Greg glanced across the table at him. He was rolling his eyes at his family and sighing indignantly. Hell did he love him when he was irritated. Or flustered. Or for that matter any other time. Greg mopped up his gravy with a lonely slice of turkey as Mycroft continued to groan and fork his food around his plate absentmindedly.

Mycroft had always said that he hated spending time with his family, especially at Christmas, and so Greg felt honoured to have been invited, although he could now plainly see that he hadn't been lying when he'd warned him it would be a little slow. When Mrs Holmes finally rose to clear the table (Greg did offer to help, but was shooed away with a dishcloth) Mycroft scraped his chair back along the floor and announced loudly "I think I need some air" before swiftly exiting.

Greg shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, not entirely sure what to do now Mycroft had left, until Mrs Holmes tapped him on the shoulder.

"You couldn't just go and check Myc's not smoking for me? He does that at Christmas, gets stressed out and all."

"Oh, certainly, Mrs Holmes," Greg replied, perhaps a little too quickly. As he turned away to leave, he didn't see the wink Mr Holmes sneaked his wife, and the grin she flashed back.

Outside, Mycroft was not smoking. When Greg shut the door behind him, he saw Mycroft standing a little way off in the garden, just staring up at the grey sky as he often did in London.

"Mycroft? Are you alright?" He approached tentatively, even though he knew by now that Mycroft knew exactly where he was, discerning every footfall as always.

He sighed deeply as he turned around. "Oh thank God you've escaped."

"Your mum actually asked me to check on you. She obviously worries about you, Mycroft."

"That's the worst part."

"Your parents are nice."

"Well, I'm glad you all get along."

"Yeah, so am I actually. 'Cos it can be difficult to stick around long-term when you can't fucking stand your in-laws."

"Well, you'd know. I take it the last lot weren't to your taste."

"Well, no. But hey, this lot seem good. Plus, their son is amazing."

"Is he really?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Greg bit his lip.

"We should probably go back in. Your parents are wondering where we've got to."

"We wouldn't want to scar their little minds, would we?"

Greg accepted Mycroft's proffered arm as they strolled back up to the little door. Then Mycroft paused, hand on the latch, and glanced up.

Greg followed his gaze. "Mistletoe," he whispered.

"Shall we?"

When they finally broke the kiss, Mycroft leaned in towards Greg's ear.

"Marry me."

Greg's answer required no words.