Molly slept through most of the morning to make up for the sleep she had lost and the stress she had endured. When she rose again, it was lunch time. Adele was frantic, as Christmas was just one short day away. Molly rose and straightened her dress. Her hair needed a touch of work, and as she put it back into a bun, she heard voices in the corridor. Peeking through the keyhole, she saw John and Mary.

Mary said, "I can't talk about it! Don't question me further."

John took her by the wrist, gently, and said, "I just want to know why you suddenly don't want to see me anymore."

Mary's face crumpled a bit, and she said, "It's not that, John. Never think that."

John stepped forward so his hand cradled her cheek. "Then why can't I be with the woman I love? I mean, it's only been four days, but I feel as though I've known you for so much longer."

"I feel the same way." She closed her eyes and swayed slightly. "I wish I could tell you, but it's not my secret to keep."

"Then what can I do, Mary? I don't want to loose you."

Mary opened her eyes and kissed him. "When you go back to London, write me letters and I'll send you mine."

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Morstan." They kissed again, and afterwards Mary ascended the stairs. John stood looking after her for a minute, then sighed and went downstairs.

Molly had no idea what to make of the enigmatic Mary Morstan.

Everyone gathered in the parlor after lunch, and the company was gifted with performances by Irene and Sherlock. Eliza and Adele did a few songs each, but Irene's fine voice and Sherlock's violin were perfectly matched. Molly read as usual, a measure that was part of her effort to stop loving Sherlock. Easier said than done.

Preparations were being made for them to go to the church in Millcoat for the Christmas Eve service, and after dinner, the women went upstairs to change into finer clothing. Molly no longer read, but sat in the window seat with Adele, ready to go. Irene was stunning in a white and red dress, and when she came down to the parlor, Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off her. He smiled and said, "My dear Irene, you look radiant tonight."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. How soon until we depart?"

"A half hour. I will not be going with you."

"Why ever not?" Irene looked a touch disappointed.

"I am not known to blindly follow tradition."

"I had been looking forward to going with you. I will be very put out if you don't." Her mouth puckered in a pout.

He smiled and held his hand out to her. "In that case, I would hate for one of my guests to be unhappy." She took it, and they walked towards the door.

Adele giggled and said, "Uncle John helped me put up mistletoe earlier!"

Sherlock and Irene stopped and looked up to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging under the door. Irene raised her eyebrows and said, "Will you try to defy this tradition as well?"

"Not on your life." They kissed under the mistletoe.

Molly rode to the church in the carriage with John, Lestrade, Adele, and Stamford, while Sherlock rode with the Adler women. Mrs. Hudson did not go, as her hip was acting up again, and she needed the rest. When they got to the church, Molly ended up being seated between Sherlock and Adele, with Irene on Sherlock's other side. Every so often, Irene would glare daggers at Molly, just to make sure Molly didn't try anything. Like Molly could, or would, being in a church on Christmas Eve.

The village choir sang, and the children formed a nativity scene, complete with a squealing baby in the manger, and the Scripture was read. The service ended after a few carols, and they all left the church. Outside, it was snowing, and Adele cried, "Snow! Tres magnifique!"

Molly couldn't help but smile as Adele stuck her tongue out to taste the flakes. They got in their carriages, and were soon back to Thornfield Hall. Molly helped put Adele to bed, no easy feat, given how excited she was, but Molly and Sophia managed it. Molly finally undressed and went to bed, almost forgetting the drawing of the two trees she had made for Sherlock. She put on a dressing gown, and when she heard the final door close in the hall, she stepped out quietly into the hallway and slipped the paper underneath Sherlock's door. Suddenly nervous, she fled back into her own room and climbed in bed. She heard the sound of a door opening, and then a beat later, close again.

When Molly woke, Christmas had come at last. With a grin, she dressed and went downstairs, where Adele was peeking at the presents underneath the tree. "Look, Molly! That big one is for me!"

"Wait until the others come down, Adele, and then you can pass out and open your presents."

"But I want to open them now!"

"It's better to open presents when other people are there too. Then they can see how much you liked it and you don't have to wait to thank them."

