Author's note: It has been a while since I wrote anything in my Sherlock/Sally universe, hasn't it? So I decided to write a Christmas story.
Be prepared for fluff because it's a Christmas story and I feel like it.
I don't own anything, please review.
"You will return my sample this instant!"
She loves her family, she really does, but sometimes they test her patience.
"Or what?"
"Don't make me use force".
"I'd like to see you try".
Hamish and Cecily are close and rarely fight, but they bicker often enough; normally, Sally allows them to sort it out themselves.
But she would prefer it if they wouldn't do it now, when she's in the living room and trying to solve the case of finding a Christmas present for her husband.
Actually three presents, because the children want to give their father something too.
And the bickering is rather distracting.
So she sighs and stands up.
When she walks into the kitchen, she finds Cecily glaring at Hamish, and she has to admit that Sherlock is right; she certainly looks like her when she's angry.
Hamish glares back, but Sally can tell that neither of them is really angry at the other, that they are just doing what siblings do.
True, most siblings don't fight over a sample, but at least they are doing something productive.
And she knows they won't do any harm, to each other or the kitchen appliances. They have been used to handling chemicals since they started to walk, after all.
Still, she would appreciate it if they could keep their bickering to a minimum, especially since she –
And then she sees what they are working on.
Or, to be specific, she sees the file lying on the kitchen table and realizes what they are working on.
The case that has kept them busy for a week now.
The only reason Sally is home is because Mrs. Hudson insisted that one of them "return to 221B, get some rest and look after the little dears, they haven't seen much of you" and of course it had to be her. Sherlock still believes he doesn't need rest.
She looks at her children, who suddenly won't catch her eye, and has to swallow down the lump that suddenly appears in her throat.
"You were trying to help Dad?"
They nod, albeit a little reluctantly, and Hamish points out, "I didn't visit the crime scene" since she told him a few months ago, after he'd broken into one with the help of his best friend, that he should wait until he's invited, and Sally can't help but feel proud of them.
"And, have you made any progress?" she asks matter-of-factly, because their children are trying to help them, and while there are some people who would consider it unhealthy to encourage them to solve crimes at the ages of seventeen and thirteen, she couldn't be happier. They are trying to solve the case for them; they have noticed her and Sherlock have been stressed lately. If that isn't a sign that they have done right, she doesn't know what is.
Hamish immediately starts explaining their different theories, and how they have narrowed down their list of twenty poisons to only three.
"Did you send your father a text yet?"
"We were about to, but I think I can reduce it to two poisons, if only Hamish would let me have the sample..."
"There" he immediately says and puts it before her, trying not to appear proud that his little sister might make this case even easier.
Sally smiles, knowing that the information will likely help Sherlock crack the case, and she decides to make tea before trying to come up with a Christmas present for her husband.
She could always buy him a new microscope, or bring him more chemicals or body parts, but he has more than enough of those these days, with not only Molly providing several a week, but other pathologists he's been working with in the last few years as well.
She hears the children talking in the kitchen, Cecily obviously explaining her idea to Hamish, and smiles. She might not find a Christmas present, but all their friends and Mycroft and Anthea will come to their Christmas party that Mrs. Hudson (despite their attempts to tell her that she should take things slower, these days) is already planning.
The case is solved an hour later – after their son sent Sherlock a text – and the consulting detective and his best friend arrive home another hour after that. John drinks tea at their flat, not only because it's become a tradition, but also because Mary and Thomas are visiting an old great-aunt of hers who they visit every year so she can "see Thomas once more".
As soon as the door closes behind them, Sherlock greets first the children then her and continues, "How you figured out which poisons to put on the list, Hamish – that was good. And Cecily too – you managed to find the necessary test."
Anyone else might think Sherlock is not overly fond or proud of their children, but they know their father and beam.
John catches Sally's eye and smiles.
When they are all seated in the living room, Sherlock announces, "I want to point out that giving me a present for Christmas is utterly unnecessary, but am aware that it will not have the least effect – "
"Dad, we all know you like it" Cecily interrupts him, and at first, Sherlock looks like he wants to argue, but then he chooses not to contradict his daughter, which is probably for the best, considering discussions with her can last for hours.
"You are getting a Christmas present" she says with determination, "like every year. Even if you have to remind me every December that I don't have to."
Sherlock sighs, as if giving up, but she can see he isn't really upset. If anything, he's looking forward to it.
"When you find something, be sure to let me knew" John tells her, "I have no idea".
"I was going to ask you" she tells him in jest, and he laughs.
"I guess we could always ask Mycroft – "
"Uncle Mycroft called me two days ago. He was wondering if we could give him ideas" Hamish interrupts, causing them to laugh more.
