December 24th. Holmes' winter estate, Yorkshire. 12:55.
"John Hamish Watson, you are a complete arsehole!" Mary said, "I waited for hours at Higbies for you, and you never showed up!"
"Mary, I-"
"No, John, let me speak! You never called, texted, or anything!"
"But Mary-"
"You made me look like an idiot! Of all the stupid, rude things you could have done, this has to be the worst. I mean-"
"I was kidnapped!" John interrupted, clawing at his hair. Mary was silent for a moment before speak, her tone scornful.
"Kidnapped? Really? That's the best you could come up with?"
"It's true, Mary. Some bloke from the coffee shop kidnapped me. You have to get the police!"
"John, I don't believe you."
"I was going to propose, Mary." John said earnestly, and he heard a small intake of breath. "I wouldn't have left Higbies for anything less than being kidnapped, because I was going to ask you to be my wife. Do you understand now?"
"Oh, John!" Mary squealed. "Yes! Oh, yes, I will marry you!"
"That's great, good." John replied patiently. "But I'm a little stuck right now, could you do that for me? Can you get me out of here? I'm in a cottage somewhere in Yorkshire."
"Right away, love." Mary hummed, sounding a little distracted. "Don't worry, you'll be home by Christmas!"
A sudden rapping on the bathroom door made John jump, and he nearly dropped the phone in his surprise.
"I have to go." John whispered, "But I love you. You know that, right?"
"Yes yes. Love you too, and all that." Mary said, and the phone clicked off. John let out a sigh, pleased to know that he would be rescued soon.
"John!" Sherlock's voice floated through the door, and John stiffened, telling himself that his quickened heartbeat was merely due to surprise and adrenaline. "John, are you talking to someone in there?"
John stared at himself in the mirror, a smirk flitting across his face as he came up with a plan. He turned, opening the door quickly, causing Sherlock to stumble slightly. John held up the phone, wiggling it in between his fingers.
"Sorry, had to make a phone call." John replied. Sherlock snatched the phone out of his hands, but it was obvious he knew the damage had been done.
"Who did you call?" Sherlock demanded, tucking the phone into his pocket.
"Does it matter?" John asked defiantly. "I called someone, and they're going to come and rescue me."
"So, that's it then." Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. "You're just going to leave?"
"No, you know what, I'm not." John's smirk returned in full force. "I'm going to do something first. I am going to make your family absolutely love me."
"What?" Sherlock looked surprised.
"That's right. I'm going to be the world's best boyfriend." John replied, watching the confusion on Sherlock's face with glee. "And your family will absolutely adore me. That way, when the police come, you'll look even worse."
A mix of horror and grudging admiration dawned on Sherlock's face. "You are surprisingly ruthless. I do think we could have gotten along had we met under different circumstances."
John huffed a laugh, walking around Sherlock and heading towards the sitting room where the voices of Sherlock's parents could be heard the soft shuffle of Sherlock's stocking feet following him.
"Oh, Victor!" Violet called as soon as she saw them. "You're just in time! We need someone to put the angel at the top of the tree."
"But I normally put the angel on the top of the tree." Sherlock's voice said from behind him, and John turned to look, catching a brief glimpse of annoyance before his face went blank.
"Yes, darling, I know." Violet said. "But Victor is our guest."
"I would love to put the angel on top of the tree, Mrs Holmes." John beamed at her, and she smiled back radiantly, handing the delicate angel over to him.
It was clear that the angel was an old family heirloom. The whole thing was made of crystal, and it looked as though it were a hundred years old. John stood on the ladder, climbing to the top and placing the angel in its spot gently.
"Oh, well done." Violet clapped, and John took a bow, much to the amusement of Siger and Violet, and the annoyance of Sherlock.
"Yes, he put an angel on top of a tree." Sherlock muttered, "How completely talented of him."
"Oh hush, Sherlock." Violet sighed, patting his shoulder. "This is the attitude you always had with your childhood…er…well, they weren't friends…"
"When Sherlock was a boy, he was rather rude to the children in the neighbourhood." Siger explained to an obviously confused John.
"Terribly so. He was talented at his deductions, even then." Violet chimed in.
"Mm, yes. One time, we paid a little boy down the street to be his friend." Siger explained.
"He gave us back our money after two days." Violet said, laughing.
John grinned, but it fell off his face when he saw the look on Sherlock's. He looked completely miserable. John couldn't help the guilt that swept through him at the sight.
