Aftermath:
The Christmas Album

o-o-o Side A o-o-o

1. I'll Be Home For Christmas, 2. The Holly and the Ivy, 3. O Tannenbaum,

4. The Gloucestershire Wassail, 5. It Must Have Been The Mistletoe, 6. Deck the Halls

o-o-o

I'll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me…

"It was easier, before," he muttered as they rounded a corner of the narrow country lane and his parents' home came into view.

"You mean when you were a high functioning sociopath?"

Sherlock's peripheral vision had apparently caught her air quotes and suppressed laughter. "I mean, Miss Malapert, when easier meant a quiet Christmas at Baker Street."

"Miss Malapert? You sound like my maiden aunt."

"You don't have a maiden aunt."

"Yes, I do." Molly looked down her nose at him, raised her brows, and said in pretentious accents, "She has blue hair and is frightfully posh. You'd get along swimmingly."

"Liar."

She grinned. But then said, thoughtfully, and far more soberly, "I haven't really been to a Christmas at 221B since that one time."

He frowned as he pulled up in front of the house, and after he'd shut off the motor he turned to her. "I know that. And it… the incident still upsets you? Though I admit, my apology was insufficient."

She shouldn't have given voice to it, for now the scene came rushing back to her in detail: the excruciating embarrassment, followed by shock - everyone's, not only that he'd actually apologized, but that she had finally had the nerve to stand up for herself. The memory of his lips against her cheek. And then… "Well, that text alert didn't help matters."

He grimaced. "No."

This was ridiculous. It was neither the time nor the place to dredge up ancient history. She said bracingly, "You can make it up to me tonight. I'll sneak into your room." She waggled her eyebrows at him, to show him the past was past.

"Why would you have to do that?"

"But… you don't think-"

"Molly, my parents are quite aware that our cohabitation is far from innocent. We're engaged to be married, for god's sake - and you've already held out the lure of grandchildren, remember? Of course we'll be assigned the same room."

She blinked, processing the idea of them sharing the bed he'd slept in as a child. But then her lips quirked. "Cohabitation? Another maiden aunt word?"

"I felt it expressed our deliciously sinful arrangement more accurately than just 'living together'."

She began to chuckle, her heart warming at the amused light in his eyes. It was sinful, indeed, how much she loved this man, had always loved him, and enjoyed his company. She added, happily, "And our wedding is just around the corner, of course."

"Please don't remind me."

"Oh, Sherlock!" she protested, cast down again.

"Are you certain we can't elope?" But then he relented. "Alright, don't look like that. Come here. It was a long drive and it's been bloody hours since we last kissed."

Impossible man, she thought, scowling, but moved to comply.

How things had changed between them.

It was a good kiss… a very good kiss… and they were still immersed in it when there came a rap on the window and his father's muffled but cheery voice: "Now, now! Time for that when you get inside! Your mother has tea and mince pies all ready!"

Molly giggled. "Mince pies - your favorite!"

"Nothing less would make up for the intrusion," Sherlock said, grimly, but his smile was irrepressible.

o-o-o

Of all the trees within the wood, the holly bears the crown…

"Oh, lord. It looks as though a Christmas bomb exploded."

"Merry Christmas to you, too, my son," his mother said, very wry, as she came into the foyer to greet them. Then her smile grew warmer. "And Merry Christmas, Molly. You look lovely in that jumper."

"Don't encourage her," Sherlock murmured, though his eyes laughed.

Molly said to Millicent Holmes, "Thank you - and just ignore him, ma'am, your house looks beautiful. Is the holly from your garden?"

"It is! Vernet fetched in the cuttings just yesterday."

"Well, it's lovely - very tastefully done."

"Except for that!" Sherlock exclaimed with disapprobation as he strode past them and into the living room. He pointed at a group of framed photos pinned to the wall - and not just any frames, but childish ones, carefully constructed of various papers, yarn, and glitter.

