Holy fucking shite, guiz, I'm SOOOOOOO SOOOOO SORRY this took so long to write. There are over thirteen thousand words though and it just... it was such a long chapter to write... I'm sorry. It might get a bit slow though, since I'm back to academics. But still. Christmas schtuffs here.
I'd like to thank you ALL for your incredible patience. I'd also like to thank all those that volunteered Christmas gifts. I'd be nowhere without you. I'd like to thank you all for the absolutely wonderful reviews I've been getting. They are what got me by in this chapter, honestly, no word of a lie. So thanks to all of you, really. Thank you.
So. Here it is. Greg meets the 'rents and such. I hope I did ok. I worked real hard on this, mein lieben. I did, I did, I did!
So!
Current Song: Wrong 'Em Boyo by The Clash (I fucking love them, you know?)
Current Thought: NO. NO. ACADEMICS. NO. HOMEWORK. NO. NO. NO. In other news... I got a haircut! Really short, but cute!
READ ON.
Another Brick In The Wall: Part 10
Greg had gone Christmas shopping with Harry and Irene. Of course, they left his presence when he bought their gifts and he did the same when it was his turn. They also helped him pick out something decent for Mycroft, which was a relief because he really wanted to get the other boy something meaningful and it was. The gift really was.
The last day they were all still around, Greg packed a small suitcase for the two weeks he would be spending at Mycroft's: Christmas week and all the way up to New Years. They had a few days off after that before they came back to school. He was really looking forward to it too. Mycroft just happened to offer his help. Well, he said help. To Greg it was more of dictating what he would bring, what was necessary for a stay at the Holmes Manor. It went something like this:
"You'll need boots."
"Uh, why?"
"It's Kent, Gregory. It's going to snow."
So he packed them.
"You'll need that coat, no not your leather one, Gregory - though you can bring that too - the one stuffed with down."
"Why?"
"It's going to be cold."
He packed it.
"Oh, take that shirt, Greg. Take that one."
A sigh. This was becoming tiring. "Mycroft. Bugger off. I need to pack." A pause. "Why that one?"
A shrug. "You look absolutely delectable in it."
He packed the shirt.
He was reassured that Sherlock was doing the exact same thing to John, except John would watch Sherlock hastily pack both their bags and then John would have to go back and repack them so it wasn't a bleeding mess. Harry and Irene had already been packed for days. They were girls; of course they were. Jim had Sebastian pack for the both of them. Seb was neat and precise, military precise, all their things fitting into one suitcase and a carry-on bag.
They would be driving to Kent. Harry was bringing John and Sherlock, and Irene would be bringing Jim and Sebastian. From the school, it would take a good few hours to get to their destination, and as he lay in bed the night before they were to depart, Greg felt himself tense up with nerves.
God, he was going to meet Mycroft's parents. His mum. His Da. He was going to meet them and God, they were going to hate them, weren't they? He was just a village kid with silver hair and a penchant for footy who wanted to get with the Met. God, they would throw him out or at least now accept his and Mycroft's relationship. He didn't know if they would care how happy it made his son to be with Greg, because he saw the way Mycroft's eyes lit up whenever he was reminded by a touch or a kiss that Greg was his, all his, and if Greg could make Mycroft look like that everyday then his mission in life will have been accomplished and he would want for nothing, not a thing.
Just to see that look on Mycroft's face. That's it.
He slept that night, only by flipping onto his side and staring at Mycroft's oddly serene face in the moonlight that seeps in through their window blinds. The other boy's face was smooth and soft and his nose twitched as he dreamt. And wouldn't it be something else if Mycroft was dreaming about him, Greg thought. He stared some more, his eyes finally dropping and sending him off into a deep slumber.
And he would never know that that night Mycroft was dreaming of him. He would never know because he wouldn't ask.
They were all packed. Harry and The Baker boys (John and Sherlock) had set off a half hour ago with Irene and the Crazy Boys following. Greg and Mycroft were required to leave last since Mycroft had to lock up Baker House over the holiday.
Which was why no one was there to see Greg incoherent at Mycroft's request.
"Wh-you said- and …I … wait, what?"
Mycroft slammed the trunk closed, giving Greg an odd look. And then he simply said, "I asked you to drive the car."
Greg blinked. His boyfriend had said it again. Drive the car. Drive the car. But they were taking the Jag. Was there some other car he was supposed to drive?
He licked his lips, his stomach fluttering when he realized Mycroft was following the movement. "Um, what car?"
Mycroft gave him a look that said he was obviously thick. "Greg, I only have the one with me," and he pointed to the Jag.
"I-I can't," Greg stuttered. Oh but he wanted to.
"Haven't you a license?" Mycroft asked slowly.
Greg did have one. He stupidly took it out to show Mycroft. His hair was still a bit brown in it. "Yeah. Yeah I do. But, it's- it's a… Mycroft what if I crash her?" He laughed. Mycroft Holmes laughed and yes, Greg would have made a complete idiot of himself more often if he had known the older boy could make a sound like that. But it was a bit aggravating, since Greg was being serious. "I'm serious, My."
At his nick-name, Mycroft looked up with a smile, his face red at his cheeks. "Gregory, it's a car. If you crash it, which you won't, I assure you of this, then it does have insurance and can be replaced or fixed." He smiled, something a lot more small and private. "And as long as you were alright, I really wouldn't have a problem. Because, although you can be fixed, you cannot be replaced. So I'd rather not have you broken."
Greg felt the breath rush out of him and he walked over to Mycroft and carefully kissed him full on the mouth. He felt the other boy's hands slowly come around his waist. Maybe there would be a day when neither of them were surprised anymore, that they could do this and that it felt so good, but today, they would just have to settle for the surprise. Greg pulled back a bit and rubbed noses.
"It's when you shite like that that I can't keep myself from kissing you," he said softly.
Mycroft chuckled at his vulgarity. "I'd rather you didn't keep yourself from kissing me." Greg smiled, shook his head, took a step back and then huffed in surprise as Mycroft threw him the Jaguar's keys and got in on the left side.
He grumbled to himself good-naturedly and got in on the right, sitting behind the wheel and closing the door. Greg took a moment to just feel the leather steering-wheel and then he slid the keys into the ignition, turned and gasped at the feeling of a perfectly oiled machine coming to life under him, all that fucking power at his finger tips. He felt like he was riding an animal, using a weapon. It was glorious.
He turned to Mycroft, to say thank you or something, maybe comment on the car and her absolute beauty, when the look on the other boy's face made him stop. He swallowed hard. Mycroft was heavy lidded and his mouth was in the shape of an 'o', his pinks lips in a perfect circle.
"What?" Greg asked. Currently, his hair was spiked up on his head. He was in a Sex Pistols t-shirt with a leather jacket thrown over it and his legs were clad in denims. He had his biker boots on, though he didn't own a bike yet, but he would one day and he mind as well get used to the weight of the shoes early.
Mycroft actually floundered about for a moment before he said, "I, for once in my life, was wrong."
"About?" Greg asked, now curious.
Mycroft looked out the window as he swallowed, cleared his throat and said, "You look much…sexier sitting in the driver's seat of my car than I imagined you would. Much, much sexier." He cleared his throat again and met Greg's eyes only to say, "I would like you to drive now. I promise I won't stare. Much."
And Greg pulled out of the lot and laughed the entire way onto the highway.
The thing about the Holmes Manor? It really was a manor.
The place was huge with a large garden out back and woods off to the side. Greg actually stopped when he drove through a set of wrought iron gates. He honestly couldn't believe this. How…?
"Is this for real?" he asked.
Mycroft sighed. "Yes, unfortunately. Mummy went overboard a few years ago. But she just had to have her gates. Pull in over there." And he pointed to a garage that was done up nice off to the side. Greg pulled in and saw several cars he didn't recognize along with Harry and Irene's cars. Which meant everyone was already there.
Great.
Greg got out of the car, his breath already coming in shallow gasps and he grabbed both their bags. He wouldn't let Mycroft even take one. "So they can't see my hands shaking," was the reason he gave his boyfriend.
Mycroft's face softened. He cupped Greg's face softly and said, "They will adore you if for no other reason than because I do. Alright?" He kissed Greg's forehead and that was enough.
