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It wasn’t like they had kept this a secret; they just hadn’t verbally confirmed it. Both of them knew everyone had already assumed that they were together, and then of course Sherlock, the great git, decided to announce Greg’s sex life in the middle of a crime scene. Yet, none of them had made an effort to bring their relationship to the light; public demonstrations of affection were nonexistent, eventually everyone had assumed Sherlock had been lying or talking out of his ass. Who knew Christmas would change that?
They had arrived separately, each of them having to make their obligatory visits to their respective Christmas office parties before showing up at 221B. in all honestly, Mycroft didn’t even want to go but Greg had posed a very convincing argument. At least, that’s what he would tell anyone should they ask. No one needed to know that his ‘convincing argument’ involved falling to his knees and doing unspeakable things.
To Mycroft’s horror, he had arrived before Gregory. John opened the door to 221B wearing a ridiculous pair of reindeer antlers and a horrible red and green jumper with a comical penguin sewn on it. “Mycroft!” the doctor exclaimed joyously, “You made it!”
Mycroft smiled at him, “It seems the holiday spirit has infected us all this year.” His eyes cut to Sherlock, who, unlike the previous year, wore a Santa hat and his own version of an ugly Christmas jumper. Mycroft didn’t think a cashmere and tailored jumper counted, but then again he doubted his little brother would have agreed otherwise.
“Yeah,” John agreed following his gaze and allowing his grin to grow wider, “Christmas bloody miracle.”
Mycroft handed John the bag he was carrying, “I allowed myself the indiscretion of purchasing a little more of Christmas cheer.”
“Oh ta!” John said, taking the bag with bottle of champagne, “I’ll go serve you something to drink. Why don’t you go sit by Mrs. Hudson? Rosie should be up soon and will want to start ripping presents open. I hope Greg gets here soon.”
Mycroft just smiled and nodded, not wanting to give much away as John disappeared into the kitchen. John didn’t know that Greg had already texted him his exact location and time of arrival.
“Blood,” Sherlock greeted, looking away from the window and regarding his brother coolly, “No wars to start?” Mycroft ignored him, going to the tree and opening up the second bag he had with him.
“Oh Mr. Holmes!” Mrs. Hudson gushed, “You shouldn’t have!” Mycroft forced his blush to fade from his cheeks as he silently placed gift upon gift under the tree.
“Tis the season,” Mycroft said, smiling at the older woman before settling down beside her.
John let out a little whistle as he returned, eyeing the pile of wrapped presents as he handed Mycroft a glass of wine, “Went a bit overboard, don’t you think?”
“Since you haven’t slept in the upstairs bedroom for several months now, I would assume it isn’t long until I can call Rosamund my niece, and as such I have the right to spoil her,” he said simply, before taking a sip of his wine to hide his grin as Sherlock blushed deeply.
“Oh!” Mrs. Hudson chortled, turning to look at John with absolute joy, “Really?”
John went a bit red and cleared his throat, “I… yeah, I guess.” He glared at Mycroft, “Thank for that.” Mycroft smiled back at him, “Anytime Dr. Watson.”
The older Holmes could feel Sherlock’s synchronizing gaze, no doubt looking for something to pay him back with. Before he could do or say anything, the doorbell rang and Rosie began to cry upstairs. Mycroft watched with humor as his little brother and the doctor met glances. “Baby,” Sherlock said, at the exact same time John said, “Door.”
“Oh those two,” Mrs. Hudson said, shaking her head fondly in exasperation, “Too bloody long, if you ask me.”Mycroft and she shared a smile. “I’ll fetch you some of my fresh cookies,” she said, standing up as the newcomers climbed the stairs.
“Happy Christmas!” Molly Hooper greeted as she entered the living room holding the hand of a young man.
“Hello love,” Mrs. Hudson greeted, hugging her and kissing her cheek, “Who’s this now?”
“This is Edward,” she said, smiling shyly, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” John said, coming up behind them. Mycroft took one look at the young man and smirked, taking another sip of his wine. An engineer, by the looks of it; animal lover, no failed marriages or hidden children, a very doting mother and a very large extended family. It seemed Ms. Hooper had chosen wisely this time around. Mycroft had seen married couples less compatible than these two.
“Mr. Holmes,” the pathologist greeted, seeming shocked he was there, “What a surprise. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas to you Dr. Hooper,” Mycroft answered, “And to your guest as well.” Sherlock bounded down the stairs, a joyous Rosie decked in red and green reindeer pajamas in his arms.
“Sorry, sorry,” Molly said, giggling nervously, “Um… everyone this is Edward, my boyfriend. Ed, this is everyone.” “Hello,” he greeted, equally shy. The doorbell rang once more and John ducked back downstairs.
“Molly,” Sherlock greeted, looking at the newcomer with guarded eyes. Edward met Sherlock’s glance with a nervous smile.
“I’m Mrs. Hudson,” the landlady introduced herself, after a minute of awkward silence, “Come now, take off your coat and settle down, we don’t bite.”
“Speak for yourself Mrs. H!” Greg greeted, arriving just in time. Everyone shared a laugh, John taking over the role of Mrs. Hudson and quickly introducing everyone to Edward. The young couple and John huddled by the kitchen, the doctor offering them drinks.
