Plenty of people have their doubts that Santa Claus exists. Well, he does exist but since most people are quite capable of providing presents for their loved ones themselves, Santa only takes care of the wishes that are really difficult to fulfil. One of the most difficult wishes ever came from a Mrs. Holmes in London and even Santa had decided that her wish was a hard nut to crack. He postponed fulfilling it year after year, until finally he decided it was time to tackle the problem.
Mycroft Holmes sat in his office, staring at the phone in front of him, trying to make it ring. It simply wasn't possible that there was no crisis he needed to take care of today. He was quite certain that somewhere in Korea a war was about to break out, terrorists in the Middle-East were about to launch an attack on the British population and if anything else failed, there were surely troops to dispatch because the United States had been threatened and Great Britain would tag along. But nothing happened. The phone didn't ring and no explosion turned London into a pile of rubble.
With a very deep sigh he closed his laptop, shrugged into his coat and locked the door to his office. Walking by the two employees who were responsible for manning the front-desk of Whitehall, he wished them a happy Christmas and headed to his car.
It was dark when he left. Mycroft had been the only one who had voluntarily come to the office that day and as he had not dashed home as soon as possible to spend Christmas with the family some colleagues had been calling him Mycroft Scrooge behind his back. Not that it mattered because he simply didn't care for Christmas. Still, his mother had summoned him and it was one of the few calls he obeyed.
Every year he was annoyed that he was forced to spend a whole day at the house of his parents but this year was particularly bad. First his brother wouldn't be there. Sherlock had announced just the other week he would spend Christmas together with his partner John Watson in Finland. The couple would spend a whole week in more or less complete isolation in a well stocked cabin doing what every other couple would do under those circumstances.
Mycroft would love going to Finland, Swalbart or Greenland to spend the time in total isolation if only to avoid Christmas. No, that wasn't completely true. He would love doing that if he could share the isolation with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, the man he had been busy falling in love with for several month now. He had even asked the handsome man if he would accompany him to a Christmas party (eating goose at Mummy's) but Gregory had told him he had already made arrangements for the day.
During the past few weeks Mycroft had seen the Inspector several times visiting a woman who lived in Acton. Almost every day he had driven all the way to the house she lived in, usually coming out of the house a few hours later, looking exhausted but happy. It probably would be her Gregory would spend time with on Christmas Eve.
With a heartfelt sigh, Mycroft got out of the car. At least this year he could eat as much as he liked without being teased by Sherlock. The goose his mother cooked was delicious, not to mention the pudding that followed and if he drank enough punch it probably was possible to make the day at least bearable.
Before he even reached the door it was opened by his mother, who pulled him inside before engulfing him into a hug that was laden with powder and perfume.
"Mikey, how wonderful you could make it." Mycroft winced upon the usual parody of his name. Once he had hung up his coat, his mother linked her arm with his and lead him into the living-room where his father was sitting on one end of the sofa.
The white haired man got up and gave him a very short hug. "Hello, my boy. Happy Christmas!"
Mycroft wondered if his father had been diagnosed with a terminal illness for he was wearing an almost silly grin and his eyes were shining from moisture when he bestowed the season's greeting upon him.
"Dinner isn't ready yet, Mikey, and there is a film we want to watch with you."
Mycroft opened his mouth to tell his mother about a very important phone-call he had to do right now and that they could start watching the film without him. He would join in, of course, in a hundred-fifteen minutes or so.
Before he could utter a single word, his mother tapped her index-finger to his chest. "Mycroft Holmes, you are to watch this DVD with us. Otherwise I will not only disinherit you but never speak to you again."
Now, didn't that sound promising? Unfortunately, Mycroft happened to love both his parents and thinking it couldn't be worse than sitting through three hours of 'Les Miserables', he gingerly sat down on the sofa. His father on his right smiled and gave a pleasant hum, his mother took a seat on his left side once again linking her arm with his, smiling in that excited way that usually didn't augur well.