They headed into the house, going through the large front doors. Greg didn't know what he was expecting: maid service or a butler? Instead he got Sherlock, rolling his eyes and changed into denims and a purple hooded jumper and bare feet. He rolled his eyes and yelled behind him, "Mummy! Mycroft and his boyfriend are here." And then he gave them a sickly sweet smile and ran off to where John was calling him upstairs.
Mycroft didn't turn red like Greg. He just sighed and nodded for Greg to go inside. Which he did, hesitantly, and set the bags down as he heard the sound of footsteps come down the hall. Mrs. Holmes was not what Greg was expecting. She was shorter than Mycroft, a little smaller than Greg himself, and she had reddish hair (like Mycroft) but blue eyes (like Sherlock). Her face was all cheekbones and thin wrinkles that hid themselves well. Her hair had a few streaks of grey in it, but she hadn't dyed it.
She smiled softly at Greg as she said, "Hello. My name is Violet Holmes. I am Mycroft and Sherlock's mother. Welcome….?"
"Uh, Greg. Gregory Lestrade, yeah, hi," and Greg lifted a hand to shake hers. Oh he must be so red right now.
Mrs. Holmes blinked at him. On second thought, she was a bit thin and frail looking, her house dress hanging off her frame. Was she sick or…?
"Mycroft, is that any way to greet your mother?" she said, hands on her hips, smiling.
Mycroft sighed and smiled a little. He bent down a bit, kissing her cheek and said, "Hello Mummy, how are you?"
She sighed a bit tiredly, pulling him into a hug. "Oh just fine, darling. Although your brother and his new friends… your friends too, and I'm glad you can share friends, well, they're a bit of a handful, yes? Especially that little one, with the tall blond boy?"
"Jim and Sebastian?"
"Yes. They blew up the second floor bathroom," she said blandly.
Mycroft sighed. "I apologize on their behalf and I will be having a few words with them. I am sorry, mother."
She smiled and when she laughed, it sounded like bells. She was so proper and dainty. Greg thought she was wonderful. "It's fine. Not like Shirley wouldn't have done it eventually." She pulled away from Mycroft finally and looked to Greg. "You're room is the one across from Mycroft's Gregory. I hope you do enjoy your holiday with us." She shot a suggestive look to Mycroft then turned and walked away with a, "Dinner is at six," and then she was gone.
Greg looked at Mycroft. "So she… she knows you're gay, then?"
Mycroft nodded. "Sherlock and I decided to come out at the same time so neither of us would be pressured by them or used as an example." He snagged the suitcases himself now, much to Greg's chagrin, and led them up the stairs. "It was a smart move, I think , on our behalf. Although, Sherlock said he was 'asexual' or something like that." He shrugged. "I guess we're all allowed to change our minds, yes?"
He walked into what was to be Greg's room first and put that respective suitcase down. Then he carried his much smaller bag into his room. Mycroft had been loath to bring anything at all. The house had what he needed. He ended up just bringing a bag with a few things in it and what Greg assumed were some of the gifts he had purchased for everyone. Greg himself had a separate bag and box with his gifts for everyone. Christmas was, in fact , in two days.
Greg quickly unpacked, taking in the luxurious room as he did so. Silk sheets, hard wood oak on the bad and the floorboards. So was the closet and bureau. It was quite lovely. He changed out of his boots and stayed in socks, almost mimicking Sherlock and then he headed across the way to where Mycroft was in his room.
Changing clothes.
Greg yelped and walked out after he caught a glimpse of pale, creamy skin and a sprinkling of birthmarks with a light fuzz of orange hair below Mycroft's naval, disappearing down into his pants. Greg's face was flushed, he could feel it and he didn't even see the look on Mycroft's face. Oh goodness, he was a terrible person. Which was what made him turn on his heel as he walked out and look back inside to where Mycroft looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He was in dark denims, but he didn't have a shirt on, a crisp button-up in his hands. He seemed frozen to the spot and he wouldn't turn around, he only met Greg's eyes in the mirror and then looked away when they did lock together.
"I… I'm… shite, should I just leave?" Greg wondered aloud.
Mycroft's jaw clenched. "If you'd prefer," he said a bit icily.
And Greg couldn't figure out why his boyfriend was being so cold, not at all. What was his issue? Greg had apologized he hadn't meant to barge in on his privacy and walk in on him half naked with his body in plain view and-
Oh. Oh.
Gregory Lestrade was an idiot. He knew Mycroft was self-conscious about his body. He probably thought Greg was disgusted with him, when in all actuality it was the opposite. Greg felt like such a pervert at the odd need to touch that skin with his fingers and suddenly he was, his fingers ghosting down Mycroft's back, the other boy taking in a sharp breath.
"You have an issue," Greg said softly, moving closer to the other boy, so that he was almost pressed against his back. Greg's throat was so tightly closed, his hands shaking. His stomach was up in the air and really, he had no idea what he was doing. "You think you're fat or ugly, or some other rubbish," he continued. "But really, you are beautiful. Jesus Mycroft, you're skin is so fucking soft." And it was a stupid thing to say, but Mycroft started to laugh, his back shaking against the hot press of Greg's hands against them. And it was good, because Greg had done something right.
"Soft? I'm bare-chested and all you have to say is that my skin is soft?" Mycroft said, turning around to face him, but keeping the white button-up between them as a sort of shield.
Greg took a deep breath himself and then slowly took Mycroft by the wrists lowering them and the shirt so he could get a full view of Mycroft's chest not reflected in the mirror. It was pale and lean, the nipples a soft brown-pink , tight and peaked. There were birthmarks scattered everywhere, freckles dotting in-between, and the same orange trail he'd seen from the mirror, leading down into Mycroft's pants. And no, Greg wasn't thinking of where that little trail led. Much.
"I think it's nice," he said, his voice sticking in his throat. He swallowed again, letting one finger trail down Mycroft's chest softly. He stopped at Mycroft's belly-button, circled around it and brushed his finger softly through the orange hair at his naval. Beautiful. It was the only word that his mind could come up with. Mycroft shivered a bit and Greg finally looked at Mycroft and smiled at the other boy's awed expression.
"I'm fat," he said, lost.
"No," Greg said, "you're just right." He stood on his toes and gave Mycroft's mouth a quick peck. "Now put on some clothes or-"
"And this is not our room, Sebastian. You liar. Although ,the show is nice. Do continue, gentleman. Pretend we aren't here," Jim said from the doorway, making Greg jump in fright, but not away.
"Bugger off, Moriarty," he said instead.
Mycroft simply said, "You blew up the bathroom. Leave before I kick you out of the house. And it's still early. You cease to amaze me with your stupidity."
Jim looked offended. Sebastian looked bored, but dragged Jim away when he made a scene about it. But Greg was only watching Mycroft. His face was red. He must have been embarrassed that Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran of all people had seen him without a shirt on, and really Greg knew he shouldn't have a problem with that, but Mycroft did and he wasn't feeling too grand.
"Hey, hey look at me," he said gently, turning Mycroft's face to his. "It's fine. Ignore him, he didn't see much of anything and if he did and says anything about it, then who cares? What does he matter? He doesn't. So."
Mycroft nodded and slowly smiled. "Correct, as always, Gregory." He started to slip his arms into the shirt, Greg absentmindedly helping. Once it was on, Greg buttoned it up, his mouth travelling a mile a minute about nothing in particular. It was when he left a button or two open at the top of the shirt that they both realized Greg had effectively dressed Mycroft.
They both blushed profusely, but after Greg dropped his hands, Mycroft picked one up with his own and wove their fingers together. He tugged Greg out the door, leading him down the hall and pointing out the two bed bedroom John and Sherlock were staying in and the single-bed bedroom Harry and Irene were in habiting. Jim and Sebastian had separate rooms, but more than likely, they would fall asleep on the couch downstairs together, instead of going their separate ways.
Mycroft led them down the stairs, determined to try and find everyone so he and Sherlock could give them a tour of the place. They found Harry and Irene in the kitchen with Mrs. Holmes, who was baking something, and Greg grabbed Mycroft's sleeve before they went in.
"What is the matter?" Mycroft asked.
Greg shook his head and said, "Where's your dad?"
Mycroft gave a soft smile. "Working. As per usual." Now he didn't look so happy.
