December 23rd. Higbies Coffee Shop, London. 10:15.
Sherlock could see that an attack was coming, and he steeled himself to take a punch, but it never came. Instead, he watched as the blond pulled back to punch him, the ice under his feet making it impossible to stay upright, and he crashed to the ground with a nasty sounding crack.
"Oh god." Sherlock gasped, rushing over to the unconscious blond, expecting to see blood on the ice and concrete. Thankfully there would be no lasting damage. He'd have a nasty headache when he wakes up, but that's about it.
With a grunt, Sherlock picked up the smaller man's body, carrying him slowly to Molly's car, which she so graciously gave him permission to use for the trip to Yorkshire. Thankfully, Molly had parked close to the back door, so it didn't take long for Sherlock to get him in the vehicle. He used his blue scarf to tie the blond to the car, looping it through the open window before rolling the window all the way up, locking him in place. Satisfied with his handiwork, he made his way around the car, getting in and starting up the engine and taking off down the road.
It's about a half hour later when Sherlock heard the blond groan, watching his shifting go from confused to panicked when he discovered that he is tied up.
"What is going on?" He demanded, trying to untie the scarf, but to no avail.
"Well, you fell down, and were knocked unconscious. I brought you to Molly's car, and now we're heading to Yorkshire to meet my family." Sherlock explained.
"No." The blond said stiffly. "You're insane."
"You don't really have a choice." Sherlock sighed softly, looking at the blue scarf pointedly. "You see, I need a boyfriend for the weekend to impress mummy."
"Why couldn't you get your own?!" The blond asked, clearly seething.
"Victor dumped me."
"You kidnapped me because your boyfriend dumped you?"
"In a manner of speaking." Sherlock said. "I need you to pretend to be Victor for Christmas. It'll hardly be a difficult endeavour for you to spend Christmas with me as it is. An ex-army doctor that can barely afford to live in London must not have much family around."
"I…hang on. How did you know that I was in the army?" The blond looked startled. "Have you been stalking me?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Anyone who wasn't blind could observe the signs. Your hair is cropped short, in an overgrown military style haircut. You have a tan, but it doesn't extend above your wrists. You had a cane with you at the coffee shop, but when you walked up to the counter, you had forgotten it behind. Not on purpose, of course. When you walk, you have a slight limp, so you have a psychosomatic limp. The way you're holding your shoulder indicates a fairly recent injury to it. Not recent enough that it would still be bleeding, but recently scarred over. So, by simple deduction, you are a soldier recently invalided from Afghanistan."
The car was silent for a few seconds, the only sound was the road beneath the tires. There was a soft cough before the blond spoke once again.
"How did you know about the doctor part?" He asked, his voice sounding almost strained.
"Simple." Sherlock replied. "When you were prepared to attack me, your eyes quickly found all the sensitive points that are most commonly used to disarm an attacker. That could be indicative of your soldier side, but I noticed how you decided on going for my inner elbow. A move that would definitely hurt, but not cause lasting damage. You have high morals, and you only wound in desperate times."
"That was…" The blond appeared to be thinking of a word, and before Sherlock could suggest the more commonly used 'freak' or 'psychopath', he finished his thought. "Amazing."
"What?" Sherlock turned to the blond in shock, wondering if he misheard him.
"That was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. You observed all that about me?" There was a small, surprised smile on the blonde's face.
"Of course." Sherlock gave a small, hesitant smile in return. "That's not what people normally say."
"What do people normally say?" The blond asked.
"Piss off."
The blond snorted, and he resumed looking out the window, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts. This soldier was…pleasant to be around. Far less annoying than Victor had ever been, and less annoyed with his deductions as well. Sherlock was fairly pleased with how things seemed to be turning out. If he and John could become…well, not friends, but perhaps form a mutual approval of each other, then this weekend wouldn't be completely awful. Of course, it was that moment when he had decided to make a proper introduction that the petrol light needed to come on, the bright chime dragging him from his mind palace.
