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At Home with the Holmes Ficlets and Deleted Scenes

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“Mmm?” Greg looked up from the overnight bag he was packing for their stay at Mycroft's parents’ home for Christmas, to be followed by Boxing Day with his own family.

“I have a small present for you. It’s not one I felt appropriate to be opened in front of our relatives, so I’d like you to have it now.”

“Oooh, inappropriate, huh?” He grinned and dropped the socks in his hand onto the bed so that he could grab his boyfriend suggestively by the hips.

Mycroft just rolled his eyes. “Not inappropriate in that way. Does your mind always fixate on the carnal?”

“When you’re involved, well, yeah,” Greg answered cheekily, not at all insulted. He let one hand slip off his boyfriend’s hip to pat his arse.

Mycroft huffed but couldn’t keep up the pretence that he didn’t find Greg’s little moments of lasciviousness adorable. He pressed a quick kiss to his temple and then pulled back to pull an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, presenting it with a flourish.

“For you, my dear.”

Greg inspected the envelope closely just to be facetious, but Mycroft waited patiently as he shook it and held it up to the light before finally slipping a finger under the flap to rip it open.

It was a Christmas card; naturally, as it was from Mycroft, it was a fancy one on good paper without any animated characters or red suits in sight. The scene on the front was of a stately castle in the snow with large wreaths on either side of the entrance gate.

He opened it to find a photo that was decidedly less lovely. A grumpy Armando Alvarez, dressed in a prison-issued jumpsuit, glared at the camera mulishly. His rumpled clothing and a bruise on his cheek were signed of having recently been in a bit of a fight, albeit one that had probably been stopped quickly before any real damage had been done.

“Hmm?” He glanced up at Mycroft, who was watching him with a fond expression.

“Read the card, dear.”

Ah, yes. He skimmed the preprinted greeting quickly: The Greetings of the Season from our home to yours. May your celebrations be blessed with… blah, blah. On to the written inscription.

My dear Gregory,

I thought this news might bring you joy:

‘Someone’ may have started a rumour in the gaol that Alvarez has been gathering information gleaned from his fellow prisoners and, as they call it, snitching, in order to negotiate a better sentence for himself. His efforts to gain popularity are not going well.

Whenever you find yourself frustrated and in need of an outlet, please present me with one of the included coupons…

“Included coupons?” Greg picked the envelope back up off the bed where he’d tossed it. Ah, yes, there they were; the small bundle had slipped out of the card when he pulled it out.


This coupon is good for one rumour that ________

has been spotted with an improvised weapon,

leading to a strip search of his person and a

thorough search of his cell.


There were seven of these, enough for all the cartel members who had abducted Greg in November. After that:


This coupon is good for Alvarez being informed that the

murder charges against him are being dropped on a

technicality, and then informing him a few days later

(after he’s had time to gloat to his companions about his

good fortune) that a mistake was made.



This coupon is good for one rumour that __________

knows where the bodies from the Juarez operation

are buried (extremely doubtful any but perhaps the

elder Alvarez do), leading to an exhaustive interrogation.



This coupon is good for embarrassing video footage

of Eddie/Arturo/Luis’s drunken indiscretions being

sent to all of their guards in the prison as well as to

all known relatives.



This coupon is good for one visit from an ‘ex-girlfriend’

who will, at the very busiest time for prisoner visits,

loudly and explicitly remonstrate with Alvarez about his

failings as a partner, particularly in the bedroom.


Several of the open-ended coupons were available in multiples like the first had been. Greg glanced back at the card.

Whenever you find yourself frustrated and in need of an outlet, please present me with one of the included coupons and we will share a drink while contemplating the likely result.

Happy Christmas, my love.

Mycroft Holmes

Greg snickered. “Holding a grudge, are we?”

“Well. I know it is not in your nature...but considering the provocation, I felt that perhaps prison life being temporarily rendered less comfortable for your former captors might be a balm on days that you are reminded of the experience, or…,” Mycroft stepped closer to wrap an arm around Greg’s waist, “if you suffer from another nightmare induced by their actions.”

Greg had, in the weeks since his ordeal, woken from nightmares of less pleasant outcomes of the hostage situation on three different occasions. The one last week had been in Mycroft’s bed, and his partner had been more upset when he learned the reason for Greg’s thrashing and moaning that Greg himself had been.

Greg leaned into him and kissed his cheek.

Mycroft squeezed him a bit tighter. “And while holding a grudge may not be in your nature, well, perhaps it is in mine…”

They both laughed and Greg tossed the coupons onto the bed and reached for Mycroft to give him a proper kiss. Mycroft tried to turn it into more of a proper snog instead of just a proper kiss, but Greg pulled back after a moment.

At Mycroft’s uncharacteristic little whine, he leant back in for one more quick kiss. “Just a moment, love, and I promise I’ll kiss you some more.”

He kept speaking as he turned to rifle through his wardrobe. “I have a little gift for you, too, that isn’t appropriate for parental viewing. I was going to wait to give it to you after, but since you started it…ah, there it is.”

He presented Mycroft with a tissue-filled gift bag. “Unlike yours, mine actually is that kind of inappropriate,” he smirked.

Mycroft rolled his eyes yet again and parted the tissue to find his prize.

Midnight blue. Silky. But not a lot of either...he carefully pulled the tangle of fabric scraps and straps out of the bag and, setting the bag aside, let it dangle from his finger.

He smirked as it registered what he was holding, and he quirked an eyebrow as the ridiculous man in front of him who was actually blushing a bit (and really, after where he’d had his tongue last weekend, you’d think the man would never blush again).

“Um,” Greg started eloquently, “So, turns out they make lingerie for men.”

“Indeed they do.”

“And I thought...might be fun...there’s another one, some dark red colour, under the next layer of tissue, that’s, um, in my size, if you’d be more into seeing me wearing it yourself…I'm up for whichever way turns you on.”

Mycroft peeked under the next layer of tissue. “By 'dark red', I assume you mean marroon. Or perhaps 'the shade of a French merlot' would be most descriptive..."

Greg just rolled his eyes, knowing he was just going on about the colour to wind him up.

Mycroft didn't play with him long.

"Oh, Gregory. I think both will be put to quite good use.” He kept the fabric in his fist as he prowled forward, backing his boyfriend until he hit the wall with a slight thud.

“Mycroft…” Greg moaned out his name as he kissed him, slow and dirty.

He rubbed the soft fabric in his hand against Greg’s cheek, and murmured between kisses, “You want to see me in nothing but these? Just wait until your face is rubbing on this fabric when it’s covering my cock, so hard for you…” Mycroft was a quick learner, and a few weeks of Greg’s running commentary during foreplay had been a master course in dirty talk. “I’d like to take photos of you wearing this, just for me, to keep in my briefcase to look at when I must be away from you…I hope no one finds them while searching for documents.”

Greg moaned and pulled him in to kiss him again, nipping a bit before whispering his own plans.

“God, yes, wanna see your perfect arse in that, lick you through them until you’re begging…” It was Mycroft turn to moan and crush their mouths together again while reaching for his shirt buttons.


Despite his good intentions to not procrastinate, Greg’s packing was done in a rush twenty minutes before Mycroft picked him up for the drive to Sussex the next evening.