The entire endeavor had been Mycroft's suggestion originally. He had (strategically no doubt) sprung it upon Gregory when the DI was at his most vulnerable.
It was quite late and the pair was lying in bed. Greg was drowsing, his head pillowed on Mycroft's chest as the elder Holmes ran his hand meditatively through the DI's hair. It felt quite nice, and Greg was hovering on the very edges of consciousness. The steady movement of Mycroft's fingers lulled him further towards slumber and it only when he had reached that point of somnolent repose that Mycroft spoke.
"We could all do with a holiday Gregory," he said quietly. It took a few moments for Greg to register the words as anything other than a jarring sound dragging him back towards wakefulness.
"Hmph?" he inquired, his face pressed against Mycroft's bare chest.
His partner sighed, partly with affection and partly with exasperation, "I said that we should take a holiday. Somewhere tropical—"
"Brilliant," Greg murmured, still half-asleep. His words were punctuated by a large yawn. He nuzzled his nose sleepily against Mycroft's shoulder, "You know how to spoil a bloke, My."
"—Yes, I think this is exactly what we all need," Mycroft continued.
Greg's eyes popped open of their own volition. Considering how completely exhausted he was, he was certain that some principle law of physics had just been defied by this movement. He suddenly felt far too awake, or else dreaming, one or the other. He blinked several times before speaking.
"My?' he mumbled with his face still pressed to Mycroft's skin, "Who's 'we all.' You said, 'we all.'"
"Yes, I am aware of having said that," Mycroft asserted, as if the very idea of Mycroft Holmes making any statement without careful calculation was impossible, "I was referring to John and Sherlock, of course."
This conversation was going to require that Greg reposition himself. God, he did not want to move. He sighed heavily, his body protesting as he propped himself up onto his elbows, leaning over Mycroft's face, blinking owlishly, "I'm sorry, I think I must've mishear that last bit," Mycroft watched Greg's shifting expressions with, well, it wasn't quite malice, but he seemed to have some sort of mischievous and ill-intentioned gleam in his eyes. "Did you just tell me that you want to take a holiday with Sherlock and John?"
"Yes, Gregory-" Mycroft smiled and kissed Greg soundly, as if proud that the DI had caught on so quickly. Greg was so stunned by what he assumed must be Mycroft's sudden descent into madness that he didn't respond at all. The DI felt his left eye beginning to twitch.
"-And a positively lovely holiday it shall be," Mycroft continued, "One big happy family," he was either ignoring or oblivious to Greg's apparent distress. Greg supposed that the former was far more likely, but his brain was caught on Mycroft's final pronouncement-and it was a pronouncement. The DI was unsure if it was meant to be sarcastic or entirely too serious, but the implication seemed to be that the four of them would function as a "one big happy family" or face the dire consequences of Mycroft's wrath.
Whilst his partner settled back upon his pillows, preparing for bed, typing something on his mobile, Greg stared on in continued disbelief. He was quite positive that Mycroft had finally gone round the twist. That was the only reasonable explanation for his sudden and, quite frankly, insane belief that taking the four of them off together for a holiday would be a good idea.
Greg was the one in this family who planned things. Okay, that wasn't entirely fair. Mycroft was the one who planned things. The man ran the government; he was rather scrupulous about details. It was one of his most prominent features. But Greg was the person who instigated familial activities. Holidays, birthdays, the infamous "family dinners," Greg was responsible for getting Sherlock and Mycroft into one room (which had been decorated according to his partner's tastes) and keeping them from murdering one another (which involved hiding any and all sharp objects; he learned that particular lesson the hard way). Mycroft indulged him in this (even though he firmly believed that it was optimistic to the point of foolishness), and Sherlock came grudgingly (out of a sense of loyalty and obligation towards Greg, and thinly veiled disdain for his brother). John had recently become part of their "traditions" (both Holmeses rolled their eyes at that moniker), watching and participating with various degrees of amusement, vexation, and spirit.
Greg had had experienced a wide array of successes and failures over the years as far as such things went. When you got the Holmes brothers together in one room, you never could conclusively predict what you were in for. There had been a particularly peaceable celebration of Greg's birthday last year, and then there had been the nearly apocalyptic celebration of Easter three years after Greg and Mycroft had become a couple (suffice it to say that the evening had ended with a serrated knife embedded to the hilt in the dining room table and a priceless antique vase smashed, leaving porcelain splinters scattered liberally in everyone's hair and all across the flat). The most recent event had been the memorable celebration of Sherlock and Mycroft's mother's birthday, to which both brothers, John, and Greg had been invited…they had all survived…barely.
