Work Text:
December 23rd - A Retirementlock Christmas
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Greg Lestrade grumbled, looking away from his paper for the fifth time as little sprites screamed around on the floor in front of him. They were arguing over who would get to open presents first as they sat before the tree. They didn’t know how close they were to come to getting their jammied bottoms swatted if they didn’t pipe down. The eldest granddaughter began poking her youngest cousin causing the wiggling worm to squeak in laughter as he tried to wiggle out of her grip. At that next interruption, Lestrade could take no more.
Greg let out a growl slapping his paper on his side table and rising up from his chair. “MOLLY!” he growled ferociously. The little mischief makers in front of him all turned around with shocked faces.
“What is it Greg?” Molly questioned coming out of the kitchen with her step-daughter at one elbow and John Watson on the right. It was Christmas at the Lestrade’s and Greg’s kids had both brought his grandkids with them, John and Sherlock were down from Sussex to the Lestrade home. Sherlock laid in repose upon the couch his grey curls spilling over the arm as he snored away, sleeping despite the assurance that he was just ‘in his mind palace.’ A slightly stooped over Greg stood staring down at the noise-makers pointing an accusing finger at the sprites.
“I’ve tried reading my paper ten times already and the ankle biters keep on disturbing me. I must have read the same sentence ten times!” Greg grumbled in frustration.
“It’s alright dear, you just sit and read your paper.” Molly patted her husband’s head and kissed the now white hair affectionately. “Come on, kids who wants a cookie before presents?” Molly questioned as they ran into the kitchen to their parents. “You know you love seeing your grandkids for the holiday.” She chuckled going back into the kitchen.
“I would just as soon not invited anyone! Too much noise for the holiday.” Greg grumbled snapping open his paper.
“Come on Greg you know that’s not true.” John barked a laugh, wiping the smudges from his glasses before putting them back on, his equally white hair shifting in the light of the Christmas lights around the house. Greg gave him a glare over his paper and John raised his hands in supplication. John went over to the couch and went to sit down. “Come on, Sherlock, lift up your feet you arse.” John grumbled, sighing contentedly as he dropped into the couch, propping his slippered feet upon the coffee table.
“I may be an arse but you married me.” Sherlock teased popping an aging but keen eye open to look upon his husband. Each day their age was showing more and more but the affection between the men never diminished.
“Doesn’t change the fact that you are one.” Lestrade grumbled from behind his paper. Sherlock looked over to the retired detective inspector and noted that even though he was no longer looking upon his grandchildren that his eyes were decidedly misty as he pretended to read the words before his swimming vision. Like it or not, the man was really just a great big soppy git about Christmas just as his husband.
“And so are you Gavin!” Sherlock rumbled a deep baritone laugh sending one of the Christmas crackers over the edge of Lestrade’s paper to disturb his reading again. “And a grumpy one at that!” Greg lowered his paper, his temper rising. The older they got the shorter Greg’s fuse got, especially about Sherlock “forgetting” his name.
“Sherlock.” John scolded, patting his husband on his shoulder as he rose from his reclined position to lean into John’s embrace. “You know his name is Greg.” John tried to hide his smiling laughter. And didn’t succeed very well.
“Alright it’s time for presents!” Greg’s son announced walking in from Greg’s office where he was talking a business phone call. The boy worked too hard, and Greg scolded him for it more than once. Never mind the Christmases the Detective Inspector missed himself when the job called him in.
The children had torn into the presents with gusto, hugging their grandparents in turn. The adults looked around gratefully to one another at the presents they each had received. Sherlock wearing his new scarf Molly knitted by hand, John with a new jumper of the same color. Lestrade’s kids each received money from their father and step-mother gratefully. And Molly was enraptured with the new preserving kit the kids gave her. She had been dying to plant berries and get into canning. Greg was a fan of preserves as was John. Greg enjoyed opening the new technological gizmo his son had gotten him, though he didn’t quite know what to do with it, and the new slippers that came from his daughter.
“Well I believe that’s everything!” Greg’s son announced with a clap of his hands.