After Molly had her share of Rosie, Sherlock took the infant back into the living room determined to gently coax her into choosing a couple of presents to open.
The presents were beautifully wrapped, and the patterns were meant to be enticing to the two-year-old, but that all paled in comparison when her eyes landed on her favorite person in the world.
“COFF!” she squealed happily, kicking in Sherlock’s arms and reaching toward Mycroft, her pudgy little hands opening and closing into fists.
Nobody missed Sherlock’s loud sigh and eye roll as he handed the infant over to his older brother. The child was delighted, squealing happily as Mycroft took her in his arms.
“Hello Ms. Watson,” Mycroft greeted, “Happy Christmas to you as well.” He kissed her forehead and felt his heart stir in his chest as she rested her small head in the crook of his neck, her small arms wrapping across his neck as she hugged him tightly. She pulled back and placed a sloppy, wet kiss to his cheek, giggling happily as Mycroft ducked to place a raspberry kiss to her stomach.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Hudson gushed. Mycroft could feel all eyes on him, but he ignored them all, rising to his feet and walking over to the tree with Rosie securely on his hip.
He picked up one of the presents he had brought and held it up for Rosie to take. “Here you go my darling,” he whispered, “That should keep you preoccupied.”
The little girl’s blue eyes were wide in amazement, the fairy lights on the tree dancing off them and making them impossibly brighter. She reached for the small present and let out another giggle of pure happiness.
Greg had been watching the whole exchange with a dopey smile on his face. It never failed to amaze him how incredible Mycroft was with Rosie. The usually posh man turned incredibly paternal with the little girl, and Greg didn’t doubt that if one day Ms. Watson decided to rule the world, Mycroft would happily take it over for her. He was that smitten.
“It’s because of you, you twat,” Greg said, turning to look at Sherlock who had begun to sulk. Usually Rosie’s attention was always for him, as true a Watson as she could be.
Sherlock scowled at him, “Shut up Geoff.” Greg grinned, sipping his own wine as he watched Mycroft whisper to Rosie, the blonde completely absorbed in whatever he was telling her.
“He tells her stories of you,” Greg said, watching the consulting detective’s face, “Of before you were a pain in both our backsides. And she reminds him of you.”
Sherlock felt his face grow hot, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Greg grinned, patting Sherlock’s back, “Happy Christmas Sherlock.”
Greg crossed 221B’s living room slowly, loving the way Mycroft looked with a baby in his arms. By the time he made it to his boyfriend’s side he had made a decision.
“Hey love,” he greeted. Mycroft’s eyes went wide in scandal, but before he could rebuke Greg, the DI had already cupped the back of his neck and brought him down for a kiss.
Mycroft melted into his kiss, forgetting whatever argument he had against this. He could hear several shocked gasps from the small group, but he could care less.
“Happy Christmas,” Greg whispered, smiling up at Mycroft in that ridiculously boyish way he had. Mycroft remained stunned, feeling his face grow hot. Greg turned his attention to Rosie, oblivious to the effect he had on Mycroft.“Hey there sunshine!” Greg said to Rosie.
Rosie though, wasn’t in any way happy with this outcome. With a grunt, she slammed her tiny palm on Greg’s cheek, shocking him into silence. “No!” she shouted, “No Unca Egg, my Coff. My!” Greg and Mycroft stood in utter silence as they watched Rosie’s little display of jealousy, before they both burst out laughing.
Greg dodged Rosie’s hits, placing a raspberry kiss to her cheek and tickling her. She broke after a minute, bursting out in laughter, all past transgressions forgotten.
“Terribly sorry Ms. Watson,” Mycroft said, handing her over to Greg, “But I’m afraid DI Lestrade has already claimed ownership over me.”
“Damn right,” Greg said, slotting Rosie neatly onto his own hip, “That tall and lean piece of sexiness is all mine. You can have a small piece of him, I’ll grant you that much. Only and only because you’re my sunshine too. No one else, got it?” He held up his palm and Rosie happily gave him a high five.
“Ugh!” Sherlock let out a loud groan, “You two are utterly disgusting!” He stormed over and pulled Rosie from Greg’s arms. Rosie went along happily, already more than used to Sherlock’s antics.
“Keep your nauseating relationship away from my daughter!” he snapped, stomping over to his seat with Rosie, plopping down on it and holding Rosie close to his chest.
John let out a chuckle, walking over to the newly announced couple with his glass up, “Congrats, I guess. I’ll drink to that.”
Greg held up his own glass at John, “You’re not that far behind mate.” John snorted, “Touché. To both of us falling ass over tits for the Holmes Brothers, the most difficult men on the face of this green earth.”
“May god help us both,” Greg agreed happily, before the doctor and the DI took a drink. Mrs. Hudson giggled happily, holding up her own glass, “To Christmas miracles.”
Mycroft took Greg’s hands and joined the toast, even Sherlock joined in, who had been dragged up by John. “To Christmas miracles,” everyone intoned.
Even little Rosie held her sippy cup up, happy to be surrounded by people who loved her and who were all in love. Maybe next year she’d have a cousin or two to enjoy Christmas with.