And not just any photos. "Is that you?" exclaimed Molly, coming up behind him and delighting in a portrait of an innocently smiling, curly headed little boy in shorts. "Sherlock, you were adorable! And Mycroft - look, there are two photos of him, and he's holding you in this one, you were so little! And is this-"

"Eurus," Sherlock said. He looked at his mother.

She looked straight back at him, but sounded a little uncertain as she replied, "In happier days."

Sherlock considered this, then nodded. "Hidden away too long." He looked at his sister's picture, then at the entire grouping. "Did… I make these frames?"

His mother smiled. "You did! You were so artistic as a boy. Mycroft, too. I found two ornaments and a little tree he made me. Styrofoam and pasta shapes and gold glitter. Before you were born."

Sherlock's eye held a satisfied glint. "You'll have to show Lady Smallwood when she arrives."

Millicent chuckled, but said, "Alicia may have helped him make them, for all I know. She did babysit for us, off and on, for a number of years."

"Mmm."

Sherlock looked around the room, now, and Molly could see he was pleased. She slipped her hand into his and said, "Admit it: you're glad to be home."

But Millicent said, "I'm very sure you being here with him will make it seem more homelike than it has in many years."

Sherlock turned to his mother in surprise, and she returned his gaze with a look of tender understanding.

Molly, moved, bit her lip.

But then Millicent smiled, and said briskly, "Come! Let's repair to the kitchen and drink that tea while it's hot!"

o-o-o

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum, how richly God has decked thee…

"I've taken your bags up to Sherlock's old room," Vernet Holmes said, coming in when Sherlock was on his third mince pie.

"Oh, you shouldn't have!" Molly protested. "We could have done it."

"It was my pleasure," Vernet said with great sincerity, sitting down at the table as his wife poured out a cup of tea for him. "Ah! Thank you, my dear." He took a sip, then said to Sherlock and Molly, deceptively bland, "I do hope that bed will be big enough for the two of you. It's only a small double. But we had to give the guest room to Mycroft and Alicia, since his old bed is a single."

"We'll be fine," Sherlock said, giving Molly a rather cheeky smile.

"I daresay you'll contrive," Vernet said, a twinkle in his eye. He picked a one of the little star-topped pies from the plate in the center of the table and took a bite, closing his eyes in ecstasy. "Delicious!" he said to his wife, when he finally could. "My dear, you've surpassed yourself. This pastry is divine! But should we save some for Mycroft?" He looked askance at his son, who'd just picked up a fourth pie.

"No," said Sherlock, and took a bite.

"No," Millicent agreed, placidly. "I'm making another batch presently, so they'll be fresh for him and Alicia."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but made no further objection, his mouth being full of pie.

o-o

After they were refreshed and Millicent had risen from the table to start on that second batch, Sherlock led Molly upstairs and down the hall to his old room.

"The room hasn't been changed from when I was still in school, I'm afraid," he warned her.

"Like a shrine to young Sherlock?"

He gave a crooked grin. "Something like that." But then he opened the door, stopped on the threshold and stared. "Good god."

"What? What's wrong?" Molly finally jostled him aside and then gave a crow of delight. "A tree! They've put a Christmas tree in your room!"

"Our room," Sherlock corrected, stalking in behind her. "And not only a tree. Where the devil did they get this duvet set?"

"Oh, it's lovely!" Molly exclaimed, taking in the red striped pattern featuring trees, reindeer, hearts, and stars on a snowy white background. "It's like my jumper!"

"It's far worse, since there's so much more of it. What was my mother thinking?"

"That it's Christmas?" Molly went over to the corner of the room where the little tree stood glowing, covered with fairy lights, strings of beads, and tinsel garland. "It makes the whole room smell of pine forest! And did you make some of these ornaments?"

Sherlock came to stand beside her, and she saw that he was trying hard not to smile. He said, "Yes. And the rest appear to be some that were given to me by various friends and relatives when I was a child. I had no idea they'd saved them all these years."

Molly slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. "Your parents love you very much."

Sherlock's eyes met hers and his half smile faded. She could see that he was barely able to fathom how such love had remained evergreen in spite of the many ways he had tested it through the long years.

They both sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the tree.

