Author's Note: So here is some of the fluff I warned you of. This is focused on Sherlock and Odella's relationship and how it is seen from the outside. By this point, the hint of Mystrade has been revealed to the main characters. Just another warning: I happened to be reading Pride and Prejudice while writing the middle bit of this chapter. I regret nothing.
The song mentioned is Nocturne by Chopin, here is the link: watch?v=VvVX-6zb5N8 so check it out.
Also, the next chapter may not be up for a while because - SURPRISE (NOT)- family drama has popped up again. *sigh* and my school courses have started.
"You're just in time to help put up the Christmas tree." Odella held out a dusty box and dumped it into Sherlock's arms. He frowned distractedly at the contents inside.
"Where did you get these?" He hooked a long finger around a glittery globe and held it up to the light.
"Oh, you know. I stole them. But don't worry the only person who saw me has been taken care of." Odella waited until both John and Sherlock wore a horrified look before throwing her head back and laughing. "I'm just kidding. Mrs. Hudson gave them to me."
Sherlock smiled slightly and shook his head but Odella could see that he was still distracted by something. Picking up a crystal snowflake she stood on her tippy toes, knowing that she wouldn't be able to place it in the spot she wanted. Returning her heels to the floor, she turned to the detective.
"Sherlock? Could you put this right here? If I move any closer my stomach will knock the whole thing over."
Taking the ornament from her, he looped its string around a tree limb.
"No, not there. There." She pointed to the limb above it, knowing something was bothering Sherlock when he didn't ask why it wasn't fine where it was, placing the snowflake where she had indicated without a word. He stood there gazing intensely at the fake pine needles, his fingers thrumming against his thigh.
Odella let him work out whatever was bugging him in his head, while she moved around him, hanging ornaments on the lower branches of the tree. She had just handed silver tinsel to John and was winding it around the tree when Sherlock stopped her.
He cleared his throat nervously. "My...my mother wants to meet you. At my family's Christmas party."
Raising her eyebrows, Odella couldn't stop the words from coming out: "To be honest, I didn't even know your mother was alive." Sherlock frowned. "Right. Of course she is. Well, I could hardly refuse the woman who gave birth to you, can I?"
"You are really willing to place yourself in my mother's torturous company?" Sherlock's seemed a little panicked that Odella so readily agreed.
Shrugging, she returned to circling the tree with the tinsel. "I'll more than likely make a fool of myself in front of every single one of your relatives but they could very well be welcoming another Holmes or two into the family soon."
Sherlock still seemed to be alarmed, maybe more so than before. Sighing, Odella dropped the silvery strand and slid her fingers into Sherlock's front trouser pockets, tugging him closer.
"Sherlock. If your mother wants to meet me, then I'll go with you to her Christmas party. No matter what happens there, even if it's whatever you're scared of happening, it won't affect what goes on here. Those people won't change this family." She tilted her head in John's direction, who smiled when Sherlock sought his reassurance.
Sighing with relief, Sherlock wrapped his arms around Odella. "I really thought I was going to have to bribe you."
"Were you? With what?" She raised one eyebrow, interested.
"I don't know; anything."
"Hmm. Sex? Chocolate? Those almond cookies I really like? All of the above?" Sherlock laughed, kissing her forehead.
"You mean biscuits." John leaned around the tree, teasingly.
"No, cookies. I'm American and pregnant so I can call those magical round things whatever I want." Odella joked back before returning to look at Sherlock, all kidding aside. "Does your mother know we're not married?"
Sherlock tensed slightly. "She does. She may not be too pleased about it, but my other relatives would be even more unhappy about our relationship." He looked away.
Odella shrugged. "I'll wear a ring at the party. It's an easy fix." She smiled calmly and he nodded. She looked around the flat, as if sizing it up. "We should get some mistletoe."
It took a millisecond for Sherlock to register the change of subject. He frowned, "You do know that mistletoe is a-"
"A hemiparasite and that it feeds off of other trees? Yep, sure do." She leaned up to peck a kiss on his still turned down lips. "I think it's wonderfully morbid, don't you?"
Laughing, Sherlock returned the kiss, knowing he would never get tired of this woman and her surprising mind.
Sherlock was agitatedly adjusting his suit jacket when Odella finally emerged from the bathroom. He had never experienced that moment that men describe when they see their future wife step down the aisle but this has got to be the same thing. Sherlock forgot to breathe for a few seconds and his heart managed to stay in his chest, if not just barely.
"Is this okay? It isn't too much is it?" Odella looked down at her dress, concerned by Sherlock's slack face.
She smoothed down the gold, lace bodice of her gown that covered her growing stomach. The sheer lace sleeves and neckline were highlighted with a smattering of tiny chocolate pearls that matched the larger strings around her throat and wrist and the two single spheres in her ears.
She bit her dusky pink lip and looked at Sherlock with long lashed, golden dusted eyes, running her fingers through her soft waves, waiting for an answer.
