DIsclaimer : They are not mine: Damn! But otherwise, a thousand thanks to Mr Gatiss and Mr Moffat for this awesome resurection.
Rating : PG-13 for some kissing.
Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade John/Mycroft
Betaed by Blooms84, Thanks honey.
So this part is my Christmas present for her. A thousand thanks Honey.
Thirty one years later.
Gabriel was happy to decorate the Christmas tree. He was happy to actually have a Christmas tree, in fact. John had helped cheerfully and came with a really famous eggnog recipe. They agreed to put the tree at Lestrade's, Gabriel and John had unanimously agreed that Baker Street was too dangerous to be the place of the holiday festivities.
And in fact, no one expected that Sherlock would like it. In Lestrade's memories, during the five previous years, the youngest of the Holmes brothers had almost disappeared during all the holidays.
The inspector had hopes for this year. He had hoped they would spend the holidays together. Gabriel and Sherlock had moved on in the relationship they had had for five years. They had turned from colleagues and friends to the much more satisfying status of lovers. Still, colleagues, however.
John had asked Lestrade to invite Mycroft, actually had insisted. He said if Mycroft was invited, then Sherlock would come. This particular logic had been lost on Gabriel. On the contrary, for him, the having Mycroft at the festivities diminished his chances of having Sherlock with him for the evening.
"And Mummy? Lestrade asked, laughing.
"If her sons are forced to behave nicely this year, I'm sure she would accept their absence," John said, laughing too.
"We also could invite her, Doc?" proposed the detective seriously.
John met his gaze and shrugged his shoulders quietly.
"And you sincerely believe it's a good idea?"
"Maybe she won't approve of Sherlock and me," said Gabriel with a small grin.
John's cheeks were slightly flushed.
"Maybe not."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow and shook his head, an amused smile on his lips.
"John. No... not a word. Thank you."
Watson looked into his glass of eggnog with passion, his cheeks bright red. He shook his head grumbling under his breath:
"I didn't said anything."
Lestrade laughed while returning to the kitchen.
On December twenty-third, Mycroft sent Gabriel and John to Harrods, to the food hall, to collect a stuffed turkey, ordered and paid for weeks ago, plus oysters, and the various other foods and things absolutely necessary for a nice Christmas dinner. Necessary in the mind of an Holmes, that is. All this because, he had, of course, accepted Gabriel's invitation, but had insisted on providing the dinner.
Gabriel returned to the big store with nostalgia. He hadn't put a foot inside for more than thirty years. He persuaded John to visit the different floors with him. The luxurious departments within the large store, the extravagant ones.
They laughed like kids when they reached the toys floor. In Gabriel's opinion, the place with the stuffed animals had grown exponentially when he had compared it with his memories.
Their hands full of bags, they went into the street. Lestrade convinced John to look at the window displays quietly. They reached the back street, and Gabriel recognised the private entrance, with the two doormen. The luxury cars too.
Gabe looked intensely at the small road for a few minutes.
"You're looking for something? Asked John softly.
"No. Nothing. It's nothing. Old memories," said Gabriel with a sigh.
Without another word, the men went to the tube station.
They just missed the grey Rolls, which had stopped a few minutes later, just long enough for the owner to climb out. The beautiful woman was still beautiful, even if the years had not been kind to her. She was still slim. A white fur around her shoulders, a tight black trousers suit accentuated her slim waist. One of the doormen greeted her eagerly and opened the private entrance for her.
On the twenty-fourth of December, the table was set in Lestrade's dining room. Joy and Billy came that afternoon to help Gabriel with the decorating of the room.
The table was carefully set for the occasion. Because of the obvious lack of supplies at Gabriel's, Joy had lent him one of her white tablecloths and the dishes and cutlery from her own wedding. As a final touch, she brought sparkling crystal glasses. Joy also set flowers and candles on the table. The result was a bit formal, but really beautiful, and even masculine in a way.
Gabriel was once more so grateful to the elderly couple. He invited them to join the party, but they had declined sweetly.
