placenta art


Work was always getting in the way of his time with Lestrade. There would be times when he would have to go several days, sometimes even multiple weeks without seeing him in person, feeling his lips against his own, or even just a touch of his hand as they sat beside each other. Mycroft exhaled deeply, tapping his fingers against his knee as he waited for the American ambassador to arrive at the British embassy. He was stuck overseas dealing with tedious politicians while Greg was back in London, dealing with… well, their usual life.

And the DI missed him just as much.

Every night, right on cue, Mycroft would instant message him as soon as he got back to the room. Of course, he could afford an international phone plan, but Greg couldn’t, and insisted that Mycroft not get one for the both of them. Reluctantly, the man agreed and settled for nightly chats on his laptop.

MH: I do apologize for this extended stay in the States. It is ever so tedious, Gregory.

The notification on his phone’s app lit up and Greg beamed as he saw who it was from. Of course it was nearly 3AM in London, but it was worth it to talk to Mycroft Holmes. He quickly tapped out his reply, yawning as he did so.

It’s taking too long. I haven’t seen you in forever, Myc. When will you be home? And just what am I supposed to do with all this delicious food I made while you were gone? -GL

A small smile appeared on Mycroft’s lips as he saw the response, and the smile grew as he realized just how instant that reply had been. Conclusion: Greg had been waiting up for his reply. It warmed the Iceman’s heart to know that someone wanted to talk to him as much as Lestrade did.

MH: That depends on what you made, my dear. Anyway, how is London faring without me? Sherlock hasn’t decimated it yet, has he?

The entire city is falling into ruins as we speak, Mycroft. I don’t think England will last much longer without you here to save it. ;) -GL

MH: Although your attempt at trying to make me worry more about you is working, please refrain from using those dastardly emoticons, Gregory. We are not teenagers with a crush on one another.

Speak for yourself. :P -GL

MH: Gregory for goodness sake. Just picture me sighing, absolutely exasperated and wondering why on earth I put up with you.

As Mycroft’s pale fingers dashed out his latest reply, he couldn’t help the feeling of joy he felt at being able to just talk to someone as easily as he could with this man. It was utterly ridiculous sometimes, but he absolutely adored that about him.

Greg meanwhile, scratched his head, rubbing his eyes. His smile was a sleepy one, but it was there nonetheless. Before he could reply to that, Mycroft sent another message, berating him for still being awake.

MH: It is nearly half 3, Gregory. Why on earth are you awake?

I couldn’t go to bed until I talked to you. It’s kind of become part of my routine. Obviously, it would be better if you were actually here, so I could hug you. -GL

And… other things. -GL

MH: Other things? Care to elaborate?

Greg swallowed harshly, having just said that as a flirtatious joke. Now he was worried he may have said something wrong. With Mycroft, sometimes it was hard to tell. Luckily, he found an innocent response.

You know, what we usually do. Cuddling, making out on the couch instead of paying attention to the movie playing in the background. Staring at each other and enjoying every second. I wish I could do all of this to you. Guess I’ll just have to settle for eating this steak dinner, alone. -GL

MH: You can make me feel guilty all you want, Gregory, but I cannot simply fly home until this policy is cleared. Trust me, you’ve no idea just how much I would rather lie next to you and hold you than deal with the tedium of this place. And, dare I say it, your insufferable insistence on tickling me, as you say, “for science.” It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, and you do not make a single application of the scientific method throughout.

Greg actually had to set his phone down from laughing so hard at that response, but he finally managed to recover and chuckled the whole time he replied to the message.

Thanks for the laugh, and the criticism. I shall ensure an entire experiment as soon as we see each other again. ;) -GL

MH: …..

MH: Gregory, you are absolutely insufferable.

;) -GL

;D – GL

MH: Gregory Lestrade, stop this now.

Then open your damn door, Mycroft Holmes. -GL

MH: What? Gregory, what are you saying? You’re not really, oh my God–

Before Mycroft could investigate further via the messenger, a knock reverberated throughout the room. He finished up his last message and glanced up. His gaze fell on the door and he rushed to it, tugging it open. There stood his Detective Inspector. His mouth fell open, right on cue because he threw his arms around the other man’s waist and dragged him inside, the kiss full of need and passion for the other.

“What the hell are you doing here? How long have you been here?” Mycroft asked as Greg pulled away to breathe. Mycroft was stunned that Greg had actually managed to surprise him.

“I missed you, and I wanted to see you.” Greg said nonchalantly as he sat down on the bed. “Plus, it was worth the trouble of getting an overnight flight on Tuesday just to get here in time to see that look of surprise on your face; it is adorable. I was overdue for a vacation anyway.”

