Part Ten.
"Hand me that hook there, Watson," Thea commanded to the army doctor as she held the string of fairy lights in place at the corner of the living room window. He looked around and located it before handing it to her, admiring the lights as she finished pinning them up. She stepped down from the chair and placed her hands on her hips as she looked at her handiwork around the flat. It was Christmas Eve, and she'd been spending the day readying 221B for the party she and John had planned for the evening. She'd strung garland wrapped in lights upon the mirror above the fireplace, as well as a strand along the mantle itself. All throughout the flat, she'd curled coloured fairy lights along the walls, hanging them in the windows, along the bookshelves, and even in the kitchen. She insisted on a real Christmas tree this year after Sherlock had refused them in the past, and so it sat near the smiley-defaced wall, decorated to the nines in white lights and dazzling as glass ornaments caught the twinkling lights of the room. From it emanated the intoxicating aroma of pine.
Thea went around the room as she lit small candles that diffused rich smells of cloves, cinnamon, and hints of orange peel that reminded her of the joyful season. It was still fairly early in the evening, and she didn't expect guests to arrive for another half hour at the least. John disappeared into the kitchen as he stirred up the pot of mulled wine they'd put on, and Mrs Hudson pulled beautiful mince pies from the oven, the last of her cooking endeavours for the night.
"They smell wonderful," Thea grinned as she stepped into the periphery of the kitchen, expunged of her father's woeful experiments and the table covered in a spread fit for a feast, "Everything's perfect, Mrs Hudson, I can't thank you enough."
The elder woman placed the pies on a cooling tray and waved her hands at the young girl with a crinkled nose and pursed smile, "It's no trouble, I'm pleased to help! It's been a long time since I've been able to cook for a Christmas party; it brings back old memories." She took the porcelain cup of deep red wine outstretched in John's hand and brought it to her lips before giggling a bit in surprise, "Oh, that's lovely. That small bite of clove is just right."
Thea winked at the elder woman, "Glad you like it, Mrs H."
John had wandered into the living room to get the fire in the fireplace going and looked up at the two women as he asked, "Tee, would you mind giving me a hand with this?"
Thea felt her lips pull into a smile as she put down her own teacup and went to kneel by his side. "'Tee'? That's new."
The army doctor cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the wood. "Yeah, well, erm. I just thought, it's been almost a year since I've lived with you, we're friends, friends give each other nicknames… You call me 'Watson', after all."
"That's your name, Watson."
"In any case."
"I like it," Thea nodded slightly, tucking kindling and twigs between the logs. "It's a good nickname."
The comment seemed to lift a weight off his shoulders, and he relaxed as he sent a quick smile her way. A few seconds later, he struck a match and carefully poked it into the heart of the small pile they'd built, and they felt the heat rise from the fire as it quickly spread to consume the kindling. Thea stood and brushed her hands together as John stood to adjust his jumper.
"Right, that should be everything," she hummed happily.
"Are you sure you're not forgetting something?" a voice asked behind her, and she turned to see Hem with presents piled in his arms.
John stepped toward the younger, taller man and grabbed a couple of the wrapped boxes. "Let me help you, Matthew." Hem gladly accepted the help as they both tucked the presents under the tree. As soon as his arms were free, he turned to Thea and wrapped her in them as she collided with him.
"Now you three can't open those until Christmas," he joked as he kissed her head, and she looked up at him and pouted. Her eyes briefly ran over the scar on his forehead from his row in Greenwich. It hadn't needed stitches, but it was taking its time healing, as shown by the thick silvery appearance it bore.
"I've never been one for following the rules."
He swept a few unruly curls from her face and agreed, "Undoubtedly."
She pulled from his embrace and leaned down to examine the gifts, the ever-curious sapphires gleaming as she scanned for hints as to the contents, "They'll be easy enough to deduce anyway."
