Surprise! I thought you all might enjoy an epilogue of sorts. :) Many thanks to MizJoely and Buttercup59 for their Brit-picking and Beta-ing!


Five Months Later

'Why are we doing this, why is this becoming a tradition?' Mycroft screwed his face in disgust at the word, his pout only slightly mollified by Anthea's pacifying kiss on his cheek. She giggled and wiped the faint smudge of lipstick she left, bestowing one of her rare smiles on him. How he deserved her, he'd never know.

His brief bout of joy was smacked out of him as Mummy came into the room, drying her hands with her weapon of choice, a hand-knit festive towel. 'Behave, Myc. It's Christmas and we are a family and we're going to spend it together. Now budge up, they'll be here soon and you'll need to make room!'

'Mummy, you don't need to try to push Anthea and me together. We already are!' Mycroft sighed exasperatedly and rubbed the back of his head, but scooted closer to his wife anyway. He pretended not to notice the smirk on either of their faces when he pulled Anthea's hand into his lap and fiddled with the shiny new wedding ring on her finger.

The crunch of gravel sounded from outside, followed by the slamming of multiple car doors.

'Oh, they're here! Myc, come help with the luggage!' Mummy gushed, rushing to pull her apron off and open the door. Her joyous cries carried through the house as she greeted the recent arrivals. 'Martha, oh it's good to see you, come in, come in! John! Mary! Oh, you look wonderful- and you, too, Billie! My goodness, you must be nearly twice as tall as you were last time I saw you! Oh, I've just been waiting for a hug from my Billie-girl! Sherlock, hand her over to her Nana... Sherlock, she may not be my biological grandchild, but she is close enough and I want a hug... William Sherlock Scott Holmes, don't be selfish!'

Her chastisements carried on as Mycroft and Anthea sniggered. They could hear the audible grunt of disappointment when Sherlock relinquished his hold on the young Watson child. Mycroft's brief amusement, however, was cut short by Mummy's piercing demand as she strode into the room, Billie bundled in her arms.

'Mycroft! Go help!'

Sighing heavily, he brushed his lips against Anthea's temple and whispered, 'Must we stay for a week, my dear? I hear Switzerland is awfully beautiful this time of year…' He quirked his eyebrow, half-heartedly trying to coerce her into ditching this upcoming family fiasco.

Anthea shook her head fondly and pushed him from the couch with a laugh. 'No!'


Tea had been served after everyone had settled in, their packages and bags settled in their rooms and their faces finally thawing in the warmth of the fire. The chatter continued for some time, until the front door opened and let in a gust of snow-laden wind.

'Sorry I'm late.' Everyone turned toward the door as a festively-bundled Molly walked in, her cheeks flushed from the biting cold. Mycroft pulled Anthea closer when she shuddered against the chill.

Sherlock immediately jumped up and strode over to her, pulling her bags from her hand and tossing them carelessly to the side. 'Molly! You were supposed to call so I could pick you up from the station,' he admonished her, pulling the damp gloves from her hands and holding her frozen fingers tightly in his against his chest in an effort to warm them up.

If possible, Molly's cold-reddened cheeks darkened further at his show of caring and his offer. 'That's all right, I just caught a cab. The last one, too. He's heading home now for the holiday, but he was so sweet to take me, said I was on his way anyway. And I didn't want to be a bother and have someone drive all the way down just to get me because I had to work a late shift.'

'But…' Sherlock frowned and glanced around self-consciously before lowering his head and dropping his voice to a whisper. 'Isn't that what… well, boyfriends, do?'

Easily reading Sherlock's lips and noting Molly's pleased, yet flustered, smile, Mycroft dropped his head back and sighed in relief. Thank every last deity known to mankind, that boy finally made things right.

Molly proceeded to lift herself onto her toes and reward his consideration with a kiss, silently announcing to the room the official nature of their relationship.

Mary gasped in delight and a chorus of 'awws' rang throughout the room. Sherlock blushed furiously as they broke apart and turned toward the rest of the room, but he boldly slipped his hand over Molly's and kept her close, leading her into the stunned fray.

A nudge at his ribs brought Mycroft's attention down to his wife, who was beaming up at him in pride. 'Well done, you,' she whispered. If possible, his heart swelled even more under her praise.

Sherlock and Molly moved toward the center of the room, where Sherlock began the introductions. 'Molly, this is my mother, Violet Holmes.' Mummy, this is Molly Hooper, my-' He stumbled back in surprise as Mummy rushed over and enveloped Molly in a crushing hug, the last word barely making it past his lips, '-girlfriend.'

'Oh, my dear, it's so wonderful to meet you,' Mummy gushed. 'Come, sit with me. I've heard so much about you from Sherlock…'

Molly raised her eyebrows and glanced back at Sherlock, holding back her laughter at his petulant pout, and allowed herself to be led to the sofa.

Mycroft grinned wickedly as the conversation quickly delved into a synopsis of Sherlock's childhood and the, now unnecessary, worry that he'd never find someone to put up with him.

Perhaps there was something to this 'family' Christmas, after all.


Dinner was a chaotic event with people jostling about the table, handing dishes over each other, the occasional accidental elbow jab (and more often the purposeful one, Mycroft would have a bruise in his ribs the exact shape of Sherlock's bony elbow), and conversations topping one another until nobody knew to whom they were actually speaking.

Mycroft inwardly sneered at the cliché family meal it appeared to be. But by the contented smile on Anthea's face as she chattered away about proper gun cleaning etiquette with Mary, he knew it was far from normal.

The table was very nearly cleared of food and lethargy was beginning to set in when things went a bit awry. Mycroft should have planned for it, but being unprepared for emotional complications, he had not even considered the possibility. Mummy had been holding a passionate conversation with Molly about theatre, having found a kindred spirit.

