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Beneath The Pine
The frosty air wrapped around him like a blanket as Mycroft Holmes stepped away from the warmth of mummy’s car. The door snapped shut behind him as Sherlock followed, his eyes curiously scanning his surroundings. Rows of symmetrical trees stood proudly in the fields ahead, darkness beginning to shadow them in the coming night. The air smelt strongly of pine. Families walked here and there, laughing and chatting with their relations, forever reminding Mycroft of the lack of enthusiasm he felt for Christmas. He would, however, try not to spoil it for Sherlock and Gregory. Mummy stood in the queue now, her fur-lined coat outdoing the outfits of any of the other mothers. But that didn’t stop her from mingling with any of the women she happened to know from her social circle. The thought of mingling made Mycroft grimace. “Mycroft, let’s get some cocoa.” Sherlock tugged on his brother’s arm. “Before the queue builds up!” Mycroft’s gaze fell upon what to him was the highlight of this whole ordeal. Something hot to warm his quickly chilling blood. “Hot cocoa sounds splendid right about now.” Greg added with his usual bright enthusiasm. How he managed to warm him on even the coldest nights was a wonder. “Let’s go then, shall we.” Mycroft chimed casually, adjusting Sherlock’s hat on top of his head. Sherlock’s eyes darted toward the booth. He didn’t like standing in queue anymore than Mycroft did, but it was clearly worth it to him as he took Mycroft’s arm and began walking at a quick pace. “Eager are we?” Greg chuckled, following along. “Their cocoa would sell like hotcakes on a night like this, wouldn’t it?” “It’s free with the purchase of a tree,” Mycroft informed him, noting the paper sign tacked on the wall outside the booth. “Oh, right, but you see what I’m getting at.” Greg spoke quieter as they arrived behind a group of people. Mycroft allowed a smile just for Greg. He was adorable without even trying. They had been officially together for three months, yet Mycroft still couldn’t believe Gregory was his. His lover, his muse, his forever. “Mycroft, does cold have a smell?” Sherlock asked, breaking his thoughts, and still attached to Mycroft’s arm. The boy sniffed the air, taking in the cold around him. “No, Sherlock, cold does not have a smell. It’s to do with odour molecules in the air. They move more slowly in cooler months and this produces less odorants.” “So the colder the slower.” Sherlock looked towards the pines. “I understand. Like food in the oven. The hotter it is, the more you can smell it.” “Exactly.” Mycroft placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Look it up sometime, if you’re curious.” “Your going to make a fine scientist one day, Sherly.” Greg tapped the bottom of Sherlock’s chin, making him grin. “Oh? I thought he was going to be a pirate.” Mycroft played along. “Not anymore. I’m a scientist now, Mycroft.” Sherlock wiggled in his brother’s arms to get a better look at him. “Haven’t you seen my moth collection?” Greg laughed at Sherlock’s matter-of-fact attitude, letting out with it, a stream of condensation into the air. “Yeah, My, didn’t you notice?” He added playfully. Mycroft rolled his eyes, stepping forward along with the others when one family in queue walked away. Sherlock continued to wiggle around in his arms, looking forward to likely calculate how much longer they still had to wait. “Sherlock, if you continue to bounce around such as you are, you will disturb the alignment of the stars themselves.” Mycroft muttered, half joking. Sherlock paused for a moment before craning his neck to scowl up at his brother. “Don’t be absurd, Mycroft! I would need a much greater mass to influence celestial bodies.” Greg chuckled, the sound warm and playful. “He’s got you there, My.” Mycroft sighed. “Indeed. My own brother, dismantling my sarcasm with facts. How festive.” Greg looked up, observing the stars. “Beautiful though, aren’t they?” Mycroft watched him fondly, the way Greg’s optimism filled every space with warmth. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe he was fortunate enough to find him. “It has a certain appeal.” He added softly, not giving away the fluster he felt at how charming Greg was without even trying. Sherlock followed Greg’s example, looking up at the stars. “Venus.” He said simply, pointing at one of the brightest stars in the blanket of black. Greg grinned, proud that his time spent stargazing with Sherlock had been retained. “Brilliant buddy, you’ll be a stargazer yet.” Sherlock hummed in contentment and huddled closer to Mycroft. Standing still was starting to make him colder. Together they moved forward as one family left, leaving only a few ahead of them. “I wish they would hurry.” Sherlock piped, earning a quick shush from Mycroft, not wanting to start anything. “Not so loud, little brother.” He warned gently. “It will be our turn soon. Sherlock tiptoed impatiently, bouncing in Mycroft’s arms yet again. “Not soon enough.” Greg giggled at Sherlock’s silliness, earning a sharp look from Mycroft. “Patience, little brother.” Mycroft insisted. “I’m cold too.” Another family left the queue and they stepped closer. Just one couple remained. “Mycroft, did you hear that?” Sherlock’s eyes darted towards the man next to the woman inside the booth. Mycroft arched an eyebrow at the same man as he poured steaming cocoa into cups. “Hear what?” “The man at the booth.” Sherlock dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He said they’re almost out of marshmallows. Everyone keeps asking for extra.” Greg leaned in as though part of a make believe secret. “And what does that tell you, buddy?” Sherlock straightened proudly, his cheeks flushed. “Obviously the cocoa is really good. Nobody bothers with marshmallows unless it is, right?” He looked to Mycroft. Greg beamed, utterly charmed by the lad. “Ever the detective, huh?” Mycroft smirked faintly. “Or merely a child with an affinity for sugar.” Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms. “I am not a child. I’m a scientist now. You said so yourself.” “And scientists must be precise.” Mycroft quipped, nudging Sherlock forward as the queue dwindled to just one couple ahead of them. “Do not leap to conclusions without adequate data.” Sherlock groaned dramatically, earning the attention from the the woman ahead of them and another humoured shush from Mycroft. Greg was failing miserably at hiding his laughter. At long last, they stepped forward. It was there turn. “Finally!” Sherlock exclaimed, leaving Mycroft’s arms when the last people left queue. Mycroft followed up behind him with Greg. “Four hot cocoas please.” He chimed. “One is for our mother. She’s in the payment booth.” He informed the woman just in case she inquired. “Extra marshmallows, please!” Sherlock interjected, earning an exasperated look from Mycroft. “Alright dears,” The woman poured four paper cups nearly full of steaming cocoa before adding marshmallows, cinnamon and crushed peppermint. “Stay warm.” She added before placing the cups in front of them. Mycroft handed one down to Sherlock and then to Greg before taking the other two. “Gregory, will you take Sherlock to look at the trees? I will give this to mummy and meet you over there.” “Yeah, sure thing.” Greg sipped at his chocolate, wincing slightly when it was still too hot to drink. Mycroft straightened Sherlock’s coat and hat, being sure he was warm enough. “And be careful not to spill your cocoa.” He said to him. “Stay with Gregory.” “I will, I will!” Sherlock exclaimed. “May we go now?” Mycroft and Greg shared a playful look. “Yes, go.” Mycroft gestured, cups carefully in hand. “Pick the perfect one, Sherlock. I’m sure all of Christmas depends on it.” Huffing a laugh at Mycroft’s comment, he led Sherlock in the direction toward the pine trees. Mycroft walked purposefully through the crunching snow in search of his mother. He found her near the wreath display, chatting with a pair of women he vaguely remembered from somewhere unimportant. He hovered at the edge of the group, waiting patiently for a break in the conversation. “Mummy,” He said quietly, his voice just loud enough for her to hear him. “I thought you might like some cocoa.” He added before she asked what he wanted. “Oh, how thoughtful. Thank you dear.” She took it gratefully. “Where is your brother?” Mycroft tensed, as if the question were a test. “I left him with Gregory. Sherlock was eager to pick out a tree.” “Gregory?” One of the women next to mummy asked. “The Lestrade boy you and your husband are always lugging around?” Mycroft’s gaze narrowed as he looked at the woman behind mummy. “We call him Greg.” Mummy waved a hand. “Mycroft is always so formal, aren’t you dear?” She looked back at him. Mycroft felt something cold forming in his stomach. “Gregory is a very old friend of ours.” He said sharply, earning a raised eyebrow from mummy. Mycroft forced a smile. “I should go collect my little brother. Pleasure speaking with you.” Confident that he had recovered well from almost upsetting mummy, he turned to leave. Each step he took away from them made it a little easier to breath. Mycroft took a sip of his coca before searching for Greg and Sherlock in the distance. People walked to and fro, his eyes skimming past them until they landed upon his target. Sherlock stood next to Greg in front of one of the trees. He was getting taller, though he still stood considerably shorter than Greg. It wouldn’t be more than two years now that Sherlock would begin that dreaded phase called puberty. He was growing up fast. “Look, there’s your brother.” Greg smiled when he saw him coming. “You can ask what he thinks.” Mycroft began to feel immediately improved. Sherlock turned around, delighted, his blue eyes flashing with enthusiasm against the white and green behind him. “Mycroft! What do you think of this one?” Sherlock asked curiously. Upon closer inspection, Mycroft could see that it was leaning slightly in the middle, branches stuck out hear and thither and it was barely six feet. “Sherlock, this one might bend a little awkwardly after it’s cut down.” “That’s what I was telling him.” Greg said carefully. “Sherlock, why not one of those ones?” He pointed towards the back. “There even taller, yes?” “But this is the different one.” Sherlock narrowed his gaze, observing the tree to see what Mycroft was talking about. Mycroft understood now. It wasn’t the tree it was the fact that this tree was unlike all the others. And Sherlock subconsciously related to that. “Let’s find something a bit taller, shall we, little brother? If it’s too small it won’t fit all the ornaments you want to put on.” Considering