Fluffy Mystrade is the best way to celebrate the holidays I think.

I own nothing.

Happy Holidays!

~B

Mycroft yawned and glanced at his watch. He knew it was physically impossible for time to move slower than normal, but it certainly felt that way. He yawned again. He wouldn't have even come had it not been for John's insistence. He had a soft spot for that man, mostly because he knew Sherlock would be dead were it not for John's inexplicable attachment to him.

He surveyed the party with bemused interest. It was a small band of misfits that John had coaxed into coming to 221B for a Christmas party. Mrs. Hudson was complaining about her hip to a bored-looking Harry Watson while DI Dimmock appeared to be awkwardly flirting with Molly Hooper. John and Clara were having what looked like a very serious conversation about Harry in the corner, and strangest of all was Anthea, Sherlock, and DI Lestrade laughing about the latest developments in a case involving a rash of jewel thefts.

Mycroft watched this trio in amusement. Anthea had scarcely looked at her Blackberry once since the DI had engaged her in conversation. Not that Mycroft could blame her. Gregory Lestrade, on top of being ridiculously handsome, was charming and had an easygoing personality that made one feel instantly at ease. Mycroft had met the man a few times before and could easily attest to that fact. That qualified him as a danger in Mycroft Holmes's book, his guard must be kept up at all times and anyone that made him even think about letting it down was a threat. A very good looking threat with a particularly nice arse, but a threat nonetheless.

All at once there was a small flurry of action as John and Clara realized that Harry had slipped away from sight, most likely to get a drink, Mycroft flattened himself against the doorframe to allow them to squeeze by in pursuit. He shook his head slightly to himself, Mummy Holmes had suffered from alcoholism quite severely when the boys were in school, he sympathized greatly with John and Clara.

"Such a shame," a voice said, jolting Mycroft out of his reverie. He turned to find himself faced with DI Lestrade, who nodded towards the stairs. "I see booze tear families apart every day, gets pretty ugly. That's a big part of why I don't drink."

"And the other part?" Mycroft asked, genuine curiosity creeping into his voice.

Greg smirked. "I'm already a slave to the cigarette companies, I don't need another vice."

Mycroft couldn't believe how open this man was. Not in an aggressive way, but a very personable way. Mycroft couldn't believe someone would say something like that to someone he just met; already Mycroft could think of seven different ways that information could be used against Gregory, which worried him. He didn't want anything to happen to the DI.

"I don't drink either," Mycroft blurted. "Not since Uni. No good comes from it, and I cannot stand to have my senses dulled. Where had that come from?

Greg smiled encouragingly. "That's good. You don't meet too many teetotalers these days." His face grew serious for a moment. "You don't mess around with drugs either do you? Because I don't think I could handle two Holmes junkies."

Mycroft let out a bark of surprised laughter. "Goodness, no," he replied.

"Good," Greg said with a smile. He glanced down for a moment, then back up at Mycroft. "So, er, I'm going to go ahead and assume that when you stepped into that doorway you did not realize that it was adorned with mistletoe…" he said slowly.

Mycroft glanced up and sure enough, there was one of those blasted sprigs of green with white berries, tied with a slip of red ribbon.

Mycroft's cheeks flushed. "I most certainly did not."

Greg chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I figured. Still, tradition is tradition. May I?"

Mycroft was stunned and did not realize that he had nodded his consent until Greg had lightly pressed his lips against Mycroft's. Mycroft's eyelids fluttered shut as he found his own lips slowly moving against Greg's.

Around them, the party continued, it's members unaware that something monumental was happening. They continued their merrymaking, completely oblivious to the fact that Mycroft's guard had come crashing down around him. Even Mycroft was not conscious to this change, he was only conscious to the sensation of Gregory Lestrade's hands wrapping themselves around his waist as their shared mistletoe kiss deepened.