December 24th. Holmes' winter estate, Yorkshire. 02:15.
"Oh wasn't it grand to have a tree-
Exactly like Mr. Willowby?"
Sherlock couldn't stop his smile as John finished reading, looking ever so proud of himself. He had done a good job reading the story as well, not that he would ever admit it out loud. His family began to clap, and Sherlock joined in, unable to hold back a chuckle as John took a bow just like the one he had done after putting the angel on top of the tree.
"Thank you." John said with a laugh. "I'll be here all week."
"God, we're not staying for a week, are we?" Sherlock mock-complained, earning a grin from John.
"You don't have to, but I'm enjoying my time with your family." He said, and Sherlock was surprised to discover that he was completely serious.
"Oh, we're enjoying having you here!" Violet said, her smile wider than Sherlock had ever seen it. "Now come along. We haven't eaten lunch yet!"
John was charming for the rest of the day, making Sherlock's family laugh with tales of his patients. He even managed to make Mycroft laugh a few times, something Sherlock had thought was impossible. His mother scolded him for not telling them that John was a doctor, but John saved the day by telling them that he didn't want them to know.
"Parents have such high hopes at that." John had said. "That I'm going to be wealthy. Unfortunately, I'm poor."
Violet had tutted, exclaiming that she didn't care if he was poor or rich, but that he loved her son, which John agreed to, his face completely serious. The look Mummy gave Sherlock was pure happiness, which made the whole kidnapping thing felt almost worth it.
If only he could ignore his guilt.
It was later that night that Sherlock and John entered the kitchen, catching Violet putting out milk and cookies.
"Mummy." Sherlock groaned. "We don't need to leave food out for Santa!"
"But what if he gets hungry?" She countered, winking at John. "Oh, and I almost forgot. You have to write down what you want Santa to bring!"
"Really?" Sherlock huffed as two notebooks were stuffed into his hands.
"It'll be fun." John said, grabbing Sherlock's arm and tugging. He led Sherlock past the sitting room, opening the door to the rarely used library.
"Go find a seat, I'll be right back." John said, and Sherlock took a seat on the sofa by the window, wondering what John was up to. He came back only seven minutes later, the cookies in one hand, and a bottle of wine and two glasses in the other.
"You stole Santa's cookies." Sherlock chuckled.
"I'll leave a salad or something out for him." John teased. "With all that sugar, he's going to need something solid in his stomach."
Sherlock hummed in agreement, moving over to make room for John. John pulled up a stool, setting the cookies down on it, before handing Sherlock a glass, pouring each of them a healthy amount.
"So," John began, plopping down and grabbing a cookie, taking a large bite. "We each need to write a Christmas list."
"Yes, we do." Sherlock said, handing one of the notebooks to John and grabbing a pen. "Though I'm not quite sure what to ask for."
"Me either." John said, grabbing a pen of his own and nibbling on the end of it. "A pony?"
Sherlock snorted. "Too clichéd…think outside the box, John."
"Oh really?" John challenged. "What will you ask for, then?"
Sherlock thought for a minute, wondering what he would ask for, if Santa Claus could perform miracles. Then, he wondered if he should admit what he wanted aloud.
"To stop being thought of as a freak." Sherlock admitted finally. "Or, at least to not be called a freak anymore."
Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say. John stared at Sherlock for a full thirty seconds, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on land.
"You aren't a freak, Sherlock." John managed to say. "You're smart, and a bit eccentric at times, but not a freak."
"John, I-"
"No, listen to me." John cut him off. "You can't believe people that would say that about you, alright? You're so much more special than that."
"Thank you." Sherlock said, toying with the edges of the paper clutched in his grip. "That is very kind of you to say."
John smiled at him. It was a nice smile, and Sherlock wouldn't mind seeing more like them from John. Sherlock smiled back, gesturing towards John's paper.
"Well, what about you? What are you going to ask Santa for Christmas?"
"To be able to practice medicine again." John said, scribbling down a few words on a piece of paper. "The intermittent tremor in my left hand makes it difficult to perform surgeries, and I had a limp before this whole affair, if you remember deducing it."
"I do, though I have yet to see your hand tremble." Sherlock said, giving John's hand a cursory look. John frowned, lifting his hand to stare at it in confusion.
"It hasn't been shaking this whole time." John said in awe. "Not a single tremor.'
"Not one." Sherlock confirmed, and John beamed at him again, causing Sherlock's stomach to do an odd sort of flip that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
"Well, it looks like my Christmas wish came true."
"It appears so."
They were silent for a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were sips of wine and crunches of cookie from the two men.
"What was your favourite Christmas?" John asked, and Sherlock looked up at him in confusion.
"Pardon?"
"Your favourite Christmas." John repeated patiently. "I am sure you have one."
"It's ridiculous."
"Tell me. Please?"
"Yes, fine." Sherlock grabbed his glass of wine, staring at the red liquid in deep thought. "When I was younger, probably eight or nine, my family spent Christmases in our regular home near London. We didn't own the estate yet."
Sherlock could feel John's eyes on him, and he glanced up, making sure he was paying attention. He supressed a shiver at the intensity in John's eyes.
"Anyway, there was a family that lived nearby, and every year they had a Christmas party. That year they had asked me to play violin for their guests."
"You play violin?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I do." Sherlock confirmed. "Quite well, actually. I always have."
"Naturally." John chuckled, gesturing for him to continue his story.
"Well, the weather was horrid that year. We were completely snowed in, and we couldn't make it to their house. I was upset, because I had wanted to play-"
"Or show off?" John interrupted.
"Naturally." Sherlock grinned, earning a laugh from John. "My parents felt bad for me, so they and Mycroft sat down and listened to my entire program, which consisted of three songs."
"That's sweet."
"It was…very nice. It was snowing, and there were Christmas lights…everyone was truly happy." Sherlock said, taking a large drink of wine.
"Well, I would love if you played violin for me." John said honestly, and Sherlock felt warm.
"Perhaps I shall. I do have one that I leave here, in case anyone wishes to hear a few songs."
"Well, I wish to hear a few songs." John said.
"Tomorrow." Sherlock promised him, standing up. "I'll play for you tomorrow.
December 24th. New Scotland Yard, London. 10:45.
The sound of heels clicking echoed in the mostly deserted street. A few people bustled past with last minutes Christmas gifts tucked under their arms, hurrying to get out of the cold.
Mary stared at the Met, her bright red coat wrapped snugly around her body. The faint sounds of a Christmas party could be heard from outside the building, laughter pouring from the doors. She let out a sigh before walking towards the building, letting herself in.
There was no one at the front desk, and Mary let out another sigh, giving an annoyed glance at her currently ring-less finger before following the sounds of the party.
There were multiple cops dancing to the music, some of them obviously drunk. Mary tapped on the door impatiently, waiting for one to assist her.
"Hello?" Mary said, but the cops ignored her, continuing to chat.
"Hello!" She shouted, earning a few glances from nearby officers. "I would like to report a crime!"
One of the cops came over. She was black with dark, curly hair, and she looked like she meant business. Mary liked the look of her instantly.
"Can I help you?" The woman asked professionally.
"Yes, you can." Mary said, smoothing down the front of her red coat. "I would like to report a kidnapping."