Hem seemed to realise this quite quickly and his smile was replaced with a frown as he pleaded in a small voice, "Please don't, it took me ages to think of good gifts for John and your father."
Thea straightened and waggled her eyebrows playfully at him before helping him out of his coat. She folded the heavy wool over her arm as he straightened his navy jumper, complementary to her thick, plaid emerald skater dress. She'd paired the dark dress with a bright red lipstick and a perfectly pinned and complicated chignon at the nape of her neck, though errant curls continued to frame her face. She hung the coat up and grabbed her teacup of warm wine from the table, leading Hem to the kitchen to serve him a drink as well.
"Your parents really don't mind your spending the holidays with my eclectic conglomeration of what could be called a family?"
Hem leaned against the kitchen wall and shrugged, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets. "Not at all. I'll be going to visit them this week anyway. Our holidays are normally very quiet, private affairs. It's refreshing to have some shift in tradition." He took the teacup she extended to him, a crooked smile lacing his lips. "Unfortunately, it seems that when I break from tradition, I make sure it's in a brilliant fashion. Who would've guessed I'd spend it with two of the best detectives in the country?"
"Just the country?" she teased with a hint of disappointment.
"Well, I've never been to Canada. Who knows what brilliance they might be hiding under their frozen tundra of ice and forgiving façades?"
Thea laughed unreservedly and knocked him playfully with her shoulder as she led him back to the sitting room, sneaking a small mince pie as she passed the table. Hem sat in her father's armchair and pulled her into his lap, John sitting opposite them in his own chair. The doctor glanced down at it.
"Why haven't we gotten another armchair for you?" he wondered aloud, sipping on a small pour of scotch that sloshed around a large, perfect cube of ice.
"Papa couldn't practice his swordplay with another armchair in the room. It'd be a tragedy to lose my source of entertainment, especially when he takes up the broadsword. Don't take away my fun, Watson," she half-chastised, and she heard Hem mutter, "Broadsword?!" incredulously under his breath.
And at that moment, her father made his way into the room, one hand behind his back in a poor attempt to hide something. "And here I thought you just liked stealing John's armchair for the pure solace of comfort." He nodded at Hem and gave a stiff but agreeable greeting. "Happy Christmas, Matthew. I'm glad you've decided to join us tonight."
Hem patted Thea's back, and she scooted off his lap as he stood to shake her father's hand, "Happy Christmas, sir, I wouldn't have missed this for the world." The detective took the young man's hand for a half second before facing his daughter as his expression melted into one reminiscent of fatherly affection.
"May I steal you away for a moment?"
She nodded and followed him to the loveseat across the room. He sat perfectly straight as she relaxed into the sofa. Hem had followed John to the kitchen, and there was laughter as Mrs Hudson fussed over him. Then her father took a deep breath, as if he were nervous.
"Happy Christmas, Thea," he said with anxiety laced with warmth, and from behind his back emerged a black box no bigger than a tablet, wrapped with a single gold ribbon tied to perfection. Thea slowly smiled and placed her teacup on the coffee table before taking the box. She carefully untied the ribbon and let it fall in her lap in a delicate heap as she lifted the lid to the box. Her breath caught in her throat.
Inside was a small but beautiful leather-bound notebook, her initials embossed in gold lettering. "It's wonderful. It'll be perfect for taking notes at crime scenes."
"And for all of your journalistic endeavours," her father enthused quietly in his baritone as he leaned into the back of the sofa, his arm draped across the spine. Then he nodded towards the notebook, "Open it."
Thea picked it up and set the box beside her, then opened the front cover. Inside was her father's looped scrawl, inscribing, For the girl who wants nothing, I have given you an empty world. Fill it with your dreams, your passions, and your heart. -SH- "Dad, I don't even know what to say."
He hid a small smile, "There's more still."
She furrowed her brows and flipped through a few pages before she fell upon a dainty gold necklace, neatly tucked between the pages. The pendant was a small polished deer with a fawn beside her, enclosed in a delicate circlet. The dots along the backs of the deer were diamonds, glittering in the light of the fire and fairy lights. "It's stunning, but I don't understand."
