So, Christmas is coming and this Mizjoel promt on tumblr - "Christmas: Snowball fight. Scarf swapping. Hand warming. Mulled wine and cinnamon sticks. Kris Kringle Markt (outdoors). Ice skating. Skiing (cross country or downhill) – inspired me. I hope you enjoy it.
Prologue – London. About two weeks before Christmas
After a quick breakfast and his usual morning walk, Mr Holmes sat comfortably on the sofa in his eldest son's living room, devoting himself to reading some newspapers while he waited for his wife to finish sipping her cup of tea. Oddly enough, that morning, she hadn't paired tea with the usual bacon and eggs but had listlessly nibbled only a scone with lemon jam, frowning.
Glancing at her over the newspaper's rim, Mr Holmes began to wonder if she was feeling unwell. The night before she had been a little stiff and uncommunicative over the car ride from to Mycroft's mansion, even though the fundraising event she had organized at the conference room at Bart's had been remarkably successful.
So there was no reason to be despondent. Even their youngest son, despite his persistence, had eventually attended the evening behaving even more politely than usual – i.e. he had made no deductions about anyone and kept any biting remarks to himself. Consequently Mr Holmes had blamed weariness for her brooding mood.
Violet Holmes was a real force of nature, but she was no longer a girl and since they had discovered that Eurus, the daughter they had believed dead for years was actually live and well, although locked up in a sort of prison due to her dangerousness, she hadn't stopped for a single moment. She had been traveling constantly back and forth between their country house and London, and then to Sherrinford and so on for months.
And what about her emotional state? She had been angry for weeks at Mycroft for keeping the truth from them. And then there was Sherlock's breakdown to deal with. Thanks to Eurus many memories buried deep inside him had come to light, many of them painful and heart-breaking like the death of his best friend Victor Trevor. And then his love confession to Molly Hooper.
It was the first time their son had sincerely declared he loved someone, romantically. But from this new aspect of his life, Sherlock had demanded that everyone stay out of it. And Mrs Holmes hadn't liked not being able to have a say, knowing full well it meant Sherlock wouldn't act upon any of his romantic feelings for that girl.
Even after a good night's sleep, however, Mrs Holmes mood hadn't improved, on the contrary she seemed as taut as a violin string. "What's wrong?" Mr Holmes finally asked her taking his eyes off the page in front of him.
"It's the end, Sigur" she said dramatically, "The end of what?" her answer had made him somewhat confused. "Sherlock's. And what's wrong I knew it would happen. I had a feeling" she replied with a sigh, "What are you talking about, my love?".
"Molly. I'm talking about Molly Hooper. She's thinking about moving to Scotland!", Mr Holmes crossed his arms over his chest, the expression on his face increasingly confused, "Moving? And how do you know? Did she tell you?".
Mrs Holmes shook her head "I overheard her and Mike Stamford talking about it last night. He mentioned a trip she was to take next Friday and said he was glad she and a Mr Edwin Jones had gotten along". Mr Holmes chuckled softly, "It will certainly be a work meeting, not a relocation".
She gave him a grim look "They were whispering, like two conspirators hiding something. Trust me. It's not a work meeting, it's a meeting for a job" the woman retorted as she was about to answer her ringing phone. She disappeared into the kitchen and when she returned her frown was more pronounced.
"There you go! I knew it!" she exclaimed looking at her husband, "That Edwin Jones is sort of related to Stamford, and he's not a pathologist nor does he usually work with Edinburgh police on homicide or suicide cases although he is a doctor…a professor at Medical School". Her phone chirped and she tapped a button so she could scrutinized its screen, "Gosh! He's definitely a handsome man".
"Did you ask Mycroft to investigate him?" asked Mr Holmes with wide eyes, "Of course I did!" she answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Perhaps, my darling, you didn't understand the seriousness of the situation". She looked indulgently at him, "Our son is in love with Molly. What will become of him if she moves? And, worse still, if she falls in love with someone else?".
Mr Holmes thought about it for a few minutes, "Surely he's going to take it badly. But" his tone was calm and sensible, "It was Sherlock who chose not to pursue his feelings for her, Violet. He's a grown man. Certainly he knows what he's doing".
"No, he doesn't!" she thumped her fist on the table, "He's just scared! He has never been in a serious relationship with a girl in his life. And after all has happened I'm not surprised he's afraid of putting her in danger, of losing her…", the old man raised his hand to interrupt her, "Okay, okay, I get it. But what can we do about it? We can't force him to come to the fore!".
"I disagree. You know what Sherlock is like. All he needs is a little nudge" as she spoke she walked slowly towards the fireplace on whose mantelpiece, among the various framed photos, there was one that caught her attention. Agatha's Mansion, her maternal grand-parent's old Victorian mansion near Bath, so named in memory of her grandmother.
Sherlock had always loved it, since he was a child. And after losing Musgrave Hall in the fire set by Eurus, it had been the house where he had loved to take refuge during the long summer holidays.
"I just came up with an idea!" she said pointing the photo to her husband who glanced quickly over there, "Which is?". Mrs Holmes face lit up with a smile, "Making Molly and Sherlock spend a few days together, alone. A short Christmas holiday in Bath…the city is lovely at this time of the year".
"And how do you think you'll do that, my darling? Sherlock hates all kinds of holidays, especially Christmas, you know" asked Mr Holmes heartened to see his wife return to her old mood.
She grinned widely, "Oh, leave it to me, Sigur. After all, isn't all fair in love and war?" she said as she wound her arms around his neck, leaning herself to kiss his cheek, "You'll see, this is really going to be a different kind of Christmas for Sherlock".
The scene is set…I hope it's enough to intrigue you and keep you coming back to find out how the story will develop