“Gregory, why can’t you just get rid of this bloody t-shirt? It is literally falling to pieces in my hands. Look at this! There are more holes than a slice of Swiss cheese.” Mycroft Holmes said, turning his nose up at the sight of the ratty green t-shirt from Lestrade’s days at university. He held it up, the college mascot actually peeling away from the field of green, pieces of fabric and thread visible on the frayed edges. “And this huge hole on the back… how do you even wear this thing?”
“It’s comfortable, and I wear it constantly. We are not getting rid of that.” Lestrade said, boxing up another collection of old stuff. Greg had been meaning to go through the old piles of junk he’d had from his “glory days,” and get rid of anything that he didn’t find useful or worthwhile anymore.
Mycroft had a very different definition of the term “useful,” however. Especially when it came to Greg’s old t-shirts. A long suffering sigh escaped the government official, who as usual donned an immaculate three-piece suit. “As you wish, my dear Gregory. But I don’t see how this piece of fabric even qualifies as a shirt.”
Greg shook his head at his boyfriend and chuckled. “This is from the year that we won the collegiate rugby championship, Myc. I don’t have anything else to commemorate that time in my life. It was before things became so complicated, you know?”
Mycroft glanced at him. As a Holmes, and running the British government since age 21, life had always been complicated. But he didn’t say anything about that. He merely nodded. “Fine, keep this rag. Let’s keep going through the rest of this pile. Then we can take a break for dinner; we can take it back to my place, because your flat is currently a disaster.”
Greg shrugged. “Okay, sure.” He set the shirt aside and they set to work going through the rest of the rubbish from his closet: old books, clothes, papers, and more.
Once they had finished their work for the afternoon and settled in at Mycroft’s dining room table, they began enjoying their Chinese takeout and each other’s company. Mycroft sat at the end of the table, and Lestrade took his usual spot to his right, their chairs moved to the corner so they could be close to one another throughout their entire meal.
“So… your team won the rugby championship during your final year of university. Tell… tell me more about it?” Mycroft said with a bit of nervous hesitation, offering a thin smile in his boyfriend’s direction. Greg wolfed down the bite of food he had left and took Mycroft’s hand in his. Mycroft set down his chopsticks, more eager to listen to Greg’s dulcet tones than finish his dinner. He’d eaten yesterday, anyhow.
“Sports aren’t really your thing, Myc. I don’t want to bore you.” Greg said, his fingers ever so softly and gently drawing circles on the back of Mycroft’s hand.
“It has to do with you, Gregory. It is impossible for such notions to be boring.” Mycroft said, glancing down at their now-intertwined fingers. He used his free hand to take a sip of the wine he had poured for the both of them before they had sat down.
Lestrade couldn’t help the childish grin that crossed his face. He took a drink from his own glass and then delved right into the renowned rugby tales of his pase. “Alright, so it all began with us going undefeated…”
His story continued for quite sometime, and Mycroft, surprisingly, did not find the story tedious. Not one bit. Normally sports were pointless and stupid, but when his Lestrade was involved, it was the most fascinating subject on the planet.
Once Greg had finished his tale, an idea sparked in Mycroft’s mind. He would execute the plan tomorrow, while Greg was at the office.
The next morning, when Greg got dressed and took off for work from Mycroft’s house, the government official went to his office to sit down and get some work done. Only he had one thing to do first. He went to the search engine on his browser, searching for any articles about that particular rugby championship. Naturally, there were several. And there were pictures. Mycroft smiled as he looked on the lanky, younger Lestrade. His hair wasn’t silver, but a deep brown. Honestly, Mycroft thought to himself, the silver suited the Detective Inspector much more; his silver fox looked damn handsome these days.
There was just one more thing to do in his research that would complete the plan. His fingers tapped against the keyboard, and he withdrew his credit card to make the final purchase with expedited shipping to ensure the delivery got there that afternoon.
When Lestrade came over to his house again that night – after a late night of dealing with Sherlock and a vicious homicide – he found a forest green bag sitting on the coffee table along with an envelope. Mycroft was nowhere to be found at that time, though. Greg shrugged and sat down, noticing that the gift bag was addressed to him. He picked it up and opened it, silver tissue paper wrapped around whatever was inside.
He furrowed his brow and withdrew the item, unraveling the paper from around it. It was some kind of green cloth – the bag matched it perfectly. As he unrolled the bunch of fabric, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly.
He was holding an exact copy of his favorite shirt from his championship days. A smile appeared across his lips. “It’s a genuine shirt from the championship. I found a website online that actually sells collegiate championship gear”Mycroft said as he came from his office, his tie loosened, top button undone, and shirt sleeves rolled. Greg knew that this was the equivalent of Mycroft relaxing during work. “Go on, open the envelope too.”
Greg nodded, setting the shirt aside. “Okay.”
He unfolded the flap of the envelope and out fell two tickets. They were tickets for a home game at his university, dated for the following weekend. “Mycroft, you amazing bastard.”
Mycroft chuckled and waved a hand dismissively. “I like seeing you happy, Gregory.”
“Thank you, Mycroft. Come here.” Greg said. Mycroft did just that, and the DI wrapped his arms around the other man. “You know, this means that you can have the old one.”
Mycroft chuckled softly. “That old thing? Surely you just want to get rid of–
“I don’t, actually. This is a wonderfully thoughtful gift, Myc. But I really do want you to have the old one. You don’t have to wear it in public; I know that is way too much to ask. But I do want you to have it. For pyjamas or something, at the very least. Do whatever you want with it.”
Mycroft stole a kiss from his boyfriend and nodded. “It would be an honor, Gregory. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. This is an amazing gift. I am so lucky to be with you.” Greg said. Mycroft felt his face grow hot, but it was nothing compared to the warm feeling rushing through his insides as Greg said those words.
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