This one is set the same Christmas as the recent stories, and tell us about John and Sherlock's stay with Sherlock's parents during the new year's weekend.

There is a bonus fic for reviewers set during the previous new year's eve party, as well. You get it by, you guessed it, reviewing. (Which is always fun, so please do that anyway!) Special thanks to my kind-of-beta, Wiznerd the Eagle, for being a complete proofreading badass. All recognisable content belongs to its respective owners, as always, because really, who on earth would it else belong to?!

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John was packing up, mostly for something to do. It was snowing outside, and Sherlock had gone to speak with the estate beehives, whatever that meant. He felt a bit less out of place here this year, he supposed. Not only was it more familiar, but he was actually Sherlock's fiance this time around. Somehow, if only in this setting, that made a difference. Perhaps it was the oldfashion setting of an actual country estate and all such things that did that, he supposed vaguely.

They were staying in the same cozy room with a big fireplace as they had occupied last year, and it felt homely. It was really a lovely place to stay, John reflected, looking up and out the window. They were staying four nights this year, but he was fine with that. He hoped that Sherlock would enjoy some time in his childhood home. Or with his childhood beehives, whichever he preferred. John found himself laughing at the thought.

The new year's party was a few days away yet, but Violet had made sure to let him know that they were having some people over for dinner that very evening. Knowing the Holmeses, he fully expected at least twenty people.

John switched to a clean jumper and walked downstairs after putting out Sherlock's things, the ones he would need upon returning from his little bee excursion, onto the bed. The hallway, as he arrived downstairs, was bright and elegant, and there were people already arriving for Violet's dinner.

He could recognize Cordelia McHamish, but there were far more people in the house this time. John walked into the room with a slight smile, greeting Cordelia as she was frankly the only person there that he recognised. "John!" she smiled to him in turn, reaching to grasp his hands. "How are you and Sherlock doing, dear?" "We are fine, yes. We got engaged this summer, m'am" John smiled to her. "Oh that is wonderful!" she replied, beaming.

"And you are?" John looks up from her to discover a older woman with dyed hair and far too much makeup. "Doctor John Watson is formerly a captain of the Northumberland Fusilers" Cordelia replied wth a benevolent smile. "Quite impressive". The other woman looked rather distainful. "An army doctor? And pray, how do you know the Holmes?" "Why, brains as well as bravery!" Cordelia continued to cut in, but John didn't mind. She clearly knew what to say, and he didn't. "He is Violet's youngest's, Sherlock's..." here she stopped, as a man approached, smiling. She introduced him to John as her brother, colonel McHamish.

There were more scornful gazes at John as they went for the table, curiously none from anybody he remembered from the smaller company the elder Holmeses had kept over new year's eve, and a few surprised gazes when John got seated with the family, and then that same overly makeuped lady dropped her jaw as Mycroft appeared, greeting John with a unusually warm "John! So you ended up not shooting my brother last night, then? I am fairly sure he deserved it". "Mycroft!" John grasped Mycroft's hand warmly and smiled "thank you for the translation, as ever. He is out right now, talking to bees. I am assuming he will come back when he is done with that".

Sherlock appeared then, dressed in the shirt John had put out for him, and went straight up to his place, just as Violet told them to tuck into the first dish. John, true to his habit, and seated strategically right next to his fiance, put some food onto Sherlock's plate, just like he did to his own. When Sherlock inevitably frowned at this John, without thinking, fell back onto his captain's voice as he normally would and ordered "You have barely eaten since breakfast yesterday Sherlock, so now you WILL eat! that" John turned to Violent, in the ensuing half-silence, smiling excusingly "I am afraid that making your son put on that slight extra weight is not always an entirely consensual activity. I promise I am not such a tyrant the rest of the time". Sherlock chose that moment to pick at his plate and announce "I do not like mushrooms". "Yes you do" John decided, just as Mycroft raised an eyebrow and elequently said he hoped that John was somewhat of a tyrant, as it would doubtlessly be good for his brother.

