Just a bit of holiday fluffiness! Sherlock belongs to Steven Moffatt and Mark Gatiss, Have yourself A Merry Little Christmas belongs to Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane. I'm just having a bit of fun with them.

~B

"I'm just saying, that's one of the best parts of Christmas! Who on earth pays someone to come in and decorate their tree for them?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Do we really have to get into that again? We both work incredibly busy schedules, so it simply made sense to cut down as many holiday chores as possible. Really Gregory, you pick the oddest things to be sentimental about."

Greg snorted. "Says the man who still has the picture six-year-old Sherlock drew for him of a DNA molecule."

Mycroft chuckled and walked to the drink cart, pouring two brandies. "If you had an obvious memento of Sherlock's humanity wouldn't you hang onto it for dear life?"

Greg stood up from the dinner table and stretched. "Fair point." He gathered the dishes from dinner and took them into the kitchen. He rinsed them off and loaded the dishwasher. After a few minutes he heard the record player switch on.

Judy Garland's voice warbled through the flat.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. From now on our troubles will be out of sight…"

Greg smiled to himself and wiped his hands on a dishtowel. He walked to the kitchen door and peered in at Mycroft, who was standing in front of their professionally decorated tree swaying gently to the music. Greg leaned into the frame of the doorway, just watching his lover for a few moments. The light from the flickering fire danced over Mycroft, making the already attractive man painfully beautiful. The past year had been difficult, but Greg though that maybe this moment might be worth all the hell they had been through.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas, make the Yule-tide gay. From now on our troubles will be miles away…"

Greg snuck up behind him and pressed a small kiss to the back of his neck before taking the brandy glass from his hand and setting it on the coffee table. He took one of Mycroft's hands in his own and put am arm around Mycroft's narrow middle, leading him into a lazy waltz.

"Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore. Faithful friends who are dear to us gather near to us once more."

Mycroft smiled and raised his arm to settle around Greg's shoulders.

"I'm not used to letting other people lead me," he remarked dryly.

Greg grinned and kissed Mycroft's cheek. He leaned up and whispered the next verse into the shell of Mycroft's ear. "Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow…"

Mycroft let out a contented sigh, the warm air tickled Greg's neck. He snuggled in closer and let his eyes drift shut. Mycroft pressed a kiss to the top of Greg's head before resting his cheek in the soft silver hair.

"Hang a shining star upon the highest bough, and have yourself a merry little Christmas now…"