"Mycroft," Greg said, asking his real question, "is your mum….is she sick? Or something?"
The look on Mycroft's face said that he was spot on. "She has a weak heart. She should have never had children, never mind two. It just made her heart weaker. She's got a pace-maker and medication but…" He sighed a bit, his shoulders falling. "Her heart could go out at any time if she strains herself." He made a face. "Not that that stops her…"
"I see where Sherlock gets his stubbornness from then," Greg said, jokingly, trying to break the ice that uncomfortable situation brought on them for a moment.
"You have no idea," Mycroft said dryly, then walked into the kitchen with Greg.
The girls looked up and smiled. "Took you two long enough to get here. You take a detour…?" Irene suggested innocently, then smirked impishly, Harry giggling alongside her.
"No," Greg said, a bit put out by them. They were not funny. At all. "I was driving. I didn't know the way. We got lost once or twice."
"Or three or four times," Mycroft muttered under his breath, making Harry giggle. "Mummy, have you seen Sherlock and Mr. Watson?"
"Doctor," she corrected gently, closing the stove and standing back.
"I-" Mycroft stopped. "Pardon?"
"Sherlock insists that his proper title is Dr. Watson."
"Why?" Greg asked, then blushed because it wasn't his conversation to butt into.
But Mrs. Holmes just smiled and said, "Apparently, young John wants to be a doctor when he's older. An army doctor, but still. A doctor nonetheless."
"Oh," Mycroft said, "Well that's-"
"Completely noble and courageous?" Sherlock said walking in, tugging John behind him by the sleeve.
"Is that a Holmes thing?" Jim asked, coming in behind them on Sebastian's shoulders. "The dragging-your-pet-around-by-the-hand/sleeve thing?"
Mycroft and Sherlock looked to each other, then their hands where Mycroft's was in Greg's and Sherlock's around John's jumper. They both let go at the same time and gave Jim a dirty look.
Greg sighed and John took back Sherlock's hand, this time in his own. They both also shot glares at Jim. "What?" he said, but he was smirking.
Mycroft shook his head. "Is father almost home?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" The voice was deep, like Sherlock's, a smooth baritone that came from the kitchen doorway. They all turned to look. The man was tall and thin, high cheekbones and raven hair with streaks of deep silver through them. His eyes were the same grey as Mycroft's, his hair the same shade as Sherlock's but with the silver of age running through it like veins in marble. He was straight-backed and in a suit, a cane in his hand, and Greg was reminded of Mycroft with his brolly. At least he knew where the other boy got the habit from.
"Father," Mycroft said politely. "Welcome home."
"Yes, father. Welcome home," Sherlock parroted, surprisingly. He didn't even glance at John, never mind the rest of them. Mycroft was doing the same thing.
The man nodded at the boys. "Welcome back from school, boys. I trust things were well?" They nodded and he did too. "Good, good." He glanced to the rest of them. "These are your…"
"Friends," Mrs. Holmes said kindly, walking through their group and to her husband, where she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on the mouth. "Welcome back, darling."
The change was immediate and drastic. Mr. Holmes' entire body relaxed to meld into hers and he gave a quirk of a smile, very similar to Sherlock's (Mycroft had more of his mother's smile). "My love," he whispered softly, so that everyone in the room, except Jim of course who looked on in confusion at the display of affection, looked away to give them a moment of privacy.
"Jesus, Jim," Seb said in exasperation, turning all the way around so Jim wouldn't see the two adults greeting each other. The latter pouted but stayed put on the former's shoulders.
When it was over, Mr. Holmes cleared his throat and they all turned back. "My name is Siger Holmes. This is my wife, Violet, as I'm sure she's introduced herself. You are welcome in our home for the winter holiday. I hope you enjoy your stay." He looked to Mycroft then and the boy stood up straighter. "Mycroft, we've dismissed the help for the holiday. You and a few of your… friends would be thanked for setting up the dining room for dinner. Yes?"
Mycroft nodded. "Yes sir." All that was missing was a salute.
"Good." Siger nodded and then he stopped and looked to Seb and Jim. "Except that one," and he pointed to Jim. "I don't want him near the silver."
Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep from laughing and John smothered a giggle. The girls gave each other looks and kept up a straight face and Greg piped up, "I'll make sure of that, sir."
In surprise, Siger looked at him. "And you are?"
"That is Gregory Lestrade," Mrs. Holmes said in hushed tones. At Siger's confused face, she shooed them all out of the kitchen and into the dining room, instructing Mycroft on where the silverware and plates and glasses were. They set up quietly, Jim softly mumbling as he watched, refusing to come down from Sebastian's shoulders, making it impossible for the other boy to help out as well.
Once that was done, Sherlock was dispatched to the kitchen and came back with his hands full. That got Irene and Harry going as well. John attempted, of course because his good breeding preempted him to, but Sherlock made him sit. His leg had been bothering him again. The last thing any of them wanted was for him to strain it.
"Damn my leg!" John exclaimed, just as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes walked in with the last of their dinner. Mrs. Holmes looked scandalized. Mr. Holmes looked unimpressed. Sherlock merely slapped a palm to his face, and John was beet red. "I-I apologize, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, honestly, I do. I really do, it's just my leg and-"
"There will be no foul language in this household," Siger said crisply. "I will excuse you this once."
"It's quite alright, dear," Violet said softly to John, patting his shoulder.
Mycroft silently wished for the night to be over. Greg had to agree.
They all finally sat for the meal, everyone sitting next to their respective partners, with Siger and Violet Holmes at the head of the table and their sons on either side of them, with their partners on either side of them. Irene and Harry were on John and Sherlock's side. Mycroft and Greg were stuck with Moran and Moriarty. And then Jim spoke. A terrible thing, that.
"So I blew up the bathroom…."
Mr. Holmes kindly told him to eat his food and shut up, lest he throw the fool out of their house. Then the older man said tightly, "Anyone interested in the military?"
John raised a tentative hand and got a look of dubiousness from Siger, the man gesturing toward his leg. "Oh, no. I don't mean a soldier. But uh, a doctor? An army doctor. Yeah. That. My shoulder's a bit stiff after… a, uh, accident I was in, and my leg is messed up a bit as well, but I can still do decent doctoring."
"Hmmm," Siger said thoughtfully. "I've had my life saved many a time by a good medic."
"You're in the service?" Sebastian asked, curious. He stabbed at his steak with his knife and ate it right off, Mrs. Holmes kindly asking him to use a fork. Sebastian did. He thought she was a good sort, a nice mum. Jim just snorted and ate like he was a first class citizen.
"Was, I was in the service. I work in the government now," he corrected, this time gently. "I was mostly gone when the boys were younger." And that explained the strained, almost military-like relationship between The Holmes Brothers and their father. Greg stole a glance at Mycroft and the other boy was looking stonily at the wall.
"And you? What are you planning on doing with yourself after school? Violet tells me you're in your third year of high school, just a year behind Mycroft." It took Greg a moment to realize that Siger was speaking to him now.
He cleared his throat and finished swallowing the bite of his food. Did Siger know about him and Mycroft or….? "Uh, well…. I want to go into law enforcement. I've been informed that I could get a good starting spot on the Met when I leave school. I still may go to uni though. Seems like a good idea to have a back up." He swallowed, this time, out of nerves.
Siger looked at him oddly, then looked slowly to where Mycroft was sitting beside him. "Is that so? Mycroft. What is your opinion on this endeavor?"
Mycroft sat up even more straight if that was possible and said stiffly, "I believe that Gregory has the mind set, capability and the talent to achieve such a goal and go to uni at the same time. He's an intelligent student and quick to learn. Sir."
Siger looked like he was going to say more to his eldest son, but he switched gears and turned to Sebastian instead to ask him something. Meanwhile, Mrs. Holmes was speaking softly to Irene and Harry about something or the other. Sherlock and John spoke quietly amongst themselves. Sherlock didn't look happy. John seemed to be trying to calm him.
"And you, Sebastian, is it? What is your plan for the future?"
Sebastian shrugged. "I can shoot well. I'll probably join the military. Maybe go out for a sniper." He shrugged again. "Or work with Jim." He nodded to the boy beside him.
Siger turned to Jim. "What will you do?" Jim smiled. And then he launched into a large speech on statistics, banks, the stock market and everything in-between. Siger blinked and asked, "And that has to do with this how?"