this, Sherlock bit his bottom lip. “It’s alright if we still find one that is different.” Mycroft added. “Just perhaps a bit more suitable for all the trimmings.” After a moment of contemplation, Sherlock nodded. “Fine, a taller one then.” In a flash he was speeding towards the other trees toward the back of the field. Mycroft sighed and sipped his hot cocoa before beginning to follow Sherlock. The further they got the more secluded they were behind large pines. He was grateful. “You alright?” Greg asked after Sherlock had skipped ahead of them. Mycroft’s brow furrowed slightly. How did Gregory always know? “Yes, I’m alright. Just a… bit of a moment with mummy. Nothing to be concerned about of course.” Greg gave him a knowing look. He stepped in sync with him as they walked. “I know what it’s like, Mycroft. Family can be… difficult. But then there is us, you know? Chosen family.” Mycroft flashed him a soft smile. “Yes, us. That sounds…lovely.” His gaze met Sherlock. It appeared he was inspecting a tree. “Yeah it does,” Greg reached for his pocked. “Mycroft, I…” “Mycroft!” Sherlock exclaimed, waving them over. Mycroft sighed in loving exasperation. “One moment, dear.” Sherlock continued his search while Greg pulled something out of his coat pocket. “This is for you.” Greg handed Mycroft a soft leather bookmark. “Just think of it as an early Christmas present.” He added through Mycroft’s surprised expression. “Gregory…” Mycroft spoke when he read the inscription carved into the leather. This is a promise, steady and sure. Though the pages may change, my love will endure. “Did you make this?” Mycroft asked, the words touching him in a way he didn’t want to admit. “I had it made, that time we went to the autumn festival. When you stepped away to take Sherlock to the loo.” Greg admitted. “It’s terribly sweet.” Mycroft placed a hand on Greg’s arm only for a moment, withdrawing it as soon as the chemistry travelled up his arm. It had been like this between them since they were together for the first time that summer. This year had in fact been most eventful to their relationship. Greg took Mycroft’s arm, grinning at his bashfulness and led him a step behind a thick tree. “I mean it, My, you have my heart.” He placed his hand against Mycroft’s chest. A slight giggle escaped Mycroft’s lips as he looked down, balancing the cocoa and the bookmark. “Oh, Gregory… you are too wonderful.” He didn’t dare show too much, not here, not in the almost public. Even though they were hidden. Mycroft held the bookmark close to his chest, the other hand still in Greg’s. Looking up he placed a quick kiss to Greg’s cheek. “I love you too.” He said softly, his voice sincere. Greg’s grin grew wider as he squeezed Mycroft’s hand. Trusting in the privacy of the tree, Greg pulled Mycroft in by the waist and pressed his lips to his. Mycroft’s heart felt so full he thought it might burst. It was the sound of a throat clearing that broke their trance. Sherlock was standing right beside them, arms crossed. “Mycroft, I have decided on a tree.” The boy said impatiently, arms crossed. Mycroft and Greg let go of eachother. Greg found it funny as Mycroft straightened his coat carefully, acting as though he had not just been caught by his little brother. “Sherlock,” Mycroft said indignantly, voice still a bit flustered. “Show me.” Unphased by his brother and Greg’s moment together, Sherlock pointed at the tree that concealed the three of them. Without a word, he began to look through a few of the branches. “At least we know he’ll stay quiet.” Greg muttered under his breath. “Yes, at least.” Mycroft found the hint of a smile coming to his lips. His heart still fluttered inside his chest. Sipping a bit more cocoa he watched to see what Sherlock was doing. “This is the one.” Sherlock declared. “See the little knot here?” He pulled back a branch. “It looks like a heart! And since you two can’t stop snogging, it felt fitting.” “Sherlock!” Mycroft gasped, shocked to hear those words coming from his little brother. His cheeks warmed despite the cold. “We are not always snogging.” He resisted the urge to laugh. Greg however, was hysterical. “That’s good buddy, I love it. This is definitely the one, then.” “Good. Can we go home now? I’m cold.” Sherlock huffed, clearly unimpressed by the prolonged tree search. “It’s may we,” Mycroft corrected. “And yes. Gregory, you stay here with Sherlock and I will go locate the attendant.” He said, feeling more cheery than usual. Dare he mistake the flutter of warmth across his skin as Christmas cheer? “Hurry, My, I’m getting the shivers because you’re taking so long.” Sherlock began to whine. “I want to get home and decorate the heart tree.” “The heart tree?” Mycroft chimed, rolling his eyes. “Alright, I’ll hurry.” Greg put his arms around Sherlock. “I’ll keep you warm, buddy.” He rubbed his hands on Sherlock’s arms playfully, making the boy laugh. “Better?” “Yes.” Sherlock gleamed, leaning back into the warmth of Greg’s arms. Mycroft smiled fondly before turning to leave. He envied Sherlock in that moment. Those arms were possibly the only place in the world where he felt truly home. And they were his, Gregory was his, and he was Gregory’s. Perhaps tonight, despite the chill and the strain with family, with Gregory by his side, it could mark the beginning of a truly happy Christmas.
The End