We'll skip ahead six months. I had forgiven John, and he was living back at 221b. All of us were spending Christmas at Sherlock and Mycroft's parents' house; me, Mycroft, John, Sherlock and Mary. Mycroft and I were the first to arrive. He led me to the kitchen. Mrs Holmes was busying around. She turned around and a big, bright smile appeared on her face.
"Myc!" she happily exclaimed, embracing Mycroft in a tight bear hug. "You came!" She pulled away from Mycroft and looked at me. "And Jennifer!" She pulled me into a hug. "It's lovely to see you again."
"You too." I agreed.
As politely as possible, I stepped out of the hug.
"I'll show you where we'll be sleeping," Mycroft told me, taking my hand and leading me to the stairs. "I... apologise for that."
"It's fine," I replied, slightly confused. "Why are you apologising?" Mycroft gave me a look. "Okay, she was overly affectionate, but she deserves to be; her forty-odd year old son has come home for Christmas for the first time in god knows how long!"
"Five years, actually," Mycroft admitted, before asking, "Did you just call me old?"
We stopped at the top of the stairs, and I pressed my nose his, smirking.
"So, what if I did?" I teased. "What I was saying, is that your mother is glad to have you home."
Mycroft kissed my nose, and I kissed his back. This repeated itself about three or four times, before we dissolved into laughter, Mycroft shaking his head at how nonsensical we were being! Mr Holmes appeared, and smiled at us.
"Mycroft, you're here," he said, hugging his son, before hugging me. "It's lovely to see you again, Jennifer. You're still putting up with Mycroft, I see!"
"Yes, I'm still putting up with him!" I joked. "It's nice to see you too."
Mycroft pulled me away, and led me to a door. He stared at it for a moment, before opening it. The room was gorgeous. In the middle of the far wall was a queen size bed. One of the walls was lined with bookshelves and a wardrobe. A desk was against another. The wall with a window was the only empty wall.
"This place hasn't been touched for fifteen years," Mycroft said, to himself or me, I don't know. "I designed it and put it together when I was fourteen."
I put my bag down by the bed and laid down.
"I like it." I commented.
Mycroft joined me.
"Do you remember the plan?" he asked.
"Of course I do, you've been through it about twenty times!" I replied, laughing.
(3rd Person)
Mycroft went into the kitchen. His parents were there, as was Sherlock, who had arrived with John and Mary half an hour earlier.
"Myc! Where's Jennifer?"his mother asked.
"She was unpacking a few things when I left her." he told her, sitting at the kitchen table.
Everyone got back to whatever they were doing in silence.
"Actually, there's... something I'd like to tell you," Mycroft said, and, at the expectant looks from both of his parents, announced, "I'm going to propose to Jennifer. On Christmas day, actually," He looked up from where his hands were clasped together on the table. "What do you think?"
His parents were grinning, happy and proud that their eldest son had found someone to spend the rest of his life with. Mycroft showed them the ring (Jennifer's actual engagement ring) and took them through his carefully thought through proposal plan. Sherlock watched from his position in the armchair. Somewhere, deep inside of him, he was glad that his older brother was letting their parents feel as though they were getting involved in his fake proposal. Outwardly, he groaned and rolled his eyes, before going back to reading his book.
