Work Text:
“Fuck it!”
Mycroft’s ears pricked at the sound of Greg swearing in the kitchen. It wasn’t an uncommon practice, but still, the force and volume of this particular utterance had him worried, so he rose from his desk and ventured towards his cursing copper to investigate further. Poking his head around kitchen door he found Greg sitting at the table with a small blue notebook open in front of him, the pages were yellowed and some were coming loose. His left hand was buried deep in his greying hair whilst his right held a ballpoint pen and was scribbling notes onto a piece of paper, it appeared to be a shopping list.
“Is everything alright Gregory?” Mycroft asked edging into the room, now he had made sure that there were no hazardous materials, broken glass, soil, and on one occasion the entire contents of a box of washing powder, blocking his entrance. Gregory was notoriously clumsy.
“Hmmmm?” his boyfriend (such a ghastly word. Partner? Significant other? Lover?) of nine months, looked up at him and frowned. “I just wondered if something was wrong. You swore loudly and I thought I’d better check you’d not lost a finger to the waste disposal, or blown the toaster up again.
Greg smiled sheepishly, “No, nothing that requires immediate medical attention, or a team of your housekeeping ninjas. I was just hoping to surprise you with something and I realise now that I’ve left it too late.”
Mycroft’s eyes narrowed and he peered at Greg as if hoping to extract the secret from his very pores, “What exactly where you planning to do? You know I abhor surprises…”
“Oh? You liked the one the other day when I showed up at your office with the can of whipped…”
“Ah…Yes…That was unexpectedly enjoyable, if somewhat messy…” Mycroft said clearing his throat and allowing himself to drift off into a little day dream.
“It wasn’t anything big or showy, I just wanted to make you something, I was just reading the instructions and realised that I’d left it too late.”
Mycroft was already intrigued and moved a little closer, leaning over Greg’s shoulder and squinting at the spidery writing in the notebook. “Grand’Mere’s Christmas Cake,” he read “This is a recipe?”
“Yeah, when I was a kid we used to go round to my grandparents’ house and help with all the baking in the run up to Christmas, you know gingerbread, Buche de Noel, nougat, candied chestnuts plus all the usual stuff you get here, mince pies, Christmas pudding, but my favourite was always helping make the Christmas cake, she used to let us all have a stir and then we got to make a wish, daft I know, but it was sort of a family tradition. I was going to have a go at making one, dad gave me this book with all her old recipes in when he realised that Jen wasn’t in the least bit interested in cooking, and I thought, with Christmas coming up...”
“That sounds lovely…and the problem is?” Mycroft said hesitantly, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, well, it says to bake the cake in September and feed it occasionally with brandy until you marzipan it in December and ice it just before Christmas. Its December already, it’s too late.”
“I see…” he didn’t, but he could tell that this was important, sentiment, and didn’t want to upset the other man. “So making it now wouldn’t give it enough time to…” he struggled, “mature?”
“Yeah, it wouldn’t taste the same, the brandy soaks into the fruit and it’s just lovely, all boozy and moist. Never mind, I’ll buy one, I bet M&S do a nice one…” He looked a little crest fallen.
“Gregory, it was a lovely idea, but you don’t need to ply me with cake for me to enjoy Christmas with you…”
“I know, it was just a bit of family tradition that I fancied sharing with you, you know, it being our first Christmas together.” He tilted his head up to look at Mycroft who leaned over and dropped a gentle kiss on his nose. “Well you know all may not be lost…if you aren’t adverse to a little Holmes family tradition instead?”
"No. Go on…” Greg said intrigued.
“Well, as you know, Mummy is a little absent minded. Every year she forgot about Christmas until the week before, and I’m sure she only remembered because Sherlock and I would arrive home from boarding school and she’d trip over our trunks in the hallway on the way to her study. Anyhow, the week before Christmas was always hectic, Daddy would take us into town to choose presents for ourselves and other family members, Mummy would race around trying to place a last minute order for a goose at the butchers, we found out later that he always used to order her one anyway because he knew what she was like, so he always expected the desperate phone call on Christmas Eve. The best part of the whole crazy week was when she gathered us all in the kitchen to make the Christmas cake. She’d discovered the recipe one year after panicking when the local shop couldn’t supply her one, she’d come home in a flap with about half a dozen jars of mincemeat instead, thinking that mince pes would suffice, then as she was sifting through a pile of recipes that she’d torn out of her magazines, she found Saint Delia’s Last Minute Christmas cake.”
“Saint Delia?” Greg asked knitting his brows together.
Mycroft sighed, “Yes. You know. Delia Smith. The patron saint of cooks. Well, to finish my tale, this cake can be made on Christmas Eve and it would still taste divine, it’s got mincemeat in it and you soak the other fruit in sherry or brandy before you bake it, it really is very good.”
A smile broke out on Greg’s face, “Would your mum still have the recipe?”
“Oh dear God, I’m not ringing her for something as trivial as that, she’d have to turn the house upside down to find it and then she’d end up inviting herself over to bring it in person, and before you know it we’d find ourselves hosting the whole family for Christmas dinner, and you know how well the last one went…”
“You mean the one with the drugged drinks and Sherlock shooting Magnussen?”
“Yes. We’ve managed to avoid them since. Well, after John came back to Baker Street and declared himself to Sherlock, they were too busy in the bedroom to bother with Christmas the following year. Then our parents spent the next Christmas cruising the Mediterranean and then Sherlock and John got married last year. So she’ll be gunning for a traditional family Christmas this year, especially now that I have a plus one…” he paused, letting that fact sink in, “I…I wouldn’t want to subject you to that…”
“I’d love to be introduced to your parents properly Myc, as your boyfri… we really need to sort out what we’re calling each other you know, it’s ridiculous.”