"Yes, fine. Now shut up." Sherlock growled at the dashboard, looking around for a petrol station. It wasn't until the chime went off three more times that they came upon a rundown station with only two pumps. Sherlock wasn't even sure that it was in business until he saw a dingy neon 'open' sign.
"We're stopping here for petrol?" The blond asked warily. "It looks like the set of a horror movie."
"So dramatic." Sherlock murmured.
"Says the man who kidnapped me." The blond retorted, causing Sherlock to snort. He pulled in next to the pump, hopping out of the car and placing the nozzle into the tank. He peeked through the windows several times to make sure the blond was still tied up, pleased to see that the blue scarf was keeping him secure.
When the nozzle popped, indicating that the tank was full, Sherlock let out a little hum, replacing the nozzle and petrol cap before grabbing his wallet.
"I will be right back."
"I'll be…right here." The blond gestured, looking at his wrists pointedly. Sherlock spared him a small grin before heading inside the station.
The inside of the station was no better than the outside; items were piled pell-mell on the shelves, windows were slightly grime covered, and everything had a fine layer of dust.
"Good afternoon." A silky female voice said from behind him, and Sherlock turned around in surprise. There, just behind the counter, stood a brunet girl around the age of twenty four. Her lips were painted a vibrant red, and her hair was coiled in a perfect bun. "Can I help you with anything today?"
"Yes." Sherlock smiled at her, quickly reading her nametag. Irene. "I filled my car, and I've come in to pay for it."
"Alright, I'll ring you up." Irene grinned back, peaking out at the car. "That's a pretty beat up old car for someone as cute as you."
"Yes, well…" Sherlock panicked slightly, worried that she could see the blond in his car. "It gets me from place to place."
"Handy things." Irene laughed. "Though I have to…do you have a man tied up in there?" She looked surprised, glancing back at Sherlock with wide eyes.
"What?" Sherlock spluttered slightly, his eyes flicking back to the car. "I…no, it's not-"
"With a scarf?!" Irene sounded disgusted now, and she ducked behind the counter. "That's just wrong."
"No, please…" Sherlock debated on running, but Irene popped up, an unreadable look on her face.
"Lucky bastard." She muttered, and she quickly slapped something very fluffy and very pink on the counter. "Getting a romantic weekend with the likes of you. You'll need these, of course. Much more official."
Sherlock stared down at the fluffy pink handcuffs in shock before he began to laugh, covering his face with his hands.
"I've been looking for some of these everywhere! Our romantic getaway was this weekend, and I was unable to find a single pair. I had to improvise." He lied easily. "Thank you so much!"
"My pleasure." Irene replied. "I was going to ask if you wanted me to use them on you, but it looks like the old saying is correct: all the cute ones are gay."
"That is an offensive generalization-" Sherlock began, laughter still caught in his throat, but he was cut off by Irene with a wave.
"I only say it because I'm gay too." Irene replied with a wink, and Sherlock snorted, handing her his credit card. She swiped it without a word, pushing the handcuffs into his arms along with his card.
"They're on the house." She said when she handed Sherlock the receipt. "Now, go surprise your man."
"I will." Sherlock said. "Thank you so very much."
He pocketed his card and receipt, keeping hold of the fuzzy handcuffs as he exited the rundown petrol station. The whole situation had been far too close for comfort, and it was taking every ounce of Sherlock's self-control not to bolt to the car.
He walked calmly to the passenger side of the car, sighing when he saw the blond trying to untie the scarf with his teeth, to no avail.
"That won't work." Sherlock said as soon as he opened the door, watching the blond jolt. He snapped on both cuffs before untying the scarf expertly. "But a good escape attempt anyway."
"What are these?" The blond asked in horror.
"Handcuffs." Sherlock pointed out, giving him his best 'you're an idiot' look. "This operation just got a bit more professional."