"We must thank them," Molly said, presently. She leaned against his shoulder.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, and bent his head to hers.

o-o-o

Wassail, wassail all over the town…

After recovering from her surprise that not only Molly but Sherlock himself had embraced her and expressed thanks for their bedroom's holiday decor, Millicent Holmes sent the two children out on an errand.

"I must have ground cardamom, I'm making that lovely Swedish Christmas Bread for breakfast tomorrow. It's still early enough that the shops will be open in the village. Can you two go get some for me, please?

"We'd be glad to," said Molly. "I'd love to see the village dressed for the holidays!"

Sherlock said to Molly, with a sly look at his mother, "You see? I told you it was traditional to be sent on a wild goose chase for some obscure commodity on Christmas Eve."

Millicent smacked him on the arm and said, "That's the least you can do, you impudent snatch-pastry."

"Ha! Another maiden aunt word," Sherlock exclaimed, but ducked behind his prospective bride in a most cowardly fashion to escape further retribution.

o-o

"They've been gone an awfully long time," Millicent said, trying to keep worry from her tone. After all, what could happen to them in the wilds of Suffolk?

"Sherlock is probably just showing her the sights," Vernet tutted. But he left the kitchen, wandering into the living room to peer out the window, into the fading afternoon. Then, after a minute or two, he called, "Here they come now!" and Millicent gave a sigh of relief - which was ridiculous, of course.

But still.

She wiped her hands on a towel and joined her husband in the living room, to greet the prodigals, and arrived in time to see that Molly had been driving, and that Sherlock staggered a bit as he exited the car. There was also a suspiciously fatuous smile on his face.

"Good God!" said Sherlock's father. "But he wouldn't… not with Molly right there!"

But the two of them actually began singing as they approached the door, Molly's light soprano a charming contrast to Sherlock's booming baritone harmony...

Wassail! Wassail all over the town!
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing-bowl, we'll drink to thee!

"What on earth!" Millicent exclaimed in delight. They hadn't heard Sherlock sing in years! And when Vernet opened the door the two kept right on singing as they entered the house, Sherlock looking inordinately happy and slightly bleary, and Molly positively glowing.

Millicent's boy turned to Molly and pulled her into a dance, waltzing her around the foyer and living room until finally they both collapsed laughing on the sofa.

Vernet had closed the door, and now said to the giddy pair, "It appears you've been doing some wassailing yourselves."

"Every shop had a bowl of punch!" said Sherlock happily.

"And there were several groups of carolers!" said Molly. "It was the most wonderful thing! I could've listened for hours!"

"But we didn't," said Sherlock, reaching into his pocket for the packet of spice. He held it out to his mother in triumph.

Millicent took the packet, not quite laughing. "Thank you, both of you. I particularly appreciate you driving Sherlock home, Molly. It seems he did a bit more wassailing than you?"

"No, not at all," she said, matter-of-factly, though her eyes danced. "He just can't hold his liquor."

"Can too!" Sherlock objected, his smile disappearing for the first time.

"Nope," Molly said, exaggerating the final 'P' as Sherlock sometimes did.

The light of battle was kindled in Sherlock's eyes, and his smile returned in a rather more mischievous form.

His father said, quickly, "Now, now! Perhaps you two had better retire for a bit, have a nap."

"Sleep it off," said Millicent, never one to mince words.

"Yes," Vernet agreed. "Mycroft and Alicia won't be here for a couple of hours yet, and mother is just finishing up some baking. It'll be a good chance for the two of you to… ah… rest."

"What an excellent idea," said Sherlock. He hauled himself to his feet, swaying only a little, and pulled Molly up after him. He said scornfully as they headed toward the stairs, "Can't hold my liquor! Ha!" and he actually gave Molly a swat on the arse just before they disappeared from sight. Her outraged objection was mixed with laughter, and then she gave a little screech and from the sound of it the two were running up the remaining stairs and down the hall.

Millicent turned to her husband and found her disbelief reflected on his countenance. Then they both began to laugh, and after a warm hug, retreated in good order to the kitchen to savor the moment.

o-o-o

It must have been the mistletoe…

Molly turned to him as soon as they were through the door.

