Molly hums and finishes her third autopsy of the day, Christmas Day to be exact. That's always something you can count on; the influx of deaths on and around major holidays; Christmas especially. The holiday where the lonely, the ill, and the desperate sought death as their reprieve. Quite a horrible fact, but it keeps Molly busy as to escape that reality of her own.

Usually she would spend Christmas with Meena and her family, but this year Meena was going on holiday to the States to visit her boyfriend, who resided in Texas. This left Molly without any plans, so of course she chose to work double shifts at the morgue; her colleagues all had families or children to celebrate with, and if it had been her with reason to celebrate, she would hope someone in her current position would offer as well.

Singing along to a few Christmas carols coming from the small radio in her office, Molly settles into her desk chair and begins the paperwork on the findings from her autopsies. She writes swiftly and professionally, sighing softly to herself. As much as she enjoyed her work, she wishes that she had at least someone to talk to today. She knows pitying herself won't get her anywhere and never would, but a part of her still thinks she deserves to wallow in loneliness for even a little bit, jealous of everyone and their amazing families and friend groups.

Molly finishes up her work within an hour and locks up. She makes her way down the drab hallway to the women's locker room and goes in, slipping on her winter coat, scarf, and gloves, and grabbing her purse and car keys. Moments later she trudges through the newly fallen snow to her little car, knowing it will take a while to get it going in this sort of weather.

After about an hour struggling with her car, and a twenty-five minute drive home, Molly finally gets inside her flat and sheds her outdoor clothing. After taking a nice bath and settling into her cozy pjs, she makes herself a steaming cup of hot cocoa and settles down with her laptop to write in her blog.

{ The Blog of Doctor Molly Hooper – December 25, 2008

Merry Christmas all! I hope you are having a lovely one. I'm spending mine alone again. Well, maybe not totally alone. I did have all the cadavers in the morgue. I got a lovely phone call from my brother this morning though. I was so happy to hear his voice for the first time in over six months. He's doing well, though I still worry. He thanked me for the lovely blanket and the rest of the care package that I sent him as a Christmas gift. Despite being at war, he has corades to celebrate with; something I'm a bit jealous of.

It's holidays like Christmas where I wish I had a boyfriend. Cozying up by a fire, listening to Christmas carols, opening gifts, and drinking eggnog and punch...sometimes it really sucks being alone. Especially when you are the type of person who doesn't exactly fit in with anyone. I suppose I will meet more people as I gain more experience at work. Plus, when I save enough money, I am going to buy my own home and hopefully I will have some nice neighbors. Who knows, right?

You may wonder why I am writing a post on Christmas, since the few of you that do read are probably with family. Well, because there isn't much else for me to do. No family equals no oodles of gifts or cheer. Just me. So in order to distract myself, I write this blog and watch the snow fall. I know, not very interesting. Anyone up for company?...I didn't think so.

X X X Molly }

Sherlock settles down on the of his parents' home, scrolling through his mobile. He absolutely dreaded Christmas. Every single little thing about it. Mummy called him a grinch, but not as much as she called Mycroft Scrooge. They rarely practiced religion when he and Mycroft were little, and in their adulthood, they had forgotten about it altogether. As his parents get older it seems that they have begun to practice more, however this is not rubbing of on either he or Mycroft.

His father enters the room with a glass of eggnog, setting it on the table in front of him. "I know your life is busy now, and I know you don't have much interest being here but thank you for coming. It means a whole lot to your mother. You know how she loves to see her boys on Christmas. I also wanted to say that we are very proud of you. Mycroft told us briefly about your internship at Scotland Yard." His father sits next to him and Sherlock briefly puts his phone down, glancing over at him. "I'm glad you are getting your life together, Now, I know I may not have that fantastical brain that you and your brother have gotten from your mother; I know that I'm just a boring, ordinary bloke. But as a father I could not be prouder of either of you. You're going places too, Sherlock. Call it intuition, but I just know you're going to be great at this investigative work. I'm so happy you're using your talents to do some good in the world. I really am."