"With fuzzy pink handcuffs?" The blond raised an eyebrow. Sherlock ignored him, starting up the car and pulling out of the petrol station.
December 23rd. Somewhere near Leicester. 11:45.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said after a few minutes of silence. "It would be beneficial to know each other if you're going to pretend to be Victor."
"Yeah, that's not going to happen." The blond replied, the fluffy pink handcuffs clinking softly in his lap. "I'm not going to pretend to be your boyfriend. I'm going to tell your family immediately what you've done, then get the hell out of there."
"You haven't got any way to get a ride back to London." Sherlock replied. "My family's estate in Yorkshire is too far from any village to consider walking. You left your phone in the coffee shop, and every year my family hides their phones and car keys to allow for special 'family time'." His nose scrunched up at that, letting the blond know just how he felt about family time.
"John." The blond grumbled after a minute, "My name is John Watson."
"It's nice to finally get a name to put with your face." Sherlock said.
John let out a snort, as if he disagreed with Sherlock.
"Listen." Sherlock said, hoping to interrupt any angry thoughts. "I understand if you're angry, but it's only for Christmas. Then you'll be free to go home, and I'll never bother you again."
"Is it already past Christmas yet?" John asked, mockingly hopeful.
"You'll share that sentiment with my family." Sherlock promised. "The wishing to be rid of me, that is. Don't worry about not fitting in with them."
Sherlock could see John glance over at him from the corner of his eye, but he refused to expand on his thought. He chose instead to change the topic, focusing on his career rather than his family life.
"I'm a consulting detective." Sherlock told John. "I believe it is customary for the boyfriend to know the ins and outs of their significant other's life. Since I can read yours just by looking at you, you don't have to worry about informing me of your career."
"Not your boyfriend." John mumbled under his breath. He was silent for a second, and then: "What's a consulting detective? I've never heard of it before."
"That's because I created the job." Sherlock told him. "Only one in the world. I'm hoping to be able to work with the police soon. Naturally, they refuse to take me seriously because of my age."
"Your age?" Sherlock could hear the frown in John's voice. "Aren't you nearing thirty?"
"I'm twenty six. Admittedly, I am not young. However, there are officers that are nearing their fifties, and are terribly offended when I prove that I am far more intelligent than they could ever hope to be." Sherlock replied primly. "As for you, I would guess anywhere between twenty eight and thirty."
"Twenty nine." John said with grudging admiration. "How did you guess that one?"
"You believed me to be nearing thirty." Sherlock said. "It was easy enough to deduce that you yourself were nearing thirty. You talk to me as one would a peer, and not as one would speak to someone older or younger than them."
"I'm not talking to you like you're my peer." John argued. "I'm talking to you like someone that's literally kidnapped me."
"I'll give you back, I promise." Sherlock said. "Just a weekend of pretending to be Victor. He is a business owner, which I'm sure you could pull off."
"What sort of business?" John asked.
"Oh, I don't know. Something boring." Sherlock waved off the question with a flick of his wrist. "I couldn't be bothered to learn."
"Such an attentive boyfriend." John quipped, and Sherlock spared him a quick glare before refocusing on the road in front of him.
December 23rd. Holmes' winter estate, Yorkshire. 14:30.
The rest of the drive had been fairly uneventful, and it wasn't long before Sherlock was pulling up to his family's winter estate. He unlocked one of John's pink cuffs, quickly locking it onto the steering wheel of the car before he had time to react.
"Hey!" John cried, yanking at the fuzzy handcuffs in annoyance. "What the hell is this for?"
"I'll be right back." Sherlock replied, opening his car door, the keys clanking in his hand. "I just have to relinquish my phone and keys, and I will promptly release you."
The car door silenced John's complaints, and Sherlock moved quickly towards the large manor, snow crunching under his black dress shoes. The door to the estate was unlocked, and Sherlock slipped inside, looking around for his family.