Jim may have looked insulted. "I have all the knowledge to do as I please, Mr. Holmes. All I need is someone to ask for it."
"For what?"
"Exactly."
Siger looked to Sebastian who raised an eyebrow and shook his head. Mycroft tried not to groan and Greg snuck a hand under the table and took Mycroft's for a moment, giving it a brief squeeze. He returned the hand with a grin, and Mycroft grinned back. Anything to make him smile, Greg realized. That was what he would do for the other boy. Anything to make him smile.
Dinner went on quietly, and oddly enough, Siger never really spoke directly to Sherlock. Greg didn't know whether or not that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he did know that something was bothering Mycroft about his father and that he was going to get it out of the other boy if it was the last thing he did.
Once dinner was over, Greg helped Harry stack the dishes and bring them into the kitchen where Mrs. Holmes was washing them. It was only seven o'clock by then, still fairly light out. Mr. Holmes was changing out of his clothes presumably, and had disappeared. Mycroft then followed Greg into the kitchen, standing by the doorway as he watched his boyfriend help his mother wash dishes. Violet Holmes stopped washing and gave Mycroft a stern look, to which the boy returned with a nod and then left.
"Mr. Holmes doesn't know about me, does he?" Greg asked softly as he put a dish back in the cupboard.
She sighed, her tiny, frail body shaking. "He doesn't know about any of you. Mycroft is taking the responsibility of explaining it all to him. They don't… have the best of relationships. Siger was gone until Mycroft was fifteen. He's only really had a few years with his father and they haven't been well. Siger doesn't know his children. They aren't what he thought they would be," and now she sounded angry and a bit upset. "But he needs to accept that." She took in a deep breath and almost fell over and in seconds Greg had her sitting in a chair, Harry with a glass of water ready. Violet laughed shakily. "Thank you. I'm sorry, about that."
"You get weak fast," Harry observed. Violet nodded. "Maybe you should sleep? Go to bed a bit early?"
But Mrs. Holmes shook her head. "Not yet."
She was waiting for Mycroft to get back, Greg realized, his eyes meeting with Harry's. He was lad, at that moment, that Sherlock was entertaining the rest of their little group while they took care of this. So Greg pulled up a chair and so did Harry and they talked about school and his footy matches and so on until they heard the sound of feel on stairs and Mycroft walked in looking tired.
Greg was out of his seat in seconds flat, missing the knowing look shared between Harry and Violet Holmes. He wrapped his arms around the taller boy almost immediately, held him close as Mycroft clung, lost for a while, and finally brought back to his senses by the feel of Greg there and close.
"Ok?" Greg asked, swallowing hard, hoping that his nerves weren't showing. He hoped he was doing this comfort thing correctly. Mycroft really needed him right now.
"Yes. Just fine," Mycroft replied quietly. "Thank you."
"That's what I'm here for, love."
Mycroft smiled then looked at his mother as he gently pulled away from Greg. "He was not happy."
"I don't care if he wasn't happy. Was he at least understanding?" Mycroft's mother said softly.
At this Mycroft sighed. "That he was. Although he is still holding out for Sherlock and I to find a 'good British girl' and for the others as well." Now he spared Harry a look. "He thinks you and Irene are going through a phase as well. Thinks you'll find a bloke right for you."
Harry made a face. "No offence to you boys, but I have no interest in men. Period." She gave a slight shudder. "Just – no."
Mycroft sighed. "I know, Harriet, I know."
Mrs. Holmes stood up and said, "I'll speak with him then." She straightened her dress and walked out and up the stairs.
At that same moment, the others wandered in. Sherlock was in the lead, his hand in John's, Jim and Seb following behind with Irene picking up the caboose. Sherlock made a face and then said, "She's gone to speak with him, hasn't she?" And Mycroft just nodded. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's shoulders. Greg took Mycroft's hand.
"I apologize for this inconvenience," Mycroft said softly, the muscle in his jaw jumping a bit.
"Don't," Sherlock snapped. "He's an idiot."
"Well I don't like him," Jim said, quickly shushed by Irene.
With that said, the rest of them were quiet until Mrs. Holmes came back down. She merely shoo her head and went to the sink, staring at the unfinished dishes. When Harry tried to help, Violet waved her away.
Mycroft just sighed and said, "Mummy, I'd like to take them on a tour of the manor and grounds. Would that be alright?"
She turned from the sink and nodded. "Yes. Remember it'll be dark soon, Mycroft. And Sherlock? Help your brother. And no arguments, please."
Sherlock's mouth was halfway open with said argument when John nudged him a bit and shook his head. "Not good?" the young Holmes in question asked softly.
"Bit not good, yeah," John replied honestly.
Harry and Irene got up and nodded to the door. Mrs. Holmes seemed to be staring out into space, not looking at any of them as they left. Even Jim seemed a bit freaked out, high on Sebastian's shoulders. "Ok. That was weird. Care to explain?" he said, directed to Mycroft.
Mycroft merely sighed, Greg taking his hand again in support. "She isn't well. She shouldn't even be cleaning. Father will be a bit cross that she's working herself like this. But, nothing can be done about that now. So. Shall we?"
He led them around the manor first, avoiding the master bedroom suite, which was impressive with old Victorian-style architecture and old fashioned but tasteful furniture. It had many guest bedrooms and spare rooms that were for nothing but sitting around in. It was still lovely. There was a room full of art and paintings and sculptures and there was a library that they briefly passed by, but that Mycroft promised to show Greg in depth later. They ended back in the main sitting room where there was a tree, professionally decorated with tinsel and expensive ornaments bought at Tiffany's. Under it were gifts, all wrapped in different kinds of paper, some even in newspaper, and others in professionally done-up packages.
It was a perfect symbol for their little discombobulated family they had at the moment. Greg holding Mycroft's hand, Jim still on Sebastian's shoulders, John and Sherlock gravitated towards each other, Irene and Harry leaning casually against each other.
"You know, next year, we should decorate it," Greg said out of nowhere, then almost smacked himself in the forehead. He had been assuming there would be a next year, that he would still be with Mycroft, that John would still be with Sherlock, Irene still with Harry and Sebastian still with Jim. And maybe, now that he thought of it, they would be.
Either way, Mycroft smiled and said softly, "Yes. Yes we definitely should. That will a day to remember."
From atop Sebastian's shoulders, Jim said brightly, "And I can bring in that one ornament I have." He looked down at Seb. "Remember the ornament, Sebby?"
"No."
Jim frowned. "You must. It was the one with-"
"I know, Jim," Sebastian groaned.
"Yes, but you said-"
"You're not bringing that one," Sebastian said a bit finalized. Jim made to say something else, but just pouted. He waved away their curious questions. "Trust me. I'm doing you all a favor. Are we going outside this damned place?"
And that was what led them outside into the snow, bundled up against the winter chill. They had all split up for a moment to go to their respective rooms and get something warmer on and Mycroft had walked in before Greg was ready. He caught the younger boy struggling into his warmest coat (the one Mycroft insisted he bring) and he sighed, walking over, and helped him shimmy into it.
Greg's head popped up, a bit surprised to see Mycroft, but then he just made a face and snatched his hat, shoving it onto his head, the puffed up bit sticking up on top of his head making Mycroft suppress a giggle at the sight. "Shut up," Greg growled and made his way to the front door, whipping his scarf on. Everyone was dressed similarly, Jim on the floor this time, and Sherlock had this odd gleam in his eyes. Greg should have known that something was about to happen. He just chose not to trust his gut feeling.
Mycroft and Sherlock showed them all around the grounds. In the spring and summer, and early autumn too, there was a garden back here and a lake further back, frozen over now and recommended for ice skating if anyone was interested. Instead of the garden, there was only a snow covered field, the lake hidden somewhere under all the snow. It was gorgeous, the snow sparkling in the failing light of day.
It was Sherlock who started it.
All of a sudden, Greg felt icy-cold mush flowing down the neck of his coat and jumper and he squealed, turning around to see Sherlock smiling innocently and Jim giggling hysterically. Instead of hitting the more obvious Holmes, Greg bent down, picked up a handful of snow and chucked it at Jim's person, hitting him straight in the face. The other boy spluttered and wiped the cold, frozen water off his face before angrily picking up a snowball of his own and whipping it at Greg. Who ducked and let it hit Irene in the back of the head, soaking her hair.
