Merry, Merry Christmas Part 2

performed by Koko Taylor

"Oh look at him! Bless! He's fallen asleep on Mikey's bed."

"Can't be too comfortable, head like that. Bad for his wonky shoulder."

"How do you know he has a wonky shoulder?"

"Look, see? He's all scrunched up, holds his arm stiff and he has a crease across his forehead like he's in pain. Oh, no, wait. That's because he's waking up. My mistake."

"How do you know that?"

"I deduced it."

"Poppycock."

"I did. Sherlock's been teaching me. He says I'm his protégé."

John was slowly coming out of layers of the mostly pleasant dream he'd been having, slowly, slowly like swimming through cotton wool. As he surfaced, it dawned on him that people who had been watching him sleep were discussing him. Oh, shit. How on earth was he supposed to face a group of unknown people with dried saliva around his mouth and sheet creases on the side of his face, not to mention that he was lying to them?

He blinked himself awake and raised his head, looking blearily at the gathering of Mycroft's family, all staring eagerly at him, as eagerly as a zoologist discovering a rare species of mammal. Sitting up, he stretched, rubbed his stiff shoulder and smiled. Might as well be friendly before they discovered who he really…wasn't.

"Umm, hi, uh, sorry. I came by last night, because, well, because…"

"Because you couldn't bear to be parted from your true love. Oh, my dear boy! I am so sorry we did not take the time to welcome you to the family yesterday. We were all in a dither what with Mikey getting shot and finding out he was engaged and then Father's episode. I hope you can forgive us?" Mrs. Holmes came around to John's side of the bed and held out her arms. John blushed. He really needed to explain, he needed to tell them but he couldn't because Mrs. Holmes didn't wait for him to reveal his dishonesty; she scooped John into a hug. The tightest hug he'd ever had. Not one for embraces most of the time, he found himself hugging back before he could do anything else. Mrs. Holmes's hug wouldn't take no for an answer. He had to admit that he felt extremely at home, wrapped in this woman's arms. Lord knew his own mother hadn't hugged him much. Perhaps he didn't even know he'd been craving such a welcome into a family.

Before he could break it off, the P.A. woman came in. She gave the group a quick once over. Her eyebrows went up at the hug and she cleared her throat.

Mrs. Holmes turned as she somehow still managed to keep hold of John and addressed her. "Oh Anthea, isn't it, this month? Hello dear. Come in come in. We haven't had a chance to speak to the doctor."

"Good Morning, Mrs. Holmes. I took it upon myself to talk to her this morning as I have the authority. Mr. Holmes thought it might be a good idea just in case. She is pleased with his recovery and said they are not surprised to see him still unconscious. He received a bump to the head when he went to the ground. He may not awake for another day or so, but we are not to worry if it's longer. He will wake when he is ready. You should also know they have scheduled some more tests for today. She will be in shortly to speak with you."

"Thank you, dear." She gave John a final squeeze. He took it as his cue to confess.

"Um, well, so I have something I'd like to say…"

"Mother, don't forget what we talked about," Mr. Holmes spoke up.

"Thank you, my dear, I did almost forget. If my head weren't attached. John dear, we didn't have a chance to celebrate Christmas with Mikey being in the hospital and we thought we would try later today. We would so love it if you joined us. It would be like Mikey was there. Even if he hardly ever comes home for Christmas these days." Tears sprang up in Mrs. Holmes's eyes.

John blew out a breath and tried to speak again. "Yes, well, there is something you should know…"

"Whoo hoo. I've brought tea up from the cafeteria. Thought everybody could use a cuppa." The lady John had though might be Mycroft's aunt came into the room. She had somehow managed to commander a hospital trolley. On it was a proper tea service, including two kinds of biscuits. She smiled at John. "Veronica dear, have you introduced everyone to John? I'm sure he hasn't had a chance to get everyone straightened out in his head. Knowing Mycroft, he barely gave any of us a mention."

"No Martha, John just woke up. John dear let me introduce you to Martha Hudson. She is Mycroft's godmother. I don't know what we would do without her. And this is a friend of Sherlock, I'm sure Mycroft has mentioned Sherlock, Wiggins…"

"Well, not rea.."

"It was Mikey's idea to take him under Sherlock's wing and help him out. We've come to think of him as family. And of course, Anthea. Well, it's Anthea this month. She changes all the time, but I'm sure you know her."

"I, uh…"

"But of course, Doctor Watson knows me." Anthea gazed at John, a level gaze, one that seemed to be trying to convey something to John. She would definitely know he wasn't what he said he was. He opened his mouth and she shook her head fractionally at him.

"Doctor? You're a doctor? Oh! My boy is going to marry a doctor." Mrs. Holmes clutched John to her ample bosom once again.

"Yes, but you see there's something you should know…"

Anthea sidestepped his attempt neatly. "That Doctor Watson was in the army. He's a Captain and an army surgeon as well as a decorated hero. He was wounded in action in Afghanistan rescuing soldiers."

