Author's notes: I wrote this two years ago. Long before we got to know the Holmes family properly so this is just my take on it as I thought it was. I'm sorry if there is any factual errors, especially in how thing in the UK works because I'm not from there. If anyone wants to correct something, feel free to leave a comment or send a PM.

It was December the 24th sometime in the 1980's. The snow fell heavily but unfortunately, all of it melted as soon as it landed on the London ground. Every child in England was happy and full of expectations this day, except two: the Holmes boys. They were at the age of four and eight but neither one of them felt the excitement over Christmas as any normal child should. Christmas was the time when the whole happy family united for a pleasant time at their father's parents' country estate. Though, the thing was that it was anything but pleasant and no one was happy about it either, especially not the boys' mother. The family stood with their suitcases on the sidewalk, trying to catch a cab while Mrs Holmes tried to convince her husband that they should stay at home this Christmas.

"No, they're expecting us and they will be disappointed if we don't show up. It won't be that bad", said Mr Holmes.

Mrs Holmes snorted. "I remember last year… and the year before that."

She continued to complain about the awful Christmases with her husbands family while the boys did what they usually do, competing. Right now it was a contest in mind-chess.

"Bishop G6 to H5", said Sherlock, the youngest one.

"Knight F3 to D4", answered Mycroft.

Mr Holmes, who stopped listening at his wife and felt an urge to interpolate, said: "That wasn't a very wise move Mycroft."

Mycroft, who always trusted his father, no matter what, said quickly, "I changed my mind! I don't want to make that move."

But it was too late. The sneering Sherlock had just finished the sentence "Pawn C5 to D4 takes Knight."

And the fight was on.

Usually, Tony Anderson disliked his job as a cab driver and wanted to get home as soon as possible but this day was not like any other, it was December the 24th, Christmas Eve. He knew that his wife at home would be freaking out about how much she had to do to make the Christmas lunch with the family a perfect one. No, he would have a much more pleasurable time driving around town in his cab, even if it snowed like hell. By the road he saw a perfect-looking family of two boys, one little and one bigger and chubbier, a young and beautiful mother and a father in Tony's own age. The mother waved for a cab and Tony pulled over. He felt morose and thought that he could have had a wife like that if he only been rich. The perfect-family image decreased a bit when the mother opened the car door and he heard the two brothers fighting.

"You can't change your mind like that, I had already made my move!"

"Nooo! I said I wanted to make another move before you had finished the sentence!"

"Mommy! Mycroft is cheating."

The mother ignored this and stepped into the cab, followed by the younger boy. The father stayed outside and said grumpily, "I'll take the next one", and waved for a new cab that had appeared behind Tony's.

The chubby boy who was half way into Tony's cab jumped out again and followed his father, "I'll come with you!"

Mrs Holmes rolled her eyes; her husband always escaped any fight between their boys. She said "Kings Cross Station", to the cabbie and he drove out in the crowded street.

"Do we really have to visit grandma and grandpa this Christmas?" asked Sherlock after a few minutes of silence.

"Apparently, yes. But I don't want to go either, and neither does your father, the thing is that everyone will be very angry at us if we don't show up. It's a tradition-thing."

Sherlock gave his mother a puppy eyed look and then turned back to stare out the window.

"I don't think grandma likes us."

"Of course she does" she said and then added, quietly under her breath, "At least I hope so." She took a deep breath and continued, "the thing is that she doesn't really know how to express her feelings, because she's a cantankerous old hag. I am the one she dislikes and she let it come out on the two of you too. But deep down in her ice-cold heart she is really proud of you and Mycroft."

"Why does she dislike you? You haven't done anything, right?"

"Your father married me, that is why she dislikes me."

"Why did dad marry you?"

Mrs Holmes laughed inwardly at her son's never ending question.

"Because his mother disliked me."

Now he really got something to think about and his only answer was "huh."

Mrs Holmes looked at her son and realised that he might not fulfil the standard her mother in law had for a presentable son on Christmas Eve, despite the little suit and coat she had put on him. She pulled up a comb from her handbag and attempted to force her son's unruly dark curls to something that looked at least like she had tried. As soon as she was pleased and put the comb back in her bag he messed it all up again with his small hands. She knew she should be mad but she honestly could not be. Sherlock was her son and no matter how wilful he was she loved him, and loved him even more because of his obstinacy. He was the boy whose first word was "no" quickly followed by the word "dull" which made the combination "No, dull" the answer to everything for a very long time. She knew Mycroft was smart and that he would be successful but Sherlock… Oh, he would be something else, something unique, something special and unquestionably, he would be something great.