"No..I mean you're perfect." Sherlock blushed. "The dress is perfect." His gaze traveled over her repeatedly, taking in the way the gold and dark pearls highlighted her honey skin and the tawny flecks in her eyes. Her gown had a side slit that revealed just up to her knee, the exposed leg made longer by dark brown pumps.
"Sherlock, are you alright?" Odella stepped forward and placed a newly manicured hand on his cheek, worried.
"I'm fine." He cleared his throat and the smell of lavender perfume made him close his eyes, trying to compose himself. And trying not to think about the aphrodisiacal properties of the scent.
Odella took a moment to run her eyes down Sherlock and decided she approved immensely of the artfully tailored suit and the customary but equally artful disheveled and dark locks that made Sherlock Holmes. Raising her eyes back to his face, she found silver eyes watching her under hooded lids.
Letting out a breath, Odella felt her cheeks warm again. "If you keep looking at me like that, we are going to end up being late. And I refuse to get back into this dress once it comes off."
"It would be a shame to not give the general public a chance to see you looking stunning, would it not? Besides, it would not do for you to show up at my mother's home inappropriately attired." Sherlock ran a finger under the neckline of her dress, his voice pitched lower than usual.
Odella grinned shyly, and ducked her head.
"Anything you should warn me about before I walk into the Holmes' residence?" Odella placed her hand on Sherlock's bouncing knee, stilling his nervous limb.
"Show no weakness. Act natural. Oh, I don't know." Sherlock began moving his leg again, looking pained.
"Sherlock. It will be fine. Nothing they say or do will cause any damage. I've been through worse." She turned his face towards her, trying to reassure him. But at the mention of her previously unfair deal of cards, he wrapped his arms around her.
"I'm sorry you have to meet my family. This is too much to ask of you."
"Oh, Sherlock. No." She drew back. "You have every right to want me to introduce myself to your family. I probably would have asked to do so eventually, anyways."
"That's just it: I don't want you to make torturous small talk with my relatives. I should want that, but I don't." He sighed and rested his forehead against Odella's.
"They can't be that bad; if they managed to make you who you are today, I already think highly of them." She brushed her thumb across his jaw before taking his left hand in hers.
Sherlock felt something round slide down his ring finger and looking down, he found a dark silver wedding band contrast with the pale skin of his long digit. Odella smiled softly and wiggled her own finger, displaying a swirl of diamonds and white gold. He had seen the ring before; he had seen it been worn by Mrs. Hudson a few years back and had long since forgotten about it.
"Mrs. Hudson let me borrow it. She said it was the last thing her husband gave her before he died." She twisted it around her finger. "And yes, I do know all about her husband and how this ring could have been stolen or bought with dirty money but I think it gives it charm. And in a roundabout way, it connects back to you."
Sherlock caught her hand. "It certainly is finely crafted." He smiled at Odella's attempts to distract him and gave her hand a grateful squeeze.
"And what macabre background does my ring have?" He asked teasingly.
"Oh, Molly pried that one off of her latest guest. Almost had to cut the whole finger off with it." She watched Sherlock's face fall into shock before she let herself break her own serious mask. "I'm joking! I had John pick something out."
"Good Lord, Odella. If you can fool me, you'll have even Mycroft believing that we were married months ago."
"That's the plan." Odella winked just as the cab stopped outside a looming stone house. She pushed down the urge to gasp and gape at the building, keeping her composure as Sherlock came around and helped her out. If she wasn't nervous before, she certainly was now.
As Sherlock placed a hand on her lower back to guide her, she faintly felt his fingers tremble. Her nervousness was nothing compared to the fear that paled his face to a death-like parlor.
Straightening her back, Odella forced every muscle in her body to relax while still maintaining perfect posture. She directed Sherlock's arm to link with her own and took a deep breath, halting their progress for a moment to close her eyes.
Sherlock watched as Odella rearranged her face quickly to a mask of ease and confidence. He recognized it as one of the expressions his own mother wore and even though he despised it, when Odella opened her eyes to reveal intense, smoldering pools of chocolate, he had to look away to keep the heat from licking its way up his spine.
"Tone it down?" Odella asked quietly, her tone- rich and effortless- not helping the thoughts slithering through Sherlock's already frazzled brain cells. And in front of his mother's house, no less.
"Please do." He cleared his throat and focused on the night air against his cheeks as Odella let more of her intensity leak out. Once Sherlock was sure he wasn't going to constantly think about finding some dark, secluded place in which to secret Odella away to, all the while having a chat with his Aunts or worse, Mummy, he straightened himself to match Odella's mannerisms and led her up the walkway.
Odella smiled at Sherlock following her act of collectiveness even though she knew he would rather throw her over his shoulder and whisk her away from the group of Holmes that were gathered in the house before them.
Just as Sherlock reached for the door knocker, Odella stopped him.
"Before we go in, remember that whatever happens, I will still love you." She kept her gaze steady to emphasize the truth of her words.
"And I you." Sherlock kissed the corner of her mouth to avoid her lipstick but the sentiment was there. Straightening, he grasped the metal knocker and rapped three times on the door.