Mycroft shook his head. Greg had managed to keep it a secret for three days? “You continuously manage to surprise me, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft also moved over to the bed, sitting down beside him, his fingers lacing with Greg’s.

“Good thing too, because I have an experiment to perform.” Greg smirked at Mycroft, who immediately tried to shift away. The Inspector tightened his grip on his hand, quickly throwing his weight on top of Mycroft to pin him down on the bed. In a moment, Mycroft was trapped and at Greg’s mercy. The DI raised his eyebrows, shifting slightly as he peered down at his boyfriend. He lightly ran a hand against Mycroft’s sides, already tickling him. But then he stopped abruptly.

“Right then…” Greg began. “For science, properly this time.”

Later, when Mycroft and Greg were getting ready to sleep in the same bed together for the first time, in a bed that absolutely was not familiar to either of them, Mycroft had trouble sleeping. So, he did what he always did when he couldn’t sleep, he talked to his boyfriend. In person, it was a hundred times better than text or a phone call would ever be.

“So, that steak dinner you told me about. Did you actually make it? Because I am quite jealous that I missed out on that one if so.”

Greg laughed and scooted closer to his boyfriend. “I didn’t make it. Had it ordered to the room.” He winked.

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “I thought I smelled a seared steak wafting through the door earlier. Wait – you’re saying you have been next door all this time? How on earth did you manage to go unspotted?”

“Because I know what you’re like, Mycroft Holmes. Based on when you message me, I know exactly what to expect.” Greg moved in to snatch a quick kiss, but Mycroft scoffed and put a finger against the other man’s lips.

“I don’t think you do, Detective Inspector.” Because then Mycroft was on top of Greg, smashing his lips against Greg’s.

In the middle of the night, when Mycroft was snoring softly next to him – god, that was so adorable, thought Greg – Lestrade grabbed up his phone and read through the messages of the day, realizing just how well his plan had worked. And when he noted that he’d missed a message just as Mycroft had thrown open the door, he beamed. He sent a quick glance over at the other man and then leaned over and planted a soft kiss against Mycroft’s forehead.

It was a simple message, but it meant more to Greg than nearly anything they had ever exchanged. After all, times like these were all about the little things.

Greg set his phone aside, the dull glow still showing on the nightstand, and the message still on the screen. He rolled over, curling up close to the man beside him before falling asleep.

On the screen was nothing more than this:

MH: :)

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My placenta print - one of my favorite keepsakes from Cohen’s birth. A lot of people get freaked out at even the word placenta, but I don’t know why because placentas are really. cool. organs. They’re the tree of life! They are literally the life source of your unborn child and that is their only purpose. Plus you can end up with cool pictures like this and/or a natural PPD remedy if ingested or encapsulated. I am forever grateful to my midwives for including placenta prints as part of their routine birth care because I never would have asked for it, or even have known to ask for it. I didn’t even know such a thing existed - I didn’t do too much research into placentas and, frankly, I was only 20. I was already going against the grain so deeply in comparison to other pregnant mama’s my age with my natural birth and birth center and midwives and breastfeeding and anti-circumcision and co-sleeping…I was easing into my crunchy mama role and placenta are pretty far into the “crunchy mom” spectrum.

If You’re Not Averse...

Part 2! :) 

Greg walked up to the ornate house, swallowing harshly. His fingers clasped the strings of the red gift bag at his side, nervously raising and lowering it in a stressful fashion. He had no idea what to buy Mycroft Holmes for a Valentine’s Day present; he hoped the other man liked what he’d gotten him. He readjusted his charcoal suit, fluffing his hair and fixing his tie. Before he knocked on the door, Mycroft was already hauling it open and hauling Greg inside, drawing him into a sweet kiss.

When it ended, Greg smiled at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Myc.” He said with a charming smile, proffering the bag to his boyfriend. “It’s not much, but you’re a difficult man to shop for.”

Mycroft chuckled softly and took the bag from the other man, not yet opening it. “Yours is in the kitchen. Come on.” He said, turning on his heel and leading the other man deeper into the house.

When Greg entered the kitchen, he noticed how spotless it was. Mycroft had cleaned the house for this very occasion. Everything was put away as it should have been, except for a small lidded cake plate in the middle of the table. Greg furrowed his brow and glanced at Mycroft.

“Go ahead. That’s your gift, Gregory.” Mycroft said, stepping to the side to let the other man open it. He glanced at the bag in his hand, but he wanted to see Lestrade’s reaction to the cake first. Greg removed the lid from the platter and his eyes widened.

“Whoa…” He gasped, licking his lips as he saw it. “D-did you make this, from scratch?” He glanced up at Mycroft, who had suddenly started blushing. He nodded.

