Happy Holidays: Mystrade One-Shots

Pancake Day

A/N: Very sorry this is a day late - for those of you who do not know, Pancake day is a holiday celebrated on the Christian Shrove Tuesday. It is meant to commemorate people using up left over ingredients such as flour, eggs and milk in their cupboards before the 40 days of lent. The pancakes seen in this story are similar to thinner French crepes, rather than thick American pancakes. Traditionally pancakes are filled with lemon and sugar, but they are commonly eaten with chocolate spread or maple syrup. Hope you enjoy :-)

"Greg, love? When actually is pancake day?"
"And you're asking me this now, because?" Greg turned over to face his boyfriend. He was, at first, annoyed to have been woken up so early on a Sunday, but as soon as he saw Myc, wide eyed and adorable, his heart melted.
"It's soon, isn't it? Some time next week?" Myc edged over to the other side of the bed and laid his head on Greg's warm chest.
"It's always on a Tuesday - and you're cold Myc?" Greg wrapped his arms around him, bringing him in closer. Mycroft sighed appreciatively, placing a soft kiss on his boyfriend's hand.
"Less cold now."
With hours of empty time before them, the two young men laid in the comfort of each other's arms, only moving for the occasional lingering kiss. Greg ran his fingers through Myc's silky auburn hair, as Myc delicately traced mindless shapes and patterns onto Greg's bare chest.
"You'll be cooking, by the way love." Greg smiled cheekily, running a lazy hand down Myc's back.
"Hey! Why me?"
"You're the one that can cook! If it were down to me to make the pancakes, we'd end up with charcoal discs."
"Come on, it can't be that bad..." Myc entwined his fingers with Greg's, gently stroking the back of Greg's hand with his thumb.
"Most young people just out of university can't cook, Myc - you're a wonderful rare exception."
"Are you saying you're lucky to have me?" Mycroft teased, biting his lower lip softly.
"I'm the luckiest man on the planet." They both leaned in and shared sweet and gentle kiss. Mycroft broke away, smiling.
"I could teach you to cook. We'll start small with pancakes on Tuesday, and then we can slowly build up to the more complex stuff."
"Chocolate cake?"
"Definitely chocolate cake - you know me."
"Yours is incredible though, Myc. I hardly think I could compete with it." He said dreamily, subconsciously licking his lips.
"Do you really think I'd turn down chocolate cake cooked by the one I love most in the world? I'd be delirious!"
"You would if it was burnt to a crisp." Greg chuckled.

A few hours later, the two men wandered down to Waitrose for ingredients. On inspecting the kitchen, they found that they had eggs and milk, but no flour, and also nothing to go inside the pancakes.
"The filling makes the pancake, really." Mycroft remarked. "Lemon and sugar's my favourite."
"You traditionalist, you! I've always been a chocolate spread kind of guy."
Greg pushed the trolley as Mycroft looked meticulously at the shopping list. Mycroft preferred a methodical, straightforward approach to grocery shopping, whereas Greg was satisfied to ramble about until he came across the correct isle.
"I believe the flour isle's on the left, Gregory." Mycroft pointed to the hanging sign.
"But there are biscuits on 'Buy one get one free'."
"So there are. Onwards to the biscuits, then." Mycroft directed the trolley like a soldier directing a parade.
They collected all of their items and made their way to the checkouts. A kind-eyed woman with curly grey hair started to scan the items.
"Making pancakes are we?" She asked, looking at the flour, lemons, sugar, chocolate spread and maple syrup that was passing through the till.
"I'm going to attempt to teach him to do it." Mycroft poked Greg's arm playfully.
"Don't know how to make pancakes? Young people these days!" She tutted, giving a sly wink to Greg.

Two days later, the day dawned. Both men had work - Greg was undergoing his Police course and Mycroft, even then wasn't allowed to say what he was doing or who he was working for.
The sun had only just risen in the morning, and Mycroft bustled about the kitchen making coffee and toast - they decided to do pancakes in the evening, rather than in the morning, when the whole thing would be rushed.
"Raspberry or Apricot preserve?"
"Apricot please, love." Greg smiled graciously as Myc carried a plate piled high with toast to their small breakfast table. Greg was able to at least make toast, but Mycroft had long mastered the skill of browning each side perfectly without any of it burning. It was therefore decided that Mycroft would make breakfast every morning - he simply could not stand burnt toast.
After one last Goodbye kiss, they exited their small apartment together and departed their separate ways - Greg to the bus stop and Mycroft to a dark-windowed Range Rover waiting for him on the opposite side of the road.

