They arrived in Paris at 5pm almost exactly, before climbing into two separate cars and driving towards Holmes House
Mary, John, Molly, Sherlock and the baby were sharing a car, for obvious reasons(the reason being that Mycroft doesn't really like anyone enough to share a car with them). Sherlock was driving, Molly was in the passenger seat, talking animatedly about a post mortem she'd done before they'd left-Sherlock was unbelievably interested in the topic. John offered to drive after he'd almost hit his fourth car, but he refused, and continued multi-tasking to the best of his ability.
It was almost half five by the time they arrived at the house-just after Mycroft.
The house was big, and made of grey brick. They could smell the sea the second they stepped out the car, though it wasn't in view.
Mrs. Holmes hugged Sherlock for minutes longer than he was comfortable with, while beckoning Mycroft closer( a demand he did not heed).
Both of their parents said affectionate hellos to John and Mary, and coo-ed for an appropriate amount of time over Eadie, but their main focus was on Molly.
"It's lovely to finally meet the woman who saved my sons life" Mrs. Holmes said, shaking her hand and smiling brightly.
"Oh" Molly said, shyly, "I didn't save his life. I just...helped a bit" . She looked down, then at Sherlock, and then down again, blushing prettily.
"We both know that's quite not true, " was all he said, before they were brushed inside by a shivering mother and an apologetic looking father.
"So, Molly" Mrs. Holmes said at dinner, "You're a pathologist" .
"Yes" Molly replied, arranging her peas into a line.
"Of course, Sherlock mentioned you while he was staying with us after... Well, after his death. He mentioned how terribly important you were to him"
Sherlock turned a slight shade of pink, but only John noticed, as Molly was going quite red herself and trying to stutter out a reply. Mrs. Holmes simply smiled, and continued, " He also mentioned how much he enjoyed-" whatever she had been going to share was cut off by a door slamming at the front of the house, followed by a shrill, sing-song voice proclaiming, "I'm he-re!".
And then Emmeline Holmes, the physics/art student/graduate, appeared, standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing combat boots and a jumper that said," I want abs, but I want pizza more" on it, long hair just brushing her waist, blue eyes popping because of the silver, smoky eye shadow she was wearing. Mrs. Holmes stood to embrace her, and the rest of the family followed suit, even Mycroft, her black lipstick leaving prints on everyone's faces.
As she shook hands with everyone, Sherlock noticed that her light green glitter nail polish shone in the artificial light of the kitchen in the same way her eyes did. She was up to something, though he wasn't sure quite what it was.
Once the pleasantries were over, Mr and Mrs. Holmes decided it would be best to let the children sort out the rooms themselves, and retired for the night. Almost immediately, Emm jumped into action, grabbing a bottle of cupcake vodka and some cherryade from her car, and settling them all down on the grass outside the house(some against their will[Mycroft]).
"So" she said, drinking from the bottle, and handing it to Sherlock, who was planning on getting very drunk, as he was sharing a room with Molly and hadn't prepared for it at all, "How's the worlds only consulting detective?" .
Everyone else had gone up to their rooms. Sherlock had planned to sleep on the couch(or force Mycroft to sleep on the couch), but, of course, Emm had decided to commandeer it, so he was stuck with either the floor, Mycroft, or Molly. And Molly certainly wasn't going to let him sleep on the floor.
"I'm fine" he replied, pouring some vodka into his cup of cherryade( a Holmes family recipe- if you pour little enough vodka into the cherryade, it just tastes like cherryade, if you pour enough in, it tastes like bottled heaven) . "Obviously there was the whole Moriarty fiasco, but it was dealt with. And John and Mary and Molly are safe. And Eadie's lovely. I'm..." He struggled for words. Happy? "Happy" .
"You hesitated"
"I'm very drunk, Emmy"
She shook her head. " Will" she said, "Will, for people like us, it will take a lot to make us truly, completely happy. It's not something I've experienced, I doubt Mycroft ever will, but you're the middle child. You are destined for something great."
"It's just a feeling, Emm"
"Not for us. Not for you".
Sherlock thought for a moment. It'd been ages since anyone had called him Will. Since before Redbeard died.
"I suppose you're right. But I'm not the one destined for something great. That's definitely you" . She wrinkled up her noise. He laughed, "You are"
She shook her head, kissed him on the forehead, and went on to bed. Or to couch.
Sherlock Holmes lay in bed with his pathologist, who was facing him and breathing quietly. She still smelt like Haagen-Daaz ice cream, but now she also smelt like his old bedroom, which, for some reason, made him happy. There was that word again. Happy. Emm was right. He'd never be truly happy. But right now, he was bloody close, breathing the same air as Molly and trying not to wake her up. He wondered what it'd be like if they did this every night. Climbing into bed with her, after a case, waking her up with a kiss to forehead and some tea.
He needed to be kinder to her, he decided. He would be. And so, he made the second and last vow he'd ever made in his life.
He vowed to himself, and to Molly Hooper, that he would make her happy. He would always be the person to make her happy. When she thought of him, that is what she would remember, not the cruel comments and the embarrassment.
And so he slept