"No!" she said, trying not to smile, her finger raised in warning.

He halted immediately and stood there, swaying a bit, considering her, shoving the door shut in the meantime. The click of the latch waked something in him and he turned and also set the lock. Then he turned back to her and said, "Yes."

She almost laughed. "No!"

He came slowly toward her, and she backed away – toward the bed.

"But yes!" he told her. "You have to."

"I don't," she said, chin raised. "Why should I?"

He advanced (and she retreated) just a little more, and then he stopped and looked up toward the ceiling.

She followed his gaze and gave a slight gasp. "Mistletoe!"

It was, tied with a red ribbon to the overhead light fixture - and coincidentally, hanging over the foot of the bed.

And she'd been caught, now, distracted by the sight of those green leaves and white berries and perhaps by the thought that they'd been placed there with set purpose by his outrageously liberal minded mother. Distracted, and he had stepped just close enough to trap her. With a smile at her sudden surprise, he drew her close against him, said, "Yes!" again, in a voice dark and soft as velvet, then bent his head, and kissed her.

o-o-o

See the blazing Yule before us…

Vernet Holmes prided himself on his ability to build a fire, and when Mycroft and Alicia Smallwood arrived an hour after sunset on that cold Christmas Eve, that skill was much appreciated.

"Heavens, it's freezing out there!" exclaimed Alicia, trotting up to hold her hands to the blaze.

"Quite literally," Mycroft added, taking off his coat. "There's a chance of snow tonight, and there is ice on the roads as we speak. I'm certainly glad we left London when we did. Any later and it would have been exceedingly dangerous driving."

"Perhaps we'll have a White Christmas this year," mused Vernet. "But you two sit down and warm yourselves by the fire. Mummy's bringing in tea - unless you'd like something stronger? No? And fresh mince pies - Sherlock's not up from his nap yet, so you'll have them all to yourselves."

"His nap?" Mycroft laughed.

Vernet put his finger to his lips. "Mummy sent him and Molly to town and they were a trifle overserved. Or Sherlock was, at least."

Mycroft nodded and, after his father had gone to the kitchen to help Mummy, he explained to Alicia, "Sherlock so rarely drinks alcoholic beverages that it takes surprisingly little to inebriate him."

"As long as it was only alcohol," Alicia said with a grimace.

Mycroft chuckled. "I'm fairly sure Molly would have his head on a platter if he indulged in anything more addictive at this point."

"Yes, she would," said Molly herself, coming into the room, following by Sherlock who was glaring, but rather mildly.

The two looked quite cheerful, actually. Apparently it had been a very refreshing nap.

Molly added, "And the rest of him might never be found, who knows? But that's why he loves me, after all. How good it is to see you, Alicia… and you, Mycroft."

"Merry Christmas, Alicia," Sherlock said, with a smile.

Alicia raised a brow.

"I'm full of the spirit of the season," Sherlock said, sounding facetious but looking at Molly with a warmth that could not be mistaken.

And Molly actually blushed as she returned his regard.

"Well, this is something different for the holidays," Mycroft said, looking from one to the other. "I knew you'd tamed him somewhat, Molly, but this seems quite extraordinary."

"Not at all, Blood," Sherlock said succinctly. "Molly merely has the ability to keep me right." He sat down beside her on the sofa and took her hand.

"Well! Peace on earth, good will toward men, by all means!" said Mycroft. But just then, Mummy and Dad came through the door with the tea tray and a heaped plate of mince pies, fresh from the oven. Mycroft turned to Sherlock. "If you spoil my enjoyment of those pies in any way, brother mine, you will deeply regret it. Decapitation will be the least of it."

Sherlock opened his mouth to voice some irreverent retort, but Molly jabbed him with a sharp elbow. He exchanged a glance with her, then sighed in defeat and said, "Oh, alright, then."

Mycroft and Alicia exchanged a glance, too. Perhaps peace and good will would not be out of the question this Christmas.

Continued on Side B…