Once Hamish was born, Mycroft started not only bringing presents for him and Sally, but Sherlock as well. Neither of them mentions it – or the fact that Sally always buys Mycroft his favourite eau de cologne.
Sherlock of course pretends that he's annoyed that his brother called his son, even though he fools no one, and they spend the rest of their tea time listening to Hamish and Cecily explain how exactly they identified the poison.
When she finally has the idea that night – Sherlock sleeping next to her because he needs to rest at least once a week – she can't believe she didn't think of it sooner.
He still keeps the picture she gave him on their first Christmas together on his bedside table.
There have been so many Christmases since then.
So many more pictures, although he doesn't appreciate having to hold still and smile for the camera.
Making an album might be terribly cliché, but she knows he'll like it.
She enlists the help of their friends. Since finding a gift for Sherlock is always difficult, she has decided that it might as well be a group effort, a present from all those who love him.
John is more than happy to send her all the pictures he's made and saved on his phone in the course of the years.
Mary finds several others, not surprising considering she's the one who has been forcing Sherlock to take at least one picture a month with his godson since Thomas was born.
Greg, with his obsession to have pictures of all that are dear to him (she can't remember how many times he's showed her new photos of Georgina and Molly) has even more. In fact, he doesn't know which to choose, so he lets Molly do it.
She calls Anthea only to find that Mycroft has been hoarding good snapshots from the security footage he still watches regularly for years. Sally should probably worry about it, but can't bring herself to.
Mrs. Hudson happily bustles upstairs a few days later when Sherlock is busy experimenting at St. Bart's, carrying several albums in her arms. She would probably be surprised if she didn't know that Sherlock is unable to say no to their landlady.
She is a bit surprised when Mike walks into her office and happily shows her pictures he's collected over the years, but nonetheless thankful.
Hamish and Cecily insist they pick out the layout and arrange the picture, and she acts like she is disappointed she doesn't get to do it when she's actually relieved and they know it.
There's no point in wondering if Sherlock knows what they are up to because they are aware he does. Still, it's fun to pretend.
Christmas comes quicker than she expected, with several cases and picking up books and chemicals and other presents for the children and their friends, and Sally looks forward to the holidays, when she'll hopefully be able to see her husband for longer than one or two hours a day. He's solving every case that is thrown his way, officially because they are interesting, in truth because he doesn't want to run around London on Christmas, not when he could spend the day with his family.
They spend Christmas Eve with John, Mary and Thomas as well as Mycroft, Anthea and Mrs. Hudson; Judy and her family are visiting his parents this Christmas, but will come over on Boxing Day. The brothers not bickering too much, the children pretending they are too old to be excited about tomorrow.
Which doesn't prevent them from getting up much earlier than usual the next Day and eagerly unwrapping their presents, and Sally shares a fond smile with her husband at every exclamation of delight.
They then proceed to give Sherlock the photo album, aware that he prefers to thank people afterwards for a gift, instead of opening it in front of them.
Sally is ready to swear that she sees a tear glisten in his eyes, just for a moment, but neither they nor the children mention it, and he hugs them first before giving her a gentle kiss while they pointedly look away.
Their guests – really, more guests than their flat can hold by now, since the Knights and Mike's family are invited every year as well and show up without a fail – arrive early in the afternoon and stay until late, Sherlock thanking them calmly for the album.
That he later plays Christmas Carol after Christmas Carol without complaining once tells them how happy he truly is.
Somehow, in all the commotion (Mrs. Hudson telling Molly once more about her hip, Greg trying to thank Hamish and Cecily for their help in the case with the poisons and to simultaneously explain that he still doesn't want to see them on crime scenes until they are eighteen, Thomas helping them in their loud protest, Mike and Henry Knight discussing football while Mary and John are teasing Mycroft good-naturedly about his habit of keeping pictures made by security cameras, and all blending together) Sherlock and Sally find a quiet moment between themselves, in the kitchen, and he quickly gives her a small parcel, explaining, "Since your present reflected our first Christmas as a couple, I considered it fitting that mine did as well".
She opens it to find a necklace – certainly more expensive than the one he gave her all these years ago, but she knows complaining won't be of any use – and stares at the pendants.
There are still handcuffs for her, and a microscope for Sherlock –
But there are several more.
A small magnifying glass for Hamish.
A small book for Cecily.
A gun for John.
A badge for Greg.
A kettle for Mrs. Hudson.
And there are so many more; Mary, Thomas, Judy, Mycroft, Anthea –
Sally swallows and kisses him because sometimes, there are things they don't have to talk about. Because he understands her, and she understands him.
And she finds that all she can wish for on this Christmas Day is to have this, all of this, until she stops breathing.
Author's note: I wanted to write something cute and Christmassy. I regret nothing.
I hope you liked it, please review.