"Right! Let's get cracking. Literally. If you could start by cracking these eggs into this bowl, that would be great, my love."
It was evening, and Mycroft and Greg stood side by side in front of a large mixing bowl. Myc had spent at least ten minutes arranging every ingredient and piece of apparatus so that everything was in the order in which it was needed. Now he stood proudly in his customised apron (which read " Her Majesty's Secret Baking Service.") and began to conduct his 'pretentious pancake' tutorial.
"You see that's the thing," Mycroft explained, as he weighed out the flour on his vintage scales. "Pancakes are actually a thing of simplicity, however there is this false aura of sophistication about them. People admire them as being something quite extraordinary, whereas in actual fact they're not - if you have the right recipe, that is."
"My mum used to just chuck the ingredients in and whisk it up - not a recipe in sight." Greg laughed, wrapping his arm around his partner's waist.
"That's where most people go wrong, you see. You have to measure the ingredients - weigh the flour, use the correct amount of millilitres of milk. It's all chemistry, really."
"Chemistry? Never thought of it like that. You always think of these things though, my wonderful brainiac."
"Let's not forget though that until I met you, I didn't know how to use a washing machine."
"We all have our faults."
They burst out laughing, and instantly fell into each other's arms, pulling themselves closer into the embrace and remained like that for a few moments, blissful in their closeness. It was so serene, so warm and comforting being so wonderfully close to the other.
Mycroft was the first to pull away, placing a loving hand on Greg's cheek.
"Now you've got to whisk the batter. I'll get the electric one out - it's far more efficient than the hand-held."
"How am I doing?"
"Perfectly. We'll have you making three course meals by next week."
"No chance! How long do I have to do this for?"
"Until the lumps are out."
Once the batter was smooth, the bowl was put aside to rest for a while - an action which Mycroft told Greg to note down especially. When Greg asked why, Mycroft simply replied:
"Because it's important."
"But why?"
"Because."
Whilst the batter rested, they laid out the table. Mycroft insisted upon using a table cloth as it was a special occasion, and even folded the napkins into delicate origami shapes. Greg poured out two Champagne flutes, which fizzed gorgeously with thousands of glittering bubbles. They raised a toast; to love, to happiness and to each other.
"Happy Pancake day, Gregory."
"You too, Myc." Greg was overcome with love for the beautiful man in front of him; willowy yet strong in figure, eyes the warmest shade of ice, a rare smile which seemed to conceal some hidden amusement. With sudden burning passion, he placed his hands around Mycroft's head and neck and kissed him with fierce devotion, pushing him up against the fridge. Mycroft kissed back with equal desire, allowing himself to be forced against the fridge, Greg's legs bracketing his own.
"God you're beautiful..." Mycroft breathed heavily as Greg placed gentle kisses on his neck and ears. 23 years of age, Greg was an incredibly handsome man of dark, brooding good looks: hair as brown as coffee and exquisite chocolatey-brown eyes.
"Do you - do you think the batter's rested yet?" Greg panted.
"You really want these pancakes, don't you love?" Mycroft laughed, lightly kissing Greg's nose.
"I've been a culinarily unskilled student, Myc. The last time I had good pancakes was more or less five years ago!"
It didn't take long once the batter was in the pan, yet still Greg waited with the greatest impatience. He was particularly impressed when Mycroft managed to successful flip a pancake from the frying pan and straight onto his plate - although, what more could he expect from a Holmes?
He spread a large amount of Nutella over it, and rolled it into a perfect spiral - that was one thing that Greg could do well: filling the pancakes. As Mycroft cooked, Greg filled, until eventually only one pancake remained.
"How about we share this one, love? I'll happily have Chocolate spread." Mycroft said, to which Greg agreed delightedly.
Greg cut the final pancake into small pieces, which the two of them fed to each other. The influence of the Champagne and the whimsy of their love had them giggling as they savoured the last few bites. As the last piece was eaten, the two men gazed into each other's eyes.
And in the silver of the moonlight, they shared a kiss. A kiss which tasted of chocolate and joy and all the wonders of love.