Meanwhile, in a cab right after Tony Anderson's Mycroft had just wrapped his head around a complex problem that he felt eager to share with his father.

"Dad, you know the problem I talked with you about earlier, I think I…"

Mr Holmes interrupted saying: "Oh, please be quiet. I took this cab because I didn't want to hear anything else but my own thoughts."

The rest of the journey passed in silence.

Mycroft had now had some time to think over his and Sherlock's game and felt eager to make his next move.

"Rook F4 to F8 takes Queen!" shouted Mycroft as soon as he saw Sherlock when they arrived at Kings Cross station and met again. Sherlock gave his brother a killing look that was impressively expressive for a boy that small.

Mrs Holmes had also had some time to think things over and thought she might have come up with a solution to their coming up Christmas-disaster.

"What if there's something that stops us. Then they can't blame us if we don't show up?" She suggested to her husband.

Mr Holmes was sceptical. "And what would that be?"

"What if the train got cancelled or something."

He saw where she headed and he didn't like it. "But the train isn't cancelled."

"It's awfully snowy today, trains get cancelled when it is snowy."

Sherlock started to wander away to something interesting he found on the other side of the station's hall. Wide-eyed, he looked around at all the people and he realised that everyone was heading somewhere, but where? An old man (he wasn't really that old, around 40 but everyone over 30 is old for a four year old child) sat on a bench reading a newspaper… Financial times. He had a big bag with some really big Christmas presents wrapped in childish paper. Definitely a businessman, working in London but travelling home to his family and kids in…?

"The direct train to Glasgow will be delayed due to the weather."

The man sighed when he heard this, which made the destination obvious.

At the other side of the hall Mrs Holmes had just realised that her youngest son was gone. That was something that usually happened and right now she had more important problems to care about. To not feel like a bad mother, she asked Mycroft "can you please look after your little brother? And make him come back as soon as possible."

Without a word Mycroft walked the way he had seen Sherlock go and Mrs Holmes walked up to her husband. He stood by the information desk, talking on their phone.

"Could you come down here so we could talk this over properly? Yeah… yeah I know you're in a meeting but this is a critical situation… Grade five. Of course I won't ask for anything that you can't do, I would never do that… Okay, thank you."

Mr Holmes gave the phone back to the receptionist and turned to his wife. "He's coming down and I'll do what I can."

Ewan Murphy was tense and could not concentrate on the newspaper in front of him. In what mood would his wife be in when he came home? Would she still be angry with him after the fight they had right before he left a month ago? He hoped the expensive necklace and all the big presents for the kids would show her that he did care about his family. Suddenly he got a feeling that he was being observed. He looked up and saw a little boy who was standing right in front of him, staring at him. The boy had dark and curly hair and he was dressed in a fashionable posh man's clothes, just in a smaller size to fit him.

The boy gave him an adorable short smile and said, sounding like the boy choir's finest soprano, "Have a nice journey to Glasgow and wish your children a merry Christmas from me." His voice was clear with no trace of stuttering or mumbling that children in that age usually had.

Mr Murphy was stunned. What? How? Who? He didn't get a chance to ask his questions because the strange little boy had hastily disappeared in the crowd.

Mycroft finally found his brother at platform four, watching the train that rolled into the station. He walked up and stopped next to him. Neither of them made any effort of some kind of greeting.

"There are 3,2 millions people who travel by the train in the UK every day," said Mycroft.

Sherlock was not impressed. "I know."

But Mycroft wasn't finished, he knew he would amaze his little brother when he mentioned fatality.

George Sullivan was in a good mood, unaware of the oncoming tragedy. He was heading to platform four, where his train just had arrived. He saw two boys watching the train and overheard their conversation.

"… 19 people died due to railway accidents last year which makes an average death rate of 0,052 people everyday. A quick calculation with the 3,2 millions who travels every day and… the fatal risk when travelling by train is 0,0000016 %. So, we'll probably survive this journey."

Mr Sullivan didn't really listen to what the boy was talking about but he got the main topic, trains. To say that you were a railroad engineer wasn't the best pick-up line but it surely fascinated children and he loved to get other people's admiration.

"Hello boys," he said cheerfully and they turned around and looked at him. "I heard you were interested in trains."

"Not particularly," said the older boy, the one who had spoken before.

Mr Sullivan didn't really listen to this either and continued. "I am a railroad engineer." He talked slowly with a big jaunty smile, just like a host for a children's program on telly.

