Time to write a fluffy piece for my Sherlock/Sally universe, isn't it?
I know I haven't been putting out much Sherlock lately, but I do have an idea, and I might just write it. I'm afraid things haven't been easy for a while, but I've dealt with some stuff and IT'S CHRISTMAS. ENJOY!
Sally Holmes is all too used to loud noises in her home. With her husband and her children equally interested in chemistry and experiments, especially those of the burning variety, she has to be.
And yet somehow, she has never been happier than now, when no one can really understand what the other is saying, mostly because there are so many people occupying their flat, more or less the house really because Mrs. Hudson graciously gave up her home as well so they had enough space, and she seems content enough on the sofa, talking to Mike.
Sherlock is, as always, the centre of attention. At least that's what the children would say. He worships their own, of course, who are thirteen and nine years old already (and she can't help but wonder where the time went) but he's just as happy to talk to their older cousins, as well as his friends' children.
She never doubted that he'd make a good father, and she was right.
"Aunt Sally, you're staring again" her oldest niece informs her. She turns to the young woman and smiles.
"So what? Wait until you find the One."
Kathy huffs. "Please. I've got all the time in the world."
"I know" she is quick to assure her, because she suspects that Kathy's dating life is often enough a subject of discussion at her home. She loves Judy, but she had to listen to more than one sermon of "finding true love" before she and Sherlock ended up together.
Kathy smiles at her.
"Cecily told me all about her new experiment. I'm not sure I understood."
"That's normal. The only reason I do is because I'm used to it."
Kathy shakes her head.
"That's what happens when you marry a guy who considers it normal to shoot bullet holes into his walls."
"I never should have told you that story, young lady."
Suddenly, Kathy looks behind her and tries her best to stifle a laugh. "Oh dear."
She turns around. Oh dear indeed.
Mycroft has fallen into her brother-in-law's clutches.
And Mycroft is far too polite to excuse himself.
Which is why he's stuck listening to stories in the exciting life of a tax accountant.
"At least Dad has someone to talk to about his job. We stopped listening a long time ago."
"As long as it makes him happy" Sally shrugs. Kathy raises an eyebrow.
"So that wasn't the reason you didn't bring Uncle Sherlock over at first? We waited for ever!"
There's something of the impatient girl who asked about her detective boyfriend every time she came to visit for months before Sally finally introduced them in her voice.
"It was complicated" Sally admits. At first, there was not only the fear how Sherlock would react to the children (she laughs about it, now) but also the doubt that they would last.
Apparently it wasn't such a good idea after all to see their nieces and nephew as often as they did, because Kathy suddenly exclaims, "You're not serious."
"Kathy – "
"He adores you! That's just – if he –"
She stops abruptly.
Sally should have known.
"Another student?" she asks. Kathy is studying philosophy and has already discussed away whole family dinners with Sherlock.
She blushes. "Don't tell Mum."
"I would never."
There's no point assuring her Sherlock won't either. He knows what to do and say. He just chose to ignore this fact mostly during the early years of their acquaintanceship.
"I guess I'll save my brother-in-law" she says, but before she can, Mike Stamford cuts in and starts talking to Tony, and Mycroft looks thankful as he steals away to Mrs. Hudson's flat to have a glass of eggnog. Sally trades an amused glance with Anthea.
Sherlock has finally managed to escape the questions and as always, his eyes search for her.
It never feels to make her feel special, even after years of being together.
And even though their flat can no longer hold their guests. John is once more reliving his days in the army with his old friend Bill Murray while Greg is eyeing the Christmas lights Sherlock designed himself, so naturally there happen to be several skulls and anatomically correct hearts involved.
She steps up to him.
"You know, there was a time I worried about such things" he says conversationally. "These days, I think it fits."
"You're not the only one."
"Georgina's been talking about studying forensic medicine" he tells her and she laughs.
Apparently between their families, they will restock the whole Yard.
"London's going to be the safest city in the world" she answers.
"How couldn't it be, with new little Holmes running around?"
"You do know Hamish's certain by now, right?"
"Hey, don't forget who introduced you two."
They both have to laugh at that.
"Alright, so it didn't go that well. You know what I mean."
She nods and her gaze sweeps to Andrew Dimmock, who's talking animatedly to Sherlock. The first time they invited him and his family, he was rather surprised, but ever since then, he's become just another member of the Holmes clan.
She gossips some more with Greg, until she sees Sherlock excuse himself out of the corner of her eyes. He probably needs some peace and quiet among all that noise. No wonder; he's probably been deducing what every single one of their guests had for breakfast since they arrived.
She quickly ends their conversation and follows her husband to where she knows he'll be, the rooftop. Only his closest freidns would think to look for him there. And he certainylw ants some fresh air.
She just wants some time alone with him, if she's being honest. She knows she doesn't have to check on him. +
Sherlock is looking up at the stars. It's a cold, clear night and she's suddenly reminded of the time when they were falling in love and not aware of it yet, and she'd wake up to hear him plac violin in her flat.
He's looking up at the stars.
"Sally."
It's been a long time since she thought his greeting dismissive. She steps up to him.
"It's a beautiful night" she says softly.
"It is" he responds as she knew he would.
"Mycroft hasn't come back yet from Mrs. Hudson's".
He smirks at her.
He's probably imagining Mycroft drunk. It would be a sight, she has to admit.
"You know, there was a time when I hated parties."
It's not as if he doesn't pretend that he doesn't want one every year. She says nothing. It's an old game between them, that started long before they even thought about getting married.
Sherlock sighs. "Henry and Louise had a fight this morning, but made up. Billy Murray got drunk last night and had to sleep on the couch. Andrew –" he stops. "I just needed a break."
"I know" she is quick to answer. To be honest, she's enjoying the fresh air too.
Or maybe it's just looking at the stars with her husband.
Her sister is right, she is still smitten.
And God help her, she enjoys it.
"Are you going to play Christmas carols later?"
"Of course."
It starts to snow.
She smiles and takes his snow.
Christmas is coming.