All I Want for Christmas

"Langley? You're kidding!" Lestrade groaned as he leaned back in his desk chair. "Myc, we've been planning this since Thanksgiving!"

There was a heavy sigh from his phone's speaker. "I know, Gregory, and I like this situation just as much as you do. But there is a crisis that needs tending to and I must deliver else I might not even be able to make it up to you later."

"That bad?" Lestrade grimaced.

"They are considering keeping me here at gunpoint." Mycroft responded resentfully. "They only wish they had the authority."

"Of course."

"How does your Christmas look?" Mycroft asked.

"Lonely, cold, miserable, with a side of dead people and the Dynamic Duo." Lestrade rolled his eyes. "They all live to torment me."

"Poor you." Mycroft hummed sympathetically. "I will see to it that they take a riveting case far away from Central London immediately."

"Just as long as you don't kill anybody to get them to leave." Lestrade snorted.

"Gregory, I would never!" Mycroft chuckled. "Besides, Sherlock would realize it in moments."

"Of course it's not the morally questionable aspects of it that would trouble you." Lestrade drawled, but smiled. "I expect them to be on any moving vehicle leaving London within three hours."

"Two, for you." Mycroft said absently, sounding a little distracted. There was a brief noise of conflict on the other end before Mycroft spoke again. "Well, how rude, can't you see I'm busy? Anthea, darling, pull their teeth if you need to."

Lestrade immediately hung up.

Five minutes later, Mycroft called back. "Sorry for the delay."

"I think I heard something I really shouldn't have." Lestrade grumbled. "Nor do I think I ever wanted to."

Mycroft sighed. "Look, I'll be back as soon as possible. However, my arrival may end up being closer to New Years, than Christmas."

"Okay, okay." Lestrade said reluctantly.

"I'll make it up to you." Mycroft told him firmly.

"Okay, you better."

And he hung up again.

"You'd think that work would be slow on Christmas." Donovan remarked as she brought over two packaged sandwiches for lunch.

"But then you remember that almost everybody's drunk." Lestrade grunted back as he held an ice pack to his head after stopping the third pub brawl of the week.

"Do you think you have a concussion?" Donovan asked him.

Lestrade shook his head slowly. "Nah, just a small bump. No shock, no dizziness, nothing."

"I think you should go home early today. Just in case." Donovan suggested.

"Alright." Lestrade sighed just as his desk phone rang. "Just after this call."

"I thought you were going home." Dimmock remarked three hours later as he poked his head into Lestrade's office to see his friend looking rather haggard. "Donovan said you were brain damaged, or something?"

Lestrade discreetly made a rude gesture back at him. "When does she say any different? Anyway a last call became a last case."

Only then did Dimmock notice a small child, a little girl with strawberry blonde hair sitting in the seat across the desk from Lestrade. She had a bruise blossoming on her left eye.

"Got a call in, domestic violence." Lestrade said quietly aside to Dimmock as they moved a few steps away. "Some of the neighbors heard shouting and called us. Her dad's in custody, we're just waiting for her mum to get back from work and pick her up. She just stopped crying ten minutes ago and I need a coffee. Think you can watch her for a minute or two? I don't want to leave her by herself."

"Poor thing." Dimmock sighed and walked over, kneeling by the chair. "Hey there, what's your name?"

"Haley." the girl replied slowly.

"Well, Haley, I'm Dimmock." They shook hands. "Are you hungry? I just got some Christmas cookies from my landlady and I couldn't possibly eat them all by myself, do you want some?"

The little girl chewed her lip for a moment before nodding shyly.

"I'll be right back, save some for me, okay?" Lestrade told them as he left.

It was evening by the time Lestrade got home. He was exhausted and his head hurt, and having a child dry on his shoulder didn't quite put him in the mood for Christmas celebrations.

He sighed heavily, shaking his coat off his shoulders and pulling his scarf off.

He tossed his keys into a bowl on the kitchen counter and noticed that he had missed call from Mrs. Hudson.

He called back. "Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh hello, dearie!" Mrs. Hudson's voice came on the line. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you, too!" Lestrade said with as much cheer as he could as he collapsed on his sitting room couch. "What's your plans for celebration?"

"I called because I was going to gather everybody together this year again, but Sherlock ran off and took a case over in Albania, or somewhere, and John went with him." she sighed.

"Oh, thank God." Lestrade murmured away from his phone.

"Anyway, I'm going down to party with some of my bridge partners. What about you, Inspector?"

"Um, I had to cancel plans too." Lestrade grimaced. "Got into a bit of a scuffle today so I'm turning in a bit early."

"Oh, that's too bad." Mrs. Hudson tutted. "We'll have to celebrate later, when the boys come home."

"Okay, I'll be there." Lestrade smiled.

"I'll hold you to it." Mrs. Hudson replied. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

Lestrade awoke with a start by the ringing of the front doorbell. He hadn't even realized he was nodding off. His head wound might just be a little more serious than he thought.

He grunted and got up from the couch, feeling his bruises and achy muscles even more now than before.

He staggered to the door and opened the door just in time to get a face full of flowers.

"Oh... wow." was all he could say.

"Merry Christmas, Sir. Delivery for Mister Lestrade." the delivery man said, almost nearly hidden from view behind his colourful load.