He turned to the younger one and explained, "I am the one who drives the train."

"Obviously," said Mycroft sharply.

Sherlock just looked at him with disgust but Mr Sullivan didn't take any notice of that. He turned to the older boy, who seemed like the most talkative of them and asked, "Do you want to work with trains when you grow up?"

"No."

"Oh… What do you want to do then?"

"I'm going to do what my father does."

Mr Sullivan's smile became ever wider. "Of course, what do your father do then?"

"Top secret."

"Does your father work with 'Top Secret'?"

Mycroft wondered if this man could be any more stupid. "No, I can't tell you what he is working with because it is top secret."

"Ah."

Mr Sullivan knew it was important to give shy children the opportunity to talk and he addressed the little boy who had not said anything yet.

"Then what do you what to be when you grow up?"

Sherlock just looked at the silly man. He had never really thought of what he wanted to do as a grown up, all he knew was that adults did a lot of boring stuff. Go to work, writing monotonously on typing machines in a boring room, get engaged in politics, reading Financial Times, eating, sleeping and so on. He definitely did not want to do anything like that. But right now he just wanted to say something to get the man a bit out of sorts.

Mr Sullivan had expected that the little boy would mumble and got surprised when he with great confidence said, "I want to be a pirate."

Sherlock noticed the small flicker in the man's eyes and saw it as a promise that he had indeed succeeded to stun the silly man. He also figured out that the man was a good actor and covered his surprise in a laugh.

Mycroft, on the other hand, was ashamed of his little brother's stupidity. "You can't be a pirate! That's just stupid!"

The adorable little boy had in one sentence melted Mr Sullivan's heart and now he felt pity for him and wanted to defend him from his cranky brother. "Ohoho, of course he can be a pirate. Why shouldn't he be able to be a pirate?"

Mycroft sighed, the man could be stupider. "Because there are no pirates anymore!"

This spurred Sherlock and he said stubbornly, "Then I'll be the only one!"

"I'm so sorry Mr Holmes, you are one of my dearest friends and I want to help you, but I can't do it," said Oswald Crowley, head manager of British Railways.

Mr Holmes was about to lose his temper. "But for god's sake, just cancel the damn train!"

"I'm so sorry sir but it's a fully booked train that's working perfectly well, why should I cancel it?"

No one questioned Mr Holmes.

"Because I said so," he snapped.

The silly man had finally walked away and Mycroft said to his brother:

"Mommy said that you must go back to her now."

Sherlock considered this. It was against his policy to do what his mother told him to do – especially if it was his brother who delivered the command – but he was already bored and intended to go back to complain about this anyway. Therefore it was okay.

He said "Bishop H5 to F3. Checkmate", and walked away, more than a little pleased with himself.

Mycroft was angry. How, how, could his brother beat him in chess!? Little, tiny, stupid Sherlock! It was not okay, this just could not happen! But it just did and it was time for revenge... He just needed to come up with something good.

When Sherlock came back to the place where he left his parents he found his father watching his mother talking to an old man (this man was not very old either) a few meters away. Neither Sherlock nor his father said anything. It wasn't until Mycroft, still furious at his brother, arrived that Sherlock's question was spoken. "What's happening?" asked Mycroft his father.

"Your mother is trying to convince Mr Crowley to cancel the train."

"Can he do that?"

"Not when I ordered him to do so."

Sherlock stood quietly and observed his mother. She stood close to the man and looked him deeply into the eyes while she talked to him. The man looked apologetic and shook his head. He couldn't help her, but it looked like he really wanted to. In the usual drama queen manner of Mrs Holmes, she started to cry and the man looked very troubled. Mr Crowley looked around for some kind of inspiration as to how he would solve the problem with Mr Holmes crying wife… or for an escape. He could not come up with something and Mrs Holmes tears increased while she continued rattling of all the terrible things that could happen to her children, herself and Mr Holmes if he wasn't able to cancel this train.

"Okay, Okay! I'll do whatever I'll have to do to help you ma'am, but I can't promise anything. I honestly don't know how to do it."

Mrs Holmes quickly stopped crying and looked straight at him. "But I do."

Mr Holmes saw the whole show his wife put up and felt sheepish when he understood that she succeeded to do what he had failed.

"Pfth! I thought I just married a pretty face", he said sardonically and both his sons looked at him.

"Oh. How?" asked the startled head manager Mrs Holmes.

"You're probably a bit short on railroad engineers now in the times of the holidays?"

