Author's note: Just a quick thing with family fluff. Enjoy!
They have never been a family to get sentimental around this time of the year; once they grew up, they seldom even exchanged the season's greetings or called to wish each other happy new year.
But this year, everything is different.
It's Sherlock's first Christmas as a father.
The last few months have been... interesting, to say the least.
Neither of them ever expected to become a parent, and he's certain that Sherlock must have been nervous about the prospect. He never showed it, though.
If he ever did, then only in front of Sally or John, he's certain.
While he might have allowed a few pictures of their wedding to appear in the papers, he has until now succeeded in suppressing each and every scrap of news about Hamish. His nephew will not grow up in the spotlight as the son of a "freak".
Instead, he's been a perfectly normal happy baby until now.
Maybe not exactly "normal", if he's being honest. While Sherlock's insistence that he's developing rapidly even for his age could be seen as the boasts of a proud father, he had already started to sit up at three months.
Sally, to his amusement, actually seems to be the more relaxed parent. Which doesn't mean that she doesn't adore the son as much as her husband.
But from the first, she was convinced that Sherlock would make an excellent father. She never wavered in her conviction, disregarding the gossip.
Thankfully, there's little of it heard at Scotland Yard these days. Sherlock likes most of the police officers well enough, and they are glad of his help in return.
They are going to have a Christmas party again, despite or maybe even because of the baby. Sherlock, even though he frequently attempts not to make it seem that way, is as big a show-off with his son as he is with his experiments.
As several amused forensic technicians could freely attest, since any new personnel usually learns within minutes (and a few feet away from a body) that Sherlock is a very happily married father who just happens to have the most wonderful son to ever grace the face of the earth.
Not that his brother ever formulates it that way – but the grin on his face is easy enough to read, especially with John talking about how their sons are already friends in the background.
Mycroft and Anthea end up missing the party, however. Trouble is brewing in North Korea again, Christmas is long over before everything is settled.
There is a text on his phone, however, to inform them that Sherlock and Sally have decided to host a New Year's Eve party as well.
Anthea is in a meeting, so this time they will arrive separately (and the thought saddens him more than he ever thought possible). He spends the last few hours before the party in an emergency meeting with the Prime Minister.
It's the first Prime Minister he can say he's ever grown close to during his time in Downing Street.
To his surprise, he's even found himself showing him pictures of Hamish.
"That should be all".
Norton thinks back into his chair with a sigh of relief.
"It appears so".
Thankfully, there seems to be no new global crisis on the horizon.
He didn't add "sir" to the end of his sentence for the simple reason that Norton is one of the few Prime Ministers to guess what position Mycroft actually holds.
"How do you plan on ringing the new one in?"
The question still manages to baffle him, now and then. It wasn't that long ago when neither he nor Sherlock considered anything worth celebrating.
"My brother and his wife are having a party."
"Ah. Showing off the baby". Norton smiled. "I remember that feeling. I don't think I have ever properly thanked you, by the way."
"For what?" he asks casually.
"For keeping my boy out of the media."
"His boy", as he keeps referring to his son, is only ten years old. There is no reason for paparazzi to hunt him like an animal.
"I... made a few suggestions".
It's as much as he will admit to anyone.
"Naturally. Still, thank you, Mycroft".
He nods.
"And please, give your brother my best wishes. It is always best to be on the good side of the Holmes, after all" Norton says cheerfully as they're saying goodbye.
He really did underestimate him, Mycroft reflects in the limousine on the way to Sherlock's and Sally's flat. At least he's not an idiot likely to start a war on a whim.
Contrary to his inclinations there are even more people around than last year. He would think that this has to do with curiosity regarding Sherlock's offspring, if he hadn't spent year watching most of their friends.
Mike Stamford is the first to greet him.
"Mycroft".
Not even he was strong enough to resist the kind teacher when he asked him to call him Dave.
"Good evening, Dave".
"This year, Mrs. Hudson opened her flat for us too. Otherwise we'd be too many."
He smiles.
"Hamish is quite the life of the party".
It would seem so. When Mycroft enters 221B's living room, his nephew is being cuddled by DI Dimmock and his partner and looks very satisfied indeed.
At least until he spies Mycroft.
He suddenly begins to wiggle, making noises, stretching out his arms.
"What is it – "
Dimmock turns around.
"Oh, the favourite uncle has arrived."
"I don't know" Peter, his husband, says. "I think Hamish has a lot of those."