"Mummy? Father? I'm here." Sherlock called, walking into the grand sitting room, a huge Christmas tree covered in fairy light sat in the corner, gleaming brightly even in well-lit room.
"Sherlock!" Violet Holmes voice floated towards him, and he turned to his mother, a small smile on his face. "Oh, it's so good to see you! You're late, you know. Where's Victor?"
"He'll be in soon." Sherlock said, allowing Mummy to wrap her arms around him, pulling him into an uncomfortably tight hug.
"Sherlock…You didn't make it to your interview." The disappointed voice of his father caught his attention, and he looked up to see Siger standing behind mummy.
"I'm sorry." Sherlock responded meekly. "There was a crime scene, and I-"
"Oh, crime scenes!" Mummy sighed, letting him go so she could look up at him. "You need to grow up and get a real job, Sherlock!"
"Solving crimes is a real job." Sherlock insisted.
"Yes, for real detectives." Father butted in, and Sherlock groaned.
"Can we not do this right now?" He begged. "Victor will be in soon, and he hates fighting."
"Of course, dear." Mummy replied, stroking his cheek. "What's taking him so long?"
"I asked him to wait in the car." Sherlock allowed his mother a few pats before stepping away. "Victor is nervous to meet you both."
"Oh, there's no need to be nervous!" Father chuckled. "We're excited to meet your boyfriend!"
"Oh, it's natural to be nervous." Mummy piped in.
"Yes…" Sherlock interrupted. "Well, you know how Father always makes terrible jokes when he's nervous, you know, to lessen the tension?"
"Of course, darling." Mummy replied, earning herself a glare from her husband.
"Well, Victor does this thing…it's completely ridiculous, but he thinks he's being funny…" Sherlock began. "He…well, he likes to joke that I've kidnapped him, and he really get into the act. Sometimes he doesn't know when to stop. I know it's silly, but could you just laugh and play along a little bit? He'll feel so much better."
"We all do silly things when we're in love." Mummy said. "Of course we'll laugh at his joke! Now, bring the poor boy in, he must be getting cold!"
"Thank you, Mummy." Sherlock pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. "One other request…can I be the key-master for this weekend?"
"Oh, but you hate being the key-master." Mummy said in surprise.
"I know, but…I'm feeling the Christmas spirit this year." Sherlock said, hoping his sarcasm wasn't seeping through. The smile his mother gave him, however, proved that it wasn't. "And I'm probably the only one that can hide Mycroft's mobile so he can't find it."
"Too true." Father laughed. "Now, go get Victor. I can't wait to meet him."
"Of course." Sherlock walked around his parents, feeling lighter than he had all day. Even John's glare when he opened the car door couldn't dampen his spirits.
"Alright, we're all set." Sherlock hummed, freeing John from the grasp of the fuzzy pink handcuffs at last. "Come inside. My family is excited to meet you."
"Why are you so chipper?" John asked, rubbing at his wrists as he got out of the car, unconsciously moving so that he was walking alongside Sherlock as they made their way to the door. "I'm getting out of here immediately. I'm going to tell your family exactly what you did to get me here, then they will bring me back to London immediately.
Sherlock didn't reply to John, choosing instead to lead him into the large manor, closing the front door behind them with a kick of his foot. "Come along, they're in the sitting room."
"Bloody hell, this place is huge." He heard John mutter, and a quick glance behind him confirmed that the blond was taking in the sight as quickly as he could; visibly impressed with the décor.
They entered the sitting room, and Sherlock smiled at the eager looks on his parent's faces. He placed his hand on the small of John's back in a gesture he hoped looked sincere.
"Mummy, Father, this is Victor." He said as the blond turned to look at his parents.
"It's so nice to meet you, Victor." Mummy said, grinning brightly.
"I'm not Victor." John said flatly, stepping away from Sherlock's hand. "I've been kidnapped!"