Sherlock was in the sitting room with Mycroft and his father. Molly had disappeared into the kitchen the moment they had arrived, and he was feeling a little disgruntled, having to entertain his father without her assistance. Molly could talk to anyone easily. Mycroft was no help, letting Sherlock carry the conversation.

They had indulged in small talk for awhile, his father asking about his latest cases and the like. Sherlock had told his father about the international drug syndicate he had managed to flush out that had been headquartered in London. With the aid of New Scotland Yard, the detective had managed to break up the cartel which was planning to release a new, highly addictive drug onto the market in England and the United States.

Mr. Holmes's only comment had been, "So that is why you seem to be a household name these days."

"Not by choice," Sherlock had informed him gravely. "It appears even the Americans know who I am these days. I've had to field questions from several of their reporters sent to London just to talk with me." He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "If only Greg Lestrade hadn't blabbed that I was the one who deduced what was happening."

Surprisingly, Mycroft had said, "You earned the attention, brother mine. They should have given you a much larger paycheck than you got as well."

"I'd hardly consider twenty thousand quid a small sum."

"You saved both governments millions of dollars and countless lives. You're too damned selfless these days," was his brother's comment.

"That's what being a Christian is about, big brother. Doing things for others without expecting or demanding anything in return," Sherlock told him seriously.

Mycroft had merely rolled his eyes. Sherlock wished his brother would be more open to learning about Christianity, but it had to be his choice. Nobody could force him to believe.

Eventually their talk turned to the question he was waiting for from his father.

"So, son, how was the scan? Did you find out whether you are having a boy or girl?"

Sherlock's brows drew together. He was still annoyed that he had not been able to coax it out of Molly in the car. He had made several enticing suggestions to her, but she had remained tight-lipped. Why had he decided on a whim he didn't want to know the sex of their baby?

He had regretted it almost immediately, especially when the ultrasound technician had whispered into Molly's ear, and his wife had given a secretive smile.

He had predicted earlier in the month that the baby was a girl, but Molly's Mona Lisa smile told him nothing. Try as he would, he could not deduce it from anything Molly said or did. She had not slipped up once. She always said "the baby", never "he" or "she," and it was damned aggravating.

"I'm afraid I don't know, Daddy." He said mournfully, pressing his lips together. "I decided last minute I didn't want to know, so Molly found out, and I didn't. Now she won't tell me, no matter what I do to try and pry it out of her."

Mycroft laughed dryly, "So that's what you were whispering about in the car on the way here, isn't it?"

"Possibly," conceded Sherlock, folding his arms defensively. "I thought you were asleep," he accused.

Mycroft's lips twitched. "I wasn't pretending to be asleep at that point. It was only afterwards I closed my eyes. Remind me not to invite you anywhere with me again if I have to put up with the sounds of snogging most of the ride."

Mr. Holmes roared with laughter at this, and Sherlock flushed and glared at his brother. "My wife and I do not snog! We kiss."

"Well you kiss too bloody loud then. It was positively embarrassing to listen to," Mycroft retorted, flaring his nostrils in irritation.

"Maybe if you weren't pretending to sleep, Molly and I wouldn't have been kissing in the first place," sneered Sherlock, narrowing his eyes at Mycroft.

His brother merely snorted. "I highly doubt that. Perhaps I shall see if I can scrounge up some ear plugs for the ride home so I neither see nor hear the two of you."

William Holmes had been looking from one son to the other as if he was watching a tennis match. At Mycroft's last comment, he laughed again and slapped his knee in merriment.

"Like father, like son," he crowed. "I applaud you Sherlock. There's nothing wrong in thinking your wife is hot and tempting. I still think that of your mother."

Sherlock grimaced. "Daddy, I've told you before, I do not need to hear those kinds of things about my parents."

The women entered at that moment. "What do you not need to hear about us?" questioned Mrs. Holmes, holding the plate of ginger nuts.

"I was just telling our son that I still find you hot and tempting, dearest," her husband supplied, with a broad wink.

Molly laughed and Sherlock continued to scowl. Really, she could have supported him and agreed that that kind of talk was inappropriate for people of his parents' advanced age.

