A/N: Sorry this took a while. The chapter's a bit shorter, but it was a natural breaking point, so I figured what the heck. Just a cute fluffy chapter this time. I hope that everyone is enjoying the story so far. I've gotten some amazing reviews from some folks who have been following the story since the beginning and to my surprise- LOTS OF NEW PEOPLE! Thank you so much! Your kindness really is overwhelming. If you don't see another chapter over the weekend, I do apologize. I'm in Hobbit mode this weekend and will probably be writing my pervy little heart out on an original piece. But have no fear, I will do my best to update by Monday. Lots of love!

Disclaimer: You know the drill... Gabe is mine. The rest are just borrowed.

"What on Earth do you buy for women at Christmas?" Sherlock mumbled, mostly to himself as he flipped through newspaper ads. He'd never had to concern himself with such things before. He and Mycroft hadn't exchanged gifts since they were children and with no other family to speak of, it hadn't exactly been a going concern.

"Jewelry," Mary replied simply and without hesitation. "All women love jewelry."

"I've never seen Molly wear any jewelry except those heinous earrings that one time," Sherlock replied. "I don't think she's really a jewelry kind of girl."

"Quite right," Mycroft interjected. Much to Sherlock's chagrin, Mycroft had come by earlier to ask his help on a case and ended up staying for dinner. Gabriel had managed to convince him to sit for a portrait. The child had taken to drawing people and he had finally tired of drawing his father and John. "In Miss Hooper's profession, it doesn't seem prudent to put rings on her fingers."

Sherlock nodded. If ever anyone was going to drop a ring in a dead body, it would be Molly. "Well I obviously can't buy her clothes—I know I'd get it wrong…"

"A book, perhaps?" John offered. "She does love to read."

"I have no idea what sort of book she'd like," Sherlock sighed.

"For someone who notices everything, you really haven't been too observant," Mary giggled, helping John gather dishes from the table.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, screwing his face up in an offended sneer.

"I just mean that Molly has been dropping hints about things she'd like for weeks," Mary teased, looking pointedly at John. "Women do that, assuming you aren't too thick to notice."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"She wants that necklace that's in the window of that jewelry shop on Oxford Street. The one we pass by at least twice a week. The one she even stopped and gawked at yesterday." Mary shook her head and leaned over to John. "You said he was a genius."

"I was obviously distracted," Sherlock huffed.

"She likes that pretty red dress in that shop on the corner. The one that the statue in the window is wearing," Gabriel offered, chewing on his lip as he scrubbed out a mistake with the rubber on his pencil. "She also likes chocolate and pretty pictures and music and eating lunch." Gabriel ticked off an entire list of things that Molly liked, Sherlock staring blankly. How did a five year old know more about her than he did? Gabriel turned his picture around, showing it to Mycroft. "What do you think, Uncle Mycroft?"

"It's perfect, Gabriel," Mycroft replied, visibly tensing as the little boy embraced him. "Thank you. Speaking of gifts, what would you like for Christmas, Gabriel?"

The little boy shrugged. "I dunno… I never really got presents at Christmas before. I guess Father Christmas didn't know where the convent was." Sherlock's chest tightened at hearing Gabriel's words. He tried not to think too hard about the place where his child had spent the first five years of his life. He was sure that the good sisters had done the best they could for Gabriel, but their order wasn't really equipped to deal with children. Given the location of St. Christopher's, if they had sent him to a government supported orphans' home, it would have been all the worse. Several of the homeless kids in his network were products of group homes. Most of them had been ignored, abused or worse. They'd run away to live on the streets, often to lives of drug abuse and danger. In that respect, Gabriel was lucky. Of course, he wasn't unaware of the numerous scars on his child's back and arms. He had only asked Gabriel about them once and it had produced such a reaction that Sherlock was afraid to broach the subject again. Despite how close they'd become, there were a lot of things that Gabriel had yet to reveal about himself. Of course it didn't take a genius to deduce what had happened. Gabe was a sweet and loving little boy. He was also stubborn, willful and hyperactive. The same combination of traits that had earned him numerous thrashings as a child.

"You'll have to make a list then," John said.

"A list?"

"Yeah, you know… a nice, polite letter to Father Christmas and then a list of things you'd like to have. Assuming you've been a good boy all year," John explained.

"Do I have to have been good every day?" Gabe asked. "It's very hard to be good every day."

"Let's hope it's an overall score," Sherlock teased. "And that he doesn't go asking that kid with the bloody nose…"

Mary giggled as she crossed the room and scooped Gabriel up. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. Your father, on the other hand, is likely to get enough coal to bury Baker Street. He's been a very naughty boy."

"…at least according to Molly Hooper…" John mumbled under his breath.