The door was immediately opened by a thin, older man with graying hair. His face was blank until he realized who was standing on the front steps. His wrinkled face broke into a grin and he bowed lowly. "Master Holmes, I must say, what a pleasure you could come."
Sherlock offered the man a small but warm smile. "It is good to see you, Barrymore."
"And you, sir. Ah, I see you have brought the young lady that had Mistress Holmes order that the silverware be polished twice for." He bowed over her extended hand, his smile turning up in good humor.
"Oh, surely I have not caused so much trouble! I should certainly hope not." Odella immediately decided she liked this man, and blushed at the attention he was paying her.
"Barrymore, this is my-" Sherlock paused for half a millisecond, only enough for Odella to notice, "-wife, Odella."
"An honor to meet the woman brave enough to commit to such an insufferable man." Barrymore winked at her, and Odella could see Sherlock smile in the corner of her eye.
Still lightly holding her hand, he led them down the front entry hall and into a sitting room full of elegantly dressed men and women.
"Master Holmes and Mrs. Holmes have arrived." Barrymore addressed the room and Odella smiled easily at the many pairs of eyes focused on her. Meanwhile, her hand was unintentionally squeezing Barrymore's hand in a vice grip.
He leaned closer, "You'll do fine, dear. Shall I set aside a glass sparkling water at the table for you?"
"Yes, please." Odella took comfort in his consideration and felt gratitude towards the butler as he bowed once more and disappeared through the doorway.
A woman that appeared to be in her sixties approached Sherlock and Odella. Her gaze roved over Odella cautiously before she came to a stop in front of the pair. The three of them were on edge, expecting the worst.
Clearing her throat, the woman gently picked up Odella's left hand and covered with both of hers. "You must be Odella. I am glad you could join us; I must admit, I have been wishing to meet you for some time now. I am Sherlock's mother."
Odella could feel Mrs. Holmes' nervousness and sympathized with her. "It is more than wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Holmes. When Sherlock told me that you wanted to meet me, how could I possibly say no? I could not miss the chance to acquaint myself with the woman who brought two of the most remarkable men into the world." Odella let herself relax, prompting Mrs. Holmes to involuntarily do the same.
"Please, call me Violet. And you must be the only person besides myself to think my sons remarkable. Others find them intolerable." She positioned herself on Odella's left side and let her to a settee.
"Well, I am quite fond of them. I am indebted to them both for providing me with the life I have now." Odella's eyes immediately locked with Sherlock's from where he was being spoken to by a man who droned on about something Sherlock neither cared about nor found remotely interesting.
Odella blushed and ducked her head, a soft smile lifting her lips, easing Mrs. Holmes' worries about how true this woman's affections were for her son. And by the way Sherlock's face softened, the feelings were returned.
"I do believe I have much to learn about you, my dear. If you do not mind all of my questions." Mrs. Holmes settled more comfortably against the cushions.
Odella laughed lightly. "I am sure that whatever curiosities you have for me will not be as strange as the ones Sherlock asks on a daily basis. You may ask anything."
As Odella revealed she came from the eastern coast of America- keeping everything traumatic to herself, of course- Sherlock's relatives slowly gathered around, interested in the witty responses and attractive laughs that came from the glowing wife of their black sheep Sherlock.
"About four months," Odella responded to a question posed by a severe looking Aunt regarding how far along she was.
"But you are so big!" The Aunt colored at the outburst but Odella smiled forgivingly and leaned closer as if revealing a secret.
"Twins tend to need more room, wouldn't you say?"
"Indeed! What a wonderful surprise! Congratulations, my dear girl." She patted Odella's hand, admiring the ease of the woman in front of her.
"I feel as if I must apologize for my behavior: I know you must all enjoy a good wedding but Sherlock and I were determined to have a private ceremony. You know how he is. Besides, I feared many of you would have thought we were acting compulsively; we had only met months earlier through his work but I was absolutely struck by how brilliant and extraordinary he is. Even now, I am amazed that he returns my affections." A pretty blush rose beneath her cheeks.
"Who could refuse you? Especially when you put your mind to use. You already have every person here charmed within an inch of their lives." Sherlock strolled casually towards the settee, offering his hand to Odella when he reached her.
"Don't be dramatic, Sherlock." Odella teased, taking his hand and allowing him to help her up. "I'm something shiny and new. They'll get bored of me yet." She made a gesture to excuse herself and as the pair walked towards the door, everyone caught Sherlock's whispered response:
"I didn't."
Odella had no idea where they were going but she let Sherlock lead her through the halls of his childhood home.
She paused in front of an oil painting of a man with silver eyes and dark hair. "Is this your father?"
"Yes. He died years ago from a heart attack."
"I'm sorry I didn't get to meet him."
"There is nothing you would have missed. We never saw eye to eye."
"Yes, you do seem a little taller than him." Odella managed to keep a straight face until Sherlock snorted. Giggling, she twined her fingers through his. She turned serious then. "But I'm sorry you didn't have a good relationship with him."
Sherlock kissed her knuckles in thanks. As they walked away, Odella couldn't help but comment, "He was quite handsome, was he not? You look like him."
