December 23rd. Holmes' winter estate, Yorkshire. 14:45.
The sitting room was silent for a few seconds before Violet and Siger began to laugh. Sherlock chuckled along with them as John stared at them in bewildered astonishment.
"Didn't you hear what I just said?" John asked, looking more appalled by the second. "Your son has kidnapped me, and he's holding me hostage!"
"Of course he is, dear." Mummy laughed, wiping daintily at her eyes.
"Our son, the loony." Father concurred breathlessly, a wide smile on his face.
"I told you that he's hilarious." Sherlock said, placing a hand on John's shoulder, one that was promptly brushed off. "He does this all the time."
"What? No I don't!" John cried. "He's actually kidnapped me!"
"Victor, don't you think that's enough now?" Sherlock chuckled. "You've made your joke. It's all good now."
"But I-"
"Victor." Sherlock interrupted, giving the gaping blond a chastising look. "Why don't you go get settled? We're in the bunk room at the end of the upstairs hallway."
John stared at the three of them for a few moments longer before turning around and walking away. Sherlock could vaguely hear him mutter something about the sanity of his parents before his feet sounded on the stairs.
"Victor seems charming." Mummy said after a minute, a bright smile on her face. "Oh, I am so happy that you've found someone, Sherlock!"
"Yes, he's really quite special." Sherlock agreed, holding out his hand. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to relinquish you of your keys, however. Rules are rules."
Mummy hummed in agreement, handing over her mobile and keys. Father was a bit more reluctant, but soon Sherlock is holding three sets of keys and phones, his own included.
"When is Mycroft supposed to arrive?" Sherlock asked, looking through the front window. As if Sherlock had called his name, a black car appeared, looking as shiny and new as it did brand new. "Ah, speak of the devil."
"Oh, I do hope he's brought Anthea. She was such a sweetheart." Mummy practically chirped, peering out the window as well. The lack of Mycroft's girlfriend, however, was instantly apparent.
"Hello Mummy." Mycroft called out as soon as he entered the estate, a posh looking driver carrying his suitcase. "Father. Happy Christmas."
"Back on the cake again?" Sherlock tutted, turning to look at his elder brother. "For shame. You know what it does to your figure. Your phone and keys, please."
Mycroft looked down at Sherlock's extended hand in disdain. "Whatever for?"
"I'm the key-master." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And I take my job very seriously."
"But you hate being key-master." Mycroft looked at Mummy and Father blankly. "Last year you practically tore apart the estate looking for your phone."
"The past is the past." Sherlock said, trying to sound as carefree as possible. "Now, your phone and keys."
With a heavy, put-upon sigh, Mycroft handed Sherlock his phone and keys. Sherlock smirked at him, turning to press a kiss to Mummy's cheek.
"I must go. I have the perfect hiding spot, and I have to check on how Victor is settling in. We'll be down for dinner." Sherlock said.
"Alright, dear." Mummy said, patting Sherlock's cheek. "Don't be too long. Your father is making his world famous ham."
"Hardly world famous, dear." Father chuckled. "More like family famous. Victor isn't a vegetarian, is he?"
"No, he isn't." Sherlock replied, hoping his deductions were correct. "He'll love it, I'm sure."
"Go on," Mummy shooed Sherlock, her face practically glowing. "Go make that boyfriend of yours happy. We don't want to drive him away!"
"But of course." Sherlock smiled before turning away, making sure no one was watching as he hid the phones and keys.
December 23rd. Holmes' winter estate, Yorkshire. 21:35.
John had been silent during dinner. Sherlock hadn't been surprised of course, but his family was slightly put out.
"It's just nerves, dear." He had heard his mother say to his father while they were washing up. "I'm sure Victor will come around. You remember how you were when meeting my family."
Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what he could do to convince John to play the doting boyfriend, however. He lay in their bunkroom, trying desperately to think of how to break John out of his shell when a voice whispered from the top bunk:
"You're a real prick, you know that."
"I'm not a nice person." Sherlock agreed softly. "But my mother is happy. That is my only intention in all of this. As soon as Christmas is over, I'll never darken your doorstep again."
"Of course you won't." John said. "Because I'll have you arrested."
"John, please stop with the dramatics."
"Dramatics? You kidnapped me! I think I'm allowed to be a bit dramatic."
"Yes, well, you're stuck here until Christmas." Sherlock sighed. "You might as well enjoy yourself."
"I am not staying for Christmas." John shot back. "I'm going to find those keys of yours, and I'll drive back myself."
"I wish you all the luck." Sherlock chuckled. "I am a master at hiding things. Go ahead, the rest of my family is asleep."
The top bunk was silent for a moment, and Sherlock wondered briefly if John had given up when he heard the tell-tale squeak of springs. Sure enough, he could see John's foot emerge, climbing down the worn wood of the ladder.
"You're actually going to go look?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow in John's general direction. Not that he could see him, of course. The lack of outside lighting made it difficult to see.
"Of course I am." John replied. "I want to get the hell out of here."
"Hmm." Sherlock hummed, flopping back down on his rather uncomfortable bed. "By all means."
Sherlock could hear John pause, as if wondering if this was all some sort of trap, but less than a minute later his footsteps restarted, padding around the room. The door opened, then closed with a soft click, and Sherlock listened as John's footsteps retreated.
Sherlock laid in bed for a half an hour, listening to the futile search of John's. His footsteps quickly got erratic and frustrated, but never louder. Even while in the midst of being kidnapped, John seemed to be nothing if not polite.
He was just about to doze off, figuring that John would come up to bed when he had finished his failed search, when he heard the tell-tale click of the front door to the estate.
"Good lord." Sherlock groaned, standing up and peeking out the window. The sight of John, bundled up tightly and walking steadily away from the house made him roll his eyes. Apparently he had plans of leaving, and the fact that he couldn't find the keys wasn't going to deter him.
Sherlock wrapped his blue robe around his shoulders, tying the sash tightly before leaving the bunkroom himself. Grabbing the key to Molly's car from his hiding spot in the freezer, Sherlock made his way outside.
He started the car, allowing it to warm up, and to give John ample walking time, before putting the car into drive. It takes only five minutes before he sees John's hunched figure, arms wrapped around his body to keep himself warm. He rolls his eyes again before rolling town the passenger side window.
"Come on, get in the car."
"No." John snapped shortly. "I'm not going back to that blasted estate."
"Was it really so bad?" Sherlock's voice is laced with amusement.
"No." John sounded almost hesitant this time. "Your family isn't all bad. Well, minus you. But I've got people to get back to."
"Well, you're not going to do it this way."
"Oh no?"
"No." Sherlock snorted. "The nearest inhabited building is over fifteen kilometres away. You'll be walking for ages."
John groaned, stopping in his tracks. He peered down the road as if to confirm Sherlock's claim before turning to the car.
"You expect me to just get back in this car?" He said with gritted teeth. "Just go back to the bloody estate as though nothing happened?"
"Yes." Sherlock smiled at him.
"Fine." John huffed. He strode over to the car, opening it up with as much anger as he could muster, plopping down in the seat.
"Now, was that so difficult?"
"Oh, shut up." John muttered. "And take me back. I'm freezing."
Sherlock obliged, chuckling the whole way home.