Auhor's note:
This is a little present for SammyKatz, with love.
I intentionally use the words "Happy Holidays", because I do not know the religion of my reader, I personally use this expression when talking to strangers (even in the UK) and my grandmother (the Uk one) uses it too, as we are not religious.
Enjoy!
It was snowing.
"Oh, no!" Molly cried in exasperation. "I need that, Toby!" She tried to grab the cat before he ran off with the last bit of ribbon, but to no avail.
This was a mess.
She had been working too much at the hospital again, and had no time to go shopping for presents.
Now she was supposed to go for dinner, and she wasn't prepared.
Well, at least she had time to cook...
"The lasagna!" Molly cried in horror. Toby mewed his protests as she jumped over him in her desperate dash to the kitchen.
Burnt.
Of course it was.
Molly dejectedly pulled out the carbonised dish from the oven.
This was, seriously, a mess.
No fantastic gifts, no amazing food, no boyfriend to take home...
Molly shook her head.
It doesn't matter. She told herself firmly. I'm home for the holidays, and that's all that counts.
Molly picked up the rather pathetic little gifts, put on her hat and coat and unlocked the front door.
"Bye, Toby, be a good oGAH!" She cried as she pumped into something on her front step.
"Oh, sorry Molly. I couldn't quite see you there." Someone called from behind a rather sizeable basket.
"John?" She exclaimed. "Sherlock!" She added when she saw the dark figure step out of the shadows. "What are you doing here?" She asked politely, trying to hide the worry in her voice.
Not another case, not another case. Please, not another case. Not tonight...
"It's snowing heavily, Molly. The train you were going to take will be cancelled in about ten minutes." Sherlock said, matter-of-factly.
"Oh, no." Her shoulders sagged.
"Don't worry!" John's head appeared from the side of the basket. "Lestrade is lending us the car, as long as Sherlock is not allowed to drive."
Sherlock sniffed.
"You burnt the lasagna."
"I know." She blushed.
"You do that when you're agitated, and of course you'd be. You didn't get to buy what you wanted."
"What..."
"For the past few weeks you've been at Barts when the shops were open. Yesterday you wanted to go buy something, but today, when you left to come here, the new bulge in your purse had remained unchanged: you didn't have time to get what you had hoped."
Sherlock pulled out a box, carefully wrapped, from his pocket. "Your mother should like this."
She wordlessly took it in her hands. "I..."
"Sherlock told me to bring food. I hope a Quiche and some wine are enough." John fretted.
Molly smiled, her eyes wet.
But that was just snow.
It was.
Really!
"Thank you." She managed to say, wiping the snow from her eyes.
Festive echoed in the house when the doorbell rang.
"That might be Molly! A voice cried.
"Can't be. They cancelled her train an hour ago."
"Oh, no!"
The doorbell rang again.
"I'll get it. I'm coming!" A woman called, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she hurried to the door.
When she opened it, she saw Molly standing in the snow.
She stepped inside and put a giant basket down, rummaged in it, and handed the woman a beautifully wrapped present.
Upon opening it, the woman would find a silver frame with a picture of the two of them in a garden, under a tree, hugging and laughing, when Molly was 12.
The daughter smiled, and the warmth in that smile kept the winter chill at bay in her mother's heart.
"Happy holidays, Mum."