They wandered aimlessly- or so Odella thought- until Sherlock stopped in front of a dark, wooden door. He seemed to hesitate, frowning at the golden handle.
"Sherlock?" Odella whispered. She covered their clasped hands with her other one, pulling Sherlock out of his mind.
Slowly, he turned the handle, pushing open the door. Odella paused, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light trying to stream through the dark fabric of the curtains.
Shapes began to form, the bedroom coming into focus. Everything was a dark color, the wood an almost black cherry and the walls a deep burgundy. It held hints of the same tones as their flat and Odella smiled at Sherlock's unchangeable tastes.
A telescope was angled on a tripod, the larger end pointed towards the drawn curtains. Bookshelves overflowed with leather volumes and sheet music stuck out of the space in between the books.
The room was overall tidy- probably Mrs. Holmes' doing- but on closer inspection, Odella noticed the disarray of notes that a young Sherlock had scribbled in a dark ink that made the writing almost invisible on the wine colored walls. She ran her fingers over the slanted writing, making out a few words. They seemed to be random musings, sometimes equations followed by witty insults that made Odella stifle her laughs.
As she circled the room in wonder, Sherlock watched her eyes sparkle in the dim light every time she stumbled upon something amusing or insightful to Sherlock's childhood. It was strange, sharing this time he would categorize as bleak with someone else. He had always been told that sentiment was a useless thing but the feeling created as he watched Odella stroke bitter words he had scrawled in rage or loneliness was proving that lesson wrong. Her fingertips traced over the loops in his cursive in the same way she would unconsciously caress his pale skin when she was in deep thought. It was simple, small movements but Sherlock knew from experience that they could produce the calming effects of a fresh nicotine patch or ignite a fire under his skin that quickly traveled south.
Odella stepped toward the window and pulled back one side of the curtain. The moonlight that penetrated the glass also lit up the lawn below, revealing well kept flower beds, stone fountains, and a marble gazebo in the middle of the foliage.
"It's beautiful, Sherlock." She seemed captivated by the view but Sherlock had his attention on her. Stepping behind her, he wrapped his arms around her belly and nuzzled her neck. His nervousness about showing Odella his private past life disappeared when he buried his nose in the smell of lavender.
Odella bent her neck to allow him more room and melted back against him. His warmth contrasted with the chill of the window's glass and her breath created condensation when she felt Sherlock's lips on her skin.
"I must say, you have been quite impressive, tonight." His voice was pitched lower and she could feel the vibrations from his throat.
"Have I? What makes you say that?" She had a little trouble keeping her own voice from being affected.
"I have never seen you so well-behaved, for one thing. Nor have I seen you this magnetic in front of anyone besides John or myself. You should have seen their faces when I pulled you away; they were devastated to turn their attentions to something infinitely more boring."
"So you think they approve of me?" Odella turned around to look into Sherlock's moonlit eyes.
Chuckling, he bent towards her lips stopping just before them. "I think worship is a more appropriate word."
Rolling her eyes, Odella wrapped her arms around his neck and met his lips. It was a light kiss, but they were both holding back, aware of where they were and who was expecting them downstairs.
Breaking away gently, Odella twirled the small curls at the nape of his neck. "Will you tell me what it was like?"
Sherlock felt the refusal die on his lips as Odella threaded her fingers into his hair. He searched for words that wouldn't produce that detestable look of pity he had commonly stared into when describing his early life.
Seeing him struggle, Odella let her arms travel down his shoulders, taking his hands in hers and leading him to a wall.
"What made you so angry?" She let her eyes travel across the words.
"I wasn't angry." Sherlock automatically responded with denial.
Shaking her head and smiling slightly, Odella placed her hand on the wall. "You do realize that even though the words you wrote may seem neutral, the slant and heaviness of the ink is clearly full of emotion."
"But some of it's not even in English." Sherlock studied his own handwriting, the scribbles overlapping each other. It really shouldn't have been that noticeable to others that some lines were stemmed from rage or bitterness.
Odella shrugged. "Different languages don't change a persons handwriting, Sherlock. Emotion does."
She looked away from the wall and cupped his cheek. He too, looked away and was relieved to find no trace of pity on her face, just curiousness.
"As you probably know by now, I have never excelled at making friends. The only person I could stand to talk to was Mycroft. And then he left for school and I was here, suffering under my father's disappointment alone." Sherlock squinted at a rough patch of Latin, surprised at the ease his words came out. Then again, Odella was distractingly tugging his curls with her fingers.
"Why would your father be disappointed in you?" She asked it as if it was the most preposterous thing in the world.
Sherlock smiled a little, "Unlike him, I was not interested in joining any sports teams or in being the leader of my class. He found my experiments worthless and he detested my violin playing." He finished with a grimace.
"Well, it sounds like your father was a right bastard," Odella giggled at Sherlock's surprised face at her language. "Besides, everything your father didn't like, I find amazing. And incredibly sexy."