Sherlock held out a hand for it and she passed it to him. He touched it lightly as he gazed upon it, before answering, "Gwen bought this shortly before you were born, when she started to fall ill more frequently. She wanted to give it to you on your fifth birthday. I lost it when you were a child, but I found it in the spring when you freed her from the prison I'd built around her in my mind palace. She'd thought of you as her little fawn and wanted to give you something that reminded you of her every day. It's entirely my fault that I've kept her from you this entire time."
Thea reached out and touched his arm gently. "It was heartbreaking. I didn't expect you to ever tell me about her." He held out the necklace and she took it gratefully.
"She'd have loved what you've done here," he complimented, looking around the room. Her eyes followed his. "I'm not just talking about the decorations. She'd be immensely proud of your accomplishments."
Thea ducked her head as tears burned behind her eyes. "I've never even met her and I still long for her, especially around the holidays. It's strange to miss someone you've never known."
"I know."
They were quiet for a moments, then he reached over to help clasp the necklace around her throat. It sat perfectly between her collarbones, glinting in the light. She touched it and thought of her mother before standing. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Whatever red wine you've got stashed away for the holidays."
She smiled. "Can't keep anything from you, can I."
"Never."
Sometime later, the flat was filled with the tinny sound of Sherlock playing "We Wish You A Merry Christmas", his eyes keeping keenly on the strings of the violin. Thea sat in Hem's lap at the kitchen table, her arm looped around his shoulders as her other hand held his, resting on her knee. His other arm was wrapped around her waist, and his thumb traced small paths over her hip. Lestrade stood at the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, while Mrs Hudson was perched on Sherlock's armchair, watching the consulting detective with happy fascination.
As Sherlock finished the song with a fanciful flourish, Lestrade whistled out in appreciation and Mrs Hudson clapped tiddly.
"Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!" she crooned, and John appeared beside her with a small cup of tea to help sober the poor woman. "I wish you would've worn the antlers."
The consulting detective sketched a small bow to his audience and replied softly, "Some things are better left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson."
Thea stood and walked into the living room to clear the table beside John's armchair of small plates. Hem was close behind to help. "I tried to convince him, but he'd said he'd rather wear a hideous Christmas jumper. Of course, when I offered one, he turned that down, as well."
Sherlock rolled his eyes at her before setting his violin into its case. "John has already taken up the mantle of humiliation, there's no reason to further double the discomfort in the room."
The army doctor gave a tight but not unpleasant smile to the detective. "I'll let that slide in the spirit of the holiday."
A young woman with a dark updo appeared at his elbow with a tray of hors d'oeuvres in her hands and a pursed smile on her lips. She held it out to Sherlock tentatively, but he shook his head and responded politely, "No thank you, Sarah."
Thea could see the woman's smile fall, and she grimaced as John turned to his new girlfriend and tried to remedy the situation with a nervous chuckle, "Oh no no no, don't mind him, he's not good with names."
But Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, no, I can get this." The woman put the tray on the table beside her and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at the detective rather grimly. "No, Sarah was the doctor, and then there was the one with the spots…" He was tracing his hands through the air as if marking a mental map of John's clumsy love affairs, "And then there was the one with the nose, and then…. Who was after the boring teacher?"
Thea exhaled sharply through her nose, "Papa!"
The woman cleared her throat and responded icily, "Nobody."
"Ah, Jeanine! Process of elimination," Sherlock said casually, and John pressed a hand to her back to lead her away. Thea handed the plates in her hands to Hem and gave a small grateful smile before turning to walk to her father.
"That was rude," she chastised quietly, raising a precise eyebrow at him. "You should apologise; Watson is keen on her, it'd make a good impression."
"Dunno why," Sherlock shot back quietly, his eyes intent on hers, "It won't last. They're not compatible."