Sherlock swallows and blushes lightly, sighing and looking at his father. "Thanks Dad..." Benjamin smiles and gently hugs his younger son, who hesitantly returns it. Though he would never admit it, Sherlock quite enjoys the company of his father and ordinary people as compared to Mycroft. It makes him feel quite normal as well. He gently takes the eggnog and sips it. Hm, homemade. He could always tell his mother's from the bottled version. "So...what about you; thinking of retiring soon?"

"Oh heaven's…I don't know. Maybe another year or two. I know that we are well off, but it gives me something to do. Plus, your mother took a part-time job at the local high school as a substitute Math teacher. She's thrilled. If I were home, nobody would be around anyway, so I may as well work. Keeps my older, ordinary mind working."

Sherlock nods slowly. As much as he hates the holiday cheer and the stigma of Christmas, it does give him a chance to catch up on what is going on in his parent's lives. He supposes he /should/ care, even a little bit. Especially about his father. Sherlock knows how brilliant and strong-willed his mother is, but he does worry about his father. He's simple, gentle, easily manipulated or stepped on. Plus, he's has a stroke before. His father was always the one to give in first when they were little, always spoiled them; his Mum was stricter with them. Benjamin always has a nice calmness to him that rubs off on everyone he meets. It's always a welcome aura of calm for Sherlock and his not so ordinary mind. Maybe that's why he prefers being around his father, despite the fact that he is clearly his Mum's favorite child.

He has nothing against his mother, she is just a bit too much like he and Mycroft. Strong-willed, opinionated, outspoken, meticulous. She can be exhausting. Sherlock wonders if this is how ordinary people feel around him. Of course he has no desire to compete with her; being his mother, she would win every time, she could be an absolute bear if provoked. That can come out in either annoyance or protectiveness; the only difference is whether it's used against them or for them.

Sherlock believes that the main reason she has been more annoyed with Mycroft lately is because he took Uncle Rudy's place about a year ago with the family's state of affairs. Joy never really liked her brother Rudy, as he was too snobbish and uncaring for her taste. Of course this is also the reason why he chose Mycroft to take on his role when he passed; he's nearly a personality double for him. Mummy dislikes how put offish Mycroft is now, especially that he decided to abide by Rudy's will and step into the role that was clearly made for him. After all, it was Rudy that got Mycroft the internship with the government all those year ago and moved him up the ladder rather quickly. He played a large role in the security and integrity of London. Little did they know at the time that he knew of his diagnosis, and that it was the reason he chose Mycroft to shadow him and learn all of the secrets of the trade, and of the government that is strictly confidential. Unfortunately for the family, Rudy had lived another twelve years. Fortunately for Mycroft, he soaked up lots more information from him in those twelve years, to become an integral part of the governmental national security and integrity team.

Benjamin sighs and smiles. "Dipped into that silly head of yours again, didn't you, son?"

"Hm?" Sherlock blinks and realizes his father is still there. "Oh...uh, yeah sorry."

"It's alright. It's fascinating to watch you know. I used to stare at your mother when she'd so that. She still does sometimes. It's still nice to watch, plus, she's too beautiful not to" he grins.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and scoffs, eliciting a chuckle from his Dad. "Yes, yes, well she is your wife."

"And your mother. Really Sherlock, I hope you find a nice woman someday. Who knows, maybe you'll find a sweet, smart, ordinary miss that can make you feel the way your mother and I feel together. It's true what they say, opposites do attract. Though, we aren't total opposites. You do have to have some things in common. It's better that way. Makes for good conversation and nice chemistry. Plus, you may just be our only chance at grandchildren in the future. Between you and me…" he leans closer, "I don't have much faith that Mycroft would have children."

Sherlock's eyes are wide but blank. "I don't er-.."

