It was the day after Boxing Day, and as Sherlock had lost some kind of mad bet with Mycroft they were stuck at the Holmes mansion until New Year. John was quite surprised, Sherlock was taking it particularly well, considering the fight he'd put up when they had first arrived, since Christmas Night however he'd been fairly quite regarding returning to London. No desperate need for a case, no shouting or shooting the walls. In fact he'd been so quiet and withdrawn John wondered if he hadn't found something 7% stronger than a case.
At breakfast with the Holmes Mycroft and Mummy had announced they would be spending the day in the study and were not to be disturbed. Sherlock had just snorted in derision. Mrs Hudson, who had decided she was enjoying her holiday, said it was lovely and she needed to catch up with her soaps. Which had led Uncle Sherrinford to ask whether Amos Wilkes still ran the Woolpack, horrified by this lack of basic knowledge concerning Emmerdale Mrs Hudson dragged him into the TV room after Breakfast for a crash course in UK soap operas.
Katherine and John still closer than anyone else in the family after their time on Dartmoor, had decided to take the boys to play in the large Nursery. John believed Christmas was all about the children, and had initially decided that a day playing would be well spent, when Katherine had announced her desire for a Disney Trivial Pursuit rematch. They enclosed themselves in the safety of the old family room. They laughed at Sherlock's old pirate ship, and the random science equipment all over the place. John didn't like to ask why everyone was so sure that Mycroft and Katherine wouldn't conceive their own heir, but assumed by the way she had taken to the boys it wasn't because of a lack of desire.
John and Katherine were very similar it occurred to them both, with no children of their own but firmly ensconced within this mad family, these children were their surrogates. They both loved them, these sweet little boys who danced and played and sang despite the darkness of their parents or the weight of history and destiny upon them. Even if the rest of this mad family managed to tear itself to bits, they knew it was going to be them that picked up the pieces, a notion of normality in world upside down. During their time in Dartmoor they'd decided between them, whatever happened, however bad life got, these two precious boys wouldn't grow up like Sherlock and Mycroft. They would always be loved, they would always be protected.
After breakfast Sherlock had disappeared into the library, while everyone else went about their days. Lucy however was left sitting at the breakfast table, as the staff came and cleared the table around her, she sat alone and cold with her untouched toast in front of her. Her head resting in her hands, she felt numb, the world continued around her and she didn't feel part of it anymore. She couldn't remember when she started feeling like this, she wasn't even sure if she'd always felt like this, but nothing felt right anymore. Coming back to Baker Street from Hertfordshire, was that when she started feeling cold? Or was it before that; was it Dartmoor, and the events around finding Siger's body? She had tried to keep up appearances been a good mother and patient wife, she'd tried to seem happy and carefree to John, but it was all a lie.
After about an hour, she stood up, her bones cracked and she shook herself. She was sad, and needed someone to be with, someone who wouldn't care she was sad. She walked to library, and after knocking on the heavy oak door she walked in.
Sherlock was sitting in a large green leather wingback chair, a small hardback book open and up close to his nose, a leather bound notepad balanced on the arm and a pen in his hand. Dressed all in black and in the semi shadow of the room he would be barely visible if you weren't used to looking for him.
He looked up and gave his half smile, she didn't, couldn't return it.
"You're sad again?" he asked her, knowing the answer already.
"Walk with me?" she asked, he quirked his eyebrows "Please, walk with me"
He got up and walked towards her, bringing his face as close to hers as he could, he breathed in her scent, honey and red berry's. Honey for him, always for him he loved the smell and she knew it. The red berry's for John. Stronger less subtle, but sweet and sugary subconsciously connecting her with their favourite things. He thinks how clever she is, he'd always liked her for her intellect as quick as him, if he had the patience to teach her she could deduct like him, but he wonders why she can't see how wonderful her life is.
Lucy is looking into those big grey eyes, face to face with her husband, begging him silently to keep her company. He smells of damp old books and coffee. His curls fall down to the level of his eyes, and she brushes them away with her cold fingers, he doesn't flinch, just looks at her. They are never gentle with one another, never soft, not like this. Her blue eyes wide framed by her ivory skin and blonde hair, dart across his familiar face, and she wonders what he's deducing about her.
He leans down and kisses her on the lips, tenderly and gently, and for a moment they are both slightly shocked. He turns to the closest chair, and collects his big woollen coat and drapes it over his arm, offering his other to Lucy.
"Of course, my dear I'd be delighted to take a turn with you."