"Oh, dear God, it's only two o'clock. It's been Christmas Day for at least a week now," Mycroft said wearily while rubbing one hand over his forehead. He sat at a large table in the middle of a kitchen inside a cottage that contained the entirety of the Holmes family, the Watsons, Bill Wiggins, and Molly Hooper.

Sherlock ignored his brother's remarks as he sat in an armchair nearby the table.

Mycroft continued in the same despairing tone. "How can it only be two o'clock? I'm in agony."

Mrs. Holmes pointed to a silver laptop on the table that was covered by a chopping board with peeled potatoes on top. "Mikey, is this your laptop?"

"On which depends the security of the free world, yes," Mycroft smiled rather sarcastically up at her, "and you've got potatoes on it."

"Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important," she replied.

Mycroft gestured around the room. "Why are we doing this? We never do this," he said, referring to the family gathering and Christmas celebration.

His mother leaned down on the table, and, looking exasperated, said, "We are here because Sherlock is fully healed from his wound and we are all very happy."

"Am I happy too? I haven't checked."

Mrs. Holmes picked up a basket filled with bread and turned away. "Behave, Mike."

"Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end."

Bill Wiggins walked over and held out a glass of punch with fruit floating in it. "Mrs. Holmes?"

She turned and took it from him. "Oh! Thank you dear." She scrutinized him. "Not absolutely sure why you're here."

"I invited him," Sherlock stated.

"I'm his protege, Mrs. 'Olmes. When 'e dies, I get all 'is stuff, an' 'is job," Bill elaborated.

Mrs. Holmes looked at Bill, a little startled.

Sherlock, reading the paper, said without looking up, "No."

"Oh. Well, I help you out a bit," Bill said meekly."

"Closer," Sherlock said.

Mycroft said to Sherlock, "Lovely when you bring your friends round."

Mrs. Holmes put her glass down. "Stop it, you. Somebody's put a bullet in my boy, and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous." An envelope on the corner of the table caught her eye. "Ah. This was for Molly." She picked it up and walked away. "I'll be back in a minute."

Sherlock lowered his left hand and looked at his watch. 17 minutes 37 seconds.

Mycroft and Sherlock stood outside the cottage near the gate. Each of them were holding a lit cigarette.

"I'm glad you've given up on the Magnussen business," Mycroft said.

"Are you?" Sherlock replied.

"I'm still curious, though. He's hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you...hate him?"

Sherlock turned to face his brother. "Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets. Why don't you?"

"He never causes too much damage to anyone important. He's far too intelligent for that. He's a business-man, that's all, and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil, not a dragon for you to slay."

"A dragon slayer. Is that what you think of me?"

"No. It's what you think of yourself."

The cottage door opened behind them and Mrs. Holmes popped her head out. "Are you two smoking?" she asked threateningly.

The two spun rapidly around to face her. "No!" they said quickly. She gave them each a suspicious look, then went back inside and shut the door.

Mycroft turned back around. "I have, by the way, a job offer I should like you to decline."

"I decline your kind offer."

"I shall pass on your regrets."

"What was it?" Sherlock asked, curious.

"MI6. They want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months."

Sherlock looked surprised. "Then why don't you want me to take it?"

Mycroft turned to face him. "It's tempting, but you have more utility closer to home." He dropped his cigarette onto the ground and tread it out. "I'm going in."

"You need low tar. You still smoke like a beginner."

Mycroft slowed down and stop before he reached the front door. "Also, your loss would break my heart."

Sherlock choked and coughed on his cigarette. He turned to look at his brother, who was still facing the door. "What the hell am I supposed to say to that?!"

Mycroft turned around. "Merry Christmas?"

"You hate Christmas."

"Yes," Mycroft smiled. "Perhaps there was something in the punch."

"Clearly. Go and have some more."

Mycroft stepped into the cottage as Sherlock turned back around and contemplated.

In another room of the cottage sat Molly, Mary, and Mr. Holmes.