"You'll come around, son. Life will take you by the neck and shove you in the gutter and you will go through hell. That's when you'll realize you'd rather not end up alone. Believe me…one day. You may not be in the right head space to be able to make anyone happy right now or even in the near future, but some day after you've been through all the horrific experiences you could possibly handle, there will be someone that stands out to you that you'll realize you cannot live without. I may not be a genius like you, but I know you son; I know you on the inside. I do know that much."

Sherlock looks over his face; he's not making a joke. He genuinely believes what he's saying. Maybe he's going senile, though he's a bit young for that. "Dad, I highly doubt that. Firstly, I have no desire to "share a life" with anyone but myself. I'm the only one who understands me. Secondly, no woman would be able to handle me regardless, plus they're too much work. So there's that. Sorry to break it to you, but I think your chances of grandchildren of any kind are slim to none."

Benjamin grins, a glint in his eye. "If you say so, son. You'll work with many, many people in your line of work."

Sherlock shrugs. "I don't want to work with Scotland Yard. Well, not in an official sense. I want to be a freelance detective. I've already solved about four cases for NSY on my own, though of course I let D.I Lestrade take the credit because well…he er...helped me figure out what I wanted to do so to speak. I think I'll just post an ad online and start taking small cases for myself. Sort of like a private investigator. I've been "playing" deductions with Mycroft since I was little. I think it's time for me to take that public and solve cases for the adrenaline rush that it gives, so it'll take my mind off of…" he trails off.

His father gently pats his hand. "The drugs? I do worry about you with your history. I'm glad you're more responsible now. Your mother and I worried ourselves to death when you were a teenager, Will."

"Dad…"

"Sherlock. Sorry. I know, I know, you hate "William". My fault, I slipped."

Sherlock sighs and gently squeezes his hand. "It's okay…just try to remember. And yeah...the drugs. I miss the rush that they give me, but I know that they mess me up so much that I can't focus on much else. I can't really do that anymore. I know Mum and Mycroft help me out financially but I'm sick of that. If there's anything I never want to be, it's dependent on anyone."

He nods and smiles softly. "Soon you won't be. My sons are successes. I know you will be before it even happens because you're a Holmes. You'll do the family name a great service, Sherlock. I know the little kid that's still inside you, and I know that you can do a whole lot of good."

Mycroft walks in and clears his throat, sneering. "That's quite funny, seeing as he's living in practically a dump and living off of Mummy and big bro's money. Not to mention how irritating he is. What makes you think that the second he decides to deduce someone to solve a case they won't throw him out? Plus, criminals are dangerous. He'd probably get himself killed because he's pretty slow."

Sherlock grimaces annoyedly. "We were having a private conversation, "Mykey"

Mycroft looks disgusted. "I told you not to call me that."

"Well you deserved it for acting like a child."

"/I/ acted like a child? You're the one without a real job or a decent house!"

"At least I'm paving my own way! You're the one who clung to Uncle Rudy's coattails because you couldn't get a job by yourself!"

"I was the only one in this family smart enough to even be thought of for that job, it surely wasn't you, the family idiot!"

"You're not as smart as you think you are, or Mummy wouldn't hate you."

Mycroft sets his jaw and Sherlock crosses his arms. Their father steps between them. "Boys, enough. It's Christmas. We all have our troubles, but can we please just have a nice holiday. Your mother hates it when you argue, and frankly, so do I. Just be civil. Please. Mycroft, go help your mother prepare the table, hm?"

Mycroft gapes. "Why can't Sherlock do it?"

"Myc, now", Benjamin gives him an attempt at a stern look. Sherlock smirks and sticks his tongue out and Mycroft huffs annoyedly and saunters to the dining area.

Turning to Sherlock he crosses his arms, nearly mimicking him. "As for you, I know how tempting it may be for you to annoy him. It seems a bit too easy these days, but that does not mean that you can, or you should. If you are going to be a responsible adult, you need to be above the pettiness. Look, I know that where you are in your life, things aren't going to be easy. But you're going to get through it, and you'll make a name for yourself if you stay on a good path. Don't let anyone dissuade you from that, alright? Not even Mycroft."

