To say that John and Sherlock had received a rude awakening would be a...vast understatement. If having a twelve year old, a five year old and a two year old jumping all over you was rude than damn, what John would pay to not know what horrid was.
"Dad! Dad! Dad, wake up! C'mon dad up and attem!" Arthur squealed, literally standing on his fathers gut and shaking his shoulders quickly. John's eyes flew open, grunting in pain and protest. Arthur beamed a toothy grin and rolled off his father, landing neatly on the ground. "C'mon, you and pa must remember what today is! Let's go, Grannie is already makin' breakfast!" And with that the blonde darted out of the room, not offering assistance to the two red heads that continued to assault Sherlock on the other side of the bed.
"Get up, dad!" Astra demanded, jumping furiously on a spare patch of bed, her normally skulking expression replaced by a wide grin that only kids and truly high spirited people got around this time of year. Her little brother, a mere two year old toddler, sat on Sherlock's torso and grinned despite the murderous look the man was giving both of them.
"Why do you insist on doing this today? I thought you only attacked on the actual day, not the eve." Sherlock grumbled sleepily, pulling is comforter up to hide his face, not even giving the kids the satisfaction of looking upon it. Astra scoffed, and before John could sit up or do any other means of assisting her father, easily pushed him off the bed. Fergus, the toddler, ended up half on John's sore gut and half on his arm, giggling madly.
"Have you forgotten?! Uncle My invited us specifically to his home today! He invited Uncle Greg and Aunt Molly too, and you accepted the invite. Now move it before Arthur eats all of your precious pancakes!" The redhead dropped to the ground, somehow managing not to put Sherlock in more agony and stalked off. The detective untangled himself from his blanket and scowled after her.
"I'm regretting my decision in adopting you." He stated simply, though Astra simply waved back at him, gripping the door frame to dramatically turn. She smirked slightly and donned an innocent expression.
"You know you love me, Dad." She chirped, winking as she twirled off down the hallway towards the kitchen. John almost laughed at the similarity, she might as well have been an actual Holmes. Finally the blonde managed to get up though he had to make sure that Fergus, who had attached himself to his arm, didn't smash his head against anything. Sherlock took about three minutes to finally get himself out of his fluffy trap, though by then John was already out the door. Despite his plain annoyance, he couldn't help but feel exasperated. Of course Mycroft had insisted that he actually come to his homely little mansion this Christmas, and with the brats practically begging to go since they loved their somewhat adoptive cousins so much he hadn't had much chance in refusing.
Of course his brother had invited a few of their friends too, and he had no doubts that his mother and a few of his eccentric relatives would probably show as well. Just great this all was...yes there was practically no way any of this could possibly go to hell...god he hated his manipulative brother. The resulting drive would take at least an hour and a half, and considering how hyper-active all of the kids were today he was certainly not looking forward to the escapade. Speaking of, sometimes he wondered why he even allowed these kids to live under his roof. He easily could have given Fergus up to his brother, probably could have heartlessly refused to take in Astra...but of course even though many claimed he was a heartless bastard everyone close to him knew that was only partly true.
With a small huff of annoyance the lanky man quickly dove into his closet, toting out a half-full garbage bag. It'd been the easiest way to hold onto all the presents he, John and the kids had gotten for all who were attending the little Christmas get-together at Mycrofts home. Too be honest, they easily could have fit the gifts into two tote bags and been done with it...but Sherlock hadn't found an actual motive to dig through the clutter of their house to find more easily carted bags. He stared at the bag for a minute before shrugging and plopping it down on the bed on his way out. He knew there was nothing too fragile in there, it'd been a rule that no one was allowed to gift anything porcelain or glass. That'd been the subject of much drama last year.