"He's happy. There's a difference."
"So you admit I'm right."
The detective's daughter sighed and crossed one arm over her ribcage as her other hand played with the pendant of her necklace. Her eyes flitted slightly to the couple, chatting with Lestrade now. "She's…. high maintenance. He can't love her the way she wants to be loved and doted upon. They'll end things eventually, but for god's sake, just get through the night without insulting everyone, would you?"
He didn't respond, only pursed his lips slightly, but then he glanced over her shoulder and muttered, "Oh, dear lord."
Thea turned and was delighted to see Molly standing in the doorway, engulfed in a heavy wool coat and her hands weighted down with bags of gifts for everyone. Her hair, which Thea had never seen out of its ponytail, was beautifully sculpted into a half-up, half-down fashion with beautiful waves cascading down her back. At her right temple was a marvellous crystal brooch that sparkled in tandem with her giant, dangling earrings. The detective's daughter smiled and called out, "Molly! So glad you could make it!"
"Er, it said on the door to just come up," she started nervously, and Thea waved away her worries.
"Of course, you're perfectly fine. Watson, can you help me with these?"
The doctor nodded and set down his drink before helping Thea take the presents from the mortician's hands. As they set them around the tree, Lestrade helped the woman out of her woollen coat, and almost whistled as she slipped her arms from the sleeves.
"Holy….Mary!" He was smiling in appreciation as the mortician nervously fiddled with her hands and the chunky bracelet around her thin wrist. She was in a slinky black dress with beaded straps and a neckline that cut straight across the top of her bosom. A thick white band circled the neckline in stark contrast. She smiled anxiously.
"Are we having our Christmas drinkies, then?"
Thea smiled and pulled her towards the kitchen. "Of course! What would you like, we've got a hearty variety." She saw from the corner of her eyes that Sherlock was sitting at the dining room table, his eyes fixed on John's laptop.
"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's almost worth it," Mrs Hudson quipped. Thea laughed and shook her head as Molly pointed to the same red wine that Sherlock had chosen.
"That's quite horrible, Mrs H," she started, reaching for a nearby wine glass, "Watson's nice most of the time!"
The army doctor raised his drink in appreciation at the young woman as she poured a glass for Molly. Hem was at the kitchen table, his eyes roaming over the multitude of food selections. She handed the glass to Molly before asking, "Molly, have I introduced you to my partner?" She tugged on his arm and pulled his attention to the mortician. "This is Matthew; Hem, this is Molly Hooper. She helps us on cases when called to the occasion."
Hem grinned and leaned forward to peck Molly's cheeks. "Happy to finally meet you! Thea talks of you all the time."
Molly seemed pleasantly surprised at this and gave a shaky chuckle, "Oh gosh, I hope it's only good things!"
They moved to join the others in the living room. Hem sat at the table opposite Sherlock and wrapped his arm around Thea's waist as she stood next to him. She lightly traced her hand across his shoulder, just enough to pull a few goosebumps from his skin. Her father was looking at the screen of the laptop with quiet fervor, his eyebrows gathered in frustration as John looked over his shoulder. The detective pointed incredulously at the screen.
"And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!"
"People like the hat," the army doctor argued as he straightened.
"No, they don't," Sherlock argued further before immediately typing away on the laptop, "What people?!" John chuckled and waggled his eyebrows at the detective's daughter before walking away to join Jeanine at his armchair.
"How's the hip, Mrs Hudson?" Molly asked kindly, fidgeting again with her dress.
"Oh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking," the older woman smiled kindly, raising her teacup to her lips.
Molly tapped on the side of her wine glass as she smiled, "I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems."
An awkward silence fell before Hem and Thea laughed slightly, but it seemed to do little for the poor mortician as her cheeks reddened.
"Oh god. Sorry."
Sherlock hadn't even looked up from the laptop when he chastised, "Don't make jokes, Molly."
