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December 19 Mycroft Holmes eyed the steaming cup on the table before him. He generally had no use for the Christmas season. He was an atheist and didn’t believe that men or women had the capacity for good will. Well, perhaps one or two did, but they were few and far between. However, like most things, there were perks to the holiday season. One being the Diogenes Club’s hot cocoa. While technically available all year round, Mycroft only indulged during the week before Christmas. It was his way of coping with the hustle and bustle and twiddle and twaddle that surrounded him. Sitting in the Quiet Room of his club, sipping the rich chocolate laced with Cointreau was the best way to soothe his nerves this time of year. He lifted the cup and gently inhaled the scent of chocolate and orange. Mycroft was about to take a sip when an attendant appeared next to him. A guest was waiting for him in the Stranger’s Room. Mycroft swallowed a sigh and abandoned his hot chocolate. Mycroft followed the attendant to the Stranger’s Room. When they arrived, the attendant opened the door for Mycroft and closed it behind him. Mycroft had stepped into a wonderland of Christmas. The Diogenes didn’t decorate the private rooms of the club or the Quiet Room. The Dining Room had some subtle decor changes as a nod to the season. The Stranger’s Room, on the other hand, held a wealth of festivity. A large Christmas tree with twinkling lights and massive bows sat in one corner. Every tabletop held some sort of bouquet or candle or both. The fire place was lit and stockings hung from the mantle, which boasted a rather Dickensian winter village scene. A large branch of mistletoe hung from the chandelier, and under it stood DI Lestrade. He had his back to Mycroft, studying the tree in the corner. “Gregory.” Mycroft hadn’t realized he was smiling until Greg turned around and beamed at him. His mouth stretched wider in response. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” It was a pleasure, always, to see Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. The boyish grin and warm brown eyes made Mycroft feel light as a feather, like all his cares had been stripped away. “More information on the Reynolds case came in. I thought I’d bring it over to you, personally.” Mycroft finally noted the sealed envelope Gregory held. He stepped forward and held out his hand. “There was no need for that,” he replied. “I would’ve sent a courier, if only you’d ask.” Greg gave Mycroft the folder and glanced about the room. “Miss the opportunity to see all this Christmas splendor?” He looked up at the chandelier. “And the opportunity to see you?” Greg met Mycroft’s and looked steadily into them. Mycroft noticed his mouth felt a bit dry and the fire had made the room over warm. “Very few people seek an opportunity to see me. Most people feel I’m to be avoided.” He chuckled weakly. “I guess I’m not most people.” “No. You’re not.” Mycroft couldn’t think of anything else to say. Greg saved them from an awkward silence with a smile and made his goodbyes. Mycroft watched him leave the room. The attendant, who’d accompanied Mycroft to the room, left with Greg to show the man out. Mycroft stood staring at the door with the distinct sensation he’d missed something. December 20 It was not unusual for Mycroft to think about Gregory Lestrade. The man had become a regular feature in his life. They met for dinner with some frequency. At first it was a way for Mycroft to keep tabs on his brother, but lately, they talked less of Sherlock and more of mutual interests. On more than one occasion they spoke of more intimate matters, like... feelings. Thoughts of their encounter yesterday, innocuous as it seemed, plagued Mycroft the rest of the evening and the next day. He felt in a state not unlike those evenings when they disclosed their hopes and fears. Mycroft had already consumed one cup of the Diogenes hot chocolate, expecting the warm sweetness would soothe his brain and stop the rumination on his last encounter with Gregory. He was now contemplating another cup, when an attendant appeared indicating he had a guest in the Stranger’s Room. Mycroft followed the attendant hoping that it was Gregory, but certain it wasn’t. As he stepped into the room, Mycroft’s heart swooped to see it was Gregory. Once again standing in the center of the room under the chandelier and the massive bough of mistletoe. Mycroft eyed the festive flora, a little concerned it would fall and injure Gregory. “Hullo, Mycroft,” Greg greeted him. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his overcoat pushed back revealing his going-to-court suit. It fit him well and the deep blue went well with his coloring and silver hair. “Gregory, what brings you here again? More documents for the Reynolds case?” “No, I was at court this afternoon and thought I’d drop by.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow. The Diogenes was nowhere near any of the courts Gregory would be attending. “I wanted to know if we were still on for dinner, Sunday,” Greg continued. “Of course. I hadn’t thought we wouldn’t be,” Mycroft replied. Sunday dinner with Gregory was something he always looked forward to. “Why wouldn’t we have dinner on our usual day?” “Well, the Christmas holidays. You might have had other plans.” Greg gazed steadily at Mycroft. Mycroft blinked. “Other plans? No, I don’t.” He paused, then asked the question that suddenly popped into his head. “Do you have other plans?” “Nope. I wouldn’t miss our Sunday dinner for anything.” Gregory’s words delighted Mycroft more than he could express. A soft smile played across Mycroft’s lips. “Neither would I.” Greg smiled back at Mycroft. “I’ll see you Sunday then, if not before.” He waited a beat, standing beneath the chandelier, before exiting the room. Mycroft lingered in the Stranger’s Room, reliving the exchange and wondering why Gregory came by in person to confirm a long standing date.
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December 21 Mycroft was gathering his things to return home. He’d had a relaxing afternoon catching up on his reading and playing a round or five of backgammon with other club members. Snow flurries were blowing about and the sky was darkening by the minute. He was about to put on his coat when an attendant arrived to let him know he had a guest in the Stranger’s Room. Mycroft was confident it was Gregory again. Though he couldn’t fathom why Gregory kept dropping by the club, he wasn’t unhappy about the situation. Sure enough, Mycroft found Gregory in the Stranger’s Room. When he first entered Gregory was standing by the fireplace, but when he heard Mycroft enter he quickly moved to stand under the chandelier and, thus, the mistletoe. A collection of shopping bags were sat on the floor near him. His overcoat had a sheen of damp on it from the snow. His hair sparkled with melting snowflakes. “Gregory, good evening. I see you’ve been out shopping. You chose a cold day for it.” “Hullo, Mycroft.” Greg gave Mycroft a weary smile. “It was my first free day for shopping in weeks. Cold or not, it had to be done.” Mycroft nodded. He knew not everyone had the resources he did. “What brings you by today?” Greg looked vaguely embarrassed. “No real reason, other than I was cold and a little tired. I needed a place to stop and warm up before heading home. I hope you don’t mind?” “Of course you’re welcome to rest here. Please, take off your coat.” Mycroft stepped forward to take Greg’s coat. Their hands brushed as the coat was exchanged. Mycroft noted how chilled Greg’s skin was and frowned. “You’re freezing. I know just the thing.” Mycroft hung up Greg’s coat, and then called down to the kitchen. The ordered placed he turned back to Greg, who’d stayed put under the chandelier. “Come,” Mycroft placed a hand on Greg’s back and ushered him closer to the fire. “I’ve ordered hot chocolate. It’s the perfect beverage in this situation.” “You needn’t go to any trouble.” Mycroft’s forehead wrinkled. “It’s no trouble for me, and the kitchen staff is paid to fulfill such orders, so it’s no trouble for them.” He gestured to an armchair positioned near the fire. “Now sit, and get warm.” Greg chuckled softly. “Yes, sir.” The trolly soon arrived with hot chocolate and biscuits. Mycroft and Greg spent the good part of an hour siting by the fire chatting amiably. The favorite topic was John’s most recent hideous Christmas sweater and Sherlock’s attempts to ruin it. “John told me he caught Sherlock about to use it to mop up one of his spilled experiments. It was all I could do not to tell him he should’ve let Sherlock use it.” Greg giggled as he spoke. Mycroft admired the handsome man laughing and lounging across from him. He caught a glimpse out the window, surprised to see it was full dark now. Greg followed his gaze. “Christ, it’s gotten late. I should go.” Greg set aside is cup on the trolly. He stood and Mycroft stood with him. Greg went to his bags still sitting in the middle of the room. Mycroft got Greg’s