Molly nonetheless came over to him and offered him a sweet kiss that dissolved the frown on his face. "Sweetheart, where's the bag we brought?"

"It's under the tree right there,'" Sherlock pointed out, before taking a ginger nut, well two actually, from the plate his mother offered him.

"Don't you go spoiling your dinner now," chided his mother.

"Then you shouldn't offer me biscuits before dinner," retorted Sherlock reasonably, nonetheless following it up with an affectionate smile. Then he noticed Molly pulling out a smaller bag from the big one. "What's in there, Molly?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, I thought I'd bring some Christmas crackers," said his wife airily.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "I could have saved you the trouble of bringing them if you'd asked," he told her. "Mummy always has Christmas crackers at the table." It was decidedly odd she had brought them without saying anything to him about it.

"That's quite alright," said his mother, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously. His mother seemed a little too accommodating, but then again, he supposed it was good the women seemed to be getting along so well. "They are lovely. One can never have too many crackers to open. We'll do mine before dinner and yours afterwards, Molly dear. How does that sound?"

"That sounds absolutely lovely...Mummy," responded the junior Mrs. Holmes, darting a quick glance at Sherlock after she had spoken.

Sherlock smiled. He liked the way Molly was making the effort to call his parents by the same names he used.

Mrs. Holmes the elder left the room to place the new Christmas crackers next to everyone's place setting.

"Come and give me a hug, daughter-in-law," invited Sherlock's father, opening his arms to her. "Merry Christmas, dear."

"Merry Christmas to you as well...Daddy." Molly sounded uncertain, and Sherlock knew it was because she was unused to the word, having lost her father over nineteen years earlier.

Mr. Holmes engulfed her in a hug. "I like having another daughter," he commented, and Molly beamed at him, before walking to sit beside her husband.

Sherlock took her hand and squeezed it. "You were gone for ages," he said in a low voice. "What were you and Mummy talking about?"

She shrugged. "Oh, just girl stuff, you know - morning sickness and the like. I was also helping her get things ready for dinner. In fact, I'm already starving." She rubbed her rounded belly as she spoke.

"I missed you," Sherlock told her, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek. She gave him a loving, dreamy smile which made his heart skip a beat. When she looked at him that way, he always wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her senseless and do unmentionable things to her.

"Don't look at me that way," he warned softly in her ear. "You know very well how I get. We might be married now, but I still can't very well just have my way with you in my parents' house before Christmas dinner." Her eyes opened wide and she blushed when he continued, dropping his voice even lower, "Of course I could be tempted to whisk you away somewhere right after dinner to have my wicked way with you."

"Don't you know it's rude to have a whispered conversation when other people are in the room?" broke in Mycroft in a bored tone.

"I'd hardly need to whisper if the room was empty, now would I?" cane the rejoinder from the younger Holmes sibling.

The men glared at one another until Mrs. Holmes returned to the room and declared brightly, "It's time to open the presents!"

She went to the tree and took four presents from under it. She handed one to Mycroft, one to Sherlock and two to Molly, saying, "The smaller one is for the baby. Molly my dear, we have a tradition that one person at a time opens their gift."

"Just to draw out the torture," muttered Mycroft.

Sherlock thought with some surprise that it was he who would have made a comment like that in the past, but he no longer felt that way.

"You first, Myc."

Mycroft's lips tightened. "How many times, Mummy, do I have to ask you to call me Mycroft? That would be the best present of all."

Mrs. Holmes merely crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently.

"Oh, very well." Mycroft opened his small package. Inside was an antique fob watch. On the back was engraved "Mycroft Holmes." The man gave a little smile, "It's very nice, Mummy. Thank you both for at least having my full name engraved on it."

"You're welcome. Now you, Sherlock," prompted Mrs. Holmes, looking at her younger son.

Sherlock opened the package, restraining himself from blurting out his deduction that it was a picture frame. He saw he was correct, but it wasn't just an ordinary one.

"It's a digital picture frame,"explained Mrs. Holmes excitedly. "We thought you might like to have that when the baby comes. You can upload a bunch of photos and have then set to scroll through them."

"Of course, we hope you will send us copies of your photos too," added William Holmes, who as usual had allowed his wife to take charge.

