Fic- All I Want For Christmas
I have decided to start posting my fic in my journal and keep my personal life in my blog :) I will, therefore be collecting the links to all my old fic and posting them here :)
TITLE: All I Want For Christmas
RATING: PG
FANDOM: Sherlock (BBC)
CHARACTERS: Mycroft Holmes and G. Lestrade (In this case, G= Gregory)
PAIRINGS: Mycroft/Lestrade
GENRES: Romance/Humour
SUMMARY: In which Greg has had a hard day and Mycroft is romantic. A belated Christmas fic :)
WARNINGS: None
It had been a trying day
They’d closed a case that morning, involving a breakneck run from Greg, and a punch to the face, which he suspected was going to leave him with quite the shiner.
Then, he’d had a stack of paperwork big enough to paper cut his hands to shred, to be completed over the afternoon.
To top it all off, Donovan and one of the DCs had insisted on sticking on a Christmas CD in and singing along. All afternoon.
So by the time he got home, having battled through commuter traffic, his head was pounding and his face, where he’d been punched, was swelling nicely.
Surprisingly when he arrived Mycroft was already home. He came to the door of the living room and looked Greg over. He stepped forward, took Greg’s briefcase and calmly divested him of his coat before propelling him to a chair.
Greg was sure he only sat there for a moment or two, but the throbbing in his head made it hard to tell.
A pair of hands appeared next to him, bearing paracetamol and a glass of water. He took them, swallowing the tablets almost absently. Mycroft came to sit next to him, gently applying a previously unseen icepack to his swollen cheekbone. Greg leaned against him, and they sat together in silence for a while.
Gradually, the paracetamol, cold and quiet did their work, and Greg’s headache became less of a full percussion section, and more of a little drummer boy.
Mycroft finally asked,
“Bad day, then?”
Greg snorted.
“You know it was, you could read it in me when I walked in the door.”
“This is true, however I believe relationship etiquette demands that I ask, and let you tell me.”
“Yeah, probably. But I can’t be bothered, given you know at least most of it anyway. I could do with no Christmas songs for about a week though.”
“I shan’t put your Christmas CD on then.”
“Oh God, no. Speaking of, what do you want for Christmas? I’m past the age of trying to guess, which just ends up with something you hate, but keep out of politeness anyway.”
“Gregory, there is nothing that I require.”
“Maybe, but there’s got to something you want”
Mycroft was silent for a moment, the crossed to the sound system, turning it on and selecting a track.
“I know that you’ve had enough of Christmas songs, and I usually avoid such trite music, but the sentiment is accurate, so indulge me, if you would.”
He pressed play, and as the strains of Mariah Carey began to fill the room, he offered a sheepish smile and extended a hand. Greg laughed and shook his head, then allowed himself to be pulled up into Mycroft’s arms.
As they swayed to the music, increasingly entangled, Mycroft whispered lines of the song into his ear, followed by an embarrassed chuckle. Greg kissed him; such a gesture definitely deserved that much.
As the song ended at the next began, they gradually pulled apart. Greg pressed a quick kiss to Mycroft’s lips, before guiding his head and pressing another to his forehead. He smiled.
“I love you, you daft sod. Still have no idea what to get you for Christmas though!”
TITLE: All I Want For Christmas
RATING: PG
FANDOM: Sherlock (BBC)
CHARACTERS: Mycroft Holmes and G. Lestrade (In this case, G= Gregory)
PAIRINGS: Mycroft/Lestrade
GENRES: Romance/Humour
SUMMARY: In which Greg has had a hard day and Mycroft is romantic. A belated Christmas fic :)
WARNINGS: None
It had been a trying day
They’d closed a case that morning, involving a breakneck run from Greg, and a punch to the face, which he suspected was going to leave him with quite the shiner.
Then, he’d had a stack of paperwork big enough to paper cut his hands to shred, to be completed over the afternoon.
To top it all off, Donovan and one of the DCs had insisted on sticking on a Christmas CD in and singing along. All afternoon.
So by the time he got home, having battled through commuter traffic, his head was pounding and his face, where he’d been punched, was swelling nicely.
Surprisingly when he arrived Mycroft was already home. He came to the door of the living room and looked Greg over. He stepped forward, took Greg’s briefcase and calmly divested him of his coat before propelling him to a chair.
Greg was sure he only sat there for a moment or two, but the throbbing in his head made it hard to tell.
A pair of hands appeared next to him, bearing paracetamol and a glass of water. He took them, swallowing the tablets almost absently. Mycroft came to sit next to him, gently applying a previously unseen icepack to his swollen cheekbone. Greg leaned against him, and they sat together in silence for a while.
Gradually, the paracetamol, cold and quiet did their work, and Greg’s headache became less of a full percussion section, and more of a little drummer boy.
Mycroft finally asked,
“Bad day, then?”
Greg snorted.
“You know it was, you could read it in me when I walked in the door.”
“This is true, however I believe relationship etiquette demands that I ask, and let you tell me.”
“Yeah, probably. But I can’t be bothered, given you know at least most of it anyway. I could do with no Christmas songs for about a week though.”
“I shan’t put your Christmas CD on then.”
“Oh God, no. Speaking of, what do you want for Christmas? I’m past the age of trying to guess, which just ends up with something you hate, but keep out of politeness anyway.”
“Gregory, there is nothing that I require.”
“Maybe, but there’s got to something you want”
Mycroft was silent for a moment, the crossed to the sound system, turning it on and selecting a track.
“I know that you’ve had enough of Christmas songs, and I usually avoid such trite music, but the sentiment is accurate, so indulge me, if you would.”
He pressed play, and as the strains of Mariah Carey began to fill the room, he offered a sheepish smile and extended a hand. Greg laughed and shook his head, then allowed himself to be pulled up into Mycroft’s arms.
As they swayed to the music, increasingly entangled, Mycroft whispered lines of the song into his ear, followed by an embarrassed chuckle. Greg kissed him; such a gesture definitely deserved that much.
As the song ended at the next began, they gradually pulled apart. Greg pressed a quick kiss to Mycroft’s lips, before guiding his head and pressing another to his forehead. He smiled.
“I love you, you daft sod. Still have no idea what to get you for Christmas though!”