A/N: This story is the first in a collaboration with the wonderful author MrsNoggin. We will both be writing a series of parent!lock one-shots. Follow both of us to get our stories. In addition to this collaboration, she has been a fantastic beta.
This chapter is dedicated to GoodOldJames. And yes, we did name one of the children after you.
John stretched his neck from side to side and wondered what why he had ever thought this was a good idea. Erin clutched at his right hand while James slid lower on his hip. Hitching him up, John settled James in the crook of his arm. Sherlock had run off when they had arrived with a cry, "John- look!"
The trio walked through the crowded area, searching for the centre of the madness that was shopping areas at Christmas time.
"Papa!" Erin tugged on his hand, "There's the line!"
She towed him over to the gaudily decorated fake gingerbread house, joining the queue. Tinny music filled the air- instrumental renditions of traditional Christmas songs. The area was filled with children, sniffling and yelling, which was probably the real reason Sherlock had disappeared. While he loved his own children immensely, he tried to avoid other children.
So John stood alone, desperately trying to keep track of Erin as she tried exploring the fake gingerbread house, the four-foot candy canes, the glittering artificial snow. This was one of those moments where John wished they had a leash for the wriggling James. John finally had to let him down or risk him diving head first onto the floor. Capturing James as he tried wandering off again, he turned around to realize that Erin had disappeared.
Shit, he thought vehemently, scanning the crowd, panicking as he sought out his Erin. There were dozens of blonde children, but each one seemed attached to an adult. About ready to dash out of line to more thoroughly look through the seemingly endless fair-haired girls, John heard a smooth baritone voice from behind him.
"Tsk, tsk. You've only been in line for ten minutes and have already lost one child."
John whirled around, finding Sherlock standing calmly with Erin. "I wouldn't have lost her if you had been here to help," he snapped, after breathing a sigh of relief.
"I thought I made it clear at the flat that this was one experience I did not think we needed."
"And I thought we agreed that our children wanted to do this, so we would."
Sherlock sniffed and looked down his nose at John, who glared back, silently reminding Sherlock to behave.
"Excuse me," the women with three children behind them said, nodding at the space in front of the two men. Sherlock and John moved forward, their children getting more and more excited as they came closer to Santa. John deposited James into Sherlock's arms in attempt to keep both of them from wandering off again. Erin bounced up and down, her pigtails swinging back and forth.
"Dad," she said to Sherlock, "why is the elf taller than papa?"
He barked out a short laugh before managing to hide his glee.
"Elves aren't supposed to be tall!" James added.
John glared at Sherlock, convinced that he had been coached, but he returned John's glare with an all too innocent look.
They finally reached the corralled area that held Santa, and the too-tall elf led their family over. John looked at the man incredulously; he couldn't have been more than 25, his fake beard strung up behind his ears. Erin clambered up first, sitting calmly in Santa's lap, whispering in his ear what she wanted for Christmas. John strained to hear, even though he knew Sherlock had probably already deduced it. She smiled sweetly as she slid off to allow James up.
As soon as James sat on Santa, John recognized his expression as the one that he had come to dread the most. James had his innocent face on, the one he had learnt from Sherlock when he was in trouble.
"What do you want for Christmas?" the young Santa was aiming for jolly, but it came off as slightly creepy.
James grinned up at him, "Sometimes my pants get stuck up my bum-bum."
Santa barked out a short burst of laughter, then quickly stifled it with the back of a gloved hand. John stood there with his mouth open in shock, completely frozen to the spot for a second. He quickly stepped forward to grab James off of the man's lap, feeling his feel his face flushing with embarrassment.
Before John could remove his youngest, Santa quickly leaned forward and whispered, loud enough for John to hear, "Do you know what? Sometimes that happens to me, too."
With a wink, he held James out to John, who stood there, absolutely mortified. He quickly took charge of James, leading him over to the lady at the computer to look at the proofs of the pictures they had taken. Sherlock was already there, and John could see him trying not to laugh.
Erin's picture was lovely; she beamed up at Santa, who had his ear down to listen to her request. James' picture, however, was less so. Santa had one hand pressed to his mouth, looking up, mirth showing as James grinned at him. In the corner of the picture, John could see his own hand from when he rushed up to grab James. Looking at the pictures, John couldn't help but laugh. It seemed to describe his children perfectly – Erin the sweet girl and James the slightly crazier boy.
Even as Sherlock was pulling out his wallet to purchase the photos, John looked at him beseechingly, "Will you promise to take us all to get proper family pictures soon?"
"Of course, John," Sherlock agreed, tucking Erin's small hand in his own large one. The four of them wound their way out of the area, avoiding the crowds as much as possible on the way out.
A year later, John would admit freely that it was one of his favorite pictures of James, but for now, the four of them walked down the street toward their flat, he just wished for a nice, normal, picture of his family.