She gave him a coy smile before walking to the door. Looking over her shoulder, her smile widened when she saw pink color Sherlock's cheeks. "I think we should join the others; I'm less likely to rip your clothes off in the presence of your family. But even then, I'm not making any promises regarding my self control."
They made their way downstairs, Odella occasionally throwing back her head to laugh at some childhood story Sherlock had provided.
As they walked through a parlor, Odella stopped to admire a large, white piano. She approached it slowly, and rested her fingers on the ivory keys.
"Do you play?" Sherlock could see nostalgia cloud Odella's face, and he kept his voice low to avoid startling her out of whatever she was remembering.
"Hm. My mother made sure to teach me both ballet and classical music. She used to be a professional ballet dancer but when she found out she was pregnant, she took up playing her favorite songs on the piano instead. It was important to her, to have that small bit of happiness. And it was important to me to see her happy." Odella pressed down on a few keys, biting her lip.
Sherlock caught her hand as she withdrew from the keys. "Will you play for me?"
She blushed. "It's been such a long time, Sherlock. I don't even know if I could remember anything."
"Sit down and see." He guided her back to the piano and put his other and on her lower back as she sat down on the bench.
Odella slowly splayed her hands across the keys and took a deep breath. With a final shrug of her shoulders to release any tension, she began the first notes of Chopin's Nocturne.
It was one familiar to Sherlock, although he wouldn't call himself a Chopin fan. Even so, he had to admit this piece was one of the finer compositions.
He watched Odella's long fingers activate the hammers that made the wood vibrate with music and notes carry out the open parlor door.
Odella herself was no longer stiff, her body now moving fluidly with her hands, her eyes half lidded in concentration. She seemed to hit a certain measure in the music where her eyes closed completely and her eyebrows wrinkled in emotion.
Sherlock knew she was on the brink of stopping mid-performance and stood gently as to not disturb her. Walking towards the bay window, he smiled fondly at the violin that was perched on a stand on the seal. As a boy, this had been his favorite place to practice, with the London skyline just over the drive and his mother had obviously kept it there out of sentiment.
Wrapping pale fingers over the light wooden neck, Sherlock expertly tuned it to his liking. Glancing back at Odella, he could see her fingers slowing down the farther her lips fell.
For the first time in his entire life, Sherlock entered voluntarily into a duet, surprising both himself and Odella.
She had been thinking about her mother and how when she played, her mother would dance around her, laughing. When she had started playing, there was no ache in her chest, just butterflies from the thought of doing something she hadn't done in years and in front of a man she loved no less.
But as she progressed, a stone of grief lodged itself between her breast bones and dug in deeper when she felt the warm presence by her side leave her. She resisted the urge to clutch her chest, her hormones dancing around her sadness and enhancing it.
Just as she was on the verge of removing her hands from the smooth keys and wrapping them around herself and her babies, she heard a cautious strain of notes join her own slowing chords.
Stopping completely, she opened her eyes and found Sherlock standing beside her, a violin tucked under his chin. He blushed slightly when they locked eyes but continued to play. Without her knowledge, Odella's hands repositioned themselves on the keys and picked up where she had left off.
Sherlock smiled and began to walk around the piano, eyes never leaving Odella's except for those brief seconds where either of them glanced at their instruments.
When he had made full circle, Sherlock found himself arching an eyebrow in challenge and picked up speed. Odella threw her head back and laughed, all sadness dispelled thanks to Sherlock's surprising sensitivity and unsurprising wonderful idea.
Fingers flew across white keys and thin strings, both of them laughing at the other for a missed note or a humorous look and when the other was not looking, gazes of adoration and appreciation.
Unbeknownst to either of them, a small crowd had gathered outside of the parlor door. Mrs. Holmes and a few others peered into the room with interest from the shadows, astonished at what was coming from within.
Mrs. Holmes had never seen her youngest son display so much energy and emotion, and for another human being no less. The beautiful music made her want to close her eyes to hear better but the more beautiful sight of her son practically serenading the woman -Odella- made her keep them open.
As the performance came to an end, she and the others resisted clapping, unwilling to give away their position. Instead, they continued to watch.
Sherlock had set down his violin on the piano and taken Odella's hand. She stood and wrapped her arms around his neck and he lowered his head to brush noses with her.
"I must admit that was the first time I had fun playing with someone else." He pressed his forehead against hers. "I'm considering buying you a piano."
Odella laughed. "One performance riddled with mistakes, and you want me to play again?"
"I'm completely serious. You could have one just like this if you want. Or bigger. Anything"
"Oh, Sherlock. You should know by now that I have all I want. Besides, why buy a new piano when there is one down in the basement back at the flat? It's a heavy, antique thing but I imagine I can coax Mycroft's goons into hauling it upstairs." She smiled softly to let him know that she was grateful for his offer.
"But a used one?" Sherlock genuinely seemed confused and grimaced at the thought of dozens of grimy hands that had passed over that old piano's keys.
"Hey, there is nothing wrong with used things; I was used when I came to you, was I not?" Odella's voice had dropped into a gentle whisper and she lowered her eyes.