Adele sighed and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tree. She looked rather like a large doll, with her curls and fancy dress. Thankfully, Adele did not have to wait long. Irene and Eliza came down in less than five minutes, and went straight to the tree and examined the presents. About fifteen minutes later, Lestrade, Stamford, John, Mrs. Adler, and finally Sherlock were all gathered around the Christmas tree. As some of the servants brought in glasses of eggnog, Adele stood up and said, "Can I please open my presents? Please, please, please!"

Sherlock laughed, and said, "Yes, Adele. You've been very patient."

Adele ran to the pile and pulled out a large box. She tore off the red wrapping paper, and cried, "It's a dress!" She held it up to her body. It was red and frilly, with white stripes. "Can I put it on? Please!"

Sherlock nodded, and Adele ran from the room. "I was able to extrapolate, based on her age and previous growth patterns, the size of a dress. Molly," he turned to her for the first time that day, "I had it made a little on the larger side, so it can be modified to fit better, and adjust as she grows."

"Very smart, sir. I can make any necessary modifications."

Irene hovered by the tree, and took off several presents. "This one's for you, Sherlock, from me," Irene said as she passed Sherlock a small box. She gave her mother and her sister presents as well. Sherlock opened the box to find a gold pocket-watch. "I had it engraved with our names, and my picture is in the top of the watch." Sherlock showed the back of the watch to the room, and in flowing script, it said, "To Sherlock Holmes, from Irene Adler".

Sherlock smiled and said, "Thank you, Irene. Now wherever I go, you will be with me."

Irene replied, "There's no where else I'd rather be."

John scowled, "That's enough, lovebirds. Let's get on with the rest of the presents." He let out a huge yawn.

Sherlock grabbed three envelopes and gave them to John, Lestrade, and Stamford. "You should appreciate these."

The men opened their envelopes and Lestrade guffawed as he read the card aloud. "Present this card to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and he will stop whatever rude deduction or comment he is making at the time!"

John sighed and said, "He gave me one of these for my birthday and Christmas last year. Watch out for the expiration date, and it's only good once."

"Still, it's better than nothing," Stamford said. "I think it's the most considerate thing he's ever given me."

Sherlock said, "Besides that tip about waitress who was actually a,"

Stamford interrupted and held up his card. "I thought we weren't going to talk about that, mate!"

Sherlock took the card from Stamford and put it in his pocket. "Mum's the word."

"That's how he does it, Stamford," John said dryly, "whenever he gives someone one of these cards, he tries to insult them as soon as possible so they loose their cards."

"John should know. He lost his first one in under a minute." Sherlock said with a grin.

Irene asked, "Then why didn't I get one?"

"You don't need one. You can always get me to shut up."

"That's comforting." The men rolled their eyes.

Adele came back into the room, and flounced around in her pretty new dress. As Adele's presents were separated from the adults', she went to work opening boxes and bags that contained toys like a doll house and a music box complete with a spinning ballerina. Of the adult's gifts, only a few were left. Stamford gave a shawl, handmade by his mother, to Eliza, leaving just two presents underneath the tree, a box and a long, thin tube. Sherlock got up and handed the box to Irene. She opened it to find a red rose encased in clear glass. She held it up to the light, and everyone oohed and ahhed at the beautiful gift that scattered light and seemed to glow.

Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "I thought you only deserved a gift as beautiful as you are."

Managing to take her eyes off the rose for a second, Irene replied, "It's lovely, Sherlock."

Without taking his eyes off Irene, he passed the final gift to Molly, and she opened the end of the long tube to reveal a print of an anatomically correct heart, complete with little annotations and labels on the various parts as well as small cross-sections and details. Molly had read descriptions on the workings of the human heart, and seen several diagrams, but none had been as complete as this. She didn't know what to say, so she said very quietly, "Thank you, Sherlock. It's beautiful."

"I thought you would like it, and it matches what you gave me."

Molly froze. She knew that he would easily know she had given him the drawing, but she had not expected him to talk about it in front of Irene and the others. "What?"

"Let me go upstairs and retrieve it." As he left, all eyes fell on her, and she felt her cheeks grow hot.