“No wait!” Greg announced getting up stiffly from the chair with a grumble. “You all wait here there’s one more for little Alice.” Lestrade announced padding his way into his study. Alice’s offerings had been quite lacking compared to her cousins and brother. She had been pouting since she realized how greatly their gifts outnumbered hers. She had been wondering if Santa forgot about her this year. Now the little girl looked on from her seat on the floor curiously, following her grandfather’s retreating back as he made his way into the shadows of the darkened room.
“Look what Santa brought from the best little girl in the whole world!” Greg announced with a happy grumble wheeling out the biggest doll house she had ever seen! “Why I do believe Santa handmade this especially for you.” Greg announced beaming with pride when actually he was the man to hand make the dollhouse. It was painted a lovely deep green color with cream trim and inside the Victorian style house was all handmade furniture and decorations. Even the miniature paintings that hung around the walls inside the house he had painstakingly done by hand with a magnifying glass. He was already working on a similar house for his younger granddaughter Violet.
Alice burst into tears running into her grandfather’s arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Alice repeated as she rubbed her tearful face into Greg’s Christmas jumper.
“You’re welcome sweetling.” Greg grumbled taking the little girl into his lap when he sat down into his chair again. His son pushed the house before his father and daughter allowing the two time alone so that her grandfather could show the girl all the bits and insides of the house. Greg would deny it, always, that he loved all of his grandchildren equally. But they all knew Alice, his first grandchild and granddaughter, would always be his favorite.
Sherlock and John looked on wistfully upon the scene, wishing Hamish and their grandchildren didn’t live so far away down under in Australia. There was only so many times they could call on Mycroft to spy upon his nephew and assure them that he and his family were okay.
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That night, after the Christmas presents were all unwrapped, all the family had bid farewell and the last bits of paper and Christmas crowns were all thrown away, Molly and Greg were finally able to lay back in bed with grateful sighs. It was a busy time of year but it was sad to hear the big empty Lestrade house so quiet.
Molly was smiling as she looked down upon the latest mystery novel she was in the process of rapidly consuming. Greg never understood her fascination with reading the stories as each murder would be more gruesome than the last. In their line of work, they had seen enough strange murders. But Molly always found the medical inaccuracies as highly entertaining. More than once she couldn’t stop herself from laughing out loud at the writers’ stupidity.
Greg let out a morose sigh as he flipped through the instruction manual for son’s Christmas gift. He barely could keep up with the latest mobile on the market. What did his son expect them to do with a holographic projector? Another sigh fell from the old man’s lips before Molly put her book down in frustration and pulled on Greg’s so that he would do the same.
“What is it Greg?” Molly asked with a bemused smirk.
“Nothing.” Greg muttered picking up the manual and flipping through it aimlessly.
“Don’t lie dear.” Molly admonished, kissing her husband’s cheek as she lifted her novel to continue reading.
“Well, it’s just- Why did they have to leave? It’s not even Sunday yet and they’re all gone.” Greg grumbled. “There’s supposed to be another storm moving in off the coast, it’s not safe.” Greg covered his misery at finding themselves alone that night with his concerns over his kids and John and Sherlock’s safety. Molly thought it was quite adorable that the old man was just lonely.
“It’s alright dear I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Molly patted his arm affectionately as she leaned onto his shoulder. “Come on dear. It’s time for bed.” Molly suggested putting aside her novel.
“Alright dear.” Greg grumbled putting aside his manual and removing his reading glasses. He wiped at his tired eyes before reaching over to turn off his bedside lamp. Greg laid down with a grateful sigh as his aching bones troubled him as the storm that was forecasted moved in and agitated his arthritic joints. He wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder and they burrowed down into the pillows and warmth of the covers.
“Happy Christmas, Greg.” Molly kissed Greg goodnight before turning onto her side.
“Happy Christmas, Molly.” Greg grumbled into his wife’s ear, bringing her more firmly into his arms before the warmth of his wife’s curves could lull him into a deep sleep.
Just outside their window the snow began to fall as the Christmas holiday came to a close.
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