It was all out war after that.
Greg grabbed Mycroft by the sleeve and dove into a snow drift as Irene threw more snow at them, Harry backing her up and aiming for Jim, who got scooped up by Sebastian and dragged behind a tree where they could battle it out. John had tackled Sherlock to the ground as he let an onslaught of snow go at his sister and her girlfriend. Snow flew, Mycroft making the balls of snow and handing them to Greg to throw. Sherlock and John had a similar thing going on behind the small wall of snow they had fashioned and Jim was throwing snow from the top of a tree, Sebastian throwing it from the ground. Irene and Harry didn't have any cover, but they honestly didn't need it. In minutes, everyone was soaked and freezing and Greg couldn't feel his face, but he was laughing to hard and had tears in his eyes because he thought that he had missed out on this, this togetherness with people he would never suspect to be amazing.
Mycroft glanced over at him in the lull between snowballs, everyone scrambling in the snow to make more, and he stopped in surprise. "Gregory!" he exclaimed upon seeing Greg's tears. "Are you alright?"
He wiped away at the warm water trailing down Greg's cheeks and the other boy laughed. "I'm absolutely brilliant," Greg responded and then shimmied his way through the snow, staying low enough that the snow drift still covered him, and he kissed Mycroft with cold lips meeting cold lips, puffs of air escaping and coming up between them as Greg cautiously slid his tongue inside Mycroft's mouth, and licked around, the cold melting away into absolutely blissful heat.
And then there was yelling and a ton of snow was dumped on them, causing Greg to gasp at the sudden chill and Mycroft to grab onto him tightly. From the tree not that far away, Jim made a face and shook the branch he was sitting on again, so that more snow fell on them, not dumping this time, since there wasn't much left.
"It's war via snowball fight, gentlemen," Jim said blandly, with a hint of disgust, "not play-time. Although you may succeed in murdering me with PDA."
A moment later and a well aimed snowball from Greg got Jim in the face again and he pin-wheeled backwards and out of the tree, crashing into Sebastian on the ground. The two boys groaned while the rest of them laughed, and that was when Mycroft noticed Greg's lips were turning purple.
"They are?" the other boy said, touching them and then realizing he couldn't feel them. Or his fingers. It had started to snow again some time ago and they were all shivering. Harry's hair was wet and limp, as was Irene's, and Sherlock and Jim were both equally red in the face with cold. John and Sebastian maintained their tanned look, but were both cold as well, shivering appropriately. Mycroft wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
"Yes," he said. "Purple. Like a bruise."
"Or like they're freezing," Sherlock quipped from the ground where he and John still were. Everyone met in the middle of the field, snow in tufts and craters around them, the flakes falling in a flurry.
"I propose this: we go inside for some hot cocoa, coffee or something stronger for those of age?" Mycroft said pleasantly, but pulling Greg closer to where he could feel that delicious body heat.
"God yes," John almost moaned.
"Yeah, it's fucking freezing," Sebastian added, and then yelped as Jim unzipped his coat. "What the fuck James?" He only called Jim's by his full name when he was explicitly angry.
"Sebby, I'm cold," Jim said petulantly, pressing his cold body to Sebastian's semi-warm one under the coat, the other boy hissing in discomfort.
"Yes, inside. Let's do that." Sebastian wrapped his arms around Jim and rolled his eyes.
They headed in with a few nods, Jim mostly carried by Sebastian, John huddling with Sherlock, Irene on Harry's back and Greg pressed close to Mycroft. As they made their way over a drift of snow, greg felt Mycroft' grip on him get tighter.
"What, are you afraid you'll lose me in all the snow?" he asked jokingly.
Mycroft shook his head silently. "Not that."
"Then what?"
"Well-"
There was a crack and Greg felt icy cold hit him as the snow –no, the ice – cracked beneath his feet and he was halfway submerged.
The lake. Well, looks like he'd found it.
Greg yelped and the words were stuck in his throat as he felt the cold seep into his clothes and up his legs, around his waist and almost to his torso. Then he was being yanked and there was yelling and it was a mess of people and voices and Greg just wanted it all to stop. And he wanted warmth. Yeah, that too.
"Oh shite, Mycroft pull him out, pull him out!"
"I am, stop yelling. Sherlock help me! John go open the door, Harry go with him." Then in Greg's ear: "Hold on a moment, my own. Hold on." Farther away. "Sherlock!"
"I'm right here!" A tug, a yank, the cold wasn't receding , but he was becoming less wet. "Jim, Sebastian. Help."
"No."
"James, knock it off."
"Fine."
He was out of the water now, snow freezing on his face, but he was so numb with cold all he could do was shiver and shake and quake.
"Irene, grab my coat. There, yes. Help me wrap him up. Gregory. Gregory, can you hear me?" It was Mycroft and he was in someone's arms and God it was cold. It was freezing. He shivered violently and buried his face in Mycroft's neck, his hair damp with cold water and snow. "John, keep the door open."
A blast of warmth was followed by the sound of footsteps and then Mycroft was carrying him into the sitting room where the fire was going in the fire-place. He was placed on the rug in front of it and he couldn't stop shaking. His head was feeling dizzy and spinning. Oh God, he felt like he was going to vomit. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
"What the hell do we do? He's fucking blue!" Greg heard Sherlock say somewhere behind him. Harry and Irene came closer to him, sat beside him, rubbed his back, tried to comfort him. Greg was crying, oh god, he hadn't even noticed. Mycroft looked absolutely wrecked where he was kneeling in front of him.
"Shut up!" John exclaimed, hobbling over. "He looks like he's going into hypothermic shock. So." He turned to Mycroft. "We need to bring his temperature up and back to normal. Mycroft, does your room also have a fire-place?"
Mycroft nodded. "Sherlock, go start a fire in there, will you?" The younger boy nodded and dashed off.
"Now, we'll need more blankets," John continued. "So…"
"Harry, Irene," Mycroft said, the two girls standing. "Down that left corridor there is a room. I'd say it was a linen closet, but it's not. It's more of a linen room. It's full of blankets, and sheets and linens. In the farthest closet are all the quilts and blankets. Bring those up to my room and make up the bed with them. Just call for Sherlock if you can't find it." They nodded, dashing off. Meanwhile, Jim and Seb just sat on the couch. They couldn't be bothered and everyone knew it.
"Now… uh… here's where you might not like it." John took a deep breath. "The fastest way to get him warm will be to strip him to his underwear and put him in the bed."
"What's so bad about-"
"And then you need to strip to your underwear and get in with him," John finished. Jim snorted and Sebastian stifled a chuckle at Mycroft's shocked face.
"John are you serious?"
"Yes," the other boy said solemnly. "No, really Mycroft, I am. It'll share the body heat faster, even under all the blankets. You'll have to cuddle him. Sort of. Keep him close." Greg didn't even care. He wasn't even listening anymore. He was falling asleep actually, shivering and damp. He ignored whatever Mycroft was saying to him – which was asking him if he was alright with the situation – and settled for laying his head on Mycroft's shoulder and nodding consent to whatever. As long as he was able to stay asleep.
Mycroft sighed and nodded. "Alright. Help me get him mostly out of these clothes." John and Mycroft started stripping Greg of his damp clothes, the latter dozing off as they did so.
"What in the name of everything good are you doing?"
Mycroft froze. And then he stood up and turned around, letting John finish unclothing most of Greg. He faced his father with a straight face. "We are currently undressing Gregory."
"Yes, I can see," Siger said in a hard voice. "Why?"
"He found the lake," Mycroft said dryly. His father raised an eyebrow. "He fell in. He's freezing. According to Mr. – excuse me, Doctor Watson, stripping him and then cuddling him close with my body heat will raise his temperature again and avoid going to hospital."
Something snapped in Siger's eyes. "I'm guessing you'll be without most of your clothing as well?"
"Yes, sir," Mycroft said coldly.
On the couch, Jim and Sebastian had gotten hot cocoa from the kitchen and were staring at the show-down between father and son animatedly. Jim kept whispering heatedly, taking out money, handing it to Seb and giggling. Sebastian was quite silent on his part, watching with rapt attention.