Thea cleared her throat and smiled kindly at the woman, "Don't listen to him, he just gets curmudgeonly around the holidays. I thought it was funny. Dark humour is needed from time to time in our lines of work." The mortician looked back at her with some gratitude before stepping towards the door, away from the centre of attention. Thea looked up at Lestrade, asking, "We weren't expecting to see you, I thought you were headed to Dorset?"
He shook his head and grinned, "That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We're back together, it's all sorted."
She thought back to a previous deduction she'd made about Mrs Lestrade when they'd last met before giving a small, counterfeit smile, "Ah, right. I remember you saying that."
"She's sleeping with the PE teacher," came Sherlock's quick response, and his daughter threw a heavy glare in his direction.
"Dad. For god's sake!"
Lestrade's smile had become rather fixed, and when he glanced back at Thea, she mouthed a quick apology. It only seemed to confirm her father's statement, and his eyes glazed over as he quickly threw back the rest of his drink.
Molly tried to regain the conversation by turning to John, "I, uh, I heard you were off to your sister's, is that right?"
"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze," he said pridefully, and before Sherlock could even retort with something, he threw a quick and fierce "Shut up" in the detective's direction. Given the state of the phone calls that had been exchanged between John and his sister recently, it was hardly difficult to deduce that she, in fact, had not stopped drinking. He was visiting simply to ensure she didn't drink herself to death over the holidays.
This seemed to be figured out fairly quickly by the other party guests.
"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him," Sherlock started suddenly, standing and facing the room. "In fact, you're seeing him tonight."
Thea pulled away from Matthew and stepped over to her father, hissing into his ear, "Take the night off, Dad. I mean it." But he didn't even seem to hear her in his haze, his eyes were trained on the small box sitting atop the small pile of gifts.
Molly was glancing around the room nervously as she held her wine glass in both hands. "Erm, sorry, what?"
"Oh come on," the detective continued, walking to the tree and picking up the gift. Thea was stunned and could only watch on in horror as he said, "Surely you'd all seen this present - perfectly wrapped with a nice bow. All the others are slapdash at best." He turned to Molly and continued examining the present. "It's for someone special, then. The shade of red echoes her lipstick - either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper as looove on her mind." The woman continued to fidget and squirm under Sherlock's scrutiny. "The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact that she's giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her makeup and what she's wearing." He smiled almost smugly at John and Thea finally had enough.
She yanked the present from her father's hands and pulled the card from under the bow before heatedly commenting, "Read the fucking card next time, before you assume you know everything there is to know." Then she held it back out to him with a fixed jaw and icy eyes. He was looking at the present, then he took the box and read the tag.
Dearest Sherlock
From Molly xxx
Sherlock's mouth opened and closed as he gazed at the card, his expression falling into one of mixed emotions, and Thea turned to Molly to put a comforting hand on her arm. She tried to steer the mortician towards the kitchen, but the woman turned back to the detective.
"You always say such horrible things." The words were full of tired sadness, and her fingers tapped gently against the wine glass in her hands. "Every time." Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she hastily gave a small painful laugh. "Always. Always." The disappointment filled the room and permeated their pores, and even the lights of the room seemed to dim with melancholy. The room was silent, and then suddenly Sherlock shifted as if to walk away. But he seemed to think better of it and turned instead to Molly.
"I am sorry." Thea glanced up at her father in surprise. "Forgive me." When he stepped closer to the mortician, she stepped away just enough to give them space but still interfere if the need arose. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."
In all the time she'd known her father, Thea had never seen him be the slightest bit affectionate towards anyone but her grandmother and herself. So she found herself beyond shocked when she saw him lean in to Molly and peck her cheek with a kiss. Both Molly and Thea's jaws dropped, and as he pulled away, the moment was ruined by an orgasmic sigh.
Molly gasped in shock and quickly cried out, "No! That wasn't - I didn't!"
Thea sighed and folded her arms as Sherlock pulled out his mobile, "No, that was him."