"No, Dear," said Joy, "Our children are waiting for us, and it's the first Christmas with your young friend. We are so happy for you both, and we wish you a merry Christmas, Dear boy."
John persuaded Sherlock to come to Lestrade's without further explanation about the theme of the evening— that's to say, Christmas Eve.
The young man accepted with rather good grace, and John hadn't needed to ask him to dress up, because it was the default setting for Sherlock. He wore the purple shirt with a perfectly cut black suit.
John almost understood Gabriel's infatuation with his flatmate, if he himself had been free...But John had other plans, and if they had to do with a Holmes, it was not with this one.
Gabriel carefully prepared himself. Clean shaven, white shirt, dark grey suit. A touch of gel in his hair, a hint of cologne.
He was quite hot like that.
Mycroft was the first to arrive. He sent his chauffeur away, and made the necessary inquiries in the kitchen, not completely trusting Gabriel with the food.
Oysters. Foie Gras. Stuffed turkey with red fruit sauce, roast potatoes and french beans. Salad and cheese. And for the dessert, the infamous Christmas pudding from Mummy's private cook, which lacked only the last-minute blaze, which was Sherlock's privilege for as long as Mycroft remembered.
The bottles of wine were either in the fridge or decanting. The white ones- dry wine for the oysters, smooth wine for the foie gras and dessert, and the champagne—all in the fridge. And the reds were decanting.
Gabriel rolled his eyes.
"Mycroft, if by any chance, we are able to eat the amount of food and drink all those bottles, I won't eat or drink anything until New Year's Eve. I tell you. And by the way, I wonder what Sherlock will eat in this banquet," muttered Lestrade.
"Please do not worry, dear Inspector. Sherlock is really fond of foie gras, if I remember correctly. And for the Pudding, as it's Rupert's, he will set it on fire first, and will eat a rather large part of it later, I'm sure. As for the alcohol, it will depend on his mood," explained Mycroft quietly. "My little brother is not very fond of Christmas, I'm afraid. But I've already told you so. And he might be brooding."
"Wonderful," murmured Gabriel. "I only hope he won't hold grudge against me for long . . ."
"You got him a present?"
Lestrade shook his head.
"Yes and no."
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Amused.
"Yes, if he is in a good mood. No, if is not..." pointed out Gabriel, sliding a hand in his hair.
"Diplomatic move, Gabriel. You should try your hand in politics," said Mycroft with a sincere smile.
"Thank you. But no. I've got only a small amount of diplomacy, and my stock is all for Sherlock's use."
Mycroft chuckled quietly, He slid his hands in his pockets and paced slowly in the dining room.
He was dressed up to the nines. A perfectly tailored black morning coat. White shirt with cufflinks, silk champagne-coloured waistcoat, and bowtie. He was very handsome. His blue eyes were sparkling, and Gabriel was wondering if it was just the expectation of John's arrival, or if it was the more trivial expectation of seeing his brother fall head first in Gabriel's trap. If he could qualify the invitation as a trap... Sherlock probably would, he guessed.
He preferred not to know, really.
When the doorbell rang, Gabe's heart missed a beat. The dreadful moment was there. A good evening or a ruined one... Everything would depend on Sherlock.
He opened the door slowly and met his lover's gaze. Storm gray. Frowning.
Okay then. Bad evening into perspective. Gabriel averted his eyes and stepped aside to let his guest in.
"Humm, good evening?" he said hesitantly.
"Humph..." growled Sherlock, brushing by him to enter.
John rolled his eyes and patted Gabriel's arm.
"Don't worry, he is only furious because I spilled the beans about Mycroft's presence tonight.'
"He is already here, actually," answered Gabe closing the door, "He arrived an hour ago in fact."
John's eyes lit up.
"An hour?" He said with an amused grin.
"Your..." began Gabriel, hesitating on the right word, "guest, was afraid I might spoil his precious dinner. So..."
"He came to verify everything?" finished John laughing.
Both men entered the sitting room with a slight apprehension, but the Holmes brothers were chatting amiably.