Lifting her chin, Sherlock ran his thumb across her jaw. "Well, you're hardly a piano, are you?"
To anyone else, it would have sounded devoid of emotion. But because Odella knew him, she could detect how much feeling was really behind his words and it made her eyes burn with the threat of tears.
Laughing at herself, she grasped Sherlock's cheeks and pulled him down in a kiss that was slow but still left both of them breathless.
Sherlock guided Odella back into the front hallway, where the rest of the family were mingling until it was time to sit down at the table.
"Mrs. Holm- Violet, you have such a lovely home." Odella smiled at Sherlock's mother.
"Thank you, dear. It has been in my late husband's family for a little over a century and a half now. It gets awfully lonely sometimes though, so if ever you and Sherlock wish to occupy the left wing, you are more than welcome to." She gave Odella a smile that Sherlock hadn't seen in years; genuine pleasure and affection was aimed at the woman on his arm and only deepened when Odella blushed and gave her thanks.
"Ah, Mycroft dear." Mrs. Holmes turned at the entrance of the elder Holmes who openly scowled at the gathering.
"Hello, Mother." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then waited for the rest of the family to file past him into the dining room.
Odella and Sherlock approached him and Odella looped her other arm into Mycroft's. "You and Greg had an argument."
"Hm. He is angry that I haven't told Mother about our relationship. Or the fact that he is a man."
Sherlock blanched and patted Odella's arm before striding ahead of them in escape.
Rolling her eyes, Odella let Mycroft lead her. "This is your first serious companion. Tell him that it scares you and you are afraid of going too fast. Or you could tell your mother; she will understand, Mycroft. In fact, I imagine she already has an idea. Mother's have that ability. But whatever you do, do not let leave this unresolved. He will use it as leverage the next time you two argue."
As they entered the dining room, all heads turned towards them, staring astonished at the way Mycroft seemed to be intently listening to what Odella had to say. He nodded after she had spoken and smiled slightly.
Just as they approached the table, Sherlock took Odella's hand and guided her to a chair two settings down from the head of the table where Mrs. Holmes sat.
He could see Odella was slowly beginning to tire and so, out of protective instinct, gently helped her sit down in her chair.
"Sherlock, love. I'm not going to break." She looked at him with mock irritation.
"I know, but carrying twins is hard on your body and you are tiring-"
"Hush. I'm fine. And my body is fine. John has me on plenty of supplements to keep me healthy- enough for an entire country to survive on for days."
Sherlock nodded and sat down himself on the left of Odella, leaving Mycroft to sit on the right of her and closest to his mother.
As everyone settled down in their seats, Sherlock continued to keep a close eye on the woman next to him, his anxiety increasing as more people glanced at her or spoke in her direction
She was bringing her glass up to her lips when she gasped, releasing the cup to spill across the table cloth. Her eyes were wide and she looked down at her stomach in shock before placing both hands on it.
Everyone had gone silent, watching Odella. Sherlock felt panic course through him when Odella continued to stare at her belly.
"Odella?" She must have heard the concern and worry in his voice because she looked up. Shock and joy were present on her face as she reached out for Sherlock's hand. She placed it on her stomach and held it there until Sherlock felt a small movement underneath Odella's skin. He too, gasped and brought his other hand to press against Odella's stomach.
"Amazing." His voice was quiet in awe as the two little boys inside of Odella squirmed.
She watched him as her happiness was mirrored in him and laughed, stroking through Sherlock's hair when he laid his head against her stomach in attempts to feel more.
Turning, Odella held out her hand. "Mycroft, would you like to feel?"
The elder Holmes looked uncertain but nonetheless placed his larger hand in Odella's smaller one and allowed her to place next to his brother's. His eyebrows shot up at the flurry of activity going on beneath his palm.
Odella gave him a glowing smile before catching Mrs. Holmes' gaze.
"Violet?" She raised her hand again, beckoning Sherlock's mother towards her.
Mrs. Holmes took in her youngest son caressing Odella's stomach, his eyes closed in concentration, but no less overjoyed than when he had first felt one of the babies kick. Mycroft still one hand lightly pressed against the golden dress, a look of wonder on his face. Odella watching Sherlock, her eyes twinkling whenever they both experienced the small movements and Sherlock's lips fell into an ecstatic grin.
Violet rose from her chair and placed her hand where Mycroft had just removed his. This close, she could see Odella stroking the nape of curls on Sherlock's neck as he whispered praises around his smile. The babes seemed to respond to his deep voice, little feet and elbows trying to find comfortable positions to fall back asleep.
Mrs. Holmes gasped. "Oh my goodness." She quickly teared up. "I honestly never thought that I would ever have the chance to feel my grandchildren kick! I never thought I would have grandchildren! Oh, this is wonderful."
Odella gently wiped Sherlock's mother's tears away. "Thank you."
Violet looked confused, "I should be thanking you dear."
Laughing softly, Odella wiped her own wet eyes. "Thank you for Sherlock. And Mycroft too."
The older woman blinked. "I-I've never been thanked for my sons. I've been cursed plenty of times but never thanked."