"No. You won't," Siger said, in a tone of voice that brooked no room for an argument.
Mycroft's eyes blazed. "No disrespect is meant sir when I tell you that I will certainly be doing that."
"No. Irene and Harry will. It's more appropriate," Siger responded just as the girls in question walked in, stunned.
Mycroft's eye twitched. "Is it now? Last I recalled, they were dating each other, not Gregory. I am in a relationship with him, which makes him my responsibility. Not theirs." Meanwhile, John was just trying to keep Greg mostly awake, in case the other boy had to run.
"I'm sure you think so now, but-" Siger started.
"Fuck you," Mycroft spat. Sherlock froze where he was walking in at the doorway and looked to John. John spread his hands in his defense and looked at him incredulously. Sherlock shrugged and shook his head back. Where the hell had that come from?
Mycroft stood there, a bit shocked on the inside but staring his father down. He took a step toward the other man, absolutely seething with fury as his parent watched him come closer without moving himself.
"I am sick of you treating the relationship I am in as though it were a joke or less serious because my partner and I are of the same sex. I am sick of you demeaning my friends; when they are right in the room no less! Harry and Irene share a bed, for Christ's sake! Sherlock and John will probably sneak into the other's bed if one of them can't sleep. Jim and Sebastian won't even sleep in their rooms; they'll bunk on the couch, together, because they are together." Mycroft gritted his teeth and then he whispered, so only his father could hear, "You don't choose who you fall in love with, sir. It just happens." He closed his eyes, tightly, fighting tears.
And when Mycroft opened them, Greg was standing, hanging off his arm, his head on Mycroft's shoulder, offering support in the only way he could. Mycroft gripped his arm so the other boy wouldn't fall, and then he looked in his father's eyes.
And saw… pride?
Siger was nodding, a proud look on his face, as if his son finally standing up to him had changed his mind about something vital. "Very well," he said crisply. "Carry on, then, before the poor boy freezes." He turned on his heel, then, and walked right out, past Sherlock, mussing up the boy's hair as he walked by.
Jim looked to Sebastian then, and broke the silence saying, "I like him."
Warmth.
That was all Greg was aware of. It was warm and there was something soft that his face was pressed against and really, he didn't want to open his eyes, but he was because he wasn't sure where he was exactly.
He noticed three things when he did. One: he was in his underwear. Only his underwear. Two: he was in Mycroft's room. He recognized the ceiling. And three: Mycroft was wrapped around him. And in his underwear as well. Only his underwear.
His heart was in his throat. Oh goodness, he really didn't remember what had happened… was it yesterday? He couldn't remember. He really couldn't. All he knew was that he really liked the warmth and the intimacy and the fact that he was in Mycroft's bed. But had they…? Had they done anything?
His mother was going to kill him if they hadn't used protection.
"You were in hypothermic shock." Greg looked to the side, away from the ceiling, at Mycoft's face. He looked a bit tired. He probably hadn't slept, not much. "So we stripped you, got some blankets and… got me in here as well. Body heat, you see, will bring up your temperature. John said you might not recall it all…" Mycroft hoped Greg didn't remember the conversation, well the argument really, with his father.
All Greg felt was relief. Not at the fact that they didn't have sex, but at the fact that he wasn't pathetic enough to not remember if they did.
Greg slowly turned on his side, his back to the fire, and looked at Mycroft's face. Or else his eyes would wander….
"Uh… yeah, no. I don't recall. What's the time?" Anything to keep from looking down. Anything. Oh God. Oh God.
"A bit after midnight," Mycroft said with a knowing smile. "You can look Gregory. I'm not fully naked, you know."
And was it so wrong that Greg immediately lifted the surrounding covers to have a peek? Because he really just wanted to see Mycroft's legs. He was really curious about his legs. His bare legs.
"You… your knees…." Greg was absolutely speechless.
Mycroft swallowed hard. "Yes? What about them?" He kept absolutely still.
"Your knees… have dimples… That's…."
"Shows that I am overweight?" Mycroft said dryly, not looking down, but instead at the ceiling.
"That's adorable," Greg said with a chuckle. "Can I touch?" He looked up when he heard a sharp intake of breath and Mycroft was slowly nodding. He was also blushing. Like, a full body flush. The pink extended from his cheeks to his neck, down his chest in a 'v'. Greg let his fingers trail over the hot skin of his chest where the blood surged in embarrassment. His ears were probably red with the embarrassment of the tender act, but Greg really just wanted to touch.
He went for Mycroft's dimpled knees next, tracing the hollow of the dimple and smiling. "It's cute. I like it." He let his fingers trail up and then stopped at Mycroft's upper thigh, right near his underwear line. Greg stayed clear of that. He traced the angry reddish-purple marks and looked up at Mycroft. "What are these?"
Mycroft looked embarrassed again. "Stretch marks," he mumbled. "I was… years 6 through 8 I was especially overweight. Husky Holmes, they called me." Greg frowned at that. No one should have been calling Mycroft any of that. "So, before high school, I switched to healthier foods, exercised, participated in physical education. I got thinner… but the stretch marks stayed. And I'm still a bit above what I should be." He made a shrugging movement. "And so goes the world."
Greg rubbed at the marks then said, "I think you're perfect, you know that?" He looked up at the older boy. "No. Really. I… I…" He swallowed hard then just said it. "I like your body." Up until this moment, Greg was able to keep it all comfortable and nonsexual. But now? After admitting that out loud? He felt his cock twitch and was then aware that he was in boxers and that his erection would be easily seen. So he dropped a quick kiss to Mycroft's stomach and crawled back up to the top of the bed where the other boy was watching him with sleepy eyes.
"We should get back to sleep?" Greg suggested.
"You should. I should actually sleep this time," Mycroft corrected.
"Myke," Greg said reproachfully as the other boy pulled him close and back under the covers.
"Shh, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You fell into that freezing water… I… you were blue and I…." He swallowed hard and Greg could hear all the worry in his voice.
"Hey. I'm fine now. Thanks to you. So, sleep, yes?" Greg said, curling his arms around the ones that were around him. He liked this, this cuddling thing. Mycroft's hot skin pressed against his back, his warm, heavy arms around his chest. It was comforting and perfect and Greg felt his eyes drooping shut again. He fought for consciousness, but Mycroft shook his head and kissed the back of his neck gently, saying, "Sleep."
And he did.
Mycroft followed an hour later after Greg's breathing had evened out and normalized.
Mycroft woke up first. He decided quietly to let Greg sleep in. He must have been tired, because it was already ten in the morning and the other boy was still asleep. Mycroft let him have his rest. After all, it was Christmas Eve.
He quickly and quietly changed, watching Greg the entire time as he did so, the way the weak winter sun spilled light onto the other boy's golden skin, pooling down his back, lighting up every freckle and birthmark. Mycroft had slept beside that. And it had been addicting, the feel of smooth skin beneath his own, warm and alive. He'd loved it. And Greg had too by the way he'd been clinging the entire night through, amazed by Mycroft's dimpled knees.
He still couldn't get over that. His knees. Greg liked his knees. Mycroft found himself grinning like a fool, leaned against his doorjamb, just watching the other boy sleep.
"So you're falling for him?"
Mycroft didn't even pretend to be surprised. He had heard Sherlock coming. So instead, he just nodded slowly and said, "It seems I am."
"Hmm," his younger brother said. "You're alright with that?"
"Mmm," Mycroft responded in the affirmative. "Yes. Indeed I am."
"No turning back now, is there?"
"No. None at all."
"Good. You're lucky I like him as much as I do. So you're letting him sleep in then?"
"You're letting John, I assume?" Mycroft responded, not turning once.
Sherlock gave a chuckle. "He's been up for ages. It's like he doesn't sleep."
"Ah. Finally found someone to rival your odd sleeping patterns?" Mycroft teased lightly.
"Seems so," Sherlock responded quietly. "Harry and Irene are making pancakes. Join us?" he said, a bit too bright.
Mycroft sighed and nodded, turning around. "Why not?"
Greg woke up alone an hour later. He scrubbed a hand across his face and rubbed his eyes, running his fingers through his hair. It was almost eleven. God he'd slept in late.