coat from the rack. He handed the coat over and watched Greg don it. “Thank you again for the amazing hot chocolate,” Greg said as he buttoned his coat. “I must admit I’m rather partial to it myself,” Mycroft replied. He was feeling disappointed their interlude was coming to an end. They stood there a moment. Mycroft thought Gregory was about to say something, but instead he gave a little shrug and picked up his bags. They made their way to the door. “Would you care for a lift home?” The question was out of his mouth, before he’d fully formed the thought. “You’ve so many bags, and your flat is on my way home.” he added. That was not technically true. Greg’s face brightened. “Ta! That would be lovely.” A lightness filled Mycroft. He smiled a rare genuine smile. December 22Mycroft Holmes was irritated. He was on the verge of being late for his dinner date, appointment? Whatever, with Gregory. North Korea thought the Sunday before Christmas would be perfect time to attempt espionage. Maybe they believed so close to the holiday no one would be paying attention. Fools. Mycroft Holmes was always paying attention. His co-workers, however, were not so diligent, and it was taking a considerably long time to exchange the necessary information. Mycroft left his office, leaving Anthea to wait for the final piece of information to complete his report. She had instructions to bring the final draft to the Diogenes for his signature. Mycroft hurried into the Diogenes Club and stripped off his overcoat, scarf and gloves, leaving them with the members coat check. He signed a greeting to the attendant at the desk, who signaled his guest has not yet arrived. Mycroft relieved, nodded his understanding and went to the Stranger’s Room to wait for Gregory. From the bar trolly in the room he poured himself a short scotch adding a touch of still water. He took a sip and sighed deeply. Pacing the room, Mycroft attempted to settle himself. He wasn’t sure why he feeling so…so… There was a tap at the door and it opened to admit Gregory Lestrade, smiling broadly at Mycroft. “Good evening, Gregory.” Mycroft returned the smile. “Hello, Mycroft.” Greg glanced at the scotch in Mycroft’s hands. “Stressful day?” Mycroft looked down at his drink. “Yes. I can’t really give you any details, but suffice it to say King and country will sleep soundly and safely tonight.” He turned to the drinks trolly and poured another scotch. Greg shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to work on a Sunday.” “Sadly, still working.” Mycroft handed Greg a drink of his own. “I’m waiting for Anthea to bring over the final report for my signature. But once that is done, I’m yours for the evening.” Greg paused as he was raising his glass to his lips. He gazed at Mycroft over the rim. “All mine?” Mycroft blinked a few times as he fully processed the exchange. Had he really said, I’m yours? Oh dear. He opened his mouth to reply with a witty deflection, when the door opened with a soft rap. Mycroft turned away from Greg expecting Anthea to enter, but instead it was one the club’s attendants. “Sir, the PM wishes to speak with you.” “Ah, yes. Of course he does.” Mycroft remarked. “Excuse me, Gregory.” Mycroft set his drink down and left with the attendant. Thankfully, the conversation was brief. The PM merely required some extra reassurance. Mycroft used his most soothing tones and was able to head back to the Stranger’s Room and his guest in only a few minutes. Mycroft entered the room to find Anthea had arrived. They were standing in the middle of the room under the glittering chandelier with its large sprig of mistletoe. Gregory must have said something very witty for she was laughing. They turned towards Mycroft as he shut the door, perhaps a little more firmly than warranted. “Anthea,” Mycroft greeted his assistant. “I presume you have the report.” “Yes, sir,” she replied promptly and offered a large envelope to him. Mycroft took the envelope over to a small table near the fireplace. He quickly reviewed the report, half listening to the quiet conversation behind him. Nothing of import it seemed. The merits of various single malts. He signed the report and returned it to the envelope, sealing it. “Please take this directly to the PM. He is expecting it.” Mycroft handed the envelope back to his assistant. “Yes, sir.” Anthea turned to Greg and spoke. “It was lovely to see you again.” She kissed Greg’s cheek and gave him a wink. “Have a good evening,” she added and was out the door. “Thanks Anthea,” Greg called after