Christmas in the Cotswolds

        The air was so incredibly crisp and fresh that I didn't mind the faint hint of cinnamon lingering in the breeze, nor did I scoff at the recording of the Christmas Waltz faintly playing in the distance. Greg's arm, bundled in his leather bomber jacket, was linked with mine and his gloved right hand ran up and down the forearm section of my overcoat as we walked.

        "You've never been to one of these have you?" Greg asked.

        "A Christmas Market? Not since before Sherlock was born," I replied. I could vaguely remember my Mum shopping through chocolates and baked treats at a stall playing jazz music.

        "Well, what do you think, then?"

        I stopped to look around. The stall closest to us had fountains of hot chocolate. Over from that, there was a stall of fresh fruits for holiday baking. A traveling carousel rested in the middle of the park, surrounded by children. I closed my eyes and could smell sausage cooking. I opened my eyes and looked at Greg's sweet face, waiting for an enthusiastic reply. "It's better than fielding phone calls about national crises."

        "And I'm willing to accept that's probably the best I'm going to get out of you," he said with a laugh, gripping my arm tighter. "Let's go this way."

        He led me away from the kiosks to the smell of evergreens. I could hear an engine and people - a great many people. Through the trees, I was finally able to spot a rink of ice, being resurfaced by a Zamboni.

        "No. No. No," I said, yanking his arm in the direction from whence we'd come.

        He pulled against me. "I don't want to skate. I just want to watch."

        I stared at him, waiting for his eyelid to twitch.

        "Honestly," he insisted. "Please?"

        "Alright," I conceded, following him to a bench near the side of the ice.

        I sat, as I always did, with my legs crossed, my arm at the back of the seat, and my umbrella resting beside me. Greg was quick to slide his way against my side and into the shadow of my extended arm. We sat without speaking for a few minutes. I spent the time watching his facial expressions as he found entertainment in watching the poor skills of the people attempting to maneuver the ice. His head dropped back to rest on my shoulder as he rubbed my knee. "Thank you," he offered quietly.

        "For?"

        "For coming here. For taking a few days off. For not arguing with me every step of the way."

        "Mycroft Holmes?" A woman's voice rang behind us before I could acknowledge what Greg was saying. I shifted slightly as she walked to the front of the bench. "It is you. Hello!"

        Greg and I stood in unison as I took her hand. "Gertrude. Very nice to see you. Here on an official call?"

        "Not at all. Holiday with the family," she replied, gesturing toward the carousel. "And you?" she inquired, glancing toward Greg.

        "My apologies," I said. "Gertrude, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade, Scotland Yard."

        "Oh, well, I'm very sorry to interrupt, Inspector," she apologised, assuming, then, that my purpose with Greg was business.

        "No, not at all," I began.

        "It's Greg Lestrade, ma'am," he offered on his own, interrupting me.

        "Yes. My -" I hesitated, but I knew I could do this. "My boyfriend, Gertrude."  I said it.

        "Oh my! Well, that's wonderful. I'm sure he keeps you quite busy, Mr. Lestrade," she said with a smile.

        "I'm permanently exhausted," Greg quipped.

        "Well, Happy Christmas. Enjoy the day," she said, walking back toward her family.

        Greg and I both returned to the bench. "MI6, Head of Secret Attack," I said.

        "She seems so normal."

        I laughed in reply to his tone of amazement.

        "You okay, though? Lightheaded? Queasy? If you're feeling poorly we can go."

        "Stop," I ordered, wrapping my arm around his shoulder.

        "That's the first time that word has ever come out of your mouth."

        "I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."

        He cuddled himself back into my arm and rested his head again on my shoulder, smiling as he watched two children holding hands on the ice.

        I'd never admit it aloud, but there was something incredibly wonderful about the idea that simply referring to Greg as my boyfriend could make him smile in such a way. I took his hand in mine, leaning my cheek against the top of his head, as I felt the muscles in my face begin to smile as well. Damn. He really was going to succeed with all this Christmas nonsense, wasn't he?

 

***

 

        "So, what's your plan for the evening?" Greg asked, eating the last sherried scallop off his dinner plate.

        "You'll see," I said with a smile. I wanted to tease him just a bit. He wouldn't in a million years, guess what my plan actually was.

        "Well, I'm ready whenever you are," he said, eyeing the last few sips remaining in my glass of Armagnac. I swilled them down, as Greg stood.

        "I assume I need this?" he tried to confirm, already buttoning his coat. "You'll need to run upstairs for yours, then."

        Without replying, I escorted him to the main door of the establishment and suddenly heard him mutter under his breath, "Oh, you sneaky bastard."

        "Excuse me?" I said to him as I approached the woman standing in the foyer.

        "You're unbelievable, you know that?" Greg complained as the woman provided my gloves and coat.

        "Good evening, Inspector," she said, looking at Greg with a smile.

        "Hi, Anthea," he said, with a tired tone to his voice.

        I looked back at him with a grin. "I'm in charge after dinner," I said. "I believe those were your words?"

        He rolled his dark brown eyes in annoyance.

        "We do things your way all day. After dinner, we do things my way," I said, as Anthea tucked my scarf into the breast of my overcoat. I led them both out the door to the waiting, warm car.

 

***

 

        The glass partition lowered as we heard Anthea announce, "Arriving momentarily, sir," from the front passenger's seat.

        "Now do I get to find out what you're up to?" Greg pushed.

        "Out you go," I said, nudging his arm as the car came to a stop.

        We stepped out on the water's bank to the sound of Christmas hymns being sung in an amphitheater opposite.

        I'd barely gained my footing before Greg pushed me back against the car, his face breaking into a wide grin. He planted a firm kiss on my lips, then grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the water. Evidently, he knew where we were.

        "This way," I instructed, placing his arm inside my elbow before leading him toward a half-sized gazebo, covered in twinkle lights. I sat on the small bench, but Greg chose to lean behind me, arms wrapped around my shoulders and chest, looking out at the water in anticipation.

        The hymn singing stopped and I could hear a group of people counting down in the distance. "Three. Two. One." A large fir tree, floating on the water, was now lit with hundreds of colorful bulbs. Greg excitedly kissed my cheek three times in succession.

        "Alright. Alright," I said, shaking my head.

        "You can't even fake it anymore. You're enjoying this," Greg accused.

        "I'm enjoying the fact that you are enjoying this," I contradicted.

        I looked back out toward the tree to see that it was suddenly snowing. I heard myself inhale deeply, knowing this would cause even more excitement in Greg.

        To my considerable shock, he stayed calm. Instead of cheer, he offered quiet, nuzzling into my ear, whispering, "Come kiss me in the snow." He straightened his back and offered his hand. He stopped several paces outside of the gazebo, turning to face me.

        "If you want me to do something, you'd best expect me to do it properly," I insisted, taking his hand and walking with him farther down the water's edge so that we were standing in the light of the enormous floating tree. Turning myself so that he could see me and the tree simultaneously, I took his handsome face in my hands and kissed him slowly. I felt the squeeze of his arms wrapping around my waist as he hummed into the kiss. 

        As our lips parted, he begged in a whisper, "Please don't stop." I took his lips in mine again as a surge of warmth ran through my body. It was a feeling that, until this moment, my nervous system seemed to reserve for moments when Greg said "I love you."

        As I pulled his body as tight to mine as I could, the hymn singing began again and I felt his muscles loosen even more than they already had. As our lips parted again, I moved to stand behind Greg, arms wrapped around him in a hug. "I love you," I whispered, resting my chin on his shoulder as we both looked up at the tree.