Dimmock snorts.
"John doesn't count, he's basically Father Number two."
"Not sure what Sally has to say about that."
"She thinks that the more, the merrier" Mycroft's sister-in-law's voice rings out.
"You'd think he'd be tired out, he and Thomas were awake the whole afternoon" she says, taking Hamish out of Dimmock's arms and handing him to Mycroft.
Speaking of which...
He turns his head. John is holding his son, while he and Sherlock are discussing something, once again lost in their own little world.
"An old Bow Street Runners case" she tells Mycroft. "I'm pretty sure it was the neighbour, but there are seven other options, and John chose the wife."
He smirks.
"Did you indicate a favourite solution to the problem?" he asks Hamish, who promptly squeals.
Dimmock and Peter share a fond look.
Oh. It seems there will soon be more children on the horizon of Sherlock's... extended family, for lack of a better word.
Hamish starts playing with his tie.
"There's nothing hidden in the pin, is there?" Sally inquires. He shakes his head.
"Good. Just had to make sure. Ah, Anthea is here..."
She bustles off to greet her.
"Don't you ever think she's got... a little too used to some things?" Dimmock inquires innocently.
"You were the one who made us return early from our holiday last year because of a case..."
Mycroft carefully brings the pen in his inner pocket out of Hamish's reach. His tie pin might be very much what it appears to be, but the pen...
Anthea steps up to him.
"Hello, Hamish".
His nephew seems to have some idea that they come as a pair, as he points as both of them in turn and smiles brightly.
They will have to... correct this misunderstanding eventually, he decides.
Eventually.
"Mycroft, Anthea".
"Sherlock" Anthea greets him cheerfully, "I already saw Sally."
"We do seem to have a few more guests than in recent years" he comments.
Hamish has recognized his father's voice and fuzzes. Almost immediately, Sherlock takes him in his arms, and he quiets down.
"Everything's alright, Hamish" he tells him.
Anthea retreats, leaving the two brothers alone. Sherlock smiles slyly at him.
"Unexpected, wasn't it" he comments, bouncing Hamish up and down.
Sherlock enjoyed that too as a baby, he remembers. He reaches out to his nephew, who grabs his index finger.
Not that long ago, they didn't even speak at Christmas.
"How's Sally? I only spoke to her briefly."
Sherlock smiles. It is answer enough.
"We've all been quite well."
"I trust Sally has adjusted..."
He stops when Sherlock shakes his head.
"She would tell me if she had any problems with maternity leave".
Naturally.
"I am pretty sure these two are going to be up at the stroke of midnight" John remarks, strolling up to them with Thomas in his arms.
"Hello, Mycroft."
"John. Thomas."
Thomas and Hamish, however, have little interest in the adults once they spot one another, content to babble at each other in the language of toddlers.
Mycroft is rather sure he will have to save them from being arrested one day.
Sherlock is watching their exchange with a smile on his face. Sometimes Mycroft wonders what it would have meant for his brother to have a friend growing up; but it is idle conjecture, plus he is still getting used himself to Sherlock's many acquaintances.
"These two are going to get into so much trouble" John says.
"We better hope so" Sally answers, coming their way to offer Mycroft a glass of wine. "Otherwise I'd be worried about the mutant I gave birth to".
"I don't always get into trouble" Sherlock points out.
"Of course you do, that's why I married you. I'm not too good with following rules myself."
It took years for his sister-in-law to admit it to herself.
Anthea's chuckle behind him causes him to turn around.
"I think we all know that, Sally" she teases her.
Sally shrugs.
"At least my taste in men got significantly better over the ears. Even Judy says so."
Sherlock mumbles something to Hamish that sounds suspiciously like "She should know best". Mycroft can't really disagree; Sherlock's brother-in-law is one of the most boring men he ever came across.
And he regularly meets politicians in his line of work.
The rest of the evening passes quickly; Mary is just telling Mycroft about the progress she's made with firearms (and pretending he doesn't already know) when Sally calls out, "Time to ring the New Year in!"
She holds out Hamish, Mary handing Thomas to Anthea at the same time.
"You don't mind, do you? These two just don't want to fall asleep, and there are some traditions..."
He catches Anthea's eyes and tells himself he's not interested in that particular tradition in the slightest.
But he doesn't mind Sally drawing Sherlock into a corner in the slightest.
A New Year's kiss is not a tradition he'd ever expected his family to follow, but his brother seems quite happy with it, after all.