"You know, you're here only because of John's insistence tonight? He must have blackmailed my l... our dear inspector to achieve his goal," said Sherlock while removing his long coat.
"Oh... And you, baby brother? What are you doing here? If I recall correctly, you hate all 'this idiotic display,' as you usually put it? Christmas diner and all? A dull and stupid tradition for stupid people, in your opinion." answered Mycroft quietly.
"I came only to have the pleasure of seeing you, dear brother," snorted Sherlock icily. I see Lestrade enough, and a stupid dinner more or less is not going to change anything.
Amiable... If only...
Lestrade's growl at Sherlock's last affirmation made the two men to turn toward him. He shook his head desperately. He slid a shaking hand in his hair and went to the kitchen, frowning.
"John?" Asked Sherlock hesitantly. "Bit not good?"
"Not good, indeed. You should go to find Gabriel and apologise," John told him while finishing taking his coat off.
"He..." began Mycroft, before deciding to stay silent after meeting John's gaze. Lethal.
"Mycroft. Be quiet. Thank you," said John.
"All right."
Sherlock entered the kitchen slowly and closed the door after him. He didn't know what to do this time, and stayed there, unmoving. Not very at ease. Apologies were not his forte. And without John's assistance he would probably never had thought about the need to excuse himself at all.
Gabriel was settled against the fridge, the only place available in the kitchen, all the horizontal surfaces were occupied with the food. And he had not wanted to soil his suit.
He glanced at Sherlock and wondered how he had put himself in a such situation. What was he thinking to become involved in a relationship with a bloke like that? Because it was a relationship for him, not an affair or plain sex. His heart was involved. Sherlock was important to him.
And because he was important, the careless words hurt. Deeply. Every time. And every single time, Gabriel had wanted to stop everything. To stop being hurt in the process.
"It was not what I meant," threw out Sherlock nervously.
Gabriel didn't react. His eyes still on him.
"I really like to see you," murmured the young man looking down.
"Are you sure?" Asked Gabriel in a low voice, "I don't want t...
"I'm absolutely sure," interrupted Sherlock, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."
Gabriel shook his head too. Sherlock's apologies touched him more than reasonably. He knew him well enough to know it was not one of his best assets.
"And I came for you, not for my brother. Nor because John asked me to. I came because I wanted to be with you this year," Sherlock said, approaching slowly. "And because today, I hadn't seen you, and I missed you?"
"All right, all right," Lestrade caved, smiling, "Don't overact. The day when you will miss something or someone I'll be the one to lock you in an asylum."
The small grin Lestrade gave to him confirmed to Sherlock that he was forgiven. And he gave him a quick peck on the lips.
"Your guests are waiting. Come on."
"Right..." rumbled Lestrade.
Lestrade caught his lover by his wrist while he was turning away, and pulled him toward him, grasping his neck carefully and kissing his lips firmly.
"Good evening Sherlock," he said after he had released him, "I'm glad you were able to come."
"The pleasure is mine, I can assure you," answered Sherlock stepping back.
When they came back to the dining room, John send them an inquisitive glance, and Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow silently.
Gabriel grinned, and John's face relaxed.
"All right, gents, since everything is settled now, we might as well begin to eat, before Sherlock' next misstep. And no, My, it's still not necessary to add anything." added John frowning.
"My?" said a surprised Lestrade. "You are best buddies and all now?"
"It was the plan all along, Gabriel, do I have to remind you?" pointed out Sherlock in a calm voice.
"Right, I had almost forgotten."
John and Mycroft shared the same embarrassed look.
"Eating?" asked John again, having cleared his voice, taking the nearest chair.
The dinner was perfect, without any incidents. Sherlock had eaten more than Gabriel and John had expected.
Mycroft had been right, Sherlock and the foie gras were on a friendly basis... If you can say so, because the foie gras had been devoured without pity.
From time to time, Lestrade had glanced at Sherlock, his gaze caressing the younger man. Even after a few months, he still couldn't believe in his luck. What had Sherlock seen in him? How, had he, Gabriel Lestrade, DI, managed to seduce this brilliant and perfectly mad man?