After the four course meal was over, Sherlock having skipped two courses entirely and fully ignored his mother's protests, in fact everybody's protests but John's, they all retreated into the parlour, Sherlock flopping down bonelessly onto a large ottoman, pulling John down towards him and sulking at not recieving his full attention. Somewhat amused, John sat down, pulling Sherlock's sock clad feet into his lap and rubbing them gently but strongly in the way the genius liked so much, effectively ending the sulk before it really begun.

Longtime friends of the Holmes family, well aware of the volatile temper of the younger son of the family, was astonished to watch. The humble looking doctor in his white sweater, seemingly effortlessly made the younger Holmes brother abandon his restless pacing and just sit by the fire, or lie, as it were. Violet Holmes watched the couple with a look much like a cat who got the cream, and all her friends, as well as most of her aquaintances in the room, noticed.

Mycroft stalked over, just as alike a panther as his brother could be, and sat next to John, making a point to keep up polite, but also very unstilted, conversation. They talked about nothing in particular as John rubbed Sherlock's feet, the genius seemingly half asleep. At any other occasion, John would have assumed him to be in his mind-palace, but he knew that his consulting madman liked them far too much to miss these touches, so he concluded that he was not.

Mycroft looked at his brother silently, as John for a moment spoke instead to their father, and sighed internally in pure relief. His beloved, however difficult, always beloved, little brother had been so at unrest, for so long, and he felt profound relief, even though he might never admit it (though he quite suspected that John had guessed, the doctor was really rather more intelligent than most gave him credit for, and he rather suspected that that was how the man liked it) that he had settled at last.

John, meanwhile, kept absentmindedly rubbing Sherlock's feet as he spoke to the two older Mr Holmes, finding it rather amusing to witness Mycroft in his element, attempting to be actually charming. He understood why he did well in politics, except his sharpness, he really did well at it, as well almost as he did sharp or intimidating.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was enjoying the gathering more than he had most such events for a very long time, or ever, for that matter. John was right he did like mushrooms, and even sitting in the parlour and listening to inane chatter was entirely berable when John was rubbing his feet like that. It was, all in all, almost entirely pleasant. Even his brother was not being very annoying.

Violet and Siger Holmes watched their boys, and John, whom they at this point practically included in that count, and they smiled to each other happily, as they already pondered with whom to settle their eldest son. Perferably a lady, not becuse they truly cared about those things, but because Mycroft pretty much always had been the only chance they got when it came to grandchildren.

As the evening drew on, and everybody was being charming and social (except Sherlock, who showed increasing signs of being asleep), John found himself relaxing, as he got to know more people than the two brothers and a handfull he knew by sight. He felt increasingly pleased that they were staying longer this time, and made a mental note to ask Sherlock to show him the beehives, before they left.

At barely ten o'clock, however, when the others were just about to drink tea and champagne, Sherlock had clearly had enough and dragged John upstairs instead. John, however, goodnaturedly accepted this, bid the company goodnight, and they could hear him say amusedly to his very own genius "you do realise, Sherlock, that they all believe you are dragging me up here to do something sexual". "I am not" he responded flatly, his voice carrying as well as his fiance's from the stairs "I know that, Sherlock, but your mother doesn't, and that is on the verge of a bit not good!"

Violet Holmes' laughter prevented the guests, and her husband, from hearing any more of the doctor's lessons to her son about social etiquette. "Well, John always was the polite one" Mycroft commented dryly.

"Sherlock has changed for the better under his influence, though" Cordelia noted kindly. "I dare say he is happier, and hopefully, so is his doctor". "Yes" Violet Holmes agreed with a smile "I think that they both are, and all the better for being with each other". She gave her husband a warm smile "which is exactly how it should be, is it not?

John thought about it too, lying up in the cozy attick room, watching the stars through the large windows, the light of the fire discreet enough not to distort them, Sherlock curled up around him like a gigantic human octupus, and the former army doctor smiled. Life was somewhat odd, here with the Holmes, but he would truly not have it any other way.