He got out of Mycroft's bed, fighting a smile and losing, stretching. Making his way to his room, he slipped into denims and the shirt Mycroft so enjoyed seeing him in before he padded down the stairs barefoot and to the kitchen. Mycroft was sitting there alone with a lone cuppa and a plate with a few pancakes on it. Greg bent forward when he got close enough and gave Mycroft a quick peck on the mouth, the action feeling so natural he just had to give into it.
Mycroft smiled against his mouth, tasting of PG Tips and maple syrup. "Morning," he said softly.
"Morning," Greg answered. He looked around. "Where is everyone exactly?"
Mycroft gave a small yawn as Greg scrounged up some coffee and took a few pancakes accepting Mycroft's offer of syrup. "They went off to a nearby village. And no, we're not going."
"Why not?"
"You need to rest up," Mycroft said simply. "After yesterday…." He really just didn't want Greg outside yet. Not so soon.
Greg got it though, respected that the other boy was worried about him. "Your parents then? Where are they?"
Mycroft sighed. He'd explained it in a nicer way to everyone else when Jim had made the observation that their parents were not around. To Greg he bluntly said, "They're off on their yearly stop at the hospital. Mummy can't really spend Christmas at home. She… needs help. She usually goes Christmas Eve through the New Year holiday. Father accompanies her. An uncle of ours used to, when our father was in the military. Now father does."
Greg nodded, eating slowly. "That why you guys wanted us over?"
Mycroft chuckled. Sebastian had asked the same thing. "Part of it, yes. I also just wanted them to meet you. You're important to me too, Gregory."
Greg smiled, ducked his head a bit. "I… uh… I know," he responded. "And… I'm glad of that. Really. So what are we going to do today?" He felt a bit weak, that was true, and he was fine with staying indoors.
"Well, for now, we'll lie-in a bit. Until the others get back, which will be much later. Sherlock is having too much fun showing them around. Don't worry, I'll take you in a few days, just the two of us." Greg liked that idea. Very much. "When they get back, we'll have something to eat and then get ready for tonight. We'll do one present each and then," now he shrugged, "open the rest of the gifts tomorrow morning I suppose. Sound alright to you?"
Greg nodded his assent. It was the first Christmas in a while he was going to spend with other people. "Now, you said lie-in…? What do you have in mind?"
"Well…."
"Mycroft, this is an odd idea for a lie-in. We aren't really lying-in, are we?"
They were on the couch, in front of the fire, the telly on, a home video of when Sherlock was a toddler playing. He was a curly haired menace with large eyes. Mr. Holmes was nowhere to be found, but Mrs. Holmes, was young and frail and beautiful, laughing as Sherlock sat on Little Mycroft's lap and tugged on his hair. It was cute though.
"Well, I thought you might want to see," Mycroft said, a bit flustered. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
"Oh, it's wonderful, love," Greg said. He was laying in Mycroft's lap, a quilt over the two of them. Every once in a while, he'd shiver and Mycroft would hold him closer. "Don't misunderstand me. It's just… I kind of want to see one of you. When you were small…er, that is."
Mycroft was silent for a moment, and then he got out from under Greg and popped in an older looking video. He sat down quickly and looked away from the screen. Siger Holmes was the first one in this video. He looked significantly younger and was actually smiling like he meant it. Violet Holmes looked a lot less frail and was glowing with happiness. And then there, on her lap, gurgling and with a shock of rust colored hair, Mycroft. He looked about a little under a year old, and he was smiling and reaching for his father with chubby little palms.
Greg sat up and forward and leaned toward the telly, his eyes wide. Mycroft's eyes were a quick-silver color, his cheeks like little apples. He had a few teeth and was smiling. He was precious, absolutely precious. Dressed in a diaper and socks and nothing more, his squealing laughs were adorable as his mother tickled the tummy he was now ashamed of, his father kissing his forehead lovingly.
"That was before… before Mummy got really sick and Father left for the military. That was almost eighteen years ago." Mycroft laughed a bit bitterly. "And then…" He shook his head. "He wasn't even there for Sherlock's birth. My brother feels like our father neglects him a bit and puts too much expectation on my shoulders, and he's right; it's because he doesn't really know Sherlock, and he never tried…."
Greg laced his and Mycroft's fingers together, holding his hand tightly, pausing the video. "I'm sorry," Greg said. "Family isn't supposed to be that way."
"I know…" Mycroft answered. "Sherlock and I have only ever really had each other for family though, and we still don't get along." He sighed and then Mycroft smiled a bit. "But we've got John, now. And Harry and Irene. And even Jim and Sebastian. And you…" He tugged Greg closer by the hand, wrapping his hands around him this time. "And I think this family is doing just fine."
They stayed in that position until they heard the others coming in from their afternoon out. By then, the video had played through and the TV screen was blue.
Greg tossed and turned in bed. He felt something in his chest tugging him across the hall and to Mycroft's room and really, he wanted to follow the feeling. He did. But…
What if Mycroft didn't want him there? What would Greg do if he were rejected? It would hurt. And he didn't want to start tomorrow off with an argument. It was Christmas! Oh what should he do, he wondered. Maybe he could… oh but no…maybe… No. Just-no.
Greg snuck out of bed, and opened the door, gazing at the room across the way from his. The light was off, there was no light coming from under the door besides from the fire. Greg didn't have one in his spare room. He could always use that as an excuse.
He finally just took the initiative and made his way over, knocking lightly before entering. Mycroft's head lifted sleepily from his pillow, the hair on one side of his head flat, the other side mussed up. He squinted then said, surprise coloring his voice, "Gregory? Are you alright?"
He could say so many things. His room was too cold. He had a nightmare. He was bored. He wanted to leave and Mycroft should talk him out of it. Or, he could simply tell the truth.
"I couldn't sleep," he said.
"Why not?" Mycroft asked, sitting up, stifling a yawn.
Greg took a deep breath. "I… uh… well…" He cleared his throat. "You weren't there."
Mycroft looked like he was caught in the headlights. "Ah."
"Yeah…"
The older boy didn't even hesitate. He pulled back the sheets and said, "Well? Are you coming in or not? Shut the door behind you so the heat doesn't get out."
Greg blinked then nodded, closing the door, and then he climbed into the bed beside Mycroft. Mycroft pulled the blanket over the two of them, then snuggled down, turning to face Greg. He thought it should be odd or uncomfortable, sharing a bed, but it wasn't. It was… comfortable. It felt… right.
Mycroft tugged Greg closer, tucking the other boy's head under his chin, letting him press close. It was right and new and yet, something Mycroft and Greg could both get used to fast. As Greg fell asleep, he was sure that their arrangements at school would be changing. For the better, of course.
Christmas. A day for giving and receiving. For spending time with the ones you loved.
Currently, the residents of Baker House were all sitting in the sitting room of the Holmes Manor, some on the couch, some on the floor. Greg was wrapped in blankets and Mycroft, and the two of them were sitting closest to the tree. They were in charge of passing out gifts to the various people sitting around with coffee, tea and hot cocoa.
"This one's for… John. From Sherlock," Greg said, handing a green wrapped gift to the younger boy in question.
John took it and stole a glance at Sherlock who refused to look at him. It was a pretty big box. "I saw no need to wrap everything individually," he said before John opened it. Inside was a book about surgery, a mini surgery kit, a light blue jumper and…
"Is this… Operation?" John asked with a chuckle. The board game, that is. Sherlock smiled. "We are definitely playing this sometime today."
It went like that, passing out gifts and getting them. Harry got lingerie from Irene and a jumper from John, her face going red at the sight of the former. Sherlock received a riding crop from Irene, as well as a wink, and a blue scarf that he wrapped around his neck from John. He also got a Persian slipper from John, but just one, and the two of them laughed quietly while the others looked on in confusion. When Mycroft pulled out a gift wrapped in blue paper for Sherlock, the other boy's face went blank. He handed one over to Mycroft and didn't say a word.
Mycroft insisted that he should open his from Sherlock first. It was a large box of chocolate and the older boy smirked and shook his head, opening it and offering one to Greg, who popped it into his mouth with a contented smile. The chocolate was not cheap, not by any means.
Then Sherlock opened his.
And gasped.
"You… I can't… but you-you…" He looked up sharply at Mycroft. "Mycroft…."
Sherlock pulled out a violin. And not just any violin, but a Stradivarius. His face was blank and then he broke out into a rare, honest smile, and John said, "You play?"