“I know, boyfriend sounds so juvenile, partner sounds like we’re in business and lover is just too intimate…”
“Just ring her Myc, ask her for the recipe, we’ll deal with the Christmas dinner issue another day…and our boyfriend/lover/significant other issue as well.”
Not wishing to appear a coward, Mycroft called his mother immediately, after the initial enquiries about health, work and general wellbeing had been covered, he broached the subject of the Christmas cake recipe explaining how Greg wished to bake one this year. To his great surprise she laughed “Oh Mikey, you won’t believe it but your father found it a couple of nights ago taped to the side of a half empty sherry bottle. Is Gregory there? Put me on speaker, I want to talk to him sweetheart.”
Mycroft reluctantly put the phone on speaker and a moment later his mother’s voice rang out in the kitchen. “Gregory my dear, I hear you want to bake for my dear boy?” Greg blushed a deep red, even though she couldn’t see him.
“Er, yeah, Mrs Holmes, I thought I’d give it a go, you know what they say ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ and, well, Myc loves cake…”
“Oh you sweet boy, do call me Violet, Mrs Holmes makes me sound like an old duffer, I’ll get Bill to email it to Mikey as soon as I put the phone down. Oh, it’s so nice to know that he has a beau, I worry about him constantly, especially now that Sherly has John to watch over him and doesn’t need Mikey as much. Oh, my boy’s both have someone special in their lives, I can die happy…”
“Mummy. Please! You’re as strong as an ox, you’ll outlive us all! Please don’t forget to ask Daddy to email, now we really must get on…”
“But sweetheart…I meant to ask if you and Gregory had any plans for Christmas…”
“Mummy, I can’t possibly discuss that now, I’ve got Hillary Clinton on the other line, I must dash…”
“Oh? Do give her my love Mikey…” With that the line went dead and Mycroft huffed a sigh of relief.
“I quite like that, it’s a bit old fashioned, but it’s rather sweet…” said Greg.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Mycroft asked looking totally confused.
“What your mum called me, your beau, I like it, and I wouldn’t mind you referring to me as that, I’d quite like it in fact. Makes me sound a bit like Mr Darcy…”
Mycroft laughed, “Well, I have always had a thing for Colin Firth…”
The next day Mycroft was back at his desk listening to the sounds of Greg clattering about. Cupboard doors were opened and shut, there was the sound of metal scraping against glass, packets rattling and intermittent humming. He strained his ears trying to recall the tune, and finally managed to make out “O Holy Night”, although he had been brought up by atheists, and neither he, nor Gregory, believed in a higher power, he could not help a small lump forming at the back of his throat as he recalled the words and sang along quietly,
“Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!”
He rose from his chair and wandered into the kitchen to find Greg sifting flour into a large bowl.
“Hey Myc, perfect timing. Help me stir this up.” Mycroft sidled in and took hold of the wooden spoon, prodding at the mix ineffectually.
“Give it some welly Myc,” Greg said taking hold of the spoon as well and guiding it through the cake batter, “It’s all in the wrist action…”
The mix was easier now, with all the flour stirred in, Greg was just about to let go when Mycroft leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Did you make your wish Gregory?” he whispered.
Greg grinned widely and shook his head. “No need Myc, I got my wish granted when you asked me for coffee nine months ago. I got you. I couldn’t wish for anything more…”
The End
For those who need a Last Minute Christmas Cake, here’s Saint Delia Smith’s recipe. I make it every year because, like Violet Holmes, I can never remember to make one until I hear the sound of Santa’s sleigh bells…
Ingredients
For the pre-soaking
150 ml Brandy or Sherry
400g jar of luxury mincemeat
110g no-soak prunes, roughly chopped
50g glace cherries, quartered
175g dried mixed fruit
50g candied peel
Place all the above ingredients into a bowl and stir thoroughly. Leave to soak for at least 4 hours.
For the cake
225g self-raising flour (I use wholemeal)
3 level teaspoons of baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
1 ½ level teaspoons mixed spice
150g softened butter
150g dark muscovado sugar
3 large eggs 50g brazil nuts, roughly chopped
50g mixed chopped nuts
Zest of one small orange and 1 small lemon
Pre heat oven to 170C, 150 fan, Gas mark 3.
A 20cm round loose bottomed cake tin, double lined with greaseproof paper. I make sure that the paper comes up much higher than the tin to offer some protection from the heat of the oven.
Method
Even though this is last-minute, it's best to pre-soak the fruits if you can. Measure out the sherry or brandy, mincemeat and fruits in the bowl, give them a good stir, then cover with a cloth and leave somewhere cool overnight or for a minimum of 4 hours.
When you are ready to make the cake, pre-heat the oven to 170C, 150 fan, gas mark 3.
Now all you do is sift the flour, baking powder, salt and mixed spice into a very large, roomy mixing bowl, then add the butter, sugar and eggs and beat with an electric hand whisk until everything is smooth.
Gradually fold in the pre-soaked fruit mixture, chopped nuts and finally the grated lemon and orange zests.
Take a large spoon and spoon it into the prepared tin, levelling the top with the back of the spoon.
Bake the cake on the centre shelf of the oven for 2 hours, check regularly, this does depend on your oven, or until the centre springs back when lightly touched.
Cool the cake in the tin for 30 minutes, then remove it to a wire cooling tray to continue cooling.
I feed my cake with brandy, before wrapping it in some baking parchment and then tin foil, to mature for a couple of days, if I have time. Otherwise, marzipan and ice as desired.
Hope you enjoy. All hail Delia…