherlock, John and himself all in the same household. He thought he might go mad, but now there was Aiden in the house, and things had become more interesting.
"Is this your computer Myc?" Asked his mum, who was holding a basket of Christmas crisps in her hands, apron tied around her waist, and looking cheery with Christmas spirit. He heard the newspaper pages of the paper Sherlock was pretending to me enthralled by flick over loudly.
He looked up at her with a grimacing smile, "Upon which the safety of the world relies on, and you've got potatoes on it."
He heard a dry voice respond to his comment, and he looked up to see Aiden sitting on Sherlock's lap, reading the paper with him, nibbling on his biscuit while not looking up.
"Oh yes, but don't forget Mycroft, the potatoes are always the most important on Christmas day. You mustn't forget the potatoes."
He faced her with a disapproving and slightly irritated glare, and he watched as Sherlock hid a snort of laughter not too well behind the paper he was reading.
Christmas.