December 14th- Carols
When Mycroft first sits down at the piano, he knows immediately it's been too long since he's played. His fingers move sluggishly, the chords feel unnatural to his hands, and he cringes every time he hits a wrong note.
But as he plays, the problems begin to fade. The pieces become familiar, the movements smoother, wrong notes few and far between. He relaxes his posture as the final chords ring, and feels a pair of arms slide around his waist.
"I didn't know you played," Lestrade says, chin resting on Mycroft's shoulder.
"Of course I play." Lestrade can't see his face, but he can imagine the scandalized look. "A piano should never be kept for show."
Lestrade stifles his laugh by pressing his lips to Mycroft's neck, and Mycroft tilts his head back, letting Lestrade's lips brush against his pule point, flutter along his jawline. His nose brushes along the ridge of Mycroft's ear when he draws back to whisper.
"Play for me?"