"My brother always liked you. He always said that you were the only intelligent cop in the Met. All right, Sherlock's opinion of the Met is not very flattering, as he thinks the whole Met has the same IQ as a four-year-old infant, so maybe it's not a very impressive compliment," declared Mycroft with a small grin, holding his brother's gaze, but speaking to Lestrade.
John choked on its wine, and Gabriel hide behind his hand, shaking his head in despair.
"Mycroft," growled Sherlock, glaring at his brother. "Shut up."
"I do this for you. You know, I'd do anything for you. Including being nice on your behalf, to your boyfriend."
"That's bullshit. Stop saying that all the bloody time!"
The elder Holmes shook his head, and met Gabriel eyes.
"He is always like that with me. Who would believe when you hear him, that I'm worried constantly for him," said Mycroft lowering his eyes
toward the table. He was playing with a piece of bread. John saw his fingers tremble for a second. The emotion was sincere.
"What do you take me for? I'm not a baby anymore, Mycroft." spat Sherlock crossing his arms on his chest, and I've never believed in Santa. You should know that." His grey eyes flashing with anger.
Lestrade turned toward him quickly. Sherlock's words reverberated in his mind a few seconds. Sherlock's attitude and words were oddly familiar. But he couldn't precisely tell why.
He tilted his head slightly, frowning. Thinking intensely.
"Gabriel?" Asked John softly. "Are you all right?"
"Yes... Nothing, it's nothing. I dunno..." muttered the Inspector, rising from his seat. "Tea? Coffee?"
"Could I help you?" proposed John.
"Thanks..."
The Holmes brothers stayed in the dinning room, glaring at each other.
"Mummy would have loved if you had called her," said Mycroft.
"She knows perfectly well how I am. You give your report every other day, no?" snorted Sherlock, angrily.
He rose and paced the living room briskly. He scrubbed his head as always when he was angry.
"Stop the charade Mycroft. We are alone, no public for your performance there. Be honest for once."
The politician rose too, and went closer to his brother. They were the same size, more or less, Mycroft being taller by an inch at most, but with the morning coat and the formal dress, he seemed taller.
Contrary to Sherlock's suggestions, Mycroft was not fat, and was perfectly built, just a bit bulkier than his brother, that's all.
He took something out of his pocket and held a small package in his hand for Sherlock to take.
"Merry Christmas Sherlock," he said to him softly.
The great detective glared at him. He stepped away, and crossed his arms again, frowning and shaking his head, growling the same words as earlier:
"No. I don't want it, Mycroft. I'm not a baby and Christmas is boring!"
The noise of cups shattering on the floor startled both men, and they turned to a distressed Gabriel, surprise evident on their faces.
"You... It was you? I mean... both of you?" stuttered Lestrade, shaking his head. No. It not possible...
"What?" asked Sherlock, astonished.
"What? repeated Mycroft, calmly.
"My god..." muttered Gabriel. "A moment, please, I just need two minutes, fresh air... I'll be back in a second..."
With these words, Lestrade had taken his coat, and had left in a hurry, leaving three very confused guests behind him.
"What's happened exactly?" Asked John, who had arrived after the crash of the cups. Sherlock?"
"I don't know... Mycroft?"
"I don't know either."
"What have you done? Both of you. Tell me and I might not kill you," insisted the doctor.
"No! I've done nothing. I swear," exclaimed Sherlock.
"No. For once, Sherlock hasn't done anything," confirmed Mycroft slowly. "We were having a bit of argument, but nothing really important. I promise you, John. Nothing happened. Nothing."
John went back to the kitchen and fetched a broom to clean up the dinning room. A single cup had escaped the wreck. Mycroft helped John. They threw away the shattered porcelain and rummaged through the cupboards to find other cups and then set the table.
Sherlock put his coat on and followed the footsteps of his favourite Inspector. Luckily, it had snowed constantly since the end of the afternoon, and the path Lestrade had taken was obvious.