This is all to say that if anyone were going to suggest that the four of them holiday together, it would be Greg. And Gregory Lestrade had never, even momentarily, entertained the notion of doing so. Not for a second. He was not foolish enough to believe that that particular situation that could result in anything besides craziness, violence, and the type of emotional, psychological, and verbal wounds from which it was not easy to recover. He had read Lord of the Flies and interacted extensively with Sherlock and Mycroft, and the result was a firm belief that placing the two of them together on an island would be catastrophic (he was visited by the momentary vision of the two of them chasing one another through the jungle with sharpened sticks). Greg shuddered. This trip was an outlandish decision. It was a social experiment of the most diabolical and detrimental order. The nightmarish possibilities ran through the DI's mind in horrific detail.
Greg was developing a headache, his eye was still twitching, and he became conscious of the fact that he was still looming over Mycroft in the exact same position, peering intently into his partner's face. The elder Holmes was most astutely ignoring Greg in favor of some vicious typing (he had an expression on his face that suggested that someone was about to receive very harsh judgment from on high). Greg just couldn't quite figure out why Mycroft would want to take the four of them away together for an—thus far—unspecified period of time to an—thus far—undisclosed location, unless it was to murder his brother. He sincerely hoped that they were rather past all that; however, Sherlock had caused a sharp increase in everyone's stress levels over the past few months (or years, depending upon your perspective).
Mycroft seemed to recognize Greg's anguish, because, though he didn't look up from his mobile, he did reach over with his free hand to pat Greg consolingly on his shoulder.
"It will be all right, Gregory, now do get some sleep, yes?" he said not unkindly.
Greg continued gazing speculatively, suspicion creasing his eyes even as he nodded his assent.
"You have not moved," Mycroft admonished gently after a moment. He clearly suspected that Greg was half-asleep and therefore not in full possession of his mental faculties, unaware of the fact that Greg was having some sort of internal crisis.
Nevertheless, the DI sighed, settling back down again. They could have this conversation tomorrow morning. Maybe all the recent familial drama had led Mycroft to behave magnanimously or insanely or insanely magnanimously. The British government would revoke this suggestion in the light of day, Greg was certain. Even as he reached this somewhat reassuring conclusion, Mycroft's lips curled into a smirk.
"No, I won't, Gregory, but we will discuss it over breakfast," he kissed the top of Greg's head, and the DI gave Mycroft's middle a reassuring squeeze, "Goodnight."
"Night," Greg rumbled.
The following morning, Greg was calmly drinking his coffee when Mycroft swooped into the kitchen, fully dressed and smiling brightly.
"Morning," Greg said still a bit groggy.
"Good morning, indeed," Mycroft kissed Greg and sat opposite him with a cup of tea and a copy of the morning's paper. He seemed positively chipper, and Greg was disconcerted. He was startled to notice that Mycroft might be humming, "The arrangements have all been made."
Greg almost choked on a bite of his toast, "For the holiday?" he sputtered.
"Yes, of course."
"Are you really sure that you-," Greg began, but when confronted with Mycroft's fervent enthusiasm and maniacal glare, he relented, "You know what?" He threw his hands up in surrender, "Never mind. Whatever you want."
Mycroft's burgeoning zealotry was clear in his wide smile, and Greg braced himself for the coming onslaught.
Mycroft began his preparations in earnest. The most difficult component would be convincing all parties to attend. Talking John and Sherlock into the proposal was difficult (as both Greg and Mycroft suspected it would be). To be fair, John initially thought that the proposition was a fabulous joke. When he realized that, no, Mycroft wasn't kidding, he grew increasingly suspicious. An excruciatingly long conversation with Greg, (no, he didn't know what prompted it. Yes, he was concerned about Mycroft's sanity. Yes, he recognized the risks of putting Sherlock and Mycroft in such close proximity for an extended period of time. "Honestly though, John, I think he's pretty damn serious. He seems, er, excited. He's like a bloody kid in a candy shop…Yeah, I'm aware that that could be dangerous") left him agreeing. Like Greg, John understood that it was either go along with the plan or be kidnapped and dragged along against his will. At least this way, he could prepare himself for the inevitable. Besides, as John said when he sighed, finally giving in, "they all deserved a bit of a break after all."
