A/N: Sorry this took so long. Sheesh... Christmas. Yer killin' me. Anyway, here's a little chapter for you. Next up... a seaside holiday. And, I was also thinking of doing some one-shots in this universe to satisfy some fic wishes that I've seen in your comments. Whatdaya think? I may even take requests...
Disclaimer: I own nothing but Gabriel and Catastrophe.
Gabriel yawned, rolling over to face the window. It was bright. Brighter than normal. He scrambled out of bed and went to the window. Light flakes fell down in front of the window in a heavy downpour of snow. The street below was blanketed with white already and when he listened closely, he could hear the bells in the church down the street. They rang for Christmas Day and Gabriel smiled, his heart fluttering with excitement. He pulled on his dressing gown and burst through his bedroom door. He could already hear his father and John talking and Mary and Molly giggling in reply. As he descended the stairs he spotted John and Mary sitting at the kitchen table and his father and Doctor Molly preparing breakfast. "Hello?" he called. All of them turned to see him.
"Happy Christmas!" they called in unison.
He offered a big smile and rushed to his father. "Happy Christmas, Dad!" he exclaimed, allowing Sherlock to pick him up.
"We thought you'd never get up," Sherlock teased. "We were about to go upstairs and wake you. Imagine that, a child oversleeping on Christmas."
"I was sleepy," he sighed and then groaned slightly. "My arm feels itchy."
"Does it hurt?" Sherlock asked, pouring a glass of juice for Gabriel.
"Just a little bit." He took the juice and a spoonful of medicine from Molly. "Blech…"
"Well hurry and wake up," John scolded. "Father Christmas came and left a bunch of stuff for you." He didn't even get to finish the sentence before Gabriel was squirming out of Sherlock's arms and sprinting into the lounge. There were shrieks of glee almost immediately. Taking their tea into the next room, they found Gabriel standing in the middle of the floor with a look that could only be described as disbelief.
The wrapped packages were piled so high that they oozed out from under the tree and all over the lounge. Sparkling red ribbons, green and silver paper seemed to glow from the fairy lights that twinkled in the tree. In the center of it all was the conglomeration of gifts left by Father Christmas. Gabriel was almost paralyzed, not knowing which things to look at first. He grabbed the violin off its stand first and hugged it to his chest, taking care not to crush the bow. "Is it really mine?" he asked, looking to Sherlock for approval.
"Of course. No one else has arms that short." Gabriel set down the violin and ran to embrace his father.
"He came, Dad! Father Christmas really came!"
"Was there any doubt?" Sherlock said. "And he gave me strict instructions that I'm to find you a violin teacher just as soon as your arm heals." Gabriel hugged him again, nearly sobbing with gratitude and disbelief. "Go… look at all the other stuff."
Gabriel flitted from one thing to the next, getting more excited with each passing moment. He squealed as he touched the dragon and it roared and spit sparks, gasped as he opened each drawer on the easel to find more paint and markers and colored pencils. He was so in awe of his bounty that he didn't notice the box standing ajar in the corner. It was a bit larger than all the others and had a lid that was set off center. It was wrapped up with bright paper and ribbon and it made a soft, whimpering noise. Gabriel turned when he heard it, wrinkling his nose. "What is that?" The package whimpered again and Gabriel spotted a tiny black nose sniffling at the open corner of the box. He gasped and ran to the box, throwing the lid off. "Oh my gosh! Dad, look!" He used his good arm to pull the puppy out of the box and cuddled it to his chest. The dog immediately began sniffing and licking at Gabriel's chin as he carried it across the room. "It's a puppy, Dad!"
"It certainly is," Sherlock said with a heavy sigh.
Molly squealed and took the puppy from Gabriel. "Oh, Gabe! She's precious!" The dog nuzzled under her hair and grunted happily.
"Can we keep her, Dad? Please?" Gabe asked, jumping up and down excitedly.
"I don't think we have much choice," Sherlock grumbled.
"What should we name her?" Molly asked, sitting down in Sherlock's armchair and snuggling both Gabriel and the dog.
"Catastrophe," Sherlock replied. Mary and John giggled.
"What's catastrophe?" Gabriel asked.
"A disaster of epic proportions," Molly answered. "But this little thing couldn't possibly be a disaster."
"That's kind of perfect, actually," John said.
Molly wound an arm around John's waist. "Call her Cat for short. I love it!"
OoOoOo
Within the hour Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson had found their way up the stairs. Mary had insisted that John don a silly red hat to pass out everyone's gifts. Once everything was distributed, the group began tearing into their packages. All of them, even Sherlock, laughed and looked at everything with the wide, excited eyes of children. Molly blushed deeply as she opened the carefully wrapped box that contained the lacy underwear set that Sherlock had bought for her. The deep teal color just matched the dark pearls of her necklace. As a connoisseur of sensible cotton knickers, she'd never had something so risqué as the sheer bra, underpants and garter belt set. "Wow," she breathed.
Sherlock leaned over and whispered. "It's really not fair. It had your name on it, but really it's a gift for me."