A bench, in an alley. A lonely shadow on it. The snow had wrapped everything into a silent coat. There were no noise at all. Except Sherlock's footsteps coming near his friend.
Lestrade's gaze was lost into nowhere.
"Gabriel?" said Sherlock, coming close. "What's happened?"
Without a word, Lestrade shook is head slowly. He was ghostly pale and had the silver trace of a tear on his cheek.
"Gabe?"
"Get out, Sherlock. Please leave me alone. Please..." whispered Lestrade.
"Hmmm. No? Tell me."
"I'm disgusted with myself..."
John was interrogating Mycroft while they were alone and tried to understand what could lead to such a disaster.
"That's all? Sherlock said only that?"
"Yes. That's all," Insisted Mycroft, taking John's hand in his absently.
John was thoughtful. He remembered Gabriel's curious attitude the day before, and that it had taken time for him to recover completely.
"What?" asked Mycroft, "Tell me what you noticed. Even if it's a small detail. Explain to me."
John told him everything about their expedition to Harrods, the visit they had paid to the different floors and departments, the windows outside, the small back entrance. Gabriel' disappointment. The uneasy feeling. "Old memories" Gabriel had said.
Mycroft listened carefully and analysed at the same time. Suddenly he shook his head, rose and grabbed his coat.
"No. No... It's impossible...It's impossible..." he muttered while searching frantically in his coat pockets for his phone.
"What?" asked John, anxiously.
"It's impossible..." repeated Mycroft, who had blanched.
"You know what's happened to Lestrade?"
"No...NO..."
"MYCROFT!" growled John, rising and planting himself in front of his friend. "You should explain everything now..."
"Yes... Maybe... I don't know... I must check something, one minute, please, I promise, I'll explain later..." assured Mycroft, leaning toward John and brushing his lips slightly.
This silenced John efficiently. It was not how he had imagined their first kiss. Not like that at all.
"What do you think about the weirdoes, the pedophiles, those sick fuck guys who can't see a young boy without wanting to abuse him? And who finally do abuse him? Asked Lestrade in a low voice.
"I could kill them without remorse," answered Sherlock, frowning. "Why this idiotic question? Since when are you a pedophile?"
"I knew you when you were a baby, Sherlock... Four months old. And in Mycroft's arms. I saw you every year, for the next three years," said Gabriel slowly. "I feel so dirty... I feel like those sick fucks. You were a young boy, and I was sixteen..."
"Did you touched me?"
"No!
"Did you fantasise about me? When you ..." Sherlock voice trailed into silence.
Gabriel didn't answer at first, he only shook his head fiercely.
"No! Never..." He said with a broken voice.
Sherlock put his hand in Gabriel's forcefully, and entwined their fingers.
"Your morality is honorable, Detective Inspector Gabriel Lestrade, but when we met I was twenty-nine. I was completely drugged, and you helped me to give up that. You never used me. You never abused me. I am thirty-four now, I'm an adult and I'm in a relationship with you for four months now. I like being with you. I like sleeping with you, making love with you. So, please don't destroy what we have. Not for misplaced culpability."
Sherlock's voice was unusually soft and calming. Gabriel felt the tension melting away. He couldn't breathe for a second, his tears forming a knot in his throat.
But when he turned his face toward Sherlock, he was able to see the beautiful man he was in love with. Not the young child. Not the black-haired young boy who had invaded his mind.
Gabriel closed his eyes and felt Sherlock kiss him.
When they came back to the flat, Mycroft was staring at his iPhone, his finger moving the files rapidly. He looked up at Gabriel and smiled.
"Not a chance in a billion, Lestrade, you know that?" He said with a grin.
"So, we are gifted to defy the odds then..." answered Gabriel taking his coat off.
Mycroft held out his phone, and Gabriel took it with a shaking hand. He looked at the picture and had the same shock as earlier when he had understood. And when his memories had came back.
The young fair-haired boy. Mycroft Holmes.
He wondered how he managed not to recognise him.
"Between the two of us, it's I who should have recognised you. You were older in the end. And you haven't changed so much, have you?"