"Now you, Molly. i hope you like it, dear." Molly's package was large and square. Sherlock was sure it was a photo album, but he said nothing, just waited for Molly to open her gift.

She opened it, and indeed it was a photo album. It was not an unused one however. Molly opened it to discover many photos of Sherlock, from infancy to his years as a scrawny, gangly teenager, then as a young adult. Sherlock was embarrassed for his wife to see the pictures but Molly's eyes filled with tears. "This is just beautiful," she said sincerely, wiping away some tears that spilled down her cheeks. "I will cherish it."

Mrs. Holmes beamed. "I'm glad you like it," she said. "I thought you might like to see what an adorable little boy your husband was, and what a handsome young man he was, when he filled out after his teenage growth spurt."

Molly chuckled through her tears. "He is like a fine wine, improving with age." Sherlock felt inordinately pleased at his wife's compliment.

"And now, the present for your little one," the older woman indicated the present in Molly's lap.

Molly carefully opened the package. Inside was a silver rattle on which was engraved Sherlock.

"It was Sherlock's baby rattle," explained Violet Holmes. "We wanted you to have it."

"It's so precious," breathed Molly. "The baby will love it, I'm sure!"

Sherlock heaved a slight sigh of disappointment at Molly's turn of phrase. She hadn't said "he" or "she." How long was she going to hold out on him?

"I'll get out our presents, sweetheart," he informed his wife, rising from the sofa to get the bag of wrapped gifts. He distributed the presents. There were three for Mycroft and three gifts for the Holmes matriarch, as well as one for Mr. Holmes. Sherlock put the almost empty bag next to him. There was one last present, but he wanted to surprise Molly with it.

"Go ahead, Mycroft," Sherlock said, gesturing to his brother.

The older Holmes brother opened his first package and found a coffee mug with the words "World's Best Uncle," inscribed on it.

"Ah, I shall enjoy agreeing with that statement every time I have a cup of coffee," remarked Mycroft, as his lips formed a slight smile.

The next package made Mycroft open his mouth in surprise. It was a framed photo of him from Sherlock and Molly's wedding, and he was mid-dance with Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. The photographer had managed to capture him with a rare smile on his face as he looked at the woman, who was also smiling at him.

"This..this is very nice of you," managed Mycroft at last. "How did you get this?"

"Our wedding photographer took it," Sherlock responded with a grin, then added, rather cheekily, "Don't even try to deny you have strong feelings for her, either. It's pretty evident by the way you are looking at each other." He was satisfied to see the flush staining Mycroft's cheeks. Ha, about time he embarrassed his brother instead of the other way around.

"Oh, let me see!" exclaimed Mrs. Holmes, taking the frame from her older son. "Oh. Myc! There's hope for you yet, isn't there?"

Mycroft's brows lowered ominously and his lips tightened. "Mummy, I know what you are thinking. I am well past the age to indulge in the bonds of matrimony."

"Nonsense, son," put in William Holmes, speaking up for once and giving his son a stern look that Sherlock had rarely seen outside of the occasions he had been reprimanded for some misdemeanour or another that had caused embarrassment to his parents.

Mycroft did not respond, but looked thoughtful as he opened his last gift and smiled. Inside were three classic movies, Casablanca, Some Like it Hot, and It's a Wonderful Life.

"Sherlock told me you were into classic black-and-white films," explained Molly, resting her hand on Sherlock's knee as she addressed Mycroft.

"That is very thoughtful of you, my dear sister-in-law,"and Sherlock could see that his wife was gratified to receive one of those rare smiles from his brother.

"Thank you both," Mycroft looked at them and nodded. Sherlock noticed that his brother continued to hold the framed photograph, glancing at it every now and then.

"Daddy," said Sherlock, indicating that his father should open his gift. Mr. Holmes was pleased to discover a pair of tickets to see a production of The Phantom of the Opera at Her Majesty's Theatre in London on January 6th.

"Oh, we've never seen this one!" exclaimed William Holmes. "Thank you so much!"

"I have tickets for Molly and myself to accompany you that night also. I thought we would go out for dinner together first," Sherlock informed his father. He was quite proud of himself for having the idea for this gift.