Sherlock on the other hand, as anticipated, was much more difficult to sway. He had been positively scandalized by the suggestion. He spent the better part of ten minutes consumed with scornful laughter. After Greg and John managed to assure him that, yes, they were entirely serious, or, at least, Mycroft was, Sherlock turned resentful, quickly followed by highly suspicious and curmudgeonly. Greg and John had both found themselves in the almost impossible position of convincing the consulting detective that this was not one of Mycroft's "tricks," neither one of them entirely sure that they were telling the truth.
Mycroft told his younger brother to stop behaving like a child. Greg had expected more vitriol, but the British government was downright cheerful when he informed Sherlock that he would be joining them on their holiday. He waltzed out of the room before his brother could even formulate a response, and Greg and John had been left to take the brunt of the abuse. Well, John was; the DI promptly left the blogger to do whatever it was that he did to placate, subdue, and otherwise bribe Sherlock. Seemingly, he was successful ("As I knew he would be," Mycroft maintained, while Greg glowered on in suspicious consternation) because a week later all four were on a private jet together.
Greg later gave John full credit for making sure that the arrived at their destination in one piece. It was Mycroft's plane (the government's, but who's really counting?), yet it was John's surreptitious slipping of some kind of sedative into Sherlock's tea that allowed for a relatively peaceful flight.
Greg raised his eyebrows at the army doctor after Sherlock had drifted off, face pressed against the window pane, snoring softly. John checked Sherlock's pulse, and winked at Greg and Mycroft, as he settled back into his chair.
"Far be it from me to complain, but is that entirely ethical, Dr. Watson?" Mycroft queried sipping his, drug-free, tea.
John smiled grimly and muttered something about "fair's fair" and "Baskerville." Greg, normally against turning people into science experiments and unwitting victims (having had far too much experience in those roles), had a sudden sharp memory of that damned hollow and decided that Sherlock was getting off easy with a nap.
"So what's for lunch?" he said instead. John laughed, Sherlock snored, and Mycroft summoned over their inflight menu.
Several hours later they arrived under the cover of darkness. Considering that Mycroft had been the one to organize this trip, the slightly covert element of their comings and goings surprised absolutely no one.
John made a joke about "foreign invasions" making a really bad start to any holiday.
"Your mum's not going to be pleased that you arranged the hostile takeover of an island nation instead of taking a proper rest," he joked, deadpan, "She called to check up on you not two days ago."
Scandalized, Mycroft glared at John through narrowed eyes. The blogger ignored the elder Holmes' ire. Instead, he worked towards shifting an extremely drowsy and discombobulated Sherlock into a standing position until the detective was leaning very heavily on John, swaying woozily. Sherlock would certainly have had several things to say to Mycroft on the topic of international warfare and their mother if he had been fit to do anything other than mumble something incoherently to John. Whatever he said caused the blogger to laugh sharply and nearly drop the consulting detective. Mycroft looked as if he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of this entire venture. Greg resisted the urge to say "I told you so," elbowing his partner playfully, taking out his camera, and snapping a photo of the blogger and the consulting detective.
The flash caused Sherlock to blink rapidly, mouth agape. Mycroft and John turned quickly to glare at the DI.
"What?" Greg said with a genuine smile, his tone was mock defensive, but he felt completely at ease, the first time he'd felt so relaxed in…well, years probably, "I'm going to document this," he waved his camera with a roguish smirk, "There is at least a photo album coming out of this mess."
Everyone stood in silence. Then Mycroft began to chuckle, his laughter turned fairly hysterical as he clutched the back of his chair for support. John grinned, Sherlock grumbled incoherently, and Greg snapped another picture before going over to help John navigate Sherlock off the plane.
As they disembarked, Greg felt a strange elated sense of optimism, which only increased when Mycroft placed his hand in the small of Greg's back, that this holiday might not have been the worst idea after all. Mycroft smirked knowingly in response.
My Dearest Readers, I would just like to apologize for my extended absence. I was unfortunately detained by the twin miseries of health problems and family troubles. Real life was not a fun place for me. That being said, I am back now and I'm am going to gradually start developing a more regular writing and posting schedule again. Thank you so much for sticking with me through my hiatus and thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. Please, leave a review if you get the chance, let me know if I'm still a bit off my game. Much love, Nic.