“Do you like it?” Mycroft asked. “Everything I thought about buying you seemed wrong, and since you’re such a great cook I thought, maybe I could tr—

Mycroft never finished his sentence, as it was cut off by Greg’s lips against his. Greg steered him back against the countertop, holding him there and kissing him roughly, but sweetly. The impact was enough to knock the gift bag from Mycroft’s hand.

The passion flowed from the both of them, and Greg grinned into the kiss, drawing away with a chuckle. Mycroft raised his brows. “Should I take that as a yes?” He said, scratching his face a little as Greg turned back to the cake.

“You didn’t have to go through so much trouble. I know you don’t cook that often, let alone bake such an elaborate cake.” Greg’s gaze was positively overflowing with affection at this point.

Mycroft shrugged and waved a hand. “It wasn’t a problem, honestly.” Luckily, years of being a Holmes and acting as the British Government made him an expert liar. Greg whistled, impressed.

“I love it. Thank you. I can’t wait to taste it… if it’s anywhere near as good as the chef, it should be positively exquisite. It’s your turn to open your gift now, Myc.”

Myc glanced at the bag he had been holding, bending over to pick it up. He reached into the bag and withdrew a DVD case. He glanced down at it and saw the title, Roman Holiday. It was a romantic film from the 1950s starring Audrey Hepburn, and it was one of his favorite films of all time. But that wasn’t all; it was a collector’s, platinum edition complete with bonus featurettes and scenes. Mycroft beamed as he looked on it.

“Gregory… this is wonderful!” Mycroft exclaimed, gently enveloping the other man in a hug. “Is this the plan for our first Valentine’s Day, cake and a film?”

“I don’t see why we have to go out and do anything over-the-top. Nights in with you are the best. But instead of watching the movie on your couch, let’s lie in bed and watch it together.” Greg winked at him, and before he could reply further, Mycroft was already dragging him upstairs to his bedroom. Mycroft didn’t have a TV in here, but he had his laptop, and cuddling with his boyfriend in his bed topped the entertainment experience of his home theater system anyway.

Before he opened the DVD case, he withdrew an envelope from his pocket with Greg’s name on it.

“What’s this?” He asked, about to open it. Mycroft tugged it away from him, biting back a smirk. “Not yet. Wait until after the movie.” Greg raised an eyebrow, but nodded as the other man played the film.

As their movie watching experiences went, they heard more of the movie than they saw. And after it was over, even though it was only early evening, they lay in bed together, their noses brushing against each other and their lips pressed together more times than they weren’t. The kisses trailed across each other’s face from their nose, to their cheeks, their jaws, and back to their lips. It was a wonderful night full of joy and affection. Then Mycroft stopped kissing Greg long enough to give him the envelope.

Greg tore into it and scanned the page.

My dear Gregory,

Normally, I am not one for soppy messages and letters of affection, but as I have said many times before, you are the exception to every rule. So here you are, my very first Valentine’s Day message, for my very first Valentine.

When you first asked me to dinner, I was very perplexed by the entire notion. Why would anyone want to have dinner with me, especially someone as delightfully charming and handsome as the best Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard?

But then the relationship kept evolving and improving, until I finally worked up the nerve to ask you to be my boyfriend. And what a night that was!

You have made me an extremely happy man, Gregory, and I cannot wait to see what the future has in store for us as a couple. Although I may not understand affairs of the heart, I understand one thing: I absolutely adore your company and you, and I do believe I have one more gift for you besides that red velvet delight in the kitchen.

If you are not averse to it, I am ready for the world to know about us, the consequences be damned. History cannot define us, and our relationship isn’t predicated upon social norms. Apologies for the rambling, but with your consent, I believe we should let our friends and family know. Whether that is in-person or via social media outlets, I have no preference. But I am tired of keeping you, my most brilliant boyfriend, a secret from everyone.

Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear Gregory. You have stolen my heart with your charm and charisma, and there is nothing that compares to the feeling of warmth and joy that you fill me with every single time you cross my mind.

Most sincerely yours,

Mycroft H.

Greg finished the letter and looked up at him. “Of course I’m okay with it, Mycroft. Let’s do it right now.” He grinned and rolled over, grabbing his phone from the table on his side of the bed. Mycroft did the same, altering his relationship status from the single it had been all the years he had had the account to “in a relationship.” It might have just been a silly social tradition, but seeing those words on his profile sent a wave of adoration for the Detective Inspector pouring over Mycroft Holmes, who leaned sideways and kissed Gregory Lestrade just as both of their phones started blowing up with notifications from family, friends, and colleagues.

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Glory Days

“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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What? You said you wanted something “old and romantic.”

There’s nothing old or romantic about 20th century open heart surgery, Bones!

It’s an outdated procedure for hearts. What more do you want, Jim?

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