A/N: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Gregory Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes and Hamish do not belong to me; they belong to the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, Rupert Graves, Mark Gatiss and whoever created Hamish, respectively. The plot and Hamish's fiancee, Jenny, are mine.
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Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes, together now for forty years, are sitting on a park bench near their home and feeding the pigeons, each thinking of times gone by...
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A short nostalgic oneshot based on MadMoro's art, Mystrade: Grow old...together on dA. Address in my profile. :)
I don't know who the original creator of Hamish is; if anyone knows, please let me know so I can credit he or she properly.
Thanks to my readers and all those who have favourited, reviewed, story alerted, favourite author or author alerted me. I appreciate it more than I can say!
Special thanks to my beloved husband, DezoPenguin, for all his help, support, advice, nagging (when necessary), the title for this oneshot and encouragement! I appreciate it more than I can say! Love you!
Rated T, Mycroft Holmes x Gregory Lestrade, Romance
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October 30th
3:55 P.M.
Mycroft slowly shifted forward, Lestrade hanging onto his arm with a firm grasp as they shuffled toward the bench that was in the middle of the park. The park was uncharacteristically silent today although the slate-grey sky overhead that was threatening rain might have gone a long way to explain why.
It was late October and the afternoon seemed as gloomy as the tomb as the two men made their way over to the bench and slowly sat down, taking some time to arrange themselves comfortably. Mycroft put his hand into his pocket and took out a small brown paper bag full of breadcrumbs that he cast slowly in a wide arc around the front of the bench.
They waited for a few moments before they heard the melodious hum of wings and smiled as they saw the pigeons coming over to where they were sitting. It was a tradition that they had done together for quite some time now and, although both men had retired a few years earlier, they still enjoyed coming to the park to feed the pigeons.
They watched in companionable silence for some time as the pigeons swooped down in a flurry of white, coming to land softly at their feet and began pecking at the breadcrumbs that were on the ground in front of the two men. Mycroft's hand reached out for Lestrade's, taking it in his own and squeezing it tenderly.
Lestrade smiled, his eyes flickering over to Mycroft, shining softly.
They had been together for over forty years but he still had the same, breathy reaction every time he looked at him. As Lestrade looked at his beloved, his heart began to beat faster and his hand trembled, Mycroft's fingers tightening around his in response.
It was amazing, he reflected as he saw Mycroft's soft smile, what he could do to him with just a look. He winked back at him, chuckling when he saw Mycroft's lips twitch in amusement.
"A farthing for your thoughts, Gregory," he said teasingly, settling against the back of the bench and looking at him with a bluish-grey eye.
Lestrade grinned at him, reaching for the breadcrumb bag with his free hand and keeping hold of his hand in the other.
"I was just thinking of how you make my heart race," he said impudently but with perfect truth, giving Mycroft's hand a squeeze as he tossed out another handful of breadcrumbs to the pigeons who eagerly swooped over to partake in the feast, "and how that hasn't changed even over the space of forty years."
Mycroft smiled at him.
"Indeed," he said softly. He was silent a moment. "How's John and Sherlock? I haven't seen them for awhile although I expect that they've been rather busy as of late."
"They're in Brussels attending some kind of fete or other and should be back sometime next week." Lestrade watched the pigeons in silence for a time before he spoke again. "I was thinking of having them over for tea later on after they've returned."
"Sounds wonderful," Mycroft remarked, "and we must remember to use the good china. It is, after all, a celebration." He grinned evilly. "I'm fairly certain that he probably won't think so. He never really did like familial celebrations."
"I'm sure he'll survive," Lestrade replied with a slightly mocking tone while Mycroft chuckled.
"How's Hamish doing?" he asked abruptly, changing the subject.
Lestrade thought a moment. "Well. He and his fiancee are in Bruxton for the weekend and should be back Monday."
"Good. He's a fine boy; he'd do well in the Service." He cast a sly look at Lestrade. He'd been teasing Lestrade like this for years but, much to his chagrin, and Lestrade's evident delight, he had gotten the last laugh on him when their nephew Hamish, John and Sherlock's son, had chosen to go into police work and had been accepted at Scotland Yard.
Lestrade's eyes twinkled with mischief. "He'll make a a damned fine Detective Inspector. I got the news a couple of weeks ago: he's been promoted to Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard and will take up his duties when he returns." Lestrade couldn't keep the note of pride out of his voice and he didn't even try. "He let me know the moment he received word that he had been promoted." He looked at Mycroft. "I'm damned proud of him and so are Sherlock and John."
Mycroft nodded. "As they should be."
"Anyway, he and Jenny are getting married next year... July 31st, I think is the date they've set. We've been invited to the wedding and I said that we'd be there." He grinned. "I like being 'Uncle Gregory' although I draw the line at 'Grandpa Gregory.' I'm too young for that designation yet."
Mycroft laughed heartily at that and even Lestrade joined in.
The late afternoon sun poked through the gloom, shining brilliantly over them as they talked about various family members, friends old and new and what they were up to as of late. Life, Mycroft noted, was even busier now that he had retired from the Service than it had been when he was actively serving but he was happy and so was Lestrade and, yesterday, they'd celebrated their fortieth anniversary and had quite enjoyed the party that Hamish and their various friends and family had thrown for them.
"I love you, Gregory," Mycroft said softly, bringing his hand to his lips and planting a kiss on the knuckles, his eyes shining.
Lestrade beamed as he leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you, too, Mycroft."
They smiled at each other as they settled back in the bench, their heads lying against each other as they sat in silence for some time, basking in the cool Fall air and watching the pigeons as they ate the breadcrumbs, each thinking of days gone by.
~Fin~