December 24th. Holmes' winter estate, Yorkshire. 07:00.
"Eat up, Victor." Violet Holmes said, smiling brightly at him. "You're as skinny as a beanpole."
"Not as skinny as your son." John assured her, earning himself a bright laugh. "This food looks absolutely delicious. Thank you very much."
"We'll have to see about getting you clothes." Violet chatted, setting a plate full of sausage down on the table in front of him. "Sherlock tells me that you were both so quick to leave that you forgot your bags!"
"Yeah, something like that," John muttered, his dark mood going unnoticed by Violet.
"He has a few spare clothes here, thank goodness. I think Siger's clothes should fit you just fine. You seem to be about the same size."
"That would be great, ta." John took a bite of sausage, nearly choking on it when Sherlock walked through the door. The man looked unfairly good with his tousled hair still damp from the shower. Curls hung across his forehead almost artfully, and John had to force himself to look away before he was caught staring. The man may be gorgeous, but he was still a kidnapper.
"Ah, Sherlock, you're awake." Violet beamed at her son. "Do you know what I did with my large stockpot?"
"The one you boil potatoes in?" Sherlock frowned. "Last year it got melted in an unfortunate incident involving the hideous tie that Mycroft bestowed upon me for Christmas."
"Oh, you boys." Violet shook her head, peering into cabinets. "Always fighting. Hopefully you don't do such ridiculous things in front of Victor."
John, who had been trying desperately not to laugh, looked over at his pseudonym, preparing to tell Violet all the ridiculous things that Sherlock had done to him. Of course, Sherlock seemed to anticipate such an action, and cut him off immediately.
"Why don't you use a smaller pot?"
"I need a large one for the potatoes. We eat so many of them!"
"I could run out and get a larger pot." John replied innocently, earning a beam from Violet and a panicked glare from Sherlock.
"That's so kind of you, but really, I couldn't ask you to-"
"No, he's a guest!" Sherlock said earnestly. "He can't be running errands for us!"
"I'll go with him." Siger's voice piped up from the entrance of the kitchen. "A little father/son's boyfriend bonding time."
"Oh how wonderful!" Violet sang, and John shot Sherlock a smug look. "Yes, go get Victor dressed, and you two can run to the nearest store!"
John stood off the chair he had been occupying, following Siger into his and Violet's bedroom. Siger's clothes fit, and John thanked every deity that he owned several jumpers. He tugged on a striped one and a pair of jeans, then went to meet Siger in the sitting room where Sherlock was waiting, a sour look on his face.
"Drive carefully." Sherlock told his father, handing over the keys to what John presumed was Siger's car. "The ice is thick, and they hardly take proper care of roads out here."
"I'll be careful, Sherlock." Siger chuckled, patting his son's arm. "We'll be back before you know it."
"See you, Sherlock." John gave a little wave, following Siger out the door and getting into the car. Freedom was finally his!
December 24th. Tesco's, York. 11:45.
The whole outing had been a disaster, at least in John's opinion. He had been fully ready to take off running as soon as Siger Holmes had stopped the car, after spending a half hour in the car with him, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Siger was beyond friendly, and John found himself quickly liking the man. They had walked through Tesco's and John hadn't contemplated running off even once, and it wasn't until he was in the car, a shiny new stockpot in the back seat, that he realised what had happened.
"So tell me, how did you meet my son?" Siger asked as they drove along the icy roads.
"Not much to tell, really. Bit of a whirlwind thing," John said.
"Yes, that sounds like Sherlock." Siger chuckled. "He may seem indifferent, but he's got a romantic heart."
'That I highly doubt', John thought to himself. "He's definitely interesting."
Siger beamed at him as if he had paid Sherlock the highest of compliments. John knew that Sherlock's family loved him, but it was clear that they didn't expect a lot of positive comments about him, even from his apparent boyfriend.
It wasn't long before they were pulling up in front of the estate, and John half expected to see Sherlock peering out the window. But no one came running out to greet them. John grabbed the new stockpot, accompanying Siger inside.