her as she slipped out the door. Mycroft stared at Greg. Greg looked back at Mycroft with a small smile, that soon faded. “What?” Mycroft lifted his hand as if to touch Greg’s cheek, but stopped himself. His hand hovering briefly before being withdrawn. Greg touched his cheek where Anthea had kissed him. “Do I have lipstick on my face?” Mycroft nodded. “Ah, bugger.” Greg searched his pockets for a tissue. “Here.” Mycroft finally recovered his wits. He held out his handkerchief. “Ta.” Greg wiped at his cheek removing the remnants of Anthea’s kiss. “Did I get it all?” Mycroft nodded again. “Yes,” he managed to push past the lump in his throat. Greg smiled. “Good. It wouldn’t do for me to have dinner with you with lipstick on my face.” “No. Probably not,” Mycroft agreed. Greg pocketed the handkerchief. “I’ll give it a wash, before I return it.” He gazed at Mycroft, clearly waiting. Mycroft gave himself a mental shake. “Shall we head to the dining room?” “Absolutely. I’m starving,” replied Greg. Together they left the Stranger’s Room and went to dinner.
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December 23 Mycroft was in a muddle. Yesterday evening with Gregory brought to the fore so many rare emotions. The emotions ran the gamut from desire, confusion, jealousy, happiness. Today added another emotion to the riot, terror. He dismissed his staff at noon, claiming to have given in to requests to start the holiday early. In truth, he needed time to process what Anthea had told him, when he finally worked up the courage to ask why she had been overly familiar with Gregory. “Why did I kiss him, you mean?” She clarified with a twinkle in her eye. “Well, yes.” “He was standing under the mistletoe. He wanted to be kissed.” “He, what?” “He wants to be kissed, so he’s standing under the mistletoe. You’re supposed to kiss him.” “Me? What?” “Kiss him, you dolt.” That information drove him directly to the Diogenes to order hot cocoa, with a double shot of Cointreau. Mycroft was not opposed to kissing Gregory. In fact, it was something he had thought about, quite a lot over the last year. He didn’t think that Gregory was interested In kissing him. Few people were interested in talking to him. The pool of people interested in kissing him was markedly fewer. Then there was the actual kissing. Mycroft had been kissed and had kissed before. It had just been a while, given the lack of interesting, and interested, people. The last time he’d been kissed was many years ago. It was a woman his parents had set him up with. They went on a couple of dates that weren’t unpleasant. The kiss confirmed his lack of interest, so they went their separate ways. Now, it seemed he’d missed his chance to kiss Gregory. There were no plans to see Gregory until just before New Year’s Day. Would the mistletoe still be up? The mistletoe along with the other seasonal decorations would come down shortly. He really didn’t pay attention to Christmas decor, and had no idea what the protocol was. Obviously, a voice in his head drawled, sounding exactly like his brother. Perhaps he could convince the staff to leave the mistletoe up a little longer. Mycroft reached for his cocoa to find he’d drained his cup as he pondered recent events. He signaled the staff for another. Before it arrived, however, he was informed he had a guest in the Stranger’s Room. Mycroft’s hopes were high. It had to be Gregory. He hurried down the halls to the Stranger’s Room leaving the attendant far behind. Practically bursting through the door, Mycroft was relieved and exhilarated to find Gregory Lestrade standing in the the middle of the room, under the chandelier from which hung a massive sprig of mistletoe. Smiling, Mycroft paused to catch his breath. He walked over to Gregory, focused on his face, particularly his lips. “How wonderful to see you,” Mycroft exclaimed sincerely. He was determined. He was going to kiss Gregory. Greg smiled back. “Happy Christmas!” He held out a wrapped rectangular box with a festive bow. Mycroft abruptly halted his forward motion. He glanced at the gift and took it. “Oh. Thank you.” “And I have your handkerchief, freshly laundered and pressed.” Gregory pulled out the handkerchief he’d used the night before. Mycroft took the handkerchief as well. His hands were now full and he was completely unsure of how to proceed. “Thank you. It wasn’t necessary.” He looked down at the gift and handkerchief. “Any of it.” “Oh, well, I wanted to. You know?” Gregory looked so earnest, Mycroft had to nod in agreement. Greg glanced at the package in Mycroft’’s hands. Mycroft gazed at Greg, trying to work out the best angle to approach the kiss. He decided to just go for it. “Are you going to open it?” Startled from his thoughts, Mycroft blinked and then remembered the gift he held. “Yes, of course.” Mycroft looked around and moved to a small table near the chairs by the fireplace. He set the package down, to tuck the handkerchief away, then carefully began to remove the wrapping paper. Greg left his spot under the mistletoe to watch. He chuckled softly. Mycroft stopped and looked at Greg. “Did I do something amusing?” “No, not at all.” Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “Well, maybe a little. I imagined you would be someone that liked to unwrap their packages bit by bit. I’m amused that I was right.” Mycroft rolled his eyes and ripped the rest of the gift wrapping off. Greg threw his head back, laughing loudly. “Oh. My goodness.” Mycroft stared at the box in his hands. “Anthea said you were partial to that single malt.” “You didn’t need to…” “Hey,” Greg interrupted, laying a hand on Mycroft’s arm. “I wanted to.” Mycroft gazed into Greg’s dark, luminous eyes and thought now was the perfect time to— Greg’s mobile erupted with a piercing tone, demanding immediate attention. Greg stepped back and fumbled in his pocket for his phone. “Damn it,” he muttered. He flashed an apologetic look at Mycroft before answering. Mycroft stood quietly and listened as Greg questioned the caller. A break in a current case, it seemed. Greg hung up and shoved his mobile back in his pocket. “I’ve got to go,” he said, his voice infused with regret. “Yes, of course,” Mycroft agreed with equal regret. Greg gathered his coat from the rack and pulled it on. “Happy Christmas, Mycroft. If I don’t see you before… you know, Christmas.” “Happy Christmas, Gregory.” Mycroft watched as Greg let himself out and shut the door.December 24 Mycroft looked around the Stranger’s Room, checking that everything was in order. The fire was lit in the fireplace. He had set out two tumblers and the single malt Gregory had gifted him. The fairy lights on the tree twinkled, making the ornaments shine. Satisfied he took out his pocket watch. It was almost time. He moved to stand under the chandelier, and thus, under the mistletoe. He took a deep breath and let it out. Now he had to wait and hope that Gregory really did want to be kissed by Mycroft. While it felt like hours, it was less than a minute before a knock was heard and the door to the Stranger’s Room opened. Gregory Lestrade stepped into the room, slipping off his coat as he did. He turned to hang it. Facing the rack, he spoke. “Hullo, Mycroft. You said you had something—“ Greg had turned and took in fully the sight before him. His gaze immediately went to Mycroft standing stock still in the middle of the room with mistletoe directly over his head. Greg’s eyes flicked up to look at the mistletoe and down to Mycroft, who nervously licked his lower lip. Slowly, Greg smiled. He approached Mycroft. Moving cautiously, as if Mycroft might spook if Greg wasn’t careful. Greg stopped in front of Mycroft. His eyes searched Mycroft’s, gauging any discomfort or uncertainty. “Are you sure?” Greg asked gently. Mycroft nodded. “Very sure.” “I had begun to think you weren’t interested.” “I was… I am interested. I just didn’t understand what you were signaling, until Anthea…” Mycroft stopped. “Kissed me?” Mycroft nodded again. “Did it make you jealous?” Greg stepped closer. He was definitely in Mycroft’s personal space. It made Mycroft’s heart start to skip. “Very much,” Mycroft growled. Mycroft could smell Greg’s cologne. He could see the small cut on Greg’s chin from shaving earlier in the day. He could hear Greg’s breath quicken. He could feel the cold air that had accompanied Greg from the outside. Now, if he could only taste those lips. Greg leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mycroft’s. Mycroft found himself pressing back, seeking more contact. Hands settled on his waist, tugging him closer, and he went willingly. Mycroft’s own hands reached up to cup Gregory’s face. The kiss deepened. Mycroft let out a small gasp as their tongues touched. From that point all he knew was the grip on his waist and the warm slide of Gregs’s mouth on his own. They parted too soon. Mycroft’s eyes blinked open to see Greg gazing fondly at him. “Happy Christmas,” Greg whispered. “It’s a very happy Christmas,” Mycroft murmured before he pulled Greg’s face towards his once again.