In less than a minute, Sherlock returned with her drawing of the two trees in hand. He showed it to the crowd, saying, "Someone slipped a drawing underneath my door last night, but it was obvious who the artist was, given the style and choice of subject. Of the people in the house who draw, Irene tends toward portraits and still lifes, not landscape or trees, and Eliza prefers watercolors to pencil. Also, given the small mistakes and errors, it is clear that this was done by someone who has not had great instruction in art, which further rules out Irene and Eliza. That left only Molly, whose hand I recognized from a perusal of her portfolio. And the final proof is the small signature of M.E. in the bottom right corner, and no one else in this house has the initials M.E.!" He had rapidly gone through his deductions as Molly's drawing was passed around.

Under the others' gazes, her drawing looked small and rough, an embarrassment rather than something to be proud of. Molly felt her eyes brimming with tears and got up. "There was a reason why I did that, Sherlock. So you wouldn't ridicule me in front of everyone, just so you can look brilliant. You say such horrible things and you don't realize how much harm your words can do. You may be a great detective and I'm just a poor governess, but I'm still a human being and I deserve not be insulted to my face."

Molly turned her back on Sherlock and walked out of the room, clenching her teeth and keeping her mouth shut so she wouldn't cry in front of all of them or let them hear her sobs. She went upstairs and closed her bedroom door, throwing her body on the bed and covering her face with her pillow to muffle her crying. All she could think about was how cruel it had been for him to compare her work with Irene and Eliza, who had probably been tutored by the best, and she had just six years at a charity school. She had hoped he would recognize that she had been studying those trees when they had first met so many months before. But evidently it wasn't important enough for him to remember.

After a few minutes, Molly heard someone knock at her door and she cried, "Go away! I don't want to talk to you, Sherlock!"

Instead of Sherlock's voice, Molly heard Mary say, "What's Sherlock done now?"

Molly started sobbing again, and Mary came in, closed the door, and knelt on the bed. She pulled Molly's head into her lap, stroking Molly's face and hair in an attempt to calm her. It was a great shock to Molly that this woman, who Molly associated violence and fear, could be really comforting, and Molly wasn't scared being alone with her. It seemed nearly impossible to reconcile the monster with this kind, if eccentric, woman.

As soon as Molly could speak again, she said, "I, I p-put a drawing under his d-door for a, a Christmas present, and he m-made fun of it and me in f-front of everyone."

Mary's hand stopped for a second, then she said, "I've known Sherlock for five years, and that man has made me want to cry with his horrid deductions on several occasions. I heard a bit of what you said, and I think you got through to him."

Molly finally stopped sobbing and now only hiccuped occasionally. Mary knew exactly how to calm her down. "But how could he not know that would hurt me?"

"He doesn't often think of other people and how he affects them. Maybe Irene Adler can help him with that."

Molly's heart felt like it wanted to break, but Molly managed to pull herself together at last and think about the consequences of what she had said. She had criticized him in front of all his guests. "Oh God, do you think he'll sack me?"

Mary laughed. "I doubt it. He's not unfair, just unkind at times."

Molly sat up and wiped the remaining tears from her face. "Thank you, Mary."

"It was my pleasure." Mary left the room, and Molly lay on her bed, trying to figure out what she should do. At last she decided to curl up on her bed and read until he came or sent a message. After about a half hour, Molly heard footsteps in the hallway, and something was pushed under her door. She didn't make a sound, or move from the bed, and after a minute the person walked away. Only then did Molly go to the door to retrieve the paper.

Molly had nearly forgotten about the heart, Sherlock's gift to her, in her anger and hurt, and had left it downstairs. She turned it over, and Sherlock had written a note on the back:

Molly,

I am not a kind man, and I realize that sometimes my deductions hurt the people around me. I do not often apologize, but I am sorry I hurt you and I hope you can forgive me for the pain I caused you. If you do not trust me with your drawing, I will gladly give it back.

Sherlock

P.S.: Those trees are lovely in the spring, but not as beautiful as in your drawing.

Molly put the heart drawing inside her portfolio to keep it safe, and found the strength to smile as she went downstairs for lunch.