"I might have changed a bit..." Growled Gabriel while looking at the other pictures.
Four years old. Six. Seven and eight. Nine years old. Ten years and a baby in his arms.
"It was you."
Mycroft nodded, a smile on his lips, really amused this time.
"It's stupid, but how long did you come?"
"You and me, six years. I came for another three years, and when I saw Junior throwing his tantrum in front of Harrods, I realised I wouldn't see you again." answered Gabriel without looking up from the phone. Mycroft had opened a file with photos of Sherlock, and Gabe was devouring them with his eyes.
Sherlock and John hadn't understood a single thing, and they had kept their mouths shut. They had shrugged with a touching synchronism. Mycroft had promised to explain everything to John, and Sherlock had every intention of making Lestrade talk.
"Junior... It's me, isn't it?" Asked Sherlock with a frown.
"I don't know how you can possibly think that. The word "tantrum" is the clue, maybe?" snorted John.
Gabriel looked up and smiled.
"You didn't see me or acknowledge me. Mycroft did it. He understood immediately.
Sherlock muttered something between his teeth before turning away abruptly. John stared at him opened-mouthed.
"What?"
"Excuse me, did you just say, Mycroft was always the most intelligent between you two? Are you sick?"
Mycroft threw a surprised glance toward his brother. It was so unusual for him to admit that.
"You know, Sherlock," said John softly, "for someone who thinks his brother is his arch-enemy and hates him, I think you admire him quite a lot..."
"I don't admire him," muttered the young man.
Gabriel gave back the phone to Mycroft, before going to his lover.
"You admire him quite a lot, this brother you hate so much," whispered Gabriel in Sherlock's ear.
"I.."
"Not a word... And I can tell you, he loves you quite a lot to," added Gabe in the next breath.
"I..."
"I saw that when you were a baby. The pride in his eyes when he held you. I was young too, maybe, but that... I understood."
Sherlock leaned on Gabriel with closed eyes. He hated this sentimentalism so much.
But in his mind, sometimes, he admitted, that knowing he was loved was easier than having to hate the entire world.
"Christmas is boring, though," he said softly, opening his eyes.
John threw his hands in the air.
"Miracles are overrated with you the Holmes family!" he said, laughing.
"Yes, I have to regrettably confirm that," answered Mycroft, catching John by his waist and pulling him close. "But a small one is all right from time to time."
This time, John took the matter in his own hands, and grasping My's neck he made him lean down and kissed him full on the lips. A proper kiss, like the one he had in mind for a long time.
"Mycr..."
"Keep quiet," murmured Gabriel while kissing Sherlock.
The great detective let himself be kissed finally. This was the first time he admitted in front of anyone that he was human, in fact.
Even and especially in front of his exasperating elder brother. This brother who had from their ten years difference, protected him. Had cared about him all his life.
Sherlock opened Mycroft's present later. Much later. The small blue case didn't gave any clue of its contents.
But when he opened it, the view of his father's ring wrung his heart. He knew it was Mycroft's treasure. He had kept it for a long time. But his brother had given it to him. It was his turn to look after it.
"What is it?" Asked Gabriel with a sleepy voice.
"The promise that I will stay clean, and I will work with you as long as we are able to do so," said Sherlock, closing the small case.
"And stop the brotherly feud with Mycroft?"
"Impossible. We are enjoying this far too much. But now, I know he trusts me."
"He always had trusted you," pointed out Gabriel, holding his lover's warm body close to his. "You just didn't know, that's all."
"Why are you always taking Mycroft' side? I didn't know you liked him so much."
"I don't like him very much, but John does, and I trust our dear doctor blindly."
Sherlock turned in his lover's arms and locked his grey eyes with Gabriel's soft brown ones.
"Liar. You do like my brother a lot, don't you?"
Gabriel had closed his eyes and had seen a young blond boy turned toward him, his sparkling blue eyes and a wonderful smile on his lips, a baby in his arms.
"I may like him quite a lot in fact . . ."
End