"And then he bought that horrible skull." Violet sighed, shaking her head. "Called him 'Billy'."
"Mummy…" Sherlock mumbled, but his parents ignored him.
"Took it with him everywhere." Siger chuckled. "Said it was his best friend. Talked to him about his cases."
"Cases?" John frowned.
"Oh, even when he was younger, Sherlock wanted to be a detective." Violet said. "He would talk about solving murders, and examining bodies."
"We thought he would grow out of it." Siger said. "But I'm afraid he's still the same old Sherlock."
"I think the same old Sherlock is brilliant." John blurted out, feeling as surprised as everyone else looked. "Sure, he can be a bit bossy, and sometimes it's hard to tell that he cares, but he's…well, he's special."
The room was silent for a moment, and John refused to look at Sherlock even though he could feel his eyes on him. Finally, Violet smiled.
"Yes, he is." She said fondly, looking between John and Sherlock. "He is special."
John climbed down the ladder when Mycroft entered the room, raising an eyebrow at the scene. "I feel as though I missed something."
"You missed Victor putting the star at the top of the tree." Violet said. "But you're just in time for 'Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree'!"
"What on earth is 'Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree'?" John asked in confusion.
"It's mummy's favourite book. Something of a tradition." Sherlock replied as they walked over to the sofa's, sitting down so they could all face each other.
Violet grabbed a stack of books, shuffling through them until she came upon a black and white and green one. "Here we are!"
She offered the book to Sherlock, then pulled it back, leaving Sherlock's hand hanging in mid-air. Then she gave the book to John, who grabbed it reflexively.
"Why don't we have Victor read it this year?" She said cheerfully.
"B-but I always read it." Sherlock said, looking affronted. John looked over at Sherlock for the first time since he had put the angel on the top of the tree. He looked completely hurt, and John felt even guiltier.
"I know, dear." Violet said. "But won't it be nice to have Victor read it?"
Sherlock stared at her for a few seconds before rising jerkily, darting off towards the stairs. The four of them watched him go in shock.
"Did I do something wrong?" John asked in surprise.
"Don't worry, he's just having a tantrum." Mycroft said, sounding almost bored. John could see that he was worried about his brother from the tightness in his eyes. "It will pass."
"No, I think he's hurt." John set the book down on the sofa next to him. "I'll be right back, I'll go talk to him."
John could feel three pairs of eyes follow his movements as he made his way up the stairs, he vanished from their view, but he knew they were just waiting, hoping that they would be down soon.
"Sherlock…" John tapped on the door to their shared room, pushing it open to see him sulking on his bed.
"Go away."
"No." John huffed a sigh. "What happened back there?"
"You were there, you saw it." Sherlock snapped, not looking up as John moved to stand in front of him.
"I saw your family, and I saw them hand me a book." John replied. "And I saw you get jealous about it."
"I am not jealous." Sherlock insisted, earning a snort from John.
"Really? Because it sure looked like it."
"I'm not!"
"No?"
"They like you better than they like me!" Sherlock finally spluttered.
John's jaw dropped open in surprise. "That's not even true, and you know it."
"No?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, flopping down on the bed on his back. "They told you everyone hated me as a kid, and that I'm the same way as an adult."
"That's what parents do." John sighed. "They tell embarrassing stories to boyfriends and girlfriends. This was mean, yeah, but they didn't do it because they don't like you."
"No?"
"No." John confirmed. "It seems that they lack a filter. Kind of like you."
The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched, and John grinned at him in victory. He held out a hand, and Sherlock took it, letting John pull him into a standing position.
"Now come on, you can read the story." John said.
"I wouldn't mind if you read it." Sherlock replied, and John turned to look at him in surprise.
"But you wanted to read it."
"You're an idiot." Sherlock said, stalking out of the room.
"Excuse me?" John gaped at him, before following close behind. They made their way to the sitting room, and Violet smiled as she saw them.
"Are you ready to read the story?" She asked pleasantly, looking between the two of them questioningly.
"Victor will read it this year." Sherlock said, plopping back down in his spot. "But if he reads it wrong, then I'll read it next year."
John laughed softly, sitting down next to him and grabbing the book, opening it.
"I've never read it, so bear with me." John said, glancing over at Sherlock once, who nodded back to him. John cleared his throat, opened the book, and began to read.
"Mr. Willowby's Christmas tree
Came by special delivery.
Full and fresh and glistening green-
The biggest tree he had ever seen."