"Oh, John! It's beautiful!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, holding up a cozy looking cardigan.
"Well it's always so cold down there in your flat. I thought it might help."
Gabriel rushed over to Mycroft, Catastrophe following close on his heels already. "Open mine next, Uncle Mycroft!" He pushed a box into Mycroft's hand. Mycroft smiled and tore the paper carefully as if he didn't want to break the ribbon. Inside the box was a silver pen. "It's a spy pen!" Gabriel exclaimed. "When you click the top, it takes a picture! Isn't that wicked?!"
Mycroft laughed. "Indeed. Did you pick this out by yourself?"
"Well… my dad may have helped a little bit." He hugged Mycroft again, careful not to bash him in the face with his cast. "I love you, Uncle Mycroft." Everyone was silent, waiting for a reaction or some kind of explosion. The elder Holmes looked positively stricken by Gabriel's sentiment, but after a few seconds he hugged the little boy back and ruffled his hair.
"Sherlock, I tried to convince her not to get that horrible thing," Mary said, watching as Sherlock pulled the exploded skull out of a box.
"No! It's great!" Sherlock exclaimed, moving the pieces and examining it. "And look! All the bones are labeled!"
"Now where will I hide that one?" Mrs. Hudson grumbled. "At least it's open so you can't hide cigarettes in there."
Mycroft stood up and went into his coat pocket, handing everyone an envelope with a train ticket inside. "The train leaves for East Sussex in the morning. The cottage at Camber Sands is open and waiting, though you might want to bring extra blankets if you get cold."
"What's this?" Mary asked, examining the tickets.
"I didn't believe you'd actually do it, Mycroft," Sherlock mumbled. "It's our summer cottage, left to us by our parents. We never go there."
"It's rented out most of the summer but I thought it might be nice to spend a holiday," Mycroft continued. "There are six bedrooms, plenty of room for whomever would like to go. I'm afraid that I'll be in and out, as I have business…" Gabriel scowled disapprovingly. "…but I'll try to be there as much as possible. There's a train ticket for each of you, but there is a car hire in the station."
"Is the house on the beach?" Molly asked.
"It is. Just a stumble out the back door and onto the sand," Sherlock said. "Though I'd imagine right now that it's much too cold to spend much time on the beach."
"But still a beautiful place," Mary squealed, hugging John in her excitement.
"So this is where the pirate thing started?" John said with a smirk to Sherlock.
"I took the liberty of arranging for the decorators to come while we were gone to fix Gabriel's room upstairs," Mycroft continued. "Assuming you're still wanting to go, Sherlock?"
"Can we take Catastrophe with us, Dad?" Gabriel asked. The dog, upon hearing her name, leapt up into Sherlock's lap to lick at Gabriel's fingertips.
"I don't guess we have any choice."
OoOoOo
Everyone had gone and the quiet was a blessing. Sherlock sat on the couch, enjoying the silence as he played absently with Molly's hair. She reclined with her head on his lap, reading the antique post-mortem textbook that Sherlock had given her to go along with the tool set. Gabriel and Catastrophe sat on the floor watching a marathon of Star Wars movies. The dog hadn't left his side since hopping out of the box. Sherlock hated to admit it, but John was right.
On his way out earlier, Mycroft had given Sherlock one more gift. He hadn't opened it before. He wasn't sure why but the way in which his brother had given him the simply wrapped gift, he thought it must be something private. Ever since he'd faked his death, he and Mycroft's relationship, while still strained, was different. Now with Gabriel, it seemed even moreso. For the first time in quite a while, he was remembering what it had been like when they were children. He'd idolized his brother then, but life and circumstances, like they usually did, had gotten in the way. Mycroft had taken their father's side and Sherlock wasn't sure he could ever forgive his brother for that.
His long fingertips sought out the square, flat package on the table beside him. He turned it over in his hands. "What's that?" Molly asked.
"Something Mycroft gave me."
"Well… why don't you open it?"
"I'm not sure," Sherlock replied. He pulled at the paper and finally uncovered a framed photograph. "Oh my God…"
Gabriel jumped up and went to his father, leaning on the armrest beside him. "Who is that?"
The photograph showed two boys. One tall and thin in his school uniform with his strawberry blonde hair perfectly combed and a bored sneer. He held a ridiculous looking pipe between his teeth. The other boy could have been Gabriel. He was much younger and he was reaching up to grab at the pipe. "It's me and Mycroft."
"You look like me, Dad!"
Molly sat up. "Oh my God, really?" She shifted, giggling as she took the picture from Sherlock. "Oh you were so cute!" In the photo, Sherlock wore a pirate hat and a Christmas jumper.
"It was the last Christmas we spent at Camber Sands all together. I was six. Mycroft was thirteen. The pipe was our grandfather's and Mycroft was always sneaking it to smoke when we went to Camber. He was always trying to pretend to be older." Sherlock smiled. "I was trying to take it from him because I didn't want him to smoke."
"Who took the picture?"
"My mother, I'm sure. I can't believe he kept it all this time." He shuddered. "Sentiment. He's getting old and soft."
