Music filled the house. Bows sliding graciously across strings, keeping perfect time with the light and steady drum beat. A piano came to attention and melted away without disruption. Slender, aged fingers danced across ivory and ebony keys, blending into the CD track naturally. The player smiled softly, overcome by nostalgia. He remembered his wedding day.
The band played the song with incredible skill and grace, while a youthful singer gave the tune the respect it deserved. Sherlock joining in had been a pleasant surprise and the hired group had let him in without fuss.
"I have to admit, your chosen band is doing this song justice, although I would've preferred Leonard himself."
Greg rolled his eyes as Mycroft drew him close. "Oh come off it; I wanted some input in this."
The Holmes chuckled as he swept his new husband around. "And Mummy was less appalled by your choice in music than everything else."
"Well she is a right control freak."
Mycroft murmured in agreement and gave Gregory a spin. They danced in silence for a few moments.
"Why don't we slip off to the bathroom?" The DI whispered in his husband's ear when they drew close.
Mycroft smirked. "As much as I would love to, we've got quite an audience." He dipped Greg for proof.
"For fuck's sake…" Lestrade muttered.
The genius pulled him back up and they synced their steps again. "We should give them a show, and then we'll pop off."
Greg hooked a leg around one of Mycroft's. "I like that plan." He purred.
He was no longer playing along with the stereo, but somehow everything still came together beautifully. He didn't think; he just let his fingers dance where his soul directed them to dance. It reminded him of the day Gregory discovered his piano skills. Mycroft let himself wander down that memory.
Mycroft had started learning piano when he was five. By ten, he could play just about any piece of music placed in front of him. He composed music in the dead of night and played the compositions as the sun rose. When Sherlock picked up violin, mornings in Holmes Manor were filled with the tap of keys and the sliding of a bow across strings. Their music never flowed together perfectly, but the effort and emotion made it work somehow.
The elder Holmes started playing in bars when he moved off to college. It kept his skills polished and was rather relaxing. He was, predictably, recruited for government work and he watched despondently as his free time for practice dwindled away. As he rose in rank, his schedule was more accommodating simply because he could influence it. He only had one bar he played at now, and he only played on Saturdays. Still, Mycroft loved it and the regulars loved him. They told him their stories and the Holmes always let himself go to just listen and not try to figure out what they left out. At first they only requested actual songs, but after he played a drunkard's request of 'something sad and sweet that was complete when he was young' they asked for on-the-spot compositions. Mycroft obliged with glee.
Lestrade had come in after a particularly rough case and slumped down at the bar. Mycroft had watched him walk in and he was never sure whether it was the atmosphere, the cheap beer, or the patron's stories that kept him open and made him do what he did. He brought the piece he was playing to a close and indulged himself. The Holmes let every feeling he had toward Greg pile into one, spontaneous piece. The DI had perked and grinned in surprise at the politician. Said politician kept glancing over and smiling at Gregory; the regulars whooped and laughed in understanding.
Mycroft asked Greg out right afterward.
He'd never been so elated at the answer 'yes' before.
"Still a night owl even after all these years, Myc."
Mycroft didn't pause in his playing, but did turn to face his husband with a smile. "Of course, dear. I'm still a creature of habit."
Lestrade chuckled and walked over. "We played this song at our wedding."
"And honeymoon."
Greg held out a hand. "Well if we're being nostalgic; may I have this dance?"
The retired politician took the offered hand and got up while the track looped. His joints creaked in protest.
"You're worse than this old house."
"Watch it, dear, or you'll be sleeping on the couch."
Gregory laughed and pulled Mycroft close. "Do I at least get this dance before you banish me?"
"I suppose that is a satisfactory deal."
They weren't nearly as nimble as they had been when they were younger and movements were much restrained, but everything still melted together like it was supposed to. In fact it seemed like everything flowed better than it had before, as if the song was meant for older couples to dance to. Lestrade and Mycroft continued swaying to the beat, almost able to hear Sherlock's violin swirling in music and adding a welcome Sherlockian flair.
"I can still remember your smile when I first played this song for you."
"You are a fantastic pianist."
Mycroft shook his head and kissed his husband's forehead. "I meant the first time you heard Cohen sing it."
Greg laid his head on Mycroft's shoulder. "Ah," he smiled at the memory. "I can remember you glancing nervously at me as it played, as if I wouldn't enjoy it."
"And I remember watching a smile break across your face, easing my own tension."
"I remember us kissing so tenderly before you…"
"Before I proposed. Yes, I remember."
Gregory started singing softly with the recording.
"Dance me to the wedding now. Dance me on and on.
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long.
With both of us beneath our love and both of us above.
Dance me to the end of love.
Dance me to the end of love."
When Greg died of a heart attack, they played it at his funeral. Mycroft swore he heard Lestrade's voice just underneath everything.
Both Sherlock and John heard an extra piano when it was played at Mycroft's funeral.