"He's very handsome." Violet's voice drifted in from the sitting room. It was obvious that they had no idea that John and Siger were home, and John couldn't help but stopping to listen, earning him a wink from Siger as he left the room, grabbing the stockpot on the way out.
"Yes, I agree." He heard Sherlock reply, his voice soft. "I'm rather lucky."
"When are you two going to talk about marriage?"
"Don't mention marriage to Victor." Sherlock's voice rose, and John could hear a tinge of panic in his tone. "We haven't been dating all that long. I don't want you to scare him off."
"No worries, darling." A faint kiss could be heard, Violet pecking her son on the forehead. "I'll keep quiet about the 'M' word."
Shuffling from the other room could be heard, and John made his way into the room before he could be discovered eavesdropping.
"Oh, hello, Victor!" Violet greeted happily, and Sherlock's head whipped around so fast that John nearly winced in sympathy. "Did you have a good time at the store?"
"A good a time as any." John smiled at Violet, and she grinned before joining her husband in the kitchen. Sherlock stood, walking over to John rather quickly.
"You're still here."
"Oh, hello to you too. Yes I did have a nice time. The weather is dreadful, isn't it?" John rolled his eyes. "Of course I am. I couldn't run off and leave your father alone, now could I?"
"You like him."
"Yes, he's nice to me, unlike some people."
"I'm nice!"
"You kidnapped me!" John threw his hands up in the air. "I think that qualifies as 'not nice', Sherlock!"
"That's in the past." Sherlock replied logically, and John couldn't help but laugh.
"That was yesterday, you prat!"
"That's of little consequence. Yesterday is still the past."
"You are absolutely unbelievable, you know that?" John ran a hand across his face. "I'm going outside."
"Why?" Sherlock was nervous again.
"Because I need air."
"But the nearest town-"
"Yes, I know." John interrupted, walking towards the front door. "I just need to breathe without you standing here. I'm not going to run. I already tried that."
"That is…acceptable." Sherlock sighed. John took that as permission, and he left the house, his coat still wrapped around his lithe frame from earlier.
John walked around the side of the estate, attempting to gain control of his annoyance. Sherlock didn't seem to have any idea that what he did was bad, and no matter what he said, he didn't seem to be learning. John just felt bad for the poor man's family. They seemed so nice.
"Ah, Victor." A voice drawled, and John looked up to see Mycroft Holmes leaning up against the walls of the estate, a cigarette burning between his fingers. "Getting some air, are we?"
"Well, I am. It looks to me that you're avoiding it."
"Nasty habit, cigarettes." Mycroft said, flicking ash to the snow below. "But I can't quit it. Never take up smoking."
"I don't intend to." John replied, moving to stand next to Mycroft. He opened his mouth to break the silence when he heard a buzzing sound. "Is that…a phone?"
"Yes." Mycroft managed to look only slightly guilty. "I have important work to do, and I can't just leave my mobile for days on end. Sherlock has my personal phone."
"Could I borrow it?" John asked eagerly. "I have people to call…wish them a happy Christmas and all that."
"Yes, I suppose you can." Mycroft looked amused, and he pulled out the phone, handing it to John. "Just don't let Sherlock see. He's the keymaster, you know, and apparently he's taking his job very seriously this year. I wonder why that could be."
Mycroft looked like he already knew the answer to that question, but John ignored him, heading straight back into the house. He peeked around every corner, making sure Sherlock wasn't waiting for him, then headed straight for a toilet, locking himself in.
He unlocked the phone, grinning when he saw he had full reception, and he quickly typed in a familiar number, listening impatiently as it rang.
"Where's Victor?" John could hear Sherlock from the other side of the door, and he swore silently, praying that the other line would pick up.
"Hello?" A feminine voice on the phone said. "Mary Morstan speaking. Who is this?"
"Oh my god, Mary!" John said, keeping his voice low. "It's John. Christ, I need your help!"