"That would be lovely." The Holmes parents both looked pleasantly surprised.

Molly looked at Sherlock. "I didn't know you got tickets for us as well," she said, smiling at her husband.

Sherlock merely shrugged. "I was already online, booking the tickets, so I thought it would be nice for us to see it as well."

Molly leaned in and kissed his cheek, then said, "Your turn, Mummy," this time not hesitating over using the familial term.

Mrs. Holmes opened her first package. It was a lovely, soft pink jumper with white embroidered words "Best Grandma."

"Oh, this is just lovely," exclaimed the older woman. "I can't wait to wear it around here to show off to my friends that I'm going to be a grandma at last!"

Sherlock grinned. He knew that had been one of the things his mother had regularly bemoaned to him and Mycroft when they visited. She would complain that all of her friends had grandchildren, and was she doomed to never have any of her own?

On all those occasions he had just shrugged, certain his mother would just have to deal with it. Now, of course, things were completely different, and he was glad to have contributed to his mother's happiness.

The second package Mrs. Holmes opened was a large, framed photograph of Sherlock and Molly from their wedding day. Their photographer had managed to capture their joy and radiance as they looked at one another, rather than at the camera. Sherlock was standing, holding Molly from behind as they stood in front of a tree, as their bodies and heads were angled in a way so they could look at one another. Even on their wedding day, Sherlock had known it would be his favourite photograph, and a framed copy now adorned the mantelpiece in Baker Street as well.

"Oh, I have the perfect place for this!" Mrs. Holmes walked over to the fireplace in which a cozy wood-burning fire was merrily blazing, and set it onto the chimneypiece. Then she gave Mycroft a rather reproachful look. "Now, if only my older son would give me something to put up there as well," she said, emitting a long-suffering sigh.

Mycroft gave a little embarrassed cough and said, "Yes, well, shouldn't you open your other gift?"

The last present was a wedding album, with photos from the wedding and reception. It included the photo that was now on the chimneypiece, as well as the one Sherlock and Molly had given Mycroft. There was even a lovely photo of the Holmes parents themselves. This time it was the senior Mrs. Holmes whose eyes filled with tears as she hugged her son and daughter-in-law.

"This is so beautiful! I shall treasure it." Then she added with a half-smile, "Now I have tangible proof to show my friends that my younger son is actually married!"

The family laughed, and even Mycroft gave a dry chuckle.

"Well, I think it's about time we get ready for dinner now," announced Mrs. Holmes, reasserting control over her emotions. "William, will you come into the kitchen and carve the turkey for me, please?"

"Of course, my dear," responded the Holmes patriarch.

"I'll help get everything to the table as well," offered Molly.

The three of them left the room. "So you do like your presents? Especially the photo?" asked Sherlock with a sly glance at his older brother, who was looking down at said photo as if transfixed.

"What was that?" Mycroft blinked and looked up, then his face registered Sherlock's question. "Yes, very much so, actually." His forehead creased in a slight frown. "But I did not buy anything for you."

"You're always buying things for us, Mycroft," Sherlock pointed out truthfully. "Concert tickets here, honeymoon there. I think you've more than earned yourself something back. Shall we head to the dining room? I, for one, am starving." He stopped on the way to grab another two ginger nuts from the plate on the table to munch on as he walked with his brother to the dining room.

Author's note: You will find another reference to the drug syndicate case in my one-shot The interview, which is set two months later than this story.

Do you like Mycroft with Lady Smallwood? Are you curious about whether our couple is having a boy or girl?

Follows/favourites/reviews appreciated.

10/17/18 Wow, I must apologize if anyone read this before now, it had an insane amount of spelling errors. I wrote this prior to having a text-to-speech app which assists me with my vision deficiencies. Apparently my proof-reading was seriously lacking. That's probably why people never reviewed it, thinking the errors to be egregious and ruining the enjoyment of the story. Most amateurish *blushes* I have revised and edited this chapter to improve it significantly for future readers. It is my hope that future readers will enjoy this enough to boost those review numbers, especially with the extra chapter that will return it to the front page of Sherlolly stories. It really is a lot better with my revisions!