"Now you have." Odella looked down, her voice soft as she placed a hand across Sherlock's cheek. He opened his eyes and straightened, the other cheek pink from being pressed against her stomach.
Taking his hand from where it rested on Odella's belly, he covered hers with it and smiled.
Dinner progressed after everyone seemed to recover from the unexpected and unbelievable display between Violet, her sons, and Odella.
Mycroft chatted stiffly with a cousin across the table, all the while moving his food around his plate in attempts to disguise his lack of consumption.
Odella frowned and looked to her other side where Sherlock was busy insulting some poor woman without her even noticing his sarcastic tone. He too had touched very little of his food, if any at all but he made no move to put up any charade.
Sighing, Odella knew that her detective hadn't eaten all day and she guessed that Mycroft was starving himself on purpose.
She set down her fork and pushed her plate forward.
Immediately, Sherlock had his focus on her, concern hidden beneath his pale skin.
"What is it? Are you sick?" He searched for any sign of nausea, having been there when Odella had experienced the joys of morning sickness regardless of what time of day it was.
"No. I just don't want to eat." She gave him a challenging look.
"Why ever not?" Sherlock looked confused now.
"You haven't eaten, why should I?"
"I am not providing sustenance for three bodies." He frowned, narrowing his eyes.
"My children are capable of going a few hours without food. You, on the other hand, race around London and who knows what else without eating for days. So, if you don't eat, I don't eat." Odella actually crossed her arms.
"I am not hungry." Sherlock glared at her, seemingly prepared to wait her out.
"Well then, neither am I." Odella knew Sherlock was internally fighting the need to win and the instinctual urge to keep the woman carrying his possible children nourished.
To nudge him towards the latter, she looked pointedly at his utensils.
He sighed and picked them up, scowling, and then pushed a bite of food past his pouting lips. "Happy?"
"No." Odella turned to Mycroft who had been watching his brother with amusement. "Your turn."
"Excuse me?" He raised his eyebrows.
"Eat." She gestured to his plate.
"I really- I have had plenty."
Odella softened. "Mycroft, eating a good meal will not make you fall off the diet train." She placed a hand on his arm and gave him a smirk. "Just burn it off with Lestrade."
Sherlock chose the wrong time to take a sip of water, as he sputtered into his glass. Mycroft blushed but turned to his food nonetheless.
Odella turned back to Sherlock, with innocent eyes that he knew was a sham. "I only meant they could go running together."
Mrs. Holmes frowned at Sherlock while he coughed but her face wore surprise when he returned to eating. Mycroft, too, was actually placing food into his mouth. And swallowing it.
She looked at Odella who was watching the two men eat with a motherly satisfaction before she pulled her plate back in front of her and finished her meal.
"Do you know it took me ages to get these two to eat when they were children?" Mrs. Holmes' voice held awe.
When the meal was done, the Holmes family trickled into the near by ballroom, where an orchestra was waiting in the corner.
"Oh, no. Sherlock, please tell me I don't have to dance?" Odella tightened her grip on his arm and looked up with worried eyes. "I will look like an idiot. Not only am I in heels, but there happens to be two growing boys inside of me. And I doubt either of them know how to properly dance."
Sherlock made a noise of amusement. "I have never seen you look like a fool. Nor do I think I ever will."
He led them to the center of the room and faced Odella. "You will do fine, I know it. Just follow my lead and continue looking beautiful."
She bit her lip but nodded and let him take her hand into his. Slowly, he eased them into the movements, his other hand guiding her lower back gently, smiling as Odella fell into the steps more gracefully than she had any right to be.
Finding that she no longer needed to watch Sherlock's feet - not that it easy around her belly- she relaxed, humming along to the music.
She was happy; Sherlock was warm at every point of contact and his gaze held only hers as they stepped together. Odella laughed when he twirled her carefully, feeling her babes move a bit in response.
"I think they like dancing." She smiled down at her stomach and then back up at Sherlock.
"They must take after their mother," he caught her again, pulling her closer. "You seem to be enjoying it."
"Oh, is that what you think, Mr. Holmes?" Odella lowered her lashes teasingly.
"Indeed, Mrs. Holmes." He pitched his voice lower and was rewarded with a flush of pleasure that rose upon Odella's cheeks. "You know, we have been 'married' for the last couple of hours. Now, what is that thing that people do when they want to make a marriage official?"
Odella bit her lip as Sherlock dip his head until his mouth was just barely touching her ear. "Ah yes. They consummate it."
She couldn't stop the shiver that made her steps falter. But she continued to dance in his arms, matching Sherlock's suggestiveness albeit a little breathless.
"Then what are we waiting for? I hardly doubt you wish to take me on your mother's ballroom floor." The hand that was placed on his shoulder snaked down, her nails grazing the pale skin on Sherlock's neck leaving goose bumps behind. Odella also exaggerated her steps, her thigh brushing his own.
