A/N: Too early for Christmas fic? Tell that to my brain, which has had "The Holly and The Ivy" stuck in it for weeks! :) As always, I don't own these characters, Moffat/Gatiss and Conan Doyle do.
Warning: discussion of suicide in this story.
Temper: v. improve the hardness and elasticity of (steel or other metal) by reheating and then cooling it.
Sherlock had only been back from the dead for six weeks when Mrs. Hudson insisted on having a Christmas party at Baker Street. She'd prattled on about having "the whole family together again" and insisted on inviting Molly and Greg and even Mycroft (who, be thankful for small mercies, had other plans). Just when Sherlock thought the idea couldn't get any more annoying, she suggested something to John.
"Will you invite Mary?"
John grinned. "I'd love to."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to his laptop. (Girlfriends. Tedious.) He'd managed to rid them of Deleted-Name, The Boring Teacher on the last Christmas they'd spent together and perhaps this Christmas he'd accomplish the same with Mary. (He's spending entirely too much time with her.)
The day of the party came, and as he'd done two years before, he indulged Mrs. Hudson by playing Christmas carols on his violin. He'd still refused to wear the antlers – "Let's not make a spectacle, Mrs. Hudson" – but he'd plastered on a smile and told himself it would all be over soon. After playing the required carols, he make a beeline for his laptop.
Lestrade was the first to arrive, followed closely by Molly. Sherlock noticed the way Greg looked at her and forced himself not to roll his eyes. (For God's sake, Lestrade, stop pining! Teenaged girls at One Direction concerts are more subtle!) John whispered something in Molly's ear that made her blush a faint pink and then glance in Lestrade's direction, and this time Sherlock actually did roll his eyes. (Don't encourage them!)
A female voice called out, "Good evening!"
Sherlock frowned but didn't take his eyes off of this laptop. (Just ignore her.) He focused on The Work, party noise swirling about him unnoticed, until he felt a presence next to him.
"Sherlock?"
The detective looked up and saw John in his boring Christmas sweater with his equally boring girlfriend standing next to him. "Busy," the dark-haired man grunted.
"Sherlock, it's time to exchange gifts," the doctor gently coaxed.
"I didn't get you anything," he mumbled.
John smiled warmly. "You came back from the dead. That absolves you of any responsibility for giving gifts for the next hundred years. But," he said, lightly tugging at the detective's elbow, "You still have an obligation to receive gifts, and Mary and I got you something."
"Oh," the detective said, taking the gift with an outstretched hand. "Given the size and weight, it's likely to be a scarf, and because John wore mine while I was gone and somehow manage to spill tea on it three times – did you really think I wouldn't notice, John? – it's no doubt a replacement. Since John hates to shop, it was bought at the last minute by Mary, and going by her current wardrobe, she probably went to one of those horrid stores on Oxford Street that sell overpriced Chinese knockoffs of designer fashion."
Mary gaped and struggled to come up with a retort, but no words came out. Luckily, someone else spoke for her.
John gritted his teeth, jabbed an accusatory finger at Sherlock Holmes and snarled, "Don't ever speak to my fiancée that way again."
Sherlock recoiled as if he'd been slapped. The rest of the party guests gaped along with Mary. John's jaw dropped and his hand went to his face as he realized what he'd just said. After an excruciating twelve seconds of silence, the doctor stammered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for everyone to find out like this. But, er, yes, we're engaged. The wedding is next summer, and you're all invited."
Molly squealed with excitement. Greg shook both the happy couple's hands and congratulated them. Mrs. Hudson hugged Mary and told her, "Welcome to the family!"
Sherlock murmured his congratulations and John curtly accepted them. The detective retreated to his room as soon as possible, and the doctor and his fiancée left without telling him goodbye.