Instead of answering, Sherlock tuned the thing, rosined the bow and began playing a soft melody that sounded very much like Silent Night. Mycroft was holding in a smile, Greg could see it from here, and he shook his head and clapped softly when Sherlock was finished. Sherlock did not thank him; he simply nodded his head, an excited look in his eye.
The gifts were going great. Until Jim handed one to Sherlock. "What is this?"
"A gift."
Sherlock sighed and opened it. He took out an ear. Instead of being disgusted, as John was beside him, he looked up at Jim and said, "You knew?"
Jim rolled his eyes. "You've only been talking about that damn experiment all year. Go ahead and try it."
"What's the catch?"
Jim smiled. "Oh, nothing. I just get to watch. And getting the ear was all the catch I needed."
Sherlock got up quickly, John following, and ran into the kitchen. Greg turned to Mycroft and asked, "What is he doing?"
Mycroft sighed. "Putting ears in the microwave."
Right. Greg didn't want to know.
When Sherlock and John got back, they continued on with the gift-giving. Irene received a lovely red dress from Harry and let some snide remarks about re-dressing and undressing for the girl slip out into the Christmas talk. Harry also got her padded gloves. Irene stared at them, then at Harry and then asked her, "Are you sure?"
Harry just laughed. "Of course."
No one really said anything about them after that.
Soon, Sebastian was handing Jim a package. The smaller boy slit his eyes at him then opened the box quite primly. And gasped. And blinked and then pulled out what looked like a suit jacket. "Is this…?"
"Westwood," and Sebastian lifted an eyebrow.
Jim blinked. "Westwood. You got me… you got me Westwood. You got me Westwood?"
"Yes," Sebastian said dryly.
Jim smiled widely. He held the suit close to his chest. "I love me some Westwood."
"I know."
"Is that all?" Everyone else groaned. Jim. What a prat. His boyfriend just got him a fucking Westwood suit and he wanted to know if there was anything more?
Seb handed over a CD case. On the cover said, THE BEST OF THE BEE GEES. Jim cackled and then smiled and held out his other hand while humming staying alive. He knew Sebastian was holding out on him.
"Here," Sebastian said exasperatedly, and handed him a box.
Inside the box? "SEBBY, IT'S SO FLUFFY!" A giant tiger plushie. "My tiger," Jim purred, holding the suit and plushie close and then kissing Seb on the mouth. He ripped away too quickly, leaving Sebastian sighing in the dust, and blurted, "Other Holmes! My gifts to Sebastian, quick!"
Mycroft handed them over, ignoring the rudeness he was met with and Jim lugged the giant box and smaller one he had over to Sebastian. "Merry Christmas, Sebastian Moran," he said brightly.
The first was a small box. Seb opened that one first. "Jim... what the hell is this?" He held it up and inside? A heart. A human heart.
"It's a heart," Jim said innocently, "to show my love for you.
"Yeah, I can see that. Where did you get this?"
"On the ground."
"Yes, but where did it come from Jim?"
Jim rolled his eyes. "A human body. Sebastian, can you not recognize it?"
Seb squinted at it. "It... looks a bit charred." Jim shrugged. "Did you happen to go to that house fire last week?" Jim shrugged again. "James."
"It's a gift, stop asking," Jim snapped. So Sebastian moved onto the bigger box, everyone steering clear of the smaller one. With the human heart. Damn.
Seb looked at the bigger box, then slowly opened it. It was a black case, one that could go over his shoulder, and when he opened the case, he sat back and looked at Jim, a blush rising to his cheeks. "You… you got me a rifle?"
Jim rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sebastian. I got you a rifle. Since I 'broke' yours," he said dramatically, clearly convinced he was not to blame. "Still. Have it, Tiger."
Sebastian picked up the weapon, pointing it away from everyone and checked the sights. Then he checked the scope and all these other things Greg couldn't identify and whistled in appreciation. "Fuck Jim."
"Oh yes, let's," Moriarty responded honestly. "Now? Please say now, I'm done giving presents, let's go now." And to no one's surprise, Sebastian stood up, saluted them all, and let Jim drag him out of the room by the hand.
"Right, moving on," John said. "Mycroft, Greg. You haven't given each other anything. Let's do that."
Greg rubbed his eyes and handed his small package to Mycroft, who lifted an eyebrow and opened it. Inside were a pair of buttery soft leather driving gloves that Greg had gone all out for and had even dipped into his car savings for. They were in a smoky gray color. The same color, as Mycroft soon realized, as Greg's hair.
"These are…" Mycroft held them up to his boyfriends forehead, comparing the hair color to the gloves.
"Yep," Greg said casually.
Mycroft looked at them, put them on, smiled. "You are absolutely devious, Gregory Lestrade."
Greg smiled. "Kind of the point." The point being that now Mycroft would be reminded of him every time he wore the gloves. A perfect little plan to be constantly on the older boy's mind.
Mycroft put the gloves aside and then handed a smallish looking box to Greg. Greg undid the tape, opened the cardboard lid and lifted out a dark button-up. It was so soft, though, some kind of silk that didn't look gaudy or expensive but he knew it must be, because it looked so damn comfortable. Greg lifted an eyebrow, Irene and Harry humming in approval, Sherlock and John chuckling.
They stopped chuckling when Greg pulled out concert tickets.
To see The Clash.
He looked up at Mycroft quickly, then back down at the tickets, then at Mycroft , then back to the tickets in disbelief. So Mycroft had been listening all those weekends as Greg listened to the same band over and over. He had thought this summer concert was sold out, but somehow, somehow Mycroft had gotten his hands on these tickets (there were four of them) and this was – this was…
"Holy fuck," Greg finally said, dazed and surprised. "Mycroft… holy fucking shite. You're fucking mad, how the hell did you…?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Shut up and kiss him already," he said exasperated, making John laugh and Irene and Harry giggle.
So Greg did. Just to get at the younger boy.
He kissed Mycroft because yes, he really loved The Clash, but now he could take Mycroft and brainwash him with his amazing music and UGH. UGH. Another look at the tickets revealed that The Cure would be opening and closing for them and Greg couldn't take that. He let himself flop backwards on the rug he was on, Mycroft poking him in the stomach to elicit a giggle.
In all, it was one of the best Christmases Greg had ever had the pleasure to be a part of.
Soon though, Irene and Harry left, claiming that they had to eat something today and that they mind as well go for it, and they headed to the kitchen. John and Sherlock sighed in unison then headed up to their shared room to play Operation. Greg and Mycroft were left, Greg still lying on the ground. Mycroft straddled him easily, comfortably and smiled down at him.
"Hello there," Mycroft said softly.
Greg chuckled. "Yeah. Hey, you."
Mycroft looked above them, where they were close to the mantle of the fireplace and he frowned contemplatively. "I fear I must ask something of you Gregory. An old Christmas tradition, I believe."
"Oh yeah?" Greg asked, letting his hands run up Mycroft's ribs and settle on his waist. "What tradition?"
"There appears to be mistletoe above us," and he gestured with his head to the small bundle hanging off the mantle. "People kiss under the mistletoe do they not?" He stroked the side of Greg's face softly.
And Greg wasn't thinking about the tickets, or Jim and Seb fucking upstairs, or innocent John and Sherlock playing Operation or Harry and Irene making breakfast or, even, how wonderful it felt to have Mycroft's hot weight pressing him into the floor and how he wondered if having sex with him would be this exhilarating, as exhilarating as it was just to kiss him or touch or be near him or think of him.
No.
Greg was thinking about how he very much wanted to kiss his boyfriend, straight on the mouth. And so he yanked Mycroft down by the front of his shirt and did just that.
"Merry Christmas Mycroft Holmes," Greg whispered against Mycroft's mouth.
Mycroft smiled against Greg's lips. "Merry Christmas Gregory Lestrade."
So there! Hope that was ok for now guiz! Don't know when the next chappie will be up, but it's coming no worries. Probably the weekend. Once again, thanks for reading this shite, you crazy people! And please review!
On a side note? To all my British Readers: I haven't had this Brit-picked, so if there are any American words instead of British ones in here, please inform me so I know for the future chapters what to put instead! Thanks so much!
REVIEW!
(hehehe yeah, I said it again!)