"Um, from who?" Lestrade asked, stepping aside anyway. "Merry Christmas, by the way."

"Mister Holmes, Sir." The delivery boy deposited the flowers into the foyer and snapped into a sharp salute and disappeared before Lestrade could say anything.

Lestrade called Mycroft.

Mycroft picked up on the third ring. "Hello, Gregory."

"Flowers, Mycroft?" Lestrade snorted, stroking the petals of a vibrant red poppy. "You ass."

"You don't like them, then?" Mycroft asked, but Lestrade could tell by the tone of his voice that he knew Lestrade did.

"Oh I like them enough." Lestrade responded. "But a whole foyer full of them? Has Spring come already? What if I was allergic? I'd be dead by now."

"Well, in my defense, I never did catch what kind you liked." Mycroft told him. "So I ordered a bit of everything. And I know you're not allergic. Don't worry, I had Anthea verify that."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and smiled. "Well... thanks, I guess. What are you up to?"

"Waiting for my brother to get off the plane." Mycroft responded.

"... You're in Albania." Lestrade stated blankly. "You were just pulling out someone's teeth in the States!"

"Gregory, that was hours ago."

"Whatever, tell Sherlock and John that I said 'Merry Christmas'."

"What? No 'Merry Christmas' for me?" Mycroft sounded affronted. "I'm hurt. I even sent you flowers."

Lestrade laughed fondly with a touch of exasperation. "Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

"Merry Christmas, Gregory."

"Hey, mate." Lestrade rolled over on his couch, having fallen asleep yet again.

"Hey, Greg." John greeted. "Just called to say 'hi, we're stuck in Albania for a week or so. So no cases until we're back.' and 'Merry Christmas'."

"Oh God." Lestrade groaned, running a hand sleepily down his face. "I told Mycroft to keep you guys out of trouble for just Christmas, not a whole week!"

John laughed. "Thought that might've been the case, Sherlock deduced it within the first hour. Anyway, we decided to stay out here for a little longer. The case has already been solved."

"Oh, okay." Lestrade sighed in relief.

"Anyway, Sherlock's never going to call you himself, so Merry Christmas." John chuckled. "From both of us."

"Tell him the same from me." Lestrade smiled back.

"Will do."

"So... is this like... a date thing?" Lestrade asked awkwardly.

"It's kind of a date thing." John replied uneasily, which was just the same as saying 'yes'. "I'm kind of sorry to have seen Mycroft over here. Thought you two had plans?"

"Down the drain. My Christmas has turned bittersweet." Lestrade groaned. "Where is he? Is he with you? Did he tell you he turned my foyer into a grassland of utopian flora? Because he totally did. And I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with so many flowers. Would it be inappropriate to distribute them to the more needy?"

John snorted in an aborted guffaw. "Sorry, but my military training didn't cover 'odd tokens of affection from government agents'. And no, I don't see Mycroft around. I think he took another flight out a few hours ago."

"Ughh, thought so. He doesn't keep still for a second." Lestrade grimaced. "Anyway, Merry Christmas, I shouldn't keep you."

"Okay, Merry Christmas, Greg."

Mycroft returned home to a dark house and he slipped quietly through the front door.

And wow... did he truly order so many flowers? It didn't seem like so much when he ordered them but they lined the foyer and he had to pick his way very carefully through the floral maze.

He found an open bottle of quality wine on the dining room table and two glasses. Only one was used. There was a collection of Chinese takeaway boxes in the garbage.

Mycroft found Lestrade in the sitting room, sleeping again. He carded his fingers gently through the short, silver hair.

Lestrade winced and groaned, stirring when Mycroft's fingers brushed over the bruise on his scalp. He blinked awake and clumsily grasped Mycroft's hand.

"Ughh, Mycroft?"

"Hello, Gregory." Mycroft smiled fondly. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry-..." Lestrade's voice trailed off when he became fully aware of the situation. "Mycroft, you're home!"

"Nice of you to notice." Mycroft smirked.

"You were just in Albania!"

"Gregory, that was hours ago."

Lestrade sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "I think I was dreaming about you."

"How romantic." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I think you may be a little concussed."

"Maybe a little bit." Lestrade conceded. "But at least I didn't buy out a flower shop."

"A bit too much, is it?" Mycroft grimaced.

"It's a bit much." Lestrade mirrored his expression.

"Okay." Mycroft slipped into the foyer and returned with a handful of roses. "Forget the state of the foyer and settle for these, please."

"Mmkay." Lestrade chuckled and took the flowers, kissing Mycroft. "Welcome back."

"Promise we'll celebrate when you're not concussed and I'm not about to fall asleep." Mycroft smiled against Lestrade's mouth.

"Deal."

"Now let's get to bed before you fall back asleep on the couch."

"Shut up."

Mycroft smiled fondly as they shuffled off to bed, exhausted, both of them.

"Merry Christmas, Gregory."

"Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

The End

A/N: Merry Christmas, everybody! I hope this story doesn't feel like something that was written in ten minutes (because it totally was, thus the cliche title. Shhh! It's very original, thank you very much!) Anyway, hope you all have a great Christmas, great presents, with great families and friends, and lots of goodies in your stockings! Merry Christmas!