'I adore Lés Mis,' Molly gushed. 'You should come to London, we'll see it together! Sherlock never takes me, he hates the theatre. Won't sit still or stay quiet long enough to actually enjoy the play.'

Sherlock grumbled beside her as Mummy laughed.

'Well, the next time we're in London, I will take you up on that! God knows, if I force Myc or Sherlock into accompanying me one more time, I'll have a rebellion on my hands!'

Molly giggled. 'We'll make a day of it! We'll go to the park and, oh!' She grinned widely, 'I'll take you to my favourite café for coffee! They have the most delicious pastries, too.'

'Oh, they do make the best blueberry scones there!' Mummy sighed. 'Just thinking about them makes me want one.'

'Don't you think you've eaten enough already?' Papa teased. Mummy just rolled her eyes at him.

Mycroft, however, was watching Molly, a sinking feeling in his gut. She had fallen silent at his mother's slip of the tongue, and her brow was furrowed in confusion as she tilted her head in thought and stared at his mother.

Suddenly, her eyes widened and she let out a loud gasp.

'Molly?' Sherlock queried. The table fell silent as everyone turned to Molly, whose face burned a deep red.

'I thought you looked familiar... and not just in how Sherlock resembles you.' She glanced at Sherlock briefly before she turned back to his mother and quietly said, 'You… you were the lady in the café.'

'Crap,' Mary whispered as Martha ducked her head in worry.

Mummy pursed her lips at Molly's words and nodded, chagrined. 'I was.'

'What lady in the café?' Sherlock looked between his mother and his girlfriend, clearly frustrated that he wasn't able to deduce what was happening.

'I… I met your mother before,' Molly responded in a stunned voice. 'Before I… she was at the café the day before I left. W-we… talked.'

'What did you do?' Sherlock turned on Mummy with a scowl.

'Something you should be grateful for! How else were we supposed to make you realise you were meant for each other?' Mummy defended herself, crossing her arms. 'It worked, didn't it?'

'What worked? And who is 'we'?!' Sherlock bit out angrily.

Mummy turned to look at Mycroft, everyone following suit. Staring back at Sherlock resolutely, Mycroft saw the moment all the pieces fell into place in his brother's mind. The frown on the detective's face deepened for a moment, a silent threat to never meddle again, before vanishing entirely with a nod of his head. Coming from Sherlock, that was a grand gesture of thanks.

'I'm afraid our conspiracy has been uncovered,' Mycroft glanced around at his co-conspirators, completely avoiding Molly's piercing gaze. John and Papa, the only ones not involved, watched in confusion. 'Excuse me, I believe I need some air. Mary, if you would please explain.'

'Mary?' John's shocked voice followed Mycroft as he grabbed his coat from the peg by the door and slid outside. He knew it was the coward's way out, but he didn't have it in him to face Molly's hurt for manipulating her and causing her so much pain through his scheme. Not yet. To have everyone dissect his reasons, sentimental as they were, would be a humiliating experience and he would like to postpone it as long as possible.

Pulling out the pack of cigarettes he'd stashed away in his coat that Anthea pretended not to know about, he lit one up and pulled in a breath, letting the familiar scent and feeling soak into his very bones, then exhaling, imagining all the embarrassment being expelled from his body.

How long he stood there, he didn't know, but he was nearly three cigarettes in when his thoughts were interrupted.

'Ahem.'

He whirled around at the hesitant cough, hiding the cigarette behind his back. But instead of Mummy's disapproving frown, he found himself staring at a very bashful Molly. She'd wrapped her ridiculously long scarf around her neck, her only precaution against the cold, though she did not seem too bothered by it in her large, festive jumper.

'Don't worry,' she smiled. 'I won't tell.'

He simply quirked an eyebrow in response and brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking another lazy drag.

Molly walked down the short path to stand beside him and they stared out over the sprawling hills leading away from the quaint cottage in silence for a time.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her take a deep breath and exhale, the cold clinging to her breath before vanishing into the bitter air. He braced himself for her hurt and anger at his 'playing God' with the relationship between her and his brother.

But once again, Molly Hooper surprised him.

'Thank you.'

What?

He blinked at her soft, but firm words.

Before he could fully process what she had said, she suddenly turned toward him and, on tiptoes, pressed a kiss to his cheek. He froze, slowly turning his head to stare down at her. A fond smile pulled at her lips and her eyes sparkled with understanding. This woman, who once seemed so inconsequential, had turned their whole perception of sentiment upside down with her unending capacity for love and forgiveness. He knew he would call her sister one day, if Sherlock knew what was good for him. And he would be proud to do so.

He found himself grinning back at her, from relief and from actual happiness, the action unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. Molly gave him one last beaming smile before turning to go back inside.

He didn't know why he said it, but the words seemed to come out on their own, falling in the cold air with finality. 'I once told Sherlock that his loss would break my heart.'

She froze, her hand on the doorknob, and turned to look back at him, her eyes soft with understanding.

Flicking the remains of his cigarette into the compost bin, he flipped up the collar of his coat against the bitter wind and turned toward her. 'Losing you would break both of ours. Without you, Sherlock was a broken shadow of himself. And I never want to see him that way again. I don't regret manipulating you. I am sorry for any unnecessary pain I caused or inflicted in the process, but from my perspective, the ends have justified the means.'

Molly stared at him for a moment in thought. A small smile slowly broke over her face, free of condemnation and full of understanding, and he felt the burden of guilt he'd been carrying lift. She understood why he had done what he did, why he had manipulated them... and she forgave him.

Just as she opened the door to slip back inside, she turned to him and said, 'Happy Christmas, Mycroft.'

'Happy Christmas, Molly Hooper.'