Sherlock ruffles his hair in annoyance and sighs. "Yeah I know...alright."

"Right then. I can smell the turkey, so it must be out of the oven, Let's have a nice family dinner, hm? We don't have the best record at those so I would really like tonight to be a good one. Promise me?"

Sherlock groans a bit. "Okay, I promise."

"Good boy, come on", he pats his back.

About twenty minutes into dinner, there's a loud crash near their front door and a swarm of agents with guns rush into the dining area. Their parents gasp and stand up. Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

The leader lowers his gun and the other do as well. "We're here for Mycroft Holmes, it's a matter of National Security! He needs to come with us immediately."

Mycroft rolls his eyes and sighs. "A phone call would have done just fine; you didn't have to swarm the house gentlemen."

{The Digital Journal of Sherlock Holmes – December 25, 2008

Yes, MI-6 swarmed my parents' house today and my mother nearly had a heart attack with the amount of rage she hurled at Mycroft. I must say, it was one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my life! So much for clearing that "Christmas Dinner episode" record. I'm telling you, it's a curse. We haven't had one single enjoyable Christmas since I was about twelve. Every year something happens. It's come to the point where honestly the only reason why I bother to show up is just to see what happens that year, it's usually really funny. It's usually Mycroft's fault with his big important job and everything. However, last year I decided that I wanted to foster a puppy and I brought it to Christmas dinner. Mind you, this thing was really small. Unfortunately, it happened to be quite the climber because the thing ate the whole turkey and half the sides before anyone even noticed where it had gone. He further went on to vomit all over my mum's good rug. Long story short, I no longer fostered that creature. He was a /menace/, and I love dogs generally.

The year before that, my father had a small stroke; not funny. The year before that, my Aunt Dottie died, and instead of dinner we had to attend the funeral. She was a good person, my dad's oldest sister, even my Mum loved her. She would always gift us these HORRIBLE hand-knit Christmas sweaters that we were forced to say thank you for. The year before that, Uncle Rudy barged in drunk and he and my Mum got into it about Mycroft; for some reason Mycroft dragged me upstairs and locked us in my old room while they screamed; he's so fucking weird, you'd think he was bothered by it, but Mycroft isn't bothered by anything. I wanted to hear what they were fighting about but he wouldn't let me; treated me like a damn child. He's such a bugger! It did remind me a bit of Christmas when I was like, seventeen. Uncle Rudy had come over and spoken to my parents about something and they ended up crying their eyes out. Mycroft had made me go upstairs with him so I couldn't hear. I never did know what made them so upset to this day.

As far as siblings go, I don't think the Holmes family has a good record at great relationships among them either. I suppose every family has their troubles though. Just another reason why I never /want/ one. I swear if I ever had a child like me, I would slap him so hard upside the head, I'd fix him to being ordinary. I was a horrible teen, but I can admit that. At least I didn't eat everything in sight like Mycroft though. I'm convinced that Uncle Rudy forced Myc to lose weight in order for him to will him his job. He was a very mean and strict man like that. What's even more pathetic is that he did. Luckily, I have a very fast metabolism. Even when I did eat quite a lot as a teen, I never gained much. Now eating isn't very interesting, I only really do it to stay alive for the time being.

Anyway, I'm thinking of becoming a private detective. That sounds so cliché though. I need a title that only I have, something that sounds cool, but not corny. Something that sounds professional without the stigma attached to freelancers. I want people to consult me regarding their cases.

Oh! Did I mention that I started a chemistry blog? I did. A few weeks ago. It's .uk and I upload my findings and deductions on compounds and chemicals. So far, I have differentiated between about 29 types of tobacco ash! I wonder how many I'll end up with, the search continues for new kinds.

Anyway, back to a title….how about consulting detective? That sounds legitimate. I think I'll go with that.

Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. Only one in the world, as I'm inventing the job!

-SH }