"One more dance. And then I'll have you home in no time." Sherlock withheld even though every inch of his body was screaming to uncover Odella's honey skin right this second. His heart was thumping in his ears and expanded when she gave him a loving smile as she replaced her hand on his shoulder, brushing his jaw gently on her way.
Mrs. Holmes watched her youngest son and Odella glide across the room, completely absorbed in each other. Sherlock held the woman against him as if she was made of precious porcelain and she clung to him as if he was the one who kept her heart pumping blood or her lungs filling with oxygen.
Violet's fears that Odella was only with Sherlock for his money was dispelled the minute she walked through the door and were further buried as the night progressed. They really were madly in love, anyone could see it.
But there was something that still bothered Mrs. Holmes. She wasn't sure what it was just yet. No doubt she would find out.
"Sherlock, I think we should tell your mother about…John. And everything else. She deserves to know and I can't keep her in the dark after I preached to Mycroft about being honest." Odella had just caught a glimpse of Mrs. Holmes dancing with the older brother and couldn't keep her thoughts to herself.
Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but saw how much it really bothered Odella to keep this from his mother. He didn't like it- in fact, he hated the idea-, but he nodded finally and broke out of the dance.
"Violet, could we have a moment with you?"
"Of course, dear." Mrs. Holmes knew she was about to be told what it was that Sherlock and Odella were keeping from her. She led to the small parlor off to the side of the ballroom and they all settled on the large settee.
"I would like to tell you about myself. The person I really am, what I've done, what I've been through. This is only the condensed version but if you would like, you may watch and listen to the videos recorded by my doctor at the Butterfield Rehabilitation Center."
Sherlock looked pained and ready to supply a hand or arm to Odella as she began her explanation.
"I came from an abusive home…"
Violet sat there for a long while, a dazed look on her face. "I'm-I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say."
"Good, because I have one more thing to tell you." Odella twisted her hands in her lap. "Along with your son, I am also in love with another man- John Watson."
"What?"
"I love two men. And both of my children may not be Sherlock's. There is a small chance that one could belong to him and there is roughly a fifty percent chance that they are both his. Those chances also apply to John."
Sherlock's mother just stared at Odella.
"I felt that you should know." Odella looked away, fearing she had severed off any positive feelings that Mrs. Holmes may have harbored towards her. "Thank you for allowing me into your home, it really is lovely. It was equally honoring to meet you. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Holmes."
Odella rose, Sherlock following and placing a hand on the small of her back comfortingly as they made their way to the doorway.
"Wait." Violet had finally processed her way through what she was feeling and found she could accept what she had been told. She didn't approve of it, nor did she like it but she could understand. She had loved and lost before- a few times- proving that someone can love more than once. Of course, she had never experienced loving two people at the same time.
But she would try to understand, for the sake of her son, her possible grandsons, and yes, Odella. The young woman had captured her affections, even more so now that she had been truly honest.
Standing, Mrs. Holmes approached the waiting couple. She grasped both Sherlock's and Odella's hands in her own and smiled softly.
"Have a Merry Christmas." And she placed light kisses on their cheeks.
Odella and Sherlock bundled themselves into a cab, Sherlock giving the driver the flat's address.
"You lied."
He looked sharply at Odella, confusion marking his face.
"You lied," she repeated. "You said your mother's company was torturous. I found it quite pleasant."
"That is because she likes you." Sherlock swiped his finger over the tip of Odella's nose, red from the cold.
"Do you think?" She looked hopeful.
"I know." He smiled and kissed her.
The minute they walked into the flat, Odella kicked off her heels and made a beeline towards the bedroom without looking back at Sherlock. He followed anyway, taking off his jacket and loosening his bow tie.
In the bedroom, Odella pulled her hair to one side. "Unzip me?" she asked over her shoulder.
Sherlock approached her and slowly pulled the zipper down the dress, planes of skin being revealed between the zipper's teeth. When he made it to the bottom, he ran his palms back up Odella's back and pushed the fabric off her shoulder, stepping closer.
Odella closed her eyes and sighed as Sherlock gently grasped the edge of the dress sleeves and tugged her arms out of the lace. If she hadn't been pregnant, the dress might have slid off her body, only clinging to her hips. But because of her protruding belly, the dress had to coaxed off. Which it was.
Once the dress was pooled in a golden puddle, Odella was left in an equally lacy pair of nude underwear and strapless bra, her pearls, and the ring on her left hand.
"Why am I always the first one to get undressed?" She wrapped her hand around Sherlock's hanging bow tie and pulled it out of his collar.
"Because I like undressing you." Sherlock reached up and undid the pearl necklace and placed it on the dresser beside the cuff links he just removed.
Odella smiled, coloring. Tugging his shirt out if his trousers, she began unbuttoning it from the bottom up. When she hooked her fingers into Sherlock's waistband, he stroked her hair back and pressed his forehead to hers.
"So, Mrs. Holmes, how long do you thing it will take to consummate this so-called marriage, hm?" He twirled a lock of hair around his finger and tugged lightly.
Rising up on her tip toes, Odella simultaneously undid Sherlock's trousers while purring, "All night, Mr. Holmes."
