December 25th. Holmes' winter estate, Yorkshire. 08:30.
"You two go out and have fun today," was the first thing Violet said as soon as Sherlock and John walked into the kitchen.
"But there's so much to do around here." John interjected quickly, waving a hand at the raw goose that was ready to be popped into the oven.
"Oh, don't you worry about that, dear." Violet said. "I can take care of dinner, you two need some alone time. Go have a stroll, enjoy each other."
John looked over at Sherlock, who looked like he desperately needed some time away from his family, and nodded.
"Actually, that sounds wonderful." John said, looping an arm through Sherlock's. "We'll be back around lunchtime."
He tugged Sherlock out the door as Violet sang out a quick "have fun!" and into the snow outside.
The sky was a bright blue, and the sun made the air feel practically warm as it made the snow glitter like thousands of diamonds. Snow crunched softly under their feet as they strolled along a shovelled path towards a small wooded area near the estate.
"So, are family get-togethers always this fun?" John asked as they passed the first tree.
"We don't get together very often." Sherlock replied. "If it's not Christmas, then it's because I've done something to upset Mycroft, making it very unpleasant."
"That's just…sad." John said with a frown.
"You don't get together with your family." Sherlock reminded him, causing John to laugh.
"I don't even know how you figured that out, but that's true. My mum and dad are dead, so it's a bit hard to get together with them."
He watched guilt and surprise creep across Sherlock's face, and quickly took pity on him. "They died ages ago. It's just Harry and I left, and we don't get on much. Never have."
They were silent for a few moments, only the crunch of snow underfoot broke the silence in the woods. A few birds sing overhead, and John can't help but smile at the peace of the day around them.
"How long have you known you wanted to be a doctor?" The soft question comes, and John looks over at Sherlock in surprise.
"Oh, ever since I was young, really. I've always wanted to help people, but medical school was expensive, so I joined the army to help pay for it."
"Such a conundrum. Saving people and killing people."
John laughed at that, causing Sherlock to laugh as well. "I suppose you're right. But that's hardly as interesting as what you do. Consulting detective, right?"
"Yes." Sherlock responded, trying to look unaffected; but John could see his eyes light up. "My parents hate it, they think it isn't a real job."
"I don't care what they think. What do you do as a consulting detective?"
"When the police are out of their depth- which is always- they consult me."
"So, you help catch murderers, and things like that?" John asked, fascinated.
"When I'm lucky. Sometimes it's just a petty burglar." Sherlock replied, looking proud of himself.
"That's brilliant. I would love to see you on a case sometime."
"You would?"
John grinned up at Sherlock, belatedly realising that they had come to a halt. "Yeah, I would."
A variety of emotions flitted across Sherlock's face: surprise, confusion, and several unidentifiable ones before a pleased expression dominated his features.
"That would be marvellous." Sherlock said, "Are you sure it wouldn't be too much excitement for you?"
"I don't know." John chuckled as he realised Sherlock's last statement was meant to be a jest. "I've already had a lot of excitement over the past few days. Some mad genius kidnapped me from a coffee shop just two days ago...wow, was it really only two days ago?"
Guilt replaced pleasure on Sherlock's face, and John missed it instantly.
"You can't take something back once it's already done." Sherlock said after a moment. "Even if you realise right away that it was wrong."
"No, you can't." John agreed. "But sometimes something good comes out of a bad situation."
"Something good?" Sherlock looked confused.
"Well, I did get to meet you, didn't I?" John said softly. "I think that counts."
"I kidnapped you." Sherlock reminded him seriously.
"And gave me the best Christmas I've had in years." John replied. "I cannot thank you enough for that."
"I believe I must thank you for the same thing." Sherlock said. "This Christmas would be unbearable without you here."
"Oh, I'm sure any old bloke would have done. The real Victor might have been better." John said, ducking his head.
"No, he wouldn't have been. Only you have made this Christmas…passable."
John looked up, grinning at Sherlock's reddening cheeks. Christmas was far more than passable for him, it was clear.
"Good, I'm glad." John replied, and they continued their journey along the narrow walking path in the woods.
December 25th. Holmes' winter estate, Yorkshire. 10:55.
An hour and a half of walking outside in the cold left John's toes numb, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he and Sherlock entered the estate, stomping the snow off their shoes. He glanced over at Sherlock, who was still laughing as he continued to tell John about the things he used to do to Mycroft when he was younger.
"-and then, just as he was getting in the bath, a whole basketful of feathers was released from the ceiling, making him look like a chicken!" Sherlock said breathlessly, his giggles starting anew as John roared with laughter.
