Disclaimer! I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters.
A/N: This is a companion to my piece Pause. To be clear this happens before they are in a relationship. They happen in the same world but they can both be read alone.
Christmastime in London has always been Mrs. Hudson's favorite. Even if the town was packed full of shoppers and one of her boys was complaining the entire time. "Oh Sherlock, hush now. It's hardly a nice calm walk with you griping the whole way."
"I can't help that all these people are boring. And it's too loud. Why exactly did you need John and I today?"
"Come on Sherlock. Try and enjoy yourself, why don't you deduce some of the shoppers. Or the tourists." John intercepts.
"BORING! It's all so obvious John."
"Then why not do your own shopping Sherlock? I want to nip into a few stores myself."
"If you planned to shop you hardly need us Mrs. Hudson. I'll be going now."
Before Sherlock can make his great escape Mrs. Hudson has snaked her arm through one of his, the other through John's because if Sherlock left John would follow. This way she keeps them both going the right direction. Not that it stops Sherlock grumbling.
Somewhere down the road a photographer stops them. Well, she stops Mrs. Hudson by asking about her jumper. Sherlock groans. It was obviously a ploy to sell pictures to them at some exorbitant holiday price. John, however, was delighted to join the conversation about jumpers and Christmas and all such 'normal' things. Sherlock stands, arms crossed, shifting weight between his feet: his form of public temper tantrum. Soon though, he realizes it is Christmas and he should be at least a little agreeable for his landlady and mumbles a few responses here and there to the superficial chat.
"You're all so photogenic! You have to let me do a few pictures of you and your sons Ma'am. Such a beautiful family."
"Why not. Boys?" Hudson asks happily.
John shrugs as if saying 'sure'. Why not let her think they were a family. They practically were her sons the way they depended on her.
The photographer turns out to be quite handsy arranging the boys beside their 'mother' against the crowded London scene. She seemed to delight in feeling John up most so Sherlock made sure to be extra difficult. It is several long minutes and a few harsh –for her- remarks from Mrs. Hudson before he gives in and does as he's told.
"Good. Now everyone smile in 3…2…1!"
"Oh boys! What a nice photo. I think I'll frame it for the sitting room." Mrs. Hudson says fondly.
"One more? Maybe of you three linked up like before. That would make a great shot too." She pushes them, again obviously looking to make more off the holiday crowd. Of course they agree; Mrs. H just looked so happy about it they didn't have any other choice. The boys immediately take up their posts beside her, arms offered.
"So, are you two spending Christmas with anyone special this year?" The older woman asks innocently.
"Lean in a bit boys? Perhaps kiss her cheeks."
"How silly. You and John as always." Sherlock states hotly, incredibly ready to be done with this ridiculous outing.
"You, of course." John says cheerily in her other ear.
On their mark both men press their lips lightly to Mrs. Hudson's cheeks; making her smile. She definitely buys both the pictures and decides to give the first to the boys. Just needs to pop in somewhere and get it framed first. Perfect idea really, she has a plan now anyway. The boys hadn't planned any party this year. Things had been very busy as of late. One serial murder after another. They could surely use the rest.
"I'll just nip in here a moment. Don't wander off you two. Why not get some hot chocolate? Won't be a minute!" She assures quickly. Once inside she calls her sister. "Hello dear. It's cutting close, but might I visit for the holidays? We can have the whole family in for dinner. Won't that be lovely? Oh and I've got all new pictures of the boys too."
"They call this hot chocolate? John, it's dirty water at best. We need to get a proper cup at home. Immediately." Sherlock was complaining again, but she shouldn't have it any other way. Neither would John with the way he was laughing. Oh yes, a Christmas together was just what they needed. She smiles happily, wrapping her arms through theirs again.
"That sounds perfect Sherlock. I'll make us all a proper cup. It's quite nasty out now. Can't have you two catching cold out in this can we?"
The happy family heads home together. Sherlock of course pointed out in length how pointless the walkabout had been when he "could have been studying the adverse effects on normal household cleaners when exposed to certain variations of bacterial enzymes." Meanwhile John planned out the shopping he'd be doing for a Christmas dinner for three. And Mrs. Hudson was planning out her outfits to pack tonight.
Needless to say her sudden departure was a surprise. To John. Sherlock had worked it out by the time she had brought up the cocoa. The time between cases was so utterly DULL! He kept quiet, though. Simply left her tickets on her favorite end table as both a present and thanks. She was gone first thing the twenty first.
John was a bit rumpled. What was he supposed to do with all that extra food? On such short notice he could hardly invite anyone; and everyone Sherlock could stand already had plans anyway. "Right, well you'll just have to eat a normal amount of food. Don't give me that look you need the calories."
"Fine. One plate. That's it." Sherlock flops on the couch in his dressing gown and pajamas. It's Christmas eve and he is so bored. Bored almost to tears. Typical. Maybe he could convince John to play Cleudo later. Better than re-deducing all the gifts under the ghastly plastic 'tree' John had insisted they erect in the corner of the room. He'd figured out the gift 'hidden' on John's work bag. He thought he was so clever. Why had all the fun criminals taken the holidays off? For all the times he'd thought "It's Christmas" when finding an interesting case the real thing was tedious.
"tea?" John inquires softly, holding a steaming cup out to him. Wordlessly Sherlock accepts; doing his best not to analyze everything about John's week. He'd asked not to be scrutinized so Sherlock averts his gaze to the tea.
"We'll be having a proper Christmas then I suppose?"
"Down to the cranberry sauce and you're helping me cook."
"Boring!" But secretly he was pleased. Cooking may just be chemistry but it's chemistry he hasn't tried yet. Very interesting; not to mention the learning bit. Sure toast and popcorn were stowed away on some dusty shelf in the mind palace; learning something more complex? Now that would be very fun indeed. And it would give his mind something to do other than stagnating another day.
Dinner did actually turn out quite well. Although, the stuffing ended up inedible. Sherlock wanted to try something alone, and john agreed against his better judgment. It had turned purple and smelled of rancid meat and so was vetoed from the table. Not the kitchen table, mind. That was covered in chemicals, test tubes, microscope, mixing bowls, empty cans, etc.
They decided to spread the food out on the coffee table. The Chicken –a turkey would have been way too large for the original three people anyway- and sides barely left room for their plates and glasses. John insists they put on Christmas films in lieu of the usual nonsense they view in their rare downtime. It's a rather carefree night. The type they don't get to enjoy often. For once the phones were silent (That was Sherlock's doing. He silenced them before dinner because it is Christmas and for some reason that was important to John and he doesn't want to spoil it) even though they were both hoping for a case soon.
They both fully enjoyed the food and tearing down the terrible, clichéd specials. They enjoyed just chatting too. Strange for them both really. They normally talked in length only about cases. Today they talk about themselves. Sherlock had deduced John's military background at a glance, but John had plenty of stories up his sleeves. Sherlock even gave up a few happy memories. It was nice, warm, cozy even. Even after dinner they stayed there on the floor, talking and watching. That is how Mycroft found them the next morning, having come over worried at their radio silence so to speak.