Sound and view announced that it was the '25th Anniversary of Les Miserables' his mother had chosen to watch. Mycroft was ready to die right then and there but after a minute or so the picture began to fade and something seemed to be wrong with the sound. Could it be the DVD was broken? Mycroft looked quite hopeful. All of a sudden the picture changed and he found himself looking at a video of a band that stood on a stage, getting ready to play. The singer, who stood in front of the microphone was dressed in a Santa Claus costume, the hood pulled deep down to conceal the face.
The music started and the singer began the recitative of 'All I want for Christmas is you'. The voice sounded vaguely familiar and Mycroft found himself unable to look away from the screen. The singer was still hidden underneath that hood but he sounded like... no, that wasn't possible.
"All I want for Christmas is youuuuu!" The singer ended the first part of the song and when the band began to play in earnest, he threw back the hood. And there, standing on the stage, dancing and singing like he had never done anything else in his life. was Gregory Lestrade. The man was looking intently into the camera that was filming the gig. He was throwing his whole heart into the song, not merely singing but performing.
Mycroft neither noticed his mouth was hanging slightly open in surprise nor that his parents had got up and left after about half a minute to let him watch the video by himself.
He wouldn't have thought the DI could sing and dance but the man was singing and moving in a fashion that revealed all the passion he put into that song.
When Greg sang the refrain for the last time, the camera zoomed closer and Mycroft was falling straight into Greg Lestrade's chocolate eyes.
"Good lord!" Mycroft came back to reality; first slowly but eventually with sonic speed. Struggling to his feet he knocked both knees against the coffee table. Sod the goose, he needed to leave now to drive to Gregory Lestrade's flat, tell him that he was all Mycroft would ever want for Christmas or any other occasion that required presents.
He shrugged into his coat, not bothering to button it before he ran into the kitchen.
"Sorry, Mummy, but I need to go." He kissed his mother's cheek and was out the door before she could even open her mouth to reply.
Starting the car though, he was horrified that his father at some point had moved his own, effectively blocking Mycroft's, preventing him from leaving. For a second he was tempted to call a cab but that would take even longer than going back inside, to convince his father to move the car.
When he came back into the house he found both his parents in the living-room, both of them standing next to the Christmas tree.
„Would you please move the car, I need to..."
They didn't allow him to finish the sentence. Both his parents stepped to the side so he got an unobstructed view of a very large box he was fairly certain hadn't been there a few minutes ago.
"Happy Christmas, Mikey!" his mother said and kissed his cheek. Mycroft's father only smiled at his son, and helped him out of his coat.
"Much too warm to wear indoors, son."
A moment before he closed the door behind himself, his father turned. "Dinner is ready in half an hour."
Mycroft stood in the living-room quite thunderstruck, staring at the large box. He walked closer and looked at the note that was attached to the lid.
'Yours, always!'
With a lump in his throat, Mycroft lifted the lid and looked into the box. A pair of dark-brown eyes looked back at him.
"You are mine?" he finally managed to ask the man who sat at the bottom of the box.
"If you will have me, yes."
Reaching inside Mycroft helped Greg to stand up and climb out of the box.
"I don't know what to say," Mycroft finally stammered.
"Then how about kissing me instead," Greg suggested.
And that's what he did. Mycroft wrapped him in his arm, caressing his cheek with the tips of his fingers before kissing him. The kiss was returned enthusiastically, while a strong arm pulled Mycroft close and a gentle hand cupped the back of his head, telling him that Gregory Lestrade was really his.
A few hours later Mummy Holmes was lying in her bed, listening to her husband who was snoring softly. Years ago she had sat down and written a letter to Santa Claus, wishing she could see her oldest son once more standing next to the Christmas tree, smiling with the genuine feelings of utter happiness she knew he was capable of. Today Santa had fulfilled that wish - with a little bit of help from New Scotland Yard and a friend who had a recording studio.