"My god, really?!" Lestrade fumbled, befuddled.
Sherlock flashed his mobile at the DI and said quickly, "My phone."
Thea went back to standing next to Hem, and put her hand on the back of his chair. Her eyes found John's, "I've got a count of thirty-six, how many have you caught?"
He narrowed his eyes in thought. "This makes fifty-seven? I think?"
She pouted, "No fair, I've got my internship - I'm never around to hear them!"
Hem put his arm around his girlfriend's waist and frowned, "Sorry, what are we counting?"
"Those sighs - they're texts from a certain someone," she hinted, and he seemed to catch her meaning.
Sherlock, who had been looking at his phone, suddenly made for the fireplace. "Thrilling that you've both been counting." He moved a Christmas card slightly to the left to reveal a red box tied with a black string. "Excuse me."
He moved to go to his bedroom and Thea's eyebrows pulled together, "Dad? What's up?"
"I said excuse me."
John's jaw tightened as he called after the detective, "Do you every reply?" Then he and Thea shared a look. "Do you want to or should I?"
She shook her head and lightly touched between Hem's shoulderblades in apology. "No, I should." Then she looked at him with contrition and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before pulling away again. By the time she had reached the bedroom door, Hem had folded right back into a rousing conversation with the rest of the room, and John had started up the playlist she'd selected. She knocked lightly on the door with her knuckle. "Papa? May I come in?" She didn't hear a response and cautiously turned the doorknob before opening it just enough to poke her head into the room. She saw her father sitting on the end of his carefully-made bed, looking into some far-off distance. "Papa, what was in the box?"
Without looking at her, Sherlock held up a camera-phone - Irene's phone. Thea felt her heart unexpectedly fall, and she set her teacup of mulled wine on his bedside table as she closed the door behind her. "Oh no." There was only one reason Irene would have sent the phone to her father, and it wasn't so he could peruse her many flattering self-portraits. She walked to him and placed a careful hand on his shoulder. He put the phone back in its box and grasped it carefully in both hands.
"I need to call Mycroft."
"Yes," his daughter agreed. When he didn't make the move to reach for his own mobile, she bit her lip. "Shall I do it?"
"I don't know why I feel this way," he said suddenly in a low, sad tone, "She was just a woman."
Thea almost laughed, "Papa, you were attracted to each other. If the circumstances had been in any way different, you might have considered courting her."
"Never." He glanced in her direction before continuing his stare into the abyss. "I had my chance; I'm not inclined to ever have another romantic relationship. There's no need."
"It's not about needing it," she argued with a frown, "Feelings aren't something we can control. The rest of us, at least. You felt something human; if you don't want to, that's fine. But don't deny yourself the possibility of something simply because it's not a necessity."
He didn't respond, and she took that to be the end of their conversation on the matter. She pulled his head against her and ran her fingers through the mane of hair at his forehead.
"I don't need to be coddled, Thea."
"Just shut up and let me comfort you, for god's sake." Then she pulled her father's mobile from his pocket and speed-dialed her uncle. When he picked up, he sounded less than enthused.
"Oh dear Lord. We're not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?" he drawled condescendingly, "So long as Thea calls every year, we can consider our familial duties covered."
"That's quite cold, Uncle," she shot back, then turned her tone to serious, "But we have another problem. You're going to find Irene Adler tonight."
There was a pause as Mycroft seemed to think, "We already know where she is, dear. And as you and your father were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters."
She sighed and looked out the window as it began to snow quite heavily, "No, Uncle. I mean you're going to find her dead."
A/N: Hello again! So sorry this part took forever to come out, but I hope a long chapter makes up for it! I almost kept going but it was getting just a bit too long.
Life has been crazy, I hope you don't hate me too much! I promise we're getting to the really juicy bits where Thea becomes an even more brilliant character! Thank you so much for reading, love you all - favourite, follow, and review as you see fit :)