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I Only Tolerate Holidays ||Mycroft Holmes||

Cw: mentions of unsupportive family, food/eating, Christmas fic

Mycroft drummed his fingers against he arm of the sofa—not caring to hide his displeasure.

"Is this absolutely necessary, dearest?" He asked for the fourth time today.

You had been filling his house with the warm, rich scent of food since late morning—as you insisted on celebrating Christmas with him.

Mycroft woke up at the usual time, despite not having to go to work today, and got dressed as though he'd be leaving. He made himself tea, and read the paper. He saw no point in Christmas—he wasn't religious, family celebrations were dreadful, and if he wanted something he could buy it himself.

You were getting irritated with him—you knew he wasn't particularly fond of Christmas, but you wanted him to at least do something with you. You weren't expecting him to act jovial, but you certainly didn't want this.

"We've never celebrated Christmas, so what is the point now?" Mycroft continued.

"I just wanted to." You replied.

Mycroft sighed. "If this is about your family..."

"Of course it's about my family." You spat. He knew this. He knew very well that you hadn't been able to properly celebrate Christmas in a long time, and for a while you didn't want to celebrate Christmas. But this year, you just wanted to.

Mycroft raised his brow. "Caring is not an advantage."

"It's not about caring, I—" you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose—you couldn't believe you were about to tell him this. "I just want to celebrate with you. That's all."

Mycroft blinked. "Why?"

"Because I ca—you know what, no. Forget it."

"I assure you, I won't y/n, so you might as well just tell me."

You shook your head. "I need to go check on the food."

You wandered into the kitchen. You heard his heavy footsteps behind you. You picked up a wooden spoon, stirring the contents of one of the pots.

"You are overreacting, you know that, right?"

"I'm overreacting?"

"Y/n, we have been together for two years, we have known each other for five. Never once have we celebrated Christmas. You have never so much as given me a gift, and I haven't you."

"Okay, well I'm just sick of avoiding one day out of the year that everyone blows up. You actually think I'm doing this because I enjoy Christmas? I just thought it's be nice to celebrate with someone who actually cares about me for once. Or, I suppose who I thought cared about me—but that wouldn't be an advantageous, would it?" You glared over your shoulder.

You knew it was probably a petty point, but you didn't care.

Mycroft sighed. "I'm not going to have this argument with you, y/n."

"Then leave." You reply simply.

"This is my house."

"Right. And you are free to leave—I'm not keeping you here in your own house."

"I don't see why I should leave when I already told you I don't enjoy Christmas."

"I don't expect you to enjoy it, I just wanted to spend it with you." You retorted.

Mycroft looked at you blankly for a moment, before you heard him leave. You shook your head, tending more to the cooking while he was away. You weren't sure you'd want to eat it without him, but you were sure you could find friends who would appreciate the leftovers.

You passed time in the kitchen until the oven went off—announcing that everything was done cooking.

"Do you need help with that?" Mycroft asked, walking into the kitchen.

"Yes, you'll need to distribute this to...I don't even know. Whoever you're around all day."

Mycroft raised his brow. "And why would I do that?"

"Cause otherwise it'll go bad."

"I'm sure we'll be able to get through a good portion of it."

"No, I just want to get rid of it. I'm going to go lay down." You take the oven mitts off, and set them down before walking away.

"Y/n—" Mycroft grabbed your wrist.

"What?" You snapped.

"Y/n, just go sit down. I set the table."

You paused, registering his words. "You—Mycroft , I'm not going to make you celebrate Christmas just because you think I'm upset."

"You are upset." Mycroft pointed out, you frowned in response. He leaned towards you and kissed your cheek. "Go sit."

You gave him a look. You didn't really feel like it anymore, but he was being abnormally nice to you. Of course, he was never bad, he never tried to hurt you, but he rarely showed his emotions like this. You decided to take it, and go sit at the dining table.

It was a long table, you were sure it had been fairly expensive. There were two heads of the table, and enough seats for an entire dinner party to sit comfortably, but he set the table so that the two of you would be sitting next to each other instead of across. One plate was set before the head of the table, and one in front of the chair next to it.

You took your place at the head of the table, Mycroft always let you. Plus, it was the most comfortable.

Moments later, Mycroft came out carefully carrying the food you had prepared. He went back and forth from the kitchen a few times in order to get everything out, before he eventually took his place next to you.

"Thank you." You murmured.

"Y/n—" He spoke your name softly, before pausing.

"What is it?"

Mycroft straightened as he took a deep breath. "I apologize."

You blinked at him, surprised by the apology. "It—I forgive you, Mycroft."

A pained expression crossed Mycroft's face as he looked at you. "I don't mind celebrating Christmas with you if you wish. I...I suppose I could tolerate it for you."

You smiled at him softly. It probably wasn't the apology a typical couple would allow, but you and Mycroft couldn't exactly call yourselves a 'typical couple'.

"Thank you." You replied.

Mycroft returned a strained smile, though you could tell there was affection in his eyes once he dropped the act.

"Y/n." He said after a moment of silence.

"Yes?" You covered your mouth as you answered, preventing him from seeing the food you were still chewing.

"I love you."

You swallowed, and smiled. "I love you, too."