"Oh, lord. Not the feather story." Mycroft sighed as he came out of sitting room, his face pinched. Violet and Siger followed him, looking much merrier than their eldest son at Sherlock's laughter.
"Where did Sherlock get all those feathers from?" John asked, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes.
"Let's just say my expensive down pillows were completely ruined." Violet said, a small grin on her face. Her smile got wider as John stopped under the doorframe, and she nudged her husband.
"I was pulling feathers out of my clothes for weeks." Mycroft sniffed. "But I got my revenge."
"Is that what you call it?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, coming to rest beside John. "I didn't realise putting feathers in my trouser pockets was adequate revenge."
Mycroft opened his mouth to respond with something most likely scathing, when he was interrupted by Violet's happy cheer.
"Victor and Sherlock are standing under the mistletoe!" She practically chirped, looking pleased. "Oh, go on, I haven't seen you two kiss at all!"
John's eyes widened, and he looked up in surprise. Sure enough, he and Sherlock were directly under the mistletoe.
Something brushed his cheek quickly, and John turned to see a red faced Sherlock pointedly looking anywhere but at him.
"There, a kiss." Sherlock said quickly, looking flustered.
"No, a real kiss." Siger said, shaking his head. "That barely counted as a kiss on the cheek."
"Oh, come here." John said, turning towards Sherlock and grabbing the front of his suit coat, tugging him closer. "I know you aren't fond of displays of affection, but a kiss in front of your family won't hurt."
"It's not that." Sherlock said, looking nervous. "It's-"
But what it was, John would never find out. He placed a hand on Sherlock's cheek, which shut him up immediately. The other hand rested itself on the nape of Sherlock's neck, playing with the soft curls. John gave Sherlock a reassuring grin before closing the distance, standing on his tip toes to reach the taller man's lips.
It was only going to be a gentle brush of lips, but as soon as John tasted, he couldn't get enough. He swooped in immediately, swallowing Sherlock's gasp.
"So romantic!" Violet sighed happily, and John pulled back, his face flushing brilliantly. "Oh, look at you two, blushing like two teenagers!"
John looked up at Sherlock, and sure enough, his face was a matching shade of scarlet. "Oh, you know how it is, Violet. Every kiss with him is like a first kiss."
Sherlock's jaw dropped open, and John was struck by the insatiable need to kiss the shocked look from his face. He shook his head ruefully, finally looking away.
"Come on, let's get some lunch, yeah?" John said.
"I ate toast earlier." Sherlock complained, almost sounding like his normal self.
"Not enough, you prat." John said good-naturedly. "You need to eat something more nutritious."
"If you have your way, I'll be as fat as Mycroft." Sherlock muttered.
"Honestly, there's no need to be childish." Mycroft said scathingly.
"It's good to see you two being so polite." Siger said, and John looked back at him questioningly. Siger, it seemed, was being completely serious. "I was worried we would have another flour-bomb fiasco like two years ago."
"Flour-bomb?" John snorted. "Now this is a story I've got to hear!"
December 25th. Higbies Coffee Shop, London. 11:00.
The bell to Higbies Coffee Shop jingled merrily as two police officers and Mary Morstan entered, cold wind causing menus and loose napkins to flutter.
"Welcome to Higbies." A bored voice drawled from the counter. "Our special today is a Candy Cane Latte."
"We aren't here for coffee." Mary sniffed dramatically. "My fiancé was kidnapped from here two days ago."
The employee looked up in surprise, his eyes widening as he noticed the two cops standing in the coffee shop as well.
"Err…I wasn't working two days ago. That would have been…Hooper and Holmes on shift." He said, looking flustered.
"Could you give me their addresses, please?" The silver haired officer asked, flashing his detective inspector badge.
"Yeah, of course." The employee scrambled to get a piece of paper and a pen. "Hooper is still in town; that much I know. Holmes went to some cottage for Christmas, and won't be back until the day after tomorrow."
"Cottage!" Mary declared, causing the two officers to jump. "That's where my darling fiancé said the horrible man took him. To a cottage."
"While that's all very good and everything, there are plenty of cottages in the country." The female officer said, brushing the curly hair from her face. "Maybe this 'Hooper' will know what happened."
"Thank you so much for your time…err…" The silver haired officer said, holding out his hand to shake.
"Phillip Anderson." The employee said, shaking the DI's hand wildly.
"Anderson. If you need to get a hold of me, all you have to do is call the Met and ask for Detective Inspector Lestrade."
"Or Sargent Sally Donovan." The woman chimed in, shaking Anderson's hand as well. "Thank you for your time."
"No time for pleasantries. I have a fiancé to find." Mary said, whirling out of Higbies and into the cold air once more.