"But how will Father Christmas get my letter?" Gabe asked, fortunately not hearing John's comment. "I don't know his address."

Everyone turned to look at Mycroft. "Oh… well… if you write it, I will ensure that it is delivered to the proper recipient."

Gabriel scrambled out of Mary's grasp and down to the coffee table, pulling his paper tablet and a fat red pencil out of the drawer. He began to write furiously, chewing on his lower lip in concentration. Occasionally he would stop and push his heavy, black curls out of his face. Sherlock's phone buzzed and he stood, stepping over Gabriel and edging around the table to answer it in private.

After several minutes, Gabriel stood up and before Mycroft could stop him, he'd climbed up onto his uncle's knee. "Here. I need some help with the words." He tried passing Mycroft the pencil. "I'll read what it says and you spell it right."

"Uhm… don't you think it would be better to wait for your father?" he asked uncertainly, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides as Gabriel teetered on his perch.

"He'll be on the phone for ages," Gabe complained. "Please?" He shoved the pencil at Mycroft again. Seeing that he had no choice, Mycroft sighed and took it. Gabriel began reading his words, pointing at each one on the page:

"Dear Father Christmas,

My name is Gabriel Holmes and we haven't met before. I used to live at St. Christopher's Convent in Halifax. You must not know where that is because I never got any presents from you at Christmastime. That's ok, though. I got the best present ever when I got to live at Baker Street with my dad and my John. That's in London in case you didn't know. I don't know if you had anything to do with that, but if you did, thanks. I like it here a lot. My dad says that you can be everywhere at the same time like Dr. Who. Is that true? It must be. My dad knows everything. They told me that I had to make a Christmas list to tell what presents I want from you. I didn't know what to put on my list, so I decided to put down the things I hope you will bring for all my family.

*My dad- a telescope to look at the stars.

*My John- some earphones so he can listen to relaxing music when my dad gets on his nerves.

* Mary- some new red shoes. They are her favorite things ever.

*Mrs. Hudson- a new hip. I don't know what that is but she's always saying she wants a new one.

* Molly- a toothbrush for my house so when she sleeps over with my dad, she doesn't have to brush her teeth with a flannel.

* Uncle Mycroft- a picture of him and my dad so he can remember that they are brothers and that they love each other.

* Katie- a red ribbon for her hair. I just think it would look pretty.

As for me, I guess I want some clothes, some new crayons and markers or some chocolate. I'd like a real, fire-breathing dragon. My dad says that's impossible because dragons aren't real. I'm not sure I believe him. Or maybe a Cluedo board that doesn't have a hole in it. What I really want is a violin like my dad's so that I can play like him someday. I want to play so bad that sometimes I have to sit on my hands so I remember not to touch Dad's. Do you think that is being naughty? This letter is really long and I'm almost at the end of my paper, so I have to say goodbye. Thank you for reading my list. Oh, and I saw this thing on telly that said there are lots of dogs out there that don't have families. Do you think you could find families for them? That would be nice.

Happy Christmas,

Gabe

Gabriel looked up and took the paper and pencil from Mycroft. "I will sign my name underneath so he knows that I am trying to write like a big kid." He slid off of Mycroft's lap and sat down in front of the table to sign his name in oversized capital letters. When he was done, he handed it off to his uncle. "Did I do it right?"

"Perfectly," Mycroft replied, pocketing the letter just as Sherlock returned. He beckoned to his brother as he went to the door, pulling on his overcoat. "Sherlock, a word?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he followed him out to the landing. "Yes?"

"I was just going to give you the letter that Gabriel wrote. You may find it helpful with your gift-giving endeavors." He held the letter out to his brother, an amused smile as Sherlock looked over the items. "Listen… I've been doing some thinking lately…"

"Don't… it will only complicate things." He sighed. It was much easier to be dismissive of Mycroft then to actually hold a conversation with him. The brothers had gotten so good at ignoring one another that they had no idea how to relate anymore.

"Just let me finish. Why must you be so obstinate all the time?" Mycroft shook his head. "I thought that since Gabriel was here and it was his first Christmas, that we might make an effort to do something special. The summer cottage is just sitting there empty and has been for some time. I'm having it opened up and prepared for a holiday. You and Gabriel may come of course, as well as Miss Hooper. Perhaps even John and Miss Morstan if they desire."

"A Christmas holiday? Really, Mycroft? Did you have a nice bowl of sentiment flakes for breakfast or something?"

"I thought it might be nice, but if you'd rather not spend a week by the sea…" Mycroft turned his nose up, giving Sherlock his classic look of disdain.

"All right, all right… if you insist," Sherlock sighed. "Stop badgering."