"Ah, Molly," Mrs. Holmes said as she walked in. "There you are." She nodded to Mary as she carried a mug to Molly across the room. "Cup of tea."

Mary held up the cover of the book she was reading. The Dynamics of Combustion. M. L. Holmes. "Did you write this?" Mary asked Mrs. Holmes.

"Oh, that silly old thing. You mustn't read that. Mathematics must seem terribly fatuous now!" Mrs. Holmes said. She straighten her apron and left the room.

Mr. Holmes smiled at Mary. "Complete flake, my wife, but happens to be a genius."

"She was a mathematician?" Molly asked.

"Gave it all up for children," Mr. Holmes said. "I could never bear to argue with her. I'm something of a moron myself. But she's..." he glanced around the room, then looked back at the two women. "...unbelievably hot!"

Molly and Mary covered their mouths and failed to suppress their giggles.

The door of the sitting room opened again and Sherlock strode through. He stopped and stared directly at Molly, who squirmed uncomfortably with Mary and Mr. Holmes looking at the scene.

Mary cleared her throat. "Um. I think I'm going to go get some tea."

"Yes! I'll go with you dear." Mr. Holmes walked over and helped Mary get up out of her seat, which proved somewhat a struggle with her large belly. The two hurried out of the room and left Molly and Sherlock. As Mary and Mr. Holmes walked down the hallway, he pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the room they just left. "Those two. They all right?"

"Well, you know. They've had their ups and downs."

Once alone, Sherlock broke into a smile, which Molly hesitantly returned. They had weeks of only professional and minimal interaction between them. And now, here they were, spending Christmas with his family. She wasn't even quite sure why she was invited, but Sherlock did so because he wanted to see her safe before he embarked on his most dangerous mission to date. He wanted to see her one more time.

Sherlock stepped closer and took Molly's hands in his. She slowly stood up, puzzled by his intentions. He placed a hand behind her head and pulled her in for a long, deep kiss. Molly froze at first, but she gradually returned his touch, the first intimate thing they had done in weeks.

"I love you, Molly."

"Sherlock..." Molly started to slump in his grasp. Sherlock took her weight and moved her to the nearby armchair. Molly was now unconscious.

The door opened and John briskly walked in. "Oi! What's going on? Everyone's falling asleep!"

"Don't drink the tea." Sherlock grabbed his scarf from the peg as he walked out. "Oh! Or the punch."

The two walked into the kitchen, where Mary, Mycroft, and his parents were all slumped where they were sitting. Billy was busy checking their breathing.

"Did you just drug my pregnant wife?" asked John.

"Don't worry. Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

"I calculated your wife's dose meself. Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on 'er," Wiggins said confidently.

"He'll monitor their recovery. It's more or less his day job."

John stared at Sherlock. "What the hell have you done?"

Sherlock looked down reflectively, taking a moment to reply. "A deal with the devil." Sherlock moved toward Mycroft and slipped on black gloves.

"Oh, Jesus. Sherlock, please tell me you haven't just gone out of your mind."

Sherlock took the silver laptop from the table, pulling it from under Mycroft's unconscious head. "I'd rather keep you guessing."

John and Sherlock stepped out of the cottage, where a helicopter was approaching.

"There's our lift," Sherlock said.

The helicopter landed on the field in front of them. Sherlock unwaveringly walked towards it. "Coming?"

"Where?"

"D'you want Molly to be safe?"

"Of course!"

They both turned toward the helicopter. "Good, because this is going to be incredibly dangerous. One false move and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be in prison for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered, and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us."

"But it's Christmas!" John protested.

"I feel the same." He turned and saw John's expression. "Oh, you mean it's actually Christmas. Did you bring your gun as I suggested?"

"Why would I bring my gun to your parents house for dinner?" John exclaimed.

"Is it in your coat?"

John sighed tetchily. "Yes."

"Off we go then." The two proceeded to the helicopter.

"Where are we going?"

"Appledore."