"How…?" But Anthea's eyebrows were dancing up and down, almost as if they were conveying a message, perfect wings of Morse code. John just shut up. He had to find a way to speak to her before this got even more out of hand.

"A war hero!" and he was enveloped in another hug.

The doctor picked the perfect time to enter. She took one look at the number of people in an Intensive Care room and a very firm look descended upon her face. "You can't all be in here. This man is convalescing. And you're disrupting the other patients in the nearby rooms. I will have to ask some of you to leave."

Finding his voice once more, John spoke up. "I really should be going. I, umm, need to be places."

"I'll leave with you, Doctor Watson," piped up Anthea.

Everyone said goodbye and Anthea followed John out into the hall and then tugged him into an empty room.

"What the hell was that about? Why are you doing this? I have been trying to tell them I am not involved with your boss and that this was a big misunderstanding."

Anthea laid a hand upon his mouth. "Shh. I know. Obviously. I know everything, Doctor Watson. You are not to worry. I think for now it is important to get Mr. Holmes's family through this in one piece, don't you?"

"But…?"

"I know! I know all about you and you, are not the type of person to deceive others. However, I think for now it is important that we let them get through the next few days with this fantasy being the only thing giving them hope. You heard Mrs. Holmes. For them, you are a connection to their son."

"A son I don't even know!"

"Yes but I can help you with that."

"Why? Why would you do this?"

"Let's just say that I have my reasons, one of which is to keep my employer's family calm and happy."

"Really?"

She gave him another of those looks.

"Fine, but I don't like this. I think I should tell them."

"You will. Just not yet. Besides Sherlock will probably do it for you."

"Mycroft's brother, right?"

"Yes. Almost as good as Mr. Holmes at knowing when people are lying."

"Oh great. Lovely that. So when he shows up, the family will know, and this little scenario you want to give them will blow up."

"Not if I help you. It will buy us some time to help them settle."

"This is not my life."

"But you'd like it to be, wouldn't you?"

"Umm…"

"No, it's okay. Don't worry. Doctor Watson. We'll sort this out."

"I…I don't know."

"Did you have any other plans this holiday?" She asked him, but in a way that suggested she already knew his answer.

"Well, no…"

"Then it's all sorted. Think of it as a mini holiday break. Pretend you are at a country retreat and Mr. Holmes's family just happen to be staying at the same location with the added bonus of being under the mistaken belief that you are part of the family."

"Fine. But we will tell them?"

"Yes, of course. Now I will send the car around at half five. Don't worry about what you're to wear. Just be yourself I am sure they will not care in the slightest."

"Half five. Okay. I can do this."

Without further delay, John left the hospital. He stopped at a nearby coffee shop and bought a bun and a coffee to go. He was still in a bit of a dazed state and not sure how his life had turned upside down so radically.

Finding himself on the way back to his dreary little bedsit, he stopped at a florist's and purchased a poinsettia and then made another stop for a rather good bottle of wine. How he managed to juggle both and his cane as he made his way back to the bedsit, he didn't know, but he wanted to make a good impression even though he was lying through his teeth about the whole ridiculous situation. If nothing else, he felt he owed the Holmes's and their relations a small token of thanks for taking him in. He hadn't had a family Christmas dinner since before he'd left for Afghanistan and that had ended with Harry getting drunk and yelling at their parents.

He entered the bedsit and put his purchases on the small table slash desk. He had just spent a good portion of his monthly income, but an unfamiliar happy feeling entered his chest at the thought of Mrs. Holmes lighting up when he handed her the plant. Then he sighed and rubbed his face. It was going to be a complete disaster.

Several hours later, after having a shower, a shave and mostly getting dressed, he was putting on a clean jumper (his favourite oatmeal one) when a knock landed on his door. He opened it to find Anthea standing there, a smile on her face.

"You look very nice, Doctor Watson. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, let me grab my coat." He put it on and took up his cane. She picked up the plant and left him to deal with the bottle of wine.

Leading him down the hall and outside, she stopped beside a rather expensive looking black car. The driver (of course there was a driver) stood at attention beside the open door. The driver (whose name was Charles, but that doesn't matter) took the wine and the plant, placed them in the car before he hurried to help them. It wasn't long before they pulled up in front of a lovely cottage. The warm glow of lights shone from the inside and made the snow on the bushes glitter. Snow was gently falling, and the whole scene was very picturesque. The front door opened and Mrs. Holmes came outside her arms raised above her head as she shouted out a greeting.

"Hello! I am so glad you came. John dear, do come in. Anthea are staying as well? No?"

"No thank you, Mrs. Holmes. I'm on my way back to the hospital to check on your son. I will stop by later with a progress report." She smiled at John and turned to leave.

"No! Wait!" He hurried after her. "I thought you were going to help me out here?"

"You'll be okay. Inspector Lestrade is here and I'm sure he will be of great assistance."

"He's here too?"

"He is, and I am well aware that he knows of your situation the situation."

