(Ask and you shall receive :D Haven’t written Mystrade in ages, so I hope you like it!)
Greg disliked being home alone.
It was always cold in his apartment, mainly due to him having an argument with the boiler bloke that came round to fix it. In the middle of winter, this was not a good thing, and Greg was currently sat in his armchair, watching TV, swaddled in layers upon layers of warm clothing and blankets. The TV did nothing to drown out the silence, despite being turned on at one of the highest volume settings.
Greg rubbed his gloved hands together and glanced at the clock above the grey mantelpiece. It was past Marianne’s bedtime. He wondered where Mycroft was, and whether he and Mari were having fun at the Holmes Christmas dinner party, from which he had been rudely rejected.
The clock ticked too loudly. The TV droned on and on. Outside in the snow, carollers sung merrily, and cars beeped at them to shut up. Lestrade shuddered, feeling almost desperately lonely.
His flat was decorated to the best of his budget. A small fat tree sat on the coffee table, dangling chocolate baubles from its wilting branches. Tinsel draped listlessly around the wall-lamps; a wind-up mechanical Santa waved evilly from atop the bookcase. The flat was dreary and miserable and Greg wanted more than anything to be with Mari and Mycroft at the Holmes’ lush town house.
The doorbell rang. Greg groaned, sitting up stiffly and waddling in his blankets to the door. He swung it open.
“Daddy!” beamed Marianne, stretching out her tiny pink hands to grab Greg’s nose.
Mycroft gently pulled her back, hoisting her higher in his arms. “Good evening, Gregory.” he smiled warmly. This is strange, Lestrade mused. Mycroft never smiles warmly.
“Evening, Mycroft.” Greg returned the smile, his teeth chattering a little from the cold air that blew in from the street. “Hey Mari.” he let go of his blankets and scooped his daughter from Mycroft’s arms, cuddling her to his chest. She was warmer than the five layers of blankets that he had abandoned, and her gummy giggle heated his heart.
“May I come in?” Mycroft murmured. He kept a finger on Marianne’s jacket, unwilling to let go of her just yet. “I know that you didn’t want to come with us tonight, but-”
“No,” Greg frowned. “you wouldn’t let me come with you.”
Mycroft lowered his eyes for a fraction of a second, ashamed, then snapped straight back into his usual poker face. “I wanted you there. I was, and you know how I hate to admit it, I was lonely, without you there. However, you can see my point. My brother still harbours a grudge, and-”
“Mycroft, shut up.” Greg stepped forward and pulled his lover into a kiss, still making sure that Mari was safe while lodged between them. They separated, and Greg smirked as he detected a hint of a blush on Mycroft’s cheek.
“Egg nog.” Marianne slapped her dad’s cheek lightly.
“She learnt a new word.” Mycroft explained.
“I see.” Greg chuckled. “It’s a bit chilly in here. Are you sure you wanna come in?”
“Absolutely.” Mycroft swung his umbrella over his shoulder and strode into the flat. Greg smiled, closing the door behind them.
Made a thing cause i’m sick to death of this fandom
Happy Holidays from the BBC!
he’s coming. 01/01/14.