Mr Crowley nodded and Mrs Holmes continued. "And if the driver of our train got a alarming call concerning someone beloved and hastily had to leave, you wouldn't be able to find another one in such short notice, right?"

The receptionist Lillian Haywood's heels clattered as she hurried to the train at platform four. She accidently bumped into Mr Murphy who just came out of the coffee shop and the hot content of the cup in his hand ended up on his suit.

"Christ!" he cried out.

"Oh, God! I'm so sorry," said Miss Haywood.

Mr Murphy looked up to see the prettiest face he'd ever seen and all his annoyance over the ruined suit disappeared while he looked into the girl's sorrowful blue eyes. He opened his mouth to relieve her and say that he was okay but she had already hurried away. He watched longingly the curves of her wiggling hips as she awkwardly ran in her court shoes and thought that this surely was a day full of memorable meetings.

Mr Sullivan was just about to close the door to his cab of the train at platform four when the cute secretary appeared… what was her name? Miss Hayway?

She was able to caught her breath enough to stammer "M-Mr Sullivan… I got a call… concerning your mother."

He wondered what it could be about her mother that caused such hurry, was not she happy and safe in the nursing home?

"She is ill, it's critical. They say that her time will soon be up."

"Oh, God, is she dying!?"

"Yes."

"Right now?"

"I don't know, but they said you should come right away to say… goodbye", the last word was nothing but a whisper.

"But I…" he looked over his shoulder and into the cab.

"It's okay, Mr Crowley gave you permission to leave."

"Oswald Crowley!?"

"Yes, he said that you could go right away."

Now Mr Sullivan got really worried, was Mr Oswald Crowley, head manager of British Railways, involved in this? He better hurry because it sounded like something serious.

The Holmes family listened happily when the station's speaker said that their train had been cancelled due to staff shortages. The only one who felt a bit sorry because they missed the annual family gathering at Christmas was Mycroft, thinking about the dessert he'd longed for since last year. Sherlock now remembered why he'd returned to his parents and pulled the arm of his mother's trench coat.

"Mommy, I'm bored."

"But now it's time to go home. We can buy some pizza on the way."

"No! I don't want pizza", protested Sherlock.

Mr Holmes sighed deeply and Mycroft moaned.

"Isn't he a bit old for this?" asked Mr Holmes his wife and Mycroft filled in with a vigorous nod.

Mrs Holmes ignored her husband and her first son; her baby boy was never too old for anything. "Okay, let's have some Chinese takeaway."

"I don't want that", said Sherlock stubbornly.

Mrs Holmes bent down to her son's level and asked "then what do you want Sherly?"

Sherlock smirked and ended their what-are-we-going-to-eat ritual. "Pizza."

"Okay, let's go and get some pizza."

The family took their suitcases and walked out of Kings Cross. Sherlock felt the happy satisfaction of getting what he wanted and his mother was happy that she had been able to escape the dreadful time with her husband's family. Mr Holmes was happy that he would soon be in his office at home – the peaceful and quiet oasis that God had given to him so he could be alone without being disturbed.

"Can we drive by the bakery on our way home?" asked Mycroft his mother.

Mrs Holmes patted Mycroft's shoulder. "Of course Mycroft dear."

Now they all were happy and satisfied and the Christmas had great potential of being merry this year, for once.

Ruth Sullivan was mourning another Christmas that she would be forgotten by her only living kin. She heard her door open and since she was blind, she could believe that the visitor was a relative until she heard the nurse's voice and her hopes crushed.

"Mrs Sullivan, what have you done with your Christmas tree?" asked the nurse dismayed.

Mrs Sullivan used her slipper-clad toes and poked at the little plastic tree with tickling tinsel and round Christmas bulbs that lay on the floor. The nurse had brought it with her some hours ago and called it a Christmas tree.

"Why should I have it? There's no visitors here anyway who can enjoy it," said Mrs Sullivan gloomily.

The nurse put it back on the table the old lady had thrown it off. "But you have a visitor now."

Mrs Sullivan heard hurrying steps in the corridor that abruptly stopped in her doorway. Shocked, she straightened her since long stooped back and then she heard the voice of her long lost son. "Mother! You're…"

"George!" she cried out and tears of happiness filled her incompetent eyes.

Mr Sullivan was surprised to find his mother sitting at the foot of her bed, looking healthy.

"I thought you were sick. How are you?"

"I'm… I'm fine. I've never felt better than I do right now. You've come to visit your old mother dear at Christmas Eve!"