"But what about Sherlock? Surely he'll know. You haven't told me a thing about Mycroft."

She frowned a little at the mention of the younger Holmes brother. "I have it on good authority that he will not likely be here tonight. You needn't worry. Trust me Doctor Watson. All will be well."

Before he could say anything else she left. John went back up to the house where he greeted a most enthusiastic Mrs. Holmes. She had been watching the conversation keenly but had not been able to hear a word.

"Now don't fret. Mycroft is in good hands. Even I have decided to put away my worry for tonight and enjoy this little celebration. Come in and let's get to know you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Holmes."

"None of this 'Mrs. Holmes' nonsense. You must call me Veronica. Or if you are very daring, Mummy."

"Er, well, thank you … Veronica."

She took his coat and showed him into the living room. Sitting in front of a fireplace, all plunked down in lots of comfortable looking overstuffed chairs, were familiar faces. Mrs. Hudson, Wiggins and Mr. Holmes ('Please call me William') and DI Lestrade.

After a flurry of hellos and a few 'make yourself comfortables', Lestrade asked him, quietly, "How're you doing? Holding up okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. This is rather odd, don't you think?"

"Nah. You're doing them a kindness. Look at how chuffed they all are to see you."

He'd obviously been talking to Anthea.

"Here you go, John," Mrs. Hudson handed him a cup full of punch.

Lestrade whispered. "Watch out for Martha's punch. It could kill you."

John laughed and then took a sip. The fumes shot up his nose, he accidently inhaled and started to cough. Lestrade pounded his back.

Recovering, John settled into a chair near the fire and watched. It was rather like being in a Christmas movie. The familiarity and love that circled the small group was so heartfelt and friendly. John basked in it more than he did the fire. An alien feeling settled in his chest and threatened to burst out. If he could have seen his own smile, he wouldn't have recognised the man who thirty-six hours before had been completely alone and thoroughly lonely. He sat back and let the conversation flow over him as the family exchanged gifts. He drifted in the bits and pieces of the conversation, floated in the warm embrace of the words that flitted by.

"Oh, darling, that's lovely. I always wanted tickets for Les Mis. Thank you. Perhaps when Mikey's feeling better, we can convince him to take John and we can all go together."

"An art book! It's just what I wanted! You know when I was a girl I saw this very same painting. I went on a tour of all the art museums in Europe. I had it in my head that I might become a famous painter. Mycroft always said I missed my calling."

"But weren't you an exotic dancer?"

"Shhh, dear, it's not common knowledge."

"Wiggins, this is from Veronica and me."

"A magnifying glass! Just like Sherlock's. You shouldn't 'ave."

"Thanks for the bottle of scotch, Martha."

"You're quite welcome, Inspector. I won't say how I happened to come across that. Wouldn't want to spend Christmas at Scotland Yard."

John was quite surprised when Veronica laid a gift in his lap. He stared down at it in disbelief as she whispered to him, "To John. From Father Christmas."

With shaking hands, he tore off the paper and opened the box. Nestled it the folds of tissue was a beautiful cashmere scarf in bright scarlet. Holding the box carefully, he looked up at the beaming faces smiling at him.

It was the best Christmas he'd ever had.

It was later, sleepy from the big dinner, expertly cooked by Veronica, finished off with a big helping of trifle and another glass of Mrs. Hudson's excellent punch, that John's Christmas fairy tale screeched to an abrupt halt with the sound of the door opening.

"Sherlock, is that you?" Veronica jumped up and bustled off to greet her other son.

The dinner settled in John's stomach heavily as he sat up, prepared to meet the one other person besides Mycroft, who would expose him as a fraud.

Greg leaned over and whispered, "Don't worry, I've got this." He stood up so that he was partially blocking John from view. John could just see a tall, dark-haired man enter the room and shrug off the long coat.

"It's so good to have you home. We haven't seen you in so long. Now sit right down and I'll get you a plate."

"No thank you, Mother. I'm not hungry. I've just been to see Mycroft. He looks more pale than usual. Been putting on weight, too. The best thing for him is to have a stay at the hospital."

"Young man, that is not funny."

"I'm sorry, Mother. You know I can't help it."

"Sit down and I'll get you some trifle. Oh and John's here."

"John? Who's John?"

"John! Mycroft's fiancé."

"Don't be ridiculous. Mycroft doesn't have a fiancée."

John hastily stood up. In that brief instant, when the bubble of Christmas miracle burst, he decided that he would just come clean.

Sherlock turned and looked at John. A shiver ran down John's back. He'd never been the focus of such an intense look before. His was immediately aware of pale eyes and dark curls, and John was fiercely reminded of a portrait of Byron he'd once seen. His heart thudded as he wondered how much longer he had until he was thrown out of the house. Lestrade could probably be counted on to give him a ride back to his bedsit.

He opened his mouth to speak and tell everyone the truth when Sherlock did it for him.

"This man couldn't possibly be Mycroft fiancée."